With Halloween coming, I offer you the chance to click to see the best costume ever.

(Found via a friend of a friend of a friend.)

James Ellroy. He writes. Three, four word sentences gutpunching you. New book’s out. Destination: Morgue! is the name. Check it – 14 fiction and non fiction pieces about LA. Most collected from magazines like GQ, some not published. I got it today. First piece is on Boxing. Dig it.

Alice did a meme that I support. After reading this, go post poetry on your blog / LJ / bathroom wall / whatever.

A Style Of Loving by Vikram Seth

Light now restricts itself

To the top half of trees;

The angled sun

Slants honey-colored rays

That lessen to the ground

As we bike through

The corridor of Palm Drive.

We two

Have reached a safety the years

Can claim to have created;

Unconsummated, therefore

Unjaded, unsated.

Picnic, movie, ice cream;

Talk; to clear my head

Hot buttered rum – coffee for you;

And so not to bed.

And so we have set the question

Aside, gently.

Were we to become lovers

Where would our best friends be?

You do not wish, nor I

To risk again

This savored light for noon’s

High joy or pain.

(This is from All Those Who Sleep Tonight, which I’ve read about 30 times. A wonderful collection that I can’t recommend highly enough. This does, of course, have significant personal meaning, but it’s also just a sublime piece of work. After finding this in high school, I made a few clumsy, inelegant attempts at poetry. We don’t talk about that unfortunate phase.)

The only reason I am up this late is to find out whom I can blame for the riots and looting that will leave this fair city burning – the Red Sox or the Yankees.

Update @ 1:15 (Top of the 12th) – The announcer just said “The one thing the Red Sox can not afford right now is to have a pitcher go down on them.” I thought about glory holes and such. Please. Let. This. Game. End.

Update @ 1:18 (Commercial Break) – I flip to a program called The George Michael Sports Machine. Hello, irony. Are you trying to tell me something?

Update @ 1:20 (Bottom of the 12th) – Yes, guys, slapping the wall rhythmically in such a way as it could distract your preferred team’s batter is a fabulous idea. I can tell you were in the Gifted Program in school.

Update @ 1:22 (Bottom of the 12th) – I think the Yankee’s pitcher seems to believe he’s playing cricket.

Update @ 1:23 – Ortiz earned his damned paycheck with a home run that means there’s a game 5.

Update @ 1:26 – I celebrate for a brief moment before realizing that the Red Sox only have to screw up one game whereas the the Yankees can screw up three before they’re not able to go to the World (ha!) Series.

So, I got some spam. I get quite a lot, but this was for a Christian dating site and I was bored. Now, I don’t really require the service, but I decided to cut and paste the URL into my browser to find out what the hell a Christian dating site looks like. (Don’t worry – that’s a screen shot .jpg. I’d never send you beloved readers into the gaping void where only I dare tread.)

Now, it certainly looks like they’re following the advice of Ecclesiastes 10:19, which states Wine maketh merry: but money answereth all things. Check out this tidbit…

I guess that they think that the “poor” don’t deserve such luxuries as another fine Christian with which they could spend prayer time, do they? We wouldn’t want to help the person making $24,000 in a small town on Ohio to find someone to share their life. Sure, they’re not rich, this theoretical person, but they’re not shaking a can on the corner. Apparently, this site’s “Christian” founders have ignored one particular quote from Proverbs (31:9, if you’re curious): Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy. Isn’t there a circle in hell for people who do this sort of thing?

I swear, Maggie does some things just to see if she can make me pee myself.

She also turned me onto this musician that I can’t get enough of. My Bloody Valentine meets stretched out ambience meets something else. Unique, and quite wonderful.

There’s only one Comics Journal. It’s an important magazine and about the only “intellectual” look at the medium that is out there covering current comics. You’ve got Comic Book Artist, and its “new” focus is good, but the magazine’s late shipping schedule has put me off, even with great material on a variety of subjects. (Editor Jon B. Cooke reported in the lastest issue that he’s had a bad year – I sympathize, man, but please, you gotta get back on the stick!) Back Issue gets a fair number of things right, even if it seems to pander to the superhero fanboy more than I’d like. And don’t even get me started on Alter Ego, which is getting more and more unreadable as fewer and fewer Golden and Silver Age writers artists are left that will let Roy Thomas give them analingus for an interview. I finally dropped it in the middle of last year, and I really don’t miss it.

Anyway, back to the Journal. It does a lot of things I really like – the two most recent issues have had interviews and articles focusing on Alex Toth, Ed Brubaker, the Eisners, great reprints of out-of-copyright comics, and a great look at Marvel’s X-Men franchise under Morrison. But then there’s the vast amount of stuff I don’t care about. Reviews of art comics that really don’t appeal to me because of my immature tastes or my strange desire for actual storytelling or the fact I have no real interest in somebody’s diary or poorly-constructucted rant. (Ironic comments can be left below.) Tiny minicomics that six people get to see that are, at best, amateurish. Slamming on Drawn And Quarterly in a really…infantile manner that leads into my next point. They really, really make their bias towards their own publishing concern known.

In their collective mind, Fantagraphics seems to publish the only truly great comics nowadays, while everyone else, even other publishers working in the same niche, seems incapable of ever even hoping to gaze upon the ivory tower that is Gary Groth publishing concern. It’s annoying, to say the least. I’m not going to act like Fantagraphics hasn’t printed many great comics. You just need to look at Love and Rockets and Hate and certainly The Complete Peanuts, which is probably the best reprint project that’s not related to me getting more comics drawn by Kirby. But Jesus, guys. Giving Steve Brodner a 20-page color interview section the month before his Freedom Fries book comes out? I thought Wizard had balls when they kept interviewing Mark Waid and Garth Ennis for their Black Bull line of comics. Such a well-done magazine, but I really don’t know if the latest issue was worth the $10 price tag for me.

In happier news, here’s our next president taking a break.

The last batch of reader questions for this round…

Jeremy has a really good one: “Best decision-maker for the indecisive…?

a) flipping a coin;

b) rolling dice;

c) magic 8-ball;

d) other (please list)”

Oh, wow. I don’t know. Let me break out my twenty-sided dice and pick A if it lands on 1, 4, 9, 12, or 18; B if it lands on 2, 8, 11, 15, or 17; C if it lands on 3, 10, 16, or…oh, forget it. I choose D, which is cockpunching a right-wing conservative and basing your decision on whether they land on their knees, knees and hands, side, or back.

Sam wonders “What is the deal with The Hulk and how did you come up with the idea of doing a blog for the guy?”

I worked at Upromise when I started both blogs. As TV’s Spatch can tell you, there were long dry spells and the bosslady seemed to have a real issue with sending people home. Bored comic book nerd who loved how Toyfare presented the Hulk + The Internet. You can see the convergence happening, can’t you?

Maggie wants to know “Were the first four entries of Hulk’s blog grey?”

Maggie, I must demand you marry me. I do not care about your prior commitments.

Christina demands: “Which are better, Canadians, Brits, or Russians?” and then amends it with “Wait, make that Germans instead of Russians.”

I emailed you the “real” answer. I like them in approximately the same order you list them. I have known great examples of three, bad examples of two.

Mark H is curious about my appellation: “What’s with the “beaucoup”? The French tongue, it offends me.”

Underworld had an album called Beaucoup Fish that I love to pieces and I changed my BBS handle to reflect that. It had previously been Sappys Curry, based on another Underworld song. Someone called me Beaucoup Kevin one day and it sounded better than Fish Church, so…

Doug has a trifecta, like before:

Who’s more annoying: Jimmy or Rick Jones?

Rick. Jesus, Rick. Gah, I hate him. Jimmy’s one of those characters I’d love to write.

Which is your favorite Avengers lineup?

The Roger Stern run in the 80s had a great lineup of second-stringers with a few of Marvel’s best – Cap and Thor lead the team with people like the Wasp, the female Captain Marvel, Hercules, etc providing manpower. While not a die-hard fan of The Avengers, I think it should have a balance between the Big Guns and the Guys That Couldn’t Hold Their Own Book.

What’s the real ending to the Matrix series like?

It’s not all solved with punching Agent Smith, I tell you what.

Now, I’m not really a sports fan. I’ve got enough going on that sports are just something I can’t devote enough time or energy to following. I’ll watch ten or fifteen minutes of a baseball game, maybe thirty of a good hockey matchup, but I get bored easily. There’s no gunplay, no guys in capes, or something else that I’m looking for in my physical contests.

But I am a fan of Pedro Martinez. He’s an affable guy who always seems to give the best press and my favorite recent event is his having recently decided to cart around a 28-inch-tall Dominican midget named Nelson de la Rosa around as a good luck charm while wearing swimming goggles. He did made what I’d call a dreadful mistake in the last month or so, causing a stir after telling reporters after a loss to New York that “I just tip my hat and call the Yankees my daddy.” This may not have been the best idea. You know people from New York. They love to pick on someone, especially if it’s a baseball related thing since they’ve won, I dunno, every World Series ever since 1916.

Immediately, Yankees fans seized upon this like a bully who found out you wet your pants in the fourth grade because Tommy Doyle scared you when he jumped out of the closet. (Shudup. He was wearing a Yoda mask.) “Who’s your daddy?” found itself slathered on t-shirts that were sold, for a very brief time, on the Major League Baseball site, quoted by hundreds and then thousands of sports wags, and finally last night during the American League Championship Series, it reached its apotheosis. 60,000 plus people chanting “Whooooo’s your daaaaaddy?” at a lone pitcher from a small island nation must be daunting, but Pedro took it in stride, telling reporters after the game (which the Sox lost, I might add):

“You know what? After all this, they’re going to say Pedro lost. Pedro won, actually. I got to show everyone I believe in God. They were chanting, ‘Who’s my daddy?’ My biggest daddy is the one that brought me over from the mango tree to the biggest stage in world.”

You heard it here first – Pedro Martinez is Christ reborn. I will say that he did show a good deal of grace with this second quote, which is slightly less out-there, talking about the chanting:

“It actually made me feel really, really good. I actually realized I was somebody important because I caught the attention of 60,000, plus you guys, plus the whole world watching.

“If you could reverse my world, go back 15 years ago, I was sitting under a mango tree without 50 cents to pay for a bus. Now I was the center of attention in the whole city of New York. I don’t like to brag about myself, but they did make me feel important.

“Maybe because I’m with the Red Sox, I feel so thankful they got my attention, and I got their attention.”

While it’s obvious that English is his second language, there’s a lot of heart being shown there. I just wish Curt Schilling hadn’t gotten his ankle wrecked – I loved the idea of an insane Dominican and a slightly-pudgy 39-year-old leading the Sox postseason.

You’ve got questions. I’ve got answers.

Josh, again:

Boxers or briefs? Paper or plastic? Plastic boxers or paper briefs?

Holograms.

Doug’s got a trilogy of terror:

What’s your favorite run on a comic?

Favorite Run: Damn, that’s hard. I can pick two easily – Kirby’s Jimmy Olsen run for his completely mental reassembly of the component parts and Miller’s Born Again (or Year One. Damn. This is tough.)

Favorite Single Issue:

Superman vs Muhammad Ali. Seriously. That or Fantastic Four #51, “This Man, This Monster”

Least favorite comic of all time?

New Mutants – whichever issue Rob Liefeld started with. Fuck you, Liefeld.

Who needs a good cockpunching?

Rob Liefeld. George W Bush. Dick Cheney. Whoever came up with those new Old Navy Ads where people get Denim Fever Or Whatever.

Maggie goes straight to the nerd in me:

Pick one: Byrne/Claremount/Cockrum (please show your work)

Ugh. You know what, I admire Cockrum’s body of work, but he’s not my favorite artist. Byrne’s such a pretentious twat that even if I like his Fantastic Four, I’d add him to the Cockpunch list, right next to Claremont. Ugh, ugh, ugh. Cockrum. OK. Yeah.

Amy, outside of being my separated twin, demands:

What’s your favorite Gibson novel? If, of course, it isn’t Neuromancer.

Pattern Recognition. Damn, I loved that book

Katie (which one? I know at least four) wants to know:

What is your favorite season in Boston? How about where you grew up? (I realize it’s probably gorgeous out there right now, treewise).

Fall in both places. This has been a bit more melancholic of a season for me than usual, but it’s still got some lovely moments.

Aaron decides to avoid asking me about my sexual proclivities (monstrous and fearsome, lad) with this excellent question:

After Jack, Will Eisner, and Steve Ditko, and putting Bob Kane, Joe, and Jerry in a distinct category who would you say are the five NEXT most important comics artists/creators of all time?

Most Important (Not Counting My Personal Tastes) In No Particular Order:

1. Howard Chaykin

2. Todd McFarlane

3. Joe Kubert

4. Jack Cole

5. Frank Miller

Special bonus to Rob Liefeld for proving even a spastic who drew with his mouth with no concept of what constitutes a deadline could get a deal

and some comments from previous post…

Dann wants to know:

How did I miss this the first time around?

You were high on glue again, looking for references to the Illuminati

How do I get your replies to my comments mail to me?

You can’t. You have to read my damn blog.

When are you going to add my ass to your collaborators list?

I dunno. Whenever. A few people need to be added. Remind me again. Send a donation.

and finally, Scottobear wants to go straight to the heart of things:

Which is better? Monkeys, Zombies, or Pirates?

Monkeys

Why?

Because without monkeys, I would have no joy.