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.

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

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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.

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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?



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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.



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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

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

Goin' APE

San Francisco is the only city I’ve ever been to that charges a cover at the door. The four dollar toll at the Bay Bridge is the promise of exclusivity, like the city itself is a nightclub full of bright flashing colors and the heartbeat of bass-heavy music and strange people that would love to meet you as much as forget you in the morning. All of this is sponsored by Coca-Cola, apparently, if that big glittery billboard that towers over the skyline means anything. Fortunately, every time I’ve visited the city by the bay, I’ve had a purpose -- namely, the Alternative Press Expo, a little comic con for folks like me that make their comics and zines by hand. With APE as a pseudo-professional pivot for the weekend, one can only monkey around so much . . . but sometimes trouble finds its way to you, too.



Barreling Down the Highway

I’ve been making comics with my buddy Brent for years, but we haven’t exhibited at APE together since 2006, so I was excited for a chance to show off our respective works since then. His latest solo effort, Dog Town, is an awesome comic book; even if you don’t read comics, peruse the sketches on his blog and behold his amazing talent. Anyway, he and I rented a car from Orange County and began the northbound trek on the 5 freeway shortly after lunch on Friday afternoon. Thanks to talk radio’s obsession with Bubble Boy, the drive was entertaining enough, and even when the stench of cow country infiltrated the car, Brent and I didn’t whine one bit.

Little did we suspect that the freeway had plenty of “whine” in store for us. Just before the 580 freeway, a truck hauling huge, old-fashioned wine barrels lost one. It shattered in the road and the debris struck a lot of cars in a lot of different ways -- and we were no exception. I swerved to avoid the twisted metal, which in the white headlights looked like the macabre skeleton of a barrel, but it punctured our driver’s side front tire. We pulled over and Brent quickly put on the spare while I called our rental car place to file an incident report. We pulled over in the next closest town, Livermore, to inspect the car in better light and discovered a leak, the possibility of a damaged oil pan.



A tow company was to deliver us a new car but the closest open location was the San Francisco airport, so we killed a few hours eating at Applebee’s. When the tow truck arrived with a nice new Ford Focus, the glassy-eyed driver took his time, which by then was par for our course. Brent watched the guy eat a Lunchable -- you know, a little round piece of bologna, a little square piece of cheese, a faux Ritz cracker. Assemble. Eat. Repeat. When we finally got back on the road, we were in San Francisco within the better part of an hour, and in our hotel room at the Bay Bridge Inn by 11 p.m. When we checked in, the clerk asked if we minded the milk he was storing in our room’s refrigerator. We didn’t. We were utterly exhausted.

What A Bummer

I’ve seriously contemplated sharing this part of our weekend, because I know it’s one Brent would love to forget, but as long as I’ve had the privilege of exploring the inner city in any capacity, I’ve been fascinated by homelessness. I even wrote a comic book about, Doug Deever, Dumpster Diver. I’d like to think my interest transcends mere rubbernecking; I’m genuinely curious in the origins of homelessness, from the traditional stereotype of the shell shocked war veteran, to the strung out alcoholic, to . . . what? The question I always ask, at what point in a person’s life do they run out of loved ones willing to help? How many friends and family would I have to burn through to end up on the street, too? I know the phenomenon is by no means this simple, but in a dense city like San Francisco, where homelessness is rampant, it’s a challenge to look at them as people, and not just part of the ornate architecture. Sometimes it’s better not to.

Consider our Saturday morning, when Brent and I were strolling toward Market Street in the hopes of a Starbucks. Perhaps our minds were eager for APE as we took in the street art, from graffiti to intentional attempts at beautification. At an intersection on 7th Street, in the heart of what appeared to be a skid row, Brent and I caught sight of something I’ll never forget: two homeless folks, an old white man and a black woman, with their hands down the other’s pants. Though I could tell they had been trying to conceal themselves with their jackets, they were beyond the point of subtly, and the man especially was rocking back and forth in a ragged dance of hasty desperation.

You know what they were doing, so don’t make me say it . . . and as much as the sight was admittedly hilarious, it humanized these two people beyond the thought of normal street dressing. Perverse, sure, but no more so than any seemingly “civilized” businessman visiting a strip club or massage parlor -- but in this case, perhaps more -- cherished? In the context of urban survival, perhaps more forgiving, this moment of fleeting respite? I don’t judge them, and, as sick as it sounds, I’m grateful that I shared in that moment of raw intimacy. Beyond the preconception of begging drunks, these are still people, with just as many complicated needs as the rest of us -- and dark reflection of there but for the grace of God go I.



Similarly, several times on our way back to the hotel throughout the weekend, we passed this vintage owl pillow in a locked doorway, and by Sunday evening, I just had to take it and give it a home. What it represents -- discarded old wisdom, ironic discomfort -- epitomizes San Francisco’s homelessness perfectly. I only hope that smell comes out in the wash . . .

The Fresh Maker

Whenever I’m in San Francisco, I have to visit the Mint Karaoke Lounge. I discovered the Mint during APE 2007, and I’ve been a handful of times since. I’ve talked about it here in The Karaoke Chronicles before, but it’s worth mentioning again, because the karaoke starts there at 4 p.m. every day! You gotta love a place that respects karaoke enough to kick it off during the waning daytime hours!

Anyway, so I hoped to get to the Mint Friday night, and even though we were exhausted after The Wine Barrel Incident, I cruised by to see if I could find easy parking, with no luck. Plus, navigating the labyrinth of one-way streets in San Francisco infuriated me after cruising at some 80 mph on the freeways, so I retired earlier than I’d hoped. Saturday night, after Brent and I went to the Cartoon Art Museum APE after party, I hoofed it up Market Street to the lounge, where the one free bar stool in the whole joint was waiting for me.



At first, I was intimidated by the crowd, because I thought the rotation might be too long to get a song in. I threw in my token “Piano Man,” anyway, and thankfully the KJ Frank runs a very tight stage, letting you know who’s going to sing three performers in advance, and playing songs right on top of each other if necessary. He’s also an excellent singer himself, so his passion fuels the vibe in the room. When I approached to sing, I had my drink in tow to swing along to Billy Joel’s piano, but Frank frowned against it. You can see how I mimed a drink, but fortunately the crowd was happy enough to oblige, and I received plenty of praise for my song choice. (My fave pic from the night is here; check out the guy in front worshipping me!) Of course, I let the crowd sing for me during that last chorus, as if the Mint itself was performing for me. As the name implies, it always leaves a great taste in my mouth.

Goin’ APE

APE, the reason we were in San Francisco in the first place, is unlike any other comic book show I’ve attended, and I’ve been to the San Diego Comic Con, the Los Angeles Comic Book and Science Fiction Convention, and trade shows like Frank & Sons in the City of Industry. At APE, the press is truly “alternative,” ranging from traditional zines, to hand drawn mini-comics, to homemade crafts and prints. I’ll be reviewing the stuff I picked up at my comics review blog A Comic A Day, and I’m generally pretty pleased with the haul.

Setting up the K.O. Comix table is always a challenge, because we want our booth to clearly exhibit our work in a visually appealing way. In the past, I’ve brought props to emphasize our books’ themes, like a little Christmas tree to highlight our comic Little Christmas, but this time we kept it simple by stacking up pure product. Dog Town was the centerpiece as far as I was concerned, it being the newest and most professional piece on the table, and I pushed my 2009 Poetry Zine Series for free, just to get that stuff out there. Still, like any other con, I’m talking about comics getting into the hands of consumers, so what makes APE so different?



The simple answer: At APE, there’s no middle man. It’s the artist standing behind his or her work, with potential fans passing by, and sometimes the artist only has a second or two to make an impression. At other cons, retailers or office jockeys push product, which is critical to the industry, but at APE and other zine-friendly shows, the material is usually hot off the press, or straight out of the copy machine at work, into readers’ hands. It’s pure, and brutal, if you’ve poured your heart into something passers-by won’t give a second glance. In that case, pricing is critical; Brent and I both agree that our books are priced to sell, not to make a profit. The assumption is, interest now generates business and profit later. If we actually pursued K.O. Comix with some consistency, we might succeed with that model. Other creators, I encourage you to try it!

So, I’d be remiss not to mention, check out the K.O. Comix blog, and my tangible creative efforts at the KaraokeFanboy Press blog! At the very least, you’ll see some pretty pictures!

Fortunately, the drive home was uneventful. No wine barrels, no shameless homeless folks, no karaoke, no peddling comics. Just two guys worn out by an eclectic weekend. Of course, San Francisco doesn’t charge you to leave the city, which would be equally profitable, but the message is clear . . . Get out! Just like a nightclub, whenever your personal closing time arrives, they want you up and out of there, probably to make room for more folks in such a cramped space. I’m usually ready to leave anyway. I don’t know if I could live in a city so densely populated -- but I certainly like visiting as frequently as possible. I don’t mind the cover charge -- because the memories are priceless.

Taxation With Plenty of Retaliation

I love protests. In fact, I so love protests that I self-published a photo journal of the protests I’ve attended in the past several years, and I still have some copies available if you’d like to purchase one for the cost of reproduction and shipping. Anyway, I love protests because they inspire people to be seen and heard -- hence, the chant, and the picket sign. These simple expressions are often so thoughtfully executed, bringing a camera is critical to any demonstration. A well-executed protest is also an art exhibition, free of charge and in your face, which if often the best kind.

I also love living in Fullerton. I haven’t much mentioned this on-line, but I’ve attended school, lived, and worked in Fullerton, California for twelve years. Fullerton is a relatively small town in many ways; its longtime citizens are also its politicians and teachers, and community events are often held monthly, or even weekly during the spring and summertime Farmer’s Market. Yet, as a college town, Fullerton strives to reach its big city potential, with a renovated downtown that the Los Angeles Times once dubbed “Hollywood East” for its thriving nightlife. On many levels, it’s a happenin’ town.

So you could imagine my excitement when I heard that an anti-tax rally was coming to my town. Protests of this caliber are usually reserved for Los Angeles or Hollywood, presumably for the media’s convenience since they’re headquartered there anyway. In this case, KFI 640 AM’s John & Ken Show sought a more central location, and their weeks’ worth of promotion for this “Tax Revolt” brought a staggering 15,000 people to my little college town. I think they’ve padded those numbers a bit, but my girlfriend, my old friend John, and I braved the crowd, and in their midst the people easily numbered into the thousands. If Fullerton ever needed a tourist board . . .!

Like usual, I snapped away at every sign or crowd-driven quirk I could find, with the intention of cropping and editing the pictures to emphasize my targeted details later. No time for worries like framing and focusing in the heat of the moment, after all. When my old pal Eric and I would attend the old anti-war rallies in Hollywood, I’d always marvel at the raw cityscape in the background, its building’s grays and landscape’s green a stark contrast to the red, white, and blue of the patriotic picket sign. These pictures strike the same cord, yet . . . it’s where I live and work. Particularly in the brick, and the winter worn trees -- surrounded by rampant activism, I’m gripped by the stillness of my city. I’ve loved it for a long time, and in many ways it’s both the most persistent and frail place I know. I can appreciate that.

Of course, the crowd and its signs are the stars of this show, and as a fanboy with Arnold Schwarzenegger as its governor, I can also appreciate the geek factor implemented in this protest. With imagery from the Terminator franchise and Total Recall and Predator, with effigies including action figures . . . with folks dressing up like Jack Sparrow (?) and the anti-hero from V for Vendetta . . . this protest could’ve been an extension of Comic Con. Some of the posters were definitely small press worthy, in either their embrace of caricature or graphic design. My favorite was the kid and his lemonade stand, complete with a sign adorned with his mascot, the Lemonader! An entrepreneur and an artist! The next Stan Lee, ladies and gentlemen!

This protest was particularly family friendly, even with carnival booth games. I won a T-shirt on my first attempt to keep the bowling ball over the hump, lest its momentum roll it back toward me, symbolic of getting over the impending statewide tax hump. John and Ken also encouraged attendees to bring Arnold merchandise for destruction, and to put his and other local politicians’ heads on a stick, which despite any other illusion made the whole event Shakespearean in scope to me. For all of the obvious quips involving True Lies, Total Recall, and even Last Action Hero (i.e. Tax Action Zero), I regret not seeing anything about Kindergarten Cop or Jingle All the Way. How about Arnold and impeached governor Gray Davis are now like Twins? Eh? Eh? If you’re bringing the family, remember the PG flicks, too!

Ah, but who knows if protests like this really produce results? They definitely rally the troops, but if the call to action isn’t a lifestyle, then these exhibitions are just that -- mere bursts of raw, reactive emotion. You know, I’m actually fine with that. Most art is really just a quick burst of raw, reactive emotion -- purging the demon from the artist while capturing it on a canvas for others to relate. I’m happy to be a part of the latter end of that equation, in some ways a blank slate myself until impressed with the emotions of an impassioned protestor. After all, how can it be a protest if someone’s worldview isn’t put to the test?

I've posted plenty more pictures on my Flickr, but I wanted to include these last two here because they spotlight topics I've addressed in my first two "Vs. Current Events" comics!

Vs. Current Events #2: Rush to Judgment!

Last weekend, Rush Limbaugh gave a speech that has sparked controversy about his role as the voice of the Republican party. In short, Rush has publicly expressed that he hopes President Obama fails -- pretty much at everything. The thing is, however you feel about Obama, the anomaly of his race and his well spoken demeanor has brought the kind of celebrity to politics that has attracted the interest and excitement of younger, presumably previously apathetic voters. You can disagree with him, but to hope for outright failure? Nothing will alienate that generation more than partisan politics as usual. Three years ago, Republican pundits were claiming that the Democratic party was dead in the water; now that the roles are reversed, the GOP should follow the Dems' example and find some fresh blood. Ironically, Rush threatens to slow their resurrection down.

Incidentally, I feel compelled to explain this comic, as the few people that read it before this post failed to grasp the punchline without some conversation. Basically, Rush realizes that having a deadline inspires him to produce his best work yet, coincidentally about a speech against Obama's withdrawal from Iraq deadline. I know Republicans have expressed concern with publicizing a withdrawal date, because it empowers terrorists to think ahead, like, "America's out of here August 21? Let's attack on August 22!" Yet, any procrastinating college student knows how one can produce their best work against a deadline. If our military marketed this pull-out plan effectively, it would exude the kind of confidence that elicits fear. The message shouldn't be, "We're out by August 21," rather, "We'll be done with you by August 21 -- and we're going to leave some troops behind to make sure you stay down."

From an artistic standpoint, this "Vs. Current Events" series is fun, because its reactionary tone toward news demands an immediacy in production. If I don't finish it within a day of its inspiration, it's outdated, so I'm forced to draw it, post it, and be done with it. I'm enjoying the use of shading, too, which is something I've never tried before. It distracts from some of my imperfect inking and adds an independent quality I dig. Of course, I think I overindulged in this sophomore effort (resulting in poor resolution on my lettering), so we'll see what the next headline brings. Rush would attest -- projects like this are about finding your voice. Fortunately, in this case, I can speak for myself.

The Screening Process: Recent Thoughts About Television and Film, part 1 -- The Boob Tube

A few nagging tidbits about television and film have plagued my thoughts lately, so I've decided to purge them here for your enjoyment!

* While I was as compelled by the last season of American Idol as the squeaky teeny-bopper, I'm half-watching this season -- literally, since it airs on the Wednesdays I usually participate in a local poetry open mic. Even if I did reserve Hump Day for the latest round of Idol antics, a moment from season eight's premiere may have turned me off to the hunt for America's next diva altogether. Rocker Randy Madden betrayed his sensitive side when he cried for the camera, and after his ambitious performance of Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer," the judges said that Randy hadn't learned any of the industry's hard lessons, that he wasn't qualified based on a lack of experience and presumably its subsequent disappointments. In the same segment, they let a sixteen-year-old girl through to Hollywood, based on, gasp, her singing voice. The judges sugar-coating their critique with claims that life lessons are necessary for stardom when in the same fifteen minutes they open the door for a middle class teenager with nothing to lose . . . is hypocritical. It cheapens the show, even these first few episodes apparently dedicated to superficial value judgements based on a virtual freak show of wanna-be singers. Randy wasn't "make it to Hollywood" material, but at least guys like him know what they want. Me, I don't know how much entertainment I can derive from watching them fail anymore, especially in the face of judges that don't even know why they're there.

* Prison Break has been cancelled, probably for its own good. I've read the episodes that have been filmed will air in April, but the series finale hasn't been shot yet and maybe never will be. As a fan of the show, of course I'm anxious to see how these four seasons reach their end, and while such an action-packed show would undoubtedly demand a significant budget for a finale, I don't see why Fox wouldn't deem it worthy. First of all, a concise conclusion makes for a great complete Prison Break boxed set; second, a few more episodes might cement syndication sales. I mean, who would watch the reruns knowing that it all just leaves you hanging? Finally, since the show has always been an allegory for overcoming others' perspectives (the whole reason Lincoln was successfully framed and convicted for killing the Vice President's brother was because of his lifestyle as a thug, plain and simple), a series finale makes symbolic sense. We viewers have been chasing after the show's dangling threads for years; now, here we are, face to face with the fugitive that is Prison Break in the proverbial leaky sewer tube, except, unlike Tommy Lee Jones, we do care. Don't leave us hanging here, Fox! Like Michael Scofield, learn that hard lesson: finish what you start, no matter what!

* Sean Hannity recently interviewed Rush Limbaugh about President Barack Obama's economic plans. I didn't watch the interview, and I don't know if I have to, because I can predict how they feel and really can't get past the conversation's very concept. Its logistics. Hannity interviewing Rush is like a person getting interviewed by his own echo. It's like my left testicle high-fiving my right. It's like that verse in the Bible that says the Bible is the inspired word of God because the Bible tells us so! (That's 2 Timothy 3:16, folks.) Of course, the interview wasn't really a chance for Rush to share his thoughts on just-inaugurated President Obama -- he has a nationally syndicated talk show for that. No, sitting down with Sean Hannity was a purely militant move, akin to a platoon beholding its field commander chatting with their staff sergeant. The message is loud and clear: "As the newly elected minority, the more of us in a room, the louder we can be!" Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity: Keeping the can in Republican!

* In the wake of the holiday season, I've realized how important The Late Show with David Letterman is in my life. Long-time friends will remember my "Top 10 Boy" alter ego in high school, but on a much more personal level, unlike other television staples Letterman has adhered to a few traditions on his show that have become integral to my sense of the holiday spirit. For instance, on Thanksgiving night, when Dave began the "guess the pie" segment with his mom from Indiana, I nodded fondly, familiarly. Then again, when Jay Thomas tossed a football to knock down the Christmas tree meatball in December, I smirked knowingly, remembering I had seen the bit some years before. Dave's always been a sensitive guy, but especially since his heart attack, September 11, and the birth of his son, his vulnerability for tradition is apparent now more than ever -- and I'm all the more appreciative of his comedy as a result. When I first moved to California, I thought I should pledge an allegiance with Leno by way of coast, but Dave proves it every year: home is where the heart is. I couldn't deny my own late night nature for too long.

Now, these thoughts aren't in order of importance or anything, but I consciously concluded the diatribe on a high note. Needless to say, when it comes to the boob tube, I usually always have something to get off my chest . . . but the silver screen isn't safe, either! To be continued!

Inauguration Day

Good luck finding anything on television today. Not that Inauguration Day doesn't deserve a little coverage, especially this one, the historical day Dr. King's dream comes true and blah, blah, blah. Honestly, the news media hyperbole dried up weeks ago, culminating in today's practically speechless awe toward now President Barack Obama's first official day in office. I caught a few minutes of Fox's network coverage (preempting my beloved Steve Edwards and Good Day, L.A.), and Shepard Smith's (or someone that sounded like him) commentary was practically golf-game in its hushed reverence. To paraphrase, he explained, "The eyes of the world are on America today, as it inaugurates its President in a way no other country does." In other words, we throw the biggest party . . . and why not? So long, Circuit City -- you've been replaced with the most successful brand name in recent history: Obama. Are we inaugurating a President or cutting the ribbon on a new Starbucks over there?

How much does Inauguration Day cost, anyway? I'm sure U2 and Bruce Springsteen didn't perform for free, and since tickets are supposed to be free, what covers the cost of logistical arrangement, broadcast preparations, additional security . . .? Of course, I'm asking these questions without doing a lick of research, which, in this context, would make me a great conservative talk show host. Point me toward the closest golden microphone!

I'm grateful Hilary Clinton didn't win (for many reasons), but chew on this: If Hilary was being inaugurated today, only two families would've held Presidential office since 1988, if you exclude Bush, Sr.'s two terms as Vice President. That's practically my entire lifetime, in an American led by only two families: the Bushes and the Clintons. Considering today's ceremony, I'd think less "Hail to the Chief" and more "God Save the Queen." Thankfully, change has come.

Indeed, I'm really as excited for President Barack Obama as the next guy, but I'm less interested in the house warming party and more in his getting to work. True change will be the day a Presidential nominee opts for less pomp in favor of dire circumstance, the day a politician holds up his hands and says, "This isn't about me. Now, where do I clock in?" This is the same day Dr. King's dream is so fulfilled, we don't even have to mention it anymore. Can we get there? Yes, we can . . . dream.

Prop 8 Is Enough

This week, tens of thousands of people have to grasp one of two possible realities: (1.) Their beloved home state isn't ready to let them be happy, or (2.) the few people that aren't ready to let them be happy are too persuasive for everybody's own good. I don't know which is more frightening.

Ghosts, Goblins, Gays, and Ghouls

November 2, 2008. 6:20 p.m., Pacific Standard Time. Halloween isn't over yet.

Nevermind that I still have a haunted house to tear down, or that the annual Simpsons "Treehouse of Horror" episode hasn't aired yet. These things would be enough to delay the official retirement of Halloween 2008, but something else looms on America's horizon, something more frightening than any ghost or goblin . . . Election Day. A friend of mine texted me a few days ago and asked if I thought the liberal media had prematurely declared their winner, and I didn't reply because the following day I listened to Limbaugh and Hannity in the radio, both of whom predicted a very different outcome than "the mainstream," so . . . It's more suspenseful than any horror movie. Though, to be specific, I feel like the kid in the corner of the room in The Blair Witch Project.* I know something terrible is going to happen, and I'm going to be a part of it, but . . . what?

In the meantime, citizens can assume some control over their more local circumstances. Propositions, we call them. Even as I sit here at Starbucks, fifty or more folks are protesting California's Prop 8, which means to amend the state's constitution and define marriage as a union between only a man and a woman. In short, it wants to eliminate "gay marriage." I've heard all sides of the pro-Prop 8 argument, from the corporate resistance to permitting same sex partners the insurance rights of a traditional spouse, to the standard religious arguments, but I can't buy either of them. I'm definitely voting no on Prop 8, for many reasons, the first and foremost of which is its discriminatory context. What business owners and the religious fail to realize is that once we decide to change the state constitution in a way that definitively excludes a certain group of people, they might be soon to follow as a potentially discriminated group. Like censorship, this sword is double-edged; even if you're the one swinging it, you still stand the risk of slicing yourself.

To the business owners, I would suggest that their fear about paying overwhelming, domestically defined insurance premiums is small change in comparison to how they might limit their potential employee pool with this rejection. Generally, married people are more stable and productive in the workplace, and I don't know how a "gay married" person would be any different. To the religious, my argument is more philosophical; frankly, by so publicly protesting Prop 8, they've given the homosexual community a bigger opportunity and platform to spread their word, too. In the case of wanting to abolish something, keeping it subversive is best, lest it attract more supporters. Folks that might have voted for Prop 8 for tradition's sake might have since reconsidered it as a civil rights issue and decided to vote it down. A more persuasive argument about the supposedly destructive nature of gay marriage is to let it pass; then, when the first gay couple divorces, religious zealots can proclaim, "See! We told you so! It just doesn't work!"

Of course, how many business owners have used the benefits of an insurance premium for their own ends? How many "religious" people (I'm avoiding the term "Christian" to be all-inclusive) have been divorced, defiling marriage's "sacred tradition?" There's that swinging sword again.

Homosexual themes have been pretty pervasive in my blogs lately. No, I'm not coming out, but I'm waking up to the reality that these people, men and women, are a vocal sect of our general American fabric, and they deserve a chance at life, liberty, and most specifically the pursuit of happiness as much as everyone else. Gay marriage won't lead to polygamy, or bestiality, or any of the other extreme hypotheticals I've heard. At the very worst, it will lead to either more families, or more divorce. Like this election at the Presidential level, it will lead to something different . . . that will seem somehow exactly the same. We're cornered, and it's scary.

* Speaking of Blair Witch, I reviewed the Oni Blair Witch comic book at A Comic A Day. Check it out!

Saturday Night is Alive . . . But Is It Really Living?

On Saturday night, my girlfriend, my best friend, some other friends and I were combing the Arizona desert with flashlights and cordless drills in a treasure hunt (I'll save that one for another post), so I missed the originally airing of Sarah Palin's appearance on Saturday Night Live. Considering the coverage her cameo received in the mainstream media, watching it on Monday afternoon like we did, one would think we were months behind the times, as her performance had already been thoroughly analysed and evaluated, as its ultimate impact on the overall election had already been considered and dissected with the same weight and clarity as any one of the four debates. In fact, Palin's appearance on SNL was something of a debate, with her greatest rival yet -- not Biden, but the media itself, specifically entertainment media. Palin has given the likes of The Daily Show, SNL, and David Letterman so much fodder that one had to wonder (1.) if they could really do it to her face, (2.) if she would give them even more ammunition in their very midst, and (3.) how she should stand up to them, with either a sense of stoicism or a sense of humorous humility. My verdict . . .?

Sarah Palin vs. Saturday Night Live -- Winner: Palin.

Considering the strength of SNL's writing lately, I couldn't tell whether or not they'd put on the kid gloves, but Palin emerged victorious by proving she could dwell in the lion's den and not get her arm chewed off. In fact, I dare say that SNL muzzled its own maw, stifling any true potential for comedy with a dire need to remain relevant in a world where comedy has its own central station, and even where it isn't the only show in the town of Saturday late night. Yes, I dare say MadTV offers a more lighthearted approach to political satire, which keeps its spoofery (I'm trademarking that one) so lighthearted and obnoxious one might forget that Obama and McCain are real people and not exaggerated characters like their classics Stewart or Ms. Swan. Indeed, a squirrely old McCain that frequently asks for his shawl is much more subversive than a Palin lookalike that reiterates the source material with a smirk that’s somehow supposed to make the reality of it all more derisively funny. "Mavericky" isn't a punchline; it's a shortcut. Obama and McCain in a dance-off, which would most likely and ironically receive higher primetime ratings than one of their debates anyway? Hilarious.

Finally, the Palin/SNL faceoff reminded me of another sketch comedy pet peeve. Basically, for years, SNL has been able to make even the most accomplished actor look like a bad high school play thespian, barely able to remember his lines. Alec Baldwin's contribution to the show's opening sketch could've been a show stealer; he confuses the real Palin for Tina Fey and slanders the V.P. candidate while pleading to Lorne Michaels about pitting the two together. His blatant reading of cue cards reminded me of The Simpsons episode with Krusty the Clown saying, "And now my favorite part of the show! What’s that say? Talking to the audience? Aw, this is always death!" Baldwin was just a hiccup away from: "[Palin] represent everything we stand . . . What's that say? Oh, yeah. Against!" Her retort, "Stephen is my favorite Baldwin," was more convincing. Sure, it's only one, easily memorized line, but who's the actor in the room?

Of course, for all of this analysis, I don't think anyone has changed their mind about their Presidential pick based on a few minutes of Saturday Night Live. My only gripe with the whole thing is that SNL comes off like someone should have, that satire shouldn’t just echo reality anymore, but shape it, too. It's a cyclical thing. If the reality of our national situation wasn’t hilarious enough by itself, we really wouldn’t have anything to ridicule in the first place. Unfortunately, in the case of electing the next President, I keep getting the creeping suspicion that we the people are the punchline . . . and I still don't get it.

ADDENDUM: This image is going around on the 'net, and while I wouldn't call it satire, it's absolutely hilarious. Entitled, "Next Season on Dancing With the Stars." Exposes the celebrity in politics, eh!