Ep 2 recording tomorrow, weather permitting.

Raking together stuff for tomorrow's podcast. The first episode served as a good proof-of-concept, a baseline to improve on (a lot).

We still don't have a USP (Unique Selling Point) yet.

I think our hook should be a podcast where everyone talks like monsters. Kind of like Gwar, only no makeup, lousy music, or special effects.

I get to start work tomorrow morning at 5am, lucky me.

...

Just typing those words spun me into a coma. I'm awake now.

Badgercasting.

Well, Donkeljohn and I made a subpar amateur podcast THE BEST PODCAST IN THE WORLD, just to prove we could.

Content Police - Episode 1

One hour of us rambling about games and comics.

My favorite parts are where I'm not talking.

You don't have to love it, but any feedback is greatly appreciated. If we get more positive responses than negative, we may even do another one.

(Update: Nice. Blogger won't let me post directly to a MP3 file. We'll work out the RSS feed and an actual site for the cast in the future, depending on a lot of ifs.)

Wasteland

There are too many reasons why I'm excited about this:

Wasteland by Oni Press

Check out the preview pages. Very cool stuff.

Bullet points!
- The art looks great. (I love greyscale comics, always have since Mark Nelson's art in Aliens #1)
- I love gritty post-apocalyptic dark future stories. Mad Max/A Boy And His Dog/Fallout/Fallout 2. Love'em. As long as they're Kevin-Costner-free.
- The dialogue looks like it won't offend my sensibilities.
- The cover by Ben Templesmith pwns.

This kind of brings up a line of thought that came up when I was talking with Runnerguy a few weeks ago. I need my comics to seriously jump out at me and make the hair on my arms stand up. I've gotta take a look at it, and utter shamelessly, "Oh, man, that's cool." The Tony Moore issues of Walking Dead did that for me. Global Frequency did that for me. That's the fix I'm looking for when I browse through every single comic cover on the rack. Flawless presentation, and I'm not only talking about art. I do read a couple of pages to get a feel for the dialogue. If it's dialogue I've read before, it's a no-sale, even if the art is terrific. If the writing is amazing, but the art doesn't grab me, tough luck. It's gotta be a complete package, or else you don't get my three dollars (which is why I'm not reading Exterminators).

I might be shallow. Maybe.

I really, really want this to be awesome, and it looks like it's got a solid chance.

I still exist, sorta.

Yeah, so the blog's been dry.

I've been working a lot. With not much interesting stuff going on.

Business as usual.

Nothing to see here.

Today's Accomplishment

I, along with Kate, have mastered the numbers One through Ten.

It was a long haul, but we finally made it.

Best Day Ever. Or Close To It.

Had the day off from work yesterday since I worked all weekend.
The day went like this:

- Slept 12 hours (Boy, did I need it.) Woke up around 7am.
- Hung out with Kate, played, and watched her cartoons.
- Wife made everyone a great breakfast.
- Called my Mom, had a great conversation, worked out some conundrums that have been bugging me.
- Took everybody out to the Sacramento Zoo. Kate liked the giraffes and the tiger. She was not thrilled about the pythons. I think that was her first confrontation with snakes, and she had a very primal negative response. More evidence that we're just hardwired to be creeped out by them, even when they're just sleeping. It's not a trained behavior.
- Went out for sub sandwiches and ice cream.
- Came home, kids took a nap, and Wife and I watched Raiders of the Lost Ark.
- Worked out several major flaws in my comic script. Big, glaring flaws.

Great day.

Road Trip

Yeah. I'll be in SLC this week/weekend. Email me if you want to hang out. I intend to dine in fine restaurants and work nonstop during the week, but Saturday/Sunday should be relatively clear.
Writing may be taking an unwanted hiatus until this blows over.

Pages written: 2
Hours spent: 1

I'm truly learning to hate my characters.

Outlined today.

Laid out the next couple issues today, no solid scripting done.

This week is not looking good, as I may have to fly out to SLC for the day job. I've tried to write while travelling in the past, but I usually just end up working 16 hour days or watching terrible movies on HBO. I'll strive to make this trip different.

A lot of work to do before Thursday, both at work and at home.

Pages written: NA
Time spent: 0.5 hours

Comic on Copyrights...

If you produce media in any form, this is worth a read.

It's a very informative comic on the ins and outs of copyright and fair use.

Side note: The lettering is atrocious. Bring your bifocals.

The World Cup Will Be The Downfall Of The United States Of America

If there's anything that will seal the fates of us "Ugly Americans", it's our lack of appreciation for the Soccer (FOOTBALL!) World Cup.

Think of it this way: Soccer is the only thing the entire rest of the world agrees on.

"Americans" (United Statists, as my Mexican friends are quick to clarify) disagree.

If the nations of the world get their act together and realize that Americans really are just super-rich moron space aliens with televisions and awful food, our political, military, and economic reign of terror is done for.

What if every other nation got together at a UN conference and just said, "Hey, we ALL really like football. Let's make this work."? Then every head would turn to the US diplomats, nervously tugging at their collars in the corner. Then they'd send them packing, screaming "GOOOOOOOOAAAAAALLL" the whole way.

I'm not a big soccer fan myself. I don't actively seek games out. I do enjoy watching a match every so often. And you don't want to watch me play.

But I can appreciate it. And I can also recognize that it's a World Religion that demands some respect.

I'm just saying. If we were soccer fans, the world would hate us just a little bit less.

Happy Fathers Day

Present day fathers, and future fathers, I salute you. Best of luck, you'll need it.

Yesterday was a bust, thanks to sick kids, the World Cup, and being very, very tired. I'm repenting today.

Yesterday's labor:
Pages written: 0
Hours spent: 0

Unofficially Summer.

Long day. Took a day off from "Work" work, to get some junk taken care of. It was 98 degrees Fahrenheit today, which sucked the life out of me.

Kate's got a 101.5F fever, she's passed out next to me. Poor kid.

I'm exhausted, will make up pages tomorrow. Only one page today, but I can unabashedly say I love it. No one else will, and that's okay.

Google is the pinnacle of human achievement in software engineering. Just throwing that out there.

Pages written: 1 page
Time spent: 1 hour

This Is Amazing...

Poor guy tries to cancel his AOL account.

Pages written: 3.5
Time spent: 2 hours

Progress.

Yes, I am writing. Thanks for checking up on me.

Today's Labor:
Pages written: 3.5
Time spent: 2 hours

So I'm slow. But if I keep this pace, I should be able to crank an issue a week. Which would be really good. (EDIT: Which will be very good...)

Now I've just got to make sure I don't suck. I appreciate the support. I've got a lot of people checking on me, like Alcoholics Anonymous in reverse.

I'll try to keep some accountability on here from now on, for my benefit.

Best Question I've Ever Gotten.

"When you lived in Mexico, did you know any Mexican wrestlers?"

No.

No, I did not.

I did know:
- A lady whose kids were kidnapped by drug farmers. She singlehandedly went into the mountains and rescued them.

- A lady whose husband was a drug lord that was killed by 36 rounds from an AK47. She lived in a fortress that could only be opened from the inside. She never left it.

- A guy whose job was to mop up crime scenes, who never smiled.

- An ex-army guy with bullets lodged in his arm, leg, and forehead, from fighting narcos.

- A blind watch-repairmen who was told by a priest that staring at the sun would help him see God. He did, and went blind. Still hasn't seen God.

- Several hookers and their pimps.

- A guy who went near-blind from drinking rubbing alcohol/orange juice cocktails, and would beg me to help him when I walked past every day.

- A kid who had sniffed glue for so long he was no longer capable of speech. We called him "Sticky." His family bought him the glue.

- A group of transvestites that called me "Handsome" and wanted me to "come over here for a minute." I didn't.

- A group of college girls that called me "Handsome" and wanted me to "come over here for a minute." I did.

- A couple who drugged their one-year-old daughter to keep her quiet when they jumped the border.

- Two neighbors that quit lifelong alchohol abuse and got their lives together.

- A schizophrenic young newlywed that I had to drug in jail in order to get him to the hospital, where he later jumped out the window and broke both of his legs. This earned him the nickname "Superman."

- A teenage boy who had had his entire memory erased when he was 12.

- A handful of 8-year-old bus drivers.

- A pizza girl who learned to speak English solely by watching American commercials.

- A guy who lost everything he owned on a coin toss. He lived in a cardboard shack.

- A sweet couple whose kids possessed superhuman intelligence. Their nine-year-old daughter was a concert pianist.

- A very friendly Freemason who pulled me off the street and fed me for no reason at all.

- Two sisters who made the most delicious chocolate/caramel flan in the entire freaking universe. They kept trying to fatten me up.

- A guy that looked, acted, and talked like Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now, only Spanish-speaking.

- A practitioner of Black Magic.

- Lots of amazing, beautiful, wonderful people.


No Mexican wrestlers.

What's Stuck In My Head Today?

Comic script involving an old man, railguns, West Virginia, satellites, roofing nails, and Frankie Vallie.

If I don't finish this story, I want you to kill me.

No way I could not post this.

No commentary here, just watch.

I have kids.

Here is more proof.

Sick Day

Family and I wiped out by Ebola/Bird Flu/Anthrax mutant virus.

Not doing anything today.

Send comics and Nyquil.

MYSPACE!

I'm not sure why everything is so wrong today, but I'm fairly certain it's Myspace's fault.

Also, Myspace wants to eat your children.

Myspace.

Bang! Howdy Is Fun.

It is.

Think Boot Hill/Steampunk/RTS/MMOG. If you tried and liked Puzzle Pirates (WHICH WAS EXCELLENT) you might dig this. Three Rings just hits that sweet spot for "Oh, I've only got five minutes for a round or two, and by the way I don't want to emotionally scar my kid in the process" gaming.



It's like chewing gum. Satisfying, but not destructively habit-forming. Games for people with jobs. Or lives. Or interests.

Plus, you know, steampunk.

Have some more gum.

(Update: Okay, fine, it's on MacOS X and Linux too. Snobbery!)

Seriously, What's The Deal?

Why do I feel like someone stepped on my grave today?

I'm as paranoid as the next guy, but this morning I feel like Philip Dick guest-starring on a very special episode of The Prisoner.

If anything serious goes down today, launch my ashes into space.

Nothing Bad's Allowed To Happen Today!

...

So, It's Wednesday.

What are we gonna do?

Standing invitation:
Drop me a line, and we can play some Guild Wars or Wolfenstein: Enemy Territory for a little while. Then we can read comic books and talk about girls. Then drink from a bottomless frosty mug of root beer. Then play Lazer Tag.

Do I sound bored? Why would I sound bored? I'm normally so insanely busy that when a quiet evening comes around, I don't know what to do.

Don't make me watch Beauty and The Beast again with my daughter.

Please.

No.

Okay, fine. I'll go write something.

I Have Decided To Hurt You... Again.

Today... I'm Going To Hurt You.

Almost Friday. Smoke 'Em If You've Got 'Em.

What Makes The Boys From Brazil work so well?

It's not Gregory Peck.
It's not Sir Laurence Olivier.
It ain't even James Mason.

It's Steve Guttenberg.

[SPOILERS]
Start the film with fifteen minutes of his hideous over-emoting. And then behold his brutal stabbing. Ignore the rest of the movie, forget all the Hitler-clonage, just watch those first fifteen minutes.

Best. Start. Ever.

Could only have been better if he had been eaten by Dobermans.

I don't know why this is in my head today, of all days. I rented it like a month ago for some research on a languishing comic script that I really need to get around to writing.

It's just a Guttenberg-stabbing kind of day.

But We Don't Want To Watch Television...

... We want to watch you.

Kieth Moon's Head

Chris Onstadt keeps on giving me reasons to link to Achewood.

Story thus far:
After winning the Great Outdoor Fight, Ray and Roast beef decide to have a party and trash their couch. Phillipe decides to rescue the couch from the dump and runs away. Ray meanwhile discovers the hidden Elite Ebay auction site by typing in "What's the best you got" in the search box. He purchases Airwolf (AIRWOLF!) and Kieth Moon's head. Flying Airwolf, Ray and Roast Beef launch a rescue mission to save Phillipe, and succeed. Flushed with success, Ray and Teodor debate on whether to drink some of the vodka from Kieth's Head-Jar. They open the jar to discover...

I now officially have no further need for any other webcomic. Ever.

If you aren't reading this comic, you don't get to be my friend anymore.

Not Going Anywhere Today

I'm just gonna hide at home all day and pretend that the surrounding area is nuked out wasteland.

Last night I watched Forbidden Planet starring... Leslie Nielson. Actually, it's an excellent film that I'd recommend to anybody. I hadn't seen it in well over a decade.

I was engaged and impressed. The special effects are fun, the soundtrack is awesome, and, you know, Robbie The Robot. The end is scarier than I remembered. I was watching it with Kate, and she kept giving me wide-eyed looks and saying "OH NO, WHAT HAPPENED?" It's good stuff for a 1956 Leslie Nielson flick. Stick this in the "Good 50's movies file" along with War of the Worlds and Invasion of the Bodysnatchers.

I'll also admit that the writing holds up pretty well. Aliens-style rescue mission meets The Black Hole meets Twilight Zone. The romance dialogue doesn't work, nor do the sad attempts at humor, but it was for an audience from a different age. The basic plot holds it together though, and the reasoning behind the premise is surprisingly sound.

Admittedly some of the scenes are a little hokey, like when the string-suspended flying saucer descends to the planet surface. But I couldn't shake the feeling that if I was a different 12-year-old me, circa mid 1950's, I'd be digging the hell out of this film.

Happy Free Comic Book Day!

So, hit the store today. Got some free comics.

Was at the checkout when I saw on the flyer that the store was selling all their back issues for $1 each. The sale's going on until the 13th. Holy Schnikeys!

So I did some digging. And I'm ready to do some bragging. Here's what I nabbed, and only felt slightly guilty about:

Aliens V1 #2 (Mark Nelson greyscale art which I've never seen equalled in the past 18 years.)
Aliens V2 #1
Astro City #1/2
Brit
Concrete #2
Concrete Earth Day 1990 #1
Concrete Fragile Creature #2
Concrete Strange Armor #4
DHP #1, 3 (I thought I threw #2 on the pile too, but must have dropped it...)
Give Me Liberty #1-2
Global Frequency #1 (HOLY CRAP), #4
League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen V2: #5-6
Losers #4-10, 13-18 (WOO!)
Madman #2-3 (Dark Horse)
Monkeyman and O'Brien #1-2
Mystery Men #2-4
Uncanny Xmen #256 (Jim Lee art. They had a near complete run of Claremont/Silvestri too, which I'm barely capable of restraining myself from rushing back and getting. Maybe Monday.)
Watchmen #2 (Again I say, WOO!)

And the crown jewel. For me anyway, I was pumped to find this.
Longshot #1, Autographed by Art Adams himself. I was literally scared that the Comic Book Guy was going to see this and tell me that there was no way I was getting this book for a dollar. I've been such an Adams fanboy since I was a kid, and I still love his work. He's got the attention span of an ADD squirrel, but his art is so clean and darn fun to look at. Truly one of the greats that's been imitated countless times, but never surpassed.

In some ways, I'm actually glad comics are unpopular at the moment. It makes filling up my back-issue wantlist so much easier.

I'm done gloating. For the moment. At least until Monday. Pretty darn good Saturday.

Worst Fears?

CONFIRMED.

Xmen 3 will suck.

Crappity crap crap.

CONSUME: Catching Lucifer's Lunch

Just thought I'd mention this. This is the first book put out by T.J. and Jason May. One writes, one draws. The book is illustrated entirely in watercolor.

It feels like a first book, which is okay, because the enthusiasm of these guys comes through, even if it's flawed.

The story is a Lovecraft/Army Of Darkness/Grimm's Fairy Tale hybrid horror story. The plot is very sketchy, and the dialogue is not as punchy as it should be. The movement of the story is more dreamlike than anything. The incongruity in the action plays out like one of my nightmares, and that's not necessarily a bad thing.

The art is suited for horror, and the watercolors are pretty. I will say that I got lost a couple of times, particularly in the action sequences. Violence allows for no ambiguity in comics. I'd be reading, and realize a character had been stabbed. How did that happen? Oh, in the previous panel, the bad guy kind of looked like he was making stabbing motions. My bad. The visual vocabulary is lacking a little bit.

Like I said, there's a lot of flaws. But I was charmed by the way these guys just decided to make a book, and did it. It's not awful. I hope they do more. And I hope they get better.

CONSUME: Marvel Comics Redux: Guys and Dolls #1

Can I tell you what a great idea this is?

Dig up the old Marvel Romance artwork, rehash the dialogue, and sell that badboy.

If you've missed Mystery Science Theater 3000 hilarity over the years, you can get that same taste in your mouth with some of this comicky goodness.

It's funny. Laugh-out-loud funny. You should buy it. You'll laugh.

My favorite was the story about the occult-obsessed vixen who can't decide between her trucker ex-boyfriend or the food-obsessed stranger who comes to town.

Five episodes, five brokenhearted young ladies, five starcrossed romances, five unquenchable love stories.

Marvel will teach you how to love again.

False Alarm

Work conflict. Can't go anywhere.

Brain is sad.

No E3 for Badger.

Stupid, stupid E3.

Holy Schnikeys

Man, um... Looks like I'm going to E3. My good buddy Don evidently scored with the passage. I'm fairly certain that if I even think about not going, he's going to release a weaponized virus, 'cause, you know, that's his thing.

Honestly? I'm pumped. They've made a focused effort on making E3 a lot more respectable trade show, especially since last year was the last show with Booth Babes. That means fewer drooling fanboys revealing previously undiscovered emotions and urges in sweaty public areas... Bleah.

What do I want to see? Not interested in the ridiculously dubbed Wii. I've been blessedly ignorant of the Console Wars, I'm a PC gamer with a tiny bit of Gamecube Animal Crossing thrown in.

If the Introversion guys are there, I'll be bringing rose petals to strew at their feet.

If the Valve/Half Life 2 guys show up, I fear I may put my marriage in jeopardy.

I'm also fairly certain that we'll be cornering the Bioware guys and interrogating them ruthlessly about Neverwinter Nights 2 details.

I curious to see if Linden Labs will be there.

And if Gabe and Tycho are there, I may say a swear word, just out of politeness.

I'm a stammering fanboy about a select few things, but when I am truly enthused, it's like pulling the cord on a nitro-fueled chainsaw.

Now I need a good camera, an IV stand, and some earplugs.

Oh, and to break the bad news to the wife...

I'm famous.

So my top 5 list of Movies About Money made it on Cinecast Episode #97, which means I'm done. I'll never have to work another day in my life. And all I had to do was make a list of five semi-related movies.

Listen here.

In all honesty, the Cinecast guys are pretty darn good film reviewers, if for no other reason than that they admit if they're underexposed to a genre, and are willing to give anything a shot. They're also big enough men to admit when they're wrong.

Eat it Ebert. Eat it right up.

Why am I so pissed off?

Because I can't get a house in Sacramento. Ever.

Sure, there are houses in the "lower-class" neighborhoods. My buddy got one a year ago. He's had people jump his fence. He's had people try to steal his car (in broad daylight, in the gated driveway). He's had a drunk driver smash through his fence. This is within a six month period.

Average home price for Sacramento is $480,000. - MLS statistics

Average salary for Sacramento is $38,000. - IRS statistics

So the Price to Income ratio for a normal home is 12.6.

Conventional wisdom for the last 30 years has recommended a Price to Income ratio between 3 and 4.

My coworker moved from Sacramento to Houston. He sold his house and got a job there. He fixes things, like cars and conveyors. He's not going house-hunting. He's going mansion-hunting.

What am I doing here again?

I'm moving to Kansas or Alaska. Screw California.

Because I Have A Two-Year-Old Daughter...

I am guaranteed the following inalienable rights:

FATHER OF TWO-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER BILL OF RIGHTS

1. The right to use the phrase "Oh, so cute!" without anyone questioning my masculinity.

2. The right to carry around a pink Cinderella handbag with no resulting raised eyebrows.

3. The right to wear ribbons, bows, barrettes, etc. in my hair at any hour of the day. Behind closed doors, of course.

4. The right to memorize every song from "The Little Mermaid" by heart, and sing them under my breath when I'm not paying attention to what I'm doing.

5. The right to play My Little Ponies anytime, anywhere.

6. The right to dance like a ballerina, given appropriate music.

I will defend these rights to death, by use of firearms, if necessary.

Don't Tread On Me.

Okay, okay, everybody calm down.

Let's just pretend this weekend didn't happen. I slept a lot and fixed broken things. And gave my son a bath. Got a haircut. Purchased new speakers and headphones, both of which died on me.

Does my list of accomplishments look huge? Nope. I'll try to get some comic reviews up, as I did in fact hit the store on Friday.

Oh, one other accomplishment. I have decided that I am going to really like the Decemberists from here on out. And as an offering of True Friendship, I offer you the lyrics of "The Bagman's Gambit," the love song of a jilted traitor which I find sublime.

The Bagman's Gambit - Words and Music by The Decemberists

On the lam from the law, on the steps of the capitol,
you shot a plain-clothes cop on the ten o'clock.
And I saw, momentarily, they flashed a photograph.
It couldn't be you.

You'd been abused so horribly,
but you were there in some anonymous room.

And I recall that fall--I was working for the government--
and in a bathroom stall off the national mall
how we kissed so sweetly! How could I refuse a favor or two?
And for a tryst in the greenery, I gave you documents and microfilm too.

From my ten-floor tenement, where once our bodies lay,
how I long to hear you say:
"No they'll never catch me now.
No, they'll never catch me, no
they cannot catch me now.
We will escape somehow. Somehow."

It was late one night, I was awoken by the telephone.
I heard a strangled cry on the end of the line.
Purloined in Petrograd, they were suspicious of where your loyalties lay.
So I paid off a bureaucrat
to convince your captors there to secret you away.

And at the gate of the embassy
our hands met through the bars
as your whisper stilled my heart:
"No they'll never catch me now.
No, they'll never catch me, no
they cannot catch me now.
We will escape somehow. Somehow."

And I dreamt one night you were there in court.
Head held high in uniform.

It was ten years on
when you resurfaced in a motor car.
And with a wave of an arm, you were there and gone.

Neat.

Now that the Roswell secret is out, can I have my Max Headroom DVD boxed set?

PROBLEM SOLVED, SUCKA.

So, yeah. I haven't posted in a bit. Maybe it has to do with the fact that

I DON'T F#$%ING SLEEP ANYMORE.

But it's okay, because my problem is now solved.

Last night I ingested a bottle of this:

I think I'm ready to have more kids now. Four or five. Or twelve.

Don't matter now, because I've got my beloved Liquid Kryptonite. My breath is minty fresh. My driving skills are fabled, I'm switching careers to Heavy Machinery Operator. And I sleep 12-18 hours a night. When I'm sleeping with my "Happy Juice," as I like to call it, you can detonate a live hand grenade on my chest, and not only will I not wake up, but my bed, PJs, and body will remain completely unharmed and unsinged.

I don't know how they got the word Awesome into a bottle, but they did it.

I'm going to go save the world now. Right the hell now.

But, but... I don't want to play games anymore!

Just when I think I'm out, they drag me back in!

Seriously, this is trouble. In case you don't know, I was a Wolfenstein: Enemy Territory fiend, for longer than I care to admit. And when I played a Field Officer, for either Axis or Allied forces, I was a Machine Of Death. My Engineering 5k!11z were fabled. My Medical abilities were precognitive, with health packs arriving at my teammates' bodies split-seconds before the MG42 rounds did. My Heavy Weapons caused immeasureable amounts of suffering.

And if I was a Covert Ops...

Well, basically I just died a lot. Other than that, I was pretty darn good.

ET, like Natural Selection, hit that sweet spot between FPS and RTS, only with a lot more polish. We now have ET set in the Quake universe, sixty years in the future. Multiplayer only. Squad-based, objective-based, shootyness. With character advancement. In the future. With vehicles, like this...

In the future.

Please, PLEASE let this game suck...

I really, really don't want to play anymore. I'm supposed to be very busy.

Conner is Home

We finally got to bring our son home Wednesday. What a relief.

He sleeps and eats. He only cries when we change his diaper.

His big sister thinks he's cute, so far, and likes to stroke his hand. We'll see how long that lasts.

Very, very relieved. No more driving to the hospital in the middle of the night.

Consume: Nextwave #3

Crooked cops! Distorted cyborg cats that burrow into your chest! Car-Eating robot-guys! Exploding stuff!

So, I added Nextwave to the pull list. Because I was an adolescent boy, in years past. Is it funny? Oh, yes, oh, yes. The plot (plot?) is moderately amusing, but it's the dialogue/one-liners which are hilarious. More Ellis being witty and non-topical.

I'm a little sad though, because this is a humor-action book. And sadly, since it's a humor-action book, I must compare it to the humor-action book yardstick: SCUD: The Disposable Assassin. Nextwave made me chuckle. Scud made me laugh until I passed out, only to wake up with a nosebleed and ringing in my ears, wondering what happened. I know, comparing books is so unfair. But this is just a freaking blog.

It's all so very sad. I miss me some Scud.


I guess I'm not in love with Stuart Immonen like the rest of the world, but maybe that's just because I don't recall reading anything else he's drawn. But Dave McCaig's coloring is bright and shiny. The panel with the Cat-Aberration just seized my eye and ran off with it, optic nerve dangling. It just looked cool.

Is this book going to save comics? No, hell no. The last thing we need is another superhero book. But we can at least wring some funny out of the genre while we beat it to death.

It made it to the pull-pile. What do you want from me?

So this is what happens when I leave the country...

Nick Fury: Agent Of SHIELD

Two questions:

1. How did this happen?

2. How could you let it?

1998. I'm dying in the blazing Mexican sun, and what's going on back home? This Monstrosity. Why am I only finding out about this now? And why were the Marvel offices not immediately bulldozed to the ground?

At least now I know not to ever, ever watch it. Thank heaven I'm not curious in the least.

Consume: The Keep #1

This cover kept jumping out at me, but I never got around to picking it up until now. There's a few of these issues looking lonely on the rack.

So this Saturday, I was moping around the comics store, lamenting my absence from the festivities down at APE. New baby = No Cons for Daddy for a while. Which is cool. Cool about the baby part, not cool about the no cons part.

So I was in a different mood than usual, and grabbed this.

Evidently F. Paul Wilson has written a couple of things. Hopefully I won't come across as a complete troglodyte when I say I haven't read any of them.

The Keep is the first book of his Repairman Jack: Adversary series, written in 1981. In it, a platoon of Nazi commandos holes up in a semi-deserted castle. And get eaten... by... something.

I wasn't aware of these facts, or else I wouldn't have been mildly miffed that this book looked like a Hellboy ripoff. I'm glad I've corrected my error rather than have suffered the embarrassment of someone doing the correction for me. Boy, would that have looked stupid.

Back to our comic.

I liked it! Nazis get eaten and killed and stuff. And like the Sphinx in Mystery Men it's all "very mysterious." The dialogue is properly sparse and militaristic. The pacing is just right, not too fast or too slow for a horror title. Just enough creepy distance between shocking panels to keep things flowing smoothly.

On the topic of panel layout, I'm really impressed. Most pages were blocked out in a fairly complicated fashion, shying away from the standard 6 panel or 9 panel grid motifs. Each page is laid out differently, with no space wasted. It's not a Jock issue of Losers, but it works.

The art is moody and well inked. There's definitely a Mike Mignola influence, but it's okay. It's three color (black, white, and blue) which does help with the spookiness. That extra color does actually add a surprising amount of depth, more than you'd think.

What didn't work?

The price tag. $4.99 for 22 pages of story. Oof. That said, I did like the heavier paper that the comic was printed on. It's not shiny; it's solid and has heft for a pamphlet, like a book you'd find in a thrift store. I liked that.

Overall, pretty good book with no superheroes in it. I really don't know where the story's going, for which I am glad. I'm genuinely looking forward to being surprised.

Am I going to go back and pick up the next issue? Yeah, I think I am.

Today's installment of Indescribable Awesomeness is brought to you by the letters P and A.

Was I a Warhammer nerd?

No.

Was I a tabletop gaming nerd?

Maybe.

I won't be picking up Warhammer Online, but I've always had a smirking respect for Games Workshop. Their models were so cartoony and goofy, but undeniably fun/cool.

And expensive. Very, very expensive.

It was always fun to walk into a game store and see a foot long tank filled with intricately hand-painted Space marines lying on the game table. I didn't have the money the buy them, the patience to paint them, or the friends to play with them. For those three gaping holes in my adolescence, I am eternally grateful.

I miss tabletop gaming. Electronic gaming seems so sterile by comparison. How do you get pizza stains and spilled Mountain Dew into your MMO? I doubt Games Workshop will ever work the same vibe into the online evironment.

(Although Dawn of War is solid shooty RTS fun, with sharp sticks poking out of it.)

Aaaaand I think I'll end this post right here before they take my Learner's Permit away and the gym class beatings re-commence...

I'm gonna find my baby, woo! Before that sun goes down...

Still no baby. He remains trapped in that fortress of bedding and IV tubes, with smiley scrub-bedecked nurses as his captors.

Maybe in a couple days.

This is a drag.

Currency for Paper: DMZ #4

Okay, I'm sold.
I've been back and forth about DMZ. I haven't wanted to commit to it either way and say "Yeah, I need to buy this book."

Issue 4 sealed the deal.

Recap: New York City is at war. Matty is a journalist who has been ditched in the warzone. He's the only correspondent in the DMZ. He has no support, no camera crew, just a press pass and a laptop.

Issue four details Matty's investigation of a legend floating around the DMZ about a group of "ghosts" haunting Central Park. Matty finds them.

The story is about vision, environmental preservation, and sacrifice for a common goal. No solutions are offered, but thought-provoking, heady questions are.

Honest opinion? The cover alone is worth the price. These DMZ covers just keep jumping off the rack at me.

It's on my pull list now.

Currency for Paper: Planetary #24

Things are starting to make sense in Planetary. Not that they haven't during the rest of the series, but everything's being tied up into one tidy little package.

A quiet stretch of explicatory dialogue, followed by a scene of unimagineable violence.

I don't even know why I'm reviewing this book, because everything is going to be very clear next issue at the series conclusion. Or completely disorienting and confusing.

Either way, it is going to be so freaking cool, I promise.

Great art, punchy words filled with meaty plot links. Can't wait for the next issue.

NO DEAL! NO, WAIT!

No, I don't watch that masterpiece of modern television. The adverts are enough to make me want to force myself to sit down and actually watch the show, so I could die.

Because stupid gameshows, yes, make me die.

On to more important matters in the life-bubble I call my world.

Conner-boy is progressing nicely and we're hoping he can come home by the end of the week. Eating well, breathing better, off the IV. Very, very great news, but we're pretending that he can't come home for another month so we can be thrilled when he comes home on Friday.

And he better be home by Friday. Or we'll be devastated.

Until a few moments ago, I didn't know what day this was. Everything since last Wednesday has been a distorted sleepless blur.

I really ought to get something done other than my Michael Keaton/Mr. Mom impersonation. Dishes/diapers/laundry/cleaning I'm on top of.

Cooking? You can't make me talk.

Put the alligator clips down.

We're all doing fine, much better than usual, because we're happy that there's more of us. Our plurality has increased. That we're currently split into two factions (Hospital faction vs. Home faction) is immaterial. We're all going to be fine. We'll just be happier when we're all under the same roof.

By the way, my son is a snuggle machine. He would be a foolproof interrogation device, as physical contact with him immediately saps your will to resist his snuggly cuteness. No pain, no begging for mercy, just an immediate descent into mushiness.

I'm doing all I can to make sure he doesn't fall into the wrong hands.

You have my word, Mr. President.

Gentlemen, we can rebuild him...

Here's Daddy's little 6-Million-Dollar Man.

Sure, the IV and oxygen make it look like he's having a hard time, but I just like to think he's a cyborg.

Breathing better and eating like a starved wolverine at the moment. Uh, badger.

Yes, he looks like me! Why would you say he doesn't look like me?

No pics yet.

No one can win with the "My baby's cuter than your baby" battle.

So I will impress you with numbers:

Born 10:53pm, March 30, 2006.
6 pounds 3 ounces
19 inches long
25 hours of labor.

Conner Lewis Richmond. I know, not a number.

Baby and Mother are both fine. Mom is doing exceptionally well, and is already walking around, arranging things, lifting Volkswagons over her head.

Conner is very pink and extremely cute. He has a lot of spikey blond hair. Came out with a mohawk. Billy Idol is not the father.

He's still got a little fluid in his lungs, so he's grunting a little while he breathes. He's on oxygen to help him out for the time being, but we're very optimistic. When he's being held by Mama, his oxygen saturation shoots up to 100% and the grunting stops, so Mom is going to be camping out in the nursery. His breathing dramatically improves just by being in physical contact with her and hearing her voice.

He smiled when Mom stroked his arm.

He's very hungry, but can't feed yet until his lungs are stronger. Until then, he's on an IV.

Thanks to everyone for the help, calls, and prayers. Pictures are forthcoming.

Now for a nap.

D-Day

Baby being induced today.

Not sleeping.

Nothing ready.

Incapable of complete sentences.

Updates when more coherent.

Where am I? And why am I wearing mittens?

Long night last night. Got to spend most of it at the hospital. Mrs. Badger's pregnancy is not going optimally. The doctors were -this- close to having the baby inducted. Which would have meant I would be a new daddy this morning.

Needless to say, nothing is ready. We didn't even pack any clothes.

We get to go back for more tests today.
And tomorrow.
And probably the day after that.

I can already tell I can write off sleep for the next month. Seems like a good time to start taking hallucinogenic drugs and start writing my masterpiece. Working title:

Adventures in Baby-having.

I love Marvel Comics, but...

You know what?

Screw Marvel.

Rethinking this whole CA idea...

Home sweet home.

Not Thinking Words.

Quote for the day, courtesy of today's installment of the ingenious webcomic, Concerned:

"I don't have any idea about a lot of things."
-Gordon Frohman

Three days, three acres, three thousand men

I don't know if you read Achewood, but if you don't at least read the Great Outdoor Fight story arc going on right now, you're not a real man.

The violence started on January 25.

Ray and Roast Beef, jeeps doing wheelies, gasoline, and handguns.

This was a webcomic about cats and stuffed animals, at one point. No clue what happened.

Go Read This, Then Rent A Sinbad Movie

No, not that Sinbad.

Neat interview with Ray Harryhausen at the Onion.

It feels like he needs some sort of title of nobility. You can't just say Ray Harryhausen, it should be Master Animator Ray Harryhausen, or Lord Of Creatures Ray Harryhausen.

Thinking Words

"The promise of the internet is that we all become publishers (if we choose)...from news, blogs, games, music, and movies....this is the "New Economy". The "Old Economy" is dominated by the gatekeepers, the middlemen--the ones that own the means of distribution, starting with railroads."

-ChenLing from Slashdot

Fine.

So Don called me out.

Yeah, there are still decent superhero books out there. And surprise, some of them are even coming from the Big Two.

There are a few superhero books that I enjoy consistently: Invincible and Planetary. Nextwave may join that list, I'll see what the Director's Cut looks like. I guess Hellboy counts as a superhero book. I also buy and like Ex Machina, although I'm not in love with it.

So what's my problem with superheroes? They're an American tradition. They're icons. Name one kid who hates Spiderman. Superheroes are cool.

And yet... they've been around (in their current, cheap newsprint form) for nearly a century. And they don't age well. Or maybe their readers don't age well.

I loved Rob Liefeld comics when I was a kid, heaven knows why. Maybe it was the angsty feathering on everything. Maybe it was the crazy posture and anatomically impossible contortions of the characters. It was pure fluff. But I dug it.

And then I hit puberty. I grew up. And I look back at that stuff and I gag. I can't believe I spent money on (had a subscription to!) X-Force.

Gah. My head hurts just thinking about it.

Sitcoms. Comics are so similar to sitcoms, this will make my non-existent point much clearer. They're a dime a dozen. When they're truly original and funny, they age well. When they suck... well, they suck. And each new sitcom tries harder and harder to be funny, because the premises are so dried out, but statistically well-proven: Goofy, boorish man marries hot woman and they argue about man and woman stuff and how they're different. Where have we seen this? King of Queens, Everybody Loves Raymond, Family Guy, Mad About You, Home Improvement, Married With Children, Just the Ten of Us, Family Matters, the Cosby Show.

Simpsons, I whisper, fearfully.

Bewitched.

I Dream Of Genie.

I Love Lucy.

The Honeymooners.

It's a blueprint for success. And there's some seriously funny material in that list. But it's reached a straining point. The majority of it hurts my brain.

For every sitcom out there, there are probably an hundred superheroes, each one lovingly drawn at some kid's breakfast table. And they're all Superman/Batman/Wolverine clones.

I guess the punchline to this rambling is that the industry has made making comics harder than it really is.

It's hard to come up with really cool, original superhero. Even harder to come up with an original plot. If you can do it, and come up with truly original stuff, you're set. Either that, or you must cleverly disguise your rehashed material so that only the most intense Comic Book Guy notices that you're phoning it in. Maybe I am that Comic Book Guy, and that's why it bothers me so much.

So point one, originality.

Point two: continuity.
If your character has fought evil for fifty years, and hasn't aged or gotten killed, move on. No one is keeping score anymore. No, dying and miraculously coming back doesn't count.

Point three: maturity.
Here's a meaty one. Nearly every comic fan I know started out as a kid. They will nearly always maintain a level of affection for the books they grew up on, particularly their first books. I loved my jacked up copy of Gold Key Magnus: Robot Fighter #24. I was in love with the cover, particularly. I was probably five or six. What's not to love about this cover? Besides the gogo boots.

My tastes have changed. I want some serious writing in my comics. I'd also like some serious art. I don't mean serious, serious, I mean of a higher strata of creative effort. I'm looking for books from creators that pour as much affection into their work as I pour into enjoying them. Enough milk, I want some meat. Love is easy to recognize, and lasts. Love's not the right word: Passion is probably what I want. I want to open a book and say: "Wow, I bet that guy loved drawing that." If I see that passion, I'll spend the two or three bucks on the book without thinking about it.

A Brian Wood cover will do it.
A Cassaday full-page spread will do it.
An Ellis chunk of biting dialogue will do it.
A Diggle plot will do it.

I'm not trying to convince you of anything, I'm trying to convince me. I don't hate superheroes. I just really, really like new, original, craftsmanship.

But comics are a junk medium anyway, so I'm probably looking in the wrong place.

Nah, that couldn't possibly be it.

Comics Rundown: Nextwave #2

So, more Warren Ellis. Doing a superhero book.

I missed issue #1. It flew under my radar. I'll try to find it somewhere. Did I miss anything major?

Nextwave is a team superhero book. It feels like Ellis tearing apart everything he hates about team superhero books.

Fin Fang Foom, the mythical dragon who always looks more awesome when drawn by Art Adams, is destroying a city. He is a UWMD (Unusual Weapon of Mass Destruction).

I think there's some backstory about why Nextwave is fighting Fin Fang Foom, but I missed it. And it doesn't matter.

Warren Ellis, the series writer, is one of the superheroes in Nextwave, except he's called Machine Man. Naturally, he steals the show, because he hates humans, is alcoholic, and has sharp pointy objects inside him.

I rant against superhero books, because I hate them. I feel betrayed by them. I do not feel betrayed by Nextwave. I am reminded of Peter David's X-Factor run when reading it.

The art is serviceable. It's not terrific, but also not distracting. It's Marvel. It's colorful and light.

The writing? There might be a plot in there somewhere. Where Nextwave shines is the dialogue and scene composition. A giant dragon threatens to stuff you in his pants. I don't think that's ever been done before.

Let's not let that happen again.

I'll probably grab this one off the rack, but I don't think I'll add it to my pull list. I not-so-secretly hope the series is cut short, because it feels gimmicky. I can almost imagine the Marvel execs waving the fan of cash under Ellis' nose, cooing "One more superhero book... you won't feel a thing..."

And Ellis is muttering, "Fine, you want your superheroes? Here, deal with some of this madness..."

Comics Rundown: Fell #4

NIXON NUN MUST DIE.

Not buying this book is inexcusable. It's two dollars. It's a complete story. And it will hurt you. This book will hurt you, because after a few issues of the punishment that this series dishes out, you will realize two things:

1. People hurt other people.
2. There's nothing you can do about it.

Detective Fell has those steaming facts and a floating corpse shoved in his face in #4. And cuts a deal (more like a threat) with Snowtown:

"Every time you take one... I'm going to take one back."

Greasy crime fiction, with no real answers, based on real events that Warren Ellis dug up on some awful, mindbreaking newsfeed.

Templesmith offering up foggy streets that look like they want to mug you and cut your face off.

The format works. The story feels satisfying when you get to the end. Nine panels per page. I'm excited for Matt Fraction's Casanova series using the same price/format.

Two dollars.

No excuse.

Comics Rundown Update

Digging through the pile, I've determined that I've bought too many comics since January 17th. Reviewing them would take roughly the same amount of time that it would take me to singlehandedly building a pyramid. Not one of those pansy Mayan pyramids, one of those Gaza jobbers.

So here's the deal. I'll review what I feel strongly about, either positive or negative. And I'll try to be specific about what the book works or doesn't work for me. And if I'm gonna keep buying it.

Solid?

Solid.

Frisbee Abuse

Neat article about the making of TRON.

Did I hit my brothers with frisbees after seeing this film?

Yes. Yes, I did.

Oddly enough, my marriage to my wife happened partially because of TRON. On our first date, within two minutes, I had discovered that she had never seen it. A fierce argument ensued. The date survived the argument, proving that this was a woman I could successfully argue with.

And now we're married.

And that mule went on to save Spring Break.

There goes my game budget.

Must Have.






From the geniuses at Schadenfreude Interactive.

...

Thanks for the podcast recs. Slowly working my way through them.

Listened to the first Wordballoon cast with Brian Michael Bendis. I never want to read another Marvel comic again. Listening to Mr. Bendis answer questions like:

"Will Spiderwoman ever have a crossover with Ultimate Thunderbolts after the House of M?"

makes me realize two things. First, I came to the realization that I've gone through a series of certain special changes (called puberty) which have changed me from a boy to a man. Second, the mere idea of superhero continuity (either Marvel or DC) makes me want to pay a homeless guy to tie me to a chair and make me read every email in my Spam box.

I'm sure Bendis is a fine writer. I haven't read any of his work yet. He came on long after I ceased consuming Marvel products. But the idea of these soap-operatic universes meshing into one coherent travesty of a fictional world is ludicrous.

The editorial review process for DC or Marvel books looks like an exercise in madness. This character can't die, because they have a new series coming out. This character can't guest star in this story in Antarctica, because they're in Rwanda in their own book this month. You can't have Batman trace a supervillain by his fingerprints, because that villain had his prints burned off forty years ago in Superman's Girlfriend Lois Lane #45.

I'm surprised these two companies are still in business. Infinite Crisis #4 (of 7!) was the top selling book in January. 182,633 people bought it. Which means there are almost 200,000 people out there willing to eat literary feces.

You can't blame this on the kids. The kids are not reading this stuff, they're downing manga like crack fiends, for better or worse. These consumers are my age, or older. This is the demographic of the man-child. The gamer generation's taken a lot of heat for the "30 year old living in his parents' basement" stereotype. It's an inaccurate image. The 30 year old gamer got an education and a job. The 30 year comic guy is still in their parents' basement. The Simpson's Comic-Book-Guy stereotype is well-deserved.

How many issues of Desolation Jones #5 sold in January? 17,160.

I know, I don't have much of a right to whine "You don't like the same books I do!" I can't stop Fox from canceling Arrested Development if no one else watches it. I can't go into people's homes and make them turn off Skating With Celebrities.

I guess I'm coming to the realization that good art is rarely popular art. I've known this before, but I've not truly internalized it until now. I'm still growing up.

I think I'm done. I don't want continuity, ever again. I'll hold on to my Claremont X-Men storylines from my childhood, and call it good.

Again, I don't blame Bendis, or any other writer/editor/artist. I blame the market.

Keep on shoveling that crap.

Placeholder

Yesterday was new comic day. Lots of stuff to review. I raided the 25 cent bin as well, to great and pleasing effect.

And of course, there's the pile of comics from last trip which remain unreviewed. I suck.

Fine.

I'll knock it out.

Soliciting Podcast Recommendations

Goodness, I need something interesting to listen to at work.

Particularly interested in comics writing/publishing themed podcasts.

Definitely open to other topics. Cinecast is interesting every so often, but much of the time I have very little interest in the films they review.

I've yet to try TWIT, mostly because sadly, at the end of the day, I'm all "tech"ed out. If it's really all that great, I'll try it. Leo Laporte's an okay guy, but I wasn't in love with him or anything when he was at Tech TV.

I'm liking Secondcast for the Second Life background, but the commentators give me a headache.

Enlighten me. I'll try just about anything at this point. Except gay vegan cooking shows. Or anything involving or remotely related to the word "spin."

English or Spanish will do.

So in love.

Sometimes you gotta wake up and remind yourself just how awesome Project Gutenberg is.

How do you know if your game kicks Halo's butt?

When your enemies look like this:

Just wanted to eliminate any confusion. By the way, this is not a cutscene, it's an in-game shot.

Dear Dr. Breen, What up Dawg?

You should read Concerned, if you liked Half Life 2.

Or any video games.

Or are interested in machinima.

Or anything funny.

Of particular hilarity is Gordon Frohman's adventures in the lost Counterstrike server.

By the way, Half Life 2 kicks Halo's wimpy pansy tushy. Just so's you know.

Now A Major Moving Pitcher-Show

I'm in Elizabethtown.

And I have no freaking idea why anyone filmed anything here.

It's kinda pretty, relatively hilly, sort of cold, nicely spread out.

It's okay, it's not terrible, but not memorable.

I am, however, EXTREMELY DISAPPOINTED that I can't take a tour of Fort Knox. You know, personally guided by Auric Goldfinger himself.

EXTREMELY DISAPPOINTED.

KENTUCKY! WHY DO YOU DENY ME?

*Shrug*

I think I just wet my pants.

Japanese Spiderman PWNS.

Every time I hear about quantum computing...

I feel like burning witches.

Quantum computing is so far outside my experience with computational theory that I am as a club-wielding heathen, perplexed and frightened by the missionaries' so-called "science."

It's sorcery.

I need to read a lot now, just so I can make this correlate with every other bit of knowledge I've accumulated so far.

Next I'll be driving to places without getting in my car.

UPDATE: Okay, I feel a little better. Thanks, Slashdot. Mod +5 Informative/Funny. I'm going to be thinking about Schroedinger's Seppuku all day now.

Yeah.

So I need to update my links. I'll get around to it.

All I Need Is The Air That I Breath And To Love You.

I'm in the mood for a movie. In space. With monsters.

I think I need to rent Forbidden Planet.

In other news, I think I need to take up pyromania. I've discovered that I own ten million things, and they are all piled up in cardboard boxes in my new place. Things I couldn't possibly need. How could I need them? They're in boxes. If I needed them, I'd be looking for them.

I'm not looking for anything.

I nearly killed myself moving this past weekend. I'm discovering that not only do I own things I don't want, in some cases I own two or three of the same unneeded thing. It's like they're replicating.

Allow me to explain. Physical items have mass. When you have ten million physical items, even extremely small items, they weigh enough to kill a human male in his late twenties.

Things not only have weight (which, I must remind you, can kill you), but they have spacial dimensions, such as height, width, and depth. These are limiting factors. If you don't have room for ten million items, you're in trouble.

So now the only item I wish I had (but don't) is a flamethrower.



I will not deceive you. I was (am?) a Dungeons and Dragons nerd.

I loved playing a monk in DnD. Being a kung fu master was cool, but that wasn't what appealed to me. It was the SIMPLICITY. Monks don't carry weapons. They don't wear armor. They don't need money. They just beat the crap out of stuff.

I'd find myself rolling up monks, just so I wouldn't have to deal with recording all that annoying equipment on my character sheet.

So in summary, I'm so lazy, I don't even want to own things.

Hey.

Have a good week.

Moving.

Switching apartments this week. Won't have much time for updates. Still have a pile of comics I want to write about.

Going to Kentucky in a couple weeks. Will be staying in Elizabethtown(!). No, haven't seen the movie. Looked painfully lame. Maybe I'll meet Legolas, and fullfill the dream of adolescent girls everywhere.

Looking forward to that extra bedroom.

Adios.

Tycho on the Superbowl

From the good gents at Penny Arcade:
"In any case, this will be the last time I invest myself in a game where I have no power to determine the outcome. I really feel a need to emphasize the distinction between this and the sort of game that usually occupies my time. When I feel the kind of plundered devastation I felt on Sunday, there is usually a "learning phase" that follows it. It's the first step in a process, a chain of well-documented events which culminates in the expulsion self-doubt and leaves as the remainder the possibility of future victory. Provided, of course, that I have internalized the deep wisdom presented by the universe - taken the yoke of that strange intellect which courses through defeat."

This sums up precisely my issue with televised sports. You watch, someone wins, someone loses, and networks get paid. There is no phase of this process in which you actively participate.

In any kind of gaming (electronic, athletic, board, etc.), if you get your butt whipped, there's something you can do about that.

I watched the first half of the Super-Dee-Duper Bowl. Glimpsed the second half.

Then I sat down to play a game of Memory against Kate.

She beat me soundly. The kid has a photographic memory when it comes to cards laid out in a grid.

I think I'm going to need to start practicing Memory on my lunch breaks.

Joey's right again.

The Losers is a terrific book. Read the first nine issues last night.

Boy, it's good. It's like the A-Team, only with lots of killing. Great double-crosses, intense conspiracies, and lots of killing. Did I mention there's lots of killing? Lots of it.

Lots.

The fun part is, every time the Losers go on a mission, they go in with the intent of not killing anyone. And then things go bad, and they kill everyone anyway. So the killing's okay, because, you know, it's not intentional.

Of course, I'm not giving enough credit to the intricate plot, hilarious dialogue, and strong characterization. It's a Clancy novel with a sense of humor and a Patriot-Act-Age distrust of government agencies. And the art is very impressive. I'm surprised at how much I'm geeking out over Jock's panel layouts. That's right, panel layouts. The drawings are great as well, but the panel placement paces the action just right. So many good things going on with this book.

I feel like double-crossing someone, just because the Losers makes it so cool.

Just don't try to write anything immediately after reading this stuff, because you'll just want to write like Andy Diggle.

So Joey was right. Again.

What a jerk.

24 last night.

I can't believe I'm blogging about television...

But, holy crap, I was dying to see Jack Bauer take that dude's eye out. In hindsight, I kind of wish the whole episode was of Jack beating the crap out of that guy in front of the President.

It'd go like this:
11:00am
Shot of the President staring calmly at action off-camera. We hear the sounds of a man being beaten. Cut to Jack beating the crap out of Cummings.
JACK: TELL US WHERE THE NERVE GAS IS!
CUMMINGS: NEVER!
Jack continues to torture Cummings for fifteen minutes.
Cut to commercial.

11:15am
Shot of the President staring calmly at action off-camera. We hear the sounds of a man being beaten. Cut to Jack beating the crap out of Cummings.
JACK: TELL US WHERE THE NERVE GAS IS!
CUMMINGS: NEVER!
Jack pulls out knife.
JACK: I'LL CUT YOUR EYES OUT!
CUMMINGS: GO RIGHT AHEAD!
Jack cuts Cummings' eyes out and continues to torture him.
Cut to commercial.

11:30am
Shot of the President staring calmly at action off-camera. We hear the sounds of a man being beaten. Cut to Jack beating the crap out of Cummings. Cumming is eyeless and bleeding profusely.
JACK: TELL US WHERE THE NERVE GAS IS!
CUMMINGS: NEVER!
JACK: I'LL CUT YOUR ARMS AND LEGS OFF WITH MY LITTLE KNIFE!
CUMMINGS: I DARE YOU, YOU COWARD!
Jack cuts off Cummings' arms and legs, making a huge mess.

11:45am
Shot of the President staring calmly at action off-camera. We hear the sounds of a man being beaten. Cut to Jack beating the crap out of Cummings. Cummings is an eyeless bloody torso.
PRESIDENT: I'M THE PRESIDENT AND I APPROVE OF THIS BEATING.
JACK: TELL US WHERE THE NERVE GAS IS!
CUMMINGS: OKAY, YOU WIN. IT'S IN LOS ANGELES SOMEWHERE.
PRESIDENT: EXCELLENT WORK, JACK, YOU'RE THE BEST.
JACK: I KNOW, THANK YOU, MR. PRESIDENT. NOW IF YOU'LL EXCUSE ME, I HAVE TO GO STAVE OFF AN ALIEN INVASION.

Roll credits.

...

I should not be doing IT for a living.

Gary North just gets it.

Perhaps you don't know Gary North. You probably should. He's a grumpy old man. He's an economist. He's a scholar. And he knows a lot about money.

If Gary North says your industry is in trouble, your industry is probably in trouble. His points are the same that the geeks on Slashdot have been making for years, but from a purely monetary standpoint, instead of a "information wants to be free, yo" standpoint.

A business depending on lawsuits to survive is doomed.

Humans Are A Destructive Force Of Nature

We're unstoppable.

Oh, man.

It's 3am. Took a too-long nap, and now I can't sleep.

And I've been hit by a frightening realization.

If the 1994 version of me could see me now, he would kill me. Not in a figurative, "uhoh, I'm in trouble" sense. In a "he's going to kill me with the closest sharp object he can find" sense.

I was going to have books written by now. Comics published. Bills paid.

I was going to have a keen sense of humor. And biting cynicism. And marked brilliance.

I think my mid-life crisis is starting early. Please note, this isn't "I need to be driving a Ferrarri to feel better" vibeage.

This is, "My brain was a lot more useful than this" vibeage.

I think my younger self would be okay with some things. My family would get a big thumbs-up. My addiction to information would probably impress him too. I'm older and a bit wiser.

What would he not be okay with:
My willingness to let work life sap my creativity.
My compliance with brain-killing entertainment.
My long periods of couch potato behavior.
My lack of financial discipline.
My inability to finish anything of lasting value.

Yeah, he'd kill me.

This is why you don't stay up until 3am.

Going to bed, hoping I wake up in the morning.

Mostly successful

So, did I force my week to submit to my will?

Yes, I did.

I was in bed by 10pm nearly every night this week. I slept soundly. I was in a good mood. I even ate breakfast one day.

Work went well, for the most part.

No alarms, and no surprises.

I'm ready to hit the comic store, and spend the weekend reading, writing, and packing.

Smackdown

New week.

My plan is to take this week, tie it to a chair, and beat it with a rubber hose until it tells me what I want to hear.

I will get things done this week. Work will behave this week. No alarms and no surprises.

Bills will be paid, issues will be resolved.

And if this week gives me any lip, I'm shoving it into the trunk of a stolen car, and shoving it off a cliff.

Have a good week. I will, or else.

Comics Rundown 1/17/2006

Desolation Freakin' Jones #5 - Jones gets operated on. He gets to fondly remember the life-changing Desolation Experiments. We get the plot summarized for us, in case we're confused. Which we are, but that's okay. Jones gets even. Great fun. The art is very strong for the entire issue. I'm going to have Desolation-Experiment-shaped nightmares now. My only hazy point with this issue is the premise of utilizing Los Angeles as a Prisoner-esque Village for retired spooks. You'd think they'd want to store all these security liabilities in a tighter environment. How hard is it to sneak out of LA? I think Kurt Russell did it in a movie, which means it must be cake. I would think Billings, Montana would be a better candidate location. "Hey, my ex-spy neighbor's Winnebago is missing. Maybe I should call somebody. Oh, wait, there's nothing but 5-foot snow drifts for the next 1000 miles. That sucker's not going anywhere." I haven't made eye-contact with a single human being since I moved to California. As in, more than a month. Which I think is more than enough time for even the crappiest ex-spy to escape. I bet I'd make a terrific crappy ex-spy.

Y: The Last Man #41 - Hm, no Gay Cowboys, I'm a tad disappointed. However, we get a glimpse of the enigma that is 355. Character development. I'm finding the supporting characters are turning out much more interesting than Yorick. Yorick tends to be a bit... hm... Peter Parker. Wisecracks in volatile situations, interesting talents, a little rough history... Funny, but not someone I emotionally connect with. Everyone else just seems so much more jacked-up than Y. Half the population is wiped out, people are mutilating themselves, changing their belief systems, murdering each other. Yorick is still wandering around, looking for true love and his pet monkey, making with the funny. I'm still hanging in there, I'm still reading, and I'm not hating the book. Still not my favorite title though.

Exterminators #1 - Tony Moore Pwns. Not familiar with Simon Oliver. The story looks to have promise. As soon as a 100-foot tall cockroach begins devouring people and destroying the city, I'll hail this book as the next Dark Knight Returns. For now though, the writing isn't super-spectacular. Characterization is promising. The artwork just makes me wish Moore was back on Walking Dead. Maybe someday.

Penny Arcade 25 cent Miracle Book - Cut... Paste... Email pdf file to printer... Rock on, we have a comic book. I didn't get it. I love Penny Arcade. The comic was... from 5 years ago. Some funny old strips were present, sure. But no new material was presented. The really strange part is, I'm fairly sure the 25 cent price point wasn't even enough to recoup the printing and shipping costs. It's like somebody lost a bet. Just weird.

Why is my bed hidden by stuffed animals?

And why are there magnetic letters stuck in the soles of my feet?

And why are my ears ringing with the sound of a screaming child?

And where did all the Gummy Worms go?

Oh.

Right.

I'm a Dad.

I have no clue what's going on today.

Not sure where my head is at. Still reeling with hysterical laughter from reviewing the Chuck Norris Fact List with Troy last night. Wife-lady says I giggle like a teenager. Wife-lady will pay.

Sandpaper Kisses by Martina Topley Bird is knocking my socks off. Spooky, yet soothing.

To my good buddy Don: Yes, you indeed need to throw the Chaff Grenades to beat the first boss fight with Vulcan Raven on Metal Gear Solid. Confirmed. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about your difficulties. Er, I guess I just did. Gamer cred: RUINED.

Snake? Snake! SNAAAAAAAAAKE!

Just went 24 hours without playing any Dystopia, and it did me good. Evil, evil, delicious Dystopia. Going for 48. Now hopefully I'll stop dreaming about grenade-spamming stealth-suited corporate assassins. That's me delivering the spamming, corps receiving spamming. Strange, strange dreams.

Watched 24 last night, missed the first 30 minutes of the first episode. Instead of seeing important characters dying, I was fixing a Zebra 170XiII label printer in a room full of controlled substances. Wife-lady filled me in on the pivotal early-goings-on. Too early to tell how well this season will shape up. Richard Nixon is president again. Somebody is gunning for Jack, and knows he's still alive. The head terrorist looks like, kid you not, Benny Hill.

WTFBBQ.

I'm digging the whole Diehard 2 terrorist-occupied airport angle this time around. And loving more ridiculous accents. Almost as painful as Dennis Hopper's accent in Season 1.

Jack shooting Palmer's sniper in the head makes for pleasing Sunday-night entertainment.

See, there should be a 24 drinking game. Every time a punk kid with long hair causes problems for Jack, take a drink. Seriously, somebody buy these kids a comb. The son of Jack's landlady is this season's problem child. Last season's was SecDef Heller's hippy son. Season 1 had Kim's idiot kidnappers.

Long hair = stoner idiot who needs to be shot or tortured.

Government-approved Jack-sported short hair = someone who could jump out of a plane (no parachute) with a HK-USP .45 and Kabar and singlehandedly wipe out a continent.

Like Jack.

Or Chuck Norris.

Reminder to self:

I've gotta use the following exchange in one of my scripts.

"You know that guilty feeling you get when you do something bad?"

"Yeah..."

"Don't worry, it goes away after a while."

I won't relate where or when this exchange took place.

OH SCHNIKEYS!

My blog is probably illegal...

It's broken, fix it.

Someone please explain to me why my two-year-old (almost two-and-a-half-year-old) is still calling me "Mommy."

Now I'm getting worried.

About her.

Okay, and about me. Maybe a little.

Bring it.

Set me on fire, will you?

Fine.

Epiphany!

It hit me last night what's so very wrong with California.

No winter makes people mean. You'd think it'd be the other way around. Californians should be the happiest people in the world.

Here's my take. People just need something to get pissed off at. Having something to get mad at is a good thing, especially if it's something you have no control over. The rest of the Continental US has to deal with stupid cold temperatures and blizzards and ice storms. Ticks 'em off. But there's nothing they can do with it. So they learn to cope, and get on with their lives. It reflects in other aspects of their lives as well.

"God grant me the strength to recognize the things I have no control over..."

So Californians have no freezing cold weather to rage at. So they get mad at each other. The culture here is very control-oriented. Money, possessions, and authority count. Image counts. Lawsuits count.

Two kids just got shot a few miles from our apartment last night. A 17 year old and an 11 year old. Driveby, no explanations. Just kids walking on the sidewalk.

If it were freaking cold here like the rest of the country, it wouldn't have happened. First, because no kids would be walking around in the stupid cold. Second, no nutjobs would want to leave the space heater long enough to go joy-gunning.

That's my theory. I don't care if it's wrong or not.

Cold people are docile people. You don't care what you look like when you're freakin' cold.

Forgot...

Man, last trip to the comic store was slim pickin's. Guess all the good comics were on Christmas vacation, too.

Got Y: The Last Man issue twenty-something. It was better than usual. I'm still falling out of love with the book, but this was a definite improvement. Pregnancy, crazy nuns, Yorick's sister dressed like a gay cowboy. Gay cowboys are the new ninjas/pirates, I guess, even if Warren
Ellis says Vikings are. Next issue: Ampersand is recognized as the newest incarnation of the Buddha, and Yorick discovers he never really liked women at all. The title becomes Y: The Last Gay Cowboy. In a world full of women, all that's left is a guy who's not interested. Oooh, irony. I swear, I started out really liking this book. Now I just want it to recover that former glory.

Err, DMZ #2. It was above average. Sniper love was an interesting concept. The child hospital scene was a bit too much. Depicting children in pain seems a little cheap to me. It's too easy a tool for evoking sympathy, too cut and dried. Am I uncomfortable with the idea of child injuries in a war zone? Absolutely. But we get enough of it on the news, I'm not looking for it in my fiction. Maybe I'd feel differently if I knew that Brian Wood had spent a few months in a war zone, and was speaking from experience. Right now, it's like a bit like talking to a grad student who's living in his mom's basement telling me about civil rights violations in China. It's disingenuous. Innocent casualties are bad. Fictional innocent casualties are fictional. 'Nuff said. Other than that the book has potential. It's Transmetropolitan in a war zone, only not nearly as funny.

Walking Dead Script Book. Haven't read it yet, but I'm excited about it. I love reading scripts. I like writing scripts. I'm trying to learn to love writing scripts. Seeing the nuts and bolts from my favorite comics is delicious.

And that's it.

I'm itching for more Desolation Jones, Fell, etc. Maybe next trip.

Excelsior, or whatever.

I don't know what happened...

but I seem to have suddenly moved to Seattle. Or another place where it rains a lot.

So it's rainy.

No real New Year's resolutions here, but I did set some long term goals. Seems like resolutions are at the peak of their notoriety this year. Bring up resolutions, and people look like they've been picked by jury duty. I don't think people hate resolutions, I think people just hate falling short of their expectations.

Set goal, comply for a short while, then fail miserably. Wait one year. Rinse, repeat.

Maybe the only goal to have is to make every day New Years. Man, does sound sooo Lifetime Channel. "Maybe if we ALL make every day like Christmas..." Geez, shoot me in the head, please.

So my goals aren't changed, really, they're the same goals as all year. However, I am changing my daily routine to accommodate those goals. So there's your change.

Happy Freakin' New Year.

SHUT UP!

I don't care what you say.

Alien Loves Predator is the pinnacle of online entertainment.

Just shut up. You can't change my mind.