Grave Beginnings: 3

Jonathan Harker’s Journal

3 May. Bistritz. __Left Munich at 8:35 P. M, on 1st May, arriving at Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train was an hour late. Buda-Pesth seems a wonderful place, from the glimpse which I got of it from the train and the little I could walk through the streets. I feared to go very far from the station, as we had arrived late and would start as near the correct time as possible.

The impression I had was that we were leaving the West and entering the East; the most western of splendid bridges over the Danube, which is here of noble width and depth, took us among the traditions of Turkish rule.

We left in pretty good time, and came after nightfall to Klausenburgh. Here I stopped for the night at the Hotel Royale. I had for dinner, or rather supper, a chicken done up some way with red pepper, which was very good but thirsty. (Mem. get recipe for Mina.) I asked the waiter, and he said it was called “paprika hendl,” and that, as it was a national dish, I should be able to get it anywhere along the Carpathians.

I found my smattering of German very useful here, indeed, I don’t know how I should be able to get on without it.

Having had some time at my disposal when in London, I had visited the British Museum, and made search among the books and maps in the library regarding Transylvania; it had struck me that some foreknowledge of the country could hardly fail to have some importance in dealing with a nobleman of that country.

Grave Beginnings: 2

Eating ’em was more fun than blowing their gnarly green heads off. But why dicker when you could do both?

The fresher ones were blue. That was important if you wanted to avoid cramps, salmonella. Eat a green one and you’d be yodeling down the big porcelain megaphone in no time.

Wormboy used wire cutters to snip the nose off the last bullet in the foam block. He snugged the truncated cartridge into the cylinder of his short-barrel .44. When fired, the flattened slugs pancaked on impact and would disintegrate any geek’s head into hash. The green guys weren’t really zombies, because no voodoo had played a part. They were all geeks, all slow as syrup and stupid as hell, and Wormboy loved it that way. It meant he would not starve in this cowardly new world. He was eating; millions weren’t.

Grave Beginnings: 1

No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.

I’m not mad … I’m just disappointed (OK, I’m a little mad, too)

You’ve probably noticed that this blog has gone nearly silent over time.

I was telling myself it was because of things in my personal life that had to take precedent. I told myself it was because my freelancer’s budget didn’t allow for regular trips to the comic shop. I beat myself up, berating myself for what I perceived as a natural tendency toward laziness. And all of these things are true, to one degree or another.

But, I recently realized, a lot of it is because I just find it hard to get excited about comics lately.

To be specific, I find it hard to care about new comics; even more specifically, superhero comics from the Big Two. A constant reliance on Big Event leading into the Next Big Event has worn down my enthusiasm for both publishers. The tone-deaf missteps from DC (most recently Dan DiDio’s fiat against characters being married, the sudden dismissal of the Batwoman creative team, and the Harley Quinn-in-a-bathtub/suicide drawing contest) has pretty much crushed it. And, as a confessed DC guy, this kills me.

I know there are good comics being put out by both companies, but frankly, it’s hard for me to give a shit. I’m at a point where I’d rather spend the time, energy and money on finding titles I like from smaller publishers and independent creators (though my growing distaste for DC and Marvel has unfairly bled out to new comics in general). Finding good comics from other publishers is something I’d be doing anyway, but now I’m COMMITTED to doing it. This is comic reading as spite as much as fandom. And that kills me, too.

I’ve been planning on getting serious about blogging on a regular basis again, and that’s still going to happen. I’ve been wanting to expand the focus a bit, so expect my rambling to start encompassing movies, books, TV and whatever else catches my flitting attention.  And I’ll still be reading comics, mostly revisiting back issues and original graphic novels. But — fair warning — don’t expect reviews or much commentary on new books coming from DC or Marvel.

I just don’t have the heart anymore.

Small Sundays: Iron Man

Note: Tony, no!!

Small Sundays: Plastic Man

Note: When I bought the grab bag this was in, I got it for this figure alone . (I ended up putting the rest right back in the donation box on the way out.) Poor Plas had seen some action, and was covered in crayon and diligently placed staples from head to toe.  And by “diligently,” yes, I do mean at least one in the ass.

I forgot to check the details on the back of the figure, but I’m pretty sure this is from a Happy Meal/The Brave and the Bold tie-in, which makes it the happiest meal ever!

Guess who got a new pen?

Take that, Jimmy Olsen! Eat it, Batman!

Rizzo

A little more than 18 years ago, Rizzo showed up on our doorstep. She was already about a year old, with all the cautious suspicion of a stray. Slowly, with a combination of sweet talk and daily feeding, she let us get close. And then she let us pet her. And then she was at the screen door, meowing and demanding to be let in.

Oh, and she was pregnant. (Since she was knocked up, we would later name her Rizzo after the character from Grease.)

Sandy and I already had two cats, Peggy and Pancho, and weren’t about to take on a whole litter. We made this very clear to this undersized, cross-eyed Siamese mix.

“No, kitty!” we told her. “Go have your babies and then we’ll see.” As if she understood, she disappeared for a few weeks, only to come back no longer pregnant and looking up at us expectantly.

“OK, fine, but you’re a terrible mother” we said, opening the door for her. She trotted in and never tried to leave again.

Rizzo was a tough cat from the streets of Five Points in El Paso, and she was also the sweetest kitty ever, who wanted nothing more than to sit in your lap and purr with the resonance of an idling Harley. She was a friend, and she was our family. We will always love her, and we’ll never stop missing her; 18 years was more than we could have ever asked for. It still wasn’t enough.

We can’t deny 18 years is a long life for a cat, even for one that would eventually suffer from progressive renal failure. We know it wasn’t really her kidneys that got her — it was old age.

We know it was your time, Rizzorini, but just in case — the door is always open.

I have no dog and I must squeak

My wife and I have a couple of cats who we’ve been lucky enough to have with us for 18 years. (Hello, Pancho and Rizzo! If you’re reading this it means you’re sitting on my keyboard!) Since they’re elderly cats they have special needs, we make regular trips to the big pet store that carries their medicated food. Which is the long way of saying we discovered this pet store is now carrying comic character-themed stuff and ohmigod you guys I WANTS IT SO BAD.

A lot of it are teeny-tiny shirts and sweaters for dogs (and I guess cats, if you’re feeling suicidal), with Captain America’s shield or Batman’s logo emblazoned on the back. But for once DC seems to have gotten the jump on the Marvel marketing maching and has also licensed fuzzy chew toys, in different sizes, of Superman, Supergirl, Batman, and Robin. They are frankly awesome and I’m dying to go back and get the Supergirl.

Because of course I already bought a Superman.

And of course he squeaks.

Small Sundays: Obi-Wan Kenobi

Note: Amazingly, this figure is still in good shape, and still includes the original vinyl cape and tiny blue lightsaber it came with. Do you know how hard it is NOT to lose that tiny blue lightsaber?