New shoes make me envision the way my arches bend. Especially over a bridge. I pass an older couple taking a picture of the lake and I imagine they will talk about the way my foot bends after I run past.
"You can tell he's running for the right reasons," one will say. The other nods knowingly, then points at a particularly impressive mountain.
Regular, formalized gatherings of friends. A standing understanding.
I try not to sound disapproving when I disagree. Or maybe more importantly, dismissive. I am approving. I am missive. I'm happy you're here in the first place, and balancing the feel of that with how it covers like a hot quilt to say so.
Anytime I'm not eating I think about nutrients and science and dietary plans. But when I'm ready to eat, I only want food with a shape that will be pleasing to destroy. Small crusty pies that deflate when I poke them with a fork. Chickpea cutlets I imagine frying in the shape of things. Like rabbits, or presidential silhouettes. Chickpea Lyndon B. Johnson. Yum!
Jennifer Grey on the dancing show, when she says "this feels like 7th grade," then whoops and corrects herself, "Maybe 8th grade." It feels like an important distinction. What does it mean that I still think so?
Indulgent playlists. Whenever I make new friends, I pretend we are the Beatles. I used to always be John, except for in the shower or the car by myself when I'm Paul, but more and more I just want to be Ringo.
When Ringo signed up to be a tiny conductor on the kid's train show, did he do it for fun? Was he just ready to get out of the house? I guess he doesn't have a lot of fatty songwriting checks coming in quarterly. In one of the Beatles Anthology outttake interviews he talks about working on that project as an excuse to hang out with Paul and George again. I feel like if Ringo was on Facebook he'd be happy to be friends with me, with anyone, but everyone would be too nervous to ask. But then again, he sent out that press release a few years ago to say he wasn't going to sign autographs anymore. No judgment there. It was nice of him to sign things for this long at all.
I think about Ringo all the time.
I've been writing in my office (in "my 'office'"), but until the new windows are put in, I wrap myself up in a blanket as I sit in the Ikea chair I bought a year ago. This chair has the highest back of any chair I have ever owned. For a few days Lola only wanted to go into the office in the morning, so yesterday I opened the door for her while I was on a conference call ("we are the sort of people who have to be on conference calls now, and who forward our itineraries to one another" {I just googled "iteneraries" to figure out how to spell "itineraries"}), and she hopped up on the seat of my chair and wiped her butt on it. I pressed the mute button on the call and made her get down off of the chair. She flattened her ears, meow-yelled at me, and ran out of the office. She hasn't come back.
Instead of saying "look it up in the dictionary" when children ask me how to spell things, I will tell them to sound it out and google it. Not to be ironic or funny.
Wordpress will show you how many words you have typed as you type them. When I couldn't find a similar tally on blogger my first thought was how helpful that tally is; my second was how glad I was that the tally wasn't here. "Oh, that's right. *That's* what I want."
The shoes we're not wearing are in the kitchen next to the refrigerator, and I can see them from my desk. Pink flats almost touching at the heel, with toes pointed away from each other. Blue plaid rain boots perfectly aligned. The heels of my white shoes that have been on grass in Virginia. It's so easy to move anywhere you want to go.
I will write things and then stare at the words and try to decide if they are things I really believe.
(It's so easy to move anywhere you want to go.)
Last night as I was falling asleep I tried to think of different ways to say chemistry problem.
"We're going to have to talk about the periodic table."
(That's all I came up with.)
I decided to buy a lamp for my desk, but every one I looked at seemed too fancy, or too boring. But there was one on the shelf called "banker's lamp" and it had a hard, green shade, and it looked like the kind my dad had or has on his desk. I was quietly pleased and surprised that that was the one that I wanted. All the time I have thoughts that would have horrified me when I was a kid, but every time it happens it makes me feel good.
(I deleted the line "Do you think that's how Darth Vader felt?" because I thought it sounded like I was being mean to my dad.)
I like the older Elvis songs where it sounds like he's in his living room, singing old gospel songs, and trying to figure out how he got there. Not because they're good songs, but because that's my favorite kind of Elvis. It seems like a dick move that we voted for the Young Elvis stamp. Like we're still saying, "Thanks Elvis, but you didn't really need to keep happening." I like Vegas Elvis the best, because he's still working so hard, with no clear call or cause.
(I don't know how you guys ever end things like this, because it seems like I could writing it forever. But it's lunchtime, so I'll talk to you later.)
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
It Hatched and It Died -- read it at the Fanzine!
But before you leave your computer -- read It Hatched and It Died. It's like totally good dudes.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
12. Insanity
Originally posted May 9, 2008.
The last of the re-posts.
And then Laura said, it's as simple as this: girls are crazy and boys are dumb.
(Almost two years later, when I have repeated this for the hundredth time, Ryan will say: that's the basis of like every stand-up routine ever. But I guess it's true.)
And then Adam said: I tend to date girls who can hide their crazy for about six months. And I always think, oh, this is the most normal, stable relationship I've ever had. And then -- bam!
(But it must be mentioned: by all accounts ((and by all I suppose I mean the accounts of my own two eyeballs)), Adam IS in the most stable, capable and loving relationship I've been witness to in modern times. So when he speaks on this, while he may speak from experience, it is also from a safe distance.)
And then Ben said: Well, the thing is, I don't tend to make … good impressions.
(And then he handily beat us all at basketball. He even took the ball home with him.)
The last of the re-posts.
And then Laura said, it's as simple as this: girls are crazy and boys are dumb.
(Almost two years later, when I have repeated this for the hundredth time, Ryan will say: that's the basis of like every stand-up routine ever. But I guess it's true.)
And then Adam said: I tend to date girls who can hide their crazy for about six months. And I always think, oh, this is the most normal, stable relationship I've ever had. And then -- bam!
(But it must be mentioned: by all accounts ((and by all I suppose I mean the accounts of my own two eyeballs)), Adam IS in the most stable, capable and loving relationship I've been witness to in modern times. So when he speaks on this, while he may speak from experience, it is also from a safe distance.)
And then Ben said: Well, the thing is, I don't tend to make … good impressions.
(And then he handily beat us all at basketball. He even took the ball home with him.)
11. Memory
Originally posted May 7, 2008
It's the weather that does it -- the sun on the back of my neck -- and the way summertime smells, even in far away California. The days are back to being bright, and it seems like the sky stretches out farther than you can see. Maybe it's the illusion of a cloudless sky over ocean, the first time I've lived next to such a thing, but just because it's an illusion doesn't make it real. What I mean to say is: old feelings are rising.
Not in the way of nostalgia. It's unfair to compare and contrast in situations like this, but it's a thing I can't help. (Or choose not to help, maybe.) Sometimes when I'm feeling clever I say "I like to make brand new mistakes every time," and it's a jokey thing to say, a kind of brag, or something that's meant to impress. But it's also (secretly) a thing that I mean to be true.
I'm often surprised, in spite of myself, by the ways that history repeats.
It's the weather that does it -- the sun on the back of my neck -- and the way summertime smells, even in far away California. The days are back to being bright, and it seems like the sky stretches out farther than you can see. Maybe it's the illusion of a cloudless sky over ocean, the first time I've lived next to such a thing, but just because it's an illusion doesn't make it real. What I mean to say is: old feelings are rising.
Not in the way of nostalgia. It's unfair to compare and contrast in situations like this, but it's a thing I can't help. (Or choose not to help, maybe.) Sometimes when I'm feeling clever I say "I like to make brand new mistakes every time," and it's a jokey thing to say, a kind of brag, or something that's meant to impress. But it's also (secretly) a thing that I mean to be true.
I'm often surprised, in spite of myself, by the ways that history repeats.
10. Breathe Again
Originally posted March 18, 2008.
Holy shit -- it’s springtime.
And this whole thing is going to happen again, one way or another.
Holy shit -- it’s springtime.
And this whole thing is going to happen again, one way or another.
9. Drive
Originally posted March 17, 2008.
The first time I drove from Chicago to San Francisco it took me more than a week. There was a crack in the windshield of our car -- a white Cavalier we called the Coyote -- and we stopped the first night in Iowa City. We left early and of our own accord, but later legend had it we were run out of town. It’s hard to keep straight which parts really happened and which parts were later inventions. I don’t think we really broke anyone’s windows.
Our next stop was Oklahoma City, gray and flat and depressing. There’s a few square blocks in town zoned as a whole other city, and that’s where they keep their porno shops and strip clubs. I wouldn’t go into a strip club in Oklahoma City -- the thought was too depressing -- but that was only putting off what would come later.
We passed through Amarillo, bought cowboy hats and ate regular fries. They don’t make them French in Texas.
We camped outside of Roswell, New Mexico, thinking we’d make up stories about aliens. Instead we were surrounded by (actual) coyotes, found bobcat tracks on the ridge in the morning, were woken up in the night by the headlights of rangers or wandering teens. We saw lights in the sky that got closer then farther, that made patterns like D&D dice. We slept with our boots on, a knives under our pillows, baseball bats in our sleeping bags.
Carlsbad has Caverns and bats that swarm through the sky at sunset. There might have been fistfights and gazes that lasted too long. There were definitely cockroaches in the bathtub.
The Grand Canyon is bigger than even you think it will be. There are no guard rails. Only rock, and then air, and then more rock. My partner waited in the car -- "I’m tired of this hole" -- and I walked the rim for hours. I thought maybe I’d go back someday, with someone who wanted to see it too.
In Las Vegas I saw a magic show. I walked the sidewalks by myself, passed through the casinos because you can’t walk around them, and spent a quarter on the slot machines. I didn’t win, but I gave it a try. I took pictures of myself with my shirt off, enjoying the tan lines on my arms. I may have sent the pictures to someone, thinking they were funny, but they didn’t find them as such. Back in the car in the morning my partner said, "Hookers are the path to a perfect relationship. You call a girl, she comes to your room, she dances for you, she has sex with you, and she leaves." And I thought, I have no idea who I will ask to go to the Grand Canyon with me.
We passed through Death Valley and drove to the sea. Bakersfield had the best radio station we ever heard.
The first time I drove from Chicago to San Francisco it took me more than a week. There was a crack in the windshield of our car -- a white Cavalier we called the Coyote -- and we stopped the first night in Iowa City. We left early and of our own accord, but later legend had it we were run out of town. It’s hard to keep straight which parts really happened and which parts were later inventions. I don’t think we really broke anyone’s windows.
Our next stop was Oklahoma City, gray and flat and depressing. There’s a few square blocks in town zoned as a whole other city, and that’s where they keep their porno shops and strip clubs. I wouldn’t go into a strip club in Oklahoma City -- the thought was too depressing -- but that was only putting off what would come later.
We passed through Amarillo, bought cowboy hats and ate regular fries. They don’t make them French in Texas.
We camped outside of Roswell, New Mexico, thinking we’d make up stories about aliens. Instead we were surrounded by (actual) coyotes, found bobcat tracks on the ridge in the morning, were woken up in the night by the headlights of rangers or wandering teens. We saw lights in the sky that got closer then farther, that made patterns like D&D dice. We slept with our boots on, a knives under our pillows, baseball bats in our sleeping bags.
Carlsbad has Caverns and bats that swarm through the sky at sunset. There might have been fistfights and gazes that lasted too long. There were definitely cockroaches in the bathtub.
The Grand Canyon is bigger than even you think it will be. There are no guard rails. Only rock, and then air, and then more rock. My partner waited in the car -- "I’m tired of this hole" -- and I walked the rim for hours. I thought maybe I’d go back someday, with someone who wanted to see it too.
In Las Vegas I saw a magic show. I walked the sidewalks by myself, passed through the casinos because you can’t walk around them, and spent a quarter on the slot machines. I didn’t win, but I gave it a try. I took pictures of myself with my shirt off, enjoying the tan lines on my arms. I may have sent the pictures to someone, thinking they were funny, but they didn’t find them as such. Back in the car in the morning my partner said, "Hookers are the path to a perfect relationship. You call a girl, she comes to your room, she dances for you, she has sex with you, and she leaves." And I thought, I have no idea who I will ask to go to the Grand Canyon with me.
We passed through Death Valley and drove to the sea. Bakersfield had the best radio station we ever heard.
8. Innocence
Originally posted March 13, 2008.
Mama is on the couch in the morning, same as last night. Her belly moves when she breathes, so I know she’s not dead. I can’t remember when she wasn’t wearing that very same sweater. She’s on her back and her side at the same time, if that’s even possible, all twisty and uncomfortable-looking. A blue blanket is half off her and half on.
Maria is on her side and one the floor, curled up like a baby, no blanket at all. There’s carpet on the living room floor, at least.
I don’t say anything, but maybe I sigh against my will. Mama’s eyes pop open like she wasn’t sleeping at all, just lying there awake but not really wanting to be.
"Morning," I say.
Mama waits for a moment, just long enough for me to know that she heard me, and she closes her eyes again.
I walk over to Maria and nudge her ribs with my foot. Her face crinkles and she opens her eyes -- somehow in her squint she looks like her eyes are more closed than they were when she was sleeping -- and she raises her head and looks up at me.
"Quit," she says.
"You should sleep in a bed," I say.
She shakes her head and sets it back down on the floor. "Mama needs me," she says. But she blinks her eyes a few more times, and leaves them open.
"I don’t know what she needs," I say, "but I don’t think it’s us."
Mama’s eyes stay closed, but I seem them flicker under the lids. She hears my words, I know, but I seem to make her know what I’m saying. I’m not being mean. I just want her to want to get up off the couch.
"What else would it be," Maria says.
But that’s kind of the problem. I really don’t know.
Mama is on the couch in the morning, same as last night. Her belly moves when she breathes, so I know she’s not dead. I can’t remember when she wasn’t wearing that very same sweater. She’s on her back and her side at the same time, if that’s even possible, all twisty and uncomfortable-looking. A blue blanket is half off her and half on.
Maria is on her side and one the floor, curled up like a baby, no blanket at all. There’s carpet on the living room floor, at least.
I don’t say anything, but maybe I sigh against my will. Mama’s eyes pop open like she wasn’t sleeping at all, just lying there awake but not really wanting to be.
"Morning," I say.
Mama waits for a moment, just long enough for me to know that she heard me, and she closes her eyes again.
I walk over to Maria and nudge her ribs with my foot. Her face crinkles and she opens her eyes -- somehow in her squint she looks like her eyes are more closed than they were when she was sleeping -- and she raises her head and looks up at me.
"Quit," she says.
"You should sleep in a bed," I say.
She shakes her head and sets it back down on the floor. "Mama needs me," she says. But she blinks her eyes a few more times, and leaves them open.
"I don’t know what she needs," I say, "but I don’t think it’s us."
Mama’s eyes stay closed, but I seem them flicker under the lids. She hears my words, I know, but I seem to make her know what I’m saying. I’m not being mean. I just want her to want to get up off the couch.
"What else would it be," Maria says.
But that’s kind of the problem. I really don’t know.
7. Heaven
Originally posted March 5, 2008.
I used to think God was a man with a mustache, dressed like Han Solo, who shot a watergun from Heaven when it rained. I asked Ma about it once. I said, "Does God have a gun--"
And she got mad and yelled, no, God does NOT have a gun, don't ever say, don't ever THINK that God has a gun!
Well, that's fine. But then where does the rain come from?
I used to think God was a man with a mustache, dressed like Han Solo, who shot a watergun from Heaven when it rained. I asked Ma about it once. I said, "Does God have a gun--"
And she got mad and yelled, no, God does NOT have a gun, don't ever say, don't ever THINK that God has a gun!
Well, that's fine. But then where does the rain come from?
6. Break Away
Originally posted March 3, 2008.
"There comes a time when passion has to take over."
"Yeah, but what if you can't convince them of that?"
"Well…"
"There comes a time when passion has to take over."
"Yeah, but what if you can't convince them of that?"
"Well…"
5. Seeking Solace
Originally posted March 2nd, 2008.
"It's hard for me to ask people for things."
"I know, but I'm asking you to ask me."
"…"
"I'm saying it's important for me to hear it from time to time."
"I know."
"To know that you still feel it, you know?"
"When have I ever acted like I didn't feel it?"
"For -- the last six weeks?"
"…"
"I mean --"
"It's fine. It's how you feel."
"So now you're mad at me."
"You -- you change so fast, even in the course of one conversation, it's like --"
"What do you mean?"
"You are ready to walk away, at like any moment. And that's scary."
"I'm not ready to walk away."
"I'm not saying that's what you do, I'm saying that's how you make me feel."
"I'm sorry I've made you feel like that."
"Well don't apologize for it. It's just how I feel."
"It's hard for me to ask people for things."
"I know, but I'm asking you to ask me."
"…"
"I'm saying it's important for me to hear it from time to time."
"I know."
"To know that you still feel it, you know?"
"When have I ever acted like I didn't feel it?"
"For -- the last six weeks?"
"…"
"I mean --"
"It's fine. It's how you feel."
"So now you're mad at me."
"You -- you change so fast, even in the course of one conversation, it's like --"
"What do you mean?"
"You are ready to walk away, at like any moment. And that's scary."
"I'm not ready to walk away."
"I'm not saying that's what you do, I'm saying that's how you make me feel."
"I'm sorry I've made you feel like that."
"Well don't apologize for it. It's just how I feel."
4. Dark
Originally posted March 1, 2008.
The Golden Bough says the Hungarians used to light a need-fire (and first of all -- dude, they called them "need-fires" … !) at night to keep away vampires and spirits of the dead. It's from this that the belief in sunlight as a source of vampiric destruction comes, but originally it wasn't held true that fire destroyed the vampires. It simply kept them at bay, as with wolves or bears or other wild beasts. It kept the dark away. It pushed back the unknown and held it out past where we could see.
I was sometimes afraid of lights in the dark. On summertime weekends I would stay up late watching cable in the living room, on our big TV that sat on the floor. I would watch with the lights off, usually movies with monsters or sort-of-documentaries about ghosts and UFOs. And when walking down the long hallway to my bedroom, the house completely dark, running not allowed because Dad was asleep and had to get up early for work, even on weekends, I would convince myself of arbitrary rules to keep me safe. If I made the sign of the cross over and over again, for example, no ghosts would appear on my walk to bed.
But one of the frights that stands out for me was after I turned the
TV off in the dark. I pushed the off button and it crackled with static electricity. Then on the dark, powered down screen, a red and blue streak appeared -- like a tiny version of the Northern Lights -- and snaked across the screen. I became convinced, and I don't know why, that it meant a werewolf was nearby. I had a panic in my stomach that would repeat itself for years, a kind of spidey-sense warning me of real danger. I ran down the hallway -- the next day at supper my dad yelled at me for clomping down the hall as he slept -- and bolted the door of my bedroom behind me.
(It had a deadbolt because it was my brother's old room, and he put one on there against my dad's wishes. It is unclear why he never removed it. But the point is: this makes the story particularly lame, because my brother didn't move out of the house until I was 9. Which makes me a little too old to cutely describe how the werewolf detector in our living room once gave me an awful fright.)
The Golden Bough says the Hungarians used to light a need-fire (and first of all -- dude, they called them "need-fires" … !) at night to keep away vampires and spirits of the dead. It's from this that the belief in sunlight as a source of vampiric destruction comes, but originally it wasn't held true that fire destroyed the vampires. It simply kept them at bay, as with wolves or bears or other wild beasts. It kept the dark away. It pushed back the unknown and held it out past where we could see.
I was sometimes afraid of lights in the dark. On summertime weekends I would stay up late watching cable in the living room, on our big TV that sat on the floor. I would watch with the lights off, usually movies with monsters or sort-of-documentaries about ghosts and UFOs. And when walking down the long hallway to my bedroom, the house completely dark, running not allowed because Dad was asleep and had to get up early for work, even on weekends, I would convince myself of arbitrary rules to keep me safe. If I made the sign of the cross over and over again, for example, no ghosts would appear on my walk to bed.
But one of the frights that stands out for me was after I turned the
TV off in the dark. I pushed the off button and it crackled with static electricity. Then on the dark, powered down screen, a red and blue streak appeared -- like a tiny version of the Northern Lights -- and snaked across the screen. I became convinced, and I don't know why, that it meant a werewolf was nearby. I had a panic in my stomach that would repeat itself for years, a kind of spidey-sense warning me of real danger. I ran down the hallway -- the next day at supper my dad yelled at me for clomping down the hall as he slept -- and bolted the door of my bedroom behind me.
(It had a deadbolt because it was my brother's old room, and he put one on there against my dad's wishes. It is unclear why he never removed it. But the point is: this makes the story particularly lame, because my brother didn't move out of the house until I was 9. Which makes me a little too old to cutely describe how the werewolf detector in our living room once gave me an awful fright.)
3. Light
Originally posted February 25th, 2008.
In the attic, where it takes so long to reach. But you can still see the dust dancing in the sunlight -- the sun is still taller than the windows.
At night, sneaking outside to smoke in the corn. The yard is lit by the moon and the stars. The sky is a dark blue-black and everything around you is clearer than it really should be, but slower too.
At dawn or dusk, when the red is far off and either leaving you behind or coming to find you.
The sunlight in spring that brings the breeze with it.
The sunlight in winter that eventually reaches you, but keeps its distance.
The sun at your back that makes your shadow a giant, walking ahead of you.
Be aware of the quality of light in your place, bright and easy to see or low-lit and dark.
In the attic, where it takes so long to reach. But you can still see the dust dancing in the sunlight -- the sun is still taller than the windows.
At night, sneaking outside to smoke in the corn. The yard is lit by the moon and the stars. The sky is a dark blue-black and everything around you is clearer than it really should be, but slower too.
At dawn or dusk, when the red is far off and either leaving you behind or coming to find you.
The sunlight in spring that brings the breeze with it.
The sunlight in winter that eventually reaches you, but keeps its distance.
The sun at your back that makes your shadow a giant, walking ahead of you.
Be aware of the quality of light in your place, bright and easy to see or low-lit and dark.
2. Love
Originally posted February 25, 2008
I remember living in Oakland, in a house that I did not like, pining for a particular girl for another month or so...
Oh, my.
Love, then. Love lately is patience, and asking for patience. Or: hoping for patience. Love is understanding -- or, hoping -- that March will be better, and April better than that. Or at the very least that better is coming.
Love is that smell -- you know that smell -- that even if they're not around, when you smell it you think of them. Okay, of her. It's the sound a text message makes, on somebody else's phone, that all the same reminds you that someone somewhere is thinking of you.
Love is making a mixtape, and the state of continual courtship.
Or understanding that you can get together and talk about, I don't know, the Oscars or comic books or how and why you're quite so nerdy, even though there are plenty of other things to discuss. Important things, or, "important" things. Misunderstandings and arguments and being-hung-up-on. But knowing that you'll get to those things in time. Not that you're ignoring them -- more that you're trusting the process, and that you'll get to them in time.
Or, you won't.
It's trust even in absence. Trust even in mistakes, your own or theirs. It's not quite knowing what they're thinking, but looking forward to finding out -- when the time is right, and not necessarily now. And while I'm thinking about it -- it's looking forward in general. And looking forward, and looking forward, and looking forward.
I remember living in Oakland, in a house that I did not like, pining for a particular girl for another month or so...
Oh, my.
Love, then. Love lately is patience, and asking for patience. Or: hoping for patience. Love is understanding -- or, hoping -- that March will be better, and April better than that. Or at the very least that better is coming.
Love is that smell -- you know that smell -- that even if they're not around, when you smell it you think of them. Okay, of her. It's the sound a text message makes, on somebody else's phone, that all the same reminds you that someone somewhere is thinking of you.
Love is making a mixtape, and the state of continual courtship.
Or understanding that you can get together and talk about, I don't know, the Oscars or comic books or how and why you're quite so nerdy, even though there are plenty of other things to discuss. Important things, or, "important" things. Misunderstandings and arguments and being-hung-up-on. But knowing that you'll get to those things in time. Not that you're ignoring them -- more that you're trusting the process, and that you'll get to them in time.
Or, you won't.
It's trust even in absence. Trust even in mistakes, your own or theirs. It's not quite knowing what they're thinking, but looking forward to finding out -- when the time is right, and not necessarily now. And while I'm thinking about it -- it's looking forward in general. And looking forward, and looking forward, and looking forward.
1. Introduction
Originally posted Febuary 23, 2008
I am 29 years old. Wait -- I am 28 years old. Later I'll be -- wait -- it's 2008, I am always one older than the last digit in the year, so later this year, I'll turn 29. But right now I am 28. Here's a true thing: sometimes when people ask me how old I am I can't quite remember, and I have to work it out by doing the math like that. Sometimes I remember exactly how old I am, but I think it should still count that sometimes I don't, so I take a moment to pretend to remember. I have never told anyone that before.
I do not know how much I weigh. When I was in high school I pretty consistently weighed 130 lbs. I had ribs and no tummy then. Now I'm fleshier with little pooches of skin. I bet I'm like 150. That makes me think of this: also when I was in high school I secretly believed I had surprisingly big biceps. Not ACTUAL big biceps, but bigger than you'd think, at least when I flexed. This is not a thing I really believe anymore. But, further, that makes me think about this: a few years ago my pal Jen K. was making a movie about a guy who, for reasons I don't remember, was sometimes dressed up in a U.S. postal worker outfit, and was sometimes dressed up in a dress. And that guy would encounter himself -- or, the other -- and she needed a stunt double to appear, fuzzy and out of focus. So I played the stunt double, which means I had to play a few scenes in a dress and in makeup and tights. And when I wore the tights I thought: I have surprisingly toned calves. Not ACTUAL toned calves, but more toned than you'd think. I don't really know if that's true either. Probably not.
The things that make me happy these days: biking downhill, noveling, the Office, robots, octopi and squid (from a distance, or in pictures), being ensconced in books, being ensconced in anything, heat, not having to get up early but still having somewhere to go but still not getting home too late, Cap'n Crunch, the sun, the moon, the stars.
Things that do not: Now, really. There's a time to discuss that sort of thing, and a time to dwell on what we love. More things I like: old comics (in color and smell and never-been-done-yet), stone busts of Elvis, tight green tees, maps of the US, thinking about having a car again. I think those last two things represent "the future." Which means, to turn around a thing I once read, I look forward to more than I miss.
I am growing a thesis beard and I'm over the itchy hump. There are meetings and dinners and comics this weekend. And work to be done.
I am 29 years old. Wait -- I am 28 years old. Later I'll be -- wait -- it's 2008, I am always one older than the last digit in the year, so later this year, I'll turn 29. But right now I am 28. Here's a true thing: sometimes when people ask me how old I am I can't quite remember, and I have to work it out by doing the math like that. Sometimes I remember exactly how old I am, but I think it should still count that sometimes I don't, so I take a moment to pretend to remember. I have never told anyone that before.
I do not know how much I weigh. When I was in high school I pretty consistently weighed 130 lbs. I had ribs and no tummy then. Now I'm fleshier with little pooches of skin. I bet I'm like 150. That makes me think of this: also when I was in high school I secretly believed I had surprisingly big biceps. Not ACTUAL big biceps, but bigger than you'd think, at least when I flexed. This is not a thing I really believe anymore. But, further, that makes me think about this: a few years ago my pal Jen K. was making a movie about a guy who, for reasons I don't remember, was sometimes dressed up in a U.S. postal worker outfit, and was sometimes dressed up in a dress. And that guy would encounter himself -- or, the other -- and she needed a stunt double to appear, fuzzy and out of focus. So I played the stunt double, which means I had to play a few scenes in a dress and in makeup and tights. And when I wore the tights I thought: I have surprisingly toned calves. Not ACTUAL toned calves, but more toned than you'd think. I don't really know if that's true either. Probably not.
The things that make me happy these days: biking downhill, noveling, the Office, robots, octopi and squid (from a distance, or in pictures), being ensconced in books, being ensconced in anything, heat, not having to get up early but still having somewhere to go but still not getting home too late, Cap'n Crunch, the sun, the moon, the stars.
Things that do not: Now, really. There's a time to discuss that sort of thing, and a time to dwell on what we love. More things I like: old comics (in color and smell and never-been-done-yet), stone busts of Elvis, tight green tees, maps of the US, thinking about having a car again. I think those last two things represent "the future." Which means, to turn around a thing I once read, I look forward to more than I miss.
I am growing a thesis beard and I'm over the itchy hump. There are meetings and dinners and comics this weekend. And work to be done.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Thoughts to Shape His Thoughts
Kalman's piece on Monticello wasn't my introduction to Jefferson as a Renaissance Man, thinker, or overall complicated dude -- but it made me wonder about seeing the interior walls of his life. It's hard to put into words, but I had the feeling I was going to get to peer into the inside of his brain in a way that reading his letters or biographies wouldn't allow.
And it's a fantastic space. Anyone more versed in architecture could tell you about the dome, the walls, the spatial layout, I'm sure -- what impressed me most was what he put on his walls.
He covered them, for the most part. With maps, with antlers and other animal parts, with books -- and with his friends.
He had paintings of people he admired -- mostly men, all white -- and as Kalman says up above, with the most important folks on the top. It reminds me of my friend Adam's novel, which features a protagonist who carries a small library of essential texts -- Thoreau is in there, along with "The Man of Steel" -- as a means of surrounding himself with the ideas that matter to him. The thoughts he hopes will shape his thoughts.
But there's a visual element to Jefferson's approach that strikes me as better (sorry Adam -- Jefferson wins again!). But Jefferson had the added benefit of knowing cats like Ben Franklin and George Washington -- he could surround himself with portraits of great thinkers, leaders and writers who were also dudes he knew socially.
And Ben Franklin's Ben Franklin, but I know some pretty smart/creative/attractive people too. Which is to say, if any of you are reading this and thinking of Christmas presents (it's early! there's time!), there is nothing I would love more than a painting of YOU. Soon I will have brand new walls to decorate!
100 Theme Challenge
In those golden days of 2008 I started a project on my MySpace blog called "100 Themes in 100 Days" -- I'm not sure what led me to the it, but it was a challenge on DeviantArt with a numbered list, and at the time that was just too attractive to pass up.
The DeviantArt idea is to draw a hundred things based on those hundred themes, but you know, you work with what you got, so I started writing on them. Over three months I made it as a far #12... but hey, grad school was winding down, romance was a-bloomin', and Sarah Palin was right around the corner. What I mean is, there was a lot going on.
I'd like to take a crack at the 100 themes again, and they're posted down below so I won't lose track of them. Initially I thought I'd start over from scratch, but there's a certain attraction in just rolling with what I wrote before. It's all an exercise anyway... so I'll be reposting the previous 12 short pieces in the next day or so, embarrassing as some of them may be two years on...
#100ThemeChallenge
1. Introduction
2. Love
3. Light
4. Dark
5. Seeking Solace
6. Break Away
7. Heaven
8. Innocence
9. Drive
10. Breathe Again
11. Memory
12. Insanity
13. Misfortune
14. Smile
15. Silence
16. Questioning
17. Blood
18. Rainbow
19. Gray
20. Fortitude
21. Vacation
22. Mother Nature
23. Cat
24. No Time
25. Trouble Lurking
26. Tears
27. Foreign
28. Sorrow
29. Happiness
30. Under the Rain
31. Flowers
32. Night
33. Expectaions
34. Stars
35. Hold My Hand
36. Precious Treasure
37. Eyes
38. Abandoned
39. Dreams
40. Rated
41. Teamwork
42. Standing Still
43. Dying
44. Two Roads
45. Illusion
46. Family
47. Creation
48. Childhood
49. Stripes
50. Breaking the Rules
51. Sport
52. Deep in Thought
53. Keeping a Secret
54. Tower
55. Waiting
56. Danger Ahead
57. Sacrifice
58. Kick in the Head
59. No Way Out
60. Rejection
61. Fairy Tale
62. Magic
63. Do Not Disturb
64. Multitasking
65. Horror
66. Traps
67. Playing the Melody
68. Hero
69. Annoyance
70. 67%
71. Obsession
72. Mischief Managed
73. I Can't
74. Are You Challenging Me?
75. Mirror
76. Broken Pieces
77. Test
78. Drink
79. Starvation
80. Words
81. Pen and Paper
82. Can You Hear Me?
83. Heal
84. Out Cold
85. Spiral
86. Seeing Red
87. Food
88. Pain
89. Through the Fire
90. Triangle
91. Drowning
92. All That I Have
93. Give Up
94. Last Hope
95. Advertisement
96. In the Storm
97. Safety First
98. Puzzle
99. Solitude
100. Relaxation
The DeviantArt idea is to draw a hundred things based on those hundred themes, but you know, you work with what you got, so I started writing on them. Over three months I made it as a far #12... but hey, grad school was winding down, romance was a-bloomin', and Sarah Palin was right around the corner. What I mean is, there was a lot going on.
I'd like to take a crack at the 100 themes again, and they're posted down below so I won't lose track of them. Initially I thought I'd start over from scratch, but there's a certain attraction in just rolling with what I wrote before. It's all an exercise anyway... so I'll be reposting the previous 12 short pieces in the next day or so, embarrassing as some of them may be two years on...
#100ThemeChallenge
1. Introduction
2. Love
3. Light
4. Dark
5. Seeking Solace
6. Break Away
7. Heaven
8. Innocence
9. Drive
10. Breathe Again
11. Memory
12. Insanity
13. Misfortune
14. Smile
15. Silence
16. Questioning
17. Blood
18. Rainbow
19. Gray
20. Fortitude
21. Vacation
22. Mother Nature
23. Cat
24. No Time
25. Trouble Lurking
26. Tears
27. Foreign
28. Sorrow
29. Happiness
30. Under the Rain
31. Flowers
32. Night
33. Expectaions
34. Stars
35. Hold My Hand
36. Precious Treasure
37. Eyes
38. Abandoned
39. Dreams
40. Rated
41. Teamwork
42. Standing Still
43. Dying
44. Two Roads
45. Illusion
46. Family
47. Creation
48. Childhood
49. Stripes
50. Breaking the Rules
51. Sport
52. Deep in Thought
53. Keeping a Secret
54. Tower
55. Waiting
56. Danger Ahead
57. Sacrifice
58. Kick in the Head
59. No Way Out
60. Rejection
61. Fairy Tale
62. Magic
63. Do Not Disturb
64. Multitasking
65. Horror
66. Traps
67. Playing the Melody
68. Hero
69. Annoyance
70. 67%
71. Obsession
72. Mischief Managed
73. I Can't
74. Are You Challenging Me?
75. Mirror
76. Broken Pieces
77. Test
78. Drink
79. Starvation
80. Words
81. Pen and Paper
82. Can You Hear Me?
83. Heal
84. Out Cold
85. Spiral
86. Seeing Red
87. Food
88. Pain
89. Through the Fire
90. Triangle
91. Drowning
92. All That I Have
93. Give Up
94. Last Hope
95. Advertisement
96. In the Storm
97. Safety First
98. Puzzle
99. Solitude
100. Relaxation
Sunday, August 15, 2010
The Creative Life
Scott Pilgrim! It was the movie of the weekend. The only thing keeping it from movie of the year were two outrageously better movies, released earlier this year*. That's not the narrative playing out in the box office tallies this weekend, but, you know...
... whatcha gonna do? It'll find the kids on cable.
But what's been resonating with me most is something I read in an LA Times article running down the soundtrack song by song. Emily Haines of Metric talks about their song "Black Sheep," performed in the movie by Envy Adams's band The Clash at Demonhead, and says it was a song they'd recorded for a prior album, but had rejected for sounding ... well, too much like Metric, I guess:
Aspects of the song, the electro aspects of the band, and the abstract lyrical visualizations, are extreme examples of certain aspects of us ... These are late-night conversations the band has had. Everyone has commentary on what you’re doing, and everyone has interpretations. But we are also looking at it. It’s not like we’re blindly going, ‘Oh, what’s this?’ We’re aware of what we have been, and what we want to be.
Producer Nigel Godrich concurred: "It’s a very common criticism when you’re making records. You say, ‘Well, this sounds like somebody trying to be us."
But my introduction to Metric was through the Scott Pilgrim movie, and as of right now it's my favorite damn song on the record. I've listened to some other Metric songs in the days since seeing the picture, and "Black Sheep" remains my favorite -- pretty much because it sounds the most Metric-like of Metric's songs. It reminds me of what Paul McCartney has said about "Yesterday" -- that he had the melody in his head for quite some time, but initially wrote it off because it seemed too good. I'd go a bit further and say it's the most McCartney-ish of Paul McCartney songs -- and his first reaction was not to trust it.
A lot of people react that way to things they make that are good -- McCartney didn't trust "Yesterday" because he thought it was so good, someone else must have written it first, and he was simply remembering. Haines and Metric didn't trust "Black Sheep" because they thought it sounded so much like their band, that it must be bad. When I was very early in writing my (still-in-progress) novel Brand New Berto, I was having a lot of fun writing about Berto and Papa on a road trip. They leave in Papa's truck to go to a wake for a relative Berto's never met -- but Papa decides to blow it off, and instead they spend the day together in Houston. And I was in the shower one morning, and I was wondering what the hell I was writing about anyway, and I thought Well hey -- what if I kill off Papa? And Berto's alone in a strange city?
(Erm -- spoiler alert there. It's okay, it happens in chapter one.)
Berto didn't really get his chance to explore the city alone, because that idea spun the entire novel off into what it's actually about -- Berto loses a dad and encounters several different father figures/mentors over the course of the book. But my first reaction to that idea was, Naw, you can't kill Papa. Papa's great! But what was actually scary was the prospect of finding my story -- or, more directly, finding what it was I wanted to talk about, and write about, and explore, for the next several years of my life. That's daunting, when you put that kind of thing into specific terms. Somewhere in, what, 1965?, Paul McCartney writes "Yesterday" and realizes -- Oh shit, this is the kind of songwriter I am. This is what I'm going to be singing about for the rest of my life -- and, I dunno, maybe Metric had that moment when they heard themselves making "Black Sheep."
It's like hearing your voice on an answering machine**. You're suddenly face to face with yourself, from a step outside of yourself.
All of which is just to say -- Metric buried "Black Sheep" under a rock, until the Scott Pilgrim folks called around looking for a song to stand in for The Clash at Demonhead. Metric gave it to them, and Nigel Goodrich said it was perfect because, "It’s not Metric. It’s a shadow of Metric."
Only that's a lesson our man Pilgrim learned when he faced Nega-Scott -- the shadow's you. You can't turn away from it, you can only take it out to brunch.
(and I realize that Michael Cera is getting on everyone's nerves, but srsly d00dz -- the movie is unique and a hell of a lot of fun. The closest thing I've seen that compares is Kung Fu Hustle.)
*Winter's Bone and Inception, in that order.
**There used to be answering machines!
... whatcha gonna do? It'll find the kids on cable.
But what's been resonating with me most is something I read in an LA Times article running down the soundtrack song by song. Emily Haines of Metric talks about their song "Black Sheep," performed in the movie by Envy Adams's band The Clash at Demonhead, and says it was a song they'd recorded for a prior album, but had rejected for sounding ... well, too much like Metric, I guess:
Aspects of the song, the electro aspects of the band, and the abstract lyrical visualizations, are extreme examples of certain aspects of us ... These are late-night conversations the band has had. Everyone has commentary on what you’re doing, and everyone has interpretations. But we are also looking at it. It’s not like we’re blindly going, ‘Oh, what’s this?’ We’re aware of what we have been, and what we want to be.
Producer Nigel Godrich concurred: "It’s a very common criticism when you’re making records. You say, ‘Well, this sounds like somebody trying to be us."
But my introduction to Metric was through the Scott Pilgrim movie, and as of right now it's my favorite damn song on the record. I've listened to some other Metric songs in the days since seeing the picture, and "Black Sheep" remains my favorite -- pretty much because it sounds the most Metric-like of Metric's songs. It reminds me of what Paul McCartney has said about "Yesterday" -- that he had the melody in his head for quite some time, but initially wrote it off because it seemed too good. I'd go a bit further and say it's the most McCartney-ish of Paul McCartney songs -- and his first reaction was not to trust it.
A lot of people react that way to things they make that are good -- McCartney didn't trust "Yesterday" because he thought it was so good, someone else must have written it first, and he was simply remembering. Haines and Metric didn't trust "Black Sheep" because they thought it sounded so much like their band, that it must be bad. When I was very early in writing my (still-in-progress) novel Brand New Berto, I was having a lot of fun writing about Berto and Papa on a road trip. They leave in Papa's truck to go to a wake for a relative Berto's never met -- but Papa decides to blow it off, and instead they spend the day together in Houston. And I was in the shower one morning, and I was wondering what the hell I was writing about anyway, and I thought Well hey -- what if I kill off Papa? And Berto's alone in a strange city?
(Erm -- spoiler alert there. It's okay, it happens in chapter one.)
Berto didn't really get his chance to explore the city alone, because that idea spun the entire novel off into what it's actually about -- Berto loses a dad and encounters several different father figures/mentors over the course of the book. But my first reaction to that idea was, Naw, you can't kill Papa. Papa's great! But what was actually scary was the prospect of finding my story -- or, more directly, finding what it was I wanted to talk about, and write about, and explore, for the next several years of my life. That's daunting, when you put that kind of thing into specific terms. Somewhere in, what, 1965?, Paul McCartney writes "Yesterday" and realizes -- Oh shit, this is the kind of songwriter I am. This is what I'm going to be singing about for the rest of my life -- and, I dunno, maybe Metric had that moment when they heard themselves making "Black Sheep."
It's like hearing your voice on an answering machine**. You're suddenly face to face with yourself, from a step outside of yourself.
All of which is just to say -- Metric buried "Black Sheep" under a rock, until the Scott Pilgrim folks called around looking for a song to stand in for The Clash at Demonhead. Metric gave it to them, and Nigel Goodrich said it was perfect because, "It’s not Metric. It’s a shadow of Metric."
Only that's a lesson our man Pilgrim learned when he faced Nega-Scott -- the shadow's you. You can't turn away from it, you can only take it out to brunch.
(and I realize that Michael Cera is getting on everyone's nerves, but srsly d00dz -- the movie is unique and a hell of a lot of fun. The closest thing I've seen that compares is Kung Fu Hustle.)
*Winter's Bone and Inception, in that order.
**There used to be answering machines!
Saturday, March 27, 2010
True Neutral!
I Am A: True Neutral Halfling Sorcerer (4th Level)
Ability Scores:
Strength-12
Dexterity-10
Constitution-13
Intelligence-15
Wisdom-13
Charisma-14
Alignment:
True Neutral A true neutral character does what seems to be a good idea. He doesn't feel strongly one way or the other when it comes to good vs. evil or law vs. chaos. Most true neutral characters exhibit a lack of conviction or bias rather than a commitment to neutrality. Such a character thinks of good as better than evil after all, he would rather have good neighbors and rulers than evil ones. Still, he's not personally committed to upholding good in any abstract or universal way. Some true neutral characters, on the other hand, commit themselves philosophically to neutrality. They see good, evil, law, and chaos as prejudices and dangerous extremes. They advocate the middle way of neutrality as the best, most balanced road in the long run. True neutral is the best alignment you can be because it means you act naturally, without prejudice or compulsion. However, true neutral can be a dangerous alignment because it represents apathy, indifference, and a lack of conviction.
Race:
Halflings are clever, capable and resourceful survivors. They are notoriously curious and show a daring that many larger people can't match. They can be lured by wealth but tend to spend rather than hoard. They prefer practical clothing and would rather wear a comfortable shirt than jewelry. Halflings stand about 3 feet tall and commonly live to see 150.
Class:
Sorcerers are arcane spellcasters who manipulate magic energy with imagination and talent rather than studious discipline. They have no books, no mentors, no theories just raw power that they direct at will. Sorcerers know fewer spells than wizards do and acquire them more slowly, but they can cast individual spells more often and have no need to prepare their incantations ahead of time. Also unlike wizards, sorcerers cannot specialize in a school of magic. Since sorcerers gain their powers without undergoing the years of rigorous study that wizards go through, they have more time to learn fighting skills and are proficient with simple weapons. Charisma is very important for sorcerers; the higher their value in this ability, the higher the spell level they can cast.
Find out What Kind of Dungeons and Dragons Character Would You Be?, courtesy of Easydamus (e-mail)
Ability Scores:
Strength-12
Dexterity-10
Constitution-13
Intelligence-15
Wisdom-13
Charisma-14
Alignment:
True Neutral A true neutral character does what seems to be a good idea. He doesn't feel strongly one way or the other when it comes to good vs. evil or law vs. chaos. Most true neutral characters exhibit a lack of conviction or bias rather than a commitment to neutrality. Such a character thinks of good as better than evil after all, he would rather have good neighbors and rulers than evil ones. Still, he's not personally committed to upholding good in any abstract or universal way. Some true neutral characters, on the other hand, commit themselves philosophically to neutrality. They see good, evil, law, and chaos as prejudices and dangerous extremes. They advocate the middle way of neutrality as the best, most balanced road in the long run. True neutral is the best alignment you can be because it means you act naturally, without prejudice or compulsion. However, true neutral can be a dangerous alignment because it represents apathy, indifference, and a lack of conviction.
Race:
Halflings are clever, capable and resourceful survivors. They are notoriously curious and show a daring that many larger people can't match. They can be lured by wealth but tend to spend rather than hoard. They prefer practical clothing and would rather wear a comfortable shirt than jewelry. Halflings stand about 3 feet tall and commonly live to see 150.
Class:
Sorcerers are arcane spellcasters who manipulate magic energy with imagination and talent rather than studious discipline. They have no books, no mentors, no theories just raw power that they direct at will. Sorcerers know fewer spells than wizards do and acquire them more slowly, but they can cast individual spells more often and have no need to prepare their incantations ahead of time. Also unlike wizards, sorcerers cannot specialize in a school of magic. Since sorcerers gain their powers without undergoing the years of rigorous study that wizards go through, they have more time to learn fighting skills and are proficient with simple weapons. Charisma is very important for sorcerers; the higher their value in this ability, the higher the spell level they can cast.
Find out What Kind of Dungeons and Dragons Character Would You Be?, courtesy of Easydamus (e-mail)
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
An Exercise in World Building: New Phoenix
NEW PHOENIX
A frontier planet on the edge of inhabited space, New Phoenix was founded in (xxxx) by missionaries from (planetname) to escape the religious persecution they faced at home. While some missionaries remained behind, they quickly became a marginalized and repressed political afterthought -- the Pilgrims of New Phoenix, as they came to be known, were left to chart their people’s course in the galaxy.
Led by Simone Montreaux, the Pilgrims were initially funded by (a corporation on Planet Y), and were intended to be but the first wave of a massive colonization effort on New Phoenix. The Pilgrims’ craft, the Reconnoiter, was a subluminal long-voyage craft built and launched before the people of (Planet Y) had access to FTL communications. By the time the Reconnoiter landed on New Phoenix and established a surface communications disk, however, they were able to receive FTL transmissions that had been broadcast from Planet Y since their departure. They discovered (pieced together?) that a number of catastrophes had befallen their homeworld since their craft’s launch, and that not only would no further colonists be sent to New Phoenix, but the remaining human population on Planet Y had been reduced to a non-spacefaring, pre-industrial age civilization. Messages they sent back to Planet Y went unanswered and, in fact, unreceived.
Initially colonization on New Phoenix itself went according to plan. Reconnoiter landed on the surface of the planet and was deconstructed to form the basis for Reconnoiter City, the colony’s first outpost and capital. (There was some initial debate upon learning the fate of Planet Y’s people concerning returning home, or perhaps simply not grounding Reconnoiter and attempting to establish the colony another way, thereby giving them a possible route off-planet if it was deemed necessary, but ultimately they decided to follow the colonization plan and commit to the grounding.) The planet’s surface was harsh and desert-like, requiring terraforming techniques in order to be made truly ideal for farming; while initial and rudimentary terraforming equipment was shipped on the Reconnoiter, the intent was to ship a separate terraforming vessel, one that would remain permanently in orbit, in a second wave of ships that was never launched. Thus, the Pilgrims were forced to make due with cloud seeding aircraft and high yield, low moisture crops that, though viable on New Phoenix’s surface, were not intended to do more than help establish the initial colony.
Starvation and sickness was a problem in the colony’s early years…..
Initially established as an oligarchy, with decisions made by a council appointed by Simone Montreaux, Reconnoiter City had descended into a fascist regime with a singular head by the end of Montreaux’s life. Her controversial death (assassination? Unexpected suicide?) led to a brief but far-reaching outbreak of violence before control of the city was seized by Walker Percy, the head of the ((Pilgrims’ Military Organization)). By this time the Pilgrims had spread beyond Reconnoiter City, with most of the population living on secluded farms, but with six other permanent settlements that, though they did not rival Reconnoiter City in terms of size, were nonetheless major centers of trade and religious worship. Walker Percy’s rule effectively ended at Reconnoiter City’s walls, and the other cities were left to develop, thrive or fall on their own accord.
Several generations passed before the ruins of a previous sapient civilization was found on the surface of New Phoenix. Ruins carved into the rock proved to be burial tombs by and large, but some evidence of trade centers and roads were also found, sometimes in the same places as where the Pilgrims had settled and established regular routes of transportation. That their existence had not been noted before was curious, but not altogether surprising. There had been no evidence of, or reason to suspect, that New Phoenix had ever been the home of another intelligent species.
Carvings in the tombs showed what appeared to be a reptilian race of two-legged humanoids who wore jewellery and headwear, but otherwise no evidence of clothing. Empty containers slightly smaller than human-size were discovered in some of the tombs, but they were otherwise empty of remains. The reasons for this were never discovered or ascertained by the Pilgrims.
Despite the occasional outbreak of violence between cities, the terrain of New Phoenix and the difficulty of day to day life even outside of warfare prevented any long-term campaigns of war. Nonetheless, within a hundred generations the Pilgrims civilization had dwindled below sustainable levels. Small pockets of humanity may remain to this day, most likely descended from Pilgrims that eventually moved below ground, but it is expected that New Phoenix will be completely devoid of human life within another four generations.
ERAS:
Colonization
-After arrival of the Pilgrims and the establishment of Reconnoiter City, during the rule of Simone Montreaux. Gradually becomes a totalitarian, religion-based rule. Other settlements appear over time, usually founded by leaders who have fallen out of favor with Montreaux.
Wild Years
-After Montreaux’s death, during the generations of New Phoenix’s slow fall. Many settlements of varying size and sustainability. The ruins of the previous civilization are discovered. Possible interaction with megainsects (unintelligent) that live beneath the surface.
Desolation
-After the collapse of the Pilgrims’ civilization. Remaining humans live below ground, are often insane or small multi-family units. They may even be unaware of any other human survivors on the planet, or even of the planet’s own history. Reconnoiter City itself is practically reclaimed by the harsh wilderness at this point.
NOTES:
-desert planet
-giant monsters, underground
-scattered settlements -- none above ground?
-ruins of such exist, however.
-giant star, two other planets: one outer gas giant, one inner small hot rocky world.
-crosses gas giant’s orbit? Allowing transfer of large gas-dragon-type creatures?
-ruins of a prior civilization found? Just before a catastrophe of some sort?
-religion of the Pilgrims -- Mormon based?
FORGET IT:
((but moreso was the existence of unknown and unexpected ultrafauna that lived beneath the planet’s surface. Massive insect-like creatures that existed in tunnels and mountainsides, the creatures would spend several years -- sometimes several generations -- in a kind of hibernation, only to awaken without warning, destroying crops and sometimes attacking and destroying entire settlements. Poisons were sometimes effective in killing the creatures, or furthering their hibernation, but physical weapons proved unable to pierce their thick exoskeletons.))
A frontier planet on the edge of inhabited space, New Phoenix was founded in (xxxx) by missionaries from (planetname) to escape the religious persecution they faced at home. While some missionaries remained behind, they quickly became a marginalized and repressed political afterthought -- the Pilgrims of New Phoenix, as they came to be known, were left to chart their people’s course in the galaxy.
Led by Simone Montreaux, the Pilgrims were initially funded by (a corporation on Planet Y), and were intended to be but the first wave of a massive colonization effort on New Phoenix. The Pilgrims’ craft, the Reconnoiter, was a subluminal long-voyage craft built and launched before the people of (Planet Y) had access to FTL communications. By the time the Reconnoiter landed on New Phoenix and established a surface communications disk, however, they were able to receive FTL transmissions that had been broadcast from Planet Y since their departure. They discovered (pieced together?) that a number of catastrophes had befallen their homeworld since their craft’s launch, and that not only would no further colonists be sent to New Phoenix, but the remaining human population on Planet Y had been reduced to a non-spacefaring, pre-industrial age civilization. Messages they sent back to Planet Y went unanswered and, in fact, unreceived.
Initially colonization on New Phoenix itself went according to plan. Reconnoiter landed on the surface of the planet and was deconstructed to form the basis for Reconnoiter City, the colony’s first outpost and capital. (There was some initial debate upon learning the fate of Planet Y’s people concerning returning home, or perhaps simply not grounding Reconnoiter and attempting to establish the colony another way, thereby giving them a possible route off-planet if it was deemed necessary, but ultimately they decided to follow the colonization plan and commit to the grounding.) The planet’s surface was harsh and desert-like, requiring terraforming techniques in order to be made truly ideal for farming; while initial and rudimentary terraforming equipment was shipped on the Reconnoiter, the intent was to ship a separate terraforming vessel, one that would remain permanently in orbit, in a second wave of ships that was never launched. Thus, the Pilgrims were forced to make due with cloud seeding aircraft and high yield, low moisture crops that, though viable on New Phoenix’s surface, were not intended to do more than help establish the initial colony.
Starvation and sickness was a problem in the colony’s early years…..
Initially established as an oligarchy, with decisions made by a council appointed by Simone Montreaux, Reconnoiter City had descended into a fascist regime with a singular head by the end of Montreaux’s life. Her controversial death (assassination? Unexpected suicide?) led to a brief but far-reaching outbreak of violence before control of the city was seized by Walker Percy, the head of the ((Pilgrims’ Military Organization)). By this time the Pilgrims had spread beyond Reconnoiter City, with most of the population living on secluded farms, but with six other permanent settlements that, though they did not rival Reconnoiter City in terms of size, were nonetheless major centers of trade and religious worship. Walker Percy’s rule effectively ended at Reconnoiter City’s walls, and the other cities were left to develop, thrive or fall on their own accord.
Several generations passed before the ruins of a previous sapient civilization was found on the surface of New Phoenix. Ruins carved into the rock proved to be burial tombs by and large, but some evidence of trade centers and roads were also found, sometimes in the same places as where the Pilgrims had settled and established regular routes of transportation. That their existence had not been noted before was curious, but not altogether surprising. There had been no evidence of, or reason to suspect, that New Phoenix had ever been the home of another intelligent species.
Carvings in the tombs showed what appeared to be a reptilian race of two-legged humanoids who wore jewellery and headwear, but otherwise no evidence of clothing. Empty containers slightly smaller than human-size were discovered in some of the tombs, but they were otherwise empty of remains. The reasons for this were never discovered or ascertained by the Pilgrims.
Despite the occasional outbreak of violence between cities, the terrain of New Phoenix and the difficulty of day to day life even outside of warfare prevented any long-term campaigns of war. Nonetheless, within a hundred generations the Pilgrims civilization had dwindled below sustainable levels. Small pockets of humanity may remain to this day, most likely descended from Pilgrims that eventually moved below ground, but it is expected that New Phoenix will be completely devoid of human life within another four generations.
ERAS:
Colonization
-After arrival of the Pilgrims and the establishment of Reconnoiter City, during the rule of Simone Montreaux. Gradually becomes a totalitarian, religion-based rule. Other settlements appear over time, usually founded by leaders who have fallen out of favor with Montreaux.
Wild Years
-After Montreaux’s death, during the generations of New Phoenix’s slow fall. Many settlements of varying size and sustainability. The ruins of the previous civilization are discovered. Possible interaction with megainsects (unintelligent) that live beneath the surface.
Desolation
-After the collapse of the Pilgrims’ civilization. Remaining humans live below ground, are often insane or small multi-family units. They may even be unaware of any other human survivors on the planet, or even of the planet’s own history. Reconnoiter City itself is practically reclaimed by the harsh wilderness at this point.
NOTES:
-desert planet
-giant monsters, underground
-scattered settlements -- none above ground?
-ruins of such exist, however.
-giant star, two other planets: one outer gas giant, one inner small hot rocky world.
-crosses gas giant’s orbit? Allowing transfer of large gas-dragon-type creatures?
-ruins of a prior civilization found? Just before a catastrophe of some sort?
-religion of the Pilgrims -- Mormon based?
FORGET IT:
((but moreso was the existence of unknown and unexpected ultrafauna that lived beneath the planet’s surface. Massive insect-like creatures that existed in tunnels and mountainsides, the creatures would spend several years -- sometimes several generations -- in a kind of hibernation, only to awaken without warning, destroying crops and sometimes attacking and destroying entire settlements. Poisons were sometimes effective in killing the creatures, or furthering their hibernation, but physical weapons proved unable to pierce their thick exoskeletons.))
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Poe Toaster stays home, drinks entire bottle of cognac
Edgar Allen Poe -- American author, poet, drunkard and creep. Little known fact? He is dead.
Correction: people in Baltimore know that Poe is dead, because because when they're not busy dealing drugs, wiretapping people who are dealing drugs, being murdered in prison by associates of their crime-lord uncle, or bemoaning the state of the police department they work for while getting drunk down by the railroad tracks, the citizenry of Baltimore, Maryland are gathering en masse around both of Edgar Allen Poe's graves*.
And once a year for the past 60 years, on January 19th, a mysterious stranger has placed three roses and half a bottle of cognac on Poe's grave to commemorate the author's birthday. He's never been caught in the act, despite dozens (literally! dozens!) of Poe-Toaster-Watchers who gather there every year to catch a glimpse of the anonymous Poe Toaster.
Only this year, the Poe Toaster Didn't Toast. Thirty-six devotees (literally! dozens!) gathered outside of the church cemetery in downtown Baltimore to catch a glimpse of the never-before-seen Toaster, but at 5:30am Jeff Jerome, the Poe House and Museum curator, broke the news that the Toaster, who had always arrived and departed in the dead of night for the previous sixty years, had not arrived. Perhaps, like Santa Claus, Zeus, and Jesus, if you do not believe in him, he ceases to exist?
In previous years the Toaster left notes along with the roses and cognac, including one in 1993 that read "the torch will be passed." In 1999 a note implied that the original Toaster had died, and the tradition had been passed on to a son.
The Baltimore Sun quoted Jerome as saying "I was very annoyed" that the Toaster didn't show up as tradition dictated. The Sun failed to quote Edgar Allen Poe's ghost as saying, "There is really no need for such a classy and touching annual tradition, as I am a dude who married my thirteen year old cousin, and then died choking on my own vomit in the street."
*That's right, Edgar Allen Poe has two graves in one graveyard. The next time you complain about having only one grave, ask yourself: "when's the last time *I* concocted a hoax about the first air balloon to fly across Atlantic Ocean, called it 'Mr. Monck Mason's Flying Machine!!!' and had it published as news in a major New York City newspaper?" The answer is, unless you are Edgar Allen, you have never done this.
And once a year for the past 60 years, on January 19th, a mysterious stranger has placed three roses and half a bottle of cognac on Poe's grave to commemorate the author's birthday. He's never been caught in the act, despite dozens (literally! dozens!) of Poe-Toaster-Watchers who gather there every year to catch a glimpse of the anonymous Poe Toaster.
Only this year, the Poe Toaster Didn't Toast. Thirty-six devotees (literally! dozens!) gathered outside of the church cemetery in downtown Baltimore to catch a glimpse of the never-before-seen Toaster, but at 5:30am Jeff Jerome, the Poe House and Museum curator, broke the news that the Toaster, who had always arrived and departed in the dead of night for the previous sixty years, had not arrived. Perhaps, like Santa Claus, Zeus, and Jesus, if you do not believe in him, he ceases to exist?
In previous years the Toaster left notes along with the roses and cognac, including one in 1993 that read "the torch will be passed." In 1999 a note implied that the original Toaster had died, and the tradition had been passed on to a son.
The Baltimore Sun quoted Jerome as saying "I was very annoyed" that the Toaster didn't show up as tradition dictated. The Sun failed to quote Edgar Allen Poe's ghost as saying, "There is really no need for such a classy and touching annual tradition, as I am a dude who married my thirteen year old cousin, and then died choking on my own vomit in the street."
*That's right, Edgar Allen Poe has two graves in one graveyard. The next time you complain about having only one grave, ask yourself: "when's the last time *I* concocted a hoax about the first air balloon to fly across Atlantic Ocean, called it 'Mr. Monck Mason's Flying Machine!!!' and had it published as news in a major New York City newspaper?" The answer is, unless you are Edgar Allen, you have never done this.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Where I'm At, Fall '09 edition
Movies I want to see:
-Paranormal Activity
-new(ish) Coen Brothers
-um.
Things I want to eat:
-Sandwiches
-Burritos. Burritos that I have not made myself.
-Pancakes!
Music I want to listen to:
-"Suedehead" is on right now, which is pretty good.
-early, skiffle Beatles.
-later, Get Back Beatles.
TV I've been watching:
-Battlestar Galactica, again. I think this is my third or fourth time through season 2.
-In Treatment, season one. We're almost done!
-Pete & Pete. I don't dig the second season so much, but the first is fantastically weird.
Things I have been thinking about:
-The End of the World, in a fictional sense.
-Choosing your own adventures.
-Echo Park.
-Writing fellowships.
-POD magazines
-Life 2
Things I have been working on:
-webcomics
-movies
-novel, draft 2.
-Paranormal Activity
-new(ish) Coen Brothers
-um.
Things I want to eat:
-Sandwiches
-Burritos. Burritos that I have not made myself.
-Pancakes!
Music I want to listen to:
-"Suedehead" is on right now, which is pretty good.
-early, skiffle Beatles.
-later, Get Back Beatles.
TV I've been watching:
-Battlestar Galactica, again. I think this is my third or fourth time through season 2.
-In Treatment, season one. We're almost done!
-Pete & Pete. I don't dig the second season so much, but the first is fantastically weird.
Things I have been thinking about:
-The End of the World, in a fictional sense.
-Choosing your own adventures.
-Echo Park.
-Writing fellowships.
-POD magazines
-Life 2
Things I have been working on:
-webcomics
-movies
-novel, draft 2.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Shared Worlds
Thinking of shared worlds again ... playing Fallout 3 and a new D&D 4E campaign has me itching to world-build. I think my perfect vision is a wiki based around a concept that would be split into different eras or specialties -- and four or five writers would contribute, each specializing in a corner of the universe that may or may not overlap with the others. One of the basic rules would be that whatever you did had to build on what someone else did, but not negate it.
It would have to be a group that worked together well, that was keyed into the same ideas and wanted similar things from the project. There would bound to be disagreements, but hopefully the wouldn't turn nasty, and would ultimately lead to something even better than what was there before.
The ultimate goal would be to have a world that any of the contributors could then set stories within -- novels, screenplays, games or whatever they wanted to write.
I started something with this basic idea with Pato -- god, about a year ago now. But I haven't ever been entirely comfortable with the "hardware" issue -- with the wikis that we found, and with my own capabilities of building it. So I've tended to let the actual wiki sit, even as I keep taking notes on the world and even writing stories set within that world.
Anyway. I've got airships and tentacles on the brain these days.
It would have to be a group that worked together well, that was keyed into the same ideas and wanted similar things from the project. There would bound to be disagreements, but hopefully the wouldn't turn nasty, and would ultimately lead to something even better than what was there before.
The ultimate goal would be to have a world that any of the contributors could then set stories within -- novels, screenplays, games or whatever they wanted to write.
I started something with this basic idea with Pato -- god, about a year ago now. But I haven't ever been entirely comfortable with the "hardware" issue -- with the wikis that we found, and with my own capabilities of building it. So I've tended to let the actual wiki sit, even as I keep taking notes on the world and even writing stories set within that world.
Anyway. I've got airships and tentacles on the brain these days.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Everything I Know About Time I Learned From Steve Miller
I was just reading A Brief History of Nearly Everything, particularly a chapter that dealt with the age of the universe -- where I'm at right now some scientist or other has speculated that the universe is 20 billion years old. And it got me to thinking -- probably too simplistically -- but it got me to thinking, how can we really think about "years" on a scale like that?
Because a "year" is the time it takes for the earth to travel around the sun. But if the earth is, what, 4.5 billion years old, or something like that -- how can we measure years before the earth existed? If there was no earth to travel around the sun, I mean. If "time" is relative to gravity, if time is relative to movement through space -- I don't know if we can think about "20 billion years" once we're talking about something off of the planet earth, can we? I mean relative to us, sure -- it takes 76 years for Haley's Comet to swing within viewing distance of the earth. But that's 76 years for *us* -- if we were to attach a pocket watch to Haley's Comet, would it calculate the same amount of time?
I think I've read that if you take an airplane from, say, New York to Los Angeles -- when you get off that plane you're a little younger than the folks you left behind in New York, by virtue of the speed you've traveled through space. Space meaning physical space, not outer space. So if even *that* movement alters one's own perception of time...
I guess ultimately what I'm saying is, how can we talk about "20 billion years" when there haven't BEEN 20 billion years -- meaning, 20 billion passages around the sun by the earth?
And somewhat separate -- what if the earth has made some passages around the sun, or WILL make some passages around the sun, either faster or slower? Is it still a "year"? Are we really talking about "20 billion theoretical revolutions around the sun"? We already have a concept of a "Martian day," since it's something like 23.5 hours as compared to our 24 hours ...
I realize I'm thinking myself in circles, and I just got out of bed to type this as a means to not forgetting all about it in the morning. I'm not a stupid guy, but once you start talking about physics or astronomy I get easily confused. I'll just post this, move it to the back of my brain for now, and then go back to reading.
Because a "year" is the time it takes for the earth to travel around the sun. But if the earth is, what, 4.5 billion years old, or something like that -- how can we measure years before the earth existed? If there was no earth to travel around the sun, I mean. If "time" is relative to gravity, if time is relative to movement through space -- I don't know if we can think about "20 billion years" once we're talking about something off of the planet earth, can we? I mean relative to us, sure -- it takes 76 years for Haley's Comet to swing within viewing distance of the earth. But that's 76 years for *us* -- if we were to attach a pocket watch to Haley's Comet, would it calculate the same amount of time?
I think I've read that if you take an airplane from, say, New York to Los Angeles -- when you get off that plane you're a little younger than the folks you left behind in New York, by virtue of the speed you've traveled through space. Space meaning physical space, not outer space. So if even *that* movement alters one's own perception of time...
I guess ultimately what I'm saying is, how can we talk about "20 billion years" when there haven't BEEN 20 billion years -- meaning, 20 billion passages around the sun by the earth?
And somewhat separate -- what if the earth has made some passages around the sun, or WILL make some passages around the sun, either faster or slower? Is it still a "year"? Are we really talking about "20 billion theoretical revolutions around the sun"? We already have a concept of a "Martian day," since it's something like 23.5 hours as compared to our 24 hours ...
I realize I'm thinking myself in circles, and I just got out of bed to type this as a means to not forgetting all about it in the morning. I'm not a stupid guy, but once you start talking about physics or astronomy I get easily confused. I'll just post this, move it to the back of my brain for now, and then go back to reading.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Sure, but who wouldn't be?
"Let me start by saying the women of my generation have a reason to be fired up."
This is what you said in a dream. Not to me -- I read them in an interview. Your face (and your hair, and your mouth -- you wore a lot of lipstick in the photo, if you'll forgive my saying so) was on the cover of American Legion, which I think is a magazine my dad gets from his union. There were pictures inside, too -- you with all of the women of your family, most of whom I have never seen in life, and another where you are sitting down next to a white picket fence, using it to brace yourself as you stretch one leg high in the air and flash and embarrassed smile at the camera, presumably for being photographed so in the first place. It's an infectious and endearing smile. There's a young man in the foreground, stealing a glance at you. I don't feel jealous. I think, "Yeah, no kidding."
In the background of that photo -- or perhaps in an accompanying photograph is a seaside town on a hill, with a clock tower, an old movie theater, streets that are winding and not wide. The photo caption describes this town as a "lazy seaside" place you pass through every day by train, and that it's come to have special meaning to you.
On the magazine's cover you are proclaimed as the face of a new movement of young women, one that inspires more and more to "receive catechism." I'm not sure if that even makes sense as a phrase -- I get easily confused when it comes to religious ceremonies. I understand that it is (or was meant to be) different from communion. But then again, maybe not. In any event, the article's author proclaims that, as charming and true as you are, she was not convinced to forgive God on your account.
I didn't find out anymore, I'm afraid. I settled down with the magazine but woke up after that first line: "Let me start by saying the women of my generation have a lot to be fired up about." And then, "Let me find you the women of North Kokomo, Indiana," at which point I believed you played a piece of audio for the interviewer. At this point I was probably a little jealous.
This is what you said in a dream. Not to me -- I read them in an interview. Your face (and your hair, and your mouth -- you wore a lot of lipstick in the photo, if you'll forgive my saying so) was on the cover of American Legion, which I think is a magazine my dad gets from his union. There were pictures inside, too -- you with all of the women of your family, most of whom I have never seen in life, and another where you are sitting down next to a white picket fence, using it to brace yourself as you stretch one leg high in the air and flash and embarrassed smile at the camera, presumably for being photographed so in the first place. It's an infectious and endearing smile. There's a young man in the foreground, stealing a glance at you. I don't feel jealous. I think, "Yeah, no kidding."
In the background of that photo -- or perhaps in an accompanying photograph is a seaside town on a hill, with a clock tower, an old movie theater, streets that are winding and not wide. The photo caption describes this town as a "lazy seaside" place you pass through every day by train, and that it's come to have special meaning to you.
On the magazine's cover you are proclaimed as the face of a new movement of young women, one that inspires more and more to "receive catechism." I'm not sure if that even makes sense as a phrase -- I get easily confused when it comes to religious ceremonies. I understand that it is (or was meant to be) different from communion. But then again, maybe not. In any event, the article's author proclaims that, as charming and true as you are, she was not convinced to forgive God on your account.
I didn't find out anymore, I'm afraid. I settled down with the magazine but woke up after that first line: "Let me start by saying the women of my generation have a lot to be fired up about." And then, "Let me find you the women of North Kokomo, Indiana," at which point I believed you played a piece of audio for the interviewer. At this point I was probably a little jealous.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Interlude 2
There was something I wanted to share with you, but it doesn't seem like I really can. (But then that's what this blog has become, yeah?) It would seem like I was being petty, or that I felt things that I really didn't, or that I didn't feel things that I really did.
I won't quote it exactly, since that's not the sort of thing I believe in tonight. But it's a sentiment expressed in Michael Ondaatje's DIVISADERDO: "Romance is romance, and not a promise of permanence."
And I guess that's true. I guess objectively I believe that. And I guess (all the same) that you (once again, as always, I) never really think it will happen to (me).
I won't quote it exactly, since that's not the sort of thing I believe in tonight. But it's a sentiment expressed in Michael Ondaatje's DIVISADERDO: "Romance is romance, and not a promise of permanence."
And I guess that's true. I guess objectively I believe that. And I guess (all the same) that you (once again, as always, I) never really think it will happen to (me).
Thursday, April 09, 2009
>>Interlude<<
Last night I had a dream that I moved back to my old house in downtown Oakland, and all the old cats had been dropped off there as well. My old/new roommate said my ex-girlfriend had left them there the day before, saying it was for "a month or two."
I was really happy to see Tubby again. I picked him up and it still felt like carrying a baby horse.
But then I kept finding pee everywhere -- my bed, the floor, behind books. And when I woke up it was one of those take-a-moment-to-remember-it-wasn't-a-dream reactions. And though it would have been nice to hang out with Wolf again, it was also nice to not have to look out for pee on my blankets.
I was really happy to see Tubby again. I picked him up and it still felt like carrying a baby horse.
But then I kept finding pee everywhere -- my bed, the floor, behind books. And when I woke up it was one of those take-a-moment-to-remember-it-wasn't-a-dream reactions. And though it would have been nice to hang out with Wolf again, it was also nice to not have to look out for pee on my blankets.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Dear, part two
Back to the car for a minute...
One of the things BSG left me with was this idea of species memory. SPOILER ALERT if you're thinking of watching the show, but the ending basically tells us that we have neckties and democracy and a legal system because, 150,000 years ago the human race as WE know it was born from a human/cylon hybrid baby.
(Look: it's a good show.)
And I'm not so much talking about "specie memory" as a scientific true fact -- I'm more interested in its neatosity factor, its narrative potential, and the way it makes my brain tingle. Lord knows I think enough about spaceships and dinosaurs as I walk around the world, but I haven't really thought about -- you know -- cavemen very much. As individuals with day to to day dramas and epic troubles. And surely there were wars, there were loves, there dramas among people who were literally the first humans (or human-like) on Earth. They had art, and the ability to perceive the real world through art. And that's enough for me to believe that they qualify souls worthy of consideration from those of us left today. We've had language for something like 40,000 years, but we've had history for, what, 5,000 years? There have been tools for about two and a half million years, and those are just the ones that we've found.
And when I think about human history (or human pre-history) in that vastness of time, my first impulse is to feel sad for all the names we don't know anymore, the sagas -- real or imagined or metaphorical -- that are lost. But that's a selfish way to think of it, yeah? They are still things that happened, whether I know about them or not. There's plenty of history that happened, and was written down, that I don't know simply because I haven't read the right books. And I don't get sad about that. So...
I dunno, a lot of this feels like college-age navel gazing. But I can imagine you nodding and smiling as I talk this out, happy to read what's going on in my head, happy to watch me work it out and articulate it. And that's not embarrassing at all.
My second impulse is to be so very pleased that it happened at all, to remember that there's so much happening right now that's being experience by those there to experience it. Something Dr. Baltar says near the middle of season four jumps out at me: "I love living. I really do. I really, really love living." I like it too.
While I was driving I also saw something that caused another piece of my novel to click into place, which is a much appreciated gift, and really the whole reason I wanted to be alone in a car for ten hours in the first place. It was grafitti on an overpass, the kind you have to hang upside down from the top to write (or at least, that's how I imagine it has to be written), and it was simple, with no embellishing flourishes and no punctuation, and it said I LOVE YOU AMY and I thought, well damn right you do.
Ethan is a junior whose girlfriend Amy has dumped him. She's reconnected with a middle school love she mostly talks to on the phone and sits in food courts with, and Ethan's been trying to sort out how to win her back. It's a relationship between supporting characters, and it's something I've known was going to happen all along, but I was never quite sure how much of it was going to go on the page. There are plenty of things I'm secretly proud of myself for with regard to the book, and one of them is the rather involved and evolving lives the supporting characters have that Berto never even finds out about, since he's so stuck in his own head. But Ethan and Amy's relationship troubles are something I wanted him to encounter, but I didn't really have a sense for how they would wrap up, or what role Berto might have in their conclusion. But seeing that simple spraypainted line, I thought of my ol' pal Adrian, who went on a spraypainting spree after his high school girlfriend broke up with him. He sprayed "KLF" over a Pepsi sign on 131 going toward Day Heights, and I remember -- we were just out of high school at the time, so I was 18 or 19 -- driving back to Clifton from visiting my folks and feeling so Tall whenever I saw those three letters over that rusty old Pepsi sign. Someone I knew had changed the landscape of familiar ground, even in a very small way, and I liked that.
So, "I Love You Amy." I immediately thought of our man Berto being driven in a car (he's a lad of fifteen), or maybe out riding his bike (he hasn't yet, but I imagine he's the sort who would like to range far on two wheels), and discovering a message written to someone he knows (Amy is his cousin, remember?), by someone else he knows, and I imagine it opening up entire rooms in his brain he'd never even known were there. I imagine Berto buying his own can of spray paint and spraying I Love You Amy on the linoleum floors of his high school, not directly to help Ethan, but because he has the power to do it. He can alter his world very easily and change the way people walk on the floor beneath their feet.
They probably won't think to write it down, and somehow that floor will be torn up or the school will fall down around it, and maybe by then no one will remember or no one will care that a boy once loved a girl named Amy and wanted her to know it, but then -- it wasn't written for posterity, was it? That's not really what we think about when we write. We have a message we want to impart to another person in the world, so we write them a letter or a statement or a blog.
I don't know what Amy will make of it yet, but that's okay. I also imagine the feeling Ethan's gut having written it down in the first place (I know that feeling well, and can feel a little bit of it now). Sometimes it's about killing the bull, but sometimes it's just about drawing the bull on the wall.
One of the things BSG left me with was this idea of species memory. SPOILER ALERT if you're thinking of watching the show, but the ending basically tells us that we have neckties and democracy and a legal system because, 150,000 years ago the human race as WE know it was born from a human/cylon hybrid baby.
(Look: it's a good show.)
And I'm not so much talking about "specie memory" as a scientific true fact -- I'm more interested in its neatosity factor, its narrative potential, and the way it makes my brain tingle. Lord knows I think enough about spaceships and dinosaurs as I walk around the world, but I haven't really thought about -- you know -- cavemen very much. As individuals with day to to day dramas and epic troubles. And surely there were wars, there were loves, there dramas among people who were literally the first humans (or human-like) on Earth. They had art, and the ability to perceive the real world through art. And that's enough for me to believe that they qualify souls worthy of consideration from those of us left today. We've had language for something like 40,000 years, but we've had history for, what, 5,000 years? There have been tools for about two and a half million years, and those are just the ones that we've found.
And when I think about human history (or human pre-history) in that vastness of time, my first impulse is to feel sad for all the names we don't know anymore, the sagas -- real or imagined or metaphorical -- that are lost. But that's a selfish way to think of it, yeah? They are still things that happened, whether I know about them or not. There's plenty of history that happened, and was written down, that I don't know simply because I haven't read the right books. And I don't get sad about that. So...
I dunno, a lot of this feels like college-age navel gazing. But I can imagine you nodding and smiling as I talk this out, happy to read what's going on in my head, happy to watch me work it out and articulate it. And that's not embarrassing at all.
My second impulse is to be so very pleased that it happened at all, to remember that there's so much happening right now that's being experience by those there to experience it. Something Dr. Baltar says near the middle of season four jumps out at me: "I love living. I really do. I really, really love living." I like it too.
While I was driving I also saw something that caused another piece of my novel to click into place, which is a much appreciated gift, and really the whole reason I wanted to be alone in a car for ten hours in the first place. It was grafitti on an overpass, the kind you have to hang upside down from the top to write (or at least, that's how I imagine it has to be written), and it was simple, with no embellishing flourishes and no punctuation, and it said I LOVE YOU AMY and I thought, well damn right you do.
Ethan is a junior whose girlfriend Amy has dumped him. She's reconnected with a middle school love she mostly talks to on the phone and sits in food courts with, and Ethan's been trying to sort out how to win her back. It's a relationship between supporting characters, and it's something I've known was going to happen all along, but I was never quite sure how much of it was going to go on the page. There are plenty of things I'm secretly proud of myself for with regard to the book, and one of them is the rather involved and evolving lives the supporting characters have that Berto never even finds out about, since he's so stuck in his own head. But Ethan and Amy's relationship troubles are something I wanted him to encounter, but I didn't really have a sense for how they would wrap up, or what role Berto might have in their conclusion. But seeing that simple spraypainted line, I thought of my ol' pal Adrian, who went on a spraypainting spree after his high school girlfriend broke up with him. He sprayed "KLF" over a Pepsi sign on 131 going toward Day Heights, and I remember -- we were just out of high school at the time, so I was 18 or 19 -- driving back to Clifton from visiting my folks and feeling so Tall whenever I saw those three letters over that rusty old Pepsi sign. Someone I knew had changed the landscape of familiar ground, even in a very small way, and I liked that.
So, "I Love You Amy." I immediately thought of our man Berto being driven in a car (he's a lad of fifteen), or maybe out riding his bike (he hasn't yet, but I imagine he's the sort who would like to range far on two wheels), and discovering a message written to someone he knows (Amy is his cousin, remember?), by someone else he knows, and I imagine it opening up entire rooms in his brain he'd never even known were there. I imagine Berto buying his own can of spray paint and spraying I Love You Amy on the linoleum floors of his high school, not directly to help Ethan, but because he has the power to do it. He can alter his world very easily and change the way people walk on the floor beneath their feet.
They probably won't think to write it down, and somehow that floor will be torn up or the school will fall down around it, and maybe by then no one will remember or no one will care that a boy once loved a girl named Amy and wanted her to know it, but then -- it wasn't written for posterity, was it? That's not really what we think about when we write. We have a message we want to impart to another person in the world, so we write them a letter or a statement or a blog.
I don't know what Amy will make of it yet, but that's okay. I also imagine the feeling Ethan's gut having written it down in the first place (I know that feeling well, and can feel a little bit of it now). Sometimes it's about killing the bull, but sometimes it's just about drawing the bull on the wall.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Dear __________
Nerd Alert: over the course of the ten hour drive to Baltimore, I spent most of my time thinking about Battlestar Galactica. I won't bore you with why you should have been watching BSG if you weren't, because this isn't really a story about a TV show. But I watched the last episode of the show, went to bed, woke up early and got in a car headed east. I had a little Cylon on the dashboard of my rental car, and I was taking special pains to be nice to him. I'm trying to break the old cycle, right?
I've never driven east before. The mountains (the hills?) were sloping and broad. I like them in retrospect, but I remember wanting to get out of West Virginia. It felt good to arrive in Baltimore, though the directions from Google Maps dropped me off the highway farther west than I might have liked. I made promises to myself not to think (or at least not to talk) about the Wire in the lead up to my trip, but it was hard not to when I got off of 70. I've been in rough neighborhoods before -- I've lived in rough neighborhoods before -- but this was honest to goodness block after block of buildings that were boarded up, but not abandoned. One two separate occasions I wondered why dudes were trying to hail my car like it was a cab, before realizing they were simply offering me a unique business opportunity, much like D'Angelo or Poot. I looked straight ahead at stop lights and turned down my Morrissey cd, lest the rental car stereo be more powerful than I might realize.
Adam called while I was following the internet's labyrinthine directions to their apartment, and I tried to be clever as I a) told him I was nearly there, and b) realized his call had instantly distracted me from an important split in the road I was traveling. So I tried to follow my spider-sense out of the Wire's establishing shots and the apartment of my friends, and as you may have already guessed, I eventually made it there safely. I picked up Adam and Kate Lynn, changed my shirt, ate a veggie burger, and we went to see a Talking Heads cover band.
Adam brought up seeing the Psycho Killers (natch) when we were emailing about trip specifics, and I took a moment before responding, and then decided not to be a dick about it. On the one hand: a cover band? On the other hand: Talking Heads! As I yelled to KL during their set, it's not like I'm going to get to see the Talking Heads perform in a club in Baltimore anytime soon ... but after about two and a half songs I was ready to not be listening to a cover band anymore. On the plus side: their David Byrne looks like the son of Dave Matthews and Jon Favreau, and that was kind of awesome.
One of the many TV shows I have made up and secretly journaled about is about a rock band, and it was fun to watch the band on stage and imagine the relationships at play. The singer/guitarist was obviously the most interested in what was going on ... one of the two backup singers got bored and left after the first song turned into a ten minute jam session ... the bass player never looked at anything but where the walls met the ceiling ... the drummer would continually get frustrated and try to catch the singer's eye so he could wrap up the song. The keyboardist looked 17 and overjoyed to be playing Talking Heads songs. Adam also told me the drummer had had a thing for Adam's high school girlfriend when she went off to college, leaving Adam at home for his senior year. He would continually update Adam that he was "looking out for her" at school. Secret failures and embarrassments ... and the feeling I wasn't getting the whole story. I liked that.
The night may have ended with an episode of Flight of the Conchords, and then a phone call to KM. I don't entirely remember what happened after the band though. I met a lot of Adam's high school chums but I couldn't hear anything they said to me. I was hoping they would ask what I did for a living, because my prepared response was "street juggler." And then, in case they asked me to juggle something, I would say, "Look, I don't ask you to suck my dick on YOUR day off, do I?"
(This is not something I would have actually said; rather, it was a thing I told Adam the next day after seeing an ACTUAL street juggler, and it made us laugh, and I put it here so I don't forget it.)
Next time: The Po' House, crabs, clawed tour guides.
I've never driven east before. The mountains (the hills?) were sloping and broad. I like them in retrospect, but I remember wanting to get out of West Virginia. It felt good to arrive in Baltimore, though the directions from Google Maps dropped me off the highway farther west than I might have liked. I made promises to myself not to think (or at least not to talk) about the Wire in the lead up to my trip, but it was hard not to when I got off of 70. I've been in rough neighborhoods before -- I've lived in rough neighborhoods before -- but this was honest to goodness block after block of buildings that were boarded up, but not abandoned. One two separate occasions I wondered why dudes were trying to hail my car like it was a cab, before realizing they were simply offering me a unique business opportunity, much like D'Angelo or Poot. I looked straight ahead at stop lights and turned down my Morrissey cd, lest the rental car stereo be more powerful than I might realize.
Adam called while I was following the internet's labyrinthine directions to their apartment, and I tried to be clever as I a) told him I was nearly there, and b) realized his call had instantly distracted me from an important split in the road I was traveling. So I tried to follow my spider-sense out of the Wire's establishing shots and the apartment of my friends, and as you may have already guessed, I eventually made it there safely. I picked up Adam and Kate Lynn, changed my shirt, ate a veggie burger, and we went to see a Talking Heads cover band.
Adam brought up seeing the Psycho Killers (natch) when we were emailing about trip specifics, and I took a moment before responding, and then decided not to be a dick about it. On the one hand: a cover band? On the other hand: Talking Heads! As I yelled to KL during their set, it's not like I'm going to get to see the Talking Heads perform in a club in Baltimore anytime soon ... but after about two and a half songs I was ready to not be listening to a cover band anymore. On the plus side: their David Byrne looks like the son of Dave Matthews and Jon Favreau, and that was kind of awesome.
One of the many TV shows I have made up and secretly journaled about is about a rock band, and it was fun to watch the band on stage and imagine the relationships at play. The singer/guitarist was obviously the most interested in what was going on ... one of the two backup singers got bored and left after the first song turned into a ten minute jam session ... the bass player never looked at anything but where the walls met the ceiling ... the drummer would continually get frustrated and try to catch the singer's eye so he could wrap up the song. The keyboardist looked 17 and overjoyed to be playing Talking Heads songs. Adam also told me the drummer had had a thing for Adam's high school girlfriend when she went off to college, leaving Adam at home for his senior year. He would continually update Adam that he was "looking out for her" at school. Secret failures and embarrassments ... and the feeling I wasn't getting the whole story. I liked that.
The night may have ended with an episode of Flight of the Conchords, and then a phone call to KM. I don't entirely remember what happened after the band though. I met a lot of Adam's high school chums but I couldn't hear anything they said to me. I was hoping they would ask what I did for a living, because my prepared response was "street juggler." And then, in case they asked me to juggle something, I would say, "Look, I don't ask you to suck my dick on YOUR day off, do I?"
(This is not something I would have actually said; rather, it was a thing I told Adam the next day after seeing an ACTUAL street juggler, and it made us laugh, and I put it here so I don't forget it.)
Next time: The Po' House, crabs, clawed tour guides.
Friday, October 03, 2008
...in which I fix Comics.
I've been playing the LEGO BATMAN video game lately (as the only video games I seem to retain any proficiency for are those designed for 8 year olds), and it got me to thinking: they really ought to just End Batman.
Maybe that's what DC is up to with the upcoming Neil Gaiman-scripted "Whatever Happened to the Dark Knight," or whatever it's called, but I really think Batman, as a comics property, could benefit by ending it and starting all over. Take into account everything that's happened in Batman's 70ish year history, announce BATMAN as a 200 or 300 issue series, and then tell the whole story again, starting with the origin and working up to Dark Knight Returns. You could jump around in time, treat it like TV "seasons," write a mega-outline and bring in different writers to tell different longform stories, introduce Robin around issue 50, slowly bring in the big villains and give them all their own long-running arcs, and treat Batman like the property it is -- a story that's run its course in a very real way, but that still has the potential to be an entertaining and financially viable comics property. Do it like the movies do it, only with a complete story in mind, from young boy in the alley to aging crimefighter. And 20 or 30 years down the line, when the story is told, you do it all over again.
Aaaaanyway. If, for some reason, the folks at DC decide not to take my advice on this, I'd settle for regular updates on the Daily Batman again.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
The New Messiah
from the So I Won't Lose It Dept....
The Beat's look at the cancellation of DC's Minx line.
...another lesson in how Comics Just Don't Get It, burying Minx comics in with the graphic novels and manga, instead of fighting to get them in with the YA titles. I can attest to the fact that Barnes & Nobles have a graphic novel section in their childrens' departments -- it's young readers stuff, to be sure, not young adult -- but this reminds of how books like ULTIMATE SPIDER-MAN were supposed to reach audiences AMAZING SPIDER-MAN couldn't, but just wound up being bought by the same folks who liked Spider-Man to begin with.
More and more I'm thinking: Comics Yay, The Comics Industry Nay. But then I guess sales trends will take care of that.
(Also? The new Jenny Lewis cd is my new girlfriend.)
The Beat's look at the cancellation of DC's Minx line.
...another lesson in how Comics Just Don't Get It, burying Minx comics in with the graphic novels and manga, instead of fighting to get them in with the YA titles. I can attest to the fact that Barnes & Nobles have a graphic novel section in their childrens' departments -- it's young readers stuff, to be sure, not young adult -- but this reminds of how books like ULTIMATE SPIDER-MAN were supposed to reach audiences AMAZING SPIDER-MAN couldn't, but just wound up being bought by the same folks who liked Spider-Man to begin with.
More and more I'm thinking: Comics Yay, The Comics Industry Nay. But then I guess sales trends will take care of that.
(Also? The new Jenny Lewis cd is my new girlfriend.)
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
8-14-08
And I mean, such a strange day.
I woke up with SJ, my back hurting, but grateful to be there with her on her floor, hoping to hold her a little longer. She'd turn her back to me and I'd curl behind her, or I'd lay on my back and she'd rest her head on my chest. Finally she said, after several false starts and faux awakenings, "I think I'm up."
"What?"
"I think I'm awake."
We laid there a little bit longer, feeling the skin of the other against our own. I smelled her hair, I touched my fingers to the spot above her hip -- to the place below her breast -- both where her curves were about to begin, or end, depending on which direction you were going. But then we did, we got up, I went for breakfast and helped her put things away once I came back. "You've been really supportive of me, these last days," is one of the last things she said to me, her face to mine.
I ended the night with my friends of the past two years. Adam and Kate Lynn, Ryan and Ben. Folks I haven't hardly seen this summer -- all of us scattered and looking for our own ways ahead. We told stories. Kate Lynn's been in Chicago, then Baltimore and Washington with Adam, Ryan in Italy, Bosnia, Croatia, Slovenia, Ben drawing comics in San Jose, or seeing Amy at Zine Fest and ComicCon. It was good to have them together again. I loved having them together again. Adam says I should move to Baltimore, we'll start a Rock Band rock band, he'll introduce me to nice, single, Jewish girls. "They put out," he says.
"That's all I ask," I tell him.
I hugged him at least three times tonight, not sure when I'll see him again. It's downright cute how affectionate we are of each other. I hope he can tell. Kate Lynn wants to come to dinner tomorrow, which I like, and she offered to help me move. I like that too. I felt awfully fond of her tonight too, and she's got biceps I wouldn't turn down when there are things to lift. Or any other situation.
I couldn't stop talking about the Olympian softball players -- no sleeves, muscles as they pitched 113km/hr balls, nails painted red.
"That's what does it for your," Kate Lynn says, "that mix of strength and femininity."
"That's definitely what does it for me."
"That's a good writerly detail," she says.
I think about SJ's orange fingernails, newly painted, greasy and wet from a chicken we've torn apart on a lunchtime date at the farmer's market on the Bay. It is a good writerly detail.
"You're right," I say. And I resist the temptation to show off our photobooth pictures again. I want to keep them private a little bit longer.
I woke up with SJ, my back hurting, but grateful to be there with her on her floor, hoping to hold her a little longer. She'd turn her back to me and I'd curl behind her, or I'd lay on my back and she'd rest her head on my chest. Finally she said, after several false starts and faux awakenings, "I think I'm up."
"What?"
"I think I'm awake."
We laid there a little bit longer, feeling the skin of the other against our own. I smelled her hair, I touched my fingers to the spot above her hip -- to the place below her breast -- both where her curves were about to begin, or end, depending on which direction you were going. But then we did, we got up, I went for breakfast and helped her put things away once I came back. "You've been really supportive of me, these last days," is one of the last things she said to me, her face to mine.
I ended the night with my friends of the past two years. Adam and Kate Lynn, Ryan and Ben. Folks I haven't hardly seen this summer -- all of us scattered and looking for our own ways ahead. We told stories. Kate Lynn's been in Chicago, then Baltimore and Washington with Adam, Ryan in Italy, Bosnia, Croatia, Slovenia, Ben drawing comics in San Jose, or seeing Amy at Zine Fest and ComicCon. It was good to have them together again. I loved having them together again. Adam says I should move to Baltimore, we'll start a Rock Band rock band, he'll introduce me to nice, single, Jewish girls. "They put out," he says.
"That's all I ask," I tell him.
I hugged him at least three times tonight, not sure when I'll see him again. It's downright cute how affectionate we are of each other. I hope he can tell. Kate Lynn wants to come to dinner tomorrow, which I like, and she offered to help me move. I like that too. I felt awfully fond of her tonight too, and she's got biceps I wouldn't turn down when there are things to lift. Or any other situation.
I couldn't stop talking about the Olympian softball players -- no sleeves, muscles as they pitched 113km/hr balls, nails painted red.
"That's what does it for your," Kate Lynn says, "that mix of strength and femininity."
"That's definitely what does it for me."
"That's a good writerly detail," she says.
I think about SJ's orange fingernails, newly painted, greasy and wet from a chicken we've torn apart on a lunchtime date at the farmer's market on the Bay. It is a good writerly detail.
"You're right," I say. And I resist the temptation to show off our photobooth pictures again. I want to keep them private a little bit longer.
Monday, August 04, 2008
To Catch A Yeti
I'm housesitting for a friend of mine these days and he has cable TV, so basically that means, whenever you think of me these days, I am probably covered in a blanket and watching cable TV. Right now there's a movie about Leonard Cohen on, and I have it on in an attempt to finally like Leonard Cohen. Much like sushi and coffee, Leonard Cohen is one of those things I managed to avoid, with no particular purpose or reason for doing so, until well into my adulthood. Well, it's 2008, I have had about a dozen cups of coffee this year alone (yeah!), about a dozen little sushi-bits just this week (EFF yeah!!), so why not give Leonard Cohen another try?
But listen Internet, this blog post isn't about Leonard Cohen. This blog post is about the movie on another station at the very same time, a movie I cannot watch because the so-called "friend" I'm housesitting for doesn't subscribe to it. Or, he had it blocked before he left town, because he knew that doing so would crush my spirit just a little bit, and that's the sort of thing dudes do when they are friends with each other. The movie in question is called TO CATCH A YETI, and the TV describes it thusly:
"A hunter (Meat Loaf)--"
And I have to stop right there for a second, because dude! Even if it wasn't called TO CATCH A YETI, I would pretty much watch any movie that begins with that description...
"A hunter (Meat Loaf) is hired by a New York businessman to capture the Abominable Snowman. (Action/Adventure, 86 minutes.)"
And even though it's on a station I can't get, I've decided this must be the best movie that's ever made. And I swore, on the spot, to make it my goal in life to see TO CATCH A YETI. But I can't give in and Netflix it, I can't do it the easy way -- TO CATCH A YETI will be my white whale, the thing what propels me through the next several years of my life and yet isn't a) a girl I like, or b) something that costs me tons and tons of money, a la graduate school. I will find you, TO CATCH A YETI, someday on my TV -- like a John Cusack romantic comedy, I trust and believe that we will one day find ourselves in the same grocery store discount VHS bin.
A little googling came up with this, as if a love note written specifically to me:
"Hunter Big Jake finds the fabled Himalayan Yeti -- the Big Foot of legend. But what he really finds is a cuddly, furry animal the size of a large teddy bear -- with enormous feet! And when Jake brings the Yeti to New York it becomes the pet of a spoiled son of a multi-millionaire. Only a little girl... Hunter Big Jake finds the fabled Himalayan Yeti -- the Big Foot of legend. But what he really finds is a cuddly, furry animal the size of a large teddy bear -- with enormous feet! And when Jake brings the Yeti to New York it becomes the pet of a spoiled son of a multi-millionaire. Only a little girl named Amy can set the poor Yeti free."
Hunter Big Jake! The Big Foot of Legend! Only a little girl!
Watch out, Meat Loaf!
But listen Internet, this blog post isn't about Leonard Cohen. This blog post is about the movie on another station at the very same time, a movie I cannot watch because the so-called "friend" I'm housesitting for doesn't subscribe to it. Or, he had it blocked before he left town, because he knew that doing so would crush my spirit just a little bit, and that's the sort of thing dudes do when they are friends with each other. The movie in question is called TO CATCH A YETI, and the TV describes it thusly:
"A hunter (Meat Loaf)--"
And I have to stop right there for a second, because dude! Even if it wasn't called TO CATCH A YETI, I would pretty much watch any movie that begins with that description...
"A hunter (Meat Loaf) is hired by a New York businessman to capture the Abominable Snowman. (Action/Adventure, 86 minutes.)"
And even though it's on a station I can't get, I've decided this must be the best movie that's ever made. And I swore, on the spot, to make it my goal in life to see TO CATCH A YETI. But I can't give in and Netflix it, I can't do it the easy way -- TO CATCH A YETI will be my white whale, the thing what propels me through the next several years of my life and yet isn't a) a girl I like, or b) something that costs me tons and tons of money, a la graduate school. I will find you, TO CATCH A YETI, someday on my TV -- like a John Cusack romantic comedy, I trust and believe that we will one day find ourselves in the same grocery store discount VHS bin.
A little googling came up with this, as if a love note written specifically to me:
"Hunter Big Jake finds the fabled Himalayan Yeti -- the Big Foot of legend. But what he really finds is a cuddly, furry animal the size of a large teddy bear -- with enormous feet! And when Jake brings the Yeti to New York it becomes the pet of a spoiled son of a multi-millionaire. Only a little girl... Hunter Big Jake finds the fabled Himalayan Yeti -- the Big Foot of legend. But what he really finds is a cuddly, furry animal the size of a large teddy bear -- with enormous feet! And when Jake brings the Yeti to New York it becomes the pet of a spoiled son of a multi-millionaire. Only a little girl named Amy can set the poor Yeti free."
Hunter Big Jake! The Big Foot of Legend! Only a little girl!
Watch out, Meat Loaf!
Thursday, July 03, 2008
...to form a more perfect union...
There's no better way to celebrate America's birthday than with Muppets.
(I like the wiener backdrop about a minute and a half in.)
found on BWE
(I like the wiener backdrop about a minute and a half in.)
found on BWE
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Monday, June 30, 2008
Dateline: Awesome
Unemployed Creepo wages one-man war on drugs ...
'They said the agent, a man some had come to know as “Sergeant Bill,” boasted that he did not need search warrants to enter their homes because he worked for the federal government.'
... until an intrepid small-town reporter checks his name on Google or something, and discovers there's no such thing as a “multijurisdictional task force” sending federal drug agents to Missouri to fight meth.
found via BoingBoing.
'They said the agent, a man some had come to know as “Sergeant Bill,” boasted that he did not need search warrants to enter their homes because he worked for the federal government.'
... until an intrepid small-town reporter checks his name on Google or something, and discovers there's no such thing as a “multijurisdictional task force” sending federal drug agents to Missouri to fight meth.
found via BoingBoing.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Where I'm At 06-08
Movies I want to see:
-The Dark Knight -- I wasn't wild about 'Begins,' but DK looks like the radness.
-Pineapple Express -- sort of.
-Hancock -- mostly just because the original title was 'Tonight, He Comes.'
Things I want to eat:
-Indian food -- always.
-Chick-O-Stick -- which means I'm itching for a road trip.
-Green apples -- they're good.
Music I want to listen to:
-My Morning Jacket
-The Avett Brothers (thanks Lizz!)
TV I've been watching:
-The Wire -- I'm hip deep in season 2.
-Battlestar Galactica season three -- I watched it during its first run, and I've been re-watching it before bed lately. I remember being really disappointed with the bulk of the middle, but really loving the first four episodes, and then the last one or two. Four episodes in, that remains the case.
Things I have been thinking about:
-Moving -- and where to go.
-Superhero comics -- and whether I'll ever like them ever again.
-Manual labor -- I'm in the mood to dig a hole.
Things I have been working on:
-Mostly short bits of nothing in particular. But I started a story I really like called "The Boy Who Would Be Thor," and July is officially the Month to Novel Again.
-The Dark Knight -- I wasn't wild about 'Begins,' but DK looks like the radness.
-Pineapple Express -- sort of.
-Hancock -- mostly just because the original title was 'Tonight, He Comes.'
Things I want to eat:
-Indian food -- always.
-Chick-O-Stick -- which means I'm itching for a road trip.
-Green apples -- they're good.
Music I want to listen to:
-My Morning Jacket
-The Avett Brothers (thanks Lizz!)
TV I've been watching:
-The Wire -- I'm hip deep in season 2.
-Battlestar Galactica season three -- I watched it during its first run, and I've been re-watching it before bed lately. I remember being really disappointed with the bulk of the middle, but really loving the first four episodes, and then the last one or two. Four episodes in, that remains the case.
Things I have been thinking about:
-Moving -- and where to go.
-Superhero comics -- and whether I'll ever like them ever again.
-Manual labor -- I'm in the mood to dig a hole.
Things I have been working on:
-Mostly short bits of nothing in particular. But I started a story I really like called "The Boy Who Would Be Thor," and July is officially the Month to Novel Again.
...and one more thing.
For all my dislike for comics these days, I can't stop THINKING about them. It occurred to me in a nappy-haze this morning (I woke up, ate breakfast, THEN took a nap -- it's about time to get myself to a new town, folks) that the folks who find FINAL CRISIS too confusing are the same folks who lurve ALL-STAR SUPERMAN -- the only difference being ALL-STAR is based on an imagined continuity, more or less. Superman ran up against Bizzaro in a recent ALL-STAR, and he was largely changed from any depiction of Bizzaro we've ever seen -- but that's easily the most well-received superhero title of recent years. But when the New Gods of FINAL CRISIS clash with their depiction in COUNTDOWN, it's cause for anger and mistrust...
Well, my problems with FINAL CRISIS aren't continuity-bound. I don't think it's a confusing book, it just has the confounding problem of trying to move too slow and yet too fast at the very same time.
(Although, I will say -- spoiler alert! -- that if you're not intimately familiar with the history of DC's various Flashes, the end of FINAL CRISIS #2 probably makes no sense whatsoever. It looks like the very same guy who's already there, appearing out of some vortex.)
Well, my problems with FINAL CRISIS aren't continuity-bound. I don't think it's a confusing book, it just has the confounding problem of trying to move too slow and yet too fast at the very same time.
(Although, I will say -- spoiler alert! -- that if you're not intimately familiar with the history of DC's various Flashes, the end of FINAL CRISIS #2 probably makes no sense whatsoever. It looks like the very same guy who's already there, appearing out of some vortex.)
Thursday, June 26, 2008
I Am Turning Misanthropic
I visited the comics shop today, more and more a thing I do based on specific books coming out rather than as a once-a-week affair. This time I was looking for FINAL CRISIS #2, being the latest issue in DC's latest opus. It wasn't very good.
This time last year I was doing a lot of comics research. I was chest-deep in a comics writing project and getting ready for my first San Diego Con -- I wanted to know who to talk to, I wanted to understand the latest market trends, I wanted to be up on what comics people were up on. I generally want that anyway, but last summer, it was with a specific ambition and a specific drive that I immersed myself in the online comicsphere.
Well. It's been a long year, yeah? Perhaps evidenced by the last post below this one being from last August.
Last year I was excited by the World Of Comics -- maybe because I was writing a lot of them -- but the comicsphere in June 2008 is a bleak kind of place. There are still comics I love -- American Elf and Achewood are still strips I look at every single day -- but trips to the comics shop tend to be disappointing. Grant Morrison writes superhero comics as good as they come, and a few months ago his and Frank Quitely's ALL-STAR SUPERMAN #10 was probably the finest Superman story that's ever seen print -- but with FINAL CRISIS it feels like a lot of thunder for not a lot of lightning. It's been two issues of talky-vague-exposition thus far, with a bunch of supervillains having constant meetings in an old movie theater. I'm not even sure WHY they're meeting -- Luthor just seems to show up to the meetings to tell everyone else that he doesn't want to be at the meetings, you know? It's lazy, and the sort of thing a writer's room would shoot down, reinvent, and reconstruct into something better. Maybe I, in spite of my natural inclination to favor the auteur, really just want my commercial fiction written by committee.
And not to get all nerdy on y'all, but Marvel's SECRET INVASION isn't much better. It has a different tone than FINAL CRISIS -- it's built on large panels and bang-splash-'sprise moments that unfortunately aren't as iconic or exciting as they're meant to be. Maybe I'm just lamenting my inability to be entertained by the artform I so enjoyed in the halcyon days of youth, but it's seriously a bummer to not be able to pick up a colorful packet of superheroes and walk away at least SOMEWHAT entertained. They're just not being good storytellers at Marvel and DC these days. I don't mean "these days" as compared to whenever you and I were reading comics as kids -- I mean these days as opposed to a few years ago. Or even a few months ago. RUNAWAYS and ASTONISHING X-MEN were able to entertain and tell competent stories, THE IMMORTAL IRON FIST took a decades-old character and did him done right, and BATMAN: THE DARK KNIGHT DETECTIVE was able to tell a story the way they USED to tell 'em without seeming like a trip down nostalgia lane ...
What I mean to say is, it looks like my own personal comics-universe is in a bit of a slump these days. It's fun to read the FOURTH WORLD reprints and all, but as a rule, I'd much rather get lost in something New and Young and Rad.
More on misanthropy later. Hello, interweb. It's nice to see you again.
This time last year I was doing a lot of comics research. I was chest-deep in a comics writing project and getting ready for my first San Diego Con -- I wanted to know who to talk to, I wanted to understand the latest market trends, I wanted to be up on what comics people were up on. I generally want that anyway, but last summer, it was with a specific ambition and a specific drive that I immersed myself in the online comicsphere.
Well. It's been a long year, yeah? Perhaps evidenced by the last post below this one being from last August.
Last year I was excited by the World Of Comics -- maybe because I was writing a lot of them -- but the comicsphere in June 2008 is a bleak kind of place. There are still comics I love -- American Elf and Achewood are still strips I look at every single day -- but trips to the comics shop tend to be disappointing. Grant Morrison writes superhero comics as good as they come, and a few months ago his and Frank Quitely's ALL-STAR SUPERMAN #10 was probably the finest Superman story that's ever seen print -- but with FINAL CRISIS it feels like a lot of thunder for not a lot of lightning. It's been two issues of talky-vague-exposition thus far, with a bunch of supervillains having constant meetings in an old movie theater. I'm not even sure WHY they're meeting -- Luthor just seems to show up to the meetings to tell everyone else that he doesn't want to be at the meetings, you know? It's lazy, and the sort of thing a writer's room would shoot down, reinvent, and reconstruct into something better. Maybe I, in spite of my natural inclination to favor the auteur, really just want my commercial fiction written by committee.
And not to get all nerdy on y'all, but Marvel's SECRET INVASION isn't much better. It has a different tone than FINAL CRISIS -- it's built on large panels and bang-splash-'sprise moments that unfortunately aren't as iconic or exciting as they're meant to be. Maybe I'm just lamenting my inability to be entertained by the artform I so enjoyed in the halcyon days of youth, but it's seriously a bummer to not be able to pick up a colorful packet of superheroes and walk away at least SOMEWHAT entertained. They're just not being good storytellers at Marvel and DC these days. I don't mean "these days" as compared to whenever you and I were reading comics as kids -- I mean these days as opposed to a few years ago. Or even a few months ago. RUNAWAYS and ASTONISHING X-MEN were able to entertain and tell competent stories, THE IMMORTAL IRON FIST took a decades-old character and did him done right, and BATMAN: THE DARK KNIGHT DETECTIVE was able to tell a story the way they USED to tell 'em without seeming like a trip down nostalgia lane ...
What I mean to say is, it looks like my own personal comics-universe is in a bit of a slump these days. It's fun to read the FOURTH WORLD reprints and all, but as a rule, I'd much rather get lost in something New and Young and Rad.
More on misanthropy later. Hello, interweb. It's nice to see you again.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Auto-mytho-biography
-Age 3: Like early man, I have trouble telling the difference between waking life and dreams. My Aunt Sheryl, my dad’s step-sister, only a few years older than my big brother Dave, passes away but her spirit is kept safe, entombed in a bulbous device of yellow plastic, with a red knob and many pipes. It comes to my attention, at a time unspecified, that the bulbous yellow device is a water pump, cobwebbed in the corner of our basement, and Sheryl has simply moved out of Ma and Pa’s house, and in with her boyfriend Lance. Years later: Lance becomes my Uncle. A few years more: Sheryl and Lance no longer speak to our side of the family, and she might as well be a spirit in a water pump after all.
-Age 6: In a panic, I ask my mom what happens to me when I die. Mom is cleaning out the hall closet and would rather be left to it. “Jents don’t die,” she tells me. With a great relief -- the greatest relief -- removed from my shoulders, I return to playing He-Man. Today’s adventure: Mek-A-Nek’s funeral. Prince Adam’s eulogy: “Farewell, friend Mek-A-Nek … if only you had been born a Jent.”
-Age 9: I practice my stand-up routine before our large bathroom vanity. I give myself the willies by turning the lights off, closing my eyes and saying, “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody -- Mongoose, Manny, Maxwell!” I run from the room.
-Ages 13-17: Every Saturday I spend the night at Shaun’s house, along with Bobby, Adrian and Jarrod. Our adventures begin with the discovery of an empty bread bag and some matted down grass under a fallen tree. That night, we explore further and meet the Devil living in Shaun’s house. The Devil chases us up the hill to Shaun’s house, where we cower sleeplessly as he bangs on doors, removes screens from windows, and dances cloven-hooves on the roof. In the morning we find clawed potatoes in the yard and ashes where his knuckles stuck the doors. Every Saturday night thereafter he chases us from spring until fall, but our physical forms evade him. Mentally, emotionally and spiritually we do our best to stay out of his grasp, and succeed to varying degrees. Some of us drop out of school and take jobs in nursing homes. Some of us date girls who are dangerously younger, some get fat, drink beer and do drugs. We lust for hand models and enroll in vocational school. We drift apart, and nod goodbyes on graduation day. The devil catches each of us, in ways only we know for sure.
-Age 23: I experience my life’s great trauma. Her name is Xxxxxx Xxxxxx. Three months after I see her for the last time, she tells me she won’t call me again.
-Age 27: I go to bed one night, safely ensconced in Illinois. When I awaken, three days later, I live by sea.
-Age 28+: My adventures continue. Somewhen in the interval between six and now I learn that Jents will die after all.
-Age 6: In a panic, I ask my mom what happens to me when I die. Mom is cleaning out the hall closet and would rather be left to it. “Jents don’t die,” she tells me. With a great relief -- the greatest relief -- removed from my shoulders, I return to playing He-Man. Today’s adventure: Mek-A-Nek’s funeral. Prince Adam’s eulogy: “Farewell, friend Mek-A-Nek … if only you had been born a Jent.”
-Age 9: I practice my stand-up routine before our large bathroom vanity. I give myself the willies by turning the lights off, closing my eyes and saying, “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody -- Mongoose, Manny, Maxwell!” I run from the room.
-Ages 13-17: Every Saturday I spend the night at Shaun’s house, along with Bobby, Adrian and Jarrod. Our adventures begin with the discovery of an empty bread bag and some matted down grass under a fallen tree. That night, we explore further and meet the Devil living in Shaun’s house. The Devil chases us up the hill to Shaun’s house, where we cower sleeplessly as he bangs on doors, removes screens from windows, and dances cloven-hooves on the roof. In the morning we find clawed potatoes in the yard and ashes where his knuckles stuck the doors. Every Saturday night thereafter he chases us from spring until fall, but our physical forms evade him. Mentally, emotionally and spiritually we do our best to stay out of his grasp, and succeed to varying degrees. Some of us drop out of school and take jobs in nursing homes. Some of us date girls who are dangerously younger, some get fat, drink beer and do drugs. We lust for hand models and enroll in vocational school. We drift apart, and nod goodbyes on graduation day. The devil catches each of us, in ways only we know for sure.
-Age 23: I experience my life’s great trauma. Her name is Xxxxxx Xxxxxx. Three months after I see her for the last time, she tells me she won’t call me again.
-Age 27: I go to bed one night, safely ensconced in Illinois. When I awaken, three days later, I live by sea.
-Age 28+: My adventures continue. Somewhen in the interval between six and now I learn that Jents will die after all.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Bound to wind up one lonely, twisted old man
I buy new music maybe once a year. I like new music, but it's usually just not my priority -- I'm happy to keep listening to the same Blues Brothers record if it means I can get a new book or two. But I made my annual purchase recently, for the sake of the new, for the sake of the blog...
The White Stripes -- Icky Thump
Every review I've read says the same things about it -- a return to form after Get Behind Me Satan, a return to their pre-Elephant sound, or at worst, a few good songs but mostly bloated ego. Well, I dunno, kids. The guitars that kick off "Icky Thump" are rockin' pretty hard, and there's not a lot more I require from my White Stripes records. I get the sense that Jack White might not have much of a sense of humor when it comes to his outfits/his music/his bands, so while I might not want to hang out with him when he's putting a record together, I'm happy to listen to it when he's done. "Conquest" inspires the cover's visuals, it thumps and it grooves, and of the batch, this is the record I play when The Librarian is at work I want to pretend to be a badass rock and roll singer.
Ryan Adams -- Easy Tiger
I love Ryan Adams so much. I don't even remember what got me into him in the first place -- I think I was on a mission for brand new music when Gold came out, and I picked it up on a whim. That led me backwards to Whiskeytown, which coincided with my realization that country music is rad, and from there I was insanely grateful that the dude puts out one (or two) records a year. The downside of his massive output is that not every song is a gem ... there's a lot to forget about on his recent releases, but the stuff in between is fantastic. What I've read about Easy Tiger says that it's unlike is other recent releases in that it's "all the good stuff" ... but I dunno. It's pretty standard Ryan Adams, I think. A few great songs, a few good ones, a few near-misses. But for songs like "Two" and "These Girls," it's definitely worth all the misses in the world.
Nick Lowe -- At My Age
Here we go. I found Nick Lowe a few years ago when he performed "She's Got Soul" on Conan O'Brien, and I was fascinated by this dapper old man with shock-white hair, smoking a cigarette and singing about girls. I bought The Convincer and played the shit out of it, only finding out later that Nick Lowe was Elvis Costello's producer back when he was, you know, Elvis Costello, and also the dude who sang "Cruel to be Kind." I guess he has quite the punky reputation, but I know him as the dude in the suit who sings blues/country-influenced pop songs, wears a suit, and has eyes that look ... not tired, but full. At My Age is the best new record I've bought since I Don't Know When. "Long Limbed Girl" is nostalgic for old loves, "I Trained Her to Love Me" is mean Nick Lowe at his best, and "Feel Again" brings it back to sweetness again. Thank god this man survived his youth.
Beastie Boys -- The Mix-Up
It's the album before their next great album! I'm not a big Beastie Boys fan, and I probably wouldn't have picked this up had it actually been their next great album. The Mix-Up is an instrumental, and I mostly bought it to serve as an alternative work record to The Prodigy's Dirtchamber Sessions. One review described it as future background music for countless frat parties, and that might be right. But it's good for what it is. Instead of putting it on while I wrote this paragraph, I kept listening to Nick Lowe.
The White Stripes -- Icky Thump
Every review I've read says the same things about it -- a return to form after Get Behind Me Satan, a return to their pre-Elephant sound, or at worst, a few good songs but mostly bloated ego. Well, I dunno, kids. The guitars that kick off "Icky Thump" are rockin' pretty hard, and there's not a lot more I require from my White Stripes records. I get the sense that Jack White might not have much of a sense of humor when it comes to his outfits/his music/his bands, so while I might not want to hang out with him when he's putting a record together, I'm happy to listen to it when he's done. "Conquest" inspires the cover's visuals, it thumps and it grooves, and of the batch, this is the record I play when The Librarian is at work I want to pretend to be a badass rock and roll singer.
Ryan Adams -- Easy Tiger
I love Ryan Adams so much. I don't even remember what got me into him in the first place -- I think I was on a mission for brand new music when Gold came out, and I picked it up on a whim. That led me backwards to Whiskeytown, which coincided with my realization that country music is rad, and from there I was insanely grateful that the dude puts out one (or two) records a year. The downside of his massive output is that not every song is a gem ... there's a lot to forget about on his recent releases, but the stuff in between is fantastic. What I've read about Easy Tiger says that it's unlike is other recent releases in that it's "all the good stuff" ... but I dunno. It's pretty standard Ryan Adams, I think. A few great songs, a few good ones, a few near-misses. But for songs like "Two" and "These Girls," it's definitely worth all the misses in the world.
Nick Lowe -- At My Age
Here we go. I found Nick Lowe a few years ago when he performed "She's Got Soul" on Conan O'Brien, and I was fascinated by this dapper old man with shock-white hair, smoking a cigarette and singing about girls. I bought The Convincer and played the shit out of it, only finding out later that Nick Lowe was Elvis Costello's producer back when he was, you know, Elvis Costello, and also the dude who sang "Cruel to be Kind." I guess he has quite the punky reputation, but I know him as the dude in the suit who sings blues/country-influenced pop songs, wears a suit, and has eyes that look ... not tired, but full. At My Age is the best new record I've bought since I Don't Know When. "Long Limbed Girl" is nostalgic for old loves, "I Trained Her to Love Me" is mean Nick Lowe at his best, and "Feel Again" brings it back to sweetness again. Thank god this man survived his youth.
Beastie Boys -- The Mix-Up
It's the album before their next great album! I'm not a big Beastie Boys fan, and I probably wouldn't have picked this up had it actually been their next great album. The Mix-Up is an instrumental, and I mostly bought it to serve as an alternative work record to The Prodigy's Dirtchamber Sessions. One review described it as future background music for countless frat parties, and that might be right. But it's good for what it is. Instead of putting it on while I wrote this paragraph, I kept listening to Nick Lowe.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
07.07.07
Sort of taken from Laurenn McCubbin, who I do not know, but whose blog I enjoy...
Where I’m at:
5 movies I want to see:
Knocked Up
Sicko
10 Canoes
Sunshine
that new Harry Potter thing
I've enjoyed the hell out of most of the movies I've seen this summer. PIRATES and SPIDER-MAN 3 were swell, despite what folks might tell you.
Things I want to eat:
Anything snack-like. We're going to get a new cookbook today.
For a good few weeks I was cooking supper a few times a week -- chopping onions and following cookbook instructions and such. Kind of fell away from it after I made the three or four things I liked from the cookbooks three or four times.
Music I want to listen to:
the new Ryan Adams
the new White Stripes
the new Nick Lowe
I'm basically going to be partying like it's 1999. I don't know how I feel about that.
TV I've been watching:
John from Cincinnati
Flight of the Conchords
Rescue Me, season 4
Doctor Who (almost)
I've heard the 3rd season of WHO was fantastic -- it just debuted on SciFi this past weekend, but I haven't watched it yet. I'm looking forward to it. I've come around the last two years or so to thinking good TV is almost always better than good movies. You have more room to tell stories, and you can do it in more varied ways than the standard 120-page rhythm. JOHN has me perplexed ... I like it ... but I don't really want to sit down and watch it. The first two episodes were TV gold (especially Ed O'Neil), but after that ... I dunno. I'm into it when it's in front of me. Part of that might have to do with CONCHORDS, which comes on after JOHN, and is such an enjoyable half hour of television. I give you: She's So Hot ... Boom!
Things I have been thinking about:
Abraham Lincoln, as usual: "I am loath to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature."
Also, comics. I've been doing most of my blogging on Sequential Heart, and it's gotten me back into the habit of going to the comics shop every week or so. I knew I was digging the new CAPTAIN AMERICA comics, but I didn't realize how MUCH I loved them until I wrote a review on the new issue. Also: Paul Pope. THB is coming back, and it's got me really excited to look over the last THB that I never really read. San Diego is on the horizon, the first time I've gone, and I'm stupid excited.
Also also, Shakespeare. SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE has been on the cable TV lately -- man, I like it. I think I like it more than regular Shakespeare.
Things I have been working on:
I wrote a screenplay. A new one, with an idea I've been knocking around in my head and in the odd short story for about two years. It's hokey, but I used the How to Write a Movie in 21 Days method, and I'm currently on day 14. I have a full 122-page draft, and I'm working through the second draft now. I should have a readable version by the time I head back for a week of Ohio on the 16th.
The comic Amy and I are getting ready to pitch around at San Diego. More details to come, I'm sure. It's fun to write, and Amy draws pretty ladies.
Where I’m at:
5 movies I want to see:
Knocked Up
Sicko
10 Canoes
Sunshine
that new Harry Potter thing
I've enjoyed the hell out of most of the movies I've seen this summer. PIRATES and SPIDER-MAN 3 were swell, despite what folks might tell you.
Things I want to eat:
Anything snack-like. We're going to get a new cookbook today.
For a good few weeks I was cooking supper a few times a week -- chopping onions and following cookbook instructions and such. Kind of fell away from it after I made the three or four things I liked from the cookbooks three or four times.
Music I want to listen to:
the new Ryan Adams
the new White Stripes
the new Nick Lowe
I'm basically going to be partying like it's 1999. I don't know how I feel about that.
TV I've been watching:
John from Cincinnati
Flight of the Conchords
Rescue Me, season 4
Doctor Who (almost)
I've heard the 3rd season of WHO was fantastic -- it just debuted on SciFi this past weekend, but I haven't watched it yet. I'm looking forward to it. I've come around the last two years or so to thinking good TV is almost always better than good movies. You have more room to tell stories, and you can do it in more varied ways than the standard 120-page rhythm. JOHN has me perplexed ... I like it ... but I don't really want to sit down and watch it. The first two episodes were TV gold (especially Ed O'Neil), but after that ... I dunno. I'm into it when it's in front of me. Part of that might have to do with CONCHORDS, which comes on after JOHN, and is such an enjoyable half hour of television. I give you: She's So Hot ... Boom!
Things I have been thinking about:
Abraham Lincoln, as usual: "I am loath to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature."
Also, comics. I've been doing most of my blogging on Sequential Heart, and it's gotten me back into the habit of going to the comics shop every week or so. I knew I was digging the new CAPTAIN AMERICA comics, but I didn't realize how MUCH I loved them until I wrote a review on the new issue. Also: Paul Pope. THB is coming back, and it's got me really excited to look over the last THB that I never really read. San Diego is on the horizon, the first time I've gone, and I'm stupid excited.
Also also, Shakespeare. SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE has been on the cable TV lately -- man, I like it. I think I like it more than regular Shakespeare.
Things I have been working on:
I wrote a screenplay. A new one, with an idea I've been knocking around in my head and in the odd short story for about two years. It's hokey, but I used the How to Write a Movie in 21 Days method, and I'm currently on day 14. I have a full 122-page draft, and I'm working through the second draft now. I should have a readable version by the time I head back for a week of Ohio on the 16th.
The comic Amy and I are getting ready to pitch around at San Diego. More details to come, I'm sure. It's fun to write, and Amy draws pretty ladies.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
What we talk about when we talk about comics
I spiffed up Sequential Heart and posted some comics reviews there -- the idea is to run a group-blog where a few folks will post short reviews of comics a few times a week. I started things off with recent issues of SHAOLIN COWBOY, ALL-STAR BATMAN & ROBIN and SPIDER-MAN. I'm working up some more graphic novel-y fare right now, and Amy plans on contributing some mini-comic reviews in the near future. I'd also like to write about some of the Bay Area folks we know -- I have BEOWOLF by the Two Fine Chaps sitting on the bookshelf, and Ben Costa's webcomic SHI LONG PANG that might just out-Usagi USAGI YOJIMBO.
Anyway -- I wanted to post about SH while I was thinking about it. Check it out, comment on 'em if you agree or disagree, and if anyone wants to join the conversation, just give a shout.
Sequential Heart!
Anyway -- I wanted to post about SH while I was thinking about it. Check it out, comment on 'em if you agree or disagree, and if anyone wants to join the conversation, just give a shout.
Sequential Heart!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)