Somebody decided that the pluaral of box, when applied to any *nix computer, would be called boxen, not the English plural boxes. I guess the *nix fascination with animals continues, as it could be a tongue in cheek reference to the George Carlin/Gallahger comedic style of analyzation of the plural forms of words, i.e.:
ox = oxen
box = boxes
but for *nix.
box = boxen
It took me a time or three to catch the reference also. At least you had the balls to ask...
everything i needed to know about being a man i learned from batman
by Seamus Heffernan
There are a series of classic questions that plague all young men, boys who have emerged from their childhood but have not yet boarded the neon hormonal freight train known as puberty. We all argued about what the truly greatest chocolate bar experience was; we pondered over what was in the middle of golf balls and what made that rattle inside spray-paint cans; we agonized over what the best Star Wars movie was. And, of course, there was the tough question in my circle of friends, boys weaned on too many Saturday morning cartoons and late-night horror flicks, boys whose vision of the world was seen through the pop-culture goggles of good versus evil. We were ten-year-olds who thought comic books were literature, and the greatest Before We Discover Sex question of all was this: Who is your favourite super-hero?
I always said Batman. Often, my friends scoffed at me, pointing out the foolish limitations of my choice. Batman could not fly. He was not bulletproof, super-fast, or blessed with the proportionate speed and strength of a spider (whatever that means). There was nothing particularly super about this hero, and yet he captivated my hyper-extended imagination as a child, and it went beyond the dark costume and the looming bat-ears. My interest has lasted into adulthood, and I assume that my friends now think that I keep a Batman action-figure on my desk as a claim to youthful charm. I may let them think that, but it runs far deeper.
While other heroes were often imbued with an "aw-shucks" charm that was meant to re-enforce their humanity, quite often it left me with resentment for what I saw as their smug self-satisfaction. Bullets bouncing off their chests, their power-rings ablaze or their laser eye-beams blasting through the bad guys, they were always ready to clap one of us regular folk on the back, give that toothy the-world-is-just-bully-'cause-the-good-guys-alway s-win grin, and reassure us they would be back when we needed them.
Conversely, Batman was one of us "regular folk." Without powers, he was forced to rely on his skill and his wits. Oh sure, he was rich and had access to an incredible amount of gadgets and technological innovations, but lose the Batmobile and the well-stacked utility belt, and you were left with just flesh and blood. His humanity was a huge attraction to me, as I found it hard to relate to his super-powered brethren. Perhaps I equated them with the kids who were too good-looking, too smart, or too athletic, but in Batman I saw a guy succeed in life because he wanted to, and not because he caught a few breaks.
Of course, I was too young to articulate this at the time, and probably just said "Cool, man" and chugged some more cherry soda. But Batman has stayed with me when other icons of my pre-adolescence have slipped away.
First, there's a darkness to Batman that is quite appealing to the older comic book fan. Since Batman was distanced from the campy TV show and re-introduced to his darker roots (thanks mainly to Frank Miller's work in Batman: Year One and The Dark Knight Returns) he became perhaps the mot psychologically compelling character in comic books. Here was a guy who saw his parents get gunned down as a kid, and carried that with him for years. His whole life is about trying to fix that one wrong, and he can't. In real life, we'd probably pay a bunch of psychiatrists to anlayze his feeling and explain what was going on, and they'd tell us he was a control freak suffering from delusions of grandeur, driven by revenge fantasies. Thankfully, this isn't real-life, and in comics we're spared the Oprahfication of modern society. As a character, he's simply hard not to care about, because he cares so much himself.
It is this drive that separates him from the typical spandex-clad vigilante. Batman did not become a hero because some fluke accident - that seemed to invariably involve "radiation" - left him with strange abilities. He has his share of titles and accolades (world's greatest detective, world's best escape artist, world's best hand-to-hand combatant, etc.) but ultimately, he exists as an example of a man who pushes himself to greatness through discipline and an unshakeable confidence in what is right. His dark beginnings prove that he did not have heroics thrust upon him; he grabbed heroics by the throat and took them for himself.
As I have become increasingly individualistic as I've grown into adulthood, it is this quality of my childhood idol that sticks with me. Never once did you see him complain, or cry victim, or bray about a misplaced sense of entitlement. He was guided by an unwavering sense of justice and never compromised his principles in the face of convenience. Here was the "rugged individualism" of the classical liberal, leaping to four-colour life on the pages before my young eyes, a man whose "powers" could be emulated far easier in my day-to-day life than, say, Superman's.
Batman is a permanent fixture of our culture, a name that enjoys almost universal recognition. He symbolizes something more than the cape and cowl. To his fans, he represents a darkness we have all faced, a question that we sometimes cannot push away: Will I have the courage to push myself, to not be a coward, to do the right thing? In that sense, this fictional character very much represents real life, and our own self-doubt. Batman never had one of those big, the-good-guys-always-win smiles. He knew better.
heheheheh
everything i needed to know about being a man i learned from batman
by Seamus Heffernan
There are a series of classic questions that plague all young men, boys who have emerged from their childhood but have not yet boarded the neon hormonal freight train known as puberty. We all argued about what the truly greatest chocolate bar experience was; we pondered over what was in the middle of golf balls and what made that rattle inside spray-paint cans; we agonized over what the best Star Wars movie was. And, of course, there was the tough question in my circle of friends, boys weaned on too many Saturday morning cartoons and late-night horror flicks, boys whose vision of the world was seen through the pop-culture goggles of good versus evil. We were ten-year-olds who thought comic books were literature, and the greatest Before We Discover Sex question of all was this: Who is your favourite super-hero?
I always said Batman. Often, my friends scoffed at me, pointing out the foolish limitations of my choice. Batman could not fly. He was not bulletproof, super-fast, or blessed with the proportionate speed and strength of a spider (whatever that means). There was nothing particularly super about this hero, and yet he captivated my hyper-extended imagination as a child, and it went beyond the dark costume and the looming bat-ears. My interest has lasted into adulthood, and I assume that my friends now think that I keep a Batman action-figure on my desk as a claim to youthful charm. I may let them think that, but it runs far deeper.
While other heroes were often imbued with an "aw-shucks" charm that was meant to re-enforce their humanity, quite often it left me with resentment for what I saw as their smug self-satisfaction. Bullets bouncing off their chests, their power-rings ablaze or their laser eye-beams blasting through the bad guys, they were always ready to clap one of us regular folk on the back, give that toothy the-world-is-just-bully-'cause-the-good-guys-alway s-win grin, and reassure us they would be back when we needed them.
Conversely, Batman was one of us "regular folk." Without powers, he was forced to rely on his skill and his wits. Oh sure, he was rich and had access to an incredible amount of gadgets and technological innovations, but lose the Batmobile and the well-stacked utility belt, and you were left with just flesh and blood. His humanity was a huge attraction to me, as I found it hard to relate to his super-powered brethren. Perhaps I equated them with the kids who were too good-looking, too smart, or too athletic, but in Batman I saw a guy succeed in life because he wanted to, and not because he caught a few breaks.
Of course, I was too young to articulate this at the time, and probably just said "Cool, man" and chugged some more cherry soda. But Batman has stayed with me when other icons of my pre-adolescence have slipped away.
First, there's a darkness to Batman that is quite appealing to the older comic book fan. Since Batman was distanced from the campy TV show and re-introduced to his darker roots (thanks mainly to Frank Miller's work in Batman: Year One and The Dark Knight Returns) he became perhaps the mot psychologically compelling character in comic books. Here was a guy who saw his parents get gunned down as a kid, and carried that with him for years. His whole life is about trying to fix that one wrong, and he can't. In real life, we'd probably pay a bunch of psychiatrists to anlayze his feeling and explain what was going on, and they'd tell us he was a control freak suffering from delusions of grandeur, driven by revenge fantasies. Thankfully, this isn't real-life, and in comics we're spared the Oprahfication of modern society. As a character, he's simply hard not to care about, because he cares so much himself.
It is this drive that separates him from the typical spandex-clad vigilante. Batman did not become a hero because some fluke accident - that seemed to invariably involve "radiation" - left him with strange abilities. He has his share of titles and accolades (world's greatest detective, world's best escape artist, world's best hand-to-hand combatant, etc.) but ultimately, he exists as an example of a man who pushes himself to greatness through discipline and an unshakeable confidence in what is right. His dark beginnings prove that he did not have heroics thrust upon him; he grabbed heroics by the throat and took them for himself.
As I have become increasingly individualistic as I've grown into adulthood, it is this quality of my childhood idol that sticks with me. Never once did you see him complain, or cry victim, or bray about a misplaced sense of entitlement. He was guided by an unwavering sense of justice and never compromised his principles in the face of convenience. Here was the "rugged individualism" of the classical liberal, leaping to four-colour life on the pages before my young eyes, a man whose "powers" could be emulated far easier in my day-to-day life than, say, Superman's.
Batman is a permanent fixture of our culture, a name that enjoys almost universal recognition. He symbolizes something more than the cape and cowl. To his fans, he represents a darkness we have all faced, a question that we sometimes cannot push away: Will I have the courage to push myself, to not be a coward, to do the right thing? In that sense, this fictional character very much represents real life, and our own self-doubt. Batman never had one of those big, the-good-guys-always-win smiles. He knew better.
fr0st p!st!!!!!
everything i needed to know about being a man i learned from batman
by Seamus Heffernan
There are a series of classic questions that plague all young men, boys who have emerged from their childhood but have not yet boarded the neon hormonal freight train known as puberty. We all argued about what the truly greatest chocolate bar experience was; we pondered over what was in the middle of golf balls and what made that rattle inside spray-paint cans; we agonized over what the best Star Wars movie was. And, of course, there was the tough question in my circle of friends, boys weaned on too many Saturday morning cartoons and late-night horror flicks, boys whose vision of the world was seen through the pop-culture goggles of good versus evil. We were ten-year-olds who thought comic books were literature, and the greatest Before We Discover Sex question of all was this: Who is your favourite super-hero?
I always said Batman. Often, my friends scoffed at me, pointing out the foolish limitations of my choice. Batman could not fly. He was not bulletproof, super-fast, or blessed with the proportionate speed and strength of a spider (whatever that means). There was nothing particularly super about this hero, and yet he captivated my hyper-extended imagination as a child, and it went beyond the dark costume and the looming bat-ears. My interest has lasted into adulthood, and I assume that my friends now think that I keep a Batman action-figure on my desk as a claim to youthful charm. I may let them think that, but it runs far deeper.
While other heroes were often imbued with an "aw-shucks" charm that was meant to re-enforce their humanity, quite often it left me with resentment for what I saw as their smug self-satisfaction. Bullets bouncing off their chests, their power-rings ablaze or their laser eye-beams blasting through the bad guys, they were always ready to clap one of us regular folk on the back, give that toothy the-world-is-just-bully-'cause-the-good-guys-alway s-win grin, and reassure us they would be back when we needed them.
Conversely, Batman was one of us "regular folk." Without powers, he was forced to rely on his skill and his wits. Oh sure, he was rich and had access to an incredible amount of gadgets and technological innovations, but lose the Batmobile and the well-stacked utility belt, and you were left with just flesh and blood. His humanity was a huge attraction to me, as I found it hard to relate to his super-powered brethren. Perhaps I equated them with the kids who were too good-looking, too smart, or too athletic, but in Batman I saw a guy succeed in life because he wanted to, and not because he caught a few breaks.
Of course, I was too young to articulate this at the time, and probably just said "Cool, man" and chugged some more cherry soda. But Batman has stayed with me when other icons of my pre-adolescence have slipped away.
First, there's a darkness to Batman that is quite appealing to the older comic book fan. Since Batman was distanced from the campy TV show and re-introduced to his darker roots (thanks mainly to Frank Miller's work in Batman: Year One and The Dark Knight Returns) he became perhaps the mot psychologically compelling character in comic books. Here was a guy who saw his parents get gunned down as a kid, and carried that with him for years. His whole life is about trying to fix that one wrong, and he can't. In real life, we'd probably pay a bunch of psychiatrists to anlayze his feeling and explain what was going on, and they'd tell us he was a control freak suffering from delusions of grandeur, driven by revenge fantasies. Thankfully, this isn't real-life, and in comics we're spared the Oprahfication of modern society. As a character, he's simply hard not to care about, because he cares so much himself.
It is this drive that separates him from the typical spandex-clad vigilante. Batman did not become a hero because some fluke accident - that seemed to invariably involve "radiation" - left him with strange abilities. He has his share of titles and accolades (world's greatest detective, world's best escape artist, world's best hand-to-hand combatant, etc.) but ultimately, he exists as an example of a man who pushes himself to greatness through discipline and an unshakeable confidence in what is right. His dark beginnings prove that he did not have heroics thrust upon him; he grabbed heroics by the throat and took them for himself.
As I have become increasingly individualistic as I've grown into adulthood, it is this quality of my childhood idol that sticks with me. Never once did you see him complain, or cry victim, or bray about a misplaced sense of entitlement. He was guided by an unwavering sense of justice and never compromised his principles in the face of convenience. Here was the "rugged individualism" of the classical liberal, leaping to four-colour life on the pages before my young eyes, a man whose "powers" could be emulated far easier in my day-to-day life than, say, Superman's.
Batman is a permanent fixture of our culture, a name that enjoys almost universal recognition. He symbolizes something more than the cape and cowl. To his fans, he represents a darkness we have all faced, a question that we sometimes cannot push away: Will I have the courage to push myself, to not be a coward, to do the right thing? In that sense, this fictional character very much represents real life, and our own self-doubt. Batman never had one of those big, the-good-guys-always-win smiles. He knew better.
Who are you going to believe - fat cats with strong financial interest in doing nothing to halt CO2 production, or imkpartial scientists whose career and reputation rests on the validity of their findings, models, and predictions?
Yeah! And don't forget the cold fusion guys! Their careers were dependent upon the validity of their research being reproducible... oh wait; it didn't work? Nevermind...
Then how do you explain EULA's and people who did not know that when the said "I Agree", they were giving their IP/pr0n/content provider exclusive rights to modify their machine WITHOUT their knowledge or tacit permission? Just because someone installs software doesn't mean they read all the fine print. So perhaps the virus analogy is valid. I hadn't thought about it that way before.
Whoa!! So let's allow *anyone* to see the most accessed websites for a day or month? Sounds like Carnivore would have a companion canine in the pack. And what about the inevitable "Entertainment Tonight" piece where "America Clicks Today"? The mass media is already broadcasting for the lowest-common-denominator; why give them ideas for their next wave of insipid programming?
Producer #1: "Hey, I saw that 3 million people clicked on www.monkeypoopsculptures.com yesterday to make it the number one site! The second most-viewed site was www.masonjarmuseum.org. Somebody call up the animal handlers and let's put together a plot that involves a monkey, two blind buddies, and a retiree in rural Arkansas who has a farm for canning green pees. It would be a hit!"
I'm not a 'Net elitist; I just don't want to see the Machine be able to spit up even more predigested pablum. I'm not offering anything constructive, because I don't code. But I just think this thread is a *small* bit PollyAnnish.
Slashdot Mirror
Somebody decided that the pluaral of box, when applied to any *nix computer, would be called boxen, not the English plural boxes. I guess the *nix fascination with animals continues, as it could be a tongue in cheek reference to the George Carlin/Gallahger comedic style of analyzation of the plural forms of words, i.e.: ox = oxen box = boxes but for *nix. box = boxen It took me a time or three to catch the reference also. At least you had the balls to ask ...
everything i needed to know about being a man i learned from batman by Seamus Heffernan There are a series of classic questions that plague all young men, boys who have emerged from their childhood but have not yet boarded the neon hormonal freight train known as puberty. We all argued about what the truly greatest chocolate bar experience was; we pondered over what was in the middle of golf balls and what made that rattle inside spray-paint cans; we agonized over what the best Star Wars movie was. And, of course, there was the tough question in my circle of friends, boys weaned on too many Saturday morning cartoons and late-night horror flicks, boys whose vision of the world was seen through the pop-culture goggles of good versus evil. We were ten-year-olds who thought comic books were literature, and the greatest Before We Discover Sex question of all was this: Who is your favourite super-hero? I always said Batman. Often, my friends scoffed at me, pointing out the foolish limitations of my choice. Batman could not fly. He was not bulletproof, super-fast, or blessed with the proportionate speed and strength of a spider (whatever that means). There was nothing particularly super about this hero, and yet he captivated my hyper-extended imagination as a child, and it went beyond the dark costume and the looming bat-ears. My interest has lasted into adulthood, and I assume that my friends now think that I keep a Batman action-figure on my desk as a claim to youthful charm. I may let them think that, but it runs far deeper. While other heroes were often imbued with an "aw-shucks" charm that was meant to re-enforce their humanity, quite often it left me with resentment for what I saw as their smug self-satisfaction. Bullets bouncing off their chests, their power-rings ablaze or their laser eye-beams blasting through the bad guys, they were always ready to clap one of us regular folk on the back, give that toothy the-world-is-just-bully-'cause-the-good-guys-alway s-win grin, and reassure us they would be back when we needed them.
Conversely, Batman was one of us "regular folk." Without powers, he was forced to rely on his skill and his wits. Oh sure, he was rich and had access to an incredible amount of gadgets and technological innovations, but lose the Batmobile and the well-stacked utility belt, and you were left with just flesh and blood. His humanity was a huge attraction to me, as I found it hard to relate to his super-powered brethren. Perhaps I equated them with the kids who were too good-looking, too smart, or too athletic, but in Batman I saw a guy succeed in life because he wanted to, and not because he caught a few breaks.
Of course, I was too young to articulate this at the time, and probably just said "Cool, man" and chugged some more cherry soda. But Batman has stayed with me when other icons of my pre-adolescence have slipped away.
First, there's a darkness to Batman that is quite appealing to the older comic book fan. Since Batman was distanced from the campy TV show and re-introduced to his darker roots (thanks mainly to Frank Miller's work in Batman: Year One and The Dark Knight Returns) he became perhaps the mot psychologically compelling character in comic books. Here was a guy who saw his parents get gunned down as a kid, and carried that with him for years. His whole life is about trying to fix that one wrong, and he can't. In real life, we'd probably pay a bunch of psychiatrists to anlayze his feeling and explain what was going on, and they'd tell us he was a control freak suffering from delusions of grandeur, driven by revenge fantasies. Thankfully, this isn't real-life, and in comics we're spared the Oprahfication of modern society. As a character, he's simply hard not to care about, because he cares so much himself.
It is this drive that separates him from the typical spandex-clad vigilante. Batman did not become a hero because some fluke accident - that seemed to invariably involve "radiation" - left him with strange abilities. He has his share of titles and accolades (world's greatest detective, world's best escape artist, world's best hand-to-hand combatant, etc.) but ultimately, he exists as an example of a man who pushes himself to greatness through discipline and an unshakeable confidence in what is right. His dark beginnings prove that he did not have heroics thrust upon him; he grabbed heroics by the throat and took them for himself.
As I have become increasingly individualistic as I've grown into adulthood, it is this quality of my childhood idol that sticks with me. Never once did you see him complain, or cry victim, or bray about a misplaced sense of entitlement. He was guided by an unwavering sense of justice and never compromised his principles in the face of convenience. Here was the "rugged individualism" of the classical liberal, leaping to four-colour life on the pages before my young eyes, a man whose "powers" could be emulated far easier in my day-to-day life than, say, Superman's.
Batman is a permanent fixture of our culture, a name that enjoys almost universal recognition. He symbolizes something more than the cape and cowl. To his fans, he represents a darkness we have all faced, a question that we sometimes cannot push away: Will I have the courage to push myself, to not be a coward, to do the right thing? In that sense, this fictional character very much represents real life, and our own self-doubt. Batman never had one of those big, the-good-guys-always-win smiles. He knew better.
heheheheh everything i needed to know about being a man i learned from batman by Seamus Heffernan There are a series of classic questions that plague all young men, boys who have emerged from their childhood but have not yet boarded the neon hormonal freight train known as puberty. We all argued about what the truly greatest chocolate bar experience was; we pondered over what was in the middle of golf balls and what made that rattle inside spray-paint cans; we agonized over what the best Star Wars movie was. And, of course, there was the tough question in my circle of friends, boys weaned on too many Saturday morning cartoons and late-night horror flicks, boys whose vision of the world was seen through the pop-culture goggles of good versus evil. We were ten-year-olds who thought comic books were literature, and the greatest Before We Discover Sex question of all was this: Who is your favourite super-hero? I always said Batman. Often, my friends scoffed at me, pointing out the foolish limitations of my choice. Batman could not fly. He was not bulletproof, super-fast, or blessed with the proportionate speed and strength of a spider (whatever that means). There was nothing particularly super about this hero, and yet he captivated my hyper-extended imagination as a child, and it went beyond the dark costume and the looming bat-ears. My interest has lasted into adulthood, and I assume that my friends now think that I keep a Batman action-figure on my desk as a claim to youthful charm. I may let them think that, but it runs far deeper. While other heroes were often imbued with an "aw-shucks" charm that was meant to re-enforce their humanity, quite often it left me with resentment for what I saw as their smug self-satisfaction. Bullets bouncing off their chests, their power-rings ablaze or their laser eye-beams blasting through the bad guys, they were always ready to clap one of us regular folk on the back, give that toothy the-world-is-just-bully-'cause-the-good-guys-alway s-win grin, and reassure us they would be back when we needed them.
Conversely, Batman was one of us "regular folk." Without powers, he was forced to rely on his skill and his wits. Oh sure, he was rich and had access to an incredible amount of gadgets and technological innovations, but lose the Batmobile and the well-stacked utility belt, and you were left with just flesh and blood. His humanity was a huge attraction to me, as I found it hard to relate to his super-powered brethren. Perhaps I equated them with the kids who were too good-looking, too smart, or too athletic, but in Batman I saw a guy succeed in life because he wanted to, and not because he caught a few breaks.
Of course, I was too young to articulate this at the time, and probably just said "Cool, man" and chugged some more cherry soda. But Batman has stayed with me when other icons of my pre-adolescence have slipped away.
First, there's a darkness to Batman that is quite appealing to the older comic book fan. Since Batman was distanced from the campy TV show and re-introduced to his darker roots (thanks mainly to Frank Miller's work in Batman: Year One and The Dark Knight Returns) he became perhaps the mot psychologically compelling character in comic books. Here was a guy who saw his parents get gunned down as a kid, and carried that with him for years. His whole life is about trying to fix that one wrong, and he can't. In real life, we'd probably pay a bunch of psychiatrists to anlayze his feeling and explain what was going on, and they'd tell us he was a control freak suffering from delusions of grandeur, driven by revenge fantasies. Thankfully, this isn't real-life, and in comics we're spared the Oprahfication of modern society. As a character, he's simply hard not to care about, because he cares so much himself.
It is this drive that separates him from the typical spandex-clad vigilante. Batman did not become a hero because some fluke accident - that seemed to invariably involve "radiation" - left him with strange abilities. He has his share of titles and accolades (world's greatest detective, world's best escape artist, world's best hand-to-hand combatant, etc.) but ultimately, he exists as an example of a man who pushes himself to greatness through discipline and an unshakeable confidence in what is right. His dark beginnings prove that he did not have heroics thrust upon him; he grabbed heroics by the throat and took them for himself.
As I have become increasingly individualistic as I've grown into adulthood, it is this quality of my childhood idol that sticks with me. Never once did you see him complain, or cry victim, or bray about a misplaced sense of entitlement. He was guided by an unwavering sense of justice and never compromised his principles in the face of convenience. Here was the "rugged individualism" of the classical liberal, leaping to four-colour life on the pages before my young eyes, a man whose "powers" could be emulated far easier in my day-to-day life than, say, Superman's.
Batman is a permanent fixture of our culture, a name that enjoys almost universal recognition. He symbolizes something more than the cape and cowl. To his fans, he represents a darkness we have all faced, a question that we sometimes cannot push away: Will I have the courage to push myself, to not be a coward, to do the right thing? In that sense, this fictional character very much represents real life, and our own self-doubt. Batman never had one of those big, the-good-guys-always-win smiles. He knew better.
fr0st p!st!!!!! everything i needed to know about being a man i learned from batman by Seamus Heffernan There are a series of classic questions that plague all young men, boys who have emerged from their childhood but have not yet boarded the neon hormonal freight train known as puberty. We all argued about what the truly greatest chocolate bar experience was; we pondered over what was in the middle of golf balls and what made that rattle inside spray-paint cans; we agonized over what the best Star Wars movie was. And, of course, there was the tough question in my circle of friends, boys weaned on too many Saturday morning cartoons and late-night horror flicks, boys whose vision of the world was seen through the pop-culture goggles of good versus evil. We were ten-year-olds who thought comic books were literature, and the greatest Before We Discover Sex question of all was this: Who is your favourite super-hero? I always said Batman. Often, my friends scoffed at me, pointing out the foolish limitations of my choice. Batman could not fly. He was not bulletproof, super-fast, or blessed with the proportionate speed and strength of a spider (whatever that means). There was nothing particularly super about this hero, and yet he captivated my hyper-extended imagination as a child, and it went beyond the dark costume and the looming bat-ears. My interest has lasted into adulthood, and I assume that my friends now think that I keep a Batman action-figure on my desk as a claim to youthful charm. I may let them think that, but it runs far deeper. While other heroes were often imbued with an "aw-shucks" charm that was meant to re-enforce their humanity, quite often it left me with resentment for what I saw as their smug self-satisfaction. Bullets bouncing off their chests, their power-rings ablaze or their laser eye-beams blasting through the bad guys, they were always ready to clap one of us regular folk on the back, give that toothy the-world-is-just-bully-'cause-the-good-guys-alway s-win grin, and reassure us they would be back when we needed them.
Conversely, Batman was one of us "regular folk." Without powers, he was forced to rely on his skill and his wits. Oh sure, he was rich and had access to an incredible amount of gadgets and technological innovations, but lose the Batmobile and the well-stacked utility belt, and you were left with just flesh and blood. His humanity was a huge attraction to me, as I found it hard to relate to his super-powered brethren. Perhaps I equated them with the kids who were too good-looking, too smart, or too athletic, but in Batman I saw a guy succeed in life because he wanted to, and not because he caught a few breaks.
Of course, I was too young to articulate this at the time, and probably just said "Cool, man" and chugged some more cherry soda. But Batman has stayed with me when other icons of my pre-adolescence have slipped away.
First, there's a darkness to Batman that is quite appealing to the older comic book fan. Since Batman was distanced from the campy TV show and re-introduced to his darker roots (thanks mainly to Frank Miller's work in Batman: Year One and The Dark Knight Returns) he became perhaps the mot psychologically compelling character in comic books. Here was a guy who saw his parents get gunned down as a kid, and carried that with him for years. His whole life is about trying to fix that one wrong, and he can't. In real life, we'd probably pay a bunch of psychiatrists to anlayze his feeling and explain what was going on, and they'd tell us he was a control freak suffering from delusions of grandeur, driven by revenge fantasies. Thankfully, this isn't real-life, and in comics we're spared the Oprahfication of modern society. As a character, he's simply hard not to care about, because he cares so much himself.
It is this drive that separates him from the typical spandex-clad vigilante. Batman did not become a hero because some fluke accident - that seemed to invariably involve "radiation" - left him with strange abilities. He has his share of titles and accolades (world's greatest detective, world's best escape artist, world's best hand-to-hand combatant, etc.) but ultimately, he exists as an example of a man who pushes himself to greatness through discipline and an unshakeable confidence in what is right. His dark beginnings prove that he did not have heroics thrust upon him; he grabbed heroics by the throat and took them for himself.
As I have become increasingly individualistic as I've grown into adulthood, it is this quality of my childhood idol that sticks with me. Never once did you see him complain, or cry victim, or bray about a misplaced sense of entitlement. He was guided by an unwavering sense of justice and never compromised his principles in the face of convenience. Here was the "rugged individualism" of the classical liberal, leaping to four-colour life on the pages before my young eyes, a man whose "powers" could be emulated far easier in my day-to-day life than, say, Superman's.
Batman is a permanent fixture of our culture, a name that enjoys almost universal recognition. He symbolizes something more than the cape and cowl. To his fans, he represents a darkness we have all faced, a question that we sometimes cannot push away: Will I have the courage to push myself, to not be a coward, to do the right thing? In that sense, this fictional character very much represents real life, and our own self-doubt. Batman never had one of those big, the-good-guys-always-win smiles. He knew better.
They asker the whiz kids at Turner Classics ...
Oh yeah, fr0st p!st ....
First Post hehehehehehe
Arrrrgggghhhh! I CANNOT believe I messed up the italization of that post! Stupid donuts ....
Who are you going to believe - fat cats with strong financial interest in doing nothing to halt CO2 production, or imkpartial scientists whose career and reputation rests on the validity of their findings, models, and predictions? Yeah! And don't forget the cold fusion guys! Their careers were dependent upon the validity of their research being reproducible ... oh wait; it didn't work? Nevermind ...
Then how do you explain EULA's and people who did not know that when the said "I Agree", they were giving their IP/pr0n/content provider exclusive rights to modify their machine WITHOUT their knowledge or tacit permission? Just because someone installs software doesn't mean they read all the fine print. So perhaps the virus analogy is valid. I hadn't thought about it that way before.
I coulda been a contenda exepting that STUPID 20 second rule!!!!
For the record --- Plural of penis is penes ...
Whoa!! So let's allow *anyone* to see the most accessed websites for a day or month? Sounds like Carnivore would have a companion canine in the pack. And what about the inevitable "Entertainment Tonight" piece where "America Clicks Today"? The mass media is already broadcasting for the lowest-common-denominator; why give them ideas for their next wave of insipid programming?
Producer #1: "Hey, I saw that 3 million people clicked on www.monkeypoopsculptures.com yesterday to make it the number one site! The second most-viewed site was www.masonjarmuseum.org. Somebody call up the animal handlers and let's put together a plot that involves a monkey, two blind buddies, and a retiree in rural Arkansas who has a farm for canning green pees. It would be a hit!"
I'm not a 'Net elitist; I just don't want to see the Machine be able to spit up even more predigested pablum. I'm not offering anything constructive, because I don't code. But I just think this thread is a *small* bit PollyAnnish.