What the fuck happened to me?

Growing up in Brooklyn we were eating Macaroni Junga-Junga and Frankfurter Soup because it was cheap and lasted the whole week. Buying quarter-waters by the case and drinking them until my teeth corroded. Beef jerky, fried pork chops, nestle crunch bars and a milk shake from the Mister Softee ice cream truck. A lucky day was when my pops treated me to a Vanilla Nutrament and a handful of jelly rings.

My lunchtime treat in high school was a hotdog smothered in cheese and barbeque sauce from the cart that used to park in front of Brooklyn College. If I didn’t skip out the school for lunch it was dollar hamburgers and chocolate milk from the cafeteria. It was around this time my mom learned how to make these kick-ass mozzarella sticks, she’d buy bulk cheese and breadcrumbs and make a hundred of them and freeze them only to have G and I polish them off over a day or two.

College was whatever the fuck I could steal from the cafeteria. Fluff and pasta were somehow incorporated into every meal. Pasta-pastamba-roots was my own little recipe – steak-um, pasta and marinara sauce, all fried up in a wok and served with parmesan cheese. One time I spilled tropical Kool-aid in it and instead of throwing it out I called it Tropasta-pastamba-roos.

When I first moved to DC we had jack-shit. Nothing. We didn’t even have an apartment for the first month and when we finally got one it took us another month to get a bed. Meals consisted of ramen noodles and chicken noodle soup. There were actually nights during that first month when we simply couldn’t afford to eat – no money in the bank, paycheck a day away, and you munch on some crackers and go to bed at seven because it’s easier to ignore the hunger when you’re sleeping.

But I went grocery shopping yesterday and halfway through unpacking the bag I realized I officially sold out – I officially got old. Organic beef jerky, goat gouda, Uncle Sam Cereal (full of flax, baby!), dried blueberries, organic blueberry waffles, uncooked sesame seed chicken, fruit salad, prepared chicken parmesan, Santa Fe Turkey breast, sunflower rye bread – every item in that bag was something that would cause my father to smack me with a pernil if he saw it.

This was a true crisis for me – I promptly went out and bought a package of Kraft singles at Safeway. I folded a slice into a stack of sixteen mini-pieces and ate them one at a time like I used to do as a kid. I repeated the fold-and-eat technique for about six slices of cheese. After watching LOST, I spent the rest of the evening in the bathroom doing Penny Press logic puzzles.

Sometimes you just can’t be a kid again, I guess.

Had an interesting phone call last night – hoping something amazing comes of it. Should have some more information by tonight, potentially on one more thing as well. Both really big things – huge. Like, bigger than big. I was talking to Josh last night and asked him to guess who may be interested in POSTCARDS – he wasn’t even remotely prepared for the response. I still don’t even believe it. I’ll leave it at that because, honestly, too good to be true which means there’s no fucking way that this is going to happen and I’m ok with that, I never expected this to even be an option. It’ll make for a fun story on the production blog one day, however.

How’s that for cryptic?

I think my email’s down, by the way – or at least not working all that well. Anyone try to email me over the last week and never get a response from me? I realize the whole “email isn’t working thing” is paranoia 90% of the time but I sent an email to myself and never got it, plus I was never notified of some message board posts – this is a really bad time to email to be acting-up.

I don’t have much to talk about today – if you’re dying to read something I wrote go check out my post over at the POSTCARDS Production Blog – all about the first time I pitched the project and what led up to it. I hope to announce my first team by the end of the week, by the way – there’re two teams I can 100% announce but I don’t think they’ll be huge surprises so I’m holding out to square things up with another team. Plus, if the things that may be coming together this week end up coming together – well, they’re the first announcements.

Sometimes it’s better to hold out, you know?

Anyway, just bouncing in for now. I’ll have something new on the POSTCARDS Production Blog tomorrow for your reading pleasure.

Villes of Brown, Postcards from the Hive, Lovin' Ma Country and Deez Nuts

Tomorrow is your last day to claim a free copy of Neil Kleid and Jake Allen’s Brownsville – please, go, post, read my review, get a copy of an amazing book.

_____________

There’s a new Hive going up shortly, I’ll link to it when it does (and here it is)– we start talking distribution and I start the column off with a bit of an announcement that ultimately leads people here. Good times are ahead, my friends. Good times.

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I watched DEAL OR NO DEAL from Monday night – I have an overwhelming fascination with that show. I would say it’s the only trashy show I watch except I can’t get enough 24 this season.

And Taylor Hicks is my American Idol.

Anyway, there was this cat on DEAL OR NO DEAL; dude came up to the stage with this Texas Flag Shirt, big ass belt-buckle, tight-ass Levi’s – I’m talking straight Texas Hick. He gets on the stage and Howie asks him to tell the audience a little bit about himself and he says, “My name’s blah, blah, blah. Wife, kids, blah. And I love my country.”

Now, look. Despite its faults, I love my country, too. I really do. I’ve been to other countries and with the exception of England I’ve never have this desire to live in any of them. When it comes down to it, I love America. I don’t really like our current policies, 50% of our population or Connecticut but despite its faults it’s a pretty good place to live 72% of the time. Despite my love for this country, I cannot fathom someone responding, “And I love my country,” when giving a little mini-bio about themselves.

It just doesn’t go anywhere, you know? You tell someone you like baseball and they ask you what team you cheer for. You tell them you like pizza and they ask you what your favorite topping are. You tell them you love your country and there’s really no response beyond “me too” or “fuck your country”.

I don’t understand when loving one’s country became a political statement. And I really don’t understand where political statements, even quasi ones, fit in with gameshows.

“Well, Howie, my name is Jason; I come from Arlington, Virginia where I live with my lovely girlfriend of seven years, Robin. We have three cats, a dog, a bird and I support a gay couple’s right to adopt children.”

Anyway, just found that kind of funny. The guy walked home with over a hundred-grand. That’s a lot of jerky.
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So my boy G sent me this link yesterday, it’s the Wikipedia entry on how to play “Deez Nuts”, complete with the rules of the game. As a kid that grew up in Brooklyn, this has got to be the weakest variation of Deez Nuts I’ve ever seen. According to the guy who wrote this, all you need to do is get someone to say “What” and you can respond with “Deez Nuts”. They even gave an example:

P1. Hey did what’s his name get at you yesterday?
P2. Who?
P1. Deez Nuts!

That’s just fucking insulting. A true master at Deez Nuts knows to wait for the perfect moment – a good Deez Nuts joke is spontaneous, you can sometimes go months without delivering a single Deez Nuts joke. But when you do, when there’s the perfect blend of conversation momentum and background noise, the joke is a thing of beauty. I’d like to give you some of the more memorable Deez Nuts jokes from my own past.

Please remember the good ones only work within the confines of the conversation, you need your opponent to be off guard and not notice the slightly-off pronunciation you’re using. You should never stress the “deez” and never smile, never make it look like this is a set-up, and 9 times out of 10 your opponent will fall for it.
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I was at a bar once in Boston, Mets vs. Yankees. Guy’s sitting next to me with some friends, he’s decked out in Yankee apparel – I have on a Mets hoodie and hat. He’s the typical loud and obnoxious Yankee fan – after his fifteenth “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH” I turn to him and say…

“You really like’ta yank-deez, dontcha?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So why don’t you yank deez nuts!”

There was a quite moment where I thought we were going to rumble. Then he laughs and buys me a beer, showing respect to the master Deez Nutsman. This joke can also work with the Rock-deez and if your opponent is drunk enough and not really paying attention, the Pheel-deez.
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Sophomore year in college, I work nights in the cafeteria. Slow night, one of my coworkers brings some home-made chocolates with her – they were quite delicious. She’s telling us how she makes them, we’re all listening intently – she mentions how she loves to make all kinds of candy. I ask her…

“Can you make rock-an-deez?”

“Rock candies? Yeah, you just blah blah blah…”

“Woah, hold up. That’s not how you were rockin’ deez nuts last night!”

No-one gives me a high five, no one gets it – but I was proud of myself, at least.
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My favorite Deez Nuts jokes are the ones where you make up a word that sounds like it could be a real word and your opponent doesn’t question it. Like this one time…



“I don’t know, man, I’m having some insertindeez.”

“About what?”

“About insertin’ deez nuts in your mouth!”
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This one gets credited to G although I’ve used it once. My friend mentions how much she loves Dunkin’ Donuts to which I throw on this disgusted face and say…

“You like dunkin’ doughs-nuts?”

“Of course.”

“Then why don’t you dunk deez nuts in your mouth!”

Again, blank stare.
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Hit and runs are always fun but Robin gets embarrassed so I can’t do it too often. Like last summer at Sea World when we walk by an exhibit and a tour guide standing nearby says…

“And right here is where we house the manatees, Florida’s…”

“Man-a-deez nuts!”

Doesn’t make sense, really, but still fun to say.
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I’m all reminiscent now – I want to start telling Deez Nuts jokes again. It’s so easy to do in comics, too:

“You support in-deez?”

“Yeah, I always try to sample books from Fantagraphics and Drawn & Quarterly, especially anything from…”

“No, no! I wanted to know if you’re supportin’ deez nuts!”

It’s late, nothing prepared – but I dropped an unscheduled post this past Friday where I send love to Neil Kleid and Jake Allen’s Brownsville and offer up a free copy to one lucky poster. So get to posting.

Firmed up 8 teams for “The Project” and might have a good start on number 9. My cousin RJ and I will likely be collaborating on a story and I know who I want for the last two invite stories, one open submission and one story left on reserve in case my dream-come-true ever decides to return one of my phone calls/emails. I’m not at stalker status yet, though, so I keep trying. I’m getting to the point where I need to start thinking about who I need to cut from my “potential line-up” list I scribbled down almost two months ago. This whole project spiraled out of control, I never expected the reception it’s getting. So far only one person from the “people I’d love to have in this book list” couldn’t commit, the other one is wishing I’d stop emailing him but until he says, “stop”, I’m going to keep bugging his ass.

I need to think long term. I hope to use this book as a means to starting a publishing company. Forging relationships by building a strong book with established creators will help me ensure there’s a second project and a third and a fourth, etc. Plus, it’s kind of exciting – when you take a shot in the dark at someone you love and they get jazzed about the idea – that’s validating.

For Elk’s Run fans I have a little production update for you. Noel’s finishing issue 8 right now, Keating’s coloring 7, Jaco should be finished lettering 6 tonight (although it’s past 2AM ‘round these parts – Jaco? Fuckin’ pages better be in my email by tomorrow morning), I sent off the lettering script for 7 tonight. We’re still working hard on the book; I hope that provides some comfort for you folks.

Got the first ten pages of JJ Kahrs’ project I’m editing for him – the one I described as a tremendous concept that would be fun to work with. I have to admit – the kid’s good. I was worried he’d be real green but he has the chops for it, needs a little bitch slapping which I laid on heavily but by publicly saying he’s good I hope that lifts his spirits a bit.

And that’s all I got for now. Sorry about that. I wanted to give some love to GRAY HORSES and MOM’S CANCER (which I just read this weekend for the first time) but I’m too tired and can hardly put down a sentence as it is. Busy getting ready for Thursday – The Project gets announced on The Hive this Thursday. Probably not the teams, I don’t want to shoot my load on the first day, but the concept, the production blog and potentially one creator will be announced. So, everything’s working towards that.

And now I need to go to bed, 2:15AM and I got tons of shit to do tomorrow.

Brownsville

You know, I haven't seen a lot of bloggers talking up Neil Kleid and Jake Allen's Brownsville yet - I've seen Sean Maher's review and then everything else I've read has been on Comic Book Resources and Newsarama but no real buzz beyond that.

So, to do my part to get people talking about this book, I'm going to give up my copy to one blogger who posts in the comments section, chosen at random, with the caveat that upon receiving the book you need to write a review of it on your own blog and then pass it along to someone else. I'll pick one person next Friday - so you have a week to post something in the comments section.

Breaking it down: free comic. And not just a free comic. A free comic that retails at $19, I just bought this past weekend, and I loved so much that I want to make sure other people pick it up.

To kick it off, I’ll even break my own no reviewing rule (for the second time this week) and drop some words on Brownsville, a 200+ page, wonderfully designed hardcover about the rise and fall of the Jewish gangsters who made up "Murder, Inc", one of the most feared hit-men operations in America. I think you can really break it down with six syllables:

GODFATHER II with Jews.

I was 12 years-old in 1990, perfect timing for GOODFELLAS to be my first exposure to mafia movies. Before that it was whatever old black & whites they used to run on Channel 11 back in the day – the old G-Men vs. mobster kind of flicks with squinty-eyed guys running around firing Tommy guns and using words like flatfoot, spondulix and chopper squad. GODFATHER didn’t come until a couple of years later, it didn’t have the flash, one-liners and the excessive cursing of a movie like GOODFELLAS or SCARFACE and it didn’t hold my pre-teen attention for all that long.

I tried it again when I was old enough to appreciate it and it left enough of an impression to get me to go rent GODFATHER II the same day. The thing with GODFATHER II, what made it so memorable for me, was the fact that we got a glimpse of organized crime before it was well organized. When it was hoods trying to make a name for themselves in their neighborhood and never really seeing how far their little empire can expand – until DeNiro came in and turned a neighborhood racket into a well organized crime family with national (and eventually international) influence. That movie forced me to expand my awareness of La Cosa Nostra, look into its roots and legends more – it fueled a desire to learn more about the beginnings of organized crime.

BROWNSVILLE made me hungry as well. What’s interesting about the rise of the Jewish mafia as described in BROWNSVILLE was that it came at a time when the Italians were already running the streets. In BROWNSVILLE we see this movement where freelance hitmen acting within their own neighborhood organize and become a deadly outfit. And behind it all, Neil does a great job of capturing the motivations and fears of the people being pulled around in this climb (and eventual fall) of Murder Inc.

Jake’s artwork is phenomenal – the action scenes are full of energy and the character moments – like my favorite scene where gangster Allie Tannenbaum and his father have it out at his sister’s wedding – is executed with so much passion and emotion, making a scene that would normally be glanced over as talking heads wrap you up even further into the story and force you to feel this rift between father and son grow even further apart.

Highly recommended, you should all go out and buy it, and one lucky poster will get a free copy sent to their doorstep in exchange for a review and a promise to pass it on.

So, get to posting.

All Grown Up

Well, it’s 1:30AM and I just got home from work (got into work at 9AM).

It’s not like I had to be at work as late as I was, I was the last one in the building when I was going to leave (around 8:00PM) and I discovered that the alarm system was busted. Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to leave my building with the alarm turned off (government secrets and all) so I had to call the company that handles our security system and since we’re a DoD system they had to dispatch their “emergency technician” who I was told will be at the office “within 4 hours.”

Well, it was pretty much exactly 4 hours before he showed up.

But it was fine, I got a lot of work done and I’ll probably stay home tomorrow in the name of “comp time”. Plus, I had a pretty cool epiphany last night that I’d like to share.

Last year the DC Conspiracy took a road trip to the Frank Frazetta Museum. I was one of the drivers and I had Chris Piers, Evan Keeling and Deb Orgel in my car. On the ride up there, in between rounds of “Fuck, Marry, Kill” and “Who Would Get Laid First” we’d throw out some profound questions that everyone needed to take turns answering.

One of these questions was, “When did you first feel like an adult?”

At the time my answer had to do with a recent situation with my parents, when they got into a little trouble and needed my help and I actually had the resources available to help them out. Within 24 hours of their request I had everything settled. It was a very “adult” moment – my parents, the people who guided me and helped me through the years, felt like they could turn to me in their time of need and I was able to take care of everything.

Tonight, however, I kind of remembered a moment that pre-dates that story and is likely the true moment I first felt like an adult.

It was my second month out of college, I’ve been working at my new job in my new city and I had my first big project – I had to work late to prepare for a presentation later in the week.

At the time Robin and I were still getting our shit together – when we first moved to DC we spent three weeks living in two different hotels until finally moving into this little studio apartment. The first night we make makeshift pillows out of our clothes and sleep on the floor, the second night we buy an air-mattress but no pump – we spent the evening blowing it up with our mouths while downing cans of Budweiser. The next day I bought a TV, a week later we got a chair.

And that was it for about a month. An air mattress, a JVC TV I got for free from Radio Shack by signing up with MSN for three years and a chair. So, it was still kind of like college except with a $900 rent.

No car, either, so I’m taking the bus and train to work – again, still feels like college life.

But this one night I was working late. The other people in the office began to trickle out until I was the last one in the building. I had my top button opened up, my shirt untucked, my tie thrown in my desk drawer – I reeked of cigarettes because I’d go out every thirty or forty minutes and suck down two Parliament Lights in an attempt to clear my head.

I was putting in the hours and by the time I left work it was a little past 2AM. I set the alarm in the building and took the elevator down to the first floor – step outside to the humid air and the dark streets, this was in McLean, Virginia – a city that shuts down at around 10PM every night, right when the mall closes.

There’re no cars in the parking lot – no cars in any of the parking lots for the neighboring buildings, either – I’m likely the only person out and about on Jones Branch Drive since the street is nothing but a strip of office buildings. I have a cigarette and dig out my cell phone, call a cab company and they tell me it’ll be thirty minutes.

I sit outside chain smoking, on the steps of my building, just thinking about life, DC, Robin – whatever was going on at the time. Cab pulls up and I tell him where I live, he lets me know it’ll be expensive to go all the way to DC and I just kind of smile and he understands – I really don’t have a choice.

We talk all the way home – I tell him I’m new to the city and that I’m starting to like it, starting to feel comfortable. In retrospect he likely took me for a ride because we’re coming up Connecticut Avenue from Adams Morgan (a route which makes no sense) when I see the 7-11 and ask him to let me out.

I go into the 7-11 and get a coffee, just felt like drinking one, and walk the rest of the way. It’s about two miles (uphill) but it was a nice summer night, I was already late, and I just felt like doing some thinking. I put the headphones on and walk slowly. By the time I get home it’s close to 3:30 in the morning, Robin’s already sleeping.

I take a shower, go on-line and check some email and lay down to fall asleep. And I was laying there drifting off, I distinctly remember feeling proud. I think that night was the first night that I really felt like I was “on my own” – and that’s a pretty adult feeling.

It popped into my head tonight when I was leaving at 1AM, no cars in the parking lot. Driving home on the empty streets – looking for a parking spot – finally getting home and seeing Robin sleeping in bed, dog barking at me from under the covers. I remembered exactly what it felt like on that night.

Anyway, I should go to bed. – what about you all? What was the first time you felt like an adult?

Just comic stuff

I have so many secrets I’m sitting on right now that it’s fucking me up. Seriously.

One secret is so secret that I can’t even hint what the secret has to do with. It’s just too big. I didn’t even tell Robin the secret and she could care less about comics.

There are 8 more secrets that I can technically hint about a little bit. You see, I have this book I’m putting together and I drop little bits of information about it every so often on this site. The plan is to announce the book on the 23rd, along with my new Hive column. Well, I’m going to spill a little bit – it’s an anthology and there’s room for 13 teams within it. I’ve staffed 8 so far and every team came off of my “if I can have anybody, who’d it be” list.

The book has legs – and it knows how to use them. I’m retarded psyched.

Secrets, man. Too many secrets.

I don’t really talk comics much around here – I don’t run a review site, I’m not good at giving reviews, I don’t have the time necessary to make myself seem intelligent and pretentious enough to lay down a strong review. Not my thing, you know what I mean? I’ll say what comics I like occasionally (read BROWNSVILLE this weekend, for instance, great book – worth buying, 18-bucks for a hardcover is choice, too) and which ones didn’t get me going (like GODLAND, for instance – read the first trade this weekend. I “got” it, I know what it wanted to be, but I just didn’t really care much. It was an entertaining read but I don’t see myself buying the second trade). I’ll give the occasional plug for a book that doesn’t get enough attention, like Jobnik! #2 which I finally read this weekend and watched the story and technique improve by leaps and bounds. But sometimes, man, a comic just smacks you in the ass and you need to dedicate the time that it deserves.

American Virgin. I went into this book with no expectations. I bought it for the cover. I enjoy Seagle’s work and Cloonan is a fantastic artist but for the most part this book just sort of cruised under my radar and demanded none of my attention. Don’t know why, shit just happens sometimes - the subject matter just didn't excite me enough, I suppose.

I was in the comic shop and I believe it was Fossen’s review that was stuck in my head and I decided to pick it up.

Last book I read. By the time I got around to it I felt like it was a chore, a waste of 3-bucks if I didn’t read it.

Here’s the thing – here’s what made this issue exceptional. Is that you’re reading this book and you have this character who, when you really break him down, is a good guy. And not a good guy in the way your coworker is a good guy for letting you grab some twizzlers – the guy is just righteous and not hypocritical at all.

He’s the guy we all hate. And I’m reading this book and I’m saying to myself that there is no way I can enjoy this book beyond the first issue – there’ nothing relatable about this guy whatsoever, he’s just this tool that’s better than me and happy about it. Who the fuck wants to read stories like that when we have Tom Cruise in the real world?

So I’m reading this book and they keep teasing the girlfriend fucking it all up angle and I’m wishing something bad happens to them. I just want her to break up with him or to cheat on him. And they tease the cheat, the whole not coming home thing, I’m reading that and saying to myself, “Oh damn – looks like somebody’s out getting stuffed.” And I was happy about that, you know – I saw what was coming and I was happy that this douche-fucker was going to get what he deserves for being so righteous.

And then the ending came. And it was so real and so raw that it just sucker punches you and you realize that you WISHED for that to happen. Maybe not that exact scenario but you’re reading this book and you’re wishing for something bad to happen and then what happens is worse than you imagined happening. Within a panel you find yourself relating to this douchy, unlikable character. Partially it’s because you feel bad for him, true, but partially because we know what that instantaneously loss feels like – we remember what it was like the first time we experienced true tragedy and you think back to your past and wonder if you felt as important as the main character of this book felt – if you’re whole perception of reality was destroyed in an instant as well.

I remember the moment; I talked about it on this blog. When my Uncle Mike died, it was shortly after my confirmation – he was my sponsor. There was always this delusional sense of holiness crammed into my head – I still have it now and it was certainly a lot stronger as a kid. Come confirmation time I chose my Uncle Mike over my rich Uncle Chris and it seemed like this move ordained by God – angels in heaven singing hosanna because I went with a man who needed to feel love over a man who’ll buy me a bike. My mom plays into it, tells me I made the right choice.

We got closer as the months went on, confirmation came and went, we had this special connection through God – and then that Christmas he went into the hospital with internal bleeding – by the time we showed up he was in a coma, shortly after he died.

And whereas the relationship was different, the age and the circumstances were different – there’s this reality that drops on you and reminds you that you’re not immune to this type of shit – just because it hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean it’ll never happen.

You just kind of understand that nobody really knows what God has in store for them – and you find yourself wondering what’s going to happen next. And that’s how the lead from AV becomes relatable – the issue ends and you’re wondering what’s going to happen next, much like he is.

I hope it goes somewhere not too cliché – I’ll be looking forward to the second issue.

The New DCC and Skyscrapers #3

A Friday update!

Just plugging - the DC Conspiracy has a new face and a new URL. Update your bookmarks and head over to http://www.dcconspiracy.com for all your DC Area comic creating needs.

James Sime, comic pimp and proprietor of the uber-swank Isotope, is providing the world with an 8-page preview of Joshua Cotter's upcoming SKYSCRAPERS OF THE MIDWEST #3 (Adhouse). Go, check it out. Now. Order it from your shop. And check out Joshua's strips as well, they're rad.

I got nothing

There’s a new The Hive up – a collection of money raising/saving techniques to help you fund your comics. Go check it out, comment, link it, love it.

I haven’t talked comics in a while because I haven’t read many recently. In the past month all I’ve read has been Solo, Mouse Guard and half of the Absolute Watchmen I got for my birthday. I have all these great books sitting in me “to read” pile (and Infinite Crisis which, as discussed earlier, I’m mesmerized but how convoluted and alienating it is).

I guess no time to read comics when you’re working on them. Helping Josh along with the script to Elk’s Run #8 – yes, we’re still working on it because we promised you it’ll see the light of day and we weren’t fucking around. It’s going to be a strong ending to a strong series.

Then there’s my book which is moving along nicely although the past two nights I haven’t found much time to devote to it. I think Friday and this weekend are going to be busy, busy, busy calling, emailing, designing, thinking and planning.

I spent two hours last night trying to transfer this old video I stole from home to my computer because it would have entertained you all to no end. Just some black and white movie of me dancing, wearing these horrible sunglasses that look like the ones Data from Star Trek wore and a fingerless leather glove while singing into a broom handle. My VCR just sucks, it couldn’t track the video well enough – I got this new computer over the weekend because my old one died and it came with a TV tuner and has the ability to record TV, I figured this will bring a whole new level of storytelling to The Moose – but, nope, no dice.

I’m going to have to borrow someone else’s VCR to try it out and see if it works before buying a new one. Between Tivo and DVD, though, who needs a VCR anymore?

So, in other words, I got nothing but promotion today. Hopefully I can borrow a VCR and try to rip this tape again and have something wicked funny for Tuesday.

Only in Brooklyn

Things are moving along with the book, very exciting stuff. I predict March 23rd’s The Hive will have a pretty big announcement attached to it.

Anyway, trying to have some fun today with a little piece I’d like to call “Only in Brooklyn”. You see, I haven’t dug through the photos in awhile and there are so many good ones that I should share with you all so I picked out a couple that seem to frame events and situations that can only happen in Brooklyn. For instance…

Only in Brooklyn can ten year-old kids escape from hospitals and hide out in your house:


Only in Brooklyn can a kid be sitting in a plastic pool situated in his gated, concrete front yard:


Only in Brooklyn can a baseball fan through like this and wonder why he wasn’t the starting catcher:


Only in Brooklyn can a kid nonchalantly show off the smallest bowling trophy in recorded history while standing in front of 99% of the paneling produced in 1989:


Only in Brooklyn can one’s grandfather take his Birthday present for a spin in front of the neighborhood garbage dump:


Only in Brooklyn…well…you can say something about anyone in this picture, really:


Only in Brooklyn are children so happy to share GI Joes:


Only in Brooklyn can your prom picture be taken in front of a paint-chipped stoop:


Only in Brooklyn can a Moose roam free:

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24 was good tonight, by the way. No complaints – a fun hour of television. It would have been more fun of the attack was with mustard gas, though. See – mustard gas doesn’t kill you usually – it just peels your fucking skin off and leaves you in agonizing pain for days. When it does kill you it’s only because you breathe in enough vapor to burn the inside of your lungs. Let me tell you something – I know what a lot of chemicals and diseases can do to you – there’s nothing worse than getting sprayed with mustard. That and radionuclide poisoning are the two worst ways you can possibly die.

Well, on that note, have a nice day.

Today You Tell Me Something (Y Manana Es Otra Cosa, Mentirosa)

What a fun week. I worked 15+ hours on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. I was pretty tired, having already done 45 hours this week I was going to take today off and catch-up on some good ‘ole fashioned comic editing and publishing. My boss had other plans. You see, he wanted to “reward” me for working so hard so he booked me for a two day conference that he thought I’d enjoy.

It’s in Virginia; mind you, not some exotic island somewhere. That would be an actual reward.

So now, after averaging four hours sleep the past two nights, I need to be in McLean, Virginia at 7:45AM to register for a conference that’s going to go until 4PM. I have to give Josh notes on WORLD’S END, I need to give JJ notes on ROSE-COLORED CRASH, I need to follow-up with a couple of creators that want to contribute to my book – all this shit I need to do and instead I get to hang out with old people and eat a boxed lunch.

Fun!

I got to watch 24 last night, though. I’ve been making fun of them this season for doing no research into nerve gas but the shit they pulled this past Monday is unforgivable. All the nerve gas shit, I can let that slide, because they made up a gas. That’s fine; I really don’t know the rules of this “sentox” gas. It doesn’t behave like any other nerve gas but that’s cool. It’s magic gas.

But holy shit, when Jack Baur went into the contractor’s office building and didn’t need to have a badge or an escort – that’s just fucking nuts. Nuts, I tell you. And the people that were watching saw he did the thumb print scan and his picture came up and you were all saying, “Wow, that’s some high tech shit.”

Let me tell you about clearance.

When I applied for my clearance I had to fill out this form. It was about twenty pages long filled with wonderful questions about my psychiatric history, drug use, debt and criminal record. I lied my ass off. MY ASS OFF. I’m thinking to my self, “I’m 22 years-old. My job is paying me crazy money. There’s no way I’m fucking this up.”

Ever done drugs? Nope.

Ever been to a psychiatrist? Nope.

Are you currently in debt? Nope.

Hand that big ass form in and get an “interim secret” clearance. I get to go to meetings and work on secret shit. That lasts for about a year. During that year some agents visited my father and my neighbors, asked a bit about me, and I was granted a secret. With a form I lied my ass off with.

Couple of months later I needed a top secret. You’d think I’d need to update my form but I didn’t, all the information still pertains, nothing to update.

The day of my interview comes. Agent comes into the room, tells me how important it is that I’m honest – they won’t get me in trouble, they just need to know if there’s any information in my past that can be used for blackmail. He goes over the application I handed in almost two years ago.

Ever done drugs?

Yep.

You wrote no.

You know new job and all.

What kind of drugs?

Marijuana.

Anything else?

Shrooms.

Anything else?

No.

How many times have you done marijuana?

Couple.

Shrooms?

Once.

Have you done marijuana in the past six months?

Nope.

Ever been to a psychiatrist?

Yep.

How many times?

Three.

For what?

Well, the first time was after my cousin died. Having problem dealing. Second time I went because a friend was going and needed support. Third time I went because, I don’t know, relationship problems.

With who?

Girlfriend.

Abusive?

No, just kind of like, you know. [makes gesture with hands]

Ok. Are you currently in debt?

Yeah.

Is everything on this application a lie?

After about an hour of this grueling ordeal where I admitted to lying on everything on my application except my name the agent gets up, thanks me, and leaves.

A month later I get my top secret.

So, basically, clearance is a joke. This was all pre-September 11th and admittedly I’ve never worked on anything so secret that I’d have to report you if I accidentally told you about it but still, not the hardest thing to get.

But god-dammit it, if you ever get caught walking around a base or a contractor’s office without a badge on you are FUCKING DONE. Game over. Guys with walky-talkies will swoop on your ass in ten seconds and go to work on you with gloves. Right now, Jack Baur should have a lubed hand up his ass.

The nerve gas, fine, it breaks all laws of physics. Not wearing a badge at a company that makes nerve gas? I’m sorry, 24, but you went too far.