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-->January 15, 2005
Eric Burns-White: Journalist Fan art!
I've been kind of riding high on the good reception of the Dumbrella Meet and Greet essay -- it was something of a departure in style from my usual snarking, and you're never entirely sure how it's going to be received when you depart from style.
Well, the ultimate in compliments got paid a little while ago. Andrew Lin, who draws the fun, minimalist Home Run Comic, drew this Reporter Snarky. In his own words:
Your on-the-scene reports from Northampton, and your snarks leading up to said report seem to have triggered a creative urge. Images of Milo Bloom in his press hat jumped into my mind, and I had to put something on paper before I could be productive at work again. Attached is the end result, with apologies to Ursula Vernon for butchering her creation.
Well, I can't speak for Ursula Vernon, but it would stun me if she were anything other than pleased at this Snarky. He's full of pluck and vigor, ready to grab the scoop, chief! And as for me, I loved it. So thank you, and I hope everyone enjoys it.
I'll try to get some honest to God snarking done later today.
Yes, I do still read webcomics. Yeesh, Smartass.
Posted by Eric Burns-White at 9:21 PM | Comments (4)
-->Eric Burns-White: Twenty four hours without Livejournal
So, a catastrophic failure hit Livejournal yesterday -- a power loss at their entire center, including all UPS systems (systems that they describe as "insanely redundant power and UPS systems"), leading to a total collapse of the organic interwoven server cluster. In restoring it, they discovered many of the machines that they use as backups failed, that other machines reported operations that weren't actually happening. and that they're literally having to recreate the database transactions on some of the restored servers -- like they were trying to compress weeks of posting into hours, one action at a time.
It's also apparently the second time it happened. From that same document detailing their recovery efforts: "now that this has happened to us twice, we realize the first time wasn't a total freak coincidence. C'est la vie." Which blows my mind. Seriously. I think it's hysterical. Your entire company's business is based on this kind of thing, and you have a catastrophic failure, and decide afterward that hey -- it was probably a coincidence. It couldn't possibly happen again. In my Imperial Space stories (including Trigger Man for those of you following along at home), that's called invoking Murphy, and Murphy enjoys these situations way too much.
Setting aside the logistical nightmare the LJ team's piecing their way through (and everything the Six Apart people -- who just bought this company, remember -- have to be wondering about, right now), there's the question of the greater Livejournal community. Several million of them.
And they're going through withdrawal, right about now.
Seriously, thousands of these people stay connected to their online world wholly through Livejournal. Take LJ out of the mix, and suddenly the center of their universe is broken. Hell, I use LJ as my RSS reader -- so I'm not following any of the lists I read through RSS at all today. So, no Boing Boing, no Wil Wheaton, no Neil Gaiman, no RPG design lists. Not to mention not seeing what's happening in the lives of my friends, acquaintances, and the various people I voyeuristically stare at.
And Livejournal isn't that big a deal for me. I can't imagine what the people who base their lives around Livejournal are doing today.
Maybe in the end this is a good thing. A reminder of the fragility of digital communities. A reminder that there's also this outdoors thing. Maybe.
But maybe not. The thing about Livejournal is... it represents millions of people who decided to write for the world to see. That's powerful juju. These are folks who, whether vapid or profound, are expressing themselves with the written word. They're expressing their opinions. They're delinating their hopes and dreams. And yeah, some of them are easy to make fun of, but some aren't. And all of them are trying.
Being without that is shocking, for some people. Suddenly, their tongues have been silenced. Their support groups are gone. Their fanbases are empty. Suddenly, they're being plunged back into 1999, and they don't want to be back in 1999.
It's going to be very interesting to hear what they have to say, when LJ comes back online.
Posted by Eric Burns-White at 7:12 PM | Comments (19)
-->Eric Burns-White: Still, I miss Lucifer. And Cassiopia. And Lorne Greene. And the faux Egyptian thing. DAMN THEM!
So, this is something of a television review, because like many of my fellow geeks, last night I watched the series premiere of Battlestar Galactica.
I had watched the miniseries, and was somewhat underwhelmed. See, I was a young nipper when the original came on, and the disconnect between the original -- which was cheesy but also had style, and mythology and grandeur and a cowboy dimension and an epic scope -- and the new one, which seemed to want to do "American Realistic Military SF" with a few nods to the source material, was significant. Oh, the show itself was okay, back in the miniseries. As good, in its way, as Space: Above and Beyond, which itself was a pretty good SF show. But it wasn't anything exciting -- not like the Richard Hatch planned updating of the original would have been. It felt... generic.
Well, last night the first episode of the new series came on.
It'd be easier on me if it were named something else. Anything else, really. Because I still have certain associations with the words "Battlestar" and "Galactica." And so I resent it just slightly, because I still want to bitch and complain about the changes, and that's going to be hard to do while obsessively watching every second of this series.
This was exceptionally good. The characterization was brilliant, the execution of the two episodes (these were two episodes mashed into one, right down to them having two different names -- "33" and "Water." They were laden with style. Everything was tone, setting an honest feel of fatigue, of desperation, of despair barely being fought off. The first episode, "33," refers to the Cylons, who attack every thirty three minutes on the dot, no matter where or how the fleet jumps away. It has been five days of cylon attacks. Five days since anyone on the Galactica or Colonial One has slept. They're exhausted and horrified and don't have any way of escaping. The second episode, "Water," opens with Boomer opening her eyes in a strange place, soaked to the bone. The reason why highlights the scarcity of resources -- and the incredible odds against the humans -- in the setting.
One thing that stands as a triumph is a whiteboard. An absolutely normal whiteboard, like you have in your own office or take down phone messages. It's on Colonial One, where the President and her staff keep track of just how many human beings are left. As "33" progresses, the number slowly goes down. First over 50,000, then dropping below, then lower... lower... a number that constantly says "this is how many human beings are left alive. When this number gets too low, it's all over."
Only there are other human beings left behind. In a wholly unexpected and brilliant stroke, the series cuts back over to Caprica, the largest of the colony worlds that the Cylons have conquered. There, Helo -- one of the soldiers from the miniseries, left behind to give Baltar a chance to survive (because Helo figured his brilliance would be needed on the Galactica, not knowing Baltar was the reason the Colonies fell in the first place) is on the run from the Cylons, highlighting a world of humanity under conquest. And highlighting one of the best elements of Cylons who sometimes can look just like humans, all at the same time.
And, out of nowhere, there's something of the Mythic returned to the series. Not the original mythos, for certain... in an odd twist, it's the Cylons who have a sense of spirtuality. Not that the humans can take comfort in it.
This series is totally not Battlestar Galactica as we knew it. And yet, it's incredibly good. Ronald Moore -- the reason Star Trek: Deep Space Nine was the best Star Trek series -- has proven exactly what he can do without suits over him telling him what he can and can't do. This series has the potential to equal or even eclipse Babylon 5 in terms of sophisticated science fiction on television, and I'm bloody well excited to see it.
But weirdly, despite the fact that Babylon 5 is vastly better than the original Battlestar Galactica, I don't think the new version exceeds the original. In a lot of ways, it's sold its pedigree for superior -- but far less interesting -- generic SF tropes. They're pushing those tropes beyond all possible thought, but the Terra saga, the idea of Earth as a real hope and goal (instead of a panacea to prevent panic), the clues for the lost tribe, the mysticism, the political aspects, the cowboy aspects... they're all set aside for a very solid world of military SF and passenger liners trying to survive. The primary colors have been washed away in lieu of washed out grey. Hope has been set aside in lieu of defiance in the face of extinction. It's good, but it's not better. I really wish we could have seen what kind of glory an updating of the original premise could have yielded. Having lost that, I'm excited to see where this series is going.
Posted by Eric Burns-White at 5:18 PM | Comments (7)
-->January 14, 2005
Eric Burns-White: Views of the Q-List: The Dumbrella Meet and Greet.
Howdy, kids. This one's long. Five thousand words long, in fact, so I've done the unthinkable and put it behind a cut. If you're on RSS/Livejournal, hit the site to read the full thing. If you're on the main page, click the "Read more" bit at the bottom.
And if someone has some convenient caffeine in patch form, I could really use it. Thanks, kids.
It's winter in New England, but winter in New England has been indecisive at best this year, so it was warm and raining. You worry, as you're driving, that the temperature would drop twenty degrees and freeze the roads solid, effectively trapping you or -- even more likely -- creating black ice that would cause your car to careen off the side of the road and into a tree, giving you a chance to test your airbags. Jon Stewart's voice was talking to me through the car stereo speakers all the way down, though, and that made me feel like I wasn't going to die. It seems like you won't get into a car accident while the cast of the Daily Show is talking to you. The tableau was all wrong.
Scoff if you like -- I'm alive this morning to type about it, aren't I?
Northampton was one hundred and fifty five miles from where I had been parked along the shores of Lake Winepausakee. If it had all been interstate, I could have cleared it in just over two hours. But most of it was highways and good old fashioned 'routes', wet as I said, with some fog and more than a few nervous driver, so it took me just over three. I have a GPS from the good people at Garmin -- it will also let me read e-books on it if I want, which is cool enough, but it's the strident voice of the directions that makes you sit up and take notice. Over the summer, I had some friends visit for the weekend, and we trawled all over New England via my GPS. We named her Frau Navistein von Garmin, or "Frau" for short. A digital dominatrix, always ready to announce that you are "Off route -- recalculating," in a tone of voice that made you think she was barely resisting adding "you stupid fuck" afterward. She took me straight to where I needed to go. Of course, then I had to circle around and find someplace to Park, which added ten minutes. But eventually, I got inside.
It's called the Haymarket Bookstore Cafe, easily recognizable by its total lack of books of any kind. It's dark, with lots of stained wood, and handwritten backlit menus up on the boards. It's on two levels as well... and the thing is, if you want coffee, you have to be on the upper floor, where the baristas are. If you want food, you have to be on the lower level where the kitchen is. If you want coffee with your food, make up your mind or haul yourself up the stairs, you lazy sack of shit. This, to me, is the sign of a good cafe. I chose to go downstairs, order a salad, and then head back up to get coffee.
The barista was maybe twenty-two, dark haired, with four visible piercings not counting ears. Two eyes, one nose, one labret. Dark ink tattoos. She was cheerful, but also looked ready to beat my head in if I looked at her crosseyed. Barista. I felt nostalgic.
A side note. I lived in Seattle during the heights of the whole Seattle coffee thing. I learned the art of care and feeding of baristas from the masters. I learned the casual disdain, the significant adorableness, the ability to beat you within an inch of your worthless life or at the very least spit in your latte if you crossed them there. Since then, I've been living in New Hampshire. There's a few nice coffee shops in New Hampshire, and I've had good coffee there, but the baristas are only baristas because they make you coffee. No one taught them the subtle, almost erotic art of pulling espresso and making your customers suffer. It was refreshing.
"What'll you have?" she asked.
"Tall nonfat vanilla," I said, trying to be smooth.
"A small?" she asked.
"A tall."
She looked at me with a weather eye. Poseur. You want to throw stupid words around, go to fucking Starbucks.
"Medium," I corrected, and she nodded. The guy next to her -- twenty one himself, eyebrow piercing and industrial on the ear, tattoos, grey tee and basic apron... the male of the barista species -- said "hey, can I ring you up?"
"Sure," I said.
"What'd you have?"
"Tall nonfat vanilla," I said, because I don't learn.
"A what?"
"He got a medium," the girl snotted. That's the only way to put it. 'Snotted.'
"Right, right," he said, and charged me. I dropped a buck in the tip jar, and he nodded. Poseurs are okay if they tip. A couple of minutes later, the girl walked over with my coffee and handed it to me.
"Hey," I said. "Is this where the Dumbrella event is supposed to be?"
"The what?" she asked.
"Dumbrella? The webcomics thing?"
She squinted, and shrugged. "Turn Your Back On Bush is having a thing tonight. But they never tell us anything."
This made me nervous. I had a sneaking suspicion I was in the wrong place, since the place we were supposed to meet was the Haymarket Bookstore Cafe, and as I said, there were no books in this place, for sale or otherwise. "Is this the only Haymarket Cafe?" I asked.
"Only one I know of," she said.
I thanked her and started back downstairs to where my salad would be waiting. I sipped.
Best damn cup of coffee I'd had in eight years. I'd marry that girl, if she even acknowledged I wasn't simian. Which of course she wouldn't. As Jeph Jacques and I said to each other later that night, you don't hit on your barista. You don't. The consequences of rejection could be dire. The least you could hope for is that she'd spit in your latte. And to be blunt, you'd drink it anyway. You'd have no choice. That is the power of the well pulled espresso.
The salad was somewhat disappointing, but the wifi was up. And that was good, because I had a good hour to wait before people started showing up. The downstairs was better lit than the upstairs, with an odd preponderance of religious art. Lots of virgins, lots of saints. No crucifixes, though. Also, a lot of vases. And yet, the music playing over the system sounded if anything Islamic, and they were mostly serving Indian food. The benches were wooden but comfortable.
At about ten to nine, I saw Jon Rosenberg. He and Jeph Jacques were the two I figured I had even odds of picking out in a police lineup even though I'd never met them. He glanced at me a couple of times. I glanced at him a couple of times. Neither one of us were really ready to walk over and say "hey, do I actually know you." Not without one of the two of us being female and cute, anyway, and I think Rosenberg's significant other might have something to say about that. I waited until someone else tested the water. Girls, two of them, hip, in black pea-coats. Chatting it up with Rosenberg and a powerful looking blond man, his hair in a pony tail. Phillip Karlsson, I thought to myself. And I realized that Rosenberg and Karlsson look exactly like their cartoon counterparts. Oh, they don't have the disproportionate eyes, and Jon actually currently has facial hair, but still. If you saw them standing next to comedic life sized cutouts of the comic strip, you'd know instantly it was then. Karlsson's hair was even pulled back into the pony tail.
One thing -- Karlsson is a powerful looking man in person. I have no doubt but that he could scoop up a chair and take out a malefactor at a moment's notice. He also wore a "Do Not Eat This T-Shirt T-Shirt" implied in this strip and on sale in their store. It's now displaced the Pirate Monkey Robot tee shirt as the one I have to own next, as soon as I'm comfortable it'll be in my size.
Finally, having let the girls break the ice ahead, and seeing Karlsson set out a number of freebies on the table they were next to (the likelihood that these were some random other people who happened to look just like Jon and Phillip from the comic strip, one of whom was wearing a tee shirt from the strip, and who happened to be carrying around Goats buttons, bumper stickers, comics and the like seemed negligible), I swallowed my fear along with the rest of my second cup of coffee (this one a decaf vanilla latte, and large) and walked over, nodding.
"Hey," Karlsson said. "Are you Eric Burns?"
"Yeah," I said. Because, after all, I was.
"Cool." He leaned over to Rosenberg. "Yeah, that's Eric Burns," he said.
We shook hands all around. "Good to see you," I said. Rosenberg smiled, looking around almost furtively. "People are actually showing up," he said.
"Well yeah," I said. "You're a rock star."
Rosenberg dismissed that with a snort, then shook his head a bit. "I'm always surprised when they show up," he said, and had a sip of a beverage that can only be described as 'adult.' Like I said, rockstar.
Rosenberg pointed out his compatriots, all of whom were there and none of whom I recognized. I didn't approach any of them at that point, because they were all speaking to fans, and as weird as it sounds, said fans had more right to access than I did. I was there, if anything, as the press. And while everything I learned about journalism I learned from old Lou Grant episodes, one thing I knew was the reporter didn't inject himself into the story.
Jeffrey Rowland I didn't instantly recognize, but I should have. I could see the spiritual kinship between him and his avatar in Overcompensating. He had also set out some books and the like, and drawing gear, and as he chatted with people he sketched in their books, or in his sketchbook. That's something I recognized almost immediately. Rowland sketches. All the time. Or at least, all the time he was there. He was personable and conversational and clearly enjoyed talking with his fans, but while he did so his pen was always working.
R. Stevens I also didn't recognize, but I had a feeling he was one of the group when I saw him. (Though my first guess had been John Allison.) He was active and frenetic, chatting people up and performing, almost. Friendly and uninhibited. A cool guy to know. He didn't look like anyone in his comic in particular, but then given the pixilated element in his comic, it'd probably be surprising if he did. And that made me think about that comparison, briefly. You find yourself expecting artists to look like they'd fit in their comic strip -- probably because that way, you can convince yourself that the strips are real, even if they have satanic chickens or poison potatoes or mack daddy robots or nefarious Portuguese Man'o'Wars in them. Which is just plain pathetic, if you think about it.
John Allison wasn't what I expected. I'm not sure what I did suspect -- going back to the whole "comic strip as life" thing, maybe I expected him to look like Ryan, bursting in on a vespa scooter with his own soundtrack. Physically, he probably looked most like Rich Tweedy from the Bobbins cast, though he's not red haired. And yet, looking at him, you think artist. He gives off a vibe not unlike you imagine T. S. Eliot would. Quiet, analytical, seeing things you don't see. Seeing potential.
Truth be told, Allison's the one I barely spoke to all night. He was in a corner with a coterie, several of whom were female and pretty. And that's cool for all involved. So I won't mention him much in the rest of the narrative, but he seemed perfectly pleasant and cool. Just for the record.
The event spun up quickly enough. There was no organization to it, mind. It was just happening, but people began showing up. More and more of them. Right next to them were two people that seemed like the people who wanted to be there early. One was a bit heavier than I currently am, wearing a purple shirt and tie, and next to him was a rail thin friend. I've seen their type at every con I've been to, and so have you. And they had a sketchbook with them. Idiot, I thought. You should have brought a sketchbook so people could draw in it. Then, I realized I wouldn't actually have given it to any of the artists in residence, because as I've said before, that seems like hubris to me. But then, I'm weird.
I ended up standing off to one side, and watching as the crowd came in. Pretty girls, hip guys, college crowd mostly. They all handled it a bit differently. Karlsson and Rosenberg did lots of chatting and passing of freebies out. For Rowland, it was like a traditional signing -- a line formed to meet him, to give him things or buy things and let him sign and sketch, and he cheerfully obliged. For Stevens, it was an event. For Allison... well, no clue. But he seemed to be having fun with his coterie.
And me? I stood off and watched. Letting the crowd come in. There were a couple of people with Goats tee shirts, some Questionable Content paraphernalia -- hey, where was Jeph Jacques, anyway? -- and a good amount of Wigu shirts.
One of the kitchen staff guys swung through. "Hey," he said, not too loudly but with some annoyance. "I need to get back into that closet." Clearly, he wasn't too happy about the crowd. I moved out of the way -- said closet was right next to the Rowland line, so for the most part people weren't going to get out of the worker's way. Needless to say, he didn't take a bumper sticker.
Karlsson came over after a bit, and we chatted. "These things stun me," he said. "People showing up to see... you know, us."
"Why? You know how many people read you every day," I said.
"Yeah, but still. We didn't get into this because we wanted crowds of people. We just wanted to do it." He shrugged. "Back then, there weren't very many comic strips on the web. If we started today, no one'd ever know who we are. But now, we're like... Q-List Celebrities, and that's weird."
I could tell how he felt. If he and the Dumbrella folks were the Q-List, I was at best the R-List, but sometimes even that freaks me out. Once, I was sitting in Panera Bread in Portsmouth, and after a few moments I realized that the people at the next table were bitching about online comics, and Websnark came up. That was a moment of profound strangeness for me. How much more is it when you have ten times the traffic, when people have been reading your comic strip for years and years?
Rock stars I'd called them. The Q-List, but at a Q-List event, there were still crowds. People into it.
Rosenberg and I chatted about the same thing a few minutes later. "Yeah, we never expected there to be... you know, fanbases. People willing to come out to see us. It kind of amazes me, still."
I nodded to Rowland. "Some folks settle into it pretty well."
Rosenberg grinned. "Well, Jeff draws. All the time. John Allison too. They always have sketchbooks out. They'll be up, late at night, drawing. Me, I'm more a writer. But then, you look at early Goats, and I didn't know how to draw at all. I only got away with it because there wasn't any competition back then."
"Well, you know me," I said. "If the writing keeps me coming back, I'm willing to give the art a bye."
Rosenberg laughed. "Well, it's not fair for me to say this, since I know what my art was like back then... but I just don't have enough time to read strips, so I'm pretty much going to stick with strips where the art and writing are both really good. I just don't have the time."
"I can understand that," I answered. "Still, if someone's drawing every day, day in and day out, they're going to get better by default."
"Absolutely," Rosenberg said. "That's very, very true."
"And if the art's beautiful but the writing isn't there--"
"Yeah. The writing's what brings you back. That's what makes these guys so incredible," he said, nodding to the rest of the group. "The writing and the art -- it's just there."
"Well, you're the proof of all this," a fan who'd been listening chimed in. "I mean, no offense, but when you started you were horrible. And now your art's incredibly beautiful."
Rosenberg grinned -- a little embarrassed, but also happy, I think, and shook his hand.
Jeph Jacques got in about then. Naturally, as the guy with the least distance to travel, he was the one who arrived last. And, as reports have indicated, he is very tall. Very tall. He reminded me of my friend and Superguy compatriot Gary Olson, who used to describe himself as having a "+2 Bonus Loom Attack." Now, here was someone who could have stepped outside his comic strip -- the same with Cristi, who should be familiar to readers of the Questionable Content livejournal. The Haymarket clearly has had influence on Jacques's settings, and the Northampton street it's on appears in the strip in different forms all the time too. In fact, looking at the patrons and baristas of the Haymarket and Cristi herself -- and Jacques himself, for that matter -- I think the next person who tries to accuse Jacques of drawing unrealistic women better watch out. They're all right there. We shook hands briefly and then he went in to visit with friends.
Stevens and I said a fast hello. "I'm a huge fan," I said. Which was true, and also dorky. He thanked me, grinning. And then smiled to the absolutely gorgeous girl also sitting at his table. "Eric here's being a journalist tonight," he said. "He's totally popping his Journalism cherry, right in front of us."
"Really?" the girl said, looking up and giving me a smile that caused parts of my bone structure to melt into cartilage. "You're a journalist?"
Now, I know what I should say in that situation. "Yes," I should say. "I'm with Websnark--" stated with authority, like of course she should have heard of it. "Have you known Rich Stevens long?"
What I actually said was "eh. I'm a guy with a website."
She kept smiling, looked me up and down, and said "Oh." And turned back to Stevens.
Presentation is everything, kids.
The other notable woman I met was waiting in the Rowland line. She had long, brown hair with a purple strip running down the front in the forelock position -- and was one of the first to make it look really good, in my experience. Of course she has a purple streak in her hair, you think. "You're missing a few holes to get ahead in line," I said.
"I know," she said. "But... I don't know. I'm not sure I deserve to meet them. I'm not a big enough fan, maybe. You know?"
I arched an eyebrow. "You came out in the rain to see them."
"Yeah, but I'm local."
I gave her a look. "You came out in the rain to see them. You're a big enough fan."
She grinned, sheepishly. "Okay. And I did leave a show to see them. I should get back soon, too."
"Especially if you're supposed to be on stage?" She laughed, and we moved on.
"Excuse me," one of the two guys sitting nearby -- the two I mentioned before. The ones with the sketchbook -- asked me. "What's going on?"
I blinked. "You're not here to see the Dumbrella artists?"
"The what?"
"Webcomics? Goats? Wigu? Diesel Sweeties?"
"Oh. I'm just beginning to get into those. I just read... he paused, looking away. Sheepish, it looked like. Like he was suddenly unsure he should mention names like Sluggy Freelance or Penny Arcade at some other collective's event. Proof positive that you shouldn't make assumptions, I suppose.
I ended up telling maybe ten people what was going on, all told. Regular patrons. It sort of made sense -- I was standing off to the side, not getting into the heart of the event. I must have looked like an event coordinator or a manager or something. My favorite was a couple of guys who came in. College hipster clothes and beards. "What is all this," the one guy asked.
"It's a webcomics event," I said. "The Dumbrella artists are meeting their fans."
He looked at the freebee table. "Republicans for Voldemort?" he asked. "These guys are Republicans?"
"Er... no," I said. "It's a 'greater of two evils thing. You know. Voldemort."
No, he didn't know. Harry Potter had apparently passed right by him. So I steered him away from the bumper sticker and tried to explain... well, what a webcomic was, in ten words or less.
"Great," he said, and pulled out a copy of Socialist Worker. It was a newspaper, the masthead in good old Soviet Red. "This is a great newspaper," he said. "For just a dollar, you get great opinion and fact you won't see anywhere else."
I opened my mouth, closed it, and smiled. "Not tonight," I said.
"Good enough," he answered, and they moved on, to track down others ready to take up the cause of revolution.
I didn't talk as long as I'd like to Jeff Rowland. But we chatted for a bit. When I told him I liked his stuff, he said "you used to. I don't do it now, remember?"
"You do Overcompensating," I said, and he kind of waved it off. "Monday," he said. "The new one starts Monday. I have it in my head. I'm excited." He kind of looked off for a moment. "Three years. It seems to be three years that these things last."
"That's one of the things I like about you," I said, then tried to figure out how to phrase it. "You don't cling to things you don't think are working, and you let popular strips that you've finished in your head end, and move on--
"Fun," he interrupted. "I do them while they're fun. When they're not fun, I do something else."
Maybe that's the difference between webcartoonists and print. In print, you either keep doing what you've been doing because you're under contract, or you do the Dan Cowles thing and publish new issues when you've got a new issue's worth of stuff, regardless of how long it's been since the last Eightball. On the web, if you stop enjoying yourself, you close up shop and start something new.
"Hey," a fan said to Rowland. "Show us the spider bite."
Rowland grinned, and rolled up his pant leg, showing a large red scar. It reminded me of the surgical scar from an infected abscess, I had two Summers ago. The "spider bite" was from last year, when a Brown Recluse tried its level best to take Jeff Rowland down.
"Wow," the fan said. "It still looks like that?"
"That's permanent," Rowland said, still grinning. He sat back down and went back to sketching.
After a while, the staff of the Haymarket let the artists know that they were closing in a few minutes. "Ten o'clock close time," Rosenberg said. "Yeah, we planned this well."
"I don't think they expected there to be this much of a crowd," I said.
"They didn't know we were coming," he said. "We just decided to go out for coffee, then someone put it on their site, and the next thing we know..." he looked around. "This just amazes me."
Just before we went out, I took time to shake Allison's hand and tell him that I like his work. He thanked me, quietly but graciously. I didn't mention Websnark to him. I'm not certain he'd know what it was if I did. I got a few pictures of people -- sooner or later, I'll post them up here, though not today -- and then we piled out onto the street, where we stood around and talked. This is where I got most of my chance to talk with Jacques and Cristi, along with Karlsson and Rosenberg and various fans of various strips. It was, if anything, a better venue than the coffeehouse had been. We talked about the weirdass turrets on the town hall, across the street.
"It was to protect against the Indians," Jacques said.
"From the architecture, it was to protect against the French," a fan said.
I snorted. If we went by the architecture, it looked like they were trying to protect against Six Flags.
Jacques and Karlsson were discussing tee shirts. Jacques mentioned that the new "Teh" shirts were selling well. "I believe it," Rosenberg said. "The minute I saw that, I knew it'd be a shirt and it'd sell."
"Thanks," Jacques said. "I didn't know you read my stuff."
"Yeah, I do," Rosenberg said. "I got into it. You do good work."
"Thanks. I read yours, too. But then, you probably guessed that."
Rosenberg laughed. I realized then that... well, in a way, it's not just me, amazed at the kind of subculture that's grown around these webcomics sites. The fanbase. Jacques liked the Dumbrella guys on general principle, and certainly he has a popular strip, but there was still an element in him of "Jon Rosenberg reads my webcomic?" I have to wonder if that's true of all artists... if there's always some sense of amazement that someone you've enjoyed and followed for years is reading your book. I know it always surprises me. It surprised me when Stevens mentioned the journalist thing -- that had meant that not only did he read Websnark (I'm always stunned at that), but that he'd read it that same day.
The conversation was growing mellow, and the hour was getting late. Some folks were tired. Others didn't feel so well. So we began to break up. There were handshakes and hugs. More than one artist mentioned that they'd like to live in Northampton. I can see that. I sort of want to live there too, now, though I think I'm too old. There's nothing so pathetic as a guy my age trying to be indy. Not that I made any attempt at all, in a rugby shirt and L.L. Bean windbreaker. I was the polar opposite of indy. Jacques and Cristi talked Scrabble with me -- they apparently have an ultra-super Scrabble board, with quad word scores and everything. I could get into that. I got buttons from another local -- an artist from Viking Squid Studios, which is a cool thing -- and then it was over.
I climbed back into the car. The fog was rolling in thicker. Traveling back ended up taking nearly four and a half hours. Jon Stewart having run out, I now listened to This American Life, hitting the road. The Q-List Celebrity event behind me.
So the question is, was it worth it? Seven and a half hours in a car for an hour of being abused by a barista and drinking excellent coffee, followed by an hour and a half of light conversation and watching popular artists meet some of their fans?
Yeah. Yeah it was. It was an experience. And I even had a very brief R-Level Celebrity moment myself. Milligan -- who comments on Websnark -- had come down from Albany and shook my hand. We didn't speak long, but I got the feeling I was something of a draw for him, as well as the actual, you know, artists. I had an excellent time, besides. I'll gladly hang with Jacques and Rosenberg and Karlsson any day they want -- I still owe Rosenberg scotch -- and I'd love to get to know Rowland and Stevens better (and Allison... er, at all). So yeah, it was very worthy.
And if I take off the "journalist" cap no one is really sure fits me anyway, and put on the "writer" cap I'm comfortable with, it was very worth it. Like I said, it was an experience. And I learned things. I learned that pretty girls will go out in the rain to meet artists. I learned that Enzed/Swede New Yorkers are funny as Hell. I learned that R. Stevens can draw ladies like flies to honey.
And, I learned that socialists don't read either Jeffery Rowland or J.K. Rowling. You can't put a price tag on knowledge like that.
Posted by Eric Burns-White at 10:36 AM | Comments (46)
-->Eric Burns-White: And now we know.
No thumbnail. I glanced at my mail and saw a reference to today's Todd and Penguin, so I had a quick look before I sleep.
So, really fast....
I had my hopes, but I also knew how the story should end. (End... or leave off for now.)
Nicely done, Mr. Wright. Nicely done.
I just hope this story isn't over.
Posted by Eric Burns-White at 2:19 AM | Comments (2)
-->Eric Burns-White: Ira Glass: Lifesaver
The event took place, was quite good, and I made it home alive, despite evil fog, one moment of adrenalin, and some serious thought of pulling over and going to sleep.
The reason I didn't was because I was actively enjoying the This American Life episodes I was listening to, so I didn't want to stop until the given story/essay I was on was over. And when it ended, I glazed over the interstitial and found myself in the next story.
Oh, and they're breeding biblical cows, and those cows are going to cause the end of the world. And the thing is, it's perfectly plausible. So now I'm going to have nightmares about cows.
Oh, also? Webcartoonists have the ability to cause beautiful women to come out to see them in the rain.
Full writeup tomorrow. Action Stalker Journalist Burns going to sleep.
Posted by Eric Burns-White at 1:55 AM | Comments (2)
-->January 13, 2005
Eric Burns-White: A sighting.
I believe I have officially seen Jon Rosenberg, along with others who are probably some kind of affiliated peoples.
I have not confirmed anything by walking over and saying hello, however. Because I am a coward. Still, I'm pretty sure it's Jon Rosenberg.
Which means I've just been upgraded from "dubious journalist" to "stalker." And that's a sweet, sweet place to be.
Posted by Eric Burns-White at 8:41 PM | Comments (5)
-->Eric Burns-White: Fun Northampton Notes
So, here's some quick notes for you the person at home. On the Metropolitan Opera broadcasts I've listened to in my mother's house, these would be the things that Peter Allen would say while waiting for James Levine to get off his fat ass and start the fucking Opera, already. In this case, you can just pretend they're being said by Bob Costas and Deborah Norville, and therefore they're vapid.
The Northampton City Hall seems to be a fake castle. Up to and including turrets.
Turrets.
Several of them. Not one turret. One turret would look silly, after all. If you're going with turrets, you have to go for the full monty. They look like they should be flying pennants while bit actors in helmets ready boiling oil to be poured down onto protesting and invading hipsters.
As for said hipsters... the ratio of young, attractive men and women to old, broken down people seems to be seventy-four to one in favor of youth, out on the rain slicked streets of Northampton. It's skewed in here because there aren't seventy four people in this room and by definition, I am.
As near as I can tell, the Virgin Mary is considered an ironic and somewhat hip interior decorating choice.
Also? Santa Rita of Cascia.
Santa Rita's story can be found here. She seems to have been an interesting and forgiving woman, and a nice choice for a saint. I'm not an expert, but still -- I'm behind this particular canonization one hundred percent.
For the record, Santarita.com seems to be a Chilean winery. From woman granted stigmata of the forehead from Christ's Thorny Crown for the last fifteen years of a woman who suffered untold tribulations with grace and forgiveness to Cabernet Sauvignon in one easy step.
Of course, that might be in reference to a different Santa Rita. Check the comments for Catholics up on their female saints.
I seem to have strayed from my original topic of discussion. In conclusion, cute girls with tattoos still fucking rock. Thank you, and try the lattes.
Posted by Eric Burns-White at 8:10 PM | Comments (3)
-->Eric Burns-White: Your man on the scene
So, here I am in rainy Northampton, a significant period of time before the festivities are scheduled to begin, on the twin theories of A) not knowing if this would be difficult to find, and therefore not knowing if it would take long to get here and B) having fuck-all to do in New Hampshire anyhow. It's slightly over an hour before our heroes are due to arrive here at the Haymarket, and no one around me is wearing a large sign reading "Webcartoonist," so I'm going to assume no one's here yet -- and after all, why would they be? They have an hour to go.
So, as a reporter, I should give my impressions, realtime, of venue. The Haymarket cafe is cozy and pleasant and largely occupied by attractive indy girls writing in journals. I ordered a light dinner of gorgonzola and spinach salad. The spinach is good enoughm the gorgonzola all gorgonzoly, though they drowned it in way too much oil.
The coffee, on the other hand, is exceptional. And obviously, the wifi works as expected. If this place were local to me, I suspect I would never sleep again.
At least one of the reports said this was taking place at the "Haymarket Bookstore Cafe," but I have seen no books here, which makes me wonder if I'm in the wrong "Haymarket Cafe." I guess come nine of the clock I'll find out, won't I? I have to assume there wouldn't be two cafes named "Haymarket" so close to each other, but then I've been wrong before. Often. If I'm wrong this time....
Actually, if I'm wrong this time, I'll have days worth of amusing anecdotes for Websnark and for talks. And that's all I can ask for, isn't it?
More news as events warrant. This is your man on the scene, Eric Burns, wishing all ladies and gentlemen and all the ships at sea safe voyages.
Oh, and the fucking fog bank that was southwestern New Hampshire can disperse any time between now and my drive back. I'm just saying.
Posted by Eric Burns-White at 7:53 PM | Comments (2)
-->Eric Burns-White: Journalism, or Road Trip
So, I mentioned to a friend that I was swinging down to the Northampton meeting tonight.
"Isn't Northampton like three hours from here?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"So, you're driving three hours there, watching this thing, maybe saying hello to some people and buying them drinks or something, then driving three hours back... this evening?"
"Well... yeah."
"You realize this is the most 'journalist' thing you've ever done in your life."
"What do you mean? I'm not a journalist. I'm a guy with a blog."
"You're a guy writing an op/ed column who's traveling by car for six hours to cover a webcomics event. You're going to be dead to the world tomorrow, barely able to communicate verbally, and yet I'm almost positive you'll snark about the trip by lunch. You're a journalist. Own it."
I allowed as they might have a point. Now, I just need to get press credentials and use this as justification for entry into E3.
Because this is going be six hours worth of driving for a 1-2 hour event, obviously I need to make certain I'll be as awake and alert as humanly possible for the trip. To that end, I've downloaded four -- count them four -- new episodes of This American Life and the audiobook version of America: The Book into my iPod. I have things rigged up so I can plug the headphone jack directly into my car stereo, so Ira Glass and Jon Stewart will see me through to where I will sit and drink coffee and feel desperately dorky in the back of the Dumbrella presentation.
Why dorky? Well, I'll tell you. If you can look at this trip as an exercise in journalism, you can far more easily look at it as an exercise in unmitigated fanboyism. And the last thing I want to do is throw up submissively on Jeffrey Rowland's shoes.
Posted by Eric Burns-White at 3:12 PM | Comments (10)
-->January 12, 2005
Eric Burns-White: Some days...
...you just don't have anything to say.
Tomorrow night, I'm making the trek out to the Haymarket Bookstore Cafe in Northampton, Massachusetts, as I mentioned. I'm going to see the Dumbrella soiree, including people with the surnames of Rosenberg, Rowland, Stevens and Allison, and see what they have to say to we the public. I'm told a fellow with the last name of Jacques will also be in attendance, though not perhaps on the dias so much as hanging back and heckling, and there's a couple of Snarkoleptics who have mentioned they may make the trek as well.
Other than that... there were many good strips today, but none said "snark me." I did get some work done on that short story, though -- so it's not a complete wash.
Out of curiosity... in the spirit of such era-defining terms as the Renaissance, the Enlightenment, the Victorian Age and so forth... what do people think of a future group of historians and lit scholars referring to the main body of the 20th Century as "the Convolution?"
If you like it, the credit goes to my friend Chris Angelini. If you don't, it's my fault.
EDIT: Technically, though I wrote this post on the 12th, I accidentally saved it to draft instead of publish, so it only appeared after midnight. So technically I didn't post on the 12th at all. But I wrote this on the 12th, so damn it, I say it counts.
Posted by Eric Burns-White at 10:41 PM | Comments (7)
-->January 11, 2005
Eric Burns-White: Humor! Or something like it.
The break is over, and so Comixpedia is back with their next issue. In this case, it's the Humor issue. And, because I have people who love me this much, I've gotten a couple of concerned letters that Feeding Snarky wasn't in this week's dispatch.
Well, there's a couple of reasons for that. The official reason is the inauguration of Through the Looking Back Glass by Erik Melander. (The Eric Conspiracy continues to gain strength in the virtual world. Mu hu ha ha ha!) This column replaces the monthly roundups that were on 24 hour pixel people, now that the pixel people have moved off to the Grey Havens, and it only makes sense that this column would appear in the first bit of issue, since it's all about the last month.
The unofficial reason is I was desperately late with it and another article I did, this month. Frankly, I'm lucky they don't throw me out. But Erik's new column is spiffy, so read it. And I'll be along by and by.
(It scares me anyone even notices I wasn't in the first week, to be honest.)
Anyhow, in addition to Erik's new column, I'll mention that T. Campbell has a spiffy Humor Roundtable, with many of the people I think are demonstrably superior to other life on Earth talking about what they thing is The Funny what can be Brought. This includes R. Milholland, M. Campos, D. Wright, J. Troutman, B. Guigar, and R. North, all of whom are people whose 'things' I read every day they put them out. Which to me means "yay." And, the Incontestable Wednesday White returns with a Review of Questionable Content, which makes it a review of a strip I like by the finest mind in Webcomics Commentary. This, to me, is cake. Sweet sweet cake.
I should mention the new site design. I should, but it seems kindest not to. Though it seems to be in evolution, so I have hopes. (I especially have hopes that the links will become the same size as the body text, in Firefox.)
Finally, going back to the Tuesday Morning Update, there's a mention that the Dumbrella folks -- particularly Jeff Rowland, Rich Stevens, John Allison and Jon Rosenberg -- will be in Northampton, Massachusetts on Thursday night. Now, that's... hrm. 3 or so hours from where I sit, which is a significant jaunt. On the other hand, while it's certainly conceivable I'll get a chance to meet some of these folks, John Allison has elected to live in an entirely different country across a great heap of water, and it seems like I should see him in the flesh before I die. If I make this trek, it'll be to sit in the back of the room and not be noticed, since... well, this isn't my event, and besides, no one wants to see me in a coffee shop. I figure it's even odds I wouldn't even say hello to most of the artist types. (Because... well, I'm shy and they're mighty. Also, Jeff Rowland possesses spider powers, whereas I possess a cat.) Well, except for Jon Rosenberg, but that's because I would need to buy him a beverage that adults enjoy.
We'll see. In the meantime, Comixpedia. Go. Enjoy.
Posted by Eric Burns-White at 10:17 PM | Comments (17)
-->Eric Burns-White: Too much to write, damn it.
Mrph.
I seem to have caught a short story. It's fairly demanding to be written. But there is also Shortbreads to finally finish plus the daily snarking. My brain is full to overflowing.
Oh, and I actually have a job, too. So, you know, I may not have time for any of this before 10 pm.
There is too much to be written in this world. There are too many interesting things. There is too much to say, and too many opinions to be said about it.
Or, I might need to start Ritalin. Never rule that out.
Posted by Eric Burns-White at 10:28 AM | Comments (7)
-->January 10, 2005
Eric Burns-White: This is wrong on so *many* levels.
(From Yirmumah! Click on the thumbnail for full sized gleaming pate!)
Coffman and McDeavitt continue to experiment with different styles of art and storytelling, and have gone back to a daily format (truly daily, this time), along with color Sundays. I'm grooving on it so far.
Today's strip is a desperate cry for help and the proof that God doesn't care about us any longer. And yet, I laughed for a long, long time. For that, I thank them.
Posted by Eric Burns-White at 6:05 PM | Comments (1)
-->Eric Burns-White: The wide eyed coffee drinking says it all, doesn't it?
(From R.S.I. Click on the thumbnail for... well, actually for the main page, because if there's a way to link to an archive page for it, I can't find it. Of course, that could be because I'm not very bright.)
I've been following Frances Moffatt's R.S.I. for a couple of weeks now, based on yet another recommendation. (Yes, I really do go through my recommendations. It takes a while sometimes, but I get there.) And, when the King of all Weaselkind mentioned her latest, it reminded me I haven't talked about it here. So I am.
This particular strip clicks because of things that happened to me in the writing world. Like the first time a student I knew walked up, paused, and said "Mr. Burns?"
"Yes?" I said.
"I read your website." Note that this is my old website -- the journal/essay one. For reasons I won't go into the current students would have... difficulty reading Websnark. Which is partially because I'd like to keep those halves of my life seperate, and partially because I use the word 'fuck' somewhat often, so the filters keep it out.
I blinked. "Oh."
He nodded. Now, this was one of the cockier students I knew -- with, admittedly, some justification. He generally wasn't at a loss for words. But this time he was flummoxed. "I... had no idea you could write," he said.
"Well... I'm glad you liked it."
"Seriously... you're... you're good. I just... wanted to say that."
And he left, after I thanked him. I knew why he was uncomfortable -- it was like learning one of the authority figures in his life had an actual life. Like I was perhaps sympathetic instead of an antagonist. Like I was human.
At the same time, it also made me uncomfortable, because part of that life had been pulled into my workday, and that's a little weird at the best of times.
So, I can see what Moffatt's trying to say here, and I also think she says it well.
You know. I'm just saying.
Posted by Eric Burns-White at 3:10 PM | Comments (4)
-->Eric Burns-White: Those crocs are just so *happy!*
(From Pearls Before Swine. Click on the thumbnail for full sized double snarked comical strips!)
Pearls Before Swine is one of those strips that's been on my "you really need to have a look at this" list for some time. I've had many, many recommendations that I read it. People I respect like it. It was just one of those things.
Well, as it turns out, one of the LJ people whose LJ I read (LJ -- it's like it actually means something when you say the initials) goes by the Livejournal sobriquet of The Weasel King, which I'd probably have a joke about, but given my own Livejournal sobriquet is Demiurgent, I don't have room to judge, now do I?
Anyhow, TWK posted a few Pearls Before Swine strips over the past week, putting them right. In. Front. Of. My. Face. Go to the Friends Page, read Pearls Before Swine. And that did it. This is so getting daily trawled now.
He put the lower of the two strips above up -- it's part of an ongoing sequence, where a couple of crocodiles move in next door to a zebra in the housing development. And would like, very much, to eat him. Today's just tickled me, so I went to snark it, and as is my wont, I went to the day before's strip to get to the archive page for the linkback... and saw the glorious, hysterical Sunday strip above it.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. The newspaper syndicates are not afraid of controversy, opinion or being sometimes savagely funny. I submit to you Pearls Before Swine as a test case.
So, read it.
Posted by Eric Burns-White at 2:07 PM | Comments (10)
-->Eric Burns-White: I seem to be becoming a professional devil's advocate.
I don't like Garfield.
I said it. It's official. I don't like it. I don't like that it's repetitive and unimaginative. I don't like that it was designed to be innocuous and marketable, not artistic and funny. I don't like that despite that fact, Garfield has potential (proven most clearly by the Garfield and Friends saturday morning cartoon, which was actually funny and clever and imaginative kids' fare) that it steadfastly refuses to exploit. I don't like the lasagna jokes. I don't like the "Jon is a helpless dweeb" jokes. I don't like the "I don't like Mondays" jokes (like a given housecat has any reason to care what day of the week it is). I don't. Like. Garfield.
So, here's a Snark defending Garfield.
See, Garfield is big news in comicdom right at the moment, thanks to the Los Angeles Times dropping the strip to make room for a new one. (My favorite part of that article? The one where the Syndicate representative describes Jim Davis as "hands on" with Garfield. Do you think anyone would ever describe, say, Lynn Johnston as "hands on" with For Better or For Worse?) And, when big news happens in comicdom, I get letters, most of them excited. "Did you hear?" they asked. "When are you going to comment?"
I guess the answer to that was 'Monday.' And yeah, I was glad to see it -- mostly I was glad that there was some actual response from the newspaper community cheering for the move, for artistic reasons. But, it didn't much impact on me, since I don't read the L.A Times and I don't read Garfield. However, it got me to thinking about Garfield... and about the down side to dropping the strip.
First off, this is unreservedly a kid's comic strip. Yes, its creation was cynical, its writing is hackneyed and uninspiring, and it repeats itself constantly. But to be honest, I don't think it's intended to hold readers past, oh, 12. It wants kids -- the ones who've never seen the jokes. The ones who like repetition because they're still having their brains develop (this is why, on Teletubbies, everything is done twice. This is not why there's a giant fucking scary sun baby overlooking them all on Teletubbies, to my knowledge). Kids quickly learn the lay of the land and laugh. They anticipate the joke the moment they see the pan of lasagna, or the moment Garfield thinks "Jon has a date tonight," or the moment Odie is shown sitting on the corner of the table. They get it, and that makes them happy.
And the thing is, that gets the kids reading the funny pages in the newspaper. Something toned to them, that they think is funny, sets a habit. And by the time they outgrow Garfield (when their brains get formed enough to start thinking "Jesus, did they just photocopy this?") the habit's formed and they go back to read stuff that's actually funny.
Secondly... Garfield actually is popular.
I know, I don't get it either.
But it has a readership. For that 1 prominent newspaper who dropped Garfield last year, there's 40 or 50 that picked it up. According to the Syndicate, it's in 2,700 newspapers world wide. Twenty seven hundred newspapers. That doesn't happen today -- not because of issues of quality, but because there's nothing so popular that jumps out of the current information glutted environment. Which means like it or not, Garfield is a part of our collective culture, in a world that increasingly doesn't have a collective culture. There's very few comic strips you can say that about, these days. Even the old (bad) standbys like Hagar and Blondie and B.C. can't claim that -- they might be on almost as many newspaper pages, but if you ask random folks to name Hagar's children or who Mr. Dithers was or any character names from B.C., they're not likely to know. Cathy is lucky people know Cathy's name, and her name is the title of the strip, for Christ's sakes.
But odds are, those people will be able to name "Garfield," "Jon," "Odie," "Veterinarian," and "Lasagna." And maybe even "Nermal." Christ, I can name them all, and I haven't willingly read Garfield in 20 years or more. The only comic strip (not counting Peanuts, which is even bigger in terms of culture, deserves it more, but is in eternal reruns now) in current production that comes close to that level of recognition are Dilbert, and Doonesbury, and neither are really meant for kids, and Doonesbury often as not is on the editorial page anyhow.
There is a value to shared cultural landmarks, even when those landmarks are insipid. There is a value to the shared referent we get from Gilligans Island and The Beverly Hillbillies, even when there were vastly better shows on the air at the same time. (And Married with Children and Baywatch, for that matter.)
And honestly, it's unseemly to despise the popular because it is popular. It's all right to despise Garfield as recycled humor by committee designed to push merchandise instead of art or humor, but it's not all right to despise people for liking it.
There's lots of strips I'd like to see off the comics page, because I don't think they're very good, I think they're taking up space, I think we should try to do better, and I think editors are typically a cowardly and superstitious lot. But when a strip actually is popular, especially with the children we're trying to recruit into the comic strip habit... I guess I give it more than a bye. So yeah, I hate Garfield. I'd give anything for Count Your Sheep to be sitting in its place in those 2,700 newspapers -- it's vastly better, funnier, and just as accessible, I think. But in a world where The Lockhorns and Marmaduke and B.C. Which Means Before Christ Not That You Can Tell In This Fucking Strip and the aptly named Hagar the Horrible are allowed to run free, stinking up the joint and bringing powerfully little in return... the fat cat who likes italian food and has a lame sense of sarcastic humor... and who actually hooks people on comics... gets more of a bye from me.
Posted by Eric Burns-White at 12:53 PM | Comments (4)
-->January 9, 2005
Eric Burns-White: All right, already. It's snarked. It's snarked. Now for Christ's sake, let my cat go unharmed! She's done nothing to you!
(From Schlock Mercenary. Click on the thumbnail for full sized oversight!)
The tagline for Schlock Mercenary is "where military humor meets hard science fiction," and this strip conveys that sense. There's a real sense of the military and the mechanics in this strip.
I'm reminded of David Hartwell's definition of hard science fiction. It's as much method as science -- a sense of rigorous attention to detail, to world construction, to the sense of plausibility as there is actual science. Tayler nails that, and he nailed it in today's strip.
At the same time, it's also funny. And yet, also dark. And it brings the story. And closes a chapter.
Not at all bad for a Sunday. Tayler gets a biscuit. A tasty, tasty biscuit.
Posted by Eric Burns-White at 11:26 PM | Comments (3)
-->Eric Burns-White: Sweet, sweet resolution...
(From Todd and Penguin. Click on the thumbnail for full sized Innocent Revelations.)
One of the things I really like about David Wright is his ability to convincingly write innocence. See, there's lots of innocent cartoon characters out there, but all too often they seem... I dunno. Artificial. Like the television shows you see where adults write childrens' dialogue for children the way they think children actually speak. And adults then grin and say "yes! That's perfect." And children stare at the screen, turn to each other, and say "what the fuck was that? Jesus, do adults think we're retarded?"
And then, there's someone like Wright, whose Penguin is innocent, and comes across perfectly convincingly. His innocence has a dark edge (well, if we assume that Mr. Bear's yearnings to maul the humans come from Penguin's imagination), but it's sincere. And so, when he blurts out the fact that Todd bought Holly an engagement ring which he never gave to Holly because she announced she was going away to England... it was done not to force the issue out into the open, but because Penguin really wanted to know the answer, and didn't really know any better.
And now the issue is out into the open. And Wright's got me hooked. I really want to see the next several strips, and see how this plays out. I know the sweet ending would have that ring on Holly's finger... that's how it would work in Penguin's world. But the strip's name is Todd and Penguin, and Todd's life is typically Hell.
So, I expect Holly is going to leave, and there will be an air of "might have been" making her departure bittersweet. And if that happens, it'll be a good thing for the strip.
But I hope Holly has that ring on her finger, whether she leaves or not.
Wright's hooked me something fierce. Wednesday can't come fast enough.
Posted by Eric Burns-White at 10:49 PM | Comments (3)
