Friday Lunchtime Tuxedos

It's a grand old 36º right now so our man Rocco's out of his cave and happy, happy, happy.  In such a good mood that he just couldn't possibly choke down his Friskies Ocean Whitefish.

Mais non! Today is a tuna day.

I understand.

And for this I get loved up to no end. Not complaining. He's THIS close to climbing into my lap. I just know it!

Coco, seen below, is relaxing and getting ready for her noon bath while ensconced in The Amazing Bob's recliner. He'd been sitting there -- peacefully reading the paper, minding his own business when this giant bully of a feline pushed him out. It's her MO. She's just horribly cruel like that. Thar's how she rolls and, embarrassingly, we let her walk all over us. But you knew that.

Training Your Human (author unknown -- full poem at the link)

Training your human is a thankless task.
"Why bother with it?", some kittens may ask.
The fate of the world is the issue at hand,
as felines worldwide stake a claim for their land.
Make no bones about it, we cats own the joint.

Just what does training your human entail?
A host of fun things you must do without fail:
The sofas and rugs need a little makeover.
The La-Z-Boy's target for kitty takeover.

Word Wandering

Why, why do I know words like:
Vatu which is the national currency of Vanuatu. And where the hell is that? In the South Pacific. It’s summer there now. sigh.

Vanuatu from Lonely Planet travel guide:

it's not just a decadent escape with balmy breezes and gourmet food. It's also home to several best-in-the-world experiences that very few people know about: a luxury liner, like the Titanic, shipwrecked in clear diveable water; the world's most accessible active volcano on the island of Tanna; a giant banyan tree the size of a soccer field; pounding, cascading waterfalls; extraordinary cultural ceremonies and dances on the island of Malekula; primitive villages where you can witness an ancient living culture; and picture-perfect beaches where there's nobody but you and your snorkel gear. It's also a snorkellers' and divers' Mecca.

Oh yeah, I wanna be there NOW.

Did you know that the word za isn't just what all the cool kids are calling 'pizza' now? It's also:

An old solfeggio name for B flat; the seventh harmonic, as heard in the or æolian string; -- so called by Tartini. It was long considered a false, but is the true note of the chord of the flat seventh..

Huh. When I thought za was just short for that ambrosial bread of the gods I was stunned that it was an OK to use, accepted Scrabble word. Now I know what my game was really accepting.

Today’s word is Lares.

In ancient Rome, pre-fourth century, these were guardian deities. ‘Originally gods of cultivated fields, Lares were later worshiped in association with the Penates’, formally Di Penates --  household gods of the Romans and other Latin peoples. In the narrow sense, they were gods of the penus (“household provision”),

 They said penus -- snicker, snicker.

Azo -- not just a big pharmaceutical concern.

‘Azo compounds are compounds bearing the functional group R-N=N-R', in which R and R' can be either aryl or alkyl’

OK. Not as interesting as I'd hoped. To be fair, I was confusing it with Tazo chocolate. Mmmmm.

Taxa is the plural of taxon.
any unit used in the science of biological classification, or taxonomy. Taxa are arranged in a hierarchy from kingdom to subspecies.

You know, all this time I thought it had something to do with tachyons. I had visions of Romulan war ships dancing in my head.

Of course.

And then there's Zarf. 

A Zarf is a holder, usually of ornamental metal, for a coffee cup without a handle. Although coffee was probably discovered in Ethiopia, it was in Turkey at around the thirteenth century that it became popular as a beverage. As with the serving of tea in China and Japan, the serving of coffee in Turkey was a complex, ritualized process.

Pretty, yes. I just like the way the word sounds (in my head) as I pronounce it.  Sounds like a comic book planet. Oh wait it is!

It’s that Scrabble/Words With Friends thing again.

Either I’ve seen a friend, one of my lexicon sparring partner, using it OR I’ve plugged the sucker into the board myself. Through sheer dumb luck I discover collections of morphemes previously unknown to me.

My wild and crazy scheme, when I’m stuck for a word that’ll fit and score me groß points, is to just make shit up. Fer instance, I’ve got nothin’ so I go with something that looks like a language unit and, when piled up on top of a couple of other words, actually makes a whole bunch of those cutie pie points.

Awesome!

This is how I found the fantasy inspiring island of Vanuatu, posh Turkish coffee cup holders, Hindu prayer rituals and some household gods.

Learning Can Be Fun!

Jubilating with Jen

Yesterday it was my birthday
I hung one more year on the line
I should be depressed
My life's a mess
But I'm having a good time

Oo, I've been loving and loving and loving
I'm exhausted from loving so well
I should go to bed
But a voice in my head
Says "ah, what the hell"
Paul Simon – Have A Good Time

I love the world weary, insouciant tone of that song. It’s funny to think that he wrote it at the age of 33 or thereabouts. He was just a kid but not. By 33 he’d had the mega huge success of The Sounds of Silence, Bridge Over Troubled Waters (an aside: listen to this version. Richard Tee totally makes the piece) and more.

Then, at 44, he released Graceland which put him back at the top of everyone's MUST HAVE list. Jesus, what a brill album. Rhythm of the Saints too. By the time his next disc came out my hearing had flown south. I wonder if I've missed anything as spectacular as The Coast or Diamonds on the Soles of her Shoes.

But I’ve digressed all to hell and back. Yesterday it was Jen’s birthday and, yeah, she hung one more year on the line. She’s still a young stripling of a thing (but, unlike the tune's author, her life's not a mess and she's not depressed) BUT she’s also, officially, not a kid anymore.

Weird.

The Amazing Bob and I still refer to her and Oni as ‘the kids’ because...relatively speaking...THEY ARE!

This past Saturday Jen’s sister, Saint Erin of the Neck, threw her a surprise party. Oni and I were hard pressed to keep the secret but, YEA US, we did. Jen thought they were headed over to Erin’s to babysit sweet, young Patrick while she and PJ went out for din din. Jen thought that TAB and I were headed out for dinner with The Green Miles and Bethanie.

Poor Jen. Stuck changing poopy diapers while the rest of us would be out painting the town chartreuse.

Heh and snicker, snicker.

Then, last night -- her actual birthday, we had a smaller, just family, celebration. Indian food (huzzah!) and chocolate drizzle cake from Saint Fratelli’s.

Yes, the older you get, the longer your birthday celebrations get to go on. I’m this close to jubilating year ‘round.

The Conversation Continues

In my last chat with Sandy Jimenez, creator of Marley Davidson: Bronx Exorcist, I was sparked up by his answer to my question ‘How has he (Marley) evolved over time?’

‘With the Marley Davidson: Bronx Exorcist series I wanted to answer questions about power, exploitation, racism and class as it pertains to the fantasy world of monsters and monster hunters.’

So of course I had to ask:

Your social conscience makes me wonder -- do you find many artists and authors (comics or otherwise) with similar sensibilities? If so, why do you think that may be. If not, again, why?

I think there's less of it (social conscience) in mainstream comics, mostly because comic book publishers are afraid of alienating readers. Their business model is based upon getting kids (and adult males) to buy the next issue again, and again; so a lot of the same repetitive "dumbing down" that happens in corporate-backed network and cable television, has always happened in comics. Now obviously, based on what I relayed to you from my conversation with Stan Lee (ed. note: I promise I'll post this one next!) there have been various exceptions, but largely, those add up to moments across mainstream comic book history, not a sustained concern or posture. An artist (that I'm embarrassed to admit I forgot to mention when you asked me about my influences, because he was a very big one for me) like Spain Rodriguez  who created TrashMan is an example of somebody whose sense of outrage and politics was at the center of much of his work. Ultimately, there's only one magazine that was conceived and is continuously created by artists who dedicatedly explore the political and the social, in every single issue they publish and that's World War 3 Illustrated.  

Do you think this sensibility might be a coastal or urban artist mind set?

I think every single thing we do (as artists, as people) has a political relevance, a political importance, whether we consciously intend it to or not. I still think a lot of our divisions in this country are largely falsehoods that are mutually destructive. Everybody needs a job. Everybody wants their family and kids to be safe. We treat political parties and the legislation they propose like it's a Coke or Pepsi choice.

YES, what Sandy said!

I've got such a load of steam in my head over how we, the masses, are forever being distracted and separated by bullshit. While the 'right' screams Benghazi, tries to get everyone in the middle to believe that the poor are all shiftless, lazy and immoral, that Obama's a dictator who's going to TAKE AWAY OUR GUNS! and that women who use birth control or need an abortion are vile sluts who can’t keep their knees together, Big Corporate America and their Renfields are turning the US into a 3rd world medieval horror show.

(OK, now this is playing in my head)

If the bastards of Wall and K Streets can get us to take our eyes off the ball long enough, to blame our brothers and sisters for all the country's ills then, boyhowdy, the short con is fait accompli.

What’s ‘the ball?’ Justice and equality for ALL. Of course.

Michael’s snark laden words from an earlier post are ringing in my head:

Seeing as how I'm not much given to conspiracy theories, I continue to assume that the fact that Dr King was assassinated just as he started making a whole lotta noise about wholesale ECONOMIC justice was pure coincidence.

More ventilation with Sandy Jimenez: Bronx Artist/Author to come!

Why I Love Language as a Medium

Today's guest post is by the fabulous Kevin Tudish. He's the author of health, happiness, LOVE, peace, prosperity, SAFETY, a tremendous fictional memoir featured here back in November.

***************************** 
Writing takes the common currency of communication—language—and turns it into art. Visual art takes as its subject what we see (or hope to see, or imagine we see), but the media aren’t common—not everyone wields a brush and paint or a chisel and stone. Dance is closer—most of us move—but the vocabulary of dance is so abstracted from day-to-day movement that it has only the barest relationship to how most of us move through our lives. Most writing, though, is built from the same language we hear every day, the same vocabulary we use to order coffee, ask directions, talk our way out of a ticket. It’s the same language, the same medium, but with a little sleight of hand, it can be transformed into poems, novels, essays, and plays.

I love the esoterica of other arts, seeing someone do something that few others can: take a brush and paint and turn a blank canvas into the sensuous body of a woman or the shape of a muslin curtain around a gust of wind; defy gravity and the physics of the body, turn midair and hover on the music. Those things can intoxicate you like the daughter of a quaalude and a black beauty, leave you reeling and breathless.

Writing can do the same thing (I caught this morning morning’s minion). It sidles up to you like any evening when the light starts to change, but this day the clouds ignite and the sun burns down the horizon, suddenly the sky you’ve know all your life isn’t just quietly turning dark, but is exposing itself as a vantage point on the turmoil of the universe, a way to see how planets hurtle around exploding stars, set fire to the cosmic dust around them, and let you stand quietly in the midst of it all.
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Crossposted here at Goodreads

Art, Fashion and Pizza

Here’s the thing. I REALLY wanted to love the Peabody Essex Museum. I was ready to fall madly in love with it. The entry hall was certainly promising as all get out. A soaring ceiling with mad amounts of light streaming in will grab me hard every damned time.

At 11 AM this past Saturday the joint was jumpin’. Tons of folks in line and milling about. Clearly, this place was gonna be spectacular.

Eh, not so much.

Warum?

I could def appreciate many of the paintings in the Impressionists on the Water exhibit but, rilly now, there’s only so many pics of sailboats that I can gaze on rapturously in one day.

Beyond Human: Artist–Animal Collaborations? Fun but geared toward the primary school set. Got a five year old? Take him/her here.

Golden: Dutch and Flemish Masterworks from the Rose-Marie and Eijk van Otterloo Collection Again with the ‘eh’ -- generally not my fav time period (1600s). They had a sweet little Bruegel the Elder BUT it didn’t knock my socks off and his work never fails to leave me sockless.

from here to ear

Céleste Boursier-Mougenot produces music in surprising and unexpected ways through large-scale acoustic environments. Boursier-Mougenot's immersive sonic installation, from here to ear, introduces a flock of 70 brightly plumed Zebra Finches to a gallery-turned-aviary to live among iconic Gibson Les Paul and Thunderbird bass guitars. At turns ambient and melodic, a constantly changing soundscape emerges as the finches explore their environment, eating, nesting and perching on the amplified instruments. This boundary-breaking exhibition asks us to consider the way we perceive, create and interact with music while challenging traditional notions of artistic collaboration.

This show looked like it’d be amazing and a half but:

1) LONG ass line to get in -- special tickets were needed.
2) Deaf here. Unless there’s a big percussive thing or a mess of funk going on, I’m not gonna feel the music.

Still, I truly wanted to go in and watch the birds on the Les Pauls (finch poo on expensive axes -- cool!). So, why didn’t we? See 1).

Of all the rooms, this is the one that I found most intriguing, fun and wild:
Future Beauty: Avant-Garde Japanese Fashion

an exhibition of nearly 100 dresses, skirts, gowns and suits that celebrate the ingenuity and innovation of contemporary Japanese fashion designers

There were some wickedly crazy get ups and gowns on display. Most of them were more sculpture than attire and that just lit up my brain with a bucketload of delight.

We didn’t go into the Chinese and East Asian Art halls. Next time. There’ll be a next time when it took an hour to drive there, the permanent collection and current shows didn’t, for the most part, thrill me and the entry fee, at 18 simoleons, was molto steep?

Yeah. Probably.
I’d like to see the Robert Weingarten show. Raven's Many Gifts: Native Art of the Pacific Northwest Coast looks interesting and Turner and the Sea -- oh please, I’m a total sucker for Joseph Mallord William Turner.

Next time, I’ll make Jen go with me and SHE can drive.

But, but.... there’s that pesky price tag. At $18, it’s the priciest small museum around.

The Portland Museum of Art in Maine, a similar sized joint with a far superior permanent collection, charges just $12.

The Fuller Craft Museum while small has a spectacular collection and with it’s eight dollar admission fee is a real steal.

The Brattleboro Museum and Art Center is also a tiny thing but their exhibits never, EVER disappoint. Another terrific deal at eight bucks.

The tremendous and wildly eclectic Shelburne Museum in Shelburne, Vermont charges $22 but that’s for a two day pass (and taking two days to explore their fabulous collections is a solid plan. That $22 fee is just during high season (May through October) though -- right now, January, a ten spot’ll get you in the door.

Granted, the Peabody/Essex bill is ten bucks after 5 PM  BUT they’re only open after five on one weeknight out of each month. Pffft.

Lunch, however, made the whole weird odyssey worthwhile. We went to the Flying Saucer Pizza Company and got the absolutely luscious Beldar.

EVOO and chopped garlic, Daiya vegan cheese, black olive, asparagus, roasted red pepper, red onion, green pepper

Vegan pizza that’s just dynamite AND they’ve a nice wine selection too. I had a lovely little Montepulciano, thanks.

And the decor -- christ almighty, the place is fun!
Hell, maybe Jen and I should take a trip up there some Saturday -- skip the museum and go directly to the restaurant. Yep, that is def gonna happen.

All The Rage

Startlingly to me, I didn’t get lost on my way from Valhalla to the The Peabody Essex Museum. I did however have a big scary traffic incident.

No accident but, as I was changing lanes in Salem traffic, I was nearly taken out by a big black SUV. It was barreling down the right hand lane towards the red light I was all idling at. I’d signaled and checked my rear view mirrors before pulling into the lane -- I just didn’t see her speeding toward that stop light. Truly, I didn’t. Luckily, she was able to swerve and miss me otherwise my gossamery Bix would've been toast.

I can well imagine that, after this, she was big time rattled. I surely was. Hell, I was an adrenaline factory on Black Beauties.

I was signing ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry’ and feeling MOLTO thankful that she hadn’t hit me or anyone else. Why was I saying/signing ‘sorry’ when I’d done all the safe driving stuff I should’ve? Dunno. I think it’s my reflex to first examine my own behavior, looking for fault or error.

What happened next was odd and more than a little unsettling.

The light changed to green but Ms. Giant Black SUV didn’t move forward. A moment passed and I noticed her leaning out the window. There’d been no contact -- we hadn’t collided even lightly -- no need to exchange insurance info or call the cops. Did she want to chat? Then I noticed her pointing something large and black at me.

I couldn’t tell what it was but, of course, my first thought was ‘is that a gun?!’ Luckily there was a filling station parking lot directly to my right so I pulled in. In and behind a row of parked cars. I waited a beat and then took the exit that let out on the street running perpendicular. All the while, I was glancing into my rear view mirror to see if she was following me.

No. Massive sigh of relief. I then figured that, what she was probably pointing at me was her cell phone camera.

Great. Why? What was/is she planning on doing with the image, if she got it, of my license plate? Since we didn’t have an accident what could/would she do? Get an ambulance chasing, shyster to sue me for, dunno, causing emotional trauma? Will she claim damage sustained in some other accident was caused by me? Given Bix's featherweightness and blemish free beauty, that’d be a tough sell. Will she hunt me down here at home and vent more of her rage?

Yeah, all this was flying through my mind and still is.

Reality. We had a frightening near miss. She was going too damn fast on her approach to a red light and I just didn’t see her despite checking my rear view mirrors. We were lucky. Me more than her -- given the weight difference and her speed, I would’ve been totaled.

What was the cell phone camera action about? Habit? A lemme-get-a-pic-just-in-case step? An aggressive, adrenaline charged bit of retribution -- scare-the-little-bitch-because-she-scared-me?

What? Anyone have any ideas? I really don’t understand.

Rituals

The Amazing Bob and I are very informal about dinner. We sit in the living room, he in his big old recliner and me on the couch. We have our bowls of salmon, veggies and brown rice (last night's meal, at any rate) while we talk, read the day's paper and watch the news or an old ep of Star Trek.

Coco always sits on TAB's lap. Why his and not mine? I annoy the crap out of her with my constant fidgeting and jumping up to do this or that ('sitting still' is not one of my talents). Here's the thing though, after having her wee keester parked on TAB for an hour, she gets antsy and possessive. That is, SHE wants the chair all to herself. She’s decidedly clear about this --  her communication skills are exquisitely honed

Our princess stands on the arm of the chair and nudges him/head butts him until he gets up. And he always does. She then settles into the now free, TAB-butt warmed seat without so much as a ‘thank you very much, there’ll be a nice tip in your jar later.’

Nope, this is her right, her due.  Of course.

Why does TAB always get up? I asked. He says that he’s ‘ready to get up anyway.’

*cough* Yeah sure.

In case anyone EVER asks -- I got all my cat doormat-ish traits from TAB. No, seriously!

And then there’s the current custom with our not-so-wild-anymore boy who, as yet, refuses to come inside. Yes, Rocco the Porch King has developed some interesting habits since becoming The Emperor of Affection.

Keep in mind, it’s really bloody cold here in Valhalla right now.  16º Fahrenheit this morning and that’s a relative heat wave -- yesterday morning it was -4º. Ouch.

As I step out onto the veranda with his brekkie, Rocco emerges from his cave with one of those god-I’m-feeling-confident-comfortable-and-mellow stretches. Then, THEN, he begins winding around my legs, faster and faster, pushing his big ol’ scarred head into my knees.

Naturally, I have to sit down so that I can skritch behind his ears and cosset him up good (yes, even when it’s four below). He leans his whole body against me and seems THIS close to climbing into my arms. Swear to Bast!

Mind you, I’ve put his food down. It’s right there but our almost completely ex-feral, our Sultan of Schmooze needs to be loved up somethin’ good first.

Of course, maybe he’s just after my body heat. Could be.

Hazy Shade of Winter

Her Majesty's a pretty nice girl
but she doesn't have a lot to say
Her Majesty's a pretty nice girl
but she changes from day to day
The Beatles -- Her Majesty

It's cold as Hell -- I maintain that Hell is eternal pre Climate Change winter. Hey, I've seen the pics!  Also too -- no Chianti and the guacamole is bland, bland, BLAND. But back to this cold shit -- 3º Fahrenheit right now. And yes, I went out in my robe and slippers to get a shot of the gorgeous pre dawn sea and sky. It was totes worth getting snow and ice inside my flimsy moccasins as I climbed over the drifts to the seawall. Oh yes it was!

I'm inclined to hibernate in weather like this but, at the same time, I know this leads to bleak, melancholy crankitude. SO, I'm making plans, getting out of the house, seeing people, taking pics and just generally engaging with the world. I'm a little afraid I'll go all Jack Torrance on myself (and The Amazing Bob!) otherwise.

Tomorrow I'll head up to Salem for a day of visual delights at the Peabody Essex Museum and a visit with an old friend. Yeah, there's a bit of snow in the forecast -- hopefully it won't be like last week.

In the meantime, seen while in town earlier this week: 
Best bumper stickers EVAH!

A message from a local sports bar, offering encouragement

And the sweetest car on the road now that isn't a Smartcar -- the Fiat 500 POP.

You're welcome.

Hang on to your hopes, my friend
That's an easy thing to say, but if your hope should pass away
It's simply pretend
That you can build them again
Look around, the grass is high
The fields are ripe, it's the springtime of my life

Ahhh, seasons change with the scenery
Weaving time in a tapestry
Won't you stop and remember me
At any convenient time
Funny how my memory slips while looking over manuscripts
Of unpublished rhyme
Drinking my vodka and lime

Ilook around, leaves are brown now
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter 
Simon and Garfunkel -- Hazy Shade of Winter

Deaf and the New MBTA

The view as we left Valhalla yesterday morning

Woke up, fell out of bed
Dragged a comb across my head
Found my way downstairs and drank a cup
And looking up, I noticed I was late

Beatles -- Day in the Life

Spent the day in town yesterday. I had my yearly, much procrastinated mammogram (AKA boob squishing) at nine AM and another appointment at 3:30 PM. I figured, instead of spending all day traveling back and forth, from Valhalla to Boston and back, I’d spend those five and a half hours between doc visits doing something fun -- galleries, a stroll up the beautiful Commonwealth Mall, a stop at Utrecht’s for paint sticks, LUNCH. You know, fun stuff.

On her way to work, Jen dropped me off near Harvard Square. I looked forward to my walk along the Charles River on my way to the MBTA stop. It would’ve been molto lovely if not for the big construction on the Larz Anderson Bridge, the heavy, juddering rush hour traffic and that damned biting, frozen wind stinging my eyes. Sheesh. I should’ve worn a chic little welder’s mask, no? Something with a darling steampunk sensibility would have been perfect, eh?

night on the Commonwealth Mall

Tree in a sweater of lights

Yes, yes that would’ve been just the thing!

In any case, when I got to the T my Charlie Card, despite still having credit on it, had expired. ‘the fuck? How could it expire when I still had money on it?! The T fellows were helpful, patient and nice, even if the news they gave me was not. I had to go into the Charlie Card Store at Downtown Crossing to get a replacement card.

The office’s location is convenient for many, at the the nexus of four subway lines, but completely out of my way. I rarely pass that way AND, last time I was there (mind you, this was perhaps as much as eight years ago) the desk jockeys were profoundly unhelpful to the point of medal winning rudeness. I was developing a rasher of stress just at the thought of going in there, dealing with nasty attitudes AND having to do it while deaf too. I knew I could do this though -- I can be quite the imperious ‘peasant, you are here to serve ME!’ type when I need to be.

I braced myself, made the trek uphill from MGH through the bitter, rip-the-soul-right-outta-you wind canyons of the Financial District, to the intersections of Summer and Washington Streets and found the new card office. I was greeted at the door by a welcoming, professional young man. He asked what they could help me with. Congenial, efficient AND helpful?????? This was unexpected. I went through my usual ‘Hi, I’m deaf. Speak slowly and I’ll try to read your lips’ shtick and then told him about my busted pass. He immediately WROTE and spoke what I was to do -- see the person at desk number three.

I did and, shock upon shocks, the lovely lady there SIGNED to me! She knew ASL and, on top of that, was accommodating, polished AND had a great smile! And, did I mention, she spoke my language. How awesome to the 12th power is that?

Her name’s Latasha. I didn’t catch the Greeter Guy’s name but he was totes fab as well.

This was not the MBTA that I had expected. Happily. They made my day.

Sandy Jimenez: The Interviewening

Marley Davidson

Artemis Brown

On Sunday you met Marley Davidson: Bronx Exorcist. Today, meet his maker, Sandy Jimenez. Sandy's graciously agreed to The Maderer Inquisition.

Do you remember when you began drawing?

   I actually don't remember a specific age, it's as early as I can remember. My mother and relatives say it was from when I was a toddler, but although I had a compulsion to draw, I can distinctly remember not thinking I was good at it, or not being able to do it as well as I wanted to. I was frustrated by not being able to draw hands for example, and like most other kids my age in those early years (6-8 or so) I drew pictures that were pretty unremarkable, barely better than stick figures. One summer, in 1977 to be exact, I had a breakthrough, I was doing about 10-12 drawings a day and something came together in my mind. 

When did you became interested in comics?

Billy Mayhem

   That was love at first sight I'm sure, but whenever that was, I'm not sure I can pin it down to a year. My first comics were Popeye reprints, and some weird adult photo-comics that I don't think are made anymore.

In drawing comics?

Kenneth Brown

   The first movie I was ever taken to see was a sequel: 'Dr. Phibes Rises Again.' I must have been about 4 or 5. I couldn't get the images in that movie out of my mind, and I started creating picture books, just long single-page/image iterated illustrated stories based on what I had seen, so my mother bought an anthology of Popeye comic strips for me. It was early Elzie Segar stuff and after a while I started cutting up the individual panels and reordering them to create different stories. I started writing my own stories, mostly stuff about Pirates, Astronauts and Frogmen in early childhood.

Who were your childhood favs? How about now?

Sisters Graye

   Jack Kirby is the first artist I can remember recognizing at 100 paces. I really loved him and still do. It was years before I knew the names of people like Alex Toth, John Buscema, Curt Swan, Neal Adams, Joe Sinnott, Joe Orlando, Moebius and others whose work I could recognize no matter the material, but whose names I just never knew until later when I was in my teens. The writers and artists whose work I learned from  is long, but if I have to boil it down and give you a list of people I was knocked out by back in my childhood and teens, (and am still learning from today) it would be: Michael Golden, Bill Mantlo (writer), Jim Aparo, John Romita Sr., Marv Wolfman (writer), Gene Colan, Jack Kirby, Jim Steranko, John Byrne, George Perez, Chris Claremont and of course Stan Lee (writer) -- who I got to meet and hang out with a couple of years ago -- a dream come true.

How did Marley Davidson originate?

Don Lajarita

   Marley Davidson's birth is kind of a funny, strange story. Initially I had intended to do a comic book called "Vladek, Vampire Detective," a series of stories trailing the life of a vampire charged with eliminating the Undead. The Vladek series was intended to recount events across several decades in which Vladek kept outliving his sidekicks (most of whom were benevolent descendants of Frankenstein's monster) culminating in the late 1970s, when his last sidekick, "Marley Davidson" would finally take over the mission and the series would end. Marley was originally just a joke character, a lighthearted way to end a very heavy series. Well the funny thing is as I started writing all the scripts, mapping out all the pages, I started to generate a lot more material for Marley and his world. He turned out not to be such a joke for me after all, and really took over my writing desk for a couple of years while I developed his universe. Now, Vladek is a minor character in his story, not the other way around.

How has he evolved over time?

   My plan for Marley has always been that he would evolve from a bloodthirsty zealot and mature into someone more humane as the stories went on. I wrote Marley Davidson at a time when violence in mainstream comic books (this is the late 1980s and mid 1990s I'm talking about) had reached a comically irresponsible nadir. It wasn't that I was opposed to portrayals of violence, I just can't stand it presented as a thing without consequences or costs. Anybody who's ever been assaulted, or even punched in the face will acknowledge it's in no way fun or entertaining. It also seems like the current popular fascination with Zombie fiction centering largely around people fantasizing about dismembering, and battering people (again without any consequences because they're already dead, right?) As much as I love the Walking Dead movie and TV series adapted from it, the vast majority of independent horror movies, particularly zombie, and "maniac slasher" movies, don't do much to address anything other than the many ways a person can be brutalized. With the Marley Davidson: Bronx Exorcist series I wanted to answer questions about power, exploitation, racism and class as it pertains to the fantasy world of monsters and monster hunters. I have always wondered for example, what happened to all the Orcs at the end of Lord of Rings after the fall of Mordor. Did they just drop their weapons and go look for odd jobs around the countryside? What about the goblins? The trolls? They had to get on with life too didn't they?

Again, you can see more of our hero here at Vampryotechnic Studios. What other series and art has Mister Jimenez done and where can we see more of his fab work?  GREAT questions! I'll be sure to ask these and more for the next installment of Sandy Jimenez: Bronx Artist.

Marley Davidson: Bronx Exorcist

This is one of those fab, synchro-tastic intertooby type occurrences -- in an earlier post, I mentioned a comics character of whom I’m quite enamored. The artist/author saw my post AND got in touch with me. Not only that, he's willing to suffer the Maderer inquisition! How mega cool is that? (in case you’re unsure, the answer to that question is ‘very.’ You’re welcome)

Sandy Jimenez is the creator of Marley Davidson: Bronx Exorcist. For Bast’s sake, the title alone blows me back 12 feet at the same time it draws me in like an all you can eat veggie buffet at Elephant Walk.

In any case, Mister Jimenez has graciously allowed me to post the series’ understory.

Read on!

The Understory

Since the first landings of explorers in the fifteenth century to the waves of immigration in the twentieth century, people brought their hopes, fears, gods...

...and their monsters to America.

A nocturnal nation of accursed predators ignited secret pandemics in Colonial America. Monsters grew in untold numbers. By the 1900's, the Bronx, Brooklyn and Queens harbored a subterranean population of SATANIC WITCHES, DEMONS and the UNDEAD. This criminal class surpassed the venality and violence of early twentieth century organized crime. The monsters, GOBLIN GANGS and COVENS existed underneath the surface of everyday life. They trafficked in every aspect of American society and commerce. VAMPIRES were in involved in high finance and real estate. ZOMBIES, GOBLINS and GHOULS were habitually the muscle behind organized crime.

Manhattan’s glare and glamour made it an undesirable address for the monsters. The
undead simply found it easier to survive and feast on human beings away from scrutiny.

The undead monsters had always preferred the outer-boroughs because of their
remoteness. In the relative shadow and abject poverty of places like the Bronx, they fed.
The city’s poor had never disputed the existence of undead monsters. Some believed
the local authorities to be in collusion with the undead. The murder and slaughter was
tolerated and a sense of hopelessness permeated the city.

Three Satanic witches known as the SISTERS GRAYE ruled the undead crime world
until 1970. This unholy matriarchy was engaged in all manner of extortion, graft, and
body snatching. It seemed the sisters would have ruled New York forever but the
occasional rivalries between covens became increasingly internecine. The WAR OF
THE WITCHES threw the underworld into chaos. It left two undead crime lords standing.
It wasn't long before someone decided it was time to take the fight to them.

The story begins. War is declared and battle comes down.

Until now, the undead had nothing to be afraid of.
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A wee bio of our hero -- Marley Davidson:

Marley is 35 years of age, an ex-priest, fluent in 9 languages and an expert in long range and big bore caliber firearms. He is also a published authority on the world's religions. On tax forms he declares his occupation as EXORCIST.

Marley will never rest until every monster is dead and back in the grave. His mission has left no room for friendship or family. His crusade is an all consuming obsession.

You can see more of our hero here at Vampryotechnic Studios.

There will be more from Sandy and Marley soon. Stay tuned!

a little bio of Mister Jimenez from Wikipedia:

Sandy Jimenez is an American comic book artist, writer and director, most commonly associated with the New York city independent comic book scene of the 1990s, with work appearing in magazines such as Inner City Press and World War 3 Illustrated.

deCordova Snow Day

Not a bright footwear decision

Today was deCordova Museum Day. Hillel and I had planned to wander the fabulous and expansive sculpture garden, meander around the inside galleries and then hit the gift shop -- if not to shop, to at least peruse all the beautiful glassware and woven goods. Oh yeah and LUNCH!

What happened?
I woke to a dreary, rainy day -- above freezing but blah and very wet. Not prime sculpture garden strolling weather but neither was it prohibitively vile. Eh, I put a big umbrella in the car, donned a slightly heavier coat and wound a scarf around my neck that could also serve as head covering. Since it was warm-ish, I slid into my Vans -- nice to not need my big heavy snow boots.

Now, recall that I live on the coast where it's always a few degrees warmer in winter and cooler in summer. This is a good thing BUT I'm forever forgetting that Neck weather is a bit different from inland.

Halfway up 95 North the rain turned to fluffy flakes. Then the flurries turned heavy. And then positively weighty. It occurred to me that I should probably catch the next exit, turn around and return home. After all, Bix the Wondercar is relatively feather-ish compared to my old war horse Volvo wagon and every other damn vehicle on the road.

Calling it a day right there would have been smart, right?

So I did, right?

Wrong!

The museum is only about three and a half miles off exit 28B. Should have been easy. WOULD have been simple and smooth had the roads been cleared. They were not. While the snow storm on the highway was annoying, the driving wasn't bad at all, just slightly slower. Me and my car compadres drove at the speed limit instead of ten or so mph above.

On thin, winding Trapelo and Sandy Pond Roads, the only way into this rural-ish museum, there’d been no plow-age. At all. Four inches of the white stuff doesn’t sound like much until you try to drive a snowtire-free car through it.

My poor Bix was fish tailing like a Chinook dancing it's way up the Yakima for sexy spawn time action. At this point I figured 'yeah, I better head for home.' Damn -- took me long enough!

Why, with all the crazy weather, ridiculously awful visibility and all that boogie woogie auto action, didn't I turn around right there and then? I couldn't see anything for the heavy, blowing snow and kept figuring the museum entrance HAD to be 'round the next bend -- I'd turn there. That and I kept thinking,

'oh, this'll clear off in another minute. Hillel and I will be fine.
We'll have loads of silly fun climbing through the snow to the sculptures, we'll enjoy the paintings inside as we dry out and then lunch! It'll be fun!'

But the snow didn't stop and, when I finally, in nerve shocked state rolled up the deCordova ticket office, the very nice attendant told me they'd be closing shortly and waived my entrance fee.

Hmmph. It was only then that I fully embraced the rock solid, stellar concept of going home before things got even worse. Not too quick today, was I?

On the very slow, slippy way back to 95 I came across a couple of nasty accidents, thankful that I wasn't one of them.

As I drew closer to home, fully expecting the snow to turn back to rain, the treacherous flakes grew to the size of dinner plates and became more plentiful than shoppers at a Black Friday Best Buy sales 'event.' Every car that past me kicked giant gouts of slush onto my windscreen, obscuring it completely if momentarily.

White knuckles? I had an econo huge supply of them.

Next Saturday my pal Joe and I are planning a trip to the Peabody Essex Museum. Note to self: check the Salem weather forecast BEFORE I leave the house!