GENTLEMAN OF THE ROAD

I was very pleased to find out on less than 24 hours notice that one of my favorite authors, living or putrifying, was coming to BookPeople (the greatest bookstore in Austin and, I think, largest independent dealer in the country, which is wonderful though it means few if any 20% OFF-type situations, ouch!). I had an interview on UT campus for a class that I'm going to be teaching in the fall and then at lunchtime I saw that Matthew Sturges was going to be signing #1 of his excellent new comic series HOUSE OF MYSTERY that afternoon, so I steamrolled it all together, knocked out the interview, ran up to Austin Books and got Sturges to sign the copy of his book that I'd already bought that morning (having been sold on it at the Vertigo presentation last July in San Diego, and it's killer), then for good measure bought another copy for him to sign to Chabon, which amused and delighted him, everybody's a fan. Went ahead and purchased ALL-STAR SUPERMAN #10 (greatest single issue I can recall reading in the recent past, and beyond!) for Chabon while I was at it and made my way to BookPeople after catching up with a burger and shake from Dirty Martin's, one of the greatest places on The Drag.

Got there an hour early. Bought the new collection of essays MAPS & LEGENDS, the first essay of which I'd read years ago in the McSweeney's #10 that Chabon edited, but was surprised now to find that it's almost a call to arms to bust down the walls between genres in short stories, which I've been hard at work at since last July with the blackholemonster of Idea that took for its name OMNINOMICON. I got the last chair on the front row and after rereading that first essay managed to knock out three pages of my latest Faulkner riff before it was showtime. Sat by some lesbians that were not taking shit from anybody, I just slammed away at my PowerBook, hoping they wouldn't tumble to the fact that I was writing some deeply misogynistic business.

Chabon came out and got right to it, read the chapter from YIDDISH POLICEMAN'S UNION of Landsman eating with Bina, and it was probably the best performance by an author that I've seen, not that I've sat through that many. But he really conveyed the characters' emotion well without overdoing it or hamming it up. Such a great novel, an insane accomplishment.

Afterwards, he took questions. Guy asked if he'd ever write a sequel following Landsman, Chabon said he couldn't see that, but maybe a prequel. The book he's working on now is adult (he hates saying that, conjures up the 70s wah-pedal) and then the next one will be for young readers. The status of the Kavalier & Clay movie is flatline for now. The comics he's been loving lately are all catchups, PLANETARY (#4 of all time, on my list), and Morrison's ANIMAL MAN and INVISIBLES, both of which I just managed to catch up on in '07 and '06 respectively (and, frankly, need to reread INVISIBLES again, talk about yer mindfucks). And he said determing point-of-view is easily the most important decision in writing a story. True words.

I was second in line, got to BS with him a minute, gave him the comics (along with a rough cut of THE IDEA #1) and thanked him for charging my imagination and he couldn't have been nicer, even got out from behind the desk for a quick picture.



Pretty great day, even without 15 new comics at home, waiting.

KETCHUP!

It’s been quite a while. My semester of grad school overran me, along with other madnesses including my monster novel (which is more me than grad school, it must be said), creating two more comic-book series, publishing the one we created last year, and the return of the ultimate example of serial entertainment. Been quiet round these here parts, but I promise to try to drop in a bit more now. Here’s a quick blast of photos on how I spent the first third of 2008.
For February, just picture me at this desk writing a thesis on INFINITE JEST dictated by the synthetic overlord from the future installed directly over my head (who says, Hello, by the way.)





Saw a rainbow.



Saw the sun set over the UT campus, the cranes stilled for the coming night . . .

. . . on the way to the Rollergirl Derby. Which, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen a pillow fight at one of these things with a beer in your hand and a flask of Jack in your friend’s pocket. There’s misogyny and then there’s just good, clean fun. Seriously, though, I'm just sick about not taping that pillow fight.

Paul knows what I’m talking about. Hell of a driver, too.









Catherine threw her lavish Oscar dinner, as usual. Glad Marion Cotillard won. Wish There Will Be Blood wouldn’t have gotten trounced by the Coens, it was a far superior film. Never thought I’d be rooting against those guys for an Oscar, though, tell you what.



Got drunk with Mikey.
In a house in Burnet, TX. There were trucks. We let him drive us in his, so that we wouldn't be discriminated against.


Went and saw the Kids in the Hall perform live at the Paramount. They were hilarious. Buddy Cole made an appearance to teach us how the Messiah was a gay man, there was Chicken-Lady phone-sex.

McKinney's Headcrusher closed the show, lining the other guys up one by one and insulting the current state of their careers before crushing their heads live for all to see. There goes Bruce now.

The next night, the Mars Volta rolled through town and crushed hell out of everyone, played 2 hours and 45 minutes straight. Stayed up at the front the entire time. They were shamans.

Oh and wait, my birthday was in there somewhere. A couple of weeks before those shows. Huh, don't seem to have any pictures from that. We just went out to dinner and came home and got drunk, nothing too crazy. Take a Wednesday night New Comic Book Day and multiply that by a Thursday night new LOST, that's about what it looked like. Which was hell, because my birthday fell on a Tuesday this year.

On Free Comic Book Day, we released a Rough Cut of THE IDEA #1 at the First Annual Lubbock Comic Expo, which was a rousing success all around. Here I am with Luis Estrada and Trinadad Calderon, the artists.

Also sat around and played some blues that night while we were in town, with Pop on banjo, even.

And just found out that one of my favorite living authors is in town tomorrow. So, that's probably worth a post. But that's most of what's been going on down in Austin, TX this last little bit, here.

I Am the Intersection of Future Jack & Past Dale (but not Future Dale) [how IS Annie?]

Tuesday was a dense return to reality after a long weekend spent reading and writing heavily and watching CLOVERFIELD, THERE WILL BE BLOOD, CHARLIE WILSON'S WAR, and THE DIVING BELL AND THE BUTTERFLY, solid to crushing outings, all. Monsters. In cgi. And Daniel Day-Lewis. Jonny Greenwood's score was a rare treasure.

Worked at Catherine's office for a training, managed to sneak in 100 pgs of John Fowles's THE MAGUS (which should be called THE MINDFUCK-if Marvin Candle jumps out from behind Jacob's curtain at the end and yells, "Gotcha!" and all of LOST turns out to be one collosal Dharma Initiative psychological experiment, that about describes this novel) but then the funny thing was we had this party at the office at 4, so went from getting up at 7 and being on the clock all day to cleaning up at 4 and going over right into the middle of Catherine's office building and slamming Shiner and Heineken and cranking Radiohead's new one and good ol Shostakovich op. 40 and having a generally merry time until my bud and co-slammer got a text message consisting of the already-classic four-word phrase Heath Ledger Is Dead, which is of course ghoulish, and they were the first drinks I'd had in a wk due to the mad month already detailed below, so feeling good, and then we had to go cause Paul was coming over to watch episode 8 of TWIN PEAKS and we still needed to augment their Christmas present and Catherine had no idea what so of course I defaulted to WATCHMEN, right? if you don't have it, you need it, so stopped by Border's on the way and were checking out when a little bulb blew up over my head screaming January 22! and of course the new King was out, and what a great feeling to be standing there for a different reason entirely, having forgotten, and then seconds later to have hundreds of new pages from sai King in my hands, and the fella even said I had $5 in Border'sBucks, everything coming up Rob, stopped off to pick up some fresh Strawberry Rhubarb pie, made it home, brewed coffee, Catherine asked if I was going to take off my suit, get comfortable for PEAKS and I wish I would have said, "If I could chase a woodtick down my right pants leg pull up my bulletproof vest and then get shot in the gut by Josie, I would, so No." which is to say I empathize with that Special Agent and opted to remain dressed like him, but I didn't think to say that, just shook my head and said "Take a picture to prove all this was true." so here you go.

Then of course 8 turned out to be the double-length Lynch-directed Giant nonsense, just perfection, ending with Bob and Dark Laura in the boxcar. Then I read another 100 pgs to finish THE MAGUS because I was tired of getting jerked around and then started DUMA KEY right at 1:08. Of course. I don't even try anymore, it just keeps happening.

GOTHAM BLITZKREIG

So everything started to flow together pretty well after that, too well you know, delirium, took the A train then the L to Brooklyn, met Laura for sushi and Thai then caught a cab into the City where Brett was playing this sweet little trio gig yeah man all the hits three Band songs in the first half hour, Charlie Hale ("When I get to heaven, I want God's voice to sound like Levon Helms."), and it was our friend Douggins's new bar The National Underground and we had come such a long way, he just kept giving us drinks, I was on Jameson neat and Catherine abandoned the pretense of martinis and just started in on Stoli straight and then Douggins said Do you want to sit in with the band? and for just a second I thought he was talking about Levon, that name is the source of some confusion for me, but then he got out his Gibson SG that was missing a string and we played Cissy Strut, only it was so mellow Brett said it was more like Cissy Step, and then All Blues and it felt so incredible to be playing those notes, that head, in the city where it was actually recorded, D B, everyone let loose and poured themselves into the room out their fingers through their notes and it was holy holy and I met our middle brother, John the piano player is the lost Bass brother, and then Douggins gave us a six-pack at four'o'clock and told us we didn't want to go to no deli and he sent us home and I told Brett how insane Omninomicon is and he said why do you want to put all that into ONE book? and I told him it was to clear everything out to see what went in the NEXT book and then we had to watch The Band, have to, always and forever, and then the sun was coming up and we had waltzed our last and it was time to wake up and eat and go home, finally, home, and I wish we had taken pictures but we were too tired to remember the camera but it happened just this way, I promise.

WINOOSKI!

My cousin Ryon drove up with Catherine to collect me on Friday the 11th. I was a bit ragged from the week, but delighted to see them and show them around campus. Then we drove off to Ryon's place, stopping off for Ben'n'Jerry's and at the Von Trapp Family Lodge, a truly callous display of commercialism. Went out for oven-baked pizza that night at American Flatbread, something I recommend everyone hit if you're passing through Burlington.

Ryon and his wife Irie and their 9-month old Gabriella.


Ryon and I were planning on going skiing Saturday, but it had rained so hard, the snow was useless, so we just drove around the state with the womenfolk, had killer lunch at this place called Bee's Knee's in, I think, Morrisville. Went out for Italian that night, everyone turned in early. Ryon had to work on his sermon for the morning, but then we had a double-nightcap before midnight. Then, I stayed up a few more hours outlining in depth my idea for Young People Behaving Badly in a World Without Boundaries, which will be a bestseller for sure, whenever I can find time to write it.

Saw Ryon preach Sunday morning, and he was excellent. A great, commanding presence. The kid behind us muttered to his brother, "Guess we gotta behave if JEsus is here!" a reference to my beard, I think. I got to take a ride on the organ afterwards, threw down some Mingus and Santa Claus is Coming to Town and What a Wonderful World. First time on an organ, too much fun. We went over and had dinner that night at the house of a couple who he had married and had a fine time.

Then it was time to get up Monday and go. Except Delta cancelled all our flights again! Rat bastards! We were trapped. But, we rallied. Ryon was nice enough to drive us an hour north to catch a ferry to Plattsburg, NY, where we caught the 12:35 Amtrak to Penn Station. The 8-hr ride wound up taking 9 1/2, but we both got some rest and I even managed to crank out an entire 18-pg PKD story that I'm delighted with. I knew my deranged mindset at the time would be perfect to capture this guy's voice. Wrote the last line as we rolled in under Penn Station.

But New York always deserves its own entry.

GODDARD COLLEGE - G2

Went up to Vermont for the first few days of '08 for my second residency at Goddard College, where I'm working on my MFA in Creative Writing. It was a pretty mind-blowing experience, read three novels and a couple dozen short stories, gave three readings of my own work, got lots of ideas for stories and insight into the craft and quality time with very good friends. Had a bit of wine. Meant to keep this up to date from there, but there was far too much going on to do so. Failing that, here is a short pictorial romp.

This is the view of NY from the plane. Very cold there in January. I wound up having to fly into Syracuse due to the soulless machinations of Delta Airlines, but my good friends Charles and Cara picked me up. We see them here:


Getting down at the dance. Many drinks were had and fireworks were shot afterwards. At Goddard, they teach you that the passive voice is not to be employed, under any circumstances.


Myself, Joe Ricker (my roommate), and Charles Hale. Cara Hoffman was not present for this picture because she was off dancing with her advisor. Such things always end well.


Charles Hale cannot be contained. On the dance floor. In life.


The glowglobes of Goddard, always lit at night to illumine shenanigans.


The other vertices of the Hypercube, on a pilgrimage to clear out all our bad ideas.

MAGIC HOUR

On film shoots, they call those few minutes when the sun's setting Magic Hour. I managed to get a few shots Tuesday after my Pynchon workshop and the one on Graphic novels (for which the eminent faculty chose bits from WATCHMEN, PLANETARY, & PROMETHEA, amongst others!)

The Clocktower. I think about Marty McFly's 1.21 jigawatts every single time I walk by.

The Haybarn Theatre, where people give readings and dance and graduate and hurl the occasional chair.


The first thing you see when you drive into campus. If you time it right.

Magic Hour took place on 1/08. Of course.

A BASS FAMILY CHRISTMAS

Catherine and I had a time in Lubbock ranging from fairly rocking to liverally apocalyptic (yes, that’s a new adverb, my liver caught all manner of revelation, as you are about to see listed). Best just to take it one night at a time.

FRIDAY (12/21/07)
We arrive in Lubbock and make our first stop at the Grand Opening of McGilliguddy’s, an Irish sports bar just started up by an old school buddy of ours who I’ve known for twenty years. Great to see Mom, Dad, and Brett. Had a double Jack and a couple glasses of wine before getting dropped off by the wives for four hours of accelerated debauchery at the Spoon watching Dangerous Dan Earnest tear it up with Dad’s first (or second?) client ever on bass, one Glen Birch, and local stalwart Robert Smith on drums. I only remember the first two rounds of Jack but am told there were several more. I do recall taking my first chug off a new bottle of Lone Star with such gusto that all 12 oz. seemed to be missing. Brett and I got up and sat in with the band and crushed an Albert King tune in C along with Whipping Post. Concluded the night getting dragged down the hall to bed by both parents protesting that I had to hang out with my little brother, then apologizing to the wife that they were so loud. A fine beginning.

SATURDAY
Missed the AM, obviously. Watched LOST 3.7 with Brett. Accompanied Dad and Brett jewelry shopping for Mom. Catherine ducked in to give her opinion after shopping with her father. Went to Uncle Mark’s house for an extended family party that went from maybe 6-10. Stayed away from the brown, but rocked the red, easily killed a bottle myself before coming home to hang out with Brett and Stew. We killed a case of Lone Star and ________

SUNDAY
Another slow opening of the day. Picked up the sister-in-law from the airport and had dinner with the Millers at a deserted Chili’s, deserted like we were in a Stephen King novel. Really amazing steak and portabella fajitas, almost gave me hope for the onslaught of viral corporate strangulation upon our fine country. Then off to the Spoon for the regular Sunday Blues Jam, which was apeshit. Brett and I pounded Jack and Shiner like Christmas would never come from the moment we walked in the door. Got to get up and play with Johnny & the Trundlers (Chris, Blake & JT) for the first time since ’04 and we just fucking crushed it, hit Lemon Song (Led Zeppelin) Up In Arms (Foo Fighters) and Whipping Post (Allman Bros.) like we were still playing 50 gigs a year. Muscular. So great to make music with those fools. Then Brett got up, JT stayed up, and the great John Sprott took the stage for us to lay down our customary funk/blues double shot of Cissy Strut (Meters) and Killing Floor (Willie Dixon). And we burned those down, as usual. Then bassist extraordinaire Sean Frankhauser took the stage in his Santa hat to sing Thank You Fallitinme Be Mice Elf (Sly & the Family Stone) to charming effect. Brett’s girl Laura had just landed and the three of us concluded late Sunday with the newest two Southparks that none had seen.

Johnny & the Trundlers in action.



The Bass Brothers.



MONDAY (12/24/07)
Went to church, sang some carols and hymns. Came home, opened presents, good times were had by all. Split a bottle of MacAllan with Brett. Watched THE LAST WALTZ here, stunning Scorsese doc of the last show by The Band. Brett’s road bible of late. Highly recommended.


Mom and Dad
Brett, Laura, Catherine and myself.

TUESDAY (CHRISTMAS)
Mellow. Went over to Catherine’s grandfather’s for an early lunch and to open presents. Came back and got more presents from Santa Claus and had Thanksgiving Dinner with the family. Watched the EXTRAS Christmas special, which was impeccable, killer George Michael and Clive Owen bits adorning Gervais skewering of this celebrity-devouring culture we’ve evolved into. Late night, hit LOST 3.8-10 with Brett and Laura, one turned into three, you can’t turn it off. I enjoy drinking with Desmond David Hume.

WEDNESDAY
Mucked about. Went shopping with Catherine and Mom and Dad, got lots of great clod-weather clothes for Vermont. Had a calzone from One Guy from Italy, the finest object to bear that name available. Watched more LOST with Brett and Laura. Slow night, so we went to Cricket’s to watch Plain Brown Wrapper, the local supergroup comprised of Sprott, Sean, JT and DG Flewellyn. Carbombs, Jack, Guinness and Shiners were consumed. The Night They Drove Ol’ Dixie Down was played. All was well.

(until we got home and a crack about who did a better drum fill on that tune, Levon Helm or Steve Gorman on the Black Crowes cover turned into a two hour fight between Brett and I, probably our first in twenty-odd years—at least this time the BB gun never came out)(Dad was up reading the paper before all was said and done. Fight concluded with drunken snuggling on the couch during aforementioned tune and the encore)

THURSDAY
The cracks starting to show, obviously. Went and hung out with my boy Luis, saw his new house, talked about our comic. It was Mom and Dad’s 38th anniversary, so we went to the Frenchman’s Inn, this killer one-chef restaurant down the street, something of a tradition. Killer meal, great conversation.
Turned in early, everyone out by midnight. (which of course meant that Brett and I woke up at 4:45 and 5:30 respectively, wondering what was wrong)(ha, waking up at 4:45 AM is such an impossibility with Brett that he experienced crippling disorientation for entire seconds wondering who had turned out the Sun!) I stayed up until 10:30 and then finally dropped off for a few more hours, which oh wait means it’s___

FRIDAY
Ran around all afternoon here, ate lunch at Tom & Bingo’s with Brett, was a VIP guest at my local comics store that wasn’t technically open, went and hung out with a gang of high school friends and played too much Guitar Hero III with a nephew, then gave the family a dry run of my Pynchon workshop for Vermont. They were suitably dismayed. Then had one of the best Dad steaks EVER (and those who have had one appreciate the caliber of that statement). Then Blake and Chris and Espino came over and, yeah, we killed a whole bottle of Vodka on Laura’s kickass pomegranate and dirty martinis before it was suddenly 3 and Brett and I had to sprint through the rest of the season of LOST, were slugging shots of Crown from the bottle until 5:30 for the crushing last scene that’s got me counting days even now.

Which made breakfast at the diner five hours later pretty wonderful, I wot.

Catherine and I got home last night pretty wrecked. Turned in early. Got up today on ten glorious hours of unaddled sleep. We double-featured Sweeney Todd and Juno and caught Texadelphia cheese steaks and now I guess I need to get back to work sprucing up my presentation, but that’s what we did. I’ll post some pics later.