I realized that most indie/alt/art comix are boring me. They don't tickle my pink like a good HULK or DAREDEVIL comic, or the occasional Warhol-esque pop spin on the super-dupers [read: X-STATIX and DOOM PATROL]. Once in a blue I like to get semi-heady with a book like Y - THE LAST MAN, LOVE & ROCKETS, and/or RUBBER NECKER, but at least they keep it cheeky. I don't know how Chester Brown continues to resonate, but he does. I'm over the neo-Charlie Brown wannabe's who putter about naval-gazing [CLYDE FANSsszzzzzzz] and spanking their McGank [PEEPSHOW anyone?]. Call me lazy & silly, but I actually get MORE out of psychedelic escapism than neo-reality. I get more out of DOLEMITE than IT'S A BEAUTIFUL LIFE. Sure, TAXI DRIVER is a masterpiece, no doubt, but TOUCH OF EVIL fucks me up to no end. Why? Dunno. Ask me next year. I might actually have my head screwed on then.
ALSO, there is something to be said about regularity. Like taking a healthy dump, I count on my monthly [nay - WEEKLY] comix fix. It's warm and fuzzy to know that I could drop FANTASTIC FOUR today and probably pick it up 10-years from now and Johnny Storm will STILL be playing pranks on Ben Grimm and Dr. Doom will STILL be pissed at Mr. Fantastic. Why is that important? Why is family important and you'll answer the same question.
And just so folks don't think I went TOTAL Darth Vader, I still got a little bit of Boba Fett left in me; check out the cover to my New BILLY DOGMA comic, AIM TO DAZZLE, due to debut at MOCCA in June: http://www.indyworld.com/deanhaspiel/billy/dazzle.htm
AIIEEEEE!!! Comfortslut mailed me the newest Lansdale hardcover, A FINE DARK LINE, the one she jacket designed. It’s so cool - and a spiffy jacket, if I may say so. Thanks CS, you ARE the bee’s knees. I love you!
SBX came over to my pad after work and we watched MAGNOLIA [her virgin tour, my 4th]. We ordered hot food from the Cobble Hill Grill, and I finished penciling pp21 during the 3-hour viewing. SBX hated the song and frogs but basically dug the premise and stories. With arm-twisting, I can forgive the song. But the frogs stay. To me, that's where Paul Thomas Anderson gets my vote. He went all Latin on an Anglo-Saxon and flexed the metaphoricalz. Anybody knows my work, knows I cherish and champion off the wall/purple shit like that. 45-minutes should be hacked from the flick and it could almost be perfect.
We hopped a cab to SBX's and I read her a Jonathan Ames short story and an Amy Sohn sex column from NEW YORK MAGAZINE while she casually drifted off to hibernation. I cracked open CAPTAINS COURAGEOUS and read a few more chapters by the tungsten fire while squirrels galloped back and forth atop the roof, building a nest to hide acorns for the winter.