I'm Back! And I have brought you nothing but this post.

For the last 5 months (give or take), I haven't had the opportunity to write, due to my grandfather being out of commission. I have had to wake up at 4:30am every day. Which cut into my writing time which is the evenings until around 4am. I rarely get a chance to write during the day due to errands and whatnot, so night was all I had. That was, of course up until 5 months ago.

Now the kicker was, that I couldn't for the life of me change my sleeping schedule, which again, is around 4am, and I tried everything short of drugs to go to sleep earlier, the best I could do was 3. So on the average, for 6 days out of the week, I got an hour's worth of sleep at night. The turn around was that I was able to come back home around 8am, and from there I slept in to about 11am if I was lucky. That precious 3 hours was all I had to keep me going through the day, that and large amounts of caffeine (which I'm currently detoxing myself from).

Needless to say, I felt like the walking dead. My brain was fried, and the little I did write drained and sickened me.

That is up until last week. When I finally got my groove back. Man, how I missed sleep, but more to the point, how I missed having my nights back for my creative juices to flow. And man are they flowing.

So stay tuned folks, the man is back, and he is full of piss and vinegar. They say it's a medical condition and I'm taking pills for it.

But I also plan to write my ass off. So stick around for that as opposed to my other juices that flow.

The 4th.

We had a great time, and here are a couple of highlights..

And now, a bedtime story...

“The Major and Connie’s big day”

By:

Americo Alvarenga

Connie always thinks there are two birds. He assumes that there must be more than one bird chirping away at the morning sun. As he opens one eye, he believes that this time he’s going to see two birds outside the window, that there can be no way in this great, wide world that one animal, as small as that bird, could possibly make that amount of noise. He opens his second eye. Connie is wrong.

Connie leans up on his front paws and stretches his hind legs. He shakes his body from head to tail, tossing off the night’s lingering sleep. The sound of his dog tags rustles up the only other living thing in the small cabin. He smacks his lips as a heavy, calloused hand lands on his head.

“Morning Connie,” says the Major. “Today’s a big day.” Connie acknowledges the Major’s sentiments as he does every morning with a nod of his head.

The Major is a small, elderly man. No one would assume that this is the man that is echoed in all the pictures around the cabin. Pictures of a tall man in uniform. Some have him holding rifles; others have him pointing away toward distant wherevers. And then there are others, very few, but definitely in places of notice, where it’s a beautiful woman that he grasps.

Connie has never seen any of these images. Connie is a dog and can’t see in two dimensions. The Major has described each one to Connie in depth throughout the years, so Connie could point out each image and describe to you in as much detail and with as much emotion as the Major could, with only the shape of the image to go by. Connie is a self-proclaimed “part wild dog”. He believes that at least one of his ancestors was a wolf. He teases the Major each day about him running off into the wild. A game they both enjoy three meals a day. This breakfast is no different.

The Major takes their breakfast to the porch. They’d eat their bacon, eggs, and toast in the kitchen, there’s plenty of room. But with the view of the lake, the sun rising in the East, and the dew simmering off the trees and cabins in the distance, why would you eat inside? The Major sets Connie’s food on the floor next to him as the Major pulls a folded wooden TV tray in front of him. As Connie licks his lips from the grease too soon gone from his plate, and the Major lights his pipe, they look out into the distance as Connie asks the Major, the question.

“Would you miss me, Major?
If I left this morn’?
Would you miss me Major?
Will you be so torn?
I could run out into the misty woods,
Follow the trail and be at play,
Take it till I think it should,
This feels like it could be the day.”

The Major smiles and replies.

“I’d miss you Connie,
I’d miss you true,
You can’t leave Connie,
There’s still much to do.
‘Sides there’s nothing really worth while,
Beyond those pesky trees,
And why tire yourself with all those miles?
You’re better off with me.”

Connie smiles and says, “Maybe later then, Major. Later will be my day.”

The day rolls along, and the next thing you know, it’s lunch time. The Major works his tongs across the outside grill as the smoke rises off the sausages he’s cooking up. Stuffed between a couple of sourdough rolls and plated, The Major and Connie sit down to lunch. They watch as the lake host’s traffic to rowboats, paddle boats, canoes, and the such. The Major waits tentatively to the pending question.

“Would you miss me, Major?
If I left you soon?
Would you miss me, Major?
If I took off this noon?
I could swim out to a boat,
I could meet a new friend.
They would no doubt, on me, dote.
They’d carry my means to my end.”

The Major puffs on his pipe.

“I’d miss you Connie,
Don’t go over there.
Why leave me Connie?
I’m sure they don’t care.
Sure they’d pet you and feed you,
You’re a dog, a cute one at that,
But at the end of the day, they’d leave you.
And that my good friend, would be that.”

Connie smiles as he sees the smoke from the Major’s pipe circle in the air, “Maybe later then, Major. Later will be my day.”

The sun begins to set, as it does every day. The stars begin to poke through the veil of the evening sky. In the distance, the lights of cabins begin to turn on sporadically. At first one, then another, at one point four turned on at the same time. Connie can still taste the smoked fish that the Major seared to perfection earlier in the evening. On cue, Connie begs, but not in the way dogs normally do.

“Would you miss me, Major?
If I stole into the night?
Would you miss me, Major?
Would you put up a fight?
The lights call to me,
And not just those of man,
The stars in heaven whisper to me,
Come visit faraway lands.”

Connie sees the smoke of the Major’s pipe, and waits for his witty reply. But Connie, to his surprise, gets a bit of ash on his nose. He shakes it off, and looks up to the Major. He notices something different in the Major’s eyes. They’re looking off into the distant, but not off into the horizon. The Major seems to have traveled off in his gaze to some place that Connie has at some time or another described to the Major with such detail and emotion that it seems the Major has beat Connie to him. Connie moves up along side of the Major, putting his head on his lap. The Major’s hand, still calloused, but now cold, on Connie’s brow. Connie stares off, trying to see where the Major may have gone off too. He smiles.

“Tomorrow then, Major. Tomorrow will be my day.”

The End

My nephew, Julian.

You know what's great about being an uncle?  It's getting to be one to another kid.  I've got two nephews.  My brother could go his whole life giving me the coolest gadgets or doodads for my birthday/Christmas/Uncle's Day (there should be one), but nothing would ever compare to making me an uncle.

It's all the fun of being with a kid who's related to you but none of the responsibilities.

I hope to return the favor some day soon.

Comic geekdom, per the usual...

It's Comic draft time over at Kevin Smith's message board, and of course, instead of working, I write up a story for my draft picks.  Enjoy...

Shot Thru.pdf

Twitter, and why it's my girlfriend's fault.

So I just joined twitter.  Something I was never gonna do.  I didn't see the need for those to know about everything I do every minute.  I had a blog, that I update (on the odd occasion, granted), and I figure if folks wanna know what I'm doing, then they can just call me.

But my girl changed that.  See, she usually posts on the regular on a message board that we both frequent.

But as of late, she hasn't.  Mainly because when she's at work it's easier for her to twitter on her phone than it is for her to post on that board.  Today, I checked out her twitter, and realized how much I miss seeing her posts.

So I joined.  I'm *shrugs* twittering.  I may find this enjoyable.  I may not.  But I do it, cause I love my girl.

So you wanna follow my tweets?  They're probably game/movie/look pretty tree related.

If that's your thing, I feel for you.  And enjoy.

Out damn spot.

We all know Jupiter.

More importantly, we all know that beautiful red spot.  It's an ancient storm about the size of three Earths that's been swirling about for the last three hundred years.

Winds go up to 400 miles per hour, and scientists have no idea what sustains it, what caused it, or why it's even red (cause there are times it isn't).

Well, between 1996 and 2006, the Giant Red Spot has lost 15 percent of its diameter.

It is expected that the it will become circular by around 2040.

Jupiter's atmosphere is an amazing tapestry of bands and circles and swirls that consistently moves, you never see the same Jupiter twice.

It's a shame to think that at one point this defining feature of Jupiter's will be gone, and that our study of it may never be clear.

In the meantime, we are witness to a great many wonders on our world, and luckily, we get to witness this on another world as well.

Everyone should carry a purple crayon.

As a kid, I remember reading the classics.  The fairy tales, tales of adventure, the usual.  Oddly enough, I skipped a lot of "kids" books, I was always looking for the older material.

In doing so, I missed some books, some books that should never have been missed.  God bless my girl and her child-like heart.  She bought "Harold and the Purple Crayon" for her niece.  I read it today, and I was blown away.

It's a straightforward concept, a four-year-old boy who has the ability to create his own little world with his purple crayon.  And create he does.

What's great about the story is that at no time does the character ever betray himself.  He's a four-year-old, and sure enough, he acts like one.  You feel part of Harold's world as he creates it.  You want to go where he goes, and you want it to be over when he does.

The genius of Crockett Johnson's book is in its simplicity.  He conveys so much, all with just a purple crayon.  And it's in that minimalistic setting that the story grows leaps and bounds, just like a four-year-old would if you gave him a crayon and the world as his canvas.

If you never read the book, do your childhood a favor, and go read it.  Then go read it to a kid.

Jim Lee stole my Sharpie... And that's the rest of that story.

Well, technically he didn't steal it, but I let him use it and continue to use it when I walked away.

This weekend was WonderCon, and I usually go all three days, but this time I only went on Friday.  And it was a great freaking day.  Got a chance to chop it up with Jim Lee, Brian Azzarello, and Mike Mignola for a bit.  Also got some great insight on hand drawn effects VS 3D effects (fyi hand drawn effects rules over 3D software any day).

On a down note, Paul Harvey passed away this past week.  Paul Harvey was an ABC radio broadcaster for as long as I could remember.  He had these segments on his broadcast called "The Rest of the Story."

They were factual stories on any number of subjects, but always ending with a twist ending.  I recall specifically one where the U.S. government was planning on releasing a 3 dollar bill, and on face of the bill, Santa Claus.

My dad used to love listening to Paul Harvey, and the one story my dad told me he heard was one that has stuck with me since I was a kid.

It was about a classroom in a very reputable university, the room was packed, because apparently the teacher who was going to teach the writing class was very famous.

The teacher comes into the room, and the room goes silent.  He steps to the podium and says, "How many of you in here want to be writers?"

The whole class rose their hands.  He looks around and says to them,

"Then what the hell are you doing in here?"  The teacher leaves the classroom.

My dad couldn't recall who it was.

Still, a great story nonetheless, and at the end of the day, what more could you ask for?

R.I.P. Celestia Valverde

Well my great aunt died this morning.

I've been taking her to dialysis three days a week for about 5 years. She was a mean old broad, been an evil person all her life. As a little girl she used to hide food from her younger sisters. She disowned her only son, and she constantly accused us of robbing her.

And as mean of a bitch as she was, she was still family, and we looked out for her, cause that's what families do. And now she's no longer in pain. At the very least she's got peace, finally, in her life.

Last thing she said to me was when I offered to buy her some food (she wouldn't pay for her own food) yesterday, to which she replied, "Fine, but don't buy me anything disgusting."

lol R.I.P. you mean ol' broad. I'll miss ya.

I Have A Dream...

"America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked, 'insufficient funds'." - Martin Luther King

On January 20th, 2009, at 12pm EST.  America makes good on a small portion of that check.

I haven't posted since last month, so many things have happened in my sweet 'country 'tis of thee.'

And I have thought long and hard about what I've wanted to say about our President-elect, life (they found methane on Mars, that's possible life people!), work (writing a new script), and my love (Hi Ruth).

Truth is, as  a writer, I can convey to you all how I feel about all these things (oh yeah, they fucking killed Batman!  Assholes!).

But I just can't seem to find a place to start.  I'm living this world, this monumental moment, and I didn't want to spoil it with convoluted words.

Do you feel it?  Do you feel the new world?  Say what you will, America sets the standard.  And for the last 40 years, we have been substandard.  Sure we're innovative (I think we built a rocket that destroys everything and in it's wake it actually drills a pipeline and staffs it with friends of Dick Cheney), but our innovation comes with a high price.  One that's been too high for too long.

The world we live in is at a brink, we have no time left.  We either make it as a species or we go down the tubes.

But this Tuesday, this day of inauguration for Barack Obama.  It truly feels like a step in the right direction.

I have always been wary of politicians.  I still am in fact.  And a politician that gives me hope is ironically scarier to me than the typical run of the mill.

Because a man who carries the torch of hope is a man I will follow, and I am not one to do the following.  But a man worthy enough to unite this country, to stand for righteousness and the common good of the people.   I will be proud and honored to serve at the pleasure of that President.

And I feel in my heart that President Barack Obama is that Commander in Chief.

Martin Luther King Jr.  We take one real step closer to our dream.

Killjoys...

I'm a fan of Christmas.  Christmas for me is a remembrance of love, unity, and giving.

That, of course is not what others celebrate.  In fact, it is so much what others don't want you to celebrate that they go out of their way to make it unpleasant for everyone.

Take Christians.  If you take Christ out of the equation, then you get assholes like Pastor Fred Phelps, who wants to put up signs up in Washington that read, "Santa Claus will take you to Hell."

Classy guy.

But hey, how about those agnostics or atheists?  Well sure, they got their dickeries out in about, can't wait to prove that Christ isn't real and that the season is just a ploy to get people to spend their money yada, yada, yada.

You even have moderates who have to just analyze the shit out of every aspect of, well, everything.  Case in point...

The gender of Rudolph and his or her sleigh-hauling friends -- the subject of goofy Internet chatter every year around this time -- is now being pondered by renowned wildlife experts at Texas A & M University.

"Santa's reindeers were really females, most likely," said Alice Blue-McLendon, a veterinary medicine professor specializing in deer who cites the depictions of Santa's helpers with antlers as the primary evidence. It turns out reindeer grow antlers regardless of gender, and most bulls typically shed their fuzzy protrusions before Christmas.

But Santa's sleigh helpers might also be castrated males, known as steers, said Greg Finstad, who manages the Reindeer Research Program at the University of Alaska Fairbanks.

Really?  Either the wildlife experts at Texas A&M are all high and have given up on trying to figure out how to make their fingers "fing", or they've got nothing better in the fucking world to do.

Out of all the things to work on, did they think that saying to a bunch of kids, "Hey, Rudolph's actually a girl.  That song and that T.V. special that comes on every year are way wrong!", that this was the way to go?

Look, December 25th was used as a marking point for the winter solstice in the Julian calendar.  It was later adopted as a date of significance by the Church in order to make it easier for pagans to convert.

That's it.  That's the bottom line of the day.  It's also a Thursday, if you want to be more specific.

Some people have chosen to make the day special for certain reasons, others have not.

I choose to be a person who has taken the day, and made it my own, and in the face of idiocy, dare to call it Christmas.

Happy Holidays folks, enjoy it.  Cause honestly, life is too short to be a killjoy.

Happy Thanksgiving, sorry about getting screwed over, Native Americans.

I have one thing above all to be thankful for today.

My girl.

Because of her, my world is brighter, shinier, and I am aware of how incredibly lucky I am.

Happy Day, folks.

And now for a taste of things to come...

10 years ago, I made a movie.  And it's getting an anniversary treatment.  Enjoy the titles.

10 years in the making...

A little over 10 years ago, I switched my major in college from fine arts to film.  I never looked back.  My very first film was a short that I shot on Super 8mm.  It landed me my first paid gig in directing a documentary.

In the 10 years since, the only copy I've ever had was the original film reel, and a video copy that I recorded from a projected image on the wall.

Needless to say the resulting image was blurred and out of focus due to the flicker from the projector.

Well, I figured it was time to give the "little film that did" its proper telecine transfer.

And man, did it turn out beautiful.  So for the 10th anniversary of my peregrination in film, I have decided to treat "Krucial Kombat" (yes that is the title) to a new soundtrack and new titles, and a new cut.  Considering that the old soundtrack is on a cassette tape and the old edits were done by hand.

Stay tuned for the groovy, in the meantime, a couple more pics.

fOoLhArDi are fools hardly...

I'm a fan pimping those that warrant pimpage.  And no one warrants more pimpage than my best friend's sister.

Errr...  Her site warrants the pimpage, I mean.

Dana and Jen have gone and opened up a site with a line of clothes featuring some cool skater/punk/groovy designs for those who're into awesomeness.

And it's not just chick wear, they've got some gear for the fellas as well.

If you get a chance, I suggest you go ahead and take a gander at fOoLhArDi and get yourself some stupid-fresh-all up in your eye hole gear.

Boldly go, where no man, woman, kitty, ferret, dingo...

Say hello to the "water bear".  Or rather tardigrades, as they are more commonly known (by who, I don't know, cause for most I guarantee they have heard of neither term).

Tardigrades are small, water-dwelling segmented animals with eight legs.  The biggest adults may reach a body length of 1.5mm, the smallest below 0.1mm. Freshly hatched larvae may be smaller than 0.05mm.

Tardigrades are able to survive in extreme environments that would kill almost any other animal. Some can survive temperatures close to absolute zero, temperatures as high as 151 °C (303 °F), 1,000 times more radiation than any other animal, nearly a decade without water, and now, even the vacuum of space.

That's right folks, scientists have taken two species of tardigrades and ventured them into the great beyond on an ESA satellite a year ago.  After 10 days in space, the little guys were brought back for study.  It was found that the Sun's UV rays, 1,000 times stronger in space than here on Earth, would oddly act as tardigrade Kryptonite.  Of those shielded from the rays, nearly 70% went on to reproduce successfully.  Of those exposed to the Sun, almost all of them died.  Still, the intrepid buggers are now the first creature ever known to be able to survive in open space.

THE VACUUM OF FUCKING SPACE!!!

What's this mean?  It means we're learning, all the time folks.  Dream, people.  Cause it's all possible.

Welcome To Jerry Siegel's This Ol' Fortress of Solitude.

I was about 2 or 3 years old.

And yeah, I was a fan of Superman.

Flash forward 30 years later, and the fanboy is still a fan, though no longer a boy.

Superman was created by Joe Shuster and Jerry Siegel, a couple of guys who had no idea at the time, that they created one of the most iconic characters in history.

Sadly, they never got to see the fruits of their labors (they lost battles to keep the copyright of the character for 30 years) until the twilight of their lives.

Folks may hear the name Shuster and Siegel and never bat an eye.  Mention Superman, and they know exactly who you're talking about.  A sad fact but at the very least the creators can take some solace in leaving a kryptonian footprint on the face of this little planet.

And fortunately those who want to embark on a voyage into history can take it upon themselves to go visit Jerry Siegel's house (since Joe Shuster's house was demolished), and soak in a little piece of Americana.

Of course you'll be appalled to find that what you're more likely soaking in is rain water coming from the missing roof since the house has fallen into disarray.  You'll see a house painted red and blue (seriously), owned by a very sweet old couple.  And walking in, you'll be able to see the missing ceiling, cracked walls, missing sheet rock...  Well words don't do it justice...

For shame Cleveland.

The folks over at Ordinary People Change The World are trying to rectify this situation.  Brad Meltzer and Mike San Giacomo are spearheading the Siegel and Shuster Society in order to try to raise money to restore and save the Siegel house.  The house where Superman was created.

So if you can, please, bid, buy, or donate to the Siegel and Shuster Society.  It's the very least we can do for the guys who gave us the greatest Superhero of all time.

Today was my one-hundred and eleventieth birthday.

Thirty-second, actually.

Alas thirty-two years is far too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable people.

I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.

I, uh... I...  have things to do...

I've put this off for far too long.

I am happy to announce, this is not the end.

I'm going, for now - I bid you all a very fond farewell.

Good-bye.

Beyond the Sea...

For those unaware, a baby humpback whale named Colin was lost in Sydney harbor earlier this week.  The little guy was found trying to suckle on boats in the harbor, after many attempts to have the little guy join other pods out in the ocean, Colin would just come back and try to suckle on the boat.

He was euthanized today, amongst a lot of heartbreak.

It's strange when the best in humanity shines brightest when they come together to help out a defenseless creature.

It's a shame that they can't do the same for each other unless there's a disaster.

Be careful what you ask for, no?