Eddie Campbell, Comics

Eddie Campbell is one of my very favorite comic book people. A few sample pages from his upcoming issue of CAPTAIN AMERICA are here.

Eddie drew FROM HELL and wrote and drew the wonderful series of ALEC books, including my personal favorite, "How to be an Artist." He usually works in black and white--in fact, I think this is the only time I've seen his work in color, aside from the ALEC and BACCHUS covers. I don't think I would have recognized these pages as Eddie's work if I hadn't known it was him beforehand.

Eddie is my kinda dude. He took the money he made from the FROM HELL film deal and started a magazine, EGOMANIA, that included interviews, letters, and serialized chapters of his new comics work, "The History of Humor." He published it himself through Eddie Campbell Comics out of Australia, distributed here in the states by the very fine folks at Top Shelf. It lasted all of two issues before he ran out of cash and shut down his publishing operation, just like he knew it would. But he still went ahead and did it for two issues, because it was something he desperately wanted to do. Sure, it wasn't financially responsible--but when are fun ideas financially responsible?

I believe Eddie has a Batman project in the works too, a painted graphic novel. I'd certainly rather see "The History of Humor" completed and collected, but it's kind of like Willem Dafoe in Spider-Man--Eddie has to take the high profile pervert suit jobs to make enough money to finance the smaller, more personal jobs. It will definitely be interesting, so who can complain?

On a comic nerd note, Eddie on CAPTAIN AMERICA is probably the last of the "New Marvel" projects, where the company was under Jemas and Quesada and willing to try new things. They were out of cash and floundering and J & Q were loud and obnoxious and rude, and they were throwing cash around. They were putting out super hero books, to be sure, but a few of them were really, really good super hero books. Morrison on NEWXMEN, Milligan and Allred on X-STATIX, James Sturm on FANTASTIC FOUR: UNSTABLE MOLECULES . . . it was good stuff. But Morrison has moved back to DC already, Sturm's project was a mini-series, and the last issue of X-STATIX is out sometime this summer. Jemas is out the door, too. By all accounts he was a little on the unstable side himself, but there were interesting projects coming out of Marvel for a few months there. Now it's back to being a factory for future movie projects, selling stories about super heroes written for teenagers to thirty year old men. When Bill Jemas shows up at my door selling #2 pencils out of a suitcase, I won't let him near my cat or anything, but I will give him a high five.

Yay!

Well, yes.

Check out James Kochalka's current strip before the next one is posted, and that pretty sums up my super secret thoughts on Ronald Reagan, too.

D-Day

In an ABC News report on the 60th Anniversary of D-Day, a reporter talked to a veteran who was there for the first wave that hit the beach:

Q: Did you learn any lessons from that war?

A: Yeah, we don't need another one.

I think we go about these things the wrong way, these venerations of acts of war. War should be an act of desperation, the last possible alternative to a situation. In any event, it is a form of failure. If we go to war, it means things have gone terribly wrong, it means that we missed something that we shouldn't have missed, it means we've failed diplomatically. Remembrances of the days when we went to war, of the great battles and the great victories and the great defeats, should looked upon as a time of loss. When American forces stormed the beach at Normandy, it meant that somewhere in the previous ten to twenty years, we lost the chance, or destroyed the chance, to win through other means. Remembering D-Day shouldn't be a rally to war, or a time to remember great battles, or a time to celebrate victories. It should be a time to regret that it happened in the first place. It should be embarrassing and a time of regret, that we let things get that bad before we interfered, in some way or another. That we had to go to war, that we had to invade a beach and that men shot at other men and men were killed by other men, means that we failed.

It's not a time to celebrate, or to be proud of our victories.

As a post script to the previous post about Ronald Reagan, here's a quote from Mr. Reagan himself, from an interview with Mike Wallace in the 70's:

"The greatest leader isn't necessarily the one who does the greatest things, but the one who gets the people to do the greatest things."

Think about that with regard to the actions of Reagan himself as a leader, and Bill Clinton as a leader, and George W. Bush as a leader. With regard to anyone at all as a leader.

"his trademark jellybeans"

I don't think a man's death is the time to drag out all of the reasons one might have to disagree with him, but I also think it's not the time to churn out myths and exaggerations.

Reports from ABC News yesterday did a pretty balanced job of reporting Ronald Reagan's death, I thought. They mostly talked about his achievements, but they also mentioned a few of the down sides about his Presidency. The biggest national deficit until George W., the hovering spectre of Iran-Contra, cutting social programs, economic policies that continue under George W. today . . . they chalked up the Cold War as a victory attributed only to Mr. Reagan, which I would disagree with, but overall, it was pretty fair.

Reports today have been very different. They're of the Reagan Did No Wrong variety, and I expect that trend will continue for the rest of the week until his burial on Friday. One of the most heavily touted claims is that he was the most popular President of the modern era, but Gallup polls report Bill Clinton has having a higher approval rating than Reagan.

I'm not trying to start a Reagan fight today. Meredith and I have gone over that before. But there are a lot of myths out there, and when the subject of them finally passes away, the myths flare up brighter than ever before.

Never doubt the Cos!

Visited the Printer's Row Bookfair today. At a panel for contributors to the Believer, moderated by Daniel Handler, Daniel brought a group of kids on stage at the end, all of them under 10. I can't say for sure how old they were, because I am not That Way, but I'm going to go with 11, at most. He put them in a row at a the table previously occupied by Believer contributors and went down the line, asking them a series of questions. This is a rough transcription.

Q: So when are you getting married, anyway?

A: I don't know. 25 seems like a good age.

Q: Have you ever been kidnapped?

A: No.

Q: Would you like to be kidnapped?

A: Yes.

Q: For a temporary period, or forever?

A: For, like, five months.

Q: Where would you like to stay while you were kidnapped?

A: In some guy's cellar, I guess.

Q: I have a cold, particularly in my throat. What would you recommend for it?

A: Take a hot bath and swallow some of the hot water, and then the cold won't be in your throat anymore.

Q: So, for my cold, you'd recommend a pun?

A: Yes.

Q: If someone in your family were a spy, who would it be?

A: My brother.

Q: Why?

A: Because he's always trying to find out when I don't do my homework, and then he tells my parents, or the teacher.

Q: When's your bedtime, and when would you like it to be?

A: 8:30 on weekdays, and I'd like it to be 9. 9 on weekends, and I'd like it to be 10.

(a rather lengthy conversation occurred here regarding what she did with her afternoons. It mostly involved supper, a bath, and watching movies. The general censuses was that she really hadn't presented a very strong case for the half-hour later bedtime.)

Q: If asked to quit school and join the circus tomorrow, would you join the circus?

A: Yes.

Q: What kind of skills do you have to offer the circus?

A: Clowning.

Q: I understand you're in a rock band called the Blisters. What do you do for the Blisters?

A: I hold up signs.

Q: What do the signs say?

A: I heart the Blisters.

He then went down the line and asked everyone what their favorite song was. The answers are as follows.

-don't know.
-"Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana.
-"Seven Nation Army" by the White Stripes.
(at which point it was remarked that they had sophisticated taste in music)
-None.
-Don't have one.
-"Meant to Live" by Switchfoot. Daniel Handler hadn't heard of that, and I haven't either.

End result of the panel--The Cos was right all along, and kids do indeed say the darnedest things.

Technical note--I'll be going back to Ohio for a few days in the middle of June, at which point there will probably be children around. I believe I will ask them things. I am hereby taking suggestions as to what I should ask them.

Also--there's a very fine film starring Adrien Brody and Milla Jovovich, written and directed by Greg Pritikin and called Dummy. It's funny and awkward and deserves to be seen.

Tony Millionaire!

Tony Millionaire did a signing at Chicago Comics tonight (and he may still be doing a signing at Chicago Comics, depending on when you read this), and it was perfectly swell to meet the man and have him sign my copy of When We Were Very Maakies. He was quite polite and friendly, and enjoyed showing off his creepy handshake.

But what I was most interested in was the couple who met Mr. Tony Millionaire right before I did. A fella and his lady, the fella lingered back behind his girlfriend. He was pretty quiet and wore a backpack; she clutched a Maakies book in her hands and had a big ol' grin, and I thought, "This is a pleasant surprise. A girl is dragging her dude to meet a comic artist." I didn't think it in those words so much, but the sentiment was there. It Made Me Happy. But then she introduced her boyfriend to Tony as "Your #1 Fan," to which Tony smiled and pleasantly, and The Fan smiled sheepishly. They chatted briefly about how Tony wished his strip ran in the Chicago Reader, (he's too famous, they told him), and about how The Fan was an aspiring comics writer. They shook hands again (there was some confusion over the creepiness of the creepy handshake--apparently only one person is allowed to be creepy at a time. I know it's vague, but just trust me--if you received this handshake, and my friend, I will be happy to demonstrate the next time you and I are out for pop and Indian food, you would be a little creeped out), and The Fan and His Lady left. I stepped up and had my book signed (and replied truthfully no when T.M. asked if I worked for the Reader) while The Fan and His Lady lingered to my right.

"What?" Tony Millionaire asked.

"What?" said The Fan.

"Do you want to ask me something?" Tony Millionaire asked.

"What?" said The Fan.

"Do you want to ask me something? Do you want to give me your zine?" Tony Millionaire asked.

"What? No," said The Fan.

"Are you in love?" Tony Millionaire asked.

"What?" said The Fan. "With her?"

Tony Millionaire smiled, arched his eyebrows and pointed to himself.

"Oh," said The Fan, and his face turned red.

"He is," said His Lady.

"Do you love her too?" Tony Millionaire asked.

"Yes," said The Fan.

I left the store a few steps behind The Fan and His Lady. His Lady spotted me on the train platform and asked how it looked, because The Fan was feeling a bit embarrassed about the exchange. He's a big fan after all (#1 is what I've heard), and he reads the strip every Wednesday. I told him it all looked fine to me, and to just remember that besides being a swell and inventive cartoonist, Tony Millionaire is just some guy drinking a beer (which he was). The Fan said yeah, he knew that, but he still gets nervous.

My train was approaching and I had to run. I told him again that it was fine, that I was sure Tony Millionaire was flattered. His Lady thanked me, I gave them a thumb's up, and headed home.


NEXT: Why kids maybe aren't so bad after all.

Damn, Bill Murray!

Coffee & Cigarettes is written and directed by Jim Jarmusch. I saw it tonight at the Music Box in Chicago.

I will say this--there are some very good bits in it. The flick is made up of a series of vignettes, and everyone knows the gimmick by now. They all involve smoking cigarettes, they all involve drinking coffee. They were filmed over the course of 17 years, and I'd be curious to know which were filmed when. In some of the pieces, there seems to be a greater awareness of the piece as a whole. I particular enjoyed the three pieces that closed the film, "Cousins?" with Alfred Molina and Steve Coogan, "delirium" with RZA, GZA, and Bill Murray, and "Champagne" with Taylor Mead and Bill Rice.

The film wins the most when it repeats itself--Tom Waits and RZA are both doctors, for example, and they're both late for the meetings (with Iggy Pop and GZA, respectively) because they've been caught up in minor medical emergencies. Tesla pops up a few times, as does the fact that those things will kill you. The same cell phone (all Star Trek flip-open style) pops up a few times, and dreams as fast as the Indy 500.

When the vignettes work, they work very well. But when they don't, they derail pretty badly. The pauses are long and awkward, and not in a real life kind of way--more like in a forced acting kind of way. I really wanted to like the pieces with Steven Wright & Roberto Benigni and Steve Buscemi, Cinque Lee, and Joie Lee, but they didn't come together. The actors seemed to be on different pages. While Bill Murray as a busboy worked quite well, Steve Buscemi as a busboy was more distracting than anything else.

"No Problem," about two friends reuniting with one insisting that all is well in his life and the other not quite believing, brought the movie to a halt. Many of the problems I have with the movie are when nothing happens in the vignettes but banal back and forth conversations. Truth can be found in everyday conversations, to be sure, but it's obvious that this film is going about it the wrong way when a piece like "Champagne," with two old men on a coffee break, flows so well and "No Problem" simply looks like it tries too hard.

Having said that, there were things that worked really, really well in Coffee & Cigarettes, things that needed work, and things that went the wrong way entirely. But it's certainly worth seeing for the former.

Put the Carpenter In

From John Moe's list of Kerry's Top 20 VP candidates, over at McSweeney's:

4. Bill Clinton, former President

Pro: Oh man, that would be awesome—could you imagine? He'd be all like "Yeah, I'm back, so suck on this, y'all" and everyone would be all "No way" and he'd be all "Way"
Con: None

and

14. Ann Coulter, columnist

Pro: Flattering position would silence her exposing of the true evil liberal agenda
Con: Is composed entirely of spiders and deadly snakes writhing beneath a latex "skin"

"Um, no we, um, didn't."

A Pentagon e-mail said Vice President Dick Cheney (news - web sites)'s office "coordinated" a multibillion-dollar Iraq reconstruction contract awarded to his former employer Halliburton, Time magazine reported on Sunday.

The e-mail said Feith, who reports to Deputy Defense Secretary Paul Wolfowitz, approved arrangements for the contract "contingent on informing WH (White House) tomorrow. We anticipate no issues since action has been coordinated w VP's (vice president's) office."

"Vice President Cheney and his office have had no involvement whatsoever in government contracting matters since he left private business to run for vice president," said Kevin Kellems, a spokesman for Cheney.

(And the best part is, no one will notice. The media will still be talking about, as my local Chicago TV news put it, "why Al Gore *doesn't* want you to see 'The Day After Tomorrow.'")

Did you say "the children"?

If you have a decent interweb connection, check out this game. It features Hulk Hogan, Mr. T and Fat He-Man fighting Bush and his team of RoBeasts. Also, Darth Rumsfeld, who took me a while to beat with that spinning lightsaber of his. You get more characters as you go along, and Screamin' Howard DEAN was obviously my favorite.

It's also pretty informative, if a bit heavy-handed, on exactly why Bush has been such a horrible president, aside from all of that war business. Sent my way by The Jenny, official member of the Nati Crew.

(I really think the Nati Crew deserves its own website. Someone get on that.)

What I Write About When I Should Be Getting Work Done

What is there was a super-hero whose power was that other people had the super-powers he imaginged they had? Mostly it would be things like, if he ran into a girl he liked on the street, she would be able to sense the last time he masturbated. Or, his mom would have a tingly alarm sense that went off whenever he slept in too late.

Al Gore Speaks

A selection of prepared remarks by Al Gore. Read the full transcript at moveonpac.org.

In my opinion, John Kerry is dealing with this unfolding tragedy in an impressive and extremely responsible way. Our nation's best interest lies in having a new president who can turn a new page, sweep clean with a new broom, and take office on January 20th of next year with the ability to make a fresh assessment of exactly what our nation's strategic position is as of the time the reigns of power are finally wrested from the group of incompetents that created this catastrophe.

Kerry should not tie his own hands by offering overly specific, detailed proposals concerning a situation that is rapidly changing and unfortunately, rapidly deteriorating, but should rather preserve his, and our country's, options, to retrieve our national honor as soon as this long national nightmare is over.

Eisenhower did not propose a five-point plan for changing America's approach to the Korean War when he was running for president in 1952.

When a business enterprise finds itself in deep trouble that is linked to the failed policies of the current CEO the board of directors and stockholders usually say to the failed CEO, "Thank you very much, but we're going to replace you now with a new CEO -- one less vested in a stubborn insistence on staying the course, even if that course is, in the words of General Zinni, "Headed over Niagara Falls."

. . . .

We desperately need a national security team with at least minimal competence because the current team is making things worse with each passing day. They are endangering the lives of our soldiers, and sharply increasing the danger faced by American citizens everywhere in the world, including here at home. They are enraging hundreds of millions of people and embittering an entire generation of anti-Americans whose rage is already near the boiling point.

We simply cannot afford to further increase the risk to our country with more blunders by this team. Donald Rumsfeld, as the chief architect of the war plan, should resign today. His deputies Paul Wolfowitz, Douglas Feith and his intelligence chief Stephen Cambone should also resign. The nation is especially at risk every single day that Rumsfeld remains as Secretary of Defense.

Condoleeza Rice, who has badly mishandled the coordination of national security policy, should also resign immediately.

George Tenet should also resign. I want to offer a special word about George Tenet, because he is a personal friend and I know him to be a good and decent man. It is especially painful to call for his resignation, but I have regretfully concluded that it is extremely important that our country have new leadership at the CIA immediately.

. . . .

So today, I want to speak on behalf of those Americans who feel that President Bush has betrayed our nation's trust, those who are horrified at what has been done in our name, and all those who want the rest of the world to know that we Americans see the abuses that occurred in the prisons of Iraq, Afghanistan, Guantanamo and secret locations as yet undisclosed as completely out of keeping with the character and basic nature of the American people and at odds with the principles on which America stands.

I believe we have a duty to hold President Bush accountable - and I believe we will. As Lincoln said at our time of greatest trial, "We - even we here - hold the power, and bear the responsibility."

1986: January 28th.

Play-Doh with my cousin Jeff. We would make vague, crude shapes, smudged with fingerprints. Blue space shuttles with pinched fins, resting atop yellow and green rocket boosters. The boosters fell away after lift off and we smashed up the clay into balls to signify them burning up in the atmosphere as they floated back down to Earth. That's what my mom said happened to them anyway, when I asked why the shuttle looked different when it landed. I don't know what happened to them, really; I guess they just float around in space, in orbit around the Earth, forever and ever, which seems pretty dangerous to me, at least if someone is going to keep sending people into space.

Jeff's booster rockets were balled up and combined with mine. Jeff flew his shuttle into space, but mine didn't make it that far. It exploded in the sky, first losing a piece of its hull as big as a pinch from my thumb and forefinger; its flight shifted into slow motion, the shuttle drifting to the side, starting to fall. Jeff's shuttle went into rescue mode, flying fast from space back to Earth, but I told him it was too late. My shuttle exploded, breaking in two, then in four, and more until it was bits and pieces raining down into the ocean, a.k.a. the kitchen table.

My mom came into the kitchen, for I don't remember what. She might have been listening, or it might have been chance.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"The space shuttle just exploded," I told her. "It's falling into the ocean." Jeff didn't say anything.

"You shouldn't play things like that," Mom told me. "That's not the kind of thing you should play."

"Well, Jeff's shuttle is going to to come save it," I said. I took one of the larger shuttle-chunks and converted it into an escape capsule, in spite of the fact I knew the real shuttle didn't have an escape capsule, in spite of the fact I knew it wasn't real.

Two years before, my mom had also warned me of my play habits. It was after her dad's funeral, maybe a few days, maybe a few weeks. It was the first funeral I'd ever been to, and it might as well have been the first person who'd ever died as far as I was concerned. I'd been in the living room with my He-Man figures and they'd come home to Castle Greyskull (then an imaginary Castle Greyskull, before the real one appeared on my birthday) to find Mekanek had died peacefully, in his sleep.

Mom sat on the couch, watching television.

"What are you doing?" she'd asked.

"Nothing," I'd said, automatically nervous from the attention.

"People dying isn't something you play," she told me. "You shouldn't play that."

"He's really asleep, and they only thought he was dead," I told her. "It was a trick." I was a quick thinker, I was.

"Well. Don't play that anymore."

I said I wouldn't.

notes stuffed in the door of my apt. building, pt. 1

leave me your phone # AINSLIE.

we need to meet up.

773-xxx-xxxx
Larry
rm. 111

Saturday on the Train

For those who don't know, I'm one of the two chaps in this photo.



Taken by Jill A. Brooks.

Draft

Heads up--I've heard whispers about this issue stirring up again in the past few weeks, but this is the first information I've read that revealed dates.

There is pending legislation in the House and Senate (twin bills: S 89 and HR 163) which will time the program's initiation so the draft can begin at early as Spring 2005 -- just after the 2004 presidential election. The administration is quietly trying to get these bills passed now, while the public's attention is on the elections, so our action on this is needed immediately.

It goes on to say: "College and Canada will not be options. In December 2001, Canada and the U.S. signed a "smart border declaration," which could be used to keep would-be draft dodgers in. Signed by Canada's minister of foreign affairs, John Manley, and U.S. Homeland Security director, Tom Ridge, the declaration involves a 30-point plan which implements, among other things, a "pre-clearance agreement" of people entering and departing each country. Reforms aimed at making the draft more equitable along gender and class lines also eliminates higher education as a shelter. Underclassmen would only be able to postpone service until the end of their current semester. Seniors would have until the end of the academic year."

Correction!

Found this on Neil Gaiman's blog. I linked to the Chernobyl pictures once upon a time, so I wanted to pass on the update.

Chornobyl "Ghost Town" story is a fabrication TOP
e-POSHTA subscriber Mary Mycio writes:

I am based in Kyiv and writing a book about Chornobyl for the Joseph Henry Press. Several sources have sent me links to the "Ghost Town" photo essay included in the last e-POSHTA mailing. Though it was full of factual errors, I did find the notion of lone young woman riding her motorcycle through the evacuated Zone of Alienation to be intriguing and asked about it when I visited there two days ago.

I am sorry to report that much of Elena's story is not true. She did not travel around the zone by herself on a motorcycle. Motorcycles are banned in the zone, as is wandering around alone, without an escort from the zone administration. She made one trip there with her husband and a friend. They traveled in a Chornobyl car that picked them up in Kyiv.

She did, however, bring a motorcycle helmet. They organized their trip through a Kyiv travel agency and the administration of the Chornobyl zone (and not her father). They were given the same standard excursion that most Chernobyl tourists receive. When the Web site appeared, Zone Administration personnel were in an uproar over who approved a motorcycle trip in the zone. When it turned out that the motorcycle story was an invention, they were even less pleased about this fantasy Web site.

Because of those problems, Elena and her husband have changed the Web site and the story considerably in the last few days. Earlier versions of the narrative lied more blatantly about Elena taking lone motorcycle trips in the zone. That has been changed to merely suggest that she does so, which is still misleading.

I would not normally bother to correct someone's silly Chornobyl fantasy. Indeed, correcting all the factual errors and falsehoods in "Ghost Town" would consume as much space as the Web site itself. But the motorcycle story was such an outrageous fiction that I thought the readers of e-Poshta should know.

Mary Mycio, J.D.

Legal Program Director
IREX U-Media
Shota Rustaveli St. 38b, No. 16
Kyiv 01023, Ukraine
Tel: (380-44) 220-6374, 228-6147
Fax: 227-7543

Doing the Right Thing

The Detroit Zoo will become the first major zoo to stop exhibiting elephants on ethical grounds because they can develop arthritis and stress-related ailments in captivity, officials said on Thursday.

"Elephants seem to be intelligent and even social in ways that are similar to humans," Kagen said. "Elephants can suffer from similar things to what we suffer from when we're in difficult environments."

Confined to zoos and circuses, elephants develop physical problems and neurotic behaviors such as rocking back and forth and aggressive behavior, he said.

"If we don't feel like we can (keep elephants), then the question is, who can and how?," he said. "For us, there really is a big question about whether elephants should be in captivity at all."

Bookslut

In case anyone didn't know, Jessica Crispin runs a really swell blog and website over at Bookslut:

Dear Comix Revolution:

Thank you for having every single comic book I needed, as well as several others that I didn't even know I wanted. Also, thank you for creating an atmosphere where I can go into a trance and just grab, hand over my books to a clerk, and be signing my receipt before I realize that the amount just read out to me was in dollars, not cents.

Much love.

Dear Bookcase Store to Remain Unnamed:

Four weeks? Are you kidding me? I was all ready to hand over a full two week unemployment check for you to make my apartment into one giant library, but then you told me it would take four weeks minimum to fulfill my order. I nearly cancelled on CB2 when they told me it would take them four days to deliver my dining room table. There's just no way I'm going to spend that much money without instant gratification. But your bookcases are very pretty. You make me sad.

Dear Borders Bookstore:

You know, I only stopped by because I had too much iced tea at lunch and you have reasonably clean bathrooms. It just so happens that your display with theReporters Without Borders magazine caught my eye. It was very shiny and pretty, and the first page I looked at was a Leonard Cohen photograph. Had to have. But then I can't just buy one magazine, even if it is ridiculously priced. I have to stock up. But I would like to specifically address this to the clerk I handed my money over to. Yes, you, asshole.

First off, it would be nice if you hadn't rudely cleared your throat at me while I was browsing your magazine section, even if I was preventing you from putting up the new issue of Budget Living magazine. Second, grumbling about customers (of which you had about four while I was there) while you're ringing me up, bitching at the new employee because she was having trouble scanning one of those weird Discover credit cards, and then rolling your eyes at me for buying Black Book, telling me I was only buying it because there was a cute boy on the cover... all of these things make you a bastard. I was buying Black Book because of Anthony Bourdain. I would just like to thank you for reminding me that I should always just pay the 25 cent transfer, get off at the Main stop and give my money to the lovely people at the newsstand. And next time I have time before a movie, I'll just go to the bar in the theater (yeah, there's a bar in the movie theater) instead of buying magazines from you. Motherfucker.

Dear Michael:

Thank you for the comic book recommendations over lunch. I am now broke.

Holy Effing Ess

An amateur unmanned rocket has been launched into space from the Nevada desert - the first time this has been achieved by a privately-built vehicle.

The Rocket Man

I took in "The Rocket Man" tonight, at the House Theatre, with Meredith, who is in town for some sort of debate team hullaballoo. (And just a brief aside, Meredith will henceforth be known as Professor Smith, or simply The Professor, as that is apparently what she is.) It's written by Phillip Klapperich and put on by the same group of kids who did "Death and Harry Houdini" and "San Valentino and the Melancholy Kid" earlier in the season. The House is doing a swell job putting on live theatre in Chicago and they take risks while staying true to the good ol' Unities. The Rocket Man differs from their previous shows this season in that it wasn't written by Nathan Allen, who served as director this time around, but it still does a lot of neat things.

While the 3D sequence is the most obvious standout of the show, I think the use of dance is more noteworthy. I'm not a dance expert by any means, and I don't know the strict definition of "interpretive dance," but Meredith seems to think that's what it was. I'm more inclined to call it "metaphoric dance," but I don't know if that's a real thing or not. It occurs a few times throughout the play, most notably when Earthling Doug meets Martian Ylla in a dream-world, and later when Doug tries to escape from his Martian captors. The sequence with Ylla is beautiful and it's apparent that both actors have had some ballet training. It's a lovely representation of the first searching and exploratory time you sleep with someone, and it flows with the narrative of the play as a whole. I would have liked to have seen more dancing, or perhaps simply more dance-like rhythmic motions, perhaps in the early Martian sequences, or more prevalently in Doug and Ylla's dreamtime meetings.

The 3D sequence, on the other hand, is neat, but it sticks out and seems unnecessary. I applaud the House for trying new things, and the sequence itself is very well done, but it seems superfluous. It's a trick they might come in handy in a later production, and certainly would seem to be a natural fit in a play that plays reverent homage to 50's sci-fi culture, and it is perhaps a way to avoid staging a scene so similar to those that have come before, but it does little besides go beyond the "wow, neat" factor.

One of the big hurdles they faced in staging this production was the fact that the script calls for several rocket ship blastoffs. They're cleverly done as it is, and it's especially neat when the crew of the rocket ships and those observing the blastoffs switch places, but I can't help but feel there was a better way to do it. I suggested to The Professor using actors in place of the styrofoam rockets, but that might have proven more distracting, or even hokier than necessary if the "rocket costumes" looked even clumsier than someone flying around the rocket ship models; still, while it seems like they're in the ballpark with the method they use, it seems like there could be something better. Again, they took on a challenge, and I respect the methods they used and their ingenuity.

Overall, it's a strong story and the actors are outstanding. The tickets are trading cards of the cast and crew, as with the other shows of the 2003-2004 season, and the themes presented in Houdini and San Valentino run through Rocket Man as well. I was especially taken by Ylla, played by Carolyn Defrin. She plays a Martian girl taken in by the idea that love will always wait, and Doug, played by Chris Mathews, who feels that love can't wait forever. They make a swell pair and I hope to see them both, and the entire cast and crew, when the 04-05 season kicks off in August with a play called "Cave With Man."

"The Rocket Man" is playing through June 26 at the House Theatre at the Viaduct, 3111 N. Western Ave., Chicago. Give them a call at 773-525-0596 and enjoy their spectacular science-fiction goodness.

Pens

Yanked from Atrios:

"Sometimes it's so simple. Here's a message from Terry, who used to run the weblog Nitpicker until he got busy doing other things:

'All,

As many of you know, I am currently in the apolitical position of Army public affairs specialist in Afghanistan. I only recently arrived, after waiting for 2.5 months at Ft. Riley, Kansas, but that's another issue. I'm writing you all today because I'm going to take many of you up on your offers and rudely ask a favor of those who made no offer.

When I first mentioned on my blog, Nitpicker, that I was going to be deployed, a large number of you asked how you could help me, what I would need for Afghanistan. The truth is, there's not much. However, I just went on my first mission with a civil affairs group and found a way you might be able to help me out.

It seems that the children of Afghanistan want nothing more than they want a pen.

It was explained to me that the villages through which I traveled (near Kandahar, where I'm based) are so poor that a pen is like a scholarship to these children. They desperately want to learn but, without a pen, they simply won't. It's a long story. I won't bore you with it. Trust me, though, when I say that it would be a big deal if even a few of you could put up the call for pens for me. Anyone interested in helping out could either send some directly to me or go to these sites and send them, where you can find them for as cheap as $.89 a dozen.

You can send them to me at this address:

Terry L. Welch
105th MPAD
Kandahar Public Affairs Office
APO AE 09355 '

I edited out his site list - he linked to Officemax and Office Depot. Office Depot was making it very difficult to enter a military shipping address, so I went through Office Max. Spend a few bucks - send a few pens.

...Office Max does require a delivery address phone number, but I just put in my own. I put in "Armed Forces" rather than Armed Forces America or Armed Forces Pacific..."

Stella

If you were into the State on MTV or the flick Wet Hot American Summer, catch Stella this Friday on Comedy Central. They're Michael Ian Black, Michael Showalter, David Wain and they're all swell, funny gentlemen.

It Seems So Big

create your own personalized map of the USA

I made a map of visited states using World 66. I didn't count the states only flown or driven through. For you global wanderers, you can do the same with an international map.

Found via KellySue.

Connecting to the Chicken

Playing around with the chicken--the jumpy nature of the webcam gives ample opportunity for "stock footage" usage, and a few times it confirmed my suspicions when the chicken shifts position completely between "jumps" of the camera. So no, Meredith, I'm afraid there is no army of people in chicken suits, as we had hoped, once upon a star. Nonetheless, Burger King gets a high five, despite being one of those evil fast food corporation type jammies.

Huh.

The Complete Idiot's Guide to Creating a Graphic Novel.

He did jumping jacks for me.

SubserviantChicken.

Thanks to Annie for finding the website that pretty much sums up our culture in the 21st Century.

I feel strange.

Train Story

Oddly enough: after you told me the story of how you saved a pigeon from behind a CTA Transit Card machine, I found myself on the el at Howard, on the red line, waiting for the train to leave. The car was mostly empty when I stepped in, and I took my seat near the doors, in the first row that faces forward, as I always do when I have the opportunity. I was sitting and staring down at my bag, not wanting to read, not sure of what to write, but not wanting to go through the ride in silence, either. The doors were still open. There was a rush of wind and a breeze on my face, then a thump against the window above me. I heard flapping wings and I lowered my head, instinctively maybe. I turned around to follow the flapping and saw a pigeon inside the car. It had perched on the bar, on the silver bar, on top of one of the seats. Someone sprang into action with their magazine, attempted to guide the bird toward the doors. It flew up an thumped into another window. Two people were on it now and the bird headed back my way. I saw it, full on, wings spread, and tiny, clawed, red legs spread out in front of it. It was flying at my face and I ducked again, felt the breeze across my forehead again, and the bird thumped, unseen, against another window.

I couldn't see where it was right away so I stood up and carried my bag across the aisle, standing opposite the doors the thing had flown through in the first place. The magazine people herded the bird further and it finally caught sight of the sun and flew out into the open again. It was another run-in with nature for me, one more in a weekend that had been full of them.

No one in the train talked about the bird, or even smiled at one another knowingly. I don't know what they thought, but I realized I was the guy who ran from the bird, and not the one who sprang into movement, the one who helped the bird escape or helped his fellow passengers from being locked in a train car with a pigeon. I often daydream, when I'm in an enclosed space with a small number of people, about what might happen if some disaster took place and the only people left on Earth were those in my train car. I think about who would become the natural leader of the remnants of civilization, about the couples that might pair up.

I realize I was the one who ran from the bird, while someone else took action.

Survivor Action

Stop whatever you're doing and watch it. By god, the TV loves me.

I hope he still has his beard

Saddam's Interrogation Logs:

"I tried to break the will of SH by showing him an Iraqi newspaper editorial calling for his trial and punishment. SH told me that our Psychological Ops folks obviously printed a fake newspaper. I told him I swore that I bought the paper at an off-base coffeehouse. He insisted it was a fake. I told him I crossed my heart. He said he did not believe me. I asked him what I needed to do to prove to him that it was a real newspaper and he suggested taking him to the off-base coffeehouse to see it firsthand. I asked, but Gen. Farley said absolutely no way. SH didn't say anything else aside from asking how much my PsyOps newspaper subscription cost and if there were any PsyOps coupons in it. I asked where the WMD were and he suggested I look in my copy of PsyOps Weekly."

Coming Soon

"Spreading Inabnet"



Starring Mickey Rourke.

Oh, The Fun We Had!

I just started to sleepily type in website addresses I usually look at daily, and I got as far as the "ann" in anniemd.blogspot.com before I caught myself.

Just when you think you're finished grieving, it's the little things that remind you . . .

Go Look

Russ Kick is the author of Everything You Know Is Wrong: The Disinformation Guide to Secrets and Lies, and several other books. He also runs the very, very good website, The Memory Hole.

Kick carries many news stories that don't show up on CNN or the NY Times, and a few that do--he published the photos of Iraqi soldiers being humiliated and mistreated and beaten to death by American soldiers, and he published photos of the coffins of American soldiers coming back from Iraq.

The photos are chilling, and they're important.

Saturday Night

Sometimes Saturday Night Live is really, really good. It's been a weird episode tonight, with a lot of things going awry--it's one of the episodes that really benefits from being live. In a skit with Horatio Sanz as Billy Joel driving erratically, garbage cans, dogs, and debris were being thrown at the car. A mailbox was tossed onto the hood and it got stuck there, blocking the five actors in the car from view. Sanz leaned out of the window and tossed it aside, revealing a few of the actors smiling despite themselves. During Weekend Update a heckler started yelling at Jimmy Fallon--Jimmy deflected him, but he looked cranky for the rest of Update. They tried to introduce a new character for Rachel Dretch that is supposed to always bring conversations down with depressing facts. She flubbed one of her lines--mentioning the recent North Korea train explosion and saying the North Korean is "sensitive" instead of "secretive." Jimmy Fallon is sitting next to her and Sanz is across from her, and they both start giggling. After every depressing fact the camera does a close up on Dretch--on the next close up she broke and laughed out loud, setting off the rest of the actors at the table--Amy Poehler and host Lindsay Lohan. They did their best, but for the rest of the skit they kept laughing. Amy Poehler eventually just put her head down and wouldn't look at the camera. A giggle here and there is normal, but none of them could keep it together during this skit--they were just laughing openly throughout.

Amy Poehler has showed up a lot in this episode, which is nice to see. I always liked her in the Upright Citizens Brigade and Wet Hot American Summer, but she seems to only play supporting roles on SNL. She had a skit playing a young girl having a sleepover towards the end, which she always plays well. When the doorbell rings signalling her guest's arrival, she runs around her step-dad's couch for a good thirty seconds just yelling his name. Sanz played her step-dad Rick, in an unusually subdued performance. He usually hams it up, but he kept the spotlight on Amy in this skit, and I think it was the strongest I saw all night. Sanz only started to laugh once.

SNL has been particularly good the last two years, and I think Tina Fey is one of the funniest and smartest comedy writers I've seen in a long, long time. I hope MEAN GIRLS does well for her. Lohan was good in this episode too, and it was the first time I'd seen her in anything.

I'll get off my comedy-nerd box now. Go watch SNL and stop saying it's not funny anymore. This is easily one of the best casts and writing teams the show has ever had, and easily THE best where my own sensibilities are concerned. It would be nice if Will Forte had more to do, however.

Band Names from My Name

Yoinked from Juan's blog.

M orrissey
A imee Mann
T hey Might Be Giants
T enacious D
H ank Williams
E lvis Costello & the Attractions
W een

And just to prove that I can out-nerd him,

M adman
A ction Girl
T HB
T op 10
H ellboy
E ightball
W atchmen

TV is Your Friend

If you can't tune into Nightline tonight, take a moment to look at their website. On the show tonight they'll be listing the names of the 725 Americans who have died in Iraq since March 19, 2003. The website lists them all by the day they died, their names, their rank, and the circumstances of their death.

When Paul Wolfowitz was asked by the Congressional committee investigating 9/11 how many deaths there had been in Iraq, he responded "It's approximately 500, of which - I can get the exact numbers - approximately 350 are combat deaths." 521 were combat deaths, Paul.

Not Work Safe, Oh No

Sweet mother of Rasputin's cock.

Found on DPH. How much does 30cm come to in real numbers?

WhyWhyWhyWhyWhy

Bush and Cheney with the 9/11 panel, behind closed doors, no transcribers.

Nothing makes me angry these days the way things like this make me angry.

He has the face of an arse.

Go see Arseface.

Updates

Updated the sidebar at last, at last, at long last. AnnieD is gone, but she lives on in my comment box. One day soon she'll write her account of her march on the capitol, entitled "AnnieD Gives It To The Man." Also, go visit my friend Eric. He's terribly smart and apparently looking for drinkers in Chicago who can keep up with him.

Eddie and the Turd, p.1

Eddie hadn't seen a turd like this in a long time. He'd been sitting in the recliner, one leg tucked under his lanky body, the other hanging over the leg of the chair. The recliner was reclined, but the only thing on the leg rest was a stack of comics, read and ready to be re-read, when he felt the pressure in his intestines. Eddie got up from the chair, after a quick glance at the bottom of his socks, admiring how dirty they were, and headed down the hall to the bathroom. He liked to let his memory wander back, whenever a bowel movement approached, to what he had eaten earlier in the day that might be making its exit from his body, via his rectum, in mere moments. This time, Eddie had reasoned, it was corndogs.

Eddie was 21 and he lived alone and he was the king of his world.

He didn't take anything in the bathroom to read, because he'd been reading before he got up to go to the bathroom, so what was the point? He would crap fast, and he would be back in the recliner reading, and life would go on, just like the song said. Eddie liked to play music, liked to have it playing all the time, and today it was the Beatles. Eddie liked the Beatles, and he liked the Beatles a lot, even though Paul was a bit of a pretty boy.

So he crapped and he stood up to turn around to take a look before he wiped (and looked at that too) and flushed and walked away. But he had to stop himself, had to stop as he reached for that first handful of paper, had to stop and look at the turd in the toilet. It was long, and it was kind of messy, not entirely solid, and it curved up over and past the hole the water flushed down into, and the tip at the other end, the last end that came out, poked out of the bowl water at Eddie. It was a good seven inches long, no, more like eight, and it was thick, it had left him a little sore. He hadn't thought much of it as it happened, but yeah, thinking back on it now, it had felt like a long turd. And even though it wasn't entirely solid, it had managed to stay in one piece. A turd like this hadn't come out of Eddie in a long time, and he took it as an omen of good fortune to come. It put his mind at ease regarding the events of the recent past.

This made my day

Is Iran about to be invaded by little green men or are the Americans racing through the night sky in spaceships to spy on the Islamic Republic?

Flying saucer fever has gripped Iran after dozens of sightings in the last few days. Fanciful cartoons of alien spacecraft have adorned the front pages.

Q: How do you deal with incredibly annoying people?

A: Sit around the table with six to seven friends who have nothing else to do on a Friday evening. Settle on an annoying situation, in this case, neighbors having loud sex. Commence to filming a couple's reactions to said loud sex; again, in this case, begin with incredulity. Are they really that loud? Snap the newspaper, because it's funny. Move on to anger. Do you want any eggs? Yeah. Whatever. Peel the banana, and lock eyes, and yes, and yes, and run out of the room. No, go back for the butter! No, go back for the nanners! And then, off-screen sex of your own.

Call your friends. Tell them to come over--nono, take your time, they'll be at it all day. It's some sort of Tantric thing. Pop some popcorn, bring in the beer, cheer on that final orgasm. After the friends have left, and before you drift off to sleep, ask your lover if he'll wear the eyepatch tonight. Only if you walk the plank, he'll tell you.

With the video finished, move onto the audio. First just two, normal sex, but a little nasty towards the end. Then some noises--the floor creaking, pounding on the wall. Then more sex, bringing in five people altogether, because there are five people available to fake it. Don't make eye contact while the audio is being recorded, because it's a little uncomfortable.

Then edit. At some point, break for tacos. Then break for a nap, around 7AM, even though you know it's a bad idea. Reconvene by two to finish the editing by three, and even though you're entirely happy with it, the deadline is NOW, and the tape has to be dropped off. Go to the screening, feel glad that yours was cleverer than most even though it had its own issues, and make sure you do a better job next time. Even if you'd won, you should make sure you do a better job next time.

It was a good time. It generally is when you stay up all night and have a finished project the next day.

The Fast Forward Film Festival.

24 Hour Video

In the midst of a video project. I couldn't tell you the name of the group putting it on, but the way it worked was this: our group (being the Chupacabras, of course) showed up at the fine Chicago coffee shop Atomix at 8pm last night and received a topic. The topic was a question: "How do I deal with incredibly annoying people?" Our project was then to run off, put together a video of three minutes or less that answered the question, and turn the video in at Atomix by 5pm the following day.

Team Chupacabra convened at Jill's apartment to film. We brainstormed for a half an hour or so to come with an idea, and by 9.30 or so we were ready to start filming. Eric directed and Jill and I did most of the on-camera stuff--but Natasia, Shifty, Abbie, and Eric all helped out. We finished filming and laying down the extra audio (full details to come) and went were ready to start the editing by 3AM.



That's Jill and Natasia editing around 4AM. We got the video roughly edited by 6.30 and brains were starting to fizzle (or had long since fizzled) due to lack of sleep and too much wine, so we broke for a nap break. We reconvened around noon to finish the audio and to trim the extra bits from the video to bring it down to three minutes exactly. We had about 25 minutes of footage, so we had plenty to work with.

The video should be in the grubby hands of the Atomix folks by now, and the screening is at 8PM tonight. Full details of the most uncomfortable moments of the shooting will assuredly follow. For now, I need a cheese sandwich.

You Have Offended My Family, and You Have Offended a Shao-Lin Temple.

Matthew Jent,

from this day forward your
Ninja Burger ninja name will be

Kinjiro Ohashi -san

Use this name in all
future dealings with
Ninja Burger customers.

Brought to my attention by they kindly folks at the Requiem Shark Writing School.

P.S. You will all surely know when there is a comic book of any sort available from, I promise. In the meantime, go to Chicago Comics in Chicago, or Comix Revolution in Evanston, mosey to the mini-comics racks, and pick up a copy of HAIRCUT by Matthew Jent and Juan Navarro for a big fat fifty cents.

Phil, You Sonofabitch.

Your humble host got ZIRKED. Awwww, damn.

No loss of bladder control, but my distrustful nature had me trying to sort out who would play that sort of trick on me. I suspected Meredith, because she is spiteful and because the Zirk is funny, but never would I have figured it was . . . Morehart! I said that in a fake-whisper as I clenched my fist in the air.

Phil--is your number still the same as when you first moved? Because mine sure isn't. Let me know what's shakin, and if you're free Friday night you can get in on this video project I'm working on. It's not glamorous, but it should be fun.

(It was all the exclamation points that sold me.)

Wi-Fi

My couch is apparantly a wireless internet hub.

I've had my new computer for a month or two by now, but I haven't been able to access anything wirelessly from my apartment. But suddenly, sitting at my couch and writing about Mr. Ernest Hemingway and Ms. Gertrude Stein, a little ding tells me that I have mail. I have mail? How can I have mail, the phone cord is dangle-dangling over near my desk, in the other room!

I look--and indeed, I do have mail. Up in the corner of my screen the little symbol that is usually gray has gone black. My soul is a wi-fi hub, or perhaps my cat. Either way, I'm on the couch, I'm on the internet, I'm suddenly not doing my work, and by god, this wireless business is FAST.

Dude, does Donna have bangs? My god, the West Wing, it is fired.

S h h h . . .

Yanked from Neil Gaiman's journal, this is a bill recently introduced in the House of Representatives:

To amend section 1464 of title 18, United States Code, to provide for the punishment of certain profane broadcasts, and for other purposes.

IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES

December 8, 2003

Mr. OSE (for himself and Mr. SMITH of Texas) introduced the following bill; which was referred to the Committee on the Judiciary

A BILL

To amend section 1464 of title 18, United States Code, to provide for the punishment of certain profane broadcasts, and for other purposes.

Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America in Congress assembled, That section 1464 of title 18, United States Code, is amended--

(1) by inserting '(a)' before 'Whoever'; and
(2) by adding at the end the following: '(b) As used in this section, the term 'profane', used with respect to language, includes the words 'shit', 'piss', 'fuck', 'cunt', 'asshole', and the phrases 'cock sucker', 'mother fucker', and 'ass hole', compound use (including hyphenated compounds) of such words and phrases with each other or with other words or phrases, and other grammatical forms of such words and phrases (including verb, adjective, gerund, participle, and infinitive forms).'.

Blogging For Two

Annie has seen to fit to discontinue her terribly enjoyable blog, thereby cutting me off from all of the potential run-off from her own blog. She says she's going to continue blogging from my comments section, which will no doubt amuse no one except for the two of us.

Post your pleas for her return here, or start a petition and send it to the WB. If we could only organize people the way the geeks organize for ANGEL, we'd have a movement, people!

KBV2

A quick word to say that Kill Bill v.2 is badness beyond badness. And who knew Daryll Hannah sporting an eyepatch and a sword while spouting cheesy "I killed your master and now I will kill you," dialogue would be so hot? I sure didn't. I dare you to top the katana duel in a trailer, film kids. I DARE you.

I like certain things.

I like Red Bull and I like to eat meat every once in awhile.

I like to argue and I like people who have their shit together but think they don't.

I like stories that are good in ways I can't define, the ones who fill a hole I'd been waiting to see filled up.

I like directors who think about music.

I like people who take it easy, while at the same time staying up late to get shit done. And they don't call in sick the next day.

I like people who ask questions as opposed to calling me out.

I like things that are understood, and people who understand them.

I like being in charge of the radio.

I like people who swear too often.

I like people that make other people uncomfortable.

I like my cat, but I feel guilty that she doesn't like anyone else.

I like people who punch others in the arm as a form of greeting.

purple PAIN, bitches!

Pop singer Prince is being sued by a student who alleges he was attacked by one of the artist's bodyguards after he took a photo of him at an airport.

He says the bodyguard grabbed his digital camera, leaving him "stunned and humiliated".

He alleges "intentional infliction of emotional distress" that left him anxious and unable to sleep.

CondiBlog

She was just asked if September 11 could have been prevented had the plans the Bush administration drew up on September 4 been implemented in, say, February. Rice responded by saying September 11 could not have been prevented had the plans been implemented the day after Bush took office.

The crux of their standpoing on this issue seems to be there was absolutely nothing they could have done to prevent the attacks--it was inevitable because not enough had been done about terrorism before Bush came to power. How does that sort of attitude make Americans feel secure and safe? Well kids, it doesn't. And if you vote some anti-war liberal like John Kerry into office, we'll be in the same pre-2001 situation all over again. I bet the message becomes clearer the closer we get to November--a vote for Kerry is a vote for terrorist attacks.

Rice Shrugs Shoulders, Says "WhatEv"

Do they even know *how* to win? Rice says "there was no silver bullet that could have prevented" the attacks on September 11, and of course there wasn't, but the tone of her testimony, and of the administration's entire attitude toward September 11, Iraq, and Everything is that They Are Never Wrong. From Yahoo News:

Rice offered no apology for the failure to prevent the attacks — as Clarke did two weeks ago. Instead, she said, "as an officer of government on duty that day, I will never forget the sorrow and the anger I felt."

And also: 'Bush, she said, "understood the threat, and he understood its importance," she said. "He made clear to me that he did not want to respond to al-Qaida one attack at a time. He told me he was 'tired of swatting flies'," Rice told the commission.'

Then you guys fucked up. She's saying that they understood the situation, they understood what needed to be done, and they were on the lookout for al-Qaida attacks in the United States.

Further: 'Rice read some of the "chatter" that the United States picked up during the spring and summer that raised alarms about a possible attack: "Unbelievable news in coming weeks." "Big event ... there will be a very, very, very, very big uproar." "There will be attacks in the near future."'

Then you guys FUCKED IT UP. If everything was in place and the Bush administration knew of the danger and knew to be on the lookout, and it still happened on their watch, then they screwed the pooch. And to not even apologize for fucking it up, to in fact go out of their way not to apologize following Clarke's apology, is nothing but giving the finger to the entire country, especially the friends and relatives of the people who died. They refuse to admit failure and they refuse to admit fallibility and they fucked it up. It happened on their watch and someday someone is going to have to admit that.

Casshern

Casshern.

I don't know anything about it except that it looks like the greatest movie ever made. It has robots, swords, masks, and people talking Japanese. Go and watch the trailer. You might not understand what they're saying, but by god, it looks gorgeous. Eric found it.

Or Else I'll Be Cutting and Pasting All Day

I really can't recommend Atrios enough for political news. He's on the left side of things, but I think he's pretty fair-minded and really clever. If you want links on why there's no silverware allowed at Bush fundraisers, what cities are under the control of Al-Sadr's followers in Iraq, or Congressional election updates, Atrios gets them up pretty fast.

Meanwhile, why, exactly, is Alanis Morrissette getting naked?

Zombie Rumsfeld

With more and more soldiers dying daily, and I mean MORE AND MORE SOLDIERS DYING DAILY, even in comparison to the regular rate of soldiers that have been dying in Iraq since the occupation really went into full swing, and with the fact that the Pentagon has announced they are increasing the number of soldiers in Iraq, which is a reversal of their intention to decrease the number of soldiers there, maybe somehow, someday the Bush administration will admit that maybe someone, somewhere screwed the pooch on this one.



But no, BushCo has long made it a point to never admit they were wrong, even as they contradict themselves on newscasts or in print. Electing (or not electing him, as it were) the first time I can write off as blind ignorance, but if the man is actually re-elected in November, in light of the war he's leading us through and in light of the domestic policies that have wrecked the economy and would really like to wreck the environment not only on Earth but in space as well, then I'm going to be even crankier than usual. Their point of view on Iraq seems to be, "Ignore it until after the election and maybe it will go away!"

Meanwhile, soldiers keep dying, Iraqis keep dying, and members of right-wing media are calling for nuclear weapons over the deaths and mutilation of four soldiers. All three of you know that I'm a DEAN man at heart, but if I haven't said it before I'll say it now--Kerry is the way to go in November. He'll be the Democrat on the ticket, and he'll be the only one who can beat Bush, and it's not even a case of voting for the lesser evil. It's a matter of getting the stupid, blind evil far, far away from the White House and not letting the same group walk back into it in four, eight, or twelve years. I'm all for a multi-party system, but I say no more Republican Presidents until Rumsfeld and Cheney are dead of old age and their coffins are chained shut under six feet of concrete. Zombie Rumsfeld could do a lot of damage in the Pentagon, believe me.

P.S. Meredith, this means your lady Rice, too. Even if she was a swell lady in 2000, by playing along with BushCo for this long, she's just as bad as the rest of them.

Close It Down, I'm Repeating Myself

By special request of Jennyzard, who wants everyone to know how goth she is:

band: The KLF, the Justified Ancients of Mu Mu, etc.

Are you female or male: I'm the King of Joy

Describe yourself: Trancentral Lost in My Mind

How do some people feel about you: Ballad for a Sex God (aww, yeah)

How do you feel about yourself: Born Free

Describe your ex girlfriend/boyfriend: Justified and Ancient Seems a Long Time Ago

Describe your current girlfriend/boyfriend: I Want That Girl

Describe where you want to be: Last Train to Trancentral (Live from the Lost Continent)

Describe what you want to be: Doctorin' the Tardis

Describe how you live: Elvis on the Radio, Steel Guitar in My Soul

Describe how you love: Downtown (aww, shit!)

Share a few words of wisdom: Don't Take Five, Take What You Want

In The Year 3000

The thing missing from sci-fi movies, the thing that's been bothering me the most in the back of my brain when I didn't even realize it, the thing I've been craning my neck to see in every episode of Star Trek, in every adaptation of Dune, in every repeated viewing of Starship Troopers, are brand names, everywhere, allwhere, upinya.

If you compare Now to Then, and compare Now to When, think about what there should be. I want to see corporate logo tattoos, babies named Tootsie Roll, and the Pepsi symbol (and yes children, I did say symbol; have enough faith that even my mistakes are choices that I, as The Writer, have made), I want to see the Pepsi symbol emblazoned on the moon. I want to see magnetic strips on the back of everything and I want to know what sweatshop produces the sleek two-color jumpsuits that we'll all be wearing in a few hundred years.

Hellboy Drinks Red Bull

I was going to write about HELLBOY, but the cats at The Pulse have already summed it up. Great visuals, great ideas, but del Toro should have gotten someone else to write the screenplay. It wound up feeling like someone playing with their toys on the floor of their bedroom. That said, it looked like everyone had the best intentions in mind. If you saw it and liked it, go read Conqueror Worm. It has Lobster Johnson, for god's sake!

I Think I'm Only Posting Because I'm Bored

Finally started working on GhostMom v2.0, and I do believe it's pretty funny. Especially the part about "Morgahue." I'll post some of it over the weekend, so that you can act it out in the privacy of your own homes.

Also, Ryan Adams as a three song EP available for download. I found it on iTunes for a whopping $2.97. You that are net-savvier than I can probably dig it up for free, but then again, you're also going to Hell. Enjoy, jerks!

Dorky McHappy Fun

You choose a band, then answer questions using song titles. The questions are nerdy, but it's kind of fun and I'm cutting-and-pasting. Shut up, jerks.

band: The Beatles

Are you female or male: I Wanna Be Your Man

Describe yourself: Your Mother Should Know (aww, snap!)

How do some people feel about you: Free as a Bird

How do you feel about yourself: I Feel Fine

Describe your ex girlfriend/boyfriend: If You've Got Trouble

Describe your current girlfriend/boyfriend: I've Got A Feeling

Describe where you want to be: Strawberry Fields Forever

Describe what you want to be: Here, There, and Everywhere

Describe how you live: I've Got A Feeling

Describe how you love: Dig It

Share a few words of wisdom: Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da

Steps

There was once a railing, but I've long since lost it. The air is dark and stale and thick, like the inside of something and I can't remember what; and then yes, I think, it's the earth, or my mother. The steps are rock, or the rock is carved into steps, and when I first ascended it was an incline, as steps are meant to be. That was when the light was on, seconds ago or hours, but the light it went out again and now I don't know what to call them. They stopped stepping and started crawling and I don't know what to call them now. They're hard and rocky and silty and my hands are dirty and cracked and bleeding. It's never a climb, never quite straight up, and I do the best I can. The steps become smaller, or where I'm stepping becomes smaller, and maybe it's wider out to the sides but I can't tell because it's dark. It's dark and black and I can't tell. I could test it, sliding to the side and reaching out with my toes in time, but I don't have the time, and if there's nothing, if there's a hole or if the steps end and there is no railing, I will fall.

I'm not entirely alone. There is me and the steps and the dark, and there is the wind. It's cold and stale, blowing from I don't know where, and I can feel it now and again dancing across my forehead. When it blows I feel the wetness, the slickness, the sweatness on my brow, and in spite of the cold I'm hot from the inside, and I'm a calorie burner, and just try and stop me, just try and stop me now.

The wind blows from the dark, or from the sea perhaps, a great sea to either side. I cannot see it and I cannot hear it, but I know it and I feel it. Steps are a tool when made by man, but when forged by earth, from within the earth, they are tricksy and tempting, and I do not trust them. They rise from the sea, from cave to earth to sky, but they do not say where they will lead, and maybe they curve and spike and deceive, and maybe they lead back to the beginning, back into the past, where I come from and do not want to go.
The lightbulb lights, once again. It buzzes with sound but the sound is far off, and the light it is near, and the heat it is near, and the light and the heat, they are near. I can see it and I can hear it, but I do not know it and I do not feel it. Encased by wire, but I don't know how I know. It shines and it curses and the steps grow from mystery and are wide and safe again. I can sit on them, could lay on them if I wished, without fear of falling. The incline lessens and they are steps again and safe and I walk them, I step them, and the buzzing is there but not dangerous. It is comforting, but I push it out all the same, the buzzing, and I reach out to stop it and to hide my eyes from it. The wind it blows and it bites and it hurts, and it's hot and dizzy and hurty. I'm far from cool, I'm nearing the heat and the hot and the wet.

It's easy. It's easy so fuckit, I walkit. I don't hop it. I don't hurry. There is no hurry. There's no reason to. Except the light bulb. I can hear it. The buzz. And I can squint it but it hurts to look. The wind has stopped. The air is still again. Warm. Hot. Hotter than it was. The air felt good on my sweat before. Now it's just sweat. I'm just hot. I keep walking. More of a stumble. Up the stairs.

The buzzing goes out and the light goes out and the heat goes out and it's dark. I can feel the air again, and the windit blows, and it's cool. But I'm scared because the incline is back. It's never straight up but it curves and I don't know where it stops or where I started from.

My Second and Third Groups

The kids who responded to my comic shop ad were cats I knew from school, Leon and John. John was a pothead who drifted around wherever Leon went. Leon was a heavy metal kid who t-shirts with dragons on them and talked about the Ren Fair a lot. To them I added my friend Adrian, who I stayed in a group with until we both stopped playing altogether.

Leon and John stopped playing when Leon got a regular job. Adrian and I pulled Comstock back into the fold and the three of us played for awhile. My third group was the two of them, plus Eddie and Bug Boy. Eddie was a new kid at school and the biggest social misfit I'd ever seen. He was overweight and had a bizarre baby talk kind of lisp Adrian and I imitate to this day. He once told a girl he liked that if she were a D&D character, she would have a Charisma of 16. We picked on Ed a lot and hit him on the head with empty two-liter bottles. He wore sandals, even in the winter, and the big toe on his right foot was enormous. When we talked about Ed we mentioned his Big Toe as if it were a separate being. It was.

Bug Boy I knew from sight. He was a year younger than me and had ridden my bus since he was in kindergarten, but I'd never paid him much mind except to notice that his glasses were bigger than his face. And he had a weak chin. And he wore hooded sweatshirts all the time. And his brother drove a van. But other than that, I ignored him. He was a quiet kid, and he was only around because Ed was around.

Ed's parents didn't know he played D&D. They were religious, more religious than the average bear, and Ed told them that when we convened in my parents' dining room we played cards for hours and hours. But God was plotting against young Eddie and his parents found his D&D books one day. They questioned Ed and he broke like a puppy under the tires of a dump truck. I don't know what he told them exactly, but his parents called mine on Friday night to inform them that I was the leader of a black magick cult and that I was bewitching their little boy and their little boy's friend and leading them into a life of devilry and wickedness.

I was out with Adrian and some other friends at the time, being unsuccessfully set up with a girl who came to be known in our mythology as Lockjaw. When I got home my folks told me Eddie's parents had called several times, at first to inform them of my wicked ways, and when my parents blew them off, to accuse them of bad parenting. My folks were annoyed more with the repeated calls than by the accusations themselves. At that point I don't think they wanted to be bothered with parenting minutiae like other people's angry parents. When I wrecked my car a few years later, I'm fairly certain my dad was more upset with the inconvenience of leaving the house after midnight than by the fact that my bumper was screwed up.

Our D&D game the following week was again down to Adrian, Comstock and myself. It remained the three of us through the rest of my sophomore year. I saw Ed and Bug Boy in the halls at school after that, and sometimes I would shout hellos to them the way we used to when they showed up for a game. But they never said anything in return, or even made eye contact. Maybe they were fearful of retribution, or just embarrassed over what happened, but no one was mad at them. But we didn't especially miss them, either. We just wanted to keep playing. Comstock left for college over the summer, and the group fell apart again.

holy effing ess!

Methane has been found in the Martian atmosphere which scientists say could be a sign that life exists today on Mars.

Methane lives for a short time in the Martian atmosphere so it must be being constantly replenished.

There are two possible sources: either active volcanoes, none of which have been found yet on Mars, or microbes.

(found on diepunyhumans)

It's That Time Of Year Again!

Ahh, springtime in Uptown Chicago . . . when the fat ladies in their motorized wheelchairs put on their skimpiest outfits and the kids hit the sidewalks to look for the first used condom of the season.

Nerd up!

I Am A: True Neutral Elf Bard Ranger


Alignment:
True Neutral characters are very rare. They believe that balance is the most important thing, and will not side with any other force. They will do whatever is necessary to preserve that balance, even if it means switching allegiances suddenly.


Race:
Elves are the eldest of all races, although they are generally a bit smaller than humans. They are generally well-cultured, artistic, easy-going, and because of their long lives, unconcerned with day-to-day activities that other races frequently concern themselves with. Elves are, effectively, immortal, although they can be killed. After a thousand years or so, they simply pass on to the next plane of existance.


Primary Class:
Bards are the entertainers. They sing, dance, and play instruments to make other people happy, and, frequently, make money. They also tend to dabble in magic a bit.


Secondary Class:
Rangers are the defenders of nature and the elements. They are in tune with the Earth, and work to keep it safe and healthy.


Deity:
Gond is the True Neutral god of artifice, craft, and construction. He is also known as Gond Wonderbringer. His followers believe that 'actions count' - that is, that what is accomplished in the end is what is truly important. They wear saffron clothing, with red sashes containing all manner of mechanical devices. Their preferred weapons are firearms, since the followers of Gond had a large hand in their making and invention. They also wear plate mail (no shield), but generally prefer to have bodyguards, instead. Gond's symbol is a toothed wheel, made of ivory, bone, or metal.


Find out What D&D Character Are You?, courtesy ofNeppyMan (e-mail)

My First Group

Levi was in charge. He was older, a senior, and had the most stuff. And he worked for his parents so he had the most flexible schedule. The first time he called me himself to invite me to a game I did a little dance around my room--I was IN. He had another group of friends, other seniors that only played with us from time to time. They were Zach, Levi's best friend, who years later dropped out of college, grew a beard, and walked the country; Jesus, whose real name was Matt Smith and who worked at Taco Bell (when he was on drive-thru you could order a Matt Smith Soft Taco that would be so loaded with Grade D meat that it was bigger than your fist); Fred Paul, who shaved in the morning and had a full beard by midnight; Tim, who was always on speed; and Nate, who generally had other, shadier things going on.

The next guy in our group was Comstock. Comstock and I stuck together the longest, after the other cats moved off to college or quit playing altogether. He liked Pink Floyd and would honestly listen to nothing else. He also drank Diet Mountain Dew (caffeine free) and carried cans around in the duffel he called a book bag. He was diabetic and gave himself insulin shots in the stomach while we played, not even bothering to stop talking while he did it. Later he worked at Subway and gave us free sandwiches.

James rounded out our group of four at the beginning. He was my friend from 5th Grade, the one that had always been cooler than me. I saw him change in high school, adapt himself to please the other people around him. When he got a job for the first time he used to shout that his set of dice had cost him an hour's worth of work.

Robin and Amy and Melanie were the girlfriends. They played when they were dating someone in the group, and stayed friendly even when they weren't. After Levi graduated the group fell apart, even Comstock for a time. I found my second group by posting an ad at my local ratty comics shop.

Where's your badge?

Things have been busy, but I'll be able to offer plenty of AWP anecdotes soon. My favorite--the old man at the censorship panel who, instead of asking a question, talked about his difficulty in finding an agent who would read his book, which was about how there are too many Hispanics in this country. "Now I don't have anything against Hispanics or anything," he said, "there's just too many of them."

America needs more confused white old men. They are obviously on to something.

Also, no one seems to know who Pitfall Harry is. And by "no one" I mean both of you.

As you can see, my eyes are dilated.

Washington is one of the stations where folks set up and play music, asking for tips while people wait for the train. Two men were there, both singing, one of them playing keyboard. There was a simple drum beat playing, preprogrammed and soft. They were improvising, but they worked well together. "It's a brand new day," they sang, and, "Na-na-na, na-na-na, na-na-na na na-na-na."

I had a quarter in my pocket and I knew it; I had spent my last dollar earlier in the pop machine, and I always wait for the change. I didn't give them the quarter because it seemed too daunting, digging it from my pocket, pushing past people to reach them, dropping it in the styrofoam container attached to the keyboard. And I could see the train, and it was close. I felt better and worse and the same time as the train pulled close and they said, "Thank you folks for listening, and y'all have a safe trip."

On the train, Blind Man came through. I saw him on the red line once or twice a week, but I'd never given him any money. A man closer to him than me dug the change out of his pocket, counted it in his hand, and stepped forward to drop it in Blind Man's cup. "God bless you," Blind Man told him.

I got my quarter out and stood ready. As Blind Man passed I reached forward and dropped my quarter in his cup. Just as I dropped it Blind Man stopped to shake his cup. I don't think he heard my quarter hit because he didn't say, "God bless you." I hadn't been waiting to hear that, and I don't give out change to make myself feel good--or, I don't think I do--but I wonder if if still matters to him that I gave him a quarter if he didn't hear it drop.

The quarter might disappear if he doesn't hear it, or it might turn into wood. God might not bless me, and Blind Man might think resentfully of the people he passes who don't give.

Plague

It's Wednesday and I've got a pocket full of cash and I want to go buy new comics. But I've slept too long and the sun is going to set and the store will be closed if I don't leave now now now. I wobble into my shoes and hustle downstairs, realizing I've left my glasses on the bathroom sink. But that's fine, I can see well enough without them, and there's no time to go back.

I head out the front door of my building and the Deaf Guy is on the sidewalk. Well, I don't know if he's deaf, but his is mute, and he sees me and he rubs his fingers together to indicate "change." I've got change, sure, jingling and jangling in my pocket, but I can't dig it out without also pulling out my wad of cash. I shake my head NO and say SORRY really loud and my voice roars like a blowhorn, like a lion, like Jesus, and it tears at his skin, blows the Deaf Guy's clothes off, and shatters his bones. There's a box in my throat, a tiny metal box, but it's getting bigger. It's a square and it's growing, it's pushing against my skin and you can see it. I can't breathe around it. I open my mouth and another ROAR is loosed, knocking cars into the street, destroying old women and atomizing children. I want to close my mouth, to stop the destruction, but I'm afraid that if I do my teeth will break away and die. The sound keeps growing and the metal box keeps growing, pushing itself up into my throat and into my mouth. My jaw opens wide, too wide, and flips backwards on hinges. The box breaks free and skin and skull fall away, and it's my new head.

It's steely and shiny and I keep walking. Buildings are leveled and the Deaf Guy is dust, but the train station is fine. I wait for the train, and when it arrives the car is full. I open my robot mouth and my voice box of death incinerates the passengers. The train rocks on the tracks and I step inside, dust off a seat, and sit down. The comic shop is open when I arrive, and the comics, they are good.

Illinois Primary

Well, at least DEAN beat Lieberman. But damn you, Mosley-Braun!

Howard Dean, 43,994 - 4 percent

John Edwards, 122,497 - 11 percent

John Kerry, 809,752 - 72 percent

Dennis Kucinich, 25,660 - 2 percent

Carol Moseley Braun, 50,440 - 4 percent

Al Sharpton, 34,205 - 3 percent

Wesley Clark, 17,896 - 2 percent

Joe Lieberman, 21,969 - 2 percent

freeeeeeezer burn

I'm substitute-blogging over at Annie's site. I suggested that we trade blogs for a day or two, but she was more into the idea of me writing for her blog and her writing for no blogs, so there you go.

I'm craving a fake hamburger right now, but the box in my freezer has been there for some time now. I'm not sure how deadly the freezer burn gets in this part of the world, and I don't know if I want to find out.

It's Tuesday!



If you're in Illinois, get out there and vote!

Sometimes I Remember I'm On The Interweb

There are six or seven people who stop by this blog on any given day, and every once in awhile it hits me that I really only know who three of them are. Once or a week or so I check in on my stat counter because I get to see how many people visited the site on any given days, how many return visitors there were, that sort of thing. And it's fun to try to decipher who's been looking by the information I have. That lady from Columbus, for example. I can also see when people found the site from googling something. Meredith has found that folks looking for Bachelor Bob porn seem to be drawn to her site, for example; Annie had some weird Boudi-stalker checking out her blog several times.

Me, I just stuff like "juggernaut pictures." Unfortunately for them, I don't think there pictures of any actual juggernauts on the site--the site IS the juggernaut, kids. You're looking at the fun! Once, I posted to an Achewood strip that had the punchline, "It's homosexuals!" I used that as my headline, and someone found the site by searching for "homosexuals" on Google. Today I noticed someone found me via the San Valentino & the Melancholy Kid post I did last weekend. But! I also saw that someone found the site by searching for my name. It's just one of those weird things that makes you realize more than just the two people who post comments are reading this jazz.

I'm an internet phenomenon! Say hello when you stop by, kids!

P.S. Does everybody know who Pitfall Harry is?

Things I Learned at the Kerry Rally

Dudes will hit on people absolutely anywhere.

Prayers are apparantly acceptable at political gatherings.

Soul music is inspiring and revolutionary, but at the same time, safe and non-threatening.

John Kerry is a tall man.

John Kerry seems to have Secret Service protection.

Rod the Bod's wife is a hottie.

Mayor Daley's wife looks like a generic midwestern wife.

All of those signs? They pass them out at the rally.

All of those signs that look homemade? They pass them out at the rally.

Wait, even the ones that say "Cubbies for Kerry?" Yes. Those too.

Chicago is the greatest city on Earth.

This is the story . . .

(From March 10th)

Riding the train to see John Kerry, I was already making excuses. Sure, I had a hot and sexy affair with Howard Dean; but he couldn't go the distance, and our love was not enough to hold us together when society wanted to tear us apart. So there I was, on my way to a first date with a new candidate (the kind of date Howard never took me on, let me tell you--he exhausted himself long before the primaries brought him to Illinois).

I remember watching the first season of the Real Word in 1992/3, and two things really stand out for me: one, I wanted a sport jacket like Andre wore, and two, watching the Real Worlders attend a Harry Brown rally. They made signs, bundled up for a day in the cold, and went out to support the candidate they believed would change Washington and take back the White House from a 1-term Republican Bush.

The episode aired long after the primary season was over, maybe even after the general election itself. Either way, Bill Clinton was already riding high, swatting aside rumors of infidelity, and giving the finger to Bush and Perot both. I remember wondering what it was like for the Real World kids to have supported a candidate so fervently only to see him pushed aside. I was glad I had signed up for the Winning Team already, thanks to the election coverage brought to my homeroom by the informative folks over at Channel One. But what about the Brown people? Did they just switch gears and fall in line behind Clinton, in the hopes that he could take on Bush? Or did his most ardent supporters lose interest in the election and stay home in November? What about their first love? What about Howard De--um, that is, Harry Brown?

Buy My Birdfeeder

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Moral: Abby is a Retard

After the letter raised the suspicions of the newspaper editor, Universal Press Syndicate did some research and discovered that Gene seemed a lot like Homer Simpson's thoughtless character in an episode titled "Life on the Fast Lane."

Spacegasm

The Hubble is taking pictures of things like this . . .



. . . and NASA wants to retire it years ahead of schedule?

Remember Truth and Trust

From the chapter, "The Art of Conversation," from Mary Elizabeth's book Painless Speaking:

"Getting to know someone you think you might feel romantic about (or already do) is not the same as flirting. Flirting is acting romantic without being serious about the other person--in other words, tricking another person into thinking you're more interested, or interested in a deeper way, than you really are. Flirting is sometimes thought to be cool, but the fact is, it's lying, and it can really hurt people. Remember truth and trust, and don't flirt."

Inward Singing

What happens if you're losing the cultural war? What if the media and the people in power don't support your ideals, and even actively try to squash them? What if they go out of their way to bury those who say things they don't agree with? What if the only voices heard on the radio or on the television are mouthpieces of the establishment?

Do you fight even harder than before, or do you pack up and go somewhere where your art can flourish? Is it better to fight and lose, or to go into exile and let your voice be heard?

Whatever you think of his sense of humor, I think it would be a bad thing if Howard Stern is pulled off the air. Stern said he thinks it will happen next week. It might be bullshit, and it might be his way of getting some attention to prevent that very thing from happening--but if Michael Powell and the FCC are allowed to silence him, I don't think it bodes well for the rest of us.

Dead Zone

Found via DPH.

I travel a lot and one of my favorite destination lead through poisoned with radiation, so called Chernobyl "dead zone" It is 130kms from my home. Why favourite? because one can ride there for hours and not meet any single car and not to see any single soul.

San Valentino and the Melancholy Kid

I just caught San Valentino & The Melancholy Kid at The House. It's written by Nathan Allen and directed by Dennis Watkins, with music by the Trick Hearts. It's pretty much everything it's supposed to be--it's got cowboys (who, I swear, are the next pirates--and if this isn't proof, I don't know what is), a live rockabilly band (fronted by Nathan Allen, the Melancholy Kid himself {which, in case you didn't know, means sad--but a special kind}, who reminds me of Grant-lee Philips), special effects, interesting facial hair, a really good violinist, and bicycles playing horses.

I can't tell you how big a fan I am of The House. Their last show was Death and Harry Houdini, written and directed by Nathan Allen. Dennis Watkins played Harry and performed many of his tricks on stage during the show. The Melancholy Kid featured knife juggling, a man snapping a cigarette in half with a whip (as it dangled from the Kid's mouth), an Indian attack and plenty of musical interludes.

Stephen Taylor stands out as Ollie, the King of the Quick Draw, who sold his soul to the Devil for a gun that can't miss, and the making of beef stroganoff at the hands of Cubby is something to behold. The play itself is comedic, mythic, and tragic. It's also part one of the Valentine Tragedy, which is set to continue next year.

San Valentino and the Melancholy Kid wraps up on Saturday; The House's next show is The Rocket Man, written by Phillip C. Klapperich (inspired by the works of Ray Bradbury) and directed by Nathan Allen.

Why Frank Is Awesome

Frank writes all of his friend's phone numbers in a copy of Naked Lunch.

God bless you, Sticks of Chick

I found a convenience store downtown near school that sells Chick-O-Sticks. So I'm sitting at home working, drinking Red Bull and eating the best candy known to man. The only thing that could make this night perfect would be the DEAN cardboard cutout. Get on the case, Meredith. The DEAN campaign probably has a warehouse full of them.

I like the newscaster's hair

Juan Navarro is posting some of his work in his livejournal. Go look.

Flim-flam

Yesterday was a happy, happy news day. First!


Mars may once have been a wet place where life could flourish, according to NASA scientists who say a robot rover has found evidence that rocks on the Red Planet "were once soaked with liquid water."

And!

DEAN SMASH VERMONT PRIMARY!

Plus:



Honest to god, the only thing I want for my birthday is one of these cut-outs.

24 Hours In A Year

So, I thought of a project. I've been working on it for three weeks or so. I have a futurephone that I use to take pictures, and for this project I'm taking one picture every day for a year. At the beginning of the project I took a picture at midnight; every 15 and a quarter days I'm moving the time ahead one hour. I'm not super specific about it, so long as I get the picture taken sometime within that hour.

The picture is whatever I happen to be around at that time. We're in the one-to-two in the morning block right now, so it's often pictures of me working or watching West Wing reruns on television, but it will be interesting to see how the pictures evolve over the course of 366 days. If anyone is interested in watching it progress, the pictures are at 24HrsInAYear. I'll post the link in the sidebar, too. And if my math is faulty, let me know. Numbers are hard.