like an eagle...

...perhaps like a fat sparrow would be more appropriate. The pics that follow are a few snap shots of a first flying lesson, graciously provided by my lovely better half for my birthday.
This lovely little aircraft pictured above is a Cessna 152. No joke--smaller than the inside of my Honda!

Below is a sample of the inspection we go through to make sure nothing falls apart in the air.


The author looking decidedly (non-) TopGun-ish. No digital rear-view in this little bad boy; strictly by your own two eyes.

Taking off on the next runway over...


Views of Casco Bay and Scarborough...I never would've guessed Maine water could look like that!


Landing (yeah, I brought it in a little crooked on the final approach) and the pilot and his lovely photographic assistant back on the ground after tying the Cessna down.

Truly a fantastic experience that pictures don't do justice and we couldn't have asked for a better day! One for the scrap books!

little nippers and such

cute lil' bugger, ain't it? Yup. That's what I looked like 33 whole years ago today. Check out the super-seventies-tastic couch Mom'n'me are chillin' on there, right? Straight awesomeness!

Considering the straight dopeness of bullheads everywhere, I figured today would be as good a day as any to give a big old trumpeting welcome to the Taurus club to two new little additions to the world.

May 14th saw the arrivals of one Cameron Nicholas Geneseo (my 1st nephew), weighing in at 7lbs, 8oz and 20 inches long and of one Ms. Lula Moren Dockendorf (daughter of a good friend of mine) coming in at a whopping 6lbs & change and 21 inches. WOW! Those are some small-type beings, right!

Well, regardless of size and signature, welcome to the club to both of you; you're in good company!

city screaming

This is a piece I've been slowly working on and have been pretty happy with the way it's turning. Not much to say about this one really, as it kind of speaks for itself, right? The many-flavored denizens of an idealized summer-city in the sky. And a big ol' balloon in the distance, cuz it just wouldn't be the same without it. This one is pencil on paper, scanned and cleaned up a little in Photoshop. Eventually, this will be transferred to panel for paint...I think...

Birthday Wishes

How'd ya like to find this big galoot on yer doorstep with a candy-gram for your cupleanos? Probably not so much.
But we'll go easy on the poor fella as he's still a bit rough...

In any case, mad birthday wishes go out to our fiendish friend Jamie, my cool cousin Dean and my mad mother. And to anyone else who shares this most dope of birthday days.

And finally, happy National Cartoonist's Day to you all. Yup, that's right. National Cartoonist's Day. Who'd a thunk it. So here's the skinny on that: the first comic strip The Yellow Kid was first published on this day in 18...uh...something, something (I forget the actual date, sorry y'all). So, in appreciation of all cartoonists everywhere, go out and get yourself a comic or pick up a collection of your favorite strips.

Enjoy the day. Live it hard.

Guru

So I've been a little dormant on the blog-front through April, but the sketchin's staying active and getting better (at least in my humble opinion). Here's a recent piece from the wire-bound catalog. A guru just this side of the Sand & Surf (if you know Long Sands, you know the break I'm talkin' about and may even recognize the silhouette in the background), chillin' & checkin' out the line up. Waitin' for a set.

Vidiot

So here's another creation from the deep dark pages of my mind-on-paper. In techni-color awesome-ness, no less.

Keeping a promise...

So, awhile back I mentioned that I'd be better about posting up some thoughts and visuals on a more regular-like basis and then, apparently, promptly dropped the proverbial ball, seeing as how it's been over two weeks since I last dropped any science, Gs.

So, here's some raw sh@t straight outta the notebook to give y'all summat to peep.

This is a little strip I did last week to appease the drawing demons gnawing away in my guts. Kind of a -steam-viking-bot hard-style exorcism of those very same worm-demons in pictures.

As this is meant as more of a work-in-progess, expect to see some cleaned-up, techni-colorized goodness yet to come.

the moving gallery

So those of you who know me, know that I tend to fight the whole bigger, better, faster, more paradigm of personal technological gadgetry on the grounds that, for the most part I equate it with electronic masturbation. However, I had cause this morning that I absolutley kicked myself in the dirty hind-parts for not having a phoen with a camera in it. And, yup, you guessed it, I'm'a gonna tell y'all why...

Pulling onto Brighton Ave this fine, frigid-@$ first part of the day, I got stuck at the train crossing. Now, normally, I bring the hard-hearted hate when I'm behind the wheel. I mean really, with the sheer number of sh@theads that are allowed to have licenses and feel it necessary to drive at the same time of day that I need to, I feel downright obligated to drive offensively. Straight CARWARS-stylee. For those of you not down with Steve Jackson, that means I drive like MadMax as a matter of course. Why? Cause stupid should hurt and the weak need to be culled from the roads...but more on this later.

The point being, normally when I get stopped at a railroad crossing, it turns into a self-directed maelstrom of hot hate in my car. However, with the self-discovery trip I'm on right now, I chilled, pulled into the left lane and watched the cars go by.

First thing I thought of was Baldy (that's my grandfather, you sickos, getcher minds outta the gutter) and watching the trains out behind the greenhouse when I was a kid. Such a simple thing and yet whe you're a kid, that kind of thing is the hotness. Period.

The next thing I noticed (and here's where I start ot bring it back in. watch...) was that the quality of the graffiti on the cars was far and away better than most of what we see up here in the southern northern reaches and I was seeing the work of several writers recurring. I'm a fan of graffiti, but one of my big pet peeves is the schwag bollocks that passes for writing around these here parts. This stuff was waaay beyond the stuff we normally get around here. It was on the level, yo.

And I really wished I had a camera in the communicator-box or a real-camera to document and capture the images and give props to some pros who truly set me day spinning in the right direction.

So, my apologies to my faithful readers for having failed in being able to share the dopeness, but I guess I'll throw out a little moral, if you'll indulge me: keep your eyes open. You never know where the dopeness will hit you...

Tick Tock Tick Tock

Just a quick update to let you all know I'm still think 'bout'cha. Got a couple of pages of sketches I'm working on tidying up for post and hope to have those up by the end of the week.

Saw Watchmen this weekend and I have to give the powers behind it some credit--it wasn't as bad as it could have been. In fact, it really wasn't a bad translation of the book, taken point for point. Casting was pretty good, effects and set design were excellent and the story was faithful, almost to a fault.

So what, then, is it that's got my boxers in a bunch? There have been a couple of things that stuck in my craw--Malin Ackerman as the Silk Spectre II--good job physically casting her, but kind of flat and nowhere near the intensity that Laurie had in the book. A little more gratuitous sex?--sure but didn't really add anything to the movie except it was obviously thrown in for the "I still live in my mom's basement and haven't had a date since the first Bush administration" crowd; somewhat annoying, but expected, sadly. The over-the-top bloodshed?--again, not wholly unexpected, though not entirely horrible, in and of itself.

No, I think what really bothered me about this movie was more subtle. The book was dark. Grim. There's no arguing that. But the book focused more on the senseless violence of society against the individual as opposed to the film's focus on person to person violence. And I think that's where it started to unravel for me.

The next thread that let go was in the fact that in the book, the characters were complicated and developed and entirely human. There was a lot going on from frame to frame and the story was told in such a way that the reader is never allowed to get fully comfortable with any given character. No one in the book is innocent, no one is "the bad guy" or "the good guy". The labels that litter the conventional superhero comic book are turned on end and parodied by Watchmen and used to mirror the horror and beauty of modern life.

And that was my big gripe with the movie. It wasn't so bad, and really as far as translations between media go, it was pretty good. But only as a stand-alone thing. In comparison to the source material, the movie is really nothing more than a thin shadow that, at its best, will serve to pique the audience's interest in reading the book.

And that's all I've got for now...

no art tonight...

apologies, mein freunds, but no new artwork this fine, frigid evening. no, I apparently have been far too involved in the small screen of late. and by that, I mean the computer. this beast of a PC dino-puter is taking up much of my precious minutes in the pursuit of mastery over the social network. yes, my friends, I have succumbed to the Facebook and am in what I hope to be the initial addiction phase of membership.

I must admit, the interaction is fascinating to watch. how people find you and find their way to you. how you find your way to them. the level that people are content to leave their "friendships". it is all enthralling. like digital Soma... it makes one wonder, yes?

but back to the makey-makey. as I said, no makey-make tonight, but perhaps I will doodle up another sketch to post up or bring the noise with some pages from my hard-hearted, hoo-doo, heat-holder; my MAIN sketchbook, y'heard.

I must say, that it is strange to see my own work posted up and out there for anyone to see. it's almost motivating. especially when I can look at something that started off as a sketch in my notebook and say "hey, that's not half bad." which is certainly saying SOMETHING, considering how hard-hearted I usually am towards my own work.

so, although I have no art to post up tonight, I promise, O faithful readers and viewers, there will be more ORIGINAL artsy-farsty to follow.

SOON.

and till then, go look at some Dave Gibbons, yo.

Yeah, that's right.

The update is small, but I figured a little art-type-peice in the profile might be aproppos. Check it. Not much to go on, but that's just a doodle character that's been haunting my sketchbook for a couple years now. Figured he needed to get out. Watch for the evolution, yo.

Kind of a doodle-demon,
a sketch-imp,
a line-art lich,
creeping the coils that bind my sketches,
stalking the stock pages of my bristol board pad,
haunting the blank pages that my mind pours onto...
the quick-sketch character story in one act, yo.

human cannonball

I've been reading some about the first human cannonball, a fourteen-year-old girl who performed under the name "Zazel." Which got me thinking about the daredevilry of our youth and how that often carries with us into realms that perhaps are best left slower.

For instance: there's a blurb in this month's issue of Wired that interviews a man who is in the process of trying to access and flip the genes in chicken embyos to enact the resurrection of the dinosaurs. Now, we're not talking about Jurassic Park-style monsters roam the earth armageddon style resurrection. I think this is much more innocuos and at the same time more reason to worry.

This doctor is working on research that will allow scientists to access the genetic material of chicken embyos and essentially flip the switch on certain characteristics. Basically, chickens retain the DNA of the dinosaurs. Certain genes are turned on in order to block those traits. The two mentioned are the trait of the long tail and that of fusing three finger/claws into wings. By turning those traits off while still in a formative stage, the result will allow, for instance the long tail and three fingers rather than wings to manifest.

I now have an image of tiny, feathered dinosaurs which frankly scares me. Big dinosaurs are destruction incarnate, agreed. However, if I was a dinosaur, I think I'd be more than a little pissed that I was A) tiny, B) feathered and C) ridiculous looking. I'm sorry but the lifeform they're talking about here sounds like a gremlin covered in featherbed innards. Why? How is this a good idea?

According to the article, the goal here is to allow a gateway byu which to jump to working with spinal regeneration and other life-altering bio-technologies. It is, regretably, largely beyond my grasp, but sure, I can see the benefit in theory. I just wonder if sometimes we experiment a little too freely with our knowledge. What I'm thinking of here is the argument looking at science: "Just because we can doesn't mean we should."

I think it should be noted that the scientist that is doing this work, was a consultant on Jurassic Park. Things that make you go "hmmmm..."

Social Media and the (Sorta) New Web

I say "sorta" 'cuz it's still kinda new to me. I know. Really pretty inexcusable seeing as how I work in advertising and design and should be up on this stuff. But hey, it's never too late right?

Checked out a fantastic seminar on social media yesterday at the Portland Harbor Hotel put on by the Maine AdClub and given by Catherine Allen of SHIFT Communications of Brighton/Boston, Mass. A big shout out to Catherine: Thanks for the seminar! Great way to introduce people to this stuff (myself included) and you did a great job of making it interesting to all levels of users, making the media seem practical and getting people excited and engaged.

So, as I start to post a little more regularly and get things out there, I'll beg the forgiveness of my faithful readers (all 1 of you) and am grateful for your patience. I think it may take a little while for me to hit my stride here as far as subject matter, tone and voice. things may be a little bumpy for a bit, though I'll try to get some interesting things going for all.

For anyone who follows: Congrats to the T.Doc Futbol Club! Great win over the Pirates last night, 6-2. Things got a little tense towards the end with some cheap shots and unacceptable aggro behavior from our opponents, but everyone emerged relatively unscathed. Good job everyone!

Ashes, ahses...

So, it's Fat Tuesday, which only means tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, which means that I'll get my yearly dose of Catholic guilt for not being Catholic any more. Or at least recognizing myself as one, anyhow. I don't think I actually believe that anyone gets to stop being Catholic. It's kind of like alcoholism that way. You never get to be not an alcoholic, you just get to be a recovering alcoholic. Kinda the same. Anyone in the same boat gets this. And like the song goes: if you have to ask...

Anyhow, getting ready to head out to head home and get me some good ol' fashioned ghetto-style tacos in my belly-hole. Take the furry-beastlies for a nice long walk on the prom and admire the cold and white. As much as people (myself included here) bitch about the winter, this is really one of my favorite times of year and truly reminds me of how much I love living in Maine. I mean, really, if you can't appreciate the cold bite on your cheeks and the big-@$$ snowflakes in your eyes during a storm, well, then, you just don't deserve to live here. You should go someplace warmer and, likely, much more polluted and sucky.
So there....

Awfully bummed about cancelled plans this weekend at the Ninja-domo, but am refreshed that we'll see the other ninja-folk in the warmer parts of the Spring. I guess that is the traditional time for all us winter-hermits to emerge bleary-eyed from our hidey-holes, right?

I think we can all see this is going nowhere fast, so I'll keep the damage to a minimum:
Your mission today: find me a jellyfish recipe. No, really. I was flipping through the Food Lover's Companion this AM and came across an entry for jellyfish as an honest-to-God foodstuff. So I'm curious. So go forth and find me yon elusive jellyfish recipe. Do this immediately.

The New New Deal

In case you didn't catch the hint yesterday and you haven't looked, get your tender hind parts on over to Borrowed Suits and check out the video clips posted there of Obama's economy speech from earlier this month. Do this now. Go.

...well? A number of things came to mind when I watched these clips, but I wanted to mention two of them. First off, is it just me or is The Main Man talking about some straight-up New Deal-type sh@t to get done with the money from the stimulus package? I mean, he did say new bridges, rebuilt levies and repaired roads, right? I don't know about anyone else, but I suddenly felt like I was back in high school US History listening to Ms. Kiley talking about FDR. Pretty cool if it works...again. I'm optimistic.

And why? Well mainly due to the second thing that came to mind. Those of you who know me know that my attitudes towards the gummint tend to be that ours pretty much bites it hard. Politically and socially my views tend to be pretty far left which may seem odd in lieu of my utter disgust with the Democratic Party and so-called Liberals and their not-in-my-backyard breed of passing the buck. I'm of the opinion that you should walk the walk. Republicans and the Right certainly walk it, whether you agree with what they're saying or not. I certainly don't agree with, well, pretty much anything they have to say, but you can't deny they back up their bullsh@t, self-serving, money-grubbing, close-minded I'm out for me attitudes with bullsh@t, self-serving, money-grubbing, close-minded, I'm out for me-type legislation and lobbying and pandering to the masses and to big business. Sucks it hard but at least you know where you stand with the Right's.

On the other hand, the Democrats and so-called Liberals have largely drifted so far to center in response to the Right's progressive shift towards more reactionary action, that the political spectrum has been thrown way out of whack. One of my biggest gripes with the Deocratic party in the past eight years is that as I watch campaign after campaign get hijacked by the straight-up lies and deep-double-stuffing media manipulation of the Right, the Democrats are still playing at being polite. It drives me absolutely nuts to watch candidates with good ideas get hijacked by half-truths and outright lies and not do anything about it. Berserk.

Which brings me back to Obama's speech. Probably the best thing I saw in that speech was Obama's up-front, head-on reaction to criticism of the Stimulus Package. In the past, the criticism that it's not a stimulus package but a spending package would have thrown the Dems into a defensive mode running for cover and trying to defend the merits of the stimulus package and engaging in the back-and-forth with the Repubs.

The Main Man on the other hand? Has finally done what has been needed for a long, long time. Called it like it is and made his detractors look stupid and petty. The Stimulus Package is a Spending Package? ...um...what was it supposed to be!? The whole point of a stimulus plan is to put money into the economy to jump start it. It's a spending package? No sh@t.

That heads-up kind of play mixed with the inherent honesty in his speech gives me hope for our system. Which is something I haven't felt in a long time. Maybe our broken system can be salvaged, at least in part and be made to work for the people again rather than for the Big--big business, big gov'mint, big whatever. I guess we can hope. And that was the point all along, right?

back from mars...

...so, it's been a little while and a long, strange trip. But in the immortal words of Gloria Gaynor, I'm back...from outer space. I just walked in found that my previous attempts at continous writing and posting, etc were still haunting the worldwide web. In the interest of all things raw, fleshy and high-octane, I've updated the look of the site and will continue to refine for your viewing, reading and using pleasure.

Needless to say, much has happened in the intervening year and a half, likely much more than
many of my faithful readers (all zero of them now) actually care to read about. Let's just say we're on our way back from the far side.

As I come back from deep-space hibernation, there are a few relatively unrelated things worth mention:

First off, a great big endorsement of another blog: AlbieRock.com. I recently came across this blog after purchasing a piece of Albie's art which is the battle-beastly dopeness. If you haven't read or heard of him, go check out his blog, immediate-like, and receive the troof with a big fat capital T. Albie's daily rant about the goings-on of his life as it pertains to life in general is worth reading and taking to heart. I've got to give credit where credit is due--following the posts was in large part responsible for my rekindled interest in resurrecting this old unwieldy, somewhat rambling beast. Keep it cranked to eleven, yo!

Next, another blog worth reading: BorrowedSuits.blogspot.com. This is my buddy Jim's ongoing commentary on all things political and pertinent in our realm. Jim's one of the most insightful people I know when it comes to politics and the workings of our great **ahem** nation. For a periodic dose of perspective on the news and current events, follow BorrowedSuits and get the mothballs out.

I've got to give props to the members of T.Doc Creative's local futball club--2nd session just finished up and between new additions and ongoing hustle, we finished in fourth place in the regular season and though knocked out in the first round of tournament play, managed to force the decision into PK overtime. If only we had a better goalie...Great job and great season to everyone and looking forward to another solid session starting next week. Anyone interested in some live soccer action ala Slapshot, we play on Thursday nights at The Dome on Warren Ave. You can find the schedule here: http://portlandsportscomplex.com/index.cfm?area=show_schedule&global_id=IS_Adult_Coed_Soccer_Rec_Session_2

And finally, but certainly not least, a brief memorial: for those of you who knew her, today is a bittersweet day. Today marks seven years since Karen Geneseo, my mother died. I tried to say "passed away" but that just seems like such a pansy-@$, weak way of thinking of it. So, the fullness of it, and try to grok it, is that she died seven years ago after a massive battle with the Big C. Three of them, in fact. In seven years, I haven't really thought about it much and I've really only remembered her in a kind of intangible, separated way. I guess partly to move on, partly because other things, i.e. life, takes up so much T-I-M-E, partly because it sucks trying to come to grips with the loss of someone so particularly awesome.

Now, it's easy to say your mom is awesome. "She's great. She's my mom. She's the best mom EVER!" Yeah, OK, I get it. Everyone, mostly, loves their mom and, if all is right with the world thinks highly of the woman that brought them into the world and is likely responsible for a huge part of who they are.

However, when I say that my mother was particularly awesome, it's really quite a huge understatement. My mother was a truly epic woman that lived a full, deliberate and adventurous life worthy of emulating. And it is a tragedy to have lost her so young. God knows her loss left a great gaping scar across my family. But seeing how this is the anniversary of her death, I think it's mostly appropriate to remember that today.

My mother was relatively healthy, i.e. didn't really drink, certainly didn't smoke and had never even been tempted by drugs despite having lived through the sixties. She walked several miles daily and ate fairly well. On a relatively routine visit to the doc's, they found ovarian cysts. Appointments were made and a minor surgery was scheduled to have them removed. And when I say minor, I mean two incisions, a quick scrape and clean, a couple of stitches and then home for tea and triscuits. Really, like a three-hour affair, including the wait time before, 'cuz we all know how the hospital rolls.

Now, when they opened her up for the scrape and bake, what they found was not ovarian cysts, but a whole eff-load of the Big C. Mom was lucky in that the doc who was performing had the knowledge, the experience and the expertise to not only know what she was looking at and know what needed to be done, but also had the ability and the stones to just get it done. On-the-spot emergency full hysterectomy. And it must be noted that both my moms and my pops had some big-@$ stones to be able to make that decision right then and there. I cannot imagine the gravity of that decision and know full well that many, many weak-sauce anybodies would have floundered and lost the moment.

The good news was that they thought they got everything. The bad news was that when they went back in a week later to make sure they got everything they realized that there was in fact a whole eff-load more of the vileness all wrapped up in my mom's guts. Metastasization anyone? Yeah, that's the real kick in the 'nads right there, innit? Like the screened goal off the rebound or a punch to the dome wrapped around a roll of pennies. Severe crapulousness.

The Docs (and we're going to capitalize this in reference to the several doctors and months of tests they--my mom and dad--went through) gave her 6 months. How's that for some cold, mutha-uckin' sh@t-salad served up, huh? Go to the doc one day with nothing wrong and a handful of days later you get a big, fat death-sentence dropped on you. And then the question becomes: do we fight it and inject, vile, toxic nastiness straight from the Nth circle and get sick from the cure or do we say "eff it" and see how long we can stay healthy before the cancer starts making us sick? Cause in all reality, in the case of cancer, it is definitely a case of the cure being worse than the cause.

Not an easy choice, but my folks stepped up and went straight into lockdown, survivalist, back-me-into-a-corner fisticuffs mode. Aggressive chemo and radiation, plus whatever cutting-edge new study, possible cure kind of drugs were out there. They never backed down, didn't stop doing the things they loved, just modified how they did them and when, didn't stop going to the places they loved. Didn't let the disease own them.

And we all got front-row, blood rains down on your tux from the knockout punch ringside seats to the battle and got to witness my mother, a vivrant, young, early 50s woman, mother, wife, teacher, daughter, aunt, friend and all-around awesomeness wasted away as the cancer and the chemo and everything else out there gnawed its way out from the inside.

By this point in the story, if you're still reading and you have half a brain cell, you know how this ends.Sort of. Because my mom died in the same way that she lived--strong and on her terms. They gave her 6 months. Two years later, she let go after a long, harrowing fight. After her diagnosis, she managed to get in two more Christmasses, two more Thanksgivings, two more Halloweens, two more summers at the beach and two more anniversaries with my father. In that time, despite many complications, close calls, midnight trips to the hospital and all the other indignities of fighting an ugly, petty disease of epic proportions, she stayed fierce and strong.

On her anniversary, Valentine's Day, she wound up in Mass General, and despite the gravity of the situation, when I went to see her that night, was more concerned with getting me a date with one of the nurses she said was "a nice girl and pretty" than with her own comfort. When she got home, her condition got rapidly worse and hospice started. As things degraded she became house-bound and tied to a morphine drip, she made sure she was clear enough to visit with everyone she loved, to say good-bye, to allow them to see her and come to terms with it. She waited for her brother to come, finally, after much delay--I think she knew how hard it was on him, how hard a time he was going to have with it. She waited till the weather broke. She waited till my father, brother and I were all in the room with her and the priest had said last rites and left.

And then she let go.

No sooner were the three of us back in the room with her after seeing Father Degnan to the door than she let out her last breath. My brother was holding her hand and looked up to say "she's gone" but he didn't need to. We all knew. We all felt it. And suddenly it wasn't this epic woman lying there in the bed. It was just a husk.

It was a Friday. And her body was still just a husk at the wake on Monday night and at the funeral on Tuesday. Middle of February and it was 55 degrees out and sunny. Go figure. And by the way Jeff, she showed up in a dream recently and wanted you to know that she thought your comment about the incense in the church was funny.

I've thought a lot about death since then. I've thought about the sauce it took to make it through. I've thought a lot about the dignity with which my mom took it and that many people don't get that chance. And the tough part is, there is no answer or massive revelation to be taken from the experience and there is no meaning behind why some people die when they do. And as much as it sucked, hard. There's nothing wrong or bad or even necessarily tragic about death. Because everyone dies. Period. It's just a fact of life. The part that's tragic is when sh@t's left undone. If you live each day as if it were your last, your death will be much less tragic when it comes. And it will come. And the getting to dead part, generally, that part sucks too. I mean, there's really nothing too fun about fighting cancer for two years. For that matter there's really nothing too fun about overdosing and bleeding out your eyes to death. Or terminal diarrhea. Or being killed in a car crash or drowning in freezing water, trapped under the ice or being trapped in a burning building or in being the victim of a random, violent attack or the countless, myriad other ways to meet your ultimate demise. It's not he being dead part that sucks. It's the dying. And the leaving behind. And the knowing that there was stuff you left undone.

I learned stuff, a lot of stuff, from my mother, every day of my life. And I guess there are lessons to be learned in her death, in the way she met it and, more importantly, in the way she lived. Which is to say, fully, strongly and uncompromisingly.

Strength is important. You've got to have the juice to keep going and keep being dope. In talking about strength, I think it's important to mention a few other folks today. First, my old man. My father had the stones and the juice to make the hard choices and live that god-awful, gnawing, vile disease right alongside my mother and never look away. If you want an idea of how hard this is, go to the pet store and get a gold fish. When you get home take it out of the water and watch it till it stops twitching. Just the idea of this makes you queasy, right? Now imagine watching while that happened to the one person you loved above all others, that you had spent 30+ years with, committed and there was nothing you could do except watch. That's some hard-hitting, no-bullsh@t, high-octane stones right there. That is love. That is commitment.

Next up, my mother-in-law, the woman that bore my lovely wife for almost ten months. For as much crap as I give her, she's a pretty awesome lady and from what I understand beat the Big C. Word!

Our friend Jamie's mom is going through this right now as well. Big Ol' Mutha-uckin' C. And she's taking it on the best she can. Big "Keep the faith!"s out to Jamie's mom and Jamie for doing th right thing.

I realize this has been wordy and for all you uned-u-mi-cated slogs out there, sorry there's no pictures. But this is about what's on my mind. So if you follow, just found or have been waiting for more posts on RocketFuelSushi, I'm back. Tell your friends, tell your enemies, tell your frenemies, whatever. I'm not going anywhere for a minute, so find me on the air, and I'll keep the science coming.

Censorship is Alive and Well in Georgia...

Okay, I know I wasn't going to talk about comics for awhile but a) I can't help myself and b) these two bits are more in the line of relevant current events that happen to be set on a background of the comics world. I've provided a couple of links that should flesh things out nicely....please visit these sites.

Comic-Book Store Owner on Trial for Nude Images

...is the first story (click this link to get the full story http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=12768951) . Here's the basic jist: comic book store owner in Georgia three years ago tries to be part of the community and rather than giving out candy on Halloween, gives out comics. One of the kids, aged nine, with little brother, aged six, in tow grabs a comic anthology. Couple of days later the owner of the shop is arrested for peddling obscene materials to minors. Mr. Lee, the owner of the shop has had this lawsuit hanging over his head for the past three years and finally goes to court this week. If convicted of wilfully giving this material to the two boys, Mr. Lee faces up to a year in prison and a $1000.00 fine.

I really don't what to say here except that maybe Mr. Lee should apologize and the parents of the two kids should accept the apology and we should all move on. From what I've read on the case, there was no willful intent to expose the boys to "harmful" material (oh come on...most of what they're watching on TV is way worse than anything they'll see in a comic anyhow). The real potential for damage here the possibility that comics could once again be plunged into the "obscene" category and make this ripe for a whole new generation of comics-censoring (see Comics Code Authority in wikipedia for more on this. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Comics_Code_Authority ).

Idiots

...ever been to Florida? Georgia? Alabama? Any other state that has tropical-type swamps, rivers and ponds and, therefore, alligators and crocodiles and all manner of other horrible, creeping monster? Well, maybe yes and maybe no, but regardless, you should be able to understand how stupid this guy is...not too long ago, I heard a news story involving a golf vacationer in Florida. Now, about halfway through his game, this bozo shanks his shot into the rough, which, in the Sunshine State, equals Mulligan, because really, who the Hell is really going to chase in after a $3.00 ball with all manner of man-killing things lurking about? All common sense aside, the signs posted all over the course stating "STAY THE HELL OUT!" and "HORRIBLE HUNGRY BITEY BASTARDS ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT!" should have been a clue. But NO!...the result of several billion years of human evolution on this planet strolled right past these signs, waded right in, pulled a Happy Gilmore after his ball and....do I really need to spell it out? He came up WITH the ball and WITHOUT his extra hand. The croc that got him apparently tried to pull him under to drown him for later, but the guys' buddies managed to wrest him from the jaws of certain death...and a HUGE favor to the quality of the gene pool in the direct vicinity of this mental bastard.

Now...a rational person might think to oneself "Self? This retard probably shouldn't be allowed to live as he is clearly the genetic equivalent of piss in a newly cleaned pool and should thank his lucky stars that he's alive at all, get down on his knees and pray, throw a few hunnert bucks at his church of choice and get on with his life in a humble and responsible fashion--lesson learned" and that person would, in my humble opinion, be absolutely, 100% correct. However this walking mental turd is invoking the State of Florida's law against animals biting humans and the poor croc who, by the way, was simply acting as nature hardwired him to is slated to be destroyed (I ask you, faithful reader: how would you feel if the Hot Dog Man stuck his finger in the roll and then had you sent to the chair for biting him?). AND! If you can believe THIS shit...he's suing the resort for not doing enough to protect him from the local wildlife!

...if we lived in a fair and just world, the fair people of Florida would be within their rights, as far as I'm concerned, to form a massive fucking posse, hunt this prick down, cover him in human-flavored jelly and throw his sorry ass back into the swamp for the croc to finish the job. And pin a giant fucking medal on that croc when he's done, for doing all the rest of us a giant fucking favor!

F@&* Barry Bonds

Allright...so it's been a little while since the last time I posted something for you all to read. Sorry. I know there's only three of you out there anyhow.

So to placate all the dissenters calling for something other than comics here we go...

Now first off, I want to preface this for all my friends, to whom I am generally regardedm as sports-stupid, and just say this: pay attention. For everyone else, I want to say this: Fuck Barry Bonds. No. Really. I'm now going to try to put this into more developed and coherent language but really, that's it: Fuck Barry Bonds and all those of his ilk.

Since you asked...here's my problem with Barry Bonds. Barry Bonds is still carrying on as if breaking Hank Aaron's record actually means anything anymore. And, apparently, it does. To all the fans and media and naysayers and prosayers and the lawmakers and the record keepers and the number crunchers and everyone else who's involved in this, fuck you too. Barry Bonds's pending smash of Hank Aaron's career home run record is crap. Here's my question: why are we still paying attention to this guy and why is noone talking about the fact that he used steroids to do what he, presumably, is about to do? And why is noone talking about this in terms of "well even if he does break the record, he'll still have an asterisk next to his name"?

And if noone is asking those questions, why do we, the people who pay money to see this scumbag play ball and turn him into some sort of hero for our kids who play ball, continue to give a crap about whether anyone in pro sports cheats or not? Because that's what this boils down to. You can't have it both ways. Either you mean what you say, practice what you say and punish this guy for cheating and polluting the sport which, in America today seems tantamount to religion, or you say what you say to look like you care about the right thing and then go on edifying the people you publicly decry.

That's what we've done with Barry Bonds and all the rest. We have set the rules: no performance-enhancing drugs of any kind. Presumably to preserve the notion that the Gods that now occupy our consciousness (i.e. the sports stars) in fact represent the pinnacle of human performance. We have sent the message: be the best, just so long as you are pure and these are the rules for being the best. And yet, when one of the Chosen is discovered to have disregarded those rules, we allow them to continue to play with minimal punishment. We have now sent a new message: forget the rules, what really matters is being the best, no matter what.

Now there are some that would disagree with me and say that Mr. Bonds is only human and is entitled to a mistake once in a while. And to a certain extent, I would agree. However, when you or I make a mistake, there are consequences. I don't see consequences of any substance here. I certainly don't see any regret. And I definitely see Mr. Bonds continuing as if nothing happened. In fact, it seems to me, he is being rewarded for his actions, as he is still regarded as the peak of hitting pefection, no matter what he did to acheive that.

Again, Mr. Bonds is not entirely to blame. I rest much of that blame on the shoulders of his fans that continue to support him, the sports media who continue to idolize him for their ratings and the team that continues to alolow him to play. My feeling, and I am sure I am in the minority here, is they should have taken this guy and all of his steroid taking friends and thrown them the hell out of baseball FOREVER and made them all work for a living.

I have no symapthy for this kind of stuff, in case you hadn't already figured that out. Everytime I see Bonds on television being commended for another home run or talking about when he is going to break the record, it makes me sick. Everytime I think of how criminally overpaid these guys are despite having broken the law, the ethics codes of their organizations and the hearts of millions of kids, I want to puke. The bottom line here, for me, is this: I think the only thing, in my mind, that would redeem Barry Bonds as a person, would be for him to retire prior to breaking the record. Or, at the very least, make a public acknowledgement that he recognizes that his acheivement is marred by his poor judgement.

But that's just me...

Six Months In

So the soccer endeavour is now six months in and the smoking thing is two & a half months out and the skills are starting to slowly improve. This session will mark a two games per week schedule, with games nights back to back on Wednesday and Thursdays. The rather interesting side effect here is that I have become obsessed. My beautiful wife and I watch FSC incessantly and we are considering discarding other, more important pieces of furniture in favor of a professional-grade foosball table. Of course, it doesn't hurt that it is a very exciting time to be watching futbol right now. Between the FA Cup finals, European Cup trials, Premiership regulation, Serie A and Mexican leagues all going, we almost forgot about the beginning of the MLS season and the debut of Beckham on American soil. Almost too much to watch!

Please Comment!!!

So I'm sitting here, working rather fruitlessly on a cover letter for a teaching position I'm applying for on Friday and needed a break. So I decided to check on the site to see if my father had been by to heckle me from the Comments Section and feel somewhat forlorn due to the lack of attention paid to my Comments Section.

And then my beautiful wife tells me that one of her friends checks the site but refuses to post comments until I write something about something other than comics as she claims she doesn't know anything about comics. So first off, point taken, James. I will write more about other topics.

However, and this goes for everyone who stops by for a spell,please comment, regardless of whether you think you know something about the subject matter or not. I beg you to do this for a couple of reasons: 1) it lets me know you're there and that someone is reading, 2) I value your feedback, good, bad or indifferent, 3) if you ask me a question I will answer it to the best of my ability and this may in fact contribute to or at least inform future entries and 4) it gives me a break from my father heckling me from the sidelines if someone else is doing it for a while.

The bottom line here is that a big part of the reason I created this blog was to get something "out there" and hopefully to get some feedback on my writing. This was started as an exercise and any feedback you can give helps me out enormously (yes, Dad, even the jabs about trying to get published).

But, at the end of the day, our friend is right as I had intended to post here on a variety of subjects and will try to mix it up a little for your reading and viewing pleasure.

Til next time...um...make mine Marvel...?

Required Reading: Invincible

Okay. I hadn't intended to ever talk about a superhero book here. Really. But I was at my friendly neighborhood comic store the other day and picked up a bunch of back issues of this book. And I have to say, it deserves mention. Bearing the byline "probably the best superhero comic book in the universe!" Invincible is certainly one of the best out there.

I started reading this book back when it first hit the shelves because of the art. Period. I like the stylized, clean lines, the primary colors, the fresh approach to the character's costume designs, the dynamic page layout. And then I started reading.

This is classic comic-book stuff. This is so classic, you already know the story. Young kid finds out he's in fact the bearer of great power. The moral struggle not to be tempted or corrupted by that power. All the secret identity gags. The monsters and robots and aliens and mad scientists bent on world domination or destruction (take your pick). The tangled love interest or interests. The nursery of supporting superheroes all waiting in the wings for their big chance. The drama between the hero and his non-super-hero-ing friends. I mean, all of it. And it's fucking GREAT!

Created by Robert Kirkman and Cory Walker and published by Image Comics, this book is definitely an illustration of the importance of craft. Taking on so many over-used and stale conventions of a spun-out genre and bringing new life and importance to that same genre, without coming across as spoof or copy-cat takes an immeasurable amount of skill. To make it relevant to both readers inside and outside the genre is just plain awesome. And that's precisely what Kirkman and Walker, and now Ryan Ottley having taken over permanently on pencils, have done here.

Whereas I wouldn't call it "the best...in the universe", I would rank it up there as one of the best superhero comics out there right now for a couple of reasons. First, and probably foremost, this book takes what made the superhero genre the mainstay of comics (that is to say everything good about them) and crams it all into one, slick, shiny, easy to swallow, great-tasting monthly pill. Invincible tackles all (and I do mean all...) the conventions of the superhero comic and not only doesn't get bogged down in them, it brings them new life and reminds us why we read them in the first place!

The character Invincible has powers reminiscent of Superman, personality close to Spiderman, and friends that would at turns feel at home in the pages of the X-Men, the Avengers, the Justice League of America, the Teen Titans or the Superfriends. The books' pacing and action and humor and, most importantly, humanity is reminicient of Jack Kirby and Will Eisner and Stan Lee and all the other legendary creators that made this medium worthwhile in the first place. Kirkman has managed to infuse his writing with a reality and three dimensional quality that seems lacking in many modern "realistic" books that confuse graphic violonce and overall moroseness with actual feeling. And the book gives us all this in a post-postmodern package that is hip and un-embarassing.

While Invincible may take everything good about superhero comics and mold it together, it also strips away much of the bad. For instance, there is no uncontrollable spin-off of titles. One of the things that makes mainstream comics so inane and inaccessible is that you need a frigging TomTom to navigate a given title. I mean how many X-titles and Bat-books can you really have? When I pick up a comic, I don't want to get half-way through and be told that in order to get the full story, I have to go back to the store and hunt down six other issues of six other titles. It's bullshit. Plain and simple. And it pisses people off. If I were new to this medium and I encountered that, I can tell you one thing: I would not only not buy the other six issues, I would never go back. Invincible is one title, one story and though many characters from other titles show up in its pages, it seems usually to be only for a short while to say "hi" and move on.

One of the reasons I stopped reading this back when and have now had to go back and catch up on what's been going on is that early on there were problems (to put it mildly) in getting issues to print. Although billed as a monthly book, I was finding myself waiting for the next issue for months at a time (another thing that would prevent me from ever picking up another comic book if I were a newbie and that I now just accept as part of the business). Thankfully, these timing issues seem to be largely a thing of the past and the back issues are blissfully packaged for you in trades (all named after sitcom titles, interestingly) and can be found at your local comic store http://www.comicbookresources.com/resources/locator/ as found with this trusty little tool.

In summation: for the unitiated among you, especially those of you who just don't get why a thirty-year old will still shell out hard-earned moolah for a flimsy, overpriced pamphlet of pictures about spandex-wearing fantasy-beings, check this out. This book is a reminder of how it once was and why comics, specifically superhero comics, are still around today. For those of you who still shell out that hard earned and know why, check it out, if you haven't already. You'll be surprised to remember just how good a superhero comic can be. I was.

Required Reading: 300

Please, please please please please. Read this book. The reason I'm pleading with you in so undignified a manner: I saw this movie this past week. What's worse, I took my wife to see this movie this past week. And I have to refer to earlier statements I and others have made. Namely: we, as a community and industry are alienating anyone that at one time may have given this medium a chance.

Look. I listed this graphic novel as one of my favorite books in my profile. I bought and read and sung this book's praises when it was first released in May 1998. I have three copies of all the original issues; one copy for myself, one to lend out and one just in case. And I have the hard cover. Frank Miller and his work has been one of the primary reasons I continue to read comics and among his work, I rank this peice at the top. Needless to say, I'm a fan. In other words, I'm less than objective here.

300 (Fank Miller / Lynn Varley; Dark Horse Comics, 1999, $30.00; http://www.darkhorse.com/profile/profile.php?sku=48-339) is a graphic re-telling of the Battle of Thermopylae, focussed on King Leonidas and the 300 Spartan warriors that set out to stop the Persian hordes of Xerxes the Great at the Hot Gates. Upon its release, 300 received Eisner Awards for Best Limited Series, Best Writer/Artist and Best Colorist in 1999. The series continued Miller's stark and unique vision that he established most fully in his Sin City series while bringing a new dynamic to comics in the well-researched historical drama of ancient Greece.

The themes of this book, though seemingly macho and mundane, are appropriate for the given subject matter and it is widely seen as well-researched and overall historically accurate in its telling. It is at turns, engaging, intriuging and suspenseful, violent and heroic and overall remarkable. Miller and Varley both, in an attempt to get it that much closer to right, travelled to Greece to flesh out the research they'd already done, visit the sites, gain an appreciation for the land and speak to the people. ...all in the name of getting it right. Of making sure that the story did justice to the notions of heroic sacrifice and moral victory that are embodied here.

And the movie took an amazing peice of work, a jewel of the industry, and shat upon it. I don't actually know what Mr. Miller's thoughts are on this movie, though I assume he had a pretty big part in the making of it, given his involvement in Sin City. I can't imagine that the folks responsible for this film intetionally cocked it up. And there are quite a few redeeming qualities. The photography is amazing. I think it works much better in color than in the black-and-white of Sin City. The acting, for the most part was worthwhile, though in places a bit melodramatic. And, to be fair, they did a better than average job translating it to film.

So what, then, is the problem? you ask? It is this: in the editing room and production room decisions that were made on this project, the point was almost completely passed over in favor of a violent fantasy movie rather than the complex and fascinating historical narrative that was the book. I saw gratuity take the place of complexity and subtlety (I'm thinking here of the splashing blood shots and the treatment of the Oracle at the temple). Embellishment in places where there was none needed (the monstrous masks and visages of the Persian elite). And a quick treatment of the main themes of the book in the trite delivery of several of the more important lines seemed more filler as opposed to the actual substance.

So, my recommendation is this: please please please please please read this book. Do yourself a favor and pick up one of Frank Miller's best works and what I see as a pretty big argument to continue reading comics, and forget there's even a movie by the same name out there. Besides, I'm sure it will be a mainstay of SpikeTV within a year anyhow...

Required Reading

So. It's been awhile again and I have no excuse. We'll leave it at that...

Recently I've been bouncing a product idea around in regards to the way the comics industry operates and supposedly attracts new readers. It seems to me that the big ones, the major publishers (DC and Marvel, if you're reading this from outside the comics world)are very concerned with the sales of their various superhero comics and trying to rehash the same old story lines from the same old characters and leaving the books themselves overall stale, contrite and used. Then they option the rights for a cut-rate movie that panders to the fan-base and pretends to be accessible to a wider audience and fails in both attempts.

Many of you who have grown up reading comics and whose tastes have matured as you've grown older and those of you who are trying to check out what's going on in comics 'cause there was a review in the Washington Post know what I'm talking about here: you walk into a comics shop where you're accosted by all 31 flavors of superheroes in primary color spandex fighting stereotyped villians with cheesy dialogue. If you're lucky, you manage to pick up a somewhat literary and tongue-in-cheek strip down of the superhero genre. But if you're not paying attention or don't know where to look or are afraid to ask the self-righteous prat behind the counter (beg pardon of all those comics store clerks who sagely and generously guided me toward the "good stuff" in my graphic storytelling education; there are a lot of you out there), chances are you'll completely miss all the amazing work out there that speaks to something other than sheer escapism and melodrama because it's all in a corner somewhere not very well lit and not very well organized and not very well stocked.

It comes down to this: on the off chance that someone that didn't grow up reading comics and doesn't (god forbid) know the difference between the first three incarnations of the Dark Knight's sidekick (Dick Grayson, Jason Todd and Tim Drake in case any of you doubt my geek cred) happens to get interested and walk into a shop to check things out, given the way we treat our artform, those folks are going to turn around and walk right back out, having been proved right about the immaturity of the comics, the fans and whole Shazam! We've succeeded in proving many critics right in focussing on dying genres, outdated methods of thinking and publishing and making it next to impossible for potential new readers to come into the medium with an appreciation.

Now the question for that potential reader maybe is not a matter of "what happened in the last ten years of the X-men that I need to know in order to understand all the in-jokes in this issue?" or better phrased "what could I be reading?" but instead should be "what should I be reading?" And that is the crux of this idea: a conveniently packaged prestige-format, library-style collection of the milestone comics that illustrate what the industry could be and have elevated the medium to an artform. I took the idea from two places: 1) in Warren Ellis's Transmetropolitan, to which I owe a large debt of gratitude, Mr. Ellis included in his letters page homework assignments of various books he felt were relevant and worth reading. This segment was called Required Reading. Hope you don't mind the slight theft... 2) There is a collection of movies released under the The Criterion Collection label which collects, remasters, adds all sorts of neat bonus features and repackages those movies that they feel epitomize the medium. ...and this is the spirit in which I start this (hopefully) weekly review--reviewing those comics and graphic novels that you should be reading...

I'm starting off not with a classic, but rather with a potential classic. Published under DC's Vertigo imprint, DMZ written by Brian Wood and pencilled by Riccardo Burchielli is required reading. Brian Wood has been self-publishing through AIT/PlanetLar for a number of years and only last year brought DMZ to one of the majors. DMZ is the story of a fledgling journalist stranded in the demilitarized zone of Manhatten island in a fictional civil war-gripped America set mere weeks from now. In the wake of several overseas armed conflicts, the American government neglects the rising tide of Middle American militias that quickly rise and push their way across the country seizing power and support as they go, only to coem to a grinding halt at New York City.

In this near future tale, Matty Roth, a journalist's asistant thrust unwittingly into the spotlight by his media-icon boss's death in Manhatten. Matty finds that not only does he now have to worry about staying alive in the DMZ as it's called, but he finds himself as the only major network correspondent in New York, wrestling with the reality of what he is witness to and what he has been told to believe about the way of the world as it is now.

This on-going series (the first 12 issues of which are collected into two tradepaperback volumes, On the Ground $9.99US and Body of a Journalist $12.99US) is compelling, honest work that begs the audience to look at the ramifications of the present beyond our windows and the consequences of that presents' choices lurking just out of sight on the next corner. This book is interested not so much in the story of Matty as in the plight of America and casts a dark mirror up to our perceptions of the armed conflicts in which we as a nation are already engaged and the media infrastructure in place that supports and propagagates our government's decisions.

Masterfully narrated by Wood, this book is focused and is is visually supported and enhanced by Burchielli's gritty, arresting visual storytelling. The two comine their respective crafts in a graphic novel that will appeal to life-long comics fans and new readers alike and will hold the attention of anyone with an even passing interest in current events.

Described by the Washington Post, DMZ "gut-wrenchingly portrays the chaotic reality of life in a war zone." This book questions the nature of what we as a nation believe and expect from our government and our media. DMZ: On the Ground and DMZ: Body of a Journalist both belong on your bookshelf within easy reach. This is required reading for next week kids. Try to keep pace...

Anime, Shm-anime

...okay, okay. I know that anime is the only worthwhile animation around right now for kids and adult geeks alike, but I've gotta say--enough. I'm all for anime in it's best form, i.e. Samurai Champloo, Akira, Steamboy, Porco Rossi and Princess Monoke. But that's really about it. I find the rest of it pretty mundane at best and downright bollocks at worst. And I find the current craze amongst comic fans downright depressing. Instead of going after the best across the board, I see people picking up every mediocre offering out of Japan and worse, fake anime from domestic poseur creators, regardless of quality. Meanwhile I see a lot of worthwhile work being passed by and domestic comic and animation sales drying up.

Here's my take on it. Anime and Manga (the print version of anime) is the media incarnation of fast-food. Just like Micky-Dee's, you have basically the same flavor at every stop and the only difference comes down to individual stores being managed better or worse. From what I've seen, the stories are mainly redundant and the artwork looks so similar that you can't tell one creator from another with some rare exceptions.

Having said that, I have two notable home grown alternatives. First off, check out Avatar: the Last Airbender. Though the form takes liberally from Anime, there is definitely much more creativity and dimension given both to the look and the story, taking from several Asian traditions and mythologies and adding a healthy dose of technology and quest-type adventure, Avatar has strong maleand female characters, morally complicated story lines and three-dimensional villinas. The lessons the cartoon delivers are not only relevant and decidedly un-preachy (no "...and knowing is half the battle! Yo Joe!" in this afterschool offering) but also involve the viewer in the moral decision making.

The second reccommendation is actually two: Ben 10 and Teen Titans. As a fan of all things retro-futuristic, Ben 10 and the Teen Titans supply all the stylized, flashy and three-color glory of the pulps and comic books of days past. Both recall the era that gave us the originals from Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, Seigel and Shuster, Bob kane and all the rest. Throw in a liberal dose of Cold War-era paranoia, giant monster chic and 50s pop illustration and you've got it. Both shows look fantastic, are genuinely engaging and strip away the convuluted, thousand-character casts of many of the comics out there right now.

So Long 2006, You Damned Dirty Dog

I can't really say that I'm all that sad to see the Year of the Dog wind down to an end with a whimper, though we did have some high points. To wit: 2006 saw Maggie and Coltrane join the human race and shed their previous embryonic mantles, the Republicans get the boot in Congress (though I'm not real sure how I feel about a government run by a bunch of jackasses...I mean Donkeys), the Pirates gear up for another run at the Calder Cup and the car still runs, sort of...

...however, I found little of Dog's supposed loyalty, friendship and protection in 2006, but rather a dirty, foul-smelling, vicious little cur snarling out of the corner. I can't say I'm all that sorry to see it go and am looking forward to 2007.

But enough prattle about a zodiac I know far too little about to credibly rant about. I realize it's been a little while and we have some catching up to do. First: as I mentioned breifly, 2006 saw the entrance into the human race of my neice Maggie, native of Colombus, GA and nephew in spirit Coltrane, native of Las Vegas, NV. I wish them both long, happy, interesting lives and give their respective parents fair warning: the kid-sized drums are already in the mail, 'cuz that's hows I rolls! Think of it this way: a well-rested parent really isn't doing their job properly. And I'm just here to help.

Next up, WFC Dominion, as I'll forthwith refer to the team, finished Session 1 with a valiant record of 0 - 7 - 1 and came dangerously close to advancing past the first round of the playoffs. We suffered short rosters, too-large rosters, injuries all the way around and insult and injury. And had a pretty good time. This Session, three games in, has seen the defection of several key play-makers, a chronic groin pull (not to be confused with chronic pud-pulling), a sprained ankle, a bruised thigh, weak ankles, a torn Achilles tendon, several substitutions and one high-order humiliation at the hands of a mostly high-school age team that was far too polite for their own good or our own pride. Doesn't sound too promising, I know, however we have in three games managed to out-score our total "goals for" statistic from last session and despite a multitude of injuries are beginning to show promise in the teamwork, skills and drive departments.

As this post marks the first contribution to 2007 I will briefly address resolutions. I do not, as a rule make resolutions any longer and have not since breaking every single one of them in second grade. However I have resolved to write more, spend less time in front of the idiot tube and produce more work. How that's relevant to this, is it means there will be more to read. I started this to hone skills I have not used in far too long. As such, I welcome any criticism and/or comment you may have in following my seemingly pointless meanderings.

In any case...there will be more to follow...

First Game, First Crushing Defeat

So, tonight marks the first evening game of the WFC Dominion soccer team. I can't say that it was a shining moment, however it was a beginning. Eight intrepid souls turned out on Halloween, despite many child-related previous engagements. We played Town and Country's team, a team that has obviously been playing together for quite some time, which, in the end, made the loss a little easier to bear. After all, we have not played together as a team before tonight and some of us, most notably myself, have not played in years (I think the last organized game of soccer I participated in was sometime prior to fourth grade).

With eight turnouts, we had enough to field one line, a goalkeep and still had one sub. An unfortunate minor injury in the second half kept everyone on the pitch for the remainder of the match, however the second half was, by all accounts, our best.

To keep things on the positive tip, every player that took the field performed admirably, some excellent plays were made, our goal tender, Nathan, was nothing short of spectacular and we were not skunked. Late in the second half, we managed to score through sheer grit and determination. Nathan, our keep extraordinaire made some incredible blocks and kept things respectable despite little help from the defense.

The good news is that we got the toughest team in the league out of the way early and from what this reporter understands, they are far and away the best. Spirits remained high and optimism and humor governed the outlook for next week's game and I think it's safe to say that everyone is looking forward to the rest of the season.

Final score this evening was 6 - 1, but again, at least we made it onto the scoreboard. An excellent beginning for what one bold speaker called the Bad News Bears. I think we all are looking forward to meeting Town and Country in the finals for a rematch!

The Sitcom as Domestic Survival Tool

I have never been one to spend much time on television; I'm more of a movie man. In fact, I spent a number of years with no television whatsoever. I know, I know. Many of you may be thinking "what kind of wing nut are you?" However, if you've never lived without TV, I highly recommend it. There is a certain change that comes over your view of life, time and the destructive power of commercial television as you begin to find new, more productive uses for the endless amounts of time that you didn't previously realize you had. It's really quite liberating.

This is not, however meant to be a dissertation on the evils of the boob-tube (though I promise, I will get to that at some point in the future). Needless to say, I do, in fact own a television and, much to my own dismay, find myself zoning out in front of it quite a bit. My normal fare consists of movies, cartoons (Avatar: the Last Airbender is my current favorite and I must admit a bit of an addiction. I guess I can thank my brother Nick for turning me on to that one), Survivorman and CSI. The original. Only the original. And commercials. I think commercials are one of the most important things to watch on television (Really. And I promise that I'll go into this more at a later date as well).

My wife on the other hand likes true crime, hauntings, anything on Discovery that has anything to do with Egypt or Egyptology, the BBC comedies on New Hampshire PBS on Tuesdays and **gasp** sitcoms. I used to be of the opinion that sitcoms were tripe. They are contrived, cliched, boxed up versions of everyday events that either need more serious attention or no attention at all. Seinfeld comes to mind as an example of the latter. I save a special, accute hatred for that particular program, made even more vile by the fact that it makes me laugh from time to time. But make no mistake about it, Seinfeld is evil. But as I've watched some of the sitcoms my wife likes (most notably Everybody Loves Raymond, My Family on BBC America, King of Queens, Mad About You, and the BBC comedies on NH PBS almost religiously), I've come to see these shows a little differently. As I'm sure you guessed from the title, I've begun to think of these shows as a resource for domestic bliss. It came about when my wife and I were arguing about some stupid thing or another; I really don't remember what it was, but it was probably something small. But the TV was on and when we both just shut up, the couple on the set was having the exact same argument, but scripted better.

Since then, I've watched with much less grumbling and started to actually pay attention. These shows, the better ones anyhow, are written by people that live this every day and address real issues in the home. I've seen everything from quibbles about household responsibility to financial problems, difficulties with teenage children to difficulties with the in-laws and aging to potentially marriage-ending goofs. These are real problems that real couples, both married and not face on a day to day basis. Granted, on TV they're scipted by a team of writers and generally happen in dream houses between stylish, attractive actors playing stylish, attractive people with jobs far more interesting than yours and come to a happy feel-good resolution in half an hour or less, but if you think about it, why do these shows draw such large audiences? It's not the attractive actors or the fantasy of having their house, or children that adore you all the time or the vicarious thrill of doing the fascinating job they have or hobbies they have or go to the restaurants they eat at. Sure, the voyeur element comes in, but these shows would do half as well if they didn't resonate with some element of truth.

I have a theory and if you don't want to read it, you should have gone to another page by now. On the surface, I think that this breed of sitcom serves as a reminder that you, the audience, are not the only couple that has faced this particular problem (pick one and insert here). Obviously, this is not uncommon if there were enough people on the writing team to think this episode up and put it on the air. On a deeper note, I think it serves a carthartic purpose to be able to laugh at the arguments you have and the issues you deal with. As cliche as it is, they say laughter is the best medicine, and though it might not cure cancer, I tend to agree that keeping things in perspective and maintaining the ability to laugh at ones self, surroundings or situation goes a long way in being able to ford the turbulent waters. In being able to laugh at a situation on TV that has resonance in your own lives, you can maybe take a step back, diffuse some of the tension and maybe be able to see things from your partner's perspective a little better.

Taking the issue a little further, I think that, especially for men, sitcoms provide an invaluable tool. We all do dumb things. Why? Because as a species, men are dumb. Period. We know it, they know it, I think Whatsamatta U proved it last year in a study spanning the past five generations so let's move on. I forget what comic said it, but it still as close to universal truth as the people of this planet are likely to get: Women are crazy and men are stupid. How does this apply? Men, pay attention. Sit down, watch TV with your partner (this applies to gay and lesbian couples, too. Believe me, I've know a few and the dynamic is no different, just that each partner plays both roles dependant on the moon or whatever) and pay attention. First pay attention to the show and remember: you are not smarter than the guy on TV. Trust me on this. Oh, you might not be as flagrant, blatant and obvious in the way you screw up, but you will. You'll say the wrong thing at the wrong time or in the wrong way or you'll forget an important date or fall asleep too soon after sex etcetera, etcetera. Accept this, learn from it, remember the lesson for the future (this is the important part) and move on. Second, pay attention to your partner and their reaction. If the show gets a "tsk tsk" or a "ooohhh" out of the answer to "does this dress make me look fat"on TV, gues what? That same answer is going to get you nothing but a night in the garage with the dogs if you pull it out the next time you're at the mall. If the guy on the show gets caught looking down the waitresses shirt or looking at internet porn and it earns you a punch in the shoulder or a "I'd divorce your ass", know what? Yup, chances are your partner's not kidding. If the dishes not getting done on TV gets you a glare, guess what I'd recommend as the best course of action. Just do the damn dishes and save yourself a fight.But realistically, it's not just about avoiding a fight, is it? Cause we all know what comes after a fight right? **wink, wink, nudge, nudge** What it is about is about is having respect for the other person and gaining some insight into what about you drives her (or him) up the wall.

And finally, I think these shows serve one more purpose: they serve as reminder that the fight isn't forever and you can work through it, if you want to. No, it won't be in half an hour. Hell, it might not even be in a day. But when you're in the middle of a crisis, such as it is, it's easy to lose sight of the reality that no problem is insurmountable and given the time, effort, and most importantly, willingness, you can work through pretty much anything. These shows can serve as a shock to the system and break you out of the funk that sets in when you lose sight of the proverbial forest.

Now go turn on the TV and skip the $500/hour marriage counseling session.

Till next time...

24 Hour Comic Day

www.24hourcomics.com

... So 24-hour comic day is over and for the second year in a row, I'm a bad comic-geek. Not so much for not participating, but for forgetting. Now admittedly, I have not purchased a new comic in ages and so cannot be expected to be completely current on the comings and goings of full-fledged geek-dom; however, I do trumpet the cause and should have made it a point to know. To the comic-gods: please forgive this transgression!

If you don't know what this "24-Hour Comic Book Day" is, here's the skinny: a number of years ago two comic book creator friends were chatting and one, an artist, was trying to defend his seeming inability to get his pages in under deadline. The other guy (this, by the way is strictly from memory; if you want the whole story including names and titles, click on the link above) then challenges the first and bets him that he can finish a complete comic book, start to finish, words, pictures, ink, soup to nuts in twenty four hours flat. The first guy accepts and the two of them sit down to create.

Now to put this in perspective, keep in mind, a regular issue of a monthly comic is gnerally no more than 30 pages. If you're talking about a run of the mill standard format comic from one of the major producers, that page count can be cut down to 22 pages of actual content given that most comics contain advertisements. Now in the comics world, most creators work assembly-line style. each person does something different in the process: i.e. one guy writes (think of this as scripting-this guy or gal gives direction on everything else), one pencils (or does the actual drawing), one inks over the pencils, one handles the colors, one does all the lettering, and so on. Keeping all this in mind, the average comic book progresses at a rate of about one finished page per day.

Try the again: one finished page per day.

Now try to think about doing a complete comic book, start to finish in one day. 24 hours.

I'm not sure who finished and who didn't in that first challenge, but the story passed around the industry (probably pretty quickly since the world of commercial comics is pretty insular) and people picked up on the idea. Two years ago, comics fans, distributors, advocates, companies and creators came up with the first, organized, world-wide 24-Hour Comics Day. The rules were as follows: In the span of 24 consecutive hours, you had to submit a complete 24-page comic book. You were not allowed to bring preconceived story ideas or designs, pre-drawn pages, pre-written scripts, etc. Materials, page size, definition of "finished", subject matter were all up to the creator.

I participated in this, thinking that, "hey I can figure out how to make this easy." Yeah right. I was not prepared, to say the least. My writing skills were rusty to say the least, my artistic skills, such as they were, were not up to snuff and I was sitting alongside independent and commercial creators and art-school students and ametuers that had been doing this, been published and been recognized. These people were serious.

I steeled myself, sat down, closed my eyes and envisioned a falling elevator. "Good enough," I thought. I grabbed onto that and ran. The twenty four subsequent hours were a gruelling trial of sleep deprivation, cramped quarters in a small comic book shop, dwindling supplies, arthritic-like hands and back aches,bad music, worse pizza, incessant in-jokes amongst those who knew each other, chain smoking, self-doubt, self destuctive impulses and desperation. Thow into that mix cameraderie, admiration, support, improvisation, frequent visits from my girlfriend (now wife), bursts of intense creativity and pure, unadulterated stubborness.

Of 30 people who started at Casablanca Comics in Portland, ME, I was one of nine that finished. One of maybe a hundred that finished in the world. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't flashy, it probably wasn't even that good...but it was done.

I told a reporter for the Phoenix that I would be able to call myself a comic creator after having finished. In a way I can. But I've realized over the intervening two years that you can't identify yourself as somthing if you don't do it. One completed comic book, does not make me a creator; it makes me a fan and a dilletante. And that's part of the motivation behind this project...

This year, I'm told, Portland had 40 entrants, more than any site in the country, possibly the world. The event was so big, that they couldn't hold it at the shop but instead enlisted the aid of Maine College of Art (MECA) and ran it from 10:00am Saturday, October 7 to 10:00am Sunday, October 8. I don't know how many finished, but I do know that there will be a lot of sore hands today. If you get the chance, check out the website, swing by your local comics store and ask about it, support your local artists. In Portland, if you check out Casablance Comics on Middle Street, they've dedicated an entire shelf to local creators of all abilities. The folks who do these comics do them out of love of the industry, dedication and its some of the best work out there. And if they make it big, you can say "i was reading this guy or gal before they blew up!" And impress all your friends...

Till next time, true believers....