Thank you, Easter Bunny. *Bauk Bauk*

CAREY: Jeaou, when are you going to start swearing again?

JER: Easter Sunday, sweetie. Easter Sunday.

Happy Easter, everybody. I guess there's no point in delaying this any further, so here's the final tally:

"P**S" 2 "B*****D" 0 "H**L" 0 "D**N" 5 "A**" 0 "B***H" 0 "S**T" 1 "D**K" 0 "P***Y" 0 "F**K" 2 "C**K" 0 "C**T" 0 (names "in vain") "G**" 2 "C****T" 0 "J***S" 0

Not bad, really. Both "p*ss" instances happened while ad concepting with Jason. All five "d*mn"s happened right in a row when something fritzed on my computer. Only one "f*ck" was technically legitimate - the other was a slip while singing along to a Prince song.

I'll tell you, though, it was a very interesting excercise. I've been all clear to swear for the past couple of days, but I find myself continuing to self-edit. As hard as it was to give up swearing, it's nearly as hard to give up giving it up.
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Easter Sunday itself was fine, I suppose. Adequate. Tim McMahan and his new bride Wendy invited me to spend Easter morn with them at their church, Rock Harbor. Despite some pretty intimidating technical difficulties, they managed to produce a very nice little service, especially considering the fact that the place was thronged with people.

I can't lie, though: I was puzzled by the interpretive dance.

Interpretive Christian dance is something that's always been an enigma me. I appreciate the abstract and the unexpected. I think the pure aesthetic of art is a worthy enough cause to produce art in the first place. Not everything needs to be a "lesson". Not everything has to "make me understand" something or even "communicate the love of Christ". I just get slightly unnerved when it's obvious that a piece of art is trying to teach me some sort of lesson or depict something concrete and I just don't get it.

I'll tell ya, buddy. I didn't get it.

About ten minutes into the dance (it was a long one), I sort of gleaned that the goateed dancer was supposed to be Jesus. I guess the girl with the multicolored umbrella was supposed to be a new Christian, but I can't be sure. For a minute, I was sure she was supposed to represent Satan, but when "Jesus" hugged her, it blew that theory apart.

Well, whatever. I'm not always the brightest bulb. Nice dancing nonetheless. And, anyway, there were standing ovations and teary eyes by the time it was finished, so obviously some people were very moved by... whatever that was.
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I started thinking recently about strange people. I don't mean "oh, everyone's strange in their own way" strange, I mean folks that have a really unique brand of genius-weirdness. A roadside-car-crash-type allure. There's no reason you should be looking and wondering, but you just can't help it.

And it occurred to me that I'd really like to have lunch with some of those people.

So, a list: 10 smart, strange people I'd really like to sit down with for an hour over beer and burritos.

• Dolly Parton
  
• Chris Ware
  
• Ricky Gervais
  
• Gloria Steinem
  
• Charles Manson
  
• Mark Burnett
  
• Crispin Glover
  
• Condoleezza Rice
  
• Ingrid Newkirk
  
• Charlie Kaufman

If you think of it, make your own list. Surely you have one percolating. Doesn't have to be your "top ten", either. Just ten weirdies. (Preferably living people. I suppose you could choose dead people, but that would make for a boring lunch. And smelly.)
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Go buy Guero. It's friggin' fantastic.
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Finally, there's still time for a last minute surge of support to save dear Aunt Nancy from the humiliation of second place. Vote! Quick!

Three Cheers and then some

Needless to say, I've been on blog-hiatus. I didn't really expect the life-sapping avalanche of chaos that's landed squarely in my lap these past few weeks. As a result, I've spent my precious freetime catatonic and drool-stained on our living room couch.

But hello.

I've a lot to talk about, so I suppose I'll just dive straight in.
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Calgon, take me away!

Cheers to you, Nancy Wagner!

I've known my faux-Aunt Nancy as long as I've been breathing and, as it turns out, she's stumbled into some sort of internet contest with a reasonable chance at victory. I'm not sure exactly what she needs to win her Dream Vacation, but it has something to do with going to this webpage and throwing her a vote.

So do it!

As an aside, Nancy is in the running for sweetest-ever individuals. She's been a friend of the family for years and the world is a better place to have her in it. (In fact, I think she and Uncle Roy get custody of me and my sisters, should something happen to my parents. Pray they stay in good health, Wagners! Erin, Lauren and I can be quite a handful!)

There you go, Aunt Nancy. I've done all I can do. It's now up to the internet. Luck be with you.
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Cheers to you, Randy and Pat Bear!

Still an uphill battle for Pat, but she's home and she's slowly but steadily mending. I try to check in once or twice a week to get the scoop from Dad. He seems to be doing a good job of taking care of her, but she's still frustrated.

Nevertheless, keep Pat in those prayers and well-wishes.
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Cheers to you, Grant Morrison!

Carey was kind enough to escort me to Los Angeles County's biggest Comics Convention over the weekend, Wizard World LA. As it happens, it's held in the Long Beach Convention center, which is walking distance from our home. So we walked.

It was a nice little day. Bought a few really terrific books and rubbed shoulders with a couple of comics legends. (The sight of Lou Ferrigno dropping his trousers and mooning Stan Lee is something I'll take to my grave. Er, don't ask.) Talked to a couple of pros. I like comics conventions. It's a big, arty-farty, low-brow brouhaha.

Carey was intrigued by the psychology of the event. "It's very strange," she said. "Someone should make a movie or a documentary on comic book people." I told her it's been attempted, but she's right: the world of comics is a ponderous microcosm with its own set of personalities, asthetics, trends, cliques and even celebrities. In the real world, no one knows or cares who Joe Quesada is. He's another overweight guy in a t-shirt. But on the floor of Wizard World LA, the man is a god. Editor-in-chief of Marvel comics... he's Donald Trump, Jerry Bruckheimer and Vincent Van Gogh rolled into one. He holds the career dreams of everyone in that building in his chubby little digits.

Cripes. Comics.

Highlight of the day, though was a mostly-boring "What's coming up from DC Comics" panel Carey and I endured. A snoozer, except for the fact that, afterward, I was able to shake hands with a childhood hero of mine: Grant Morrison.

Grant writes comics that are equal parts brilliant and terrifying. He's his own little culture. He's the Church of Grant. He makes no bones about the fact that when he writes a story about spell-casting and witchcraft, he's researched it by trying it himself. He went vegetarian to write his environmentally-conscious comic. To prepare for his comic about the End of the World, he dropped acid to discover what it will look like. To better understand transvestites, he became one for a few months. He claims to have been abducted by aliens in the early nineties. He's admitted, on record, that he knows the final day of human civilization. He's the most fascinating, gonzo individual on the planet.

And as it turns out, he's a very likeable, giggling Scottish bloke. Bald. Short. Travels with his wife.

And after roughly 15 years of buying anything of his I could find, I was able to shake his hand and thank him for all the great stories.
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Cheers to you, Top Shelf!

Speaking of comics, I'm completely mad for material from Top Shelf Comics. They've published a few different books on my Recommended Reading list. Really cool, strange stuff.

Anyhow, they're having a ridiculously huge sale at the moment. Try some alternative comics, man. What are you waiting for? I already put my order in and, come on. $115 worth of books for $30 ? They're practically giving it away. No excuses, you. Comics time. Chop chop!
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Cheers to you, Wired Magazine!

As it turns out, there's going to be a me-concepted ad in Wired this summer. Complete with an illustration and everything. How do you like that?
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Cheers to you, Ryan Crook!

Ryan's a designer, three cubes down from me, and he happens to have a nausiating amount of talent. He showed me his portfolio recently and, I have to admit, I found myself saying to him, Billy Joel-style, "man, what are you doin' here?" That good.

Anyhow, the guy's really been turning me on to bluesy/country/folky tunes. He's loaded me down with Gillian Welch, Hank Williams and other broke-down heroes of twang and I just can't get enough. I swore I'd never be That Guy and look... I'm That Guy.

Lovin' it. Let's have some more, Huckleberry. For some reason, it's where I'm at.
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Cheers to you, Cuyahoga Valley Christian Academy!

After Wizard World, Carey and I climbed onto the Queen Mary for a pseudo-high-school reunion dinner. A meeting of Southern California CVCA alumni.

Okay, true, only eight of us were in attendance, and that includes spouses, but it was a very nice time nonetheless. Jason Spodnik is a PR guy at CVCA and he picked up the check for the evening. He was also good enough to give us updates on the current goings-on at my alma mater.

I don't miss high school, but the whole thing reminded me of the fact that I went to a pretty terrific place. Apparently, CVCA has found itself onto the "Top Ten Christian High Schools in the United States" list, which is an enormous accomplishment. I'm beginning to wonder if it's something I should mention on future resumes.

Great to see Hannah Horning and Erin DeBlander as well. The stories of days past flowed like box wine. Good people and good times.

Go Royals!
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Cheers to you, The Complete First Season of Charmed on DVD!

It's kept my wife in slack-jawed attention for the last week or so. The woman can't get enough Charmed. I think those three little witches have cast some sort of spell over the Bear household.

CAREY: I've been thinking about getting a tattoo.

JER: What kind?

CAREY: Something on my wrist. Right here. Like the girls on Charmed.

JER: Uh-huh. What do you want the tattoo to be?

CAREY: Probably a Celtic symbol. It looks cool.

JER: Is that what the girls on Charmed have?

CAREY: Perhaps.

JER: Man, are you sure you want to put something witchy on your body? Isn't that a little creepy?

CAREY: Well, what do you think I should have?

JER: I don't know, I don't really like tattoos. How about a little Jesus head?

CAREY: No no no. Isn't there something in the Bible about how you're not supposed to purposefully scar your own body to show your allegiance to... something, or...?

JER: I don't remember. It sounds familiar.

CAREY: Yeah, no Jesus. Not interested.

JER: But you're getting a tattoo anyway.

CAREY: Sure, just not Jesus. It'd be like rubbing his face in it.

Hey man, whatever. If she starts levitating the cats, though, I think we'll need to have a talk.