More Than A Break, Not Quite A Hiatus: Jeff Talks About His February Plans....

My superhero nerd upbringing demands I love this picture: I always feel like if I just squint hard enough I'll see Daredevil and Bullseye (as drawn by Miller & Janson) bounding from one level to the next.

Yes, a judicious use of vacation time from my workplace means that Edi and I are once again in Buenos Aires, Argentina, this time for the month of February. The flight down was long (thanks to a layover in DC going from two hours to five) and mildly arduous, but it's great to be down here, basking in the hot summer air.

So you may not hear from me for the next month, maybe? I may post as I make the rounds of the various comic book shops, and/or if I feel cocky enough to write reviews of books I read before leaving that aren't with me now. But, on the other hand, it seems slightly more likely that the missus and I will be too busy soaking in the sun and porteno culture for me to spend too much time on the blogger interface. So far, the only fun bit of comix knowledge I can relate is that the girl on our flight down had a lovely tattoo on her arm that was a panel from Goodbye, Chunky Rice. Perhaps that's an omen, and I'll find more comix related material down here than I'm planning on.

Anyhoo, I'll be reading, if not posting, and spending my time looking at the rooftops, daydreaming...

A Plug, A Random Observation and A Question From Jeff...

Happy New Year, everyone! Kinda got a couple things on my plate but I did want to direct your attention, in case you missed it, to the recent launch of io9.com, a sci-fi blog run by some of CE's favorite people--Annalee Newitz, Charlie Anders, and Wassisname McMillan covering comics. Mr. Ellis didn't like it too much, nor did Mojo, but I think it's a fun little nerd culture blog that promises to feed me some thoughtful stuff to go along with my fix of "wait, Tyler Perry is in the new Star Trek?!" news.

In other news, I'm just getting over that stomach flu that's been going around, and recommend if you get a chance to watch the first season of Dexter while reading Tezuka's Buddha and running a mild fever, I totally recommend you do so. The completely fucked up dreams make it more than worth it.

And finally, while shopping the other day in a Target, I came across this relatively amazing Marvel shirt:

As a Kirby fan and an old-school Marvel dude, I was pretty impressed. I mean, there are *four* Inhumans on there, as well as...is that Sgt. Fury or Wyatt Wingfoot? To say nothing of the Kirby Falcon...

And there's something in the layout that kinda rings a bell for me: didn't Foom come with a sheet of stickers or something, that might've been the original template for this? I doubt it's an exact match since Foom was finished by the time Byrne was drawing Wolverine, but it still seems awfully familiar.

Anyway, I was hoping someone might know something about this shirt, because I'm sorta mystified by it. Feel free to drop any info and/or crazed conspiracy theories into the comments...

Oh wow: Douglas is looking forward to April now.

Not what I would've expected Dave Sim's new comic to be. Or, as one of the promo posters puts it:glamourpuss_poster1

But it also makes sense--all the photorealist stuff in Latter Days, and the stuff he's been writing recently about his fascination with Alex Raymond, Stan Drake, et al., suggests that this is exactly the kind of comic he's going to enjoy drawing. (Why he uses "photorealism" instead of "photorealist" as an adjective I have no idea, but I'm sure he's thought it out. Actually, of all the potential Dave Sim manifestos I could read, Why Photorealism Is The Best Kind of Cartooning is easily #1.) And those pages behind him in the author-promo photos look fantastic. I'm totally there.

Not a review: Douglas checks out a notebook that's drifted over from Earth-1

I carry a little Moleskine notebook with me everywhere. The obi they come with advertises that they're the notebook used by Bruce Chatwin, Ernest Hemingway and Pablo Picasso, although that isn't strictly true. To that list, we can now add Renée Montoya. Despite Countdown, I do like it when artifacts that ought to belong to one world end up in another. Yesterday, Greg Rucka dropped off a document that had come into his possession while he was working on the Crime Bible miniseries (of which the second issue comes out Thursday): Montoya's Moleskine, a bulging notebook that reminded me a bit of several Dennis Wheatley and J.G. Links volumes. The pocket-sized notebook, besides copious handwritten notes on Montoya's investigation of the Dark Faith, includes a bunch of inserts:

*A 1938 translation of a bit of the Crime Bible, with Montoya's handwritten note about a numerical cipher or code. (Which, I'm guessing, has something to do with the numbers in the border of the first page of Crime Bible #1! I haven't had time to figure out how the cipher works, but I'm guessing that's what the Internet is for.)

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*A photo of the cult's Barcelona convent *A security photograph of the Question *A gig poster for a Dark Cult-connected band called Darkseid's Bitch, who it turns out also have their own MySpace page

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*A handwritten lyric sheet for "Ashes All Fall Down" by the band's singer/guitarist Serration, with annotations by Montoya, on a piece of letterhead from the Hotel Monarch in Star City *A ticket for their show at the Dirrrty Club *A set list for that show, with more Montoya annotations *The Coast City coroner's report on Serration's death, and his toe-tag from the morgue, along with several bullet casings and a couple of pills *Montoya's boarding pass for her flight to Barcelona (on Ferris Global Airways!)

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*A clipping from the international edition of the Gotham Gazette, also annotated by Montoya

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*A printed-out screenshot of an IM conversation between Montoya and Tot Rodor *A telegram from Rodor to Montoya

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I don't have time to scan the whole notebook, but I wouldn't be surprised at all if bits of it turned up elsewhere too, or even if there were a couple of additional copies of the entire thing--it's one of those little Moleskines that come in multi-packs, and Montoya's old mentor was rather fond of a book in which a character makes a duplicate copy of his entire journal to make sure its content survives.

From Back in the Day...

"There is arguably no piece of the American Zeitgeist that was more dadaist, more bleak and more intimately allegorical than Schulz's Peanuts."

Catching the tail end of last night's American Masters on Schulz (and all the essays surrounding the recent biography) made me think of the tribute I wrote for the CEO newsletter back in 2000. It's brief, but seems very much in synch with the current appraisal of Sparky's impact.

The Happy Place

I was a little surprised how much I enjoyed Disneyland, actually. It probably was seeing it through the four year old's eyes, of course. A bitter old man like me? I'm generally cynical about those kinds of affairs, but Ben just was full of joy and wonder of the whole thing, that all of that cynicism kind of washes off.

We went down on Wednesday night, catching the "last flight in" -- well, from Oakland to John Wayne, at least. I think I've decided to never EVER catch a flight from SFO again, if there's an equivalent flight from Oakland, because Oakland is such a teeny little airport. We get to Oakland, via public transportation (of which the only kind of feh part is transferring to AirBart at the coliseum station -- pretty scummy at nighttime there), and we're outnumbered by attendants at the ticketing counter like 10 to one. This is VERY different from SFO, where there would be at least a 20 minute wait to get through the ticketing phase. Security? NO line. AT ALL. What joy, what bliss! And the plane is maybe half full, so we have the entire row to ourselves. Man, I'm a dumbass for EVER flying from SFO.

An hour later we're in Orange County at John Wayne, so we hop a cab (and to the guy who asked -- nope, I have no idea how to drive. Well, I have "an idea", but I don't do it. The last time I tried, I crashed the Capital City van into a parked car, and took that as a Sign) I tell the cabbie -- "Park Vue motel, please; they're at 1570 South Harbor, directly accross the street from the main gates of Disneyland." The driver replies, "OK. How do I get there?"

...

Maybe it is me, but you'd think a cab stationed at the OC airport would know where freakin' DISNEYLAND is. And maybe it is also me, but aren't most people hopping a cab from the airport people who don't drive, and, so, probably don't have a clear idea of the best routes from one place to another? He calls dispatch, and we get there, all good.

Roll into the Park Vue (not that one can actually "vue" anything other than the GATE of the park, but OK) about 10:30, check in -- it is neat and clean and fairly quiet (at least in the back where I asked to be put), and pretty much exactly what one wants from a travel motel. Especially at 1/3 of the price of the Disney Resorts. This works especially well for us because we're literally only there to sleep. Park opens at 10, check-out time is 11, so it's not like we're coming back after our 8 hours of sleep. Within half-an-hour, we both crash, but I let Ben have like 10 minutes of TV. I like the fact that when I turn on the TV, it's the Disney cable station, and not a hotel channel like you'd get at one of the national chains.

Wake up around 8 (that's way LATE for Ben, he was tired, but under his normal # of hours of sleep, since we went to bed so late [for him, WAY early for me] -- so I'm concerned how his energy level is going to be for the day), take a quick shower, then go check out, and go to IHOP for breakfast (literally next door to the Park Vue, literally across the street from Dland). I haven't eaten in an IHOP in like 20 years, but I'm STUNNED by the terrible quality of the food -- how do you make pancakes taste so awful? Are they frozen? Pancakes take SECONDS to cook, so I don't really get it, if so. I eat less than half of my breakfast, Ben eats all of the whipped cream and chocolate chips from his "funny face", and maybe two bites max of the food. Jinkies, no sleep AND no food, got to watch the kid careful all day.

There was no real indication in Anaheim that SoCal was on fire -- no wiff of smoke in the air, which I expected, just a hazy day. Actually, it was kind of cool, when we saw the morning sun it was a blood red sun, totally spectacular looking.

We buy the tickets to the park from the front desk as we check out, costing me, I think, and extra $2 per?, but I was there already, and had no idea what the line to buy would be at the park (5 minutes later I saw that I was stupid about it, there WAS no line, but you live, you learn), and what the hell?

We're on Disneyland property at 9:30, so not much for it but to get in line for the park itself. There looks to be a couple hundred people in the ten or so entry lines for Dland. Many MANY of them are adults-without-kids, which surprises me a little, I guess -- you'd think that the Hardcore Adult Disney people would have the kinds of passes that get them in for the "Early Entry" at 9, and while a lot of people are flowing through that gate there are still lots of adults around us standing in the Dilettante's line, who are covered head to toe in DisneyStuf, great gobs of it personalized, so I dunno how it all works.

Main gates shock me by opening at 9:45, but then I see they lead us into Main St., so we can stroll around there. This is fine, there's lots of stuff to see on the way there and Ben's all excited. Once you're on Main st, they cordon off the sidewalks for the "early entry" people, which is sorta despicable really. See, you're on the 1950's style-main street, with all of these cool little shops, and enticing window displays, and all of this, but you can't even get close enough to them to get a good look. Our spot in the crowd/line brought us in front of a candy-store, and they were making candy in the window, and Ben really wanted to see better, but the Early Entry Police swept in with "please don't get on the sidewalk". They were, Disney-style, very NICE about it, but it seems really awful to me to put children in a holding pen filled with enticing objects, then tell them they can't go near them!

Anyway, a minute or two before the speakers kick in with a recorded "welcome to Disneyland!" spiel, which just seems so unnecessary to me, this is DISNEYLAND after all, but there, I'm being cynical Adult. And there's a tiny countdown, and the bells strike, and Disneyland is open, and people start running (haha! Especially after they JUST told you not to) for rides, and Ben and I start off by trying to find exactly where the Haunted Mansion is, because the road to New Orleans Square isn't specifically marked, and I find a lot of the subtler details of the official map to be actually pretty confusing because the scale is so small. I really do think that some more general signage about which which part is which way would be a decent idea, at least at the front of the park.

Anyway, so yeah Haunted Mansion. Ben, as I have told you many times before, has interests that tend to run as obsessions -- first it was garbage and garbage trucks, then it became Mummies, and currently it is Halloween in general (with a sidebar of Pirates). He's going to be hating life come Novemeber 1st, poor kid. So all he has been talking about for weeks is the Haunted Mansion, and how that is what he wants to do.

We get there, and BEAUTY, there's literally no one there, we stroll right up into the front door, and the attendant is even able to banter individually with Ben a bit while he waits for enough people to start it, and he does it in this great Late Night TV Host kind of shtick, with puns and stuff, so there's a great start and all of my adult cynicism starts to wander away. The Haunted Mansion, during Halloween, is all decked out as Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas, and holy freakin' cow is it an awesome little spectacle, full of life and wit and verve, and there's even the Danny Elfman soundtrack to go along with it, so it's a zipper of imagery and madness, hoorah.

We go out the exit, and Ben's eyes are like saucers, and he has this wide grin on his face and he exults "Daddy, let's do it again!!". No problem, boss, that was fun, and there ain't no lines, let's go!

We come out the second time, and again "Daddy, let's do it again!!". This becomes the common refrain for the day! I punt this time, explaining there are LOTS of rides here, so let's go do Pirates. "OK!"

Virtually no line at Pirates (under 3 minutes), and Ben gets another set of thrills. I watch Pirates and I'm somewhat amazed that this is in a DISNEY park, and is meant as a ride for Children. Murder! Pillage! Arson! Drunkenness! And the crowd goes wild! Well, Ben does at least: "Daddy, let's do it again!!" So we do, and he loves it as much the second time.

Then Ben wants to do the Haunted Mansion a THIRD time. Well hell, why not?

Its starting to get late enough (Park's been open an hour or so) that I say to Ben we should go try something else, maybe Winnie the Pooh or Splash Mountain, and someone passing by says they've just come from Splash Mountain, and they kicked everyone out of line and said it would be an hour before it reopened. Well, let's go to Pooh anyway -- it's time, I reason, for something a little slower/more innocent for the boy.

Now we hit our first line of the day -- all of 10 minutes or so long, but a line nonetheless. I start the many of "we're in line, eat some food!" exercises, and he nibbles on carrots and pretzels. Get on Winnie, and its, geez, 3 minutes long maybe? I also really see here the limitations of the "Dark Rides", and that it is actually difficult to create a coherent narrative in that kind of presentation. Scene just cuts from scene to scene, but there's nothing pushing the narrative besides the movement of your vehicle. Ben is disappointed in Pooh as well. "That's too short, and there wasn't any spooky stuff!" I would have thought the hallucinatory Hefalump scene would be pretty close, but what do I know? First ride he DOESN'T want to go on again. Actively so.

Pooh is across the street from Splash Mountain, and it sure looks open, and the line is basically nothing at all, so I ask the boy if he's ready for his first roller coaster? It might be scary, y'know, it goes really fast and there's big scary drops. "I won't be scared, Daddy!" he says, fixing me with a look that says What Kind of A Child Do You Think I am?

I'm worried because Ben just had his annual checkup, and his official height was 39.5", and most of the Rollers have a 40" minimum. But, ha ha, the soles of his sandals pull him just over the min. He gets called out of line at every ride with a min to be checked, of course, but he's good to go.

Ben LOVED Splash Mountain -- it fact, I was a super-softy and decided to splurge the nearly $20 for the 8x11 glossy of the picture of the drop because the look on Ben's face was this one of absolute joy and rapture that only a four-year old can have, and it certainly wasn't something I could ever capture on film while I was riding with him.

Here's how I know Ben had an excellent time: Sometime around now, he looked at me very solemnly and said, "Daddy, when are we going to go to Disneyland?" Uh, what, Ben? We're AT Disneyland. "No, I mean, when are we going to go AGAIN?!?"

He wants to ride Splash Mountain again, but at this point the lines look like 20-30 minutes to me, so I said lets go to the Pirate Island. "Cool!". Well, it used to be Tom Sawyer's island, but now it is pirates. Generic ones, too, not branded ones, so even better. Stuff for him to run around and explore things and play a bit, after standing in line and sitting and riding. I had thought this would be a lame idea, but its perfect for a 3-10 year old really, and we spent 45 minutes there, and I pretty much had to drag him back to the rides, he could have stayed another hour. Were we at the park for more than 1 day, I would have indulged him. One bummer: there was supposed to be a meeting with the pirate Captain to say a pirate oath and join his band and get some treasure, but the Captain was on his lunch break, and it would have been another hour.

By now its getting hot, and Ben's looking tired. We find a water fountain, and sluice ourselves. Ben says, "Oh, my clothes are getting wet!" So? They'll dry, it's warm, and, besides, your head feels all refreshed now, right? "Yeah, Daddy!" (if we HAD been there for two days, this is the point I think we would have gone back to the hotel for a break of an hour or two. But we had a plane to catch in 6 hours, and no hotel room any longer, anyway, so we'll go on. Ben's looking fine now that he's cooled down, and he wants to do as much of it we can.

We head to Tomorrowland next, and hit Star Tours first. Its one of those motion simulator things, which I generally find to be limp, but Ben loved all of the Jerking and explosions. "Daddy, let's do it again!!", but I demurred this time.

Then we did the Buzz Lightyear ride, while is a simple Dark Ride, with the twist that you have laser guns and are shooting at targets along the wall, which is pretty darn awesome. You rack up a score, and at the end of the ride the picture of you in your car shooting and your score can be emailed to any email address. Very cool! "Daddy, let's do it again!!" OK! Ben improved his score by 40% on the second go round. I only managed 10% better!

Next up we did Space Mountain, which has been VERY upgraded since I last did it 30-something years ago. Wow, it is dizzying now! My memory sez it was like a black curtain with little pinpricks in it to simulate space back then, but now it was like actually flying through space. This was the longest line we waited in -- nearly 20 minutes, but it was totally worth it. "Daddy, let's do it again!!" Well, I wouldn't have because... 20 more minutes in line? but I didn't have to make the decision because JUST as our car pulled in at the end of our first run an announcement came out that they had to stop the ride for some reason, and everyone currently riding it should be patient, and it would start again soon. Wow, that's the LAST ride I'd want to have the illusion broken by stopping in the middle, and (maybe?) having to be walked off in the dark! As we left, I noticed that they were kicking everyone out of line who had already been waiting. Sucks!

We had some horrible overpriced pizza in Tomorrowland (Disney just RAKES in the cash in the park, it's kinda scary really), then moved on to Fantasyland. Ben was starting to get a little pooped, but he didn't want to rest -- he wanted ice cream! Hah, well, sure after we do the last patch of rides, so that kept his interest up.

Did the Matterhorn, which, sorry, is WAY scarier than any of the rest of the roller coasters there, since it seems so old (seriously, there's rust everywhere), and one gets the feeling that sooner or later a car IS going to jump the tracks. Knock wood against that though. Ben did want to do it again, however, but I passed in the interest of hitting more rides.

Did the Tea Cups, which he loved (what 4 year old doesn't love spinning), but he didn't ask for again; then the flying Dumbo ride which amused him (he wanted to stay in the "up" position, however), but didn't want to ride again. Then we did a sweep of the "dark rides", Pinocchio (horrifically dull), Peter Pan (pretty astonishingly good, actually -- did they upgrade this recently? they really hid the tracks well, and there was a strong sense of flying, even without swooping or anything), and Snow White's Scary Adventure, which we saw 7 year girls coming out of in tears, but Ben just laughed and laughed about and thought was cool. Little boys, eh?

We completely missed Mickey's Toon Town (no time)

We go for the Ice Cream on Main St, and split a Hot Fudge Sundae while sitting on the sidewalk, and the hour is growing late. I decide that, if we haul ass, we have exactly enough time for one last ride, and Ben opts for Star Tours. Alright, then, we scramble back to it, get a very minor line, but still make it through quickly, and I scoop Ben in my arms and start the jog back to the entrance. We've got a car scheduled for 6:20 (yeah, we had to go early enough to miss the parade and fireworks and stuff), and I make it back to the hotel at 6:22. Car's stuck in traffic, they pull up at 6:25, we're at the airport about 6:50. Again, no one there, breeze through ticketing.

At Security, I pass through fine, but Ben sets off the machine. Ha Ha! He had too many metal studs on his clothes. Still, they had to to the whole wand procedure with him, with his arms out. Ben thinks it is all funny funny. Then, they do the whole run with me, as well, since I'm his guardian. Ben thinks THIS is funny too, I am less amused.

Then we flew back home, and dreamed happy happy dreams, and promised to make this (or maybe just a trip just the two of us somewhere, not necessarily Dland) an annual Father & Son trip.

Awesome!

-B

When is Self-Promotion Not Self-Promotion? Jeff and the Second Season of Sam & Max.

I am appallingly bad at self-promotion--saying something that sounds even remotely boastful makes me feel like an utter a-hole. 

Accordingly, I suppose I should feel grateful for the circumstances surrounding the first episode of Sam & Max's second season, Ice Station Santa, premiering on Gametap just a few weeks from now: I worked on the dialogues for the first episode (along with the talented and terrifyingly young Ian Dallas) but can't honestly tell you how much of my material made it in. Telltale has released three gameplay videos, excerpts of scenes for which I did the early drafts, and the percentage of the material I recognize as mine runs anywhere from 30% to 80%. For a panoply of reasons, this second gig was a lot harder than my first, and I was pretty sure when my contract was finished that stuff would end up rewritten. (Hey, that's the freelancer life for ya...)

 

So even if I was capable of exhorting people who enjoy my writing to check out Ice Station Santa, I'm not sure it would be entirely cricket for me to do so. However, there are a variety of non-me reasons to be excited about Season 2 of Sam & Max if you're a fan of the characters.

 

First, while working on the first episode of Season Two I had the opportunity to see some of the projected plans for the other episodes, and I think Telltale has done a great job of coming up with stories and locations for this season that nail that crazy Steve Purcellian sweet spot Sam & Max fans crave.

 

Second, Telltale brought Chuck Jordan on full-time and I believe he's doing the bulk of the dialogues for the second season. The man's work on Season One's Abraham Lincoln Must Die! really knocked me on my ass, and I'm totally in awe of him. As a fan, I couldn't have hoped for better news.

 

Third, Gametap is currently offering the above-mentioned episode on their free player. I think I read somewhere that Telltale may be following suit, but for now this is a great way for you to see what I'm talking about without having to pay out any cash.

Fourth, Gametap may or may not be still having an anniversary sale, making it super-cheap to sign up for the service for a year and play not just Sam & Max episodes as they're released, but a slew of other great games. Sadly, the site is so damn slow on my work browser I can't tell you for sure if the sale's still going, but I can say that any service that allows me to play the Atari 2600 version of Adventure, Sonic The Hedgehog, Super Puzzle Fighter, Sega's Typing of the Dead, and the Sam & Max games on any computer in my home is worth it even at the non-sale price. But go poke around their site if you get a chance and see if it's still going on.

And, finally, I did write some funny lines for Ice Station Santa--funny enough that even a low-self-esteemer like me feels confident they made it in--and the episode has a great, high-concept premise which it looks like the Telltale crew did a great job of developing visually. Regardless of my role in it, I hope fans of the characters check out this series if they haven't already.

Abhay Wanted to Write a Short Historical Piece about Skippy

Charles M. Schultz of Peanuts fame once famously remarked “Cartooning will destroy you; It will break your heart.” Jack Kirby also once remarked: “Comics will break your heart.” Have you ever heard of Percy Crosby?

Just in case you haven’t: he’s one of the former “break your heart” stories. A specific phylum of that particular kingdom: the “comics will break your mind, too” story.

It's 1923 and Percy Crosby is a cartoonist for Life Magazine; he introduces a new cartoon character-- a little 9-year old boy cartoon character named Skippy. Skippy seems to work for audiences; from what I can tell, the way Crosby draws doesn't hurt-- he has this loose but appealing gestural style that's easy to like.

And then, success: the Skippy newspaper strip is lured away from Life Magazine and distributed by Kings Feature Syndicates starting in 1926 (that is to say: by William Randolph Heart, later immortalized in Citizen Kane for his predilection of nicknaming his mistress’s vagina “Rosebud”) ; the first of the Skippy movies comes out in 1931. The director Norman Taurog wins his first Oscar thanks to Skippy: the Motion Picture; go to 1600 Vine Street in Hollywood, California today and you can find his name on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

Skippy fights the mob. In real life. Time Magazine of February 16, 1931 notes how Percy Crosby uses the proceeds from Skippy to war with Al Capone; here's a short excerpt of the full-page ad Crosby took out in the New York World newspaper attacking Al Capone and prohibition: “I say to my fellow members of the American Legion that you cannot salute your flag with a clear conscience until Al Capone is knocked off the throne erected by the Anti-Saloon League. I ... refuse to pay homage to this Chicago monarch. He has neither money enough nor enough lead to make me change my mind.

Movies, radio, toys, comic books, comic strips, merchandise-- Skippy is everywhere. Skippy's a mascot of the Brooklyn Navy Yard; Charles Lindbergh is supposedly a fan. Skippy gets translated into over 14 different languages. In 1932, Skippy is allegedly valued at more than $3 million dollars.

Let me repeat that: In 1932.

But.

It goes badly.

Percy Crosby takes one look at Franklin Delano Roosevelt with his New Deal and WPA and Social Security, and decides that FDR’s red. Crosby's anti-commie; Crosby starts using the vast Skippy empire to begin self-publishing titles calling FDR a commie, with titles like Three Cheers for the Red, Red and Red; Crosby starts making enemies-- FDR, J.Edgar Hoover, and-- oooh, bad idea-- the IRS. The IRS audits him twice. Crosby gets divorced by his wife, who takes custody of Crosby’s four children; Crosby never sees them again. Crosby's legal troubles get worse; he fights with his partners. Crosby drinks too much.

And throughout, he keeps having a persistent copyright and trademark problem with this tiny company called Rosefield Packing Co., who kept using the name "Skippy" on their products. Well, wait: not just the name Skippy; other things, too. Like Skippy’s bucket of red paint-- even Crosby's lettering supposedly. Crosby gets sucked into a neverending legal battle.

And then, it’s 1945, and Hearst has canceled Skippy (which has supposedly become depressing and morose as Crosby’s troubles continued to wear him down). And then it’s 1946, and the IRS freeze all of his assets, while Crosby fights with his attorneys. And then it’s 1948, and Crosby is allegedly slashing his wrists and stabbing himself in the chest at his New York apartment. And then it’s 1949, and he’s being declared mentally ill and incompetent by the New York courts. And then it’s 1964, and he passes away—having spent the previous 18 years in an insane asylum. Drawing on cheap paper, storing his drawings “locked in a trunk with keys kept on a shoestring around his neck to protect his work from theft and vandalism.”

Crosby has reason to be afraid of theft; with him in an asylum, no one’s around to fight his legal battles anymore. Including the copyright/trademark fight with that tiny company, Rosefield Packing Co. (Who, supposedly, years later, investigation will reveal had ties with the IRS personnel auditing Crosby).

By 1954, Rosefield Packing Co. has made $22 million dollars, and are about to make millions upon millions upon millions more.

From Skippy Peanut Butter.

Which is how Skippy is remembered today. Hidden in plain sight; everywhere but forgotten; all around us, but we just stare at it blankly, not knowing what it means, never guessing what was so damn “Skippy” about peanut butter anyway, never even wondering why it’s called that.

Comics history is in the aisles of every grocery store you’ve ever been in. Comics history has been there your whole life. Comics will break your heart. Specifically, comics will break your heart—by clogging it with peanut butter.

You can find out more about Skippy at the Skippy website. You can also read about the never-ending legal battle between Crosby and the owners of Skippy Peanut Butter at that website; Crosby's daughter has fought it for more than three decades. You might also enjoy the Filboid Studge blog entry on the topic as it includes examples of Crosby's work (which I would say is quite nice). Of course, Don Markstein's Toonopedia is an invaluable resource. And there's a book out there supposedly-- Jerry Robinson's Skippy and Percy Crosby. More art here as well. My apologies to those of you who already know the story or if I got any details wrong.

Good luck with the Zuda Contracts!

What's wrong with this picture?

[Apart from the fact the only stuff I've posted on a comics review blog lately is this pictures, a movie review, and a shill about my garage sale?]

I'd opine there's something wrong with throwing these books in a quarter bin. Some of them are too recent, most of them are too expensive, and a few of them are just too good to get thrown into a big long box and let go for a quarter.

This is exactly the kind of hopping-blind anxiety I go through for the annual garage sale: usually, I start out by worrying that nobody's gonna show if I'm not making some outrageously good deals (except Joe Keatinge and Chris French, who then go on to mock me); then I move through a stage of avarice where I go and pull the books that are surely worth a bajillion (which I then check on Ebay to find, most of the time, that if I hustle I might be able to sell the books at a profit... as long as I bill out my time at about ten cents an hour), then laziness sets in and I throw most of 'em back in the box, then despair, etc. It's quite the comic book passion play, with me moving through all the stages of the long box.

Anyway, these books are definitely going out--stuff I've since gotten in trade, stuff I read and enjoyed but realized I would never read again, stuff I thought was overhyped but might be a fun read for a quarter--and I've still got to make the call on many others (since I have Promethea, Preacher and The Invisibles in trade, why am I holding on to the singles?): there's gonna be a lot of fun early '80s junk, I'll have at least one bin of supercheap toys, a long box of trades, and about 25 PS2 games that are hitting the chopping block.

Again, that's this Saturday, from 9 to 4, at approximately this location (there's about eight dopes who pay extra to sell along Cortland rather than out of their garage, and I'm one of them. Of course, they usually don't let us know until the day before the sale, if then....) and I hope you can make it. If you know me and think you can make it, drop me a line and I'll put aside something for you.

Now, if you excuse me, I've got more sorting, hauling and panicking to do...

Abhay: Just A Note About Mike Wieringo Before I Resume The Clown Show

What is this year? Daniel Robert Epstein at only 31, Drew Hayes at 37, Tom Artis, Marshall Rogers, Arnold Drake, Bob Oksner, Iwao Takomoto, Johnny Hart, and on and fucking on and on. And Vonnegut, and whoever else you want to add in there; whoever I've forgotten; I'm sorry. Still... Mike Wieringo? What a fucking cruel year.

I liked Wieringo because he could draw, but I liked him more because he could write:

Art monkey; Wrist-for-hire; Have pencil-will travel--- there's a ton of them. But I think these terms stem from the fact that the trend has been for quite a while now that the 'vision' for the comic book is strictly that of the writer, and the art team is simply there to make that vision real on paper. The 'Marvel method' of creating comics has gone the way of the Dodo, really. All scripts done for Marvel are now, like at DC, done in full-script form, so unless the writer is feeling generous enough to bring the penciler in on the initial writing of the story (and there's little or none of that happening), then the penciler is relegated to the status of 'flunky', in my humble opinion. And for someone like me, who spent his childhood writing and drawing his own stories-- and who has been in a very collaborative relationship on a creator-owned project as I was with Todd Dezago on Tellos, it's a bitter pill to swallow to have to return to being relegated to nothing more than (fill in the blank with any of the aforementioned terms). 

From here.

Set aside the substance of what he's saying in that quote; save it for later -- what a pleasure to have a comic artist write so honestly and cleanly about his work, fears, anxieties, ambitions! Who else did that? Who else ever bothered? I can't begin to imagine what friends and family lost, but for the rest of us, it might be important to note that his fans didn't just lose an artist who could draw a lovely comic, but someone rarer and even more generous than that as well.

I honestly didn’t think that many people would pay attention…. but over the years, that attention has grown and this blog has become important to me in more ways than one. Not only has this little corner of the web become a place for me to share and interact with folks online, but the blog has been– on more than one occasion– cheap therapy/cathartic for me when I’ve been stewing something over in my head. Being able to get thoughts down in type and share them with you folks who provide feedback has been a great thing. 

From here.

The Wieringo family has asked that in lieu of cards or flowers, please donate to the ASPCA, the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund, or the Hero Initiative in his name.

Regular nonsense from me later this week.

But I suppose, in a nutshell, I could say that to succeed in this business—work constantly and always be open to criticism. The only way to improve is to continually work at improving your craft. Nothing will make an artists work grow more than just incessant drawing. I thought I was ready for regular work when I got my first assignment, but I wasn’t. I had no idea how much I still had to learn—and STILL need to learn—when I got started. And the learning process never ends. An artist always has things they can improve on and so the education of art is a life-long process. Stay open to that and everything should be OK. 

From here.

Hooray for Pointless Shilling: Jeff Talks Garage Sale.

My intention was to be back by now with a surly review, a sweeping overview, and some general sass talk, but one of the freelance jobs I've been doing since leaving CE keeps expanding and expanding, and blotting out all my free time. But! I did want to make those of you who follow the blog that my annual garage sale is coming up on SATURDAY, AUGUST 18th from 9:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. on Cortland Avenue in Bernal Heights.

Those of you who follow the blog or shop the store will probably remember previous years where I breathlessly blabbed about what I was selling, posted photos, and just generally begged people to show. I may actually be too busy to do that this time around (and it's not like this site is starved for content these days) but I may give you at least one picture post as I get closer to the actual date.

Because Joe Keatinge and Chris French did such a masterful job of cleaning me out last year (both years, in fact), I'm not sure yet if I'm gonna have as wide a selection as previous years. But I know I'm going to be letting go all my uncollected Walking Dead issues, probably all of my issues of 52 (I've got 52 of 'em, but whether or not I can actually find them all is another matter), stuff I talked myself into buying and regretted later (hello, City of Others!), assorted Kirby stuff I've since collected (some of the New Gods and Jimmy Olsen stuff I don't need now that I have the Omnibus, a bunch of old "Marvel Comics Presents" reprints)...all of it for a quarter apiece (or twenty cents apiece if you buy ten or more, I think). I've still got a lot of digging to do, so there'll probably be more on top of that, but that's what I'm thinking of for starters.

Additionally, I'll have manga, trades, action figures and toys, some DVDs and a freakin' buttload of cheap PS2 games since I put that electronic crack pipe in storage a few months ago. Since I no longer work at CE and pick up any number of crazy-ass things on a whim, this may be my last hurrah so if it sounds tempting you should go.

And with that, I'll return you to regularly scheduled reviewing blog and get myself set up for my 3:00 meeting. Remember, Saturday, August 18, Cortland Avenue, 9:00-4:00. It'll be worth your while.

Seeber rabber hobbersobben, what did you expect?: Graeme is rushed.

No time for blog, Dr. Jones. With an Independence Day that involved a flooded toilet, family visits and absolutely no time whatsoever to sit down and write about The Black Diamond and Criminal as originally planned, you're going to have to wait a little bit longer for new reviews from me, I'm afraid. How did everyone else enjoy the holiday yesterday, anyway?

The Secret History: Jeff Returns to Blab About Kirby's Fourth World Omnibus

The mind is a strange machine. After three (very busy) weeks where my thinking about comics consisted of litte more than "I bet Bill Finger wrote this story" (my reading before bed has been that very enjoyable third volume of Superman Showcase), the brain kicked right in this morning as I ran my quasi-ecstatic hands over JACK KIRBYS FOURTH WORLD OMNIBUS VOL 1 HC. And since Brian just had his birthday, and Graeme is (I hope) whacked out on pain pills and watching Gilmore Girls, I figured it might be worth sharing those thoughts with you oh-so-briefly. (I'd like to post the few remaining items on my to-do list too, but that probably won't be happening anytime soon, alas.)

So, the Omnibus. Lemme start by confessing that I own the Marvel Visionaries hardcovers of both Kirby books, the Romita Sr. volume, as well as a slightly beat up Ditko volume that I bought on the cheap, and one of the things that bums me out about them is when I peel off the lovely looking bookjackets and see nothing underneath but a very generic title engraved on the cover. And yet, like some strange version of "peek-a-boo," I've continued to pull aside that jacket in the hopes I was mistaken and some wondrous image will yet appear.

With that in mind, you can imagine my delight when I peeled off the wonderful Omnibus bookjacket and found underneath a gigantic close-up of Orion's face, with the Kirby credit box underneath. For a Kirby fan, the cover and the endpapers--more outsized excerpts of Kirby panels--are perfection. And, interestingly, it's this strain of perfection that led me, the longer I flipped through the version, into a spongy emotional morass.

The book exists, you see, in a very strange state--caught between high and low production values--that seems, unfortunately, fitting for Kirby's Fourth World titles. There's lovely, spongy blue cotton paper separating the cover from the innards that feels pleasingly swank to the fingertips, but the paper on which the stories themselves reside is barely a few steps up from newsprint. Weirdly, that's initially satisfying--reading Grant Morrison's introduction, or the ending essay by Mark Evanier, it seems eerily so, catching the odd tingle one gets from reading Kirby's books now as they manage to be timelessly futuristic and charmingly anachronistic simultaneously--and gives you the feeling that you really are reading (to badly paraphrase Morrison) a pulp gnostic text. But that feeling quickly fades: it works in the beginning- and end-papers because the graphics are carefully crafted to show the tiny dots of the long-abandoned coloring process. But the stories themselves have been carefully recolored so there are no dots to be found anywhere, which would be fine if the paper was as glossy as the coloring but it's not. The effect makes the book into an odd literary design sandwich--two thick slices of design-savvy nostalgia in which a power-point presentation of Kirby's Fourth World stories is only semi-comfortably nestled. If someone at DC had the moxie (and let's face it, the budget--the Jimmy Olsen issues herein are presumably just the innards from the already digitially recolored trades from a year or two ago), they would've had the whole thing done in a loving dot-heavy coloring style of the originals: it would've been thrilling, and, again, a fine tribute to that futurism/anachronism duality in Kirby's work.

Thinking about it, though, this odd sandwich unfortunately--but fittingly--highlights some of the other dualities in Kirby's work. After all, Kirby's Fourth World saga wasn't a success, but a failure: all of Kirby's plans for the Fourth World were destroyed, more or less to the letter, by the machinations of a large comic book company with a commitment to both the bottom line and seeing a return on the sizeable investment it had made in Kirby. So I think the sting I feel when I see (book title aside) Kirby share equal billing with company man and deadline king Vince Coletta everywhere throughout the book (including the inside back bookflap bios) is altogether fitting. Being unable to find the name of the book designer anywhere but being able to easily find the name of DC's VP of Business Development, Jeff Trojan, is entirely fitting in a book reprinting stories where DC hired Al Plastino and Curt Swan to draw over the faces Kirby drew for Superman and Jimmy Olsen. Even in an expensive hardcover devoted to his work, Kirby is just one more cog in the machine, the way he was when DC cancelled his titles and put him on other books that they thought would sell better--a very important cog, to be sure, but a cog nonetheless.

You might think it silly to spend so much time on the trappings of this collection and not on the stories themselves, and I'm inclined to agree. However, the stories themselves were written and drawn long ago; it's only the context that's changed and will continue to change from this point on. And in this context, I found the emergence of Mister Miracle from toward the end of this volume to be both touching and incredibly apt. I think it's Mark Evanier who's pointed out that Mr. Miracle is, of all the Fourth World heroes, the one closest to Kirby himself. Thanks to the help of a strong and devoted partner, his years of training and his own divine heritage, Scott Free escapes again and again from a succession of brutal deathtraps that may or may not represent the threatening straitjacket commercial expectation poses to the creator. Mr. Miracle/Scott Free is Kirby's idealized version of himself--a man raised in the violent war-state of Darkseid's brutal society who is not himself violent or brutal and who supports himself and enlightens others by freeing himself again and again--but Free is, ultimately, just a dream, a fantasy, dreamt by a man who worked for The Man and who had to do, ultimately, what the people signing the checks asked for. Those dreams may not seem as sweetly poignant--may risk, in fact, not speaking to us at all--without that bitter context, a context lurking, like yet another cover, underneath the sumptiousness of JACK KIRBYS FOURTH WORLD OMNIBUS VOL 1.

Whether you have or haven't read Kirby's Fourth World material, this is Excellent material and well worth getting. But on the weekend where Kirby's dreams seem at their most successful (what with Silver Surfer premiering on the big screen and this hardcover on the shelves), it's probably prudent to consider that the yoke from which the King dreamt of freedom is not altogether absent.

Spam Filters and such

I set my spam filter pretty high -- not all the way to max, but up there, because, with a (very) public email address, I easily get 2-300 messages a day some days. I religiously check my spam folder 2-3 times a day before deleting, but I'm scanning for "names I know", and if I don't know your name, I'm not going to notice you've gone into spam, right?

What made me think of this is that I recently emailed someone with a clear "internet pseudonym" at their Last Known Public address, and I started to get frustrated that I hadn't heard anything back. And then I thought, well damn, maybe it got trapped in spam and I never knew because I don't know the person's real name (I'm only seeing names in my list, not titles -- life is, actually, too short to do it any other way)

Anyway, the upshot is, if you sent me an email, and I didn't respond at all, maybe give the store a call at 415-863-9258 and leave a message (if I'm not there) with your name and "Hibbs said so on the internet, which I know sounds crazy, but is true", then send me another email 24 hours later, and I'll know to be looking for your actual real name within the spam folder.

-B

Bryan Lee O'Spidey!

At first, I really wanted to tease the hell out of this, and say stuff like "Wow, I've seen preview pages of Scott Pilgrim 4 and they go in a totally new direction" or "Hey, I just got the cover to the new Scott Pilgrim; check it out." But I felt like a tool every time I sat down to write it.

The fact is, I was having lunch with my friend John yesterday and we went to this Crown Books clearance center and John, having a three year old, was perusing the children's books section while we gabbed. He was the one who held this book up to me and made some sort of wisecrack about Spider-Man's changing status quo, and I went, "Oh my god! Bryan Lee O'Malley!"

I mean, it says Bryan O'Malley on the cover but it had to be him, right? I mean:

Obviously, it's him.

I wrote Bryan about it and he replied:

Yeah, it was one of the first things I did in comics, way back in 2001. Go ahead and run images if you want.

Christopher Butcher actually helped me colour it, which is why it's so pink. That was right before we moved in together.

Sadly, my poor photographic skills (and possible legal conflicts) prevent me from reproducing all seven pages of the book, but I will spoil the ending for you:

just because Spidey in his doctor's outfit looks a bit cooler than on the cover. Oh, and:

just because it chokes me up a little.

Sadly, there were only two copies at that Crown Books and the other one is going to one Benjamin Hibbs. But they did have copies of Spider-Man: Air Rescue Officers (with Spidey in a very cool outfit, holding a cute dog on the cover) and Spider-Man: Firefighters (outfit not that cool, but holding adorable kittens!) all written by the same author (Michi Fujimoto) but different illustrators (Charles Park and Robert DeJesus, respectively). Needless to say, they're all a pretty pleasant change of pace from Ultimates #13 and All-Star Batman & Robin.

New York New York, it's a wonderful town...

...The plane home was delayed, so I'm wearin' a frown. No, wait, that's not how it goes. Even though the plane home was delayed (but on the plus side, JetBlue! So there were purple crisps and television to keep me occupied).

Anyway; back from the Big Apple, where it was apparently less warm than San Francisco but there were friends and pizza in Brooklyn and the MoMA. There was also very little sleeping, and what little sleeping there was was filled with dreams where I met Jack Kirby, and he was really upset because he'd just won an award from, I think, the collected comic store retailers of America. He wasn't upset because of the award itself, but what it was given for - He'd won it in recognition of the amazing branding work he'd done on Boba Fett for Star Wars and Lucasfilm. As weird as it seems, one of the clearest moments from the dream was him standing in front of me, ranting that he hadn't even worked on Boba Fett, and who would want to give out an award for something as soulless as branding when there was much more creative work to be done.

It's possible my subconscious was trying to tell me something, but then got confused trying to push through the comic-culture-lined walls of my brain. Anyway, more reviews when I get a chance - Either this evening or tomorrow morning (or maybe both) - because a lot of things came out this past Wednesday...

Don't Rhyme No Mo': Graeme doesn't review.

So, APE weekend and even though I was too nervous to talk to anyone at the signing yesterday - I'm only exaggerating slightly, sadly - a fine time was still had by all. If I had to nominate a king and queen of the whole thing, it'd be Bryan Lee O'Malley and Hope Larson, who put up with my shyness and appreciated Kate's food tips never mind their obvious talent and attractiveness (That said, Kate's food tips are generally always worth listening to). They also let me buy a page of Scott Pilgrim art that is on its way to being displayed in the bathroom, if only because I've been told by my lovely wife that every bathroom needs something wonderful to look at. Buying art is actually a running theme for me at APE - Kate and I always end up with art (normally from Nucleus, who rep artists that Kate adores; every year she buys prints from them to frame and hang in the house) instead of books, even though we both wander around and see many things that look pretty great. That said, this year it's worth heading to the convention (if you haven't already) for the guests alone; even if Bryan and Hope aren't your thing, there's also Gene Yang, Derek Kirk Kim, Kevin Huizenga (someone else I was entirely too scared to talk to on Friday. Me = Dick, in case you didn't know), Debbie Huey, and - if he's there tomorrow at the AiT booth like he was today - Matt Silady, who did The Homeless Channel that I raved about here. Go and ask him to tell you about his book. And then you should all buy lots of art, just like Kate and m'self.

Reviews tomorrow, honestly.

Hibbs: Tired & sucky

Yes yes, I'm a whiner. Books were late AGAIN this week (about 3:45, so when Graeme came in at 4:30, I was still counting stuff in!)

Then I waited MORE THAN AN HOUR for the 24 (5 buses went North, none came back South) -- you know how you wait for a bus for so long you realize you CAN'T start walking because as soon as you do, the bus will come roaring around the corner/over the hill/whatever? Yeah that one.

Anyway, I have nothing by runny brains right now, so... I'll be back tomorrow to do the last week wrapup, and the start of the next cycle....

-B

What the fuck is wrong with people?

No seriously, what the fuck IS wrong with people? Yesterday, I went into the store to find out some stupid piece of shit decided to graffiti all over the windows up and down Divisadero st. Graffiti is a part of urban living, I suppose, though it is one that I've never really understood. If 99% of the people who see it can't read it, don't know what it means, don't understand your affiliation, and think you're a ignorant asshole for doing it, then I don't see the benefit whatsoever.

The different between "the usual" graffiti and yesterday's adventure, is that the small-dicked little morons used acid to "etch" the windows, which permanently stains them, and is (as I understand it) impossible to remove without warping the glass. I could spend a couple of hundred dollars to replace the glass (then just have some OTHER idiot hit is a few days later), or I could spend a couple of thousand dollars to get specially coated glass that makes it "impossible" to tag in that way -- but then I'm afraid someone will just throw a brick through the window, y'know?

I'm a child of New York in the 70s, so I appreciate the graffiti ARTIST -- those guys who spent serious time decorating the subway trains? Wonder and awe from me. The big elaborate and colorful pieces on 8x12 foot sections of abandoned walls? There's some urban attraction in that.

But just taking out your dick and randomly spraying piss everywhere? You're a stupid, pathetic piece of shit who should get dumped in prison, and cornholed daily for the crime of being a moron. At the very least, I'd like the punishment to be that a squad of homeless people are dispatched to the taggers room, where they proceed to take a shit over every object the tagger cares about whatsoever. Maybe they'd get it then.

(that would presuppose that there was a reasonable way of catching such shit-heads -- it's not even like we get a police car rolling by the store more than 3 or 4 times a day though. Let alone at 3 AM when they hit nearly every store I checked in a 4 block stretch)

Its not just the vandalism, but society as a whole seems like it is filling up with unsocialized morons faster and faster. On Wednesday, I was taking the bus home, and, as usual for the 24-Divisadero it was pretty unreasonably crowded (Man, remember when Muni was just 25 cents, and busses came every 5 minutes? Now they're $1.50, and you've got to wait 20 minutes between runs). There's two kids on the bus, a brother and sister I think, one maybe 12, the other 14 or so. The 12 year old boy is standing across the aisle, hands on either side of the rails of the bus, making it so no one can get past him at all. People are trying to get on the bus, but he's (consciously) creating a bottleneck. I don't really mind riding in the "driver's area" of the bus, but a lot of people do, and it's not really safe for the driver anyway (can't see his side mirrors), so I say to the kid "Excuse me, could you move in, so everyone else can board?". His sister spins on me and screams "Ain't you never heard of 'please'?". "Uh, yeah, that's what 'excuse me' means" The kid says something about there being no room, and I'm like 3 times his size, and you could fit 4 more of me into the space he's occupying but I don't really care that much -- like I said, I'm cool with being in the driver's area.

Driver isn't though. "MOve in, move in!" he starts to yell at me. "I'd love to, bud, but little man here won't move." Meanwhile his sister is unleashing a steady stream of invective at me in the way that only an ignorant selfish 14 year old that's going to end up with 3 babies by age 19, and will die with a glass pipe in her mouth before she's 30, can. Bus Driver says "The bus isn't moving until everyone moves in!" and the kid finally relents and moves aside while moaning all of the time. At the next stop, they make a big show of getting off the bus.

Children like these need to be slapped. Repeatedly. Where the hell are their parents. You know, when *I* was a kid (again: 70s, New York, not Leave it to Beaver) I don't know of any teenager that would have dared disrespect a grownup like that. It just wasn't done.

The only reason I didn't smack the kid was, just a few minutes before they were talking with another lady who seemed to know them - even asked how their mom was. She looked like a young school teacher or something. I pretty much expected HER to say something, but she never did.

Just before the boy gets off the bus, he stares directly at me and says "Some niggers ought shut up before they get they asses shot." I looked at the adult-who-knew-them. She had that helpless liberal smile on her face suggesting "Boys will be boys" or some other nonsense. I'm reasonably sure she'll never mention to the kid's parents that he just threatened to kill an adult, on a bus full of people.

So, what the fuck is wrong with people? Who are this kid's parents? Do they not care that their boy is likely to end up in prison or the morgue within the next decade?

If I ever caught even a whiff of that kind of insubordination from Ben, he wouldn't be able to sit down for a week. I may be an asshole, but I try to have a modicum of manners. I even usually thank the bus driver as I get off every day. I feel like George Constanza some days, screaming "Don't you know we live in a society? A SOCIETY?!?!"

No reviews this morning -- I'm too grumpy.

-B