Get Ta Know Me! Part III

Thom has interviewed me. Here’s what he asked, and my responses.

1.If you could hang out with any character from Barney Miller, who would it be and why?

Dietrich, I think. He was my favorite character as a kid, just seemed a bit brainer and funnier than the rest. But it’s been too long since I’ve seen an ep with him in it that I couldn’t tell you specifics. C’mon, Sony! Put out Seasons Two through Eight already!

2.You are hired by the military to come up with a secret weapon to use against Evil Doers…what’s the weapon?

Hmmm... I need some sort of bomb to, I dunno… make people gay?

Nah, that’ll never work. (And I’d hate to start a flame war…)

It goes without saying that gamma bombs are a bad idea.

I think I’d go with the patented Green Zombie Mist. Spray it over an area and have their dead come back from the grave and feast on the brains of the living.

Confining it might be a problem, but let’s leave that to the U.N., shall we?

3. Countdown or World War Hulk?

Ooh, tough call. I’m holding out on World War Hulk, planning to read it when it’s collected (I don’t really feel like playing the crossover chase with it). On the other hand, Countdown hasn’t impressed me so far. So, sight unseen: World War Hulk.

4. Take the solicit for a Marvel or DC comic that just irritated you, making you ask “Really, Marvel/DC?” Rewrite it in a fashion that would convince you to buy it.

I don’t really get worked up about previews (that Daredevil bit was crass, but didn’t really ruffle me), but let’s see what I can find in today’s solicits.

Let’s see… Countdown Special: The Search for Ray Palmer says

The Search for Ray Palmer truly kicks into high gear, as Kyle Rayner, Donna Troy and Jason Todd scour the Multiverse… The trio's first stop: the Wildstorm Universe…

Hmm… It would take replacing pretty much every proper noun except Ray Palmer in this solicit to get me excited about this issue. Which I guess is changing the story, rather than the solicit.

On the other hand, here’s one where the nouns all tickle me right where I think:

SUICIDE SQUAD: RAISE THE FLAG #1
When original Suicide Squad member Rick Flag Jr. returned from the dead in the pages of CHECKMATE, it blew open a brand-new espionage mystery for the DC Universe! In this eagerly awaited miniseries by legendary Squad writer John Ostrander (WORLD WAR III), it’s revealed how Flag survived a nuclear blast while battling terrorism in Qurac — as his hard path home takes him from Skartaris to Dubai and into the hands of dueling commanders Amanda Waller and General Wade Eiling. Their power struggle reveals surprising secrets from their pasts — even as a new Suicide Squad is created to play a key role in the DCU’s ever-evolving future!

The only thing wrong with that is that it reminds me that Ostrander wrote part of World War III. (Brrr….) But “takes him from Skartaris to Dubai” is EXACTLY what I’m looking for in a Suicide Squad comic.

I don’t need better solicitations – I need better stories.

5.What one comics legend (living or dead) would you like to see return to comics?
I thought about Will Eisner, I thought about Jack Kirby, and I thought about Curt Swan and Jack Cole. But they all had long careers (even Cole, who killed himself after success as the creator of Plastic Man and as a Playboy cartoonist). The one person who I wish had lived long enough to have a much broader and deeper body of work is Mike Parobeck. I wouldn’t call him a legend – but had he not had such an untimely death, he might have one day become one.

More comics from Alan Brennert would be great, too. Every story he wrote was gold.

Thanks a lot, Thom. Those were fun questions!

Anyone who wants to be interviewed, leave a comment for me.

Rob

Happiness Is...

Mark Waid returning to write Flash. There's none better.

Rob

Get Ta Know Me! Again!

Here are my answers to Kalinara’s interview questions. I have to say, I dig this meme.

1. If you were dropped into a superhero or manga universe, would you be good or evil?

I kid myself into thinking I’d be some cool-as-hell antihero like John Constantine or Spider Jerusalem, but I’d almost certainly be a garden-variety good guy -- who gets cranky and cheesed off sometimes.

2. Which superhero costume would you never wear to a Halloween party and why?

Aside from the costumes designed for women (the thought of me in a Star Sapphire costume is enough to give Mogo nightmares), I’d say the discofabulous Cosmic Boy costume. I hope that if I’m ever fit enough to wear it, I’ll have the good sense not to anyway.

3. If you could create a brand new love interest for any hero/heroine, who would you choose?

Beast Boy. He needs to get over Terra and move on. Maybe invert the Terra story – a villain that he surreptitiously gets to betray her allies when the time is right.

4. Could a rainbow themed villain or hero work today?

Probably only if presented in a tongue-and-cheek manner. Then again, as long as you don’t explicitly say or show a rainbow, I imagine one could be treated seriously; I’ve always thought “Dr. Spectrum” was a cool name. But while a spectrum is similar to a rainbow, it’s not quite the same thing.

5. Fish or chips?

Fish. I’m a Barney Miller fan from way back. Ponch and Jon do nothing for me. And I feel the same way about food as I do about 70s cops.

And again, here’s how to participate.

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."

2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions. (They probably won't be the same ones you see above!)

3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Don’t worry if you don’t know anything about comics – I won’t assume you’re a comic reader – or a superhero comic reader -- when I pick my questions. (If you are, though – fair game!)

Rob

Get Ta Know Me!

There’s a meme going around certain comic blogs, and here’s where it spreads beyond beyond. Here are five interview questions from Ami Angelwings, with my answers:

1. Going purely by looks (and pretending you're single), name five comic book women that you'd want as a trophy wife XD

Fun question – and pretending they’re single never got anyone into any trouble, so I’m in the clear there. So all that’s left is realizing this is one more post which’ll make my sister cringe – which I’m totally down with, so we’re on. (I’ll post some images when I get home.) Let’s see…

Bumblebee: She’s just as cute as a guy could want. I love those little pigtails!


Phantom Girl – So. Very. Disco.


Heather Hudson – Ponytail? Glasses? Redhead? Oh, thank you lord. (Not the most flattering picture, but I Like What I Like.)


Big Barda – The woman is a jungle gym of love!


Secret Agent Diana Prince – What'd I say about glasses? All that and the va-va-voom to boot!


Don’t ask me to rank them – it’d break my heart!

(And apologies to Dawnstar, Luba, She-Hulk, Batgirl, MJ, Zatanna, Lois, Rose Red, Black Widow, Tulip and 355.)

2. If you could change Black Adam's magic word into something he'd never guess (but it had to be a proper word that you yourself know without checking a dictionary) what would it be? :D

“Brewski.” Because someone so uptight shouldn’t have that much power – but if he ever sidles up to a bar and asks for a brewski, I’ll know he’s ready to loosen up and let things go.

3. If you could become editor of one DC title which would it be? :o

Probably Legion of Super Heroes. It’s the DCU, but its off in its own little world – or rather, its own vast, expansive universe – where anything at all can happen. I’d love to see what Kurt Busiek could do with the title – and I would throw as much money as I had at my disposal to get Steve Rude to draw it.


4. What do you add to your hot dog? :D

Cheese, mustard and raw diced onions.

5. What makes you happy? :)

Most of all, time spent with my friends. (I’m lucky enough to be able to count my wife among them.)

Wanna play? Here’s how!

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."

2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions. (They probably won't be the same ones you see above!)

3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Don’t worry if you don’t know anything about comics – I won’t assume you’re a comic reader – or a superhero comic reader -- when I pick my questions. (If you are, though – fair game!)

Rob

Operation: Fabulous!

You won't want to miss this recently-uncovered U.S. military proposal from 1994. I'd call it batshit insane, but "nutty as a fruitcake" seems more appropriate.

"Next up on Hardball: The outrageous Pentagon price tag to develop gaydar."

Rob

Gone Today, Where Tomorrow?

Another four pounds lost, bringing my total to (drumroll...) 23.2 pounds lost. Can't help but feel good about that, but I have to remember that a) I wasn't waering sandals like last week, so some of that is footwear, and b) I weighed earlier in the day, so that's in my favor this week, too. But still: 23.2 pounds. Yay me!

The Han Solo voice in my head is saying: "Don't get cocky, kid."

Rob

Now That's Cooking With Gas!

Kevin Church gives me my biggest laugh in days. Cooking show junkies, you're gonna want to see this.

Rob

Eye of the Camera

Kathy and I saw a really interesting movie last night: Fast, Cheap, and Out of Control. Directed by Errol Morris, the movie juxtaposes the lives—or rather, the life’s work—of four men who are each consumed with an unusual project. George Mendonca, for example, has been grooming a topiary garden for years, and will do it until he dies. Dave Hoover is now semi-retired, looking back at a life of lion taming in the circus. Ray Mendez has been a naked mole rat specialist almost before anyone knew naked mole rats existed – he’d always wanted to find examples of insect life in other areas of the animal kingdom. Perhaps he should have talked with Rodney Brooks, who’s building robots to do that very thing.

It’s a gorgeous film. Morris intersperses face-up interview material with shots of the men at work and other material – clips from old movies, cartoons and science docs as well as some dazzling circus footage, in color and black and white. One of the magical things about the film is that the visuals don’t necessarily coincide with the sound. We might be seeing Brooks’s robots, for example, as Mendez talks about mole rat society. There are moments when you’re not quite sure who’s speaking – and moments when, whichever man is speaking, he seems to be speaking for all four of them.

I used the word “magical” above – I don’t mean it in a “magic of the movies” kind of way. I mean it quite literally. I don’t believe in magic as its normally defined, but there are moments when I feel like something unusual has happened in my consciousness. It’s some sort of mental friction, when disparate concepts and ideas brush together for a moment and create something new—or at least, new to me. That’s how this film constantly made me feel—that the world is an intricate, many-layered place, and the more we see of it, the more we’ll put back into it.

It’s a good feeling to have.

Rob

Alias Mr. Happy

I'm thinking of nicknaming my penis "Professor X."

He's bald, he puts ideas in my head, and he can't get around on his own.

Rob

I ate WHAT?

After a tasty lunch, I discovered that the potato salad I ate "cost" the same amount of points as a six-pack of beer.

Good think I loved that potato salad (my mom's left over from last week's wedding weekend*)... but the drunk in me is still kicking myself. (I did have a beer, too, thankfully. Otherwise it might have been too much to bear.)

Rob

*And yes, that was its last hurrah. Safety first!

Password

A while back, I needed to change a password for a program I was running. I'd been watching a lot of Lost, so the name Desmond popped into my head. This program wants a number included as well, so I added 22.

It wasn't until a couple of weeks later that I realized I'd been using Desmond Tutu as my password!

Rob

Devil May Care

My Justice League Unlimited post will have to wait. Last night and today, I’ve been keeping tabs on a couple of conversations that have hit a nerve.

Some people are up in arms about the preview of the upcoming Daredevil issue in which Daredevil’s wife Milla is attacked in their apartment by an enraged supervillain, the Gladiator.

Here’s the relevant portion of the text. You can see the preview here.

Karen Page. Elektra. All the women Matt Murdock has loved have been violently taken from him, victims of unspeakable tragedies and in Daredevil #98, his wife Milla Donovan may be next! The Gladiator has returned, more enraged and brutal than ever, with one purpose in mind: making Matt Murdock suffer! With the defender of Hell’s Kitchen in police custody and the Gladiator alone with a terrified Milla, things aren’t looking good for the wife of Daredevil…and history isn’t on her side either. The penultimate chapter of “To The Devil, His Due” will have huge ramifications for Daredevil as he races towards the milestone Daredevil #100.

...

With his wife’s life in peril and seemingly no way to reach her, Daredevil may be headed for the worst day in life. One thing’s for sure—by the end of this issue, no one’s going to be the same!

People are upset about this for two reasons:

1) The marketing is playing up on the old “this woman might die!” trope.
2) The preview shows that Milla is in her underwear while being stalked. (What’s probably the most relevant page of the preview is at right.)

All well and good. The marketing copy’s not particularly original, and a bit smug about the way it dangles Milla’s potential death in front of the customer. And, well, she is in her underwear. (Although I don’t think Michael Lark’s art is salacious in the least. It’s possibly a bit lurid… but if there’s a comic out there where a guy who dresses up like a devil fights a guy with buzzsaws on his wrists in the big bad city that isn’t lurid, I don’t want to see it. Lurid’s part of the show, and it belongs in Daredevil, just like it has no business in Superman.)

But what gets my goat – or as Ed Anger would say, what gets me pig-biting mad – is when people get angry that she’s put in that sort of jeopardy in the first place.

She’s a supporting character. That’s what she’s there for.

We know Daredevil can’t be that vulnerable. It’s his book, and he’s a Marvel franchise. Captain America, currently dead, isn’t that vulnerable. He’ll be back in one form or another, and it’s not just because Marvel needs to keep the trademark alive. It’s because he’s a hero, and if he’s dead for part of the story, that’s only because the story isn’t over yet. So it’s no use threatening Daredevil in the solicitation – he can’t die. He can only change, and even that doesn’t happen very often.

Which is why supporting characters exist. They’re the ones to threaten if you want to sell more issues. They can be killed, because their death doesn’t end the story, but if done well it could change the hero, and give the readers something new for a while. It’s not their only job – a good supporting character also brings exposition, story springboards, complications and character development to the table. But a heightened sense of danger is one of their most important functions, and here Brubaker and Lark are doing a top-notch job with her.

Here’s what Brubaker had to say on the Newsarama thread about the underwear choice.

Also, when I wrote the script, she was in a nightgown. But Michael thought, and rightly so, that being in her underwear was both more vulnerable, and reminisent of the scene where she first met Bullseye.

Both of those are good reasons to dress her that way. It can go horribly wrong. Her state of undress can distract from the telling and reading of the story, rather than heightening it. If she were drawn like Jim Lee’s Vicki Vale in All-Star Batman & Robin #1 (at left), it certainly would have detracted from the story. But Lark’s too good for that. His depiction of Milla doesn’t excite a male reader – it worries them. Her vulnerability comes across on the page, whereas Vicki just looks like a lingerie model. Yes, this sort of thing has been done poorly many times before – but that’s no reason to jump on someone who’s doing it well.

For the record, I don’t think Milla is going to die. She’s too good a supporting character to throw away like that, and Brubaker’s smart enough to know it. Daredevil has a small enough supporting cast as it is, and she pulls her weight. Here's how:

She’s a love interest, but interestingly, she’s not the love of Daredevil’s life. That distinction belongs to the deceased Karen Page, who Matt keeps getting reminded of despite his marriage. Brubaker clearly likes playing with that idea – so why would he throw that away when he can do more with it. There’s great guilt potential here.

She’s blind. Daredevil is also blind, but he uses his superpowers to “see,” which is something of a cheat. So Milla’s presence reminds us of Matt’s blindness – allowing for that crucial bit of exposition for new readers – as well as grounding his disability in reality. (This could be a plus or a minus, depending on how well it's handled, but I see it as a plus.)

We don’t know a whole lot about her, since they married in a year that former writer Brian Bendis fast-forwarded through. There’s a load of storytelling possibilities there waiting to be dreamed up.

I don’t know what’s going to happen next. (I don’t even know what happened in the last few issues, since I read the book in trade paperback collections.) But I think a smart writer would consider the story possibilities in Milla. He’d weigh them against writing her death (which, as the solicitation notes, has been done before with other characters) and a Daredevil’s Revenge story (again, done before. Ho hum.) and go with the outcome that excited him most. I know which one I’d choose. And I'm confident a writer as good as Brubaker is has little interest in treading over the same old paths when there's new ground to be broken.

Have a little faith in the Devil.

Rob

Old, I Am.

Not only has my youth passed, but the era of nostalgia for the days of my youth has passed on as well. The clear signal is the Transformers movie, based on toys and a cartoon I was old enough to know were crap when they first came out.

"I'm a car! But I turn into a big steaming turd!"

Puh-leeze.

If you can't bring me a Johnny Sokko movie, your giant robots don't impress me.

Rob

He's Lump! He's Lump! He's Lump!

Weighed in yesterday, after a week that included a rehearsal dinner, a wedding*, and crawfish fest. Up 2.2 pounds. Much of that was sandal weight, though -- I usually take my shoes off to weigh in, and last night was the first time I wore sandals. Since my feet would have been bare without them, I kept them on. (Weighed them at home: 1 pound, 14.5 ounces.)

So I gained, but not too much. But sometime at the end of the summer I'm going to have a great week, simply by virtue of wearing socks again.

Rob

*Five crabcake night, woo-hoo! People just kept giving me crabs! (Maybe I should put that another way...) I have never in my life turned down a crab cake -- and the day I do, you might as well start digging a hole for me. I realize this is a broad generalization, but crab cakes are the best food anywhere. I shall brook no argument on this.

Choi at the Bat

I’m sure they’ll fix this on the main site, so I’m pasting a bit of it here for posterity. In the middle of Erica Harbatkin's coverage of the Edison election results in the Home News Tribune (mayor Jun Choi’s handpicked slate of newcomers won), something strange happens. Take a look:

EDISON — Mayor Jun Choi's slate of candidates won the Democratic council primary on Tuesday, giving the mayor control of the township's divided Democratic party.

Choi's Edison Democratic Party slate, which was full of political newcomers handpicked by the mayor, beat out the incumbents on the council and a third ticket headed by former Councilman Bill Stephens for the Democratic Party line in the November General Election.

The winning slate is composed of Washington Elementary School Principal AnnMarie Griffin-Ussak; former Edison boys baseball coach Wayne Mascola; Edison Township Education Foundation founder and President Melissa Perilstein; and Sudhanshu Prasad, an internal-medicine specialist and former chairman of JFK Medical Center's Department of Medicine.

Official numbers were not available Tuesday night because District 26 had a zero tally sheet, but results without those numbers had Griffin-Ussak with 3,607 votes, Perilstein with 3,486, Prasad with 3,500 and Mascola with 3,389.

"We started this movement two years ago and onto the diamond for the top of the sixth. But Randolph, which was down to its final strike in the sectional semifinal on May 29 and came-from-behind to win the sectional final, turned four hits, including a triple and two doubles, two walks and an Edison error into six runs.

HUH?

I follow American politics, so I’m no stranger to the labored sports metaphor. But it’s usually not this long. Sure, there’s a baseball coach among the winners, but Jack Kemp didn’t talk about football this much.

Let’s continue, shall we?

Senior catcher Rob Kral, who homered four times in Friday's sectional final, hit a grand slam in the top of the seventh for Randolph (23-7) to conclude the scoring. Winning pitcher Steve Zavala (13-1) homered in the first at bat of the game and went 3-for-4 with four runs and three RBIs to help fuel the Morris County school's 14-hit attack…

And it goes on for three more paragraphs, before resuming the election coverage.

Um… go Eagles? And congratulations, councilmen-elect?

I’d prefer a few more checks and balances in my soup, but I have hope that Mayor Choi and his handpicked team of councilmen govern responsibly, and don’t run on a pop fly unless there are already two outs.

Rob

UPDATE: As expected, the story has been fixed.

Blocked

..not so much on what to post (although if I could get my scanner to work, I've got a post on the Johnny DC Justice League Unlimited title in the works), but on a small reorganization. I have all my friend's websites (aside from two I can think of, anyway... both of which may show up later) listed under Archie's Pals and Gals. (Those who aren't in the crypt, anyway -- and welcome back Greg!) I'm thinking of breaking it off into two separate groups: one for blogs and one for other sites, professional or otherwise.

Problem is, I can't think of a comics-orientiented term that'd let you all know that they're my friends, and they're... I dunno... ready for action?

Hold on -- I just got it (and I can't believe I didn't think of it before). They've been here all along, but everyone give a warm welcome to the Super Friends!

Right in front of my face, I swear. How'd I miss that one?

Rob

Construction Alert

I'm reading Last Chance to See by Douglas Adams and Mark Carwardine* -- the Douglas Adams book even some Hitchhiker's Guide fans don't know about -- and I came across a sentence construction I really liked. Or rather, a verb usage. Adams writes about an Indonesian travel agent:

"He then soothed at us a great deal..."

I really like the idea that you can soothe at someone. The "at" implies that it's unsuccessful -- no soothing was actually done. An attempted soothe.

The book itself is entertaining so far. Without the goofy science fiction plot, Douglas Adams's writing style is remarkably similar to Bill Bryson's.

Rob

*Hey Tom! I'm finally reading it! Maybe one day you'll get it back!

Why I Love Dr. John

Had a great day at Crawfish Fest yesterday – we go to see terrific performances by Papa Mali, John Cleary and the incredibly energetic Cowboy Mouth (I might post on them separately), among others. Ate some boiled crawfish and bread pudding and alligator sausage, too. And some very nice chicken and sausage jambalaya, come to think of it. Good stuff, all around.

The day was capped off by a performance by Dr. John. He played one of my favorites from his repertoire: “I Walk On Gilded Splinters,” a creepy voodoo shuffle that has a one-line chorus that may be the most chilling question in music ever: “Did I murder?” The way he cries that, it’s like he has no idea what happened the night before, only that he’s woken up with blood on his clothes and strange half-memories in his head.

(I should note that no lyrics site lists this line as the actual lyrics of the song, but that’s what they mean to me. Many sites say the line is “Till I burn up,” although one says “Till I murder” and another, inexplicably, says “Ti Alberta,” whatever that means. And apparently both Cher and Widespread Panic has covered the song – as did Papa Mali, who played a haunting version at yesterday’s show. Regardless, I like the lyrics I hear better than any I’ve read.)

Here’s a verse, just to give you a sample of the fever-dream lyrics:

I roll out my coffin
Drink poison in my chalice
Pride begins to fade
And you all feel my malice
Put gris-gris on your doorstep
And soon you be in the gutter
Melt your heart like butter,
An-an-and I can make you stutter

(I should also probably note that the line, “Put gris-gris on your doorstep” was one I heard for a while as “Put gravy on your doorstep,” so take whatever I say with a grain of salt… although doorstep gravy could be slippery and dangerous.)

We were about 50 yards back from the stage, so I watched a bit with our binoculars, and noticed that there was a skull on Dr. John’s piano. Also, there was something that looked like a big crab claw. Okaaaaay…

So imagine my surprise when he stands up and puts the crab claw on like a mitten, and starts playing it by scraping a stick against it. Meanwhile, in the same hand as the stick, he’s shaking a rattle that looks to me like it’s a bunch of mussel shells attached on a loop. The man puts seafood in his music, for cryin’ out loud. It’s weird as hell, but tell me that’s not cool.

Rob

(One more thing: It was starting to rain before his encore, but he came out and played anyway, saying, "You ain't gonna get more wet than what you already got," and then, reacting to the applause, "God bless every one'a you crazy muthafuckas." He knows how to make a fan feel appreciated.)

Tragedy

My mom just dumped my gin down the sink.

How much more csn one man bear?

UPDATE: In retrospect, it was probably for the best. But still: Just one typo!

Rob

Brother = Married

Me = tipsy.

More later... but congratulations Michelle and Eddie!

Rob

More Gone Now

Weighed in yesterday, too. Lost another 0.8 pounds -- not bad for a week that included a mozzerella-stuffed hamburger!

I'm down 21.4 pounds, now. I'm vanishing a little bit at a time.

Rob

Nillz has a Question

I just got a comment from a reader named Nillz, regarding the music used in the puppetry act I linked to way back when. (And if you haven't seen it, it really is worth checking out.)

does anyone know what music is used in this act. i have the music from "the mission" but im looking for the piece that is played when he moves his thumb in like a plucking motion.

Can anyone help Nillz out? I can’t see video at work, and will likely not be able to hear it before the weekend is out because of brother E’s wedding festivities. Post your thoughts here or in the old link -- I'll be checking both. (Nillz may only be checking the original, though.)

Rob

Ulp!

DC just released this teaser in connection with its Countdown event:



Now, aside from the underlying message, I like the image a lot. It's extremely well-drawn, and it's reminiscent of this image from the cover of The Flash 174, by Carmine Infantino. I could have sworn he or other Flash artists went back to this well a few other times, but I can't find anything else; nor can I find an image from Will Eisner's Spirit that I've heard it's based on, although I think it's more likely that it's simply Eisneresque in the way it brings the logo into the action.



And it certainly keeps with the tradition that "in every Crisis, a little Flash must fall." How this got to be a tradition, I don't know. Barry Allen died in one Crisis, and when the next one rolls around, suddenly Wally's a target? And now, Countdown may kick into high gear with Barry's grandson's Bart's death.

At least, he's the only Flash currently running around in that uniform right now. Wally's MIA (not dead, at least) and, well, Barry's still dead. And the original, Jay Garrick, never wore that uniform. So it looks like the folks at DC want us to believe that Bart is taking the golden treadmill to the pearly gates. Heck, the Rogues (always sticklers for detail) even shot up the "alive" part of the logo, just to drive the point home. (I bet that was Mirror Master. Always has to get in a little extra "dig.")

Then again, I've also heard a rumor that Bart actually is Barry Allen, somehow de-aged (and then re-aged? it makes my head hurt) and sent through time. I don't beleive that for a second. As a friend at work said of the idea: "It reeks of Spider-Clone." And no one wants to make their cologne Spider-Clone.

But DC pretty clearly wants to do something to shake Flash up. At least they recognize there's a problem. When the comic was relaunched last year with Bart at the helm, it and Wonder Woman were its highest-profile debuts that month. But the first issue was disappointing, and by the second issue it became abundantly clear that the writers, Bilson and DeMeo, were doing a lousy job... which was just as well, because artist Ken Lashley couldn't draw his way out of a paper bag. (Incidentally, I haven't seen much of his art for around a year, now. I suspect he's in a paper bag.)

And sales plummeted.

DC acted as swiftly as they could, replacing Bilson and DeMeo with Marc Guggenheim, who's been turning in entertaining scripts for the past few months, and replacing Lashley with Tony Daniel (an aritst I'm not crazy about, but he's mastered the lunchbag escape at least). So the title seems to be getting its mojo back. But DC needs to get the attention of all the readers that fled the book in the first place. (I was nearly one of them, by the way--and I've bought every issue of Flash I could get my hands on since 1977. So that's saying something.)

I hope, whoever they kill (if they kill anyone), it's a good story, worthy of the character. While I haven't been happy with his stint as Flash, I've always liked Bart Allen as Impulse and, later, Kid Flash. To die after only a few months as Flash would be an ignominious end. He deserves something better than a shot in the back.

We, also, deserve better. We've been given watered-down Flash stories for the past year or so. But that's not Bart's fault, and killing him won't make the stories any better. Unless the storytelling continues to improve, we'll be doing this all over again in 2009.

Rob

Best in the World

We have the best healthcare system in the world. Which is why I sat in a room for an hour to listen to someone offer incomprehensible series of letters (PPO, HMO, PCP!) in an attempt to explain how all of our medical lives are being turned upside down just because magazine was sold to another company. One woman is regularly taking a prescription that our new insurer doesn't cover. Others are worried about their children's checkups, or their wives' OB/GYN coverage. Probably three times more people than were in that room were affected by the change -- and those people were just a fraction of those in our company. All these people, all at once, with our lives disrupted. We have no power over this. None.

I'm not moving, so why should I change doctors? Especially since I did it six months ago when my original company decided to swap plans. Sorry, buddy -- The Company says so. Nothing we can do.

We're powerless. Thank god we live in America, where your employer decides the medical care you deserve. This is idiocy.

Best in the world my ass.

Rob

Race For Your Honor, Charlie Brown!

Rich at the Captain Comics boards gave me the heads-up to this little art project: adapting the Peanuts gang to manga.

(Frieda's kinda cute. That really freaks me out.)

UPDATE: Also from the boards, this time from the Baron: Recognize these kids?

Rob

I've been memed!

So, I’ve been memed. According to SharonGR (who heard it from Nordette, the Jersey Goddess), I’m supposed to come up with eight things most people don’t know about me. Problem is, post people reading this blog know an awful lot about me already – more than you want to, probably, but you can’t look away, like some car accident on the shoulder of the turnpike. (Jeez, I must be getting used to living in New Jersey. A few years ago I’d have said I-95.)

But judging by Sharon’s list, from which I knew, either explicitly or by inference, seven of the eight facts (kiwis? really?), I figure I don’t necessarily need to surprise my nearest and dearest. The rest of you, though – be ready for some schoolin’.

1) I’m a comics geek and a D&D geek. This doesn’t mean I’m a Star Wars geek or a Star Trek geek. Or a Stargate SG-9/Atlantis/Special Victims Unit geek. I know about some of that stuff, but id doesn't mean I *heart* it. (Okay, Star Wars broke my heart, and I ain't goin' back. The others... eh.) I’m pretty forgiving when it comes to comics (although I do have standards), but just because your TV or movie has a spaceship or time travel, doesn’t mean I’m gonna watch it. So far I’ve even passed on Battlestar Galactica, and everyone loves that.

2) If I could be reincarnated as any animal, it would be the sea otter. Swimmin’, tool-usin’, seafood-eatin’ and layin’ about. It should probably be on my coat of arms.

3) Speaking of which, this Venn diagram should probably appear somewhere on my family crest as well. At least for the guys:



4) While I’m not so much a Sci-Fi geek, there are certain types of movies that will grab my attention at any time: con artist movies and movies involving magic. Basically, anything with Ricky Jay in it. (I also have a weakness for prison escape movies, and can only think that some accident of scheduling has kept me from watching the TV show on Fox. I like stories where people, under very controlled situations, use what little resources they have to either break out or build a liveable life for themselves. Under this definition, Misery and Gattica both count as prison movies.)

5) Hot sauce makes weight loss possible. Without it, I’d never be able to eat the egg-white sandwich I have at the beginning of every workday. Let’s hear it for hot sauce!

6) I’m slowly turning into a clothes-horse. Every time I walk into Men’s Wearhouse, I need to pick up something new. For some reason, I still manage to look like a schlub 90 percent of the time. But one day this will change.

7) Last year I had the opportunity to shoot skeet with a 20-gauge Remington break-action shotgun. I had a terrific time, and am looking forward to trying again. Clay pigeons don’t break on their own, you know. They need us.

8) New Orleans and Philadelphia are my favorite cities in the world – but I’ve got plenty of love left for Vancouver, Baltimore, Quebec City, Galway, Paris, and yes, New York. Miami can kiss my ass.

And now, the eight people to tag with this meme. I’ll repeat a few of Sharon’s, since they’re my friends too. So, with all the solemnity of a Pokemon match:

Greg! I choose you!

VeeganMD! I choose you!

Drew! I choose you!

Rob or Brenda! I choose you!

Jeri! I choose you!

Travis! I choose you!

Ami! I choose you!

KTBuffy! I choose you!

Jim the Bastard! I choose you!

That’s nine (HA!). As Sharon said, don’t feel obligated to do this. But heck, I’d like to know more about y’all.

Rob

Statue Week: The End

The incredibly talented cartoonist J. Bone gets the last word on the Mary Jane statue brouhaha. It's been posted everywhere I go, but maybe not everywhere you go. So here you go:



And with that, statue week is over.

Have a great weekend.

Rob

Before Statue Week Concludes

I want to take the opportunity to link to a dumbass. I love this trainwreck of a blog: It’s like going to the monkey house and watching a chimp throw his own shit.

But the main reason for that link (and don’t bother reading to far, just get a general idea of the guy and move on) is so I can link to Ami Angelwings’ absolutely brilliant satire of the guy. (And be sure to check out Kalinka’s comment, below. It’s gold.)

If your child ever asks you, “Mom, Dad, why did God make morons?” now you know the answer: “So we can ridicule them, dear. Nighty-nite.”

Truly, we are blessed.

Rob

More Lost Speculation

My last post prompted my brother Tom to write to me with a possible explanation for Jack's father being alive: That it wasn't just a flash-forward, but also an alternate universe. The episode, he points out, was called "Through the Looking Glass," after all. (It was, however, also a flash forward, whatever universe it happened in. The name of the funeral home, Hoffs Drawlar, is an anagram fro Flash Forward.)

In fact, the idea of an alternate universe ties in with my own personal pet theory of the island -- that it's like Brigadoon, only appearing in our dimension for brief periods. Could it be that instead of being in Limbo when it's not here, it shifts between realities?

In a world where my brother writes to me, sci-fi/fantasy/comics geek that I am, to open my mind to the possibility of alternate universes, rather than the other way around, I'm willing to believe that anything's possible.

Rob

Lost Season Finale (Now Extra Spoilery!)

I'm sure I'm not the only one among us who watches this show, so here's a question: If the Jack sequences were flash-forwards, why does he refer to his father being alive and working at the hospital?

But mostly, if you feel like posting something about Lost, feel free to do it below.

UPDATE: I'm really impressed with the way Lost turned itself around this season. It had really been floundering for a direction, and then, suddenly, it found its footing again. With this episode, it delived the best season finale I've seen this season. (Yes, including Heroes, and even the wonderfully uncomfortable (and ultimately satisfying) finale to The Office.

Some more questions:

Who's in the casket? For a while I thought it was Jack himself. Now I'm starting to think it's Ben. (That is, assuming future Kate is with Sawyer.) Some folks think it's Michael.

Why isn't future Kate in jail?

Did only Jack, Kate and Casket leave the island, or have others?

If Naomi's boat people weren't sent by Penny, how did they know about Desmond?

And finally: GO, HURLEY!

What an excellent show.

Rob

Running in Place

Lost 2.8 pounds this week, which officially brings me to 20.6 pounds total -- exactly the amount I'd lost before losing focus and motivation the week before the trip to New Orleans. Essentially, the week's vacation from Weight Watchers in the Tastiest Place on Earth cost me two week's time after and one week before. After a month, I'm back on track.

Worth every second.

Rob

Stormed In

It wasn't yet a blurry night when we walked into Molly's, on Touluse Street off of Bourbon. We were just looking to have a drink or two and kill some time before heading into the Dungeon, next door.

It had been a good day. We'd had a great breakfast at a little place called the Coffee Pot, which was topped off by these little balls called callas cakes, a muffiny sort of thing made with rice and pecans and covered with powdered sugar. Then we went to Nicole's folks place in Baton Rouge and had a fantastic crawfish boil. They're monsters, but they're good little monsters! Then we did who knows what, eventually ending up at Molly's. For just a beer, and to stop and use the bathroom.

I'm not gonna kid you by saying anything about making a long story short -- this is a long story anyway. But I'll cut to the chase: We had more than a beer, or a couple of beers. We were having fun, and were in no hurry.

Somewhere along the line, Beth started talking to this guy named Tony, pictured below. Tony was a bartender at the Old Absinthe House, and he started suggesting drinks for Beth, which the bartender, Tom, happily made.

Here's what we know about Tony: He's a big sports fan, particularly of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. He talked to me about the Eagles for quite a bit; I tried to hold up my half of the conversation, but luckily, he had opinions enough for both of us. He was in the Navy, and had at one point fallen seven stories off a ladder and survived. (Some rookie had climbed the latter with oily shoes.) He had, if I remember correctly, two years of physical therapy to recover from the fall, one of which was so painful that he had to spend the year in isolation. It was a hell of a story.

(Maybe I should mention here that later in the week we stopped in to the Old Absinthe looking for Tony, and a bartender told us he'd been working there for four years, and had never heard of a Tony there. So maybe Tony wasn't being entirely upfront with us.)

He also mentioned that one lasting effect of the accident was that when he was sitting, he was most comfortable crossing his legs, which caused him to be hit on my no end of gay men. He warned us against going much further up Bourbon -- a block or so away was the gay section. "There are dicks flying everywhere," he said. We'd alread walked through it on our way to Lafitte's Blacksmith Shoppe, and we'd noticed no such dicks, flying or otherwise. It was actually pretty tame there. Nonetheless, we all had a good time talking to Tony.

Soon, a friend from the Absinthe named joined us. (He's the guy behind my gigantic, shiny scalp in the picture below.) Tony started ordering shots. They were of this Italian liquer called Tuaca, which is a mix of vanilla and citus flavors. It's delicious. I can't stress that enough. Delicious. The shots are often combined with cream and called "Tiger's Milk," but Tony prefered to use Bailey's, calling it "Tony the Tiger's Milk." Whatever you call it, it was an incredible drink. I don't know how many we had, but we killed the bottle.

(Incidentally, Tony the Tiger's Milk was a good example of Tony's bartending philosophy: Never add something that'll cut the alcohol content when there's an alternative that won't. He also prefers adding Bacardi Limon to Coronas instead of a lime wedge. That's how serious he is about the philosophy.)

Jason, a waiter, had found a phone number of someone named Jennifer in his sugar caddy. He called the number, and tried to get her to come to the bar. Sadly, she preferred to meet at a bar down the street called the Roundup. It's apparently a popular transexual bar. And yes, Jennifer fit right in there.

Somewhere around this point, Tony walked outside, took a look at the sky, and noticed the storm was almost on us. (Oh, yeah, there was a big one in the forecast. I'm not gonna go back and foreshadow it now. This is long enough as it is. But at one point, Jay took off so as to not get caught in it, leaving four of us behind.) Tony came back and said "You've got about fifteen minutes to get back to your hotel. You're either in or you're out." I ordered another drink. We were in.

Okay, back to the plot. It's raining, and Jason is going to run out to the Roundup to meet Jennifer. Kathy and Beth are happy to go with him, and out the door they run into the rain with a guy we've never seen before. This makes no real sense, but Jason seems like a nice guy, and he wanted company.

A few minutes later, and they're back. Jason found her--Kathy says she had a blouse cut down to here, and a bra that came to here (a little above the neckline), drawing as much attention as possible to her hard-won boobs. Jennifer gave Jason a quick look and said "I've never seen you before," dismissing him. So back to Molly's they ran. Poor Jason.

We liked him anyway.

At some point, we'd killed the Tuaca, and Jason moved us on to Jaegermeister. It's not a liquor I particularly like, but we had become a drinking club of sorts, Tony, Jason and I, so I joined in. And joined in. And joined in. (How many is that, three?) And joined in and joined in and joined in. That should do it.

(Interesting side note. Jaegermeister makes you throw up black, by the way.)

Eventually, Tony and Jason left. Tom the bartender looked out the door, and realized Jason had left Tony holding himself up against a lamppost. A while later he was gone. (That's the reason we went looking for Tony at the Old Absinthe later on. We wanted to know if he survived.)

Tom decided to close up the bar. He called a cab for another couple, but they took off without it showing up, so he said the four of us could have it if it did. It never turned up. Tom suggested we could make it most of the way to our hotel under balconies and not get too wet.

We ordered four waters for the road to ward off the next day's hangover. (That worked!) I tried to give Tom a couple bucks as a tip, but he handed them back to me: "You've already taken care of me, believe me." What a guy.

Here's Tom. Lord knows how much I tipped the man.

Now, on our way back we managed to navigate under the balconies pretty well, and stayed fairly dry. I, however, was having trouble keeping my pants up. I was wearing shorts I'd bought the year before, and they were comfortable then. After a couple months of dieting, well...let's just say there were suspension problems.

At some point in the hotel lobby, just before stepping into the elevator, my will to hold my pants up just gave out. Well, I was still holding them up -- I was just holding them in my hand.

My finest moment.

Kathy took a picture of the clock to commemorate our night out, and to record how long we'd been out there doing Bacchus' work. Four oh eight a.m.


Sleep soundly, now.

Rob

Say "Ahhh..."

Walking to work, I passed a guy in what looked some sort of doctor's scrubs. I noticed a patch above his shirt pocket. It read "Orgasm Research."

Made me laugh.

Rob

Knee-Deep in the Suds

Now that I've jumped into the washing machine, I might as well stick around for the spin cycle. I'm not the only one.

Like practically everyone else in the blogosphere (honestly, I’m surprised Atrios hasn’t weighed in by now), Heidi at the BEAT has more to say about the MJ Laundry statue:

Having worked at Disney for nearly a decade, I can assure you that there is a rich fantasy market for pictures of Disney characters doing very very naughty things. In fact, I used to get some of them in the mail. The Marvel statue of Mary Jane isn’t quite as bad as Disney suddenly leeching coin off this crowd by making statues of naked Pocahontas and Mulan getting it on, but it’s definitely playing to the same kind of mindset. I mean, yeah, Disney WOULD do such a thing to make money if they could get away with it, but theirimage and their branding is too strong to allow it.

Marvel and DC don’t have brands that strong. Batman and Spider-Man appeal to young boysbut that doesn’t stop them from doing appalling things in various muti-verse or variant takes.

I think Heidi puts her finger on the undercurrent of a lot of the arguments against this statue. Above the fold, most anti-statue arguments lead with how the depiction, pose and activity are demeaning to women, and they turn off Spider-Man’s many female fans (most gained via the movies). Which is all well and good, and I think has at least the element of truth to it. Undoubtedly, a lot of fans don’t like the statue, and a percentage of them might look askance at other Spidey projects in the future. The only thing questionable in my mind is the quantity of those female fans – and the quantity of fans (male and female) whose buying habits would change because of this statue. And I don’t think there are many people in the conversation qualified to answer more than “Who knows?” to that question. And in terms of sheer dollars and cents, that’s probably not enough information to actupon.

I don’t know for sure whether Marvel’s publisher Dan Buckley or DC’s Paul Levitz really care about the depiction of women in their comics. Every interview I’ve ever read with Levitz (as well as his body of work writing Legion of Super-Heroes and other titles) leads me to believe he’s a decent, thoughtful man. I don’t think he makes decisions viscerally or impulsively; I get the impression he considers each move he makes. But I’m a complete outsider, and I could be 100 percent off-base about that. And I don’t really have a feeling for Buckley’s character at all.

But my guess is, whatever their personal feelings are, they probably have to swallow some of it to do their job effectively. Each man is under pressure to have their division perform, and sometimes that means going against their own personal grain. Levitz has mentioned in interviews that he didn’t enjoy Preacher, but he felt it was worthwhile for DC to publish it anyway, under its Vertigo imprint. For every one of these decisions he talks about to the press, there are probably dozens he keeps quiet.

And heck, I think I’m rambling. So let me cut to the chase. I think Levitz or Buckley could agree 100 percent with every critique of the statue (and to pull an example from DC, Michael Turner’s heinous cover of Justice League of America #10), and still not necessarily act on it. Because there’s not really an entrenched corporate mechanism to address these kinds of complaints.

But Heidi says it a different way: The MJ Statue dilutes the Spider-Man brand. The Power Girl cover dilutes the JLA brand. It’s the reason the DC and Marvel brands aren’t as strong as the Disney brand – because there’s not as stringent a control to make sure the characters look and act “on model.” This isn’t always bad – we’d almost surely never have gotten Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns with more stringent brand control. But at the same time, we wouldn’t be getting All-Star Batman and Robin now, so maybe it’s a wash. Too-strict brand control keeps characters frombeing able to offer true surprise to adult audience, and I’m part of the adult audience these companies cultivate. But without some sort of quality control, the products begin pandering to the lowest common denominator, and visiting that well too frequently can do lasting damage – not just among those who were initially offended, but among those who fail to get enjoyment out of the current, crasser content. Offense isn’t the only way to drive customers away.

It’s an argument that doesn’t try to appeal to their personal sensibilities; instead, it speaks to the nature of their jobs, as caretakers of these characters and brands. In that sense, the argument at least might be a more compelling tack.

Rob

From the Crypt

It was bound to happen -- someone has risen from the Crypt!

VeeganMD has restarted his blog (on blogger instead of livejournal, so that's a plus), and it's high time I made not of it here. So I've hereby moved his link from Tales From the Crypt to Archie's Pals and Gals. And the Crypt Keeper shakes his gnarled fist...

Welcome back, Veeg.

Rob

Like a Polaroid Picture

A New Orleans story is coming tomorrow. For now, enjoy Paul shakin' it in some Bourbon Street daquiri bar.



Rob

Statuestory

So, for the past week, there’s been this big brouhaha over a statue. It’s Spider-Man’s girlfriend/wife (depending on which stories you’re following) Mary Jane washing his Spider-suit in a “sexy” pose. And man, has it caused an uproar. What started out as complaints in blog posts and livejournal entries made its way to Boing Boing, Pandagon, The New York Post and other outlets. People complained that the statue was sexist, and then others complained that the complainers have no sense of humor and no business telling people what they should and should not buy. I’m simplifying things quite a bit, but in this past week of reading comics blogs, I’ve spent a lot of time ducking as one side threw brickbats at the other. (What’s a brickbat, anyway? I doubt they’re MLB-regulation.)

And all I could think, looking at the statue, is:

Man, that thing is ugly.

And I couldn’t understand it. It’s based on a design by Adam Hughes. Hughes is a terrific artist, who’s talented enough to draw whatever he cares to. Whatever he wants you to see, you’ll see it. Granted, his art often tends toward cheesecake, but it’s the good kind of cheesecake. No empty calories, no porny expressions, none of that stuff. He’s the Vargas of comics.

And he designed this statue. So why is it so goddamned ugly?

I have to put it down to a sculptor who just doesn’t share Hughes’ talent. Because (thanks to That Slow Redheaded Kid) I’ve finally seen the drawing Hughes did as a concept:

It just has so much more personality and verve than the statue itself. MJ’s having fun here. She’s in on the joke. Hell, she’s making the joke. But as for the statue, it seems to me that she is the joke. In the drawing, she has a personality. In the statue, she's a prop.

I dunno. I see a difference here, and it really does come down to subtlety and talent. Maybe that’s just me.

Rob

Baw-BAWK!

This took me a minute:

In a heated exchange with fellow Republicans on the immigration bill, John McCain apparently dropped the F-bomb and used "a curse word associated with chickens," according to Paul Kane of the Washington Post.

Naturally, I started trying to decode the fowl language. My first thought was, er... "chicken lover," as they put it on South Park. But that seemed over the top, even for McCain. Hell, it's over the top even for the Vice President "Go Fuck Yourself" Cheney--and he shot a man in the face. Because he thought he was a bird.

Then I wondered: Do chickens curse? If so, how can we tell? We'll have to wash their beaks out with soap, but considering the fate that lies a little down the road for them, that's hardly a deterrent. "Soap me all you want, beeyotch! I'm already on death row! Baw-BAWK!"

Then I realized: McCain called something or someone chickenshit. As a noun or an adjective, chickenshit does fine work in the derision business.

Sometimes I wish newspapers weren't so chickenshit about quoting people verbatim. But if they were, I wouldn't get to play this little game now and then.

Rob
(Via TPM)

R.I.P., Lloyd Alexander

I just read on The BEAT that another of my favorite writers has died.

Lloyd Alexander was the first writer I ever met. He’s a Philadelphian, which astounded me. I didn’t know where writers were supposed to be from, but “around the corner” was not anywhere near my range of guesses. (“England” and “California” were probably the top two.) For his Chronicles of Prydain series, he used and transformed Welsh mythology into an engaging – hell, why stop there? enveloping, enrapturing, empowering and exhilarating – series about how a boy who begins so lowly and so hungry for a title that he’s named “Assistant Pig-Keeper” becomes the lynchpin in a grand battle between good and evil. The books were meant for younger readers than Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, and for that they spoke to me much more clearly and profoundly than Tolkien ever did.

Sometime when I was in my tweens, in a decade before they were called “tweens”, Mr. Alexander made an appearance at Gene’s Books in Broomall. So, from a staging area about a mile or so up the road, my friend Tim and I rode our bikes—no, I take that back, we walked—to the bookstore to meet the man. I don’t remember if he did a reading, or if he made any sort of presentation. I just remember shaking his hand and telling him how much I liked his books, getting a couple of my paperbacks signed, and getting a mimeographed sheet of paper with pronunciation guides for all of the characters in the series. I can’t tell you how much it thrilled me – how much it thrills me even today – to find out for certain that I was pronouncing the main character’s name wrong. I’d been pronouncing Taran “ta-RAHN”, when the sheet told me to say it “TAH-ran.” I’ve stopped reading more than a handful of fantasy and science fiction books simply because there were too many names I couldn’t pronounce, so I appreciated this gesture maybe more than most.

The characters in the books always struck me as the perfect archetypes. Dallben, the wise old sage. Gwydion, the noble warrior, an impossible ideal. Taran, the bullheaded and perhaps a bit whiny kid, who honest-to-god grows up during the course of the series. Eilonwy, the somewhat full-of-herself princess who’s more friend than love interest. Gurgi, a clumsy, foolish, always-hungry animal-man. And Ffleuddur Fflam.

Ffleuddur Fflam was the bard of the series, a spinner of tall tales who was cursed so that his harp strings would always break whenever he told a lie. Anyone who’s ever played D&D with me can probably guess how much this character captured my imagination.

What especially impressed me about the books was that, as they progressed, the characters grew and changed. This was especially evident in Taran, but his friends all revealed new facets to their personalities as well. By the end of the final book, The High King, they feel like friends I’d known a long time—and had even missed, given their absence from a large part of the fourth book, Taran Wanderer.

I hadn’t meant to write so much about Lloyd Alexander and these books. But they thrilled me many times when I was younger, and I remember reading them again during a summer home from college, and being impressed as a near-adult with how wise they were, and in such simple terms. I think it’s probably time to revisit them, and see what I think now.

Rest in peace, Mr. Alexander. Thank you so much.

Rob

Phrase of the Week!

...from about a month ago, actually.

Kathy & I are finally getting around to watching some Tivoed eps of The Amazing Race, and in the most recent one, a boyfriend-girlfriend team (I don't remember their names, and I can't go to the website to check or I'll find out who won) got yeilded* by the Beauty Queens (Dustin and...I'm drawing a blank). They feel betrayed by them, like the BQs are cheating somehow -- and for that matter, the blondies were shown feeling really guilty about yielding them because they like them (I have no idea why), but felt they were the strongest team.

(*A Yield is when one team can choose stop another team in its tracks for a certain period of time -- I think it's a half hour.)

So, feeling all betrayed and such, the girlfriend wonders why the BQs would do such a thing. (For a million dollars. Cripes!) And her boyfriend (pretty much a constant jerk) has the answer: "They're hookers. They're dirty pirate hookers."

And by introducing the phrase "dirty pirate hookers" into my lexicon, jerkboy has justified his existence. This post is me justifying mine.

UPDATE: More fun with dirty pirate hookers.

Rob

At the Heart of Every House

I spent a good deal of my twenties going to see one band, week in and weekout – a gloriously skewed pop/rock/jam/folk/reggae combo called Neo Pseudo.They had an amzing hold over the room, and could get and keep me dancinglike no band I’ve ever seen before or since. They played at a number of differentplaces in Philly, notably Casa Mexicana in Manayunk and the North Star Bar,although I remember an amazing show at the Tin Angel with Beth Williams aswell. (NP’s drummer, Dave Biddison, still plays with Bet.) It's been toolong since I've heard them.

Anyhow, it occurred to me recently thatone of the lead singers, Mike Biddison, was also a carpenter and visual artist, and I wondered if any of his work was online. So I did some searching. And strangely enough, the first thing I found wasn’t his website, but a step-by-step project he did for a show on HGTV.

Then I found his website, woodsunarts.com. It’s good to see that he retains the style and sense of whimsy that I alwaysdug about his music. And he’s still in the area, too.

I remember, years ago, looking at some of his and his wife’s art – particularly a semi-abstract painting of a mermaid that really floored me – and wondering where the hellI could put it. Now, living in a house of my own, I should really take a second look one of these days. Although with the semi-finished or soon-to-be-redonestate of our various rooms, the question remains… where could we put it?But I’m a lot more motivated to find an answer this time.

Rob

Erasing the Damage

I dropped 1.4 pounds at my weigh-in last night, almost comletely getting rid of the 1.6 I gained in New Orleans (only that half-mufflatta I split with Jay at Napoleon House to go!). Still there's the 2.6 I gained the week before the trip, as I was easing into vacation mode and slacking right and left. But I'm back on track now! The magic of sushi makes me thin!

Rob

Brass Ones

Still not posting much text, but here's some blurry footage of a brass band Jay & I saw on Frenchmen Street last Monday night. (We'd gone to see a reggae band called 007, who were quite a bit of fun, and more on the night later.) They really kicked it up, and had a whole mess o' people gathered around them, dancing and dodging cabs. There's not much to see here, but I dig the sound.



And here are a couple photos I shot:

A little wobbly, but I was drinking and hanging off a lamppost at the time. You should see the ones Jay shot. Oh wait--here's one:

Clearly, I wasn't drinking enough. But the night was young.

Rob

Achoo.

Sorry I'm not getting to these New Orleans posts as quickly as I'd like. Allergies are particularly bad right now. (As I was blowing my nose, my wife just gave me the nickname "Honky McSnotsalot," so that should give you some idea.) But more soon, I promise.

Rob

Saturday Night In the Boom Boom Room

Jumping ahead…

One night, after a great dinner at the Grapevine (in which I had a HUGE pork chop with apricot sauce over a sweet potato and wild boar sausage(!) hash), four of us walked on down to Frenchman street to catch some music. For those of you unfamiliar with New Orleans, Bourbon Street is the street that gets all the press (and the flashing, and the tourists, etc.), but to my knowledge, Frenchman Street has the best concentration of bars to actually see decent music. We walked up and down the two block stretch, and had the choice of seeing Marva Wright, Anders Osbourne, the Papa Mali Trio, Trombone Shorty, and some others, all in packed bars, all sounding great from outside.

The packed bars were a problem. After several days of Jazzfest, and with more walking to come, Beth’s and Kathy’s feet were killing them. They didn’t want to pay a $20 cover just to stand for a few songs before their feet finally gave out, dragging us all home $80 poorer, all told. So after much discussion about whether they’d be safe on their own and whether they knew the way home, they took off, leaving Paul and me on Frenchmen.

We walked around a bit more, evaluating our choices, eventually settling on Ray’s Boom Boom Room, which no longer had Marva Wright onstage, instead featuring David Batistse and the Gladiators. And, at the moment we walked in, John Legend’s drummer, whose name I wish I could find, because he was throwing it into the skins like no one I’ve ever seen. Amazing stuff.

Not that the rest of the band were slouches, either. We walked in about a half hour before the set was scheduled to end (only paying half cover, boo-yah!), but got to enjoy more than an hour of music just the same, including club owner Ray singing “Cruisin’” and an especially nice “Let’s Get it On,” and a singer named Karen K. (or Kaye) singing “Sweet Love” and one more tune that was even better, but which my poor soaked memory can’t quite recall. Meanwhile David Batiste’s band kept it going and going.

In the crowd was an old guy, with maybe one tooth in his head for every decade he was alive. (That’s being generous.) But man, what this guy lacked in choppers, he made up in game. Women loved him. At one point, one lady about a third his age was shaking it right in front of him, all for him. He took out a handkerchief and started mopping his brow as he watched. Then, he unfolded it and started fanning her, as if to cool her off. She kept going and going, to the point where he fished inside his shirt and pulled out a stethoscope. He put the buds in his ears and checked his heart rate. He had a whole routine worked out, and it was a delight to watch. (The shimmying was nice, too.)

Eventually, the band closed the night, and Paul and I took off up Decatur Street, vaguely heading toward our hotel. I’ll pick this up later, but don’t think the night ended there…

Rob

Cookin' in the Kitchen

We started the week with dinner at K-Paul's Kitchen, Paul Prudhomme's restaurant on Chartres street. I had pan-friend rabbit with shrimp and pasta. Good food -- but it was in some ways eclipsed by the jazz band that marched through the restaurant, including the open kitchen. Here's some video that Kathy caught of the event.



Rob

Coming Soon

Stories, pictures and video from the Big Easy, including a Jazzfest music report; a Jazzfest food report; How We Got Rained Into a Bar all Night, and the Pain and Pantslessness That Resulted; Why Paul Should Appear on the Mexican Dancing With the Stars; A Late-Night-Encounter With Loose Marbles; A Dorky Blunder; Jammin’ In The Kitchen at K-Paul’s; A Face Full of Mud; and How I Wound Up on Bourbon Street in My Pajamas.

All this and more, coming up at Laughing at the Pieces. Stay tuned.

Rob

Checking In

I'm back, and still exhausted from a vacation filled with food, drink and music. I'll be blogging again soon. But for now, sleep before midnight. What a novelty!

Rob

That's it.

I'm off to Jazzfest. See you in a week. Here's a little Taj Mahal to entertain you while I'm gone.



Rob

Just Allright With Me

I’m going to hell for even linking to this. But who doesn’t like sexy dentists and hot dogs on a stick?

Rob

Congratulations!

It was four years ago today that we won the war in Iraq.

Mission Accomplished! So glad that's over.

UPDATE: Aaaand... he's going for five. Or six. And after that, what does he care?

Rob

The Intruder

I want to get a few posts in before running off to vacation, but vacation prep is hectic, so we’ll see. But if I drop off the face of the blogosphere for a week, just know that it’s because I’m living it up at Jazzfest in New Orleans. Down the road, down the road, down the road, come-a junco partner…

Anyway, in training for New Orleans, I went to my brother’s bachelor party this weekend. Which was a great time, by the way, and if you can travel back in time and join us, please do.

We had one such traveler already. We spent the afternoon/evening at the Phillies game, either in the new stadium or out in the parking lot, tailgaiting next to our big yellow schoolbus. When the game was over, it was time to get on the bus and go to a strip club. It honestly took a lot of effort to get everyone on the bus – some guys were really wrapped up in a parking-lot “horseshoes” type game, where they’d throw colored washers at handmade box targets made out of 2-by-4s and PVC. It was pretty clever, granted… but it’s not generally what you consider the main attraction at a bachelor party. Getting the tailgaters onto the bus was like herding cats. Drunk, drunk cats.

But finally, we’re on our way. And some dude, drinking in the back of the bus, tosses his empty beer can out the bus window. He’s immediately leapt on (only figuratively) by a guy I’ll call Alpha Dog (it’s a bachelor party, names have been changed, etc…), who shouts “Yo, man, that is NOT COOL! We got a trash bag, we got a receptacle, you just don’t DO THAT!” And the can-tosser gives him this blurry look that says, “who the fuck are you?”

And suddenly, that’s the question of the moment, but from the other direction. We all know Alpha Dog, but who the hell is Tosser? It’s a big party, but no one knows him.

Turns out he’s some kid from Bonner (a local high school) who thought we were his crew, since we were on a similar bus and he was drunk out of his mind. (I don’t think he was still in high school – he looked a little old for that – but he probably was still hanging out with his old friends.) “You gotta take me back,” slurred Tosser.

“Sorry, kid,” said Alpha Dog. “You’re going to Day Dreams.”

I don’t really know what happened to Tosser after that. The club isn’t in the best neighborhood, but I think I saw someone arranging for him to get a cab. But hours later, after we loaded up on the bus (and let’s face it, we were loaded up on that bus!) and started the drive home, a couple of the guys said they saw Tosser stumbling down the road. Not that anyone was in any condition to know for sure – it could have been a fire hydrant, for all we knew.

Here’s to you, Tosser. Safe journey, dope.

Rob