I've come to the conclusion that I need a new job. The weekly schedule at work has my weekly hours in the single digit for next week, and no time means no money. No money means no comic books, movies, gasoline, or GRAD SCHOOL- which will require a boatload of money. So, in an effort to get moving towards eventual financial stability, I’m looking for a new job.

The first possibility is a storage shelver position at the library. My initial impression of this is something like being a goblin at Gringotts, but with books. It’s more money and 30 hours a week, and I like the library, so this could work well.

My other possibility is with a local technology company that has at least a passing interest in bringing in an animator to create some sort of informational animations for their proposals to the main office. It’s a little ambiguous to me right now, but landing an animation job in Fort Wayne is like being named Thane of Glamis and Thane of Cawdor all in one day.

Moving
A Blog Post in Two Parts

II
Moving Out

I woke up this morning to the rhythmic drone sound of my alarm clock, with no memory of why I set it in the first place. Rolling over, I dimly recognized the old issue of Wired I had been reading before I went to sleep the night before, though I had no memory of what I had read. Thinking back on this, a reverse montage of the previous day zipped through my mind, and I remembered why I had to wake up early again. Michael was moving home for the summer.

I wasn't quite as energetic this morning as yesterday, so I was a little sluggish getting ready. I would be driving one of two cars today, as that was what it took to move Michael in last fall. Technically. To be more specific, one of those cars was a Sea Wolf-class size Mercedes with a trunk large enough to support it's own weather patterns. This car is no longer with us, so two separate vehicles were necessary.

After loading up on music for the trip, I prepared to follow Dad in his GPS-equipped car. The trip isn't that difficult, I think there are something like eight turns to make over the course of two hundred country miles from Fort Wayne to the Kenyon sign.

"Follow me, I'll try not to go too fast," assured Dad, standing by his German-engineered Volvo. Bear in mind that he finds it relaxing to watch grown men go tear-assing down drag strips on TV, and bear in mind that he is on a first-name basis with most of the Lingenfelter shop crew.

Incredulous, I responded "If I'm behind you, I'm the one who gets pulled over."

Pause. "Oh yeah."

We hit the road, and I settled in for yet another drive through the land before Time/Warner. Three things make this worthwhile for me. First and foremost, I get to see Michael again, so I'll have someone to get my jokes and to tell me all kinds of obscure facts about things nobody else knows. Second, the Gambier Deli serves an amazing toasted onion bagel with cheese and red pepper open face sandwich that I can't get enough of. Seriously- sitting in that little deli is, to me, as great or better than the time I sat in the St. Mark's Cathedral plaza in Venice eating lemon gelato. Third, the ride includes a couple of landmarks worth noting.

The first point of interest is the giant statue of Uncle Sam that advertises fireworks just across the Ohio border. I've seen photographic evidence that if you stand at his feet and look up, he looks down at you menacingly and his left hand gives the finger. It's all in the perspective. The second comes much later when the road suddenly narrows down to one lane and all cars are forced onto an offramp. A sign directs highway travelers left across a bridge where, if you look to the right, there is no road coming out the other side. Road, then... trees. I've come to refer to this as the End of the World. The highway continues a little while later at an intersection with a little bar on the corner near the End. It isn't the restaurant at the End of the Universe, but it's the thought that counts.

So, in between landmarks and turns, I was left to listen to music and try to keep up with Dad. I've made the drive solo several times, but this was the first time I came close to doing it in twelve parsecs. Darn close. My speedometer needle went up and leaned to the right more often that the Wall Street Journal editorial page. All the while, stories of the Ohio Highway Patrol echoed in my mind. "They don't cut anybody a break." "Maximum fine every time." That, and reassuring myself that passing a tall semi truck on the inside of a turn was safe enough because if the truck tipped over it would fall away from me. I don't usually speed, and I've had a dull gnawing worry that now that I've been accepted to grad school I'm going to blow up in some spectacular and ironic car crash. By the way, I should also mention that I spend most of the drive coming up with clever metaphors for going fast, but most of them were terrible, so I'll spare you all.

When we stopped for food at a gas station, Dad told me that there was one turn that he didn't remember that well, so if we took the wrong one, flash my headlights. We got back on the road and he suddenly turned off at the very next offramp, a good deal before the one I take as prescribed by Mapquest. I flashed my lights frantically and fumbled with the cell phone trying to dial his number. We pulled over and he told me that his GPS had told him to turn, and that we'd still end up on the same highway to go south. It made sense to me. The problem was that, many miles later, the GPS instructed us to take a ramp that was closed for construction.

Gps: "Turn here... Turn here... Come, brave Odysseus, and crash your ship into these rocks so that we may eat you and your crew... Turn here... Turn here..."

Remember when Obi-Wan Kenobi tells Luke to switch off his targeting computer and go with his instincts in the Force? Remember how that worked out? When in doubt, trust the Trilogy.

After a detour through the pleasant town of Ontario and a turn onto the highway we wanted in the first place. I listened to the Doors Greatest Hits and he Smashing Pumpkins Adore, which are great because they put me at ease for an otherwise tedious drive.

We came upon Kenyon College at last, and made our way up the hill to the campus and onto one of my favorite streets in the world. An idyllic little brick building and tree lined road with sidewalks. And women. ("Women sir?" "Aye." "Pretty women.") Confident, well-read, cultured women as far as the eye can see. The kind of young women for whom the line "what's your favorite Nick Adams Story?" would work. In my mind, anyway. I can't actually try this, as I always smell like a three hour car ride.

We parked and met Michael as he was coming out of his room. His hair looks longer, and his stride indicates an end-of-semester fatigue, though he smiles the same as always. I already described the bagel at the deli, and it was every bit as good as I expected. Michael informed Dad and I that he will be learning Anglo-Saxon next year, and I think we both had the same confused expression on our faces.

His dorm room is surprisingly clean and his things are ready to be carried to the cars. Laundry, books, computer, and issues of the Collegian that he has input in all get crammed into trunks and back seats. One item gets special treatment, though. I place a small lamp with three monkeys carefully behind the front seat to protect it and all of it's inherent coolness. In the process of carrying a defunct (stress the FUNK) refrigerator to the trash pile, I got to meet Michael's room mate for next year. He seems nice, the poor soul. We bade a manly farewell to Jay the RA and drove to the bookstore. Courtesy of Michael's seemingly bottomless account, we loaded up on goodies. I got a cool punk rock magazine, Dad found a sweatshirt for Mom (she will wear it in this weather, just watch), and Michael bought a CD by one of the campus vocal ensembles.

Departing Gambier, Michael and I always speak back and forth in excited bits of sentences until the outskirts of the small town of Mount Vernon, where he promptly falls asleep. I listen to noisy punk music and psyche myself up for the distance to the gas station stop when I can get a Frappuccino for the rest of the way home. We passed through a torrential rain storm; a squall so fierce that Dad slowed down to the speed limit. Michael slept through most of this, until I swore and narrowly avoided a semi in the right lane swerving to avoid a truck by the side of the road. Thankfully, I've played Starfox 64 enough to escape these tight situations.

We arrived home to a vegetarian chili dinner and two manic dogs, happy to see Michael in particular.

I got a message that Todd had called, so I went over to his apartment to watch The Last Samurai with a bunch of other people. It was cool, but not as much as Kurosawa's work. Todd also showed me his new G4 iBook and worked on loading it with all sorts of goodies. James lives there now too, and we all played with his GI Joes and laughed our twenty-ish arses off. These are the things I really miss about college: sporadic GI Joe fun and listening to Todd talk as he installs software.

All in all, this has been a great couple of days. I think I'll go collapse.

Moving
A Blog Post in Two Parts

I
Moving In

This morning I got out of bed early enough to warrant noting it in this space (7:00 AM), with good enough reason not to curse and go back to sleep. Aside from the almighty dollar, there are precisely two people I gladly get up that early for; Gerry or Michael. Today was for the former, the Fool®. Gerry has decided to return to Ball State (stop me if you've heard this one) to earn his teaching license for journalism education.

I spent a little while on my animation this morning, just so I wouldn't feel guilty for neglecting my work, and then I set out to meet Gerry and his family to travel to BSU for the great American move-in day, also accompanied by BSU alum and fellow amateur mover Jason. There was some discussion on how to divide up six people among two vans, four in the family minivan and two in a white rental. Standard twenty-something logic said put the four college-age guys in the minivan with the small items and put the two responsible parents in the expensive rented van. Infallible Mom Logic said that the roads were wet and neither of her sons ought to be driving the van in those conditions. Sensible (and impatient to get on the road) paternal logic said (paraphrase) "You four boys in the minivan, we'll take the big van. Follow us." This worked out well. With Gerry at the wheel, I in the passenger seat, and the back loaded up with lamps and laundry, we departed.

The ride down I-69 was mostly dry and filled with talk of comic books and Fort Wayne television news gossip, underscored by a booming rap mix CD compiled from the Indiana University fraternity digital music collection. Four white boys in a minivan listening to loud rap was the 3rd place selection for the Indiana state quarter. At about the point that we ran out of music we reached the iconic Big Jack statue that marks the correct Muncie exit and the way to Gerry's new apartment; a spacious single bedroom luxurious enough to have carpet that had been replaced since the Teapot Dome Scandal.

We were joined by Gerry's longtime sidekick and temporary neighbor Moses*, another volunteer mover. Seven people may seem a tad excessive, but it worked out for the best as the vans were emptied quickly in the rain. Once the futon, TV with stand, desk, and bed were in place, Gerry's brother Steve and I set ourselves to the task of assembling Gerry's new furniture. Steve and I worked on a kitchen table with stubbornly uneven wings, while Moses took a box full of abstract plastic components and built a vacuum cleaner out of them. I snapped together a wire modular shelf kit in all of three minutes. Steve assembled a curious neo-modern nightstand with a drawer, four different handle color choices, and precious few straight right angled pieces to make any kind of sense with the directions. Jason and Gerry pushed furniture around in a game of Feng-Shui Tetris until a satisfactory setup was attained. Meanwhile, the parents set up the kitchen and hovered around making sure we had the right tools.
[*Marvel style footnote- see 4-14 for his first appearance, true believers! -LV]

We all went to Pizza Hut for lunch, collectively opting for the meager lunch buffet. For some reason the kitchen staff had decided this was the day to clean out the refrigerator and dump odd ingredients on the doughy half-baked pies, and nearly everything had mushrooms. There was one with just mushrooms and cheese. There was rumor of a plain cheese pizza coming soon, so we sat and waited, vowing that we would beat the four year old at a nearby table to the pizza. We were hungry, and Gerry is never one to let little kids push him around.

After Lunch, Gerry needed groceries, so we all took a trip to the Muncie Wal-Mart. I know I've waxed poetic/ sarcastic about this establishment before, but seriously, you have to see this place. Ed Wood couldn't design the experience any stranger. Gerry gathered food with his parents while the rest of us perused the toy aisles and mocked the carnival sideshow selection of discount movies and music.

Back at the apartment we waited for the cable company to come hook up the digital cable and internet. Gerry dealt with the tired and gruff internet installer while Jason calmly explained to the TV installer how to hook up the cable to the TV and the VCR separately. I sat on the couch and twirled a pair of pliers in my hand because I was tired. Once everything was reasonably well organized, we locked up and left for home.

Tomorrow: I go deep into the heart of darkest Ohio and the idyllic Kenyon to bring my brother back to Fort Wayne. He'll thank me for this someday, he just doesn't know it yet.

As of the beginning of this writing, frame promo_r1.0144.tif is rendering in a series of 430. It isn't anything especially exciting, merely a flashlight moving around. The larger purpose of this is that I'm applying to a company that wants to maybe/possibly/hopefully add an animator to their staff to make animated promo type things for their project proposals. I needed something that didn't have anything to do with dancing monkish, bumper cars, or robots menacing the countryside. I chose to make a little promo animation with a Mag-Lite flashlight to demonstrate how good I am at pretending to be serious and professional.

The render finished, BTW, and it looks okay so far. Hopefully I'll be done tomorrow night. I recall Todd lamenting once about the need for sleep. I quite agree. If I didn't have to sleep, I could get so much more done. Even if some of that new time awake was spent playing video games, I could use the rest to do constructive things and still come out ahead.

In unrelated news- how do we, the human race, surpass the great pyramids or the moon landing? This is a good start.

Times, they are a-changin'. Blogger just got an internal overhaul and now you can all comment on my posts here. You have the option of posting anonymously, but anyone who does please sign your name. I'll see if this is one of those things I want to keep.

I made pancakes this morning. Normally, this wouldn't be blogfodder, but for three things: One, I got up more than an hour and a half before I had to clock in at work. Two, I had a breakfast that isn't readily available to astronauts. Three, these pancakes were from scratch. Real butter in the recipe and everything. Things went smoothly for the most part. The eggshells didn't crack without a fight, suggesting that chickens are now being fed calcium supplements. The food processor was built during the bygone era when "intuitive-ease-of-use" was not yet part of the popular vernacular. I ended up holding the lid down with one hand and pressing the recessed button with a pencil, and if that sounds awkward then you have some idea of what I looked like doing it. Pouring the batter into the pan proved daunting, and most of the pancakes came out looking like the clocks in Dali's Persistence of Memory. The pan smoked quite a bit too, irritating my eyes. The end result was worthwhile, though, as they tasted pretty good and now the house smells like pancakes. The haphazard stack was split among three people including myself. If I ever do this again, though, I think I'll try to get more than two. That'd be sweet.

Now that I've conquered pancakes, I think I might try the Filipino boxspring hog.

Here's something funny I just learned. This is the new 2004 US nickel, marking the bicentennial +1 of the Louisiana Purchase. This is the logo for the Socialist party. Click on both links, I'm relying on visual comparison here. Notice a similarity? One of my Mom's fourth graders saw this and showed her.

I saw something today that blew my mind. The kind of thing that takes everything I know about conservation of mass and tosses it in the woods like so much grass clippings. I stopped at a local Shell gas station to put air in my tires- not just because it's cool, but because it's responsible. I was pulling in to find the air hose when I saw one of those gigantic humvee limousines driving through the parking lot. It lumbered around and began to move toward the entrance to the carwash a few feet from my position. I couldn't see very well as it entered, but I was right by the exit when it came out, much like the huge long spaceship in Spaceballs.

I also saw my buddy's newly acquired hernia scar, complete with stitches, bruising, and bloating. I was a bit taken aback, but I expected to see what I saw, given my proud heritage of hospitalization. A hernia to my family is like first communion to a Catholic.

Those of you who know me know that I have a thing for gadgetry. It's kind of a James Bond/ Batman/ Inspector Gadget sort of thing. I like to have various tools and implements with me, for necessity as well as the childish glee of having pockets full of stuff. My brother adopted a term for this collection of gadgets: the inventory. This comes from the Final Fantasy game series and the classic Lucasarts adventure games of a decade ago, wherein the inventory is a menu full of important objects and ephemera collected and used throughout the game. Some of these virtual items are useful no matter what, like healing potions (Final Fantasy), whereas other items serve a singular purpose, like a rubber chicken with a pulley in the middle (Monkey Island).

My typical inventory varies, depending on what I'm planning on doing. For example: a normal day at work requires substantially less than a weekend roadtrip across several state lines. While it is true that I never know what I'll need on a daily basis, I have a sort of loose priority system for what gets carried. Here, now, is a look at my inventory.

Item: Gerber Multitool
Description: Collapsible metal pliers with various tools in the handle segments.
Use: When things break, I fix them.

Item: iPod
Description: 10 GB digital music player loaded with everything from Verdi to Thug Murder.
Use: Daily, whenever I need music.

Item: Black Bag (geek chic man-purse)
Description: Black cloth bag with several pockets and ample storage.
Use: Whenever I need to schlepp stuff.

Item: LED pocket light (green) with chain
Description: Compact illumination with minimal ambient light.
Use: In lieu of cursing the darkness.

Item: Moleskine Notebook
Description: Classic black notebook with acid free sketch paper, storage pocket, and an elastic band.
Use: Storage of half-baked ideas and important memos.

Item: Pocket Watch
Description: Round metal watch on a chain.
Use: To remind me that I'm late.

Those are the things I typically carry around, depending on what I'm doing. Feel free to copy the format and post your own inventory on your site if you wish.

I've been really boring. There's really no other way to put it. I work, I sleep, I eat, I play video games and watch movies in my free time, and I read a bit. Not much of the above is really blog-worthy. I think I'm in a sort of a funk, which happens periodically. No idea why it happens, but it's often followed by a surge of creative energy, so I look forward to that. In the interim, though, I probably won't blog much because I won't be doing much.

I've starting reading American Gods by Neil Gaiman. I'm not far into it, but it's really good so far. A co-worker recommended it to me. That's one of the perks of working at a bookstore- I get to hear about all kinds of good books and music.

I saw the movie The Punisher yesterday. It's a good thing I like the character and Garth Ennis's comic writing that was the basis for much of the action, because otherwise this could be a hard movie to sit through. It clocks in at a full two hours and change, and it seems that much of the movie could be edited and pared down to about 90 minutes. The test market screenings must have been really interesting, because I get the impression that the audiences weren't familiar with the comic book. Some genius along the way must have complained long and loud about a lack of nice, sympathetic characters. As a result, Garth Ennis's three neighbor characters (who were little more than scenery in the comic) are given more attention. With three social misfits and a psychotic loner all sharing a rathole apartment building it sometimes seems like Andrew Vachss directing a very special episode of Friends.

The script and visual design were peculiar as well. Some tinkering with the character's origin was perfectly acceptable, some of the changes were incomprehensible. Glaring foibles aside, though, there were some subtle touches added in that showed real intelligence and regard for the character's cinematic roots. The title sequence was inspired by the animated introductions to Sergio Leone's westerns. There are other great Leone scenes, too. One scene in a diner with an assassin who plays a guitar to Frank before attacking him is strikingly similar to the scene in Once Upon a Time in the West where the mystery protagonist "Harmonica" plays his trademark instrument to the men he intends to kill. Other more obvious elements are the high-noon style standoff in the bank lobby (guess who wins), and the way that all the nameless thugs are given a certain amount of individuality. There are even intentionally added nods to Othello. This could have been a better movie, but I'm satisfied with what I saw.

In other brutal-revenge-by-bloody-killing-spree news, I've just discovered that Sweeny Todd is now available on DVD. I don't buy very many movies, but I may end up owning this one before too long.

I'm in. First and foremost, I must post the good news that I have been accepted to the Ball State University Graduate School; to the Digital Storytelling program. This is thanks in no small part to the knowledge, support, and unwavering encouragement from Gerry. He's a one of a kind fool.

Now that that's out, let me back up a ways. I woke up unnaturally early this morning (sin-against-nature early) in order to tag along with Gerry and his family to BSU. We were going to peruse apartments, as Gerry has imminent need for a place to live while working at the college during the summer. I went along to get some idea of what I might be paying, assuming that I would be accepted for the fall. The van ride down to BSU was pretty much what I expected. Gerry and I sat in the back seat like a couple of eight year olds while the adults drove. Appropriately enough, we discussed comic books and cartoons, gazed out of the windows into the vast expanses of Hoosier corn and soybean wasteland, and lazily counted the exits until the iconic figure of Big Jack loomed on the horizon, marking the turnoff to go to Muncie.

Pulling into Muncie, Indiana is sort of like flipping through Dante's Inferno like a flip book animation in reverse. You start with nothing but more fields, then eventually come up on the fringes of the town marked by a Meijer and a Menards near the highway; two of the huge corporate megastores responsible for squashing and supporting almost every small town in the America. Within minutes, the remaining semi-independent businesses are revealed- a greasy steakhouse and a see-it-to-believe-it Goodwill store. Across the street lies a Wal-Mart Supercenter that is equal parts John Steinbeck and Steven King. Further on and a few turns later, at last, is Ball State. A misfit collection of drunkards and scholars, dullards and geniuses, and a diverse enough minority population to repopulate Epcot five times over. Everyone seems really friendly, though. It's the kind of mix of people that every good college should have.

The apartments we looked at were pretty much what one would expect for off-campus housing. Some were too large, some were too small, but one or two were just right. I'm not sure where I'll live, but I have time to talk to a few people I know to find out what the best deal for me will be.

After a morning spent exploring living options, we convened to the atrium dining area on the ground floor of the Journalism building. I had a grilled cheese sandwich, a familiar staple item from my previous college experience. While I was waiting in line, a young woman was talking to Gerry about something or other. Then, seemingly in mid-sentence, she turned to me and started telling me about how she uses Softimage (3D program) and how they're merged with Avid and how [sic] like everybody in the industry are using Softimage. She told me about a new 3D class in the architecture school that is trying to attract art students. It sounds like something I might get a kick out of if it fits my schedule. I also got to meet the legendary Moses, the Robin to Gerry's Batman for many a Halloween party. I feel like I should've prepared a little something to say for when I met him, but a hearty handshake seemed to suffice.

After lunch the whole group went on a little walking tour of the building, and on the way we encountered the very professor I needed to talk to in regard to grad school. He told me that he had everything that he needed from me and that I was accepted as far as he knew. Perplexed, I ventured off to the grad school office with Gerry as my Cardinal sherpa to find out what the heck was going on. I found the right office and explained my situation as best I could to the person on the other side of the desk. I failed to make any kind of sense, so she entered my social security number and figured out what the hell I was trying to say by looking at four different variables. All that was needed was written confirmation from the aforementioned professor. A ten second phone call later he had e-mailed an affirmative that I was accepted into the program. In less time than it takes to beat world 1-1 in Super Mario Brothers I went from confused to elated.

We departed for home after taking a nostalgic look at Gerry's old apartment complex. Not much to say there, really. We got back in town and made a spur of the moment decision to go buy comic books. Crazy fun indeed. Then I went out to a celebratory dinner at Biaggi's and stuffed my face with torteloni al forno.

In summary, today I got a new purpose in life, comic books, and good food. w00t.

If you're like me (which isn't likely) you've often wondered "how big is an Imperial Star Destroyer compared to, say, a 747, or the Stay-Puff Marshmallow Man?" Even if the thought had never crossed your mind, this is still a good and valid question. I've been to the top of the Eiffel Tower, and now I know the relative size of the big ship in Close Encounters. Check out this site for the comparative sizes of all sorts of sci-fi craft and Earthly structures.

"The monkey has shifty eyes."

Movies, movies, movies. That's been a theme for me this week. I watched Scarface and Vanilla Sky over the past few days, and I enjoyed both. I won't say anything about Vanilla Sky, just in case there are people in my small audience who haven't seen it.

I would like to say a little about Scarface, though. This movie is over the top; excessive. The whole movie is about excess. The colors are bright and garish, the music is loud, the profanity and the blood are equally flowing, and even quiet dialogue is delivered with gusto and force. My personal favorite line: "All I have in this world is my balls, and my word. And I don't break them for no one." The movie is all about the rise and fall of Tony Montana, whose final scene involves a mountain of cocaine, a Heston-class assault rifle, and the phrase "Say hello to my little friend!" As the credits roll, I got to thinking about how rich he was, and how I live at home under a mountain of student loan debt, and how diametrically opposed I am from this character. I'm kind of glad that I'm so boring now, given the alternative.

Tonight I went to the Cinema Center to see The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. It's an old German silent film with some of the craziest and creepiest visuals ever committed to celluloid. The set design has a cool cubist style, and you can actually see the brush strokes in many of the scenery pieces, so the whole film is like a painting. The really cool part about the movie tonight, though, was the music. All of the music in the movie was performed live by three musicians. They had keyboards, guitars, drums, almost anything that would make a cool sound. The violin would play a sinister little tune every time the mysterious Caligari would come on screen, the sound effects were all instrumental, and everything fit the action perfectly. Apparently this is a touring company, and tomorrow they'll be in Chicago doing this show and a silent western too.

It's back to work for me tomorrow. It's been a little weird for me lately. I've befriended a Gap employee who comes into the store a lot. The other night we talked about Hellboy for a couple minutes. She likes my name and asks intelligent questions about good books, thus completely disrupting my hard and fast reasoning for not liking the Gap. Elsewhere in the mall, Victoria's Secret is offering a free Bob Dylan CD single. I'm not a huge Dylan fan, but it would be cool to get the free CD. This is foreign territory for me, though; a complete no-fly zone. When I walk past the store I always feel like a South Korean staring across the 38th parallel, not fully knowing what lies on the other side. If I could figure out a way to retrieve the item with a fishing pole, a la Wile E. Coyote, I'd be set.

Still no reply from Ball State.

Not every movie I watch is light-hearted, you know. For every happy action movie I see, I try to ballance with a less than jubilant selection, like Once Upon a Time in the West, or The Seventh Seal. I love having a comm minor- I get to be a card-carrying film snob whenever I want.

I'd like to recommend the movie I watched last night, The Man Who Wasn't There. It's the Cohen brothers take on film noir. The whole thing is black and white and the lighting is amazing. It also has almost every cool actor currently working- Billy-Bob Thornton, James Gandolfini, Scarlett Johanssen, and Tony Shaloub, just to name a few. Without giving too much away, the movie reminded me of The Stranger by Albert Camus. My brother would get that, but I don't know about anyone else.

The following is a joint blog post from Gerry and I. I can't guarantee that it will make any kind of sense, but it was a labor of love.
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Your two favorite bloggers, in one entry together!

It's been a little while since we hyped our joint blog…okay, it's been more than a little while. But at last, get ready for Gerry and Loyal's summer comic book movie preview of "The Punisher" and "Spider-Man 2" a.k.a. "Sony makes a hell of a lot more money."

For the past few years, Hollywood has maintained a precarious grip on the fervent and profitable fanboy audience with a series of comic book and literature adaptations. The most successful movies are the ones that stay true to the author's original vision. The Lord of the Rings movies, both Harry Potter movies, and most of the Marvel comics movies have been faithful and high quality. With such an unnaturally high rate of success, there is an unnerving feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop. History shows that any time a genre enjoys a boom in its early years; it often crashes hard in the waning years. The American western, the old Hollywood musical, and other popular styles have bitten the dust in a significant way. Bearing this in mind, what does the future hold for the comic book genre? This summer will be the litmus test for the future direction of science fiction cinema.

So, enough screwing around playing in the street. It's time to preview two films that will capture America's attention and become water-cooler fodder—okay, maybe not. But work with us here.

Gerry: Actually, if Spider-Man 2 is anything like its predecessor, it will claim America's undivided attention. The original Wall Crawler flick not only generated more money than the national debt, it also received rave reviews and spawned a new era of Spidey merchandise. The new film features another baddy from the comic books, Doctor Otto Octavious, affectionately known as Doctor Octopus, or Doc Ock. Unlike the Green Goblin's Power Ranger costume in the last film, Doc Ock looks very sharp in his moody trench coat and four metal prosthetic arms, which would no doubt make him a great bartender. Of course, Doc Ock won't be serving up drinks, he will be serving up a healthy dose of mayhem, evil, and all-around annoyance for Peter Parker.

Peter has more to worry about than just the supervillain of the week—ol' redhead Mary Jane is causing our hero all sorts of romantic problems. It appears MJ is moving on to J. Jonah Jamison's son, who is an astronaut. Gee, I don't know why a girl would rather date an astronaut than a journalist. What a crazy way to go.

Loyal: Ah, Peter Parker, when will you learn? The double life is surely a rough one. Is it worse to be thrown off of a building with a bomb strapped to your head, or to discover that your camera will be in the shop for a week? Either livelihood is fraught with difficulty.

Gerry: You know, my computer, not camera, has been in the shop for about a week, and I can't scale buildings to burn off steam.

Loyal: Yeah, life is hard that way. Of course, there are worse ways to deal with problems. You could always forsake your current identity and go on a mad homicidal rampage against anyone with even a slight criminal bent. This would be the theme behind The Punisher, another comic book coming to the movie screen this summer. The title character is a grim fellow with every reason in the world to be angry, but no real moral justification for his methods. The Punisher movie will be loosely based on the recent comic book run written by Garth Ennis. I haven't read too much in the way of the movie plot, but I do expect a cool movie.

Gerry: Screw the Punisher. I wanna talk about Spider-Man. Is that okay with you?

Loyal: Of course, proceed. The world waits on pins and needles for your opinion of Spider-Man.

Gerry: Pins and needles? Sounds painful. Speaking of pain, I'm in agony waiting for Spider-Man 2 to be released. This flick is going to rock. The first film set up the characters nicely, and this will allow Spidey 2 to hit the ground running. Director Sam Raimi tells us to expect more humor, drama, and action, and I believe him. Doc Ock looks incredible, and everyone is anxious to see what develops between Peter and MJ. One just gets a sense this film is going to top the original.

Loyal: I'm looking forward to seeing a superhero movie without an origin story. The pacing of the movie will be better without having to explain everything to the audience. I've been looking forward to this movie since the representative from Sony Digital Imaging at the Siggraph convention two years ago promised more web-slinging action like the finale of the first movie. Spider-Man 2 will be one of the highlights of the summer.

Gerry: I can't say with confidence that The Punisher will be a summer highlight. I still have bad memories of the straight-to-video Punisher flick--

Loyal: La-la-la! Not listening! Never happened!

Gerry: --and John Travolta as a villain? Come on. The Punisher's popularity in the comic books tends to rise and fall. I don't know, something makes me nervous about this film. Maybe it's shipping our favorite black-clad gun-toting vigilante to Miami. What's he gonna do there, attend Marlins games?

Loyal: Agreed, it's never a good thing to monkey with continuity. It might work in this particular instance, but I'm afraid of what this could mean for comic book movies as a whole. As a genre, each summer's batch of releases lives and dies by the previous summer's successes and failures. With a questionable Catwoman title on the horizon—

Gerry: Questionable?! Questionable?! Catwoman will be terrible and you know it! Warner Bros. should be fined for making a mockery of the character, and…

Loyal: Yes, yes, I know. I reserve judgment until it comes out and I don't see it. Anyway, speculation aside, this summer is looking good for geek entertainment.

Gerry: And geeked out, we are. I am giddy with anticipation for Spider-Man 2, and I suppose I'll give The Punisher a shot. Until next time, make sure your utility belts are tight and your capes are pressed.

I discovered a couple of mildly interesting tidbits about the internet recently. One: my blog is finally a blip on the google radar. I tested this out of curiosity and found that there's even a cached version from a few months ago. Two: some photographs I took almost a year ago are up on a promotional website for the SACS music booster carwash.

A little follow-up from the other day's pants post. I decided to scratch my apparel buying itch and venture into the Buckle to look for something good. It turns out that there was a sale rack in the back, so my preternatural spider-sense for clothing sales wasn't just misfiring. I found a pair of pants that didn't look good on me at all, but I did find a shirt that I like, and I got it for %25 off. It wasn't the greatest deal I've ever gotten, but it was the only thing in the store I could see myself wearing with an ounce of self respect.

I'm still waiting for word from BSU. I know it will take awhile, and everybody tells me not to worry, but I'm getting a bit nervous.

I found this on Gerry's blog and I felt the burning need to pass it on to the portion of my audience that doesn't read his blog.
Superman and Jerry Seinfeld -It's cool on par with the Super Mario Brothers animation I linked to a while back.

I had the strangest feeling today; completely out of character for me. I was walking through the mall on my lunch break with my just-purchased bowl of soup in my hand and my earphones playing Tom Waits. Nothing out of the ordinary, just me blocking out the people and advertisements around me with a happy bubble of sound. My normal routine is to take a short outdoor constitutional to get some fresh air and clear my head. I traipse about with my Entish legs in full stride, and I sometimes check certain windows. I glance in EBgames to see what's new on the demo machines and to check if the token (and, incidentally, cute) female employee is working, I look at the Gap for as long as it takes me to renew my bloated sense of intellectual superiority, and I look at the sky to remind myself somehow that I'm really truly on a break so I can relax.

As I mentioned before, though, today was different. It was a beautiful sunny day (the type I normally avoid), and I was in an almost chipper mood (the type I normally avoid). As I made my way across the sunlit valley of suburban fetish peddlers I happened to look into a store called the Buckle. I can only assume they sell belts and or shoes, though all that is visible from outside is shirts and pants. For whatever reason, my eye fixed briefly on the "Lucky" clothing logo. I have a shirt from this particular label, one of many black shirts I own, and I rather like it. It's a good skinny guy shirt that makes a harsh contrast against the many lumbering fleshpiles that populate this state. So, while I don't usually care about labels, I do kind of like Lucky, as they make nice looking clothes that are perfect for art galleries and semi-classy restaurants. I thought about this as I walked away from the store window, and I suddenly thought that I needed a nice pair of pants.

Normally, this is not the sort of thing that will cross my mind. If my head were Wrigley Field, the thought of buying pants when I don't absolutely need them would be represented by a seagull perched on the edge of Navy Pier. I have plenty of pants. I have enough jeans and khakis to last me for weeks at a time in between laundry loads without getting dirty and funky. Why would I get the urge to buy pants, especially if I don't see a sale sign? Is this one of those maturity things where I'm supposed to want to dress well in order to feel confident? If so, then I must be regressing to some earlier age when this sort of feeling would normally afflict me, or I'm still a late bloomer. I have my work pants and my regular pants, and even a pair of pants as part of my suit. Also, I'm trying to save as much money as possible for this fall when I will be a student again. I'm not even sure why I want new pants, as I don't even know if they come in my funhouse mirror size or not. Perhaps I've been mall employee for long enough that the conditioning is starting to sink in. Perhaps I feel the need to assert myself as a vibrant twenty-something who is every bit as hip and cool as the characters on my favorite TV shows, even if only while wearing an as-yet-unseen pair of pants.

I don't know. I've rambled on about this for long enough. I do apologize to my faithful readers for the long ramble on the single subject without any kind of payoff at the end. Unless of course you're really fascinated by prospective pants purchase diatribes.

If you use an electric toothbrush while listening to an iPod it makes anything sound like White Zombie. Strange but true.

I've worked a ton over the last week or so, hence I've been neglecting the blog. I devoted last night to watching Sergio Leone's Once Upon a Time in the West, yet another starkly unhappy tale of vengeance and greed in the old west. I love those movies. Tonight I'm going to go see the Triplets of Belleville. Tomorrow I'll go see Jersey Girl. None of this makes good blogfodder, but I thought I ought to mention it for posterity or something.

I'm trying to get back into art somehow. Being marginally employed and dressing like a bum is only chic if you can back it up with some kind of art or philosophy degree. Also, I'm getting over the art school mind-fuxor that I was in for so long. I had the idea that much of what I would produce would be inconsequential and amateurish if I didn't devote every waking moment to art, eschewing all television and video games, most movies, and any form of fun that didn't involve recreational drugs. It has occurred to me that even if I had paid attention in my art history, graphic design, and sociology classes I would still be working retail. So, if fine art isn't for me, then I don't need to adhere to any sort of dogmatic standard of what an artist is, and I can focus on any sort of creative outlet I want. And it will be inconsequential and amateurish, but it doesn't matter. The point of my going to grad school is to develop myself as an individual, not as a cookie-cutter artist in the dubious tradition of thousands of Warhol devotees.

I just learned that my brother is going to a concert with Howard Shore directing his Lord of the Rings music. Live. For fifteen dollars. Needless to say, I am insanely jealous. He'd better blog about it in an overly-verbose and scantly-edited way when he gets back.

One last thing that I felt I should put here. In Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland there is a riddle that, at the time of the original publication, there was no answer for. The Mad Hatter's riddle; "how is a raven like a writing desk?" I was thumbing through a copy of the book the other night, and I found that Carroll had later responded to the many fan inquiries with this answer: "Because it can produce a few notes, though they are very flat; and it is never put with the wrong end in front." There you have it, the answer to the riddle with no answer from the man who first posed the question. I now carry it in my wallet for the giddy esoteric value of having such a thing.