An Open Letter to Shia LaBeouf

Dear Shia,

My name is Russ, and you and I have something in common. We both like to make comic books -- so much so, that we would self-publish our work, at the risk of great financial loss, just to get it out there.

What we don't have in common is a famous name.

To be clear, I'm not writing this open letter out of spite. Actually, now that I know we share a passion for comics, I'm writing it in the spirit of encouragement -- something we both know isn't too common in the world of Internet fandom.

I want to explain the inevitable backlash from your Rolling Stone interview, and, admittedly, my initial reaction it. Those that don't read the article carefully (or at all) will share what my first thought was: "Why comics?" With your presumed resources in the movie business, you could easily tell your original stories via independent film. We comic book types are a very possessive lot, especially those of us striving to make comics. So, why comics?

Fortunately, you answer this question in the Rolling Stone interview quite brilliantly, with an intimacy most comic book professionals fail to articulate. "Comics, for me, is being able to sing alone in the shower," you said. "I find it freeing. You just pick up a pen and get to it." Whether that freedom is from a hectic movie set or a 9-to-5 cubicle job, it's something anyone can share, and I'll credit you with that answer when I give it in the future. I just wish your interview ended there!

Your answer to the question about your fame is what tainted my opinion of your motivation: "I would like the same fans that I respect in comics to like my books," you said, "and I know the only way to get there is to earn it, and the only way to earn it is to come up the same way everybody else does, as much as I can."

Now, I've been self-publishing comics for 10 years. I've exhibited at San Diego Comic Con, the Alternative Press Expo, and Phoenix Comic Con. A decade later, I'm still very much "coming up." "Coming up" for my peers and me includes these tireless days and nights at conventions, waiting in portfolio review lines, and using social media to the utmost just to sell a few issues a month. It doesn't include an interview with Rolling Stone!

If I read your interview correctly, you share my criticism for celebrities seeking to use comics to expand their credentials, then disappearing from comics completely once the mission is accomplished. Yet, just by being interviewed in Rolling Stone, you set yourself up as "that celebrity." It's an inevitable consequence, considering your name -- or was "Shia LaBeouf Makes Comics" the headline you were really after?

While this sounds like the spite I said wouldn't affect this letter, I assure you it's leading to my final point. This is an open letter with a call to action: if making comics really is freeing for you, embrace it completely and publish under a false, unknown name. You will not know a freedom like the one achieved when someone buys your comic for its content alone -- and not for the celebrity name on the cover.

When folks ask what I'd do if I ever won the lottery, I always answer, "I'd publish my own comic!" I know having that money wouldn't make my comic an instant success; my name would still be unknown, and the comic would still have to sell on my talent and its story alone. It could very well fail. Yet, even knowing that, this is the dream. I know we have the passion for making comics in common -- but do we share this dream?

The interesting thing about an open letter like this is, if you heed it, we'll never know. There will just be another independent comic book out there with another unknown name on it, just trying to find a readership that really enjoys it.

Doesn't that sound awesome?

Thank you,

Russ K.

KaraokeFanboy 3.0

Picture this: an eleven-year-old boy, hair so red his head might as well be on fire, pale white skin turning radioactive under the Arizona sun. He's playing in a big, empty field, soon to become a neighborhood but already littered with evidence of civilization, the water bottle fast food wrapper refuge of passing traffic. Something colorful catches the kid's eye, bright green against the desert sepia. He finds a broken toy frog, the kind you wind-up and that swims with you in the pool or bathtub. One of the frog's legs is broken off and laying nearby; otherwise, the thing looks brand new, not yet faded by summer's punishment. The boy can't stop glancing at it. He knows it's trash, probably accidentally tossed from a car window. But the thing looks brand new. So, he takes it home. He hardly ever plays with it, but it remains among his other toys. Among other toys is where it belongs.

Picture this, too: another boy: around the same age, but much, much bigger. He's screaming. Some might call it a bellow. And he's tearing the posters off of my office wall. Thankfully, I get the posters for free at Comic Con every year, but it hurts to watch, nevertheless. Who knows what set him off -- a friend didn't share something, maybe? Or maybe somebody touched him; he didn't like being touched a lot. Anyway, I was the boss, and I had an office, so let's put him in there and get back to having fun with the other kids, right?. You know, the normal kids that don't go from passive to postal at eight in the morning. Okay, so I'm watching him destroy my office when he recognizes Booster Gold on a Justice League International poster. Booster Gold isn't your Superman/Spider-man/Lone Ranger household superhero, so I'm curious. He can name every member of the JLI '87. Rocket Red, for crying out loud. The storm calms, then passes, and never reaches that fevered pitch again, for the years we know each other. We have a cure.

One more: I'm sitting at Starbucks. Don't judge me: it was open 'til midnight in that college town. And a college kid comes up to me, slowly at first. (I call him a "kid" -- he was probably 17, and I was probably 28, and he probably could've kicked my ass?) "Mr. K.?" he asks cautiously. I know the name. The kids called me "Mr. K." when I was a third grade teacher's assistant, because my last name shouldn't exist in a third grader's vocabulary. "Yes?" I answer. He reminds me who he is and tells playground stories we shared like that happened yesterday and I'm flattered, clueless, and embarrassed I don't remember him that much, but what are you gonna do? He concludes with, "I still have that Daredevil picture you drew for me. It's up in my dorm room." I do that math. That's a ten year old drawing. And it's probably terrible. But he kept it. It's cool enough to hang up in his dorm room.

Where it belongs.

The Day of Blond Bombshells

Yesterday was full of blond bombshells.

First of all, in the morning, I had the opportunity to sell some of my comics and see an advanced showing of this summer's first blockbuster Thor at the Tempe Marketplace, thanks to Samurai Comics. The pre-show festivities didn't last long, but I drew several pictures for kids in a short period of time, and enjoyed my fellow geeks engaging in a little cosplay. Events like that always validate why I love being a geek -- because characters like Thor unite people of all ages and inspire creativity in a different light, from sketching to costuming. Stan Lee, did you know what you were starting . . .?

Of course, I was super stoked to see Thor, as the Marvel movies of late have been the best superhero adaptations on film yet. (Smallville is a possible contender for its sheer longevity.) I've often said that I think Iron Man is the best superhero film, period, because it most successfully establishes a global threat while examining its hero's motivations, rather than motivating the hero through personal tragedy -- the best evidence of this is the uber-emo Spider-man 3, which needlessly incorporated Sandman into Spidey's origin, making both villains so tied into Peter Parker's personal history that all ramifications for their actions hardly affected anyone else at all. Heroes are much less selfish than that, and Thor exploits that theme to tell a tale of a god discovering his humanity with two worlds in the balance. No spoiler alerts here: just rest assured that the casting is perfect, the conflicts are poignant, and action is intense. I'll happily see Thor at least one more time in the theater -- and next time I'll pay for it!



That night, I was on the list to perform at Arizona's Encyclopedia Show. The best way to describe the Encyclopedia Show is: it's an episode of SNL with a topic as the guest host. So, acts range from poetry to monologues to skits, with the topic appearing in some way or another every time. Last night's topic was the spectrum of color, and my assignment was "mustard." Colonel Mustard from Clue kept coming to mind, but as a redhead I wondered how I could represent such a blond-hued character effectively. That's when it hit me: in my monologue, Colonel Mustard would reveal his true gingerness, pulling off a blond wig and reading a letter of unashamed introspection to his disapproving father. I've posted the letter at KaraokeFanboy Press, and it's perhaps my most pun-intensive work to date. I was excited to perform something in character, and with theatrical props, to boot. It's nice to know my work can cut the mustard.

Next month: Free Comic Book Day at Samurai Comics, the Kabam poetry slam in Kingman, and Phoenix Comic Con!

Thank You, April . . .

As expected, the coming of spring has blossomed its fair share of creativity, starting with two of the best April Fool's Day jokes I've ever perpetuated, thanks to the persuasive power of the Internet, and its star agent Facebook. Firstly, I basically convinced many of my friends on Facebook that I've had a stalker since 2009 via his or her blog, Big Kaz Fan. On that blog, you'll see the second joke, a video we produced at work featuring the first ever "embroidery tattoo." Fortunately, tweezer removal is a lot less painful than that with a laser.

April 1 was also Phoenix's monthly "First Friday" art walk, which has become less about art and more about adolescents offering "free hugs" to oblige their attention-starved hormones. That night, my friends and I found the Mobile Karaoke Unit, a bicycle-propelled karaoke machine that tours First Friday and other events in metro Phoenix. Much to my delight, I sang the Monkees' "Daydream Believer," and many passers-by stopped to sing along. The MKU is an ingenious idea, I give credit to its K.J. for combining my two favorite hobbies (riding bikes and karaoke) into a virtual portable event. I'll endure hundreds of offers for free, sweaty hugs if it means singing another Monkees tune to the beautiful Phoenix skyline.

April is National Poetry Month, so I've been fulfilling the so-called 30/30 challenge by writing a poem a day until the 30th. I did this last year, too, but I'm much more pleased with this month's efforts so far; of course, I'll probably say the same thing next year, but so it goes as an ever self-critical writer. I try to be my own biggest fan first; if I'm happy, it's one less person to worry about pleasing in the crowd. I'm posting the pieces at KaraokeFanboy Press.

Speaking of performing poetry, I participated in my first competitive "prop slam" last week. Poetry slams (which are three-round readings where participants are scored by judges for the win) discourage props, so when they're allowed, it's often a proverbial show-and-tell of bric-a-brac muses. My girlfriend came in third place using my sombrero, her "Talk Nerdy to Me" T-shirt, and a laptop, and I'm very proud of her . . . but I'm most proud of my second-round performance. I utilized my Superman and Hulk action figures to demonstrate who would win in a fight . . . for five minutes. Mind you, a slam piece is supposed to be three minutes, but I got a little carried away. I tried to display all of Superman's and Hulk's powers, and elaborate on Superman's inner struggle to pull his punches in fear of actually killing his adversary (or the ol' heat vision lobotomy a la the Justice Lords from Justice League Unlimited). Ultimately, Supes won by flying the Hulk into the outer atmosphere, where he passed out, reverted to Banner, and was detained back in Metropolis. In case you were wondering.

Finally, I'm diligently working on Amazing Arizona Comics #4 this month, hoping to have it, and the following issue, complete for the Phoenix Comic Con on Memorial Day weekend. I've changed the story three times to accommodate local current events, and my recent discovery of Retro TV has inspired a story sure to please connoisseurs of Arizona lore and pop culture alike. In the meantime, at the end of the month I'm scheduled to appear at Grand Ave. Live (a local live talk show) as the host of Conspire's weekly open mic, then again at the Encyclopedia Show as a performer addressing "mustard" on the spectrum of color. Thank you, April, for keeping me on my toes.

Telling Tails Out of School

On bunnies, karaoke, and comics . . .

Do You See the Bunnies??

I'm honored to be a part of Klang's first themed exhibit in downtown Phoenix. The theme is bunnies, and while I had some cool ideas for original work, my recent move to the Garfield District prevented me from getting crafty, so my contribution is a collection, like you'd see at a state fair. Basically, I had some comics and toys about bunnies, but putting them together conjured thoughts I narrated in a bunny-centric bio, which will also be on display. Though not original by way of art I've made, these comics and toys represent a significant part of my life, and to have them affiliated with the beginnings of Klang's life is a thrill. Neil and Heather Gearns are two of the nicest people you'll ever meet (they let me sleep on their floor not too long ago, technically my first attempt at downtown living -- and I obviously liked it enough to stick around), not to mention, the Gearns are incredibly talented, too, so please check out the gallery and its contributors' efforts. They'd love to hear what you have to say! That's right -- hop to it! They're all ears!

*****

Shirts So Good





A fellow comic book fan recently gave me a hard time for wearing more Marvel Comics T-shirts than DC Comics T-shirts. I hadn't noticed, actually, and was genuinely surprised by the personal trend, because I'm more of a DC fan.

After some thought, though, I've decided I like the way Marvel heroes look more than DC's stable of icons. Just look at these pictures of the Justice League and the Avengers. The Leaguers are all tights, chest emblems, belts, underwear, and the occasional cape. The Avengers are a bit more dynamic -- Iron Man's suit, Hulk's pseudo-nudism, Thor's godly garb. Sure, the capes and tights are there, too, but the core members are quite diverse and frankly more fun to look at.

Further, Marvel's costumes are critical to their characters' origins and motives; if he hadn't invented his Iron Man armor, Tony Stark would've died! Spider-man's suit was first his wrestling garb, to make money from his powers. The Hulk . . . well, he rips his clothes off. You get the point. In Marvel's universe, the clothes definitively make the hero. Half of the Justice League don't even wear masks! Superman, Wonder Woman, Aquaman, Black Canary -- are they even trying to have a secret identity?

Bottom line: DC may have the most iconic characters, but Marvel has better costumes. So, they make better shirts. Good clothes make good clothes. That just makes sense.

A Tale of Two Cities

I love to visit cities. I don't do it often enough. Fortunately, self-publishing my own comic book has driven me to visit two cities over the past two months -- San Francisco in October for the Alternative Press Expo, and Tucson in November for the Tucson Comic Con. I've been to both cities before, but every visit offers a unique opportunity to experience something new, or something familiar from a new perspective -- and this time, for the first time, I had a camera phone with me.

If I had to summarize my tale of two cities without the benefit of pictures, I'd say I found one town a desolate, almost ramshackle smattering of rundown buildings and wandering homeless, and the other, a hip, bustling city rife with art, heart, and nightlife. You'd be surprised which was which.

Granted, my weekend in San Francisco was a cold, rainy one, and the Concourse, which hosts APE every year, isn't in the best corner of town. I'm used to this San Francisco, the perpetually overcast City by the Bay, the dichotomy of Fisherman's Wharf versus the industrial outer banks closer to urban Oakland. What I can't get used to is Market Street. Market is home to my favorite corner in San Francisco, where you can find the Mint (the best karaoke bar in America) on one side, with Al's Comics, Grooves Vinyl Attractions, and It's Tops Coffee Shop (one of the last great greasy spoons around) all across the street. With this quartet of cool on one end, and some touristy shops and trolley stops on the other, you'd think Market Street would be a crown jewel in downtown San Francisco's crown. Alas, it isn't even in the throne room.



Year after year, I stroll down Market Street and am consistently shocked at its rapid deterioration. The homeless population is just plain ridiculous, especially in contrast to the growing number of large, vacant buildings that once boasted a vibrant urban culture. What would be the harm in opening some of those doors for the homeless, especially on a rainy night? Behold these theaters turned porno shops -- and even they're out of business now, victims of the economy and the Internet, I presume. Market's downfall wouldn't be as baffling if I couldn't see the colorfully illuminated City Hall just a few blocks away, with its stoic, hierarchical architecture. The final straw for my perspective of San Francisco's seemingly schizophrenic image in the City Council's recent Happy Meal ban; in a city with so many hungry, regulating food for fat kids' sake seems like a misplaced priority.



Surprisingly, Tucson offered a breath of fresh air, though my friend Nathan warned me of the city's perpetual sewer smell -- which I didn't even notice. Instead, I saw a tight knit downtown glowing with inviting neon, from the historic Fox Theater (seems like every downtown has a Fox Theater) to the Railto to the Congress Hotel. Galleries were open late, and the Screening Room movie theater was showing a film about comic book writer Grant Morrison as a prelude to the Tucson Comic Con. The graffiti claimed no gang allegiance and instead did its best impression of urban art, in many cases, successfully. I didn't see a single homeless person, not that I doubt their presence in Tucson, but as a visitor to the city they didn't make a first or long lasting impression on me -- which is rare. If Tucson wasn't an entity in itself, the last great American metropolis before the Mexican border, I'd actually consider living there someday. Any city with its own growing comics convention is a contender in my book!

Next year, if I visit the San Francisco and Tucson again, I may have two totally different experiences. I may wander to Fisherman's Wharf and experience a bit more of San Francisco's rich history -- or I may wander off Tucson's beaten path and find myself kidnapped by a band of desert meandering meth heads. They say location is everything, but so's the timing -- because, at some point in its life, every city was a great American city. Every city was once somebody's favorite to visit.

KaraokeFanboy Weekly #4: The "Come Talk to Me" Issue

KaraokeFanboy Weekly, vol. 1 no. 4: The "Come Talk to Me" Issue

*****

The latest issue of KaraokeFanboy Weekly makes its way online a little later than usual, but I have a good excuse: I was the featured poet at Conspire's Open Mic in Phoenix on Wednesday, August 4. Fortunately, the event was recorded and I've published my reading in four parts on YouTube; you can find them at my channel. This was my third feature but the first I've ever made available for public consumption; I hope you enjoy it!

*****

To parallel my posting the Conspire feature, this week's theme is connection, specifically the connections we share with people and our surroundings, and I can think of no better song (or performance) than Peter Gabriel's "Come Talk to Me." This live performance (which introduced Paula Cole to the world) is especially stirring.



*****

I scratched a comedian off of my bucket list this weekend when my girlfriend, my oldest friend Wade and his girlfriend, and I saw Nick Dipaolo at the Comedy Spot in Scottsdale. I didn't know of any other comedy venues in the greater Phoenix area than the Tempe Improv, and while I was grateful to find a new venue, the intimate setting was almost too much so for a quick smart mouth like Dipaolo, who absolutely couldn't stand the loud table behind us. He badgered them (and rightfully so) into silence many times throughout the show until they just eventually left -- but why anyone would go to a comedy show and talk through it is beyond me. In many ways, even above the intricate and delicate word play of slam poetry, stand-up comedy is the last great demonstration of oration in contemporary society. Whereas slam poetry is designed to elicit a variety of emotions depending on the piece, and even the humorous ones don't demand laughter, stand-up demands laughter. This laughter implied an attentiveness -- that's where the audience participates. Unless heckling enhances a comedian's routine (and sometimes it really does), just sit back and enjoy the show. Indeed, the way many comedians analyze their job is no laughing matter. Thankfully, Dipaolo is better than anything a stuck up Scottsdale crowd can throw at him, and his show was worth the wait.

*****

Note: I'm eager to include two new staples to KaraokeFanboy Weekly; the first is a weekly comic book review. From July 2006 to June 2007, I actually reviewed A Comic A Day on a blog with that very name; my sophomore effort to read another 365 comics failed barely one fourth of the way through the year, and the blog's recent incarnation to find the daily influence of comics was a flop, too. So, I'll continue the legacy here, albeit weekly, with whatever comic or graphic novel I've read lately.

Batman: Snow (DC Comics): written by Dan Curtis Johnson & J.H. Williams, illustrated by Seth Fisher

A year and a half into his career as the Batman, Bruce Wayne is both tired yet determined to continue his one man war on crime. When he realizes his few friends in arms are limited by their allegiance to the law (James Gordon as a cop, and Harvey Dent as a lawyer, of course), Batman assembles a small, diverse of talented individuals that could offer research and reconnaissance to his cause, and at first their efforts are successful. Unfortunately, parallel to their efforts in capturing an up-and-coming crime lord, the origin of the villainous Mr. Freeze is unfolding elsewhere in Gotham City, and when the plots collide, the results are certainly a snowball of circumstance Batman can no longer control. In the end, Batman dissolves the group and resolves the only partnership that could really benefit him is one involving someone willing to listen to his every marching -- somebody that can watch his back. Good thing the circus, with their feature act the Flying Graysons, are coming to town . . .!

Seth Fisher's art is this story's true selling point, as the artist passed away way before his time and this work stands along Green Lantern: Willworld and Flash: Time Flies as his most mainstream, superhero work. I hate to say it, but honestly I'm not a fan of Fisher's Batman. His work is simply too detail-oriented to depict the Dark Knight as the living shadow many artists personify; for better or worse, Fisher's Batman is way too human. I do like his Mr. Freeze, and the character's incremental development from scientist to hallucinating madman suit Fisher's eclectic style perfectly. Above all, Fisher's passion for illustration is prevalent throughout the story (originally published in single issues of Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight) and is greater evidence that the industry lost a star way too soon.

Mr. Freeze has always been one of my favorite villains, but I hadn't thought of him as Batman's first super-powered villain until this storyline. Indeed, thanks to his suit, his strength and defense is more than an average person could handle, so when Mr. Freeze's bosses and the Gotham underworld work together to weaponize that cryogenic technology, everybody's in over their head, especially Batman. Further, while Batman always brags about flying solo, he is in fact one of the neediest characters in comics, and this story ambitiously and successfully sets the tone for both Bruce Wayne's need to work with others and why he's just so darn picky about it. Batman realizes his limitation as one lone ranger in Gotham, but as events unfold in Snow, he also discovers how a group of conflicting personalities becomes a greater liability than its worth. As much as this is Mr. Freeze's origin, it's also that of Batman's feelings toward Robin and the Justice League. Robin's the kid he was able to mold into the perfect partner; the Justice League is a bunch of adults with different, oft unyielding methods and opinions. Mr. Freeze gave Batman a good reason to have a cold shoulder.

*****

The other new feature for KaraokeFanboy Weekly is actually an old feature of sorts, recycling posts from my old LiveJournal. Since I started this blog, my LiveJournal has slowly but surely breathed its last, but I don't want to abandon it entirely, as it represents a foundational part of my life in writing. In their recycled incarnations here, I can hopefully offer some insight to my mentality when I wrote this stuff; I know in this case, I was examining the crossroads of my life in California and the possibility of moving to Arizona. I was sitting at the Coffee Plantation in Scottsdale before heading out to Comic Con, and Phil Collins' "Take Me Home" came on the radio. I was already thinking of Plato's analogy of the cave, and the concepts clicked. So, submitted for your approval:

"Take Me Home, Because I Don't Remember"
originally posted on Tuesday, July 21, 2009, 3:34 p.m. on KaraokeFanboy LiveJournal

First of all, Phil Collins is the Plato of our generation. Don't believe me? Listen to his song "Take Me Home," or at least read its lyrics here, then remember Plato's Allegory of the Cave, summarized like all things by and for general consumption at its Wikipedia. Both contributions to society depict a character that has been "a prisoner all my life," with a "fire that's been burning right outside my door," and that seems content with the delusions that have pervaded his life. Indeed, adult contemporary radio is the Socratic dialogue of our generation.

I first heard of Plato, Socrates, and the Allegory of the Cave my freshman year in high school, when Mr. Poslaiko introduced them in a discussion about the relevance of learning via our five senses. Of course, this analogy easily extends and can describe the way one lives his life, as well. Unlike the victims of Plato's allegory, some people choose to live chained and to behold those vapid shadows as their only understanding of reality. In one of his dialogues, Plato even explains how one freed from those chains and dragged into the real world might prefer the shadows, as they were his original and thus true perception of the way things should be -- and some people act like that today, as well.

We call these people the Amish. Kidding . . . That was too easy.

I don't live in a cave. I live in a tunnel. At either opening, I can turn to see a different vibrant reality, but right now I'm looking at the shadows they cast on the wall. These shadows sometimes blend into one distorted image with the dancing shapes of each, depending on the way the fire behind me burns and pops. Other times, the shadows are cast so far apart, I may as well crane my neck that extra inch to look outside, but then I see the opposing reality in its colorful, third dimensional glory, in stark contrast to that different, static silhouette, and I get confused. It's enough to make me want to put that that fire out.

I suppose Plato's prisoners had a third option, though I don't think he ever explored it: though their limbs and heads were bounds and immobile, they could've closed their eyes and refused the shadows to create a reality all their own. The snag in this plan is that the imagination could only conjure and distort what it's already seen, so even their make-believe escape would consist solely of shadow, too -- but in my case, I've seen it all. I've seen both ends of the tunnel, the shadows they cast, the tunnel itself. I've seen the ground beneath my feet and can easily tunnel another way out, something I've done a few times before and would rather not do again. That it's always an option is enough.

Yet keeping the two worlds at bay to remain in the tunnel is not enough; it is, as the Allegory of the Cave insists, an empty existence. So, what's the answer? Good student that I am, I consult the Phil(osopher) Collins and his treatise: I feign memory loss, and I demand: Take me home. After all, I'm not a prisoner; I walked into this tunnel. Someone lead me whence I came, out the way I'm most familiar. Take me home.

*****

There's no place like it,
Russ a.k.a. KaraokeFanboy

KaraokeFanboy Weekly #3: The "When the Walls Fall Down" Issue

KaraokeFanboy Weekly vol. 1, no. 3: "When the Walls Fall Down" Issue

*****

I decided to do something differently this issue and precede the content with my video of choice, so perhaps you could listen to the music while you read. I'm not going to promise a Dark Side of the Rainbow experience, but if something you see happens to synchronize thematically with something you hear, I'll definitely take credit for it.



*****



I spotted this piece of "urban art" a few weeks ago in downtown Phoenix and snapped a picture of it -- good thing, too, because it's since been covered. When I lived in Fullerton, I was wildly amused by taggers' monikers; around my apartment complex, punks dubbing themselves "TipC" and "Book" marked their territory all over the place, and I grew to appreciate the irony of their alter egos. Was their graffiti less gang-related and more social commentary, emphasizing the rampant drug use and illiteracy afflicting today's youth? Only their homies know for sure.

In this case, the message is clear: "2lavery" is a double-edged sword. On one hand, in the simplest terms, we define slavery as being forced to do something you don't want to do. Yet, perceiving it from another perspective, slavery is also being in a position where you can't do something you want to do. I presume the young person that tagged this fence hasn't been forced into slavery as we know it historically, yet he undoubtedly feels trapped by his surroundings, essentially enslaved to circumstance.

I don't necessarily condone rampant graffiti, but I can only imagine, in my own romantic way, that, to that young man, the hissing of that spray paint can sounded like the clanging of a sledgehammer against the bricks around his neighborhood, the strokes of those lines like the seams of a tunnel he's slowly but assuredly digging to escape. The truth is in his tool of choice. It's a spray can . . . and someday, maybe he will.

*****

Ever since 2006, I've been following news that comic book writer/artist Frank Miller was producing a new graphic novel called Holy Terror, Batman, featuring the Caped Crusader against Al Qaeda. Despite my mixed feelings on Miller's latest works, I was looking forward to this one; his best (and arguably the best) Batman story ever, The Dark Knight Returns, contrasts Batman's world with the realities of the Reagan era Cold War, and I thought Holy Terror might parallel those possibilities in a contemporary context. Alas, according to Robot 6, apparently he'll complete the project sans Batman, replacing the Dark Knight with a new superhero called the Fixer. To paraphrase, Miller feels the story pushes Batman too far outside of the realm of his inherent character, which makes sense considering how different the comic book world is from the real world . . .

. . . which I thought was the point. Miller's taking the lazy way out, and I think I know why. In comics, at least traditional superhero comics, battles between good and evil always have a definitive end. If the Joker plans to poison the Gotham City reservoir, when Batman foils the plan and throws the Clown Prince of Crime back into Arkham Asylum, the story's over. In real life, our war against terror could go on generations . . . and Miller couldn't find a way to let an iconic character like Batman cope with that. If Al Quaeda attacked Gotham, and Batman pursued them to the Middle East and even confronted and defeated Osama bin Laden, it certainly wouldn't end the terrorist leader's evil influence in the world -- and Batman would have to live with that. Further, the reader would have to live with that, an uncomfortable prospect for any writer/artist hoping to make a statement on a contemporary issue.

Personally, I was eager to see if Batman would conclude that vigilantism can't combat terrorism, if he'd resign to America's perpetual occupation in Iraq as a viable, temporary solution. The Dark Knight has fought plenty of eclectic villains and won by deconstructing their dementia, but he's never fought an ideology with global influence. Now, with a new, throw-away hero in Batman's stead, Miller can do whatever he wants without fear of consequence, without shattering the context of a character's limitations. The Fixer can shoot bin Laden in the head, end of story. Even if Batman were capable of such assassination, he would know that it wouldn't solve the problem of terrorism overall, and now Miller is free of that burden. I'll reserve judgment until I read the story, but I'm certainly approaching it now with more reservations than before.

On long road trips to Comic Con or the Alternative Press Expo in San Francisco, my small press partner Brent and I would often pontificate on what we'd do with landmark characters like Superman and Batman had we a year at the reigns of their respective comics. For Batman, we brainstormed a series of short stories emphasizing the weaknesses of his vigilante-style war on crime; one of my contributions was a tale called "Slaves and Masters," in which Batman combats prostitution. If Gotham City is really as bad as they'd lead us to believe, prostitution would have to be a rampant issue, yet I've never read a story that tackles it directly. In the end, Batman would realize that a pimp's psychological hold over a prostitute isn't as easy to break as the guy's jaw might be. While Bats saves one woman from the lifestyle, he certainly can't save them all -- the problem is too deeply rooted in the city's infrastructure, and indeed in history itself. At the end of the story, Alfred tries to console Batman and unwittingly challenges our hero to reevaluate their relationship . . .

ALFRED: Is there anything I can fetch for you, Master Bruce?
BATMAN: No, thank you, Alfred . . . Actually, there is one thing.
ALFRED: Yes, Sir?
BATMAN: It's just Bruce. No more "Master." From now on, just -- call me Bruce.
ALFRED: . . . Of course . . . Bruce . . .

The lesson, the one Miller is so deftly dodging, is sometimes we have to solve the problem at home before we venture abroad.

*****

Finally, I'd be remiss not to mention what's been happening in my own backyard this week, namely the SB 1070 protests in downtown Phoenix. I've been reevaluating my mentality on the issue since the debate began months ago, and this week I realized that pundits and broadcast commentary have been analysing the issue in a terribly impersonal way. I certainly understand -- and often demand -- objective reporting, but the way certain news personalities talk about immigrants is the way parents sometimes talk about their children, like they weren't in the room. They're here. They're listening. They need to be included in the conversation, whether you condone their presence here or not. Acknowledging their plight to leave Mexico may just open the doors for a process that enables them to achieve citizenship legally and expediently someday.

Until that day arrives, I wrote a piece for the SB 1070-themed night at Conspire Open Mic last month (where I'll be the featured poet this Wednesday, August 4).

Immigrant Envy

I envy the so-called illegal immigrant,
because I've never so wanted to somewhere
that I'd endure the distinction: "illegal."
My very presence, a crime,
any participation, a threat,
the prejudice, preferable to where I've come from.
I envy his potential for perpetual appreciation,
the realization that any moment could be his last.
I've never had a dream so dire,
I preserved it through nightmare,
pursued it in every waking hour,
under high desert suns that rise and set like a pendulum,
ticking to kingdom come
or kingdom, come to me,
whoever gets there first.
I envy the illegal immigrant,
because I've never done anything so wrong
I had rights worth fighting for,
and I've never done anything so right
I was the only one left --
a man without a country,
outside legality,
fodder for pop culture punditry,
no family,
just fueled to the death by envy
to have what others were born with.
I envy him,
his ability to say,
It's totally worth it.

*****

Check KaraokeFanboy Press for the latest in stuff I've self-published, and some local events I'm participating in around Phoenix.

Can't write anymore. I'm hitting the wall.
Russ a.k.a. KaraokeFanboy

KaraokeFanboy Weekly #1: The "What Are You Running From?" Issue

Following "KaraokeFanboy 202," I've decided to attempt a weekly newsletter compiling my week's worth of napkin scribbling and cell phone photography, with the occasional drawing or YouTube link tossed in for good measure. The hope is to collect things that have inspired thought and add a little something to them to further the creative process. Sometimes, like this week, they'll share a theme. We'll see how it goes, and if I actually write more than.

*****

KaraokeFanboy Weekly vol. 1, no. 1: The "What Are You Running From?" Issue

*****

First of all, since I moved back to Arizona, I've discovered slam poetry. I've been writing poetry for a long time, and I've had the honor of featuring a few times in Orange County, but the realm of slam is a bit different. It's competitive -- and frankly reminds me a bit of my high school speech and debate, but fortunately the Phoenix area is dense with immense talent, stripping away the awkwardness of that association and challenging my writing to evolve. I've been trying to write more topical pieces; I wrote and read this one just yesterday, an elaboration on a poem I wrote for National Poetry Month. Transcribing it from scratch paper makes it official:

The Greatest Storytellers of Our Time

Forget the poets.
Their nouns are too proper for the common man;
their verbs aren't helping anyone anymore.

Forget the novelists, too.
They're too thick to think of the little things.

Forget the musicians, the movie makers, even the ministers --
they keep telling the same tired tall tales.
If history really repeats itself,
researchers can pinpoint precisely when the circle stops and starts again
by the way these stories rerun.

Skip class.
Your professor has nothing new to say.
His syllabus is just academia's answer to intellectual recycling,
if only he didn't waste the paper.

You really want to learn something?
Gather, ye, at the feet of the adulterer, the cheat.
These are the greatest storytellers of our time.
These, who invest in story like their bonds were at stake;
these, who digest the story, their bread and butter,
but not for a publisher's sake.
They don't sweat over submissions, creators' rights infringements,
The New York Times Best Sellers' list, pop radio top 40 hits --
they're just redefining what "is" is.
(Remember that line?)

The story is the perfect accomplice,
the where-have-you-been,
the, "Tiger, did you learn anything?"
Their story's only ambition is to be the custodian of the status quo,
sweeping their secrets under the carpet so their loved ones never know.

Theirs aren't t he adventures over Reading Rainbow.
When Joseph Campbell wrote of the hard-travelling hero,
he dreamt of stormy seas, Odysseus, Ahab --
he never considered paparazzi, tabloids, sex addition rehab,
but, Great Storyteller, don't apologise for your disgraced celebrity!
That plot device we couldn't see coming, your tarnished integrity,
man, we revel in those twists!
Our faith in you, the hapless victim!
Like Kaiser Sose losing his limp,
like Luke's father slapping him on the wrist,
we're hanging on every word!

Adulterer, cheater, with this, the sermon of your mount,
we're moved by your words,
we feel the spirit --
welifhlakjwehiwiumcnalweoiah!

Oh, I wasn't speaking in tongues.
That's just what my fist typed when it pounded the keyboard.
Even wanton outbursts of raw emotion have something to say,
and sometimes it doesn't make sense.
Great storyteller, I'm finally speaking your language.

So forget the ministers, their holy fables,
and the music makers, their record labels.
Forget the novelists, with their tiding endings.
Forget rhyme and reason.

Forget the poets.

*****

With another new album on the horizon in less than a year, David Gray continues to prove himself my favorite singer/songwriter. Further, I'm officially dubbed the release from his last album, Draw the Line, called "Fugitive," my favorite song. Dave Matthews Band's "Warehouse," held that distinction for a long time, since it's first lines captured a reverence for youth as the foundation for a progressive adulthood: "Hey, restless mind/Don't throw away your playful beginnings." Interestingly, "Fugitive" takes it a step further, as Gray asks, "Is the answer none of the above/Crouched in a hole like a mud-streaked fugitive?" I need some time to understand his analogy, but it makes sense to me now; life often offers us a distinct list of options, and sometimes none of them are what we envisioned for the future. This dissatisfied side of ourselves can only run, like a fugitive from his bonds, for coveted freedom. On top of that vivid lesson, the video for "Fugitive" has some great artwork -- also symbolic of life's endless possibilities, perhaps?



*****

Below: Poster montage on 20th Street and Washington in Phoenix. The voices are getting louder, the fists, more tightly clenched -- on both sides of the argument. I've had a few revelations about the immigration debate lately, mainly, that I lock my door at night. Every night. And I know I'm not the only one. I'm willing to wager that the folks that pasted up these posters do, too. However, if my deadbolt broke, I was too lazy to fix it, and my neighbors decided to stroll in and help themselves to my stuff, I couldn't blame them. Despite the law that demands they resist that urge, my laziness toward the lock was the real problem. Besides, I have some awesome stuff! Who wouldn't want some of it? Now, if my neighbors were completely happy with what they had in their place, maybe they wouldn't peep into my apartment at all, or if they did, we could invite one another over freely. Honestly, that's the real issue, but it's too daunting to address . . . or, as these posters spread, we're too afraid to behold what we may yet become.



*****

Finally, today is the first full day in Arizona without speed cameras in a long time. Speed Cameron mourns his fallen brethren today. Wait, who's Speed Cameron, you ask? Well, click here to find out!

My legs are tired.
Russ, a.k.a. KaraokeFanboy

KaraokeFanboy 202

One hundred posts ago, I offered a "KaraokeFanboy 101," an autobiographical, introductory course to the tenants that motivate me -- and oftentimes, my blogging. Since this is my 202nd post here, I feel compelled to offer the next lesson. While "KaraokeFanboy 101" referenced my internal motivations, let's examine my external influences, specifically the two halves of my on-line moniker: karaoke + fanboy, which really entail my love of music + comic books. I discuss these media often enough, but what draws me to them, and to liking specific genres and works within them? Since I often don't think about my beloved hobbies in the big picture, enjoy this, yet another exercise in self-indulgence, disguised as introspective tutorial.

Fortunately, music and comics share a few mutual characteristics that are worthy of analysis. First, both music and comics couple language with a worthy partner -- for the former, lyrics and melody, the latter, story and illustration. While both melody and illustration can obviously exist without the benefit of linear language, these linguistics still add a backbone to otherwise free-floating art, which in turn adds connection between potentially misconstrued or disconnected ideas. I like free association as much as a the next scatter-brained Joe, but even the illusion of language helps keep these genres on the ground, from the shrieking in Pink Floyd's "Great Gig in the Sky" (an ironic title in this context) to the sound effects in a dialogue-free comic book slugfest. Simple as it seems, words always help say something.



Further, the economy of words has always impressed me -- a work's ability to say a lot, or at least just enough, with a little. Consider one of my favorite Face to Face songs, "Lost," a four minute, fifteen second tune: "And all I thought I want I lost it all tonight./ Do you know there's only so much you control?/ You can try to save my soul if you like but I'm sure this time it's no different." This song can be about breaking up, spiritual depression, even losing a job -- in three simple sentences, it sums up a feeling of aimlessness perfectly. On a lighter note, my favorite Incubus song is "Are You In?" Its lyrics: "It's so much better when everyone is in. Are you in?/ It's so much easier when sea foam green is in fashion." What a flippant but effective way to inspire an apathetic friend, for -- what? The beauty of this simple song is the listener supplies what everyone is in for! See, in this case, it's my convincing you how less is more!

Comics function a little differently. Some stories can last for all of a few panels, other times they could take a year or more to finish between dozens of titles and issues. I don't like those stories. An effective single issue tale is my favorite, or, if a series is complete, a concise graphic novel collection, like Preacher or Transmetropolitan. Consider Batman, who was dramatically changed in Frank Miller's 1986 classic The Dark Knight Returns. In four prestige format issues, Miller unraveled decades of convoluted character development, pressing reset for future writers and artists. Unfortunately, these writers and artists, including Frank Miller himself, need years to make a mark even remotely similar now, with story's involving breaking Batman's back, to rocking Gotham City in an earthquake, to accusing Bruce Wayne of murder. Grant Morrison is coming close with his long-winded run, from "Batman and Son" to "The Return of Bruce Wayne," but I long for the days when Alan Grant could tell a multifaceted tale in two issues of Detective Comics. My wallet does, too.



Finally, if I haven't completely excluded you from the discussion with my fanboy-centric comics talk, that's just my final point -- I prefer works that allow an outsider to jump in without fear of context or history, and good music and comics do that. I'll start with comics in this case, as those multi-issue arcs are the worst example of introductory issues for new readers -- in fact, once those stories are finally over, publishers often emblazon the next issue with "New Story Arc" or "Great Jumping On Point" blurbs to encourage a new wave of readership. If I can't hand a young person your comic book, with the assumption that any issue could be someone's first, something is a little lacking. Marvel has recently included title pages with synopses and character descriptions in every issue, which certainly helps, and to be fair not every mainstream comic book suffers from this trend. Alas, when characters like Iron Man and Hellboy are now as common household names as Batman and Spider-man, one would hope their native medium would be as approachable as the big screen projects that made their appeal possible.

Interestingly, I approach music the same way, from a linear perspective, with a daunting need to understand what came before. If I'm interested in a musical artist, I feel I should know their work chronologically, versus just jumping aboard from the song or album that peaked my interest. This inclination is cumbersome but fully integrated, I'm afraid, which has consequently bred a closed-mindedness to new music unless I muster the willpower to pick up an artist's complete discography. Granted, I'm slowly coming out of this funk, thanks to singles I've heard from The Weakerthans, Bedouin Soundclash, and The Holloways, but my lifelong favorites like The Monkees or David Gray are only so because I'm intimately familiar with their entire careers. I suppose it only took one song to make that possible at some point, right?



So, to summarize, I like music and comics that use language, use language economically, and in a way that allows easy approachability. Considering these traits, it's safe to say that "KaraokeFanboy" was born because of how easily one can participate in and contribute to these media once wholly immersed in them. Karaoke is a given -- since my brother inherited all of the music prowess the chemistry of our parents has to offer, simply singing along to my favorite songs in public is enough for me, and easy, too! Comics require a bit more dedication, but combining story with illustration is a great way to process one's intake of pop culture as a whole (for example, my latest Amazing Arizona Comics). See, without participation, music and comics are just media. As I've tried to contribute to them in my small way, they've now become art. I've found self-esteem in graduating from audience to artist. Like in any on-line moniker, it's become an identity -- one that, despite any centennially intermittent blogpost, I'm always eager to understand more.

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

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?

Milling About My New 'Hood

"On your way to the Justice League meeting?" the barista asked.

For a moment, I wondered if she knew me. No, I'm not a member of the Justice League, but anyone that knows me knows how close my apartment might resemble the Watchtower Trophy Room. Then I realized that she was just making fun of my Justice League T-shirt, and I decided to play along.

"Just came from it, actually," I replied.

"Any pressing business?" she quipped.

"No global crises tonight," I persisted, "but if there were, you'd never know. We're that good." I proceeded to order a Chai tea and take a seat.

I'd hoped to blog about my new neighborhood tonight. I now live just a few blocks away from Mill Avenue, the row adjacent to Arizona State University that once earned the campus Playboy acclaim, but the strip is an echo of its former self in the shadow of our current economy. When I was younger, Mill was the place to hang out if you dared the drive from the west to east valley, if you wanted to look and feel cool. I once distributed Christian poetry here, because Mill was where the sinners met. Since I didn't go to ASU like so many of my friends, Mill maintained this mythical status to me, and I've reveled in my recent proximity to it.

Of course, even on a Sunday night, clubs still flood the street with their tribal bass, but it's a dying heartbeat. My favorite coffeeshop is like a missing tooth, so I'm resigned to the Starbucks standard, pondering how this town lost its bite. Maybe I just toughened up a bit.

Twelve years ago, I might not have shrugged off that barista's dry wit so effortlessly, but I realize I'm just as cool as Mill used to be, perhaps only a few years too late. I can live with that. I don't mind being an honorary member of its past, if it gives my memories a little more justice.

Reviving Halloween

Since Halloween was on a Saturday this year, some celebrated the hallowed holiday all weekend long. For me, that's not long enough. I celebrated Halloween all October long, planning a haunted house at work and reviewing Halloween-oriented comics over at my funnybook review blog A Comic A Day. This year, my varied observations and experiences about Halloween intertwine and in some cases have implications or undertones that transcend the holiday, as any annual celebration should, so, like a child separating his favorite candies after a successful night of trick-or-treating, permit me this indulgence in organizing these thoughts, lest they linger like Haunted House cobwebs in my brain.


Bloody dancers, Mother, and superfluous terror on the War of the Worlds set.

First of all, at the beginning of October, some friends, my girlfriend, and I went to Universal Studios' Horror Nights. Yes, every year, my favorite holiday and my favorite theme park have a baby, and it's possessed, and we paid to see it puke all over the room. With the rights to some of the world's most memorable monsters, and the addition of the latest icons of dementia like Freddy Kruger and that creepy Saw puppet, the event is a comprehensive tour of terror, especially the backlot tram ride, where every fanboy's dream of walking up to those classic cinematic facades comes true -- at a price, unless you don't mind chainsaw welding freaks getting in your face on the front steps of Norman Bates' house. The War of the Worlds crash site is definitely the highlight of the tour, as if the grim sight of an airplane's carcass isn't enough to make your skin crawl in this post-9/11 age. Afterward, I found myself grateful to have my feet firmly on the ground, and six feet above it, to boot.

A few weeks later, following my experience as a fortune teller, I was in Arizona for the annual Arizona Treasure Hunt and caught a news story about a haunted house in Tempe suffering from neighborhood complaints of traffic and noise, so I just had to see what the commotion was all about. My girlfriend looked up the address and we swung by on Sunday evening to find the gentleman, Richard Stoudt, setting up props in his front yard, and when we told him we'd seen the news story, he chuckled humbly and allowed us to tour what he'd already built. The multi-room haunted house spanned his front yard, backyard, and garage, with years' and thousands of dollars' worth of props creating a feel as authentic as anything I'd seen accomplished on a professional level, and frankly I was both jealous at its scope and thankful that the similar events I've hosted these past several years were comparable, if only on a smaller scale.


From Stoudt's set-up.

Unfortunately, like most good things, local politics have threatened Stoudt's annual event, which has attracted over 2,000 in recent years. Yes, traffic and noise are apparently an issue for his neighbors, undoubtedly keeping them up all hours of the night as any real ghosts and goblins would, but the city as a whole also takes issue with his tip jar. I understand the dilemma, because just the suggestion of collecting funds transforms his obsessive hobby into a small business, but after meeting the man, I find the antagonism tragic, because he is obviously only a man that seeks to share a passion with other appreciative people. I hope he finds the capital to rent space next year and take his haunted house to the next level. The thought that homemade events like his are endangered in this day of age scares me more than anything.

With Universal Studios and Stoudt on the brain, interestingly each on either end of the corporate haunted house spectrum, I prepared my own eerie event at work for the kids in our community. Traditionally, I like to host this event on Halloween night and provide a safe place for kids to come and uniquely experience the holiday in their own proverbial backyard, but weekend events of any caliber are difficult when families are conditioned to utilize us after school only, so my staff and I opted for Halloween Eve, Friday night. One of the keys to a structured haunted house is deciding themed rooms, to focus one's shopping for props when a seemingly endless array of thematic props is available. In past years, I've built dungeons, demented doctors' offices, graveyards, and pirate ships, some of which I've documented before, but this year my staff wanted to try something different: a scary circus room, a freaky fast food room, and a gypsy room. With this in mind, and a Michael Jackson's "Thriller" theme in mind for our outdoor graveyard, we went to work.

My thrilling beauty, the freaky fast food room, and scenes from the scary circus room.

Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans. Our event was scheduled from 7 p.m. to 8:30 p.m., and by 7:20, we had a line of 40 or more people waiting to get in. As the tour guide, I took groups four to six at a time, and the interior rooms took about five minutes to explore. Toward the end of the night, kids started to tour for a second or third time, and feeling more at ease, they started to tear things down. Outside, they were worse, kicking dirt at and taunting our faux Michael Jackson, who just so happened to be my girlfriend. I've never had problems like that, perhaps in part because I opt to host haunted houses on Halloween, when our event is just one stop among many in the neighborhood, and kids' hands are too busy protecting their candy to wreak havoc. As much as everything looked good (and how 'bout that zombie Jacko, eh?!), the lesson is clear -- forget about ghosts, goblins, witches, and monsters. Unattended children are the real terrors.



Halloween is truly the only holiday where bumping into pirates, ninjas, robots, and superheroes is commonplace, and I love to spread the cheer as much as possible. At my favorite local poetry reading Wednesday night, I read this favorite old blog post, and on Thursday, a coworker and I went to karaoke hosted by Alice Cooper (complete with dead babies, pictured above), which was actually a little more creepy than this Halloween karaoke scene sketched by my buddy Brent. On Halloween itself, my girlfriend and I had breakfast in our witch and fortuneteller costumes, respectively, and the wait staff at Norm's were dressed up, too, so we blended right in. That night, Batgirl and I hit another karaoke venue and to honor the resident Karate Kid costume, I sang Peter Cetera's "The Glory of Love" from the Karate Kid II soundtrack. To my delight, and perhaps one of the highlights of my karaoke career, when I sang the line, "Like a knight in shining armor from a long time ago," I stood next to a knight in shining armor from a long time ago! What happens on Halloween can only happen on Halloween!


Batgirl never looked so hot, Mr. T never looked so white, and a knight has never had better timing!

I can think of no better way to end the Halloween weekend than by watching the undead haunt the waking world on the big screen. No, I'm not talking about Zombieland (though that's a great flick, too), but Michael Jackson's This Is It. Indeed, watching Michael post-mortem attempt to revive his career through a patchwork of beloved hits has a certain Dr. Frankenstein quality to it, but we enjoyed the film and in spite of our observations couldn't pinpoint evidence of Jacko's drug use. If he was as strung out as they say, I expected my cynical eye to find some lack of lucidity, but at worst This Is It is the story of an eccentric performer, which is what we'd expect from a king of pop anyway. Appropriately, "Thriller" is the film's centerpiece, though the high notes of "Human Nature" were haunting in the context of Michael's life and untimely death. If concert footage can have a subplot, it's these performers' inability to experience this highlight in their careers. Make-up and special effects aside, what This Is It could've been is truly a ghost among us.

Now, like every year, Halloween itself is the ghost, long dead in the shadow of the impending Christmas season, haunting the 50%-90% off shelves at Target and Wal-Mart. As much as I love it, that's just where it should be, because you can't get too much of a good thing. Still, throughout the year, whenever I hear "Thriller" on the radio, or I see something that could easily be bloodied for a haunted house, or I reminisce about my favorite candy, Halloween creeps into the dark corners of my brain, like those persistent cobwebs in the corners of the attic. No blog post can clear those webs away.

Goin' APE, Addendum

A special thanks to John Parkin from the blog Robot 6 for his detailed article about this year's Alternative Press Expo at Comic Book Resources, and for including some quotes from yours truly! Not to brag, but one of my quotes was actually used as the article's headline!

If anyone is checking out my humble little blog as a result of that article, drop me a line, and I'll happily send you a complimentary copy of my first solo self-published comic, Karaoke Comics #1. Otherwise, the rest of my self-published work can be found at KaraokeFanboy Press -- and don't forget to check out my K.O. Comix buddy Brent's new dogs vs. cats apocalyptic western, Dog Town, too!

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!