Got Plans Sunday Night?

I'll be participating in Freshly Squeezed II, a play reading this Sunday, organized by Jason Green for Wild Child Productions. It's at the Theatre for the New City, and there will be short plays read from Jason, Mac Rogers, James Contois and myself.

The plays will be performed by Brian Luna, Tiffany Clementi, Jennifer Moses (who was in my most recent Spontaneous Combustion play), Gerry Lehane, Jennifer Terpak, David Ian Lee, Anne Johnson and Laura Benson.

My plays are short vignettes I wrote about a trip to New Orleans I took with my buddy Chris way back when. Yeah, Chris; the time-share of the damned.

It should be a fun night. Admission is free, but no one would object if you want to throw a couple bucks toward the theatre space.

Here are the details:

THEATRE for the NEW CITY
155 1st Avenue, New York, NY
Sunday, September 18, 7:00pm
Phone: 917-854-6493

The closest Subway Stops to THEATER FOR THE NEW CITY
are:

6 at Astor Place & Lafayette Street - Walk 3 blocks East to 1st Avenue.

L Train at 1st Avenue and 14th Street.

N,R,W Train at 8th Street and Broadway.

F,V Train at 2nd Avenue and Houston Street.

Hope to see you there!

Rob

More than 50% of U.S. Teens Have Had Oral Sex

According to a the National Campaign to Prevent Teen Pregnancy. The 54-55% figure may be a little off, but it's certainly more than a handful. So to speak.

Reuters has more.

Rob

Rove's in Charge of Katrina

Shameless.

Rob

Another Music Smackdown

Sploid reports that cops in Los Angeles busted a rap concert to benefit Katrina victims. We'll probably hear more about this.

Rob
(I'll have an update on the developments in the Utah rave raid soon, promise.)

Kyle Baker fans, take heart

Although it looks like Plastic Man has been cancelled, the Beat has the goods on a hot new exclusive.

Rob

Justice at Home (Plate)

In his opening statement of his confirmation hearings, John Roberts used a baseball analogy (a pretty good one, in my estimation) to explain how he saw his role as Chief Justice: he's like a baseball umpire. "It's my job to call balls and strikes and not to pitch or bat." It's a simple explanation, and one that will certainly play well over TV and radio.

Ed Kilgore at Newdonkey.com takes it further (on a handy double-play from Armando at dailykos.)

Rob

Snakes Aloft!

Doc at the Comics Cave brought this brief Samuel L. Jackson interview to my attention. It's the pause for emphasis that gets me.

Rob

I'm never more nervous...

...than when I'm driving a tank of propane for the grill back from the hardware store. I'm on high, extra-jumpy alert for any little bump or jostle. It's like driving all night, hopped up on crystal meth with two dead hookers in the trunk and a busted tail light.

Maybe I've said too much.

Rob

Recovery

Mike Parnell is a pastor with experience in flood relief. He'll be traveling from Virginia to Mississippi to help with recovery efforts there...and blogging about it.

Go see what he's doing. It's on-the-ground coverage from someone who's unquestionably one of the good guys.

Rob

Freedom's Just Another Word...

...for doing things our way or else.

As Yakov Smirnoff used to say, "What a country!"

Rob

The Dog of Netflix

Woody: "I thought I was one step ahead of her the whole time, but she played me like Chinese chess."
Gina: "Checkers."

One great thing about Netflix is that, since you're paying for a service and not for each particular film, you get to see some movies that you wouldn't necessarily pay for. Sometimes they're better than you might think.

And then there's Palmetto, easily the worst film we've ever gotten in the mail. Easy phony kidnapping plot turns real, with all the fingers pointing at the patsy. Starring Woody Harrelson, Elizabeth Shue and Gina Gershon, this movie wants to be noir in the worst way. Which is exactly how it goes about everything.

Confession time: I rented this primarily to see Elizabeth Shue play a femme fatale. I've liked her in other movies -- Adventures in Babysitting always springs to mind, but I liked her in The Saint, too -- and I've always found her very easy to look at. But man oh man is she lousy in this. Clumsy double entendres, clumsy seductions -- it's almost like she's acting in a porn movie, without any of the nudey bits. I think she's supposed to be insane, but I'm not quite sure. That isn't a good sign.

And Harrelson, I know, is capable of much more than he shows here. Here, he's supposed to be a former reporter, an innocent man released from two years of wrongful imprisonment, but he comes off as a dimbulb without a shred of competence in anything he tries. He can't even lie well. It's like he's playing Woody from Cheers, but in way over his head and without the least glimmer of charm.

Gershon is pretty much wasted as the nice girl staying at home while Harrelson screws everything up. Her first scene is a ham-handed smouldering reunion on the street after he's released, but after that, she's whitebread. Why hire Gina Gershon to be so bland?

With so much bad acting, much of the blame has to fall on the director... um.. looking it up... Volker Schlondorff. IMDB says that most of his films (with the exception of The Handmaid's Tale, which I liked -- although I wonder how much I'd like it after having read the book, but at the very least, introduced me to Margaret Atwood) aren't in English. Suddenly everything falls into place.

Well, I've rambled on long enough, and you've probably gotten my point: Palmetto sucks. And you'll giggle during the steamy parts because it's so damn stupid.

Rob

Twirlie-whirlies

Via ktbuffy, here's a short imagined monologue in McSweeney's: Trent from Swingers (the Vince Vaughn character) performs an exorcism. Go forth and read.

Rob

Anti-Looting Sign Updated

Since I posted this last week, I thought you'd like to know things were progressing. Via warrenellis.com.

Rob

Horrifying.

The government of Jefferson Parrish was keeping people from walking across the Crescent City Connection bridge away from New Orleans.

Kevin Drum has details.

Rob

Eleven days

The countdown begins.

Rob

Operation CYA

The Repugs see "this whole hurricane thing" as just another image problem for their beloved chimp of a president. So naturally, steps are being taken to keep the truth away from the voters. Steps like keeping reporters away from rescue efforts, as Josh Marshall details.

And stuff like avoiding an independent investigation like the 9/11 committee in favor of a Republican-run one.

It's the usual Republican fuckery, only more urgent now, as their feet seem to finally be held to the fire. Hide the bodies, hide the mistakes, cover up and whitewash and hope everyone forgets.

It's all a result of the negligence on the part of our leaders. People should have been evacuated sooner. FEMA should have responded more quickly. The President shouldn't have gutted the funds New Orleans needed to keep itself safe. Time and time again, the chimp and his handlers have swept mistake after mistake under the rug. He's a hideous president. He's a god-awful embarassment. I am ashamed that our country elected him, and hope to god that nothing else this bad happens on his watch.

Because he's not equipped to handle it in any way, shape or form.

I can't convey how angry I am, and how let down I feel by the whole electoral process that would let this ape become president. Better we let the cast of Survivor decide than the American people. Better we leave it to chance, a big game of keno with 100 people picked at random from all walks of life. Better we get an infant, because at least a baby will cry when he shits himself. Better we pick our leaders with pie-eating contests or spelling bees or mumblety-peg. Better we all hang ourselves, and whoever dies last gets America.

Better no one than him.

Rob

Bruuuuuce!

Paul Harris, ofKMOX in St. Louis, is one of my favorite raido talk show hosts -- and withoutthe internet, I'd never have heard of him. Check out his interview with B-movie legend (and zombie-slayer) Bruce Campbell -- there are a couple great stories about Sam Raimi's The Quick and the Dead (which he wasn't even in!), as well as other goodies.

Also, Harris (via his Picture of the Day feature) links to this great anti-looting sign in New Orleans. The city ain't dead when its spirit lives on.

Rob

Presidential Incomptence

As always, read Frank Rich:

Most of all, we're going to have to face the reality that with this disaster, the administration has again increased our vulnerability to the terrorists we were supposed to be fighting after 9/11. As Richard Clarke, the former counterterrorism czar, pointed out to The Washington Post last week in talking about the fallout from the war in Iraq, there have been twice as many terrorist attacks outside Iraq in the three years after 9/11 than in the three years before. Now, thanks to Mr. Bush's variously incompetent, diffident and hubristic mismanagement of the attack by Katrina, he has sent the entire world a simple and unambiguous message: whatever the explanation, the United States is unable to fight its current war and protect homeland security at the same time.

And here's this gem from Avedon Carol:

Any sufficiently advanced incompetence is indistinguishable from malice.

That, as they say, is the shoe that fits.

Rob

Hear Ye

The Times Picayune has posted an open letter to the President.

Rob

On Beyond Rehnquist

A few months ago, when Justice O'Connor retired, I wrote:

I hope Rehnquist retires soon. It's a given that Bush will try send one ultraconservative to the Supreme Court. But it'll be more difficult to send two up at the same time than it would be to get one approved, then another 6 months or a year later.

I know some folks disagreed with me about this (although not in the comments, so I can't remember who it was), saying Bush will nominate ultraconservative after ultraconservative, no matter how many positions are open. They may be right. It looks like we'll have a chance to see, for better or worse. But I think it'll be a little while before the Supreme Court speculation game steals the front page away from Katrina's destruction and the aftermath.

Rob

Disgusted

Our response time to Katrina is appalling. We're the greatest nation in the world, and we can't do better than this? It's stupefying.

Here are some links, all adding up to an appalling lack of leadership, from the President on down.

On the late arrival of the National Guard: Yahoo! News

On halting the Superdome evacuation to clear the nearby Hyatt (where people were clean and dry and not killing each other): Assiciated Press

On Michale D. Brown, the head of FEMA, being the former commissioner of the International Arabian Horse Association (before he was, y'know, fired). Cronysim at its worst, courtesy of Knight-Ridder.

Here's Editor and Publisher on Bush's cuts to the Southeast Louisiana Urban Flood Control Project (SELA). This is what conservatism brings -- the idea that states and cities should be able to raise the money for these sorts of things themselves. It works wonders, doesn't it?

And finally, U.S. Senator Mary Landrieu's (D-LA) account of yesterday's presidential appearance at the efforts to restore the 17th Street levee. Turns out that most of the machinery and equipment was pulled in just for another one of his increasingly transparent its-all-under-control photo-ops. And here's more, from Laura Rozen: Apparently the food distribution point Bush was photographed in front of was torn down immediately after the shoot. My stomach turns just thinking about it.

But at least Halliburton will make some money! (Houston Chronicle)

You know, there were times prayed that the rest of the country would see this president as I do: an inept thug who puts this country in more and more danger every day he's in office. But I'd rather have 52% of the country think he's perfect than to have something like this happen. This is awful.

And it wouldn't have been half as bad with competent leadership.

Rob

UPDATE: Noah Diamond comes to the same conclusions, only citing a lot more evidence to back him up.

Religious Right: "N.O. Deserved It!"

Fuckers.

Rob

New Orleans

Needless to say,I'm horrified by the devastation that Katrina has wrought. I can't watch much of it on TV; I prefer to get my news from the internet, not for immediacy, as usual, but for a bit of distance.

Of course, some of that coverage is more immediate than others. Reporters at The Times Picayune, even after abandoning their office, are giving frequent, on-the-spot updates online. I'm glued.

There are plenty of places you can give money to, such as the Red Cross, Operation U.S.A.,and others. Chances are pretty good that if you work for a large firm (as I do), your company will match your contribution in some way. It's worth looking into.

I'm feeling selfish and foolish, grieving for the loss of a city I've only visited, while so many people have lost their homes,their family, their livelihoods, their friends. It's a place my memory andmy imagination are drawn to, a place I've always wanted to live. But I don'tlive there. I just visit.

I'd give up every future visit I ever had coming, if that would put it in one piece again. It won't, of course. In fact, the opposite is probably true. Someday, not tomorrow, but someday --they'll be back on their feet again (with the help of tireless rescue and aid workers and donations from generous people all over the world). Afterthat they'll still need money. Beyond the incredible expense of dealing with the disaster, businesses will have been dormant, possibly for months. They'll need our support in the future, not just in the now. Tourist dollars are an excellent way to do that.

(This idea is no substitute for giving now. It's just something to keep an eye on for later.)

For now, this story by Wright Thompson for the Kansas City Star offers a little hope.

Rob

The People's Bid-ness

Sharon's right. This is a freakin' scream.

Rob

(For the maybe three people who read my blog and not hers.)

Festerin’!

Back from the Philly Folk Fest for a day, and I’m still a little dizzy. It’s so strange to be completely immersed in a small community for even just a few days only to reemerge back into the world. But it certainly makes you treasure every shower like it’s your first.

The music was phenomenal. Kathy & I bought seven CDs between us; the past few we’ve only bought a few. The Red Stick Ramblers, a Cajun swing outfit, were probably my favorite band of the show. But maybe it was the Mammals, a bluegrass band with a sharp political tongue. Modern Man was certainly the funniest act we saw; it’s not on their album, but their bouncy theme song for “Abdul the Reluctant Martyr” had me in tears. The Avett Brothers have a crazy energy to their live show, and it carries through on their album, Mignonette; it’s gotten the most play from me so far. Kathy got three other discs, but I only saw one of the artists: the Wailin’ Jennies, a terrific female harmony group whose name must drive hard-of-hearing booking agents crazy. Marcia Ball, Ann Rabson, Arlo Guthrie, The Glengharry Bhoys – so much good music.

Campwise, it was fairly small this year: just me & Kathy, Jay and Mick. Fot the first time, we had a banner: we’re “The Confediracy of Duncez.” Gotta get the strategic misspellings in – no dunce is without ‘em. For some reason, we adopted the Robot Chicken theme song as a marching tune, and would cluck happily as we tromped around the muddy camp. (The very cool Lauren from Huzzah told us that there used to be another Confederacy of Dunces at fest, but they stopped coming a few years ago. I don’t remember them, but who remembers all of Fest, anyway?)

And dunces we were. Kathy and I were rushed in packing (having just come home from a vacation and being inveterate procrastinators besides) and completely forgot ponchos. They mighta come in handy on Saturday and Sunday. We did, however, have a brand new tent (which performed quite well in the rain) and an inflatable mattress (bliss!), which made camp life much more comfortable. When we weren’t soaked.

Sunday night is usually my favorite night in camp. A lot of people have gone home by then, but there’s still a decent amount who stay. There’s a lot less to see, musicwise, and I never find myself wondering what else is going on. I stand there, wobbly but completely in the now. Had a great conversation about music, movies, and technical writing with a gent named Leon who camps with the Flamingos. Wandered around the camp one last time. Enjoyed it all.

I should go now. Work needs me awake, which means I’ll need to sleep before then. But it’s hard adapting to a normal schedule again.

Rob

First Vacation Wrap-up

Honestly, I don’t have much to say except what a wonderful time we had. First of all, big thanks to Christoph, Nicole and Lucas for allowing us to share their vacation. Second, we shared a house with a ton of other people (some of them strangers), and got along famously. Seriously. Check Variety if you don’t believe me. And third, I rode some of the craziest waves of my life. Big, crashing ones that would spin you around or send you into the sand, but every so often would push you fast and far.

I’m a simple man. Good friends. Good waves. Good lady by my side. What more could I want?

Rob

Babe I'm Leavin'...

I must be on my way. I was hoping to write a bit more about the rave, but it's 3 in the morning and I have to wake up at 6. But the car is packed, and we're off to the Philadelphia Folk Festival tomorrow bright and early. Okay, dim and early, but absolutely fucking early.

So I never did write about what an awesome vacation we had last week, and I'm already onto my next one. Maybe I'll do wrapups of both at once.

It dawned on me a couple of days ago that the reason the Utah rave has me so riled is that it was singled out to be busted. I have no real worries that PA State Troopers are going to chopper down onto the festival stage this weekend and stop the show. And it's not because they've paid their permits, and it's not because none of the folkies and hippies and goofballs there would ever think of touching a drug. The real reason's plain as day: Ravers are young. And when kids step out of line, they scare grownups, and grownups strike back. Out of protectiveness or out of jealousy, grownups make kids toe the line they're unwilling to walk themselves.

I'll be back after Fest. See you then.

Rob

The Editorials Begin

Two good editorials about the Utah rave raid. Here’s a fairly measured response from the Provo Daily Herald. To my mind, the money quotes are these:

To be sure, there were a number of drug- and alcohol-related arrests and citations arising from the rave. These are fair game by any measure. Once a crime is committed, a permit may be considered null and void. But of the 43 citations reported by the Utah County Sheriff's Office, about half appear directly related to the raid itself -- disorderly conduct, failure to disperse and related acts. Most of the others could have been dealt with on a case-by-case basis, without shutting down a concert at which the majority were not breaking the law.

A massive police assault on virtually any public gathering (a BYU football game, for example) would uncover similar illegalities, from drugs to weapons to expired driver's licenses. But if a crime is committed during a BYU football game, the game is not stopped. Offenders are trundled off individually. A general suspicion that something illegal might happen at a public gathering, even a rave, may not be the best basis from which to launch a major law enforcement action.

The Salt Lake City Weekly piece, called ”Iraq in Utah” is angrier, but hardly frothing. It concludes:

“There’s something telling, too, about the fact that the Sheriff’s Office learned at noon that day where the rave would commence, but waited more than two hours into the music—until 11:30 p.m.—to make 60 arrests and demand the area be cleared. Much was made of one young raver who “overdosed on ecstasy,” and then was released to her parents. If disaster was so imminent, and warranted 90 men in uniform, why wasn’t the rave politely stopped before it started? Perhaps because the spectacle of an outdoor event, like a rave itself, is a lot more fun than sitting at home.”

Hopefully, I’ll be able to write more on this tonight, but I’m packing up for a music festival of my own to go to. Here’s hoping it ends better.

Rob

One More (trivial) Thing

Sploid is also making some hay that Utah County Sheriff James Tracy claimed that, among other (worse) things, none of the officers used profanity during the raid. This, despite the fact that the video clearly shows an officer saying "Turn that off. Turn that music off or I'll take your ass to jail."

This hardly matters, but the video is irrelevant, profanity-wise. "Throw your ass in jail" is a vulgarity, not a profanity.

Here's the difference. Vulgarity takes impolite, crude things and elevates them to the level of conversation. "Gladys, I'm gonna take a shit in your sock drawer" is vulgarity.

Profanity is taking the sacred and lowering it to the level of casual conversation. Taking the Lord's name in vain (such as "Sweet Jesus on a tandem bike!") is profanity.

Just so we're clear. And so Jesus gets his exercise.

Rob

Utah Rave Update

Sploid reports that Jason Ramsey (of Reason magazine) spoke with Utah officials to verify the existence of the permit for the rave. He writes:

"I spoke directly with Jay Stone who handles the Mass Gathering permits for the Utah County Health Department’s Bureau of Environmental Health Services, and he stated unequivocably that the permit was applied for and granted by his department.

He also agreed to write a letter to this effect upon request. The questions about whether or not the permit was issued should be answered and not up for dispute.

I am currently attempting to reach the Utah County Board of Commissioners to resolve whether or not an additional permit would have been required by their office. Initial conversations with ‘Michelle’ at their office seemed to indicate that this was not the case."

So it's possible that the "no permit" justification for the raid may not hold water. Coupled with the fact that many of the drugs the raid produced had already been confiscated by security guards (who apparently did not have the legal authority to hold them), and I'd say that the matter at least deserves further looking into.

Here's some more coverage. And here. And here. Oh, and the Salt Lake Tribune implicity confirms that Alisha Matagi was the girl thrown to the ground in the video.

Rob

Rave On

The Deseret News on the rave.

Hopefully we’ll see some editorials from these same places in the next few days.

Rob

More on the Utah Rave

I'm sure more information will come out on this, but for now, here are two more links. First, here's an ABC KTVX 4 news report that doesn't include much more information, but some new visuals, including overhead footage of the raid. (It's unclear whether it's from a news copter or police footage; but since KSL has some of the same footage below, it's probably of police origin.) It does add that the landowner and the party promoter are facing charges.

Second, here's another report and more video from KSL 5, which also states that Yancy Childs, the property owner, was arrested in the raid; earlier accounts I read just said he had been forced to leave his land. Cody Childs (no relation given) was also arrested.

One detail that seems sketchy: The woman in red the video shows being forced to the ground. Witnesses say she was kicked in the stomach. Yancy goes further: "She had a broken nose, lump on her head, and bruises on her side. It's more like Gestapo tactics instead of coming in and checking it out and making sure everything's okay."

If the woman is indeed Alaisha Matagi, her booking photo doesn't reveal those facial injuries (to my eye, at least). But I have no idea what her nose looked like before, and the lump could be on the back of her head. And, of course, there are plenty of red sweatshirts in the world; it might not be her at all.

Rob

Paging Dr. Righteous

Armed, camoed soldiers busted up a rave in Utah last Saturday night. Granted, I don't know the whole story. The official version is here. The Sploid version tells a different tale, with links to testimonials from a bunch of the people at the rave. But it's undeniable that this video is disturbing to watch. Particularly when we see them wrestling this girl to the ground.

The thing that chills me the most, honestly, is hearing the soldier say "put the camera down." If you're in the right, you're not afraid of the light.

Just wanted to get this up while it's fresh; my vacation wrapup can wait.

UPDATE: Here's another piece that relies on more firsthand accounts. And here's the sheriff's statement.

Rob

Beach Party!

I'll be hitting the shore for a few days. I might get a post or two up before then, but it's even more likely that I won't. But whatever you do with your week, for once, I won't be jealous of you.

Rob

Batman, Guantanamo, and Me

Strange thing, I’m discovering. I’m 35, and comics suddenly are meaning more to me than they have since I was in high school.

In order for you to understand, I’m going to have to give you some background. On some comic book plots. If you’re normally not into the comic-booky goodness on this site, bear with me. I have a larger point than how cool Bloodhound is. (Still cool, by the way. Cancelled, but cool.)

In case you are planning to pick some of these books up, I’ll be discussing plot points from Identity Crisis, The Omac Project, and the “Sacrifice” crossover that ran through last month’s Superman and Wonder Woman titles.

The main one is Identity Crisis. Quick rundown: Sue Dibney, wife of the Elongated Man, was murdered. One of the chief suspects is Dr. Light, a villain long considered a buffoon. During the course of the investigation, the reader discovers a secret kept by a handful of Justice Leaguers – that years ago, Sue had been raped by a much more dangerous Dr. Light. The League apprehended him moments later, but even caught, he claimed he would do it again. And these members took a vote, and decided to alter his personality magically so that he couldn’t. (They had previously erased their secret identities from other villains' minds; this was a bigger deal.)

As this was being done, things got complicated. Batman arrived on the scene, and saw what the League was doing. He objected, and the members opted to use the magic on him, as well – stripping away those ten minutes of memory.

So Light becomes a joke, and Batman is missing ten minutes of time. It might not bother anyone else, but they’re not Batman. They say it’s often not the crime that gets you in trouble, but the cover-up, and that’s the case here. In The Omac Project, we learn that Batman eventually pulled his memory back together and realized he can’t trust even the Justice League. He sets up spy satellites to monitor superhuman activity.

These have secretly been taken over in a comic-book/SF way, by a guy named Max Lord. Lord has limited mind control power, but he’s spent years working on a way to control Superman. He sets him off, having Superman beat Batman into intensive care. Wonder Woman tries to stop him, and she and Superman get into a knock-down, drag-out. Eventually she gets her Lasso of truth around Lord, and she asks him: What do I have to do to eliminate your hold on Superman. Unable to lie, he says “Kill me.”

She does.

So this is pretty much where things stand. Batman has spied on his fellow heroes. Wonder Woman has killed a man. Superman, while he didn’t participate, actually knew about the memory wipes of supervillains and didn’t say anything; they helped keep Lois safe, after all. Now some supervillains have regained their memory and have attacked the Justice League’s loved ones. And the time has come to vote again as to what to do.

This stuff has been knocking me out. It’s not all hero vs. villain stuff, or at least not all black and white. It raises all sorts of questions: Is safety worth constant surveillance? How far should a hero go to protect others? What happens when you cross a moral or ethical line in order to protect someone? Will you cross it again? Is the line permanently redrawn? And if we draw that line too timidly, and fail to act with enough force, are we culpable for any deaths that stronger action could have presented? Can we trust the people who protect us? Should we?

These questions lead to questions about superhero tropes in general. What right, for instance, does Superman have to send someone to the Phantom Zone? Why does Batman get to break and enter to find evidence of a crime, or beat up thugs for information. Why is it okay for Green Lantern to put a supervillain out of harm’s way in a green cage on the moon, but if I lock up someone in my basement I’m a dangerous sicko?

It makes me think of the internment camps at Guantanamo Bay, and the prisons in Abu Ghraib. Locking up people without due process is wrong – but is it keeping us safer? Some people think so. Torture is wrong, but some people think it’s effective, despite the evidence that the information it yields is unreliable.

What the comics let me – and people all over comic book message boards -- do is this: They let us discuss these issues of ethics, morality, power and security while keeping our preexisting political viewpoints out of it. The ideas we’re talking about are relevant to the times we live in, yet aren’t charged with the rhetoric that inflames most political discussion (including my own, certainly).

Also, it lets me look obliquely at these issues without reducing me to a quivering lump of despair and fear. Terrorists will try to attack us on our home soil again, just as Dr. Light promised to find Sue once he escaped.

This is not a new idea, I realize. Science fiction and fantasy have always addressed contemporary issues, and comics are no different. But it’s taken me a while to articulate it, since it’s more a metaphor of tone than an analogy with direct correlations in the plot.

And I have to say that I’m hooked. What I’m getting lately are adventure stories that have relevance to my own life. But instead of trying to deal with reality in the plot, their hook is in the theme: What moral compromises are we willing to make to keep our loved ones safe? It’s a fascinating struggle, and one I don’t think any hero can truly win.

Rob

The Big Squeeze

Check out Political Animal on oil. Scary.

Rob

Prophetic Dream

I am atremble.

I woke up in the middle of the night, after what I can only call a prophetic dream.

I this dream, I told myself (or someone wise that I trust told me – it’s hard to remember):

You have two mountains to climb,
Two novels to write.
One grown from hope,
The other rooted in fear.

What really freaked me out was the feeling I got that I was supposed to work on both of them at once – probably the surest way to complete neither of them.

Still, the dream also had me convinced that, with the write slopes and putting the right English on it, I could snowboard from Montana to my house and back. So nothing’s impossible, I guess.

Rob

I’m an Insensitive Lout

After rereading my post below, I want to clarify something.

When I gave my loose definition of a person as “someone with a birthday,” I was generalizing for comedic effect. Obviously, viability issues come into play, but, not having been through the whole parenthood process, I’m not really sure at what point that starts, or if it’s different for every baby, or what. Better not to go into it, I figured.

More importantly, however, I also don’t have firsthand knowledge of how a mother feels about the child growing inside her, or how a father feels about the child growing 2 feet to the left of him when they go to the movies. (Can’t pinpoint their relative positions, otherwise.) I can guess. And I didn’t mean to dismiss that bond in my earlier post.

Essentially, I was speaking of the fetus’s legal status more than the fetus itself. Splitting hairs, I know, but I think it’s important that the law doesn’t confuse children with beings with the potential to be children. If the law were to recognize a potential future event, I’d be locked up for murder a hundred times. You too, probably.

Maybe for killing insensitive louts like me.

I apologize if I upset anyone. It wasn't my intention.

Rob

Too Hot For Ya?

Rest easy. Hell's about to freeze over. I have a kind word to say about Rick Santorum.

This putzwad may actually not be a hypocrite. In one area. Until he backpedals like Bizarro Lance Armstrong, that is.

See, what with all the furrowed brows and concerned tones over so-called human life (such as stem cells and whatnot), he and his cronies tend to focus a little obsessively on abortion -- when plenty of what fits their drastically lowered bar for "human" gets thrown away is bio-bags every day from fertility clinics. And Rick's against it.

And okay, I think he's wrong about this, like he's wrong about stem cells and abortion. I'm no scientist, but in the broadest possible terms, here's my definition of a person: someone with a birthday. Without that, you're not in the fraternity yet. You're pledging.

But Rick believes differently. Through and through, apparently. And while I disagree and think he's a poisonous whackjob, at least he's consistent.

So congratulations, Rick Santorum, on taking that bold stance against couples who desperately want to have kids. Say no to parenthood. Maybe infertile couples shouldn't be able to marry, either?

Rob

(P.S. In case you were searching, the kind word was putzwad...which is much more polite than santorum.)

Testing, Testing

Just wanting to see if I can get one of these new-fangled picture thingies to work. Let's see, shall we?

Well lookee that! There's Pogo!

You know, I've gotta read more Pogo one of these days. Walt Kelly's comic stip was praised up, down and middle, but I don't remember it being in our newspaper until a watered-down revival of it (without Kelly, from what I recall) showed up around when I was in high school. Didn't seem like any great shakes to me then, so I didn't read it. But the few reprints I've read -- and the out-and-out applicability of the above quote -- are reason enough to buy a fat collection and dig in.

Rob

It's Carnival Time...

...and everybody's drinkin' wine...

The Carnival of NJ Bloggers is up at the Center of NJ Life this week. Pay a visit. Find a new blog. Eat some funnel cake. Throw some beads. And by all means, join the second line and shake your thing!

Here's the link.

Rob

Okay, I did it too.

Here are the results of my 3-D humor survey:

the Wit

(65% dark, 30% spontaneous, 16% vulgar)

your humor style:
CLEAN | COMPLEX | DARK
You like things edgy, subtle, and smart. I guess that means you're probablyan intellectual, but don't take that to mean pretentious. You realize 'dumb'can be witty--after all isn't that the Simpsons' philosophy?--but rudenessfor its own sake, 'gross-out' humor and most other things found in a fraternityleave you totally flat.

I guess you just have a more cerebral approach than most. You have the perfect mindset for a joke writer or staff writer.

Your sense of humor takes the most thought to appreciate, but it's also the best, in my opinion.

PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Jon Stewart - Woody Allen - Ricky Gervais

Which is all well and good, and I like the company I keep, but what sort of motherfucking language do I have to use to get a higher "vulgar" rating, you cocksuckers?? Sixteen goddamn percent doesn't nearly fucking cut it, muthergrabber.

Just sayin'.

UPDATE: Here’s the link.

Rob

A Few Good Books

"You want me on that shelf! You NEED me on that shelf!"

Been reading a bit this summer. And listening to books on tape. Here's a rundown on my recent reads.

Catch-22. I know I wrote about this before, but I just want to say again that Joseph Heller's abusrdist look at the military (a microcosm for American society, turned up to 11 via life-and-death situations) is something to marvel at. It's very episodic, and completely disjointed in time, lulling the reader into a feeling that it's a collection of anecdotes loosely strung together, sort of like watching reruns of M*A*S*H on both TBS and the Hallmark channel, where TBS is still in the Trapper years and Hallmark is post-Radar. But then things start connecting. You might not ever realize it at first, since incidents are told from different points of view, and no one ever seems to get the full story. (Was that naked man in the tree during the funeral a hallucination? Must've been...)

The structure of the book is byzantine and rewarding, but the message ("War is stupid, and people are stupid," as Culture Club would say) is clear from the start, but gets reinforced gently at first, but then with greater and greater strength. The book is about power and aggression, a gigantic king-of-the-hill game of army against army, general against general against major against captain against sergeant. It begins amusing, and ends with desperation and brutality. Maybe the message is really "I fight authority, authority always wins." But despite the depression and the futility, there's hope in the fight. I still can't talk about it clearly, but for god's sake, read it.

Then there's The Cold Six Thousand, by James Ellroy. Man, is his writing easy to parody.

Ellroy writes. Ellroy types short sentences. Ellroy loves jive. Ellroy vibes cool. Ellroy uses racial epithets. Ellroy gut-punches readers. Ellroy works a knife around in the wound. Ellroy starts his book with Jack. Jack's in Dallas. Jack's a sitting duck. Jack's a dead man, and three guys are in the middle of it.

Ellroy tails them. They go to Vegas. They go to Vietnam. They go to Klan rallies and race riots. They plot. They undermine. They kill and age and get taken for chumps. They talk to J. Edgar Hoover. They see it all happen from the inside. Ellroy follows them through Martin. He follows them through Bobby. He watches. We watch. We see it all go down.

Good god, that's addictive. I listened to this book on tape, and the staccato sentences sometimes got on my nerves, but they set a wild, propulsive tone that never really lets go. Ellroy's one of my favorite writers, but I always need a break (and often a shower) after reading one of his books. His is not a head I want to spend too long in. If you're new to Ellroy, don't start with this one. American Tabloid introduces these characters. The Black Dahlia is also a good choice.

I also listened to Bushworld, by Maureen Dowd. It's a collection of her columns. I expected to like the more recent stuff more, as the seediness of the Bush White House has seeped into view, but it turns out the earlier columns were more illuminating. It's hard to put yourself in the mindset of a couple of years ago -- how do the older columns stack up against what we hazily remember from Pre-9-11 Bush? Otherwise, though, the book seemed repetitive and more than a little precious to me. Get it from the library and flip and skim. Don't overdose.

Probably the standout of the summer was A Million Little Pieces, by James Frey. This is a first-hand account of Frey's time in a rehabilitation center to recover from his addictions to alcohol and crack cocaine. Frey's writing style is immediate and brutally honest. I wasn't really expecting to like the book -- my brother Tom gave it to me and made me promise to read it, but the subject matter didn't interest me in the least. Shows what I know. Pieces grabbed me from the first page, and pulled me along through a ton of horrifying shit -- including a dental visit without the use of any painkillers that's about the worst thing I've ever heard about anyone actually enduring.

The best thing about the book is that you really do get a sense of Frey's struggle, but also of his accomplishments toward his recovery. He rejects a lot of the tried-and-true recovery methods -- AA's Twelve Steps -- and just pushes toward his goal with guts and determination. Along the way, he meets a number of interesting people -- chief among them is his friend Leonard, a connected wiseguy who's also getting clean. Frey's followup is called My Friend Leonard, and you can bet I'll read it as soon as it's in paperback. I can't recommend this highly enough. Thanks, Tom.

Those are my picks. Whaddya say, sirs?

Rob

Big Night

Last night Kathy & I stayed out late to see Glory Road, Greg Senf and Gregory Max's musical updating of Tartuffe with a family of televangelists. It was a lot of fun, and heck, we even got to see our friend Jesse sing! The only thing that marred the evening was the theft of one of the actors' guitars during the show. The building has security cameras, but who knows if they actually have tapes running in them. Either way, there's little chance of getting it back, and my heart goes out to her.

Years ago, I had a trenchcoat stolen from a theater. I was using it as a costume for something, and it just disappeared overnight. It's a horrible feeling, to have a place you feel is safe suddenly proven to be anything but. To get shaken up like that in the middle of a show, and still have to perform? She's a trooper, and a fine actress, to boot. I never suspected anything was wrong.

The night before, we went to another Spontaneous Combustion, in which our friend Jen wrote one piece and acted in another. It was another fun night; a couple of the plays were seriously inventive, and most of the rest were breezy, lighthearted fun. Overall I'd rank it a stronger night than the one I was in, but then, I always did like the funny.

Tonight, though? Straight home, then sleep.

Rob

In a World... With a Limo...

Via Mark Evanier, here's a great little video featuring all those voiceover guys you hear in the trailers. Funny stuff.

Rob

Condolences

My heartfelt condolences go out the the families, friends, and troop members of the scoutmasters who died at the Boy Scout Jamboree. I've deleted my earlier post about the Jamboree (unrelated to the accident) in order to make sure the two subjects weren't conflated. I certainly wouldn't make light of this tragedy.

Rob

Spontaneous Wrap-up

In case you're curious (and hell, even if you're not. Sometimes I feel like I'm writing this so I can know what I was thinking a year ago...no audience required), Spontaneous Combustion went very well. The play I wrote, "Under the Boardwalk," was really well-received, thanks to the two wonderful actors who brought it to its virtual life, Jennifer Moses and Adi Kurtchik. Both of them continued to play and experiment with the roles through the show's three-night run. Adi came out of the dressing room in a completely new costume on Monday night, and a new personality to suit it. (Consequently, she was able to sell the final joke of the piece much better -- her visual alone set up the gag.) Jennifer had a dynamite "hooker sneer" which transformed into an devious smile as she began her sales pitch.

The evening itself was a mixed bag -- which it pretty much has to be, considering its origins. There were serious pieces -- which I think is pretty ballsy to even try, considering the format -- and funny pieces, including one (no, make that two) that were even more gonzo than mine. Which takes a lot of gonzo, believe you me.

Most important, though, was the sense of working together toward something wild and temporary. As much pressure-induced creativity as results from writing, acting and staging a play that didn't exist at all 48 hours before curtain, is the same amout of freedom in knowing that whatever you do, even if you screw up colossally, it'll all be gone by Wednesday.

But we didn't. We did well, and I'm proud.

Rob

Things I Miss from Childhood

I read this topic on Miss New Orleans’ blog, and thought I’d chime in. (While you’re there, check out this great post about a mysterious email.)

I miss these five things from childhood:

1) Riding my bike. And not just riding it aimlessly, but using it to go places. Used to be I’d go everywhere on it, and now, I don’t even have one. I should do something about that—especially since I’m once again living in a neighborhood where I can actually reach places I’d want to go by bike. Problem is, I still haven’t gotten over the psychological impediment that helmets are goony.

2) Dad, Nan and Aunt Esther. There are more relatives I miss, but these are the three that are gone that spring to mind. I think about Aunt Es’s love of old music, and realize I totally took that for granted when she was around. I miss walking into the family room and sitting down to watch a couple innings of the Phils with Dad. I’ve watched a little baseball since then, but it just isn’t the same. And Nan could always make me laugh, even when she wasn’t trying. Make that Especially when she wasn’t trying. I still have the $50 bill she gave me on the last Christmas she was alive. There just hasn’t been anything special enough to spend it on yet.

3) Seeing my friends every day. I’m not just talking about my childhood friends, either (although it’d be damn nice to see them more than once in a blue moon, too—although I’m as much to blame for that as anyone else). I’m talking about being in a little community of friends to hang with day in and day out. For most of the year, we were all at school; during the summer, we were at the pool. I’ve got a group of friends I see at work every day, and I always have fun with them, but I can’t kid you to say that it’s the same. Luckily, I get to see my wife every day (who inexplicably remains friendly to me), and I’ve got a damn good group of friends who I get to see more often than most grownups do (or at least, more often than it seemed my parents saw their friends). But those occasions when I get to see my friends constantly—a week down the shore, or Folk Fest—are magic.

4) My hair. Yeah, I’m a baldy. And I actually don’t mind it; if I keep my hair trimmed short it actually looks pretty good on me (I think). But damn if I don’t miss actually having options for it. Part it on the left, right or middle? Grow it long and shaggy? Ponytail? Spiked? Now, it’s either trimmed or it needs to be trimmed. Or its shaved altogether. (I’d also like the exuberance of having zero body fat back; another good reason to get that bike.)

5) Suspense and surprise. I love comics. I love reading comics, and reading about comics. I miss riding my bike to the drugstore and buying two comics and a box of Lemonheads. But I really miss having essentially no idea of what was going to happen in the next issue of the comics I buy. I don’t know if it’s possible to cocoon myself from spoilers so completely and still actually buy comics (and be informed of new books I might like)—particularly since, process junkie that I am, I love reading interviews with creators. Buy man, those few times when they actually pull the rug out form under me, I friggin’ love them for it.

So that’s my list. I’m going to formally tag Andrew to list his, but if you feel like self-tagging, just let me know in the comments section and go to it!

Rob

Everybody! Everybody!

Fausta is hosting this week’s Carnival of New Jersey Bloggers at her Bad Hair Blog. Go see!

Rob

Quick Update Before ZZZs

Spontaneous Combustion 18 is kicking off with a bang. It looks like I've got a script to hand my actors tomorrow...and hopefully I haven't flagrantly mixed any metaphors in it (such as, oh, I don't know, "kicking off with a bang?").

Seriously, I wrote another bizarro piece, and can't wait to see what Adi and Jennifer bring to it.

Rob
(Done at around three, buzzed with simple syrup iced tea until now.)

Unregistered!

By the way, every now and then I'll link to a newspaper that requires registration to view its articles. In case you didn't know, you can get around that l'il step.

Just go to bugmenot.com and enter the url of the paper. The site'll spit you out a working username and password that will get you in and read what you want, without having to worry about being spammed for your troubles. It's an extra step to take, but the moment you spend now could save you time in the future, crawing out form a pile of spam -- and you can keep the rest of your information private, too.

Rob

High-Caliber Reporting

I’vebeen thinking a lot about a journalist’s right to protect a source’s anonymity.I understand the need to keep these secrets; it’s the expectation of confidentiality that gives some people the nerve to talk to a reporter in the first place.

Onthe other hand, there are plenty of people who take advantage of this supposed bond of secrecy. For instance, someone (or several someones) was leaking Judge Ethel Clement’s name as Bush’s pick all over Tuesday morning, in order to build the suspense for his Supreme Court press conference that night.I agree with Atrios on this point:Reporters should press the source for where they got the disinformation from– and if the source can’t give up their puppetmaster, then out them. Part of the bond is that the source is playing straight with the journalist; if he’s intentionally lying, the whole thing is null and void. But even in this case, there’s no reason for the law to get involved. It’s something that should be worked out between the reporter and the duplicitous slimeball…I mean, “source.”

Butthen there’s the matter of the Plame case. In this case, the leakers almostcertainly had another motive for speaking to reporters. And I agree with Molly Ivins’ sentiments when she writes in her July 14^th column:

Look, reporters come armed with a notebook and a pencil. They do not carry guns, they do not have the powerto arrest people, they do not have subpoena power, they cannot force peopleto talk by holding them as material witnesses, they cannot sneak into theirhomes and read their computers. Generally speaking, if the law can't make a case without help from a reporter, they're incompetent.

What makes this different – and, I think, what makes Fitzgerald’s subpoenas to journalists valid – is not that a crime has been committed. Not even the severity of the crime – as severe as treason – makes the call for Matt Cooperand Judith Miller to deliver their sources proper. (Yes, it is legal; I justthink that it’s an action that’s damaging to our free society.) What makes this case an exception is that, in this case, journalism was used to commit the crime.

In a murder, homicide detectives search high and low for the murder weapon, knowing that by examining its condition and discovering its history they may findthe key to solving the crime. This case is the same: Journalism is what revealed Valerie Plame as a covert agent. But who pulled the trigger? The prosecutor, I believe, has the right and the duty to investigate the matter fully, asif he were a ballistics expert with a .38.

Rob

3…2…1…Ignition

I’ve been meaning to post this for a while. This weekend I’ll be participating in my second “Spontaneous Combustion” at Manhattan Theatresource. My first was so much fun that I’ve been keeping an eye out for another one ever since.

Here’s the deal. On Friday night, a bunch of writers will hook up (at random) with two actors each. We’ll be given a first line, a last line, and some sort of cultural reference to work into the script (last time, someone had to do an impression). Then we go home and write write write, returning on Saturday, jumpy and bleary-eyed, to give five-minute scripts to the cast.

After a few rehearsals and a lot more read-throughs, the night of one-acts goes up on Sunday night and runs through Tuesday.

I’m pumped. Last time, I wrote a short play called “Head Shots” that I think turned out really well – particularly since the actors I was paired with knocked it out of the park. This time – once again – I have no idea what I’ll write. I just know that, by Saturday at noon, I’ll have a new play.

I hope it’s good.

UPDATE: I've added a few links in case you want to come to the show. (Sunday through Tuesday at 8 p.m.)

Ro

Okay, spill. Was it one of you regulars?

I just looked up my site stats, and I noticed one word, googled twice to find me.

The word?

Ninjatarian.

Now, I just Googled it too, and as far as I can tell, it's only other use is someone's screen name -- and maybe a defunct gamer ID. Could be the same guy, for all I know.

Have I started a meme? Or did one of you guys forget my url and figure the n-word was the quickest way to get here?

By the way, someone else was looking for a definition of schoolmarmism (via several sources) and came here. And, naturally, "underage thai" is still gets the perv vote. Also "amputee models." Got no idea what that's about. Sheesh.

Rob

Homicide. Oz. Batman?

Yep. Tom Fontana, guiding force behind Homicide and Oz (as well writing for St. Elsewhere, which really needs to be available on DVD) is writing a Batman graphic novel for DC.

Now let's get him to guest-write an issue of Gotham Central...

Rob

Wow.

If you haven't yet, read this Frank Rich piece before it goes up behind The Times' pay-to-see wall. He does a great job pointing out what's forest and what's trees.

This case is about Iraq, not Niger. The real victims are the American people, not the Wilsons. The real culprit - the big enchilada, to borrow a 1973 John Ehrlichman phrase from the Nixon tapes - is not Mr. Rove but the gang that sent American sons and daughters to war on trumped-up grounds and in so doing diverted finite resources, human and otherwise, from fighting the terrorists who attacked us on 9/11. That's why the stakes are so high: this scandal is about the unmasking of an ill-conceived war, not the unmasking of a C.I.A. operative who posed for Vanity Fair.

Rob

The Ninjatarianism Isn't Working...

...and besides, I had criminally good ribs the other night. Ribs so good I should be put in jail just for making them.

However, I've decided that, instead of eating only ninjas, I shall now eat only food killed or prepared by ninjas. Yes, I'm going ninja-kosher.

Thing is, ninjas are a secretive bunch. You can't expect them to put a little N in a circle on every cut of meat they butcher or cake they bake. That's against the ninja code. So, I'll have to assume that most food I can eat is prepared by ninjas unless I'm explicity told otherwise. The exception is brussels sprouts, since whoever heard of a ninja from Brussels. (Six foot four and fulla muscles, maybe, but can he drip poison down a string to kill James Bond? I don't think so!)

So there you have it.

Rob

Testify

Here's a link to info on a sure-to-be-controversial new series from Vertigo. I'm interested.

Rob

Evan Hunter, R.I.P.

I flipped through today's Entertainment Weekly and got a bit of a jolt. Evan Hunter had died. He was one of my favorite writers, although, oddly enough, I don't think I've read anything Evan Hunter has written.

That is, under his own name. I've read a ton of books he's written under his better-known pseudonym, Ed McBain. McBain is best-known for his 87th Precint novels, police procedurals written from 1956's Cop Hater to last year's Hark!. I've read quite a few of these books, and enjoy the hell out of them. Besides being one of my favorite things in and of themselves, I can't imagine two of my other favortie things -- no, make that three -- would have ever come into existance without them. The TV show Homicide: Life on the Street owes a big debt to McBain -- even though it's based on a real homicide unit, and many times, on real cases. McBain changed the way we looked at cops, from heroes to civil servants, caught up in drudgery and paperwork and bad days and all the other hings real life brings with it. Yet McBain's civil servants find it within themselves to be heroes, putting their lives on the line for the innocent and the guilty alike. On top of this change in attitude, he rally crafted the way these stories are told.

Two great comics owe a big debt to McBain (and to Homicide, as well): Gotham Central, a police procedural in which everyday cops have to deal with Mr. Freeze and a guy who dresses like a bat and scares the crap outta crooks, and Top 10, Alan Moore, Gene Ha and Zander Cannon's comic about a police force in a city where everyone has superpowers. Both have McBain's attitude in their blood.

I got a chance a few years ago to tell Mr. Hunter how much I loved his work, when I interviewed him for the newspaper I was working for. We talked a bit about the 87th Precint, and then a bit about mysteries in general. I had just picked up on a trait that rus through many of his books: murder mysteries are all about the victim. He or she may not say a word, but they're the star of the book, as detectives dig deeper and deeper into who they were and why they were killed. It was good to be talking craft with someone who was so clearly a master of it.

I did see one thing Hunter wrote under his own name: Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds. He also wrote the book The Blackboard Jungle, and tons of other things. You can find out about them here.

Me, I'm gonna look over that list for one of the many books of his I haven't read yet. I've got a lot to choose from, but I'm confident I'll pick a winner.

Rob

Wow, that didn't take long.

Seems like, as ever, Rehnquist's all about dashing my hopes.

Rob

Quick Updates

The beach was a lot of fun. I got to see my nephews and my niece, and I even read a comic book to one of 'em. I am now in the not-so-mild Itchy stage of my somewhat mild sunburn.

I read a Kinky Freidman novel, Frequent Flier, on the beach. The cat spins an entertaining yarn.

I haven't had much to say politically lately, but I have to say I'm enjoying watching Karl Rove get served a shit sandwich. I hope he's forced to eat it -- and order some for all his friends. But not his friends' friends, because apparently the President is friends with Kinky Friendman. He calls him up whenever he hears a good dirty joke.

We're closing the magazine this week, so I've been busier than usual. And the lawn is growin' growin' growin'. Sunday, there will come a lawnmower reckoning.

I started playing the Freedom Force video game. I'm not sure whether it's been cutting into my blogging time or my surfing time. Probably a little of both.

I hope Rehnquist retires soon. It's a given that Bush will try send one ultraconservative to the Supreme Court. But it'll be more difficult to send two up at the same time than it would be to get one approved, then another 6 months or a year later.

Jesus wants me to have fresh breath. Jim the Bastard explains.

Rob

Always a Catch

I'm just about to head to the beach, but I wanted to blog for a moment about one of my favorite books: Joseph Heller's Catch-22. I rarely reread books. There's too much new stuff out there, and new-to-me stuff out there, forme to travel backward more than once in a while.

But I hadn't read Catch-22 since the summer before my senior year of high school, when the book was only 20 years old. Now it's almost 40. And it's every bit as good now as it was then, and more and more relevant.

Catch-22 focuses on an air force squadron stationed on Painosa, an island of the coast of Italy, during World War II. The lead character, Yossarian, is a bombardier who may be the one sane man in the world. As the colonels and generals keep on upping the number of missions required (it starts out at 30 -- by the end of the book it's up to 80), Yossarrian comes to believe that it's not just the enemy who's trying to kill him -- his own superiors are, too.

I don't want to talk too much about the book, or give away any of the absurd logical loop-de-loops Heller provides, but I do want to quote from one passage toward the end. Becauseeven with the Bushies up-is-downism, none of us have enough irony in our diet.

Morale was deteriorating and it was all Yossarian's fault. The country was in peril; he was jeopardizing his traditional rights of freedom and independence by daring to exercise them.

We all need exercise; even our rights. Remember to take yours for a spin regularly.

Rob

La La La I'm not listening!

There's plenty of time for me to worry about who's on deck for the Supreme Court. But it's a beautiful Friday, and I'm not gonna do it. For now, I'm gonna sit back and draw.

Watch me draw this old friend.

Then give it a try y'self.

Rob

New Diet Plan

I've decided to become a ninjatarian. From now on, I shall eat only ninjas.

Problem is, they're so hard to find...

Rob

Proud Godpapa

I'm a proud godfather of my nephew Brian. I saw him with his brothers and mom (and lots of other fam) tonight, and he was standing in the middle of us, commanding our attention, saying "Cobbin Tibe! It's Cobbin Tibe!" His mom didn't know what he meant, until I figured it out: "It's clobberin' time!" the Thing's catchphrase. He probably picked it up from Fantastic Four previews.

This kid is so cool.

Rob

Nice Goin', eh?

Congratulations to our Canadian brothers and brothers and sisters and sisters. Lead the way, folks.

Rob

Paul Winchell, R.I.P.

I have to confess, I'm not familiar with the bulk of Mr. Winchell's work. Mostly I know him from his voice acting, from Tigger to Gargamel to many, many others. But he was entertaining people long before the Pooh movies and the Smurfs. Oh yeah ... and he also invented the artificial heart.

No kidding.

If you'd like to read an obituary for this amazing man, start here at Mark Evanier's site. Then go here and here for more.

Rob

I’ve been remiss…

I’ve been meaning to add these two links to my weblog for months now. The first is Nicole Maynard’s homepage. Nicole is a phenomenal artist and a good friend. Take a look at her online portfolio. The jpegs can’t compare with the power of her works face-to-face in a gallery or a home. Some things are too much for a monitor to convey.

On the other hand, monitors are the perfect medium for seeing Chris Ready’s work – considering he designs web pages. Chris is one of the greatest guys in the world—friendly and straightforward, he’s one of the few people who can combine earnestness with the ability to make me laugh until milk comes out my nose. (Even if I’m drinking birch beer – does that count as a miracle?) In all seriousness, you can take a look at his portfolio and judge his design talent for yourself. But take my word: you’ll be happy you did business with him.

So here they are: more of my friends. That’s where you’ll find them, in the list-o-links to your right.

Rob

Rooby Roo Runts Rains!!

Unbefreakinlievable.

Rob

A D-minus still passes, right?

I heard on the radio this morning that Rumsfeld said the insurgency could be going on for “five, six, eight, ten, twelve years.” Yet Veep Dick says the insurgency is in its “last throes.” Those must be long throes.

Rummy also changed the military’s mission over there. We’re no longer trying to stop the insurgents, you see. “We're going to create an environment that the Iraqi people and the Iraqi security forces can win.”

That creaking sound is the bar being lowered yet again.

Rob

P.S.: A quote from Rummy's Greatest Hits, pre-war edition: "I can't say if the use of force would last five days or five weeks or five months, but it certainly isn't going to last any longer than that." Certainly not, like, twelve years.

Hear, hear

The Bull Moose directs our attention to something that mustn't be forgotten.

Rob

Lying Low

I haven’t had much to say in the past few days. Or rather, I have had things to say, but I haven’t been quite sure how to phrase them. One of the things the Patriot Act has done is get me to question the limits of my freedom of speech. Sure, I can say whatever I want. But how much can I say before they start a file on me? I don’t trust this administration, I don’t like this administration, and every day I wish it were 2008. I don’t know if what we get then will be better, and I won’t kid myself that it couldn’t be worse. The government has taken a big step toward intrusiveness and schoolmarmism, and a big step away from reality and science. But there are more steps along that road; W is a herald of things to come, the Silver Surfer to the Religious Right’s Galactus.

What’s really made my blood boil these past few days is the statements made by Karl Rove in New York a couple days ago. Here are the relevant quotes (from the NY Times):

"Conservatives saw the savagery of 9/11 in the attacks and prepared for war; liberals saw the savagery of the 9/11 attacks and wanted to prepare indictments and offer therapy and understanding for our attackers," Mr. Rove, the senior political adviser to President Bush, said at a fund-raiser in Midtown for the Conservative Party of New York State.

...

"Has there ever been a more revealing moment this year?" Mr. Rove asked. "Let me just put this in fairly simple terms: Al Jazeera now broadcasts the words of Senator Durbin to the Mideast, certainly putting our troops in greater danger. No more needs to be said about the motives of liberals."

Essentially, he’s not just saying Durbin’s words put American troops in harm’s way – he’s saying that that was the liberal plan all along. That Durbin’s a traitor. That I’m a traitor.

Now I know, I know, I know he’s trying to bait us. And I vacillate between thinking the best thing to do is fight back with all the venom and fury we can muster, or to calmly say that he’s wrong and demand an apology. I feel like giving in to anger is simply acting according to his plan, but to not strike back with rhetoric of equal weight and bile would be to show weakness – also, what he wants. It’s like forking your opponent in chess – whatever way they react, they lose a piece.

I have to admit, he makes me furious. Being called a traitor isn’t something I take lightly, whether its from hacks like Anne Coulter or bullshit merchants like Karl Rove.

Of course, we know who’s truly undermining the troops, sending them into a manufactured war without adequate body armor, freezing the budget of the Department of Veteran’s Affairs and the like.

We know who’s working to collapse our economy, lining the pockets of his bosses with fat oil cash while we wring out the world like a sponge.

We know who’s working to cut the government’s income until it can’t continue to support essential services.

We know who’s doing his best to cut through the ropes holding up the social safety net. Gutting Social Security in favor of risky pyramid schemes they figure they can come out on top of when it all comes tumbling down.

We know who’s doing this. And they call us traitors?

Rob

The Shame of MAD

Read all about it.

Rob

Blue!

The family room is its various shades of blue, and the trim is white, and we're exhausted. I'll try to post some before and after pics once we get the dropcloths up and the furniture back in place -- I'll be particularly glad to have the sofas out of the kitchen -- they make it hard to open the dishwasher.

Rob

Second Coat

Looks like it's necessary and inevitable. I am filled with dread.

Rob

No!

Sleep!

Til Blue!

It's 12:30, and three out of four walls are blue. We've just got the fourth, in a slightly darker shade, to do. It's mostly small work, so it won't really be worth taking out a roller (or more to the point, cleaning a roller for 2 or three swipes of it). Either way, we're in it for the long haul, so we can just worry about painting trim tomorrow.

It looks pretty good so far. And no pink!

Rob

Optimus Prime!

Priming is done. Resting can begin. Until it begins anew...

Rob

Primed!

Well, half-primed. We got all the edges done, so tomorrow night is just painting the walls and celining with a roller. Then we get to see color come back into the picture. But I can't begin to tell you how gratifying it is to see all the pink on the walls on its way out.

We moved the stereo into the dining room so we could listen while we painted without having to fumble with dropcloths to change CDs. Kathy picked the first one at random: Leonard Coen's Greatest Hits. To put it mildly -- not good painting music. I thought I might kill myself before the project was over. (And I had bought the freakin' album in the first place! His later album, The Future, kicke so much ass that I figured his greatest hits would be, you know, great. Shows what I know.) But once we got through the CD, we heard some Cake and some Ben Folds Five before I popped in the final-stretch CD of the night: The Raiders of the Lost Ark soundtrack.

Rob

House of Secrets

Every now and then, we find something in our house that the previous owners left behind. Most of the oddball items we found in our first week or so: a build-your-own-pistol kit, a swordfish nose, that sort of thing. But last night, while prepping to paint the family room, I found something else that I can’t explain. (Or can’t explain accurately, I suppose.) Tucked behind the mirror over the bar, there was a 2003 restaurant review from the Star-Ledger. It wasn’t the whole page – just the review, cut out (although it was a full-page review, the edges were trimmed). This leads me to believe the paper wasn’t there for some inexplicable way to help the mirror installation, but because someone was saving it – and not just saving it, but hiding it. As for the why, who knows? But an explanation will certainly show up in some story or other.

Rob

Batman Begins

From what I hear, there's no Egghead OR King Tut??!! I swear, I don't know what these people are thinking.

I guess I'll find out Saturday. But if there's no Batusi, there'll be hell to pay.

Rob

Fight Songs

Thanks for the optomism, encouragement, and fighting spirit, folks. I'm feeling better, and will be getting back into it soon. In the meantime, I've got a family room to paint, so we'll see what I'm able to post between now and when the room is at last no longer pink.

In the meantime: hum along, even if you don't know the tune.

Rob

This Just In

People magazine reported that Penn Jillette has named his newborn daughter Moxie Crimefighter Jillette. Beats the fuck out of Apple, wouldn't you say?

Rob

Downing Street

I haven’t written anything about the Downing Street Memo yet – mostly because I haven’t really had anything to add. It seems to me as pretty clear (albeit circumstancial) evidence that Bush and Blair planned to go to war when they told us that they were working to avoid it. Yeah, I’m outraged. But I’ve been outraged about this long before the DSM was made public – so what am I supposed to do now, turn my anger up to 11? Well, Abu Ghraib did that. To 12? 13? How high does this thing go?

Andrew makes a good point about Bush – nothing seems to stick to him. And I think I’m a little worn out by it all. I know, in my heart, if we chip away at this guy, something’s got to give. But man, I’m tired of it. I just read something new about a law passed to cut funding for the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, and I just as there in my chair at work for a moment, doing nothing, feeling a sour sting in my throat. Our priorities are out of whack. And there are times I feel there’s nothing I can do about it.

This is one of those times.

I’m sure it’ll pass, and I’ll be back to kicking up shit and spitting acid in a few day’s time. But there are times when I just want to close my eyes until 2006, and then 2008, and if a change doesn’t come then, then get the fucking rapture over with and send me to hell already, will you? At least then I’d know where I stand.

Rob

If there's a smile on my face

...it's only because the women of New York City have gotten the memo: It's warm outside.

Rob

Big Weekend

Lotsa fun this weekend. On Friday night, Kathy and I saw Crash. There's no better moviegoing advice I can give you right now than to see it too. It's excellent.

Saturday, we went to the Appel Farm Arts and Music Festival. We caught lots of music, including Bet Williams (who has a new album out), Phil Roy, the phenomenal Mavis Staples, Aimee Mann, Loudon Wainwright III and his son Rufus Wainwright. A great day, under deceptively overcast skies. Later that night, sunburnt stoplight-red, we watched the bizarre Dudley Moore/Peter Cook movie, The Hound of the Baskervilles, with Greg. The movie is downright insane, but the little dog with the big bladder is right where we left him. I can't really comment any more than that -- sunburn fatigue took me out for large patches of the movie.

The next day, I hit Wizardworld East in Philly, a sizeable comic convention. I got to meet Carmine Infantino. He's one of the creators of my favorite superhero, the Barry Allen Flash, and the uncle of Jim Infantino, who fronts the so-cool-it-burns-when-I-listen band Jim's Big Ego. Big thank yous went to Carmine.

I also got a cool little sketch from Walt Simonson, and met Kenny Baker (who played R2D2). Both good guys -- and if you ever get the chance to be taught by Walt Simonson, do it -- I caught the last fifteen minutes of his comics art seminar, and it was riiting -- even to someone who doesn't pick up a pencil unless it's to correct somebody's grammar.

I bought a TON of graphic novels though -- almost all independant, at ridiculous prices. A wonderful shopping experience, to be sure -- but seeing so many remaindered books makes me acutely aware of what a precarious business I want to be in. At any rate, I'll have some short reviews of the books I bought as I read them... starting with Scott Morse's The Barefoot Serpent and an Italian noir tale called The Iguana.

The best part of the day was seeing friends, though - Mike Bencik, his sainted lady Jessica, and Scott Neely, as well as making new ones. Dinner with even an exhausted Raven Gregory (writer and creator of The Gift from Image) was a blast -- and that was some of the best tequila I ever drank, and hands DOWN those were the best friggin' cheese stick ever consumed.

Got home near midnight on Sunday, wiped out but too wired to sleep. But I've caught some zees now and then since.

Rob

Election Results

Well, here in Edison, I've just discovered our mayor George Spadoro is a lame duck; he'll be replaced by Jun Choi as the Democratic condidate on November's ballot. The anti-Wal-Mart democrats have spoken. Congratulations, Mr. Choi.

And, surprising no one, Jon Corzine has won the Democratic primary for governor. In other news, the earth revolves around the sun. (Somebody tell the Republicans.)

Rob

T-t-t-Time Warp!

For the next series of posts, you might want to start here and scroll up.

Rob

The Exception

When are words as dangerous as actions?

When words are actions.

The book I have in mind is called The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, and it’s conspicuous by its absence on the Human Events list. While all of the books on their list were written by their listed authors, the Protocols were published in Russia in 1905 as a way to sway Tsar Nicholas II that there was a Jewish plot against him, and of world domination in general. It was bunk, of course. It was written by a forger named Mathieu Golovinski, cribbed from a political tract written by Maurice Joly in France in 1864. (His book, The Dialogue in Hell between Machiavelli and Montesquieu, had nothing to do with Jews, but was instead a thinly veiled attack on Napoleon III.) Golovinski changed some phrasing around, and submitted it as a recovered document from a secret meeting of Jewish elders in 1897.

Since then, it’s been at the foundation of antisemitic thought. It was discredited in 1920 – proved conclusively to be a forgery – but that hasn’t stopped its publication and dissemination around the world.

I got this information from Will Eisner’s excellent (and sadly, final) graphic novel, The Plot: The Secret Story of the Protocols of the Elders of Zion. He put the tale of this forgery into comic-book form in order to spread the word about this lie that’s at the heart of so many acts of violence even today. It’s working: Up until I heard about Eisner’s book, I’d never heard about the Protocols. Maybe you hadn’t either.

I believe in free speech, and question anyone who says this or that book is dangerous or “harmful.” But the Protocols isn’t a book at all. It’s a frame.

Rob

One Caveat Before the Exception

Okay, the folks at Human Events called the books "harmful" instead of "dangerous." And I suppose a case could be made that the books can be judged harmful by the way they were used in history, rather than by the danger they inherently possess. So if you want to make that case, by all means, go ahead -- I'm receptive to it. But for now, I've got to write about the exception.

Onward!

Rob
(and yes, I realize you're probably reading this backward. Damn you, laws of time and space!)

The World’s Most Dangerous…Books?

It sounds like some reality library-chase show on Fox. But it’s more like another piece of excremental propaganda squeezed out by Fox News: The crackpots at Human Events have cobbled together a list of the “Ten Most Harmful Books of the 19th and 20th Centuries.”

And some of the usual suspects are there. Main Kampf. The Communist Manifesto. The Feminine Mystique.

The Feminine Mystique?

Also on the list are The Kinsey Report and John Maynard Keynes’s General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money, the book FDR based much of the New Deal on.

Can these guys hold a grudge or what?

Essentially, they’re equating Feminism and the New Deal with Marxism and Naziism.

The runners-up are even more revealing. Origin of Species. Silent Spring. Unsafe at Any Speed. Jeez, it’s pretty clear who signs their paycheck, isn’t it? Evolution: bad. Environmentalism: bad. Consumer activism: bad. It makes me wonder why they limited themselves to the past couple centuries. Relax the rules a bit, and head straight to Gutenberg. Life was so much simpler for the rich before the serf class knew how to read.

And the thing is, not one of these is a truly dangerous book. Yeah, Mein Kampf was written by a bad guy, and has some truly repellent ideas in it, I’m sure. (I’ve never read it, but I think it’s safe to assume.) But the fact is, like any political tract, it’s pretty much one guy’s opinion. The people who acted on these ideas – including the author – are dangerous, certainly. (Judging by the point score, they were almost twice as dangerous as FDR!) But it’s actions, not words, that are dangerous.

With one exception.

(Next: The Exception!)

Rob