Westoboro Baptist Church in Philadelphia: Feel Free to Share the Love

• 2:20 PM - 2:50 PM -
  527 Lombard St
  
  
• 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM -
  2100 Arch St
  
  
• 3:45 PM - 4:30 PM -
  420 Walnut St

They're hear to "protest the Jews". Make them feel at home.

WBC in Philly

8-Bit And Beyond! - Art Show Coming Up Worth Checking Out!

The Autumn Society will have their monthly art show at Brave New World comics at 45 N. 2nd Street August 7th from 6 - 10PM on First Friday. Be sure to come out and see the great work, and even buy some to take home with you!

There's already a lot of great art coming in, and I'm intimidated to even post, let alone bring in, the piece I've been working on! The caliber of the art and artists is incredibly high, and its an honor to get the chance to work with them.


"Pixelated Princess Of Revitalizing Fungi" by Kasey Tararuj

Be sure to check out more about The Autumn Society here!

Book Review: I Kill Giants - The Book I Never Thought I Would Read

I Kill Giants is, without a doubt, one of the greatest books I've ever read.

Normally, I would have started a review like this with me being blunt about something obvious to my character, such as "I Hate Anime" or "Who would have thought I would read this?" No, this book is too damn good for me to make light of how important it actually is in countless ways.

I'm part of the Comic Book Discussion Club at Brave New Worlds and this was our book for the month. I would like to state now that I feel like a jerk for not mentioning them sooner and their monthly discussions, and that I only do it in the context of a review for the book to Joe Kelly. I was skeptical. I was not familiar with Joe Kelly, I didn't think too highly of the title, and the fact that it was drawn in an Manga-Style didn't help at all. The description? "It's about a girl who kills giants."

So I bought the book yesterday. I finished it today.

Barbara Thorson is a 5th grade girl who doesn't fit into the world she's surrounded by. She kills giants. She is an outcast in her school who wears bunny ears and holds a tiny handbag in the shape of a heart that she refuses to let anyone touch or see what's inside. When I was younger, I knew someone like her. She was shy and quiet, and had her own personal world where, in the end, you were "lucky" enough to enter. She also wore an animal body part as if it was part her. I thought she was cool.

Reading about Barbara was amazing, and what Joe Kelly has done is something I've only seen one other time in my life, and that is write from the female perspective in such a powerful and impactful way. Not since Sam Keith, who has worked on The Maxx and My Inner Bimbo (among others) have I seen this done so well and masterfully. Seeing Barbara fumble through a school year that was incredbly tramatic and turbulant for her, making her first new friend and dealing with bullies on a level I couldn't have imagined at her age... it was amazing!

At this point, I must warn you, there are spoilers ahead.

This book is not fantasy, nor is it easy to dismiss the "killing giants" as nothing more than a metaphore. When you read this book, you feel that Barbara is either intentionally delusional or is simply setting you up for a massive reveal where the fantasy is the reality. Without giving the ending away or too much, Kelly has used the Bill Watterson techquie where, really, you make the call.

When we see why she fights, when we learn that she was simply terrified of her mother dying of cancer and that she fights on to save her from this beast, this giant that wishes to take her away... its heart breaking.

The books ending is the most poinent moment in the series, and as Joe wrote himself, "After the storm, its always so calm and peaceful." The final chapter is one of the most moving things I've ever read, as well as one of the most theraputic. When I was 19, my mother went into a coma because of a brain anyerusm. When I was 20, she died. The time in between was a year-long nightmare where I battled my own mosters and demons and, in the end, I didn't get chance at the same resoultion by defeating my Titan that Barbara did.



Spoilers end.
In the end, the book is powerful and moving! The storytelling is dynamic, the art is compelling and drives you through the journey, and you finish each chapter hingry for the next! The amount of felling you develope for the main charachter in such a short span of time is amazing, since at first you can even feel her icy stare and disdain and soon begin to care for her.

Joe Kelly has written one of the definitive books of comics. I don't read a lot of "superhero books", and I find a lot of "alternative" and "indie" stuff too poor to peak my interest. This book, on its surface, may not seem like the book for you. In the end, it is one of the most surprising and amazing books I've ever read, and its much like I said, this is a definitive book in the world of comics in the way it deals with one of the most complex issues a person can deal with.

And Joe, if you ever read this... thank you. This book meant a lot to me.

Cheers.

Another Rainy Night

The following is a short story. Is it based on real events or pure fiction? I'll leave that to you to decide. Its the second in a series that I hope to collect into a short book.

It's 9:55 on a Friday Night.

I've just spent the last 2 weeks busting my ass to get a ton of projects and things done, and all I have to show for it in a tangible sense right now is a pounding headache and this incredible need to sleep.

I've spent the day working at my full-time job and came home on a train filled with people who only seem to want to eat, shit, and breath as they trudge on to whatever goddamn thing they call a "life". I've found not using the words "life" and "existence" makes it a lot less personal and takes a lot of the humanity out of what is, in essence, the same phase. So I guess its only fitting to say that the people I'm surrounded with need an existence, because they sure as hell don't even have a life.

I spend my night looking at my bills, wondering how the hell I'm going to pay them like so many of my fellow American's on this too-damn-cold-for-July Summer Night. I listen to Rancid on a boom box that looks like its been through hell and is older than some kids who decided to make fun of me for how I look today. I order a pizza, my dinner for the next week, and drink directly from a 2-Liter of Sprite. Deadlines are looming over my head as I'm left to ponder what, exactly, this existence means.

The guitars and bass of "Damnation" drown through my house. While I need it rather loud next to me, the sound rattles through the rest of the house and down the hallway clear as a bell. The old boom box works as bad as ever. You need a boom box to listen to punk, especially something that's already ratty and beaten to hell as it is. It makes it more real, more human. It makes you feel alive.

As I eat my pizza, the crust just crispy and puffy enough as I like it, the pepperoni cracking as I take a bite from it as the carbonation of the soda tickles me like a long lost lover meeting her mate, I read the works of Frank Miller. I've read nearly all his work on Batman, and it was a ton of fun reading him take Batman past Year One and to a time where the tales that will unfold in The Dark Knight Strikes Back is still decades away. The book makes me feel like I'm 10 again and I run around my empty house like it.

I take a quick break and turn on the flat screen TV and throw on Sonic the Hedgehog and then Starfox to breeze through some levels just to laugh at how much fun it is again. The house is slightly moist and I still don't know. But right now, it doesn't matter. I ignore, no, forget that the reality of the world is that I exist simply to work and pay my bills and live in a nightmarish hell where I'm forced to deal with people with room temperature in winter I.Q.'s in a burg that seems to have forgotten that creativity and free expression are ways of life.

No, tonight I'm home alone with soda and pizza, video games and punk rock.

Tonight, I'm alive. And it's feels pretty damn good to be alive!

Batman: The Dark Knight Strikes Again - My Review

Sometime in college, at a time I can't recall, I had decided to pick up the sequel to one of the greatest comic book mini-series of all time: The Dark Knight Returns by Frank Miller. By all accounts, the book stands as a masterwork, a triumph to all things Batman and a testament to the writing and art of Frank Miller. So, after 15 years, how do you follow it?

To me, The Dark Knight Strikes again or, in this article, DK2, is not about being a sequel as it is the purest form of artistic expression in a mainstream comic book I have ever seen.

The book was released in 3 issues from November 2001 to July 2002. In a post-9/11 world, the setting for the series and timing couldn't be better. Frank Miller doesn't deliver perfectly, but his tale of a government acting as nothing more than a hologram while the real villains (Lex Luthor and Braniac) control the planet is incredible!

But, to me, the real shocker and thing to take away from it is simply how dynamic and, in a way, hard-to-read it is. Taking the use of TV in 1985 and setting it in 2001, its as if Frank Miller actually CREATED Twitter! What do I mean? At countless points in the book, whenever an action-heavy scene is created that requires responses from the average person, mini snap-shots of dialogue from various people arrive. In the end, you're left a little confused and worried and trying to understand whats going on while you're reading snippets of conversations about the event mixed with random thoughts people have! Twitter! In 2002! Amazing!

There doesn't seem to be any one event in particular that makes Batman come back after pretending to be dead for 3 years; just a reaction to what he's seen. Also, despite pushing 60 and a gut, Batman is now fit as a fiddle and immediately springs The Atom and The Flash with Carrey who is now Catwoman. Oh, and Batman personally beats the crap out of Superman for the hell of it!

While all this is going on, with Batman trying to get Supes' to realize that he's been lied to by his government and wake-up, we have a B-story that never actually develops. A group called "The Superchix" is created once people realize Superman is alive. They cause a lot of uproar, but you never get the idea of what's going on with them or their story, and once Batman storms in with his little troops and gets them to join him, it doesn't make an impact because... well... you never fucking see them!

The book is drawn in a style that is Miller, but isn't. It is fast, loose, impulsive, and looks like it was done in a rush. In the end, it works towards and against Miller's advantage. Its one of the most energetic books I've ever read, and it doesn't stop often. There are quiet moments, and watching Superman and Wonder Woman do it in mid air... classic comics moment. Ha!

In the end, the book is a sort of "reluctant sequel". The longest question in comics for a while was "Will Frank Miller ever do another Dark Knight Returns story?" I think he made everyone never want another.

Personally, I enjoyed the book. I didn't see it as a sequel to a great book, just a continuation of the story itself. I wasn't thrilled with everything, and there were a ton of things I would have loved to see explored in depth, like Lex and Braniac rising to power and how they combined forces, the relationship between Superman and his daughter, the entire Superchix thing.

Raiting? 3 out of 5.

How I Spent My Week...

Sorry about the lack of posts over the last week. As I write this, its 9:30PM. I wanted to go to sleep 3 hours ago because I haven't slept enough in the last week. Why? My art. Its a long story, and writing it now won't do it justice. What I did, quite simply, was spend a week getting ready to audition in New York City for a new show on Bravo called the "Untitled Art Project". Little is known about the show outside the fact that the winner gets a national art tour and a cash price. For me, that was more than enough motivation for a low-brow/pop/underground artist such as myself to give it a try.

So what happened? Well, I didn't make the show, but my story doesn't end there.

I can't say much, but look for a story about it all soon, VERY soon.

So far, the people who have criticized this have been "fine artists", or as those in the commercial art field like to call them, "cry babies and spoiled brats." HI-OH! No, seriously, its been just fine artists from what I see who state "art takes time, is subjective, etc, etc..." It does, it is, and its not. Ask a professional commercial artist if they've been forced to work on a piece they didn't like from start to finish within 48 hours, and you're bound to hear a yes. Some artists can do it... some can not. But, more than anything, if you decide to do a reality show, you're already saying that you know what this is: A TV SHOW FIRST, everything else second.

Also, I started a new inspiration blog called "This Stuff Kicks Ass!" I did it because I started to get pissed off with the inspiration site and sites I went to. Too many pastels and too much focus on things that are more about the concept than the execution. My 2 cents. This blog is focused on good concepts, good execution, but most importantly... stuff that kicks ass! Actually, that was the original name of the blog, but some loser got the name before me and there's nothing there. Man he sucks.

At any rate, enjoy!

So You've Gone Vegan? Congrats, You Shouldn't Be Reading This!

I realized something when I got to the third panel: Being Vegan basically means that you can't touch anything man-made.

Wait, what do I mean?

Well, lets just say you're against exploitation of all creatures on Earth. Awesome. You don't want anyone and anything to be treated poorly or exploited for the good of others. So I can only assume that Vegan's never wear Nike, Adidas, Gap, Old Navy, or pretty much 99% of all clothing available in America or the civilized world since they are, more likely than not, made in a Third-World country where people are working in sweatshops. Or China. And China... well, do I even have to explain?

Most electronics and gadgets are also made in these sweatshops, so unless your computer was made in America, you shouldn't be reading this. Cellphones? Same deal.

Oh, but it doesn't stop there! You already said by being Vegan that nearly any and all fast food is out, which is good, since most fast food places take advantage of their workers and exploit them as well.

Then you have farms.

Yes, farms.

How likely do you think it is that your "organic" food wasn't used with exploited migrant workers? And since "organic food" actually exploits the earth since it means using a form of farming that's less efficient and healthy for the Earth... no organic food.

But then again, all of this an extreme, isn't it?

If your rational for being or going Vegan is because "you don't like living creatures to be exploited", well... I think you need a reality check. If you're doing it because, in the end, you don't like meat, hurting animals, etc.. well, that's just fine.

I'm not trying to come down on the Vegan lifestyle at all. Personally, it isn't for me. Not even close. If I tried it, with my allergies, I wouldn't last a week. Its not for everyone, and if everyone did go vegan, this planet would waste away to nothing really fast. More than anything, I'm just doing what I do best: Exploring a tangent and making fun of it.

Editors note: SINFEST is one of the greatest comic strips of all time and by no means was this a rip at it, nor the Vegan lifestyle!

Comic courtesy of Sinfest.

RANCID Coming Town! Now the Bad News...

GOOD NEWS, EVERYONE!

Rancid, one of the greatest punk bands of all time, is coming to Philadelphia! Not just content with playing a great show indoors, they will be taking the stage at Penn's Landing on July 25th at 7PM!

The bad news? Well, there's a lot of it.

For starters, Billy Talent is the opening act. "But I like Billy Talent!" Well... you suck.

Quasi-bad news (hit or miss)... Rise Against is the headliners. For me, they're take them or leave 'em. I wouldn't mind seeing them as an opening act, but I don't think I'd go for them being the headliner.

Now the crappy news: Since the event is being brought to you by Live Nation, that means you have to deal with THEIR ticketing system. The base price for a ticket is $30. With fees online... you're looking at $44.

So for me, here's the deal: I can try and get a ticket at face value somewhere in Philadelphia (Which I don't know, but I'll look around for everyone!) and go. I wouldn't mind paying $30 to see Rancid since I've always missed them whenever they've come by. But $44 for one band? NO!

We'll see where this all goes...

Also, in case you didn't know, Rancid has a new album out! Make sure you check it out!

Two New Pieces!

More soon!

Why The Philadelphia Art Scene Sucks: A Short Essay

I've been saying it for years, and frankly, I never really had an answer to why. "The Philadelphia Art Scene Sucks!" I've said it to friends, co-workers, class mates, teachers... frankly, anyone who had 5 minutes to kill heard this from me. But I never had a reason.

Until now.

Why does the Philadelphia Art Scene suck? Easy: Because we celebrate mediocrity.

For years, I've harped on style and subject matter. Yes, these are subjective things, and modern art is subjective in and of itself. When Duchamp came to the Philadelphia Museum of Art and brought in a urinal and called it "art", art became nothing more than a subjective term, a seemingly meaningless phrase used not to describe what you saw but, rather, describe what you couldn't explain.

In contemporary art, namely in Philadelphia, you see a trend where only mediocrity reigns supreme while actual talent and vision is crushed. Yet, oddly enough, talent and vision actually sells while mediocrity does not.

In a world of supply and demand, especially in such an economic climate, one would wonder why gallery owners in Philadelphia, as well as certain blogs catering to a "young and hip" audience would, in tern, steer their crowds and patrons away from what they actually do want and, instead, simply spoon feed them contrived works of art that is, in essence, pseudo-intellectual.

There we go. The art scene in Philadelphia is, in essence, nothing more than pseudo-intellectual.

What do I mean? The caliber for "Fine art" is this: If you paint something on canvas, it's "Fine art". If it makes sense and looks like it was done by something who knows what they're doing, it's not.

I am an illustrator, both by nature and by training. I am not a realist by any means, nor do I mean to push my perception of the 120+ year old question of "What is art?" onto anyone else. But, at the very least, I would wish the decorum of those in Philadelphia would at least hail the work of contemporary art to higher degrees than the same form of modern-abstraction it seems has dominated the world of art for the last 100 years and more towards different style and takes, even from more "urban artists" or "Stuckists" or those in the Pop-Art movement!

To an even further extent, in terms of graphic design we celebrate it to extremes! Local designers who are celebrated and given work tend to work in a style more reminiscent of what you may see in a high school art class than on a professional level! I've seen t-shirt designers praised who make little, if any sense while talented people are forced to toil in obscurity. I've seen designers work for companies using no design skill at all work for companies while those with degrees who know what they're doing are forced to fend for food, rejected by those same companies.

To a larger extent, I've seen blogs praise designers who did nothing more than steal an image by somebody else, not even modify it more than a hair, and praise it for being great by virtual of being "a clever take"!

Philadelphia celebrates mediocrity. It hails it on high as being "Brilliant" while the concept is weak! That is why this art scene is failing, why so many talented people here either leave or give up, and why Philadelphia is scene as a cultural wasteland.

Live Fast, Die Old! Skateboard

Live Fast, Die Old! Deck by LuvataciousSkull

I guess in a few ways this is a sort of "old school" skateboard deck design. I did this piece back in 2004 or so (which makes me feel even older than I should) and its one of my favorite pieces ever! I did it in response to all the people who think they deserve to get off the trains and buses first. You know, the little old ladies who rush to get off the train first, yet take forever to get off the train itself and walk to wherever they're going? Entitlement... age doesn't mean you get it.

So if you can, pick up this deck and support me fiscally!

A Conversation About Eternity

The following is a short story. Is it based on real events or pure fiction? I'll leave that to you to decide. Its the first in a series that I hope to collect into a short book.

It was the simplest of greetings, an introduction done more times than anyone can recall to more people at more moments throughout their lives than they could recall unless they were allowed to view their life again and keep score. There are few times in your life where you will remember it longer than you can recall, but this I will remember until the day I die.

“Hello. I think its time for a talk.”

Its not everyday that you actually meet the Grim Reaper of Death, and even rarer that you live to tell the tale.

I write this in sheer terror of my life. I don't recall if there were any stipulations on this talk, if there were rules as to what to divulge afterward... if, by simply conveying these thoughts on paper, I forfeit my life. To, me, though... this, this is an opportunity you are rarely awarded. I do not know. I claim ignorance to my host that night if I may have done wrong, for in the realms of which I was in, one only remembers few details and embellishes the rest.

The man with the scythe greeted me, and unto him I was his guest. We began to speak of things that one, I imagine, would speak of when looking into the face of the abyss, of the land we all go to one day.

We spoke of existence and its very nature.

“Time is an illusion. This much, I am sure, you are quite aware of. Time is nothing more than what mankind has made it, a series of checks and balances of what is to be and what will be. No, not even that, how foolish of me to even say that! No, mankind makes dates and time not to create checks and balances, but simply to count the time he had and what he may have left. Calendars and time pieces chronicle his achievements, allowing him to neatly keep track of all he has done. Man chooses to believe in the illusion that he is, in turn, the master of his own destiny, that he can choose when the sun rises and when nations will fall and crumble.

“But, in the end... it is, of course, nothing but an illusion.”

“But Death, “ I said, daring to interrupt him, “I we both know I know of this. In turn, I've learned that to simply relish ones life, and the time he has, albeit short, nothing more than the blink of an eye in the history and grand tale of the universe, one must make his time count, to matter, to make an impact! If he doesn't... then, well, what's the point?”

Death was glad to see my response.

He then took me to a room. In it, a wall was covered with TV's, all of which were off. As we sat down, the TV's came on all at once, showing the Earth. “Tell me... tell me what you know of the future of your world?”

“I know of the end. I don't know the end of my species, but I do know that, in time, the Earth will die. The sun it circles around will slowly die and destroy the solar system. I know that even if the human race were to survive, if they were able to keep going, it wouldn't matter. The entire universe would, in time, simply condense, continuing onward to where everything that has ever existed becomes nothing more than a dot. Existence, even the afterlife, is gone and eliminated.”

“Existence is meaningless.”

“Yes.”

“Is it meaningless?”

Death looked blankly back at the screens on the wall. “Do you believe it to be meaningless?”

I didn't know how to respond. I had said it was... but did I even believe it? “At one time... no, I didn't. I knew of the end of the universe, I knew that in the end, all the triumphs of mankind were for nothing. Yet, I was OK with it. It was the afterlife that gave me solace. That, while the physical world would be gone and forgotten, existence was meaningful if you still got to exist in an afterlife and, who knows, possibly help shape a new universe.”

“So, what changed? Why do you now believe that even that would be gone?”

“After time... it just made sense to simply have everything condense into one spot... even the afterlife.”

“Look at the screens.”

On the screen was exactly what I had said, of the Earth dying with the Sun, of the black hole swallowing the solar system, and how the universe decayed as it was sucked into nothing more than nothingness.

“A man once wrote that, 'Stranger eons, even Death may die.' No... I will not die, but everything else in existence will. It will be sucked into a point, and you will not exist. You will be nothing. You will be as if you, nor the whole of humanity, existed.”

“So life IS meaningless? There is no point in living?”

Death turned to me. Part of me felt chilled, but the chill melted as quick as it came. “No. There is a meaning to existence. Tell me what you see.”

I turned to the screen once more and I saw bright pink. It was stunning. It was one of the most vibrant shades I had seen in my life. It was bright and cheery, even more so against all the darkness I had witnesses up to this point. It soon zoomed out, showing itself to be an abstract shape among other shapes. Soon, the screen was a barrage of images of life. I saw birthday parties and people having fun, of bright sunny days in the park and great works of art. Of how humanity had evolved from a primordial ooze and into the dominant life form on Earth. Countless eras and places flashed before my eyes, yet I was not overwhelmed. I saw beautiful women make love and I saw plants bloom.

“Mankind, “ said Death, “Mankind is not the meaning of existence, nor is it a means to an end. Yet, within this solar system, within this universe, it has had moments that others have only dream of. It is a species of vast intelligence and design. It is a species that has reached out to the star and touched them, and has dared to dream, dared to question, and most importantly, dated to exist.

“Existence is pointless, yet it is not meaningless. These images prove otherwise, and your own existence proves it.”

“Are you saying, to put it simply, that existence is nothing more than what I make it? That since even reality itself is relative... that my life is, truly, in my own hands?”

“I haven't said anything of the sort. You! You have known this for as long as you have existed. You have understood these ideas, these principals, and these ideas for longer than you have known.”

We sat their, silently, watching the screens. Then I saw my life. I saw my birth, my first days in school, and of my first love. I saw my parents grow old and die, and I saw myself enjoying life.

“Death... I am afraid to ask this question, as I'm sure you have been awaiting for me to ask it.”

“No, you are not dead, nor am I hear to take you away.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I was relieved to hear the news. Death held his scythe in his bonny hand, not moving it at all during the entire conversation. It was wrapped with a long, torn, and old wrapper, as if to protect his hands. It was coming off, slowly but surly, thanks to old age.

“So... why have you come to speak to me, then?”

“I decided it was best to just show you this now. For you see... you will die, soon.”

Terror gripped me once more, as I quickly found my nerve to even ask a question afterwards. “If I may... WHEN, exactly... am I to meet you again?”

He gave me the time in as cryptic a way possible, giving not a date or time, but a matter of hours for me to puzzle with in my head. To himself he chuckled as I frantically tried to remember the number and figure out just what it meant. “I could be lying, of course,” he said rather amused. “Also, recall I did give you a big, round number. Isn't that rather convenient? Although, I am sure that once you come to your own conclusion as to when, exactly, you are to meet me again, you will realize that it isn't exactly as big and round a number as I said. Nor do I honestly think you'll remember the number correctly, what the number referred to, and what, in the end, is the actual result.”

Yet, I wasn't angry. I was not mad at knowing, or at least seeming to know, when I was to die. Yet, like anyone or anything told when they are supposed to die, I asked the question he already expected; “Why tell me this?” “You tell me.” To Death's credit, he didn't underestimate my intelligence.

“From what you have said... from what you have shown me, and from what you have even taught me... you told me I am free. That there is time to simply exist and enjoy life, to preserver and make life mine! That I have a chance, albeit brief, to take reality and shape it into what I see fit! Death, you are my liberator!”

“As you will learn to a higher caliber soon enough.”

It was then that Death and I began to walk and discuss my life. We spoke of nothing of consequence to you nor my friends. I asked him nothing of the past but of love and relationships, of the world at large, and he took a liking to my view. Yet in this world we came across my friends who looked upon me and not of Death. When I spoke to them of my conversation, they simply said that they were visited that night too, yet did not believe what they heard. “Death lies! He trick you! He speaks not the truth about your life and existence, only manipulates you into doing what he wants!” I did not argue, and simply would agree and move on.

As daylight embarked upon my room and my bed, my conversation was drawing to a close. I thanked him for allowing me to speak with him, and I thanked him further more not only for the time, but for allowing me to understand this in comfort.

“But what of my death? How will I die?”

“You'll be happy to know that it will be a natural death.” With that, he left.

Yet I write this story with dread. Why? Because I wrote down the number he gave. I wrote down the 2 variations of the number he gave. In a short matter of time I devised the three main ways it could be divided: Hours, minutes, and seconds.

It did not help to wake-up sick this morning...




Copyright Larry West 2009. All rights reserved.

Remember Your Freedom! Part 2 - A Lesson From Overseas

This was, in a lot of ways, the inspiration for the series of blog posts dealing with freedom in America.

1989. Tiananmen Square. One man stands.



For years, decades, even, the extent of this footage was limited to only 3 seconds where the tanks pulled up to him and nothing more. Over the past month, the footage was shown time and time again, and I was forced to ask this question: What happened to him? Did he get run over? Did the tank stop only to go around him? What, exactly, happened?

After watching this video, its obvious that the mans act of defiance wasn't as simple as it may seem. A man walking home, maybe from work or the store, is walking and after 3 days of riots and protests, hes greeted with 3 tanks. After spending a life where he was oppressed, miserable, pissed-off, he sees this.. and stops the tank. He stands right in the path of this row, this massive line of tanks... and refuses to move.

The tank stops. The man still stands with his bags in hand.

The tank veers to the right to get around... and the man stands in his way. The tank then tries going back, only to see the man again.

Finally, after this back and forth, the tank driver stops and turns off his engine. The man then proceeds to do something amazing: He climbs on top of the tank and goes in! After coming out shortly after that, he then starts to walk away. When he sees the tank moving again, he walks right back in front of it! A man on a bike comes up, talks to him, and he walks away.

What is freedom? What does it mean? To the people in China, as they tasted a world of freedom that we get daily, they were willing to fight and die for it, to sacrifice their lives for it. And one man stood and stared the evil of fascism in the eye.

There is also a wonderful documentary on the subject, which you can see here.

How You watching Transformers 2 Has Helped to Destroy Good Movies

Did you watch Transformers 2 this weekend?

I hope you didn't, I sure as hell didn't! Why? Because I knew what most people who saw the film now are now realizing: IT STINKS!

In fact, not only did this movie stink, the replies I've seen to it have actually been on a level I've never imagined before! One review basically said it was an art film, not exactly in a flattering way but based on the fact that the film made no sense! The film is the worst-reviewed film of all time to make more than $400 Million.... and WHY, WHY did it make $400 MILLION?!

Look, I can understand the mentality to a degree: You don't go to a Michale Bay film expecting art or something that even touches on "Good". You go to one of his films to just laugh with your friends at how inane and stupid the entire thing is.

But in the process of doing that, you've basically voted with your wallet that you are more than willing to pay to see this.

Have you complained about how horrible films have gotten over the last 10 years? Its gotten to the point where most films released in major film chains are nothing but remakes, sequels, movies based on TV shows, and in the end, no one is really happy. Studios keep churning out this crap because YOU keep watching it! Admit it, you hate the fact that they're making Ghostbusters 3. You cringed when they remade Halloween.

Now, despite the fact Terminator 4 didn't even break even, the movie has been panned by everyone, and it didn't do as strong as it should... word is out that they are making Terminator 5!

NO!

So why do they do this? Why does Hollywood insist on releasing nearly nothing but the worst, dumbest, most mind-numbing films possible? Because you keep watching them!

On the TV show The Critic, Jay Sherman was a film critic in New York City. While the film was done in 1994 to 1996, Jay Sherman felt that the film landscape at the time had hit an all-time low and, after another stint where he temporarily lost his job, he hosted a early-morning show to teach cabbies English. One morning, he walks into the class and gives a speech titled, "If the movie stinks, just don't watch it!"

Its a simple concept, a simple phrase. "If the movie stinks, just don't watch it!"

By voting with your wallet, by not paying to see these artistic abortions that they are trying to sell you, you're saying that you don't want them to keep making these films! By giving more money to good films, such as Up, Star Trek, and Taken, films that broke the Top 10 grossing films of the year thus far, your showing that you care about plot, character development, and just plain good film making!

The more you watch these films, the more you sink money into films that you KNOW stink, the same type of films you hate seeing so much of, the more are made!

Wizard World Philadelphia 2009: Why I'm Glad I Didn't Go Now

In 2002, Wizard Entertainment created Wizard World Philadelphia, the single largest comic book convention in Philadelphia and, in turn, most of the East Coast. The best year, to me, was when they had both Jim Lee and Alex Ross doing signing sessions, as well as more comic book legends then you could shake a stick at. That was 2004.

Since then, the convention has been slowly getting weaker. It was understandable at first; nothing can be great forever and always hit 1000, right? In 2008, it felt as if the doldrums had taken over. It wasn't as packed, it felt empty, and there weren't a lot of big name stars that time around in the world of comics. I spent all 3 days there semi-depressed, gathering signatures for the CBLDF and irritated half of the time.

It was amazing. I LOVED Wizard World! In 2002, I volunteered just to help out and scored some free swag in the process. It was always a chore getting the signatures I wanted, but it was still fun! Going home with armloads of swag, comics, toys... I still remember getting to meet a hero of mine, Brian Pluido, back in 2003!

It seems they cared less and less about getting big-name comic book stars to come and more about getting $50-for-an-autograph stars of the silver screen and television.

In 2009, I already knew I shouldn't go. I kept checking out the guest list... and it sucked. I told my friends I wasn't going, the first time since 2002 and its opening. They asked why, I told them, and they would look at the list and squeal with glee, "Oh my god! They have so-and-so from some TV Show!" "So? Its a comic book convention! I don't care! Besides, you have to pay to get in, and then pay them for the 'privilege' of getting a photo or autograph from them!" They said they would go... and they didn't.

To me, a comic book convention should rely more on getting... well, comic book stars! Garth Ennis was the Guest of Honor this year, which is awesome... but he was there last year practically with the same honor. I didn't see anyone else I wanted to see... except Brad Guigar. Who is that, you ask?

I had met Brad Guigar a long time ago at the convention, back in 2002 when he was doing a strip called "Greystone Manor". It was about life in Philadelphia, and it was funny, well-written, and interesting. In 2008, I met him again and he was working on a new strip called "Evil, Inc." I was intriguied and interested, bought a copy, and wanted to go just to meet him again and get a few more books. Or I would, if I had the cash.

I checked out his site and it seems its a good thing I didn't go this year: None, I repeat, NONE of the major publishers had booths this year (Marvel, DC, etc..) and it was, in a lot of ways, relegated to being a bunch of small guys in a big pond. Litteraly. Its a shame, and not because you need the big guys to make a con. No, what they did was add to the experience. It wasn't about checking out the latest stuff from Marvel or DC; it was about the fact that they gave the con a sense of purpose, of meaning... and getting people in the door!

Attendence was crappy, it rained all weekend (Which normally doesn't stop it, but who knows), and there wasn't even carpeting in this massive, massive space!

Brian said it best:

What happened at to Wizard World Philadelphia?

Wizard World Philadelphia is usually packed with surprises and this year was no different. For starters, DC Comics pulled out of the convention. So did all of the other major publishers (Marvel, Image, Dark Horse and Top Cow) as well as con staples such as Kevin Smith's View Askew T-shirt booth.

The floorplan that Wizard had posted before the event was vastly different from the floorplan that exhibitors and attendees navigated over the weekend. Aisles were huge as booths were stretched thin to fill the exhibit space. And, unlike past years, there was no carpeting in those mammoth aisles to ease the sore feet of attendees.

Brian did a great job discussing this and I think I'll take in his footsteps and start talking about Wizard in the future. What I posted was, really, the tip of the iceburg. Read more from him in these links:

Con Report: Wizard World Philadelphia
Wizard Timeline