Wolverine: Broken Character

DC Comics doesn’t understand one important thing about superheroes. Their poster boy, Superman, while interesting on an academic level, is too invincible to be exciting. You can’t outrun him, you can’t be stronger than him and you can’t even shoot him. You don’t stand a chance unless you have some rare kryptonite, and he would probably just pick up some lead to block it anyway. Superman not only beats you, he gives you lead poisoning.

That’s why I have always preferred Marvel Comics. Their characters are fallible— they can be defeated. Spider-Man’s victories are always hard-fought. At the very least, Marvel’s heroes are plagued by moral quandaries and major character flaws, especially the X-Men.
As a kid, I always thought Wolverine was one of the coolest X-Men. He has claws! Unbreakable claws! He can heal faster than the average person! He can make yellow and blue spandex look not horrific! (That last one, I think, is his real mutant superpower.)

But now I realize that Marvel’s gone too far. Wolverine is becoming invincible.

He definitely didn’t start that way. Wolverine wasn’t one of the original X-Men created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby in September 1963. He debuted 11 years later in an issue of “The Incredible Hulk” as a stocky little superhuman agent of the Canadian government, which is quite cool. He joined the X-Men a year later, bringing along amazing spandex and a mutual but unfulfilled crush on Jean Grey, girlfriend of team leader Cyclops (a.k.a. the one with laser eyes).

In the late 70s, when he first appeared, his healing power was limited to merely an accelerated healing of small wounds.
But as of last June, he was able to regenerate his entire body (bones and all) after being caught in a nuclear explosion. He has also grown about a foot taller and is no longer an ugly, stocky, angry little Canadian man with claws. He’s invincible.

How do you defeat a mutant with a skeleton of adamantium (the only thing stronger than adamantium is Captain America’s Vibranium-alloy shield) who is able to recover from a nuclear bomb blast? You don’t.

There are other Marvel characters like Jean Grey who could literally destroy the entire world if she felt like it. She’s an Omega-level mutant, but she still dies. Yes, she comes back eventually, but she can actually die. Wolverine once had his skeleton ripped out by Magneto. But it doesn’t kill him, he recovers rather quickly, and then is revealed to have claws of bone. It doesn’t seem like Wolverine can actually die. Ever. This is annoying.

Then there are minor characters who could also destroy the world, but thankfully aren’t invincible. Take Gambit. In “Uncanny X-Men” #313, he charges a ship’s anchor, which Storm then throws at the Phalanx, blowing the Phalanx to pieces. Gambit’s power could evolve to the ridiculous heights of Wolverine’s power, but it doesn’t. He’s fettered by the limits of magical realism. Why isn’t Wolverine?

Video games have this concept when a character or a weapon is basically impossible to defeat, giving one side an annoying and insurmountable advantage. It’s a “broken weapon” or a “broken character.” It’s fine that Wolverine has become one of Marvel’s flagship gruff antihero characters, but the fact that he’s becoming the only important and invincible X-Man is totally unfair.

Mutants are already cooler than us normal people, what with the mind reading and the explosions and the powers of flight. So why does Wolverine need to be invincible? Why do any of them need to be invincible? If there’s anything I’ve learned at Grinnell, it’s that flaws and vulnerabilities make people more interesting. Wolverine these days is just an invincible joke.

Midnight = nerd nirvana

(Originally published Apr 24th, 2009)

For nerds, there is nothing quite like a midnight release. It is our Super Bowl. Grinnellians compare stress levels and page counts. Nerds compare midnight release experiences. The privileged feeling you get a few hours later, knowing that no one else has seen or read what you have, that’s like crack for us.

Two years ago, I bought “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” at midnight in Canada, simply so that I could get the British edition. Well, and because the nearest bookstore in rural upstate New York took me across the border to Brockville, Ontario.
Normally, I’d just take the boat over and call in to Customs. But there were two problems. One, my 14-foot outboard motor boat had no lights. Two, docking in the harbor isn’t free after 9 p.m.

Being cheap, I drove. The customs officer on the international bridge was less surprised than I might have hoped. So much for getting any
affirmation of my nerdiness. Even worse, I wasn’t even the first one there. Two Canadian teenagers—sisters who had been first in line at this bookstore since the fourth book—and an American doctor with his devoted 14-year-old daughter had beaten me.

We killed time by discussing each other’s governments, sharing pizza and soda. Other people started showing up around 11 p.m., a number of whom found it necessary to remind me that not all Canadians are named Alanis or Avril.

I was the third person in Brockville to buy the book and the second person to drive back across the border with it. Six hours later, I went downstairs for breakfast. Grandma remarked that I was up early when actually, I had finished Harry Potter instead of sleeping. I was not allowed to talk to anyone for several days.

So I’ve got transportation issues, international camaraderie, free pizzas and excessive fan speculation. One problem, though: no costumes! It’s my biggest shame as a nerd—I have never dressed up for a midnight release, and therefore cannot count myself as a supernerd, no matter how many lines I can quote or how many times I’ve read a book.

Luckily, May 1st brings “X-Men Origins: Wolverine” and on May 8th, Star Trek arrives. And I’m finally prepared with costumes for both.
After dissolving into fangirl squeals during the first trailer showing Gambit, the card-throwing Cajun, I realized my chance had finally come. I have in my dresser a black turtleneck with the magenta and blue trademark and the Sharpie abs. In my closet, there’s a floor-length trenchcoat. I’ve already destroyed a deck of cards by throwing half of them at drunk people at Harris, and I have a lighter to fake my mutant powers.

Sophomore year for Mary B. James, the Captain and I dressed as Captain Picard and Commander Riker, so I’ve already got the full Star Fleet uniform. Yes, it’s the wrong era for this movie, but I don’t care. It’s Star Trek; time travel is never out of the question.

While a midnight release at The Strand full of Grinnellians might not measure up to the epic nature of the final Harry Potter, but a costume brings it close. Besides, if you won’t dress up like a mutant or a Star Fleet commander for your favorite cultural obsession, is it really worth it?

Preparing for imminent zombie invasions

(Originally published Apr 10th, 2009)

I had never seen a zombie movie before college. Then I met Steph Cox '09 and I was introduced to a frightening new concept: the zombiepocalypse. “Night of the Living Dead,” “Bog Creatures,” and “Dead and Breakfast” (paired with serious conversations about our relative ability to survive a zombie attack) fueled my imagination. Grinnell is in the middle of the cornfields of Iowa. Do we really have a chance?

I sought out these troubling conversations with Steph and fellow zombie/apocalypse enthusiast Mer Nechitilo ’09; their zombie knowledge and experience easily trumps mine. Now, I ponder the general defensive capabilities of various academic buildings far more than the application of literary theory. I’m an English major. Some key thoughts:

1. We have to realize that the zombiepocalypse is unpredictable. You can only make basic plans and preparations. The real key to survival rests on improvisation.

2. Only a few buildings on campus can properly serve as a defensive stronghold against any sort of invasion, especially from zombies:
Stuck on the third floor of ARH? Kiss your brain goodbye before the zombie consumes it.

The JRC? It’s ridiculously vulnerable. No matter how much that window in the dining hall costs, it cannot withstand the pure strength of determined zombies. Obviously, Cesar Pelli had ulterior motives.

It’s still a valuable resource, though. You can run through the Marketplace, pick up the rounded knives from the pizza station to use as a Bat’leth or a bladed boomerang. Just hope the Cheery Checkers haven’t already been zombified. They won’t let you leave.

Noyce is deceptive. True, the glut of maze-like hallways can allow you to lose a confused zombie/Humanities major without much difficulty. But zombies could mount a surprise attack from anywhere. You could sustain a successful defense in the greenhouse by barricading the stairwells, but you can still get to the third floor through the Science Library. Again, through the windows.

Noyce might prove effective as a weapons barracks thanks to the abundance of chemicals. Various caustic acids could delay the zombie onslaught, but other chemicals could cause mutations, making the situation far worse.

As for the best places to avoid imminent zombie attacks? Goodnow stands as the consensus leader (sample size: 3), followed by Quad. Goodnow has only one entrance and though it has vents to the basement, the vents are metal and difficult to remove, even for a human with regular motor control and a brain. Besides, there’s a tower. Towers are great. If towers weren’t great, castles wouldn’t have them.
Goodnow is also well-stocked with primitive weaponry: atlatls and axes, among other things.

Quad can be barricaded, since no zombie could climb through the windows, but you’d ultimately get overwhelmed. There’s just too much open space. And now that it no longer serves as a dining hall, you get no food and no weapons.

But where do you go from all this theorizing? After several hours of discussions and many sources, I have a basic plan. And you should trust me, since the internet says I have a 70 percent chance of surviving. Assuming I hear the news in my Haines second room, I would make my way to the JRC for the aforementioned giant knives and food supplies, assembling a crack team of zombie killers on the way.

Next, we’d cut though Noyce in the most direct way possible, and then make our way carefully to Goodnow, keeping the pizza knives ready to slice off a zombie head. The key here is to avoid sneak attacks but not to be so out in the open that you are easily surrounded.

Once safely inside, we’d barricade the single entrance to Goodnow and ensure that it is actually the only entrance. We’d arm ourselves with atlatls and axes and wait for the hordes. But leading an inexperienced and small force against a zombie invasion is not smart. You have to wait for your heroic final stand, killing zombies as they break through your defenses and pile through the door, blocking their own path. Godspeed.

Picking apart the world of Harry Potter

(Originally Published Mar 5th, 2009)

The Captain (my roommate Anna) and I frequently have arguments about J.K. Rowling’s seven-part Harry Potter opus. Having read more fantasy novels than I knew existed, The Captain has reached a point where she takes their fantastical worlds too seriously, producing some rather amusing critiques. Luckily, her problems with Harry Potter fit nicely into a few main points.

“Hogwarts doesn’t teach any life skills! Where do they all work? They can’t all be small business owners or Ministry workers. What do they do after they graduate?”

The fan-fiction world has tried to tackle this question with a surprising lack of creativity, featuring Harry as an Auror or a playboy living off his inheritance, while Hermione becomes anything from a Healer (many authors invent a Magical Medical School) to an Auror to a Flourish and Blotts register jockey. On the other hand, Ron finds a riveting future as an unemployed bum, an Auror, or a vampire.

The average Hogwarts graduate can be anything they want to be, just like your high school guidance counselor said, provided their O.W.L. scores are high enough. The young wizards who barely scrape Acceptable O.W.L.s lead remarkably parallel lives to those kids in high school with similar grades—having little magic babies and hanging around home working at the magical equivalent of a gas station. Granted, the job market is a little tight with all those small businesses having to employ everyone unqualified for the MoM, but luckily, that giant War Against Evil killed off the less-talented wizards, opening up employment opportunities for at least a couple years.

“When the whole magical world was in trouble, why didn’t they contact their friends in other countries?”

They did! At least, the ones that had been mentioned in other books. Yes, all five of them. Or maybe I’m remembering another fanfic. Even so, England’s position as Voldemort’s home turf definitely made it the front for the War Against Evil. But you still have to think that international wizards fought evildoers within their own borders, leaving Voldemort to Harry and the rest of his British companions. Now, I am not familiar with Muggle politics, let alone Wizard politics, but when was the last time England asked for help with a war on its home front? Maybe they’ve just forgotten how to ask.

“Why don’t they learn Math or Latin? Latina lingua deorum est!”

What self-respecting wizard needs math? Isn’t Arithmancy something about math? Besides, higher-level math is basically magic anyway. They also don’t have credit cards or taxes to grapple with. The most complicated math that appears throughout the series is figuring out exactly how many Knuts are in a Sickle and how many Sickles in a Galleon, which even Rowling can’t do. Wizarding England doesn’t appear to be a democracy of any sort, so no one even needs to know how to count votes. I wish I lived in a world that put magic over math.

Excusing the lack of Latin is trickier. After all, the majority of spells are based in Latin—Crucio, Wingardium Leviosa, etc.—but it seems that the students never learn anything quite as difficult as the linguistic roots of their everyday spells.

“Don’t they need Latin to make up spells?”

They can totally make up spells. Snape did it while he was in school and his little Levicorpus spell caused a good bit of trouble. In the end, I’d rather assume that the Sorting Hat clandestinely implants a magic Latin-to-English-to-Magic-Spell translator into the mind of every incoming student. Harry doesn’t realize that it happens, so neither do we.

“Can you refuse an invitation to Hogwarts? Home school or just ignore magical teaching altogether? Is that legal? It shouldn’t be.”

If in fifth grade I had the chance to leave Quail Run Elementary for a school where I could blow things up, fly on a broomstick, and live away from home, I guarantee that no considerations of my career would have entered my mind. But if my parents disagreed, there’s probably a power-binding spell that has ruined the ambitions of many prepubescent wizards.

Of course, the easiest defense to any Harry Potter fallacy is that because it is outside of Harry’s experience, it is also outside of the reader’s. It’s a fantasy novel; why should J.K. Rowling have to create viable economic and political structures and answer the smartass questions of college students? But accepting that just wouldn’t be any fun.

(Originally published Feb 20th, 2009)

It’s not often that a science center dedication finds me sitting cross-legged on the floor in the very front, a drunk and swooning fan girl with my rapt attention focused on the speaker. Then again, it’s also not often that a Starfleet Commander graces Darby Gymnasium.

I found out that Walter Koenig ’58 (Chekov) would be part of the Noyce dedication about a week before it happened, then ran around ecstatically telling everyone I knew: “Walter Koenig! You know, Star Trek? Nuclear Wessels! On Friday!” Then someone gently reminded me of the last thing that I had been ecstatically excited about: “Oktoberfest! Amana Colonies! German Beer! On Friday!”

I found myself faced with one of the most difficult decisions I have ever had to make. How could I pick between a party with free German beer and the fulfillment of my life-long Trekkie status? I asked the Captain (my roommate, Anna), who recommended Star Trek. But the German beer called to me and my only-just-recovering-from-study-abroad-in-Berlin psyche. Who else could I ask who would really understand?

Suddenly, I knew. The man who would truly understand my difficulty. The Ambassador Sarek to my Captain Spock, the Admiral Kirk to my Dr. David Marcus, the Worf to my Alexander, the Number One Dad to my special 12-year-old version of Picard in the episode “Rascals”!
On Wednesday afternoon, I called my German-speaking, beer-appreciating, Captain Picard action figure-owning, Chemistry professor father in his office. With no preamble, I posed my dilemma.

“Dad, what’s more important: Walter Koenig or Oktoberfest?”

“Both?”

Though he had not taken into consideration the physical limitations (my lack of a transporter being one of the most pressing problems), he was right! Combining the spirit of Oktoberfest with the nerdiness of Star Trek! Hell, I do that every week with the Star Trek Drinking Game.

Created sometime second year by the Captain (my roommate Anna), our friend Brock (Lieutenant Commander LaForge) and myself, the Star Trek Drinking Game is an integral part of a Friday afternoon. The basic rules are simple: drink for awkward sexual tension (two drinks for awkward sexual tension from beyond the grave) or when someone who knows the rules better says to.

I don’t remember what episode we watched that afternoon, but there were enough speeches about humanity from Picard or badass Riker moments that we quite happily wended our way to the Dining Hall afterwards. We took our box dinners straight to Darby Gym and eventually found ourselves right next to the speakers, less than twenty feet from Koenig’s chair. I have no idea what happened when Koenig wasn’t speaking.

When the program was over, it was our chance to finally meet him, a man of the stars and the stage. We ran to the door through which he had disappeared and learned that he had already left. Disappointed but not deterred, we deduced that following the line of distinguished alums would lead us to his next stop, where we sat on a bench outside the Dining Hall feeling out of place and anxious. We spotted him coming through the crowd and ran up to him. But now there was a new problem. What do you say? Luckily, the Captain solved that one.

“Hi.” Giggle. “We’re really big fans.”