waste of tape

I have some very troubling news: the days of Mega Meaty Boys and Super Mecha Nacho Fries are officially over. The dining room at work recently went through a drastic change from its original straight buffet formation to some ridiculously complicated multiple station system: some things you can serve yourself, some things you must order and some things you pay for when you enter and some when you leave—it’s stupid and anti-intuitive and crowded and goddamn it, the first few days have been PANDELRIUM. Swarming throngs of overweight, poorly dressed Seattle-ites passive-aggressively complaining that their salmon fillet is taking too long to prepare and all I want is my goddamn grilled cheese sandwich! Assholes.

In a related story, I am totally addicted to grilled cheese sandwiches.

I am, in fact, eating one right now, capping off the end of a nearly perfect weekend.  Yesterday, I spent an hour or so sifting through the used comics and trades in Half Price Books and was, to be frank, slightly aroused by the sheer awesomeness of the selection—everything was near mint and like, a quarter!  (Jonas, btw, I have a bunch of random Youngblood to slide your way now).  Reading some older books took my mind off of this stupid DC Countdown series whose only purpose at present seems to be Svengali-ing me into liking a) completely useless tertiary characters (Trickster and Piper are rapidly becoming my best friends) and b) Jason fucking Todd who should be goddamn dead, dammit! DEAD! As much as I hate him and want him to be dead again, I have to admit that he is kind of a badass. When Kon-Welling Prime punched time or whatever and Todd woke up six feet under a graveyard in Gotham City, that little bastard clawed his way out with creep-tastic aplomb that would put Buffy to shame and now he’s a psychotic, amoral vigilante who kills criminals just for the fun of it. Now that I think about it, I’m hoping Emoboy Prime has another temper tantrum because I’d really like Bart Allen to come back to life. Though, I guess speedsters don’t need time-punching to resurrect. They can just vibrate right through logic. I still say that of all the characters in the ‘verse, Tim Drake is the one who’d be able to figure out how to bring someone back to life, whether through temporal folds or scary black magic. He’s creepy-smart, Battishly-pragmatic and currently wallowing in grief and feelings of responsibility for the deaths of his loved ones, all of which will implode when Batman dies in the Final Crisis. Though I guess it isn’t saying much that he’s the smartest guy in the DC universe, since apparently, anyone in the DCU can be fooled by a goddamn pair of glasses.

Speaking of Buffy, I am very excited to hear that David Boreanaz will be providing voicework for Justice League: The New Frontier, even if he’s going to be Hal Jordan/Green Lantern. Aside from the fact that Kyle Rayner is kind of a hot piece, Green Lanterns are useless and boring. The only thing any of them have ever done that’s worth a damn is when Guy Gardner scrawled “Bye Bye Bats” on the Watchtower window and mooned Batman from fucking space. He MOONED BATMAN. No matter how you cut it, that’s ten kinds of awesome.