How can one family bear such tragedy?
On Friday night we came to the funeral home to make the arrangements, and I had a sudden and sick sense of deja vu as I realized in an instant that the last time I'd been here was 22 years earlier, when Melissa died. The next year, Julie was diagnosed with her brain tumor. That was truly a crap time for our family.
And what gets me, what I continue to struggle with, is the senselessness of it all. Melissa died because of an accident. We still have no idea why tumors develop at all. There are theories as to why the tumor turned cancerous nearly twenty years after the problem was supposedly treated, supposedly over and done with, but cancer continues to be the great medical mystery. No one knows for sure where it comes from, nor why some treatments work while others don't. George Carlin called the medical profession "guesswork in a white coat", and nowhere else is this more appropriate.
I just can't wrap my head around it. We're living in an age of unparalleled human achievement. When my mom was a kid, listening to Jethro Tull on vinyl, she could never have imagined that I'd be able to carry thousands upon thousands of songs in the space of my pocket. Information on almost any subject imaginable is available at our fingertips to any degree you desire; if you've got a question as to how something works or where it came from, just pull it up and find out! People who were born ten years before me have never really known a world without the Internet. Hatred and bigotry are still things to be fought against, but the unbounded proliferation of media means that minority groups have had a voice and representation they lacked in decades past, and the younger generations are growing up with an instinctive understanding that different does not mean bad. In so many areas, the progress of humanity seems nothing less than staggering.
But then we get to cancer, and it's still guesswork in a white coat.
And this bothers my mind because in the face of loss, we want answers. There's a part of us that can't stop asking the questions, that could know some semblance of peace if the senselessness of loss could make some sense, if the pain of separation could just be understood. For even a moment.
Julie had her answers. Ever since she was a little kid, she knew she wanted to grow up to help people. And you can see why: When the tumor was first discovered, she was in and out of hospitals and doctors' offices, working with various nurses and physical therapists, all doing what they could to help her with her problem. And she clearly saw this help, and was grateful for it, and as she grew up she sought a way to give back to the world, to help others in the way she was helped - first by her desire to study nursing, and the volunteer work she did in that regard, then in recent years when she began to study ministry.
We could debate the merits of nature vs. nurture, of course. Did Julie become this way only because of the treatment she herself was given as a child? Or was this sweetness and selflessness always part of her nature, a part of her genes? Others have gone through such experiences and come out with a more cynical bent, so I suppose it was a little of both.
Whatever the reason, the fact is that Julie touched so many lives, and was the nicest, kindest person anyone could hope to meet. You sometimes hear talk of a person who greets every trouble with a smile, but nowhere else have I actually seen that in action. And in all her years, I don't think I ever saw a single spiteful or vindictive thought from her - which is, frankly, unheard of. Because we all have bad days, and we all have times when someone has disappointed us or hurt us, and we become angry and petty for a moment. If we're lucky, it lasts only a moment, and if we have the strength it's something we can resist acting on, in either word or deed. But never once did I see such a struggle from Julie in the face of adversity, even for a moment. It's like she instinctively understood that we all have things we're working on, and things we're struggling with - and so, sympathizing with us, how could she be angry?
Clearly we still have so much to learn from her example, and by following her lead. And through all of this, I've had so many people tell me how Julie was such an inspiration to them, and how grateful they were to know her. When faced with loss, the problem I struggle with time and again is one of perspective, for what I focus on is invariably how much I miss the person who's gone, rather than focusing on the time that we've shared. Coming to terms with such loss is always just a matter of finally accepting that perspective, and appreciating the profound effect that person has had on you, no matter how long or short that time may have been.
My mom already knows this, for she's quick to point out that we could have lost Julie when the tumor first manifested itself - but instead, we got 21 more years with her. 21 more years that we wouldn't have had if she'd been born ten years earlier, before the very recent medical advances of the time. We could have lost Julie just a year after we'd lost Melissa. But we didn't, and we got to see Julie become a young woman, and an inspiration to so many. And that truly is a blessing.
When someone leaves us, we always wish we'd had more time with them. It's human nature to always want more. But we should endeavor to treasure the time we did have, and treasure the time we still have with each other. A graphic novel I once read called Exit Wounds has a character ask, "Do you think that every time we meet a person we should treat it like it was the last time we were ever going to see them?" And there's a lot of wisdom in that. After all, the other inescapable lesson here is that no matter how many years you live, life is still too short. And so it's absolutely vital that you spend your time wisely. Don't put off saying till tomorrow what you want to say today. Don't spend your life working on things you don't care about, for reasons that aren't important. Julie knew what she wanted to do, and why she wanted to do it, and she never gave up or let any of her hardships get in her way.
We're all looking for answers. Julie had hers, I'm struggling to find mine, and I expect you are as well. But Julie understood the communal aspect of humanity, and viewed everyone as part of a great big family. Embrace that sense of community by talking to each other, and supporting one another. It may turn out that someone else has that answer we're struggling to find. And only by talking with each other, through good times and bad, can we hope to find out.
Talk to each other, and always keep one another in your hearts. It's what Julie knew, and it's both the best way to honor her, and the best gift we could give.
Thank you.
- Mood:
melancholy
And so I increased the size of each frame and I printed them, as large as possible. The result was a return to my childhood. In isolating the drawings of Jack Kirby I was able to see them with clearer, if not childlike, eyes."
A few years ago I picked up Maximum Fantastic Four, an impressive and fascinating comic book experiment.
The idea was conceived and shepherded by author Walter Mosley, as excerpted above, in an attempt to rediscover what it was about comic books - specifically the early Marvel Comics of the 1960s, and even more specifically the earliest issues of The Fantastic Four - that so affected him as a child. I think we can all relate: Whatever we may think of, and to whatever degree we may enjoy, the comics we currently read, it's usually not with the same sense of magic and wonder with which we read when we were young.Part of this is certainly due to us being older, and wiser, and less easily open to the wild, magical charms of these tales; when asked about the Golden Age of Comics, Mark Waid's famous answer is that the Golden Age is the comics you read when you were twelve years old. But Mosley also hits the nail on the head when he brings up the issue of relative size. When we were children, lying on the floor, the comic book spread flat in front of us, the pictures seemed huge. And every picture, every frozen moment in time, seemed an entire world ... if you just looked closely enough.
This is also why I can't help but scoff when someone invariably complains about how short comics are these days; that they can read through an entire comic book in five minutes. News flash: Your reading speed is up to YOU. I picture these same goons making a speed run through an art gallery or museum, only glancing at each work to get the barest needed data: "Good. Good. Eh. Good. Weird. Lame. Fine. Good."
I can't say I'm never prone to the same behavior, and you can see why; it is in fact possible to make the words in comic books your focus, only glancing at the pictures to give us the necessary context - who, what, where, when - in which to frame those words. And a convincing argument could be made that's as it should be; that, like the rhythm section in a band, the art works best when it's acting in service to the whole without calling attention to itself.
But then, I enjoy listening to the bass line in a song, and I find a masterful drummer - one with a great beat, and the occasional interesting fill - exciting and energizing, something to pay attention to while still enjoying the whole. And when reading a comic - any comic - I always try to keep that in mind, and remember that each panel is in fact its own piece of art. Mosley's analogy of panels being paintings is accurate and insightful, because every frozen moment in time, every panel, was conceived as a unit by its artist. A unit as part of another unit (the page), and part of another unit (the comic book), and another (the series), and on and on ... but each picture, each box, is the smallest discrete piece in the work. And when the artist was first conceiving that, sketching that, drawing that ... it's certainly the world that he lived inside.
And that's what makes this book an innovation, and an experiment that succeeds, and a treasure. Because this comic book story, which was originally told in 25 pages, is now displayed in over 200 pages. Giving the comic the space to breathe that it hasn't had since we were young, every panel is larger than life, and commands our attention accordingly. Most panels are blown up to the size of an entire page of this coffee-table book, with some taking up the double-page spread - or larger than the book itself, as in the couple of four-page gatefold scenes. One of these is the tableau of the giant, green, burrowing monster attacking the French African installation, which in the original comic took just over a page and is really a very small part of the overall story. But here, with the moment of attack shown as one oversized, four-pages-wide display of ferocity, you feel the rumble of the earth, you hear the guardsmen's screams, and understand the terror in their hearts in a way you never have before. In a way you'd always just skipped past.
When Maximum Fantastic Four came out, I suspect it flew under the radar for many; after all, as massively important as Fantastic Four #1 was to the development of comics, and the seismic shift it left in its wake, I can imagine even the hardiest of fans scoffing at the thought of paying $50 for a single comic book "blown up real big". What I would like to convey, though, is this:
It's absolutely worth it.
Partly for the experience of reading this seminal comic book slowly, hugely, poring over every panel, and taking in the story at the measured pace it was meant to be read.
And partly for the lesson that this is how we should always aim to read them.
Reading In-Progress: Bram Stoker's Dracula
Dracula is something I've wanted to read for a long time. I read Frankenstein a few years ago - the version gorgeously illustrated with horror artist Bernie Wrightson's creepy renderings - and really enjoyed it. Continuing the theme, this version I've picked up has wonderfully malevolent artwork by Jae Lee.I'm only one-third into it thus far, but I've been fascinated to see my evolving reaction to the writing style. It's been a while since I've read any sort of epistolary novel, and I'm reminded that it's a format that must be incredibly hard to do well. While the presentation of letters, diary entries and newspaper articles does convey a layering sense of verisimilitude, it's also readily apparent that there are a number of real limitations imposed by such a form. First and foremost, every installment necessarily requires that the action or development be followed by some amount of "down time" in which the character in question could ostensibly put all to paper. This seemingly precludes extended periods of action, which could be why I've heard several people (both friends and professionals) describe the novel as "boring".
Personally, I couldn't disagree more. Yes, there's a paucity of "action" or "monster" scenes, but that's as should be in a horror story; our fears, our dread, play more on what isn't there than what is.
I will admit, though, it takes time to get a hang of. The first five chapters detail Jonathan Harker's journey to Dracula's castle, the gradual realization of his imprisonment, and the icy terror that results. And just as this opening gambit reaches its harrowing climax ... we change scenes to Mina and her friend Lucy, back in England, idling their summer away by the sea. Once more, it takes several chapters before the darker elements start to creep in ... and when they do? We're suddenly treated to a dry, passionless newspaper article about a Russian ship that ran ashore one rainy night.
Each time the novel suddenly changed tacks, I - like many, I suspect - found myself frustrated. Until finally I began to intuit such a reaction was deliberate, intentionally unsettling the reader each time. The pace of the novel is very patient, slowly setting up its participants and then using them to slowly circle in on the plot, bit by bit ... and it's not surprising that this approach might be too measured or frustrating for some. Myself? I'm really enjoying it.
But the actual reading is, still, slower going than I'd expected. And why?
Because, like any good horror story ... it really needs to be experienced only at night.
As I do not enjoy being a stereotype, I made sure to get a couple of actual entries in before committing the sin of writing about writing. (Insert snark here.)
It is something strange. I wrote in my old journal from 2001-2007, then retired it shortly after I moved to London. I then created a mostly-private journal that I only opened to a very select few after a couple of months. I've been debating opening up parts of it for some time now - if nothing else, it fairly well documented large parts of the experience I had there - but what was most impressive, to me, was the diligence with which I wrote.
I started writing in it on November 14, and then continued writing in it. Every day. Every damn day! Well, this isn't strictly true; there are days I would miss writing in it, due either to procrastination or a hectic schedule ... but I would then make sure to write about two things the next day, and back-date one of them to the day before. My journal had a calendar in its sidebar, as many LJs do, and I really enjoyed seeing every single day ticked off. Once I missed 5 days in a row, and I had to spend an entire day writing. That was both draining and really friggin' cool.
I originally intended to do it for one month. Just to see if I could. Just to see what that whole "Write every day" thing felt like. (Answer: It felt like work. Hard as hell, but commensurately satisfying.) But from November 14 through March 13, I missed only three days in January. And that was it.
The past year and a half that I've been back in Chicago has been a surprise in many ways: some enjoyable, some less. The extent to which I became involved in theatre this past year represented portions of both; while I've enjoyed taking part in nearly a dozen productions, both large and small, it took up so much of my time that I had little - or, for long stretches, no - time for anyone or anything else. And, along with close friends, the biggest casualty was writing.
Having had time to myself again for the past few months, I have continued to feel the itch, and hope to be able to scratch it, regularly, in a way that I can once again be proud of. It's something I still have to figure out the right balance for: Not only do I now have less time in my life in general, but time spent journalling about current thoughts or experiences takes away time available for fiction, and other writing projects. Not to mention, oh, the desire to properly maintain relationships and the barest semblance of a social life. (And I'd sure love to get back to drawing at some point....)
Fortunately, I'm meeting more and more writers, which helps to inspire. From playwrights to bloggers to several friends who are actively participating in this year's NaNoWriMo, I'm seeing more people put their damn words together in a way that impresses and uplifts me. I still don't know what my writing space will look like, as I start to wade back into it - but I'm hopeful, and eager to see.
But one favor I have to ask: If it's another 8-10 months until I write something? Please, someone, kick me in the head.
- Mood:
thoughtful
Which is why it was such a pleasant surprise to receive that very thing - in spades - the following night.
On Thursday evening, while at Ian and Rae's place, I was asked how I knew them. And I paused for a moment, and realized the chain of events, and had to laugh.
A couple of months ago, Kyle - whom I first met as the outrageous Freddy Mercury in The David Bowie Christmas Special 1977 (the remount of which starts next weekend!) - was holding a birthday party at The Spot. There was enjoyable dancing to terrible music; it was great to see the cast of The Living Canvas again, a cast which had instantly bonded like none any of us had ever seen before; and I met new people, including a coworker of Kyle's, Ridgely. Ridgely, in that first meeting, spoke with impressive geekery about anthropology, LARPing, and writing. Clearly, I thought, she's one of My Kind of People.
And yet when I received an invite to a housewarming party from Ridgely and her boyfriend Robert for their new place ... I wavered. Not that many years ago, the idea of going to a party where I knew virtually no one sounded like the very definition of terror. My experiences in London largely changed that ... but such a thing never completely disappears, not entirely, and the idea made me nervous. Up to the night in question, I still questioned if I would go.
Until I realized that I hadn't actually put myself in that kind of situation for a long time. In London, I'd had to meet new people fairly often, and quickly shocked myself by finding that I ... enjoyed it! Since I'd been back, I'd not been made to face that challenge nearly as much.
So I went. And had a great fucking time! Ridgely and Robert are warm and friendly - and this party where I'd been nervous of not connecting, where I'd worried about having common interests with which to connect with people, turned out to be populated with awesome geekery of all levels. Gaming geeks. LARPing geeks. Computer geeks. Bollywood geeks. Writing geeks. I ended up staying much later than I'd expected, simply because there was never a time in which I was not having a blast!
Yay! I smiled broadly as I drove home. New friends!
So when Ian and Rae, whom I'd met at the party, sent out Facebook invites about beginning weekly game & movie nights at their place, I was quick to join in. Yes, please!
Reconstructing all this, as I say, made me laugh. "How do I know them? Well, Kyle threw a party and I met Ridgely. Ridgely threw a party and I met Ian and Rae. They threw a party and I met you. Now you have to throw a party and ..."
Anyway. Before we put on V for Vendetta - it was the Fifth of November, after all - I saw that Fringe was currently on the television. And I asked Ian about it, relating my lament from the previous night about not having heard anyone rave about it, or any show of the last year or two, to any degree that actually excited me.
Well, it turns out Ian's good at that. Really good.
First of all, he tells me about Fringe. For the first time, someone is raving to me about it in terms of over-the-top excitement. It's not just "pretty good", it's not just "fun": It's Awesome. But okay, I ask: What's it really about, apart from the X-Files-ish "investigating fringe science" thing?
What a minute. WHAT?! It's about parallel universes? And nobody told me?!??
Well, shit. That's exactly what I'd been wanting to hear this past year. Give me another!
And he did. He told me about Charlie Jade, a short-lived series from South Africa based around the idea of parallel universes to an impressive degree, and with a fascinating premise. He talked about The Lost Room, a miniseries starring Peter Krause, where something unknown happened to the room in question ... and imbued each and every object that had been inside it with strange and seemingly random powers. He told me about a Frankenstein pilot that never got picked up for series, set in modern-day New Orleans, in which the doctor creates not one creature but several, all of whom have been living their own lives in society. (Checking its wiki page, I see that this was an idea from Dean Koontz that he then wrote into a trilogy of books. Also - WHOA, it starred Parker Posey AND Adam Goldberg?! I love both of those people!)
It was pretty amazing, really. After writing, only the previous night, about how I hadn't been hearing rave reviews about new television, I then got a SLEW of new recommendations, all of which I'm eager to check out. I'd either been talking to the wrong people, or asking the wrong questions.
And so I open the question to you:
What amazing television have YOU discovered in the past year or two that impressed the hell out of you, and you think I should watch?
It may be a while till I can get to 'em ... but rave about it with enough passion, and I'll surely want to give it a try.
- Mood:
pleased
This occurred to me again today, when I was adding my gripes to
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telaryn's re: Joss's generally disappointing Dollhouse. In short: The first half of Season 1 was terrible, the second half was surprisingly solid, and I'll watch the second season when it's over. Which will be when the show is cancelled. Because the ratings being what they are, and Fox being what it is, of course it will be.And this is why I don't pick up new shows. For the past few years my policy had been to not pick up any new shows until after they're renewed for a second season. Partly because I was tired of my hopes being dashed when a new favorite got canned - Firefly being the most potent example. And partly because first seasons are almost always shaky, and sometimes they need that first dozen episodes to figure out what works and what doesn't (Veronica Mars, Buffy). While other times the show will have done several things right and has fantastic potential, but I realize - after giving it the benefit of the doubt for way too long - that the showrunners are Dumb in far too many ways, and the show will never achieve even the slightest bit of greatness it could have had in other hands (Smallville).
Because what it comes down to is this: I hate wasting my time on mediocre art.
In small doses it can be instructive: There are numerous occasions I've come out of a play frustrated and angry, at the writing or execution - but in thinking about how it fell flat or confounded or bored me, I learn more in the lessons of effective storytelling; what works and what doesn't, and WHY. But on an ongoing basis, as with a TV show or comic? I just can't do it. Simply put, I've better things to do with my time.
What I'm discovering this means is that my threshold for acceptable quality in serialized fiction is getting tighter and stricter with every passing year. It used to be that if a show had a couple of elements that I found even passably interesting, I'd stick with it - even if the rest were mediocre beyond belief. (What else could account for my watching ER for ten years?) But today? I look at a lot of the shows coming out - shows that friends of mine are watching, and presumably enjoying - and they don't interest me enough. I think about watching it for 20 hours out of a year, and ... it's not enough to pull me in.
- Flashforward sounds like it has an interesting starting point. Moreover, it sounds like the kind of genre I most enjoy: One single fantastical element as a starting point, but otherwise real-world and character-driven. But the premise does sound limiting, in the snarky "What do they do in the other two-dozen episodes?" sort of way.
- Fringe sounded ... well, frankly it sounded to me (and everyone else) like a blatant X-Files ripoff. Which, the way that show oozed its way out the door, is not a great memory to evoke. I kept saying maybe I'd watch it, because I've watched everything J.J. Abrams has done and enjoyed it all ... but again, I just couldn't find the desire.
- And just the other day my sister Kari asked if I was planning to watch the new V. I joked that I first wanted to watch the original miniseries, since when it first aired my parents wouldn't let me stay up past my bedtime to watch it and a part of me was still mad at them for it. But in all honesty, I look at the new show and, well...
I do believe that serialized fiction can become incredible works of art when done well, and there are shows I've watched in the past decade that demonstrate this powerfully. That show me something I've never seen before, and move me emotionally - whether that's excitement and mystery (Lost), fear and dread (Jekyll), laughter and astonishment (Spaced), or love and loss and wonder and hope (far too many to count, though JMS and Joss get heavy nods). But it seems that more and more, the shows that are coming out don't inspire enough confidence for me to actually watch even the first episode. For me to give up enough of my time to see if they're actually worth the time they take up. Is this because I'm becoming a progressively more discerning viewer? Or that the shows that have been coming out are actually that much less? (Or, quite possibly, both?)
I still do love television as a medium, and look forward to the next time a show knocks my jaw to the floor and leaves me speechless and shocked from its brilliance. It will happen again; I know it.
But I must admit, it's a far cry going from someone who loved television so much he had TiVo for 8 years - to someone who doesn't even have cable.
- Mood: contemplative
Well, sure. Why not ask me to talk about one of my favorite things ever? :)
Below is an edited version of the e-mail I sent him earlier this morning. I meant to mail him before he left town, but the below took that long to write...!
Okay, first thing you're going to want to do is buy yourself a Mini A-Z. It only costs a few pounds, it has all the streets for Zones 1 & 2 in it, and it's small enough to fit in your pocket. I bought mine a week or two after I got to London, and carried it with me EVERY SINGLE DAY. It's indispensable; I can't stress that enough. (You can find one pretty easily; if you need to ask for it, remember that they pronounce the "Z" as "Zed" instead of "Zee".) And this e-mail will assume that you have one. :)
Once you have that and an Oyster Card, you'll be able to travel around London as easily as you like. Don't be afraid to wander and get lost; not only will you have the A-Z, but all bus stops have maps on them as well. If you don't have a rigorous schedule you have to keep to, it's really fun to set off for an intended destination, but not really planning your route beforehand. If I wanted to go east, I'd get on a bus going east ... and then if the bus turned north instead, I'd get off and hop on another one. It was a fun way to travel. (But again, requires that you're pretty easygoing about your schedule.)
If you are someone that wants to plan his travels pretty rigorously, on the other hand, the TFL's Journey Planner is pretty handy.
Also, especially when you're in Central London, there will usually be signposts pointing out the nearby attractions, so take notice of those.
First off: PLACES YOU SHOULD VISIT!
There's a lot that's touristy in Central London (as you'd expect), but there's a lot that's really fun too. Leicester Square, Trafalgar Square, and Covent Garden are all pretty close to each other, with Oxford Circus not far off; exploring from one of these to the next to the next gives you a pretty good feel for the energy of Central. Often high-powered, but very fun, with lots to see and browse.
Also very close to this area is Forbidden Planet (179 Shaftesbury Ave), which you HAVE to visit. It's the largest comic store I think I've ever seen, with not just comics but rooms full of games, toys, books, DVDs, and so much more. The sheer scale of the place is jaw-dropping.
You'll also want to check out the South Bank, a collection of great sites on the (duh) south bank of the Thames. Take the tube to Westminster (off the Circle / District / Northern lines), then cross Westminster Bridge to the east. If you immediately take a left after getting to the opposite bank, you will pass, in short order: The London Aquarium, The London Eye (pretty cool for an enormously high view, if a bit pricey), Jubilee Gardens, the Royal Festival Hall, and the National Film Theatre (check their website to see if there's anything playing that you want to catch; in addition to regular showings of new & old acclaimed movies, they also have special events that are well worth attending). After you pass Blackfriars Bridge and have come upon Millennium Bridge, you will be in front of (behind?) the Tate Modern - and just past that is Shakespeare's Globe. The Globe's theatre season is over, this late in the year, but you can still get a tour.
And something you should not miss is Brick Lane. As the home of the city's sizable Bangladeshi population, situated in the heart of the East End, the area has a compelling style unique to the city. Find your way to the Aldgate East tube stop (off the District and Hammersmith/City lines), then walk east a couple blocks until you hit Brick Lane, and head north. On Sundays the Brick Lane Market operates from 8am to 2pm; this would be your best time to visit, if you can, as the abundance and variety of items being sold in open-air market stalls all along the lane are fantastic. (And Rough Trade is a great music shop just off the lane - check here to see where it's at.)
Finally, if you have a day free, this is a fantastic day trip to Greenwich that my landlord suggested while I was living there, and I highly recommend it:
Take the tube to the Tower of London. Take a tour, if you like. From there, take the Docklands Light Rail (called the DLR) - don't worry, it also takes Oyster Card - to the financial district of Canary Wharf, located on the Isle of Dogs. Then head south, on foot or bus - I walked, and so found myself happy to stumble upon Mudchute Farm, with loads of animals you can view and visit - until you reach the Island Gardens on the north bank of the Thames.
At this point you can take an underground walkway that actually goes underneath the Thames itself (!), and when you emerge you'll find yourself in Greenwich. Follow the signposts to Greenwich Park, and you should soon come upon a rather huge hill. Climbing the hill will take you to the Royal Observatory, which has one of the most amazing views of London that you will ever see. In fact, this is the scene that you saw on my desktop the other night: Looking north from the top of the hill, towards the National Maritime Museum and Queen's House at the bottom, with the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf further past, and London City visible far off to the northwest.
THINGS YOU SHOULD DO!
Unbelievably, THIS VERY WEEKEND is the London Expo 2009, a mini-convention of comics, sci-fi, anime, games, and everything else a genre geek might dig. It may not be anywhere as big as other conventions you've been to - but it's a London con! Go check it out! :) (I'd been living there for less than two months when I attended as a volunteer; ended up taking care of the cast of The 4400.) You'll need to take the DLR again (it's a treat to sit at the very front, if you can), and get off at the Custom House stop. And follow the crowd.
If you're free on the evening of 10/28 (W) or 10/29 (Th), you should try to go to one of these:
http://www.fandmpublications.co.uk/pageI went on a couple of "Tours of Haunted London" put on by these folk, and they were fantastic; not hokey in the least, and incredibly fascinating stories. If Chris Roberts is there flogging the latest issues of One Eye Grey, could you pick up issues #5-7 for me? :)s/pennydreadfulevents.htm
Finally, if you've not picked up a copy of TimeOut London upon arrival, do so. (New issue on the stands every Thursday.) You can also visit their website, of course. In either case, make sure to check out the music listings to see if anybody you're a fan of is playing in town while you're there. I went to MANY live shows while living overseas, and is to me one of the other highlights of the London experience.
STUFF YOU SHOULD EAT!
If you ever see waffles being sold, BUY ONE. (My favorite is the waffle cart behind the Finsbury Park tube stop, but there are vendors all over.) They offer to put various things on top (ice cream, chocolate syrup, fruit, etc), but it's really best to just take it plain. Trust me: They're not like the waffles you're used to; these are SWEET, with a sugary coating, and are to DIE for.
I miss my waffle cart! :D
Pasties and sausage rolls are also foodstuffs that are maybe not the healthiest for you, but are absolutely delicious. Ubiquitous franchises are Greggs, and the West Cornwall Pasty Company. Take a look at their logos if you want to keep an eye out.
I love a scotch egg to bits; you might find one in a random off-license (ie, convenience store). Also while in an off-license, pick up a can of Old Jamaica Ginger Beer for approx 50p. Not alcoholic; it's like ginger ale, except the ginger is so strong it will BURN YOUR DAMN THROAT OFF. (In a good way.)
I know everybody knocks British Food as horrible, bland, and flavorless. I say all those people ARE FREAKIN' NUTS!
And ... I think that's all I've got for now. If you've got questions about any of these, let me know!
Take a billion pictures and have a great time. :)
Seriously.
It's an interesting read. On the one hand, it's definitely an early work in the career of someone who might become very talented someday; his art has an early, amateurish look to it - but the visual storytelling is near-faultless, and he eschews the experimental page layouts that most beginning artists unwisely attempt in favor of a (usually) nine-panel grid approach.
At the same time, his writing could use some work; one of the last stories in the collection starts in media res, then flashes back to the beginning of the tale, during which Swete & Anderson travel back in time, and then hear ANOTHER story told in flashback that lasts a dozen pages. This overly convoluted narrative structure is pretty much exactly what every book on writing tells you NOT to do. And yet this very story involves not only time travel, but a talking dog from an alternate-Earth full of talking dogs, who comes to our world and eventually sets off to find his favorite author - Ernest Hemingway - to teach him (the dog) how to write. Other stories involve government-funded all-consuming zombie-like beings called the Metabolators (the ultimate clean-up crew), and the secret of immortality cooked into a dish of spaghetti: The Eternity Pasta. With ideas as far-out as those, I'll give a LOT of leeway to a writer/artist who may still be perfecting his craft!Death by Chocolate: Redux may not be the most polished graphic novel you'll ever read, but it makes up for its shortcomings by being an entertainingly offbeat experience.
I liked it a lot, and it's easy to see why it's almost universally praised as the best graphic novel of all time. Despite having an almost cripplingly-large cast of characters (for at least the first third, you're still spending time learning names and relationships), Alan Moore absolutely instills each of them with actual character. More to the point, it's the best kind of "from the inside out" writing, where each distinct character just happens to also be a superhero - rather than the typical group of superheroes, who also have the occasional accents or personality tics.
And the art from the pen of Dave Gibbons is not to be undersold; truly, he's a huge part of the success of this work. Not necessarily for the illustrations themselves - though they are clean, and visceral, and appealing, and direct - but more for his absolute and subtle mastery of page layout, an art far too often overlooked. He uses Steve Ditko's nine-panel grid as the basis for every page, serving to give the very form of the novel a rhythm and familiarity so necessary to the story being told - and which is upended to great effect in the opening pages of the final chapter.
But it must be said that while I greatly enjoyed the book ... I wasn't completely blown away. And part of this is surely due to coming to the book as late as I have. While most of the techniques on show here weren't used widely (or at all) when first published in 1986, the next generation of comic writers were eager to learn - and so what techniques were groundbreaking twenty odd years ago have been long incorporated since (at least, by those few comics authors who take real care to craft their art). Granted, even then it's rarely implemented as well as done here.
And it shares a frustration that I have with much of Moore's work, as well as Grant Morrison's, which can be summed up as: perhaps too much "head", not enough "heart". This is a story that may impress you, may wow you, may stun you and may shock you. But there's not a lot of emotional resonance. This is not generally a story that will move you to tears, of anguish or of joy. (The final book of Preacher did both, in quick succession.) Of course, with a book told as densely as this, as brilliantly as this, and as subtly as this, quibbling "too much head, not enough heart" is perhaps akin to complaining that the sunniest day isn't actually a plate of brownies.
Because there is so much going on in this book, just at a first read ... and it's so, so, SO obvious that there is so much more to be found upon reread after reread after reread. Having only just finished it, with a few days to process first impressions, I still have yet to do much digging into reviews, and discussions, and dissections, and explorations. Online annotations and independent research. Looking further beneath the surface, and further still, to see what exists under the deepest parts of this richly-layered work.
And in the end, perhaps that's the most salient thing. Most of the books we read - even ones we nearly love - don't call us back time and time again. But that strange novel that's so densely packed that you're already looking forward to what you pick up on next time round? That's a rare find indeed.
Because it's snowed again, and if the forecast is to be believed, it will snow a LOT.
So it's annoying when I come home, see a parking space in front of my apartment ... and can't use it because some Absolute Cock has put a couple of chairs in the space.
That, good sir, is BULLSHIT.
The first time I heard about such a practice, I was stunned. Do people actually DO that? Are people actually that selfish? Did their mothers never teach them about sharing?
But they do. And, in my neighborhood at least, a LOT. Is this just another example of the typical lazy, cocky American? The "My shit is more important than anyone else's" attitude?
I'm not talking about reserved parking. I'm not talking about driveways. This is just regular, residential street parking. It does not belong to anyone. It belongs to EVERYONE. Sometimes you'll get home and there'll be a spot in front of your house. Sometimes you'll have to park several blocks away. Those are the same chances EVERYONE has, and it's the only fair way to do things.
So YOU CAN'T SAVE THE SPACE FOREVER AND EVER. It just doesn't work that way. And in the Chicago winter, which is bitterly cold for ALL concerned, it's even more of a dick move.
And I've had it.
The first time this vexed me, some weeks back, I thought about just picking up the chairs and parking there anyway. Saying, in effect: "No, you CAN'T do that." But I would like to return to a car that is drivable, and not a block of ice. So I myself parked three blocks away.
But when I came back, and passed that spot, I removed the chairs. First scanning my surroundings for approaching cars, shady lurkers, or prowling wolves. Working quickly and leaving an empty space, openly inviting any soul to park.
As it should be.
That first time I just moved the chairs to the curb. But from now on I think I'll move them to the alley. Preferably next to the trash bins. Just to make the lesson clear.
That being:
OTHER PEOPLE LIVE HERE TOO. AND YOU HAVE TO LEARN TO SHARE.
And thus, I become the Chair Vigilante.
