What’s Up With That? #78: Crunch time

Posted June 8, 2009 by swanshadow
Categories: Aimless Riffing, Food Glorious Food, Taking Umbrage, What's Up With That?, Wonderful World of Advertising

The current leader in Uncle Swan’s Moron of the Month Sweepstakes is Janine Sugawara of San Diego, who sued PepsiCo Inc. in federal court because the crunchberries in Cap’n Crunch cereal are not actual berries.

Ms. Sugawara’s lawsuit alleged that during the four years she purchased Cap’n Crunch with Crunchberries, PepsiCo’s subsidiary Quaker Oats defrauded her by leading her to believe that crunchberries were really fruit. Imagine Janine’s shock when, after four years, she discovered that she was actually eating little balls of corn cereal flavored with strawberry concentrate.

In dismissing Sugawara’s suit, Judge Morrison C. England Jr. wrote:

This Court is not aware of, nor has Plaintiff alleged the existence of, any actual fruit referred to as a “crunchberry.” Furthermore, the “Crunchberries” depicted on the PDP are round, crunchy, brightly-colored cereal balls, and the PDP (principal display panel — legalese for “side of the cereal box”) clearly states both that the Product contains “sweetened corn and oat cereal” and that the cereal is “enlarged to show texture.” Thus, a reasonable consumer would not be deceived into believing that the Product in the instant case contained a fruit that does not exist.

Further, Judge England found:

Plaintiff claims Defendant expressly warranted that the Product contains berries. However, that simply is not the case. Defendant chose the moniker “Crunchberries” for its brightly colored cereal balls. As far as this Court has been made aware, there is no such fruit growing in the wild or occurring naturally in any part of the world. Furthermore, a reasonable consumer would have understood the Product packaging to expressly warrant only that the Product contained sweetened corn and oat cereal, which it did. Accordingly, Defendant did not promise Plaintiff that the Product contained fruit, nor did the Product contain anything other than that which was actually expressly warranted.

Crunchberries don’t grow in the wild? Say it ain’t so, Judge!

It’s people like Janine Sugawara — who previously sued Kellogg’s because Froot Loops do not contain actual “froot” — who make a mockery of the American legal system… which does not, in fact, need assistance in that regard.

Next on Sugawara’s hit list: Keebler cookies, which, come to find out, are baked in a factory, and not by elves with magic ovens in hollow trees.

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Comic Art Friday: Brush strokes with destiny

Posted June 5, 2009 by swanshadow
Categories: Comic Art Friday

Today’s Comic Art Friday extends belated birthday wishes to longtime comic book inker Joe Rubinstein, who celebrated his 51st birthday yesterday.

Joe was the artist who took on the very first inking job I ever commissioned, back in the days when I was an art collecting newbie and terrified to let someone touch one of my pristine pencil pieces. Since then, Joe has lent his considerable talents to a dozen other pieces from my collection, always displaying the smooth line and graceful style that has been a hallmark of his comic book oeuvre since the early 1970s.

Now, let’s take a peek at Joe’s latest commission.

Paul Ryan, a delightful gentleman as well as a phenomenally gifted artist, drew this dynamic pencil sketch of Wonder Woman — a favorite heroine of Paul’s as she is mine — at WonderCon 2007.

I recently placed this beauty in the hands of the redoubtable Mr. Rubinstein. Below is the spectacular result.

Thanks, Joe, for yet another fine commission. Here’s hoping we’ll get to do a dozen more together.

Speaking of inkers, balloting for the Inkwell Awards is currently under way. These annual honors for comic book inkers are spearheaded by one of the best, my friend and frequent commissionee Bob Almond. If you’re an aficionado of comic art — and specifically of the underappreciated specialty of inking — please drop over to the Inkwell Awards site and cast your votes for your favorite inkers. You’ll be glad you did!

And that’s your Comic Art Friday.

[You can view previous Comic Art Friday posts here.]

Comments: 2 Comments

Snatched: the final pebble

Posted June 4, 2009 by swanshadow
Categories: Celebritiana, Cinemania, Dead People Got No Reason to Live, Hero of the Day, Reminiscing, Teleholics Anonymous

I awakened this morning to the sad news that actor David Carradine had been found dead in a Bangkok hotel suite, the victim of an apparent suicide.

For us children of the ’70s, Carradine was and always will be Kwai Chang Caine, the contemplative Shaolin master who wandered the American West in the classic TV series Kung Fu. To younger audiences, he’ll be remembered as the title character in Quentin Tarantino’s two-part assassins-gone-wild epic, Kill Bill.

As a teenage martial arts film fan — and more specifically, as a devotee of cinema’s greatest hand-fighting hero, Bruce Lee — I recall vividly the controversy engendered when Lee was passed over for the lead in Kung Fu (the concept for which Lee originated, according to his widow) in favor of the Caucasian Carradine. Looking back on the series as it evolved, though, it’s difficult to imagine that Lee would have been better suited for the role than was Carradine. Indeed, Lee’s natural intensity and charisma might have worked against the character — he consistently outshone his top-billed costar Van Williams during their days on The Green Hornet — whereas Carradine’s quieter, gentler approach made an effective match.

Unfortunately for Carradine, with the role of Caine so indelibly etched into the public consciousness, he found it difficult to land decent roles in major films for the next three decades. A rare exception: his Golden Globe-nominated turn as politically charged folksinger Woody Guthrie in the biopic Bound for Glory. In and around the infrequent big-studio production (Death Race 2000, The Long Riders), Carradine coasted along, making scads of execrable direct-to-video junk and hawking Asian health supplements and martial arts instructional tapes.

He even reprised Caine — sort of — in a tepid early-1990s syndicated series called Kung Fu: The Legend Continues, in which Carradine starred as the original Caine’s modern-day namesake grandson, who by sheer television coincidence is also a Shaolin priest and kung fu master.

A decade later, Tarantino came knocking. Which made sense, given QT’s passion for cheesy action epics and all things ’70s.

After the success of Kill Bill, Carradine became ubiquitous. He turned up in a couple dozen projects over the past five years, most recently the Jason Statham action sequel Crank: High Voltage.

Given Carradine’s serene public persona, the news of his suicide comes as a shock. Then again, who truly knows what darkness dwells in the heart of another human being?

Funny… I can imagine Caine saying that.

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That’s a Stretch

Posted June 3, 2009 by swanshadow
Categories: Aimless Riffing, Cinemania, Reminiscing, Wonderful World of Advertising

Just when you thought it was impossible for Hollywood to scrape another layer of muck off the bottom of the creative barrel…

Universal Pictures announces that it’s going to make a movie based on the 1970s toy action figure Stretch Armstrong.

I kid (no pun intended) you not.

For the benefit of those of you born during the last quarter-century, Stretch Armstrong was a doll that resembled a blond wrestler wearing black swim trunks. Stretch’s soft plastic body could be stretched (hence the name) and contorted, thanks to the semi-liquid silicone gel encapsulated inside.

Think of the many elastic-powered comic book superheroes — Plastic Man, Mister Fantastic, the Elongated Man — and you’ll get the inspiration.

Stretch’s mortal enemy was the Stretch Monster, a similarly constructed green being that vaguely resembled the Creature from the Black Lagoon.

As most kids who owned a Stretch Armstrong soon discovered, a fair amount of overextension or indelicate handling would rupture Stretch’s skin, spilling the gel and ruining the toy. (I’ll wager that this unfortunate feature won’t play a role in the upcoming film.)

I know that nostalgia is big business. Doubtless, some executive at Universal saw the box office figures for Michael Bay’s Transformers movie and sent a flotilla of flunkies scampering for the archives to ferret out another long-ago toy hit to exploit.

But seriously… Stretch Armstrong? A toy that was pretty much a joke in its heyday… which was more than 30 years ago? Most of the people old enough to be nostalgic for Stretch Armstrong — assuming that anyone is — have aged out of the demographic for the potential film.

I’m sure that the special effects will be amazing, though. (Snicker.)

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Late night ramblings

Posted June 2, 2009 by swanshadow
Categories: Aimless Riffing, Celebritiana, Teleholics Anonymous, The Swan Tunes In

Although I’m generally up and about late at night, I don’t watch a lot of late-night talk shows.

The first half of any given Monday’s Tonight Show — Jay Leno’s monologue covering the previous weekend’s events, plus the funniest ten minutes in television, the “Headlines” segment — has usually been plenty for me. I got bored with David Letterman’s show years ago — almost as bored as Dave himself seems to be when I tune him in on occasion — and most of the other offerings in the genre simply don’t interest me.

(Side note: Who in tarnation thought it would be a good idea to give Jimmy Kimmel his own show? That’s gotta be the most painful hour of boob tube this side of Jon & Kate Plus Dates… I mean… Plus Eight.)

I did, however, make it a point to catch Conan O’Brien’s first outing as the new host of Tonight.

Fourteen years ago, I was among the hordes who switched on the first broadcast starring The Guy Who Replaced Letterman. He was awkward, nervous, goofy, and aggressively unfunny.

Guess what? The Guy Who Replaced Leno isn’t much better.

He no longer seems as nervous — although I’m convinced, as someone who studies public speaking and presentation skills, that there’s a part of Conan’s psyche that will never enjoy being on camera — but he’s still awkward, goofy, and unfunny in a way that I find irritating.

Humor, of course, is an entirely subjective affair. I know that tons of folks don’t “get” the films of Mel Brooks or Christopher Guest, which I find hysterical, just as I’m baffled by the people who laugh at Jim Carrey and Adam Sandler.

But I have to admit that the appeal of Conan O’Brien eludes me completely. I don’t understand what the NBC executives who first gave Conan the Late Night job saw in him nearly a decade and a half ago. Nor do I understand why anyone in those same executive offices — I presume, given the nature of the business — that it’s different people by now — thought he would be a better (or more profitable) draw at 11:35 p.m. than Leno.

Which is yet another reason why I’m not a network executive.

To continue the thought, I think putting Leno on in primetime five nights a week, doing essentially the same show he’s done after the local news for the past 14 years, is a ludicrous idea. If the other nets have any programming savvy at all, they’ll bury that show within two seasons. (I’m guessing that NBC will stick with the experiment at least that long.) There’s a reason why no one is already doing a nightly talk-variety show in the core broadcast hours: The audience you need to sell in those hours is not the audience that watches Leno, Letterman, Conan, or Kimmel. (Then again, does anyone really watch Kimmel?)

I’ll be happy to be proven wrong, of course, because Leno seems like a decent guy. I hope his new show succeeds.

If for no other reason, so that I can keep getting my weekly dose of “Headlines” every Monday night.

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Comic Art Friday: I hear red thunder

Posted May 29, 2009 by swanshadow
Categories: Comic Art Friday

Sometimes, what makes one of my Common Elements commissions fun isn’t the mystery of the connection between the characters involved. Rather, it’s the ineffably bizarre nature of the combination itself. I just love a Common Elements scenario that makes the viewer stop and wonder, “What incredible sequence of circumstances would lead to these two characters meeting?”

Then, when the artist assigned the project absolutely rocks the execution, it’s money.

Bending the bow is Red Arrow, currently a member of the Justice League of America. Wielding the sword and shield is Red Sonja, heroine of the Hyborian Age. The talent behind the pencil is Lan Medina, best known as the artist of the fantasy series Fables.

And yes — I chortled in my joy when I saw what Lan had envisioned.

Red Arrow probably ranks right behind Dr. Henry Pym — a.k.a. Ant-Man, Giant-Man, Goliath, Yellowjacket, and just plain Doctor Pym — in the Most Superhero Identities sweepstakes. Roy Harper began his crimefighting career as Speedy, the juvenile sidekick of DC Comics’ durable bowman, Green Arrow. In addition to his adventures alongside the Emerald Archer, Speedy was also one of the longtime stalwarts (replacing founding member Aqualad) of DC’s youth brigade, the Teen Titans.

As Speedy, Roy became one of the first costumed characters in mainstream comics to struggle with drug addiction, in a landmark 1971 storyline (entitled “Snowbirds Don’t Fly”) by writer Denny O’Neil and artists Neal Adams and Dick Giordano.

The clean-and-sober, and now adult, Roy later changed his superhero name to Arsenal, apparently having recognized that “Speedy” was not a sobriquet designed to strike terror into the hearts of malfeasants. The new moniker allowed Roy to expand his weapons expertise beyond the bow and trick arrows that had been his mainstay, apparently having also recognized that as a close-quarters fighting tool, a bow leaves something to be desired.

More recently, with his stormy relationship with his mentor and surrogate father Oliver (Green Arrow) Queen resolved in positive fashion, Roy changed his nom de guerre once more, to Red Arrow. In this new guise, he joined the Justice League, where he remains a prominent member of DC’s headline team.

Given his reliance on technology, as well as his history of substance abuse, Red Arrow is one of comicdom’s most thoroughly modern heroes. How cool is it, then, to see him battling shoulder-to-shoulder with Red Sonja, a heroine of the long-distant past?

Pretty darned cool, if I say so myself. (And I just did.)

I left the design of this piece — as I nearly always do with my Common Elements commissions — entirely to the imagination of the artist. Lan Medina devised an action-packed scenario that perfectly (and rather cleverly, in my rarely humble opinion) displays the specific skills of these two amazing heroes. Lan also added a number of subtle details that underscore the contrast between ancient history (the dinosaur skeleton) and 21st century (the “Biohazard” warning seal) represented by the pair. The scene is both intricately plotted and beautifully rendered.

Best of all, the picture implies an entire tale. Wouldn’t you just love to know what led up to this moment? Where is this battle taking place? Who are the unseen adversaries? What power snatched these two heroes from their respective, far-flung time periods and deposited them in this moment? Just what the heck are Red Sonja and Red Arrow doing here?

Perhaps, someday, I’ll write that story.

For now… that’s your Comic Art Friday.

[You can view previous Comic Art Friday posts here.]

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What’s Up With That? #77: Teaching a pig to sing

Posted May 27, 2009 by swanshadow
Categories: Aimless Riffing, My Home Town, SwanStuff, Taking Umbrage, What's Up With That?

Here’s an example of why the word “landlord” is synonymous in the minds of most people with “used car salesman” and “politician.”

We’ve lived as renters in the same house for the past 15 years. We love the place — obviously, since we’ve never felt compelled to move — but the management company that oversees the property doesn’t have a clue. Whenever we’ve needed something repaired around the property, it frequently takes repeated contact before we get any action, and when the management company finally does decide to send someone out, they’ve usually hired the least expensive (and thus, least competent) help.

A few weeks ago, the property managers hired a company to conduct a termite inspection. When the pest report was filed, the inspector identified about $10,000 in repairs — including several items we’ve reported to the management outfit previously, without response. So the management company sent three people — two of their own staffers, plus a general contractor — to assess the items in the report.

The guy who runs the management company still wasn’t satisfied after his people did their review. (Translated: They told him he actually needed to spend money.) He decided to come take a look for himself. He called to let me know that he would drop around at noon one day last week.

The noon hour came and went. So did the next couple of hours. Finally, the guy shows up at 3:30 — three and a half hours after his scheduled appointment. No call to let me know that he was running late, or to reschedule, or to verify that he was even still planning to show up.

For me, that’s a problem. I work from a home office, I’m here most of the time. However, due to the creative nature of my work, especially when I’m writing marketing copy or recording audio projects, interruptions are a challenge. If I’m expecting someone, I don’t get deeply into a project. For this reason, I lost three and a half hours of production time waiting for this guy to appear.

But, as I’ve indicated, this kind of ineptitude is par for the course with this outfit, so I let it go.

As the property manager was leaving, he told me that he would be bringing the owner of the house around to take a look on Tuesday of this week. He agreed to call and confirm a time, and on Monday, he phoned to say that they’d arrive sometime between 11:30 and 1:30.

On Tuesday, the specified time window came and went. As did the three hours following, right up until the moment that I needed to depart for chorus rehearsal. Again, no call from the property manager. Since he had come three and a half hours late the time before, I had every reason to expect that he would show up eventually.

But he didn’t.

This time, I didn’t let it go.

After a couple of exchanged messages over the next two days, I finally got the guy on the phone to express my displeasure. Not only did he not apologize for wasting my time, but he accused me of being “too sensitive” about the issue. As he put it, what difference did it make if he didn’t show up — late or simply not at all — if I was at home anyway? “You weren’t inconvenienced,” he said.

Never mind the fact that I put work on hold for two entire afternoons due to his lack of consideration. Never mind the fact that I might have had other things to do rather than hang out waiting for his incompetent self.

As the old saying goes: Never try to teach a pig to sing. It wastes your time, and annoys the pig.

We’ll see how the pig feels on the first of the month, when my rent check is attached to an invoice for the eight and a half hours of my time he wasted over the past week.

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National Sorry Day

Posted May 26, 2009 by swanshadow
Categories: Aimless Riffing, Celebritiana, Getting Racial Up In This Piece, Listology, Random Acts of Patriotism, Taking Umbrage

In Australia, today is National Sorry Day.

This incredibly thoughtful observance is the opportunity for Aussies of European extraction to say to their Aboriginal neighbors, “Hey, mates, we’re sorry that we stole your continent… and hacked down a boatload of your eucalyptus trees… and raped your local culture… and built that ridiculous-looking opera house… and foisted Paul Hogan on you.”

I’m thinking that we could use a National Sorry Day right here in the U.S. of A.

Oh, sure, we could start with apologies to the indigenous people of North America for 400 years of murder, disease, reservations, alcoholism, and abject poverty, and to the folk of African heritage for that whole slavery / Jim Crow / back-of-the-bus debacle.

But why stop there? I have a whole list of suggestions for America to be sorry about on National Sorry Day.

To wit…

We’re sorry for boy bands.

We’re sorry for professional wrestling and NASCAR (which, if you think about it, are kind of the same thing).

We’re sorry that The Adventures of Brisco County Jr. got canceled.

We’re sorry for Rush Limbaugh, Michael Savage, and Ann Coulter. Dr. Laura, too.

We’re sorry for fake fingernails, and weirdly colored nail polish.

We’re sorry for PETA, except for the fact that their existence means more meat for the rest of us.

We’re sorry for Jerry Springer and David Hasselhoff.

We’re sorry for “grim and gritty” comic books.

We’re sorry for Chicken McNuggets.

We’re sorry for cell phones whose owners are too self-absorbed and inconsiderate to turn their ringers off in theaters and restaurants.

We’re sorry for mullets. (The haircut. Not the fish.)

We’re sorry for people who saddle their children with ludicrous names.

We’re sorry for breast implants for anyone who isn’t a mastectomy patient, and cosmetic surgery for anyone who isn’t a burn victim, or born with a disfiguring birthmark or cleft palate. (Basically, we’re sorry for Joan Rivers, Michael Jackson, Kenny Rogers, Pamela Anderson, Bruce Jenner, and everyone who’s mutilated themselves in their likeness.)

We’re sorry for Scientology, although if you bought into pseudo-religious mumbo-jumbo invented by a money-grubbing hack science fiction writer, you have no one to blame but yourself.

We’re sorry for Michael Bolton.

We’re sorry for paisley and polyester.

We’re sorry for the Oakland Raiders, the Golden State Warriors, and the postseason San Jose Sharks.

We’re sorry for all those American Pie movies.

We’re sorry for anabolic steroids.

We’re sorry for the Olsen twins.

We’re sorry for instant coffee.

And we’re really, really sorry for George W. Bush and Dick Cheney. But we’re trying to undo all that stuff.

Comments: 5 Comments

A Memorial Day thought

Posted May 25, 2009 by swanshadow
Categories: Getting Racial Up In This Piece, Hero of the Day, Random Acts of Patriotism, The Body Politic

As we pause in the midst of our frenzied technological whirlwind to honor the men and women who have sacrificed their lives in service to this country, we offer these words — all the more powerful today, given the current holder of the nation’s highest office, than they were when first spoken.

Until justice is blind to color, until education is unaware of race, until opportunity is unconcerned with the color of men’s skins, emancipation will be a proclamation but not a fact. To the extent that the proclamation of emancipation is not fulfilled in fact, to that extent we shall have fallen short of assuring freedom to the free.

— President Lyndon B. Johnson, Memorial Day Address at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, May 30, 1963

And, oh yeah…

Captain America and the Red Skull, pencils by Kevin Maguire, inks by Joe Rubinstein

Take that, Red Skull.

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When the ivy walls are far behind

Posted May 23, 2009 by swanshadow
Categories: Aimless Riffing, My Home Town, Soundtrack of My Life, SwanStuff

My daughter KM graduated from the local community college this morning.

To me, it seems a bit peculiar to refer to the end of KM’s two-year stint as “graduating,” given that she’s already been accepted to a four-year state university and will continue there as a junior in the fall. Still, the event marks a considerable achievement and a bargeload of hard work on her part. Even if it’s more a new beginning than a conclusion, I’m delighted for her to graduate — if only from one collegiate experience to another.

Certainly, for many — perhaps most — of KM’s fellow commencees (um, sure, that’s a word), an associate’s degree from the JC will be the end of their educational journey. For those folks, I’m glad that they received all of the pomp and circumstance (the song of that same name included) that their accomplishment merited. They each seemed just as thrilled to receive the purple folder that will eventually house their junior college diploma as if they had earned a four-year degree. And I’m certain that quite a few of them had invested far more than just the two calendar years that an AA or AS implies.

KM glowed in her black gown and mortarboard, draped with a gold satin stole representing her status as an honor student. I could not have been more proud when she stepped across the lawn to accept her diploma cover from the college president, as a faculty member read off her remarkable academic record:

  • University transfer.
  • Doyle Scholar.
  • Candidate for highest honors — an indication of a cumulative grade point average in excess of 3.6.

Those of you who know me know that I’m not sentimental about all that much. My daughter is the universe’s loftiest exception to that rule. As I tried to keep my hands steady to snap KM’s photograph, tears streamed down my face.

I don’t know whether she heard me shout, “Way to go!” as she shook the president’s hand.

But I meant it, with all my soul.

I have an amazing daughter. She may not always believe I think so, but I do. She’s going to accomplish great things in this world someday, if life, breath, and grace allow, and I pray that they will. The world needs more young people like her.

Then again… she’s one of a kind.

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