An Original Zulli

Received a gorgeous item in the post over the weekend - an original page of painted comic art from "Creatures of the Night", published by Dark Horse last month. Written by Neil Gaiman, illustrated by Michael Zulli.

Ever since I saw Zulli's work in Sandman (most famously from "The Wake" storyline"), I've been awed by the talents of this gentleman. Beautiful, elegant linework seldom found in contemporary comics. Normally these types of pieces go for hundreds and, in some cases, thousands. I managed to snag it on eBay for... er... a lot less than that, put it that way. In fact, the seller wrote me a personal email two minutes after I'd won: "Congratulations: you REALLY don't know how lucky you are to have this piece at this price. REALLY."

Anyhow, I've been kicking around the idea of purchasing original art for years, actually, and I'm thrilled that my first-ever piece is a painted Zulli.

And Neil Gaiman wrote it. I mean come on.

So, it's off to the framing store with me.

Thanks for listening to me burble.

Oh and, as always, click to enlarge.

The iPod Shuffle

I was turned onto a trippy internet community-ish exercise - the iPod Shuffle.

The rules: first, set your iPod to shuffle.

Second, write down the first 10 tracks that come up, no matter how strange or embarrassing. No cheating. No "enh, that's not really a good representation of what's on my usual playlist." Forget it, slim - THE FIRST 10.

Third, publish the results on your weblog/website.

I just did it. Here's my list:

1) Beck - Good Stuff (Live)
2) Sheryl Crow - Love is a Good Thing
3) Beastie Boys - Stand Together
4) Alanis Morissette - You Oughta Know
5) Michael Jackson - History
6) Matt Hoffland - Heaven Medley (There Is Coming A Day; Softly And Tenderly)
7) Ben Folds Five - Cigarette
8) The White Stripes - I'm Finding it Harder to be a Gentleman
9) Kasey Chambers - A Million Tears
10) John Lennon & Yoko Ono - Hard Times Are Over

Huh. It's a little more poppy and vanilla than I'd expected. To be honest, I was hoping for something a little weirder. Ah well. That's The Shuffle for you.

Send me yours!
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Spent the morning at Willow Medical Center. Ear infection.

Feeling much better now that they've flushed my ear canals and given me antibiotic drops... aren't you glad you tuned in today?

(Fun with nurses:

As close friends and family know, I've been deaf in my left ear since kindergarten. Consequently, I can't always tell when it's stopped up with wax. The nurse who was flushing funk from my ears was amazed that I had no awareness of the copious piles of garbage that had built up in my left ear, but she demonstrated all the appropriate pity when I mentioned to her that I'd been half-deaf since age 5. Finally, she extracted a huge gob and showed it to me.

"Ew," I said. "Gross. Wait a minute... I can hear! After all these years - a miracle!"

Her jaw dropped. "OH MY GOD! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"

"No," I admitted, "but that would've been pretty cool, wouldn't it?")
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Matt Stechschulte is a good Columbus buddy that we moved away from, just as Carey and I were starting to enjoy getting to know him and his wife. Anyhow, I usually don't read e-mail forwards, much less publish them on my website, but I was so intrigued with the one he sent earlier today, I felt it necessary to share with the world.

A friend of his received an invoice from a tire company. It's below (click to enlarge):



The implications are mind-blowing. An invoice ministry! Much more effective in winning potential saints than fishy car magnets or the "Footprints" poem hanging on the wall of your cubicle.

Hey, I'm not making fun. At least the Marysville Service Center had the good sense to wedge the Good News in there before they hit the customer with that 7% sales tax. Hats off!

Vanity?

DAD: Oh, before I forget - I need the help of you and your Blogger friends.

ME: Yeah?

DAD: Yeah. You know I've had those vanity plates for awhile, right? "RBEAR 1".

ME: Sure.

DAD: Well, I've decided to retire the RBEAR 1 and get something different. I'm tired of having my name on there.

ME: What are you going to get?

DAD: I don't know, that's why I'm asking. I saw one in Florida that was pretty good. It said "T 1 UP". Like "Tee One Up." Like golf. I thought that was pretty clever.

ME: Right, right. Okay, so you want me to give you some ideas?

DAD: Well, I thought maybe you could make it like a contest or a sweepstakes. Have everybody give suggestions and we'll pick the best one!

ME: Ah. Well, what are the prizes?

DAD: Uh. I don't know. The privilege of being mentioned on your blogger maybe?

ME: Ehh... I don't usually ask people to do anything for the sake of my online journal. It's kinda...

DAD: Oh, okay, I see. But you can mention it, right?

ME: Sure, no problem. I'll throw something on there. Who knows? Maybe you'll get a couple of suggestions.

DAD: Great!

ME: Well, I just pulled into work, so I gotta go.

DAD: Okay, bud. Oh, one last thing...

ME: Yeah?

DAD: Don't put my e-mail address on there. I don't want to give it out.

Temperatures in the mid-80s, and y'all can suck it

Granted, it's a little hotter than normal around here for January, but I keep hearing reports of near-zero climes in and around my old stomping grounds and I can't help but shoot a smug-ass wink & grin at all you Nanooks that shook your collective heads and clucked your tongues at Carey and me when we were packing up for So-Cal.

So, while you're all praying for your cars to warm up and watching your breath freeze in front of you, hopefully the thought of old Jeremy and Carey Bear in t-shirts and shorts, barbequeing on our balcony will ease the pain.
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Notice anything funny about Josh's "beard"? Look closer - IT'S BEES!

I keep forgetting to mention this, but how about a round of blog-applause for Josh Smith, huh? I went to high school with this jamoke who grew up to pen a clever little weblog of his own, bless his heart.

During the Christmas season, Josh hosted a very special Christmas contest (go ahead and read all about it here) in which participants were invited to come up with a clever interpretation of a Christmas ornament he made as a child. This Narcissus of the 'Net was even kind enough to provide an ornament template, complete with a photo of himself.

And, cheery soul that he is, he awarded some lovely Borders prizes to every participant. It's a public service blog! A groovy love-in! It's a snuggly hug on the internet, man! Needless to say, I'm glad I participated and I'm eagerly anticipating my brand new sketchbook. Hooray for Josh!

See? It pays to read and write internet journals, dude. What's your excuse?
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And speaking of the mighty blogosphere, it seems like friends and loved ones everywhere are beginning to spread their wings and throw themselves into the glorious gusts of internet stardom. In the past week or so alone, three different individuals have come to me and asked how to start up a weblog of their own.

Mad props to my very own boss, Drew Mehl, for jumping onboard with his own blog. If I know Drew, he's committed to keeping it interesting... and the guy will, without a doubt, agonize over each and every word. Well, good on ya, Drew, and blog ho! You'll soon be making sweet love to that "Publish Post" button without a second thought. Consider this your very first link from a reputable source... now, how about a raise? (Yuk yuk yuk!)

Oh, and my good friend Chad Meshek has a brand new website too. He says it's still in development, so I won't link to it just yet.

Whoops.
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Argh, this seems to be turning into one of those blogs about blogging. Well, it can't really be helped, can it?

I've had a couple of Blogger Buddies ask me why I've neglected to take advantage of some of the really cool perks of having a website journal... like, where are the links to friends' blogs? And how about providing a way to leave comments? And, what, no link to my Blogger profile? No permalinks? What gives?

Well... as far as the link list goes... I suppose I'm just deathly afraid of leaving someone out and pissing them off. I know, it's ridiculous. I'm always ecstatic when I find a link to my JeremyBear.com on someone else's website, so it's really no excuse. I suck. Look at me: I SUCK.

And the comments bit... hhh... dude, I'll be straight: I haven't provided a guestbook or a way to leave comments because I'm convinced it would depress me. At least I can sort of delude myself into thinking that people read these posts if I don't provide a method for leaving feedback. I can all-too-easily envision cobwebs growing in my comments box and the thought makes me a little nauseous. Honestly, have you ever met anyone less secure in your life? I'm an ass. Look at me: I'M AN ASS.

Can't remember where it was, but I read an internet article recently that discussed good blogs vs. bad blogs. Good blogs, it said, invite the outside world to join in and discuss universal issues of popular importance. They're cutting edge and they offer unique information that can't be obtained elsewhere. They're professional-sounding and should be treated as any other widely-published media. Bad blogs, on the other hand, are self-indulgent and trite. They only discuss what's already been discussed elsewhere. They're self-serving, masturbatory exposition that leaves the world no richer.

Um, if you're someone who keeps your own weblog, you're probably snickering... if you're not, I'll let you in on the gag:

There are no "bad" blogs.

The whole idea of a critical view of a weblog is pretty ridiculous in itself. How about a critical review of your niece's diary, for all the sense that makes? "An interesting start, but it sort of dragged in the middle. Didn't really say anything new. A little more effort, and this could be a passable diary, but, as is, it's a little self-indulgent."

My opinion? There's really only one thing you can do to make your journal suck: don't write in it.

(Though I gotta admit: I can't help but chuckle when I run across blogs with a single entry, dated 12+ months ago:

Well, this is the first day of many years of blogging! Who knows where this crazy thing'll go... I promise it'll be interesting, though! Be sure to check back often - it's gonna be a wild ride!)

An open letter to President Bush

----- Original Message ----- From: Carey Bear To: president@whitehouse.gov Sent: Wednesday, January 19, 2005 3:27 PM Subject: Please Reconsider Dear President Bush, I respectfully request that you reconsider wearing the commissioned beaver fur cowboy hat for your inauguration tomorrow.  You have said that you wish to "build bridges" this term, but wearing fur only burns them.  Most Americans find the idea of wearing fur very cruel and out of touch with a compassionate society.  Please, President Bush, consider sending us a message of compassion tomorrow and show that you truly do have respect for life.  Beavers feel as much pain as dogs and other mammals.  The beavers used for your hat suffered immense pain and torment.  Please, do not support this cruel, inhumane, and outdated practice.  Sincerely, Carey Bear United States Citizen

God is good

Matt is nowhere near as creepy as this picture makes him out to be.

Spent a significant chunk of the weekend with my long-treasured college chum Matt Hoffland. He's a minister/husband/father of three from Wisconsin and the old guy and I were in a number of dramatic productions together during my Grace College days (including my personal all-time-proudest dramatic moment: playing Biff to his Willy Loman in Death of a Salesman).

Anyhow, Hoff's way in the upperatosphere, talent-wise. A gifted writer and dramatist and a truly formidable musical performer. I usually find very little inspriation in most Christian music, but I've always found his CDs awfully touching and sincere. I suppose part of it is because I know the heart of the guy behind it, but I don't know. "I need a Hoff in my life," I told Carey the other day.

He's got a way of reminding me of things I already know, but tend to forget. He told me about his ministry at Camp Forest Springs, his wife, his dreams, his goals, his successes, his love for his kids. "God is good," he'd say periodically throughout the weekend, and he meant it.

I've been told my whole life that "God is good". That blessings are blessings from God and that hardships are opportunities. "God is good"? It's certainly possible. That's been one big, fat pill to swallow for my loved ones and me over the course of the last year. A case can certainly be made that, if God exists at all, He isn't good. Or fair. Or just. Or empathetic.

"God is good."

"God is not good."

If anything, the past year has asked me to believe one and understand the other. Sometimes, I wish I had every single answer. I really do.

God is "good"?

I don't know. But I'll believe it.

And Hoff, if you're reading, it was great having you. We really need to do it again, brother.

Photo parade

Carey sent in her application to the Paul Mitchell School for hair styling and skin, uh, jazz. There are more official names for both of these fields of study that sound really impressive, but I don't remember what they are at the moment.

It's supposedly a pretty good school with very fancy alumns. It's obvious from their application that they recognize that there's a certain lowbrow stigma associated with hairdressing. ("List the first names of three people that tried to talk you out of applying!")

It's also obvious from their application that they'd just as soon avoid the trailer park crowd. Hopefully, their grads will have more to look forward to than a career at SuperCuts or Fantastic Sam's. One of the requirements: two head and shoulder photos included with the form. Because we Bears do nothing by halves, we photoshopped a couple of photos of Carey (both taken by me, one a few days ago and the other almost a year ago) and included the printouts. The photos are below.





I tried to convince Carey to let me draw her as her headshot submission, but she said no go.

But good luck to mah blushin' bride and here's to wonderful things to come.

Oh, and for the heck of it, here's a picture Carey took of me. I don't know, I just kinda like it.

International Ultra-violence

Carey told me recently about the experiences of a co-worker of hers. Apparently, this woman is fairly well-traveled and... rrr, I can't remember which country this incident occurred (somewhere in Eastern Europe, I think... Russia maybe?)... but she was making her way through a certain ill-lit tunnel at night. As she neared the end of it, a group of gypsie hoodlums sprang out of nowhere and began to attack her with sharp blows and hot pins. It all happened so fast that she was quickly overwhelmed and the thieves managed to make off with her purse.

The interesting part, though: they were children, probably all under 10 years old.

So, of course, this prompted a discussion... what would you do? I think Carey mentioned that her friend suffered some minor injuries, nothing permanent... but still. These are children. How far would you go to defend yourself?

After considering the scenario for a minute, I told Carey, "I'm ashamed to admit it, but I think I know what I'd do. If I were getting swarmed by a gang of those little bastards, I think I would probably try to single out the smallest, weakest child of the bunch. I'd grab hold of him, without letting go for anything, and proceed to beat the holy living shit out of that kid. I'm not kidding, man. I'm talking broken teeth against brick walls, whatever it takes. He'd be My Little Hostage. 'See this? Give me back my wallet, you little brats.'"

(And people wonder why I have no interest in parenting.)

Needless to say, Carey was horrified. "But they're little kids!" Yeah, I know they're kids. But 1) kids or no kids, they're attacking you. And when you're being attacked, I happen to believe that you should do whatever you can to defend yourself. I might not be able to take on a dozen 9-year-olds, but I can sure as hell take on one. And 2) sad as it is, these little urchins are raised to operate that way. They're never taught anything other than scamming, stealing and mugging as a way to survive. It's awful. And maybe this is the Republican side of my persona coming out, but man, I wouldn't hesitate to make an example of those hosers. It's terrorism on a micro-scale! It really is! The message- "I don't care who you are or what your situation is... it's still terror and I won't stand for it."

Carey disagreed (and I'm kind of glad she disagrees. It's more or less why I love her). I think her position is something along the lines of 'these kids have had horrible lives. In the overall scheme of things, it's a purse. I'm rich, they're poor. They need it more than me anyhow.'

I can understand that, I just don't agree. Justice! Will no one stand for JUSTICE?!

Of course it's entirely possible that a 9-year-old gypsie kid could thrash me six ways to Sunday anyhow, so it may all be a moot point.

But if I'm ever in Eastern Europe... watch out, Gypsies! Jer the Bear is on your case!

Ki-yah!
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And speaking of international malfeasance, this CNN article discusses the most dastardly use of the comic medium I think I've ever heard: an instructional comic, published in Mexico, that outlines effective methods for illegal immigrants to cross into the United States without getting caught.

Rage.

It's The Future!

New Year's turned out to be quiet and lovely, as Carey's supervisors saw fit to let her knock off work early, allowing us a nice little New Year's Eve dinner at Utopia. A little champagne toast and Hello 2005.

2005. Cripes.

When I was a wee lad, I collected Transformers (and I still believe those things to be the single most brilliant toy idea for boys ever conceived). At the height of Transformer Mania, the manufacturers decided that the action figures, the weekday cartoons and the limitless barrage of other crap bearing the Transformers logo weren't quite enough... it was time for Transformers: The Movie.

Needless to say, I pestered my parents until they agreed to drop me off at the theater with my sister. The lights went down and I was truly in Nerd-Boy Heaven. One of the things I remember most about the movie was the opening scene: spaceships flying, people walking around in hi-tech body armor, cities that transformed into gigantic robots, machines with personalities. And the narrator spoke...

"It is the year 2005..."

That's right, I thought, that's exactly right. 2005. The Future. Flying cars and space travel are par for the course in 2005. I'd probably be married with children, working in some crazy techno-job for a company that manufactures portable nuclear reactors to power our jet packs and teleport devices. I will visit the moon. I will wear anti-grav boots. I will type my dinner order into a console in the kitchen and watch it pop out of the wall, piping hot, seconds later. Robots will dress me and brush my teeth every morning. Knowledge will come in pill form.

I will friggin' walk on air.

And while it's not everything I expected, I'm glad to be here. My car doesn't fly, but it's pretty fast. No anti-grav boots or insti-meals, but I do have a cell phone, an iPod and high-speed internet access that comes in pretty handy.

No kids, but I do have a wife that makes me happy to be alive.

It'll do.

By the way, since it's become a New Year's tradition, I woke up on January 1 and dashed off a sketch, first thing in the morning. It's Optimus Prime up there. Click to enlarge.

And have a great 2005.