Tag Archives: Rant

After Dark: A Blast From The Past Presents: “Superman: Doomsday: WTF?!!”

Superman: Doomsday: WTF?!!

September 30th, 2007

1:46 a.m.

Okay, prepare the nerd glasses, it’s time to talk about the magic of DC Comics. While Marvel seems to be content in taking brilliant characters and turning them into shitty movies, DC has taken it to a whole new level.

I was warned by [Bad Leon Suave] that this animated feature was bad. I was warned that it was a painfully bad, bad attempt at trying to cash in on the Death Of Superman for a new generation.

I’m not going to repeat his gripes here. Let him do that in his own blogs.

My issue with this travesty is that they combined the Death Of Superman, World Without A Superman, and the Reign Of The Supermen story arcs into a feature length presentation. This in itself is retarded. So much nuance was lost. But even if it had been just that, I might have been okay. But I don’t remember Luthor digging up Doomsday. Or Luthor for that matter. It was his “son.” I seem to recall an organization called the JLA. And a somewhat longer journey to metropolis. Does anyone else remember Supes taking Doomsday into orbit for the final blow? No? That’s cause it didn’t fucking happen.

I also seem to recall Jonathon Kent being alive to witness the death of his adopted son. And WTF with the Reign B.S.?

Yes there was a clone. He was a teenager cloned into a human equivalent of Superman because they couldn’t properly decode the Kryptonian DNA. The was also the Last Son Of Krypton who was actually the Eradicator. There was a cyborg Superman as well. Not to mention some dude who wore metal superman armor and had a big ass-hammer (for [Fed]). And didn’t (what was it, Coast City) get fuckin nuked because the Cyborg was working for Mongul? And that’s when Supes came back. Blah blah saved the day, everything good.

Not this bullshit.

God knows what will happen if they remember Knightfall.

Fuck this shit! They’re cut off.

Yet another reason I need to get off my ass and found Uncle Walt/ Tex Batmart / whatever else sounds good so I can buy Aol/Time Warner and protect our comic book heroes from this bullshit.


(I may never have sex again).


After Dark: A Blast From The Past Presents: “I hate Comcast”

As a little #throwbackthursday treat for everyone, I’ve got a bonus Blast From The Past to get you ready for the sentimental stuff coming up this evening. With no further ado, I present the following Epic Rant to you in its original glory. The language is a little salty, so if you’re offended by that sort of thing, I invite you to read something else.

I hate Comcast

May 5th, 2007

6:28 p.m.

Comcastic is a dirty word.

I thought I had difficulty finding quality employees in my line of work.Turns out I having a harder time finding a single quality employee of the monopolistic cable provider. Such bullshit!

Here’s the deal: I ordered MLB Extra Innings on the 25th of April. The 25th! As you may be able to discern from the date, this story will not end well. I also ordered an upgrade to a DVR receiver so that I can actually watch the games I am paying $160 for. Somehow, I mananged to get MLS! Who the fuck wants to watch American fucking soccer? If I really have a craving to watch the futbol, I will watch it on a spanish language station, where, even though I don’t yet understand the entitre commentary, am still able to feel like the commentators A) give a shit about the sport (GOLGOLGOLGOLGOLGOLGOLGOLGOLGOLGOLGOLGOLGOLGOLG)
and 2) know what they are talking about (although I could be wrong, they do say Gol like 500 times after anyone scores).

Still with me? Ordered Baseball. Part way into the season. Anyone offer any kind of pro-rated discount for El Mateo? Fuck no! What did I get? Fucking Soccer! I called and explained the situation monosyllabically to the “Customer Care Executive”, and was told that I would not be charged for the soccer, but because I had a work order for the fucking boxes (I also ordered a dvr receiver for the bedroom (no, I don’t know why, either!)), I couldn’t get Extra Innings until after the installation tech had arrived.

Fast forward to Thursday, May 3rd, sometime between 8am and midnight. Tech arrives and tells me that he only has 1 box! How fucking hard is it to count? I mean, if we were dealing with more complex math, such as, oh, multiplication or division, I might be more forgiving. But it was addition. All that was required was the ability to fucking count to 2. Two! One. Two. How fucking hard is that? And then I had to fucking install the box myself, because the douchebag decided that he would try to call around to see if he could scavenge me another one. Due to the fact that I have made a fairly vitriolic paragraph concerning this, I have full confidence that you can fucking figure out the conclusion to this visit.

So dude left. Fine. Whatever. I called Comcast again. I want my MLB now, please. Okay? Everything’s okay? Yes? It’s gone through? Cool. Just wait a few minutes for the authorization do register in the boxes? Okay. Oh, by the way, I noticed that you’re raping us monthly now, so I think I’ll pick up Triple Play Platinum (we ordered Digital Platinum when we first got service. They gave us the Latino Completo package! What the fuck? It’s like having short bus cable with all SAP at no additional charge (for an additional fucking charge!). Okay? Okay. Telephone guy will be here on Monday? Cool. When will we have our new channels (which we should have had in the fucking first place) and Extra Innings? A few minutes? Okay, thanks.

An hour later, with no more channels than I’d had before, I called again, was on hold for a total of 25 minutes, transfered to 3 different people, was offered 4 completely insincere apologies, and told the phone that they would be installing would be comped for all the trouble. And when will I have access to the fucking channels I have ordered? Within the hour. Sometimes there are delays, so at the latest, tomorrow morning. Fine. Whatever. Fuck it. No more baseball. Have to get up early. Bullshit!

I get home from work yesterday at 6pm. Can you guess what service package I had access to when I got home?

I knew you could.

I tried calling comcast 6 times, each time on hold for a minimum of 15 minutes. I went to the online chat support. Talked to this fucking “Hey Guys! Wait for me!” asshole. Said he would reset the signal and all would be good again in the land of angry Scotsman. I was booted from the chat when the reset happened, and amazingly enough, that was the most productive result of that conversation. I tried Comcast by phone again 2 more times, waiting for only 10 minutes per call this time. Finally I got back into the chat support room again. Oops, I’m here for your internet support, let me transfer you. So then I talk to another guy, explain the whole fucking thing. He says the reason I (STILL!) don’t have MLB is- get this-  because I have a work order for MONDAY! I tell him fuck all that. Give me my channels, I can deal without a home phone for awhile longer. He says he will transfer me to Phone services and explain the whole problem to new guy before he logs out of the room. So I wait, and a new tech enters the conversation.

I explain briefly to him what I have been going through. Would you care to know what he told me? I think you know where this is going…. I’m sorry. YOU NEED TO TALK TO SOMEONE IN CABLE SUPPORT. But wait! I try to type in time, my fingers curling into fists as I am gorilla pounding the keyboard in frustration. And then I get another tech. So I fucking rip into this guy. I’m pissed. At this point, I have spent over 3 hours trying to deal with this bullshit, and now will get around 6 hours of sleep before I have to go to work.

Turns out this new guy is actually the one who transferred me to Phone services, but I still rip into him. He lets me vent, which amazes and calms me, and explains that somehow Comcast has clusterfucked the whole thing. If I want MLB and my subscription upgrade, I will have to cancel the monday work order and reschedule. Fine. Will I have all my channels after that? Tonight?

Yes he says. Fine. Cancel. Good. Dandy. Just fucking do it. And don’t fucking transfer me. Just take care of it. So he goes to fucking investigate how to go about unclustering the FUCK, and tells me: He can’t cancel/reschedule the work order, I have to call the local phone support line. Sorry.

He gives me the number and I am fairly sure that there is actually nothing more he can do. So I let him go.

I open my phone. I dial the number. Put the phone to my ear. Enter the 10 digit number (including area code) where I have, or would like to have service. I press 1 for english. I press 1 for problem with my service. I press one for Cable.  I listen to some bullshit recorded message that has absolutely nothing to do with me, and so do not push 5. I hear shitty recorded Muzak. I am told that comcast is constantly seeking to improve its service and am offered a chance to particpate in a brief survey following my coversation. I decline, and do not press 1. I wait for 10 more minutes.

I call again, diverging from my previous path only in that I press three for home telephone service. I still hear the recorded message, Muzak, and survey offer. I hang up after another 10 minutes.

I now have less than 5 hours to sleep. I still do not have MLB. I still do not have the premium package I have ordered. I DO still have access to MLS, although there are no games.


And the worst part part about all of this is that AT&T is worse!

Comcastic! Fuck that shit!

Sportsball Wrap-Up: The Jaws of Victory

“It was a nice run, Kev. Had to close out someday. Nobody wins them all.”

In the stunning aftermath of yet another Russell Wilson victory over a Super Bowl winning quarterback (this time, himself), I find myself wanting to wallow in the unanswered questions which followed that game. But, along this run of improbable successes, I seem to have lost sight of the fact that I am a Seattle sports fan, and yesterday’s game was not the anomaly. Sure, I have snarky remarks that I could use to turn this into a caustic, laugh-so-you-don’t-cry piece, but the truth is that I am still proud of my team. Unlike last season, where a run to the Super Bowl looked unstoppable, and the Lombardi Trophy, a foregone conclusion, this season was heart and soul. It seemed that going into mid-November, the curse of the Super Bowl champions was nestled snugly upon us, and we could look forward to next year. And then this team of Sportsball heroes that nobody else seemed to want decided that they they didn’t want to go whimpering off into the night. They won every game left, and strode into the postseason, looking like the championship team we’d seen the year before. And even after the first three quarters of the NFC Championship, where it looked like all hope was lost, they managed to pull off a comeback that even the Seahawks’ faithful would have been hard-pressed to imagine.

There have been calls for a certain offensive coordinator’s head on a silver platter. And honestly, with the judgement shown with that final call, it might be an idea worth revisiting. But let’s not lose sight of the fact that this is Seattle team, and sooner or later, something like this was bound to happen. The Seahawks are now 1-2 on the big stage, and don’t have another chance to go after back-to-back championships for another two years, at least. The Patriots walked away with yet another victory, and it looks like the team that best personified the Bush era isn’t quite ready to fade into that long night. But Seattle should hold its head up high: there will be other chances for athletic glory, and Tom Brady and Ben Roethlisberger aren’t going to be around forever. The Seahawks have given the city of Seattle something to unite behind, and we will stand with them, good times or bad.

A friend of mine posted that she’d like to see them given a parade, despite the loss. I’m sure that the rest of the country would mock us for not knowing how parades are supposed to work, but I think it’s a wonderful idea. We have all had days where we just couldn’t get it done, professional missteps that we’d rather no one knew about. The lucky thing for the rest of us, is that when we screw up, it’s usually not on a global stage. We quickly look around to make sure that no one saw us, and then do our best to make sure that something like that can’t ever happen again. It’s too easy to say you’re with someone through thick and thin, and then want to pile on when they seem hell-bent on snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. I’m fairly certain that there is nothing that any of us can say that will make anybody on that team feel worse than they do already. But with the narrative against them, and criticism bubbling up from everyone who saw the game, and knows they would have called it better, perhaps it’s time to tell our team something that they haven’t heard: Thank you.

And no, not the sarcastic mumbled thanks that spill out of one’s mouth like a toddler forced to apologize, but a genuine offer of gratitude for the simple joys we’ve been provided throughout the past few years, with a touch of sympathy, because we’re human beings, and not just raging animals. On one of the worst days of your life, it’s not uncommon for everyone to seem lined up against you. But sometimes just a simple reassurance from someone who matters to you, or even just a well-meaning stranger, can make all the difference. I’m aware that this is just a requiem for Sportsball, and that there are so many other things that deserve our full attention. But I’ve also spoken in the past of the banality of evil, and how the world might be a better place if we could just keep trying to fill it with random acts of kindness. So let’s start today, and never let it fade. Let’s stand together as the Twelfth Man and show that we support one another. It’s the easiest thing in the world to knock someone down a peg, but if there are enough us, we might manage some heavy lifting, and bring them back up again.

There are those who say that to survive in a world of ubiquitous terrorism, we must be just as ruthless as those who seek to do us harm. We must bend the rules which bind our hands, and keep us from our victory. We’ve all been hearing it for thirteen years, and, like trickle-down economics, I’m pretty sure it’s been debunked. I mean, yes, we can probably gain success against those who might do us harm if we toss out all civility. But those rules are not in place to protect the people we are up against: they are to protect us from ourselves. The “enemy combatant” who is spared from torture is probably relieved, I’m sure. But the moment we decide that we are above the very laws we’ve put in place, and seek vengeance because justice has eluded us, we are no better than those who seek to do us harm; actually, as they have no illusions about what is that they are doing, and why they have been doing it, it makes us worse. We will be hurt. People will take advantage of us. There will be times when we will lose. But we will not let the sting of failure keep us down, nor the seeming futility of goodness rob us of our decency. We will stand up for that which we believe in, and keep standing until the light, and all which it has come to represent, has driven back the shadows, not only from ourselves, but from everyone frightened by the night.