Friday, December 31, 2004

Auld Lang Syne!! It's Mr. Chair's comic book pick of the week!

I have no idea how to spell Auld Lange Syne, but I'm pretty sure that's wrong.

Oh my, back in town after a swell trip south and let's see what was on the new release wall upon return. Not much really. Particularly after the little Christmas treat that was Shaolin Cowboy. Man oh man what fun.

For starters, Marvel proved once again the astounding ability the big comic companies have for underestimating their audience. Yet another retelling, recycling, reinterpretation of superhero lore designed to milk our overeager nostalgia and make us buy stupid comics. A whole new "What if" series came out with some of the industry's top writers answering those burning questions that nobody gives a shit about. To be fair, I only read two of these, mostly because I gagged a little bit as I was picking them up in the store. For those who don't know, a "What if," is a trend of the past in which a writer uses a one-shot to toy with a superhero's mythology. What if Wolverine had claws of plastic, that kind of thing. Sometimes these are cool (usually in the form of DC Elseworlds) in spite of the tired subject matter. Most of the time they are forced and a major let down. Sort of like cover songs. I read "What if Aunt May was killed instead of Uncle Ben?" Ed Brubaker is one of my favorite writers, but this was pointless. Also, "What if Jessica Jones had joined the Avengers?" This is pure Bendis fanboy fodder. It had 16!!! pages of recap about Jessica Jones, and another 15 or so of really stupid shit that ended with JJ marrying Captain America. What a fucking revelation! I heard Bendis' Karen Page retelling was good, but again, do we really care?

Enough enourmously arrogant bitching. The MCPotW is yet another Ellis book. I really didn't want to pick him again, but I was left with no choice, as the Invincible Iron Man was far and away the best book on the rack this week. I know I just spent 500 or so words ranting about superhero books, but there's nothing tired or recycled about this one. Second in the series, it tops the first issue with two great intercut narratives. (If you haven't read it and are interested stop here or I'll ruin it) One is Tony Stark's dad lecturing him and his sister about the historic benefits of DMT and psychedelic mushrooms, along with the suspect nature of mechanical and biological invention. The other is a beautifully drawn/computer painted sequence of an ultra-violent one man massacre. Another great example of the way comics can be exciting and thought-provoking beyond the traditional uses, Ellis' Iron Man tackles some great issues: military research ethics, medicine and shamanism as tech research, the use of drugs as a tool for evolution. And it looks cool. And it's violent. And it quotes Godspeed You Black Emperor. What more could you want?

Here's hoping there's more interesting stuff next week. (Tomine, Clowes, Lapham, we need you!) And please correct me if I missed something grand. I know our new addition is chock full of opinions.

Thursday, December 30, 2004

The glory boys

Good-bye Brian and Luke, you’ll be missed.

“Memory is untouchable - It keeps such bitter distance
And silence is a photograph - A still and stone reminder
And in time we fade
Left in only recollection
Holding on is the hardest thing to do,
When everything is so out of touch
And nothing really means that much
When words don’t last beyond our lips
And promises are barriers
This same reflection, a portrait of contempt
A faded story book it’s pages over read,
Oh well, I’ll have plenty of memories to hold me when I’m gone
And if the pen permits I think I’ll write a few more songs
Cause nothing brings me back the way those old ones do...
It’s tried and true
So on and so forth, it’s so hard to see
We all fall down eventually
To bones - To graves - To history
And change won’t change a thing
A subtle keepsake
Our triumphs and our tears
Find innocence betrayed by fact and ignorance instilled...
And so
This one’s for the boys back home I hope you’re all alright
A childhood remembered in a song against the night
Embers on the wind, we were a spark of hope and pride
In the journey to find somewhere to ignite
For times we shared I give to you
The only words I know to say
You’re every part a part of me,
Amazing what a name can mean.
It’s a friend who knows you in this terminal unknown...
I’m coming home.”

- Bueno, “Glory Boys”

Thursday, December 23, 2004

TUNA FISH

So I love TUNA fish sandwiches. I mean I really love TUNA fish sandwiches. When I go to the market, TUNA fish is always on the list, and yeah, I do write lists. So I go and I buy cereal and pasta and bread and what not. But I always buy TUNA.

I'm at the bar, hanging out with my buddy and we go outside to hang out. We talk and tell jokes. He has a really bad irish accent that he always wips out for jokes. Everyone leaves from the bar. It's just me and him in the lot. And I'm getting wicked hungry. So there I am, It's way past last call. I'm starving and I go to a circle K or what have you, and I'm looking at the food they have. The selection... not so good. Either HOT POCKETS or some really bad premade sandwiches, but I see a can of tuna, and I know I have stuff and bread at home, so I'm good. I grab it, walk up to the counter and pay for my new can of TUNA fish.

Now there is something you should know about my shoppping habits. I buy the new TUNA, you know, the kind that comes in a pouch. So this old TUNA, the kind that comes in a can, not nearly as much fish. But I get home and mix it with some mayo and mustard and catsup, because that's how mom made it, and don't you dare make fun of my mom, let her rest in peace.

But I finish this wonderful form of cooking and all I have is a bunch of sauces and very little fish. It's really pretty sad. I don't know what to do. I'm starving, but this thing in the bowl in front of me looks more like some potion I made as a child than real food.

But if anyone else has been drunk, they know that anyfood is good food. I slapped it between two pieces of bread and ate it.

But I'll tell you, this was not the best TUNA fish sandwich I've ever had. I've had some sandwiches that will blow your f%$#ing mind, and this one... not so much.

Later that night I dreamt I was the little rabbit from GOOD NIGHT MOON. I don't think each experience has anything to do with each other, but I don't want to say, either way.

Well, good night piece of paper,

Sam

(this is a journal entry that i found in a diary i found in a chest i bought at an auction. it was the most interesting thing he/she wrote. later i think they died from complications of surgery. they had a heart problem or a blood problem. i don't know. the diary is obviously not as old as the trunk, but it was still full of odd stuff. i might post another page. they did have a fairly odd experience at disney land and some dressed up as "daffy the duck of maybe someone else.")

i don't know
J Batlin

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

It's the Christmas Season everybody!!!

Early in the morning (Early to me ) I went to my den to read from the most precious Bible I own – (My ‘Lil Pentecostal preacher / teacher / evangelist dad’s Bible). Worn and written in. Tear stained and mended – but the incredibly precious to me – and HIS word always LIVES –

It opened to Micah 6:2 –

“But thou, Bethlehem Ephratah, though thou be little amon the thousands of Judah, yet OUT of thee shall He come forth unto me that is to be RULER in Israel whose goings forth have been from OLD, from everlasting”
I began to weep – It’s ALL about JESUS!

Genesis 1 through Revelation 22 – Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus –

I looked through my tears and saw my bottle of anointing oil – others had come over the last 9 months and anointed ME with oil – But I had NEVER done what I was about to do –

I reached and opened the oil and placed a Holy Spirit oil cross on my own forehead and when I did – I BURST INTO DEEP, DEEP LOVING OF MY JESUS –

I began to feel His presence in me, over me, around me-(In fact) it has been 3 hours and I am still feeling His glory like I have NEVER felt!)

I began to deep cry – deep moan – and deep rejoice – I got my organic grape juice – filled a glass – got my Matza crackers and went to my garden –

With Terry McAlmon singing praise and worship songs I took my holy communion. I fell on my face in the grass and cried deep unto deep –

The glory covered my garden. The music swelled in my spirit. The name JESUS was all I could utter – Jesus, Jesus, I love you Jesus – I love you Jesus – I praise You Jesus – You are my Savior – My healer – His presence was, and still is now, all over me – Inside and out!

Jesus __?___ –

Jesus love –

Jesus presence –

Here on this earth – Now! TODAY!!

Terry’s album runs over 30 minutes – I was on my face – deep sobs – standing – rejoicing – hands raised higher than I knew I could – Dancing as if angels were my partners – And feeling love and a supernatural high – like there are not words to describe –

I think I touched Heaven – I think that is the Euphoria – The high – The lifting of your soul – The heat in your heart that Heaven is all about –

If you could for one minute feel what I have felt now, 3 ½ hours, you would never have one second of doubt –

Is it all real –

Oh please hear my Jesus’ heart –

Stop asking

Stop thinking

Start DOING!

Give Jesus your 1st fruits in the A.M. –

Read His love letters to us – Get your anointing oil (even liquid Crisco works – ask my children)

Anoint yourself – Get your little garden area – a closet – the garage – a favorite tree area – a place in the city park (In your car) –

Get your little grape juice and crackers – Get alone – Get your Terry MacAlmon praise recording on and feel His presence-

Feel His anointing –

Feel His love –

Feel what Heaven is all about –

Ohhhhh – I can’t wait until tomorrow AM –

It’s You and me sweet jesus – (It’s a date!)

Oh how I love you –

And how I love you precious partners – Get and feel of what Heaven
will be –

Please –

I love you –

Thursday, December 16, 2004

Booyakasha! It's Mr. Chair's comic book pick of the week!

So soon? Yes. Relatively few releases of interest this Wednesday, but a couple of gems. My pick of the week is going to be, surprise surprise, Warren Ellis' "Ocean." The third in the series of six about a strange discovery in the subterranean ocean in one of Jupiter's moons. This issue gets the recognition because of a really cool cover and a mini-plotline about a interplanetary weapons manufacturer that suspends its employees' personalities during their employment. They all have preprogrammed template personas with the same conversational dialogue and movements. Sounds crazy, but after working for a couple of big conglomerates, such an idea isn't too far-fetched.

Secret embargoed pick of the week: Ocean isn't the real pick of the week. But I can't in good conscience steal Shankara Chase's pick, the first new work from a top artist in years, which is astounding. He pointed it out to me, after all. Stay tuned.


Tuesday, December 14, 2004

Live, from my telephone

At the opening chords of “Via Chicago,” I fished my phone out of my pocket and dialed my brother. A few songs later, a call went across the Freaktown, so he could rejoice in “California Stars.”
Having answered many a call only to hear what is often little more than noise, I know I’m certainly not the only one out there who has thrown an instant audio postcard.
But since when did those ubiquitous little personal communication devices get deputized into carrying a show beyond the boundaries of the club, theater or arena? And what the the hell for?
On the receiving end, the sound is usually so damn bad I can’t make out the song. But the times I have caught the melody or vocals, or whatever was enough to distinguish the song, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the few moments of faux concert-dom that broke up whatever I was doing.
Kissing the Lipless from the Shins, Hallelujah from Rufus Wainright, Pancho and Lefty from the Peacemakers and California Stars from Wilco are among the live tunes I’ve gotten via cell phone.
So I thought I’d give back.
The first couple times I felt guilty sneaking a call. Maybe it’s really not kosher... maybe the sound waves interfere with something (at Springsteen shows, they announce for everybody to turn off cell phones and pagers for just that reason - they say).
Maybe it’s supremely dorky, or selfish.
But I’ve done it and I’ll probably continue. And I’d like to hear the songs keep coming my way.

Monday, December 13, 2004

Oh Snap! It's Mr. Chair's comic book pick of the week!

Whew. Is it hot in here? A little tension in the Lounge. Let's just chalk it up to holiday stress.

I guess this is actually last week's comic book pick, since I just finished reading em all. A lot of decent stuff, but nothing really stood out. I'm going to go with "Fables," just because it's consistently good. Fables came out the same time Y did, and they both were pretty hot for Vertigo. The concept is basically that all fairy tales, legends and myths are real, and have traditionally lived in a hidden away land. Since driven out of their homelands centuries ago in a great war with the "adversary," the surviving Fables have relocated to a hidden burrough of New York City. The non-human characters live on a farm in upstate New York. Adventures ensue as they try to blend in and face internal struggles.

It's similar ground as the unmatched "Sandman" series, but the books have nothing else in common. Fables has great fun with the hidden world it has set up. An early storyline had all of the animal Fables staging a revolution on the farm. Prince Charming is a smarmy social climber who can't keep a wife. The big bad wolf is a shape-shifting sherriff who keeps the criminal element in line. The Beast can hold human form only as long as he's in good relations with his wife, Beauty. Sleeping Beauty wears gloves, since she goes into a magical coma whenever she pricks her finger on anything. Bill Willingham is also not afraid to make radical changes within the storyline (the anti-Spawn), making each issue refreshing and fast moving. And Bigby Wolf is the coolest character in comics since Jesse Custer.

Damage Control In my own defense, although I fully walked right into ridicule with my last post about a solitary weekend night, I didn't mean it as any sort of diss on anyone but myself and Julia Roberts. A bit of explanation: George and I are a couple, we aren't fighting, but she is currently living in Canada. And no I don't masturbate to pictures of Jean Grey. I don't read any X-Men comics.

Finally, a public apology. "Enourmously arrogant" was a bit harsh when mocking Finnagain's slam on all television programs. I stand by my point, though, that to criticize all works within a medium in one swoop is also a bit harsh. It's not the same as someone's opinion about one book compared to another.

Who will die?

What celebrities will die in 2005?

Begin the bets now. All betting ends at the toll of midnight on Dec. 31.


My list (to be added to):

Hall-of-Famer Phil Niekro
The Pope
Lady Bird Johnson
Whatever Ramone is left
Arthur Miller
John Kenneth Galbraith
Inventor of Earth's Van Allen Belts, James Van Allen
Colin Farrell
and TV

Sunday, December 12, 2004

Chair about town

man about town a worldly man who spends much time in fashionable restaurants, clubs, etc. -Webster's

Faced with the reality of spending Saturday night actually reorganizing my comic book collection, I decided it best if I left the apartment. I was going to go out with a friend, but he napped until 10p.m. and couldn't do it. So my living room floor about that time was looking as if the cat had eaten every one of my comic books and then vomited them back up all over the floor. Sort of a beautiful sight, but it made the place crowded, cramped, and if I were to stay in, I'd have to put them all away in their new boxes ... in alphabetical order. And that would put me at just about the same status as the guys in the beginning of the "Fight for your right to party" video.

I didn't really want to leave the apartment, which is sometimes reason enough to do so. Earlier in the day I was reminded that in the holiday season, the phrase, "a quick trip to..." no longer exists. Crowds are everywhere. No parking at the library. 20 minutes to get a cup of coffee. 10 minutes to find a parking spot at Fred Meyer. For people like myself, who don't handle crowds well, this time of year the neurosis becomes hypersensitive. The idea of sitting at home with comics was beautiful. But a movie sounded nice too.

Going out alone, although not as glamorous as with others, is really just as enjoyable if not moreso. Like playing video games, or getting drunk, or having sex. Other people just make things complicated. I really wanted to see "Oceans 12," and I could still catch the last show playing downtown. Shit, I missed the MAX train by four minutes while I was finishing a beer. I had to get there on time or I'd miss the new "Batman Begins" trailer, half the reason I was going. A brisk walk later, I was at the theater a minute or two late. Still there was a line. Going to a show on a Saturday night downtown is like going to see a show inside of an Abercrombie catalog. A theater-full of skinny, lillywhite, beautiful young people, with couture not a day old. The couple in front of me looked like they had come directly from commercial shoots, but for radically different products. She was dressed a la Emma Peel - a tweed, brown, short dress, black high-heeled boots to the knee, black gloves and a black hat to match. He was wearing baggy basketball shorts, a red hoodie and a Sean John cap. How they were out together would have been totally inexplicable, were it not for the fact that they were both absolutely beautiful.

The Batman trailer didn't let down. I still have chills. The other previews, ugh. A Vin Diesel tough-guy-taking-care-of-children movie. A combination high school sports/inner-city educator movie with Sam Jackson. How dare Finnagain say TV sucks. This shit sucks. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that I didn't love "Oceans 12" like I thought I would. I LOVED "Oceans 11." When I walked out of that theater in 2001, I thought I had possibly seen the perfect Hollywood movie. Glossy, tight, beautiful on all counts, funny. I've seen it several times since. So while I can appreciate how radically different "12" is, I just didn't like it as much. Soderbergh seemed to know how much leeway he had earned with the first, and used the second to showcase his more edgy filmmaking tricks. The movie was far less Oceans 11, and more like the plodding "Full Frontal," or even "K Street," the HBO series that intertwined fiction with political reality. The plot was so twisted and unimportant that it was more like a parody of the first than anything. Oh, and I will never understand Soderbergh's fascination with that bony, unattractive, self-important, shriveled-up bitch Julia Roberts. Still not a bad movie though. Funny as hell. Incredible music by David Holmes. Great acting. And Catherine Zeta-Jones with some big cans.

Speaking of that hyper-annoyance with crowds, my neighbors were six or so teens who bellowed laughter at parts that weren't funny. The three behind me were having a steady conversation throughout ("I don't get it." "You're not supposed to get it, that's the joke." "Oh. I'm totally confused.") I actually got up and moved, but the new people behind me kept talking. How, as a culture, have we not hammered out this no talking in movies thing? It's the simplest rule, and one that everyone benefits from. But it happens EVERY FUCKING TIME. I beg anyone who goes to movies with a talker, have a sit-down with them. You're just like the countries that harbor terrorists. You're just as guilty as the terrorists.

The walk home was great. About 1 a.m., people were sporadically hitting the streets to go home. Two guys were freestyle rapping. In Pioneer Square, the giant Christmas tree was lit, as were all other trees in the area. Portland during the winter can bring a tear to your eye, with the cold and the light rain and the blanket of haze at all times. I cut through the gay district because it's fun. Everyone checks out your shoes. People are making out in alleys. Glamorous drag queens are outside of bars on cell phones. Thumping bass, and lines to get in, even at 1:30 a.m. People have that look in their eyes, that last minute gotta find me some sex look. I had on a grey hooded sweatshirt, and imagined I looked like I was sneaking to or from some homosexual secret affair. But my eyebrows aren't very well-maintained, so I'm sure people weren't thinking that.

On a complete whim I assure you, I swung by my local adult store, also relatively crowded for the holidays and thereby making it all the more likely that I'd run into someone I know, a personal nightmare. Then I was just in time for last call at The Matador, also crowded. But this was the right kind of crowded. Dark, loud, drunk. Packed with people, like everywhere else, but still somehow very personal and private - The Anti-Crowd. Like that Billy Joel song about sharing the drink they call loneliness, but it's better than drinking alone. The lights went up and I finished my beer. Now I'm home and in another crowd, this one the best of all. A slamming party with a few thousand comic books and my cat.

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

Well, I don't want to be a fucko, so . . .
1. I passed by Richard Harris (Dumbledore for all you Harry Potter fans out there) on the sidewalk once. He looked intoxicated. I saw Woody Harrelson once also -- he looked high.
2. I don't remember what this question was, but I think it had something to do with Wilco. I ain't seen shit.
3. I can't remember any of the questions clearly except the one about filming in "Van City" (as the natives call it.) Canadians are lame -- further postings to come soon.
4. Jinxymew is enormously cute.
5. There was something about meat I think, since Mr. Chair outed us as veggies. Tofu is yummy.
You asked for ramble, you get ramble.

mr chair just held up his phone for me at a Jimmy Eat World concert -- they were covering Wham's "Last Christmas". My life is now complete.
Chomberson out!

Tuesday, December 07, 2004

I was born in the back of a Greyhound bus

And I was born a ramblin man.

Female fashion trend I used to find ridiculous, but have since come to like: wearing a skirt over jeans.
Female fashion trend I used to like, but have since come to find ridiculous: those fuzzy Kangal bucket hats.
###
I have a job interview tomorrow. I think if job interviews were held at bars, they'd be much more productive and fun. I've also always wanted to go to a job interview, and intentionally mispronounce simple words directly related to the job. Like, "I hope you'll consider me for your open news peporter position. I've written numerous articles for major newspakers." If anyone has any tips, I don't know how to respond to these questions: Where do you see yourself in five years? (God, not working here I hope. Costa Rica maybe? Mexico?) What do you hope to get out of this job? (Health insurance, duh) What are your outside interests? (Alcoholism. Oh, and I used to keep a website about my cat) And the ever popular, what are your strengths and weaknesses? I love the episode of The Office when the fat guy is getting his performance review, and he says his biggest weakness is eczema.
###
1 and 2. I ain't met shit. Once I met Hootie in the mall.
3. Go to Tivo. It will make you whole.
4. People talk funny.
5. I'd start watching the Suns again, but then they'd start losing. It is my gift. It is my curse.
6. As a relatively new vegetarian, I can say I don't miss bacon. Ribs, maybe. Steak, definitely.
###
Also interested in immediacy... maybe later.

Unsorted (on the day of infamy)

Even in the desert, the chill air unmistakably alters the times. The entire rhythm of winter (or “not summer” here) is fascinating, for the mindset it creates if nothing else. Days and nights swap dominance. Automatic cultural and social hibernation kicks in, on some level. Leisure time is low-key, indoor. Hats are worn, as are long-sleeve T-shirts, in layers. Hoodies and sweaters are purchased.
And the waning fall brings the “holiday” season. Let winter be winter, I say. Why tie smowmen to Santa? Why distract from the chill and the cold?

So the Lounge is buzzing. Here’s to posts-a-plenty. Cheers.
Never question the significance of a weekend, particularly one in which you purchase funky glasses.

And to answer Freaktown’s call to arms:
1. I was a co-conspirator in getting backstage after the Wilco show last month.
2. The bandleader was a very police guy, considering every time he busts out his guitar he’s subject to an invasion of fans. And all he really wanted to talk about was politics.
3. DVDs of television shows can’t exist without the actual television, but I’d also rather srap the airwaves for the plastic disc and laser. And as a recent convert, I must sing the praises of Netflix.
4. I’d reckon pot gets smoked.
5. The Suns just went on a 21-0 run on their way to pummeling Golden State. There hasn’t been a more exciting team since I started watching basketball (incidentally, as a young Suns fan, eating peanuts at Vetern’s Memorial Collessium with my grandparents).
6. Bacon will be a part of my life forever. It will remain a rare part, but never quite abandoned. Stu LeBlanc, on the other hand...

Missed Bob Dylan on 60 Minutes?

Sometimes I grow so tired...

Ramble on. I don’t know what’s been up with me and the lack of posting for the past few weeks but, here goes...

1. & 2. Yes. I met Jeff Tweedy, but it just wasn’t that exciting. I don’t really like meeting famous people. I have always found it pretty anti-climactic. Not that I’ve met tons of them, but enough to form the opinion. It wasn’t some kind of magical party full of beautiful groupies and the like. There was a fruit plate, several coolers full of soda and beer and too many people for the cramped quarters. We, accompanied by the sister of the artist in question, had the full attention of the man, much to the chagrin of the groupies that were there, pimply and panting with desperation. Not beautiful. Not even pretty. We talked about politics, one of my favorite subjects (I mostly just listened and nodded a lot) and then we left. The show was where the real action was. Calexico opened with a set that only Wilco could have followed. With their repertoires fully represented, Calexico covered Love, Wilco covered the Blue Oyster Cult and a magical evening was shared by all. That was the weekend before Thanksgiving.
I spent Thanksgiving in Las Vegas, and left feeling thankful. My brother is a bartender at Studio 54 so I drank expensive drinks for free until I saw the sunrise, plus I won $150 thanks to blackjack, Texas Hold’em and UA sports.
These events happened in consecutive weekends and I’ve been decompressing ever since. Too many drogas, not enough sleepy make Z brain tired. I should be fully recovered by Christmas and New Year when the cycle can continue.

3. Just started watching 24 on DVD and it’s really the only way to watch it.

4. I’ll be in Vancouver within the month. I wonder if I’ll meet any famous movie stars. (this is what those in the business of comedy call a bringback)

5. GO SUNS!!! I should put some money on them. (also a bringback. Whee!)

6. When I worked at Bison Witches, they had bags full of bacon. I ate whole pigs making sandwiches at that place. Never. I’ll never give it up! Never! However… Pot: Can I really give it up altogether? If the government would just decriminalize, I wouldn’t have to be so paranoid about the cops and I could listen to my alternative music in peace, being slightly less counter-culture than before because now I’m being taxed on my pot and it’s totally mainstream and everybody’s doing it.

Moving right along.
Next?

Friday, December 03, 2004

Mr Chair's comic book pick of the week!

When Garth Ennis' Preacher ended, there was a great void left in the market. Preacher was the book you had to have. You couldn't wait for the next issue. The cover, the story, the beginning, the end. You'd read it in the car. You'd read it slow because you had to wait so long for the next. There still isn't any book out there that has matched that excitement. But the groomed heir to Vertigo's Preacher throne is Y: The Last Man, by Brian K. Vaughan and Pia Guerra. I'm not going to say it's as good, but it's good. Really good. Like Preacher: simple, expressive art, apocalyptic globe-trotting story, humor, violence, beautiful painted covers. This week's pick is #29, because it's a good example of another thing Y has in common with Preacher: masterful serialized storytelling. That indescribable knack for making you want to get your hands on the next issue.

The story is about Yorick, an English major whose only ambition is to become a magician, until every man on Earth dies a bloody, painful death at the exact same time. He's the only one left, and we follow his adventures. It takes a lot from Ennis. Mostly paying hommage, even the occasional reference. But it's definitely its own book, and one of the few that I think improves with every issue. This one features an abandoned ballpark showdown, an S&M dream sequence, and the mandatory jawdropper ending.

Of note: David Lapham, mentioned earlier in a Stray Bullets pick, took his first stab at selling out this week. After 10 plus years doing evil indie crime books, his first issues of Batman Detective Comics and The Darkness came out. The Batman story is pretty good. Real world Batman and such. Proves to be far better than the blockbuster Jeph Loeb series. Then there's The Darkness. What a weird book to do. It started with Image's T&A offshoot company from the 90s, Top Cow. Garth Ennis wrote the first four or five issues and bolted. It went defunct, then came back. Now Lapham writes it. The art in this week's is horrible. He's clearly mucking through the mythology, sorting out where he's gonna go. But the Atlantic City-based story is promising, and so are the characters. I'm going to stick with it. It's Lapham.

Wednesday, December 01, 2004

The other night I had a dream even crazier than Mr. Chair’s crazy dream

Mexico bought back most of Arizona from the United States. It came out of the blue, some backroom deal worked out on the sly. Nobody quite knew who orchestrated the sale and neither side was talking. The terms of the deal weren’t released, neither was the time scale. More importantly, why did Mexico want to buy back part of Arizona? And why did the U.S. sell off most of it’s 48th state?
All that was really known was that suddenly one day the lower two thirds of Arizona - including Phoenix and Tucson - was once again part of Mexico.
Terrible confusion ensued. Was the Mexican portion of Arizona now a Mexican state called Arizona, or did it lump in with Sonora? Was the remaining part of Arizona still a U.S. state called Arizona, or was it absorbed by another state?
Was Phoenix now the capital of Sonora? Was Flagstaff now the capital of U.S. Arizona?
What became of the federal buildings? Were they to be like U.S. embassies in Mexico, or were they appropriated for use by the Mexican government? Did the city and county government structure remain the same?
I was assigned to interview police and find out specifically what would become to those people in jail waiting trial. Were they freed? Were they still subject to trial, but prosecuted by Mexican government? What if they were accused of something that was not illegal in Mexico? I was working out of some cafe, trying to call sources with a cell phone and not having much luck. The deadline was looming.
Finally, I just got so fed up with all the damn confusion I decided it really wasn’t worth the trouble and I crossed the new border illegally and headed off for New York.