On Spider-Man As A Minority

With great power, my friend. With great power.

I could take this time to comment on the coming implosion of capitalism as corporate America hires less and less people and makes more and more profit. Or I could use this space as a way to discuss the worrying trend of having a Presidential candidate whose husband is so closeted he needs a walk-in.

But I’m not going to.

I’m going to talk about comics. Because in a world this batshit insane, in a climate this crazy, it seems like Marvel Comics is the sanest thing around.

See, while the company has recently developed the eyebrow-raising maneuver of revealing major spoilers to the mainstream media, seeing a bunch of people who habitually wear capes and are famous because of their alcoholism and psychotic breaks makes more sense than this shit.

Last night, I saw Man of La Mancha. While I’m still ambivalent towards musicals, there was a great bit of dialogue in it where Cervantes has a mini-monologue about how the world is so horrible that, sometimes, diving into a world of fantasy is the only sane thing to do. I’m inclined to agree with him. The country–and definitely the world–seem to be spiraling to a point where we almost need a deity of some sort to pop down to Earth, smack us in the face, and go, “No.”

So I turn to comics and video games when I get too tired of hearing about the shit going down in Washington, The Hague, or, oh yeah, Somalia. And, you know, it’s all good. The most controversy there seems to be in the comics world is what’s up with Supes wearing jeans.

That is, until Glenn Beck apparently hears about what Joe Quesada and the rest of Marvel are doing.

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