Monday, July 31, 2006

IF you care, THEN why is your mouth shut?
This is an excerpt about the true voice and influence of fans in the comic book world. Paraphrased it says that bitching, moaning, and deviance means nothing if you don't revolt in the means that it'll make most impact: through wallets. Same goes for voting, initiatives, and community change. Take it for what it's worth. This is from the weekly column of Erik Larsen (artist, writer, publisher, creator, etc.)

"Is there a solution?

Well, maybe.

But it's going to take some work on the part of you, the faithful readers who actually plunk down your nickels to purchase these pulse-pounding periodicals on a regular basis. You need to let your voices be heard. And I know, I know - you have a job and a life - you don't have the kind of free time that a basement-dwelling, freeloading troll has, but if you want the kind of comics you want, it's important that you speak up and lend your voice to the chorus of real fans out there willing to share your opinions and let us all know what you'd really like to see and read.

Right now, the only voice of yours we can hear is that of your wallet and that voice has been made clear enough but, like I said, it speaks in the broadest sense. It tells only part of the story. It's time you take back the Internet - spread the word of books you love and shout down the trolls that don't purchase anything but speak the loudest. Got a favorite book? Tell people about it! Go from message board to message board and let people know. Be intelligent and articulate and get the word out that comics are great and can be great. Comics are worth reading and it's up to all of us to spread the word!

You are the real editors! We exist to feed your hunger. We want to produce the kinds of comics that you want to read, but you need to tell us what those comics are! Your silence isn't helping! We want you to be engrossed and involved and entertained and enthralled. We want you to be coming back for more month after month. We want to make more good comics. We want to be able to continue to make a living doing the work we love to do.

There are good books coming out and plenty of good ones in the works. There are tons of cool new stuff and tons of cool old stuff getting collected into trade paperbacks. It's the best of the old and new! It's a great time to be a comic book reader! But it could be even better if we all let our voices be heard and let those calling the shots know who's really calling the shots and what we'd really like to be reading. "

Ulam cooked @ 1:32 PM

 0 of the headscratch variety

Thursday, July 20, 2006

songs and the sonic touch
Anyone else get affected by "Dance with My Father" by Luther Vandross everytime they hear it like me?

I've realized that one of my top 5 favorite songs is "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong, though I was listening to the hawaiian remix (w/ Somewhere Over the Rainbow) a lot last week after Liza and Ken's wedding. But, as I was listening to that and I reflected back to the original song, I started wandering in my memory. I heard the song, once, applied to war images I think and ever since then it has always had an extra emotional sense to me. Then, once, I was watching a slide show about the Vietnamese refugee experience from pre-war through the war all the way to the U.S. after the horrors of the fleeing process. The song that played during the last part: "Bridge of Troubled Water". Some other time, I think I was listening to the Forrest Gump soundtrack and it was possibly California Dreamin' by the Mamas and the Papas. I started to empathize with the passion and despair of the time. I think I felt the same with "Turn, Turn, Turn (to Everything There is a Season)". Same with "Let it Be".

All those songs are about hope - but my gut reaction is to feel sadness. Is there something to listening to songs of hope and instead feeling defeated? It's a rough world and an especially rough time. Bush was talking to the NAACP this morning in his regular clown shoes talking about protecting people's civil rights. Bullshit.

Off to the NYC tonight. Just in case.. keep it real, keep it safe, and please use my name for the purposes of peace and equality. Just in case, nawmean?

Ulam cooked @ 9:18 AM

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Tuesday, July 18, 2006

lisa's poetry group week 2
This was actually from week 2.

activity: look at something and write
I saw some middle school kids outside in somewhat chilly weather playing with water balloons.

piece:
untitled

bliss was simple as
2:30 cartoons, afterschool.
that meant that
I was at home
no more school (until I had to wake up)
and my mom and dad
would be home soon.
Back then, invincibility
was held in my back pocket
along with a velcro waller
that was usually empty.
But it was okay. Just as long
as it was there.
Smiling didn't cost
$12.99 per month
on a broadband connection
or $9 on a badly crafted movie.
It was an otter pop,
maybe some freethrows,
and a 2 hour bike ride
that always seemed too long
once it started
but way too short
when it came to an
end.
Simple was not having
a license or a girlfriend or
a pimple or a planner.
It was a calendar that
I always forgot to turn
it was usually March until
December came -
when I would fall asleep on the
8th, not being able to wait for the 9th.
Can it be that it was all so...
Yeah. It was.
Bliss, it was.

Ulam cooked @ 12:03 AM

 0 of the headscratch variety

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

from lisa's... i mean.. trina's poetry group #1
since lisa's gone, we have one of our young writers leading our writing group so these are a few pieces I composed with 1.5 hours of broken sleep.

strikeout activity: we chose topics, identified words that relate to them, and wrote pieces that included any word but those we mentioned.

PEN:
I composed gifts on the palm of my hand, like reminder to myself of images of her. These gifts I offered - strange pieces of commonplace like the picked petaled weed given like a magical rose. She would melt - despite the coolness of the vibe of the atmosphere that the sentiments delivered.

SKY:
Hope filters through the
atmosphere -
she's here to turn carbon dioxide
into a fresh breath
for me.
She encompases my presence
like an electromagnetic field
causing my pulse
to spike.
I feel truly alive
in her super nature -
her hyper surreal -
she's the order to
my distorted masterpiece.
There's artistry
in our elevation:
realism in sensations.

Ulam cooked @ 5:19 PM

 0 of the headscratch variety

the not fun MacGuybear story
This is a true and outright story. This isn't some fictionalized real account masked in some extended metaphor for the sake of shrouding inhibited yet uncontrollable feelings. No, this is a real effin' story that started at around midnight.

Actually, my roommate left a message for me on Saturday exasperatedly, "There's a frickin' mouse in our house". No green eggs or ham though. Well, maybe green eggs. Nonetheless, I thought little of it at the time because I lived under the assumption that we had extra crittery tenants bunking with us.

Maybe 15 minutes before midnight comes, the roommates talk about the mouse who uninvitedly claimed a spot in our roommate roster. "I saw it earlier." "Yeah, around the kitchen."

Midnight turns and there's some commotion in the other room. I was playing with the Nintendo DS Lite - I think I was failing a test on Big Brain Academy. Commotion goes on longer so I peak out. "He's in here! I saw the mouse!"

Oh crap.

That began the night of blockades, morality issues, a Walgreens run, and the sacrificing of a well-respected yet completely unwelcome guest.

What I learned tonight is that foil is very handy - along with masking tape and an exacto knife. Also, my long overdue to be recycled cardboard and boxes helped keep up the protective barriers. Strategies upon strategies were attempted. I felt like MacGuyver. The roomies and I all went down with the ship - but this line didn't sink. We overcame.

I learned that Benny can get to high places by climing electronics wires and lowly based futon sofas. I learned that Benny, hopefully only in desperation, played not only on my window sill, or the tv, or the alarm clock, but also my bed, matress, and accompanying sweatshirt. I learned that Benny was too smart to fall for obvious traps.

I'm exhausted. I can't sleep in my bed. Not enough lysol. I also feel violated.

It's now 5:38am. and the sun's coming up. We left Benny in a box we fashioned from cardboard and foil and masking tape - only to leave him in an utterly unfavorable spot.

Ulam cooked @ 5:18 PM

 0 of the headscratch variety