Really Rather Not Nice Thoughts

The Blog That Time Forgot

2010-02-17T08:01:00.000-08:00

I watched Rachel Getting Married with my wife a few nights ago, and I have to say, that with the exception of a very few moments where I wasn't really feeling like Anne Hathaway had totally lost herself in her character yet, and one inexplicably long Wedding Reception/Dance scene, the movie was incredible. The movie has some surprises that it slowly unveils to the viewer, and in some ways, these revelations felt strangely relevant to me and my experiences, and were something I felt I could relate to. Other parts were less so, but all in all, this was a great, great movie, and I think I really want to see it again sometime soon, after my brain is done processing the first viewing. It gave a really fascinating family dynamic that is not often seen in big Hollywood, and there were some brutal examinations of what near-apocalyptic sibling rivalry can be like in the face of a lot of various personal traumas. Unflinchingly human, but in both the ugly and beautiful sense.

I also watched Land of the Lost a while back, and it could not be a more different film than the above, but smart and funny in its own ways, even though it's pretty much been universally panned by everyone, with a very few exceptions that I couldn't agree more with. This movie plays a lot like Harold and Kumar go to Jurassic Park with the Men in Black. It is a bizarre stoner-comedy/kid-show nostalgia mash-up, that obviously didn't work form the majority of the viewing audience. But I really, really had a good time watching this. I'm a huge Anna Friel fan, even though she isn't given much to do in this film except react to, and inspire, the actions of others. Danny McBride can sometimes be hit or miss with me, and this time around he definitely hit it, holding his own very well comedically with Will Ferrell. Of course, I also thought that Mr. Ferrell didn't put in the highest quality performance of his career here, so Mr. McBride didn't have a high benchmark to achieve, but still. The film made me laugh out loud more than once. It had the same hyper-real trippy feel to it that made H&K go to Whitecastle feel much smarter than it actualy was, and mixed with the trippy feel of the nostalgia of the old kid's show, I felt it really achieved an interesting blend of high concepts and pure stupidity that made for a derivative yet strangely unique experience. Not picture of the year, but a good, dumb-funny movie.

I'm also looking forward to reading "I'm Perfect, You're Doomed: Tales from a Jehovah's Witness Upbringing" by Kyria Abrahams, which my wife is currently reading. My wife was also raised in a Witness household, but left that way of life back when she started high school. As she reads this book she keeps telling me how the book is equal parts hilarious and an eerily exact description of her childhood. As someone outside that life, looking in, I don't think I'll get the same experience out of reading it, but I'll let you know what I think.

I've literally flooded myself with writing work as of late. I am starting a weekly column for a toy collecting web-site which I will officially announce when it comes out. I am just jumping back on board writing poetry for a lovely sculptress who is putting together a themed book of work. I have begun writing a comic book with an old friend of mine who will be the artist. I would love to get my macabre-poetry-for-mature-children project back up off the ground, but in order to do this I may need to seek out a new artist. We'll see. I'm thinking any illustrated works I collaborate on in the future will be digitally published, to help get my work out where it can be seen. I'll have to research this, as I am completely lost on how to go about beginning that process. I'm also considering the idea of going back to comic book review, or at least TPB/OGN reviews, since I don't buy single issues any more. But I'll need to find a site that gives a rat's ass about my opinion. I do love putting it out there though. Oh... and I'm blogging again. Not excellent blogging, but blogging nonetheless.

I'm hoping that if I force myself into doing as much writing work as I can, I can polish my craft and actually do something with it.

Don't Call it a Comeback. Really. (It ain't even that important.)

2010-02-12T21:17:00.001-08:00

It has been very nearly three years since my last post on this blog, and so much has changed.

I'm much less cocky these days to begin with, and much less impressed with my own wit. My wife and I have not forgotten the miscarriage that I talked about below, but we have since put it behind us, and in December of 2008, my son was born, and now he's a toddler. So... we remember the past and are thankful for our present, and all wounds scar over with time.

It's funny, coming back to this blog after so many years. My voice has changed, my face and family have changed. My thoughts have changed. I get a genuine kick in going back over the thoughts I posted here so long ago. I hope they don't date me, or embarass me, or...

I don't really care. I love the me I used to be. I really do. We have to forgive our old selves their tresspasses. And as I write that, I realize it's really true. We really do. At some point you have to sit down with yourself and forgive some of the really bad decisions you made in the past.

But it's fun seeing the links I posted to, and seeing if they still link to what they're supposed to instead of some raunchy-yet-ill-named porn site. What I find even more hilarious than old, lapsed links to things I used to find relevant are the numerous apologies that pepper the blog, for starting and stopping things sporadically. It's as if I were being followed by a massive audience that hung on every word. Well, no more of that. If I blog, fine. If I don't fine. I'm doing it for myself anyway, as I type this into the void. It's mental vomit. A diary for-all-to-read... and hopefully a tool just to make me write and keep my sanity. But no more guilt.

In the last few years I've lost my grandmother, had a second child, watched my daughter grow into a nine year old, survived swine-flu, ... and not much else. I haven't achieved much. I am not where I imagined I would be thre long years ago when I dreamed of the future. I'm pretty much still right where I was back then, but thre years more old, three years more tired, three years more around my waist. But then there is my family, which has given me three more years of love and hope and wonder (and some of them haven't been around long enough to give me three years, but they are quickly catching up ahead of the game). I connected with my Dad for the first time in a very long time, which has been great. I talk to him and his awesome wife on Facebook, and I'm happy that he's with someone so incredibly cool, and that his kids, my half-siblings, seem to be too. I'm also trying to get myself writing again on a regular basis for the first time in... well a very long hiatus.

But enough wistful crap.

I watched Zombieland tonight and really liked it. There were a few pacing problems here and there, but there are some intensely excellent moments. Nobody seems to have worked out all the bugs yet for a completely perfect Zom/Com mash-up, not even the holy-of-all-holy, near-perfect Shaun of the Dead got it completely right with absolute zero hiccups. But Zombieland has tons going for it. The leads were all excellent, and the narrative style was spot on. I loved that whenever one of the rules of survival that have been invented by the lead character, Columbus, are observed throughout the film, we are treated to a visual reminder of said rule. The only really violently disctractive hiccup of the movie is the guest-celebrity-cameo-in-the-middle sequence, which could have maybe worked if played a little differently, but... it just ended up completely pulling me out of the film due to the timing, and the way the lead characters responded to said celebrity (I won't spoil the surprise of who it is, in case it still is one for you, as it was for me, and as much as I worship and adore the man, I was disappointed) and especially the celebrity's response to the situation at hand. It didn't mesh well with the rest of the film and felt like the whole thing was supposed to be some sort of extra-feature that accidentally got left in by mistake. But, save for that one really big nit-pick, I was in love with this movie. I will definitely be picking up a copy, and can't wait to rewatch it in the future to see how my opinions change.

That's it for tonight folks. I'm just impressed enough with myself that I even remembered how to get back into my blog account after all this time, and now this old 31-year-old needs his sleep. I'll check back in with you soon.

Hallowe'en On the Air

2007-10-20T18:26:00.000-07:00

So Halloween makes its inevitable crawl back from the ether this year, clawing its way back into our lives much like an animated corpse clawing its way back to the world above its grave.

I am a deft and witty slinger of the similes.

I've been working on a series of new Halloween poems, not really knowing exactly what I can use them for, but writing them nonetheless. They would fit nicely into a collaboration with someone, as they were written specifically to go with someone else's art... but live and breathe all on their own without that art as well. I feel good that I'm creating poetry for my own sake right now, drawing inspiration mainly from the season, and my own ideas. It's refreshing.

I meant to write longer here, but my daughter is calling me away for a game of hangman, and I really can't resist that game this time of year... could you. I will try to come back for a post of some... purpose and scope next time I return.

Dealing with our Miscarriage

2007-09-19T17:30:00.000-07:00

I've been avoiding this blog for a little while now.

This summer my wife and I suffered through the loss of a pregnancy, and I've felt a bit stunted creatively ever since. I think he tme has come to talk a bit about it, and maybe this will allow me to clear my head, clear my creativity a bit, as it were, and let go of this black balloon I've been holding onto since then.

We were really excited when we found out Jenn (my wife) was pregnant. We told a bunch of people after the first month, feeling like we were being silly, trying to hold out for that three month period (some say waiting until this point will prevent the pain of telling people should a miscarriage occur...) and that it almost 'jinxed' the pregnancy taking this kind of precaution. We wanted to be unadulteratedly happy about having a baby, and not paranoid that we'd have to take it back should something bad happen.

We told my family, and Jenn's family, friends and coworkers. We told our then-six-year-old daughter that she'd be getting a little brother or sister before the year was up. We reveled in the attention, and the premature gifts, and the feeling that we were expanding our family FOR SURE.

The three month period rolled around, and Jenn told me later that she was already a little bit worried. Nothing she could really put her finger on... occasional spotting, a few little cramps here and there... little things. And then one night, when these feelings hit their peak, she told me that she thought we ought to go to the hospital. We had called ahead, and were assured that everything was fine, that these kinds of doubts and feelings were a normal part of any pregnancy, and that if we wanted to make the late-night trip into the hospital just to hear the baby's heartbeat, that would be fine.

I was worried, but I told myself that I was being silly, and to hold onto hope, and that if anything WAS wrong, the doctors (actually midwives) would know what to do, and we'd either go home feeling silly, or glad that we'd acted so soon. I kept watching the clock through everything, calculating how tired I would be at work the next day, and the stories I would tell my co-workers. I just kept waiting for reality to snap back into focus, and for my doubts to dissipate like a burst balloon.

Except that the first nurse had a very hard time finding the baby's heartbeat. She tried for nearly an hour and kept giving us all the reasons why our baby couldn't be heard. The baby was hiding. The baby was just in the wrong part of the womb. She kept hearing phantom noises that even I, a casual observer with no medical experience knew could not possibly have been made by the baby inside my wife. We could hear Jenn's heartbeat fine. The Doppler was functioning perfectly. Still, they changed Dopplers three times. The first nurse gave up and told us she was too inexperienced. She got a senior nurse, who also tried for nearly an hour. My wife grimaced in pain and clenched my hand tighter and tighter as the nurse applied more and more pressure to the Doppler on her belly. Still, the excuses of why the baby was being so difficult came, as the nurse assured us everything was fine. I didn’t hate either of the nurses, I really didn't. They both tried so hard, and they both cared so much, but it became agony watching them as they paused each time, like a dog alert for sounds of prey nearby. There was some part of me that knew then. Knew they would not hear what was not there.

There was also the part of me that kept straining the same way, trying to hear that fast little whoosh-whoosh that signaled the tiny heartbeat of my family's newest member.

Finally, one of our Midwives were called in, and she did a full pelvic exam after trying the Doppler herself for almost another hour or so. It was around 1:00 in the morning when I stopped watching the clock and gave up the ghost that normal reality might put in an appearance.

The pelvic exam revealed that Jenn's cervix was slightly open. This worried the midwife, and prompted her to set up an ultra-sound. We had already had our first ultrasound about a month before. There had been a wiggling, wobbling peanut-shaped brine-shrimp on the screen that my wife and I had excitedly accepted as our new baby. We'd shown pictures of said brine-shrimp to our family, friends, co-workers, and then-six-year-old daughter.

This ultra-sound showed us a very different baby. As soon as the picture popped up on the screen, it was obvious to see that the baby had grown since its brine-shrimp days. One of the first thoughts to hit my mind was "How could it have been hiding?" And then we watched the screen and the truth sank in. A baby-shaped rag-doll lay at the bottom of the screen like someone had been playing with it and discarded it in a careless moment. It lay there, still and motionless.

It was then that I finally accepted that our baby had died. We thanked the ultra-sound technician, who had gotten up out of bed in the middle of the night to come help us. I think Jenn thanked her for that, and apologized for disturbing her. There was a sort of screaming noise in my head going on that happens when I get very very overwhelmed. I wasn't crying yet, but I think only because I was still too shocked.

A person I had never met before, who I had never even lain eyes on, because it was a person being built inside of my wife's body, had just died, and I didn't know how to process this information. A lot of stupid questions entered my head before the shock wore off. I asked myself how much right I had to be sad. Was this baby a real person yet? Was it something you justwalked away from? I didn't know the sex of the baby. I realized that I wanted to know very badly if we were having a son or a daughter. I wondered if people ever had funerals for miscarriages. Were they real people?

And then, we got back to the hospital room, and my mind shut up with all its stupid, stupid questions, and the agony hit both my wife and I, and we cried. We cried a very long time. We slept at the hospital that night, and to be honest with you, I have a hard time remembering much that happened after that. I remember calling my boss to let him know I would be out for a few days, and actually being embarassed that I was crying on the phone when I spoke to him.

On the way home from the hospital I stopped at Wal-Mart and bought two very large plastic bins. I was thinking about all the baby clothes and toys we had in our spare-room, and how quickly I wanted to box that stuff up so it wouldn't be there as a reminder. My wife realized what they were for and began crying again in full force. I felt like such a shit. I wasn't thinking clearly. Wasn't processing anything correctly. If I had been, I would have just waited. I will always hate myself for doing that.

We got home and Jenn began making a long list of painful phonecalls. She called as many people as she could, and then when she felt she was done, I finished up the rest for her. There were a lot of people she wanted to talk to directly, and the rest she just couldn't handle. But she wanted everyone to know so there would be less questions, less mistaken people asking her how her pregnancy was going.

I e-mailed our internet correspodent friends, and unsubscribed Jenn from as many of the new-mother e-mails that we'd subscribed to as I could. It was all business for a while. I did end up packing the baby things away into the bins as soon as I could. As much as I hate my lack of tact in retrospect, I am glad that Jenn didn't need to go through any of the baby things. She said it would have hurt her too much. The next few days were all a blur of tears and phonecalls to the doctor.

There was till a baby inside my wife's body, even if it wasn't moving anymore, and we needed to decide what Jenn's next step would be. Se opted to go through with a surgery (non-evasive, no-cutting) that would remove all of the "birthing materials" and speed up the process of "closure". Jenn coud have waited and tried to pass the materials naturally, but we both saw the inherent nightmare of this option... the waiting, being at home when it happened... neither of us could really wrap our minds around this and so with an incredibly kind group of people at the hospital, we finished the process that had so cruelly begun, and we were no longer having a baby anymore.

We learned that the baby ad actually diead about a week before that night spent in the hospital. We never found out why the baby died, and we never found out the sex of our baby. We boxed up all the papers and hospital bracelets, and labeleed a box "Sam" and we laid it to rest that way.

It's been a little while now, and there is more I want to say, and more I want to write... but I've gotten this far, and things have gotten better, somehow... and I was ready to share this much. And that's what I've done.

Of Blood and Flesh and Hide-and-Seek

2007-06-23T17:17:00.000-07:00

So my daughter was a flower girl in my wife's Aunt's wedding today, which was an experience I shall not soon forget. I won't go into great depths about my feelings or relationships with a few people in my wife's family, but suffice it to say that today's festivities put a strain on my social abilities (which are not the most advanced at the best of times).

The high point of the day was when I realized that my daughter had received communion before it was too late to do anything about it. Apparently this is a tradition in Episcopalian weddings, and it was one that was not addressed clearly enough in the rehearsal for us to see it coming immediately. I knew it was happening at some point during the proceedings, but assumed that my wife or I would have the time and convenience to subtly pull our daughter aside and have her wait it out until the rest of the ceremony continued.

My wife and I, if you have not guessed, are not particularly religious. We don't go to church as my family, being Methodists, used to do in the past, or to a Kingdom Hall as some in my wife's family do, being Jehovah's Witnesses. My wife and I are not hard-lined atheists... but we are not Christian. I've dabbled in all sorts of alternatives in the past, but found I am not a particularly spiritual person... anyway. I'm not debating theologies here, just giving you a run-down.

Getting back to my story, we assumed an intervention would be allowed at some point before the sharing of blood and flesh with our daughter commenced. I found myself being asked by a member of the grooms family, "Is it okay if she goes up?" At which point (this was a particularly chaotic part of the wedding, I must remind you...) I saw that my daughter was already kneeling, and was in the process of receiving her communion wafer.

So there it was. Apparently my mother-in-law had tried to grab her before she followed the herd up to the front, but failed. I leaned over to my wife and asked "So is she Episcopalian now? " We then realised that in the program it clearly stated that only children of God who had been baptised as Christian could partake in communion. Would my daughter now be stoned as a heretic? Would we have to move to Canada? Would there be bricks through the window and taps on the phone?

My wife's main concern was physical rather than spiritual hygeine "They don't wash that cup," she informed me, as they continued passing the silver chalice down the line from one slobbering, jittering senior citizen to the next. I grimaced.

Religion has always been a fuzzy area in our family, I mentioned before that a large percentage of my wife's family are Witnesses. She was raised in this tradition, though she has long since moved away from any kind of religion, even though we practice Christmas, and Easter, as well as other Holidays (I am mostly ignorant of the Jehovah's Witness tradition, though I know at this point the only days of signifigance they seem to 'celebrate' in any way are their own wedding anniversaries and the yearly Passover. No birthdays, Christmases, Thanksgivings, Halloweens, Mother's Days, etc.). When I say we celebrate I mean mostly in the Santa-Claus-and-Easter-Bunny way. I haven't gone so far as to start referring to them as Krismas (denoting a Kris Kringle 'Krismas' vs. the Jesus Christ 'Christmas'), or Eostre (hearkening back to Easter's true pagan goddess roots, with the bunnies and eggs and fertility...) but I might as well. We're pretty paganistic or... materialistic I suppose would be the truth of it. Either one would have gotten us burned at the stake in Salem I'm guessing.

In the end, we decided not to care about the communion wafer and wine one way or the other. Personally, I don't believe in the practice, and if I don't believe in it, then it can't hurt anyone. So why worry? My daughter probably thought it was more fun than anything (she's just turning seven next Saturday, so she's not used to drinking a whole lot of wine... I hope.) and as long as nobody made a stink of it, Episcopalian, Witness, or Check Other Here... then I'm certainly not going to. What seems to tick off old Church Ladies even more than unbaptized children eating the flesh and blood of their savior is when they play hide-and-seek in the house of God during the wedding reception.

In my opinion... if God is who they say he is... I don't think he minds having happy children eating his crackers and playing in his house. But that's just me.

Back in the Saddle Again-Again

2007-06-05T18:41:00.000-07:00

So I thought I'd start back with a few multi-media reviews, just to get my feet re-wet after being away from my blog for awhile.

I systematically fall in and out of reading my own thoughts in Blog-form, so bear with me. My family is currently in the middle of a flu-pandemic, and therefore I am at home from work tonight and tomorrow, and thought I would throw some stuff together here. It was in a discussion with my friend Tom that I said something like how amazing it was just how mind-numbingly boring it can be to go back and read the day-to-day thoughts I share here from time to time... and then I brought up David Sedaris, and mentioned that I wished my life in Blog read more like one of his books... and then I think I managed a fairly interesting idea, where since I am a poetic sort, I should start writing my life out in rhyme. Tom suggested iambic pentameter... but I suspect I lead more of a low-brow, dirty schoolyard lymeric type of life.

I shall give this idea some thought.

I recently watched 10 Items or Less with my wife, which stars Morgan Freeman (I picked this movie up solely because of this wise and wonderful man) and Paz Vega (remember her from Spanglish? Meh. I liked her more than anything else about that flick.) I can't get this movie out of my head! The first fifteen minutes or so dragged on a bit, and felt a little akward... but baby once it picks up speed, this movie is an undiscovered gem! Morgan Freeman has always been one of my absolute favorite men. He's got spirit, and energy that crackles off of him in any scene, and it feels like he's just toying with the other actors in any scene with him. This movie was no exception. From watching him stalk a near-somnambulant grocery store manager to seeing him lead a legion of car-wash attendants on a spry dance through their daily doldrums, to hearing him extol the virtues of buying socks at Target... the performance never falters once. He's a child in wolf's clothing, completely unflappable and charming in every interaction. He is the Morgan Freeman in "10 Items" (because he does in fact play Him) that I hope he is in real life. In this story he is studying at a grocery store to build a character he will be playing in an Indy film that heis having trouble commotting to fully. He meets Vega's character, a check-out girl at the 10 items or less counter, and immediately feels as if he's hit a characterization gold-mine. He resolves to follow her about her day, by hook or crook (I am never clear just how much he manipulates his way into her good graces, and how much he falls there by accident and sheer charm). The two characters go thrugh a checklist of seemingly mundane errands that by Freeman's mere presence, take on an almost magical quality. Paz Vega manages to keep up with his performance by building a character who is closed where Freeman is open, and cynical where Freeman's is boisterous and carefree. She is skeptical of the eldery actor's intentions, but plays her character with real heart, and it is a joy to see the two characters slowly open up to one another in more and more genuine ways over the course of the film (we get the feeling that Freeman really is just toying with her character at first... a manipulative Puck with entertainment on his mind. This feeling gradually changes.)An excellent, self-affirming film... even if they did flub the ending a bit awkwardly in the last five seconds or so. I plan to own this one.

Also obsesively listening to Modest Mouse's newest album "We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank". Now, I am not a well-spoken music critic... so I don't have a great deal to say that will come across as articulate to music-fans... but this album is great. I barely understand the lyrics, and when I do, they seem nonsensical at best... but listening to the loud raw, and soft lispery vocals coupled with some of the most compelling music I've heard in a while just goes even further towards cementing Modest Mouse as one of my all-time favorite bands. I first heard the single "Dashboard" playing over the stereo system at Newbury Comics in Portland, ME and then fnally broke bown and bought it at a Newbury Comics in Cambridge, MA (I also bought NIN's new album "Year Zero" there too, but I will talk about that one some other time).
There is not a single song on this album that I won't listen to. NOT ONE. That is incredibly rare for me. I almost always feel the need to pick through the few CDs that I buy, and choose the three or four songs that satisfy me, and never listen to the rest. But in the case of "WWDBTSES" I know I can listen to the enire album straight through without skipping a track. Isaac Brock is a genius, and the way several of the songs progress, you almost end up with songs within songs, making the listening experience that much more interesting. I don't think you're going to find a real solid radio single like the previous album had, but that has never mattered to me in the long run, as that all-important single is usually the one that starts to get on my nerves first after repeated listening of any album. Other noteworthy tracks include "Florida", "Fire It Up" and "Parting of the Sensory" but I can't stress enough how good a listening experience the entire album is.

So... that's it for me tonight. I may try to hop back on tomorrow with some less impersonal rantings, but for right now media reviews are all I can muster with the projectile vomiting going on in the background. So, goodnight all.

And Yet Again, Here He is Fumbling

2007-02-23T19:38:00.000-08:00

Hey, wow. New Google Blogger. Exciting.

So, today, I discovered that I had made a mistake at work that will mot likely cost the company I work for around $300.00. This after feeling like I had had a pretty damn good week, during which my screw-ups were infinitesimal and my glories were small but encouraging. That happy, fuzzy, productive feeling went down in flames like a hang-glider on the Fourth of July.
I am beginning to think it is time to look for some other sort of job. I just don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I can’t make any sort of meaningful contribution to the sort of field I am currently working within. I’m spinning my wheels, digging in deeper and deeper, and not getting anywhere useful in the long-run scheme of my life. Maybe a job that doesn’t rely so vitally upon every tiny decision I may make costing the company money.

Ugh. Too much to think about right now.

I just don’t know what to think about my life, and my own role in it.

Also just recently found out that my cholesterol levels are near toxic, and for the last four weeks have been in the process of an entire lifestyle overhaul… not sure how I’m liking ti yet, but I will keep you posted. As a part of this overhaul I’m eating lots more fiber, lots less sugar, more grains and wheats, seriously reducing the gut-busting portions I used to eat at every meal, eating more foods with canola oils and omega 3 fatty acids, and have also replaced almost all dairy with soy. I’ve been able to handle most of these changes without complaint or much notice.

Yay me.

And while I’d like to feel proud of myself for making these changes, I seem to only see more changes that still need to be made. I don’t drink enough water. I don’t exercise. I don’t get enough sleep at night. I have too much stress in my life. I also don’t make enough time for myself to do the thing I enjoy. I mean productively. I waste way to much time not really doing anything, while staring at this all-mighty internet browser.

Grrr. Still, I have been slightly productive in the writing department. I have been working with the amazing Lisa Snellings on a few pretty exciting projects, not the least of which was a recent poem for her sculpture “Little Pink”. I had serious challenges to overcome in some of these endeavors, and I learned so much about what is I do in my writing. It was great. Lisa’s very cool to work with, an very patient, and she for the most part knows a few things about where she wants to get to when it comes to her work. This is refreshing and helpful when one wants to collaborate.

Also, my friend Tom Kurzanski’s career is sky-rocketing, so cool for him. His most recent achievements (that I know of first-hand) are a piece in Viper Comics new Sasquatch anthology, and the uber-cool Antigone Comic (brain-freeze currently prevents me from remembering who the publisher is, but look up ‘Antigone’ + “Kurzanksi’ and you’ll find it… I’m sure. Plus, he's got all kinds of really cool new still-secret stuff coming down the line sometime soon.
But enough about that bastard.

I'm gonna try to keep up with this frigging blog a little better. I say that a lot, you notice, and then months go by, and nothing gets written.

I'm a big fat lying liar.

Here's a link to a bog much better that mine. Warren Ellis's. But be warned: It is not work friendly.

Happy Birthday, dear wife.

2006-09-15T19:48:00.000-07:00

Today is not actually my wife's birthday. But tomorrow is. She will have been on this earth for 28 full years come tomorrow, and I could not be happier about that fact. 28 years seems like a perfect amount of time to have been on this earth.

Not as long as anthrax, but longer than the Macarena. Right in perfect balance and harmony with the universe, it would seem.

I cannot thank the powers that be more for my wife. I'm not someone who seems to know who to give thanks to spiritually... but for my wife I thank them. She has inspired me, taught me, and saved my life more times than I can ever explain to her. If she had not be born, I would not be alive today. I do not deserve her, and she deserves sooo much better to me, but she chooses to be with me regardless.

She all is charity and blind kindess. (I may be laying it on a bit thick now.)

She also manages to be infuriating, cute, and sexy as hell all at the same time. I have no idea how she manages to pull this off, but she does. Many have tried to imitate this volatile balance, and failed.

But all kidding aside, I am the luckiest man I know. She is my savior and love.

I am so thankful that she was born. Hapy birthday my love.

Artsy Fartsy

2006-09-11T17:14:00.000-07:00

Wanna see some cool art?

Well, check out Meg Hunt to begin with. She's got this really cool indie vibe that catches the eyes and slaps them around a bit. She's a comic book diva, and I can't wait to actually read soemthing she's put together (her web-site rattled the teeth right out of my head).

Then there's Mimi Ko, who has recently taken pictures of both Lisa Snellings-Clark's and Neil Gaiman's kids (pictures of both can be found on their repsective blogs), and who's web-site is a small picnic of nourishing treats that make me hungry for more. There's this loneliness and playfulness that speaks from the images that I just can't shake off after seeing. (Here, to make your lives easier, I've linked to the pictures of Neil's daughter Maddy, and Lisa's son, Orion. I think you'll agree that both do a wonderful job of illustrating both the wildness and innocence of youth.)

Hurm. Do I have anything else?

How about this page over at Something Awful: The Internet Makes You Stupid, where they rework old comic book covers into hilarious works of art? (Okay, I'm stretching the 'art' theme here... but check it out. You'll laugh at least once.)

And that is all for today, my flock.

Go forth and create art of your own.

Return of the King, Baby

2006-09-07T16:57:00.000-07:00

SO I'm trying this Blog thing again. We'll see how long it lasts.

First order of business:

Congrats to Adam and Mandy Prescott!

Mandy, who is a friend of mine and my wife's since high school tied the knot this past Labor Day weekend to a great guy, Adam (who I don't know that well now, but hope to in the future), and hands down, it was the best wedding I've ever attended (I can't count my own in that estimation, as it was one of the happiest days of my life, and I'm biased, but next to that I mean...) Both Mandy's and Adam's clans are happy, fun-loving people, and the whole day was such an obvious celebration of the great love shared by not just two newly wedded people but two newly joined families. I can't give enough props to them on what a fun and entertaining day it turned out to be (even with me driving as much as I did on the interstate... blecch. I'm no navigator.) The reception was a refreshing glass of (spiked) punch as well, as we all enjoyed a rousing game of adult musical-chairs (I still can't get that guys butt-sweat out of the lap of my pants... oh wait, that happened later. Never mind.) And the song-stylings of both Maid of Honor and Bride were not to be missed (the latter rubbing her pregnant tummy while singing "like a virgin" will be a fond memory I carry long into my autumn years).
I will try my damndest to post a picture or two of the event in the coming days, but as I haven't even attempted to clear the back-log of pictures off of our camera yet, I just don't have the stregnth to try it tonight.

Next order of business:

My daughter decied to suddenly know how to ride a two-wheeler sans training wheels this week! She's having a bit of trouble mastering the breaks, and the whole concept of "stopping without crashing into things" but we're making serious head-way! I'm so proud of her, and I can't stop grinning whenever I think about it.

Next:
Weekly comic stash:

The Creeper #2 - DC Comics
Writer: Steve Niles
Artist: Justiniano
This mini is getting too tiresome to bear. I've never really liked Steve Nile's writing, and he shows even less skill in these pages. This mini has no real point, no real defined characters, and it reads like Steve Niles has never read a real comic book... just seen them on TV. I'm dropping this series after the third issue comes in (I preordered up to that point) and I'm just pissed that I had to waste 9 dollars on this crap.

Agents of Atlas #2 - Marvel Comics
Writer: Jeff Parker
Artist: Leonard Kirk
Agents is an interesting series in that it it relies more on the mysteries behind the story than on the story itself. Its a layer cake of mysteries, in that nothing is what it appears to be, not the protagonists, not the antagonists, not the history behind them, or the present threats they face. Its all a guessing game. And since the characters are all relative unknowns, it makes the story that much more intriguing and frstrating in equal proportions. But the art is great, and the characters fun and ecelctic enough to keep me curious... and keep me buying.

Uncanny X-Men # 478 - Marvel Comics
Writer: Ed Brubaker
Artist: Billy Tan
I'm really kind of in the middle of road when it comes to this new direction for the X-Men. The new creative team is a welcome change, and the line-up is one that I like (I could do without Polaris, but I'm finally coming around to the new Marvel Girl). Havok and Nightcrawler are two of my favorite characters, and Warpath is a great new addition to the line-up. I lke Tan's artwork for the most-part, but it gets a little hard to deciphr at times. Brubaker's plot is a little too cosmic for my tastes. I personally don't really care for the Shi'ar/Skrull/Outer-Space stories. They don't seem to mesh so well with what the X-Men represent for me. But The dialogue and acto has been decent so far.

The Next #3 - DC Comics
Writer: Tad Williams
Artist: Dietrich Smith
This has been a fun little series. It could have easily existed completely outside the realm of the DC universe if not for the injection of Superman (which one wonders if that was the whole point of that particular element). This has been a high-concept sci-fi comedy from the beginning, and I suppose that makes sense, this being Williams' speciality. Smith's artwork ain't too hard on the eyes either. This week the semi-nonsensical plot begns to gel a bit, as villains begin to solidify (literally) the direness of the time-rift begins to worsen, and Superman finally gets something to hit.

Detective Comics #823 - DC Comics
Writer: Paul Dini
Artist: Joe Benitez
This issue was by leaps and bounds much weaker than Dini's two previous issues on this title. I was very disappointed. The plot was much less detective-oriented (though we did see Batman do some reconnaissance) and much more cheesecake T&A shots of Poison Ivy's pouting, puckered, plumped lips, hips, chest, and butt. There's not really much more to say about it than that. It was a disappointing lone wolf in a pack of so far good issues by Dini.

Local #6 - ONI Press
Writer: Brian Wood
Artist: Ryan Kelly
This has been one of the stronger issues of this series for me so far. A bizarre and intimate vignette about roommates and the inherent madness in the concept of two strangers sharing living space. Probably my favorite issue only second to "Polaroid Boyfriend".

And that's it for the comics recap for this week. A ho-hum week over all, but with a few gems here and there.

Not much else to report this time around, but maybe I'll post a few links the next time I check in.

Ta.

06-06-06

2006-06-06T19:21:00.000-07:00

This blog has pretty much become abandoned while I still kind of try to figure out what this it's actually for.

But I couldn't let this day go by unremarked, even if, by my clock, there's only an hour and a half of it left. This date will not come again in our lifetimes.

Happy Satan Day everybody.

2006-04-25T19:12:00.000-07:00

2006-04-25T18:59:00.000-07:00

I'll Be Getting a Fake ID Soon. (Details Below)

2006-04-25T17:26:00.000-07:00

So, it was a busy weekend.

Got picked up from work Friday afternoon and immediately went shopping in Bar Harbor. Got a couple of cool things at Sherman's Book Store, including Susan Cooper's The Boggart and the Monster, which I'd been looking for, and a couple of gifts for a couple of friends who may or may not read this blog (one of which is pregnant... Hint. Hint.) Cool As A Moose was kind of a bust, but we picked up a handful of very cool beads at the Hemporium, including a little Grim Reaper and a winged pig for my bookshelf.

Saturday we went back to Bar Harbor, to the College of the Atlantic this time, to check out their Earth Day Celebration. This was a lot of fun for my daughter, who displayed all sorts of morbid behavior:

Then Sunday we drove out to Schoodic Point in Winter Harbor, where we were accosted by park rangers who informed us that a film crew was there filming a car commercial... and not to take pictures, because the film crew might get "persnickety"
so of course... we took a picture:

But as you can see, you can't tell the make, or the brand, and I have no idea what kind of car it was, or who was directing, or anything interesting. Ho-hum.

But we had an awesome day climbing the rocks and playing with algae, and pretending that my daughter was Bubble-Girl and I was her sidekick Goat-Boy, and fighting the evil Mummy-Mommy. So I'll post some cool schoodic pictures up above anyway.

Monday was an uneventful day at work, but Tuesday involved a trip to the doctor n Waldo county for my wife, who had some seriously painful stuff done to her nose as a follow up to her surgery two weeks ago. She was so brave and awesome though, and I really am proud of how well she's been coping with all this recently.

While out in Waldo county I picked up Jane Yolen's book on writing, Take Joy, which I didn't even know existed 'til I saw it on the shelf. I can't wait to read it over and over again, as Jane Yolen is one of the most amazing people currently drawing breath on this planet today.

So this is probably one of the most domestic and cutesy-cutesy posts I'll ever post.
But Never more. Just wait until I'm on the lam from the X-Files because of the UFO I snuck a picture of at Schoodic! The whole car-commercial thing was a cover-up!

Under the Tarp of My Twisted (and tired) Imagination

2006-04-23T19:57:00.000-07:00

I sat down with the plan to write a witty and in-depth blog entry several hours ago, then forgot all about it, left the browser open, went into to town, did some shopping, came home tired, remembered the blog entry, sat down to complete it, decided to write a much-shorter-and-yet-still-witty entry… did so and then promptly lost it in the faintly malicious ether that is the internet.

So here we are. I had all these plans to tell you about the Very Shady Something that was going on at Schoodic Point in Winter Harbor ME today… but will have to let the men in dark sunglasses, unmarked vans, extra Park Rangers on patrol (warning people to TAKE NO PHOTOGRAPHS), and mysterious tarp-covered vehicles wait until another day.

Until then, here’s five things I’m afraid of, in no particular order:

5. Hairless Cats
4. Banana Slugs
3. Clowns
2. Flesh Eating Bacteria
1. Richard Simmons

Hail to the Unwashed Masses. A Rain Check.

2006-04-21T18:57:00.000-07:00

I have let my blog lay dormant for too long.

But I have leanred that a blogger has linked to me (No not just my Quoatable Neil Blog... like, another human blogger seperate from this Really Rather Wretched Entity)

And so I feel the need to hold up my end of things, get my ass in gear, and entertain you people once more. I will of course be detailing wild drunken debaucheries and escapades of the most bloody and violent kind... exploits of depravity and ugly, petty, raw behavior displayed most usually by primates and serial killers.

And once I'm done telling you what my wife has been up to, I may fill you in on my own recent activities.

But for now I am off to watch "The Adventures of Priscilla Queen of the Desert" with the aforementioned social leper whom I have taken pity on and married.

Stories later.

Speaking of deviancy and outcasts, here's a cool linlk to some Outsider Artists that will have your tiny deflateable brains imploding in no time.

I am returned.

Who Love's Ya Baby?

2006-04-18T14:53:00.000-07:00

Here's a rather arbitrary and yet also incredibly creepy Doll's Head we found while wandering the woods behind our house. The rest ofher little doll parts were there too, scattered around like some sort of Blair-Witch meets Cabbage-Patch crime scene.

Enjoy.

Grandfather's Pigeons pt. 2

2006-02-28T15:36:00.000-08:00

My grandfather’s store catered to a strange clientele. My grandfather would actually be woken quite often in the dead of night by the downstairs buzzer. Some of the customers kept very strange hours. Nocturnal folk.
I would listen from my bed as my grandfather slipped on his bedroom shoes and shuffled to the door with his heavy baseball bat in hand (ours was not a safe neighborhood after dark, even back in those days), to go downstairs and do business. The first time I ever heard him do this I got so scared alone in the apartment that I huddled by the front door in my nightgown and cried until he returned. When he got back, he scooped me up like one of his pigeons and took me back to bed. He told me I was being a silly girl, and to go back to sleep. His beard tickled as he kissed my cheek. After that, I never really worried when I heard him go down late at night, though I would stay awake until he returned each and every time. Sometimes I even heard him going up the stairs to the roof above my head, and I would wonder what business it was that took him up among the pigeons. My naiveté embarrasses me even now.
The day I went inside my grandfather’s shop, all these mysteries were solved. I’d had no one to play with all day, and my boredom had made me bold. I snuck up while my grandfather was busy with a customer, a tall pale man with wild hair who stuttered as he spoke, and I walked inside. Inside the smoky store I looked around, and I learned just why it was that my grandfather raised pigeons. He ran an occult shop. I learned a lot of things. I learned a little about haruspicy and hepatoscopy. I learned a little about love spells. I learned a cure for warts. I learned about knives, and about blood, and about fear. I learned what the pigeons were for, and I learned about my grandfather.
You could buy them in pieces or whole; live or preserved in formaldehyde; mummified with cloves, or in a series of ground up powders, each with a different property. I found out that the dusty angels on the roof were dragged down here to this dark, smoky hell in the hands of my grandfather, and used for magic.
After that day, I refused to help care for the pigeons. I wouldn’t even set foot on the roof anymore. My grandfather didn’t debate the matter, and so he cleaned the coops and fed his prisoners alone, in silence. There were no more quiet mornings, telling my sorrows to the birds. No more afternoons listening to my grandfather’s rusty, joyful voice, booming inside my head. I no longer imagined weddings, or quests, or cities in the sky. My dreams changed, filling up with frightened birds huddled in the dark, awaiting my grandfather’s huge, heavy hands. I dreamed myself a bird in a cage, being taken down to the store, and the future being read in my cooling, coiling guts. My grandfather’s hands, painted to the elbows like shiny red rubber gloves. Pink tinted feathers in the smoky air.
The last time I actually went up to the roof it was to try and set the pigeons free. But the birds that had seemed so wise and sympathetic as I poured my secrets out to them just sat there stupidly as I screamed for them to fly away. They sat and awaited their fates. I screamed until I was hoarse, and then my grandfather came up to collect me. He put those heavy hands of his on my shoulders and gently led me weeping to my room. He told me how much I reminded him of my father; that he had tried the very same thing when he was a boy. Then he said goodnight and went back to bed.
We didn’t laugh together much after that. I still loved my grandfather, and he still loved me in his own clumsy way, but a part of me had been cut away from him. There were no more stories he could tell me. I was 13 years old when my grandfather, who had outlived his wife and all three of his sons, died in his sleep.
I guess even after my parents died, I had thought he would live forever. He was so strong; so much like a god himself. After that there was no one else to care for the pigeons, or for me. The state came and took us all away.
I never found out what became of them.

There. Hope it was worth the wait. Hope you enjoyed it. --RRNN

Why I'll Never Eat crow

2006-02-16T17:20:00.000-08:00

Thought I'd actually get on here and write something in the interim of "Grandfather's Pigeons", and considering the mention of Crows in the story, I thought I'd share some cool sites about ravens, crows, and their relatives, that I've stumbled across in the past.

Here's one about crows who can shape tools in order to assist themselves in certain situations. So very cool.

Over at the NATURE site, there's some cool wallpaper and fun-facts related to the episode they did on Ravens.

The Aviary is a site dedicated to Corvidae of all types. They have some very cool resources over there, if you are even mildly interested in crows, corbies, ravens, etc, you should give this site a look-see.

Here's the Wikipedia entry on corvidae, which will take you to links on all birds from that family.

I also took the trouble of searching the Encyclopedia Mythica for you and the results include raven monsters, the ravens of Odin, the Raven of Native American myth, amongst many other. Check out some of these entries.

And here's a link about the guys over at Google playing with silly putty.
Just to keep things a little off-balance.

Grandfather's Pigeons pt. 1

2006-02-12T20:26:00.000-08:00

Thought I'd post the first half of a short story I've been working on for a good long time now, to see what anybody thought of it. Let me know, and I hope you enjoy it. I'll try to post the second half by next week; sooner if there's a demand. --RRNN

Grandfather's Pigeons

I have no idea how old my grandfather actually was when I went to live with him. He always seemed the same age to me: Ancient. When my mother was still alive she had said my father’s father was older than sin but slightly younger than creation. I don’t think my mom had really liked my grandfather much. I didn’t really understand that when I was younger. I understand it now, I suppose.

I didn’t know how old he really was, but his hair was completely white, in a crazy, wispy circle around his head, with shiny bald skin in the middle. He had a thick moustache that curled at the ends, and a little goat beard on the tip of his chin that did the same. The whole effect made him look a little like the devil, especially when he grinned, which was often. But he was the sort of devil that would invite you in for a smoke and swap funny stories in his thick Rumanian accent while nipping from a flask. His eyes were like gray steel, and were almost always framed with spectacles, since he had two different pairs; one for seeing things up close, and another for seeing things far away. He said he didn’t believe in bifocals. They were “bad magic”, and lied to his eyes. I was never really sure what that meant.

As old as my grandfather was, he was also very strong, and had hands like heavy machines. Those hands could have crushed rocks I think, if they’d needed to.

I went to live with him after my parents died. I had just turned ten years old three weeks before, and I felt like I was made of glass. And though he’d never really prepared himself to take care of a young girl (he’d raised all sons) he took me in and managed not to break me, as clumsy as his love for me was. We lived in an second story apartment, with the store he ran beneath us and his three pigeon coops on the roof above.

Before I learned what the pigeons were for, I used to help my grandfather care for them. I fed them, and helped clean the floors of the coops with a scraper and a little shovel like the ones you’d use in a fireplace, some heavy gloves, and trash bags. We did this work together sometimes, and sometimes I went up on my own, early in the morning. Most of the pigeons were still sleeping then, just feathery puff-balls lined up in their little roosts. The coops seemed safe and warm with birds, and it smelled thickly of old feathers… and pigeon poop. But even that smelled nice in its own weird way.

I would be alone with the birds, talking to them softly as I filled the seed trays and put out the suet. I imagined they were dusty angels, listening to every word as I poured out my problems. They cooed sympathetically as I cried out the pain of losing my parents, and then comfortingly as I described how strange my life was now, living with my puckish grandfather in this alien, old man’s world. Their noise would slowly build around me as the sky lightened from the gray of my grandfather’s eyes to the pink of dawn.

When my grandfather and I cleaned out the coops together, he would entertain me with long, tangled stories about pigeons that talked and lived like people did. He was from the Old Country, so his Rumanian accent and deep rumbling voice seemed to infuse the stories with real magic and mystery. His stories were filled with adventures and old secrets that kept me hanging on every word. He described pigeon cities in ancient petrified trees, and cloud castles over the farthest reaches of Asia. He explained the rituals involved in pigeon marriage ceremonies, and what the bride would adorn herself in before she glided down the aisle. He twisted whole mythologies out of shape for me, telling stories of pigeons who flew too close to the sun, melting their wings, and how the winged horse Pegasus was actually descended from a drunken pigeon and an unlucky horse (some stories were accompanied with a gleeful wink, while others were told with absolute stone-faced severity). Because of the stories, the cleaning of the coops was one of my favorite ways to spend time with him.

On the nights after we’d cleaned the coops together (we did every other day, or the smell wasn’t pleasant even in its own weird way) I would go to bed and have the most wonderful dreams. Pigeon dreams. And those dreams I will never share with anyone, not even you.

My grandfather once explained to me that he used to raise crows as well, but that they were too messy, loud, and “damn smart-mouths”. They would sass him, he said, and they were to intelligent for their own good. He’d had to get rid of them (‘How?’ I ‘d asked, and he’d just started up another story with the wave of his hand). So he had just stuck to pigeons after that, and his customers had had to adjust. When I’d asked him what they bought the pigeons and crows for, he’d just tousled my hair and told me to forget it. So I did.

But to say that he just stuck to pigeons was an understatement. My grandfather kept all different breeds of pigeon; a whole rainbow of pigeons. Some of them were the simple grays, like little waxy shadows. Some had metallic looking feathers that flashed beetle’s shell green one moment and then changed to blue or red as they moved, like an oil-slick in the sun. Others looked as if they really had flown too close to the sun, burned an ashen charcoal color with ember-red eyes. Some of them, the prized ones, were milky white with pink eyes. Every single one of them was beautiful. Their eggs were like gray pebbles, and once (and only once) I was even allowed to hold one.

My entire world changed once more the day I went inside my grandfather’s store. I was not allowed to go into the store. “Little girls spook my customers,” my grandfather would say in his rough pipe-tinged accent, and he would shoo me away, waving one of those thick knuckled machine-hands in my face.

His fingers always had scratches and cuts on them. I would ask them where they came from, and he would shrug, or grunt, or just say “de pigeons,” which made no sense to me until later, because the pigeons never pecked, or scratched, or even so much as flapped their wings at me. They were very well behaved, seeming only to fret during thunderstorms. Of course, at the time I hadn’t known their reasons for pecking at him.

end pt. 1

The Prodigal Blogger Returns

2006-02-05T16:59:00.000-08:00

Sorry I've been remiss, but I'm back, to let you know...

I can really shake 'em down.

...

Yeah. Anyway. My wife has been nursing a terribly pinched nerve in her back for the last few weeks, and then the Black Plague settled on the house, killing all that it touches with flu-like symptoms and cold-like symptoms that seem to change and flower and mutate into other symptoms as the mood strikes. So... we've all been near death here for a while. But finally life is returning, and the corpses have been burned, and we've stopped killing all the cats, so now they can start working on the plague-ridden rats that seem to be the start of the whole mess...

While my wife was down for the count, she began nursing broken and ripped toys back to health for our daughter, most notably by helping the give-it-water-and-it-pees doll, which has been broken since it was purchased last year. Here's some pictures of the ghastly yet necessary surgery to get the youg lad healthy, and full of piss and vinegar once more:

Also, in my wife's lap just below the patient with the needle-nose pliers up his ha-hoo is the completely homemade and only mildly terrifying "Mewy II" who is not a cat in any sense of the term whatsoever. Mewy II was made in fact to replace a small white cat that my daughter lost two years ago, and that she has since brought up at least once or twice a week ever since, in the hopes that she will someday see her again (but she's sooo gone).

Mewy was a cat. A cute little white cat that was in no sense of the idea threatening to man or child.

Mewy II was supposed to start out as a cat, but since being cut from some sort of weird leopard-print (there are actual leopards on it, not just spots) fabric, being sewn up with an over-sized head and no legs (As per our daughter's explict instructions. I have no idea why she demanded there be no legs... but there you have it.) and being given two of the largest and scariest-looking bone-buttons and a green flower bead for a nose (again all daughter's choice), it looks like a bush-baby from a Lovecraftian nightmare realm. My daughter is in absolute love with this misshapen horror, and has dubbed it Mewy II the Bush Baby.

But she still plans to find Mewy the first, just as soon as she can.

Sigh. (But I suppose she wouldn't be my daughter without that crazed sense of optimism she's got.)

In other news, the world of music I've been listening to has expanded violently and beautifully over the last two months. Now on my regular playlists:

Iron & Wine
The Decemberists
I Am Kloot
The Coral
The Dresden Dolls
Neutral Milk Hotel
Imogen Heap
Jane Jensen
The Postal Service
Death Cab For Cutie
The Notwist
Explosions in the Sky
Broken Social Scene
Stephen Merrit (The Gothic Archies, Future Bible Heroes, Magnetic Fields, The 6ths, etc, etc.)
Feist
and the Avenue Q Soundtrack, which is hilarious, and stars pervert muppets.

So... things have been audibly interesting for me as of late. The list above was compiled by friends and people online who have made various suggestions, which I have investigated later. I suggest you do the same. You won't be disappointed.

I'll try to squeeze in some fun links and a poem or two next time I post, along with my most recent reviews for comicreaders (although you could head on over there yourselves and look for my reviews. I'm sure they wouldn't mind the traffic).

'Til later.

Bringing it Back to Comics

2006-01-15T14:00:00.000-08:00

As it warns briefly just below the title at the top of this site, I sometimes talk about comic books on Really Rather Not Nice Things. I love comics. As a story-telling medium, as an art-form, as a brainless distraction from the merciless grind of average-everyday-life; what have you. If you don't get into comic books or graphic novels, stop reading right now... or soldier onward and maybe learn something new.

In the interest of looking back on 2005, now more than a week back in our history, I wanted to run down a few of the cool things in comics that I discovered over the past year. I think I’ll start things off small, however, and give a few smaller, bite-sized chunks. So today, just one. Without further ado:

Comic Chunks for 2005 #1. - Warren Ellis.

Now for some folks, this would be a no-brainer. Warren Ellis has been around for a while as a part of the comics landscape, with such titles as Transmetropolitan, The Authority, a run on Hellblazer, and much, MUCH more. I've heard his praises sung over and over again (mixed praises, to be sure, but praises nonetheless). But it wasn't until 2005 that I actually read a Warren Ellis book and fell completely in love. The whole affair began with the new DC/Wildstorm book, "Desolation Jones," and quickly spread like wildfire over into Image's "Fell".

"Desolation Jones" focuses on an ex-intelligence agent for the British government planted in Los Angeles, which is apparently a sort of city-wide prison for all ex-agents. Jones was the victim of the yet-undefined 'Desolation Project' which left him scarred, biologically unstable, and cynical as hell. The story has been involving and steeped in genuine 21st century techno-noir, the dialogue hard-boiled and completely engaging. The art by JH Williams III is sharp, fascinating, and completely mind-blowing. (Which for me is such a key to a good comic story. Hey, a good story is a good story, but when you put a shitty face on it, its distracting and detracting.) Desolation Jones was what made me seek out my next Ellis book:

"Fell," which is not only a cool, new, and original story, but also a cool, new innovation in current publishing. It takes us back to a comic book that costs less than 2.00, is made up entirely of one-issue self contained tales, and has no pages whatsoever dedicated to advertising. There are 18 pages of dense, rich storytelling, and then four pages of “bonus” materials, which include behind-the-scenes commentary by Ellis himself, or conceptual art by Ben Templesmith (who, I might add, does some of the very best work I’ve ever seen him do). The story focuses on a police detective who chooses to transfer to a so-called ‘feral’ city called Snow Town, to make a name for himself. The people of Snow Town are living on the edge of madness, and the obscenities that they commit would be enough to drive most sane police officers completely off the deep end.

So I was completely blown away by Jones and Fell, when I happened across “Planetary, Vol.1: Around the World and Other Tales” at my local comic shop. I’d heard some buzz about Planetary over at the Comicreaders.com forums, and was vastly intrigued. So I picked it up and was immediately hooked, soon, the other two volumes were added to my library, with the JLA crossover volume on shipping its way towards me as we speak. The story of Elijah Snow and his Planetary cohorts is one that worships the ages upon ages of comic book stylings that have come before, but not without tearing through all of their conceits like a grenade through wet toilet paper. It taps practically every recognizeable pop-genre icon from the Fantastic Four and Captain "Shazam" Marvel, to Godzilla and Tarzan, while using them all in a completely straight-faced and downright obsessively compelling manner. Its a tribute comic dedicated to the ideas of comics, that also destroys every idea you've ever had about comics. Brilliant, brilliant stuff.

I should take a moment here, however and point out that Ellis's miniseries "Down" was complete and total shit from cover to cover. I bought the first tow issus of a FOUR ISSUE MINI-SERIES and dropped it half way through. I almost never do that. But it was that bad. Terrible, terrible stuff. Focused more on bloodshed and crazy, improbable action sequences coupled with a plot so full of reality-holes that I just couldn't wrap my brain around it. It's easier for me to accept an island off the coast of Japan filled with the corpses of giant monsters than it is this chaotic, self-destructive cop trying to go on an undercover assignment (or even survive her day-to-day life for that matter).

So that's #1, folks. Warren Ellis. One of the great comic discoveries I made in the
wacky year I like to call 2005.

I'll toss a few links down here that will take you to a few more recent reviews I've done over at Comicreaders.com, where, hopefully you'll also be seeing a complete Year In Review Column from me and a few of the other reviewers for that site in the coming weeks. Look for a very similar chunk on Warren Ellis in that list when the time comes, as this was a bit of a preview.

Son of M #1 or "Far more enjoyable than the event that preceded it"

Generation M #1 & #2 or "Talkin' 'Bout My Generation"

The Weekly Wanderlust for Dec. 29th This includes my reviews of New Avengers #14 and X-Factor #2

She-Hulk Vol. 2 #3 or "Much ado about nothing" but what I should have named "Slott has me jaded"

And finally... Solo #8: Teddy Kristiansen or "A buffet of style"

And be looking for some more Weekly Wanderlust reviews from me this week, since I'm covering She-Hulk, Son of M, and Exiles. over there.

Remembering Where the Cupboards Are

2006-01-03T14:07:00.000-08:00

So we're back from the holidays, and its a new year, and I need to try and reaquaint myself with real life once more. Clean out the junk drawers, straighten up the spare room, remember which cupboards have what in them, that sort of thing. Still feeling a bit down in the dumps, which should be no surprise, since karma would dictate that a rather not nice person would feel rather not nice most of the time... but I hoped it lifts soon. I'm not disciplined enough to work my way out of it very well on my own.

Last post I promised to mention a few things, so here goes:

The day after Christmas my wife, daughter, and I went to go see the new McKean/Gaiman/Henson film, Mirrormask. I was shocked as hell to see that it came anywhere in Maine, in its limited release, much less right in our very own local avant-garde theater, The Grand. We were moseying down main-street a few weeks before hand, and saw the poster up in the window, and I shouted and nearly beshat myself. I informed my family that with or without them, I would be seeing this film, as McKean and Gaiman are two of my most favorite collaborative artists in the entire world. Upon seeing the poster, I immediately rushed inside and asked them if they would save it for me after the movie was all over. I hope they did. They haven't called me back about it yet.

It was very good. For the most part it did what I wanted it to do when I wanted it to, and surprised me in all the right places, and except for a few parts where I couldn't really hear what I was going on (the sound system in the theater we saw it in wasn't very good) I enjoyed it immensely. I was very afraid that the whole thing was going to look like one of those computer games from the late nineties where they've superimposed live action video on top of a computerized landscape, and the whole thing looks very hokey. I didn't think that once while I was watching this. The Grand is a tough old theater in very-nearly rough shape. They put on all sorts of shows here, from live theater, to concerts, to stand-up comedy, to cinema. There was some flooding near the front of the stage from the heavy snow the day we went to see the movie, and there was next to no one in the audience with us, which made the whole thing so much cooler. It was like watching Mirrormask in the sort of theater that you might find in the world of the movie itself. The sound was a bit off though, and that was disappointing, because I think I was meant to enjoy the dialogue a bit more than I was th background music, but they didn't seem to be able to correct this problem, and luckily, only the first scenes in the circus were noisy enough to really be completely inaudible.

The story was both nothing and exactly like I expected it to be. I knew it would be an Alice in Wonderland type deal, and I knew it would remind me of Coraline and the Wolves in the Walls... but I had no idea how much, or how little... and what it would be that would make this particular Odyssey stand out on its own. But the stand-out moments were good ones, and many. The monkey-bird chase, the music-box singers, the orbiting giants, all great great scenes.

The three lead roles were all beautifully acted by Stephanie Leonidas (Helena), Jason Barry (Valentine), and Gina McKee (Helena's Mum, the Light and Dark Queens).

Stephanie Leonidas a s Helena was completely beliebeable throughout the entire film. She also is probably one of the most beautiful young women I've seen in film since Natalie Portman. She was a joy to watch, and she carried all of the unbelieveable sights and events right along with her, making it all easier to take in. Stephanie's Helena was clever and level-headed throughout most of her journey, and very aware of her own powerlessness when it was appropriate.

While Jason Barry's portrayal of Valentine was certainly consistent and fun, I found the character himself more inconsistent than the actor portraying him. I kept asking: what is his purpose? At one point Helena thanks him for all his help, and tells him that she couldn't have gotten as far as she has without him. It snagged a bit, because I couldn't for the world figure out whay she would say such a thing, since he had served very little purpose up to that point, except to argue that things were stupid or useless. His character gels with the story a bit better after that point... but still. I do give Jason Barry MOUNDS of credit for getting me to connect a bit with a character whose face was 90% obfuscated by a latex mask.

And Gina McKee was simply brilliant. Her three seperate-but-really-the-same roles were all very individual and seperate, while still seeming like facets of the same woman. Helena's Mum could be your Mum, or mine, and she's all about real-life, and bbickering, and loving, and being frail when that was called for, and then being strong when that was. The Queen of Light was regal and willowy, and was seen more as a reflection of Helena's Mum in a dream sequence, but you could see McKee letting the costume take over, and making her the Queen, not just the Mum. And the Dark Queen? Holy cow! What a polar opposite! She was David Bowie's Jareth, Cruella Deville, and the White Witch of Narnia all wrapped up in one! (It strikes me suddenly how often these Quest tales have female villainesses of the Witch, Queen, or Witch-Queen varieties. (Except Labyrinth, but then they sort of pseudo-sexualized the relationship between Sarah and Jareth, didn't they, while Alice and Dorothy, and the oters all seem to be overcoming some sort of angry mother-figures I suppose).

Anyway... I am so past digression here that I may as well quit. Mirrormask was brilliant, and I loved it, and I can't wait to own it on DVD so I can hear it a bit better in the comfort of my own, nice, dry (albeit less atmospheric) home.

I think I alos promised to tell you some of my Christmas gifts, but I'll just narrow it down to some o my favorites:

1. iPod - This one's from my wife, and boy did it win her some brownie points. This lovely device never leaves my side nowadays. I've been listening to the Avenue Q soundtrack on it lately, and making people stare at me as I laugh inappropriately on the bus.

2. The Post secrets book. I have touted the the Postsecrests web-site on her a million times, and my wife, on top of the iPod, got me this beautiful harcover collection of secrets to peruse and enjoy. I was so excited by this.

3. Charles Burns's magnum opus, Black Hole in hardcover. Got this from my aunt. I haven't actually finished reading all of it yet, but it is a very strange and cool piece of art.

4. The Alchemy of Mirrormask: By Dave McKean with commetary from Neil Gaiman. This book was from my mother, and it came a bit late, but it extended the holidays for me, so I was thankful for that. It's one of the most beautiful books I now own.

5. The second season of Millenium on DVD. I don't know if any of you enjoyed this X-Files-esque little show while it was on, but the second season was the best, as it was weird ans spiritual, and challenging. It's the only season I wanted to own. My Nanee got me this one.

6. My Nanee also got me The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert on DVD. An amazing film that I loved back in highschool and haven't seen much of since. I used to watch it with my friends Tom and Chan, back when we were all friends, and we knew all the songs and most of the lines. My wife was also a huge fan of this one, and I made her watch it several times while we were dating in high school my senior year. I think she forgives me now though (and likes it as much as I do). It was just a terribly cool movie about people who are taken completely out of their element, but find salvation in their own personal power. In this case its about drag-queens, but it could as easily have been hitmen, aliens, vampires, librarians, or cowboys... although I doubt many of them would have been able to make the drag-thing work quite so well.

There were other things as well: A monkey alarm clock and a monkey drink mixer (who doesn't like monkeys?) a new sweater, a Pink Floyd Greatest hits collection, and a FRIKKING iPOD!!! Did I mention that one already?

Happy New Year!

2005-12-31T23:52:00.000-08:00

Right here, right now, it's officially two hours and fifty three miuntes into the New Year. (Ignore my time-stamp. It's completely incorrect.)

2006 has been pretty good so far.

Here's a few links to get the whole "resolution" ball rolling, but instead of giving you suggestions of things to resolve, I instead give you links that make you appreciate the things that are right in your life. This will hopefully help you to appreciate the good things that you don't need to change, and make your listof resolutions much shorter. Here goes:

Group Hug. Think you have problems? Check out these confessions.

Post Secret. Think you have problems? Check out these secrets.

Grim's Ugly Pictures. Think you have problems? Check out these ugly people.

Pure Hell. Think you have problems? If you look at these images, you probably will. (You were warned.)

An Entry from the Edge, In the NyQuil Fog.

2005-12-28T18:41:00.000-08:00

After the holidays is always melancholy for me. I know, it's cliche, but its true.
Sort of sad, and having trouble sleeping for some reason. Took some NyQuil, so am a bit out of sorts... but remind me to tell you about the gifts I got for Christmas (a particularly cool assormtnet of things) and to tell you what I thought of Neil & Dave's little film called MirrorMask, which shockingly enough came right up to me on the street the other day and asked me to watch it, so I did.

This is just a checking-in, so you don't think I've stopped loving you (I haven't, though I have to admit I don't respect you at all, and I'm just using you for sex), or that I've forgotten you in the midst of all the post-Christmas clean-up (my wife's doing most of that anyway).

I'll check in again somewhere around New Years, I think, so stay tuned. In the meantime, head on over to my other blog, The Quotable Neil for some fun quotes from my favorite author and his friends on the cheery holiday season.

I'm bobbing and weaving, the floor is pitching and heaving (or some DiFranco-ish facsimile thereof).

Off to bed.

Now.

Right now.

Bye. (Look out or Kallikantzari, they're loose for another seven or eight days at least)

Okay, really bye this time (You hang up! No YOU hang up! Giggle! You! No You!)

The Countdown Continues.

2005-12-20T14:34:00.000-08:00

Here's a great little blog entry by a Free-thinking individual with some thoughts on the Winter Solstice. Thank for the link, FreeThinker.

Two of my new reviews up at Comicreaders:
Marvel Team-Up #15, or: "The Loser's League and the Lad That Loves Them"

X-Factor #1, or "I Came Already In Love" (Which, if that sounds a little dirty to you, blame my editor. I forgot to name the review, so he did it for me.)

Thought I'd also take a moment to point out another cool Christmas-themed myth: That of the KALLIKANTZARI (Scroll all the way down to the bottom of the linked page for info and pictures), the little goblins that run amok during the 12 days of Christmas. (There's a little more info about them here, in the last two paragraphs of the article). I've written a poem about these little critters as well, but I think I'll save it, after bombarding you with Yule Cat poetry just last entry. Maybe I'll try to put together a "Really Rather Not Nice" collection of Christmas poetry.

Anyway, just 4 days left folks! Whoo-Hoo!

Countdown to C-Day

2005-12-18T18:43:00.000-08:00

This is it folks. 5 days left 'til Christmas. I don't feel very Christmas-y to be honest with y'all. Maybe it's because I finished my Christmas shopping early this year. Usually I'm out the day before Christmas Eve, still looking for that 'perfect' gift for my wife and daughter. Not so this year.

Some birthdays of note: Lisa Snellings Clark has her birthday today, go on over to her Blog and wish her a happy one.

My mother has her birthday tomorow, and I have absolutely no clue if she reads this blog or not, but if she does, I say this: I love you, and hope you have a happy birthday. She deserves it.

Also wanted to mention the fact that we went to see "The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe" on Saturday, and it was one of the best movies I've seen in a while. It made me feel like I was ten years old all over again, imagining the book in my head. It was such a good feeling. The one or two departures in the story that differ from the book were nice, logical ones that helped to flesh out the characters and make their situation all the more dire. There were a few special, favorite lines that were left out that I would have liked to seen included, but overall, I don't think I could have been much more satisfied with it. It was beautifully done, and I can't recommend it enough. For those of you who are worried that it may be religiously subversive, go and see it anyway. It didn't feel tht way at all to me, and it measured up quite nicely with the Lord of the Rings in my opinion. Aslan may or may not be a Christ-figure, but I can tell you that the Christ I've heard about never ate the face off of any witches. If anything, the Chrinicles of Narnia, to me, can be used as one of the strongest examples as to how Christian Mythology can be explained away so easily. Stories are stories. Subtext or no, they can be manipulated and changed, and altered to the point where they are almost unrecognizable. And religions have been perverted and transmogriphied for so many other culture's purposes over the span of history, its nice to have a book or a movie that shows you exactly how it can be done.

Anyway, I never cared about the so-called Christian slant. The stories were inspiring but never compelled me to be a Christian. I just like swords and sorcery, and this tale has all of that and heart to boot, in spades. Just enjoy it.

I thought I'd take a moment and point you to a few more of my brilliant and thought-provoking comic book reviews over at Comicreaders.com. And while you're there, browse around the site. Chad and Dana have put a great deal of work just recently into updating the site, and its full of all kinds of new little goodies all over. So take your time browse around, and look at the pure, unadulterated beauty.

But read my reviews FIRST:

The Walking Dead: Vol. 4 "The Heart's Desire" or, "Is This Zombie Machine Losing Steam?"

Marvel Zombies #1 or, "Night of the Living Super-Dead"

And finally, my short and clever review of Warren Ellis'sFell #3 is tucked away in the Nov. 30th Weekly Wanderlust, so scroll down a bit to find it.

There should also be some reviews of Robert Kirkman's "Marvel Team-Up" and Peter David's "X-Factor" on the site shortly, so keep your eyes peeled.

I don't want to leave you guys on a not about reviews, now do I? It can't be all about me!!! I'm not the Reason for the Season!!! No... I might not be the reason... but certainly, the Yule Cat is...

For those of you too lazy to follow the link, The Yule Cat is one of the coolest Christmas legends I've ever heard. He is basically this giant cat who comes along Christmas morning and eats anyone who was too lazy in the past year, and who wasn't gifted with a piece of clothing due to this. If you receive a piece of clothing for Christmas, the Yule Cat can't touch you. If not... well... you're in trouble.

There's a non-rhyming poem on the site I've linked to, but me being me, I took it upon myself to write my own poem about the Yule Cat that rhymed. Here it is:

The Yule Cat

You've never heard the Yule Cat's tale,
who hunts on Christmas Day?
Then sit a while with me my dear;
There's oh-so much to say.

The Yule Cat was a beast indeed,
much larger than a horse.
With eyes that glowed like burning coals;
aflame with hellish force.

His whiskers bristled out like spears,
His claws with sharp as knives.
The bravest men would flee from him,
abandoning their wives.

He lurked about the Yule-tide snow,
a-hungry, and a-foul.
And some sad fortune would befall,
all those who heard his growl.

To say his name would bring on fits,
of shivering and fear.
And folks would shut and bar their doors,
if they should think him near.

The Yule cat dined on folk for food,
Foraking rats or mice.
So stealthily he stalked this prey,
Amongst the snow and ice.

But what could stop this fearful beast,
from taking any man?
A gift of clothes; some socks, a shirt,
a jacket, green or tan.

The hardest working man or child,
Would get a gift like this,
And then the Yule Cat passed them by,
with but a hungry hiss.

But woe to all the lazy fools,
Who didn't work the least!
No gift for them, and soon they'd be
The Yule Cat's Christmas feast!

On Christmas morn, the Yule Cat sneaked,
to peek in house to house.
He watched to see if all received,
a hat, or pants, or blouse.

I'm not sure if nowadays,
that cat still stalks the snow...
But if, as gifts, you're given clothes,
You needn't ever know.

On Christmas Day, if you get socks,
Don't shed a bitter tear.
Be thankful you've escaped the claws,
Of the Yule Cat one more year.

Perhaps if you should look a bit,
To find some folks in need,
You might give them a likewise gift;
They'll also dodge his greed.

My tale is told, my lovely dears,
The Christmas air is cool.
I hope you have a happy day,
and a Merry, Merry Yule.

--Derek Ash, Nov. 15, 2004

I'll try and write in a few more times this week, since I've been dscovering all kinds of fun and funny Christmas legends along the same lines of the Yule Cat, and I've written some more poems about them as well.

If I don't talk to you all again before the 25th, Merry Christmas and Happy Hannukah. May your Solstice be a brisk and magical one.

Vaudeville in the Ashes

2005-12-05T19:59:00.000-08:00

Three years ago, my wife and I took a group of special needs children that we were working with to a show at a local theater called "The Farmstead Barn" which is a neat old barn that was actually converted into a theater here in Maine 35 years ago. We went to see a "mime" (some pictures of said 'mime', Alan Tacheny, here. He has no site of his own, but scroll down, and you'll see him.) perform, but saw a show that was much more of a vaudeville revue than anything. There were musical bits, juggling and sleight-of-hand, and the performer's costume had no flavor of mime to it at all, it was all classic vaudevillean.

Near the middle of the show, a fleet of ambulances shrieked by, drowning out everything. Some of the children got very upset. The actor on stage took this in stride, and amped up his own routine (he did perform silently for the most part, excpet for some singing at the end, which is where I imagine his 'mime' lable came from) by jumping, and waving, and generally trying to redirect the kids in any way he could. In that split second,watching this man using his craft to distract the children from the real-life worries behind those sirens, the seeds of this story were planted. The idea that any kind of art could be used to so forcefully distract a child from fear...

Vaudeville in the Ashes

They sit in little whispering groups on the dirt floor of the shack, cupping hands over ears and squirming in muted excitement. They are waiting for the show to begin. There are a few near the back that are weeping gently, even the magic of anticipation is not enough to still them. Behind the tattered curtain at the front, the Professor stands and peaks through, a tiny pattern of stars thrown across his face by the candlelight as he peers out at his charges. This will be the fourth show today he’s done for the children, and it heartens him to see that they’ve not yet grown bored with it.

The bombs have been more frequent in the last two days. The buildings that haven’t been completely destroyed are still burning. There used to be a word called ‘war’ but it has no meaning now. The world has passed beyond such concepts. This is all just what comes after. The waiting and the dying.

This is the City No Longer.

The professor smears pale ashes across his face, and then dabs brick-dust on his nose and cheeks. He has no greasepaint left. There’s not much of anything left. No good clothes, no clean water, very little food. He takes them all out looking every morning, on little field trips. He no longer tries to tell them the difference between the good and the bad. It’s almost all bad. They are all surely poisoned from the radiation, and dying anyway, as he sees it, but telling them this would not keep their little stomachs from grumbling. So they eat whatever the find.

He has a shard or mirrored glass that he checks his face in. There’s only one minute to curtain, and the little ones are growing restless. They are shifting about in the dirt, dragging their toes through the dust to draw pictures. Those that know how to write scratch their names in the dirt with blistered fingers, alongside other words that now have no meaning: Cat, dog, mom, dad, love. They rub them out in frustration; they grow impatient for the show.

The professor hefts three pieces of broken cement, all relatively of the same size and shape. He draws back the curtain with a flourish. They gasp in delight even though they’ve seen it all before, and even those who wept in the back now still themselves for what is to come. Tiny hands cover giggles that spring uncontrollably from equally tiny mouths. He begins to juggle. As he does so he sings a dirty sea shanty. He never used to perform for children, and it shows… but they don’t mind the language.

Their innocence is long dead, crushed beneath the rubble with their sisters and brothers, burned away to nothing with their grandparents, aunts and uncles. These are the children left behind, and they have little else of their own to lose. There are hands missing fingers in this audience; tiny faces missing eyes, ears, and more.

He balances the cement in a tall and wobbling stack, rushing around the room in mock panic. The children squeal and clap. While these little ones are searching for food every day, the Professor is searching for more survivors. He has found no other adults in the wreckage, and he finds fewer and fewer children as time goes on. Their little group grows smaller and smaller as well, with faces fading from the group each day. The plot of land out back that he had cleared of rubble in the hopes of planting a garden in his more foolish, hopeful days has now been repurposed.

But they should not be alone as they die, he has decided. So he gathers them here, in an old shed near what used to be the railroad tracks. Here they eat, and they laugh on some days, and starve and weep on others, and sleep the cold nights away together.

He goes back to juggling, and lets one piece drop onto his left foot. He dances in mock pain to the screaming music of laughter. Landing on his rear, he sends a cloud of ash and dust billowing into the air. One boy begins laughing so hard that he coughs scarlet into the palm of his hand; all the while smiling, never taking his eyes off of the spectacle before him. The Professor points at him and jumps into a stand, singing in a falsetto of how beautiful his ruby red lips are.

As the audience dies down, the Professor begins to itch at his wrist violently. The children give each other conspiratorial looks, and new eruptions of laughter begin to break loose; they know very well what is coming next. A long, glistening silk scarf in bright banana yellow erupts gracefully from his sleeve. The children ooh and aah as if fireworks had erupted (they see enough of those these days however). This is one of their favorite parts of the show. The scarves are the only things he has left from before. Those and his torn up top-hat, which can hardly be called a hat any longer. There are three scarves: yellow, red, and blue. He begins to toss and catch them in the air, faster and faster until all that can be seen is a blurry pinwheel of color. The children sit mesmerized, oblivious to the chills, to the blood, to the dust and death and rubble all around.

They are entertained.

The Professor feigns a sneeze, and the scarves billow up and out of their whirlwind simultaneously in an explosion of color. He dives to catch them, but not before one drapes itself over the bald head of a little girl in the front row. The laughter is immediate and louder than the bombs that have begun to rain down outside once more.

One of the wee-pees looks to his left, startled by the sound-shocks in the distance. He frets a piece of tattered fabric, (taken from his mother’s dress where he had to leave her) against his cheek, and the tears begin to well up. The Professor waves frantically to get his attention. Hello! Hello! No place for fear here!

A scarf snakes out to stroke the boy’s cheek, drawing him back into the world of the stage. Into the act of it, the joy of it. Back into the tap of a soft-shoe routine on the packed dirt.

Dream, my lovelies, he thinks at them. Climb inside your imaginations and curl up like the babies you once were. I will juggle for you, and I will dance, until all of this tired world gives up, and comes crashing down around us.

Escape this world, my little ones, and enjoy the show while you can.

The Harsh Light of Reality

2005-12-03T12:12:00.000-08:00

It occurs to me that there is no real focus to this Blog. It claims to be about my less-than nice thoughts, but in fact, it is just another boring blog about boring crap going on in some boring guys life. I rarely tend toward rude, insensitive, or even mildly incendiary comments anymore, and instead tend to post things about how cute my daughter was at Halloween, how cute my friends' babies are, and drone on for hours about how bored I am with this CD or that. I should rename the blog, "Ennui For You and Me". Catchy, right?

No.

Instead, I think I'll bring back a bit more focus. Back when this blog began, if you may recall, I had a "schedule" that rigidly set down guidelines for what types of entries I'd be making on what days. I found this restrictive to my creative flow, and dropped it, only to fall into complete and utter chaos.

So where is the middle ground? I just don't know.

Thank God I got that off my chest.

Where was I? For a while I was posting poetry on this site, and some of it was fairly decent. Some of my writing tends towards the unfocused (did I cover this already?) and so some of my poetry does the same, but in my defense as well, I seriously think that I have a decent grasp of poetry, and I can get it to do what I want it to on a fairly regular basis. Most of you probably didn't know this, but the title of this blog comes from the title of the collection of poetry that I'm working on with one Mr. Tom Kurzanski (of Viper Comics' "Karma Inc." fame) called "Really Rather Not Nice Things: A Macabre Collection of Poetry" So... one of the things I'd like to focus on here on this site would be my poetry.

So Here's a poem for your enjoyment:

My Rubber Duck is Haunted

When I squeeze my rubber duck,
Instead of just a squeak,
The prophecies of Nostradamus,
Boom out from its beak.

It levitates, and desecrates,
Our upstairs bathing room.
It spits up gallons of pea soup,
And foretells all our dooms.

It rattles chains and floats around,
Emitting piercing howls.
I tell you that this tub toy's
Left me scared of water fowl.

My rubber duck is such bad luck,
I think that it is haunted.
And since you are my closest friend,
I thought that you might want it.

I also do regular reviews for the guys over at Comic Readers and I'd really like to continue that sort of thing over here, as comic books are really one of my great passions, and I'd like to share that passion with y'all.
Here are some of my more recent reviews over there:

Green Lantern #5 or "The Creative Team Wins Me Back"
The Thing #1 or "Too Much Talkin' Not Enough Rockin'"
The Books of Doom #1 or "Memoirs of a Geisha (An Evil, Sorcerous, Mad-Scientist, Dictator Geisha)"
The Astonishing X-Men Trade Paperback Collections Vols. 1 & 2 or "The Way Mutants Ought to Taste"

Check 'em out.

I also enjoy posting all kinds of strange and fascinating sites that I stumble across when I'm surfing the web (or that other bloggers or message-board buddies have pointed out to me, etc.) so I'll still be trying to do plenty of that, as well as linking to the sites of my friends in an attempt to promote some of their fun and interesting works. So here's some fun links to enjoy as well!

This link will take you to the web-site of theaforementioned Mr. Tom Kurzanski. He's a real talent, and an old friend of mine, and I know he's got some great projects in the works. Keep an eye on this guy.

Also: Slow Wave is an excellent strip that Jesse Reklaw illustrates. He takes dreams that other people write and send in to him, chooses the weirdest, funniest, scariest, etc. and illustrates them. It is so effing cool.

And finally, since Christmas is on the way, check out The Toymaker which is a site where you can go to download freefoldablee paper toys like baskets, origami shapes, greeting cards, sun boxes, spinners, vehicles, gift bags, etc. Some very coolVictoriann-looking stuff. Right up your alley, trust me.

So I bring FOCUS back to the Really Rather Not Nice Realm. And all was mediocre once more. Unfortunately, I'm still going to drone on about my boring life from time to time, and post pictures of frikkin' cute kids... but with less frequency in the future.

Come back and see me some time.

A Few Things of Note

2005-11-29T15:48:00.000-08:00

I've recently started up a "Quotable Neil" page, which takes quotes from one of my favorite authors, Neil Gaiman, and uses them to inspire all of humanity to greatness. Or at least that's the idea. At the very least, you may say, "Hm! I never thought of that before."

So the link is over on my sidebar, and here.

Also, I should have been belting this out from the rooftops the very day it happened, but out of some strange instinct "not to brag" I kept it close to my chest. But now, I must tell the world: the Lisa Snellings-Clark statue, "Grim Ratter" that I mentioned here actually comes with a poem written by ME included!!!

So if any of your friends out there has a Death-fetish, buy them this little harbinger of rodent death for Christmas, and get a bonafide Really Rather Not Nice Poem along with it, entitled, "Rattus Mortis". (While you're over at Lisa's site, be sure to check out her Holiday Gift Sale Page.)

I've never gone that long without tooting my own horn before.

It was hard.

Here's a link just so's you know I'm not lyin':Right here on Lisa's Blog!

Franz Ferdinand... I Think.

2005-11-23T17:17:00.000-08:00

I like music by Interpol. I was given a mix by a friend that had a bunch of Inerpol stuff on it. Later, hearing the entire album, I was genrally impressed by about five or six tracks, and could completely take or leave the others. The ones I liked, I relly liked.

Personally, I think most albums fall into categories. There are the ones that are like the Interpol cd I just described above.

Then there are the albums we buy for one single song, and then lose because we hate every single other song on the cd that it eventually ends up making us hate the song we originally liked. This happened to me when I bought cds by: the Primitive Radio Gods, The Verve Pipe, and the Donnas (these are just examples, and go faaar back into my music-buying history, into the blurry shadows of the mid-nineties, now forgotten by all written human history.)

There are the cds we buy that are re-mixes, soundtracks, tribute collections, compilations (60's, 70's. 80's pure funk, death-metal polka ballads, etc.), or other novelty cds that we dust off every six months or so to see if there's anything new to be discovered on them that we may have forgotten.

Then there are the albums that we listen to until we hav every note of every song memorized, and that we can play, looped on repeat for hours on end until we finally get some sort of weird bug out of our system. In my case, once the bug gone, its gone pretty much for good. Some of these albums for me were David Bowie's "Outside", Tori Amos's "To venus an Back", and Nine Inch Nails' "The Downward Spiral". I think back on these albums with fond memories, and still tell people that I "like" or even "love" them to a degree, but I rarely ever still listen to them. Usually these albums are linked to some sort of even in our lives, a phase we were going through, or a hard time, or an especially good time, or just a time when we needed some really good music to flatten out the wrinkles in our brain, for whatever reason. When that period is over, it takes the music into the past with it.

But that's not at all the point I'm trying to get to. I'm not trying to categorize music. I'm trying to tell you about Franz Ferdinand's new album, believe it or not. So where was I? Oh, yeah. Go all the way back up to the top of this post and read the bit about Interpol again, and then akip all the extraneous crap that follows until you get back here again. Go ahead. I'll wait.

(Begins to hum a 'muzak' version of Blondie's "Call Me" while waiting for readers to follow instructions)

All set? Okay. So I really liked half the songs on Interpol's "Turn on the Bright Lights". Really, really. I mean, I thought that "Obstacle 1" was one of the rockinest songs I'd ever heard. And "Say Hello to the Angels", "NYC", and "PDA" were all brilliant. I think "Leif Erikson" was the only single really promoted much, which is really too bad, because it was good, but not nearly the flagship song.

So then ANTICS by Interpol comes out, and I buy the cd. I listen to it once or twice, and then shelve it, because I don't hear what I heard on "Bright Lights" when I listen to it. It seems boring. I put it away, and regret wasting the money. It sort of fell into the second category I mentioned above... at first.

There's this new show on CBS called "Grey's Anatomy," and for once the romance/dramedy/emergency-thriller/hospital gnre has clicked with me. Probably the way that ER did waaay back when it first came on (Nineties, lost to human history, you remember the drill). It's funny, witty, cute, sappy, and it tries pretty hard to both shock the viewer and have a cheesy moral each episode, which is fine with me, really. I don't watch it so that I can become a brain surgeon. I watch it so I can cuddle with my wife and watch brain surgeons cuddle with each other. It's the circle of life. Life trying to imitate art imitating life.

And yet, this post isn't about tv shows either. It's still pretty much about Franz Ferdinand, although those boys are still nowhere to be seen yet.

So, I'm watching Grey's Anatomy, and they are throwing what amounts to a drunken frat-house party for medical interns... and what do my disbelieving ears then hear? A song from Interpol's ANTICS album, called "Evil" and all of a sudden, I like that song, A LOT. Is it because of the show? Is it because I now associate this song with one of my new favorite shows (which I do...)? No. It's more because the scene in which the song appeared gave me some context on how people, dancing and drunk, could enjoy this song. So now I, neither dancing nor drunk, also enjoy this song. I am easily manipulated by media, I suppose. Either way, I go back and give ANTICS another shot. And? I. Like. It. A. LOT. But its still pretty much a fifty-fifty for Interpol and me. Half the songs I like, the rest I just don't listen to. But I like the new songs I like on this album, MORE than the old songs I liked on the old album. With me so far?

I don't care. If you aren't, you can go cehck your horoscope here or look for baby names here and feel satisfied that your visit to my blog was not really wasted today. Now shut up and let me finish.

On the very same mix given to me by a friend (remember that from waaay back at the beginning of this post? A time-period that is also swiftly being lost to human history...) there was also a Franz Ferdinand song, although I didn't know it at the time. Then I saw the "This Fire" video on FUSE and, in a third bit of events, my friend Tom, whom I've mentioned before on this blog for those with the name-drop score-cards handy, gave me a different mix with a Franz Ferdinand song included "Take Me Out". So I decided I really wanted to check out Franz Ferdinand, and so bought their only cd (along with the Killers) and discovered that this cd was one of those that could not only be listened to all the way through, repeatedly, but that it stood the test of time, and was listenable much later as well (The Killers were EXACTLY the same). It was effing-amazing. All there is to it.

So when I heard that they had a second album coming out this fall, I waited until the day it was released, and then bought it. And upon listening to it? I was bored again. I was reminded of the second Interpol album right away, and then waitied for the same kind of context to settle upon me before I gave it a second listen. Hence my long time coming in reviewing it here on RRNNT.

So I saw the band on SNL a few weeks ago, and I thought, "Here it is, here's my context. I've been given the key to this album, and now I'll totally LOVE it." Except... I didn't. I sure liked a few of the songs, but nothing caught me in the amazing way that the first FF album had. Nothing grabbed me. It completely evaded me.

So there. There's my review. It was kind of boring.

(Is he talking about the album? Or the review?)

How can he even call this a review?

What Hideous Child Is This?

2005-11-20T18:48:00.000-08:00

I have no idea how to change that unfortunate heading, folks. I also must apologize for my horrible lateness in posting these pictures. Ericka's daughter just graduated from high school last fall, and is thriving in college.

Kidding. She is a beautiful baby though, and came to visit me (among others) at work just last week.

So here they are ladies and gentlmen, the pictures of Ericka's baby. Ericka has been a good friend of mine at work for the last two years. And I'm incredibly happy that she gets to be a Mom, and a wife, and to have the life she deserves to have. Crongrats to both she and her husband Chris, the proud parents of a truly special kid.

More Halloween Pictures Than You Can Shake a Severed Human Limb At

2005-11-02T22:41:00.000-08:00

Here is a picture of my daughter and the pumpkins that she helped to decorate this Halloween.

Here are the pumpkins that my wife and I carved.

Here is the most terrifying Black Widow Spider that the world has ever seen:

And finally, here is a collection of Ghoulish creatures that will surely terrify even the bravest of souls (All drawn by my daughter, not me) Please try not to wet your pants while viewing these images: really Rather Not Nice Thoughts will not be held liable for any urine-soaked computer chairs.

So, Halloween went off without a hitch. LOTS of candy, lots of people to see that we almost never do, and all in the spirit of knocking on people's doors and demanding copious amounts of candy. I am 27 years old, and I brought my own bag.

The dental bills will come later. Today, we feed.

It was also brought to my attention by my very good friend, Ericka, that I had not yet plastered a dozen pictures of her new baby, Cailyn on my Blog yet. And I told her I will.

But not tonight. For some reason, the blogger program is afraid of the picture of that baby. I don't now why. It won't let me upload the picture. So next post, I promise, pictures of my good friend Ericka's baby.

Here's a couple of After Halloween links: I think I meant to type "Last Gasp" links last post, but I like "Last Gas" much better. It sound so much more crude.
Here's one with a funny pun for a title: Orthodontists Brace For Day After Halloween and...

Here's one with a recipe for Toasted Pumpkin Seeds which are frigging awesome.

And does it creep you out to know that Clowns are out in force on the day after Halloween, pawing though the merchandise? It does me. After All:

A Warning About Clowns

Never trust a circus clown,
For underneath his smile,
He might have giant yellowed fangs,
Just like a crocodile’s.

Some clowns are evil robots that,
The KGB deployed.
They hand out deadly stealth balloons,
All programmed to destroy.

Still other clowns are mutant freaks,
With feet like slimy squid.
That’s why they wear those giant shoes:
To keep their tendrils hid.

Of course, there are some normal clowns,
Just folks like you and me . . .
Let’s face it though, to dress like that,
How normal could you be?

The Last Light Before Darkness

2005-10-29T11:50:00.000-07:00

The Hallowed Eve is almost upon us, ladies and gentlemen. There is still so much to do to prepare.

We're doing last miute touches to my daughter's black-widow costume, as she went to a Halloween celebration last weekend where Pumpkin Painting was an event... and her costume suffered in the process. So we do touch ups with both red and black craft paint in the hopes of masking the cheery blue, yellow and pink streaks that have been added to the costume.

Working on a good Halloween music mix... and am trying to avoid some of the more obvious choices such as the Monster Mash, the Time Warp and so on, though Michael Jackson's Thriller has definitely made the cut. I just can't resist that Vincent Price "poetry solo". Get's me every year. I figure these are some nice choices:

1. Thriller
2. This Is Halloween (Nightmare Before Christmas ST)
3. Little Red Riding Hood (Sam the Sham and the Pharoahs)
4. The Edison Museum (They Might Be Giants)
5. Bedbugs (Squirrel Nut Zippers... also 'Hell' and 'Wash Jones' are also good)
6. Burn (The Cure, The Crow ST)
7. Satin in a Coffin (Modest Mouse... 'Dig Your Grave' is a creepy little filler piece for this sort of thing too.)
8. Tombstone (Suzanne Vega)
9. No Moon (Iron & Wine)
10. Cold, Cold Night (The White Stripes)
11. Hangin' Tree (Queens of the Stoneage)
12. Rats (Pearl Jam... not appropriate for the kiddies)
13. Pepper (Butthole Surfers)
14. #1 Crush (Garbage)
15. Dracula (Gorillaz)
16. Maxwell's Silver Hammer (The Beatles)
17. Paint it Black (Rolling Stones... Sympathy for the Devil might work too)
18. Buffy the Vampire Slayer Theme song (C'mon it rocks)
19. I Put a Spell on You (I used Creedence Clearwater Revival's version, but there are lots of good versions of this one... though it is kind of an overused Halloween mainstay I just can't resist it.)
20. Pet Semetary (The Ramones)

There's so many more that I could never possibly fit them all onto a CD. Tori Amos's "Happy Phantom" makes for a cutesy tribute to ghosts and the after-life. The Aqua-Bats' "Attacked By Snakes" certainly has a creepy, yet novel atmosphere, and who can forget such classics as "Werwolves of London"," Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner", or "Excitable Boy" by the late, great warren Zevon? Surprisingly, however, there are very few songs with "Halloween" as the title that are any good at all. Dave Matthews, Siouxsie and the Banshees, and many, many others have failed miserably on this count. Any other suggestions? Dr. Demento's greatest hits anyone? Wolfman Jack's? Please, write in and tell me your favorite Halloween music. I'm always looking for new, spooky tunes to put me in the Halloween spirit.

Anyhow, Lisa Snellings-Clark is working on a spooky Halloween Lawn-sculpture over at her Slaughterhouse Studios Blog and it is shaping it up nicely. I recommend that you scroll down until you find the picture of the old, ugly standing lamp that she started with, and then watch as her dark magic congeals over it. A very spooky spectacle, if I may say so.

Also, Johanna Stokes has another pure-genius-type article over at CBR, this time entitled: WHAT GIRLS CAN DO FOR COMICS . And in case I didn't post her article from last week, HOW TO GET GIRLS TO BUY YOUR COMICS, then, there it is.

And a few more Halloween Related Links before the season is fully upon us and past:

Cavern of Clipart has a nice collection of copyright-free Halloween images to spruce up your website, desktop, or screensaver.

And 101 Halloween Ideas is a fun site to scroll through sometime as well.

I know I just recently linked to They're Coming to Get You Barbara, just a week ago, but if you check out their extras page, you'll find instructions on how to find some of the goriest, most disgusting cakes you've ever seen, alongside some of the most hauntingly beautiful jack--o'-lanterns you've ever lain eyes upon. So check 'em out. I'll probably post one more time either on Halloween, or just after, with the after-holiday "last gas" set of links. So get your butts back here by then!!!

Beaver Kisses (It's not what you think, sicko)

2005-10-23T08:18:00.000-07:00

My wife and daughter go through this routine each night where they do a series of kisses. They do goodnight kisses, eskimo kisses, butterfly kisses, and a series of others. They have gotten very creative, inventing such things as fireworks kisses (lots of explosions and such), puppy kisses (lots of yipping, yapping and whining), and the like. The other night I was reading in bed, waiting for my wife to finish tucking my daughter in (I go in and do my ouwn routine with our daughter before my wife does) when I hear a sudden squeal, sudden, loud laughter, and my wife comes charging into the room, face red, eyes streaming, laughing as hard as she can.

"What happened?" I ask, eyeing my manic wife at the foot of the bed.
"Do you know what she just did?" She can barely get the words out over the laughter, and I can barely hear those few words over the laughter of my daughter in the next room.
"What?" I ask, sitting up, my face already stretching into a grin.
"You're daughter just invented beaver kisses," She says.

Now I pause this story to say this: I realize how inapproriate that sounds. It is NOT what you think. If it were, I would not be sharing this story with you. Get your mind outof the gutter.

"What?" I asked in shock, my mind planted firmly in the gutter.
"She asked me if I wanted a beaver kiss," my wife begins, drawing closer to me, "And then!" She holds out her hands, and mimicks slapping my cheeks. "She slapped my cheeks!"

When I tell people this story in persn, hey get a very weird look in their eyes at this point. Invariably, this is the point where they ask "She hit her?" And look as if there is some sort of abusive situation over at my house. This is not the case.

I begin laughing as hard as I can. My daughter, five years old, simply assumes that beavers kiss each other by slapping each other in the face with their tails. What a lovey surprise for my wife. My daughter, earnestly begins slapping my wife's cheeks in a sign of affection because she is excited that she's invented a new way to kiss! For almost five minutes straight, bed-time is postponed while this family of three hoots with wild laughter and can't even begin to think about settling down for bed.

Such is childhood logic, and such are the reasons to keep on living. Happiness lunges out of the shadows as suddenly and as ferociously as tragedy does sometimes.

Here's a couple of links: First a puppeteering troupe The Frogtown Mountain Pupppeteers that operates out of Maine, and that my family absolutely adores. They are doing a version of "Sleepy Hollow" (A very loose, comedic adaptation) for the Halloween season. They are simply brilliant. Come to Maine and see them.

And... oh what the hell: Crying While Eating which I'm still not totally convinced isn't some sort of fetish site... but it's hilarious (and not pornographic at all, don't worry). Check this weirdness out for yourselves.

Waking Up Dead (Nearly)

2005-10-19T19:37:00.000-07:00

I spent most of my day today sick as a dog. Coughing, sniffling, spitting up things that look like they might have been recovered from the ruins of the Titanic. I was horrible sick. Got up and went into town for Day-Quil and then back home again. Missed work. Horrible day.

But I didn't forget to review either Franz Ferdinand's new CD or Shark Boy and Lava Girl, (I'm just not doing them tonight) nor will I forget to review the new Lemony Snicket book that I picked up when I got my Day-Quil. I shouldn't have wasted that money, I know, but I love those books, and I needed the new one. Besides, I wasted money on much more terrible things recently, and this one was at least a piece of fine literature. So sue me.

In other news, Lisa Snellings has recently created a new Ratbag sculpture just in time for the Haunted Season in the form of the Grim Ratter (Third from the top on the right). This guy is near and dear to my heart, and is currently on crazy-ass SALE! So please, go over and order a gross of these little harbingers of the hereafter. You will NOT be disappointed. As soon as I have my piggy bank filled up, I'm going to add the Neil, Bad-Bad, and Chester Rats to my personal collection, which is growing as I speak!

Nothing says "Baby Shower!" like a Skeletal Rat of Doom (but I'd personally go with either Baby Pink or Blue, near the bottom, as most babies don't like dead things the way mine did).

Gotta catchem all!

Speaking of Halloween, and dressing up (smoooth segue), here's a link that will blow your complete mind out in one jiggly lump: The countless Self-Portraits of Asya Schween at myownself.com.
I mean it. One. Jiggly. Lump.

And more Halloween madness over at: frightcatalog.com. It's... pretty much what it sounds like, but so much more.

Oh... and be sure to check out the newest Girl in the Clubhouse article by Johanna Stokes over at Comic Book Resources, especially if you are a slack-ass comic book retailer. This one's titled HOW TO GET GIRLS INTO YOUR COMIC SHOPS . (Another one to skip if you are not a comic book geek, such as I am. Actually, dammit, go read it anyway. You might just learn something about retail, life, women, etc. you uptight butt-clenching preppy. Think of it as Zen and the Art of Comic Book Shop Maintenance... without the Zen, but lots of nice philosophy.)

Oooh! And stay tuned! I will be posting up some artwork created by none other than my own talented wife! She is currently piecing together soldered sea-glass/stained-glass creations, and she is so totally off the hook (what does that even mean? I think I'm trying to sound young. Just roll with it, bitch.) and I'm in the mood to share a few of her pieces with y'all (my family's from N.C. so I own the 'y'all').

I'm up much too late, my throat still hurts a little, and I told my boss that I would be at wrk tomorrow, so you people HAVE to let me alone now.

Shoo!

Geeks and the Women Who Love Them

2005-10-02T11:54:00.000-07:00

Actually began this post about six days ago, saved it as a draft, and then promply forgot it. Hope everybody's still checking in once or so a week to see if I'm writing in, because I'm trying my darndest.

This is the post about geeks. We are a proud and yet simultaneously self-concious breed. We express ourselves through comic books, through role-playing games, through computer lingo, through video games, through Star Trek and or Wars, through other fantasy and sci-fi genre components of television, movies, and books. There are other off-shoots, including those obsessed with horror books and movies, with boring collectibles, with model contructions, or vampire garb and culture... but we are all members of the same tribe. But we are also a people divided.

Wow. That was very nearly deep.

My point is this: Many of us have somehow managed to score chicks. Marry them in some cases, as I have myself. I know a couple of other guys who have as well. That's not even including the vast female-geek poulation (though these are rarely as spoofed on the Simpsons as Comic Book Guy even in their darker moments...) who will often pair up with a male geek and settle down (or who may find themselves in a very similar situation to the males I describe below, but with the tables turned. This also does not take into account any same-sex relationships, who may also find themselves in a dometic geek-war situation as well. Really, geek vs. 'norm' relationships can happen in any walk of life, with many varying permutations on the theme. But I digress.)

No... In my case, as in the case with many others, I'm talking about those geeks who have managed to somehow score a partner from the mainstream... one who doesn't really know what S.C.A. stands for, what adamantium is, or what a Boba Fett is doing with a jetpack anyway. The type of woman who most likely walks into the livingroom, late at night when we are looking up terms in klingon for our fan fiction, or downloading .pdf-scans of roleplaying supplements from the eighties, rolls her eyes, and then slaps a finger/thumb 'L' on her forehead and then walks back out again. Or some variation thereof.

I've heard it time and time again, gentlemen. Tragic.

But what can we do? When I began writing this post... I had some idea of where I was going with it. Now? I've been meandering for so very long that I'm not even really sure what the buttons on my keyboard represent any more. But don't give up hope! Gradually pull your partner down into the murky depths of geekiness with you, one slow, slippery rung at a time. I managed on my very own to get my lovely, normal, wife interested in the following things:

1. Harry Potter
2. Buffy the Vampire Slayer
3. The X-Files
4. Neil Gaiman comics and novels

And that tiny list continues to grow day by day! She admitted to liking the second X-Men movie, and took enough interest in Magic: The Gathering that she sat down and played a few hands with me before concluding that it was too confusing. She's reading the Spiderwick novels to my five year old daughter, and enjoying them as I much as I did when I read them on my own. She's being slowly contaminated... and she's kinda likin' it.

So don't give up. You too can convert your honey. Are you a comic book fanatic? Well then you make damn sure to check out HOW TO GET YOUR GIRL TO READ COMICS which is a brilliant "Girl in the Clubhouse" column by Johanna Stokes over at Comic Book Resources. It was one of the most entertaining and inspiring pieces of internet literature I've read in damn near forever. Thank you to the brilliant Ms. Stokes.

I suppose I might share a bit of poetry with you at this point I've gotten no comments since my last one, and I hope that by doing so, I can inspire y'all to come out and share your thoughts.

A Lullaby for Lost Children

No matter where you are, my dear,
Wherever you may be,
I hope that you are safe and sound,
And dreaming peacefully.

It’s been so long, dear child of mine,
But I still see your face,
And hear the echoes of your voice,
Around this quiet place.

Whatever roads you now must walk,
Please take each step with care,
And though you cannot hold my hand,
I hope you feel me there.

I pray that gods and ghosts and angels,
Bring you back to me.
I hope that you are safe and sound,
And dreaming peacefully.

And a few other things as well. Congrats to Bob Podrasky, over at fagblog, who is teaming up with Lisa Snellings on the 100-word Tiny stories project I've been hyping here... He's having a baby! Go send him your well-wishes.

Erik Larsen, creator of "Savage Dragon" over at Image comics is pretty much a dink, as you can see clearly right here (don't bother reading this unless you are a cominc-book fan). I wrote him a letter in response that you can read here since I shared it with my compatriots over at www.comicreaders.com. to which he replied "I'm waiting..." which I can only assume refers to his prune-juice kicking in.

And... other old business... let's see... some cool links to share:

If you have never checked out Postsecret.com (over in my sidebar) then you should. Today. Seriously. It is one of the most entertaining and inspiring sites I visit on the web on a regular basis. People create postcards with anonymous and almost always either shocking or funny secrets on the face. You don't know who's sending in the secrets, but it makes them no less salacious, tintillating, disturbing, or hilarious.

Also, where it's creeping up on Halloween, I have to drag another link from my sidebar over here for a bit of a spotlight treatment: They're Coming to Get You Barbara is a hilarious web-site in which a couple of geeky chicks get all snarky on some of the best and worst horror movies on the renatl market. If you haven't visited this web-site, you don't know a damn thing about horror movies.

One link NOT on my sidebar, but also geared up for Hallow's Eve: The Moonlit Road a truly excellent web-site of spooky stories that you can register on for free. Check it out.

There's so much more to share with ya'll, such as my opinion of the new Franz Ferdinand album, (it was sort of ok, but kind of forgettable) the movie "Shark Boy and Lava Girl" which my wife rented for my daughter this weekend (it was sort of less ok, but cute), and the fact that my buddy Tom Kurzanski has the third issue of Karma Inc, the comic he illustrated, shipping out from Viper this week (which is much more than sort of ok... yay!) but I think I'll save some of that for my next post.

This was a long one, huh?

My third Comment!!! (Must be a reason to celebrate, right?)

2005-10-01T16:13:00.000-07:00

Anonymous said...
To my surprise I was actually touched by your poem, man.I never, ever liked poetry, somehow your seemed truly.Good luck and best wishes

A comment from my last post.

That was very nice of you to say. Thanks. Absolutely made my day not only because you complimented me, but because you left a COMMENT on my BLOG!!! AWESOME!!! I thought about repyling to this in true RRNN form (Of course its a good poem. I rock... bitch.) But thought I'd go with the higher road, so as to not discourage future comments from all my mindless slav-- er... fans.

And no, I did not post that comment myself.

I'm not a huge fan of poetry, myself, which is why it completely confuses me as to why I write so damn much of it. I guess I'm more of a picky-eater poet fan. A most vulgar connoisseur, if you will.

I mostly get into Rhyming stuff, but only if its done correctly, and has both good balance, and good timing. Plus there really has to be some sort of REASON for the poem, not always a point, or moral, or heavy handed metaphor, but the poet needs to seem like his poem has a real goal, whether its to make you laugh, mak you think, make you shiver, or just confuse the hell out of you (though this is hard to do on purpose... lots of poets do it without intending to). I posted some poetry links on here a while back, and these gave some varying styles. One of the non-rhyming formats that I like the most is the Haiku, though they are surely a cliche by now. They are short, sweet, and if done right, can really make you think.

I actually had a whole thing planned for this entry where I commented on that handsome breed of man known as the geek, and the women that love them and put up with their behavior... but I will now save that for next time, as I was so excited by Anonymous's comments that I just had to reply with full gusto.

Late Birthday Wishes to My Wife.

2005-09-28T16:34:00.000-07:00

My wife's birthday was almost two weeks ago, but I still thought I'd share the poem I wrote for her birthday card here with you guys, now:

Birthday Wish

The moment just before the wish:
When birthday cake still sits in dish,
Pristine; uncut; in butter cream;
The instant between breath and dream

The moment when you’ve shut your eyes;
When all your gifts are still surprise,
And in your head, you shape desire,
Before you huff out all the fire.

That magic instant, frozen there:
While lit by candle, all just stare
At you, a still and silent lass,
Your face serene, and calm as glass.

And then that moment, poof! is gone,
A final dark before the dawn.
Your cheeks expand, your lips: they fish,
You exhale breath… and wish… and wish.

Then all at once the cake gets cut,
The lights snap on and all goes nuts.
The ice cream’s scooped, the gifts unwrapped,
And everyone then sings and claps.

But later on that night in bed,
When you lay still inside your head,
The things that shall seem most auspicious,
Will be the flames and secret wishes.

I really love my wife a lot, and I really hope she liked that poem.

Here's a link I found while I was trying to find stuff about wishes, and birthdays. I think the author is on a hard-based combo of pixi-stix, Red Bull, and crack. Really check out the training manual for the fun stuff, and the Hierarchy of you want to feel creeped out.

A page all about interesting Birthday Traditions. Some neat stuff that I didn't know.

But as usual, Wikipedia's entry on Birthdays stomps the crap out of anyone else on the net.

Of Tests and Fire, But No Actual Tests by Fire, 'Cos I'm a Sissy.

2005-09-25T08:14:00.000-07:00

You never really realize until they've passed just how much some pending events effect you in your everyday life. Let me elaborate: I've been studying for the last couple of weeks for this test that I need to pass in order to gain a significant sum of money through my work. (Well its a semi-significant sum. It's pocket change to most people, but its free money for passing a test that I did not have before. That , to me, is significant.) If I fail the test, I will need to pay to take it again, which is money that will ultimately be deducted from the sum I will receive in the end. So I have been stressing out and studying like crazy for about two weeks about this stupid test, and thinking about it quite a bit. Now that I've taken it, and know that I won't find out if I passed for the next 6-to-8 weeks, I can relax a little bit. Funny thing is, I look around at the world I've been missing while I've been away in my own head, and I realize I actually kind of missed it. (I'll still worry a bit for the next 6-to-8 weeks, and then even more if I don't pass it and have to take it again, but that's all for another post, some other day... for now I am introspective and revelatory. You can tell by the big words.)

Interestingly enough, my Wife's Aunt and her boyfriend (My Wife's Aunt's Boyfriend, not my Wife's Boyfriend, he was busy that night) built a bonfire (well, technically a small campfire built at the base of a large pile of debris that had the potential to be a bonfire if allowed to grow, but we all kept getting nervous and dumping buckets of water all around it when it seemed to be getting really hungry and ambitious.) and my wife, my daughter, and I all went to watch, and it felt really wild (not too wild, remember) and pagan, and good. There was this realization in me that reminded me that I'd not been doing too much more than worrying lately, and that that does nothing but starve the spirit, and stifle creativity, and hurt your relationships (the most important one). So I felt the worries of the big, stupid test burn away in that quasi-bonfire that night, as I listened to my Aunt's-boyfriend-in-law (???) playing his homemade cow-hide drum and his flute as we all watched the sparks drifting up into the night sky to mingle with the stars (and as we all nervously noted, with the branches of some of the surrounding pines, which prompted more bucket dousing... wild pagan bacchanals ain't what they used to be, kids.) But for the first time in a long time I felt a little bit more spiritual than I was used to feeling, and I really enjoyed myself. We talked a bit about doing the same thing right around or on Halloween, and I thought about how cool and wild that might feel, and I really hope that we do.

The picture included here is not of me, but of my Wife's Aunt's Boyfriend.

---

And speaking of Halloween drawing nearer, I have decided to go as a pirate this year, and our daughter has resolutely decided to go as a black widow spider. She knows all about them, and as she is RRNN junior of the family, I couldn't be happier. She was rather impressed with the accoutrements and embellishments that I picked up last night at the mall, and now my wife is worried that she won't have a cool enough costume to compete with the two of us. She should worry, 'cos I'm gonna look pretty damn cool. Aarrh Matey!

Me. Tired.

2005-09-12T14:44:00.000-07:00

I feel like I've been crushed by a bull gorilla.

Too tired to be witty, wry, clever or otherwise articulate in any way, shape or form.

Blah.

Just picked up the Garbage Pail Kids Movie (The Retro Cult Classic!!! proclaims the box-cover)... which I was completely obsessed with as a kid. Collected the trading cards, got the miniature trash bags with little toys of the Kids and hard candy garbage inside... I went the whole nine yards.

I haven't watched it yet, because I'm sure I'll be shattering a whole bunch of childhood memories that are really better off left alone. I don't need to see how bad this movie really was, do I? I don't really need to grow up that much, that fast... do I? Oh well, maybe it will surprise me and be spectacular.

I promised you some cool links yesterday, and I'll keep to the theme of the Garbage Pail kids (loosely). So here goes:

I Sell Garbage is a hilarious attempt at ironic art. Just check it out and see.

Kid's Health answers te age old question: What is a booger?

And finally here is John Pound's web-site, the guy who painted most (all the best) Garbage Pail Kid cards. Check him out, and then trot over to The Garbag Pail Kid Archive, check out the virtual card collection, and all the old eighties memorabilia.

I was such a weird kid.

The Haunting Season Soon Upon Us

2005-09-11T16:19:00.000-07:00

September is almost half-over, and I think that someone has put a fast-forward on the year... but so long as they let things slow down a bit for October, I'll be happy. as you can imagine, I'm a Halloween sort of fellow.

My wife complains that when we get our own house she will have her own section that will be completely free of my year-round Halloween decorations. I have tons of crap everywhere, odd, creepy things that I've picked up on clearance here or there that nobody else seemed to like. Midget Pirate Skeletons, leering paper-mache devil-heads, and plaster pumpkin-headed bat-riding freaks.

I can tell you that if I were as wealthy as I was in my past life (I must have been rich, I have too many desires to have been otherwise) that I would own half the sculptures and puppets and paintings that I've seen on the internet by famous artists like Lisa Snellings, Scott Radke, and Gris Grimly.

My daughter and I go nuts this time of year, and my wife does a lot of eye-rolling, as we tear through every department, grocery, and discount store we go to, looking for freaky costumes or decorations. (Actually, I think she's a closet freak as well... but don't tell her.)

But I digress: Halloween good.

Don't forget the 100 words project that Bob Podrasky and Lisa Snellings are putting together. (Details here) The deadline has been extended to October 10th, so get those stories crankin'! Write 'em up, use NO WORD more than once, and then e-mail it off to tinystories@gmail.com. Remember that your story should focus on something tiny. That can really open a door to a limitless universe of possibilites. A tiny whisper. A tny detail. A tiny gust of wind. A tiny memory. A tiny scrap of paper with a gigantic secret written on it. If you'd like to help promote the project (for the next month) go quickly to this page to print of a .pdf flier that you can post up at college campuses, your local library, or the lunch room at your workplace.

And let me see... do I have a poem to share? I think I do. I just shared this one over at Lisa Snelling's Slaughterhouse Studios site, so I may as well post it here as well.

Behind Me
As I sit here reading this
I might have heard a gentle hiss
As if some stranger stood and stared
Behind my back; I feel them there.
And if I read a little more
I think I’ll hear them cross the floor
To place their hand upon my arm…
Perhaps it’s just a false alarm.
The silence in my house is thick,
But filled with creaks, and taps and ticks.
That hiss is nothing . . . probably . . .
And yet, I’m scared to turn and see.

And I'll post you a fun couple of links tomorrow, as I plan to try and turn this blog back into a healthy writing habit once more.

On a final note, the Karma Inc. review that I wrote for my friend Tom's new comic from Viper comics is now up at Comicreaders.com. You can read that here. I was probably too rough on David in this first issue, and I want to assure you all that Karma Inc. is in fact a comic worth your time and money, as I've just read the second issue this week, and I was much more impressed with the Big Picture that Hopkins and Kurzanski had planned. It's just that the Big Picture is hard to see when you've just bought the first issue of a mini-series, and it's easy to lose hope very quickly. But fear not dear friends... I have faith that anyone holding onto a copy of these books will be very very happy with the decision in ten to twenty years. Investment, baby. Printed gold.

I'll let you all know when my second review is up, and I would hope that any comic fan-boys out there reading this (All one of you, I'm sure. Hi Mom.) would bug their local retailer and get copies of this comic ordered for them.

Here we go 'round the mulberry bush.

2005-07-30T22:30:00.000-07:00

Been a while since I posted. Wanted to remind everyone about Tom Kurzanski's (And that David guy's) Karma Inc. Which ships this Wednesday from Viper Comics. There should also be an interview with my pal Tom up at Comicreaders.com soon, so I hope you keep an eye out for that, and I'll be sure to remind y'all if you don't.

More than anything just wanted to comment a bit on my own state of mind lately, and the simple fact that I'd better snap the hell out of it. Depression is a luxury I cannot afford right now. At least that's what I tell myself, and I hope to soon believe it, too.

While I'm trying to do that, check this out: A neat little run down of some Types of poems and the assorted Elements that are a part of poetry in general, cut into bite-sized chunks, and written in an understandable format. Nice stuff. Courtesy of Vince Gotera and Damon McLaughlin of the University of Northern Iowa (1999). If you are even remotely interested in writing poetry and you feel intimidayed by the whole dusty-english-teacher aspects of the process... give this a look. You'll feel inspired. Go write a damn villanelle or something.

Then check out Karla Kuskin and Jack Prelutsky's tips for writing poems as well. Fun stuff for kids and their pet grown-ups.

2005-07-23T15:20:00.000-07:00

So here I am, trying out this new image-adding doo-hickey that has apparently been sitting right here on the blogger thingee for quite some time. (Stupid me.) So I thought I'd use it to publish a poem and illustration that I did for my daughter's fifth birthday.
Here Goes:

Mummy

I traveled to Egypt,
Because I had found,
A pyramid I could explore.

I dug and I tunneled,
Deep under the ground,
My excitement built up all the more.

I entered the crypt,
And I suddenly found,
Some old bandages piled on the floor.

I heard a strange voice;
With a dry, dusty sound, say:
“I’m naked! Get out! Shut the door!”

I ran from the pyramid,
Raced all around,
‘Til I just couldn’t run any more…

I tell you dear friends,
And I’ll swear up and down,
That that Mummy had no under-drawers.

I realize of course that it ain't Shakespeare, but it was written (rewritten actually) with my daughter in mind, who is an absolute nut over anything to do with ancient Egypt.

Just in case you might be too, here's a link to Godchecker.com's Egyptian section. While you're there, be sure to check out all their other pantheons as well. The Oceanic and Mesopotamian gods have recently been added!

Excited?

No?

Then try looking for the Mummy over at The Gallery of Monster Toys.

Like sands through the hourglass.

2005-07-15T21:31:00.000-07:00

Sigh.

I watch myself getting older, and I tell myself I'm not worried. I tell myself: Hey, its okay if you are just a family man, and that you work hard for the little bit of money you earn, and you don't feel like you've accomplished anything when you've died.

I never tell myself those last parts. That was a lie... but I will always be happy that I have my family. It's the one thing in my life I haven't completely wasted (yet). But I never kid myself about the lack of accomplishments.

The problem is this: I lack motivation. Hell, I can't even get my shit together long enough to put out a regular blog entry. I have all these ideas and words inside my head, and yet I ignore them, day in and day out, and focus on tuning out my life. God only knows what I could accomplish if I actually put my mind to it.

Certainly more than writng sub-par reviews of sub-par superhero movies, and then pretending like I'm God's gift to the internet for it.

Aargh. I actually wanted to do something positive with this post... but well, it's not that kind of site, now is it? I gotta go to bed. S'late. I'll try to be more coheren at least tomorrow.

Listen, if anybody out there feels like this... shout it out, would you? Give me a comment, or an e-mail. Tell me about it. Make me feel better by describing your own shitty life.

'Til later.

The Less-Than-Fantastic-More-Like-Just-Adequate Four

2005-07-09T12:29:00.000-07:00

So I went and saw "Fantastic Four" with my five year old daughter on Friday. All the reviews that I've read of this movie so far have ranged from burning hatred to mild boredom tinged with moments of mild enjoyment.

Well phooey.

Blah. Blah. Blah. (The Bulk of this review has been removed to to the fact that it was long-winded and boring. Pretend there is a dancing clown here instead.)Blah. Blah. Blah.

Besides, my daughter liked it, and we had fun watching it together and pretending. You may be surprised, or you may end up hating it anyway, but don't let the angry, shouting masses make you dislike this film without giving it a genuine chance on your own, either in the theater or later on DVD.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.

2005-07-07T18:03:00.000-07:00

Well, another hiatus ends. I can only say that I am a truly unloyal bastard. I know that you have all missed me, and I have nothing to help soothe that pain. No salve for your deep emotional wounds.

So let's move on, shall we?

As you can see I burned the schedule. It was too opressive. Like a shizophrenic in a tight-fitting woolen suit, I felt restrained. Obligated. And the RRNN thoughts must flow freely from my mildy boring yet tortured brain. So... here's what's up: No schedule.

From now on I speak only from my heart, gangrenous and clogged with the fatty remains of a diet not fit for a hog gone to slaughter as it may be. But any heart is better than no heart at all. Maybe.

LOTS of things to tell you about. First of all, the TINY STORIES project going on over at both Lisa Snelling's Slaughterhouse Studios web-site and Bob Podrasky's fabulous FagBlog (click on the link and you'll see one of my many personal submissions, this one actually being about the Tiny Stories project itself). It is a very hard thing, writing a legible, flowing narrative that tells a real story in 100 words, with no repeats.

That's right folks. 100 words, and not one single repetition. "The", "I", "Of", "Him", etc. It doesn't matter how insignifigant the word. You can only use it ONE time out of a hundred. It really very nearly breaks your brain. In half. I love the challenge, and as an amateur writer myself, it has helped me learn so many new things about my own writing. I often use repetition as a crutch, and have a real tendecy to over-clutter my phrases. Setting a 100 word limit to tell a complete narrative has been one of the hardest things I've ever tried.

Now here's the real kicker: Lisa and Bob are going to choose a select bunch of these little 100-word ditties and try to get them published, using Bob's skills and finesse in the literary field, and images from Lisa's own body of work to illustrate them.

Really challenge yourself people! Sit down right now and write a 100 word story. No repeats. Even if you don't consider yourself a writer You Will Have Fun .

The only other rule is this: The stories are about Tiny Things. A tiny smile, a tiny fart in the wind, a tiny bead of glass, a tiny moment in time, a tiny object that will topple a mountain, a tiny key that unlocks the cemetery gate, a tiny animal, a tiny memory, a tiny person, a tiny flash of light, a tiny fish, a tiny show of affection, a tiny act of petty agression, a tiny drop of water, falling from the sky, a tiny drop of something else. Give ita tiny try folks, you will not feel disappointed.

Frustrated, most likely, but not disappointed.

And in other news :

There is currently a battle being raged over at the Comicreaders.com Forum, about which personality on the site is the best. I encourage all of my devoted fan-puppets to go to the (completely open-to-the-public, no registration necessary) forum and vote for yours truly. It is in the forum under "General Discussion" and then "All you lurkers". Take a few minutes and show the panty-waists over there how much my loyal followers worhsip me. VOTE FOR ME YOU LAZY SACKS OF WASTE!!!

Show me the love.

Hmmm... what else? I suppose I could throw a poem your way. Hold on. I'll look through the archives. This is a weird, fetishy one I wrote a while ago about a male prostitue mulling over his lartest partner: Not one for the children's collection, I suppose.

Song of the Gigolo

I am sitting here and dreaming,
But I’m not that kind of guy.
So I’m sitting here and screaming,
While you button-down my fly.

Not to say that you don’t matter,
But you just don’t pass the test.
And I hope you won’t feel flattered,
If I suckle at your breast.

I am laying here and smoking,
While you rustle round in bed.
And I’d love to pull the trigger,
Of this gun against my head.

So I’m sitting here and dreaming,
And I’m wondering which is worse,
That I’m always silent-screaming,
Or that both of us is cursed.

I find it warming and cheerful, don't you?

Here's an odd web-site for your troubles as well: Dr. Wilson's Memory Elixir. This guy is great. I saw him performing some stuff in Bar Harbor, ME on the 4th of July.

And... what's just one more? The Medieval Bestiary is a truly trippy collection of creatures that the stupid, stupid people of the dark ages thought were really real.

Music? On a Wednesday? Scandalous!

2005-06-01T16:02:00.000-07:00

Oh, what will the neighbors say? No comic books today. I am poor, and have to wait until I get paid to buy comics. I'll wait until this weekend to throw up a quick review of my comics for the week.

But in the meantime...

I missed my chance to throw some music reviews up here on Tuesday (actually forgot it WAS Tuesday, as I had a weird weekend, and Memorial Day kind of threw everything off for me.) so I'll throw one up on here today.

Here goes:
THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS!!! (Thanks to Chris out in Arizona for hooking me up with this one!)

I've been listening to Severe Tire Damage (or S.T.D. (STD!!! Hah!!! That's funny!)) a collection of live performances by the ever-brilliant band, They Might Be Giants. It has a lot of cool old classics that I love, like "Birdhouse in Your Soul", "Istanbul", "Ana Ng" and "She's an Angel". It was nice to hear these cool upbeat, bouncy songs in the live format, as it gave them all a brand new twist that made them seem new all over again. It also has a few songs I'd not heard before, that just plain rocked like, "Dr. Worm", "Why Does the sun Shine?" and "They Got Lost" (This last one I've since heard in its original format on their album Long Tall Weekend and the S.T.D. (STD!!! HAh! That's funny!) live version is both faster and better. Although the rest of L.T.W. is pretty good.)

If you aren't familiar with the music of the two men named John who comprise the core of They Might Be Giants, I suggest you go out and buy their album Flood. It's a good intro to what they do. And what they do is weird and fun. I've heard them described as both "Polka music" and, "A lot like Weird Al", but that is so incorect in so many horrorible (M.U.W.A.) ways I can't even explain. They are smart, sassy, funny, sharp music makers that bring on the fun and the funk in equal shares and make you think.

Here's another indepth article from Wikipedia about They Might Be Giants.

Their album for kids, NO! is also excellent, and further recommended listening would include John Henry , Lincoln, and Mink Car . They have more albums than would be sensible to mention here, but I've gotten you started on the path my sons (and daughters) and now you must find your own way in this cold, harsh world.

The Prodigal Master Returns

2005-05-29T16:09:00.000-07:00

Okay, so it's been an eventful weekend so far. I actually have to work tomorrow, but I've had my three day weekend, so I'm pretty happy about that at least. My vacation looms on the horizon, and I probably won't end my own life before it gets here... hahahaha. Ha.

Kidding.

So I've been organizing all of my writing in large three ring binders. I've gone through all the many winding and voluminous folders on my hard-drive and ferreted out all kinds of obscure and crappy old pieces of writing that I've been holding obnto for no good reason at all. I then printed them off, slid them into sheet-protectors, and then clipped them into a binder. Fun, fun.

But here's one I was surprised to find that I had written:

The Dreamers

There are dreamers here, below the earth,
Whose lips are curled in lifeless mirth.
Their sighs are cold and dreams are deep.
They’re lost in so much more than sleep.

Their rest is earned; a long respite,
A healing, hopeful endless night.
Their just reward, a chance to pause,
In silent stillness, free of flaw.

What knowledge do these dreamers save?
What haunting secrets stir their graves?
Just what did Death, that angel dear,
Whisper in each pale, dead ear?

Be patient friend, someday you’ll know.
Eventually, we all shall go,
In endless night, so dark and deep.
Below the earth, to dream and sleep.

I've apparently been fairly intrigued with the idea of death and dying, because there are plenty of pieces in this vein hiding out in my personal collection.

Sunday is movie day. So here goes:

I refuse to go out and see Episode III in theaters because I know it really sucks just like the first two did. I don't need to see it, or to have anyone who loves Star Wars as their personal religion tell me how great it is... because I know that in spirit it truly is not. The second trilogy was made out of both greed and vanity, and it feels like all the people who loved the original trilogy are really trying very hard to convince themselves that this last hurrah is the next coming of Christ. And it just isn't. I will rent this movie when it comes out on DVD even though I have not yet even watched all of Episode II all the way through (due to a near-terminal case of sheer, crushing boredom), just because I want to see the origin story of Darth Vader. And this is all.

There you go. Hate me, because I thrive on it.

I will try to post again soon, because I've really been dying to do a few music reviews. I've finally listend to Nine Inch Nails "With Teeth" enough times to get a good feeling for it, and I have some stuff by They Might Be Giants, Frou Frou, and Phoenix to toss your way as well. So look for that around Tuesday or so. I'll also try to toss a few comic reviews up here this week, if I remember to (and feel like it, natch!)

So see ya.

An Attempt at Legitimacy on Trade Day

2005-05-21T14:14:00.000-07:00

So I'm really trying to keep myself honest here, and keep up the blogger thing. I can't promise I'll be here every day, but I will not let you go long without a new post popping up.

Why do I care? Who the heck knows.

But I do. I'm just a carer. *

So... It's Saturday, and I see that by the power of Grayskull! (and the schedule) it is a Wild-Card day, and I can do any darn thing I want. So Nyah. I'll have you know I'm opting out of a nap to be here with you people. So you'd better love me.

Here in Maine there's this event in the some of the coastal communities called "Trade-Day" where everybody coordinates and has their yard-sales on the same day. It used to be a much larger phenomenon, as there was a naval base in Winter Harbor, and all the military folk who would be transferred soon had to dump some serious luggage at some cutthroat prices. You could walk down a street in one neighborhood, spend thirty dollars and come home with a carload of books, CD's, toys, knick-knacks, baby clothes, and other miscellany. It was a holy day. I once bought a near-complete set of the Time-Life Enchanted World books for five bucks. I remember crying gently as I held those books gingerly on the ride home.

That night, we made clumsy love and cuddled.

So... anyway. Trade Day used to be really cool, and isn't so much now that the base has closed and all the people in the surrounding communities hate each other and participate in gang-related violence and bestiality (don't believe everything you read on-line, kids).
But, Hell, I'm still a trash-picker, so my wife, daughter and I all piled into the car and started cruising the yardsales. Last year, even with the lack of activity, I managed to come home with enoygh books and crap in general to choke a goat with multiple tapeworms. So we made the trip.

Not quite as magical and miraculou this year, but still nice. Got some glass bottles and pottery to clutter up the imaginary house we don't have, and a chalkboard for the kid. Some more toys to clutter up my own bookshelves, and a beanie baby unicorn for the kid.

The crown jewel of the day was bought by my wife. A wooden Godiva-Chocolates box for fifty cents that looks lik an old cigar box and has Lady Godiva riding her horse in the buff on top. She gave it to me after I threw a temper tantrum and threatened to drive us off a bridge (I would have put the kid out first, don't worry). So now I have to decide what mysterious and magical things I will keep stored in my new wooden box. The idea is an intriguing and exciting one.

Hey! Why don't you guys write in with some ideas, and I'll post them here! Maybe I'll even use one of the better ones. So try not to be stupid or sucky, okay?

Ummm... trying to come up with a fun link to send you off to. Hold on.

Got one! Like cartoons? Is there some old cartoon that you miss from when you were little?

Check out the Toonarific Cartoon Archive! This one's guaranteed to send you back.

*This is a Made Up Word Alert!

Comments and Other Gifts

2005-05-20T20:46:00.000-07:00

You should be able to leave comments now. You'd better do it.

Or else.

Oh Dear Lord, He's At It Again

2005-05-20T16:48:00.000-07:00

So I've been on an extended, lazy hiatus from this blog for the last er... month? or so? And I'm back. What started out as a nasty bout of streppe (sp?) throat quickly turned into a slothful negligence of my legions of faithful readers.

Plus, a friend of mine at work (who's parents in a fit of cruel mischief named him after a candy bar (and not even a very good candy bar at that) and then abandoned him at an orphanage/mime school because he was a simply hideous looking child) guilted me into getting my lazy butt into gear and writing again.

I responded by slapping him repeatedly and so hard that he passed out... But here I am writing, so hey, it all turned out all right in the end. Thanks Baby Ruth, this one'sfor you.

Between the vicious slaps that I landed all over his face, neck and shoulders Baby Ruth asked me if I would be back-logging all of the missed blogs from the near-month that I've been lax in my blogger duties. He had lost conciousness before I made my reply.

But the answer would have been no.

I know that the last month without my great wisdom and insight must have been a lost and lightless time for all of you out there, but I think that you should feel proud for not having ended your own lives in my absence, and that my retun is reward enough.

So...

I notice no one has e-mailed me in my absence. I expected more from you.

I'm still trying to figure out how to allow comments by non-bloggers on this site, but am having some difficulty. Soon my little followers, your feeble voices shall be heard. Oh, how the world shall change on that day.

But I do feel the tiniet bit of guilt for neglectin you all for so long, so I'll post a poem and throw you a link or two, just to keep you happy.

Mallory Drench

Miss Mallory Drench
Has a horrible stench
As she wanders all over the town,

The smell of the lass
Can turn sand into glass,
And it leaves yellow stains on the ground.

She wanders the streets,
On her mold-mushy feet,
Daring anyone nearby to smell her.

It’s too bad I fear,
She’s been dead for ten years…
But we cannot get closer to tell her.

I'll let you know how the publishing quest is going over the coming months. I've submitted my manuscript to a favorite company of mine, and hope to hear back soon... So... yeah.

Anyway, here's some links.

Have I told you before about Foodporn? It really isn't what it sounds like.

And here's the Food-Eating Battle Monkeys. What kind of bttle monkey are you? What kind of food do you eat? Have fun and battle your friends!

Or get bored pretty quick.

And here's the cream of the crop: Lisa Snelling's amazing sculptures have been an inspiration for me for a long, long time now. Here is her blog with lots of great images of her work included.

Now leave me alone.

Where Do I begin? Where do I end?

2005-04-22T15:50:00.000-07:00

Okay, I know it's not Wednesday again so soon, but I have some VERY, VERY vital comic book information to pass on to you, the unwashed masses.

My friend (I use his full name here only to help solicit his product, and because I'm linking to sites with his full name included) Tom Kurzanski, has just finished the artwork on a hot new mini-series for Viper Comics, called Karma Inc.!!! I've known Tom since my junior year of Highschool, and have always been impressed with both his work and him as an individual. He's more talented than any one person has any right to be. He dabbles in all media, be it theater, film, writing, graphic art, or friggin' macramé for all I know.

Here's an interview with both Tom and series writer David Hopkins at the Comic Foundry. An excellent dual interview with these creators gives us some real insight into the project, and their motivations and processes while making it.

While I'm at it, here's my Thursday poetry post:

Behind Me

As I’m sitting, writing this,
I think I hear the gentle hiss,
As if some stranger stood and stared,
Behind my back; I feel them there.
And if I write a little more,
I think that they might cross the floor,
To place their hand upon my arm…
Perhaps it’s just a false alarm.
The silence in my house is thick,
Yet full of creaks, and taps and ticks.
That hiss is nothing . . . probably . . .

And yet, I’m scared--

to turn and see.

Copright 2005, Derek Ash

And we'll skip the literature aspect of today's post, as I've talked myself all out about Tom's new comic. Maybe, if you're lucky, I'll recommend a book tomorrow.

Today's Comics Haul

2005-04-20T19:27:00.000-07:00

Here's what I got today:

Catwoman: When In Rome
Well this just got a whole lot more interesting! The plot's back on track and set to wrap up next issue. This has been a great mini.

Seven Soldiers: Klarion (Witch Boy)
Very odd first issue, but reeaallyy neat too. The artwork is some of the darkest and most distinctive stuff I've seen in a long time Just beautiful and dark and powerful.

Young Avengers
Sort of a lull this issue, with a minor fight scene that didn't really do much for me. The teen heroes fall for a pretty obvious and stupid ploy and it disappointed me. A not-so-surprising character origin is revealed here as well.

Runaways
Not even really sure why I'm liking this so much, but I am. Overall a fun read.

Wolverine
Just okay. A bunch of generic villains get their butts kicked.

Livewires
This series continues to entertain. Fun action romp with over-the-top sci-fi goofiness going on.

Books of Magic: Life During Wartime
Decent story, crappy artwork. 'Nuff said.

Pretty dull today. Must be tired. Talk to you later.

Oh, but hey, check this out. It's Sequart! For the sophisticated study of sequential art. And check out the general weirdness of Superfrankenstein who, among other things, sums up some of our late breaking news stories with old comic book covers, and comments on our new Pope.

Tuesday Sucks, but NIИ does not.

2005-04-19T14:18:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's true folks. Tuesday sucks. It sucks more than Monday. Tuesday is the day that feels like it ought to be Wednesday, but isn't. It's the day that feels as far away from the weekend as Monday does, and with all the same sort of boring work to be done. It's the hump day before hump day. It's the day that seems to last forever, and is so close to Monday that you can still taste it in the back of your throat. Tuesday just sucks out loud, with big wet sucky sounds that make most people gag with disgust.

And now on to todays content:

Since their new album, "With Teeth" (official NIИ site) is coming out in May, Nine Inch Nails (unofficial site) has been on my mind quite a bit lately. I thought I'd take todays post and do a run down of some of the other albums that Trent Reznor and co. have come out with since 1989, when the band premiered, and give you a quick review of each.

1. Pretty Hate Machine (1989)
Probably my least favorite of all the NIИ offerings, Pretty Hate Machine shows its Eighties roots in songs like "Head Like a Hole" and "Terrible Lie". But the album is not a complete waste. "Something I can Never Have", "Down In It", "Kinda I Want To", and "That's What I Get" are all tracks that I like very much, and that I feel stand up well to comparison against some of Trent Reznor's more recent works. But some songs, like "Ringfinger" and "Sanctified," are, in my opinion, completely unlistenable.

2. Broken (1992)
This was the first album I ever listened to by NIИ, and it hooked me with its raw angry beats and violent rhythms. From start to finish the album is loud and harsh on the ear, but full of energy. "Wish" and "Gave Up" are the two tracks that always stand out in my mind, but "Too Physical", "Happiness In Slavery", "Last", and "Suck" are all awesome tracks as well.

3. The Downward Spiral (1994)
This is, I think, the album that most casual music listeners will be familiar with when it comes to NIИ, as it includes the sexually explicit song, "Closer" (which is also excellent in its remixed form,"Closer: Further Away" on the two-disc Closer single). This album is absolute industrial genius. The sound mixing on this album is so lush and harsh and alternately sterile and visceral that every song is a strange techno-gothic journey in the listener's mind. In addition to "Closer", priority songs include "Piggy", "Heresy", "March of the Pigs", "The Becoming", "A Warm Place", "Reptile", and "Hurt". The over-repetetive sounds of "Eraser" and "I Do Not Want This" and the squawky, too-harsh qualities of "Big Man With a Gun" make them my least favorite tracks.

4. The Fragile (1999)
The big two disc album that fans had been waiting five years for was well worth it. This album took many of the tools and techniques that Reznor had displayed on "Downward Spiral" and perfected them, taking out some of the more repetetive, almost annoying elements, and replacing them with well balanced and often experimental ones (during one song an out of tune ukelele is played in a metal basin to create a very cool effect). There were so many excellent songs in this two-disc set that it would be very hard to list them all, but some highlights include: "Somewhat Damaged", "The Wretched", "We're In This Together", "Just Like You Imagined", "The Great Below", "Into the Void", and "Star-*uckers". Just to list a few. The additional disc of remixes, "Things Falling Apart" was simply awesome, with remixes of "The Wretched" and "Into the Void" that I almost like more than the originals. Some of the songs on the second disc start drifting towards the more dull side of things, but overall, the album completely kicks ass.

5. Other Works Worth Mentioning
Trent Reznor has done a lot of work producing and remixing other artist's work, as well as some of his own original singles for soundtracks. His vocals in Josh Wink's "Big Black Bomb" make the song worth listening to. His songs on soundtracks like "The Crow" ("Lost Souls"), "Natural Born Killers" ("Burn") and "Lost Highway" ("The Perfect Drug") are all incredible to hear (The latter two soundtracks were produced and mixed by Reznor himself). He has done industrial remixes of songs by David Bowie ("Heart's Filthy Lesson") and Korn ("Freak on a Leash") as well as performing some excellent covers of classic rock songs like Gary Numan's "Metal" and Queen's "Get Down Make Love", just to name two. His singles are worth tracking down just for some of the incredible remixes he's done of his own work.

So there you have it. A very brief (an shamefully incomplete) discography of Nine Inch Nails with some accompanying opinions that you may or may not give a crap about. For more information, click on the Trent Reznor link above, and check out the wikipedia entry on both him and the band. Very indepth stuff.

I can't wait for the new album to come out in May, and you can guarantee that I will be mentioning it here in some detail once I've bought it.

Until tomorrow (Which is Wednesday and MUCH better than Tuesday), au revoir.

E-MAIL!!!

2005-04-18T19:39:00.000-07:00

Wow! Look! An extra bonus Monday post!!! All just because I want e-mails from you!

If you have sent me an e-mail, I did not receive it. SEND IT AGAIN!!! I just changed my junk-mail settings, and will pay better attention. If you have not sent me an e-mail yet, SEND ME ONE!!!

Remember, I will post your e-mails here on my blog, and will include your name (first name only) unless you note otherwise. Do you have a site you want to promote? Or a nude picture of yourself with a cat? Send 'em on in! (although I probably won't post any nude-people-with-animal pictures just due to th blogger rules. But I WILL enjoy them privately.) I'm not really sure how to post pictures on here yet, but when I do... I'm gonna.

So E-MAIL me you ingrates!!!

Hysterics and Other Women's Work

2005-04-18T14:26:00.000-07:00

Did you know that only women can suffer from hysteria?

It's true. (Technically speaking)

Just read this excerpt from Leonard George, PH. D.'s very cool paranormal reference book, Alternative Realities (which I rediscovered during my recent spare-room cleaning binge) :

"The term hysteria comes from the ancient Greek word for Uterus. The ancients believed that a woman's womb could become loose and wander through the body, producing strange experiences and behaviors... According to this doctrine, women were considered to be, in Shorter's words, "uterine driven automata," incapable of resisting the crazed impulses emanating from their wombs. "

HA HA HA HA!!!

That is the most hilarious thing I've ever read.

God, psychiatrists are stupid.

I can just imagine my wife's uterus squirming its way around the insides of her body, like a baby-making alien slug from "The Puppetmasters" telling her to commit heinous acts, or to freak out when there's a sale on birkenstocks.

You realize she's going to kill me now.

She's quite mad you know.

Or should I say... hysterical?

Boxes and Boxes and Boxes.

2005-04-16T15:28:00.000-07:00

I've been cleaning out our storage room for the last two days, hence my missing the Thursday and Friday postings. (I'd apologize, but I'm not sorry.)

Its this dank little room on the end of our apartment filled with a desk, my comic book long-boxes, the kitty box (eeeewww...) and roughly nine Rubbermaid Rough-tote bins filled with books. I'm talking the big rough-totes. There's some magazines and other stuff in there too, but mostly books.

I had a fantastic time going through these dusty totes and taking out stuff I plan to read soon and packing away stuff I read recently. I've also emptied a bin of young chapter books onto a small blue bookshelf for my daughter, who is just now patient and imaginative enough to sit through such classics as Bunnicula, Ghost-Eye, and The Magic Treehouse books. Good stuff. I'm excited.

Oh, and here's Thursday's poem before I forget:

The Ghosts of Autumn

The leaves of fall, all dead and brown,
Stir listlessly upon the ground.
With shifting voices here and there,
Their whispered secrets fill the air.
The wind is chill, and sharp as knives,
The naked branches rattle-writhe.
Their blackened fingers scrape the moon,
And winter will be coming soon.

The shine of summer long since died,
The rains of spring have wept, and cried.
And all throughout the woods and dales,
The earth awaits her silver veil.
The woods are home to autumn’s ghosts,
That pale and frozen phantom-host.
They dance and waltz to icy tunes,
For winter will be coming soon.
copyright 2005 Derek Ash

It's ironic that I'm thinking about Autumn as Spring has just arrived. This poem was actually written a while ago though... but I wanted to see it here today. Don't know why.
I did take a long enough break last night to watch Finding Neverland with my wife. Great film. I want to read Peter Pan in its entirety now.

So there, you got a little bit of Friday's literature stuff as well. Don't cry.

This Weeks Comics

2005-04-13T19:04:00.000-07:00

First I would like to address the fact that I have sent the link for this Blog to many people who couldn't care less about comic books, and may in fact be looking at this post and saying to themelves: "Dear God, please let Derek die, because I had no idea what kind of human scab he really was but, yup, this comic book thing really confirms it. (And please let me win the lottery.*) Amen."

To this I say: I don't care. This is my blog, and I'm having fun. If you don't want to read about the comic books I read each week, then go and write your own blog, and I'll pray to God that you die for liking Styx, or KFC, or porcelain pigs, or whatever weird crap you're into.

But hey, thanks for reading anyway.

*I added the lottery part because I want good things to happen for the people who read this, even if you did pray for me to die, you bastards.

So on to my pull list for this week:

Mnemovore #1
Not sure quite what to make of this yet, a fairly eerie little first issue, about a girl and the squid-like creature that is apparently stalking her and her loved ones and eating their minds. Decent art, but can't make much of the story or characters yet. 6 of 10

Black Panther #3
I'm not as impressed with this series as I thought I was going to be. Klaw comes off as more than a little goofy, and any story involving Batroc the Leaper automatically makes me wince. I'm just not giving a crap about this story-arc. Pick up the frigging pace already. 4 of 10

Iron Man #3
Well, we finally see Iron Man in action, and he gets his ass handed to him by the Extremis Initiate. This issue was much more action-oriented than the last two have been, but as late as it was, I was expecting to be much more impressed. 7 of 10

Ultimates Vol.2 #5
This was probably the second most satisfying read of the week, as the show-down between Thor and the rest of the Ultimates finally took place, with the predicted results. But really, there wasn't really enough meat to this issue to satisfy me either. Maybe I just wasn't in the mood for all these big-battle issues. 8 of 10

This was a small week (for me) so I also picked up, from last week:

Batman #638
I picked this up for the most part because they reveal who the Red Hood is. I don't read Batman except for the tielt he shares with Superman. I think I was following my collector's mentality here, which is for crap, because I never buy anything that later becomes worth money. I was surprised to find Judd Winick's (Remember him from MTV's The Real World?) writing sharp and fun, and it was the best book I bought this week. Both Black Mask and Mr. Freeze were both portrayed with great character. I kind of wish I had to funds to start adding this to my regular reading list. Maybe I'll drop that suck-ass Black Panther if he doesn't straighten out here pretty soon. 8.5 of 10

And here's a fun Comic book link for the week! Sinfest!!! It may take a moment for this to load, but it's worth it. Scroll down to see the strip, and then be sure to check out some of the archived strips as this is funny, funny stuff. Trust me. I would never steer you wrong.

WARNING: May contain sexual, racial, and/or semi-sacreligious humor (God teases the devil with large hand-puppets) You have been warned.

This is such a cheat.

2005-04-12T20:08:00.000-07:00

But really? I am the master here, and you must submit to all my wildest dreams. So ha.

So, instead of doing a music REVIEW today, I am going to pop up a link to a funny, funny, funny song and let you review it yourselves. The video is to die for. You should know that the lyrics were both written and performed by Alan Moore, who is a comic book GOD. On your KNEES heretics!!!

So without further ado (except for the time it might take to load up...) here are The Sinister Ducks. Beware.

There. Now get off your computer and go spend some time with your families you fools.(The ducks made me say that! Come back soon!)

P.S. If you write me an e-mail, I will post it on here for everybody to read! Please be sure to let me know if I should include your name or not. Thanks!

Now write me an e-mail and then go spend time with your families.

Whydidn't they call it Hermaphroditeday?

2005-04-11T17:02:00.000-07:00

I have to do this quickly because everybody here is ready to go watch "Spanglish" downstairs (I'll give you the review next week... maybe)so here goes.

Do you really know why we call the days of the week what we call them? Well most ofthe names came from Norse mythology!
Here's a breakdown:

Sunday was named after the Sun. Since the sun is so important, brings light and wramth, it named the first day.
Monday was named after the Moon, which was important in the calendar and in growing and harvesting crops.
Tuesday was named after the god Tyr, the god of justice.
Wednesday was named after the god Odin (or Woden), the Allfather.
Thursday was named after the god Thor, the god of Thunder who wields a huge hammer.
Friday was named after the goddess Frigga. Frigg was a Norse goddess equal to Odin.
Saturday was named after the god Saturn, who was actually a Roman god.

What I really suspect is that people just got tired of calling the days, "next day" and last day, and the day after that, and such. Two=hundred-thirty-thousand-and-six day is also exhausting to write.

So, whenever you say, thank god its Friday, you are actually commiting a pagan act! Yay!

Here, check out the Encyclopedia Mythica for more information!

Napoleon DINE-OH-MITE!!!

2005-04-10T12:48:00.000-07:00

Well, as you can see, the site has been updated. There's a new color scheme, a new counter waaaaay down at the bottom (Now I can see you. Oh yesss... I can see you...) and a new schedule in the sidebar so that you (and I) don't forget what type of posts are going up on what days. Look at the damn sidebar.

Also, I fixed the links that weren't working in the Silly Sturday Post. They work now, so you should check them out. Check out the damn links.

And, there's a spiffy new link to an e-mail adress where you can contact me and tell me how much I rock. Does the new color-scheme cause you to have seizures? Do they make your tear-ducts bleed? Do you have any suggestions (that I will ignore)? Am I fat? Write me a damn e-mail.

Exciting.

So on to today's content! As you could probably tell by the title of today's post, I'll be reviewing Napoleon Dynamite, which is a film that I have reccomended to countless people and then been immediately slapped across the face like a man with no clothes on (whether I had clothes on or not).

The reason? I'm not sure. I think that this is not a film for everyone?

The first time I watched it, I didn't really care for it, and then, upon a second viewing, I listed it amongst my favorite movies of all time. Why? I just didn't "get" the film the first time I watched it. But the wierd thing is that it kept popping up in my thoughts, days later (always a sure sign of a new favorite movie, whether I realize it or not) until I finally sat down and watched it a second time. And a magical thing happened. A transformation. Not like puberty or anything (still workin' on that one) but I was suddenly "getting" all this bizarre humor that I had plowed over so carelessly during my first viewing. It was a magical change, deep inside of me, not unlike menopause, but less emotional.

Napoleon Dynamite is the story of Napoleon and his brother Kip, who live with their grandmother, but are being babysat by their Uncle Rico, a pathetic ex-football freak whose glory days were back in highschool, while their grandmother is recovering from dune-buggy injuries. Napoleon is in High School, and likes to draw fantasy creatures. Kip is in his thirties, and enjoys chatting online with "babes" all day. Napoleon is one of those people that gets picked on in highschool by everyone, even the unpopular kids (c'mon, even you would have kicked the crap out of him). But lucky for Napoleon, we are seeing this world through his eyes, and while we never really entirely like him, we can certainly empathize with a few of the things he must deal with over the course of the movie.

Napoleon is a character who doesn't really learn, or change, but is stuck in his own bizarre (and yet still dull) fantasy world full of fantasy warriors with "skills" and Ligers (hybrid tiger/lions... his, like, favorite animal). He often speaks as if he is reading from a role-playing game manual, or as if he were having his testicles squeezed (GOD!), and fails to hold even the simplest of conversations without somehow working in his "num-chucks". But Napoleon is a beautiful freak of the highest order, because he has real heart when it comes to his closest friends, Pedro, a monotone latino boy who spends most of the movie staring glassy-eyed from underneath a hideous -but also sexy- wig, and Deb, who fancies herself a glamour-shot photographer, and a maker of plastic beaded key chains.

Would you help your best friend get elected class president by showing off your "dance moves" in front of the entire school? Napoleon would. And as he navigates the dusty landscape of his world, we watch his Uncle Rico, and brother Kip dealing with their own struggles with normalcy. Napoleon Dynamite is a film about loyalty, friendship, and the special kind of coming-of-age that only the hopelessly, socially inept can experience.

Thank you for sharing that with us Napoleon.

Thank you.

Napoleon Dynamite -- Click Here for the Official site
Directed By: Jared Hess
Starring: Jon Heder -- Napoleon Dynamite
Jon Gries -- Uncle Rico
Aaron Ruell -- Kip Dynamite
Efren Ramirez -- Pedro Sanchez
Tina Majorino -- Deb
And be sure to check out the web-sites for
both Fox Searchlight and MTV Movies which were the two companies backing this film.

Silly Saturday

2005-04-09T12:55:00.000-07:00

Wow, I've been blogging for a whole week!

As a reward to those of you who stuck with it and kept reading alllll week, I'm posting a few links to some cool pages that you might enjoy. Weird stuff, cool stuff, whatever floats your boat.

Here's a link showcasing Britain's most ambitious and avant-garde graffiti artist, Banksy. Some of his "showings" are a real hoot.

Hey, remember the Garbage Pail Kids? Well, if you were a true child of the eighties like I was, then you owned at least one of these stickers. Check out the sidebar for a complete cyber-museum of the collections, by series.

After that, be sure to browse around Mr. Punch's Old Toys, for that creepy-possessed-by-Satan style gift you've been looking to buy for the kids. Honestly though, this site is tres cool. Really Old Toys!

Ummmm... let me scrape the bottom of the barrel now...

Oh! Here's Pushin' Daisies, the only funerary novelty store I've ever heard of. Cool Goth merchandise here, and for those of us with fairly twisted senses of humor.

And last, but not least, here's Fluffy Stuff. With like, Two Million things to do when you're bored. Don't even bother READING the links on this page. Just close your eyes and click. I'm (almost) never disappointed.

So Silly Saturday was really just a bit of fluff this week. It's just too beautiful outside today for me to go to too much trouble, but I hope you enjoy all the nonsense I've sent you off to explore. These are really a great handful of links.

The Way It Was When It Was the Way It Was... Again

2005-04-08T15:42:00.000-07:00

Well, whatever had forced me off the "make-a-new-post" thingee has been all fixed up, so that it is now the way it was when it was the way it was when I started this thing off in the first place, again.

Right.

So I was thinking tomorrow will be Silly Saturday, what with the introduction of the blog having been on that day. It'll be a wild card of sorts, where I get my last hurrahs in before I start up my work week again. Anything goes, and you never know what you'll get. Sunday is obviously Movie day. Monday is my day to educate the unwashed masses, and Tuesday is Music day. I pick up my comic books on Wednesday, and Thursday has become, officially, Poetry day. So what to make of Friday? Friday, Friday, Friday. What to do with Friday?

I could review books, I suppose, but I don't really think I'll be reading enough books to keep up a weekly review thing going... and all the books I've already read get kind of fuzzy, so details will surely be left out. I was thinking of doing a sort of folklore/mythology/new age thing where different topics like Tarot cards or Faeries, or Greek goddesses could be discussed. But I could really cover that stuff on Mondays or Saturdays I suppose. I've got Movies, Comics, and Music all covered. I'm a Neil Gaiman obsessive... but I suppose most of you are not.

Think. Think. Think.

Books it'll have to be. Saturdays and/or Mondays can cover the other stuff. Now I suppose I'll have to teach myself how to read stuff without pictures again. But I have warned you of my ineptitude, and now caution you against taking my book-choosing advice.

We'll start with an easy one, as it has pictures AND Neil Gaiman!!! Yippee:

The Wolves in the Walls
Written By: Neil Gaiman
Illustrated By: Dave McKean
Published by: Harper Collins
Who Should Read it: Children; Their Parents; Comic Book Fans; You.

The Wolves in the Walls is the tale of a young girl named Lucy, who is more certain than is entirely normal that there are wolves living inside the walls of her house. This book details her failed attempts at convincing her deluded family of this obvious fact, and the catastrophic events that unfold when these dry-wall dwelling lupines actually come barreling out of hiding and into Lucy's home.

Because, as they say, "When the Wolves come out of the walls, it's all over."

But is it? And, as Lucy wants to know, who really says that anyway?

This is the tale of a brave young girl who refuses to give up on her home, on her family, and especially, on her pig puppet when everything looks rather dire and the odds are stacked precariously against her. It is a tale of bravery in the face of silly, jam-eating wolves who enjoy playing the tuba more than is really healthy or appropriate. Parents may find the illustrations in this book dark or scary, while I guarantee that children will find them hilarious and enchanting.

There is a strong message for everyone about surviving adversity, about following your heart when all around you seems hopeless, and about being rewarded for bravery in the face of danger. The book is set up nicely, with a logical succession of events in a very illogical world. The ending has a great pay-off as well, with readers rolling their eyes and saying: "Uh-Oh... here we go again."

I can't recommend this book enough to parents with 4-7 year olds, and to fans of Neil Gaiman (who already have this book, but I digress). My 4-7 year old daughter thinks its keen-o bean-o, and asks me to read it to her often.

But don't take her word for it, take the word of a drunken homeless person:

Me: "What do you think of the book The Wolves in the Walls, Mister obviously-inebriated-living-in-a-cardboard-box type person?"

Homeless Guy (who may be talking to me, or to the wall he is urinating on):"S'Good."

So there you have it!!! Buy this book and love it as much as children or street-winos do!

Thursday is Poetry Day!!!

2005-04-08T05:24:00.000-07:00

(Note, Blogger was down all Thursday night so this was actually posted Wednesday morning)

So I'm thinking Thursday might be a nice day to post a poetic blog. Inject some culture into your pathetic lives, and all.

The title, "Really Rather Not Nice Thoughts" actually comes from the collection of poetry that I am in the process of trying to get published, called "Really Rather Not Nice Things: A Macabre Compendium of Poetry" Which is a very long title for a collection of slightly evil poems that I had originally intended to market towards children or young adults.

My friend Tom (The one who knows somebody or something to do with Iron & Wine... sorry again Tom) was working on the illustrations for the collection, until I changed the line-up about forty times and he went on to work on some much cooler and more satisfying comic book projects until I get my stuff together.

So... now I have a collection of poems that read all over the map and have no real collective drive or purpose other than to make me feel guilty for not trying to do anything with them...

Bored yet? Me too.

So here goes, long-story-short-style: Every Thursday my post will consist of a poem that may or may not be included in a forthcoming collection of poems.
Here is one of my all time favorites:

Bobby’s Unfortunate Condition

When Bobby woke up Saturday,
His hands had turned to feet.
At first he thought this change of pace,
Might actually be neat.
He practiced walking upside down,
Until a headache throbbed,
He couldn’t open up his door,
His toes slipped off the knob.
He tried to write a message,
He could slide beneath the door,
But couldn’t catch the pencil,
As it rolled across the floor.
His Mother came to check on him,
Then fainted dead away.
His father stared in disbelief.
Without a word to say.
He tried to eat, but toe jam made
The fork and spoon too greasy.
The smell of feet eventually,
Made everyone feel queasy.
His mother made him put on socks,
But Bobby merely moaned.
His Dad told him to clip his nails,
Before they got ingrown.
The day wore on, and Bobby thought,
His hands were gone forever.
That night he said his prayers with
His toes pushed tight together.
When Bobby woke up Sunday,
His old hands were back in place.
Instead he woke to find that his
Rear-end was on his face.
Copyright 2005, Derek Ash

So there you have it, hope you enjoyed it, yadda-yadda-yadda.

Comic Book Day

2005-04-06T19:40:00.000-07:00

Every Wednesday I pick up my stash from the local comic shop and sequester myself for the evening. So no real post tonight, just a quick rundown of what I got and what I thought. Here's today's pull list:

GLA: Misassembled #1
A fairly fun guilty pleasure. 7 of 10

Superman/Batman #18
Been waiting for this final wrap up of this particular story-arc. Decent. 7 of 10

Green Lantern: Rebirth #5
This has been consistently good from the beginning. Can't wait for next ish. 8 of 10

Seven Soldiers: Zatanna #1
Awesome art, awesome story. Love the character, and the advancement of Morrison's ultimate 7S opus. 10 of 10

Lex Luthor: Man of Steel #2
This is an odd series with good art, and an interesting look at "corrupt-businessman Luthor". Not really what I was expecting or looking for though. 6 of 10

A fairly good pile this week.
Plan to finish Zatanna, Green Lantern, and continue on with S/B. Will only keep up GLA and Lex Luthor if funds allow.

Til' tomorrow comes, my rabid fans.

The Garden State Soundtrack

2005-04-05T17:12:00.000-07:00

I don't encourage you to go out and kill people. Honestly I do not. But if ever there was a soundtrack that was worth killing for (and I mean with a rusty shiv, violent-type killing) then the Garden State Soundtrack would be the one. The following contains a review of that Soundtrack, which is from... the movie Garden State... if you hadn't guessed that already.

Contrary to the violent nature of this post's introduction, Garden State was filled with soothing, yet cool mood music, that can be popped into the CD player and left on repeat for hours at a time. Here, let me break it down for you track by track:

1. Coldplay -- Don't Panic
This was one of my absolute favorite Coldplay songs even before the movie. This band is simply excellent. You may have heard their tunes "Yellow", "Clocks" and "The Scientist" played on the radio or MTV, but I assure you, there are much stronger songs included on their first two albums(Parachutes, A Rush of Blood to the Head), and a new album due out this summer. Get your shivs ready.

2. The Shins-- Caring Is Creepy
This is not my favorite Shins song, but it is my second favorite. Thanks to my friend Chris, who just married my wife's cousin Chris... (congrats you guys!) I was already very familiar with the Shins before I watched Garden State. Both this and "New Slang" came from the "Oh, Inverted World" album. Good stuff.

3. Zero 7-- In the Waiting Line
One of the songs that really serves as a main theme for the movie, this song is very mellow and cool. Jazzy and breezy and soulful. I'd never heard of Zero 7 before this, but I'm seeking out more, for sure.

4. The Shins -- New Slang
THIS is my absolute favorite Shins song. It is one of my favorite all-time songs. This song was what made me decide to see this movie, as they played it in the previews. If Zach Braff liked this song enough to put it in his movie, I decided I ought to see it.

5. Colin Hay-- I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You
This is a very folksy-style song, with a rusty-voiced singer (remember Men at Work?) who absolutely bleeds longing with every lyric. This is what John Mayer wishes he could be.

6. Cary Brothers--Blue Eyes
This one almost reminds me of Counting Crows, especially in the opening. They have a sort of Goo Goo Dolls kind of sound as well, probably my least favorite song on the ST, but still, not a bad contribution, as even my least favorite is still a great song. This one isn't worth getting caught while burying the bodies, but still... good.

7. Remy Zero -- Fair
This son really picks up after the first minute or so, when the chorus hits. Nice vocals and harmonies. This one's just a step above track #6.

8. Nick Drake -- One of These Things First
Nick Drake, who died in 1975, is the coolest singer you've never heard. One of his songs ("Pink Moon")was played in a commercial about seven or eight years ago, and enjoyed some limited fame post-mortem, but has never been a big lime-light star. Since that time his work has appeared on assorted soundtracks ("Fly" was showcased in The Royal Tenenbaums, to name one), and his song "Time of No Reply" was even mentioned in Stephen Chbosky's incredible book, The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Nick Drake has a wispy, ethereal style of singing, and wrote some really interesting music. Check him out.

9. Thievery Incorporated -- Lebanese Blonde
This song is pure melody and slow funk. A good beat for turning the lights down low and jiving with the honeys. Shivs are optional.

10. Simon and Garfunkel-- The Only Living Boy In New York
I never used to like these guys, but recently I have really started enjoying their stuff. This song only helped to reinforce that for me.

11. Iron and Wine-- Such Great Heights
I was just recently introduced to Iron and Wine by my friend, Tom, who knows one of their founders somehow (sorry Tom, forgot the story...). But I was blown away by their song, "No Moon" which he had put on a mix for me. When I found out it was the same band doing this song for Garden State, I was completely hooked. This song is the best on the soundtrack, in my opinion. It will easily soothe you out of a murderous rage, so finish any violent business you have before this track comes on, or you'll lose all drive.

12. Frou Frou-- Let Go
This is the song that I most associate with the film. A sort of bluesy techno ballad that taps directly into your spine and vibrates down to your toes, this song reverberates and resonates.

Wow. That almost sounded deep.

13. Bonnie Somerville -- Winding Road (Good luck finding a web-site)
Okay, I changed my mind, this is probably my least favorite song on the soundtrack. Bonnie Somerville has a mildly annoying pop-type-vibe going on here that will probably play really well to the Sheryl Crow crowd. Not a bad song, but nothing I would put on a mix and give to my best friend. Still, I wouldn't skip this song if I was playing the soundtrack on shuffle, either.

Well, there you go. The review of a soundtrack.

Zach Braff, who directed, wrote, and starred in Garden State, was also the executive producer of the Soundtrack, so you can be relatively sure that he loves this music more than you ever will (or should).

So... if you like the... SOUND of this sound track, then buy it here.

Short But Educational

2005-04-04T14:37:00.000-07:00

Decided to forego (sp?) the whole "Really Rather--yadda-yadda" titles to keep from getting stupid or boring (too late?). Today is Monday, the first day of the school week, so I shall educate you, my dear readers.

I also have to write a short post (read: pull a post out of my rear)-- so I can go to bed early-- so I can get up at three o'clock in the morning and go to work.

C'est la vie.

So here goes: An entry from the 1975 edition of the Doubleday Dictionary (the magical volume given to me by my Aunt, that never seems to let me down when I'm in search of a word). Envision me flipping to a random page of the dictionary and placing my well-chewed fingertip on:

Agnus Dei (ag'nes de'i) A figure of a lamb, as an emblem of Christ.

There you have it. Your word for the day. Go out and use it well. I apologize for my lack of special characters in the phonetic spellings, such as the upside down e thingee, or the lines over long vowels... I'm just not that skilled yet.

I should also point out that in an almost sacrilegious degree of irony, the word directly abovethis one is:

Agnosticism (ag-nos'te-siz'em)n. The Theory that man can neither prove nor disprove the existence of God nor know with certainty the nature of ultimate truth.

Also, another nice thing about this dictionary is the sassy little picture next to the word Afro with a happening little african american honey with a hairdo that takes up more room than the definition of Agenda

But hey, don't take my word for it, buy your own 1975 edition Doubleday Dictionary right here at Aldersgate Books.

The Really Rather Not Nice Bubba Ho-Tep

2005-04-03T12:42:00.000-07:00

One of the finest films ever made (well, that may be over doing it a bit...), Bubba Ho-Tep is the story of Elvis (yes, THAT Elvis, played by Bruce Campbell) as he grows old in a rest home. He was apparently either replaced by an impersonator some years before he died (the impersonator died of a heart attack in Graceland, not Elvis)... or this is an impersonator who has gone completely bugshit crazy, and just THINKS he's elvis. But it doesn't matter one whit to me either way, because we soon realize that not all is as restive as it should be at Elvis's rest home. An undead evil stalks the halls at night, sucking the souls from easy, wrinkled, old prey. What does Elvis do when faced with this cowboy-boot-and-hat wearing force of ancient Egyptian evil? He enlists the help of John Kennedy(Played earnestly by veteran actor Ossie Davis), who resides in the same old-folks home, albeit dyed black and with half his brain operating on batteries somewhere in the Whitehouse.

This movie is not scary.

What it is... is surreal, and hilarious, and filled with odd uncomfortable moments involving Elvis's penis (never shown onscreen, don't get excited). What this film is, is simply brilliant. And if you watch it and enjoy it as I did, you will soon find yourself completely forgetting that these men might merely be geriatric crazies and find yourself really starting to sympathize with them.

For me, the bizarre and mildly creepy Elvis-penis scenes could have been completely left out and I would still have loved this movie... but hey, its just a small part of the overall odd portrait being painted here. Ossie Davis really makes the most of his bizarre and funny role, and brings a level of honesty and repsectability to his character that would have been impossible with any other actor. For whole stretches of time I found myself forgetting that there was absolutely no way this crackpot old guy could really be John F. Kennedy. There is even one particularly moving scene between J.F.K. and the King where they talk about their respective children, and how thy weren't there for them... where you actually have to shake yourself and remember just what it is you're watching. These men took their roles very seriously, and that is what truly makes this film great. Bubba-Ho-Tep didn't even specifically have to be about a mummy, as there was enough humor and drama to engage the viewer without the monster even being onscreen.

But a goofy mummy in cowboy gear is nice too.

I own this film on DVD, and I highly recommend watching it through a second time with the filmmakers commentary turned on. Great stuff.

Okay, so that's it for today, boys ang ghouls. Go out and buy this movie today. Especially if you are an Evil Dead/Bruce Campell fan (although it should be noted that this film is not connected to the Evil Dead Trilogy in any way whatsoever, and is not directed by Sam Raimi).

Bubba Ho-Tep --Click here for the official Web-site.
Directed by: Don Coscarelli
Starring: Bruce Campell
Ossie Davis

A Really Rather Not Nice Beginning

2005-04-02T15:32:00.000-08:00

Why hello.

Welcome to my blog. I am completely new to this blogging phenomenon, but would like to assure you all that I plan to address all sorts of really rather not nice subjects, topics, and concepts within the bounds of this web-site.

I'm sure I will have more to say in the coming days, but for now, I simply experiment.

For now, feel free to check out the Comic Readers web-site, (of which I am a brilliant contributor) right here.