Another conversation between the wife and I last night:

CAREY: Hey, Jer. Did you hear about this new Pirate movie that just came out?

JER: Yeah...?

CAREY: It's rated "Arrrrrr!"

How can you not love this woman?

We're getting down to the wire, here.

Our Escrow was scheduled to close tomorrow, but Keston assures us that it'll be late. Our loan documents have been ordered and we'll probably be signing them on Friday. Typically, we can close Escrow about 3 business days later after signing the loan stuff (as long as we can cover the closing costs... just checked the old bank account and, phew, we do have enough in our account to make that happen. Hooray!).

So, we need to be out of our own place by the 17th (which should be plenty of time). We'll probably sign the loan stuff on Friday, verify it all on Monday, leave for Ohio on Tuesday, get back the following Tuesday (by which time our Escrow should be finished), and have 4 days to spare to move into our new home.

Yeah, it does seem tight.

Speaking of home-owning, I got a chance to see the new/in-process/future homes of my Dad, sister Erin, and Mom (respectively) over the weekend. Dad's place: what can I say? It's a friggin' mansion. Although he might not appreciate my saying so here... the guy has done very well for himself. I will never live in a place this astonishingly extravagant. Huge house, huge rooms, huge finished basement, 3 car garage, 5 bathrooms, every amenity one could imagine, beautiful property... gulp. And, as soon as Pat's kids are off to college, this'll all be for two people. The insurance business pays, ladies and gentlemen, and if you don't believe me, visit Wadsworth, Ohio.

Erin's place was similarly amazing. "Greg [husband] wants us to look like we have more money than we actually have," she told me. Job well done, Greg, because this is one luxurious estate... I'm not acquainted with too many 25-yr-old couples that are able to build their own 4 bedroom place with a studio loft. Have to hand it to my little sis... this is some setup.

As for Mom's... well, at the moment it's just a very large hole in the earth. Nice neighborhood, though, and if the houses in the surrounding area are any indication, this will be one sweet pad. Until that time, she and her husband will be moving into an apartment with a six month lease.

And my other sister Lauren's new home looks to be pretty spectacular also (from the photos I've seen anyhow).

How did my family wind up so successful? Sheesh! And I thought we were doing well for settling down with a little 2-bed, 2-bath in Long Beach.
...

So, Dad's in Hawaii right now with his new bride. He gave me a quick call yesterday to report that he's having the time of his life. Since this is his third time in the Aloha State, he fairly well knows it like the back of his hand and he's taking great pleasure in showing Pat around. Nothing like a 10-day honeymoon to start things off with fireworks.
...

And, in other news, I'm falling behind on some deadlines. Unfortunately, work doesn't worry about my vacation/Escrow situation, so it's time to kick things into high gear.

But has anyone noticed how well I've been doing with Blogging lately? Aren't you proud? Well?

And home.

The flights were an interesting experience. A thunderstorm caused my Akron-to-Atlanta flight to delay about a 1/2 hour (which made me nervous... my Atlanta-to-LA connect was only supposed to have a 50 minute layover... all worked out in the end, though). After what's easily the most thourough security check I've ever experienced (I nearly told the guy with the metal detecting wand that if we wanted to go THAT far he should at least buy me a drink or two... when it was all over, I muttered a half-complaint and the security person said, "yeah, but admit it: you feel a lot safer." Phht! Uh-huh, thanks for the safety. Shawshank-Prison-style security I can do without, sweetheart), I boarded the plane.

Next to me sat a teenage guy with all manner of piercings. He spent most of the flight poring over his issue of Maxim, particularly the Anna Kournikova pin-ups. His girlfriend beside him didn't seem to mind, though. With about 30 minutes left in the journey, he turned and asked me the question that no airline passenger should ever have to hear: "Say, you don't mind if I dip, do ya?"

Got off the plane, bolted to the next concourse to board the plane to LA. I was seated in the very back row, but, as luck would have it, I had the whole row to myself (which was odd. The rest of the plane was jam-packed). I was able to stretch out a little and I even had room to operate the laptop and get some writing done (an impossibility on other flights). After a bit, a disgusted-looking chick saw me in my mini-apartment back there and eyed me jealously. "Do you care if I sit back here instead?"

I told her it was fine, but it was easy to see that she was trying to let me know that she didn't want to be hit on. She was very attractive, so I understand her trepidation, but... you know, it's one of those weird social situations where I wish I could just be honest and put her fears to rest, but I can't do it without over-stepping some sort of relational boundary between airportangers... "Sure you can sit here and no, I won't try to hit on you. I can see that you're just a tired girl on her way to LA and the last thing in the world you want to deal with right now is some scraggly-haired guy's awkward advances. But, fear not, I'm happily married, so I'd never even consider such a thing. So, let's keep this cordial. No defensiveness required. If you want to take up two seats to take a nap, you're more than welcome and I won't take it as a sign that you're "interested." In turn, don't begrudge me using the tray in the seat between us so that I can use my laptop. Deal?"

Got to LA and... no Carey. I went to the baggage claim. No Carey. I got my bag and went to a payphone. No change. Found a payphone that accepted debit cards. Wouldn't scan properly. Tried calling her cell collect. "This phone will not accept collect calls." So I waited. No Carey.

Finally she showed up, but not before I'd grown tired and annoyed. As it turns out, she'd gotten lost on the way and couldn't find the AirTran baggage claim. Not her fault. Even though I wanted to strangle somebody at that point, it was good to see her. We were both terribly hungry, so we decided that Subway at midnight was a splendid idea.

And home. Hello, cats. Hello, bills. Hello, Escrow and work and unanswered emails & phone messages and responsibilities. Hello, So-Cal.

It's good to be back.

Yesterday marked Carey's and my one year anniversary of arriving in Long Beach. (Has it already been a year?) I decided to celebrate this glorious occasion back in the Akron/Canton, Ohio area, visiting for Dad's wedding. I'm posting right now from Mom's computer.

The wedding was a quick, understated affair. Yes, it really all went to plan. I'd never really met Pat's family beyond a wink-and-handshake a couple years back, so that was interesting. "Er. Hi. So. Apparently, we're step-whatevers. I'm Jeremy." Gary Underwood, who officiated our own wedding, paid Dad the same courtesy. We like to keep everything simple, we Bears.

Dinner afterward at The Galaxy in Wadsworth, which was very delicious. Still didn't talk to much Pat's family, but I guess that's just the nature of the beast. Everyone sort of stuck to their side. They all seemed like pleasant enough people, but I think they thought I was a bit of a creepy character. Well, who can blame them? Have you seen me lately?

Spent the night at Mom's and sort of hung out with the family on Saturday. Celebrated Mom's birthday at the Outback Steakhouse with everyone. 12 oz. sirloins and some special birthday drinks for Mom. I won't say she was tipsy, but take two vodka & tonics and add one 95 lb. woman with 0% body fat. You can do the math for yourself. It was a pretty good time.

So, that takes us to today. Bit of panic as I was told about 2 hours before my flight that it was cancelled due to storms in Chicago. Several frustrated phone calls later, I'm now on a slightly later flight, connecting in Atlanta. Phew.

Hm. Atlanta. It's been awhile.

Anyhow, the flight leaves in about 1.5 hours, so I'll be out the door any second. Yeah, I usually meander a little more with these posts, but I'm in a bit of a hurry. Besides, I miss my wife terribly and I want to make sure I'm not late.

So, that's it. Next stop Los Angeles (by way of Georgia). Be seeing you.

First of all, right off the bat, Happy Birthday Mom! G'wan, you thought I'd forgotten! Didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?

I won't embarrass her by giving out her age, but I will say she's easily the sweetest lady ever born in 1955.

(Just did some quick mental-math... apparently, Mom became pregnant for me about a week or two after her 20th birthday. Great Scott! Who knows what she might have sacrificed, in terms of sanity, had I not been such a little angel.)
...

The Kyle Baker Story:

As I mentioned a couple evenings ago, I've been a fan of writer/artist Kyle Baker for about half my life or so. His irreverent wit (have you noticed how wit is always "irreverent"? When's the last time you heard someone's wit described as "respectful and traditional"? As in, "boy that comedian is hilarious... he really manages to avoid shaking things up!") and superb cartooning has inspired a lot of my own material.

Unfortunately, his newest stuff hasn't exactly bowled me over. His art is as strong as ever, but his humor has become slightly milquetoast in recent years. No biggie. He's a family man these days, so I imagine some of the cynical, urban edge is bound to wear away a little.

Case in point, his graphic novel that hit the stands about a year ago, King David (an accurate, Biblical retelling of the story of David from the Old Testament). While I've terrific respect for Kyle's talent (and the subject matter of this book), I didn't care much for this particular piece of work. I felt that Kyle let me down, frankly. So, I logged onto Amazon.com and wrote a less-than-favorable review.

Here's the review:



Fast-forward a year. Kyle produced a special comic specifically for San Diego Comic-Con attendees. I bought the comic when I visited the Kyle Baker booth (he was even good enough to write a note to me and do a little doodle on the cover). The comic was called The New Baker (a spoof on The New Yorker magazine) and I have to say: the old wit and cynicism is back. It's the Kyle Baker I remember... funny, biting, sarcastic, clever. I was delighted.

Then I got to the "letters" section of the comic.

Kyle Baker being Kyle Baker, he manufactured his own "fan mail" (with responses from himself) to print on his letters page. I was especially taken aback by the first letter.

Here's what I saw:



Yeah, that's right. He'd peeled my review off Amazon.com to make fun of it and gave me a geeky Dungeons-and-Dragons name for added oomph. Apparently, what I'd written had pissed him off a bit. It's probably a good thing he didn't know who I was when I met him.

Anyhow, I think I might have almost been offended if I hadn't been laughing hysterically.

Darn it, now I'm a bigger fan than ever.
...

Well, I'm headed to Ohio tomorrow for Papa Bear's wedding. It's plane rides all day long and the wedding in the evening. My swell buddy Kris Fowler is being kind enough to lend me his laptop for the plane ride so that I can attempt to catch up on the writing of this musical (on which I'm painfully, painfully behind).

So I'm excited. I love plane rides. I love taking off and spending hours up there with a book or a sketchpad while the Earth whizzes past below me at about 400 mph or so. I love setting my ginger ale on the little trays that fold out. I love looking out the window at the clouds and the wee little city lights at night. Man, I even love those little plane magazines and catalogues filled with over-priced crap that no sane person will ever buy (a karaoke machine that fits in your shower? A bookmark with a clock at the top? A travel-fruit-dehydrator? Come on! Seriously!).

But, besides all that, it's been a year and I have to admit that I miss home. I've gotten used to palm trees and low humidity and ridiculous traffic/parking and unreasonable property values, though. I wonder if I'm in for some culture shock.

Comic-Con International 2003.

What a huge, flaming, tiring day. I've warned readers in the past about my geeking out on this Blogger, and this entry will be no exception. Ready?

Traffic was a breeze until we actually approached the San Diego convention center. Forget comics, this was one of the largest conventions of any kind in history. We (me, Carey and my friend from work Chad Meshek) waited for what seemed like hours as thousands of attendees poured into the convention hall and made parking a miserable nightmare. In the end, we parked about a half mile away and hoofed it.

I'd never been to the San Diego Con before, but... well... it's hard to describe. Everything that's held my interest in the past 20 years was represented: comics, film, art... huge, glorious displays. 30 ft. banners of superheroes and comic logos and posters. Movie trailers. Artists hawking their wares. Small press. Independents. Big names. Little names. Legendary pros and struggling up-and-comers... all there under one roof.

Heaven.

Right off the bat, I headed straight for the Kyle Baker booth. If you've read my Recommended Reading bit on my homepage, you might remember that I've been an enormous fan of writer/artist Baker for... jeez, about 13 years now. His books have inspired much of my own writing and art and it was a thrill to meet him in person. He was selling copies of his exclusive-to-San-Diego-Con-attendees new comic The New Baker (The subject of a truly outrageous story that I'll explain later). I bought a copy, shook his hand, and told him how long I've dug his stuff. He thanked me and we rapped a little bit about his career and he even told me the Reader's Digest version of how he came to publish my personal all-time fave, Why I Hate Saturn. A pretty nice guy and he even mentioned a few projects of his that I should keep an eye out for.

We continued to walk around and eventually got to the DC comics booth, which was a sprawling metroplex of sights, sounds, and pro talent. Jill Thompson. Brian Azzarello. Bill Willingham. Duncan Fegredo. Dan Jurgens. Names I've known since high school and there they were, big as life, talking to fans and producing sketches and hyping their stuff.

And Colleen Doran had a setup. "She drew Sandman," I told Carey, who seemed impressed (it was still early in the day). Colleen was much skinnier than I'd pictured her.

And Eric Shanower had a setup. Good writer. Great artist. Eisner winner (comic book version of an Oscar). I'd heard he was gay, but nothing could have prepared me for the dangly earrings.

Before long, it was time to attend the Neil Gaiman panel. Neil is still the best. Since he didn't have anything prepared, he fielded questions for an hour. He gave info on his movie stuff and his novel stuff and his children's book stuff and, of course, his upcoming comics. He was obviously tired and worn, but he was also obviously doing his best to maintain his energy level for the fans. Everyone adores Neil.

After Neil, we ate lunch. Hot dogs and coke at one of the concession stands. Chad even managed to wrestle a table away from other attendees. We'd only been there for a few hours and already Carey was showing signs of fatigue. We shared a table with a convention organizer named Ruth. "It's pretty busy, isn't it?" I asked her.

"It's outrageous. I've been doing this for years and I've never seen anything like it. Even sports teams don't pack in fans like this."

"Oh yeah?"

"And the costumes walking around! Darth Vaders and Klingons and Spider-Mans and wizards and... I saw one woman who was naked except for a little skirt and duct tape over her nipples."

"Yikes."

"We're way understaffed. WAY understaffed."

We finished eating and it was time to hit the con floor again. We went to the CrossGen booth (another sight to behold, bested only by DC) and there was George Perez, doing a sketch for a fan. George-friggin'-Perez. "He's one of the reasons I became an artist," I told Carey and Chad. They told me to tell George that, but I didn't. He probably gets that kind of crap all the time.

And Neal Adams had his own booth. Neal-friggin'-Adams. There aren't too many legends in comics bigger than Neal-friggin'-Adams. His was the definitive Batman of the 1970s. The definitive X-Men of the 60s. Oft-imitated, rarely duplicated. Big deal, right? Well, it is if you're a comics fan.

Chatted with Eddie Campbell a bit at the Top Shelf table.

JER: Hey, Eddie. Big fan. I know you hear this every other second, but From Hell was remarkable. Really, really amazing stuff.

EDDIE: Thanks.

JER: What's it like to work with Alan Moore? Do you live near each other?

EDDIE: God, no. He's in England and I'm Australian. No, Alan... well, the stories you've heard about him are all true, you know? He's a mad genius.

Went to the Fantagraphics table (a company that's still, thankfully, in business). Bought a comic and chatted with editor Dirk Deppey (whom I've already talked with online... interesting to meet him face-to-face) about why superhero comics are mostly shite and, unfortunately, non-superhero comics are rarely much better. But things are changing, thank God. Nice guy.

Bumped into a short, bearded guy trying to give me a free comic. The guy turned out to be Steve Conley, who's stuff I've liked for awhile. Steve is literally a legend on the internet... designer, illustrator, producer. Everyone knows his story: he chucked it all to do comics on the web with the idea that banner ads could support his career. He's not quite there, but he's making a go of it. We talked for awhile. I told him how much I enjoyed his work and, by the end of it, I felt as if we were old pals. Nice guy, that Steve.

Then, I started the font wars... hhh...

A little background: comics are rarely hand-lettered in this day and age. There are two big forces in the comic-font-lettering industry: Comicraft and Blambot. Comicraft is an established company, beautiful fonts and talented designers. Expensive fonts, though, if you want to download them for yourself. Blambot, on the other hand, is basically one guy named Nate. Talented designer in his own right, but he can afford to do some very cool fonts on his website and provide them for free (only charging for the "premium" fonts). I've used Blambot stuff many times (on my own site in many cases). Anyhow, I walked up to the Comicraft table and...

JER: Hi, you guys have some really terrific stuff. I have a lot of respect for the art of fontography. It's not easy.

COMICRAFT GUY: Thanks. Yeah, we try our best.

JER: Comicraft puts out wonderful work. Do you design any of the fonts?

COMICRAFT GUY: Me? Some of them, yeah. You have to have a passion for it. I love it.

JER: That's great. Yeah, I also like Blambot's stuff. You know them?

COMICRAFT GUY: ...

JER: Uh, is that a sore subject.

COMICRAFT GUY: No, not really. Not any more. It's fine. He... well, the guy who does the Blambot fonts...

JER: He provides a lot of them for free, which is nice.

COMICRAFT GUY: Oh, of course it's nice. Too bad he stole some of the fonts from us and represented that they were his own.

JER: He did?!

COMICRAFT GUY: Oh yeah. We had a stern word with him and he's toeing the line lately, but... well, I can't say I respect Blambot all that much. That's all.

JER: Sheesh.

Later, I hit the Blambot booth.

JER: Hey, are you the Blambot guy? Man, I've used and abused your fonts many times! Thanks! Great work!

NATE: Thank you! They're fun to do.

JER: Definitely, man. You are truly talented. Say, I never knew there was any bad blood between you and Comicraft. I always assumed you guys were just friendly rivals.

NATE: What do you mean?

JER: Just... well, I never knew you had it out with those guys. As in... uh...

NATE: "Had it out?"

JER: Whuh... Sorry, I probably shouldn't be stoking the flames.

NATE: No, no. It's okay. What did they say?

JER: Well, you know... that you'd... that you'd stolen, uh, fonts from them and... and that's it.

NATE: ...

JER: You mean that didn't happen?

NATE: ...No. That didn't happen.

JER: Oh. Well... that's all good then. Well, don't kill the messenger, hahah. Uh.

NATE: ...

JER: So, keep up the good work, then.

NATE: Yeah. Thanks.

Nate sat back down, fuming. When am I going to learn?

One of my personal heroes in the world of comics publishing is Larry Young, who founded the indy comics company AIT/PlanetLar. Larry, about a year or two ago, was the first guy to have the guts to say, "little, cheap, 22-page comics should be a thing of the past. They're outdated and stupid and who the hell wants to wait month-to-month to find out how a story ends? Enough manipulation. From now on, we're only publishing trade paperbacks and complete graphic novels. No more "pamphlets." It's what the fans want."

And he's right. I'd much rather have stuff for my bookshelf than my spinner-rack. I walked up to Larry and said:

JER: Larry Young? I just wanted to meet you and say hello. You're one of my heroes, man. Thanks for publishing the kind of stuff fans want to read.

LARRY: Are you kidding? I'm your hero?!

JER: Well, yeah...

LARRY: Wow! Thanks, man! You just made my day!

JER: Well... you're welcome. When you issued a press release saying you were done with the pamphlets and were doing GNs and trades only, I thought, "right on! Finally, somebody who really gets it!"

LARRY: Oh, jeez, that's the coolest thing I've... [to his wife] hey, Mimi! Mimi!

MIMI: Yeah?

LARRY: Listen to what this guy just said to me. [to Jer] Tell my wife what you just said.

JER: Um. Okay, I just... was saying that publishing graphic novels instead of... ah...

LARRY: He said I'm his hero.

MIMI: Are you kidding?

LARRY: He said it! He just now said it!

MIMI: [to Jer] You said that to him?

JER: Yeah.

LARRY: I think that should let me off the hook from taking out the garbage for a few days, don't you, sweetie?

MIMI: Forget it.

LARRY: Come on! I'm a hero!

MIMI: Yeah, yeah, hero.

Another really fantastic guy. My dream is to publish with Larry Young. He thanked me again, signed a couple of books for me, and told me that it was guys like me that made it worthwhile. Jeez.

Let's see, what else. Oh, at one point Carey said to me, "Jer, look over there. It's that guy you like."

"What guy?"

"That one guy. Movie guy. Q-something."

"Q?"

I turned and, sure enough, about 4 feet away was Quentin Tarantino. I briefly considered saying hello, but thought better of it. The guy was already starting to get mobbed.

Chad was really into the action figure stuff and he's a big fan of Image comics, especially the stuff from about 10 years ago. In fact, we spent a good amount of time looking for Rob Liefeld's booth (who published the first Image comic ever). On the way, we saw a table that said "Gary Chalk... the voice of Optimus Prime from The Transformers".

JER: Seriously, you're the voice of Optimus Prime?

GARY: Yup, that's me.

JER: Man, I used to love that show! Whatdayaknow! So, tell me: how many times have you been asked to say "Autobots... roll out!" today?

GARY: You know, this would be the first time today. Usually, I get that all the time.

JER: Oh, yeah? Say it!

GARY: Well, okay... [gets into character] "Autobots! Roll out!"

JER: ...

GARY: And then they all transform and roll out...

JER: Yeah... um, that didn't really sound like him.

GARY: No?

JER: Wait, were you the original Optimus Prime?

GARY: Oh no. You mean the one that did it in the 80s? No, that guy's much older.

JER: Oh. Well, okay. Thanks anyhow.

GARY: [as Jer is walking away] Maybe I just didn't say it very good...

There were other celebrities there, though. For example, I saw Lou Ferigno (the original Incredible Hulk!). I was tempted to walk up and say hello, but he had a booth where he was charging $20 to meet him and sign an autograph. Would've been nice to say hello, but not 20 bucks worth of nice.

Well, the day was just packed with cool stuff to see and do. Artist's Alley was filled with pros doing sketches, some mediocre, some spectacular. The small-press section had, as expected, a bunch of wanna-bes, nearly-theres, and no-chance-in-hells. Interesting stuff. There was original art for sale (the Alex Ross table was outstanding... too bad Ross himself wasn't there... phht!). Gaming stuff, exclusive movie trailers, bookstores, retail outlets, free posters and comics... the works.

At about 5:30, it was time for the other panel I was interested in, the British comics creators panel featuring Grant Morrison, the best writer in comics (behind Gaiman and Moore of course). By that time, Chad was tired, Carey was grumpy and I convinced them that what they REALLY needed to soothe the aches and pains was a nice, comfortable chair at a Brit-comix panel. They grudgingly agreed.

When we got there, the previous panel hadn't quite ended (it was called "Femme Fatales" and it was basically a bunch of porn actresses talking about their latest Playboy pinups and their respective struggles to get into Hollywood. The room was filled with sleazy-looking guys and their obnoxious boners. The girls did a pretty nice job of teasing the audience enough to keep them interested and then making fun of them when they seemed too interested. There was a 4 year old in the audience, which made me upset... then I realized that the 4 year old was the daughter of one of the pornstars (who apparently thought it a great idea to discuss the slut business with a roomful of horny men in front of her kid), which made me madder. Finally, the panel ended, and the Brit creators came in. They started with an announcement: "Unfortunately, Grant Morrison is unable to attend. Sorry." The room cleared out almost immediately. We left too. Darn that Grant!

So, with aching muscles and my carrying bag filled with nearly 100 bucks worth of graphic novels and free stuff, we called it a day. We met Kirk Millett (another friend from work who came to the con) and his friend Kim and decided to cap off the evening with a drink and appetizers at a local pub.

It was over and we were totally beat.

We arrived back in Long Beach at around 11:00 PM and caught the tail end of a get-together for a friend of ours who was in town, Kent Currie. We didn't stay long, though.

And that was that. What a day.

Oh, tomorrow I'll tell the Kyle Baker story. It's a doozy.

Night night.

In today's Blog:

- The Final Fate of... Darryl?!
- Farewell LA and Orange County -or- T-Minus 5 Days and Counting
- Inspiration for only a Quarter
- All the News that Isn't Fit to Print
- The Wolfe Family: Eight is... Enough?
- An Itenerary of Sorts
- The Best Movie I've Seen All Year Had No Screenplay
- The Diabolical Carey Bear -or- Today Long Beach... Tomorrow THE WORLD!

...and...

- Our Big News

...

The Final Fate of... Darryl?!

So I took a trip down to the post office and showed them our mailman's inept scrawling. I was directed to a supervisor named Ricky. After two minutes of attempting to decipher the rambling, his brow was creased severely. Apparently, Ricky hadn't access to the Rosetta Stone required to sift through Darryl's impenetrable pseudo-language either.

RICKY: Hnnn... well, that's.... hn.

JER: Ricky, I'll tell you the truth: the fact that this note is semi-literate at best was very disturbing.

RICKY: Yeah, I'm certainly disturbed by it. And this isn't the first trouble Darryl's given you?

JER: Consistently mangled mail, lost letters and packages, talking about us to our neighbors behind our backs... no, this isn't the first trouble. His note mentions this being our "last warning". I'm trying to remember our "first" warning, honestly.

RICKY: Uh huh. Listen, do you want to know how Darryl should have handled this? If your mailbox really was too full, that is?

JER: Okay.

RICKY: He should have stuck an official notice that we give to our carriers on your mailbox that says "your box was full, please pick up your mail at the Post Office". Ten day notices are reserved for delinquents or people on vacation who want their mail to temporarily stop. It's not supposed to be used as a "warning" for any reason.

JER: I see. So, do you have any of our mail here then?

RICKY: I'll check. Hhh... listen. This, uh, this isn't the first complaint we've had about Darryl.

JER: No?

RICKY: Oh no. You're in 90802, right? Appleton Street? Yeah, we've had multiple incidents. We had to resolve something just last week. So... well, how 'bout you let me make a copy of this note and... would you mind writing out a formal complaint? It would help to have a record, you know.

JER: No problem. Just write out what our experience has been and...?

RICKY: Yeah, anything you can remember. It's Darryl's day off today, but come Monday we're going to sit down and have a little talk. Something's going on down in 90802 and I'm going to get to the bottom of it.

JER: Okay. I'll get that to you as soon as I can.

Ricky checked and, nope, no mail was held for us, so I guess it was just a bluff or something. I haven't had time to run back up there and turn in my statement yet, but ho boy. You'd better believe I'm not letting this go.
...

Farewell LA and Orange County -or- T-Minus 5 Days and Counting

I can't remember if I've already mentioned this, but this may in fact be the longest single stretch of time I've remained in one area without leaving. For the past solid year, I've restricted my travels to LA and Orange County. I guess, in the quest to become a Southern Californian, I've used the Super-Saturation method. Even in all the years I spent growing up in Ohio and Georgia, etc. there was usually at least some sort of family trip or small reason to journey outside the county. Not so here.

But in 5 days, I'm headed to San Diego for Comic-Con International 2003. While I'm very pumped to finally live out my childhood geek-dream, I'm also excited to go SOMEwhere that isn't here.

I love LA and Orange County, don't get me wrong, I really do. But I'm beginning to feel like the boy in the bubble.
...

Inspiration for only a Quarter

Speaking of comics, a quick plug: Scott McCloud (who's book Understanding Comics is currently the Recommended Reading on my homepage) has been championing the idea of web-comics for several years. He's a brilliant creator in his own rite and he's recently completed the first issue of his latest opus entitled The Right Number. It's a great story, a great premise, an interesting approach, and it's a bona-fide web comic.

And it only costs 25 cents.

Seriously, check it out. I mean, come on! You can gamble a lousy quarter, can't you? Oh, and if you couldn't care less about comics and would just as soon forget about the medium altogether... you're the one who really needs to take a look. No superheroes, no kids cartoons, no embarrassing dialogue. Just a good read. In fact, if you take a look and decide you don't like it... phht! I'll give you your quarter back. Now, look at you, all out of excuses.

Click here to see for yourself (Content Rating: PG-13)

(Incidentally, I've admired McCloud for awhile and I wrote him an email over the weekend to let him know how much I enjoyed The Right Number. A few hours later, he replied with his thanks. How's that for being a nice guy?)
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All the News that Isn't Fit to Print

Bit of a shake-up over the weekend. Kind of personal, so it's probably not my place to post in a Blogger. Oh, not about me, mind you: it's about Dad.

Shoot, I've already said too much. I'm shutting up.

Ah, screw it: Dad's getting married in about a week and a half, as most of us know. Well, some pre-marital jitters nearly put the brakes on things, but Dad assures me that everything's back on track. So the good news is, there's no news. Normally, I wouldn't post anything, but what can I say? It's on my mind! Sue me for caring!

Hang in there, Dad & Pat. We're all rooting for you. Just eleven more days! Deep breaths!
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The Wolfe Family: Eight is... Enough?

My Aunt Sue is pregnant with her... her... hang on a sec. Okay, I'm back. Little quick-math there. Her sixth! That's right, eight people under one roof. (And I used to live under that very roof, so make no mistake: that's no small feat. How they're going to clown-car eight people into that place is beyond me.)

So, that's my Aunt Sue, Uncle Joe, cousins Josh, Matt, Joe, Caleb, Hannah and a little bundle of precious we're referring to as The X Factor. A boy? A girl? Who knows! Does it matter? After all, it's a question of ratios at this point.
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An Itenerary of Sorts

So, we're visiting Ohio and Pennsylvania August 5-12. That's Tuesday to Tuesday for those who don't know. Friends and family have been requesting an itenerary, so here it is:

August 5: Fly into Cleveland late afternoon. We'll be picked up and whisked down to the Akron/Canton area.
August 6: Drive to York, Pennsylvania to spend time with the Moyers and other friends and family on the Carey side. We may have enough energy to leave for PA the night before, but we're not counting on it.
August 7: Spend the day in Pennsylvania and begin the trip back to Ohio in the late afternoon/early evening.
August 8: Visit with friends and family in the Akron/Canton area. Lauren's wedding rehearsal and dinner in the evening.
August 9: Lauren's wedding, dawn-til-dusk.
August 10: Early, early, early drive to Columbus for church and visit with old friends.
August 11: Spend the day with Columbites and return to the Akron/Canton area in the evening.
August 12: Drive to Cleveland and take wing back to Southern California

Whew.

Unfortunately, we won't be able to spend more than two days anywhere and the entire trip is, of course, tailored around Lauren's wedding. Obviously, Columbus and PA are unmissable priorities so this was the plan that seemed to make the most sense. Thanks for your patience and understanding.
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The Best Movie I've Seen All Year Had No Screenplay

Run. Do not walk. Do not past GO. Do not collect $200. RUN to go see the most incredible documentary I've ever experienced: Capturing the Friedmans by Andrew Jarecki.

I'm an indy film fan. Indy films are movies in their most natural, unspoiled form. The singular vision of a director, captured and distributed, without the mindless interference of Hollywood spin-doctoring. They're not as slick, nor as pretty as the big studio blockbusters... but there's a purity there that you won't find in the latest $200-million Jerry Bruckheimer extravaganza.

Capturing the Friedmans is a documentary on the indy film circuit (you may have to hunt a little to find a theatre playing it in your vicinity) that tells the story of the Friedman family: 5 Jewish residents of Great Neck, New York whose lives were turned upside-down in 1988 by accusations of pedophilia and sodomy. The father, Arnold Friedman, was the accused. The youngest son, Jesse Friedman, was implicated. The oldest son, David Friedman, decided to take video footage of the intimate discussions, arguments, and chaos in the Friedman home throughout the entire debacle. The results are absolutely astonishing. A mind-bending experience. And, at the end, the audience has only one question on their minds, resonating over and over and over:

"But what really happened?"

I was so affected by the film that I've written to Jesse Friedman twice, via internet. Both times he's responded. I'm officially obsessed.

See this movie.
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The Diabolical Carey Bear -or- Today Long Beach... Tomorrow THE WORLD!

So it seems my wife is beginning Phase 2 of Operation: Vegan Planet. I'd mentioned her promotion to Floor Manager a few weeks ago. Well, recent managerial blood-letting at Virginia Country Club has left a few vacancies amonst the upper-echelon and Carey was offered another promotion, this time to Banquet and Catering Supervisor.

This is a pretty significant leap, espeically for someone who worked as a server just one month ago. The position is a salaried one and comes complete with some added health benefits for her hubby and a tidy little pay increase. (Couldn't have come at a better time, either). So, congratulations are in order for Carey Bear.

Hip hip hoorah!

At this rate, her utter domination of Southern California's food and beverage industry can't be far off.
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Our Big News

Today, Carey called me at work: "Hey, Jer. Good news. We got our loan."

We're in. It's almost too surreal to be... er, real. The process has gone by in a blur. We're really going to be home-owners in a few weeks and there's really nothing preventing the transaction. In fact, the current resident has already moved out. Yow.

The loan was approved, but with a few contingencies. I'd worried about that, but these particular contingencies are pretty manageable, I think. To wit:

-We must prove that we have Social Security Numbers
-We must prove that we were both employed in the year 2001
-We must prove that my place of employment in 2001 is still in existence and that it has a valid address and phone #
-We must prove that I still work at the same place I worked at two months ago.
-We must prove that we have enough Mutual Funds to cover a down payment

So, thank God. It's rare that I get all spiritual on this blog, but God's hand in our lives and our situation has been unmistakeably evident. Honestly, we could not have prayed for a better blessing. The credit is His.

And we're very, very exited.

A couple of semi-nervous, straggling points, however... We've tried to time our Escrow to close the weekend in between my dad's and sister's wedding so that we can bail out of here with perfect timing (our 1-year lease is up that weekend and it's the only free weekend for awhile that we'll be free to move in). However, until we meet the above contingencies, Escrow is on hold. Fortunately, we plan on meeting them all tomorrow, but the timing is still extremely tight.

But, man, game on. GAME ON!

A conversation last night:

CAREY: I made brownies! Try one!

JER: Yeah, right on! These are great, hon.

CAREY: You know, I wish I could just have brownies for dinner.

JER: Brownies for dinner!

CAREY: Yeah! You know, I'm going to do it! I might even eat the whole pan!

JER: Brownies for dinner!

CAREY & JER: BROWNIES FOR DINNER!

Man, I love being a grown-up.
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(click to enlarge)

"THIS LAST WARNING ABOUT. THIS MAILBOX BEING LOAD THAT I CAN'T THE NEXT DAY MAIL IN. YOU BE PICK IT UP AT POST OFFICE IT WILL BE PUT 10 DAY HOLD"

As everybody knows by now, we have an ongoing bout with our mail-carrier, Darryl. Darryl has no qualms about mangling our mail beyond recognition and being a thoughroughly unpleasant person. Now, we've gotten into the habit of checking our mail box each day to avoid his tirades but (as I'm sure happens with just about everybody) once in a blue moon we miss a day. Well, we missed a day last week (one day, mind you... ONE DAY) and Carey found a sticker on our mailbox from Darryl. I've provided a scan of it to the right.

So, it seems that this semi-literate has put our mail on a 10 day hold because WE FORGOT TO CHECK OUR MAIL ONE DAY. There will be some stern words with the Post Office, make no mistake.

I'll be so glad to be rid of Darryl for good in a few weeks. Good riddance, you Hell-born menace! Ptu!

"We get it, Jer. StudioMasterPro. He's a big, super-heroey guy. Nice artwork. We're all in awe. Enough."

No, no, it's not like that... it's just that I haven't gotten around to switching it to anything different. I've been busy.

"Sure."

I have! I've done loads of artwork since then. I just haven't posted it. It takes time to put together those little "What's New" features on the homepage. It's not like the book reviews where I've got a template or something.

"What, you can't spare an hour to make it appear to clients that you're actually running a business?"

Look, what do you want from me?

"Just change the homepage, will you?"

I told you--

"Tut! Change it."

Okay.

"CHANGE IT."

OKAY!

...

Cleaning out the dingy recesses of my closets here at JeremyBear.com and I unearthed a one-page script attempt that was even too abstract and nonsensical for me. It's been laying around for months, but, what the hey, I've decided to toss it out there. Listen, the title was next to impossible to write about, so what do you expect? Thanks a lot, John Koontz, you big hoser! Thanks for your big, fancy, impossible title! Hope you're happy! Bluegh! It's called Press Ablate when Ready and it gives me a headache.

And to bed.