Ever since DC announced their upcoming massive do-over, where all their books will stop and start over at #1. 52 books coming out altogether, and there will be changes aplenty.

Superman is losing his red trunks and his wife — because making Spider-Man's marriage go away made so many fans happy over at Marvel — and he'll almost certainly get a new origin, again. Anyone who's ever been a (male) Robin will be out there somewhere in one of the dozen-odd Batman books. Wonder Woman will become… I don't actually know what she is now, come to think of it. Many heroes will change, or be teamed up differently. Everyone gets new uniforms created by Jim Lee, so they'll all be shiny, even the fabric ones. Possibly the most shocking change, Barbara Gordon will become Batgirl again after 20-something years of being the handicapped (and cool) Oracle. And forums and comics shops and Twitter have been on fire with arguments and accusations and praise and proclamations of doom.

My position: Hey, don't look at me. They lost my loyalty years ago the last few times this was tried. Or, rather, they displaced it.

I understand the need for reboots. When you write characters for decades, you get a lot of backstory. You get new writers who want to try different things, even though they violate continuity. You get a drop off of new readers because there's just too much history to understand before the new books make any sense.  But if you start over…

"Crisis on Infinite Earths" was DC's first attempt at full-scale restructuring, and it worked reasonably well, until writers kept sneaking back to use plotlines and characters from before and muddying the whole thing up again. And a few years later they tried again, and again… Both companies also fell in love with the huge summer crossover event, because fans will buy more comics if their favorite characters are pulled into a huge, complicated story arc, right? And sometimes those big events accompanied reboots.

And they lost me. Not completely, I still read comics. But the multiple-reset of characters and story arcs, the regular wiping of histories and the wholesale changes to comic lineups kicked me into a different appreciation of the art. Gradually, I stopped following the characters, and started following the writers.

I used to buy every Spider-Man book there was. After he got complicated and reset a few times and I had to keep track of which of my favorite Spidey stories now actually happened in whatever current reality he was in, I realized what I really liked was not any story about a web-slinging wiseass, but a good story about a web-slinging wiseass.  Ditto Hulk, ditto Batman, ditto all the zillions of other comics I read. And the range of good writers is much, much smaller than the number of books I used to buy. Why waste my time reading a mediocre book just because I like the hero? I'm not missing anything; any major plot points will be retconned away in a few years anyway. But I know if I pick up a book by Peter David or Mark Waid or Warren Ellis or a dozen others I know I'll enjoy it no matter who's on the cover.

I've also found myself, over the last decade, preferring creator-owned comics or comics with defined story arcs with endings (Terry Moore's "Echo," Brian K. Vaughn's "Y the Last Man," etc) because I get a complete story with a single vision and an ending.

Which sounds like a good attitude, but it doesn't help DC because now that I follow writers, I follow them everywhere. And sometimes they write for other companies…

So keep playing with your universe, DC (and Marvel). I hope it works for you, I have nothing against reboots — they worked wonders for Doctor Who and Star Trek — but I'll just follow Gail Simone to whatever book she's on now and give most of the rest a miss. Have fun! See ya next reboot!

Dad and I were never what you'd call close. Didn't talk a lot, didn't spend a lot of time together. He wasn't much of a hands-on father, and I was either out with friends or reading in my room or using half the furniture in the house to support my wildly optimistic, rapidly-growing, 300-foot-long Hot Wheels racetrack. He was there for the important stuff. Taught me to drive, was there when I needed him, mostly shook his head at whatever new scheme his son was cooking up next. Virtually all of my memories of him include him sitting in his chair in the living room, smoking, petting the dog, and watching the world go by our window. One of the very few pictures I have of him is this one, from a posed group photo at his job at Coca Cola.

Dad was not very social either, not very talkative or open. But sometimes someone would call up and he'd answer the phone and his face would light up. Soon some other middle-aged guy would stop by and they'd talk for hours. Afterward he'd just say he knew the guy from "the service" and let it go at that.

He never told me war stories. I knew he'd been in the Korean War and I'd heard him mention Pork Chop Hill before, but he never brought the subject up around me. Until one day he heard from a buddy that there was a book on the subject and he was mentioned in it. By that time I was accomplished in hunting down wanted books for myself from the network of bookstores up and down the East Coast — this is very, very pre-Amazon — and we managed to get a copy. And he was, indeed, mentioned.

The Battle of Pork Chop Hill is actually two infantry battles fought while the various aggressors in the Korean War were negotiating an armistice. The U.N. won the first battle, but only after two days of heavy fighting with lots of casualties and an unbelievable amount of firepower thrown around. The Hill was near an outpost near the Main Line of Resistance, but didn't actually have a lot of strategic value. On March 23, 1953, a Chinese battalion took the hill. U.N. forces fought to regain it but lost half their men before pulling back.

Dad was in Company F, 17th Infantry, under Captain Monroe D. King. King Company made it to the trenches on the hill but got shelled in ten-minute blasts off and off. When they got there, well…

From "Pork Chop Hill: The American Fighting Man In Action, Korea, Spring 1953" by S.L.A. Marshall:

First man to enter the Pork Chop works, Cpl. William H. Bridges, saw two Chinese rise from among the rocks beyond the parados and fire directly on First Platoon with submachine guns. He yelled, "Watch out!" and dove for the trench. The burst cut down five men close behind him.

Pvt Rudolph Gordon made the trench almost at the same moment. Turning leftward, he started for the second bunker down the line. Three grenades came at him from behind its far wall. They fell short. He and Bridges grenaded back. But protected by the bunker mass, the Chinese grenadiers played African dodger, revealing head and shoulder just long enough to heave their potato mashers.

Within the perimeter which the group formed on the knob were three small, partly collapsed bunkers. Eight or nine of the worst-spent men took shelter under their sandbag walls. The others moved into nearby shell craters. The holes were not deep enough for good cover. Using spoons, knives and bayonets for the work they lacked the strength to wield the small entrenching tool they tried to widen and deepen them. The only other activity was an endless cleaning of rifles and carbines, done with toothbrushes, the standby equipment of the soldier when nothing else will free his grimed rifle. Kuzmick set the example.

The others followed it, though their response was trancelike. Since early morning they had been without water. Faces caked, tongues thickened by the dust shower which plagued the hill, under lashing by the guns and mortars, they no longer talked to each other. Nor did they move from their places except when shaken loose by an exploding shell. From the foreground, an almost constant bullet fire rained upon the knob. Occasionally, a grenade came sailing in. Yet they saw not a single human target, and therefore made no attempt to return fire. In the end that perhaps mattered very little, since most of them no longer had sufficient strength to raise weapon to shoulder and aim. Than this, there is no more moving entry in the record of King, that young Americans too exhausted to fight may still obey such group discipline as their enfeebled resources permit. It was to be their portion for four hours.

"We lay there and took it," said Corporal Bridges. "There was nothing else to do." To the few who endured it, the earlier trials of the day seemed nothing compared with this final test. Hit and harassed, endlessly cleaning weapons with no valid hope of again using them, they still held ground. The earth and rock banks which they had raised above their small craters were creased and scattered by the bullet storm. The enemy artillery, which had ranged widely over Pork Chop, now concentrated against this one small area of defiance. The embankments caved in. The sandbag walls were flattened. Repeatedly, the men were buried under the dirt shower. Weapons freshly cleaned were refouled. Again the toothbrushes were plied. In this way continued the monotonously deadly round. At the end, fourteen had survived it, sick and shaken but relatively whole-bodied. Seven were Americans, the others ROKs.

The book reads like a love letter. Marshall wrote as if all soldiers were gods, using fiercely overblown prose that raises those men to unmatchable deities. And maybe, for that time, they were. Dad seemed quietly proud that we'd read it, even as he told us to forget about it. I think he was glad we knew, but was even gladder we found out from someone besides him, if that makes sense.

My dad acted bravely, both in actions and in endurance, fighting for his country. But 33 other men in King Company who acted just as bravely never came off the Hill.

To my knowledge, I have not lost any immediate family or friends in combat, and in that I know that I am extremely fortunate. Dad died of lung cancer decades after the war, long after seeing his grandchildren born. But today, for his sake, I honor the brave men who fought shoulder-to-shoulder with him those two days in 1953 and never made it home.

Yes, I'm late to the party. But it's been eating at me.

Actually I stopped watching Smallville somewhere around the 5th season, and only lasted that long out of dogged optimism. There were so many things right about the show, they couldn't blow every opportunity, could they? Well, yes, yes they could.

But I tuned in to the finale just to see the payoff, what we've been waiting for these ten years. Clark, flying, in the suit.

Guess what we didn't really get?

Now, I don't know exactly why. I've heard the suit they used (from Superman Returns) didn't actually fit actor Tom Welling so they couldn't. I've heard that Warner didn't want a full-body shot of Welling in the suit because they had the new guy lined up for the next movie and wanted his to be the face everyone expected. I've heard Welling flat-out refused to be seen in the suit. I have no idea, and frankly I don't care.  Whatever the reason, the fans were cheated.

Everything the finale did to make the ending inspirational and triumphant — and it tried really, really, really hard –was undercut with the awkward direction and bad CG required to show Clark being Superman without really showing it. And it would have been so easy to do so, even within the budget of a cable show. So, let's try this:

EXT. METROPOLIS – DAY

Apokolips is approaching earth, a fiery ball of hate. Citizens of Metropolis GATHER to look up at their doom. Some are crying. Many of them have glowy OMEGA symbols on their foreheads. OLIVER rushes out into the street. People are packed in the windows, watching. The end is very clearly near.

CUT TO:

A terrified WOMAN HOLDING A BABY leans too close to her window and gets jostled; the baby slips, FALLS. The woman screams, the crowd reacts.

And something blurs past the woman. Something red and blue.

CLARK lands gently in the Metropolis street, in full costumed view, holding the baby, moving with calm assurance. The crowd marvels.

MAN IN CROWD
It's the Blur!

People gasp and murmur. Clark HANDS THE BABY to Oliver. Then cue the Superman theme song as he SMILES THE SUPERMAN SMILE for the first time ever, and TAKES OFF into the sky. 

OLIVER
(holding the baby)
Good luck, Clark.

As we cut back and forth between his grim determination and the people we see signs of long-denied hope in the populace. Here and there the Omega symbol blinks out, overwhelmed by emotion. The people of Metropolis CHEER HIM ON.

Clark vanishes into the planet's corona. And Apokolips STARTS TO MOVE AWAY. The crowds go wild, hugging each other and yelling. The last Omega symbols VANISH. The day is saved.

Same scene as before. No fancy special effects the crew hasn't already done a zillion times before, I'm not even suggesting we show him pushing the planet (which would have been nice). But we get two things we were denied: Clark, in the suit, being Superman, in full view. And we get the added benefit of Metropolis realizing their hometown hero is a lot more heroic and inspirational than they imagined, with that holy-crap moment that lifts you up inside. 

How hard would that have been?

According to some enlightened nutbars, the Rapture is due to hit tomorrow and people are panicking. Well, I say panicking. In fact, a very few people are smug and looking skyward, a few thousand more are selling those schnooks post-Rapture insurance and pet-housing, and the rest of us are shaking our heads and cracking Rapture jokes.

But the fact remains that someday all hell will break loose. If not Rapture, then nuclear war or asteroid attack or zombie outbreak or giant mutated lizard or just plain economic collapse. There's no way to know for sure what will happen before, what will happen then, and what will happen after, but things will change and you will change with them or you will most surely die. Are you up to the challenge? Are you ready to face directly into either the confirmation or utter denial of everything you've ever believed in?

If you're the person I think you are, you're not only ready but eager, and you've got front-row tickets as well as back-stage passes to the cast party after the invasion. But there will be strange and trying times, so here's some tips on how to spend your last days on Oith.

1 ) If you have warning, max out all of your credit cards and sell your stocks short. Buy everything you've ever wanted, pick up a complete collection of all the movies produced between 1953 and 1986, buy a car with your Discover Card. Why not? Borrow stuff from everybody you know, just so you can roll on it. Or stock up on ammo, non-perishable food items, chlorine tablets, and hand-cranks to recharge your iPod, just in case.

2 ) Or take your newly-gotten gain and buy a lot of land. Fence it in, a real fence, the kind that'll bring a tear to the eye of an Arizona lawman. Build two entrances, one heavily guarded main gate and a small, hidden, back gate. Build a huge, well-lit, well-guarded, luxurious-looking house in the middle. Build a small, comfortable, hidden house by the back entrance. Live in the small house. Mount three fully automatic machine guns facing the big entrance. During the riots and insurrections of the End Days you'll be able to sit back, free from worry, and spend your time idly gunning down the rampaging crowds that try to break in. Guaranteed hours of fun for the whole family!

3 ) If you need to go out for supplies during the violent times, wear a Kevlar suit and cover it with wiring. Put some highway flares on your chest and back with duct tape and run wires from them to an old garage door opener. Keep that in your hand at all times. Keep your eyes wide and glaring. Go about your business, no one will bother you.

4 ) Learn to give really good oral sex. Whether you're male or female, if there's the slightest chance that you won't be the local tribal chieftain then you'd better learn to dive down there with a smile. There won't be many renewable commodities that you can lay hands on in a hurry, but if you follow my advice you'll always be welcomed.

5 ) When the sun goes nova do not look at it directly. This can cause irreparable damage to your eyes. Take two pieces of cardboard, 8" by 8", and paint them black. Using a needle (ask your parents for help) make a pinhole in the center of one of the pieces. Now hold them up so that the sun's explosive force will go through the hole onto the center of the other card. In the split picosecond before you burn away screaming into a puff of greasy ash you'll be able to see the image reproduced perfectly on the second piece of cardboard. Do not use smoked glass.

6 ) Take the time now to learn how to tell groceries by touch alone. You may have to spend quite a few months scuba-diving in supermarkets for sustenance, and this will let you scoop out the good stuff before everybody else. Lock yourself in your closet and memorize the feel of fruit juice cans, the distinctive shape of packaged ham, and discover the foolproof way to distinguish tuna fish from cat food.

7 ) Just for fun, get three friends and four different colored horses and ride through the streets in flowing robes and serious expressions.

8 ) If things threaten to get nuclear you have two choices: A. Move to where the bombs won't hit, or B. Move to where they will. Your preference would depend on your attitudes towards Armageddon, post-holocaust living and the afterlife, and are entirely up to you. If you move to where the bombs are sure to hit, try to go with style. Move to ground zero. Paint an X spreading out from your house. Invite friends over for the Big Blowout. If you know the bombs are coming, go out there with a bat and see if you can set one off before it hits. Take some friends and a blanket and try to catch one.

9 ) Plan for your food supply. Watching for good sales at Publix won't cut it in an aftermath situation. Instead, raise bunnies; they're fairly cheap to feed, don't take up much space, breed like, well, rabbits, and they make good eatin'. Leave the eyes in, though. Best part, man, really.
Also, and I'm just saying, you might want to look up which parts of your neighbors are edible.

10 ) As much as circumstances will allow, nail anything you can get it up for. Since radiation of all wavelengths will be thrown around like hairspray when the End happens, fertility might be an iffy thing and generations of the future may depend on whomever had the forethought to spread his seed from here to Tierra del Fuego. Think of it! Legions of your sons and daughters, marching under your guidance and tutelage! Your features will become the standard of beauty, you will rule as the literal father of the country. Hey, if nothing else it's a good line to use tonight.

The latest in my "Dehoard Me" project was just posted. It's the hard-to-find Firefly trading cards binder, from the late, lamented Inkworks.

It's in great condition, still shiny and crisp and clean, and it contains the basic 72-card "Firefly: The Complete Collection" set as well as the one-sheet promo ad flyer for the series, four promo cards (P-i, P-2, P-4, and P-UK), and even the box the cards came in (folded).

The binder was tough to find even before the company went out of business and it's near impossible now. Don't miss out!

Moments after the Doctor Who season six premiere finished boggling everyone's mind, QMx released its latest offering. Remember in the opening scene, when the Elizabethan lord stormed in to find an embarrassed woman, a half-finished painting, and a naked Doctor hiding under her skirt?

Admit it, the first thing you thought — well, maybe the second thing — was "I need that painting!"

QMx has your back. Or your barely-covered front, as it were.

QMx is thrilled to bring you a faithful re-creation of the painting titled, "My Mysterious Doctor." It's an unabashed look at Matt Smith as Doctor Who, clutching a trident, with cherubs circling overhead and a scarlet red drape positioned ever so appropriately.

The unfinished painting was supposedly created by a nobleman's daughter, Matilda, and appeared onscreen for a few fleeting moments. Our art print is taken directly from the original painting and has been resized to 18" w x 24" h on 100-pound satin-finish paper.

$14.95, plus shipping. Head here for a closer look and more details.

If you missed the season opener — do I even know you? — you can pick it up at iTunes where it's already comnfortably

Marilou Goodwin! Her name was randomly chosen from the people who commented. Congratulations Marilou, and thanks to everyone who stopped by!

If you haven't yet picked up Titan Books'  "Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, the Book" do so faster than immediately. Check it out at Amazon at a nicely discounted price, or look for it wherever you prefer to buy your books.

And if you didn't see it, go read the new York Times article on Joss and his future plans for more Horribleness (spoiler alert: he has some).

Or read this Wall Street Journal article on how "Dr. Horrible" changed the game for web shows.

Or check out this interview with co-writer and groupie Maurissa Tancharoen, or this one with co-writer and Western messenger boy Jed Whedon, or even this inspired and really disturbing Dr. Horrible and My Little Pony mashup.

Dr. Horrible is everywhere! Is it too late to make him the villain in the Avengers movie?

Next up in my dehoarding efforts: Autographs!

I love collecting autographs. I love the connection you get with a personal hero. Sure, it's a fleeting one, one they'll undoubtedly forget almost immediately. But you'll still have that memento, that proof that you once met this person and got to talk to him or her about the effect they may have had on your life.

I don't sell autographs I've gotten in person, for that reason and because I don't want celebrities to stop having those moments with fans for fear that their generosity of time will end up… well, on eBay, frankly. They give a lot of their time to fans and we appreciate it, we shouldn't run off and make a buck.

That said, occasionally I'll buy one myself, from a reputable source, to fill a hole in a collection. And if I later get the fortunate opportunity to get another directly from the actor or writer or musician in question, it leaves me with an extra. I figure the celebrity was compensated for the bought one (usually from a convention or arranged signing) so I don't feel as weird selling it myself.  So here's what's up so far:

Nathan Fillion and Gina Torres preprints: I can't stand auctions that aren't clear regarding autographs and preprints so let me say it outright. These are copies of original autographed photos, but they were not themselves signed. There's no indication that either actor ever personally touched these prints. That said, they're pretty cool and would nicely decorate a Browncoat's wall. 8"x10", one of each.

Morena Baccarin as Inara: Whereas this is an actual, signed-in-person, autographed photo. Authenticated by Creation Entertainment, with their certificate of authenticity on the back. 8"x10", glossy.

Amber Benson as Tara: This is a gorgeous photo. Signed by Amber at a Metro Entertainment signing (CofA included). 8"x10" glossy. Hard-to-see wear on the top from being in a frame.

Auctions for all three end next Tuesday night. Don't miss out!

I'm a little late to the party, as this came out already and odds are if you're a Dr. Horrible fan — and if not, why not? who are you? — you already know of it. But just in case I'm going to tell you anyway, and to make up for my tardiness I'll give you one for free.

Back in the misty days of the Writers Strike, plucky little Joss Whedon and his ragtag band of mates sidestepped around the studios and networks, and put together "Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog,"  a 3-act, online-only musical superhero webshow that used fan -favorite actors, a whimsical attitude and catchy tunes in their insidious plot to take over the Internet. Or make money, it's not important. What is important is that it worked, and it spawned a top-40 CD, live productions, a DVD with a musical commentary that later got its own CD, and more. And now, it has a book.

By this point if Titan Books puts out anything about a show I even remotely like I'll buy it. Every one I've seen has been stuffed full of material, photos, interviews and factoids that even I, obsessive fan that I am, hadn't uncovered. And this one is no exception.

Granted, there's only 45 minutes of material to write about, so it's not quite like writing about a series. But you get the full shooting script, the sheet music to the songs, the sheet music to the Commentary! songs, and you get extras.

You get a hilarious intro by Captain Hammer. You get a roundtable discussion from Joss, Maurissa Tancharoen, Jed Whedon, and Zack Whedon on the creation and making of "Dr. Horrible." You get essays from Neil Patrick Harris, Felicia Day, Nathan Fillion and Simon Helberg. You get behind-the-scenes photos, pics of Joss' original lyric sheets (with different lyrics), articles about the costuming and the awards and the fans and the ComicCon panel.

You get a lot.

You can get a sneak peek at Titan Books, and you can buy it at Amazon, or wherever you prefer to buy your books.

OR you can win one here. Just post a comment below to be automatically entered into a drawing for a copy of the book. Doesn't matter what you post, the drawing will be random, but it would be nice if you could post something about the book or "Dr. Horrible," just to make 'em more fun to read. Rules: one entry per person. U.S. and Canada only. Nobody in my family is eligible. Drawing will be one week from tonight, at 10 p.m. EST Wednesday, April 20, 2011. You must include a valid e-mail address so I can contact you. Good luck!