Friday, July 28, 2006


Really, this is the greatest list ever:

Last 20 Searchengine Queries Unique Visitors
24 Jul, Mon, 22:19:19 Google: hypatia lee
24 Jul, Mon, 22:37:57 Google: cutting fluids blazo cut
25 Jul, Tue, 02:45:12 Google: jenna jameson varicose veins masseuse

25 Jul, Tue, 15:24:55 Google: hypatia lee
25 Jul, Tue, 19:45:32 Google: anthony simone bakery massachusetts
25 Jul, Tue, 21:14:20 Google: cookie puns
26 Jul, Wed, 05:06:50 Google: "old man take a look at me" young neil
26 Jul, Wed, 06:46:41 Google: "what does" "12 inch version"
26 Jul, Wed, 12:51:23 Google: SSX presents Esther
26 Jul, Wed, 14:56:41 Google: x factor application forms
26 Jul, Wed, 15:46:46 Google: hypatia lee
26 Jul, Wed, 16:42:35 Yahoo: SSX presents esther baxter
27 Jul, Thu, 01:52:31 Google: kiaju girl webcomics
27 Jul, Thu, 06:33:56 Google: batgirl raped cruely
27 Jul, Thu, 08:12:39 Google: uploading, masseuse, jenna
27 Jul, Thu, 08:15:52 Yahoo: bettie ballhaus dancing video
27 Jul, Thu, 20:41:32 Google: TRANSLATE: Un sit magna, tamen certe lenta ira deorum est
28 Jul, Fri, 01:43:57 Google: sleepingtushy
28 Jul, Fri, 02:40:30 Google: "adele moss" berkeley

I'm just glad that SOMEone was googling "batgirl raped cruely" and found my site. That and Jenna jamesone's varicose veins. And the fact that this isn't the first time someone has tried to register for X-Factor here.


Falling in love isn't the same as being in love and rising to mediocriry isn't the same as sinking into it. At the expense of coming across like a middle schooler — fuck it.

Kids had the right idea all along — but we got old and fucked it all up. When we're young, brevity seems to last forever. As we age, tomorrow seems to get further away from us. The immortality of youth lets us do as we please, when we accept it (and my generation and those following have been scared into forgeting our immortality, embracing outmoded ideas of shame and responsibility when none needed embracing), but our greatest sin is forgetting that as we get older, time grows shorter. As our time grows shorter, we start to think about those things we'll not regret ignoring in death.

We really need to start living the way we'd like to live if we're going to say anything cool when we die. I'd like to die with no regrets, and if death is really creeping up my spine with its shit-eating grin, then maybe it's time I started living like I'll be ready to laugh at it when it does.

I'm a bit drunk, so maybe this isn't the most cohrerent of thoughts, but I really need to start living the way I wouldn't mind dying.

I really hope I csn laugh at this in fifty years. i rwally hope I wake up tommorow.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006


Oops. It seems I may have tossed my firwire cable. Now I can't put shits from Power Mac onto Macbook. I'm not smarts.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006


Seriously? The big Robotech ship was called the mah-CROSS? That's terrible. When will people learn to pronounce everything the way I mispronounce it. I always said MAC-rose. Learn my ways!

Stupid accenting the wrong part of the word languages.

Yes, I'm watching Super Dimensional Fortress Macross while eating dinner. I wanted to see what the thing that became the first third of Robotech was when it was it's own thing. It's not terrible. It's pretty standard stuff with added indecipherable action. And they keep mispronouncing the name. Also, was the Captain called Captain Global in the Robotech version? Captain Global??? And the hero guy was not that young in the Robotech version, was he? I should watch that.


Call me, Creezy Gonuts. I bought a new intel Macbook. I went to get a new monitor and left with a new computer. I've just played with it a little, but I can't wait to see all the comics made with iComic in the future. Unless I have, already. Maybe that guy that "drew" Alias beta-tested the thing. Maybe Steve McNiven is saying, "Man, if they just had an Awkward Pose pulldown menu, Civil War could be weekly!" Seriously, what is Mr. Fantastic doing in that first panel? Oh, you know you read it. You wanna rut with Mark Millar.


Been reading a bunch o'comics. Yeast Hoist #12. A more sketchbooky issue, complete with reflex-cannon you out of the water panel layouts. Ron Regé Jr., best nature artist in comics, best still-life artist in comics design experimentalist is also making with the awsome experimentaion — just as a, you know, one- or two-off kinda thing.

Planetes Vol.1 — pleasant stuff. I'd read more of it if Vol. 2 was in any store I've visited. Does anyone know if the main charcters keep exchanging hair colors thoughout the series? And does anybody have any idea how time moves in the not-too-distant future? Are years numbered randomly? Aside from that, this is a nice book about garbagemen in space, with likable characters, only sometimes unclear art and a romanticism that's easy to forgive.

Eamon Espey's Wormdye and Edie Fake's Gaylord Phoenix: more please. So much more, please.

I've now read every book by Jason in America. It was actually Hey, Wait! and SHHHH! I hadn't read yet. So, the older stuff. Man, has that guy gotten better, or what? These books are good, but the new stuff is so phenomenal, that they almost render the older books into more of a "completists only" part of his catalogue.

Golgo 13 vol. 3. The "G Fund" story would be an interesting twist on the formula if it wasn't being presented so early in the "greatest hits" series. As it is, it's kind of cool, but not as cool as it should be. I don't really know what to make of the South African story. It plays with history in an uncomfortable way.

The new Comics Journal is ok. It's a fitting end to Dirk Deppy's strange run as editor, in a way. They should have called it, The Gary Groth's Weird Seinfeld on News Radio Interview with Alex Toth and Dirk Deppey's Attempts to Talk to Indy Creators About Superhero Crossovers issue. I look forward to Michael Dean's stab. Deppey's interview with Eddie Campbell still ranks as the best in the Journal since the Highwater issue, and I commend some of the hiring that was done, but this was a kind of lackluster year or so. The Menu interview is the most interesting (and it's about time, too).

Gipi's Wish You Were Here #2: They Found the Car isn't as jaw-droppingly amaziing as WYWH #1: The Innocents, but it's one of the best Stray Bullets issues ever. Lovely, noiry stuff.

And all the hype was right, I'm ready to man-marry Dupuy & Berberian. Get a Life is wonderful and Maybe Later manages to be enlightening and fabulous while still perpetuating the mystery of just how two guys can work together so seemlessly.


Two weeks to go before The Wire Season 3 is on dvd. Season 1 was the single greatest season of any television show in the history of tv. Season 2 wasn't as good. At best, it was the second best season of any television show in the history of television. At worst, it's in the top ten. But still, that's a lot of great television it's better than. Really. Well, quite a decent amount, at least.

Seaon 3 should be amazing. There's some shit/fan hitting gonna be thrown down. This is the only thing that has ever compelled me to get cable and HBO. The fact that I'll have to wait until who knows when to see Season 4 is killing me.

And then it's a month before Lost Season 2 comes out. This is the best show currently airing on network tv. It's nothing like The Wire (except the extended novel-y aspect). It's great fun, though, and season 2 was so consistently good that I look forward to seeing it again (and fast-forwarding through the Kate's horse story — the season's only weakness).

Actually, both shows have really incredible casting going for them too.

And speaking of great recent tv I haven't seen, in between those two releases will be Battlestar Galactica Season 2.5 and Veronica Mars Season 2.

At some point, I need to get these comics done, but who can work thinking about dvds?!?!?!

Friday, July 21, 2006


Esther Baxter. Damn. DAMN. DAMN. DAMN.

I have so much I would like to blog about. Seriously. Not having the internet at work is killing me. But I'll just do this short bit, a short bit about Esther Baxter, the most hottingest woman to ever live on the planet Earth (hi, luvumscrunch!).

Okay. Sorry about that. I didn't see that weird-ass thing coming. That's what happens when you're drunk. You start worrying about the other people reading your blog. Both of them. That's right. The E.B. isn't as hot as you. Not nearly. Seriously. If that goddess face and break-molds-for-the-sake-of-breakin'-molds (shouldn't-ever-make-another-human, move-on-to-some-other-species) body should ever walk into my sad little world and tell me that I'm the man of her mutha-fuggin' dreams, the first words out of my mouth are, "Woman, I got a girl." Seriously. No second thoughts. None at all. None.

Anyway, I should be writing about Gilbert Hernandez' Sloth (which isn't as good as his Palomar work but is Tony the Tiger grrrreat in a Lost Highway way), but I'm writing about Esther Baxter.

Because I can.

Since I can't get onto the internet during a particlarly slow period at work, I've found myself buying the magazines: The Source, Rue Morgue, Screem, Scientific American, Juxtapose and, damn-it-if-the-gods-ain't-smilin', Black Men issue 68: SSX Presents... ESTHER BAXTER.

I first "discovered" Esther in XXL's Eye Candy. A shout out to King Leisure (messer Marcos Pérez), the greatest retoucher in all the lands, for getting a job at King magazine and getting free copies of a magazine that would touch me like your dirty Uncle Ernie. In the photoshoot featuring Ms. Baxter, she is photographed covering herself with honey. Covering her perfect 5'7", 34DD-24-40 frame in honey. HONEY! With one of those honeycomb sticks! I saw a lady that night should be havin' my baby. My baby. Or, you know, shouldn't be havin' my baby but should be causin' me to catch a cramp in my leg. I was in love. True, unconditional, love. Probably the only time I've felt that way about someone in a magazine.

So, imagine my suprise when I see Esther Baxter magazine. Okay, the mag has it's flaws. Not the least of which is that cover. What?! Why is Esther bleached?!?! It's embarassing, and Black Men magazine should be fuckin' ashamed. But inside (and inside a woman is all that really matters) is spectacular. It's 98% Esther (for some reason there's two other chicks at the end) minus the ads. Esther, Esther, Esther.

Oh, sweet Esther. If a rose smelled as sweet, they wouldn't be able to call it a rose anymore.

Sure, she's a video girl. Sure, she's dating some dude from the NBA. But she's got an Associate's Degree. Sure, she's a model. Sure, "video girl" isn't the term and she's actually a "video ho." What does that really mean? I say, it just means that videos pretty much suck (sorry, Uncle Ralph!) and the people who make them suck almost as hard as the people who would coin suckh a phrase. Sure, I haven't a snowball's chance in the sun of Hell of even being in the same state as her. None of this matters. All that matters is, (excuse me while I cry under this rock) I have my magazine.

And it's a perfect magazine. Maybe THE perfect magazine. It has everything a human being could want (Well, maybe they could use a proofreader. "Hundreds of woman," Marcus Blassingame? I'll do it freelance. I come cheap! I'll even remind you how cool your name is when you're down!).

Esther Baxter. Remember that name. Soon enough, it could be Esther Baxter-Fox. And then you'll see my name, splattered across tabloids, as the guy who went a-rampagin' like Lizzie the Lizard, murderin' that other guy named Fox, and crying out, "He killed my Family Ties joke! He killed it! Not in a good way!"

Then R.E.M. will write a song about it all and Esther will perform it with them on David Letterman, resulting in people questioning her ethics. Years later, she'll report a third-hand story that gets semi-discredited and people will lose all faith in her, prefering a reporter who revealed the entirety of her colon to the unemployed masses of America.

Our future may not be bright, Esther, but at least you won't have to wear shades.

Wow. I must be really drunk. Oh. Look at the time, Morris Day...

(Disclaimer: None of the above are from this mag. I suck.)

Monday, July 17, 2006


Throw the furniture first.

See, if I knew how angry I'd get after spending more than an hour searching for my bristol pad, I might have thrown the chair earlier in the evening and found the damn thing. Then, maybe, the apartment wouldn't be as hot inside as it is outside. And I wouldn't have scraped another knuckle.


Happy birthdays! I never remember the actual dates:

Peter Sweets!
Newjob Mouse!
That other guy!
Some girl!
Probably another!

I'll raise toast to you soon. Probably tomorrow. Or Wednesday. And Thursday.


Marcos! I saw the email. I did NOT see it in the cliff face email, though. Wha hoppen? I'll check tcj tomorrow and see if there's more details. While raising toast to those kids. We should jam toast on Thursday. Mmm... jam toast. Mmm... Saranatha Jam toast.

Thursday, July 13, 2006


I was reading Justin Gray's Mercenary Mind interviews with Matt Kennedy head of Panik House Entertainment, a new Asian/Mexican horror/exploitation distribution company.

And it was interesting enough to read over morning coffee, but then I went to the website (above) and checked out some of the trailers.

Here's a page with some. If Blind Beast vs. Killer Dwarf and Screwed don't look like the greatest things since Trapped in the Closet, then there may be no hope for you. They might be crap, but those trailers look like everything a human could want in a movie.

Out of curiosity, I clicked on the amazon links, figuring that the specialty exploitation market would exploit my wallet as many do (seriously, I would own the entire Russ Meyer library if they didn't charge arms and legs for dvds, seriously). Amazon has them for $13.99. $13.99!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Holy, holy. I would pay that for crap, nevermind something that looks f-oop-ckin' awesome. Now I just have to get someone to accept my UPS shipment...


that I really want to hear Xiu Xiu's cover of Don't Cha, written by Cee-Lo and made famous by the robopussycat dolls? No. No, it is not wrong. It's a good song even if it was hard to hear it through the Dolls' inhuman performance. Now I'll get to hear it as if it was pain musicified.

Someday, I would like to hear it done straight up, and by humans. Is that asking too much? Yes. Yes, it probably is.


And fuck me, but reading The Left-Bank Gang and not realising that the Jean-Paul character was Jean-Paul Sartre, makes me think that I really am as dumb as I look. Suddenly, the book is ten times funnier. And ten times shorter than I wish it was. I feel like the guy at the end of the "I love you this much" joke asking, "Huh. But who's Jesus?" That's what I did. "Huh. But why give such a prominent role to some French dude? Wasn't anyone else famous in the twenties?"

Wednesday, July 12, 2006


I'm offline at work. For a week. Apparently we've all been spending so much time online that we've slowed the server down too much. Sonovabitchcakes.

I'll probably be doing less of the blogging then.


The studio is up and running. The apartment itself isn't done, buts it's way too ballshot to be working in any room that isn't airconditioned. Maybe the kitchen and bathroom can be cleaned in September. Ewwww...

And I'm finally back to working after months and months of false starts. Weeeee...

And I'm doing it all without pants. Woo-hoo!


Listening to the Thom Yorke album. Honestly, my expectations went down a bit for Radiohead after Amnesiac wasn't the most amazing thing ever made and they went lower when they called the next album Hail to the Thief, and went lower when I heard that minor work, so I wasn't expecting much from the solo album.

Well, it's not the sort of thing to send me Juggernutting to IM declaring "OMG! TY is the !m/ he is so cul if u dont think so ur gay!" But it is not bad. It's sort of what you might expect a Radiohead album to sound like if the other dudes didn't show up one day. That said, "if u dont love Jonny Greenwood ur a fag! IMHO, YMMV."

Also, I don't know how to make a backslash.


Jason's The Left Bank Gang came out and it suffers from the same problem I have with most of Jason's work: it's too short. Now, mind you, Jason manages to get everything into his stories and there's nothing really left out of these catsndoggen jams of noiratelling, but when you've got a boxing/heist story involving the struggling cartoonists Ernest Hemmingway, James Joyce, Ezra Pound and F. Scott Fitzgerald all discussing the art like they're the L'Association founders, you can't help but wish that this beautifully drawn, colored and told story was 400,000 pages long instead of 46.

Monday, July 10, 2006


And she said please keep on goin
I said my leg is about to crack"

I have tasted the lips of god. HOLY SH-oop-T. I'm not stoned. I'm not drunk. I got nuthin' in my system, but I am trippin' my face off.

I have now seen Chapters 1–12 of R. Kelly's Trapped in the Closet.

This is perhaps the single greatest thing I have seen all year.

We will have a party, and we will do nothing but watch Trapped in the Closet. And then we will watch the commentary. And then we'll watch it again. And again. And again. And f-oop-ckin' again. And I won't even have to pull out my barretta — I won't have to pull out my barretta — no won't have to pull out my barretta —just to make you staaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyy...

I bow my head to the man's superior genious.


Marcos took us out to eat last night at the Merchant. That was nice. It was all to thank C-Man and Mouse for helping him with the moving. I didn't help nearly as much, but benefitted from Kenny's fullness. HAHAHAHAHA


Anyway, it was very much an assemblage of villains, just like the characters in Villains United the Gail Simone-written miniseries that led up to Infinite Crisis. This is my first Simone comic, and it was really quite enjoyable. Not awesome or Morrisonish, but pretty much what you'd expect a super comic to read like if you skipped the past 16 years or so of super comics.

Let's see, Lex Luthor has decided to reform the Society of Super Villains and call them just The Society (which makes sense, never understood why they'd call themselves villains, or Evil or whatever). He gets Dr. Psycho (he's a dwarf?), Deathstroke the Terminator, R'a's a'l G'h'ul's daughter, Black Adam and the Calculator to get all the super villains together onto one team. Apparently, the Justice League had brainwashed Batman and evil Dr. Light and maybe some other people and all the villains are asceared they're next. Actually, the setup is pretty confusing, picking up random panels from lesser comics and trying to tell you Luthor's plan when it knows full-well it can't tell you Luthor's REAL plan, but it really wants too.

The setup also has some clunky bits trying to explain who these people are and why THEY are in charge. As we all know, it should be Luthor, Braniac, Toyman, Black Manta, Gorilla Grodd, Sinestro, Cheetah, Giganta... Honestly, I'm a nerd and I didn't know what the hell H.I.V.E. was (it's Cobra bees, run by R'a's' a'l' g'h'u'l's daughter). I missed the part where Deathstroke was anything but blonde-fro

Jericho's dad (now he's the greatest guy at what he does and what he does is spend most of his day putting this on

"I'll terminate you soon enough! Just trying to remember where the chainmail... OH! It goes there!") I'm not sure who the Calculator is. He's smart. Whatever, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because Simone knows you might not know, and just makes that part of the story. And if you still don't know at the end, then it probably didn't matter.

Anyway, they're recruiting all the baddies and killing or hurting anyone who doesn't join. So, of course there have to be some kids who don't join, like The Fiddler (heh), Catman, Deadshot, Cheshire (poison Elektra sorta), Ragdoll III, some chick and a random Parademon. They form the Secret Six and do battle the Society.

That's pretty much it, but each issue has action and intrigue and little plot twists and maybe it would help to know about Vandall Savage or Blockbuster, but mostly it's about ejoying the team dynamics of this suicide squad. Like West Coast Avengers or Deep Space 9, it's the misfits of a fictional universe, and someone's having a good time playing with them.

There's a one-shot out there, which I think was really just one of the missing issues from Infinite Crisis and now there's a new miniseries: Secret Six, I think. Fun stuff, and what I'd want from a random superhero comic picked up to airbag the heavy stuff.


I haven't wanted a toy this bad in years. Mr. Bumper.


I kept telling people that I was going to watch The Gingerbread man, but it turns out it was The Gingerdead Man. It's not like I got a different movie than I was expecting, I just think more people would have clamored to see The Gingerdead Man. No one clamored to see The Gingerbread Man, so I watched it alone, inagurating my new elbow-roomed status.

I saw The Gingerdead Man at the video store a few weeks ago, and made sure it would be my final netflix video on Marcos' piggyback. I had to see this. Gary Busey is a killer sent to the electric chair, only to be reincarnated as a killer gingerbread man cookie with retribution on his mind. All in 60 minutes! It couldn't possibly be bad! It's Child's Play in cookie form! And all in 60 minutes MUST mean it's all packed in there. It must be STACKED with ridiculousness. It's from Charles Band, who produced Robot Jocks, Puppet Master, Demonic Toys, Ghoulies, etc!

I was all set. Set for excitement. Set for laughs. Set for a killer gingerbread man cookie. With Gary Busey's voice. Imagine all the killer cookie puns! Think of all the possible ways to kill through bakery equipment! Picture the all-important shower scene! In a bakery! No, really! Do it! I'm not kidding. Seriously. Don't even think, "Oh, whatever, maybe I'll see this movie, I don't need to imagine these things. Yes you do. You need to imagine them, because they still don't exist.

It starts off well enough. Gary Busey is robbing a diner. He shoots a waitress in the head in a wonderful piece of low-budget editing that I rewatched three times. Busey seems to be crazy, and he mentions his mother. He kills an old guy and his son, but leaves the daughter behind.

For some reason, Busey's arrest, trial, threat of beyond-the-grave revenge and execution are all skipped during the four-minute opening credits. I fast-forwarded the credits at 16X , and they still took too long. But, hey, skipping all that was probably a result of only having Busey for a short time.

They could have had a quick shot of momma Busey vowing revenge through witchcraft though. Something.

Instead, we get 30 minutes (half the movie) of standard b-movie business. The bakery is being threatened by a corporate restaurant to shut down. A buy-out is propsed. The hard-working bakery girl is set against the pretty, stuck-up rich girl. The retarded guy isn't retarded but is a wrestling fan (it's quite a swerve when you realize he's NOT the man love), the man love is with the rich girl but seriously likes the hard-working girl, there's a friend who says something Spanish, a drunk, gun-toting mom, lots of wondering about the beyond-the-grave threats, talk of titty bars and then...

The catfight. Okay. All that setup went on waaaaay too long, but here we are at the catfight. In a bakery! There's a pie to the face and then... they start pinching flour off cookie tray and start kind of flicking it at each other. What?

Then the lightning strike and weird mumbling and it's Frankenstein's cookie! HAHAHAHAHAHA. He's running around, and you don't really see him. And everyone's worried. The man-love is the only one crackin' wise. EVERYbody should be either scared shitless or crackin wise.

There's the finger dismemberment. That's good. Gingerdead man hanging over the side of a thing and taunting. That's good. Watching the lovers fall in love? Not good. Barely seeing Gingerdaed man throughout the movie? Not good. The closest they come to a creative bakery killing is when something spanish gets knocked out and locked in a freezer decorated as a cake. Oh, the death of Gingerdead Man was pretty fun. But wha hoppen? Where did it all go wrong?

According to the extras, they made the monster pretty cheap, but REALLY well. He is very cool looking. They made a life-size puppet, a dummy for tossing/dying, another version (I think) and one that could be worn by a dude for tight closeups. But you don't see enough of him. You see more in the EXTRAS! I understand that they probably wanted him to look good (but he did!) and wanted to mask all the hands/wires/whatever, but I'd rather see some innapropriate hands than listen to that turgid dialogue! And when a killer cookie starts firing a revolver loaded with at least thirty bullets, the last thing the viewer is worried about is less-than-stellar cookie effects.

Man. What a let-down.

Friday, July 07, 2006


don't hide it like Christmas.


What time is my pee? I don't know. Marcos took my pee clocdk. Forts bloggo drunk take that!

So new Thursday totally went the crazy, First tim, we do the jammo! Chaeck it out one time when I scan it on the dillies.

I do it. I do it all. Yuouil' see. Oh. Youl''k see. One time,

So then we get in argu oh my gor ¸Samaranaantha us the bisiness,. The serious business. Fuck couch guy. FUCK COUCH GUY @!!!!!!

An so we get ibn the fight, THe argument odf ages. OF AGES!!!!@ Seruoiusly.

So, I don't kive no Van Vorst. I live the fuckin' Grove Street. O live the fuckin' juhnny Cash Dpwntoen the fucking Gonny cash down tonw! Serrious;y. SeiouSL!!!!!

None if the last shit I typed typed two times cause the ITUNES!!!! whay I clkick you inr times EHT I clicj you one tinmes!!!?????????

Serious;ly. Maybe Kenny lives it in that one place and maybe Marvcos neeeds to find his ambiguous pklace onet ine. Where he at? Who knopws. WHO KNOWS!>!?!?! !?!?!?!?! õ one. His directions put him pone place. His saytings pout him otherplace. Battleworlds. War wolrds. Issaac Benson Bommer Venom,.

Check it one timer. I',, put it up and you'yy sseee Seriously. Seriosly. That the thing. Across 100th St. Seriously.

Thursday, July 06, 2006


Parenthetical Girls
"Several songs hearken to the innocent flirty teen-pop ballads of the late 50s and early 60s, suggesting that Phils Spector and Glass should have worked together, or at least deejayed an experimental prom. Sweeping tunes "The Weight She Fell Under" and "Stolen Children" both smell like teen Fallujah, and will cure anybody's womb envy, but they passionately want to know if you'll still love them tomorrow."

So, Pitchfork has got a writer I like one time, this William Bowers. I miss the good writings on the site. Maybe I'll check more of his stuff. He spends a LOT of time comparing the band to Xiu Xiu, but that just makes me all the more curious. I'll definitely check all up on Parenthetical Girls.


I must have the office computer of absolute power, because it corrupts fonts absolutely. I can't read what I'm writing and I can't read what you've written, so don't blame me.


Rick Veitch's Can't Get No. When I started this blog, one of the first things I posted was my joy that this book was finally coming out. I have now tried reading it. It looks nice. But it is the crap. It's essentially a good hundreds-of-pages wordless comic with the most atrocious narative captioning ever. Dracula, the Dirty Old Man bad. Unlike that movie, you have to read this captioning. It completely destroys what should be an otherwise enjoyable story.


YouTube crazy in love. Moving Marcos out and spreading my eagles in the apartment has left me too tired to do much work, so I've gone YouTube creezy instead. Wrestling stuff in particular. Watching the new ECW choke on its own Picard has been entertaining (some good matches) and depressing (ruined by poor booking). Watched some NOAH —Kenta vs. Kenta Kobashi in March was pretty great. Some indy stuff — Eddie Guerero v. Rey Mysterio v. C.M. Punk in front of about 40 people in a ring where the ropes were more draped than strung. Some Pride, which pretty much turned me off of MMA. Yes, they are actually fighting in these matches, but it is not entertaining. Give me entertaining fake fighting any day.

Also checked out Left-Eye's Block Party. Why her album was never released in the U.S., I'll never understand.


Okay, so maybe I have done some work. Very little, mind you. While I'm still a bit of a way away from setting up the apartment, I have done some sketches and studies. I was thinking about the 'memory' issue of EMAW and what I'd like to do for the cover. I had an idea in mind, but sort of scrapped it. I had another in mind, but then I started reading Joe Quesada's blog. He's been blogging about the process he goes through in creating a cover for some Wolverine book. Cover from Hell Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 and Part 5.

I always thought of Quesada as one of the more interesting of the 'phase 2' Image-generation artists, and his work can still be fun. And I love process stories, so this was a fun read. But the whole thing made me think about something I do many time tanies, and I'm sure a number of other cartoonists do as well: we go with what comes first. Sure, we sometimes work an image over, tighten it, fix it, whatever. Sometimes we find that something isn't workingand we change it. But I'd be surprised if a lot of us thumbnail out a great variety of options before we settle on the best one. Cartooning is so labor-intensive as it is, the idea of adding more tasks is akin to turning a minicomic into a variation of one of Xeno's paradoxes.

But. I'm not doing much work right now, and I recalled something my erstwhile roommate and I once discussed again for the first time. We talked about the amount of thought and preparation and arguing that goes into producing a magazine cover. I think he had been working on the Kelis cover of King when he realised just how much goes into something like that. So, thinking about Quesada's blogging, Kelis and the book in question, I began working on some cover variations. I wound up covering a few sheets of paper with little ideas. Maybe I'll post some.

The problem is, I now find mice elf with a few different options. They could all work. None of them is perfect, since each lacks quality aspects of the others. It's an interesting conundrum...

Monday, July 03, 2006


Well, to truly commemorate Independence Day, I'm spending July third beneath the oppressive thumb of the tyrant.

Under the impression this would be a short day, it turns out it's just a mind-numbingly slow day. Came in on the early shift, did about a half-hour's work and have spent most of the day waiting. Waiting. Waiting. There's usually more than thrity people in the design department during the day. Today there's six. So it's also quiet. And I don't think the air is working properly. And I'm tired from lifting and cleaning all weekend and not properly sleeping last night.

Look at that, I start to blog and now they want me out of here. I should have posted earlier!
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