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On a Rock Tour without an Instrument
By Jesse Farrell
(Portions of this article appeared in The Phoenix Online)
Part 2
Read Part 1
“Unfortunately I haven’t heard anything about Uncle Graham Cracker.” -Kelly in Athens, GA
Woke up to a beautiful Cary, NC morning. Our hosts, a different Potters’ aunt and uncle, have two small boys. Three-year-old Dominic joins us in the living room. He seems a little confused as to what this group is doing in his house, but is perfectly happy to show us around. When I mistakenly refer to the device on the upright piano as a metronome, he corrects me: “No, it’s a tick-tock.” Silly me.
Joe plays piano. “I know 'The Perilous Fight Song,'” Dominic tells us. We’re all intrigued. From the safety of his mother’s arms, Dominic quietly sings
“O say can you see…”
Leave it to a kid to remake his world by focusing on the coolest part of the national anthem.
Off to Athens GA, which is as beautiful a city as I’ve heard, with its warm climate, shady, tree-lined, wireless-internet connected streets, and friendly people. We ate at a diner with good food served by sexy, plump punk waitresses. I went to Bizarro Wuxtry, a comicbook store well stocked with books, toys and old records that feels as much like a friend’s attic as a retail store. It is a funky little town, Athens, and I take to it immediately. The forced proximity of traveling together this long together is eased as we disperse to check out different places to shop and get coffee.
Probably our most anticipated show of the tour was to be at Athens Georgia’s legendary 40 Watt Club. They sell a t-shirt there drawn by Jamie Hewlett, pre-Gorillaz, of his character Tank Girl herself wearing a 40-Watt t-shirt, a pretty ringing endorsement, if you ask me. The venue itself is nice; a spacious but comfy room with a Tiki-themed bar off to one side, a high stage and lots of room for the band, its projection screen, Puppet Theater, and Uncle Monsterface himself to move. The folks who run it are good people and very helpful.
It was arguably the worst show of the tour.
No, it isn’t a disaster; nothing goes wrong, exactly. Uncle Monsterface isn’t booed off the stage or anything so dramatic. But after the Uncle Monsterface intro, usually a big number where the crowd is encouraged to cheer the name of the band, it sounds like there might be a problem. This is a crowd that wants to sit back and listen to a show, not be dragooned into a lot of call-and-response.
When we came in I saw the high stage and recalled a stagedive I once witnessed. A kid had jumped off and, like a drop of Dawn in greasy water, the crowd parted for him. He took a nasty face-plant. It’s like that for Uncle Monsterface tonight, throwing themselves into the arms of an audience who isn’t inclined to catch them. There’s nothing substantively different about the set tonight; no one plays any more wrong notes than usual or forgets their parts, but the audience isn’t there to give anything on their end. And now I come to realize how much the rock show is a dialog between audience and band. One does not carry the other. One is not there just for the other.
Afterward we console ourselves with the legendary food of Polish Sausage King JB and his famous Comeback Sauce (who was conscientious enough to offer tofu dogs, too, I was thrilled to discover). We meet some kids who were at the show and had really loved it. It had not all been in vain. As Marty said, there is never a wasted show.
A guy named Jeff works at Caledonia, a nearby bar where some Math bands are playing. After I pulled Joe aside and asked what a Math band was, we head over. A group called Mouser was in full swing; two guitars, bass, and amazing drummer, and most interestingly, a horn section with two beautiful women on trumpets and a guy playing the tuba. They had an amazing, hard, progressive and fun sound. Thirty or so people watch with quiet intensity, soaking up everything the band plays. Their great show redeemed our so-so one and we could go back into the beautiful Georgia night feeling good rather than unsatisfied and restless.
Maybe we broke the first of my tour rules in Athens; we had expectations. And the road doesn’t work like that.
“This is why we can’t have nice things.” -Common tour refrain
“You were going to be in Purgatory, but you sold so many tickets you’re going to Hell.” -Guy from the Masquerade Club, Atlanta, GA
This is exactly what you want to hear when you’re on a rock tour.
The Masquerade is divided into three rooms of different sizes. Like the man said, we’d oversold Purgatory and been damned to Hell. And while it isn’t as bad as Sunday school may have led us to believe, it’s dark and everything there is sticky. Half an hour before showtime, and I hear that there are already fifty kids lined up outside. Surprisingly, I spot a trio of teens I recognize from the Athens show. On sees me and says “It’s Uncle Monsterface!” I hear this periodically and I don’t get it. Uncle Monsterface has a giant green head. Still, it spooks me and I casually walk back inside.
Paul starts frantically looking for the Potters’ drum machine, which has gone missing. At first he thinks it’s been misplaced, but then it’s clear, no, it ain’t here. He calls the 40- Watt, who it turns out does have the drum machine. And their keyboard. They’ve left half their band in Athens, a two-hour drive away. “It’s pretty intense,” Joe says. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do.” Still, it registers on the junior brother's face as no more than a flicker of concern.
They end up borrowing equipment from Uncle Monsterface, just enough to get them through their set. Luckily enough of their music is backed up on digital media that the audience probably doesn't notice anything amiss. The song-a-day song which commemorates this night, "Drunk Athens Part II," begins with the DeGeorge brothers singing the phrase “How did we get so stupid?”
The crowd is more receptive than in Athens, and Marty has no problem telling them that, eliciting a big cheer. Although we didn’t know it until we got here, there are five bands playing the same stage tonight, so with two songs to go, the soundman -a gruff, joyless man who looked like Hunter Thomson dressed as an Emo kid for laughs- informs us over the PA that we had one song to go. “Capes” is quickly edited out of the set.
While this hiccup didn’t hurt them too much, Uncle Monsterface is met with their lone unsatisfied customer, a chubby redneck teen who proclaimed, “That was the worst goddamn show I ever saw,” a giant grin on his face. Marty, with the aplomb befitting a frontman, shook his head and with a weary smile replied, “Like I really give a fuck what you think.”
The same kid is later overheard telling the guitarist of another band “I can play like that, just not live.”
Back to Athens to reunite the Potters with their band tonight. We’ll head out in the morning.
“You gotta sorta jump on those random opportunities, I think” -Paul on playing at an Army base in Ft. Campbell, KY
“At first I was confused, then I thought you were awesome, now I have to sacrifice babies to you!” -Joshua, Uncle Monsterface Superfan #1
When we started the tour we had two days off in the two-week schedule. Paul got an offer that coincided with one of these days and was not too far off our route. It was at an army base, playing for kids who lived there. The catch was we wouldn’t be getting paid; however a cover would be charged. We were all a little apprehensive about where this money might go. Paul got on the phone with the promoter.
“See, we want to make sure that money isn’t just going back to The Man, ‘cause we’re all about sticking it to The Man.” But no, the money went to keeping the 24/7 Youth Recreation Center open, which seemed a good enough excuse for us to do it.
Plus we’d all seen This Is Spinal Tap.
24/7, I suspect, is merely a catchy name: I don't think the large rec room, which has the pleasant antiseptic scent of my elementary school and contains a small stage, some vending machines, tables, and inexplicable barber and beauty supplies, could possibly remain open later than midnight (and that's just weekends). 4H posters and Polaroids of wholesome past events line the walls, as well as smiling pictures of the Colonel and Major in charge of the military installation. In their duty uniforms they looked at the ready to judge a pie-eating contest or be on guard against agitators at a three-legged race.
The room has two means of entry, a door marked "The Outer Limits" on the right and "Beyond Da Limits" on the left; somehow managing to be embarrassing and dated to at least three generations of people.
"Have you ever seen that Beyonda Limits movie, Manstorm 2: Heat by Friction?" James asks me. "She was okay in that. Not as good as in Pinkeye."
While the median age at most Uncle Monsterface/Potters shows has been fairly young, the group that turned up for this seemed especially youthful. A teenage girl, perhaps confused by Dan's distinguished blazer, thinks she knows him from somewhere.
"Are you a substitute teacher?" she inquires innocently.
"Do you want me to be?"
We meet the promoter, a harried, longhaired kid in his late teens named Ian, who is doing ten things at once trying to produce a professional rock show with the scant equipment available. A few bands precede us, good, local rock acts with a lot of intermingled members. At different times it seems like half the audience is up on stage. Since both the musicians and what they're playing seem familiar to the kids assembled, I wonder how we're going to go over. Will Uncle Monsterface be too bizarre, too childish, too… Something other than what they’re used to? Prejudicially, I worry that unless they've already heard of a band, that band won't stand much of a chance. And almost no one here has heard of us- Almost.
Joshua, scraggly haired, bespectacled and wearing a heavy black trench coat, seems sent by central casting to represent "disenfranchised youth." Excited almost to the point of hysteria, we discover in him Uncle Monsterface's biggest fan. He's learned all the songs and had been hyping us to his peers for weeks. "So you can tell I'm not getting laid tonight!" he boasts. Thanks, Josh.
By the time Uncle Monsterface takes the stage there are maybe forty kids watching. When the puppets come out before the music starts, they are met with enthusiastic cheers. This might work after all. When Uncle Monsterface himself makes his way out to find the capes, he’s faced for the first time with the obstacle of overzealous fans wanting hugs, tripping him and spinning him careening into other people, a big green meteor in an orange blazer.
God save us from our fans.
We survive the show; what's more, even the kids seeing us for the first time seem to like the cultivated peculiarity of Uncle Monsterface. Getting close to midnight now, we're still unsure of where we're going to stay in Kentucky. Ian hooks us up with some folks from the previous bands who have a place we can crash. "They drink and smoke; I hope you guys are okay with that." Ian my man, if there's a roof and something resembling running water, we're good.
We follow the guys from the first two bands in their souped up Camero and watch as they narrowly avoid at least one accident. We're on the darkened highway for a while until we turn down a long, quiet street and they pull up beside a house next to a trailer park. Which one are we staying in? The house, as it turns out.
BAM! The stench of cat urine belts me in the face when we're five feet from the open door. It's like walking through a forcefield of stank. Inside, it's like the house from Fight Club: ramshackle, a three-story behemoth filled with rock kids, laundry, odd, remaindered furniture and overflowing ashtrays. Despite all this, the people are friendly, welcoming, and make us right at home.
We're inundated with questions about the band, the stage show, what kinds of drugs we're on. I actually take this to be a polite inquiry into what kinds of drugs we're carrying right now. I won't say that no one in the band uses, but it doesn't seem like a priority for anyone and there weren't any on the tour with us. Some kids politely offer some of their own, but even those in our group who might otherwise indulge are too exhausted to think about it.
But not too exhausted to bust out the Playstation. A game of Soul Caliber III starts and Joe is handed a controller. Not a hardcore gamer like the guys in Uncle Monsterface, watching him take to a fighting game is like watching a hippie's child get their first taste of sugar. The normally placid Joe is wild-eyed, shouting; in a fury even a guitar to the face couldn't stir up. "I'm going to fight you, Marty!" he shouts, "For real! I'm going to fight you!"
A scruffy kid who also played the show tonight sits on the floor, describing his bizarre take on numerology.
"I'm not real good with math, but I figured a few things out," he explains, "Zero is the womb. One is God. Two is birth." He had corresponding concepts for zero through ten, glossing over four, for which there is a noticable flaw in his theory. He glosses over it and continues. "I was working my job as a fry cook and I couldn't concentrate. They let me go home so I could work on it." How generous of them. Everyone humors this grubby would-be Euclid for a while until it's clear to all but the most stoned that his math doesn't actually add up to much.
A dozen or so people walk in and out through the course of the night; nice conversations come and go. I say I'm haven't spent too much time in Kentucky; Ashley, a local girl with a bright smile and pierced lip, seems amused by my Yankee naiveté. "Aw no," she tells me "You're in Tennessee now." Say what? Apparently we crossed the border following our hosts to their house.
And now I have no idea where the fuck I am.
Ashley tells me: "Well... It's Clarksville. We don't really have much in Clarksville, but we just have to make the best of it. But that's what friends are for, right? We just usually go to someone's house and chill. That's usually where memories are made." She's right, too. We all came in as strangers and left as friends.
“Don’t go outside or you’ll definitely die/ Cause it’s raining Frankensteins.”
From there to a YMCA in Lexington Kentucky, then we start back to the cold North, playing the famous Barking Spider a wood-paneled Irish bar in Cleveland. I'm surprised and dismayed when a large family shows up, staking out a table by the puppet theater. “Oh good, they got ashtrays on the table!” mom said, overjoyed as she and I think a couple of the kids light up. The puppets stink for days after.
We don't have anywhere to stay in town, but by the end of the night Paul's convinced two Potters fans, Marti (her name a source of confusion, amusement) and her friend Michelle, to put us up for the night. That people would do this, that complete strangers will open their homes to people who they only know from their music, or in the case of Uncle Monsterface, people they’d never heard of until that night, is remarkable. To a person, I've liked everyone who put us up and all of them went above and beyond letting us crash on their couches and floors. That Marti and Michelle are lovely, charming and have finely honed senses of sarcasm is just gravy.
In Cleveland we also meet Ashleigh and Melanie, two college girls in Hogwarts’ attire. Apparently they enjoy the show because the following night they travel two hours to Artists Upstairs, a cavernous, 1500 square-foot art space in Pittsburgh, our next gig. That anyone would do this indicates maybe we’re doing something right.
“The Road gives and the road takes.” -Me, after finding out I’d left my nice sunglasses in Athens.
“Every night was a challenge!” -Wolf Colonel
Philadelphia is the last show of the tour. For all the hard work, sleeping on floors, the endless, restless tedium of traveling in the van, all of us feel like after two weeks we are just hitting our stride. Another two weeks? I could do that standing on my head. And after that? Who knows how long we could go. If there was a wall, we hadn't hit it. Even Marty’s voice, the part of the Uncle Monsterface machine that took the most wear and tear, adjusted after some earlier rockiness; in fact, it had come back stronger than ever as he screamed and wailed each night.
The tour ends as it began, in a church basement, one with a posted maximum occupancy of 150. Luckily for us, there's no fire marshal present because double that number turns up at the First Unitarian. Ten minutes before showtime and Dan and I lament that Ashleigh and Melanie, despite saying they’d be there, aren’t coming. We had begun, after a mere two shows, to see them as signs of good luck. It’s perfectly understandable, though:it had taken us six hours to get from Pittsburgh to Philly. It was quite a hike for someone who wasn’t schedule to perform there. In a moment I’d consider blatantly telegraphed if I saw it on TV, this was when they choose to show up. I make myself scarce and set up the puppet theater.
Normally before the show starts, Uncle Monsterface pokes his puppet head up to look around and perhaps one or two people notice. Seeing them, he‘ll then jump down and hide. Tonight a huge cheer reverberated through the crowd when he appeared. He was stunned, visible, jaw-droppingly stunned, before he turned tail. The crowd was so happy, so excited, so ready to have a good time that Uncle Monsterface could not let them down.
“Philly, you are the best audience ever!” Marty tells them. This could have been mere hyperbole, but not this time. Not tonight.
I watch as Uncle Monsterface performs their last set of the tour, no one wanting this to be over. For their finale, Lobster Building, usually they ask a handful of people from the audience to rock out with them, given inflatable prop guitars, lobsters and puppets. Tonight, Harry and the Potters- the DeGeorge brothers- join them onstage, as do so many other people it looks like a Prince’s Trust concert. When Uncle Monsterface himself makes his appearance at the climax of the song, he needs to gingerly step between fans, careful not to crush toes with his size 13 ½ feet.
And I am there in that crowd, watching, but the line between watching and taking part has evaporated. We’re one wave, a circuit, beginning with the band onstage, running through the crowd, back.
“We build and we build/ We build and we build,” Marty shouts into a megaphone, as their finale crescendos. Ordinary things are transformed by will and imagination, excitement and sweat. I am inside that puppet’s head. I am inside that crowd. I am in the belly of the beast, and Uncle Monsterface is in their hearts.
These moments happen, if you let them.
No more tour. Goodbye for now, Uncle Monsterface.
The road is life.
(Thanks to the people who came to our shows, and everyone who was good to us when we were on tour. Special thanks to our hosts: Kyle, The Sarlis, the Marraccinis, the Piazzas, Marty & Lori, Myke, Jack & Haylie, Matt, Marti & Michelle, Nick, and Seth. Our couches are your couches.)
(Potterface Tour videos and Song-a-Day songs can be downloaded here. Free!)
Posted by YourMomsBasement at 08:00 AM
by Mike Collins
How would you describe the type of science fiction that you write Neal? I don't think it's easy to classify.
Others describe it as hard science fiction or space opera, or both. That sort of covers it, though I tend to be a bit more ‘biological’ and also lean more towards fantasy than what is usually accepted in those subgenres. Basically I’ve taken just about everything I love about SF, expanded it and put my own spin on it. Nothing is out of bounds since I’m not limiting myself to predicting the future but aiming to entertain.
It seems like many of the strongest voices in the genre are coming form your part of the world. Why do you think that is?
I keep hearing this, but I’m not entirely sure I believe it to be true since I’ve read some excellent stuff from elsewhere recently. If it is happening then I would say it is purely coincidental that some good writers have all hit the big time all at around about the same time. I would read into it no more than that.
I'd like to talk about Cowl first. How did you come up with the concept for the novel? It combines time travel, enhanced government killers, dinosaurs, spaceships and futuristic races. It's kind of a mind bender...
Cowl was originally written as a novella and then expanded into the book. I’ve always liked time-travel books that actually deal with the scale of prehistory rather than confine themselves to mere human history. I also have a fascination with all the life this planet has seen. How did I come up with the concept? The same way as I come up with them in all my books – the same way a builder comes up with a house starting out with a stack of bricks.
One of the main characters is a fifteen year old prostitute. Any reservations with how people might react to her initially?
Well, very often my main characters are very capable alpha males, so I thought I’d try something different. How people might react to her didn’t even come into my consideration.
How much research did you have to do for the various historic periods the characters visit?
I did quite a lot of reading on the subject. For the human history periods I read a book on Henry VIII, and for the Claudius episode I relied on Robert Graves’ I Claudius the book and the TV series with Derek Jacobi, and my other reading about the Roman eras. There’s plenty available about prehistoric life, which has been an ongoing interest of mine anyway (ever since finding ammonite and belemnite fossils when I was a kid). It was enlightening to discover how theories are ever evolving. Tyrannosaurus was a terrible predator, then merely a scavenger – a change in attitude I put down to political/green influence rather than fact. Reading about prehistoric environments was also very interesting – definitely stuff like that should be read by those predicting ecological catastrophe now. Though I felt I’d understood it for a long time, it was only when I started to work out an exponential formula for the length of the jumps back into the past that I truly understood just what four billion years means.
You introduce a character who could be about as vicious as any villain in recent memory. How did you come up with Cowl and his pet?
I guess that question is equivalent to the ‘where do you get your ideas from’? I wanted him to be extreme, so I took the Umbrathane/Heliothane idea of humans evolving and living in a society strictly adhering to the ‘survival of the fittest’ rule, then had Cowl’s mother – a member of that society – genetically altering her son to be what she believed the ideal of her society. She was wrong, since the fittest to survive, though they should be strong, should also be able to cooperate.
Any chance that there may be further adventures set in this universe?
There’s a short story called The Torbeast’s Prison in my collection from Cosmos Books The Engineer ReConditioned, but I haven’t considered doing anything else yet. I may, but I’ve enough on my plate right now without speculating about future books.
Let's talk about some of your other works. Gridlinked, Brass Man and Line of Polity all inhabit the same universe. How would you describe this world and some of the recurring characters such as Cormac and Mr. Crane?
When writing Gridlinked I wanted a setting in which I could tell any number of stories, so yes, you’ve got FTL, matter transmission, aliens, superior (and some not so superior) AIs, heroes and villains, ancient civilizations, weird and wonderful technologies and the kitchen sink too. Cormac is generic hero material who is slowly taking shape – often described as a far-future James Bond. Mr Crane was an aberration – one of those characters that grew with the telling and seems to have taken on a life of his own.
Do you find it more rewarding to continue the stories of characters or begin new with a clean slate?
They both have their pros and cons. Beginning something new you don’t have to research back-story and you don’t have the occasional albatross hanging around your neck that you created in a previous book. Also there are fewer constraints on your imagination, since in a series most of the world you are writing in you have already imagined. However, continuing a story, writing the next book in a series, can also be easier because you don’t have to work out all the details: you know the peopled, you know how they get from A to B, you know the weaponry etc.
You seem to like to create fantastic weaponry for your characters. Cormac has Shuriken and Tack has his seeker gun. Where do your ideas come from for these things?
The seeker gun is, I think, a fairly standard sfnal idea. Shuriken got its inception from by interest in martial arts and another old sfnal idea – that of intelligent weapons.
I'd like to ask you some general questions about writing. When you are working on a novel, what's a typical day like for you?
Is there any such thing as a typical day? After my wife, Caroline, heads off to work at about eight, I sit down at the computer and check my emails and various message boards I visit. I then turn off the computer and go for a cycle ride over to my parent’s house (about four miles away), have a cup of tea with them, maybe do some work on my vegetable patch there, then cycle back – this is basically so I don’t turn into a fat slob. Back home and with the computer back on I read through and make corrections to whatever I wrote the day before, then just continue. I aim for 2,000 words a day (this includes everything I write i.e. this interview will be included). If I do say 1,500 words, the 500 goes on my ‘word debt’, if I do more, then that amount comes off it. I’m currently about 20,000 in the red. But as anyone who has been professionally published will know, it’s not all about new writing since a great deal of time is spent editing. Those days I just call 2,000 worders.
Do you generally plot out the entire book? Or do you have a general idea of where you want to go and then let the story come to you as you write it?
I just have a very general and vague idea where I’m going. I know many writers have to produce synopses and plans and scatter their vicinity with linked post-it notes. I just can’t do it like that, since planning where a book is going to go takes the joy out of it for me. When I started The Line of Polity I had a synopsis and 30,000 words written. I threw away the synopsis and about 28,000 words.
Can you describe the process for how your novels written in the UK are picked up for distribution in the US?
That’s all down to my publisher. Macmillan holds the rights to my books and their excellent rights department sells my books on. Thus far they’ve got me into eight different countries so I’ve no complaints.
We have several readers who are aspiring writers. What advice would you give them about getting published?
I think the key is never give up, never stop and understand that though you may be published tomorrow it is also possible you won’t be published for twenty years. Write to the best of your abilities and forever try to become more able – if you ever think you’ve nothing more to learn then you’re an idiot. If you send in stuff to a big publisher, also send in copies of any reviews you’ve garnered. Be professional and adhere to the submission rules. I would advise getting an agent as publishers use them as a filter – no agent is going to put himself behind absolute drivel (which publishers receive by the shed load). I haven’t got an agent but, then again, I was one of those who had to wait twenty years. And every time you send something off, don’t hang about with your thumb up your arse, get on and write something more.
How do you think science fiction as a genre is doing? What does the future hold?
I think science fiction is doing fine and will continue to do fine so long as there is a future. Outside of book publishing it is doing better than fine what with the films, games and TV stuff being produced. Many have predicted its demise but it refuses to lie down in the coffin.
Are there any authors you enjoy?
Like I say in the foreword of The Skinner: ‘Thanks to all those excellent people whose names stretch through the alphabet from Aldiss to Zelazny, and who have kept me spell bound for most of my life.’ Presently the authors on my to-read list are Iain M Banks, Terry Pratchett, Bill Bryson, Richard Morgan, Sheri Tepper, Alastair Reynolds, Charles Stross, C. J. Cherryh, Tanith Lee, Minette Walters, Richard Dawkins, Peter Watts (look out for Blindsight when it comes out) … but I’ll stop there before this list becomes to unwieldy.
What can we expect from Neal Asher in the future?
The present state of play is that The Voyage of the Sable Keech (follows The Skinner) is just out from Macmillan, Night Shade Books is about to publish Prador Moon (a sort of prequel to The Skinner), and Cosmos Books have released The Engineer ReConditioned. In about eight months time the next in the Cormac sequence comes out – Polity Agent– and I’m presently working on a standalone in the Polity universe called Hilldiggers. Just expect more books, lots more books… oh, and if I get the time I’ll be aiming some short stories at magazines like Asimov’s and Interzone.
Thanks for taking some time to talk to us Neal!
Posted by YourMomsBasement at 09:00 AM
by Ryan Higgins
Week -3
For the past 2 years, DC Comics has built a level of excitement for their books unseen since they killed Superman in the early 90's. From Identity Crisis to Infinite Crisis, not only is fan interest the highest it's been in forever, sales are through the roof, with Infinite Crisis the best selling comic book since Jim Lee's run on Batman a few years ago. While there are those among comic fans who are not interested in big mega crossovers, many readers love them. And why shouldn't they? Characters are killed, relationships are destroyed, villains are beaten down, and the good guys win in the end.
Don't they?
"A year without Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman. But not a year without heroes." This is the tag-line for 52, the weekly series from DC that launches in 3 weeks. The "real-time" series tells the tale of the entire DC Universe over the course of an entire year, from the (assumingly) shocking ending of Infinite Crisis to the beginning of One Year Later, the one year jump every DCU book took a few months before the Infinite Crisis miniseries even finished. But what happened to Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman? We'll find out in the next few weeks, as both Infinite Crisis #7 and 52 #1 are scheduled to ship on May 10th.
Many of you, however, already know all of this. The real point of this blog isn't so much to talk about spoilers and theorize about future events (although that will happen quite a bit), but it's more for an inside look into the thought process on a retailers ordering, promotion, and fan interest of 52.
My name is Ryan Higgins, and welcome to 52: The Blog.
Since 1997, I’ve worked at Comics Conspiracy, a comic book shop located in Sunnyvale, California. My job has changed over the years, from the guy behind the counter that rings up customers, to what it is now, which is pretty much the guy in charge of everything: ordering, reordering, organization, dealing with customers in the store and online, manager, window cleaner, webmaster, and everything else in between. It’s a challenging task, but one I’ve done for a few years now, and I’d never give it up.
Sunnyvale is a fairly large city, over 130,000 people. Much smaller than big cities like San Francisco or Los Angeles, but still, a fairly populated place. I’ve heard many stories of other parts of the country with only one comic store per town, or even less, but Sunnyvale, and the neighboring cities do not have this problem. Within 25 miles of us is at least a dozen other stores, with a good number up the coast and into San Francisco. The Bay Area is home to, personally, the greatest selection of comic book stores in the country. There is literally a store for every type of comic book reader throughout the Bay Area. With this much competition, we’re still able to sell tons of copies of Infinite Crisis. I hear cries of the comic industry dying, and that no one is interested in mainstream superhero comics, but I sure as hell don’t see it!
The hardest part of the job is the initial orders comic stores place every month through Diamond, the largest (and, really, only) comic book distributor for new material. In the case of 52, this was even harder than normal. How many copies of a weekly series, without Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman, would people buy? Infinite Crisis is the single best-selling book we’ve sold since I’ve worked here, and I’m sure it’s giving books like the Death of Superman and Turok #1 a run for its money. The great thing about Infinite Crisis, though, is that it’s actually a good book. Sure, it’s not everyone’s cuppa tea, but personally, IC is just about the best thing ever. How do I order a follow up book to a best-selling book? A 52-issue weekly book, at that?
Each issue of Infinite Crisis sold about 160 copies here. We’ve moved over 200 copies of #1, but that is the first issue of a major Event Comic with 2 covers by arguably two of the best artists in all of comics. 52 looks to be a little more…personal… than the massiveness that is Infinite Crisis. With a few weeks before #1 ships, the store already has 20% of it’s subscribers signed up for 52, and I know for a fact that more than half of them are down for the entire series, for better or worse. As is usual with these types of things, I expect at least a dozen or more subscribers to sign up for 52 once the first issue ships.
My initial thought was 100 copies. That’s on par of New Avengers, Civil War, Astonishing X-Men, and other high-end books. Clearly less than Infinite Crisis, but that’s to be expected. I don’t think any book released any time soon will sell in the same league as IC.
Then DC turned around and gave me a reason to increase my orders even higher.
To be continued…
Posted by YourMomsBasement at 07:00 AM
On a Rock Tour Without an Instrument
By Jesse Farrell
(Portions of this article appeared in The Phoenix Online)
Part 1
“The Road is life.” -Daniel Brennan, reading from On The Road
“The gust of wind that takes you on a journey…”- Uncle Monsterface, “Lionfist Journey”
Every now and then there’s a moment where you think “There is nothing in the world I would rather be doing.” These moments don’t come too often, and when they do, let them happen. Savor them.
My friend Marty, lead singer of the group Uncle Monsterface, told me they were going on tour and asked if I could come along. I’m not a musician, but I’ve helped the band out a number of times with their equipment, specifically the numerous sock puppets which are a part of their live show. An unusual rock trio whose sound has been described as “They Might Be Giants vs. Pee-Wee’s Playhouse,” Uncle Monsterface also has a lively stage show which incorporates puppets, films, animation, and masterfully produced, elaborate backing tracks. It’s an evening's entertainment that's hard to forget.
The puppets are lead by Uncle Monsterface himself. More than a mascot, Uncle Monsterface himself is the avatar of all that Uncle Monsterface, the band, represents: the power and joy of childhood exploding all over a dirty and compromised adult life. Usually contained behind the safety of the puppet theater, Uncle Monsterface is sometimes compelled to come out and join the show. The nearly seven foot, green-headed, avuncular presence has been seen dancing and running around many a venue.
When a rock band asks you to go on tour, unless there is a compelling reason not to- i.e. the bass player is a junkie and 8-months-pregnant- you go. So I made plans to take the first two weeks of March 2006 and spend them in a van traveling around the country with Uncle Monsterface and Harry and the Potters, two brothers who appear as Harry, year 4, and Harry, year 7, and perform songs entirely about Harry Potter and his years at Hogwarts School. It might sound silly, but this simple, brilliant idea has brought them success most working musicians can only dream of. A group of screaming teenage girls meeting the Potters is the kind of visual shorthand you see in movies when they want to signal “teen sensation.” They were graciously letting Uncle Monsterface open for them and gain access to their already-huge audience.
I set out on this tour with two promises to myself:
Be open and expect nothing.
Do it with good intentions.
Expectations of what you will do and see lead to disappointment, either if you don’t see what you're looking for, or even if you do. I decided not to miss what was happening while waiting for something else.
I enjoy what Uncle Monsterface does. It makes me happy when other people enjoy it, too. Uncle Monsterface’s creed is “For all the people, all of the time.”
We loaded in on a cold Friday morning, and I was tapped to drive the first leg. A good-sized van- the Pottermobile- was fit to overflowing with amps, guitars, keyboards, a projection screen, innumerable t-shirts and CDs for sale, two Mac laptops, two video cameras, three Nintendo DSes, as well as air mattresses, sleeping bags, innumerable snack items, and our luggage. Both bands rely heavily on prerecorded backing tracks and neither have a drummer. This made for five regular seats plus one cocooned, isolated seat, ideal for sleeping or just being left alone. We referred to it as The Man Cave.
The six of us traveling in the Pottermobile were:
The two DeGeorge brothers, Joe, Harry Potter year 4, and Paul, Harry Potter year 7: already old hands at touring, this was fun for them but nothing new. Joe, only 18, has been playing since he was 12 with his first band, the brilliant Ed in the Refridgerators. Despite his youthful celebrity, brains and incredible geek-chic, he’s easygoing, unaffected, and loves playing music for people. Paul, the older brother, is cordial but ruthlessly efficient in making deals and show dates.
“Hi this is Paul from Harry & the Potters,” went a typical cellphone conversation, his ubiquitous planner open and ready to record the details of the business. “Gosh, that’s great, Ethan!” ends the call with a genuine, enthusiatic flourish.
Marty Allen: lead singer and ringleader of Uncle Monsterface. Friendly without being overbearing, a high-energy guy who can walk into any group and be accepted and accepting as well. Few people who meet Marty come away less than a friend, and it takes a real jerk to get on his bad side. Marty knows how to live, simultaneously a geek and cool guy, and someone who is 100% himself at all times.
Dan Brennan: the relaxed guitarist with mystique and genius recording engineer behind the Uncle Monsterface sound. His sometimes self-deprecating sense of humor belies his easy confidence. Dan is a guy who just gets it: he quickly picks up on people, situations, and relationships. Dan also cuts a distinguished, Marty McFly-like figure at shows rocking his #10 Gray Blazer.
James Bernardinelli: the keyboard/keytar player and resident animator of Uncle Monsterface. The little brother of the group, adored but picked on, James is the perfect combination of fussy old man and dirty-minded fourth-grader. Just as at home watching Cartoon Network as he is at a nudie booth, James is thoroughly focused and intense when onstage.
Me, Jesse Farrell: an adjunct to Uncle Monsterface, but not actually a member. The oldest one traveling in the van, but by no means the most adult. I tried very hard to earn my place by lifting the heaviest equipment possible (earning me the nickname “Amp Champ”) and never, ever letting myself get tired if these kids weren’t.
Uncle Monsterface would make it to gigs on his own.
“Don’t trust technology”- Common tour refrain
“Where’s your invitation? She’s a green lady in the harbor, forty feet tall, with a torch and a pointy hat? ‘Give us your poor, your tired…’? Holding a book that says July IV, 1776? Maybe you’ve seen her? Yeah. There’s your invitation.”- Dan on New York City
The guys had decided that touring a different city and venue every night wasn’t enough; they had to write a song a day and document the trip in a series of video tour diaries . This is a thoroughly 21st Century endeavor, the music almost entirely composed and recorded on one of the two laptops, the vocals recorded in the moving van or in a house where we sleep, with occasional “real” instrumentation where available. Joe, with headphones on, cobbles together the simple-but-catchy "We're on Tour!" a fun sing-along.
The first venue had a boiler explosion, so we quickly transferred to an alternate location, a Church Basement in Brooklyn. We get there in the bitter cold and make our way across the ice to a dark basement/ dancehall, empty, but with a large stage and already-working disco lights.
“I guess this is the place.”
It’s a good turnout considering the sudden change in venue and Brooklyn’s deep freeze. But Uncle Monsterface immediately hits a snag. The Cyberhome brand DVD player they’d purchased hasn’t been tested yet. The DVD contains not only their videos and interstitial animations, but their backing tracks as well. A band with no physical rhythm section is dependant upon their electronic backup. When the DVD freezes and then skips, everyone is understandably apprehensive. What would this mean for the show? For the tour? Was this a harbinger of what we were to expect?
Cyberhome, the leader in $9.99 DVD players, comes through in the end. Perhaps it just needed to show that it is in charge, not us, but eventually the band’s opening, a strange and disturbing short called The Happy Beaver-Rodent Yay Hooray Show, kicks in. Since it’s played like a pirate broadcast the band has no control over, the technical glitch isn’t noticed and plays like part of the show. This controlled chaos and the audience’s faith that everything that happens onstage is something that would come up again the following night.
“Let’s Go to MANASSAS!”- Joe, lasciviously mispronouncing the name on roadsign for cheap laughs
We get to the University of Maryland early and ready to set up only to find the venue is still in use by the members of an African-American sorority having a tea party in their finest pastel dresses, complete with hats and gloves. Having no idea who we are, the lovely ladies quickly persuade us to take photographs as they, clearly practiced in posing in groups, fall into two synchronized lines, turned three-quarters toward the camera. They seem unaware that there is even to be a rock show tonight, let alone that any of us are supposed to be here. Still, we are graciously offered cookies.
It must be pointed out that none of them came to the show, as several pledged to do.
Something we see first in Maryland are a group of girls, wearing Potters’ “Save Ginny Weasley” t-shirts, holding signs indicating they’ve driven four hours to be here. Having come from Boston where a forty minute drive brings you to the edge of the Earth, this seems quite a feat. Marty was at the Merchandise table, the real nerve center of the touring rock show, when a girl tells him she’s herself driven two hours to make the show.
“You must really like the Potters,” he says.
“Yeah, but I mean I came two hours to see you.” This is amazing to us. Uncle Monsterface has a small but devoted following, mostly through their Myspace page but it’s the first indication that this thing has taken on a life far beyond us or people we know. It’s gratifying and scary, knowing someone out there is listening.
A giant of a man in a thick overcoat lumbers into the venue. With a face like a polar bear, he makes no indication of whether he approves, disapproves or is completely baffled by the show. His blank expression and lack of movement except an occasion dull blink worries me. I’m afraid he might, with that same impassive expression, produce a machete from his coat and set off on a holy mission to destroy the teen witches before him. Luckily a girl who resembles him- Daughter? Sister? - approaches and it’s clear he is here to escort her. Their relative ages are unguessable to me and I’m not about to count the rings in their trunks.
During the second song of the Potters’ set, the music comes to an abrupt halt. I see blood and for a second I wonder if my predictions of violence have come true with startling accuracy. Paul, breaking character, tells the audience to hold on a second while he checks his brother’s face in a show of fraternal concern. Confusion ripples through the crowd: Is this part of the act? Sure, got to be, I hear several people convince themselves. I know it isn’t, but can’t tell what’s happened. Are we calling off the rest of the show?
Paul had smacked Joe in the mouth in an overexhuberant guitar flourish. For a couple of minutes it seemed like Joe had lost a tooth, but it turned out he’d merely hit it good and hard. Hard enough to jam it partway into his skull. Troupers that Harry & the Potters are, Joe gets a baggie full of ice and finishes the singing through a bloodied mouth.
He’s hardcore, that kid.
To look at Joe, 5’8”, glasses, resembling more the Harry Potter of the novels than the blow-dried Harry of the movies, you forget that he’s already a longtime rock veteran and his wiry frame and jagged rock voice are trained to play, sing- and sometimes scream- at a different show every single night.
Pretty soon Marty, a screamer in his own right, is having some trouble doing this. He confesses he’s done no vocal preparation before the tour and left uncertain he’d be able to find the manic energy he’d always had for our other, more erratically scheduled shows.
Tonight we hole up in Paul & Joe’s aunt and uncle’s place in Virginia. The song-a-day is the danceable, Thrilleresque "Half Vampire/Half Lightning," based on a misheard phrase everyone thought James has used. Joe’s emergency dental appointment is scheduled for the next day.
“Well I don’t know what this is, but I know I’m welcome to it!”-James
Joe’s 9:00 am Sunday emergency dental visit provides him with a temporary brace and strict instructions to watch it closely for any sign that the tooth is dead or dying. A root canal will have to follow, but for now the show goes on.
“Will I still be able to sing?” Joe asks the dentist.
“I don’t know, I’ve never heard you.”
Baltimore is our next stop. It’s a town I’ve never been to before, but now I think I could live here pretty happily. Knowing us to be geeks, Paul arranged for us to visit Atomic Books, a funky little book and comic store offering more autographed John Waters merchandise than if Waters himself had a garage sale. For me, a good comicbook store is a prerequisite of a town where I can live, and while the selection of comics isn’t too meaty, I could get both the new Love & Rockets and All-Star Superman. And across the street is The Golden West, a restaurant with Tater Tots (with two dipping sauces) on the menu. Yup, I could live here.
Tonight night we play The Talking Head Club, a small, dark room with a bar, similar to O'Brien's in Allston back home. Despite being cloistered, it ’s a friendly place. I am hit with the first culture shock as everyone at the venue smoked, reminding me that there are still bars where people can do that.
Minor tech problems again, but it seems like the more the Cyberhome DVD player is used, the better it behaves. At the risk of sounding like a lunatic, I have a strong belief that there are more to electronic devices than we know, and that stress in us can manifest in them. How often has your computer eaten that valuable document right before you can hit ctrl-S? We’re run on electricity and so are they. Once we started to get comfortable, the machine did the same.
The place is packed. For the first time, it‘s suggested that Uncle Monsterface himself stay out by the merchandise table while the Potters do their set. He danced, poses for photos and mingles with the crowd, who are warm and ready to embrace him. Uncle Monsterface is normally very shy, but a complete ham as soon as he knows he’s got the floor. He, waves, flirts and dances with anyone who asks. And he really, genuinely likes people in a way that I wish I could.
As the crowds clear out, the Potters meet fans and pose for photos. There's a girl in a Save Ginny Weasley t-shirt off by herself, camera in hand, who keeps shyly looking over at Uncle Monsterface. Seeing this with his gigantic orange eyes, he makes his way over and she, bashfully but with great delight, asks for a photo. She hands the camera to a man, likely her father (Potter fans are sometimes young enough to need chaperones). Uncle Monsterface gently takes the camera and, unclear on the point of this, silently but urgently ushers the man and girl together so he can take their photo.
We head back to the Potters’ Aunt and Uncle’s. For the second night in a row I get a guest bedroom all to myself. Hey, I offered, but everyone played the “too-polite” game, which cuts little ice on the road. I sleep like the dead.
“You don’t know where stuff comes from so much, do you?” -Me
“I don’t really need to: it’s already there!” -James
Having never been on a tour before, I can’t tell how typical our experience is. For all the little glitches here and there- overzealous fans competing with the bands for the audiences’ attention, crappy, disgruntled soundmen, the occasional baffled or too-cool-for-a-good-time audience member- by and large every show goes very well. Granted, we stack the deck with cartoons and puppets, but those don’t get people singing your songs and buying your CDs after the show’s done unless the music is also fun. Is this what being a touring musician is? Is it beginner’s luck? I’m not saying that Uncle Monsterface is singular or, to quote Kanye West, that this is “history in the making,” but it is a good start.
Staying with a friend’s family in NC, we luxuriate in a comfortable, beautiful home nestled in the woods beside a quiet street. Mom here is a Buddhist and we are put up in the Meditation room. Despite our noise and chaos it is still tranquil and serene. We’re fed delicious homemade minestrone soup from the family recipe. In the morning, our hostess Marissa, Marty and I exercise. Afterward as I’m enjoying my first hot shower in days, I think about this trip. We’re not making a lot of money, but it’s enough to eat well and have a few bucks in our pockets each day. We’re meeting good people, with good friends, eating delicious food, seeing a new city every day, performing and making people happy … I know this is a set of conditions which can’t last, but I see how our hosts- a generous family in a peaceful home who love and care for one another- live, I wonder if maybe there is more to this journey than I’m seeing. I have one of those moments of “This means something;” there is a lot to digest, but I feel like there is a lesson for me here if I’m smart enough to get it.
It’s like Apocalypse Now in reverse; we’re moving south, where it’s warmer, toward a world that makes more sense, toward a life that we want.
“We ate tacos and stuff. It was the best show ever and there were lots of hot girls.”
King's Barcade and Tavern in Raleigh, NC looks to prove a challenge. An ancient, black barking dog, Georgia, greets us. I like dogs the way Uncle Monsterface likes people, so despite her bark, I saw a wagging tail and ask if I can let her come over and say hi.
“You’d better not,” says the soundman. He looks like the kind of guy who, were you to get into a fight with him, you’d come in second. Middle-aged, bearded and balding, he’s thick and powerfully built, like he might just as easily be the bouncer as soundman. Looking around King’s, a place where for the first time on the tour it looks like people come to drink- beer, and a lot of it- that I wonder what we might be in for. We’re a bunch of Yankee punks who sing songs about Harry Potter and breakfast delicious Life delicious Life cereal and this is -gulp- a real bar in the South. A lot of the apprehension evaporates when Marty, courteous as ever, calls the soundman as “Sir,”
“Fuck that,” he smiles, “I know I’m old enough to be your father, but call me Eric.” And with that, King’s becomes a very friendly place and one of the highlights of the tour.
During the show, toward the end of their set, Marty comes up to the puppet stage to talk to Uncle Monsterface.
“What’s that Uncle Monsterface?” he asks, listening intently to the soundless little green puppet. “You have something for us? Something super awesome which is going to give us magical powers? Well, where is it?” Showboat that he is, Uncle Monsterface needs to be cajoled by the audience into coming out.
“Do you think Uncle Monsterface should come out?” Thunderous cheers. Uncle Monsterface shakes his little head: no. “It’s okay, Uncle Monsterface. Come out!” As the puppet ducks inside the theater, the band assures the crowd that it should be perfectly safe, but warns them not to look Uncle Monsterface in the eye, to touch his giant, gnashing teeth, and that the Uncle Monsterface organization must be held harmless in case of accidents and to sue the Potters.
There are gasps as Uncle Monsterface steps out, gingerly; hands held out in front of him like a child planning to steal cookies, or a shy T-rex. He’s nervous and excited at all the faces there to see him in the crowd.
“What do you have for us, Uncle Monsterface?” Marty asks. Uncle Monsterface scratches his head and then it hits him; he pantomimes “A-ha!” with an outstretched index finger then begins his run around the room, through the crowd, at people, veering wildly, running in place. “Go, go, Monsterface, go!” the band sings as he finally finds his prize: three children’s bedsheets that he returns to the band.
“Oh,” Marty says, masking his confused disappointment like a child who’s just gotten socks for Christmas, “ You got us some… Old laundry.”
“It smells like childhood,” James says, “Mostly urine.” Uncle Monsterface holds up a finger: just wait.
He lifts a He-Man sheet up and, with great reverence, gently places it over Marty’s shoulders. Marty and the audience “ooohh!” in sudden understanding.
“They’re capes!” Marty exclaims. With one word, the ordinary has been turned into something magical. The crowd “ahhhs” at the sudden revelation. Sure, it’s supposed to be funny, but didn’t it also really just happen?
Marty reveals that the cape gives him the power to stop time, which he demonstrates by using Evie’s finger gesture from the old TV show “Out of This World.” This period of frozen time, imperceptible to the audience, gives them time to write and record a new song, even long enough to put it on their CD. “And I messed with you, and you… I switched your socks around…” Dan tells the audience before they launch into the song entitled, appropriately enough, “Capes.”
Watching them onstage I see the moment -I hear it when the cheer comes up- when the audience goes from a crowd being entertained to fans. It’s a sense that everyone involved, band and audience, are participating in something bigger than themselves.
It’s a feeling that won’t last too long.
(Potterface Tour videos and Song-a-Day songs can be downloaded here. Free!)
Posted by YourMomsBasement at 09:00 AM
Welcome to part 5 of a(n un)limited series of rumor threads from The Comics Outsider who has been delivering his unique brand of ministry since before records even began. So he was the first. Okay?
Real or No Real?
So, if it's definitely (possibly) true it's 
.
Possibly true but maybe not we have 
.
And for probably so much bat guano that it's... well... 
.
On with the scoops!
Revival of the 80s Revival!
Which hot 80s property will Marvel regain the rights to? How will they take the property and make it more EXTREME? We don't want to spoil it too much, but check out these advance Previews solicitations:
GRUMPY BEAR VS. CAPTAIN AMERICA
Written by ED BRUBAKER
Penciled by LEE WEEKS
Cover by J. SCOTT CAMPBELL
Nick Fury sends Captain America out to investigate a strange beast in the Northern Woods. What Cap discovers there will change everything and make him question his very existence. No one ever found out what happened to Weapons II-IV from the Weapon Plus program...
32 PGS./T+ SUGGESTED FOR TEENS AND UP ...$2.99
FUNSHINE BEAR VS. WOLVERINE
Written by DANIEL WAY
Penciled by LEE WEEKS
Cover by FRANK CHO
Who is the hunter? Who is the hunted? Wolverine might have finally met his match when he struggles with a rogue monster of a bear in the woods outside the X-Mansion! What happens when you're no longer the best there is at what you do?
32 PGS./T+ SUGGESTED FOR TEENS AND UP ...$2.99
GOOD LUCK BEAR VS. THE FANTASTIC FOUR
Written by J. MICHAEL STRACZYNSKI
Penciled by LEE WEEKS
Cover by KAARE ANDREWS
It's a problem even Reed Richards, the smartest man in the Marvel Universe, might not be able to solve! How can you triumph over an enemy when luck has turned against you? Has the Fantastic Four's greatest enemy finally found the perfect plan to destroy them?
32 PGS./T+ SUGGESTED FOR TEENS AND UP ...$2.99
C.A.R.E.S. BEARS VS. THE MARVEL UNIVERSE
Written by MARK MILLAR
Penciled by LEE WEEKS
Cover by GREG LAND
Created by Weapon X! Trained by Apocalypse! The former minions of Doctor Doom! The Carniverous Adventure Revenge Extreme Squad makes its final stand! Can the Marvel Universe survive?
48 PGS./T+ SUGGESTED FOR TEENS AND UP ...$3.99
ARTISTS SWIPING I?
Nice try, but we all saw where this was stolen from.
= 
AquaMarine
DC is not happy with the reception "Aquaman: Sword of Atlantis" has received so far, so they're considering one last revamp. "Aquaman Corps," an underseas military drama from the "Losers" team of Diggle and Jock is slated to be released around the same time the show kicks off.
Chim-chiminry-chim-chim-cherolverine!
Marvel's favorite Canadian Mutant could be going all Dick Van Dyke on us later this year when it is revealed he once spent some years undercover in London as a chirpy Cockney "barrow boy". It appears that now his memory is back, Marvel will be throwing bizarre storyline after bizarre storyline to keep the public's interest. Look out also for Wolverine-a Ballerina, Wild West adventures with The Wolverine With No Name and Wolverine-a Jones, adventuring archeologist.
ARTISTS SWIPING II?
Pretty obvious, really.
= 
Trouble in Smallville?
According to sources, Superman and Lois Lane are heading to divorce court. Dan Didio wants to put Superman back to where there will be a whole new tension to build from: Love Triangles.
With possible sloppy divorce sex.
SuperBatMan?
DC brings back the Elseworlds concept this summer for a new story tentatively titled "Batman/Superman." "See, in this story, Batman has Superman's super powers, and Superman becomes a mask wearing vigilante, and they each have the others' origin story," says first time comic scribe Mark Helpner, former writer for the hit sitcom "Emily's Reasons Why Not." "So, we took the 'super' off Superman's name and the 'bat' off Batman's name, and switched them. Get it?" DC courted Helpner after Marvel had success with bringing in Hollywood writers like Damon Lindelof from TV's "Lost" and Joss Whedon from "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." "We're just playing 'catch up'," DC's Dan Didio is quoted as saying, "obviously all the good Hollywood writers were taken." Didio added, "what I meant to say was that we're very excited about working with Mark."
ARTISTS SWIPING III?
Surely they didn't think they could get away with this?
= 
The Moore The Merrier
I don't actually have any Alan Moore stories at the moment, but since everyone else has I thought I'd join the bandwagon. Plus, as a pun it's a hard one to beat.
Read the previous Comics Outsider.
Discuss this article in our forum.
Posted by YourMomsBasement at 09:00 AM
A NEW SEASON IS UPON US! And I will bow my head and give thanks for finally having baseball to whine about. I mean, as soon as college basketball is over, all we’d have left would be hockey and the NBA, and their 3 month long playoff processes. No, I prefer my over saturated, 6-games-in-7-days MLB, the freshly cut grass that you start to smell around the same time that baseball starts, the shock you feel the first time you go outside completely overdressed for the temperature and yell out “Holy shit! It’s not cold!” You can’t attach these random, irrational emotions to hockey. Or the NBA.
With the onset of a new season, we also have a horde of new storylines to follow. We will take a look at them…NOW
EAST COAST BIAS: Every year, somebody prominent picks someone from the AL or NL East to win it all, and almost every year (especially lately), they’ve been completely wrong. Even if they get the division right, it ends up being the Marlins winning, somebody that absolutely no one expects. With the strength that the White Sox showed last year, and the improvements they made in the off-season, I don’t think many people are going to make that mistake again this year.
STEVE PHILLIPS WILL PROVE, WITHOUT A SHADOW OF A DOUBT, THAT HE NEVER BELONGED AS A GM: He was on Baseball Tonight earlier, raving about how lucky the White Sox were that everything went right for them, and that the Indians were going to come close to overtaking them. I immediately named the A’s my Wild Card winner, and the White Sox as the runaway AL Central winner. The man has the baseball acumen of Bill Walton and the television presence of Eric Dickerson.
EIGHT TEAMS FOR FOUR SPOTS: The American League is going to be WIDE open this year. There are, by my count, 7 teams with a legitimate shot at competing for a playoff spot, and there’s ALWAYS one team that nobody ever picks who surprises (hence, the “eight teams.”). There are the Red Sox, Yankees, Blue Jays, Indians, White Sox, A’s and Angels, all trying to squeeze into the playoffs. The interesting thing is, six of the seven of the legit contenders have gaping holes. The Jays have never played together, the Indians are young, the Red Sox lost offense, the A’s and Angels both seem to be lighter hitting than a world champion should, and the Yankees, on top of blowing, have the most fragile pitching staff in the league. The only team that doesn’t have any obvious, non-contrived holes is the White Sox. They have the pitching, they have the hitting, and they have the management to pull it all off again.
As an aside, there’s nothing I hate more than “If they stay healthy…” Seriously, do you qualify everything like that? When you’re making predictions, everyone knows you’re working off of the information you have in front of you. Nobody’s going to come up to you at the end of the season and curse you out for not realizing that Johnny Damon and Alex Rodriguez would have catastrophic knee injuries…doing the same thing…while Randy Johnson would suffer a career ending elbow injury flipping off his baby momma. “Howcome you didn’t know this would happen??!?!??!???!? GOTCHA! YOU’RE A BAD ANALYST!” Jesus, I hate Steve Phillips.
THE WIDENING TALENT GAP?: It’s pretty much commonly accepted that 5 of the top 6 teams in the league are from the American League. That means one of the six best teams in the league won’t make the playoffs. But is the supposed “talent gap” actually widening? Sure, the top of the NL is a little crusty, but then you look at teams like Milwaukee, Pittsburgh, San Diego, even Atlanta and Washington are stocked with kids. In two or three years, we’ll be on the cusp of a decade of National League dominance.
WHERE HAVE YOU GONE, JIMMY ROLLINS?: I don’t care if it’s over the course of two seasons or not, I want Jimmy Rollins to break DiMaggio’s record.
NEW FACES, NEW PLACES: Frank Thomas in Oakland, Carlos Delgado and Billy Wagner in Queens, NOMAAAH in LA, Everyone’s Favorite Aruban in St. Louis, the handful of new impact players in Toronto (I think Overbay is going to end up being their best pickup), Jim Thome with the White Sox, Alfonso Soriano roaming Left in DC, Straight Guy Damon in the Bronx (Perfect fit, man. I can’t wait until he decides to publish his next tell-all book, detailing how he turned his second cumare into his third wife, and how A Rod likes to fly in Thai rentboys to crap on his chest during road trips), and Coco Crisp and Josh Beckett in Boston. Lots of names moving around this winter, and a lot of them are going to have a major impact on their team’s success.
On the subject of Coco Crisp, I really can’t wait until my “Toucan Sam” Sox jersey gets here.
NOW, ONTO THE PREDICTIONS!
NL East: Mets
NL Central: Cardinals
NL West: It doesn’t really matter.
NL Wild Card: Braves
Cardinals over Braves
Mets over whoever wins the West
Mets over Cardinals
AL East: Red Sox
AL Central: White Sox
AL West: Angels
AL Wild Card: A’s
Red Sox over A’s
White Sox over Angels
White Sox over Red Sox
IN THE WORLD SERIES:
White Sox over Mets
And there you have it. The upcoming season in a nutshell. I don’t think I’m forgetting anything, right? OH WAIT!
OH MY GOD, LOOK AT HIS FOREHEAD: Barry Bonds is a dick. Bud Seilg is everything you would expect out of an executive with the same name as that kid on the Cosby Show. Rafael Palmeiro is slime (Happy Anniversary, douchebag!). And this steroid mess is a complete and total disaster for the sport. A good commissioner would have dealt with this ten years ago. A mediocre commissioner would have realized that an investigation into steroid use in the sport ten years ago would be either completely meaningless or completely devastating, and would have just apologized for screwing up and told the public “We’re going to be on the cutting edge of steroid and HGH testing from this point forward. I won’t allow these drugs or these fools to taint this game any further.” A terrible commissioner just opened the very same meaningless investigation. And if the scapegoat that they pick (because don’t kid yourself, they’re going to use this investigation to scapegoat someone) is anyone short of Barry Bonds himself, I’m going to be furious. If they try and pin it on Palmiero, I’ll be furious. If they pin it on Canseco, I’ll be slightly less furious (only because he’s one legitimate “name” who might be more responsible than others—he was essentially the big dealer). They either need to bring everyone down, bring down the Sultan of Syringe, or bring no one down. Any half-assing it in this investigation will be more damaging to the sport than no investigation at all. And while I’m on a tear…
FOAMING LUNATICS: I particularly hate how the steroid scandal has turned otherwise sane, rational commentators into two-bit Skip Bayless hacks. I’m looking forward to this crap just going away, and everything getting back to normal. A world where the only Skip Bayless is Skip Bayless, and I can go back to pretending he doesn’t exist.
Posted by YourMomsBasement at 02:41 PM
