A personal diary keeping people abreast of what I am working on writing-wise.
Monday, June 30, 2008
THURSDAYS WATCH THE WALLS INSTEAD
Seriously, you should. Because there will be Junko Mizuno art on them.
How cool is this? Moshi Moshi on Burnside has a Mizuno exhibit starting with a First Thursday opening. I can't wait! I'm actually going to leave the house for this.
Click through for larger, readable versions.
Current Soundtrack: E! "news" in the background
Current Mood:excited
AT LAST
Well, I haven't seen an actual physical copy of the book, so I'm not going to believe it until I do...
...but Love the Way You Love vol. 6 is on Diamond's shipping list for books going on sale Wednesday.
Jebus be praised!
To whet your appetite, Snark Ellerby is also continuing his libelous "Ellerbisms" at his blog. Here is number two, though three also went up this morning:
That's Laurenn "Queenn of the Connsonnantts" McCubbin and Matty with us. [I was wrong, it wasn't Ian Shaughnesexxxy. As soon as Greg said it in the comments, I began to doubt, and Terry just confirmed it. It is Ian in #3, though.]
The whole knife-and-fork thing, what surprised us more than his actual use of the knife, was how he would use it to build little stacks of food on his fork--a bit of toast, a bit of egg, etc.--and then he'd daintily wipe the knife on top of his little stack so that it was clean to cut into the next bit of toast, egg, and whatnot. For a guy who likes The Simpsons so much, Marc clearly ws watching a different show when he formed his chowdown habits.
Current Soundtrack: The Brian Jonestown Massacre, "Who Cares Why?;" Tex Ritter, "Do Not Forsake Me O' My Darling (Theme from High Noon)"
Current Mood:relieved
Sunday, June 29, 2008
AND ALL THAT COULD HAVE BEEN
So, any week now, Love the Way You Love vol. 6 will be coming out, and despite a note in the back of the book suggesting there may be more coming, the decision was made after we went to press that we would not be doing a sequel anytime soon.
The most recent plan was to do a second series called To See the Lights, and the art was going to be by Natalie Nourigat. Though there are many factors as to why the series isn't in production, the ultimate final detail was time constraints for Natalie. When she did these samples, we were ready to go ahead and have the book finished before a year studying abroad that she has planned in 2009, but the business side of things got in the way and gobbled up her time and so when it was looking like it wasn't going to happen for those other factors, we had to cut our losses. Instead, she and I are doing some short work together, starting with the script I wrote last week and which is just awaiting approval from Eric Stephenson at Image for her to get started.
In light of this, we have decided it was time to share these samples with the world, as the work is really good and deserves to be seen.
I am going to post thumbnails here, but if you click through, you will find the full-sized pages at Flickr. Note that the first two pages were going to be tweaked, changing the tones to make the scene in the daytime and to bring out the building in the first panel more. Natalie did all the art, including tones and lettering.
If you want to feel really sick, Natalie is only 20 years old. We met at Stumptown last October, and she's still in school. If she's this good now, imagine how good she'll be with a couple more years of work under her belt.
For those curious about the story, the essential plot was going to be that while Tristan and the band were on tour, Isobel was going to end up traveling in Europe for her job at Murmur L.A. magazine. A grand dame of Hollywood adopts her and asks her along to art direct her photo shoots. Meanwhile, Eleanore has a pretty girl groupie chasing after her and we meet Like A Dog's rival band.
I may still do it someday, but as of right now, my focus is elsewhere. I only wrote the first script, so we weren't very far along at all. Sometimes this is just the way it goes!
Current Soundtrack: various tracks for a Sunday evening thunder storm, featuring the View, the Vigilantes, Gene (fittingly), the Cure, Ennio Morricone, the Housemartins, the Roots, Mystery Jets, Christina Aguilera w/ Diddy ("i know you're gonna like it, so tell me how you want it")
Marc's online diary, Ellerbisms, apparently has a year delay button in case he says something untoward, then he can catch it before it gets out.
Today, he explains why you don't want to share a room with us at Comic Con, because you will get off your plane, head in for a nap, and be greeted thusly:
Click on the image for more Ellerbisms
Of course, this year you need not worry, since unless Matty (him in the glasses on the right; the other folks are Joëlle Jones, Terry Blas, and moi) is heading down on his own, none of us will be there next month. (Thank the Lord.)
There is talk of an APE reunion in November, though. You never know.
I do like how cute and sweet he makes himself, like this innocent babe in the woods. Not sure who's buying that particular bunk, but he's selling. By the way, here's the photo I took.
Marc also turned in a Polar Opposites today to fill out a page in Love the Way You Love, Side B. I think it's the only extra.
***
Working on a new short script today, for a new as-yet unannounced Image Comics anthology, this one set to be drawn by Natalie "Tally" Nourigat. At last!
Current Soundtrack: Stars, In Our Bedroom After the War
I have been asked to take part of the comic book intensive this week at PNCA. I will be the guest at one of their salons tomorrow. There is a good chance the lovely Ms. Jones will come with me.
Please join us for our afternoons of creative salons in conjunction with the PNCA Graphic Novel Intensive Program. From June 23rd through the 26th we'll meet at 4:45 for relaxed presentations and happy-hour conversation at the Bay 13 restaurant at 701 NW 13th Ave. adjacent to the PNCA campus.
Wednesday June 25th: Jamie S. Ritch will examine the role of the writer, sharing excerpts from his latest graphic novel noir work done in collaboration with artist Joëlle Jones. The pair worked previously together on the critically acclaimed "Twelve Reasons Why I Love Her." Jamie spent ten years as an editor at Dark Horse and Oni Press before devoting his time to writing.
This appears to be open to the public. Buy me drinks, as I talk more when I'm snookered.
It just gets more embarrassing to be a Baby Boomer every year. Now even advertisers can't ignore the complete and utter failure of the biggest generation of sell-outs to ever tread the planet.
Current Soundtrack: Sigur Ros, Me› su› í eyrum vi› spilum endalaust
Current Mood:lethargic
Saturday, June 21, 2008
BOB THE BILKER (CAN WE MILK IT?)
(a.k.a. Douche Hawaii, part 2)
This would be a full-fleged "Douche Hawaii" had Bob been wearing a real Hawaiian shirt, but his was just a generic patterned shirt. I'm still considering making it a full-fledged category, though. The Ongoing Adventures in Douche Hawaii.
I'm also thinking I may never leave the house on Fridays again. If this is the conspiracy, to make Fridays Jamie-free, you have nearly succeeded.
Tonight we had a friend in town from San Francisco. Our pal Sonja has been making a name for herself in the world, having left this shitbird 'burg almost a year ago to pursue her goals. I've missed all of her previous visits, so this time we made sure I would be there to stand around awkwardly and be intimidated by how awesome she is. Seriously, I have yet to meet the person that doesn't feel he or she pales in comparison to Sonja.
The night started well, beginning at a familiar local before moving on to Kelly's Olympian on SW Washington. I had a few drinks there, walked one of our party to work, and then decided to return to the bar to rejoin the group.
By the time I am back, both our party has increased, and so has the bar staff. The party has grown by two, and the bar staff has increased by the same amount. I am pretty sure when I left that there were two servers, and now there were at least four, give or take. Shortly after I arrive, the party I am with changes again, and it ends up being only two ladies and myself. They have drinks, I don't. Not for lack of trying. I sit there for 15 or 20 minutes without anyone so much as asking me if I need a drink.
A decision is made to move on, and one of my friends needs to settle her tab. Now, you should know, everyone I have been with all night are either former servers from other bars or currently working as servers, and the one needing to pay her tab knows the bartender, a fellow named Bob, on a first-name basis. I know that I have a $10 bill and a $1 bill in my wallet, and when Bob tells her that her drink is $5.50, I decide on impulse to pay for her drink and hand Bob the $10 and tell him, "I will buy her drink."
Realizing we have time and she now has the same amount of money, my friend now decides that she can buy another drink. As a consumer, this makes sense to me, but here is where I make my fatal mistake (apparently). It seems this second drink is more expensive than the first, and when my friend hands Bob a second $10 bill and says keep the rest for himself, this enterprising bartender--or as I like to call him, grifter--sees his opening. He looks at me and gives me this look like, "What do I do?"
I guess this could have gone one or two ways. Had Bob not been an asshole douchebag looking to screw his customers, I would not have had to be sharp enough to think to say, "I am paying for her first drink," despite the fact that this is clearly what I have offered up my money for. Instead, I say, "I'm buying the lady a drink," and Bob's Gambit is in place.
Bob serves her drink, and he leaves no money on the table. As we wait for our friend to drink her drink, I say, "Hey, I gave that guy a $10," to which both friends, experienced servers each, say, "Maybe he forgot. Ask him for your change."
As we leave, I do just that, and Bob replies, "Oh, sorry. I owe you $1.50. Her drink was $8.50."
Oh, clever Bob. Suddenly I have gone from buying her first $5.50 drink to paying for a second drink that is more expensive. Conveniently, we have given him the same amount of money, though only one of us has given him carte blanche to keep the change. Bob's Gambit is that he has positioned me to pay for the more expensive drink, and by not giving me my change, banking on me either saying nothing or shrinking from his trick rather than look cheap. It's the difference of $3 in basic price. I'd have likely tipped a buck, but when it comes down to it, he's looking at either a tip of $2.50 or a tip double that for serving two drinks. He wins either way, but he's banking on my being a decent guy in hopes of getting more.
You should know, I bought this friend's drink with no expectations. I knew she had a boyfriend, I was not looking to gain anything by doing this. I just had an impulse to be nice. And damn it, Bob's Gambit worked.
Faced with him only owing me $1.50, I have two options: (1) argue over what drink I am paying for and suggest my friend isn't work the extra $3, or (2) take my $1.50 and be a cheap bastard. I guess the third option is take the $1.50 and tip out of that, but I feel Bob has removed that option by his actions. A less dishonest trick would be to just give me the $1.50, which in any scenario was rightly mine, I never said to keep the change.
I'm not a cheap tipper. Certainly not when going out with other servers. They notice if you tip like crap, while also making you aware of their plight. Had Bob asked his fellow servers who had set me up with my consumables earlier in the evening, he'd have discovered I had been tipping $1 a drink. That's not bad for a guy who drinks his whiskey straight. You don't even have to mix it, unless you count introducing liquid to glass mixing. Regardless of the overall ethical question of Bob's Gambit, he also picked an undeserving victim. I'm Michael Clayton, I'm not the guy you kill; I'm the guy you pay off with a better pour. Even as some weird revenge if he incorrectly perceived me as going home with this woman and leaving him behind, he's still screwing the friend of a cohort to whom he owns a professional courtesy. He's conning the friend of someone whom he knows.
I don't know how many of you who read this blog are from Portland, but if you find yourself in Kelly's Olympian, beware of Bob. I will never tip him again. I reiterate, even if he's really innocent of a definite screw job, he at the very least owed me my change; he withheld it to force a tip. Bob is the tallest behind the bar, Caucasian, thin, nearly bald but shaving his head to a fine fuzz to pretend he's not nearly bald (so, clearly not afraid of a cheap ruse). If you are there and unsure, ask your bartender when he serves, "Thanks, man, what's your name?," and if he says, "Bob," you can say "Thanks, Bob," and then keep an eye on your money, tipping according to whatever makes you comfortable. You'd be correcting an imbalance in the universe if you thought twice about your generosity.
After leaving Kelly's, we went to Shanghai Tunnel. We didn't stay long enough to order, but I did give my last $1 to a homeless woman outside the bar. Perhaps karma was ready to smile at me on last, because two blocks away, walking home immediately after, I passed through a parking lot behind Dante's that had quite a few people in it, and as I did, I spotted what looked like money on the ground. Snatching it up and unfolding it, it turned out to be a $20 bill. Score!
Almost instantly, a parking attendant approached me, and he had his hand out, and he said, "What's that?" I tell him that I just found money, and he keeps his hand out and juts his hand forward and opens his eyes wider in a clear signal that he thinks I should hand it over. I just look at him, and as my only comment on his gall, say, "Must be my lucky day."
Current Soundtrack: the Spellbinders, Spencer Davis Group, Spice Girls, Rihanna, Bonnie "Prince" Billy, Gnarls Barkley, Garbage, Cat Power & Ensemble, Bettye Swan, Tujiko Noriko, Christina Aguilera, the Indelicates
This week's reviews written specifically for the site are:
* The Red Balloon, the last of the three children's films recently released by Janus.
* Straw Dogs, Sam Peckinpah's hotly debated, arguably misunderstood rumination on the nature of male aggression.
Current Soundtrack: various from David Bowie, Michael Jackson, ABBA, Neil Diamond, the Pretender, James Brown, the Essex, the Beatles, Cat Power, Funboy Three & Bananarama, the Divine Comedy
While you're waiting for the sixth volume of Love the Way You Love to destroy western civilization with its disastrous powers (I originally mistyped the rather appropriate "destory"), you can read two of Marc Ellerby's minicomics that he recently put online for free.
Click on the images to see each one. I love Venal Muse, and for those keeping score, a new Polar Opposites will be showing up in Love the Way You Love, Side B.
Be sure to add Marc's Live Journal to your RSS feeder, as he's started updating "Ellerbisms" regularly again.
Current Soundtrack: ABBA, Gold
Current Mood:busy
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
WINNERS & LOSERS
First, the good news:
Popgun, vol. 1 was nominated for a Harvey Award for Best Anthology. Congrats to all involved! 12 Reasons letterer Douglas E. Sherwood was also nominated for his work on Oni's Local, but I think it's really an apology nomination for not giving him just desserts for his work on our book. See all the nominees here.
Now, the bad news, from Oni Press editor in chimp James Lucas Jones this morning:
Hey, sir, it looks like [the printer] got a batch of bad ink and it wasn't drying correctly. As such both Wasteland #18 and LTWYL got bumped and they're going to have to reprint. I'll let you know as soon as I have the revised ship date...
This book is freakin' cursed...
Current Soundtrack: Idlewild, "Modern Way of Letting Go;" Justice, "Phantom, Part II;" The Idaly Sisters, "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?"
TOKEN Written by Alisa Kwitney Art and cover by Joëlle Jones
“Alisa Kwitney is my guilty pleasure.” — Neil Gaiman, Hugo Award-winning author of American Gods
Can a Jewish girl out of time and a Spanish old soul survive culture clashes and criminal records to find true love in the sun-drenched, sequined miasma that was South Beach in the 1980s?
Noted comics writer and novelist Alisa Kwitney (Destiny: A Chronicle of Deaths Foretold, Flirting in Cars) and amazing artist Joëlle Jones (12 Reasons Why I Love Her) team up for the ultimate retro romance.
Retailers: See this month’s order form for a special ordering incentive on this title.
Advance-solicited; on sale October 22 • 5.25” x 8” • 176 pg, B&W, $9.99 US
***
Funny, I gave them a companion quote: "Joëlle Jones is so good, why the fuck would I have to feel guilty? You must be dreaming!"
I guess they didn't think it was appropriate to use. Maybe that "dreaming" pun was thought of as being kind of snide toward Mr. Gaiman or something. Who said I'm snide, because I never, I never...?
Anyway, I've seen the art and it's dynamite. Like 12 Reasons but 12 times better. The script is really good, too, so it's going to be a book worth having. Big congrats to Ms. Jones for finishing the principal inking last week!
Current Soundtrack: Paul Weller, 22 Dreams bonus disc
Current Mood:proud of Joëlle
I'VE COME TO WISH YOU AN UNHAPPY BIRTHDAY...
On this holy Bloomsday, once upon a time...
...The Smiths released The Queen is Dead. June 16, 1986.
I was 14, probably about a year away or more from even knowing anything about what this event would mean.
Or, if you want to be less Elvis and more Bob Dylan, "Tangled Up in Douche."
Don't let Portland's lovey-dovey hippy-dippy protest-all-evil hug-an-artist image fool you. We have just as many assholes as any other town, maybe more once you start to realize all of the above is often an excuse for assholery. Though, tonight, on what I have dubbed "The Night of Living Assholes," I encountered pretty much your garden variety version of walking anal cavities, the kind that are easy to recognize since they've been domesticated and show up just about everywhere.
Maybe it was catching the downtown train just before it left and not paying to ride it. Or maybe it was getting a free popcorn at the movies yet smuggling in my own beverage--a personal bottle of sake, no less. One would think I must have done something to have the universe drop its shorts and show me its backdoor goods.
The first encounter was post movie. For those who want to know, I saw The Incredible Hulk, and it's actually good, though not Iron Man good. The action is fun at times, even though it's like watching two Gumbies wailing on each other in some scenes, and the King Kong moments between the creature and Liv Tyler are actually kind of touching. The problem is, the movie is often very dull, and that pretty much comes down to Bruce Banner having no personality as a character, his alter ego having even less, and the fact that he is played by Ed Norton. Though, God, how awesome would it be if he were actually Ed Norton from The Honeymooners? Then we'd have a movie! Anyway, you really realize that this is the weak link during the much publicized Tony Stark cameo. That character has personality, and if Ed Norton were half the actor he thinks Robert Downey Jr. is, he'd maybe give this franchise some life. But, alas...
Anyhoo, my evening plans were to see the last matinee of Hulk, and then sit and read The Education of Hopey Glass somewhere until it was time to go to the Stolen Sweets show at the Someday Lounge. It was in doing the middle activity that I encountered my first asshole.
I sat in the window of a coffee shop on Broadway and dialed up my iPod and sat down to read. Fifteen minutes or so into my cup of cofee, I saw a rather large bald man pass in front of me, and it appeared that he was talking loudly and boisterously, and seemingly shouting at a couple of guys several paces in front of him. He had a little man with a graying moustache in tow, but baldy didn't look like he was talking to him. He had a familiar fanatical air about him, but I assumed it was possible it was a group of guys and he was just the loud fat one.
Well, lo and behold, the pair of baldy and moustache return a little later, a sight I notice because I see the little gray mouse sticking his head in the car window of a young couple at the stoplight. This passes without incident, but the next thing I see is bald asshole talking to two young men holding hands and waiting to use the crosswalk. I can't hear anything, even with the iPod stopped, but it starts to get heated. I now realize that gray mouse is holding a Bible, and so it's pretty obvious why one of the gay boys is getting pretty excited and the exchange between him and the two allegedly Christian closet cases is getting heated. At least two stoplight cycles pass while this is going on, which I notice because each time the walk signal comes up, the boy who isn't arguing is trying to get his boyfriend to go with him.
I kept my eye on this. I thought maybe I should go out there and interject, but the boy arguing is clearly holding his own and I figure I should let him. If it looks like it's going to get physical, then I will leap off this chair and go thump some Bible. This seemed like a good idea to me, until a woman in the coffee shop with me goes out there and tells baldy to keep it down, she's trying to read. Then I felt like a real wuss. Of course, baldy's response is that he's on a public street, yada yada, but now the bubble has burst and the gay boys have moved on and the evangelists cross the street perpendicular to them and start harassing other people (I actually saw them doing so). I am pretty sure it's not very Christlike to walk up and down the street accosting people you don't know. Only Jesus has the ability to recognize your sins, should you believe in Him, and my Sunday school always taught me it was a sin to pretend you're Jesus. I guess these two bullies were absent that day.
It wasn't long after that it was time for me to move on, and as I headed to my destination, I prepared myself to encounter the wandering religious bullies. This was not my lot in life, however, I was instead to encounter another kind of bully--one with a car. Maybe he was visited on me because on the way to meeting him, I denied a panhandler money though I had money in my pocket. He was polite to me, and I politely declined, but maybe I needed to be charitable. I don't know. Either way, I was about to meet Asshole #2.
I should state up front, I don't have rose-colored glasses when it comes to my fellow pedestrians. In fact, I can't stand pedestrians who don't pay attention any more than drivers can. I am not one of those walkers. To be a clueless foot traveler in my neighborhood is to take your life into your own hands. Drivers up here apparently never learned that the line in the road by a stop sign is not just a helpful signal that you are supposed to stop, but it's where you are supposed to stop.
I frontload this information because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that when I stepped into the intersection, the little walking man was illuminated. That is why I was so surprised to see a car turning right onto my street directly in my path. In fact, had I not been alert, I would not have seen him in time to pause, wonder what the fuck?, and then make eye contact with him, at which point this cock starts to shake his head, point at his ears, and mouth the words, "No." Seriously. He is saying "no"!
I am not going to get into a game of chicken here, so I slow up and let him turn in front of me, and as he does, he actually slows down and stops so that he is facing me, his driver's window is where I am at. At this point, I'm thinking maybe he wants to ask a question, and I hit stop on my iPod. For some reason, people ask me for directions all the time, even though I don't know anything about giving directions, I am truly bad at it. As this is happening, too, I notice that the walk signal is now the blinking red hand. Not the solid red hand, but the blinking one, the yellow light of the pedestrian world.
That's an important distinction, because half-bald asshole has stopped to point out to me that there is a walk signal behind me that tells me when I can and cannot walk and I should pay attention to it. Ignoring the fact that the one behind me is completely useless when I am standing on the curb under it, it's the one in front of me that is important, I tell him that when I stepped into the street, I clearly had a walk signal. He tells me I need to wake up, and then starts to drive away. I guess pointing at his ears was indicating that I was listening to music and this somehow hampered my ability to see the world around me. I shout at him that he should go fuck himself, he calls me an asshole--as he's driving away, after making me get out of the way of his big metal car, the pussy!--and I shout even louder "Fuck you, you cunt!"
I've never been more sorry that the guy didn't get out of his car to start something. But that's always the way with car bullies. They have their death machines, they don't have to get out of them, and they can zoom away faster than you can chase them.
Now is when I note that both of these men were cresting past middle age and both were wearing Hawaiian shirts. Apparently this is now the universal symbol for asshole. It used to be jolly fat guys that wore Hawaiian shirts, but now they are bitter and full of rage.
[Note: Family Guy is a favorite show amongst assholes. Watch accordingly]
I also think it's interesting that as my chain of ass commenced, each successive jerkoff had more hair than the last. Because Asshole #3 had a Hawaiian shirt, a pot belly, and a full head of hair.
The third in this trilogy of sphincter was spotted at the club. He was there even before I was, and at first I thought he was that obnoxiously gregarious older guy that just talks to everybody regardless of who they are. My first encounter with him was actually quite fine. The bar has a spot where they put out plates of food people ordered, and you have to come find your meal on your own. I was sitting near that spot, finishing reading my comic. He pondered aloud whether any of them were his, and I shrugged. Don't ask me directions, I suck at it.
Things changed as soon as the music started. This dude decides to set up shop on the corner of the bar next to where I am sitting, and not only is he talking loudly, but he's completely crowding my area. Like, if I moved half and inch, I'd be touching his fanny. He's that close. It's also basically standing in the exact spot where all I can see is his back, not the stage. If this had been a capacity crowd, I would have understood, but at its height tonight, the room was barely half full. This is the guy who, even though there are only five people in a movie theatre, decides to sit right next to you. Because, you know, why spread out on this great spaceship Earth when you can?
Having the asshole right next to me, though, I can observe him exhibiting his natural behavior. He ordered a couple of drinks: a blue one for a pretty girl and one for himself. The one for himself is Patron tequila, and though the bartender brings him a glass that is 4/5 full, the pot-bellied asshole points at it and says, "That's a weak pour." The bartender, not having any of this nonsense, quickly and curtly responds, "No, that's a heavy pour." The asshole harumphs and says, "What is this? Is this the best bar in the world? Because that's a weak pour for a $9 shot of tequila. Why is it $9? It's $7 everywhere else." The bartender smirks, says, "Not Patron, sir," and walks away.
Asshole! Seriously, I needed some Hulk rage right about them. Hulk smash!
He also took my chair the moment I stood up, would respond to things the band said loudly and to no one in particular, and danced with the pretty swing dancing girls but did so badly so that they basically had to dance around him like he was an obstacle. You're old, asshole! You can't dance!
Thankfully, he left before the start of the third set of music, and so the night ended asshole-free.
Weirdly, and maybe it was just in direct opposition to the rest of the world this evening--you know, the way the good yellow banana is easy to spot in the bunch amongst the bruised and brown ones--I got chatted up by several ladies tonight. Either the sitting alone and reading books made me appear to be a puppy in need of rescue, or I was sending out my solid "gay best friend" vibe, because otherwise I have no explanation for this.
Granted, just to add fuel to the fire that I live my own fiction, I did not do anything about this female friendliness. Rather, I decided to place all of my bets on the pretty girl in the sleeveless white dress and the tight curly hair with the blue flowers in the back, because I made eye contact with her twice and she smiled once and I also caught her turning her head to the side to read the title of my book, which was upside down in her field of vision. I never actually talked to her, though I thought of many things to say. I also couldn't ask her to dance even though she was there to swing dance and didn't have a regular partner, because we all know what happened when I took swing dancing lessons.
Oh, yeah, did I mention she was one of the girls the asshole danced with? And the one he bought the blue drink for? (Conversation starter probably better left unused: "You know, in the wild, when something is colored that brightly, it's to warn you that it's dangerous. You'd better be careful.") Or that I saw her give some douche in a sideways baseball cap her number and heard him basically blow it off? Yeah, I decided to keep my options open for that girl. Maybe it was me picking up the lost puppy vibe.
CHANCE MEETING: Swing-dancing girl in white dress and blue flowers. I'm the idiot who sat and read comics. Call me.
rating: 4 of 5 stars I haven't read the entirety of Love and Rockets, but from what I can tell, the Hernandez Bros. plateaued artistically somewhere in the mid-90s, and their draftsmanship and writing style hasn't progressed at all since. This makes it all the more impressive that their level of craft is so high, it still manages to astound me. (As opposed to, say, Steve Rude, whose stagnation is still pretty to look at, but not really inspiring.) I am particularly amazed by how well Jaime moves around on a page, the different angles he shows of one character from panel to panel as his or her mood or situation changes, the psychology of his framing.
It is also a testament to how interesting his characters are that they are still so compelling. I guess they've aged in real time. Ray makes mention of being in his 40s, and Maggie is looking like a woman in her late 30s. Yet, their day-to-day lives are still the fodder for great fiction. The opening strip of this book even follows Hopey over a week and a half or so, dividing each strip from one day to the next.
I actually wish I had read these stories in the original comics, because I would appreciate Jaime's construction all the more. He tells long stories that are broken into shorter strips, sometimes only one or two pages, and yet sometimes picking up mere seconds after the last one ended. Presumably these are spread over several issues, where they might appear somewhat disjointed, but put together in a book, they form a flawless narrative.
Author of prose novels and comic books like Cut My Hair, It Girl & the Atomics, You Have Killed Me, and 12 Reasons Why I Love Her. Jamie's most recent novel is the serialized book Bobby Pins and Mary Janes, and his most recent graphic novels are the sci-fi romance A Boy and a Girl with Natalie Nourigat; Madame Frankenstein with Megan Levens; and the weird crime comic Archer Coe & the Thousand Natural Shocks with Dan Christensen. He also co-created Lady Killer with Joëlle Jones.
The Education of Hopey Glass by Jaime Hernandez
