Out to Pasture

The dealership let me know they are hesitant to make another round of speculative repairs on the car and advise me to get a new one. I wasn't thrilled to hear that, and I remember they said the same thing to me when I took in my original car in 2004. It will cost $500 just to get my still-broken car back from them, but the next round of repairs would double the bill. And after talking to Your Sister, it was decided that we'll get a new one. Just not a Ford. We've done tons of research already, and now we're at the budgeting and test-driving stage.

I don't have as much of an attachment to this car as I did to the previous one. This one was a hand-me-down from my parents, and the previous car was the first car I bought new off the lot. That one was repaired (at a hefty price) and handed over to charity once I got the parents' old car. We both had Ford Contours. Apparently they all reach the age of ten and automatically disassemble themselves. We can still use the car to tool around town, but I don't trust it to get me to work and back.

Picture of the Day
Lenin's got game.

Cooking With Stupidity

Let's say, just for the sake of conversation, you were lactose intolerant. This condition, we'll say, emerged in your mid-20s, and you learned recently that this is not uncommon for people of Cherokee heritage. Like you, maybe. And let's say it was your turn to make dinner, oh, last night, and you decided to forgo the bottled alfredo cause to make a fresh batch from a new recipe book.

1/4 cup grated Romano
1/4 cup grated Parmesan (with additional two tablespoons set aside as a condiment)
cup whipping cream
one egg yolk
dash of nutmeg
dash of pepper
1/8 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons butter

And follow it you did -- to the letter, to the ounce -- and gobbled up the final result with Your Smokin' Hot Wife. Would you be surprised, then, when Your Smokin Hot-Under-the-Collar Stomach decided to mutiny? Would you be shocked to experience pains and discomfort not unlike the Spanish Inquisition? Because if you wouldn't be shocked, you are a better man than I am, Gunga Din.

Lesson Learned: I'm fucking retarded. But in my defense, store-bought alfredo doesn't do this to me, and I thought I was safe. Surely, fresh ingredients are safer for me than preservative chemicals. Right? Can I get a witness? Did I make unwittingly add tainted dog food?

Moving Picture of the Day
The trailer for the third Pirates of the Caribbean. I think we'll see it nine times.



In the News
A fantastic question was offered by a CNN reporter to Tony Snow yesterday during the daily pres briefing.

Q Just to follow up on one point earlier, yesterday the President said, and you've repeated, that the principle at stake here with executive privilege is that the President needs to get candid advice from his advisors, right?

MR. SNOW: What the President has talked about is privileged communications with close staff members, that is correct.

Q But earlier you were saying that, when I asked about, well, was the President informed of this decision, did the President sign off on U.S. attorneys being fired, you said the President has no recollection of being informed of all this.

MR. SNOW: Correct.

Q So were his advisors really advising him on this? Is this really privileged communication involving the President and his advisors, if the President wasn't looped in, you're saying, on this decision? So it was other people --

MR. SNOW: Well, that also falls into the intriguing question category.

Q But, I mean --

MR. SNOW: No, you're asking -- you're asking me to -- look, Ed, there are a number of complex legal considerations in here, and I'm not going to try to play junior lawyer. These are the sort of things that people are going to have an opportunity to talk about.

Q But aren't you having it both ways? If you're saying the President wasn't in the loop, but we need to cite executive privilege for the President's communications --

MR. SNOW: No, what you're -- what you are saying is, are conversations that didn't take place privileged? Well, no -- they didn't take place.

Q So what are you protecting, if they didn't take place?

MR. SNOW: Well, no, we're not -- what we're trying to do is to protect the ability of the American people to see folks in Washington get at the truth without, in fact, engaging in the kind of unseemly partisanship that has too often been a factor in recent political life.

+ + +

Internet Radio may be killed off by new royalty regulations increasing the amount artists and labels are to be paid by online stations. While the rate is measured in penny fractions, it's based on the number of listeners, not the number of times the song is played. A station has to pay a minimum of $500 a year. This hurts independent stations the most.

Spring Has Sprung

My car is back at the shop. It's losing power, and the engine tends to stop if the car is cranked after a long sit. I do not enjoy my car's absence nor do I enjoy depriving My Sick Wife of her car. It's possible she got something from the baby Sunday night.

I saw my first R2D2 mailbox this morning, right at the obelisk in downtown Asheville.

Picture of the Day
The comic is almost finished. I've let it sit for a few days and am about to read it over and adjust the script if need be. I'm maybe an hour away from wrapping it up. I talked to the publisher, and he asked that I edit some fine art panels to make them more kid-friendly. This is what I gave him, and he OKed it.



In the News
Bush offered what he repeatedly called a "reasonable proposal" for his administration representatives to appear before Congress concerning the prosecutor scandal. But he wants his advisers to speak off the public record and without swearing in. He says doing otherwise compromises future advisers from speaking freely to the president. But it allows them to say anything they want to Congress without legal recourse or media scrutiny. He made clear he's daring Congress to seek oaths and public hearings and claimed he'll go to court to preserve this adviser secrecy. Again, the cover-up overshadows the initial event. Gonzales seems to have given false testimony before Congress earlier when this scandal began, testimony that now directly involves Karl Rove and other advisers. The crux of the matter is this: Did the administration fire prosecutors who were sniffing around its political allies?

St. Patty's Weekend

We ordered pizza on Friday and vegged in front of the TV. It was a stressful week for both of us. Her classroom roof leaked and almost ruined a bookshelf full of novels. We went to target Saturday and bought a new shelf while those books dried out. We had one drink each at the pub during dinner and enjoyed various libations while we watched some TV. I cleaned by workshop earlier in the day, a chore always necessary when the comic inking is finished. I also had three months' worth of comics to file away.

I got an email from the director of the play, and he said I was the wrong age for the production. Too young for the leads, and too old for the authorities figures. Part of me wants to quibble; I'm sure our Romeo isn't 14 years old. But he at least said I'd have a better chance trying out for Much Ado. And I'm leaning toward that heavily. Also, the Romeo filler roles would require only Sunday rehearsals, which I can do easily. I might even get a line or two and a sword to carry. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I'm running a March madness bracket on the NY Times website. Of the now set Sweet Sixteen, I picked ten correctly. I'm currently third against Times' 21 sports reporters bracket tournament. I had Winthrop and Villanova going to the Elite Eight.

Kathy and Travis came by last night for supper. She made some divine stuffed peppers and we watched some of the basketball, followed by "60 Minutes" and "Family Guy." Your Sis saw ads for an Axis of Evil comedy special where four comedians of Middle Eastern descent do stand-up. We all watched that last night, and it was good stuff. I don't think any of the comedians could necessarily work a special alone, but together -- talking about a post-9/11 world to audience of fellow descendants -- they killed.

Picture of the Day

Pork, Picks, Play

We had dinner at the local barbecue place, a pleasant eatery we always forget about unless we walk past it. We strolled the neighborhood earlier this week, noticed it, and made mental notes to try it again. We went last night and found ourselves the only people there, maybe the only customers they had all night. The food was good though. I don't think we have any plans for St. Patrick's Day, and that's OK with me. There's things that need doing around the house.

Despite paying little attention to the season, I made out a March Madness bracket. Out of sixteen picks, I got one wrong, choosing Davidson over Maryland. I wouldn't be this successful if I was a bigger sports fan.

Haven't heard back from the Montford people yet, and I'm not terribly surprised. They probably won't contact me until within a few weeks of the show, and I may not be available then.

Moving Pictures of the Day
You can see previews of This American Life's new Showtime series here. The pet bull story raises a question of how they shot footage for an item they covered almost three years ago. Did they go back and re-interview the involved parties? Are they airing unrelated new footage over their original audio?

In The News
The new to-do over the administration prosecutor scandal percolates because new emails show the White House was involved in the organization and employment of federal prosecutors despite sworn testimony to the contrary. Also, there's new questions about the administration destroying documents that would have been used as evidence in investigations into lobbying connections.

Cranky People

I got an email this morning that I didn't get cast in the show. My first unsuccessful audition. It's a blow to the ego, I admit, but seeing the style they leaned to, it's probably best I didn't get it. I don't know if I could listen to the comedy team for three months. I'm not sure what I could have done differently, and it's possible nothing I did would have mattered. This may be my first example of a "closed shop," a theatre reluctant to cast new people. Ironically, I heard that label applied to at least two companies that cast me in my first try (including the Hot Tin Roof group) but hadn't heard that at all about Montford. This gives me time to work on the painting and mini-comics instead, and maybe, if my optimism returns, I could try for Montford's Much Ado About Nothing in a few months.

And you know, I was offered a non-speaking role (read: filler) that, what the hell, I'm gonna accept. I won't have to be there for the rehearsals, and perhaps I can pick up tricks to get in the next show. I think it would be unprofessional to shrug off an invitation, and maybe I can impress them with my professionalism.

I grilled steaks and baked potatoes before "Lost" aired, but right before the show we got a wrong-number call. An older lady was trying to call someone she met at a casino a few weeks back. She claimed she had the number in her purse but it was too far away to reach. She also claimed she dialed correctly and asked if I could help her reach this person. I assured her we had been at this number for years, there was no person by that name, and suggested she check her purse for the number. She didn't want to. She called again. And again. She was desperate to reach this lady. Now, I suspected she was a prank early on, but she kept in character. No punchline arrived. She seemed genuinely addled, even asking if she should use her Life Alert bracelet to get help from them. I steered her away from that.

When she did retrieve the number, she said she couldn't read it because it was dark. You have to picture an old woman (81, by her account) sitting in the dark trying to call someone who she doesn't know nor does she know where the intended callee lives. I suggest she wait 'til tomorrow when it's daylight so she can read the number. Then Your Sister, thinking a prank or a whackjob, adopts a nag character and demands to know which hoochie mama I'm talking to. I, play along and excuse myself quickly ("oh, crap, the wife's mad. I gotta go."). The woman calls back, indignant that someone was screaming in the background at her. And now, finally, my patience is gone. I tell her I can't help her anymore and relay the stupidity of the situation (old, in the dark, insistant that a stranger make her magic talking machine work). She gets mad. She asks if she being insulted. I confirm this. She then says, "well, I never," to which I say, "you will probably never will" and hang up. She calls back, but I hang up immediately. She doesn't call again. I expected her to call back at the crack of dawn, but I heard nothing. And the local phone company says they can only block collect calls. Maybe she'll call again tonight when she's drunk, bored, and sitting in the dark.

I've suspected similar odd calls are the work of students, but they seem sincere in their mindlessness. We live amid old people with waning grasps on reality, and the assumption that they will be rescued by anyone for any reason. Remember when we took the books to the post office? A lady in a fogey scooter came in and asked me to grab the package she slid under her seat so she could mail it. Now what if no one was around? She planned to require help. Earlier this week, that same woman took up the entire sidewalk while I was running toward her. She could see me from a half-mile away, and she never moved aside. Maybe it was she that called. That woman is trying to become my nemesis, and only a steel cage match can end this feud.

Picture of the Day
Fencing

Running on Fumes

To got my car back to the shop, I drove Your Sister's car to work and back, grabbed my car, drove it to the shop, and -- because Your Sis had a work meeting -- had no way to get home. So I ran. Some of it. I haven't tried an outdoor run this year, and I knew I would be rusty. But the conditions made it much harder than I expected. The air was warm (it was right at 75 degrees yesterday), the wind was very active, and the traffic soot was infesting. I was filthy when I got home about 45 minutes later. It's a little over 4 miles, and I probably ran two miles of that. I felt it most in my lungs. The iPod helped quite a bit. Today, I feel OK. No major leg pain at all.

I'm not having any trouble with the time change, and I relish all this post-work daylight. Thumbs up to the sun. We're cooking out tonight.

I'm still mentally going over the auditions even though I can do nothing about them. I'm curious to see what part will be tossed my way, and I'd bet money it'll be Paris.

Picture of the Day
I changed a panel in the comic. It never looked right to me, and it didn't convey the imagery I wanted, and I felt it was the weakest panel of the three pages. The art ends at the top of the second panel because the I already know the text box reaches that far down.


In the News
The new scandal for the administration comes from the Justice Department. Attorney General Alberto Gonzales is facing calls for resignation over the revelation that federal prosecutors were fired for political reasons. The phrase making the rounds is "serving at the pleasure of the president," which means the boss can fire you when he sees fit. And that's not a matter anyone is debating. Also mentioned often is that Clinton fired all the prosecutors when he took office. Again, that's his prerogative. But the fired lawyers say they were canned because they wouldn't push indictments against Democrat congressmen before the November election. Now comes the allegation that a prosecutor was fired because he was investigating Jack Abramoff, the administration-connected lobbyist who starred in his own scandal last year. Now that's stinky. You don't fire lawyers when they start sniffing around your friends. Nixon did that. Congress has also learned that the president was advised to fire all 93 prosecutors after the elections. While that is his right, doing so in the middle of his second term is suspect.

Here's what I think was going on:
1) They wanted to fire those who were close to charging political friends.
2) Firing everybody would hide that.
3) It would also clean the slate for all the failed cases against terror suspects after 9/11. Federal prosecutors have passed on investigations because of flimsy evidence and questionable legal bases. This hasn't made the administration happy.

Gonzales said he won't step down. Adviser Karl Rove may be called by Congress to testify because everyone hates Karl Rove.

This comes in the same week that the Joint Chiefs Chairman declared homosexuality immoral and said it had no place in the military. This can't help the armed forces boost enrollment in the face of depleted and exhausted troops.

Rage, Drink, Rock

As I made my way to work, I discovered that the interstate was closed down for a five-mile stretch. That routed all traffic to 191, a road not meant to handle that kind of business, and it took me two hours to get to the office. I was driving Your Sister's car as mine has to go back to the shop again. You know the kind of day Your Sis had, and we decided to walk the neighborhood to clear our heads and enjoy this new, later daylight. And then we got drunk.

We both cracked open the 22-ounce beers we bought from the new alky-hall store in Hendersonville to go with out wings and fries. But no rasslin. No, for last night was the live broadcast of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony. Velvet revolver gave a dispirited speech to introduce Van Halen, represented ironically by two of the three members who were kicked out: Sammy Hagar and Michael Anthony. The Ronettes' lead singer Ronnie Spector managed to ramble in her speech despite a printed copy with a large enough font that the viewing audience could read. Patti Smith was gracious and sweet before rocking her ass off in the obligatory induction performance. Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five became the first hip-hop act into the hall, and their performance was strictly and gloriously old-school.

And finally, after about three hours, Eddie Vedder gave a fantastic speech on REM, and the band came out for their speeches and set. That's the one I wanted to see. REM was the first band I remember that was cool to like because they were smart. They weren't cool in the traditional sense (although many a girl fawned over Michael Stipe), but they had poetry floating over pop-rock twang and jangle. They could coo when they wanted and rock when they wanted, and that made for a great band. Also, Automatic for the People is one of the top ten albums ever made, and not just because it was one of my seminal college CDs.

Picture of the Day
In honor of Star Wars' 30th anniversary, the Post Office will unveil R2D2 mailbox covers. I think some related stamps will be issued too.


In the News Kinda
There's a line in 300 where Leonidas dismisses the Athenians as "boy lovers." This line is straight out of the comic, and a reader took Miller to task for it, saying the Spartans also indulged in pedophilia. Miller agreed in a fairly dismissive way. You can read the initial letter and response in question here. But the debate continued in a later column for a Sin City miniseries, and you can read that here. The debate still simmers for some, and it blends in with a larger debate about Miller's style of storytelling. He praises fascism, some claim. He's misogynistic, others claim. This is the kind of mindset that resulted in the indirect online attack on Your Sister and the direct shot at me a few weeks back after I mentioned she liked Miller material. I'm of the mind that with all the potentially offensive things one sees in the comic and film that this one line is the most easily disregarded. It's a non-issue.

Verily, Yon Auditons Hath Cleft Mine Spirits.

We arrived at the Montford Center Friday night at 7. This is a youth community building with a gym and climbing wall and rooms apparently used for art classes. It feels a lot like a high school building, complete with similar bathrooms and flooring. It's meant to keep the kids off the streets, and the Montford Players were using the ceramics room for the auditions.

There were four tables set up. The director and company poobahs are seated at the far tables, and another has the reading copies. The first table was for application forms, asking for all the personal stuff and affirming rehearsal and performance dates and the possibility of hold-over performances. These sheets ask you to tell of any conflicts and which parts you want to read for. I walked in confident that I shouldn't even read for Romeo. I'm 34. I have gray temples. I do not look like a 14-year-old Italian, and I was sure every college-age kid with a 12th-grade reading level would try for that part. Romeo's the lead. He's the hero (kinda). He gets to smooch the heroine. I write down the name of every male role except Romeo. I wanted to try for the running buddies (Benvolio or Mercutio), the enemies (Tybalt, Paris, Lord Capulet) and the older men (the friar, the Prince). If I had to pick just one part, it's Mercutio. He's a smartass, a bon vivant, and a haughty fighter.

So what part am I given to read first? Romeo. OF COURSE. The director assigned pairs to read and sent us out to read in the hall to prepare. This is the kind of audition I'm used to. Your Sis told the director she can't work the play dates but would love to read against potentials. He agreed, and she was tickled to do it. We both stood in the hall, half whispering our lines to our partners. My partner and I switched off the roles to cover our bases. We went back in after getting a handle on the scene and watched as the director called up the pairs for readings.

This is her first -ever audition, and she's nervous even though she isn't trying for a part. She doesn't know what the common understood protocol is, and she gets a little frustrated with me when I tell her I don't know what these guys will expect us to do. And I don't. Every company is different in how they do this stuff, and all one can do is read the best they can at a moment's notice. Get your breath, talk loudly, stand up straight so they can see your face as you read, and don't worry about physical acting.

A trap of William's plays is what I call "acting Shakespeare." We're so conditioned to see people portraying deadly earnestness and enunciated solemnity with his works. And if you don't know the play well, you wind up sounding like Jon Lovitz's Master Thespian. "I SHALL EV'R BESTRIDE YON COUPL'D BLAHBLAHBLAH (throw you chin high, stretch your arm forward, eyes wide open)." And that's what happened to the Juliets. Almost all of them project the role with a thorough dirth of mirth no matter what scene they read. Your Sis enjoyed reading Lady Cauplet against them, but she didn't get much to work with. They weren't relishing the puns or the utter horniness of the character.

In my scene, Romeo is dismayed because Rosaline, his first crush, won't give it up. Benvolio tries to console him. Now, it's a chunky scene for Romeo. He has longish whines about reality and love and chastity and death. I decided not to read it as one-note as it could have ben. Romeo carries the scene; he can't be monotone and he shouldn't be maxed out in his sadness. He's gotta bring the heavy despair later. Also, I think this crush is based purely on lust, and when he sees Juliet, he falls truly in love, so his emotions for Rosaline also can't be shown at their height. He has to have something more to show when he meets Juliet. So I played it somewhat for laughs. Two buddies are talking about girls. And the scene isn't written as dour as one might play it. Romeo jokes with his pal in a sarcastic way. I do get some laughs, even when we switch and I read Benvolio.

A funny thing happened during the auditions. The pairs read their assigned parts and then switched roles. Everyone was also compelled to also trade standing places. It's silly and it's needless, but it's instinct. If I was going to then read that guy's part, I needed to be where he was standing. Everyone did it.

The majority of the two hours was given to the Juliets, and I spent that time reading the other scenes and preparing my inflections. Two possible Romeos really looked the part, but I didn't paying much attention to them as I was reading the scripts. I didn't need to size up the competition; I wasn't getting Romeo. I was finally assigned another scene, this one featuring Mercutio and Benvolio. Mercutio tells his buddy that the latter's moody and eager to argue. Benvolio shrugs it off. This is two friends talking shit to each other, and it's a funny scene. We partner up, read in the hall, trade roles a few times, and go back in. When we read, we get good responses and a few laughs.

The allotted audition time flew by, and I didn't get to read all the parts I wanted to (Mercutio has a killer monologue outside Romeo's bedroom, the Prince goes Godfather on the two families, and Paris has no idea Juliet is insulting him), but we're all encouraged to come back this weekend for more audition time. I felt really good about this as we left. We go to a local dessert bar to exchange notes. She feels she didn't give the director what he asked for in Lady Cauplet, and I agree but add that I think he wanted her to play a blithe airhead. The part, however, doesn't read that way. Lady Capulet is her husband, and in that scene, they want Romeo's blood for killing Tybalt. This is the first time she's seen me audition or read Shakespeare allowed and she thought I hit the marks. From someone like her who can quote the play like a revival preacher can quote the Bible, I take it as a big compliment.

And, hey, if I don't get a role, my hot wife and I spent the evening acting some Shakespeare followed by big slices of cake. That's a good date.

Sunday's rehearsal started OK. I read the Tybalt scene with Lord Capulet, and while I don't think I gave the director quite the level of ten hate he wanted, I think I hit the marks. I nailed the Paris scene with the friar. I mean, I hit a home run there.

But then walked in a guy from the previous summer's Tempest. He played Ariel. He's young. He apparently loves Jim Carrey. And his friend loves Will Farrell. And they proceeded to act the Romeo/Benvolio and Mercutio/Benvolio scenes as if they were Dane goddman Cook. Mercutio has a solo bit where he mocks Romeo while trying to roust him out of bed. It's a funny bit, one I wanted to do Friday night. But these guys hit ithe scene like it owes them money. It's antic, it's loud (the second guy screamed Romeo's name at the top of his lungs and held it), and all their humor has not one atom to do with the material. They not only don't work the puns, they run past the lines without getting the words right. And the director is loving it. I finally get my chance to do the Mercutio scene, but it's right after them. I'm trying to work the script instead of playing it like Chris Farley's motivational speaker, and it gets nothing from them.

Then he tells them to work Romeo's play entrance so broadly and mopey that the audience would, in his words, want slap him. This is the first impression he wants us to have of Romeo. And so they play it that way, but in doing so, they make the two-minute scene twice as long. It's ham fisted. It's vaudeville. It's -- you know what it is? It's Shatner. They play Romeo like they're impersonating Shatner. This is not the right scene for this kind of humor. That comes later.

I'm not jealous of their apparent success of cracking up the director. I'm mad that we didn't get such direction Friday. I know Shakespeare humor appeals to the simplest and lowest denominator. It should work on such a level. But wit is involved in these lines, and wit is ignored by that style.

I also get to read the friar's role in the scene with Paris, and I think I did OK there. But I worked against an actress who sits down in every reading. When she plays Juliet, she sits in dismay. In another scene, she sits in surrender. When she later plays Romeo, she sits in sadness. This is her thing. She acts with her ass.

The director constantly told us all not to worry about movement, and yet these kids were everywhere with slapstick, and one guy, I swear to God, ended his scene by clopping his heels together in midair when his character is supposed to start a street fight. I'm working against fucking pixies.

Do I sound like Dana Carvey's Cranky Old Man ("In my day, we ate gravel for grits. AND WE LIKED IT!")? I don't want to sound indignant. I'm, well, I'm flabbergasted at the turn the play took with these auditions, and frankly I have no idea if I have a place in the production. I was there for three hours, and I left exhausted. I feel just like I did after the second Gooper audition. I'm drained and doubtful I helped my cause.

There was one weird moment when an older guy came in to read for the prince. The director hands him the Act One monologue, and the actor says instead, he wants to recite what he's prepared: the Act Five prince speech memorized, apparently from the late '60s R&J film. And he does, and he sits back down, and he says not one more word. So, hey, I'm not that guy. I did try to give the director what he asked for. I just got eclipsed by a comedy team.

We'll supposedly find out Thursday what parts we're cast.

We saw 300 that night, and it's a solid adaptation of the comic and a mas macho film. This is a hard-R movie, and the packed audience was into it. Also, it has a great ending-credits sequence.

Picture of the Day

Vehicular Timeslaughter

My car's engine light came on with no seemingly related performance problems, so I took it to the shop to be sure. But the dealership started making appointments to work on cars. They could onyl see me at 2, so I took my car back home, got Your Sis's car and drove that to work. A few hours later, I went back home, switched cars, and took mine to the shop. After about 90 minutes, they told me that the oil-change shop apparently put in the air filter wrong, and it triggered a wire. If the light comes on again within a week, they'll replace the sensor. Meaning nothing else is wrong with the car. Good to know. While I waited, I read Romeo & Juliet and found the parts I could realistically play.

I assume every college-age boy and gal are gonna want the leads, and they can have them. The couple are the least interesting parts. The two packs of Montague and Capulet boys are meatier, as are the friar and the prince. But the friar and Lord Capulet will no doubt go to the repertory older guys, leaving me with the running buddies are blood enemies of Romeo. Those are fine roles, and I wouldn't complain about them. Your Sis knows the play front and back, and she's auditioning too. She's never auditioned before, and she's nervous. I'll talk her through it before we go in tonight. But no matter what we do, auditions are rattling. I think we're conditioned to be disturbed by them.

After the car work, I went back home and raked for about an hour and essentially took the rest of the night off.

Picture of the Day
Here's a weird thing. If you go to the extended 300 trailer on YouTube and stop it at 1:52, you see this:



Now this obviously has nothing to do with Spartans, but it does suggest the next film by the 300 director: Watchmen. That comic is the Moby Dick, the Les Miserables, the Hamlet of comic books, and it has long toiled in development even as comic fans debate whether any adaptation could do it justice. The guy here is Rorschach, the quasi-narrator of the comic. In the comic, he looks like this:


Until we hear something specific about a greenlit movie, there's no reason to go crazy over a Watchmen film, so I'll shelve my comments for now. But that clip is nestled in the trailer as a treasure for the comic fans, and it's a acknowledgment that a good number of comic fans would kill to see the film made. This could be the spark that lights a geek bomb.

In the News
I'm not saying it's likely, but those rumors about Cheney walking away just won't die. An upcoming Time cover story will try to expose Cheney as the real power in the White House, which may shock as many as eight people. This leads to armchair quarterbacking as to who will replace him. Condi would be an obvious pick, but that would necessitate the administration's third secretary of state, and that position needs consistency. A smart ploy would be to tap a presidential candidate like McCain, but Bush and McCain have an unpleasant history, and this could skewer McCain's platform as an independent thinker if he's seen walking two paces behind the president. But a Cheney-less white House means someone else has to run the shop. Rove lost his power when the Plame story broke, and I can't see two grown adults taking orders via the Cheney-phone from the Cheney-cave. Wouldn't it be hysterical if Bush took control for once and turned out to know what he was doing? Maybe that's why he can't properly communicate his ideas or hide his awkward chuckle: he's constantly wondering if he's correctly following a script he doesn't like.

Captain America Madness

I finished all the inks last night in a mad rush between dinner and "Lost"(which again was great). I've started simple coloring swaths and lettering placement, and I'm on track to finish soon.

In the News
The media went nuts for the Captain America story, with the AP, Wall Street Journal, NPR, and others covering it. My store in Spartanburg said the local CBS affiliate sent a news crew out before they opened the doors. Many stores are out of the issue as speculator/investors are gobbling them up to stash or sell on eBay, where some copies are going for $45 (newsstand price= $3). I suppose the media attention helps the giant crossover's perception as a success, but this one event eclipses now this seemingly unrelated, months-long story about power registration. The suggestion that this is a political commentary is what fuels the reporting, but there is no such parallel. Cap was killed by a thug under the employ of his archenemy. Marvel Comics is being somewhat mild in their statements, saying Cap is dead, and dead is dead, and this isn't a publicity ploy. But they do like to mention the Cap movie under development. I haven't read his comic for years and can't count myself among those affected by this. But we're supposed to get another X-men death by year's end, and that one may hurt a bit.

Picture of the Day
Here's the Big Moment:

Yeah, I Think I'm Nuts

Just a month after finishing the play, I'm auditioning for another one: a summer stock Shakespeare. Montford Park Players advertised auditions this weekend for Romeo & Juliet and Cyrano DeBergerac. Your Sis loves and teaches both, and I think she talked me into trying out for the former. This comes less than a week after she saw the show in Greenville. I have yet to do a Shakespeare, and I'm eager to try, but this is outdoor summer work. The air will be iffy, the audiences will be distant, and I haven't read the play in years. Also, when am I gonna get that painting started? I'm gonna skim between now the Friday night to pick up William's flow. I don't even know how many parts I'm eligible for. She wants to try for Cyrano, by the way, if her work schedule permits.

I got home early from work and hunkered down to ink, and it's virtually all done. I toiled from 4:15 to about midnight, on and off, to get past this stage, and I have one more panel to tackle.

Picture of the Day
One of the pages in question. It's flat art, and I'll color it later to add volume and light. You can see how I'll use fine art in some panels to refer to legends. The first two panels need inking and a title block. I feel good about the progress I made and feel sure I can knock this comic out before the deadline.



In the News
They found Scooter guilty of most counts in the CIA leak trial. The consensus is that he was the patsy for the administration, and left unanswered is the question as to who ordered the leak. It wasn't Libby, and fingers point to Cheney or Rove, but further charges are unlikely to descend. Speaking of Cheney, he's been diagnosed with deep vein thrombosis after his lengthy flight about the globe. He's receiving blood-thinners but a clot could kill him, and Utterly Hysterical Rumors abound that he might step down for health reasons.

+ + +

Remember the giant crossover event Marvel Comics was doing, this big hero fight over registration legislation? The miniseries ended two weeks ago, but the Big Event was published just today: Captain America was killed by a sniper. Now when I say "killed," you have to understand that death in comics is a joke. Anyone can come back at any time. Jean Grey came back twice, and Cap's WWII sidekick -- the standard of "dead is dead" arguments -- returned recently after 40something years. The national media picked up the story, and now it's everywhere to the anger of comic fans who waited taken great pains to not have the Big Event spoiled for them. Me? Eh. I haven't read that book in years, and I don't think they're gonna kill off that character. He'll be back in the middle of another giant crossover.

Un Petit Dîner

To support the annual school trip to France, we bought dinner at one of Mayberry's swankiest restaurants. We had coq au vin and pate, which tastes a bit like flaky sausage. We sat with school folks and enjoyed good conversation. I tipped with leftover poker money. The wine was strong stuff, and though I wanted to get myself pickled, I had to work on the comic afterward. I had some decaf coffee to keep me going (caffeinated java would have made me sleep) and plugged away at the art until midnight. I think -- think -- all the penciling is done. Tonight I'll start inking. It was surprisingly not that difficult to draw a pig head in the viking style. These are things you don't expect to draw when you start a comic about apples.

Picture of the Day
The teacher who hosts the trip is a fluent French speaker. Her husband officiated our wedding, and we like the couple a lot. He asked last night if we wanted to go with the group. I can't do it this summer, but I'd love to go another year. It's been almost 17 years since I was there.


In the News
Ann Coulter makes her living saying stupid things and then claims she's pointedly using satire. What she's really doing is desperately trying to get attention with insult shtick. During a conservative convention this weekend, she called democrat candidate John Edwards a faggot. Out loud. On stage. This has not gone over so well, and it's led to hand-wringing over political discourse. But Ann wasn't engaging in discourse. She was doing a routine, and she was sharing the stage with GOP candidates, including Mitt Romney. Those candidates tripped over themselves to create distance from her remarks. This is what Ann does. When she's not calling for a scorched-earth crusade against Muslims or race-baiting, she gets no press. She's similar to radio host Michael Savage whose rantings are so childish and juvenile that I think he's actually doing performance art.

But what's lost in this debate of sensitivity and humor is that no one uses "faggot" once they leave high school. We outgrow it, like "cooties" and "doddiehead." Or at least most of us do. I know it's still chucked around here in the South by people who can't think of a stronger insult. Which means it's used by the dim and surly. I expect Ann to say something stupid and offensive, but this just sounds pathetic. Really? That's the best you can come up with? He's a lawyer with a hair helmet. How does that target escape your notice? She's lost some national advertisers from her website because of this. Gay columnist Dan Savage spoke on the word a few weeks back, declaring it devoid of any power and suggested it be used by gay people to insult and terrify homophobes with campy, shrill taunting.

Jackpot

We met up with Travis and Kathy on Friday for dinner, and he asked me to join him and some other guys for a man-date to see 300. We're going to see my parents next weekend for mom's birthday, but I'll be able to squeeze in. While the guys see the film, the wives will have a ladies night. Then, of course, Your Sis and I will go watch 300.

I woke up early Saturday, sketched the comic a bit, and went to work on the yard. I always prefer to rake the leaves at winter's end so all of them can be gathered at one time. We have plenty of space behind the tree line to stash them. I also cleared out the creek obstructions. It was one of those things that develop organically. I dump some leaves, see the high waterline, yank out some creek junk, notice the other patches of junk backing up the water, tackle those, and go back to raking. The iPod is nice for this kind of work. I can even listen to NPR; the local Saturday lineup is stellar: Car Talk, Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, This American Life, Fresh Air recap, The Ticket, Money Matters, On the Media, All Things Considered, and Prairie Home Companion. Your Sis came out about an hour later to plant bulbs we got from my parents. We grabbed lunch at the pub later, and then Your Sis, brace yourself, napped. I worked on the comic. I'm almost through with penciling, and I finished up the hardest panel with the strong perspective.

But at 4, we split up. I had the poker party, and she was off to Greenville. This was my first tournament game, and we only played Texas Hold 'Em. This is the game you see most often on TV because it's extended and relies on individual betting on communally held cards. I knew no one else there aside from Big Mama, but it was a friendly gang. Some saw the play but didn't recognize me even after looking at the cast photos. I've got more hair, a beard, an earring, and no accent. Her husband Mike ran us through the house rules. I knew the game fine, but the betting rules were new. We had randomly assigned seats at two tables (it was me, Mike, and five women at one), and the betting increments increased every 15 minutes. We all paid $10 to play $2,500 worth of chips. You began with a stack of $5 chips as the smallest increment, but within an hour the minimum bet was $40. And when you got to the last two cards, all antes doubled. This was done to move the game along as we had 13 people playing.

I have two rules of playing poker:
1) if you have a face card, bet at least for one round to see the next three dealt cards; and
2) play further if you have an 8 or a queen. These are my lucky cards. And sure enough, the first hand I won was a split pot with a Q8 full house.

I wore my new skull-and-crossbones socks for luck (with no idea if they were lucky). I did fairly well to start, but some of the gals were brand new to the game. We bent the rules a bit initially to make it fun and more than fair. They picked it up quick, and Mike helped me with some bet strategies. He was the first one out from our table, by the way. Then we lost two more players, and the players spread out again among the two tables. And we kept playing. And playing.

Long story short, we played for six straight hours. We started right before 7 p.m. and ended about 12:45 a.m. I stayed at my table and snacked throughout. I drank two of my beloved Smirnoff Ices early and then switched to soda to stay sober during the big bets. When the game ended, the minimum bet was $1,00 dollars. And I was one of the last three, which meant I would get a piece of the tournament pot. There was $130 to be given to the last three players. Last place got $26. First place got $64. I played pretty conservative but did pursue some hands foolishly, hoping for luck on the last card. Sometimes I got it. Sometimes I thought I got it until I learned what the other players were holding.

My best hand was a full house, the fourth best you can get. I also won a hand with the high card, the lowest victory you can claim. But I got to the last three, and then we played against each other for about half an hour, just picking away at each other's stacks. I did bet everything on one hand(which we could only do later in the tournament), but the other player folded. And then we lost a player, and it was just two of us, me and Big Mama. And after six fucking hours, we decided to split the pot. We played a game only for bragging rights (I lost to a high card), but walked away from the table with $52 and a nice showing for my first time with them. I drove home blasting my radio to stay awake and got home at 1:40. I did get to hear the late-night conspiracy radio show, and that's always fun. Did you know gray aliens talk to humans telepathically? Did you know the FAA is hiding evidence of UFOs? Did you know that when I was 10, I would have sworn these were so?

I was dead on Sunday. I barely slept because I chugged soda to stay awake for the game, and couldn't rest at home with that lingering buzz. I drew a bit, bought lunch with the poker winnings, got groceries with Your Sis and that included the weekly crackuccino to help me remain standing (also bought with poker winnings). She worked on school stuff, and we split the laundry while I did research for the comic. I thought I only had a few panels left. But I can't find a decent painting of Norse apple imagery. It looks like I'll need to draw that particular panel, and I'm inclined to work in the intricate Norse patterns. Maybe I can escape that. I also may need to draw the Arthurian panel after all. I'll definitely finish the pencil work this weekend and then start inking. I may scan the pencil work, get the lettering out of the way on the PC, and then scan the inked pages and place them under the word balloons. I want this to look sharp, I want to improve on what I've done before. and I have exactly four weeks to do it. That should be plenty of time. I would have worked more on the comic yesterday, but I didn't trust my addled brain.

Picture of the Day
This has been called a new Spidey 3 poster, but it's missing all the text. It's still cool. Can the filmmakers make a third film that stands well along the first two. Can it possibly be better than the second film?

The black costume -- and the villain that adopts it later -- is almost a franchise unto itself, and the comic fans are soiling themselves with glee. I'm from the generation before the black costume, so I maintained an arm's length from it. There was no reason to move away from the classic outfit, reasoned my young mind, and that conclusion stands. Peter didn't even initially change costumes for psychological reasons; his old one was shredded and an alien costume machine gave him a new, different one. And then he found out it was sentient and nasty, and it moved to someone who had a reason to hate Peter and a new villain was born. The trailers suggest that's what's going to happen onscreen. And I must need more sleep because I am making with the blah-blah something fierce.

A Talk With Zales

I filled out a customer survey online today with emphasis on poor service. I requested to be contacted for details, and I just got off the phone with a regional manager. She wanted to know what happened, and I spelled it out while saying repeatedly that I wasn't searching for any compensation and that I recognized a distinction between the employees and the franchise. I just wanted an adult to know that the kids were misbehaving when they were alone.

And she said the right things. From my survey information, she knew which store I was talking about. She said that store was not performing well of late (the whole mall is on its last legs) and had been given a new manager recently. She said corporate policies may have kept the manager from firing bad employees, including yon monkeyfuckers, for a certain amount of time. I don't know if that's the case here. I don't care. I told her that I wouldn't go back to that store, no matter what, and she said she understood. She said she she appreciated the feedback and steps would be taken so another customer doesn't get the same behavior.

So that's that.

That pledge to eat light ended exactly as soon as the pizza arrived at our door. It was miserable weather and Your Sis was napping as I got home. I scurried to the workshop and worked on the comic for a while. I set up my first perspective grid for the first panel: a classroom filled with kids at desks. As we devoured the pizza, we watched this week's "Lost." Maybe my favorite episode so far. It was a throwback to the first season with no appearance of the Others and an d a surprising amount of information exchange. None of this "you wouldn't understand" or "it's complicated." Then we watched a "South Park" and called it a day with a double cocktail of NyQuil.

I still can't make the blog labels work.

Picture of the Day
My photos arrived. Here's me right as Big Daddy skewers my plans for plantation domination.

Food Drunk

Your Sis returned earlier than expected last night minus a cellphone but eager to eat. She thinks she left the phone in the car in which she rode back, but that person won't be back to work until tomorrow. This bothers her because she lost track of something, not that she's addicted to her phone. She knows it's in town because she contacted me with it on the drive back. We ate at Juan's and split some alambres, and it was only after we finished that I told her I had already eaten dinner from Burger King. I assured her I wanted to have dinner with her once I knew she was available for it, but I do think I developed meat intoxication. When I was a younger man, I could wolf down two Whoppers in one sitting. I also developed a belly. No longer, says I. I'll eat like a bird today to make up for it.

When we got home, to help distract her from the phone and the trip, I gave her the ring. That seemed to work. She appears to like it. And it did fit after all.

Picture of the Day
Da ring.


In the News
Here's an interesting article on the administration's use of anonymity in its statements. The administration urges the press to refrain from identifying speakers so no quotes can be held against them later.

Silent Snakes on a Hill

Bachelor Night consisted of three events of varying quality.

I call the store yesterday to see if my ring came in. It did. Thanks so much for calling me, Zales. I get there and find the same two young guys working the cabinets as I saw two weeks ago. I give my name, and the one who didn't process my order initially retrieves my ring. He takes it out of the numbered ziplock bag and hands me a receipt to sign. The receipt states that the undersigned has inspected the ring for all requested repairs. I read this and wait to be given the ring. To inspect, you see. The clerk is baffled as to why I'm not signing. So I say, in small words, I need to see the ring first. He holds it for me but removes the tissue wrapping. Looks OK, I suppose. I just want the stone; I can pay for another fitting or sizing somewhere else. I give him the signed receipt. He walks to another counter to get a Zales box. And as he does he mumbles something to the other clerk. It's probably about my unreasonable behavior. I get the boxed ring without a "thank you" or "hope she likes it" or even a "good evening." Nothing. I'm now convinced these two are running the joint by themselves in the scary-ass zombie-movie mall.

So tomorrow I'm contacting Zales and telling them they have a store run by monkeyfucker frat boys without a lick of courtesy or professional demeanor. What do I expect to happen? Nothing. But I shall never give them one damn dime again. Zales, you equals dead to me.

When Your Sis comes back, I'll present her with the ring, and hopefully all this frustration will vanish.

I then rented two movies, Snakes On a Plane and Silent Hill. While at the Buster of Blocks I noticed, just three shelves over from the massive stack of Snakes on a Plane DVDs, a knockoff film called Snakes on a Train. I had no idea such a thing existed, but I picked up the Plane film confident it would be ten times better than some quicky film slapped together to exploit rental customers with bad hearing or bad memories.

But after seeing Plane, I don't know how much worse the Train film could be. Plane is just awful. It's no fun, it's too formulaic, and it lacks the willingness to wink at the audience. It's also pretty damn stupid. When there are five subplot points that make your Logic Sense tingle within the first ten minutes, you realize have booked yourself a flight on Horseshit Airlines. The biggest surprise was Julianne Marguiles, who most know as the curly-haired nurse from ER, the one involved with Clooney's character. I felt bad for her to be stuck in this film. Jackson looks not at all embarrassed to be here, but he has very little opportunity to let go. The cult of the film developed around him solely, and without him, the film is easily dismissed. I can't recommended even for camp. It's just that flat.

Silent Hill, based on a creepy videogame, is a nice surprise for those who like outright monster horror. It's smart and sleek, with no wasted time for needless character moments. I admire its work ethic. The villains is a little plastic, the scenario a little muddled, but it has great atmosphere and otherworldy menace, my favorite horror element. One actress calls it a mix of "Alice in Wonderland" and Dante's "Inferno," which is almost precise, but one recalls too easily Aliens as the mom descends to a mechanical maze to find her abducted daughter. I enjoyed this one scroll by, but sadly didn't find myself scared by it at all.

Picture of the Day
Really. They made it.

Bachelor Eve

Your Sis spent all of her awake time after work preparing for her work trip. One of the things we came up with for her classroom was a assigned paper where students write about historic events mentioned in their favorite songs. It's a gimme grade. Using block quotes on the lyrics stretches out the paper length and they can write about something they like. Instead, they've leaped beyond our convenience and decided to mail it in by writing about the Star-Spangled Banner and folk songs from the 1800s. We were thinking REM or Rage Against the Machine or Alan Jackson or Outkast or "American Pie." We even cited such examples. But they've taken the least fun route, and now we'll all have to slog through shanties and hymns. They're morons.

She left this morning and returns late Wednesday. She's also away this weekend. So I could spend my private time on the comic, but with my far-off deadline, It think I'll do very little productive work and slob it out. I even have a poker game scheduled on Saturday with Big Mama from the play.

Remember how the Valentine's ring was supposed to be in yesterday? Apparently the store didn't. Monkeyfuckers.

Picture of the Day


In the News
Cheney's trip abroad is not going well. Air Force 2 left Australia with some mechanical concern, and he survived what's being called a suicide-bomber attempt on his life. His trip's schedule include a surprise visit to Pakistan, and rumor has it that he's staying out of the country because the Libby trial jury is probably going to find against his former chief of staff. The jury lost a member yesterday after some alleged media exposure to the case, and it may have have been a former writer for the Washington Post.

Oscar Weekend

A very stupid thing happened at the school Friday. The school just started the obligatory daily pledge this year. A known outspoken teacher was asked to lead the school in the Pledge of Allegiance via the intercom. She did, and left out "under God." Kids were so upset they called their parents via cellphone to stone the heathen. The principal added a formal letter of reprimand to her permanent file. Your Sis is so pissed she cleaned her home office. The teacher is understandably upset, and other teachers are debating legal recourse. I'm not surprised she chose to say the original version of the pledge, nor am I surprised that the principal brought down the disciplinary hammer.

Who's to blame? Everyone. She called down the thunder, he overreacted, and the kids are a buncha knee-jerk tattle-tales. I'm hoping the principal and the teacher have a calm meeting next week when tempers die down, because ultimately, the lesson learned is that the omission of "God" in the formal pledge to the flag is actionable. And that's quite the high-horse hick indignation we can live without. I also have a problem with pledging allegiance to a flag instead of, say, laws and principals. But the thing was written to sell flags and later adopted by Congress.

The comic took on big momentum Saturday as I paneled out the artboards and started penciling panels. Instead of working on page one, panel one, I skipped around based on my sketches. The linework came out pretty clean, much to my surprise, and I suspect I can forgo inking if I go over the work with darker pencils. By Sunday evening, I had most of the thing drawn. I put in the extended Lord of the Rings DVD to listen to commentary as I worked and I got through all of that and half of the Sin City commentary. So I know I put in at least 6 hours. I still need to do two panels, but I find myself past most of the hard work. I just got word that the art deadline is March 26. A full month away. I can handle that with no problem. I was scared it would be this weekend or something. Jesus, a month. I feel like I won a lottery.

We watched the Oscars last night, and I was most happy with seeing Scorsese win for Best Director. I remember watching while at Brevard College and seeing Kevin Costner take the award for Dances With Wolves instead of Goodfellas. That was a Big Wrong. I thought the show focused a bit much on An Inconvenient Truth and Al Gore, and I didn't care for the dancers making silhouettes for the Best Picture nominees. But the Jack Black/Will Ferrell/John C. O'Reilly song was good as was the performances for the Dreamgirls nominated songs. Celine Dion just makes my ears curl up and scurry back into my skull, and I don't why they made a big deal about her singing lyrics over a Ennio Morricone song. He's a composer. And she's cooing over his work. The best bit was the sound effects choir.

Picture of the Day
I gave Your Sis her new mix CD Friday before she started slaving away at school work. She listened as she cleaned Friday night and seems to dig it. It makes for good driving music, and she's going back to Greenville this weekend.



You Give Love a Bad Name -- Bon Jovi
Le Disko -- Shiny Toy Guns
Welcome to the Black Parade -- My Chemical Romance
This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race -- Fall Out Boy
Knock 'Em Out -- Lily Allen
Listen Up -- The Gossip
This Fire -- Franz Ferdinand
World -- Five for Fighting
Mad World -- Sacre
Alison -- Elvis Costello
Little Northern Bird -- Dream Academy/Annie Lennox
Put Your Records On -- Corinne Bailey Rae
Thundersexy -- ACDC/Justin Timberlake
Tears of a Rock -- ACDC/Smokey Robinson
Bombs Over Baghdad -- Outkast
Warning, Rush Where It's At -- Big Audio Dynamite/Beck/Green Day
Sober -- Half Cocked
Jack And Diane's Last Episode -- Snoop Dogg/Dr. Dre/John Cougar

In the News (sorta)
The NY Times reports that Christopher Plummer, Captain Von Trapp himself will play one of the leads in a new stage production of Inherit the Wind. Wow.

+ + +

DirecTV will provide Ovation (an arts channel) and Chiller (a horror channel) this year. Chiller could start as early as March 1. I hope this leads to a renaissance of '70s and '80s films which have yet to get a decent DVD release. Your Sis is going on a work trip tomorrow, leaving me a bachelor for the night. I intend to rent myself some horror films that I know she would never watch.

The Vonnegut Moment

In the classic Annie Hall, Woody Allen argues with a fellow movie patron about Marshall McLuhan. To hammer home his point, Woody brings the McLuhan from off-camera, and he destroys the other guy. It's one of those surreal comedy moments Allen excels at.

There's also a nice, little Rodney Dangerfield movie called Back to School. HBO used to show it roughly 30 times a day. A rich businessman goes to college to show his show how far he's willing to support him. The teacher assigns a paper on Kurt Vonnegut. The dad hires Kurt Vonnegut to write the paper. The writer shows up at the dorm room to get started. The teacher later accuses the student of cheating and says whoever wrote the paper didn't know anything about Vonnegut. And then Dangerfield chews out Vonnegut over the phone.

The scenes are similar enough that I lump them together in what I call the Vonnegut Moment. And I had one yesterday. This goes back to the continuing row over comic readers sharing their interest with women.

In the first indignant hysteria bomb that started this mess, the blogger cited my mention of Frank Miller and was aghast that I would suggest any woman read his material. She went on to say this: That sound you hear is Lea Hernandez's head exploding at the notion of Frank Miller as the perfect female-friendly cartoonist. When I responded, I cited this attitude attributed to Hernandez. And then she, or someone claiming to be Hernandez, appeared and called me out on it. I was Vonneguted. I told her that I was merely repeating what was said originally, and we've since drifted into a conversation about the growing trend in comics toward pure cheesecake art.

She has a point, and I agree with her. No one who's read comics for more than ten years can argue. What used to be all-age comic material (Fantastic Four, Spider-Man, Wonder Woman, etc.) has devolved into softcore as artists abandon storytelling for titillation. But my argument was to say a Frank Miller book like Sin City can't be lumped in with the current hero cheesecake. They aim for different audiences and tell different stories. At least they used to aim for different audiences. When Your Sis or you open up a Sin City comic, you would expect to see material that you might not expect from a Spidey comic (However, a recent comic displayed full frontal Spidey, and Marvel insists no one noticed until the book was printed and shipped). But the sad reality of comics is that kid readership has plummeted, and publishers are trying to win over the predominantly 20-something readers with lowest-common-denominator tactics. Ergo, tits a'plenty.

It's gotten so bad and artists have gotten so lazy that Marvel had to issue a memo demanding their people stop copying images directly from sources such as porn films, gossip magazines, and movie stills. It's really distracting to open a comic and see the artist has cast celebrities as certain characters. Samuel L Jackson, Eminem, Gene Hackman, Brad Pitt, Sawyer for "Lost," Lucy Liu. I've seen 'em with my own surprised eyes.

Hernandez railed against tit-and-ass in traditional superhero books, and she's right. You can't argue anymore that men are just as abstracted to physical perfection in comics, because artists aren't presenting male characters in such a blatantly exploitive way. We agree on that point, but I can't agree that women should be given only a certain type of comic or discouraged from reading other comics, because of their assumed delicate constitutions. And that's what I was saying when Hernandez (or someone claiming to be her) popped in to set the record straight.

What started as cliche internet rambling has become a chance to talk with a comic creator (or someone claiming to be her) about a pernicious development in the medium we work in.

And speaking of which ...

Picture of the Day
These are the thumbnails for the food comic. It's three pages. I always work thumbnails this way -- in ink and very small. You can see where I redid a panel or two and moved one strip to the top of the next page. Thumbnails allow the page architecture to develop before you commit to drawing. You can compile panel angles and cropping of bodies with an eye for word balloons and redundancies. I hammered out a quick script to be followed by a quick art session. I still don't know the deadline so I have to assume it's soonish. To save time, I'm going to run fine-art images in panels; that's why some panels only have words in them. You can click the image here for a larger version. You can do that with all my pictures. You knew that, right?