Unusuable factoid of the day: Superman's boss for governor of Texas

Great Caesar's ghost! There probably is a way to make a question out of this one, but I'm giving up after five minutes…

Take a look at this; details from the current race for governor down in Texas:
Incumbent Governor Rick "Secede!" Perry (currently the second-longest-serving governor in the nation, by only six days) has a healthy lead over the Democratic nominee, former Houston mayor Bill White. It's Perry vs. White. Which makes me think of this guy…
Editor-in-chief of The Daily Planet, Superman's boss, Perry White.

Or if you want to go back to the movies…
Jackie Cooper, by the way, is still the youngest ever Oscar nominee for a lead performance.

Perry vs. White in Texas: pointless, but interesting. This of course reminds me of the 2002 Senate race in Wyoming, when incumbent Alistair Jimmy was defeated by challenger Millicent Olsen. Or how about the 1874 race for county commissioner in northwestern Iowa, when Nicholas Matthew Lori barely managed to fend off Whitelaw Lemaris? Ah, good times…

When worlds collide

Just wanted to pass along this great video from Slate (a favorite time-wasting site).

Yes, yes, it makes me want to do drugs more. But I'm more fascinated by the concept of the crossover: all the various characters owned by disparate companies teaming up for the same project, appearing together in a shared universe. I've always been of two minds about these projects. I mean, it was a thrill to witness Superman and Spider-Man clashing…
…but what are the implications? All of the DC and Marvel characters inhabit a single world? What does that mean for long-term continuity? Do the Teen Titans confront Galactus when he threatens Earth? Does the Punisher try to murder the Penguin? Is the Doom Patrol jealous of the X-Men's resources and cachet? Yes, it's just a story, but for a true comic geek, it raises too many necessary questions to answer in a single one-off publicity event.

Other times, the crossover is a neat fit, and adds a welcome richness to a series's back story. Like how it was established The Golden Girls and Empty Nest occurred in the same fictitious Miami…

(Sorry for the poor quality; a car burglar stole my Empty Nest DVD box set.) Despite the discomfiting humor here, there don't seem to be too many major reverberations to this. Blanche, Dorothy and Rose are ensconced quietly down the street. The middle-aged Floridian crises are small enough that nothing would necessarily draw the attention of unseen characters (except when it does, as in the well-handled "Hurricane Saturday" crossover event, which is woefully underdocumented on the Internet). Nice and easy.

Cartoon All-Stars to the Rescue avoids any pitfalls (or benefits), of course, since the characters coexist only in the young man's pot-addled dream mind. In fact, as Slate's commentator points out, that's a fairly realistic scenario, someone blitzed on weed and dreaming about Bugs Bunny, the Muppet Babies, and the animated version of Alf all at the same time. This is genius.

Sad, but leads me to an interesting discussion…

The death of David Carradine is unfortunate, of course—reminds of why my short-lived plan to to do an "Artists Who Killed Themselves" audio round was idiotic—but I can't pretend that I was ever a fan. I've never seen Kung Fu (for shame, I know), and I have to confess that I often confused him with his half brother Robert Carradine, star of one of my favorite movies in my callow youth.

And really, I have a bone to pick with Mr. Carradine, or at least one of his characters. In Kill Bill Vol. 2, he gives the following speech:

Interesting, but there's a problem with this that rankles my geeky soul. Yes, true, Superman didn't become Superman, he was born that way, Clark Kent is his commentary on us pitiful earthlings. But the comparison (however brief, or merely implied) with Batman is false. Batman is the same way: The costumed hero is who he really is, "Bruce Wayne"—or at least the rich dingbat that the public believes Bruce Wayne to be—is the disguise. (This point was slammed over our heads in Batman Begins.) When his parents were murdered, he essentially became Batman, even if he'd yet to concoct that specific identity; he constructed the Wayne facade to throw people off the trail. (At least, according to most continuity; you know how it is with comics.)

Silly, of course, to blame this in any way on Mr. Carradine; he didn't write that speech, and his performance was spot-on. But really, isn't flinging arrows at Quentin Tarantino just way too '90s at this point?