Comics in a Bottle - Now With More Miscellania!

God, I'm a horrible person. Why do you let me do this to myself, Internet? Why do you let me make these promises that you know I'll never keep? I will not let you use this as leverage in the future.

Just got back from Knocked Up. Really good movie. I won't say exactly that I want to impregnate Katherine Heigl in what should be a one-night stand, but they do make some convincing arguments.

I've got about 15 minutes to kill, so I figured what better way to spend it than by talking at you, my imaginary data-construct friends? On second thought, my rumbling tummy has just informed me that this time perhaps should have been used to get something to eat, but by now I'm already locked in to this whole writing thing like one of those plastic backpack clip contraptions. You know the ones. When you use them it kind of looks like a spaceship entering a docking bay. Is there a name for these things? Does anyone know what I'm talking about?

So most exciting thing that has happened to me this week: I was driving along the road and saw one lonely port-a-john in the exact center of a vast field of dirt. It was moving and beautiful. I went straight home and used my perm-a-john.

That was probably a lie. Surely something more exciting had to happen to me, but that was what came to mind. I did go to an art exhibit in Nashville with my sister; it was ok. There was lots of stuff by Picasso and Matisse, one van Gogh, and some casts of sculptures by Degas and Rodin, but it was mostly the kind of leftover paintings and four-second drawings that bigger museums have ignored. Which was still cool in its own right--there was some good stuff--but not exactly a greatest hits collection. Maybe in the next few days I'll post some of the better paintings on display to break up the boring wall of text I've got going right now.

Quickly before I go: a Crime Stoppers commercial just ran informing people that, believe it or not, calling 911 is the right thing to do in the event of a break-in. Good to know. But since it is airing on television I guess they felt like they should put some pictures in the background to really drive the message home, so they paid some actors to stage a burglary, which is fine, but it's two giant black guys forcing their way into the house of a trembling white man who somehow summons the courage to dial 911. Is this racist? I don't know. It will plague me for hours.

I kind of hate my journal title right now. The original idea was that, as someone writing, at least occasionally, for a mostly imaginary audience, it seemed to me a bit like the life of a man stranded alone on an island in the middle of nowhere, tossing his thoughts, by the bottle (I don't know where he gets the bottles, but he seems to have piles of the things), into the ocean where no one will ever see them. But of course in my case, there's much less urgency and only a very slim chance of ever slowly starving; I do try to make up for it in sheer patheticness, but unfortunately that only goes so far. Also, I sometimes mention comics. Hence the name. I'll probably change it soon, and again and again after that. I almost always grow to loathe the titles I create, but I love making new ones so I suppose its for the best.

Anyway, comics:

Plain Janes, herald of the girl-oriented Minx line of DC, is probably the only thing I've read in the last week worth mentioning (though thankfully not at all the only enjoyable read), so mention it I shall. Reviews and synopses are all over the internet, which I'll assume you know how to use, so I won't get into either except to say that it was good. Some of the subplots, one in particular, could have used more resolution, but still, I enjoyed it a lot.
What most interests me about the book is that, aside from featuring mainly young, female protagonists, it doesn't feel like a book made specifically for teenage girls, so much as just a good story with indy sensibilities (and by that I mean nary a cape in sight). I wonder if, given decent sales for this and subsequent offerings from the Minx line, DC, and Marvel as well, might not grow a tad hungry for more of the indy audience currently catered to by the Onis and Top Shelfs of the world. Aside from loyalty on the part of creators to the companies paying for their work now, I don't see what's stopping Marvel or DC from attracting the kind of talent that would allow them to reach people who simply aren't interested in the superhero genre. Vertigo, and to a lesser degree Marvel's Icon line, have already stepped away from capes, but are still mostly action-oriented. It seems to me there might be room for the romances, dramas, and comedies that populate comicdom outside of the Big Two.
Now, I know absolutely nothing about the way independent creators are being paid by their current publishers and whether it would be worth it for Marvel and DC to try to compete, and it might even be bad for the industry as a whole if they did (I would hate to see companies like Oni suffer from the competition), but it's almost inevitable, or it seems so to me, that they will eventually grow tired of contenting themselves with just the superhero books while a whole other market exists just outside of their reach.

I'm not sure if I was able to communicate my point very well, and I've got to run. I'll hope for the best.

So this is awkward. I know I said I would keep in touch, and I meant to, I swear, but one thing led to another, there was this whole incident with a flat tire, and next thing I know ten months have passed without so much as cursory eye contact and a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. Anyway, I'm sorry, World Wide Web. Really. It won't happen again.

Meeting you here, now, like this--it's weird, you know? This is a brand new world we're living in and a part of me wonders how we'll ever manage to relate to each other again. Have we grown too far apart? I mean, Captain America died. And now, it's like, his corpse is probably only in the bloaty stage of decomposition--maybe he's popped--and already there's this whole Hulk thing on the horizon...I just...so much has happened--is still happening--and I guess I think we should take it slow, is all. I just don't want to get hurt.

I've learned, in my dark and enigmatic past, that to put a timetable on these posts we share, to force them out on a schedule, is wrong, so I'm not going to do that this time. Except that--damn it-- I'm going to post every week. At least. I'm a new man-- a stronger man! I mean for God's sake, I use dashes now, Internet! All the time! Maybe it'll be comic related, maybe it'll just be one of those nonsensical and overly verbose word-shits I imagine you like so much, but the posts will be here all the same. I'm telling you, I know we've had our troubles in the past, but things are different now, I'm different, and this time I'm going to do right by you.

Probably.

I'm beginning to realize that this daily entry thing might not work out. My life currently just doesn't generate the kind of interesting events worth writing about at a pace anywhere near enough to sustain my ambitions. Like today for example. I woke up, I showered, I had some orange juice, read a bit, cooked some pizza bites for lunch, ate them while watching tivoed episodes of Angel, considered making tea, didn't, watched the crappy Three Musketeers movie starring Chris O'Donnell while a plumber tore a hole in my wall (at my request), had soup and cornbread for dinner, then sat down at my computer and wrote this. I suppose I could eke out a few paragraphs discussing the benefits of the combination flavor pizza bite vs all other flavors (sausage AND pepperoni, how could it lose?), but what's the point? I suspect this is why very few other people I've come across do the daily entry thing. Oh well. While it's lasted it's been a good mental lead in to more creative writing stuff, and I'll still post if anything of interest ever occurs.

I guess I'll toss in the list of comics I'm buying this week. I don't expect anyone to care, but it seems like the thing to do.

52
Spiderman
Captain America (soon to be dropped)
Batman (Morrisony good times, hopefully)
Young Avengers/Runaways
New Avengers
Daredevil
Jack of Fables
Casanova

Sorry I missed a day, I'm sure my absence was hard for everyone, but we all have burdens we must bear, like it or not. Now, explanations:

Yesterday was my grandparents' 50th anniversary, except that it wasn't (yet), but we pretended like it was and the families cast forth into the world from the loins of each of my grandparent's three children gathered so a professional photographer could document the moment. Also it was decided by my aunt that it would be just adorable if each family donned garb of a different color. After careful deliberation, weighing the pros (bringing out of the eyes, matching with the hair, slimming effects, etc.) and cons (does it look stupid?), it was finally decided that my family would wear green. I was, I admit, a little miffed that purple was removed from consideration, but, in the end, agreed that green was probably the safest way to go.

Thus, our emerald banner flying proudly (there was no banner), my two sisters, my parents and I squeezed into a Honda Accord and began our two-and-a-half hour journey to Grand Rivers, Kentucky, home to Patti's, a restaurant known for blocks around as "that place with the caged raccoons out front."

But I had an okay time. I didn't think I would; I was anticipating, at best, to be bored out of my mind and at worst, hours of intense emotional anguish. Fortunately for me, my cousins have become a lot more bearable to be around since the last time I saw them, when they were, like, nine. I wouldn't say that I had fun, but I came close on more than one occasion.

When I see them all again in two weeks' time for the real 50th though, I fully expect to be painfully dismembered while they laugh at how they fooled me.

Lots of interesting (and by by interesting, I mean not really that interesting at all) minutiae today. Not one, but TWO packages from the UPS man today. I think he's got the hots for me or, worst case scenario, the love cholera. The ladies (and the gents; my charm knows no gender boundaries) have been dropping left and right to the latter, but I'd hoped to outrun it in my move to Tennessee. Bad news is the diarrhea. Good news is it's treatable; I understand doctors generally recommend aggressive rehydration and replenishment of electrolytes, as well as antibiotics that are unfortunately becoming less effective. So. Bummer for him.

Package one contained comics. Civil War was good. She-Hulk was good. Eternals was good. Elephantmen was better than I feared it would be. But Runaways blew them all away. Twists, thrills, tragedy, and what seems to be an intriguing new direction. Also great cover. I was very happy with it, except when I was sad.

Package two was random crap purchased from my friends at Amazon. L.A. Confidential, Kane Vol. 1, Hellboy Vol. 3, Mr. Punch, Postsecret, and The Seeger Sessions. Haven't touched any of it but the CD which seems quite satisfactory thus far.

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I haven't quite gotten over the weirdness of writing for an audience that doesn't actually exist, mostly I just feel pathetic. I might as well be wasting a notebook on this stuff instead of taking up valuable space on the interweb, but somehow the idea that someone might someday read this helps me feel a nagging responsibility to uphold my goal of posting daily, even if I know the responsibility is almost entirely imaginary. My Livejournal is like the Nutcracker Museum of Leavenworth, Washington: Everyone's invited, but no one ever comes. Yet, like curator Tad Tucker*, I keep things tidy, just in case.




*not actual name of curator, as far as I know
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Tomorrow's a big day. I may or may not be able to post, but eventually all will be revealed.

I think I'll open today with a bit of sobbing and whimpering. I've just recently (a month ago? ish?) moved to lovely Murfreesboro, TN from Lexington, Kentucky. Which I'm fine with. M'boro isn't quite as large (but it's growing steadily apparently) and the redneck-to-normal-people ratio seems to be a bit more skewed toward the former than was the case in Lexington but there are still plenty of nice, clean people to be seen walking about. The main problem is that I've arrived just in time to watch every last job be filled before my eyes by an eager high school student. Thus, until classes start in late August some time, I'm left to roam the streets late at night, desperately begging strangers to please, please be my friend. I see the fear in their eyes as I clutch at their clothing with my sweaty fists, and they stammer that, yes, they will certainly be my friend, just please don't hurt them, but I can tell they don't really mean it.

I'm afraid that any day now I'll discover what it feels like to be that guy who goes to the store just to buy things I don't need and start conversations with cashiers who clearly aren't interested in hearing anything I might have to say. No doubt customers behind me will look grimly at their watches and shake their heads, but pity will keep them silent.

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My mail-order comics should arrive tomorrow. I wish there were a decent shop in town, but sadly there is only an establishment devoted almost entirely to selling things I don't understand to tabletop gamers while a handful of comics are tossed as an afterthought on a table in the corner, and another that appears to be all Marvel/DC all the time. Fine, but not really worth visiting when I can get any books they're likely to have from an internet that also carries other titles I might wish to procure. I think Lexington spoiled me in regard to comic shops; I don't know how a city that size managed to support five shops, three varying degrees of decent, two actually quite good, but support them it did. Still though, buying from Midtown isn't all that bad. Yes, I get everything two days late, and yes, half of the books have been spoiled by that point by things I've accidentally run across on the internet, and yes, I have to pay $6-$8 in shipping charges each week for the privilege, but at least I get them.

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I just read Wasteland, which shipped last week, today. Unfortunately Midtown was sold out, so I was forced to exercise a bit of that resourcefulness I'm so well-known for and buy it from another online shop (one that ships far more slowly). I'm glad I went to the extra trouble. It was a very good first issue, and double-sized to boot, that did more than enough to pique my interest and ensure that I pick up the next one as well.

I also had them send Spaghetti Western, a book by Scott Morse that I'd never heard of, to attempt to justify the shipping cost I was paying. They were glad to oblige my request in exchange for more money, and a deal was made. The book was pretty good, with a nice story and some of that lovely Morse art (though the sepia tones were a little muddy), but it felt very short. I think that with every page being basically just a single large panel, it needed a bit more dialogue to justify the $11.95 price. 8 bucks seems more fitting, but still, it wasn't too shabby by any means.

OK nothing of import to share today, as is almost certainly going to be the norm for the rest of forever. Nonetheless.

Looking back, the Highlight of My Day Thus Far Award, would probably have to be given, hopefully with hands protected by a double layer of surgical gloves, to the dream I had last night. Generally I hate when other people share their dreams, but since this is my dream, and I'm much more interesting than the average person, I figure anyone that happens to read this will love it. Be warned though; it goes to kind of a weird place.

So the setup: I'm sitting in geology class packed with other students, but they don't really play a major role, basically just sitting there making it feel classroomy. The professor is at the front of the room tossing a completely average rock back and forth.

“Have you ever wondered where all of the rocks in the world came from?” he said. He paced back and forth in silence for a while, apparently gathering his thoughts.

“Well,” he finally broke the silence. “It happened something like this: late one night a long time ago, long before human beings roamed the earth, Father Time and Mother Nature met by chance in a field of soft grass and rich black earth. They gazed at each other and didn’t say a word; they didn’t have to. One look into the other’s eyes was enough to know that they shared the same loneliness, the same crushing isolation that came with possessing power and duties too great for anyone else to understand. They knew, then and there, that, though they had been alone before and would be again come morning, the night was theirs to spend together.

“They advanced towards each other, slowly, cautiously, until their bodies just touched. And they kissed.

“Tongue intertwined with tongue, fingers plunged into hair, grunting, gasping, then they were on the ground. Their lips parted for a moment and they locked eyes, expressing everything they felt but could never begin to say.”

“Then Father Time thrust his engorged penis into the warm, welcoming wetness of Mother Nature’s vagina. She arched her back, moaned. The pressure with which they held each other was astounding; the heat generated by the friction of their grinding bodies such that you would never believe.

“The night stretched out in their honor, a swollen moon gazing down at them and keeping the sunlight at bay until at last the pleasure they felt swelled into an ecstasy they could no longer contain, and they climaxed together.” The professor paused to let it all sink in.

“Anyway, they spooned for a bit, then Father Time rolled over to get up and felt something hard poke him in the back. He reached behind his back and found lying there between them a freshly made rock, not unlike this one here.”

And that's pretty much the dream. Some phrases recreated exactly from memory, others made up completely but communicative of the gist of the thing. That's the state in which we find my brain today.

Um...hi I guess. I've recently decided to give this Livejournal thing a whirl, for reasons I'll touch upon momentarily (I've hooked you already, haven't I?), but now that I'm sitting here typing out my confused and uninteresting thoughts and hurling them blindly into cyberspace to mingle and perhaps share a meal with all manner of wonderful internety things, mostly pictures of desperate people, eyes vacant, mouths slightly ajar, putting objects deep into unspeakable orifices, and pictures of cats, and probably pictures of people putting cats into those same orifices (is that pluralization correct?), I'm finding the entire experience to be just a little bit awkward. But I shan't let that stop me, so let there be much sighing in relief and mopping of brows.

My name is Matt. I attempted to form some kind of username based at least loosely on my name, both first and last, but unfortunately they were each and every one of them taken, and I was forced to fall back on my old middle school standby of fonterrat. Please, though, imaginary friends of mine, feel free to call me Matt if ever you feel the need to call me anything. I hope someday to write things for a living, preferably interesting things like comics or movies or novels or...plays? I don't know, I guess that's it. The problem is that I have literally (literally) zero discipline and can only rarely make myself sit down and work on a project. So here I am, attempting to rectify this grievous character flaw by beginning a Livejournal...journal...and resolving to rain post after post upon it on a daily or semidaily basis until I magically become a better person, the kind of person who might actually follow through on an endeavor started.

Perhaps one or two people will even show up from time to time in order to watch my spirit slowly fizzle into nothing as it becomes clear to me that, try as I might, I'm simply a useless husk of a man who will never ever be able to do anything I set out to do. Probably though I'll reach that conclusion without anyone ever having seen any of these posts to know that I once thought otherwise. Which is fine, since I'd just as soon no one see me cry.