Commentary Track for April 28th Buy Pile Reviews

Every week I do a column full of comic book reviews as I've done since March 2003 and currently published at Comic Book Resources. Then, after the reviews post, I try to come over to my blog and expand on the thoughts and ideas listed there. Sometimes it's profound, sometimes it's gibberish, but it's always about comics ... let's see what we get this week!

What? This week's reviews ...

This week I wanna talk about Wonder Woman.

Sure, there's tons of interesting things going on with gods of Greek (Phobos, son of Ares) and Norse (Loki, master of mischief) origination, there's chuckles with Deadpool (the last two pages are still funny, later in the week, and "White Lightning" is just a freaking scream) and even, finally, a reveal on the new, weirder Cobra Commander (horrible visual design, incredible characterization in how he's been built up). Even Optimus Prime and Ultimate Frank Castle were of interest.

However, Diana of Themiscira's plight haunts me. She's part of DC Comics' trinity, relentlessly powerful (remember when she couldn't fly?) and capable of amazing feats. Unfortunately, her supporting cast is at best uni-dimensional (quick: name three character details about Steve Trevor ... thought not) and her rogues gallery wavers between laughable (Dr. Psycho, a homeless man's Hector Hammond), bland (Veronica Cale, a poor man's Lex Luthor in high heels) and (again) uni-dimensional (Genocide).

She actually suffers a lot of the same problems Marvel's T'challa does as a character: dangerously powerful, not a white male (thanks to Tom Brevoort for going on the record about that), from an isolated warrior culture that could probably be a serious threat to the established order if they were so inclined, often considered too much of an outsider by factions of their own people, historically unlucky at love (Ororo notwithstanding), a member of the royal class, dancing a delicate line between politician, ruler and hero. However, T'challa has at least style on his side: if he shows up with two hot girls, a limo, a black suit and sunglasses, he can play on the sensibilities of Blaxploitation movies or even Avery Brooks. Diana, by the very nature of her "mission" to "man's world" is mostly a solo act, and if she gets into a good looking ensemble, all people will think is "cheesecake" and "that'd be impractical in a fight."

One afternoon, with just a smattering of help from Tax Hitler (we didn't know him as such back then) I came up with a pretty good Wonder Woman arc with Comics Waiting Room columnist Vince Moore. It wasn't even that hard -- once we settled on the fact that we could be as much West Wing (we can take a smart, talky comic) as V.I.P. (I liked the girl with the shoulder holsters, shut up) we were on a role, creating a real means for Diana to experience conflict for a reason, bringing in two under-utilized DCU characters as secondary antagonist of very deep complexity, and even involving Giganta, Oracle, Donna Troy and even Wonder Girl without making any female character a victim, a moron, a pin-up or a damsel in distress. Maybe one day we'll pitch it, but even spitballing, we theorized that (our "nobody" status notwithstanding), DC would never go for it. Too ambitious, too far from fanboy sensibilities, too Aaron Sorkin for its own good.

We may pitch it anyway some day. Who knows?

That notwithstanding, I'm bothered that a writer I've met and know is freaking brilliantly talented -- Gail Simone -- can't make Diana interesting (to me). According to some figures, the title pulls down a none-too-shabby 25,000 sales per month, however that still ranked 78th and even there below Catwoman, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, tyro Joe the Barbarian, Batgirl (not even cool Babs Batgirl or "I learned to communicate with violence" Cassandra Cain Batgirl, but Stephanie Brown Spoiler blonde Batgirl) and an inch above Archie.

If Archie almost kicks your butt and you're one of DC's top three most recognized characters, it's time to figure something else out.

Maybe the new Chief Creative Officer (I swear I don't have anything against the guy, even though I was told he had the idea he was gonna shove me, laptop in my bag and all, into the waters behind SDCC a few years ago, which would have ended in gunfire) has some overwhelming plan and will one day make some changes. Maybe Gail Simone (who has literally never missed for more than a couple of pages on Secret Six ... which also ranks way above Wonder Woman in sales, by the way) has some secret reserve of ideas that'll bring the character into something that's not so lame (she pals around with teenaged talking gorilla commandos, dude).

I'm not holding my breath.

So that's what was on my mind this week. Enjoy.

Playing (Music): "A Capella" Maximus Baxter dub step remix by Kelis (courtesy of First Up

Failed Comics: Reasons

NOTE: I've been working on the idea of getting some comics done for many, many years. I've never gotten anything done, due to flaky artists, inconsistent publishing companies and not trying hard enough to make comics instead of, say, making money. This is one of my ideas, a short comic that was supposed to be a collaboration with a friend so we could have stuff to show at conventions, written back in early 2005. It may never get done. So be it. I can write stuff, though, and when I don't use it ... it's saddening. Go now, little comics script! Be free! As long as my name's on you!

PAGE ONE: One Panel

PANEL 1 - Opening scene, one panel splash. Perspective shot looking
down on a "bodega" styled corner store, with a square counter on the
lower left of the panel, open front door. Two POLICE OFFICERS are
near the right, one at the door watching the street, one looking at
gum near the counter. SHOPKEEPER stands pleasantly behind the
counter, reading the latest issue of PERSON magazine. It's bright
daylight outside, despite the streets being covered with snow, and
the store is crowded and a little bit dingy.

DIALOGUE:
TITLE: OUT OF CONTEXT: REASONS
TITLE: | WORDS: HANNIBAL TABU | VISUALS: [ARTIST NAME REMOVED TO PROTECT THE PERSON'S IDENTITY] |
CAPTION: (letterer, please place in lower right hand corner)
OUT OF CONTEXT CREATED BY HANNIBAL TABU, "OUT OF CONTEXT: REASONS"
CREATED BY HANNIBAL TABU AND [ARTIST NAME REMOVED TO PROTECT THE PERSON'S IDENTITY]
1 - POLICE OFFICER (nearer): YOU'RE OUTTA THE MIXED FRUIT
CERTS HERE ...

PAGE TWO: Three Panels

PANEL 1 - First of three long horizontal panels. Shows close up on POLICE OFFICER (near)'s hand, holding a pack of DENTYNE gum. He's in soft focus, while down the nearby aisle (there are three aisles in the bodega, leading to the back wall) you should see PRETTY GIRL (our Nicole Wray takeoff) reading the back of a box of POP TARTS with deep concentration while holding the stick of a lolly pop (which is in her mouth). She should be visible in profile, with all her curves visible, and her puffy bomber stopping just short of her waistline.

DIALOGUE:
1 - SHOPKEEPER: (from off panel) SO SORRY, WILL HAVE MORE ON TUESDAY.

PANEL 2 - Flip perspective, close up on PRETTY GIRL's hand, holding POP TARTS, seeing POLICE OFFICER (near) with his mouth hanging open slightly, looking at PRETTY GIRL. You should see the store's window, with "GROCERY/LOTTO" in reverse type in the glass, and large, thug looking BLACK GUYS walking by outside (we'll see them again on page nine) from right to left.

DIALOGUE:
2 - POLICE OFFICER (farther): (from off panel) HEY, DAVE! THEY GOT THOSE ICE GUM THINGS, LIKE ON TV?

PANEL 3 - Flip perspective back, close up on PRETTY GIRL's face, lolly pop pulled half way out of her mouth, with her lips still around the sphere of it, just a hint of her tongue visible on the bottom side. She's smiling a little, a plan glimmering in her droopy-lidded eyes, her gaze locked on POLICE OFFICER (near).

DIALOGUE:
3 - POLICE OFFICER (farther): (from off panel) DAVE?

PAGE THREE: Five Panels

PANEL 1 - Shown from right of POLICE OFFICER (near), PRETTY GIRL has already set down the Pop Tarts and is walking slinkily towards Police officer, swinging one arm and holding lolly pop stick in place with other hand, eyes looking him up and down. The camera angle should still show some of the grocery items on the aisle next to them (on his right and her left).

DIALOGUE:
NO DIALOGUE

PANEL 2 - PRETTY GIRL is standing directly in front of POLICE OFFICER (near), head bowed as she looks over her lashes at him coquettishly, while he smiles bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand.

DIALOGUE:
1 - POLICE OFFICER (near): UH ...

PANEL 3 - Same panel and camera angle, except PRETTY GIRL is now looking over right shoulder of POLICE OFFICER (near) with a wide-eyed look of shock and fear.

DIALOGUE:
2 - POLICE OFFICER (near): MORNING ... WHAT ... WHAT IS IT?

PANEL 4 - POLICE OFFICER (near) turns and looks over his shoulder, doesn't hear soft clicking from direction of PRETTY GIRL.

DIALOGUE:
3 - POLICE OFFICER (near): DID YOU SEE SOMETHING?
EFX (soft): CLICK

PANEL 5 - Same angle from Panels 2 and 3, except now PRETTY GIRL has a Desert Eagle aimed at head of POLICE OFFICER (near). the Desert Eagle is a large freaking pistol, a .50 caliber handgun, and should look really big in her dainty hands, but she has no trepidation nor problem in controlling it.

DIALOGUE:
5 - POLICE OFFICER (near): ...

PAGE 4: One Panel

PANEL 1 - Single page splash, PRETTY GIRL pulls trigger, bullet explodes head of cop. I leave it to your discretion on how graphic to get, or if you wanna do an explosion effect and be subtle with it, as this is pretty much our "money shot" visual page.

DIALOGUE:
EFX: KA-BLAM!

PAGE 5: Five Panels

PANEL 1 - POLICE OFFICER (farther) panics, fumbling for his sidearm, standing just inside doorway. SHOPKEEPER is panicked as well, diving for cover behind the counter (which should be just barely in sight on left side of panel)

DIALOGUE:
1 - POLICE OFFICER (farther): JESUS, DAVE! FREEZE ...

PANEL 2 - Close cropped shot on PRETTY GIRL, drawing a bead on POLICE OFFICER (farther). Her right eye is closed as she aims through the pistol's sight with her left eye, and her tongue is sticking out the left side of her mouth, angling downwards, as she concentrates. You should, at this point, see her leaning slightly to her left (panel right) and be able to see the shoulder holster, one that holds the gun parallel to the ground instead of barrel down, hanging underneath her coat. POLICE OFFICER (near) should still be halfway down in his descent to the floor (which should show that all of this is happening very fast, your call on how much of this to show).

DIALOGUE:
2 - POLICE OFFICER (farther): ... DROP YOUR ...

PANEL 3 - Framed shot of POLICE OFFICER (farther) falling backwards, smashing into shelves on wall, filled with rows of canned vegetables (any generic east coast brand you're familiar with). In this panel, he's been shot at the base of his neck on his left hand side (panel right), with a spurt of blood flying out from the impact.

DIALOGUE:
EFX: KA-BLAM!
3 - POLICE OFFICER (farther): ... WEAP ... AAAAAGH!

PANEL 4 - Same camera angle, less than a second later, lots of cans falling down on POLICE OFFICER (farther), as a second shot blasts a hole into his head, his police cap falling harmlessly off to his right (panel left).

DIALOGUE:
EFX: KA-BLAM!
4 - POLICE OFFICER (farther): ... NO, GAAAAAH!

PANEL 5 - Camera angle switches to floor level, looking from stance of PRETTY GIRL through her knee-high laced boots (kind of like that James Bond poster with the girls legs framing the shot), seeing fallen body of POLICE OFFICER (near) on floor in foreground (two spent bullet casings should be resting on his body) and slumped body of POLICE OFFICER (farther), with grocery displays toppled, cans strewn everywhere, gum and sodas spilled on the floor. Outside the door you can almost make out the bustle of people running in fear from the tumult.

DIALOGUE:
NO DIALOGUE

PAGE SIX: Four Panels

PANEL 1 - Profile shot from slightly above and to the right of PRETTY GIRL, now holding her smoking Desert Eagle straight up and glancing to her left (away from the camera) at SHOPKEEPER cowering behind the counter. SHOPKEEPER is looking, wide eyed and shaking, at PRETTY GIRL.

DIALOGUE:
1 - STREET CHATTER: (from off panel) ... THE HELL WAS THAT?
2 - STREET CHATTER: (from off panel) ... FROM INSIDE THE STORE,
I ...
3 - STREET CHATTER: (from off panel) ... MAN, I'M GETTING THE
...

PANEL 2 - Straight on shot of PRETTY GIRL, head down, putting the Desert Eagle back in the holster. It's a shot that shows a lot of the definition of her torso -- taut abs, perky but not large breasts, slightly frayed edge of her tank top cutting off a half inch above her navel. A gold herringbone chain should also be visible, with a charm hanging from it that looks like the scales of a Libra, but with the left side dipping low. The shadow of her lolly pop stick should fall across the higher right side of the charm.

DIALOGUE:
4 - STREET CHATTER: (from off panel) ... THINK I HEARD SHOTS ...
5 - STREET CHATTER: (from off panel) ... BABY, I'M OKAY, JUST
...

PANEL 3 - Walking slinkily again, switching her hips, PRETTY GIRL is seen from the rear, walking out, now half way between the door and her point of origin. Her right hand holds the lolly pop, the left up in the air, and should be shown as the point of origin for a flung stack of bills, held in a rubber band, flying towards the counter.

DIALOGUE:
6 - PRETTY GIRL: SORRY ABOUT THE MESS.

PANEL 4 - Close up on the counter, with the stack of bills ($100 bills, folded once, wrapped in a wide rubber band) lying on the counter, SHOPKEEPER's bugged eyes just visible over the edge of the counter.

DIALOGUE:
7 - STREET CHATTER: (from off panel) ... THOUGHT I SAW SOME COPS ...

PAGE SEVEN: Six Panels

PANEL 1 - Two bundled people, I don't care what they look like. Close up, looking between their shoulders. One is holding the day's paper, which has a blown up shot of PRETTY GIRL holding the gun and glancing at the shopkeeper, on the front page under a headline that reads DIRTY HARRIET? Photo takes up four columns of the six column spread, and dominates center. Oh, and paper is folded in half. The two people should be talking to one another as they walk along a snowy street, one should be pointing concernedly to the photo while the other watches, frowning.

DIALOGUE:
NO DIALOGUE

PANEL 2 - Police locker room. Men of every ethnicity standing around in towels, half-in and half-out of uniform, and so on. In front of the locker closest to the reader, there's a bunch of flowers. One tubby Black officer, shaven headed and wearing just a towel and his wedding ring, should be looking at the flowers with dread. He should be standing in the image's foreground.

DIALOGUE:
NO DIALOGUE

PANEL 3 - Shot of the front of the bodega that started all this mess. SHOPKEEPER is closing up the store for the night, his breath a cloud of frosty air in front of his face, looking nervously over his shoulder as he fumbles with the padlock on the security door (one of those drop down metal numbers). You should just be able to make out a bulge under his coat that could be a gun. Snow is falling gently.

DIALOGUE:
NO DIALOGUE

PANEL 4 - Same shot, but from above, with a bespectacled old Asian woman looking down through a frosted window at SHOPKEEPER and clutching the chest of her shirt, scared for her own life. One hand, however, is reaching to drop down the curtains so she can shut off the world. The glow of her television behind her can be seen, illuminating the floral prints on her shirt and apron.

DIALOGUE:
CAPTION: ... NO CLOSER TO FINDING THE SHOOTER AFTER TWO DAYS ...

PANEL 5 - Community meeting, featuring brothers in dashikis with dreadlocks huddled together meaningfully, dookie-braided hoodrats trying to get their act together while they set out punch and sandwiches. A banner should hang in the background that should not be wholly visible, but if it were it would say "PEOPLE'S REVOLUTIONARY PARTY." In the foreground of the shot, a brother (who should look a lot like either me or you, I'm not picky) is sitting by himself in a row of folding chairs (there's two rows behind him, and rows ahead of him out of perspective), reading the paper.

DIALOGUE:
1 - BROTHER: (thoughtfully, to himself) HANDLE THAT, SIS ...

PANEL 6 - Grainy television, slanted slightly to the right, away from the reader. On the screen is a "LIVE" news report (pick a channel, I don't care) showing a middle aged guy in a black trench coat and gloves, gesticulating angrily at a listening crowd. The guy's behind a podium, with uniformed police forming a wall behind him. On screen he's identified as Mayor Don Fleet (feel free to base him on your own mayor if need be, or get creative).

DIALOGUE:
CAPTION: "... AND MAYOR FLEET VOWED JUSTICE WILL RETURN TO OUR STREETS ..."

PAGE EIGHT: One Panel

PANEL 1 - Full page splash, huge crowd scene/press conference on courthouse/city council steps (whatever big government building you have with steps, that's what we want), similar to scene on page seven panel one. TV cameras, reporters holding out tape recorders, boom microphones and tons of normal people crushed in, looking for answers. On the steps, there's a podium, behind which MAYOR FLEET speaks to the crowd, into microphones with logos for ABC, CNN, FOX, NBC, CBS. Behind the MAYOR stands POLICE COMMISSIONER (an older, balding black man with a bushy mustache in a suit that fit him two years ago, watching the crowd), POLICE CHIEF (an older white guy, salt and pepper hair, in full uniform and wearing the cap, a grim expression on his hawkish face as he listens attentively) and six FUNCTIONARIES (boring people of whatever ethic mix you like, in suits) looking nervous but vigilant.

DIALOGUE:
1 - MAYOR FLEET: ... WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS KIND OF INJUSTICE IN OUR CITY! WE WILL FIND THE REASONS FOR THIS SENSELESS CRIME!
2 - MAYOR FLEET: CHIEF MCGARRETT HAS EVERY AVAILABLE RESOURCE TASKED TO FINDING THIS DANGEROUS CRIMINAL! WE WILL NOT REST UNTIL ALL CITIZENS ARE SAFE AGAIN!

PAGE NINE: Three Panels

PANEL 1 - Basic walk-up apartment of the type that dominates many east coast cities. In foreground of shot, there's a round table with four THUGS playing dominoes and laughing. Again, I don't have very strong preferences for these guys, but none of 'em should be less than six feet tall or weigh less than 190 lbs. Maybe a hoodie on two of them. THE MAYOR's press conference from the last page is playing on the TV behind the THUG in the back of the panel (henceforth THUG CENTER), and he should be leaned back laughing. Off to the left of the panel, you can see into the kitchen where AUNTIE, an older black woman with an immaculate white afro, an apron and an almost June Cleaver-styled flowered dress and a big beaded necklace like X-Clan used to wear is washing dishes in a sink, with a window right in front of her, looking out of the building. From the angle of sunlight coming in the window, it's mid afternoon. A Glock 40 pistol is clearly visible on the table, to the side of the dominoes.

DIALOGUE:
1 - THUG ON PANEL LEFT: ... BABY GIRL WAS LIKE, "KA-PLOW!" ALL UP IN DUDE'S GRILL!
2 - THUG ON PANEL RIGHT: YEAH YEAH, SHE BROUGHT THE PAIN LIKE METH!

PANEL 2 - Same panel, but with THUG CENTER's head down, still laughing.

DIALOGUE:
3 - AUNTIE: SHAME Y'ALL AIN'T MAN ENOUGH TO DO THE JOB ...
4 - AUNTIE: ... GOT LITTLE SISTERS OUT THERE FIGHTIN' THE REVOLUTION!

PANEL 3 - Same panel, but with each THUG looking at the others like "Aw, man, she's right!"

DIALOGUE:
NO DIALOGUE

PAGE TEN: Two Panels

PANEL 1 - Shot of the front door of the building, with THUGS, now each holding a weapon, barreling down the steps with grim intent.

DIALOGUE:
NO DIALOGUE

PANEL 2 - Same exact shot, but this time as if it was on the screen of a monitor, slanted to the right and away from the reader.

DIALOGUE:
NO DIALOGUE

PAGE ELEVEN: Two Panels

PANEL 1 - Drawing back from last panel, now see that the shot is on a monitor in a bank of them, all sitting on a counter-like console with an array of mysterious buttons and lights and indicators and shit. There's a four inch raised border on the edge of the console. On the right side, you can just barely see the elbow of PRETTY GIRL's jacket, leaned on that raised console edge.

DIALOGUE:
NO DIALOGUE

PANEL 2 - Pulled back all the way, to see that this is the inside of the bridge on a space ship, with Earth floating serenely in a viewscreen behind and to the right of PRETTY GIRL, who sits in a chair angled slightly towards the reader, her right arm on the console and her left resting daintily on her hip, blowing a bubble of gum. The cabin has tons of wacky instruments and stuff, hanging from ceilings and stuck out of the floor that defy explanation. Another console can be seen in the distance behind her, and the big view screen is over that.

DIALOGUE:
NO DIALOGUE

PAGE TWELVE: Seven Panels

PANEL 1 - Long horizontal panel across top of page. Shows PRETTY GIRL, from chest up, straight on, her face illuminated by the display and console, her bubble popped. You can see top of ALIEN'S head as he approaches.

DIALOGUE:
NO DIALOGUE

PANEL 2 - Long horizontal panel, identical in size to previous one. Behind her now stands an ALIEN (again, your discretion how weird to get, but this is not a bipedal humanoid and should not even have a very recognizable shape), who's looking at the display as well.

DIALOGUE:
1 - ALIEN (in strange typeface): WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING THINGS LIKE THAT?

PANEL 3 - One of three identical sized square panels which form a single horizontal row of images. Shows PRETTY GIRL's face turned to look at ALIEN (now off panel, his face as the perspective of the shot), grinning madly.

DIALOGUE:
NO DIALOGUE

PANEL 4 - Same shot, as transformation from PRETTY GIRL to another ALIEN is half-way complete. It's like a shapeshift, morphing kind of effect. Really kind of nasty. Her clothes and stuff are being absorbed into the new, shapeshifted body.

DIALOGUE:
NO DIALOGUE

PANEL 4 - Same shot, as PRETTY GIRL is now fully an ALIEN, still "grinning" disturbingly.

DIALOGUE:
NO DIALOGUE

PANEL 6 - Long horizontal panel, same shot as Panel 2, but now they're both ALIENS.

DIALOGUE:
2 - PRETTY GIRL/ALIEN (in strange typeface): I'VE GOTTA DO SOMETHING FOR FUN, DON'T I?

PANEL 7 - Long horizontal panel across bottom of page. All black.

DIALOGUE:
TITLE: END

Watching (Hulu.com): Better Off Ted, "The Great Repression"

The Jedi Temple: Rumond Taylor

Once upon a time, I had a wacky idea that I'd teach a lot of the things I learned as a professsional writer. I picked people with a mix of talents and ambitions and figured I'd have a go. This was a terrible idea, because real life had no desire to feed this particular ambition of mine.

However, a lot of good work was done while it lasted, so I'd like to present some of it. The work here is from Tennessee-based writer Rumond Taylor, often known online as Encyclopedia Black. He's smarter than he lets on, he's funnier than he knows what to do with, and he's a diamond in the rough shining through the muck of the mundane. Enjoy ...

HISTORICAL FICTION: My Dearest Sally

Whilst I was vacationing in Paris, a Frenchman sought me out the other day to ask me what he considered a fair query.

I dismissed him quickly as I had chapters of John Locke's manifesto to complete, and returned to my residence on the Champs-Élysées. (By the way, I must bring you with me some day. Your eyes have not dined until they have feasted upon Paris at daybreak).

His words were not quickly forgotten, however, and I have come to an important decision that will affect you and your children.

As I stare out of the window of this residence, I am reminded of the sweet taste of your fair skinned bosom. I think of the horrors I have imposed upon you, seeking you out in the dark, feeling my way through the warmth of your knickers.

And I am ashamed.

I'm sure you think me some monster, but I am not. I am merely a man with little time for the courting involved with carrying on affairs. Were I a more virile man, like that cursed Aaron Burr, strutting about with my chest poked out, always challenging people to duels, perhaps I would acquit myself better with the fairer sex.

But I have devoted my life to seeking and acquiring knowledge, and as such must seek pleasure where it finds me. I am not at all implying that this relationship (such as it is) is one of convenience, but a man of my means has had greater things to consider other than the feelings of a half-breed slave.

But no more. Effective immediately I am freeing you and your siblings. By law you have one year to leave the commonwealth of Virginia, and I will support freedom for your children as soon as they learn a skill trade.

Should you decide to remain at Monticello, I will see to it that you are relieved of your duties, and you and your heirs share lay claim, upon my passing, to your rightful throne as a member of the Jefferson Family.

I am sorry for any pain I may have caused you, and I hope in some small way, this gesture can begin to rectify the situation.

Yours truly,
Thomas

P.S. I was just stricken by the fact that I haven't yet taught you to read. Please disregard this letter.

RECORD REVIEW: Damn Near Perfect: Lupe Fiasco's The Cool

Lupe Fiasco has engendered the most online animosity of any new-school MC other than Lil' Wayne. His failure to remember the words to ATCQ's song during VH1's Hip-Hop Honors (dubbed "Fiascogate") and his stubborn refusal to apologize made him a frequent target of ridicule. So how did he respond?

He made a damn near perfect album.

The Cool is based on a song from Lupe's first album, Food and Liquor, about two characters, the Streets and The Game (not to be confused with the British and West Coast rappers, respectively). On the song "Put You On Game," Lupe brilliantly personifies The Game as the darkness that lies in the heart of man over a threatening murmur of a track. Lupe raps:

"I am the American dream/The rape of Africa/The undying machine/The overpriced medicine/The murderous regime/The tough guy's front/And the one behind the scenes."

Unfortunately, this theme is not followed throughout the course of the album, but is only hinted at on a few tracks. Had Lupe decided to make the entire album in this vein, it may have produced a dark classic like Ready To Die. As it stands though, the album is filled with enough solid songs that dropping the theme isn't entirely regrettable. Lupe's flow is so varied; meticulous and dense that deciphering the lyrical content is like pursing a novel.

Both the production and guests (save a lazy cameo from Snoop Dogg on "Hi-Definition") on the album are entirely from Lupe's 1st & 15th in-house production crew, which are both a gift and a curse. While the mixture of beats keeps the album from treading familiar ground carved by more famous producers, some of the beats, notably on "Gotta Eat" and "Intruder Alert" don't match up with the verbal dexterity Lupe brings. (though to be fair, the metaphor laden "Gotta Eat" is the weakest song on the album.)

Overall The Cool is a remarkable album that while notable for what it could have been is highly respectable for what it is.

OPINION-EDITORIAL: The Vanishing

Tragedy is defined in the dictionary as "an event causing great suffering, destruction, and distress, such as a serious accident, crime, or natural catastrophe" or "a play dealing with tragic events and having an unhappy ending, esp. one concerning the downfall of the main character." But in simpler terms, I think of tragedy as "just some plain ol' messed up stuff."

Case in point: some years ago I worked at a medical facility with a developmentally disabled man that I will call "Chris." Chris was a friendly guy with a sunny disposition who loved singing songs from commercials and watching cartoons. He could read, write, and had graduated high school. He was also diagnosed as having schizophrenia.

On my first day working at the facility, Chris greeted me by singing the theme from the "Tootsie Roll" candy commercial. You know, the one that goes, "Whatever it is I think I see, becomes a Tootsie Roll to me." I laughed, and we became friends.

I learned from his family that Chris' schizophrenia hadn't revealed itself until his junior year in high school. Chris was completely "normal" and was even a member of the track team. Then, out of nowhere, he began hearing voices and having visions. The family, not knowing how to deal with his outbursts and hallucinations, sent him away to receive medical care.

During the seven years that I worked with him, I never saw any signs of his schizophrenia. He had his bad days like everyone else, but his medication helped control the more difficult parts of his schizophrenia. I brought him to college parties with me, he visited my family during the holidays, and I took him home to see his family several times. I looked forward to going to work, and he became more like a brother to me than a client.

Then things started to change.

Over a gradual period of time, I began to notice a change in Chris' demeanor. He began sweating profusely. He began shaking uncontrollably when performing basic tasks. He stopped reading and talking. Our nursing staff was drew blood, ran tests, but couldn't figure out what was wrong. Doctors were puzzled as to what could be causing his downward spiral. Chris couldn't tell us, but obviously something was going horribly wrong.

I spoke with his family to update them on Chris' condition and I learned that Chris' father was displaying similar symptoms. As it turns out, both Chris and his father had Parkinson's disease. Chris' Parkinsons was compounded, however, by a lifetime of taking schizophrenic medications. Things went from bad to worse.

Chris deteriorated quickly as the muscles in his body betrayed him. The simple act of lifting a fork caused food to be flung across the room. His hands were clinched so tightly his fingers dug through the skin on his palms. He was unable to walk without assistance due to his leg muscles stiffening. Imagine flexing your muscle and holding it tightly. All day and night.

In less than two months, Chris' appearance changed drastically. He lost 40 lbs. He couldn't walk. He couldn't stand. His jaw was set so tightly his teeth grinded against each other. His body was so contracted his shoulders were swollen. Pressure sores covered his entire body. Drinking Ensure through a straw was the only way he could eat. But even that became a problem.

Chris began to choke on the Ensure we were serving him, putting him at risk for pneumonia. Our facility wasn't equipped to feed Chris intravenously, so the State Board told us that we had to find alternate placement for Chris, or stop feeding him meaning that he'd starve.

Until he died.

His family and I searched frantically for an open bed that could accommodate him, but many facilities refused to accept his insurance, thinking he'd die before they made enough to cover their expenses. I flatly told my superiors that I refused to watch him die due to lack of food and that I would feed him regardless of the consequences. I was told that if I fed him the facility would be forced to take action against me. I would not budge. We were at an impasse.

Thankfully, Chris' brother-in-law found a nursing home about 70 miles from Chris' hometown that would take him. The nursing home was small and understaffed, but at least it was an alternative to watching him die of starvation before my eyes.

As I packed his belongings in the van, Chris laid in a on his bed, his eyes watching my every move. I tried to explain to him that this was the best thing for him, but I didn't believe my own words.

The five and a half hour drive to the nursing home was the longest drive in my life. I knew that the next time I saw Chris, he would either be emaciated beyond recognition or worse, dead. As I drove, I sang all of the songs he enjoyed, and I could see him struggling to use his remaining energy to hum the theme to the "Tootsie Roll" song one more time.

We arrived at the home, and the orderlies helped me unload his things and check him in. I wheeled Chris down the hallway as we both took in this new environment. The walls were pea green and the floor tile had the faded look of a place built long ago. An old black and white television hung on the wall showing "Wheel Of Fortune."

I tried telling the orderlies about the way Chris laughed when someone told a joke, or how he liked to say that girls would get him in trouble. I told them how smart he was. They looked at Chris, and I could see them wondering how this desiccated shell of a man could be capable of the things I was describing. I realized that I was still remembering the person that he was, and not the person that he had become.

I stayed by his bedside longer than necessary, watchinghis eyes sizing up all these new faces. He seemed confused and scared, and I couldn't blame him. These people weren't his family. These people weren't the friends that he had known for the past 25 years. These people were strangers, and he was going to die here.

Alone.

I hugged him and lied through my teeth, telling him everything was going to be okay. He smiled at me.

That was the last time I saw him alive.

I cried as I got in my car, not wanting to look in the rearview mirror for fear that my guilt would make me go back into the nursing home and take him with me. Rain began to assault my windows as I drove home, and I thought briefly about pulling over but I couldn't take my foot from the pedal. I wanted to get as far away as quickly as I could. I kept driving.

When people tell me that their life is hard, or claim that something tragic happened to them, I think of Chris. I think of someone who never caused another living soul a second of grief, and all of the misery and suffering that was heaped upon his shoulders. And through it all, he still managed to smile.

Tragic, ain't it?

These are the final drafts of assignments he was given, and I believe they're top-notch and publication worthy. I hope to see more of his writing, and not just on the weekends when he watches sports.

Playing (Music): "The Professional" by Black Thought