no horn blowing except for (d)anger

Couple things today.  The ultra cool trailer to Joss Whedon's webisode series, Dr. Horrible has been flying all over the internet for the past week.  Its old news for most people, but new news for me in the fact that it sent me in the direction of Horrible co-star Felicia Day's own series, The Guild.  Which is about a group of online gamers, and the lives they have together in this really funny slice of life in a really kind of pathetic way.  Last Tuesday, over a drink, I was talking with some friends about gaming. On the one hand, I agree with Wil's point of view on games, but on the other I tend to think that games are also a detriment on a social level.  Sure they're beautiful works of narrative art, and a social activity viewed through the prism that is video gaming, but I really think that in order to have an even remotely normal social pattern you must turn off that xbox and go to the coffee shop down the street and interract with other people outside of your comfort zone that video games portray.  There are alot of upsides to video games including better hand-eye coordination, the beauty and originality in the narrative of alot of great games, but really, in interest of your own mental health go outside and take a chance talking to people who may or may not be into gaming.  It'll make you a better person.

Other Brian im'd me the new James Bond trailer and its deeply stupid name.  Though, when you dissect the word "quantum," it means a large quantity or a particular amount, by adding solace, James Bond wants a large quantity of comfort, or specifically consolation. When dissected in this manner, the title makes a lot of sense in a character way.  The journey Bond is taking now, he wants to console himself for what happened in the last movie, and in doing so is going after everyone that influenced the tragic path that led to the death of the love of his life, Vesper Lynd.  Though for the more action/adventure hungry movie types that the James Bond movies cater to the title will probably result in a "What the fuck does that even mean?" reaction. The title screams out: "Look at me! Look at how smart I am with my title, but my movie isn't anything that's really smart, or THAT different from any other action/adventure spy thriller!"

(cross posted from my "official" blog no horn blowing except for anger.)

....(and who am I to do something original?) I thought I'd display my personal favorite Carlin sketch.

Be Kind Rewind was a sweet, nice, warm hearted movie.  It made me smile mutliple times and this is something that comes through with alot of Michel Gondry's films for me, they make me feel warm and fuzzy and appreciate the funny nuances of life.  Though they're done in a manner that must be exceptionally difficult, his movies also have this do-it-yourself-with-things-around-the-house quality to them, making them appear that anyone can do movies with nothing more than a camera and some friends. The latter statement is also the thesis of the film: make movies with nothing more than friends and have fun with it.  This was a much needed change from the second movie I watched this week.

Before the Devil Knows You're Dead, deserves to be spotlighted in the back matter pages of Ed Brubaker's and Sean Philip's book Criminal, and that's not all.  Directed by living legend Sidney Lumet  (Dog Day Afternoon, Serpico) and starring Western New York's own, Philip Seymour Hoffman, is a gem of a noir film.  Dare I say it, but I'm going to diverge and call shenanigans that word (noir) was never used in the how it was made bonus material. Not once, it was deemed a melodrama, as Lumet called it and yes that is a good term for the movie but noir is better.  This fine film, that I let slide for two months as it was featured at the small Indy theatre in my neighborhood, is about two brothers with financial problems who decide to knock off their mom and dad's jewelry store in Westcherster, NY. Naturally, things go terribly. A fine, fine non-linear personal conflict with fantastic acting (Marisa Tomei is still a fucking fox).  Seriously, do yourselves a favor and see this movie. Especially you, Duane.

(cross posted from my main site: No Horn Blowing Except for Anger.)

I love this place.  Its been a long, long time since I've been able to say that. I love the weirdness, the ubiquitous millions going about their lives. Even the rat race, how I detest that thing, but what I really loved was Sunday, how I could just flow from one thing to the next; running into people left and right and just letting the day dictate itself out.

I worked every day this week, seven days compared to four days last week, where I took a day to go back for my college reunion, and drank myself into a black out state.  I didn't go out on Saturday; I watched all three seasons of Arrested Development (for about the thirtieth time) and a handful of other forgettable films.  Except Reign of Fire, I like Reign of Fire, my brother got that film for me as my graduation present from college.  I saw the movie in Oxford the summer before graduating, utterly loved it.  He'll be here this week.

What I love is the seeming randomness, the fluidity with which every thing runs in this city. Saturday, I worked and came home and did nothing to report. Sunday I worked for a few hours and met up with someone I had previously connected with on OkCupid, but I had actually met and didn't realize until recently that I met at the MoCCA Art Fest last year. We went to the Met where we examined the Jeff Koons exhibit on the roof, and the Superhero fashion exhibit. We spent time deciphering how they did the change in outfits for the costumes in the original Superman film and discussing the semantics of female superheroes as fetish male fantasies. Afterwards, I lingered around Barnes and Noble in my neighborhood thinking about the books I should buy then thought better of it.  Spoke to Jeremy who is in town for the weekend after he moved away to Fort Worth, Texas. I thought better of buying books in the Barnes and Noble on 86th, and figured that since I was going to be lingering down to Union Square later that night I'd save a few bucks and go to the Strand.  Leaving B & N, I ran into a friend of mine from SBU who graduated a year before me.  We went to the bar with her and her church going friends, I always talk with her and her brother about "Mall Manhattan," and how the educated, hard working people who make decent money but not stock broker money are getting forced out of Manhattan and that being how she lost her apartment near Hunter College. We talked about reunion and I gushed about how lucky I am to have been part of that place, and now I realize how important it is to where I am today, more than ever.

I drink and talk with her friends, I talk about superhero movies with her brother, have some beers talk with a blonde as we get into discussions in regards to her twenty-eight year old birthday present: gifting herself with a subscription to eHarmony and then I, like the effervescent bag of douche that I am, started talking about my own subscription to Match.com. And in the final effort before she left she said: "Good luck with match.com," and I replied, "Good luck with eHarmony, I probably won't last on match for more than a week anyway." Weak. You suck. What I should have been talking about with her was what I thought about my own online dating experiences and how I decided its generally a turkey shoot. (Why pay additionally for a site to find someone to date when that costs money as well?) But why I'm made of fail is rather than talking about also being a part of that whole "phenomenon," and then subsequently not taking the steps to flirt with this obviously attractive girl who was also looking for the same thing I was looking for. I'm a douche bag.

I was talking to Charlie Knauf the other day, sharing stories about our inebriated previous weekends, I gave a short and sweet recap of my weekend back at SBU for my five year class reunion. For the sake of brevity, I'll reproduce some of it here capped off with the highlight of the trip.

Last weekend was occupied by a five and half hour drive to Western New York that should have taken seven hours from NYC to my college, St. Bonaventure, for my five-year class reunion. Upon arrival, we bought enough booze to fill a 'fridge comprised entirely of Admiral Nelson and cases of Labatt Blue and Bud Light. I'm never drinking those beers ever again. My friends and I sat outside our townhouse with others of our class hauling out couches and working on our golf swings with a baseball bat and beer cans. We went out to the one of the three bars in town where a guy who's known for playing that song that is popular among Carnies, "It was a crazy game of Poker..." with nothing but a beat box and an acoustic guitar. It was fun seeing everyone. We started drinking as soon as we got up Saturday morning at around 11. I blacked out sometime before the fancy dinner for alumni but there are pictures to document the debauchery in my profile.

One of the highlights of my reunion was, while wandering around mid-day Saturday looking at the new buildings, going to our old dorm in Deveraux Hall. Most of my group of friends lived there sophomore year but I had a shitty lottery number that year and was forced to live in the basement of our freshman year dorm. Doing a brief search around the googles, I can't find anything that discusses the fifth floor of Deveraux hall so I'll take a moment and re-produce the various rumors, that all of us would pass around during those years. Bonas is known for its Catholic heritage and friars of the Franciscan order live on campus. One of the old Friars that resided at campus was the one of the order of Exorcists portrayed in that Horror classic. There were many things that went on the fifth floor, God only knows if they're true or not, and do not take this as fact because most of this stuff was passed around from person to person throughout campus. Rumors were of the runner on the fifth floor, when no one lives up there, black masses and exorcisms taking place up there, a kid did kill himself there sometime ago and in a blaze in the 1930s a couple of kids died. Though there was only one thing that my friends and I couldn't figure why the fifth floor was always closed off; they re-did Deveraux Hall in the 90s, and we didn't understand why they wouldn't re-do the fifth floor and open it up. Though the reason that was circulated around wasthe haunted, forbidden, expulsion-upon-entering floor was being used for storage.

Well, while wondering around 4th floor Dev last weekend, I had the thought to walk one flight up and see if those big metal doors without door knobs were locked shut just like it had been for all those years in college. And, ironically enough, in my fifth year out of college, 5th Dev was open, doors swung wide open for anyone to take a gander. So, I called after my two friends Dante and Uncle Burt and we walked right in. Smelling like asbestos, age, and "Hi," spray-painted on the wall over and over, the three of us instantly felt like we shouldn't be up there very long, scared like 5th graders at the chance of being sent to the Principal's office. I was quick, and took some photos.

Comes from Brian K. Vaughan:

If they made it, it's a only a matter of time before I make it. It seems like a simple and obvious thing, but I have to say, that was right before the time Y (the Last Man) and The Hood. It was such a change in outlook where you stop being bitter and you realize that art is not a competition, that there's more than enough room for all of us. You there to be as much diversity as possible.

 

• I like what Karina has to say on that movie with nothing but 50 year old cougars. Friday night, while heading to the bar like any self-respecting male I lingered by the 86th Street movie theater where a line of girls were no doubt waiting to see the aforementioned movie. There was at least one guy in this line that could be construed as being straight, I shot him a dirty look and got thisclose to saying: "You should be ashamed of yourself." I'm not into making a public (well, depending on whether you define the internet as public, but I feel out on the street is more public) ass out of myself, but I should have said it. Oh well, fuck it, I'm a pussy. Meanwhile, Mom thought the movie was better than the new Indiana Jones, and you know what's really scary about that? I'm kind of teetering towards believing her.
• My brother is in Egypt, I'd link pictures and whatnot because I've received about eleventybillion of them and he's only been there one day, but he's the private sort and I must respect that. Though, yes, I don't think I'll let it rest that he's there. That's just too fucking cool to let go.
• I'm not going to be at this, this or a wedding this weekend. But I'm lying about not going to one of these.
• Barack Obama has won the nomination! Yes! Huzzah! Horray! No sarcasm involved here, this is unbelievably great news. Though I'm still going to be shocked and awed by the level of retarded people who call this country their home as much as I do who will vote for a guy who talks about moving forward rather than going backward in reference to himself. That says to me, as clear as day and sorry to be morbid, passing on to another plane of existence. Seriously, he will be 72 years old when (and if) he takes the office of President. This is, literally and figuratively no bullshit: a fight between the old guard and the new guard. I just hope people realize that there is nothing, nothing a seventy-one year old guy should be able to say what's good for me and my generation's future when his own direct and immediate future won't have to live with the results. For longer than what, ten years max after taking office?
• Has anyone heard the new Weezer album? I like their new video.

..Just talking to my brother who is currently celebrating his college graduation present, in Egypt.  You have no idea the cool feeling I just had.

Mind=blown.

[Link via Karina Longworth, who also says tonight is a good night to go out, boys].

Last night, while celebrating a co-worker at Doubledown Media's birthday, the hot topic of discussion is what Lenny Dykstra is doing to the company.

For those keeping track, the first issue of The Players Club came out in early April, complete with a $400,000 launch party and a ton of favorable publicity about a magazine that was distributed for free and aimed at providing pro athletes with financial advice. Even The New Yorker wrote a glowing profile on Dykstra as an eccentric but well-meaning and successful entrepreneur.

But issues No. 2 and 3 have been a source of heated disputes that have left freelancers unpaid as Doubledown and Dykstra wage a nasty legal feud over whether Dykstra was ripped off by Doubledown, as he claims, or whether the former baseball great stole the second issue of the magazine from Doubledown, as the publisher claims.

What actually is happening, that the Post does not report, is that Dykstra hasn't paid his bill for the first issue that Doubledown worked on.  So when asked for paying his bill, he cut and run using another printer with work from Doubledown employees. Stuff that I worked on, and a number of other good people at Doubledown.  My friend Clifford lost his job over this.The issue is this: Dykstra gets a Big Win in Media Mogulness considering he sued first (although on massively flimsy charges), the logic behind this thought is massively retarded but it fucking works. The media will always cast a positive light on you, especially if your plaintiff counter-sues that's all you'll get in the media: "oh of course, they're going to counter-sue," and no one will pay attention.  But the thing is: Doubledown, by all rights, should win this case.

They have emails from Dykstra saying its okay to run the Dykstra Club newsletter, they have the pages that were printed from the other printer that are copy right Doubledown since we worked on them.  That is Grand Theft, Copyright Infringement and, also, slander, for talking shit in public that he purports did not do, but in fact okay'd.

I'm getting quite angry. Clifford, the managing editor on the Player's Club that I helped quite a bit with and contributed to lost his job over this.  With more and more people I know losing their jobs in publishing, I'm getting to my wit's end with this.

I mean: just how fucking difficult is it to pay your bill and act with class for people who bust their ass for you?  Apparently, very difficult in the world of publishing and that makes me really fucking sad.   

I think I came pretty close to writing a commencement speech this weekend while I was in Florida for my brother's graduation.

It came to me while on the flight down to Orlando, while listening to Moby's tracks from the Southland Tales soundtrack and a baby girl named Abby playing on her Dad's lap.  The music and the smiling baby matches the serenity of the flight, where looking out my window, plots of land are sectioned off and I'm smiling ear to ear; knowing what is in store for me in the coming days.  I had just finished the conclusion to Geoff's, Dick Donner's and Adam Kubert's "Last Son," storyline in the Action Comics annual, and I felt like this was the perfect time to read it, while flying, looking down at the land as I travel over it.  The utterly cringe-worthy line of thought from Margot Kidder in the first Superman movie floated into my brain: "Is this what its like for you?"

While wrapping his graduation present Thursday evening, and watching Garden State, I completely lost my shit.  I was writing his card out in a pen I had received for my college graduation, a Cross pen, and had decided to get the same thing for my brother, and suddenly I just lost it.  Balling my brains out.  I'm not sure what incited it but perhaps a combination of all of the things in that moment. My anticipation for my brother moving into the real world on the same day that I graduated five years ago, the movie and the fear of what's in store for him in the years after college. Not that it was horrible, or my last five years were that bad (they really weren't), but they were hard.

They've made me who I am today and I can honestly say now that's pretty fucking great and only going to get better.  Though, thinking about that each year, and examining the bits of those years there were things that were exceptionally tough for me and part of my "losing my cool," last Thursday night was me being in fear of my little brother and how these next five years for him could be as tough, or could be way easier for him. I was afraid for my brother, and during that moment, I'm talking myself through things that have gotten me through these years, and before I knew I had somewhat written a commencement speech.

Let's do this thing, and this is what I wrote in my notebook, just as we were coming into land at Orlando International Airport.

I imagined myself gathered around the keg with my brother and his fraternity brothers.

“Gentlemen, tomorrow when you’re graduating it will be the five-year anniversary of my graduation.  And if you’ll forgive my waxing the carrot, I just want to impart a bit of my utter bullshit wisdom.  Apologies in advance, as you’ll probably be hearing a lot of this kind of thing in the coming day or two but I just want to say that the days and years after tomorrow are going to be the hardest of your lives and two things that got me through these five years. One, no matter how bad it gets it can only get better; and, two: do what you want to do the rest of your life but it will not be easy, because in the end the rewards will make the struggles worth it, and appreciation of these rewards comes from your struggles, because they wouldn't be worth anything if they were easy to get."

Though, of course, I never got the chance to say these words to the boys, I just figured it would make good fodder for the internet.  I mean: how self-aggrandizing can I get? Not nearly enough, I say to you dear reader, not nearly enough.

Its Free Comic Book Day today, and I've volunteered to live blog the entire proceedings in NYC area comic stores.

Besides myself and fellow New York resident and CBR staff writer Shaun Manning, people will be reporting in from around the country on their individual Free Comic Book Days.

Keep track of all of us at CBR Live.

Is the Dark Knight Trailer a mirror of the Batman 1989 trailer? You tell me.

Link courtesy of Other Brian.

I had an unbelievably stellar week last week, but a friend from college's brother just passed away this weekend so I'm off to Connecticut for a while and my recap is going to have to wait.

In the meantime, hopefully my few photos will hold you up.

Those of you not able to make the con, can follow us CBR reporters at CBR Live, where we'll be live-blogging the events. Just the thought of this makes me dance around in joy.

You can also follow me on Twitter.

Came back to New York Monday night. This week is by far the busiest week for me so far this year, so expect radio silence until after the weekend, for the below reasons.

Last night was this.

Tonight its this:

Tomorrow its this:

(with Uma Thurman no less).

This weekend its this:

To say the least: I'll be operating under the belief that the best way to make it through this week is to just keep drinking and let the hang over come next week.  Recap, articles and photos coming next week. 

These are segments, notes really, from places in my hometown and the various memories I have from them through the years. All can be found under the category: "home life."

So, walking Alex, about 5ish yesterday at the Public Beach and all of these things came flowing back to me. In high school, where the punk rocker high school drop outs would hang out beneath the Toboggan Chute. They would be wearing pants big enough to hide shotguns in, as our parents would say. Those of us not comfortable would hang back on the Board Walk on Main Street. Once the mohawked drug dealers and their 14 year old band aids were banned from the beach for doing too many, "Hey, Misters..." they made the change up to the Board Walk, and finally we all coalesced to parties out at the shooting range.

That was then, more than ten years ago, and now I walk my parents' fifteen-year old, shitting in the house Bichon remembering these things. Things are different now in this park, but not that different to make it unrecognizable.

When I walked into the park, there was a crew of sk8ter bois and their first girlfriends. They throw their garbage in every direction causing a ruckus as they walk down the incline along the Toboggan chute while throwing Stewarts brand of bottled Sprite.

An Amish looking guy who looks like he still lives with his parents hovers around the park, and once the kids leave goes to clean up their mess.

Then there are the freshman/eighth grade girls who come in and sit on the park bench, in H & M hoodies (surprise, surprise they have such fashion sense at this age). They toke and exhale their cigarettes in milliseconds in rapt care of looking cool rather than relaxing and enjoying their smoke.

In the pathetic park that hasn't been repaired in what seems like twenty years, a mother and what must be a five year old son play on a see-saw. They talk about what they are doing that night, what she is making for dinner.

Now its just cold here, and the drunks stand in front of the bars for half the day since its mud season.

It changed.

Doesn't it look nice?

Most recently, un-announced to me, while I was walking the streets of Manhattan a Nicaraguan cigar between my teeth, a great beam of light pulled me off my feet and into the stratosphere.

I was presented in front of the Power Pack, and forced to interview them. Below is a brief transcript of my ordeal.

Is there anything else you’d like our readers to know? Anything else you’d like to say?

JACK: “Farts.”

ALEX: Nice. Real mature.

JULIE: Now no one is ever going to want to interview us again, Jack!!

JACK: Hey, what’s the point of being a kid, in a kids’ comic, if you can’t cut loose and enjoy it?

KATIE: I want to say! I want to…

Yes?

KATIE: Um…

ALEX: She can be kind of shy. What is it Katie?

KATIE: Uh…

JULIE: Go on, baby.

KATIE: Farts!!! [giggles]

JACK: Bwha-hah-hah-hah!! Gimme five, Katie! That-a girl!

JULIE: I hate you. Seriously. I do.

After filing this story, CBR News contributor David Press was dropped off by Friday in the sewer gasses of Jupiter’s moon, Titan. If you see him, please let us know.

To say the least, I made it home in one piece. Thanks for asking. It was a bit tricky but the wonderful gasses of Titan, that are not toxic in anyway, (what the fuck do you know, NASA?), allowed me to breathe in outer-space. I was able to get home by hitching rides with various species known as...that's enough of that.

This is beginning to get really trendy. The drink up that I met Mark Sable turned into an article on Hazed, that same drink up was just before Ivan Brandon took off for four months to South America and now that too has turned into an article.

Lauded “24Seven” editor and “NYC Mech” co-creator Ivan Brandon hasn’t been in New York City since December. He and his girlfriend, letterer Kristyn Ferretti, decided to take off to South America for four months to wait out New York’s brutal winter season. Currently living in an apartment in Rosario, Argentina while Brandon works with “Pride of Baghdad” artist Niko Henrichon on the Marvel title “Machine Man,” the couple has been blogging about their extended journey. They spent three weeks in Brazil, where they visited Rio de Janeiro, Sao Paolo, Bombas, Bombinhas, Canto Grande and Florianopolis; and two weeks in Perú, where they saw Puno, Arequipa, Lima, Cusco, Puerto Maldonado and a portion of the Amazon jungle off the Tambopata river. The rest of their time has been in Rosario working on comic book projects and, said Brandon, “eating a hell of a lot of Argentine steak.”

You can read the rest of the article here. Now a future article will have to do with another person that I met at that drink up. Ivan also has a shit ton of wonderful photographs from his trip on his flickr.

Besides my very time consuming day job that once I am okay to write about, I'll put up some stuff on it. It seems the debate I was having forever ago on whether keeping this blog was worth my time has paid off, and the colossal shit storm of badness that occurred not one day into 2008 and throughout that month of January has finally reversed itself in nothing less than six weeks. Karma, you are my best friend.