200 Posts Later: 100 Awesome Things About Arizornia!

Welcome to my 200th post at The Inner Child Speaketh! Apparently, the inner child has much to say.

I've recently moved from Fullerton, California to Mesa, Arizona, and I couldn't have picked a more controversial time to call both states my home! Arizona's SB 1070 has ignited heated debate bordering (pun intended) on sociopolitical fanaticism, but if California's recent Republican gubernatorial primaries have taught us anything (aside from where your eBay surcharges were going all these years), it's that a fine line in the desert doesn't distinguish the shared responsibility of our nation's integrity. Of course, "our nation's integrity" is a subjective phrase -- for some, it means sanctifying America's borders, and for others, it means an American dream that's accessible to all, no matter what. I've made my opinions public on Facebook, the perfect forum for in-your-face opinions, since that's kind of in its name and all. Here, I've decided to pledge allegiance to both California and Arizona with "100 Awesome Things about Arizornia!"

Yes, "awesome" knows no border, and this is a completely arbitrary list of the places and personalities that make Arizornia such a cool place to live. It's by no means comprehensive, but each entry represents unique experiences I've had by way of the hobbies I most enjoy, like comics, coffee, comedy, etc. A tad autobiographical? Perhaps. A call to arms to experiences these things for yourself? Absolutely. Even if you never visit Arizornia, perhaps my recollection of a person, place, or thing therein will remind you of some similar experience from your personal travels, and we'll at least share that nostalgia -- because whether your America is a well-defined nation of borders or an open ideal for the world to pursue (and I'm not saying one is better than the other!), it's always been a place that tries to remember its roots.

Note: I've distinguished which side of the desert you can find these most awesome of landmarks with red and blue. I think you'll figure out the rest.

1. 24 Hour Wal-Mart, Valleywide: because sometimes you need a pair of tube socks and Drain-o at 4 a.m.
2. A&J’s, Fullerton: a nostalgic walk-up grease pit
3. All About Books & Comics, Phoenix: to the best of my knowledge, the only comic book store accessible from the light rail!
4. ArtSpace, Scottsdale: a gallery in swanky Scottsdale that isn’t afraid to host steampunk exhibits
5. Ash Avenue Comics, Tempe: for their large rack of indie books
6. Atomic Comics, Mesa: Phoenix’s major chain of comic book stores, and fortunately for me the biggest and best location is in Mesa
7. Azteca, Garden Grove: the best collection of Elvis memorabilia at a Mexican restaurant, with karaoke on the weekend!
8. Barney's Boathouse, Tempe: specifically, their $5 burger baskets on Wednesdays and Fridays
9. Beach & Ball, Anaheim: a quaint corner, home to Beachball Comics and three collectible toy stores, including Phat Collectibles, an overpriced collectible toy store – more of a toy museum, really, with action figures in glass cases that I could never afford
10. Beach Blvd. between La Palma and Lincoln, Buena Park: the southbound drive to Knott’s Berry Farm, including Medieval Times and the now-abandoned Wax Museum, is the OC’s answer to Hollywood Blvd.
11. Bee-line Café, Payson: one of the best diners in Arizona, thanks to its rich family history
12. Bill Campana: my favorite local poet/Larry King hater
13. Bill Handel: the best morning radio talk show host, ever
14. Bookmans, Mesa: an excellent source for new and used books and music, and in the same strip mall as Atomic Comics . . . and a 99 Cents Store! Has someone been reading my wish journal?
15. Bragg's Pie Factory, Phoenix: whoever thought to convert an old pie factory into an art exhibit with piñatas – genius. And, is it just me, or does it still smell like pie?
16. Brea Improv, Brea: always emailed me free passes, so they deserve props
17. Canter’s Deli, Hollywood: delicious kosher food – come for the pickles, stay for the bakery!
18. Cheba Hut, Mesa: a cool local sandwich shop with an, uhm, unique theme
19. Cine-Capri, Tempe: though not as historically poignant as the original, this Cine-Capri captures the Valley movie-going experience with the biggest bang around
20. CinemaFusion, Anaheim: with a 21 and over lounge, where you can bring your beer into the theater . . . ‘Nuff said!
21. Coffee Plantation, Scottsdale: What happened to the Arizona-based coffee chain I knew so well?
22. Comedy Store, Hollywood: specifically, its homage to Andy Kaufman
23. Comics, Toons, ‘N Toys, Tustin: my favorite comic book store in life so far
24. Conspire Coffee House, Phoenix: the most daring, eclectic poetry open mic in town
25. CornerStore Comics, Fullerton: a distributor of collectibles, but also a community-minded shop – they frequently donated comics to the Boys & Girls Clubs of Fullerton
26. Date Shack, Newport Beach: now owned and operated by Ruby’s, and home of the my favorite date shack, the Monkey Flip
27. Downtown Fullerton, Fullerton: dubbed “Sunset Blvd. East” by The Los Angeles Times, an antique row turned college town block party
28. Downtown Glendale, Glendale: a time capsule of antique shops, anchored by my favorite, Bo’s Funky Stuff
29. Downtown Los Angeles, Los Angeles: for being like a Monet – beautiful to look at from a distance, but baffling and disoriented up close
30. Downtown Mesa, Mesa: Downtown Mesa has more potential cool than viable cool, but its residents seem to be a patient people
31. Drawn to Comics, Glendale: gets the best customer service award
32. Dunkin' Donuts, Valleywide: California doesn’t have a single Dunkin’ Donuts. I swear; look it up. In Arizona, they’re on every corner. Win.
33. Durty Nelly’s, Costa Mesa: and the best karaoke jockey in Orange County, Kevin
34. El Torito, Cypress: for hosting karaoke on Friday nights, and allowing me to invade so many unsuspecting couples’ romantic dinners with “You Give Love a Bad Name”
35. Evermore Nevermore, Mesa: an oasis of comics and goth punk culture
36. Frank & Sons Collectibles Show, City of Industry: a Mecca of comics and collectibles, and where O.J. Simpson planned to sell the stuff he stole, or that was stolen from him, or whatever
37. Fuzzy Bear’s, Stanton: an enigma I highly recommend
38. Golden Apple Comics, Hollywood: a genuinely famous comic book store
39. Goodwill, Valleywide: every other Saturday is 50% day . . . because $2 for that genuine vintage Tee is about 50% more than I’d be willing to pay!
40. Grand Ave., Phoenix: in the shadow of Phoenix’s rising downtown, a pocket of dive bars and art galleries remain unchanged . . . ironically making them the hippest spot around
41. Greg's Comics, Mesa: when I put $6 worth of back issues on the counter, and the clerk rang me up with, “Ah, let’s say $4,” I knew Greg’s was a cool comics shop
42. Gypsy Den, Santa Ana: delicious coffee, and the home of an amazing open mic – where I first featured!
43. Hollywood Sign, Hollywood: the world’s biggest real estate sign
44. Hollywood Walk of Fame, Hollywood: the only place I can see the Monkees and Mary Tyler Moore all in the same place
45. Jesse James Comics, Glendale: Drawn to Comics gets best customer service, but Jesse James gets most thoughtful; I get there maybe once a month, and he remembers every conversation we had, setting aside recommended comics and offering discounts aplenty
46. June Gloom, overhead: summer’s good morning kiss
47. La Palma Chicken Pie Shop, Anaheim: old school food at old school prices
48. Laugh Factory, Hollywood: a controversial comedy haven
49. Lee Mallory: I daresay the Godfather of Orange County poetry, and a sexy redhead, to boot
50. Light Rail, Valleywide: Phoenix’s bloodstream, and the only way I can get to half the stuff I like around here
51. Linbrook Bowl & the Kopa Room, Anaheim: the best place you will ever karaoke, if you manage to get a turn
52. Long Beach Antique Flea Market, Long Beach: the Antiques Roadshow meets your grandmother’s garage
53. Long Beach’s Antique Row, Long Beach: everything Urban Outfitters wishes it could be – and home of Portfolio Coffee House, the LBC’s best cup of java
54. Los Angeles Comic Book and Science Fiction Convention, the Shrine Auditorium, Los Angeles: the best monthly comic book convention in the worst part of town
55. Macayo’s Depot Cantina, Tempe: right off the light rail, converted from the original train station, and offering a free buffet at the bar Monday through Friday, 4 p.m. to 6 p.m.!
56. Marctini Lounge, Glendale: the West Valley has a karaoke oasis, and it is the vainly named and conversely madly hospitable Marctini Lounge
57. Marjle’s, Phoenix: the best place to watch a Suns game – and if it’s too crowded, Cooperstown is an equally accessible plan B
58. McClains Coffee House, Fullerton: my favorite local coffee shop
59. Meltdown Comics, Hollywood: an excellent source of alt and indie comics in the heart of Hollywood’s mainstream
60. Mesa’s Tiny Poetry Slam, Mesa: a thoughtful, funny group of people keepin’ Slam alive in the East Valley
61. Metro Comics, Santa Barbara: holds a fond place in my heart as the shop that introduced me to Vertigo’s Human Target
62. Mill Ave., Tempe: a nine-month long college block party – and a ghost town during the summertime
63. Monsoon, summertime: when I was a kid, I used to put on my Ghostbusters plastic proton pack and glare up at the red night sky, ready for action – thankfully, I scared the specters off
64. Norm’s, Anaheim: They never close.
65. O’Kelly’s Sports Bar, Tempe: karaoke and Ms. Pac-Man under one roof? Yeah, I’m gonna be here awhile
66. OC Weekly: Orange County’s weekly liberal rag – a great read, even if they dropped “Red Meat” and “This Modern World”
67. OCTA: Orange County’s bloodstream
68. Orange Circle, Orange: a row of antique stores, conveniently positioned in a circle to remind us that everything old can be new again
69. Orpheum, Phoenix: a cool venue for even cooler performances, most notably when I saw Kevin Smith there in April
70. Peoria Café, Peoria: the best greasy spoon in the West Valley
71. Phoenix Comicon, Phoenix: I saw Stan Lee, Wil Wheaton, LeVar Burton, and Jonathan Frakes without having to waiting in San Diego Comic Con-like lines – so I’m looking forward to next year
72. Phoenix New Times: Phoenix’s token liberal rag, with fun regular pieces about the history of Van Buren Blvd. and Fry Girl’s fast food rants
73. Phoenix Skyline: as triumphant as a resurrected bird of flame
74. Pofolks, Buena Park: good old-fashioned eats, and the only Pofolks left in the west!
75. Pop Culture Paradise, Tempe: a comic book store with a tight fit and a nice selection of toys and back issues
76. Queen’s Pizzeria, Mesa: the hospitable host of the Mesa Poetry Slam, not to mention a huge, tasty, affordable Greek salad
77. Robin Hood Motel, Anaheim: for the cool sign
78. Rutabegortz, Fullerton: vegetarian cuisine so good, you’d think it had meat in it!
79. Samurai Comics, Phoenix: like All About Books and Comics, a cool downtown location, with another impressive rack of indies and local talent
80. Sherriff Joe Arpaio: I don’t care for his politics, but few have made local law enforcement more dramatically entertaining
81. Sherwood Inn, Anaheim: this ain’t Robin Hood’s Sherwood . . . Who want drink milk?!
82. Starbucks, 5th St. & Mill Ave.: the best vantage point for a bustling college town
83. Starbucks, Chapman Ave. & Harbor Blvd.: the best vantage point for downtown Fullerton
84. Sunrise Café, Tempe – café cookin’ with Mediterranean flair
85. T.C. Eggington's, Mesa: a tasty breakfast with a surprisingly hilarious mythology on its menu
86. Tempe Improv, Tempe: the first comedy club I ever went to (and saw Jon Stewart pre-Daily Show), and now where I’ve seen the most edgy comedy show ever, with Greg Fitzsimmons
87. The Other Place, Anaheim: the perfect plan B
88. Third Street Promenade, Santa Monica: specifically, the street preachers, the guys that play the buckets, and the picture of the Monkees in the corner Irish pub
89. Tilted Kilt, Tempe: waitresses in kilts . . . I’m just sayin’
90. TomKat Lounge, Anaheim: a dive bar so low, you touch the bottom of the pool – and don’t play the drums onstage during karaoke!
91. Two Idiots Peddling Poetry/Ugly Mug, Orange: Orange County’s best poetry reading at one of its coolest coffee shops, and some of the nicest guys that ever inspired me to keep writing
92. Uncle Monkey's, Mesa: karaoke stumbling distance from my apartment, every night of the week – and with a name like that, who wouldn’t check it out
93. Universal Studios/CityWalk, Hollywood: comics, stand-up comedy, PEZ . . . all in one place? This is where dreams come to dream!
94. Uptown Whittier: the best . . . oh, never mind . . . I’ll never be as punk rock as Uptown Whittier
95. Venice Beach: weirdo central
96. Village Inn, Valleywide: my favorite Denny’s alternative where my mom works
97. Wayne Resnick: the best weekend radio talk show host that deserves a regular weekly time slot
98. Westward Ho, Phoenix: the hotel from the beginning of Psycho stands proud in the heart of Phoenix and looks ready to stab the Chase building in the back
99. Xtreme Bean, Tempe: an old bank converted to Tempe’s best coffeehouse, and the old walk-in safe is a study room!
100. Zia’s, Tempe: one of the last, great record stores

The Age of Adultery

Over fifteen years ago, my good friend Wade presented me with an interesting scenario: "A man makes arrangements for his mistress to meet him at home after work one night while his wife is out of town. She's to be in his bed with the lights off so he can slip in beside her. However, when the mistress arrives, she sees the wife's car in the driveway and takes off. The husband comes home late, doesn't see his wife's car, and slips into bed with her. In the dark, the man thinks his wife is his mistress, and they make love. Has the man cheated on his wife?"

At the time, I thought the scenario was a bit contrived, and I focused on the minutiae, like how could the guy miss his wife's car out front? Why didn't he at least feel the difference between his mistress and his wife (unless he just really has a type)? Now, though, nothing seems far-fetched about the predicament at all, and in fact Wade was just ahead of his time in thinking aloud about such things. Ever since President Clinton's affair with Monica Lewinsky made adultery a matter of public record, the question is always on our pop collective minds: "Who's cheating now?"

As of this writing, the answer is obvious: Jesse James. Before him, Tiger Woods wore the title (and yet perhaps always will -- that's one green jacket you can never dry clean), then David Letterman, John Edwards, and so. From all strata of social influence -- politics, entertainment, sports -- these men make the news interesting, and as they continue to stand revealed, they make answering that question absolutely impossible. Who's cheating now? It could be anyone!

By Wade's story's standard, it could be everyone.

What committed man doesn't look twice at a passing woman on any given day? Sometimes once is enough. Hands to your side, from the safety of your car or the other side of the street or your table at Starbucks, from that harmless distance, in that innocent moment of admiration, are you no better than Tiger Woods? I won't even touch (pun intended) the Internet phenomenon, the powerful porn industry, the pop-up ads of scantily clad women I can't control alongside my email inbox or Facebook homepage. In this context, we see hundreds of alluring women all week long, making Tiger's alleged seventeen seem tame. He'd be a saint for keeping it under twenty.

The ladies aren't free of this burden, either, and in fact they may even perpetuate it in pop culture at large, making them the most guilty of all. Consider Leap Year, this year's movie about a redheaded Amy Adams travelling to Ireland to propose to her boyfriend, per Irish tradition. Never mind that this isn't a leap year; that's a cheat on Father Time right there. No, Adams' encounter with and reliance on a chiseled innkeeper makes her trip interesting, and throws a little wrench into her plans. Without the distraction of another possible romance, the film wouldn't have been more than one woman's wretched travels, which I could watch at any given Southwest Airlines terminal for free. Now, I admit I didn't see the movie and I don't know how it ends, but turn the tables for a moment: a man travels to propose to his girlfriend but gets distracted by the chance to hook up with a hotter, more dangerous babe along the way. What a scumbag, right?! Who would want to watch a movie about some "playa," let alone make one?

Actually, such a movie was made. It's called Forces of Nature. The hotter, more dangerous woman is played by Sandra Bullock. Oops.

So, the realm of fiction boasts no double standard; man or woman, that filter of potential romance, fueled by emotionally contrived character development and circumstance, totally justifies rocking the foundation of commitment and fidelity. It must -- we pay to see it, then we revel in it when it happens to these people in real life. Interestingly, ultimately, I think we're learning to reserve judgement in favor of the spectacle's entertainment value. At least, I think I'm hearing, "Oh, what a jerk!" a lot less than before, when the stories were fewer and far between. I think we're coming to grips with the fact that the phenomenon of cheating is more widespread than we thought, transcending the realm of Jerry Springer's reality TV circus and affecting even the elite, the politicians and entertainers that we count on to set the standards for our beloved pop culture.

Every time, we're relieved that it isn't just us, and that makes it okay.

Like every era in human history, when will this Age of Adultery end? Consider that man from Wade's story. He'd obviously rather be with his mistress than his wife. Though he's legally married to one, his preference -- his heart? -- is with the other. So, by being with his wife in the end, he's defying his newly self-established norm, cheating on the plans he's made. The real question isn't if he cheated on his wife, then, but now is his wife really his mistress? Yes, I just blew my own mind. When someone wants so desperately to be with someone else but instead loves the one they're with, which is the real crime?

How long before cheating becomes the only way to play the game?

Vs. Current Events #5: The League of Outed Unfaithful Spouses!

Did you know Tiger Woods held a press conference this morning and made a public apology for his marital transgressions? I don't know if it made headlines. Even less public is this meeting of the League of Outed Unfaithful Spouses (L.O.U.S.) that was held last night. Fortunately, someone chronicled the whole thing in comic strip form.

Okay, seriously, I cranked this out last night/this morning to beat the press conference, and I had some fun with my new pens and markers in the meantime. I was going for that old Cracked magazine watercolor look. No need to beat me over the head about it -- oh, what?! Too soon?

Current Events Round-up: Crash Into Me(dia)

What a difference a week makes. Just eight days ago, Tiger Woods was still a faithful husband and the White House was still the safest place on Earth. Now, two of the planet's most beloved half-black celebrities are struggling with the fallout of two headline-hogging scandals, so much so that I needn't even summarize them here. Everybody knows what I'm talking about . . . and everybody has an opinion. I've tried not to feel anything other than amusement at these stories, because neither affect my life personally, but hearing others' opinions has inadvertently inspired me to formulate my own. Funny how that happens.

So, based on the initial evidence of Tiger's crash Thanksgiving night, my girlfriend, my best friend, and I pieced together what took most media outlets days to conclude -- that Woods' wife didn't rescue him from a wayward drive in the front yard but instead unwittingly caused it by chasing him with the golf club originally rumored to have saved his life. The information that has been released since that night has cracked Tiger's reclusive resolve as much as his car was, but none of it has surprised me. I understand how cheaters need to retain complete control over their lives, which is what that leaked voice mail to Mistress #2 was all about. Just like superheroes, cheaters lead multiple lives and do their best to keep a fine line drawn between them. That voice mail message was Tiger's eleventh hour contingency plan, like Superman's phone call to his shapeshifting buddy Martian Manhunter to do a Clark Kent impression with him in the same room as Lois Lane. Obviously, ultimately neither plan worked out very well.

I can't judge Tiger Woods for cheating on his wife, nor should anyone in the media, since they're also in show business and undoubtedly understand the pressures of 24-hour worldwide scrutiny coupled with the discreet relief frequent global travel could offer. In this context, nor will I demand the Woods family deserves its privacy; we revere celebrities and athletes and if they don't know the dangers of their lifestyles by now, they're stupid and their wealth is undeserved. (Personally, the only reason I justify celebrities having vocal political opinions is our corresponding right to know where they eat or who they're dating, but that's another story.) No, the biggest issue I have with Tiger, Tiger's burning plight is the demand that his behavior violates his place as a role model.

Again, my best friend put it best: "If Tiger Woods is a role model, what's the role?" If America's perpetually susceptible children should consider Woods a role model, it shouldn't be for marital faithfulness -- but for, I don't know . . . how about golf? Still, since I've spent a third of my life trying as a role model for kids -- for a living -- I always wonder (I did earlier this year, in fact) why actors, musicians, and athletes are role models more than teachers, or plumbers, or (gasp) lawyers. Sure, the former get paid more, but the latter actually went to school for their trades, and all achieve success by striving for excellence. That's the real life lesson offered by anyone that masters their field of work, as Tiger has: be the best at what you love to do (uh, or at what your daddy made you do, if I want to include Andre Agassi in that parable). Nowhere in his training as a golfer did he agree to remain faithful to his wife, so in his role as a golfer (the only role that has made him a household name), he should be absolved of these sins. His corporate sponsors think so . . . until this controversy actually affects his game, they probably couldn't care less.

That's why I don't, either. I'm amused, but ultimately apathetic about the outcome, which is why I'm also grateful that this story has legs. It could go on forever and I'd be endlessly entertained . . . honestly more so than I've ever been by golf.

Crashing into things has been the story of the week, between Tiger and that odd couple that snuck into the White House State Dinner. I'm equally frustrated with the media's judgment of the Salahis, and I can sum up why in one light-shedding sentence: No one has tried to get on television harder than the newscasters and commentators that have criticized the Salahis for trying hard to get on television. This hasty, hypocritical scrutiny is why they've become a laughing stock, scrambling to find some story other than the obvious truth: they just wanted to be on television. Mingle and flirt with celebrity. In a culture that nominates nobodies for stardom through singing and dancing contests, we have no right to judge anyone for jumping in front of a camera when opportunity knocks. Heck, essentially breaking into the White House takes more talent than most American Idol contestants have!

Indeed, the grasp for celebrity has become as integral to the American dream as life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, from the number of followers one has on Twitter on up to the airwave-choking trend of reality television. Considering the way we adore them, who can blame us? Or do you think I'm blogging for my health? Now, the Salahis are learning the hard way that our stargazing includes an eagerness to see them fall. Interestingly, in contrast to the Woods, nobody has commented on the Salahis' teamwork in crashing the President's party. They're the model for a marriage with singular purpose! Or is the sanctity of the White House guest list more important than family values? Just what we'd expect from a Democrat, eh?

When intertwined, these tales have a clear moral, just like an Aesop fable: Be careful what you wish for. The more you strive to be on the top, the farther you can fall. If you're going to cheat on your wife or sneak into the White House State Dinner, have an alibi. Even the best laid plans have a way of crashing down around you. What a difference a week makes.

My Man-Crushes 2009: David Gray & Craig Ferguson Double Feature!

Today, Tuesday, September 22, is a special day for four distinct reasons: (1.) It's the first day of autumn, though one wouldn't know it from summer's tenacious grip on southern California, (2.) my birthday is exactly three months away, (3.) David Gray's new album, Draw the Line, comes out today, and (4.) so does Craig Ferguson's new book, American on Purpose: The Improbable Adventures of an Unlikely Patriot. Interestingly, I had already planned on dubbing both Gray and Ferguson current man-crushes, so to celebrate their latest contributions to pop culture I offer a man-crush double feature!

David Gray

Contemporary Influence: David Gray had been making music long before his single "Babylon" achieved regular radio play, but that hit single put Gray on the map -- and rightfully so, as "Babylon" betrays the introspection, urban plight, and clever word play that infuses many of Gray's best songs. Although few other singles of his have enjoyed as much American air play, Gray's songs have been used frequently in film and on television; recently, I heard "As I'm Leaving" playing during a promo for William Peterson's final episode of CSI. That track was from Gray's Lost Songs album, released in the States after "Babylon" and White Ladder started making serious waves. If even a lost song can get that kind of attention, who knows what David might accomplish when the world finally finds what he's capable of?

Practical Knowledge of the Opposite Sex: While most mainstream musicians boast knowledge of the opposite sex by way of the love ballad, David Gray is bold enough to lyrically document the hard times, too. Consider the lines: "And honey please don't stop your talking/'Cos there's a feeling won't leave me alone/What we gonna do when the money runs out/I wish that there was something left to say/How we gonna find the eyes to see/a brighter day?" If women like their men to emote, it doesn't get more emotional than that -- but in a definitively masculine way, mind you, as nothing frustrates a man more than a lack of tangible solutions. Thankfully, despite his name, Gray is one to pay less attention to the dark cloud and more its silver lining, as he proclaims, "Tell the repo man/And the stars above/That you're the one I love." In other words, no matter what this world may take away, there's no ceiling to true love. Even fools know that this what women want to hear, but only a David Gray can put it so eloquently.

Global Significance: Did you know that White Ladder is still the best selling album of all time in Ireland? Yes, the same way we Americans love Michael Jackson's Thriller or Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon, the Irish love White Ladder (which may explain my affinity for it, as well). More so than that, as I mentioned earlier, Gray's ongoing themes are a bit more transcendent than your usual top 40s fare, and I submit for your consideration this live version of "Ain't No Love," my favorite of his songs. In three short verses, Gray muses about urban life, creativity, love, and religion, all in an introspective attempt to explain his direction (or lack thereof?) in life. Who can't relate to that?



Moved? Now, if you act fast, you may be able to acquire David's latest single, "Fugitive," at Starbucks for free via their free iTunes Pick of the Week!

Craig Ferguson

Contemporary Influence: I love late night television, and when done properly I believe it can be both a humorously seasoned synopsis of any given day and a timeless piece of pop culture entertainment. Every weeknight, Craig Ferguson embraces this opportunity wholeheartedly, balancing vaudevillian comedy via puppets and impromptu self-deprivation with relevant expositions on current events, like his recent rant about Congressman Joe Wilson's calling President Obama a liar. Consider this introduction from his September 11th episode, which combines these two elements in a virtual politically puppeted cartoon!



As an aside, Craig shamefully mentions in his book that the Monkees' Headquarters album was the first vinyl he ever owned, and it's the one I have signed by three out of four Monkees themselves! It doesn't get any more personal than that!

A Practical Understanding of the Opposite Sex: As I said, Craig's new autobiography dropped today, and as a celebrity boasting the addictions of his past in the same context as his bid for American citizenship, he probably could've appeared on any talk show to promote his book. So, where did he show up this morning? The View. Yes, his Scottish accent wooed the ladies of The View, and their natural feelings-oriented line of questioning was the perfect forum for Craig to express his former weaknesses and future career hopes and speculations. In other words, even in light of his latest success, Craig put the ladies first -- and in the morning, to boot!

Global Significance: From what I understand, Craig is a Scotsman that came to the United States in a drunken, drug-addled stupor in a mad quest for fame and celebrity -- and he eventually found it by shamelessly shedding his vices. He's often spoke of his first trip to America with his father, to New York, of course, where he vowed to return one day. This is the American dream for so many folks around the world -- that the U.S. is a land of first and second chances -- and we naturally born citizens take that for granted. That Craig takes any opportunity to share his joy at being American, from speaking at the President's White House Correspondence Dinner last year to nightly on CBS, proves he is a true patriot, indeed. Just look up his latest tattoo if you need any more proof!

There you have it: two more Europeans on my list of man-crushes (Gordon Ramsey being the first, of course). I'm grateful they're so eager to come to the U.S. and share their talent, but where are the American-bred icons? Is reality television so saturating the potential for homemade heroes that I must look overseas for masculine role models? Time will tell . . .

Of Being American: Idle

Unfortunately, like anything else, the further away we get from the tragic events of September 11, 2001, the less palpable our raw emotions from that day feel. A mere eight years later, local Patriot Day celebrations are simply headline fodder now, lost in the shuffle with stories about political bipartisanship, celebrity scandal, and sports scores -- you know, like it's every day we honor a sudden terrorist attack on America's soil. Oh, don't mistake my self-righteous tone with patriotic legitimacy; I barely acknowledged Patriot Day, too. Fortunately, like anything else, sometimes something has to be shoved in your face to remind you how important it is.



Last night, a coworker and I volunteered at a fundraiser in Dana Point, California that raised money for our nonprofit effort, along with the Make-A-Wish Foundation and the Wounded Warriors Project. We were excited because the experience promised little real work and the high chance for a celebrity encounter or two, and it delivered on both fronts, as I giddily met American Idol Bo Bice (and heard Brooke White and Elliot Yamin perform) and my coworker met boxing champ Sugar Ray Leonard, sportscaster Roy Firestone, and Sopranos star (and his presumed look-alike) Steve Schirripa.



Yet, despite these beloved stars taking the stage during the event's more formal ceremonies, I couldn't help but recoil at who really brought the crowd to a standing ovation: a representative from the Wounded Warriors Project, who spoke briefly but succinctly about how the non-profit came to his aid after an unexpected IED encounter blew off his legs, shattered his jaw, and ultimately resulted in some 60 surgeries to have his body repaired. The soldier spoke of the backpack Wounded Warriors initially provided him, with clothes and (most strikingly to me) a deck of cards, all of which, he claimed, mean the world when one is alone in the hospital. For a moment I put myself in his place, having a deck of cards as my only recreational luxury in the world. No comics? No toys? No blogging on the Internet? And I complain when I can't get a strong wireless connection . . .

Oh, and Charlie Duke was there, one of only twenty men who have landed on the moon! He too was warmly received, and while many were obviously enthralled with the American Idols' performances, only the Wounded Warriors Projected and Charlie Duke brought the audience to an absolute hush.



In the face of a roomful of celebrities, and how starstruck any of us can get, I was grateful for the brief wake-up call. Helps put things in perspective. From my meager voluntarism as a fellow non-profit employee, to the corporate financial contributions of an auction, to the inspiring words of real war and space heroes, to musical performance . . . when the various dimensions of everyday American life work together, despite the apparent contrasts in their global significance, something special can happen -- even if that something special is simply reminding one frequently close-minded person like me of that potential's possibility.

My Man-Crushes 2009: Mr. T

I have a confession to make. I almost removed Mr. T from my man-crush list. I know -- but hear me out! Considering the categories I've established by which to judge candidates, I wasn't sure if he'd fit the bill. Yes, Mr. T is definitely a man's man, and his body of work in the entertainment industry is multi-faceted and exhaustive, but frankly I was afraid that it was exhausted. Since his reality show on TV Land, which was airing when I wrote my first man-crush list, I haven't seen hide or mohawked hair of Mr. T . . . until a few weeks ago. Then, I saw this:



Mr. T is back -- and full of flavor! So, as if you really needed me to explain it, here's how Mr. T measures up by my man-crush standards!

Contemporary Influence: Hello? The FlavorWave? Need I go on?! Seriously, despite his delegation to infomercial celebrity, Mr. T has still made an impression on current events, as recently as a few years ago when he decided to give up wearing his token gold jewelry to help victims of Hurricane Katrina. How many celebrities would literally shed the skin of their wealth to help others so selflessly? That Mr. T hasn't been in the limelight as much lately is perhaps indicative of his continued good deeds behind the scenes -- that he'll stretch his head above water for a six minute infomercial is enough to say he's just paying the bills to get back to his real work: pitying fools.

A Practical Understanding of the Opposite Sex: I don't know about you, but frankly I can't imagine what Mrs. T would be like. She certainly wouldn't be prone to no jibber-jabber, that's for sure! Yet, Mr. T has always expressed the importance for loving one's mother, which speaks straight to the heart of women everywhere. Also, Mr. T is a problem-solving team player, which sends an important message to the opposite sex, as established from his role on The A-Team and as a leader in the Mr. T cartoon. Yes, there was a Mr. T cartoon -- which further says to the ladies, "Hey . . . I like kids." Sometimes the simplest gestures are the most important.

Global Significance: Finally, I dare say that Mr. T has become an ambassador of America to the world through his virtual conquest of all important media. From his role as Clubber Lang in Rocky III, to his delicious breakfast cereal, Mr. T knows the way to society's heart is through its stomach -- whether he's punching it or filling it with the most important meal of the day. Most importantly to me, Mr. T has appeared in a variety of comics, most recently in a series published by Mohawk Media in the UK. That's right -- the United Kingdom! Is that global enough for you?!

Finally, despite his getting on in years, Mr. T can undoubtedly crush me for not keeping him on my list, so rest assured -- even without those gold chains, Mr. T has earned a wealth . . . of my respect.

ADDENDUM: Did you know Mr. T stars in the animated film, Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs?! I didn't until his fellow man-crush Craig Ferguson mentioned it on his September 21 show, when he boldly stated, "If you don't think Mr. T is awesome, I have a question for you: How long have you been in Al Qaeda?" Amen!

Don't Dis District 9!

District 9 exceeded expectations both in the box office and in my imagination this weekend, and as I've browsed the Internet for more information about the movie's development, I'm surprised to discover critics and sci-fi fans alike as divided about it as the aliens were from the humans in this film. Permit me the chance to contribute to the conversation with this succinct list of the top nine things I liked about District 9, in least-to-greatest order of importance, to boot! Spoiler alert! Don't proceed unless you've already seen the movie or don't care about having some of the plot spoiled!

Marketing. Based exclusively on its marketing, District 9 could've easily been mistaken as another alien invasion flick. Prior to the film's release, what did anyone know of the story other than the divisive human versus alien theme? I mean, how often do humans have the upper hand in movies like this?



Setting. Just as commentators explain at the beginning of the film, that these aliens don't descend upon world capitals like Washington D.C., or London, or Hong Kong is truly the most peculiar context of this film's story. In many ways, the director's native Johannesburg, South Africa is as purely human to a mainstream cinematic audience as it is alien, making it the perfect arid setting for this film about being both.

Budget. At $30 million, this film was totally produced at the cost most singular American actors like Brad Pitt or Jim Carrey are paid just to star. At $30 million, this film's crew made a stranded spaceship look as natural as any cloud on the horizon, made an entire extraterrestrial race come desperately alive, made a cache of alien weapons look as realistic and dangerous as any brandished in another more established franchise.

Original Screenplay. At a time when science fiction movies are inspired by comic books or a series of young adult novels, I'm grateful that District 9 is the brainchild of a writer/director willing and able to utilize cinema as an original means of telling a multi-dimensional story. Neill Blomkamp's short film pilot for the concept, Alive in Joberg, is a little sloppy and amateurish in comparison, but his dedication and development for the project is admirable in today's industry of fleeting sensations.

Variety of Perspective. I've already read critics' on-line comparisons of District 9 to Cloverfield, and while this flick certainly exploits the intimacy of the handheld camera perspective, its incorporation of documentary-style expert interviews, helicopter news footage, and traditional character-oriented perspective creates a rich tapestry through which to understand this story's impact on its world at large. For instance, some twenty years along, would an extraterrestrial refugee camp in South Africa really affect the average American's life -- any more so than the similar global crises that affect our society in real life? Only through the media's relentless analysis of such a phenomenon would a hovering spaceship in Johannesburg not become just some fantastic but accepted eighth wonder of the world.

Respect for the Audience. Thankfully, Blomkamp's vision weaves District 9 together; rather than introduce the MNU footage in the beginning as a teaser or visual attention-getter, he uses it as legitimate vehicle for storytelling and assumes that the audience can keep up. Also, one of my favorite aspects of the film was the way humans and aliens could vaguely understand each other, asserting that two decades in each others' company established a familiarity with their respective languages, just as we humans experience enculturalization in reality. The characters didn't break the fourth wall to explain this to the viewer but simply relied on the audience's similar experiences, sans otherworldly aliens, of course.

Allegory. Until the story exploits the more fantastic science fiction aspects of the aliens' culture and technology, its tale of a rounded-up, persecuted race is practically historical. The "prawns" could've just as easily been Jews in 1940s Germany, blacks in 1840s America, the Irish, the Portuguese . . . Interestingly, the arrival of a helpless alien race seems to bind the globe via a peace-keeping Multi-National United effort. As an American viewer, when South Africans were interviewed man-on-the-street style, I hardly noticed his or her thick accent in comparison to the all-too-human feelings of fear and frustration at the aliens' supposed imposition, proving that we earthlings really aren't all that different from each other. In fact, the lead character's horrid metamorphosis, and his relative ease at becoming a sympathizer and revolutionary for the other side, depicts just how similar all us cosmic creatures might be from the inside out -- which was, I imagine, the point.

Cast. Having a cast of first-timers and virtual unknowns is as much a gamble as it is a strength. When I told my mom how great this movie was, her first question was, "Who's in it?" With no mainstream names to tout, her interest in it waned. At the same time, sci-fi fans that take the risk are instantly sucked into this parallel world, sans preconceptions from any of the actors' previous roles or potentially highly publicized private lives. Actor Sharlto Copley's Wikus van de Merwe is a South African Lieutenant Dangle from Reno 911, complete with the false bravado that comes from the pseudo-celebrity of a documentary film camera, yet his Kafka-esque plight ironically dubs him the everyman -- something a Brad Pitt or Will Smith couldn't have accomplished. This cast effectively fenced us into Blomkamp's vision, like a little District 9 in itself.

Lightning Gun. It blew people to bits. That's cool.

My Man-Crushes 2009, Prelude: Billy Mays, the Pitchman

A few summers ago, I dared list “my man-crushes” (click to read parts one and two), a term I shudder to use, as it perpetuates the slow but steady erosion of masculinity in America. However, in this case, some men are such consummate examples of this brand of gravitas that I don’t mind bending my own self-image in homage to them. This summer, I sought to revise the list through thorough installments -- these guys are my Argentine soul mate or anything, but for me a breath of fresh air against this summer’s pop culture pessimism.

So, while I brainstormed who would remain on the list, who would be removed, and with whom they’d be replaced, Billy Mays came to mind. Now that he has so unexpectedly passed away, I’m aghast at the thought of my new man-crush list becoming an ill omen for its subjects. Of course, that’s not going to stop me from making it -- but know that the concern exists.

Now, while I dare not include Mays posthumously, I will use him as the comprehensive example of what qualifies as a “man-crush” to me, establishing the categories by which future candidates will be judged and honoring his enduring memory at the same time. Also, I should quickly mention that I will only allow myself seven man-crushes at any given time (the perfect number), and that all man-crushes must maintain the characteristics I describe, lest they loose their place on my list. These characteristics are:

1. Contemporary Influence: Anybody that stays up past midnight will understand that Billy Mays is as much a fixture on late night television as is the end table you fixed with Mighty Putty in your living room. However, the urgent necessity of his products transcended afterhours and made him a household name via daytime commercials and his reality show, The Pitchmen. Mays perfectly epitomizes the consummate man-crush’s requirement to remain currently relevant; his products systematically solve life’s greatest problems! First, Oxyclean promised to keep the house clean, then Hercules Hooks assured that anything can be hung in said clean house, and so on. Who knows, if Mays were still us, he may have wrought world peace with an intangible adhesive that binds one to his fellow man . . . and if we acted fast enough, we’d have received that halogen reading lamp at no extra cost.

2. A Practical Understanding of the Opposite Sex: The key word in this requirement is “practical.” My man-crushes model how to fulfill a woman’s basic needs -- and without hyperbole. He doesn’t need a list of rules or the ambiguity of contemporary pop psycho-babble, like claiming men are from Mars, to make a woman happy. Again, consider Billy Mays. His products wipe up spills. Fix broken coffee mugs. In other words, the banes of every housewife’s existence. Billy found a way to defeat these persistent demons effortlessly -- giving women competence in the problem-solving role many relationship experts mindlessly assign to men. In their compartmentalization of the genders, these “experts” actually depowered women. Now, thanks to Billy Mays, a woman can open her own pickle jar. You’re welcome.

3. Global Significance: Everyone has heard the old saying, “Think globally, act locally.” Billy Mays personified this mantra perfectly. First of all, he acted as locally as his very own kitchen (or, at least, a set that simulated it) -- but I’m not even talking about the necessity of his problem-solving products. No, Billy represented a self confidence more piercing and powerful than any Hercules Hook. He embodied an ability to believe in something and share it with conviction , with clear and concise language. His recent interview on The Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien reveals the intent behind his volume, as he insisted that he wasn’t yelling, but merely projecting -- a lesson many of us should learn. Also, in many of his commercials, Billy wasn’t obscured by a workbench or kitchen island, unless in the instance of a demonstration. Instead, Mays’ blue-collared-shirt-tucked-into-his-belted-khaki-pants-covered torso was unencumbered and in fact coming toward you, hands beckoning outward in an invitation of domestic satisfaction. “Billy Mays here,” he always introduced, as if selling himself first was critical to the selling of his product. He was right.

These three simple categories are the standards by which I’ll hold my man-crushes from now on, and as I eluded, I will replace candidates if they fail to deliver in comparison to another up-‘n-comer. While I shun the term “man-crush” by name, I embrace the concept, as nothing defines real masculinity as the desire to learn from one’s fellow man -- the hope that those held in esteem offer something to the greater good of this global village we live in. Remember, thanks to the Internet and reality television, anybody can be manufactured into a plain old celebrity nowadays . . . and, thankfully, it takes a man’s man to crush these delicate sensibilities.

Vs. Current Events #4: Star Trump!

I'm still working on saving the file in a way that makes the shading and the lettering look as good as they do in the original Publisher document; .jpg files pixelize the lettering, and .gif files muddy up the shading. I'm not a tech guy. Any suggestions? More commentary coming soon. Hopefully the comic speaks for itself.

Celebrating 150 With TMZ!

What better way to celebrate the 150th post on this beloved blog o' mine than with this, screen caps of my two appearances on one of the most famous websites of all, TMZ! I submitted all of my pics with celebrities to their "Celeb Snapshots Contest," and they posted two -- in a slideshow of 239. You can only imagine how many submissions they received, so I would've been pumped to see one of my pictures -- but two?! Eat it, "Queen on the Scene!" KaraokeFanboy is the leading pap scrub, now!

Vs. Current Events #3: The Plastic Wars

Last week, Michael Jackson announced his "final return" to the stage, presumably an attempt to raise the money he needs to buy back his estate, currently slated for auction, which includes life-sized statues of Superman, Batman, and Spider-man. In unrelated toy news, on Monday, Barbie celebrated her 50th birthday. So, I couldn't resist the opportunity to pit these two plastic icons against each other in a comic. The parallels are vivid, and it seems overdue.

FACT! Last year, Mattel released "Space Barbie." FACT! Michael Jackson invented the Moonwalk. Need I say more?

I reformatted this "Vs. Current Events" to exclude a title at the top, because I didn't want to give away my plastic punchline. Also, I've been drawing these strips on comic book backing boards, so when I scan them, the light reflects off of their shiny surface, which is why the shading isn't always solid. I kind of like the effect. I imagine that both Barbie and Jacko would reflect the light in real life, anyway.

Octomom and the Nickname Syndicate

I thought that Nadya Suleman had started a trend with the media's willingness to call her "Octomom," but, if you think about it, the news and pop culture commentators in general have embraced "the nickname" for a long time, making our reality that much closer to the worlds depicted in comic books. Consider the following aliases for prominent public figures; you know exactly who I'm talking about, and most legitimate news outlets have no problem using these monikers.

A-Rod
Brangelina
Dubya
The Gipper
The Governator
J-Lo
The Juice
Magic
Sir Charles
Wacko Jacko

Tell me that doesn't sound like a superhero's rogues gallery -- and I haven't even considered the self-proclaimed stage names for rappers! "Ice Cube?" "Slim Shady?" If only these people used their powers to annoy for good instead of evil . . .

That list was just off the top of my head. Who did I forget?

Current Events Round-up: Chasing Harveys

Apparently, anti-gay rights activists protested Sunday's Academy Awards. We only know this because the reporters interviewing Sean Penn after his receiving the Best Actor Award for his portrayal of Harvey Milk told us so. One of the signs even read, "Heath is in Hell," undoubtedly referring to the late actor's role as a homosexual cowboy in Brokeback Mountain, another fact revealed to the world by a clamoring media outlet desperate for a juicy soundbyte to call their own. I have a heads-up for this and every reporter that talked about that protest on the news.

You've just conveyed that group's message better than they ever could.

Take it from a guy that has gone out of his way to be on the news, more than once. Many of those protesters care more about getting an opinion out there than they do about having one in the first place -- they want to be relevant by any means necessary. A few different friends and I attended protests in downtown Los Angeles and Hollywood at the height of the criticism against former President Bush's War on Terror, and we stood on either side of the street just to see and hear what the mob was saying. Sure enough, the point was less on what was yelled, and more on how loud it was yelled. Whoever could attract the news cameras first was the victor. Last night, despite Sean Penn's best intentions (and his answer to the reporter that these opinions are best left unanswered, thus moot), the anti-gay rights crowd won.

Don't get me wrong. I love being on the news, and I love valiant efforts to garner media attention. The war protests were brilliant echoes of the '60s (and I reckon some of the people we encountered still hadn't showered since then), and I even self-published a zine of photographs from a few years' worth of these demonstrations. The difference between this and the Prop 8 controversy is the vitriol hate asserted against an entire group of people. Okay, let's say God really exists and condemns homosexuality. Would Jesus stand in the street with a "Heath is in Hell" sign? His scriptural example actually dictates that those against gay rights dwell among the homosexual community and develop meaningful relationships with individuals, tackling the issue one supposed sinner at a time. It's like playing the football game 500 as opposed to plain old catch; when you throw it out there for a crowd, you're really just throwing it blindly. When you toss it to one person, your aim is more accurate, and someone might actually catch it.

But I digress. These thoughts congealed when I heard Harvey Levin on KROQ this morning, advocating TMZ's release of the now infamous Rihanna post-beating photograph. Harvey has achieved celebrity by exploiting celebrity, plain and simple . . . and brilliant. See, in this new twenty-four hour news cycle world, networks scramble to fill that time with anything juicy or meaningful, and protesters know that. Harvey realized that celebrities love to be in front of the camera anyway, and they often do things off camera that the rest of us would love to see. I'm not advocating ntrusive paparazzi that lay in wait outside of an actor's home; however, if Miley Cyrus is strolling out of Neiman Marcus and can shed some light on that photo of her making stretchy eyes, so be it. Get it on tape. Sign it. Share it with the world. Your name becomes a footnote in the epic celebrity that is Miley, and for some, that's the most we can hope for.

So, Prop 8 protests vs. TMZ. One exploits people that stand out from the common man already. The other attacks people for just wanting to be like everybody else. Both of them are in our collective face every day, and the question is, do we want to be a part of these stories, or do we just want them to have happy endings? The real question is, is there any reason we can't have both?