vicki's everyday shoes
2004 - 2006
Faithful and True Until The Deluge
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Today's Muse: Soggy Tennis Balls
Thank you, Jo, for not drawing attention to me tearing. I'm sorry I imagined bashing your head in with the drumming stick-things. To be fair, I imagined throwing the various bits of the Bonang Barung at everyone else, because I am petty.
Thank you, Spenc, for the silly shit you were pulling during class.
Thank you, Aaron, for reminding me it's only Gamelan and getting yourself hit with a tennis ball.
You know, at this rate I might as well take up crack, what with the highs and the crashing.
Gah! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS FRIDAY IS?
Thank you, Jo, for not drawing attention to me tearing. I'm sorry I imagined bashing your head in with the drumming stick-things. To be fair, I imagined throwing the various bits of the Bonang Barung at everyone else, because I am petty.
Thank you, Spenc, for the silly shit you were pulling during class.
Thank you, Aaron, for reminding me it's only Gamelan and getting yourself hit with a tennis ball.
You know, at this rate I might as well take up crack, what with the highs and the crashing.
Gah! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS FRIDAY IS?
Monday, August 28, 2006
Today's Muse: My Ancient Creaky Joints, For I Am Ancient That Way.
Watched The Beckett Project on Sunday, which was brill. The sheer stamina and control the actors displayed was enough to get me all fired up again; most welcomed after the shit I did on Friday for Scene Prep.
The Beckett Projectwas comprised of four short plays by Samual Beckett. The first one, Mouth, immediately had me sitting up. A single, intense spot was focused on the actress' mouth - which was all you could see of her - as she spoke at bullet-train-derailed-and-out-of-control speed. Every single word was crisp and clear as day. The result was squinty-pain, but in a gooood way. I understood every word and every image that jabbering, rapid-quick mouth was enuciating, but before my brain fully processed the information and filed it away properly the mouth was spewing more, more, too fast, too fast!
Absurd Wheeeee!
Perhaps it was the simplicity of the set, or the intimacy of the Theatre Studio, but I was more interested in the lighting design then I usually am. The quickfire spot movements for Play; the whimsical window motif employed in the final play Rockaby...
I want to do it all.
Tech, Acting, Creation... But fees. And time. And specialisation.
Bah, I'll find a way.
Ran into an old DramaplusArts member. I used to beat him up. Hm. Perhaps I should apologise.
Today: Crazee Monday. For some strange reason I offered to treat anyone who wanted one to an ice lolly. The entire table put up their hands.
D'aww.
Need to find cash for Bouncers!
Watched The Beckett Project on Sunday, which was brill. The sheer stamina and control the actors displayed was enough to get me all fired up again; most welcomed after the shit I did on Friday for Scene Prep.
The Beckett Projectwas comprised of four short plays by Samual Beckett. The first one, Mouth, immediately had me sitting up. A single, intense spot was focused on the actress' mouth - which was all you could see of her - as she spoke at bullet-train-derailed-and-out-of-control speed. Every single word was crisp and clear as day. The result was squinty-pain, but in a gooood way. I understood every word and every image that jabbering, rapid-quick mouth was enuciating, but before my brain fully processed the information and filed it away properly the mouth was spewing more, more, too fast, too fast!
Absurd Wheeeee!
Perhaps it was the simplicity of the set, or the intimacy of the Theatre Studio, but I was more interested in the lighting design then I usually am. The quickfire spot movements for Play; the whimsical window motif employed in the final play Rockaby...
I want to do it all.
Tech, Acting, Creation... But fees. And time. And specialisation.
Bah, I'll find a way.
Ran into an old DramaplusArts member. I used to beat him up. Hm. Perhaps I should apologise.
Today: Crazee Monday. For some strange reason I offered to treat anyone who wanted one to an ice lolly. The entire table put up their hands.
D'aww.
Need to find cash for Bouncers!
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Today's Muse: Puff the Magic Dragon!
There's a foundation student the music boys call Jesus. I expected something satirical, a savant-esque joke of sorts.
But, nooo. They call him that because when he lets down his hair he's apparently the splitting image of the one true saviour.
There's another chap who deals with the "Luke Skywalker!" and "I am your faaather" jokes with blank looks.
Sometimes, between classes, if you hang out at the Performing building, you can watch the Fine Art and Design students appear in the small field armed with bubble-blowers.
We watched Royston Tan's 15 and a couple of funny commercials yesterday, as part of the semiotics lecture. Woo, test next week.
Today, Michael gave us a crayon each and told us to design a costume for the play we're studying on the spot.
I stepped over the Bonang Barung by accident during Gamelan. The instruments haven't been blessed, but you never know. Gah.
The PEOPLE.
Have I mentioned the pure AWESOME that is LASALLE?
There's a foundation student the music boys call Jesus. I expected something satirical, a savant-esque joke of sorts.
But, nooo. They call him that because when he lets down his hair he's apparently the splitting image of the one true saviour.
There's another chap who deals with the "Luke Skywalker!" and "I am your faaather" jokes with blank looks.
Sometimes, between classes, if you hang out at the Performing building, you can watch the Fine Art and Design students appear in the small field armed with bubble-blowers.
We watched Royston Tan's 15 and a couple of funny commercials yesterday, as part of the semiotics lecture. Woo, test next week.
Today, Michael gave us a crayon each and told us to design a costume for the play we're studying on the spot.
I stepped over the Bonang Barung by accident during Gamelan. The instruments haven't been blessed, but you never know. Gah.
The PEOPLE.
Have I mentioned the pure AWESOME that is LASALLE?
Monday, August 14, 2006
Today's Muse: Eau de Babeh
" Students will arrive with many techniques for avoiding the pain of failure. John Holt's How Children Fail gives examples of children learning to get around problems. If you screw your face up and bite on your pencil to show you're 'trying', the teacher may write out the answer for you. (In my school, if you sat relaxed and thought, you were likely to get swiped on the back of the head.)
[snip]
For example, many students will begin an improvisation, or a scene, in a rather feeble way. It's as if they're ill, and lacking in vitality. They've learned to play for sympathy. However easy the problem, they'll use the same old trick of looking inadequate... makes everyone fed up with them.
[snip]
No one has sympathy with an adult who takes such an attitude, but when they were children it probably worked. As adults they're still doing it. "
Impro, Keith Johnstone
It's a remarkably easy read, Impro. Johnstone writes like he's actually explaining his ideas and methods to you in person, as opposed to simply documenting them. And he's very charming.
To Do:
1. Notebook. [Tech, P. Analysis, Gamelan]
2. Voice Journal Comics. [L.1 layout done. L.2, L.3 - plan lay by Friday, L.4 tmr]
3. Gingerbreadman Set painting. [+ costuming]
4. Scrub locker.
5. Insult list.
6. Buy 10mm crochet hook. [Spotlight 50% thing going down]
7. Ask Jo about Gamelan prac room
8. Add status game overlay to Scene Prep presentation
9. Learn to tell time
Put it up so you lovely can nag me and thus get work done. Like, something smart-like, no.
Gah, it's 1am and I have Voice later. Bbluppt.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
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Monday, August 07, 2006
Today's Muse: Awake
Holy guacamolee I am loving this. I've finished my essay for now, I'll probably be editing it until the last minute. Open-ended questions, feh.
Quick, someone give me more dodgy homework!
EDIT: Realised I do have more homework, for voice later this morning. Colouring in the spine and ribs. And me without a single colour pencil in the house.
I wonder if crayons will do?
Holy guacamolee I am loving this. I've finished my essay for now, I'll probably be editing it until the last minute. Open-ended questions, feh.
Quick, someone give me more dodgy homework!
EDIT: Realised I do have more homework, for voice later this morning. Colouring in the spine and ribs. And me without a single colour pencil in the house.
I wonder if crayons will do?
Friday, August 04, 2006
Today's Muse: Nnngh My Eyelid Won't Stop Twitching
We're already smack centre, chups.
Look at it this way: Although it's only been two weeks, assesment is in five weeks. That's five lectures or rehearsals for each component.
I have an essay due Monday. "What is Art?"
Fucksicle on a stick!
EDIT:
We're already smack centre, chups.
Look at it this way: Although it's only been two weeks, assesment is in five weeks. That's five lectures or rehearsals for each component.
I have an essay due Monday. "What is Art?"
Fucksicle on a stick!
EDIT:
"Everyone working in theatre has a streak of idealism, a yearning for perfection, and a tendency towards single-minded pursuit of their personal specialty.
Everyone, in the nicest possible way, is in it for grabs."
Francis Reid
The Staging Handbook
What he said.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Today's Muse: Still along the lines of RAPP RAPP RAPP
I wandered into the comic section and felt so disillusioned.
Curious.
Why am I not at comic-con? No, don't answer that, just let me wobble a bit. Wobble.
Not even those amusing rating communities cheered me. Read Jung. Still in a funk. Ought to write out proper sentences. Oh dear. Why am I not in San Diego, getting into trouble with the rest of 'em? Itchy. Should go and do laundry. Argh I just fucked up my shoulder. Argh.
Let's try this again.
You ever have one of those days when you wake up and everything, and I do mean everything suddenly takes on new meaning - double meanings - triple meanings? You're walking down the street and you can't stop seeing the poetry in every bloody little thing. The careless way the guard holds his rifle at the pearly gate. The light glinting off the cars whizzing past. How a tree branch seems to frame the sky. How you slip and nearly land in the mud. And you can't turn it off! You just keep waxing lyrical about fuck-all.
And your brain seems to be floating at least a mile up above your skull, and you bump into lamps and small children and you can't stop smiling and generally giving off creepy vibes. And small children pee in their fright at your creepiness. PEE.
But! You wander into the comic section and your brain comes crashing back to earth. SPLAT. SPOOSH. PWISHOOM.
And you come home and try to put it all into words and you read what you've written and realised it's a load of crap but publish it anyway and go off to do the laundry like you should have.
I wandered into the comic section and felt so disillusioned.
Curious.
Why am I not at comic-con? No, don't answer that, just let me wobble a bit. Wobble.
Not even those amusing rating communities cheered me. Read Jung. Still in a funk. Ought to write out proper sentences. Oh dear. Why am I not in San Diego, getting into trouble with the rest of 'em? Itchy. Should go and do laundry. Argh I just fucked up my shoulder. Argh.
Let's try this again.
You ever have one of those days when you wake up and everything, and I do mean everything suddenly takes on new meaning - double meanings - triple meanings? You're walking down the street and you can't stop seeing the poetry in every bloody little thing. The careless way the guard holds his rifle at the pearly gate. The light glinting off the cars whizzing past. How a tree branch seems to frame the sky. How you slip and nearly land in the mud. And you can't turn it off! You just keep waxing lyrical about fuck-all.
And your brain seems to be floating at least a mile up above your skull, and you bump into lamps and small children and you can't stop smiling and generally giving off creepy vibes. And small children pee in their fright at your creepiness. PEE.
But! You wander into the comic section and your brain comes crashing back to earth. SPLAT. SPOOSH. PWISHOOM.
And you come home and try to put it all into words and you read what you've written and realised it's a load of crap but publish it anyway and go off to do the laundry like you should have.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Today's Muse: RAPP RAPP RAPP
Crazeee week.
Car died. Too expensive to fix. Scrapped. Ma fell, hurt her knee. She's zen about it. Niece Tara was hospitalized. Nothing serious, just for observation. She had a ball of a time. Baby niece, bad constipation. Feverish. Da on edge. Kim stinky feet. Me trying to figure the difference between the System and the Method. Car car car fight fight rargh.
Oh yeah, orientation.
"We expect you to want to change the world."
What you said, babeh!
Classes start proper next week. Twenty-four theatre students in Foundation. Hmm.
So much for an introspective post.
Crazeee week.
Car died. Too expensive to fix. Scrapped. Ma fell, hurt her knee. She's zen about it. Niece Tara was hospitalized. Nothing serious, just for observation. She had a ball of a time. Baby niece, bad constipation. Feverish. Da on edge. Kim stinky feet. Me trying to figure the difference between the System and the Method. Car car car fight fight rargh.
Oh yeah, orientation.
"We expect you to want to change the world."
What you said, babeh!
Classes start proper next week. Twenty-four theatre students in Foundation. Hmm.
So much for an introspective post.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Today's Muse: Pan Left, zoom in on the steeple of the church
You know, I can put MSI or the Seventh on at full blast (in my futile bid to strike back at the dude downstairs with EVERY FUCKING radio compilation ever spewed) and for the niece to dance to, and no one bats an eyelid.
Then I put on the RENT soundtrack and people come down to my floor asking me to turn it down.
But - Nnngh, I can't get enough of that thing. So, suffer, family!
Hm.
Okay: At the end of last week LASALLE calls and asks if I'd like to take part in a last-minute workshop conducted by a foreign lecturer who was in town to take part in the women's theatre - can't remember the name - festival. Naturally I jumped at it.
It's a bit surreal; watching Christina speak in Italian gesturing violently, then turning to Bruna for the translation. They're part of a theatre company with rather unconventional methods: None of their plays are scripted or plotted. Instead, a series of improv exercises are used and are built upon each other until they... until they have enough for a performance.
Emphasis is put on using only the body. No interacting with the wall, the floor, other people, imagined and mimed objects. Convey the story using just expressions and movements. It's a lot more difficult than it sounds... How does one show the need for attention without pandering to an audience of some sort? How does one laugh at something if there's nothing to be laughed at?
Conventional movements and expressions are frowned upon. Don't show you're happy just by smiling. Swing your arms! Roll around on the ground! Gurgle like a baby!
And the story, the story... What was it that Christina said? "It does not matter if the audience does not understand. What is important is the movement, the things you do matter to you. To the actor. It must signify something important to you."
She likened it to Pablo Picasso's deconstruction of the human face. I don't know exactly how to put it into words. But at that moment, with Christina's face like a rubber band and thin, wiry arms waving around, constantly resting in her grey mane - "Like a lion!" thought I - you get it. You don't understand, but you get it. Do you understand that?
Ach. I'm still not sure where this is going. It's both unsettling and exciting. Who knows what'll happen in the next two days?
There's a great exercise we do before we dive into the improv bits. Working on reaction. Conditioning the body to react instinctively, instead of stopping to think about it. BOOM! Jump! BOOM! Get down! BOOM! Fucking ace, man.
Man, that was vague.
Ten theatre foundation students so far, ranging in age from 17 to 26. One has a driver's license and a huge vehicle. Sweet.
Three days to orientation. Woo bweee. Two weeks to the recital. Woo fuckery.
You know, I can put MSI or the Seventh on at full blast (in my futile bid to strike back at the dude downstairs with EVERY FUCKING radio compilation ever spewed) and for the niece to dance to, and no one bats an eyelid.
Then I put on the RENT soundtrack and people come down to my floor asking me to turn it down.
But - Nnngh, I can't get enough of that thing. So, suffer, family!
Hm.
Okay: At the end of last week LASALLE calls and asks if I'd like to take part in a last-minute workshop conducted by a foreign lecturer who was in town to take part in the women's theatre - can't remember the name - festival. Naturally I jumped at it.
It's a bit surreal; watching Christina speak in Italian gesturing violently, then turning to Bruna for the translation. They're part of a theatre company with rather unconventional methods: None of their plays are scripted or plotted. Instead, a series of improv exercises are used and are built upon each other until they... until they have enough for a performance.
Emphasis is put on using only the body. No interacting with the wall, the floor, other people, imagined and mimed objects. Convey the story using just expressions and movements. It's a lot more difficult than it sounds... How does one show the need for attention without pandering to an audience of some sort? How does one laugh at something if there's nothing to be laughed at?
Conventional movements and expressions are frowned upon. Don't show you're happy just by smiling. Swing your arms! Roll around on the ground! Gurgle like a baby!
And the story, the story... What was it that Christina said? "It does not matter if the audience does not understand. What is important is the movement, the things you do matter to you. To the actor. It must signify something important to you."
She likened it to Pablo Picasso's deconstruction of the human face. I don't know exactly how to put it into words. But at that moment, with Christina's face like a rubber band and thin, wiry arms waving around, constantly resting in her grey mane - "Like a lion!" thought I - you get it. You don't understand, but you get it. Do you understand that?
Ach. I'm still not sure where this is going. It's both unsettling and exciting. Who knows what'll happen in the next two days?
There's a great exercise we do before we dive into the improv bits. Working on reaction. Conditioning the body to react instinctively, instead of stopping to think about it. BOOM! Jump! BOOM! Get down! BOOM! Fucking ace, man.
Man, that was vague.
Ten theatre foundation students so far, ranging in age from 17 to 26. One has a driver's license and a huge vehicle. Sweet.
Three days to orientation. Woo bweee. Two weeks to the recital. Woo fuckery.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Monday, July 03, 2006
Today's Muse: HAIL ME!
I did something stupid today.
Eeeeheeeheehee.
EDIT:
Well, that's the ivelostcountactually time some one's told me that LASALLE-SIA is tosh.
Although my intial reaction is to yell "BALLS!" and tackle them in a fit of rage one can only learn from comic books ("I love you!" "RAAAAARRR!" *fling!* ") , I supress it. I pause, and think: Am I really justified in attacking the other person? Okay, I don't really look all that dignified thinking that - my eyes tend to gloss over the same way they do when I break my brain.
I haven't even begun classes at LASALLE (And I'll keep the caps, thank you). I haven't a clue what it'll be like. The opinions on why it's tosh range from "Oh. It sucks" to "After attending their performing arts showcase, I feel that it is infinitely inferior to the stature of So-and-so school's drama club". Even if I were to defend LASALLE, I can't really think of anything to retort with other than "Nuh-uh, it doesn't" which makes me wonder why I bother to read so much.
I could have gone to a Junior College of my choice, kept drama as a CCA or even offered it as an subject. But I chose LASALLE. Not NAFA, not a JC. Why?
Because I didn't want to.
It's as simple as that.
Between going through rote learning for another two years to ultimately sit for yet another major exam and taking a giant leap into pursuing something I am so passionate about full-time and not as a sideline to be pushed aside for more "important" activities like "studying" - The choice is easy, no?
And in LASALLE what I love best is the studying.
I could have gone through JC, gotten my 'A' Level certification and THEN enrolled in LASALLE, with the cert as a "fallback". I was encouraged to choose this route; also to use the time to consider going into the arts. This was an option I took pretty seriously. Was I really sure about pursuing acting - and all to do with it - as a career?
Impatience won out. I loved the stage, on it and off, and if I could get started quicker on that road, why the fuck not?
And after LASALLE, where to?
Who can tell? I have a bunch of information books from schools in Australia, with way too many post-its in 'em. I keep smelly old articles on various art programmes in universities. I devour blogs by students at some of these schools, and blogs by people who are living the stage, in one way or another.
I read loads of comic books, too.
I don't know what LASALLE will be like. Some nights I stay up worrying about it - with so that much talent in one room, will I stand out? Will I get along with people there?
Will I be happy?
But hey, the future's the future, and I'm not regretting my choice.
Occasionally I do feel something close to it, though, when I hear or read about what some of my ex-school mates are up to in their new places. Some of them have done so much, and I'm just here. Waiting.
Ahhh, feck it. This year I have:
1. being a back-up singer with the rest of Vox for Rock Opera - and that was awesome in so many ways: seeing the huge soundstage backstage of the Esplanade; singing my heart out at the finale with everyone else; the mints! Who can forget the CHEWER? And on the Vox note the weekly rehearsals. Woo. Balls.
2. attempted to build a robot, and learnt loads of useless miscelly in the process
3. discovered all sorts of music aside from the stuff you hear on the car radio
4. finally got round to demolishing the reading list - why is Don Quixote is always checked out?
5. pierced my ears. Annnnnd still no end in sight.
6. seen Mediacorp from the dirty, boring, grimy inside
7. finally seen Tiananmen Square
8. stayed in a boutique hotel in the heart of Hong Kong - Go connections!
9. read an eloquent poem of protest graffiti'd on the pavement
10. immersed myself into the comic world - it's gotten so bad I can't write a decent story unless I picture it in comic form.
11. etc.
I don't think it's being such a waste of a year. I've picked up a couple of skills, corresponded with a bunch of cool people, thought a lot.
And while we're counting, this is the againlostcount time I'm online past 1am. Damnit. So much for New Year Resolutions.
I did something stupid today.
Eeeeheeeheehee.
EDIT:
Well, that's the ivelostcountactually time some one's told me that LASALLE-SIA is tosh.
Although my intial reaction is to yell "BALLS!" and tackle them in a fit of rage one can only learn from comic books ("I love you!" "RAAAAARRR!" *fling!* ") , I supress it. I pause, and think: Am I really justified in attacking the other person? Okay, I don't really look all that dignified thinking that - my eyes tend to gloss over the same way they do when I break my brain.
I haven't even begun classes at LASALLE (And I'll keep the caps, thank you). I haven't a clue what it'll be like. The opinions on why it's tosh range from "Oh. It sucks" to "After attending their performing arts showcase, I feel that it is infinitely inferior to the stature of So-and-so school's drama club". Even if I were to defend LASALLE, I can't really think of anything to retort with other than "Nuh-uh, it doesn't" which makes me wonder why I bother to read so much.
I could have gone to a Junior College of my choice, kept drama as a CCA or even offered it as an subject. But I chose LASALLE. Not NAFA, not a JC. Why?
Because I didn't want to.
It's as simple as that.
Between going through rote learning for another two years to ultimately sit for yet another major exam and taking a giant leap into pursuing something I am so passionate about full-time and not as a sideline to be pushed aside for more "important" activities like "studying" - The choice is easy, no?
And in LASALLE what I love best is the studying.
I could have gone through JC, gotten my 'A' Level certification and THEN enrolled in LASALLE, with the cert as a "fallback". I was encouraged to choose this route; also to use the time to consider going into the arts. This was an option I took pretty seriously. Was I really sure about pursuing acting - and all to do with it - as a career?
Impatience won out. I loved the stage, on it and off, and if I could get started quicker on that road, why the fuck not?
And after LASALLE, where to?
Who can tell? I have a bunch of information books from schools in Australia, with way too many post-its in 'em. I keep smelly old articles on various art programmes in universities. I devour blogs by students at some of these schools, and blogs by people who are living the stage, in one way or another.
I read loads of comic books, too.
I don't know what LASALLE will be like. Some nights I stay up worrying about it - with so that much talent in one room, will I stand out? Will I get along with people there?
Will I be happy?
But hey, the future's the future, and I'm not regretting my choice.
Occasionally I do feel something close to it, though, when I hear or read about what some of my ex-school mates are up to in their new places. Some of them have done so much, and I'm just here. Waiting.
Ahhh, feck it. This year I have:
1. being a back-up singer with the rest of Vox for Rock Opera - and that was awesome in so many ways: seeing the huge soundstage backstage of the Esplanade; singing my heart out at the finale with everyone else; the mints! Who can forget the CHEWER? And on the Vox note the weekly rehearsals. Woo. Balls.
2. attempted to build a robot, and learnt loads of useless miscelly in the process
3. discovered all sorts of music aside from the stuff you hear on the car radio
4. finally got round to demolishing the reading list - why is Don Quixote is always checked out?
5. pierced my ears. Annnnnd still no end in sight.
6. seen Mediacorp from the dirty, boring, grimy inside
7. finally seen Tiananmen Square
8. stayed in a boutique hotel in the heart of Hong Kong - Go connections!
9. read an eloquent poem of protest graffiti'd on the pavement
10. immersed myself into the comic world - it's gotten so bad I can't write a decent story unless I picture it in comic form.
11. etc.
I don't think it's being such a waste of a year. I've picked up a couple of skills, corresponded with a bunch of cool people, thought a lot.
And while we're counting, this is the againlostcount time I'm online past 1am. Damnit. So much for New Year Resolutions.
Friday, June 30, 2006
So, I managed to keep away from the teasers for the first two Spiderman movies, and yes, I thoroughly enjoyed them.
So, I clicked on the link to the teaser for the third installment, because I figured: Hey, the first two weren't bad, so what's the harm?
So, even though I know that a lot of work has gone into it, and the people behind it love the comic mythos as much as I do (Though I reserve my comments on the clone saga) and so on and so forth...
The Black Spidey outfit looks shot to shit.
It's just that, that teeny, weeny little detail that rankles me. Otherwise everything looks fantastic (Even forgiving the very un-Eddie-Brock-like Topher Grace, who might have made a snark-tas-tic Spidey, if you think about it).
And while I'm geeking out here, I'm not too fond of where the Chamber story is going. There's a pic floating around showing him as a younger version of... uh, ol' blue lips. I'm really sorry if I spoilt it for you. Unless you have no idea who blue lips is, anyway. In which case you are stupid and I hate you.
What is up with the Chamber's char designs anyway? Every appearance he has he seems to get more and more ripped. Okay, so I subscribe to the "his body is dead and being used as fuel by the psionic bikinetic whole long list of made-up sciency words thing in him. But it makes sense, dinnit? If he doesn't eat, there is no raw material with which to build up body mass. Unless the psionic energy sun contained within him was converting the by-psonic-energy that he was absorbing from other people. Which, is possible, if we go with the converting his dead body into fuel. Who's to say it isn't a two-way reaction?
But if we are to see Chamber's psionic sun reacting as fire would... Both give off heat and light energy - and the heat energy can be translated into kinetic energy (when he 'splodes). Both need fuel (Fire - wood, oil, babies. Psionic sun - Jono's dead body mass). Fire consumes oxygen, psionic sun consumes inhearent psionic energy from other living organisms.
In conclusion, Jono cannot put on body mass, and is more likely to have it steadily declining. His hair will not grow. His nails will fall off. His body will decay.
He is a mutant zombie - with mind intact.
Which brings us to another interesting point: Many believe that Jono will eventually shed his body - the "chamber" which encases the psionic sun - or at least have his body consumed entirely by the psionic sun. What then, of his consciousness? Will it escape along with the energy? How does it even function now, with his body and thus his brain clearing decaying? Is it even confined to his brain?
If the existence of "psionic" energy is to be believed in Jono's universe, then it is simple: His consciousness, like everyone else, is simply psionic energy. But how does it keep separate from the rest of the psionic energy in the convoluted mess that is his mutation? Why does it not dissipate?
Naturally Jono has telepathic potential. Is that why? Why am I talking about this? What am I doing? I'm supposed to be doing something useful. Oh, there goes the yelling. Have I been on that long?
Oh comic science, you.
I just read JJJ's reaction to Spidey's unmasking in Civil War. What, no aneurysm?
So, I clicked on the link to the teaser for the third installment, because I figured: Hey, the first two weren't bad, so what's the harm?
So, even though I know that a lot of work has gone into it, and the people behind it love the comic mythos as much as I do (Though I reserve my comments on the clone saga) and so on and so forth...
The Black Spidey outfit looks shot to shit.
It's just that, that teeny, weeny little detail that rankles me. Otherwise everything looks fantastic (Even forgiving the very un-Eddie-Brock-like Topher Grace, who might have made a snark-tas-tic Spidey, if you think about it).
And while I'm geeking out here, I'm not too fond of where the Chamber story is going. There's a pic floating around showing him as a younger version of... uh, ol' blue lips. I'm really sorry if I spoilt it for you. Unless you have no idea who blue lips is, anyway. In which case you are stupid and I hate you.
What is up with the Chamber's char designs anyway? Every appearance he has he seems to get more and more ripped. Okay, so I subscribe to the "his body is dead and being used as fuel by the psionic bikinetic whole long list of made-up sciency words thing in him. But it makes sense, dinnit? If he doesn't eat, there is no raw material with which to build up body mass. Unless the psionic energy sun contained within him was converting the by-psonic-energy that he was absorbing from other people. Which, is possible, if we go with the converting his dead body into fuel. Who's to say it isn't a two-way reaction?
But if we are to see Chamber's psionic sun reacting as fire would... Both give off heat and light energy - and the heat energy can be translated into kinetic energy (when he 'splodes). Both need fuel (Fire - wood, oil, babies. Psionic sun - Jono's dead body mass). Fire consumes oxygen, psionic sun consumes inhearent psionic energy from other living organisms.
In conclusion, Jono cannot put on body mass, and is more likely to have it steadily declining. His hair will not grow. His nails will fall off. His body will decay.
He is a mutant zombie - with mind intact.
Which brings us to another interesting point: Many believe that Jono will eventually shed his body - the "chamber" which encases the psionic sun - or at least have his body consumed entirely by the psionic sun. What then, of his consciousness? Will it escape along with the energy? How does it even function now, with his body and thus his brain clearing decaying? Is it even confined to his brain?
If the existence of "psionic" energy is to be believed in Jono's universe, then it is simple: His consciousness, like everyone else, is simply psionic energy. But how does it keep separate from the rest of the psionic energy in the convoluted mess that is his mutation? Why does it not dissipate?
Naturally Jono has telepathic potential. Is that why? Why am I talking about this? What am I doing? I'm supposed to be doing something useful. Oh, there goes the yelling. Have I been on that long?
Oh comic science, you.
I just read JJJ's reaction to Spidey's unmasking in Civil War. What, no aneurysm?