Stranger Than Paradise

Mi Vida Locas



Physical State: headachey
Mental State: rubbery
Music: Jolie Holland - Escondida
Fashion sense: green t-shirt, sweats

Anyone who missed the Love and Rockets bandwagon in the 80s can finally catch up with this exhaustive 700+pg release from Fantagraphics. One of the best comics ever created (and still worthy of an onscreen version...still waiting for Terry Zwigoff to say yes to this). Here is a description from the Fantagraphics site that explains what this collection is about much better than I could. A definite cornerstone of any comic book fan's collection.

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Dear God, it’s here! The biggest book we’ve EVER published! One of the most humane, graceful and imaginatively inexhaustible artists in American popular culture, Jaime Hernandez has created in Locas one of the great American novels of the last 25 years, graphic or otherwise. Created over 15 years from 1981 to 1996 in the pages of the legendary comic book series Love & Rockets,Locas tells the story of Maggie Chascarrillo, a bisexual, Mexican-American woman attempting to define herself in a community rife with class, race and gender issues.

Maggie’s story begins in the early-1980s Southern California rock scene, when it was shifting from the excesses of the 1970s to the gritty basics of punk and new wave. Hardcore punk rock came to the fore, and the teenaged Maggie finds herself drawn to the anarchy, energy and diversity of the scene, which in the hands becomes a very real, habitable place populated with authentic human beings rather than stereotypes. She quickly befriends Hopey Glass, a feisty anti-authoritarian punkette who quickly becomes Maggie’s on-again, off-again lover and a constant presence in her life throughout the book.

Maggie comes of age in this tumultuous environment, with class and racial tension fueling the rising violence between punks and the already antagonistic LAPD. Hernandez’s naturalistic storytelling and mastery of body language and facial expressions, and his pitch-perfect depiction of barrio life all makes for an exhilarating read. His characters are infused with strength, intelligence, independence, imperfection, bitchiness, frailty, obsessiveness, and so much more.

Maggie evolves from an angry young punk into a mature woman. She encounters cruelties large and small and resigns herself to dashed hopes, shattered illusions, and even death with ironic acceptance. Locas presents an incomparable body of work in comics form, created over 20 years (which not coincidentally mirrors Maggie’s arc), and told with an uncompromising beauty and grace. As ALAN MOORE (author of From Hell and Watchmen) has put it, “Jaime’s art balances big white and black spaces to create a world of nuance in between, just as his writing balances our big human feelings and our small human trivias to generate its incredible emotional power. Quite simply, this is one of the twentieth centuries most significant comic creators at the peak of his form, with every line a wedding of classicism and cool.”

Rants vs Raves: Why Tomine Rocks and HMV sucks
and internet dating is lukewarm



Physical State: achey
Mental State: sludgey
Music: Fiery Furnaces - ep
Fashion sense: black hooded sweatshirt, jeans

More ruminations from your Harvey Pekar in training. From my ivory tower, more of the drama you've been craving.

This blog is sorely lacking in updates and contributions and I'm sorry about that. You see sometimes you start things and keep at them and then things change and you don't seem to have as much time anymore. But that isn't really my excuse even though I have been busier than last year around this time. I think generally I am just feeling like I have nothing to say. Things are kind of neutral at the moment. Like not depressing nor overly postive either. I seem to be in some sort of limbo at the moment (sometimes it feels like I've been in that for a couple of years). Whaaaa Whaa whatever. That's my new mantra for things that are bothering me or frustrating me...whatever. I think it's a better attitude to have than "I feel crummy, maybe there's something wrong with me". Whatever makes it possible to just acknowledge that no one's perfect and things aren't always going to be roses. Case in point (and maybe my sudden desire to write this week), yesterday was Valentine's Day and it gets you to thinking when you're single. It seems like the whole world is in love when you ain't. Yesterday I thought about how my personal life seems to be in a bit of a limbo as well.

I've been signed on to a few internet dating sites over the last little while and I think the prospects of finding a match on the internet are about as possible as getting a job through the internet. I've been signed on to Workopolis.com for almost 3 years and I can count the number of responses I've got to my resume posting on one hand. You find out about people through their profiles and then you contact them (let the cat and mouse game begin only this time through cyberspace). You then enter a process which can vary from feeling like a true outsider from society because you like things like Cat Power and watching foreign films to the always fun to take "you seem like a nice guy (never even met me) and I just don't think we're a match". That's if you get a response at all. All you want to do is just meet people and see where things go but it doesn't seem like anyone wants to do the very thing they signed on for in the first place (meet people).

Another thing that kind of bugs me about the internet dating/meeting/semblance of recognition that you are a human being out there is that people often carry on long email conversations and never meet (or even seem interested in the prospect of meeting). This seems again to be counter to your intentions for signing up. I dunno about you but I'd rather have a date then get more email. But maybe other people don't see it that way and compartmentalize their affection like they move the latest newsletter or email from Aunt Jane. They feel confident that they're getting to know people yet don't want to make the effort to actually take a chance and meet people in person. You know get on with love, etc. It seems to make more sense to just be entertained by this distant infatuation character piping in interesting correspondence than meet them and then decide. It seems like a short-sighted way to deal with your lovelife. Does this make any sense? I'm generalizing here and this is not pointing any fingers at any specific people I have come in contact with by the way. It's just an impression.

Another thing that I've recently been privy to is the "Miss Marcel" syndrome so eloquently outlined by my friend Babak to me years ago. In it a friend of his spent many months wooing an interesting woman and had many great times and conversations only to be told "I want to go out with Marcel" (the playa Jock type). Women who meet you, like you and spend time with you and get your hopes up only to go out with the ratbag loser or jockola they said they weren't into in the first place. What up? It seems if you're a sensitive, caring and respectful person who's patient and genuinely interested in someone you get pushed over to the category of "nice guy but he's just a friend". I seem to be the king of this lately. I meet lovely and interesting women who just want to ultimately be friends. Maybe I'm doing something wrong, maybe I need to be more of an asshole or something. Maybe I'm just unlucky. So Valentine's day tends to be a bit of a drag when you're in this position (and in this frame of mind about sexual politics).

Changing topics somewhat I was in the doctor's office and came across a copy of the New Yorker that you see above from November, 2004. I think it caught my eye because it was a cover done by one of my favourite graphic novelists, Adrian Tomine (he of Optic Nerve fame). It bodes incredibly well for culture when you see people like Tomine gracing the cover of the New Yorker. His graphic novels are like my life everyday (and are so beautifully and simply drawn, his characters beautiful losers). How often has this happened that you are sitting on the subway and glance across to see someone reading something that you might be reading (that happens to me once in awhile). This cover could be set in Toronto as much as San Francisco (where Tomine is based) or anywhere. It seems so strange that these coincidences happen in life and then you'll never see the person again (unless you're in a Dentyne commercial or doing an ad for some anti-perspirant). It's also interesting that graphic novels are really starting to get the respect and following that regular novels are. They aren't the kids stuff of mainstream comic books but not quite novels either because of the illustration, somewhere in between. It's interesting given the number of images we are bombarded with everyday that they aren't more popular than novels somehow. Weird. So for moving from an obscure and independent comic artist to being a cover illustrator for The New Yorker, Tomine totally rocks.

What doesn't rock is HMV and I'll tell you why. The Futureheads album that I bought recently the first time had a glitch in one of my favourite songs "Meantime". The sound would cut out of the left speaker at the beginning of the song for a few seconds therefore totally ruining the effect of this great tune for me. So I took the cd back to the store and had them check another 5 (count 'em) copies of the cd to see if there was a pattern. All screwed up. The guy gave me my money back on the spot. $15 richer but Futureheads-less (and believe me I love this album and think that they are really great). So recently I decided to see if maybe I could find another that was fine (I had been thinking about the album and how much I loved it but that we were apart). So I bought another at a different HMV, same problem. Here the story plays out like the previous experience, returned it to the store, checked other copies all the same. "Meantime" was still screwed up. It was obvious that there was a batch manufacturing error from the Warner Music plant, they should have pulled them all. Fair enough, shit happens sometimes. This is where the story takes a different turn.

Two times unlucky I had pretty well had it with HMV and their crummy stock that had kept me and my beloved Futureheads from being together. I wanted my money back and would go to my favourite mom and pop indie cd store and buy it (I didn't care if it wasn't on sale anymore). No dice this time. The big HMV said that "while we'd like to refund your money, our policy is to just give store credit or replace it with another purchase". What gives here HMV? In episode 1 of this drama I left with my money refunded and now at the big bad shrine to all that blows in music today you say no. Whaaaa? It was obviously a defective disc (AND BATCH). I had seemed to have had some experience with this already. I then heard some lame-o excuse about how they didn't allow it because people were buying cds opening them, copying them and returning them for a refund. But this was defective and they had no other copies in the store THAT WEREN'T DEFECTIVE. It seemed like a different circumstance here. Obvious that I wasn't playing a burn and return game. So rather than getting my money back I was FORCED to choose something else...ok The Fiery Furnaces ep (I was gonna buy it anyway), $11.99 cool...you can just give me back the $3 in cash right? "Sorry I can't do that sir, maybe you can buy some batteries". At this point I was pretty pissed as you might imagine. I threw down the ep, a box of tapes and said "Here is this good enough now?". The story only gets better (or sadder depending on your perspective).

As I proceeded to finish the transaction (and frankly any more dealings with HMV at that point) the clerk working the cash beside my clerk proceeded to push my stuff to the side saying "can you move this so I can let her pay?". There were 4 other cashes open but this dumbass had to choose the one right beside my clerk's (and add the special touch of acting like I was inconveniencing him by having my stuff on the cash table). I decided not to move it, and stood there quite in disbelief of my experience with HMV up to that moment.

I paid, took my Fiery Furnaces ep, my tapes and my future business right out the door of HMV feeling that a huge flip of the bird was not unwarranted. The moral of this story? Deal with a reputable and independent music retailer not a big box store. They don't give one crap about the customer at all and it shows in their music choices, pricing (Godspeed for $27 dollars, where are we, Mars?) and their return policies. I left the store thinking if it had been Soundscapes and I told Greg Davis that the Futureheads was defective he would have handed me back my money and told me "That's a real drag. I will be talking to my Warner Distribution guy right away, sorry for the inconvenience". Sold! Even if he wasn't sorry or didn't call the Warner guy right away it's all in the way he treats his customer (and now why I feel like kicking myself for saving the few extra bucks). HMV take some notes and for the record, "F**k Off". Someday people will get tired of two storey Jessica Simpson displays and insipid customer-unfriendly attitudes and you guys will be fucked. Let's hope that day comes soon. Money talks, bullshit (as they say) walks.

Addicted to "The Wire"



Physical State: hunchy
Mental State: felty
Music: Futureheads - s/t
Fashion sense: black sweatshirt, jeans

I am now officially hooked on HBO's The Wire, the Peabody-winning series (now into it's third season). After watching the pilot debut for Season One, I ended up (much like Six Feet Under) watching the entire first season in a span of a few days. The show follows in each episode a team of Baltimore police detectives (including Detective Jimmy McNulty, above) who are fighting against the out of control drug trade in West Baltimore. We see two sides of the story, the cops and the drug traders (I think if you combine Traffic, New Jack City and Homicide, you'd have an idea where this series kind of fits). Much like that other Baltimore cop show, Homicide: Life On The Streets, The Wire has a similar feel and grittiness, the character development making the stories incredible (often like modern Greek tragedies). This ensemble is more "street" than Homicide though. The series comes from the mind of David Simon who wrote the Edgar-award winning book Homicide: A Year On The Killing Streets, his account of life as a Baltimore cop after working as a crime reporter for the Baltimore Sun. This book eventually became the film and subsequent basis for the Homcide tv show that is still one of my all-time favourites. The basis for the title comes from the police wiretapping the phone lines of the drug trade community and monitoring them (while building their case as outsiders in the police department). But the show is much more than just this and you should just go rent it.