I'm Going to Miss the Green Beer

I'd like to say that my past few days have been fun, but (and isn't there always a 'but?') they haven't been. I worked everyday this week (surprisingly exciting in the current climate) and injured my knee playing basketball (again, and again 'surprise.') All that really means is I can't go out on St. Patty's day, which may or may not be the worst thing ever. If I just go to sleep it won't be a "thing," however if I stay up reading all the inevitable drunk "I'm now here" facebook posts for the rest of the night, I may want to kill myself by midnight--or all of the people posting said posts. With their damn smartphones in one hand and their beautiful green beers in the other.

Depression always gets more severe when people inadvertently rub their stupid happiness in your face. My neighbor, bless her heart, invited me to the beach (with her hot friend--of !@#$ing course) as soon as I got into my car to go to work. My friend met these three smokin' hot girls that are into...stuff (yeah, we'll go with stuff)...just as soon as I got into a relationship. ROBIN RETIRES AND BATMAN IS IN THE MARKET FOR A NEW ROBIN, NO, IT'S COOL BATS, I JUST STARTED WORKING FOR THE GREEN ARROW, THE GREEN !@#$ING ARROW...(For those non-comic lovers among you who read my blog, the Green Arrow pretty much sucks, he's like the shiny green opposite of the Dark Gothic Badass that is Batman.)

I think you see where I'm going with this. I'm upset that I'm not Robin (you may see this is an awkward thing, that is to say: not wanting to be Batman, but rather his sidekick. I don't know if you know this but, Batman is barely mortal, he sleeps like two hours a day (yeah, not happening) and has collected more scars than Jay Leno has collected motorcycles (and chin surgeries--that thing can't possible be real.) His job kind of sucks. But Robin? Occasional kick-asser take-namer, gets his own sweet ride, a room in the manor, and access to a massive fortune, yeah, sign me up.)

My mother, taking pity on my gimpiness decided that today would be a good day to go see Battle: Los Angeles. Or as I like to call it Independence Day 2: Lose the Airforce, THROW IN THE MARINES, HOOAH. it's a long tagline, I know. I'm not going to deny it's awesomeness--or really break down the movie for anyone (just in case)but, come on. We all knew what was going to happen. I'm especially pissed with the previews. All of the heartbreaking, eye opening scenes were in the previews. Way to let us all know ahead of time who was dying.

Which brings me to my closing point.

Batman should be in Independence Day 2. Come on Will, make this happen for me.

Batman Makes it Better

I've been thinking about this really hard. I've gone over the facts. Hell, I've checked them twice. I even psychically looked in on all the leading literary minds, and they too, subconsciously agree: No story wouldn't be better with Batman.

I came to this realization in the middle of a Star Wars comic I was reading while aggressively sucking down a frozen cappuccino (thank you for the plug Books-A-Million? No thank you for the coffee.) I was watching (reading, what do you call reading a graphic novel these days?) Cade Skywalker (Luke's grandson? Great Grandson?) open a can of jaded-Jedi whoopass when it struck me that, if instead of his predictably blue friend fighting alongside him, Batman filled the role of "ass-kicking teammate," that this book would be at least 163% better. Scientifically speaking, of course.

Epic space battle? Yeah, he has a jet for that.

Hard core action mystery thriller? His cape is made of shadow.

The Great Gatsby? Come on, Bruce could get him all the invites he needed. Why didn't Nick look him up?

Romantic Comedy? Relieve some tension with a mugging and subsequent Batman throwdown. Add Batgirl and or Batwoman to relieve the tension that would inevitably follow when the lead female role falls irrevocably in love with the Caped Crusader (who for some horrible reason, no longer wants to be called that. Bad decisions.)

Documentary Film? Finally. A narrator you can trust. Batman not only doesn't kill, he doesn't lie. And homeboy has gadgets, he'll get to the bottom of whatever it is we're interested in. Want to know if Bigfoot exists? Well, if he does, Bats has him on speed dial. He probably bought him the damn phone.

The real problem is making sure that the Batman insert isn't too grandiose. Half the great novels would never have happened it Batman was around. The Kite Runner would have actually been about running kites and Caesar would have missed his last words.

I'm not saying it wouldn't be a challenge, just that it needs to be done.

Tell me Alderaan gets destroyed if Batman lived in that Galaxy?

No. Hell no. Batman knew Palpatine was going to do his Sith thing before he did. Sorry Anakin, you're still a Jedi in my world.

The point of this post is that I'm a huge Batman fan. And recently read the 'Return of Bruce Wayne." Loosely titled so because Bruce Wayne is Batman, and has returned. Through time.

If you're thinking about asking me, "Hey, Dave, do we get to see Batman as a pirate?"

The answer is yes, yes we do.

The "I WANT TO DO THAT" Syndrome and a Few Common Mistakes

I go through this crap every time I read, see or hear something new. I call it the I WANT TO DO THAT syndrome. Some people may know it as the "I COULD totally DO THAT" syndrome, (I get that one whenever I look at something written by James Patterson--no matter how unrealistic I'm being) or even the, "OKAY SO I HAVE THIS IDEA--IT'S LIKE A CROSS BETWEEN FAMILY GUY AND BATMAN (Not the circa 1960's Adam West one--but like Nolan--you know...serious) syndrome.

What's worse is the fact that I'm a socially dependent creature. I can't do anything alone.

Friend: So what are you doing?

Me: Uh, just sitting around. Thinking about stuff. Just a normal day over here with Dave--definitely not pooping.

You might ask, what about the blog, Dave? Yeah. I've pitched quite a few new ideas to various friends who are always completely under-enthused about the entire process. An average conversation might go something like this:

Me: So, I have this idea for a blog. It's like a dueling blog, see?

Friend: No.

Me: Oh well, it's like a humor blog, or something like that, where we both talk about whatever, and just refute each other and there's this whole back and forth--

Friend: I meant "no." As in "I don't want to do it."

Sometimes I actually manage to get a friend on board for a project and we intend to work on it, we really do. But we make a continuous series of mistakes from the time we decide to partner up, until the time of our inevitable self-defeat.

Common Mistake Number One:

Friend: So, where are we meeting to work on random project.

Me: I was thinking random coffee shop?

Friend: Sounds great.

No. No it's not great. It's a coffee shop, damn it. What are we thinking? Let's list the ways we're wrong to do this:
1) Coffee shops have people.
2) Coffee shops therefore have girls.
3) Coffee shops normally have coffee.
4) Coffee often leads to a desire to get up and do other things.

Like drinking alcohol, sometimes with girls. Which leads me to our second most common mistake.

Common Mistake Number Two:

Talking about ideas at bars.

Who are we kidding here? I realize that alcoholism and depression are the two leading causes of successful writing, but no one is ever depressed when drinking socially with a buddy. You can try, but inevitably the buzz overtakes you, you begin to lose hold of whatever idea it was you were so desperately clinging to. Maybe it's the girl on the other side of the bar with the drooping v-neck and "hug me" chest. Maybe it's the bartender, giving you completely undeserved extra rounds "on the house" (parenthesis: she wants a big tip.) Maybe you're just sitting next to some really cool dudes and a game is on.

Who knows? The point? You aren't talking about working, how to begin working, or even the idea that set you off in this work related comedy of errors in the first place.

Common Mistake Number Three:

Going into the project with an unclear idea of what you actually want to do.

We all want to do something. Something big, creative. Something with pizazz. Mainly, something that will get you rich.

This is not enough to go on. Outline first, collaborate later.

It's like my father always says, "David, if the buddy system worked, you wouldn't still be fat."

He didn't really say that. But, if the buddy system worked?
I wouldn't still be fat. Hell, I might even be rich.

But probably not.

The Power Chair and a Dead Battery

Surprise, I'm behind on my blog again. I have this idea for a larger blog project (on this blog,) but the amount of drawing it involves is frankly, quite daunting. On top of that I've spent the past two weeks working and working. Which is troubling and outside of my normal routine. Normally I just pretend to work and drink coffee--imagine my surprise when the coffee was gone--and I was still working. Mainly I've just been applying to jobs and writing letters and emails to people, essentially begging for jobs or further education. Of course my problem turns into a whole new monster of actually knowing what I want to do, and all the things I'm applying for not being that. I suppose money, to a certain degree, outweighs happiness, I just don't know when I became this person. Probably when I realized I was turning 25 soon and had real life to attend to. I'm not trying to start a pity party off here, nor am I making excuses. I'm writing my excuses out for you--they pretty much made themselves. (Self-coalescing excuses, they're possible, I swear it.)

My goals for today were exceedingly simple, I made them that way in some vain hope of actually getting them done. Write a blog (check,) write a few emails to various editors to maybe get some freelance work (check,) write a reference letter for...

And that's how it actually happened. My computer shut off in my face. Of course it did. Because technology, against commonly held beliefs and petty things such as logic, is actually zealously against the idea of progress. Anything I own works fitfully at best. It doesn't even have to be advanced technology for this problem to come into play. For example, my shower very rarely, if ever, hits that Goldilocksian sweet spot. Instead it seems to have two settings:

"Holy sh*t that's cold."

And "Aaaah what the mother !@#$--"

Both of which just end up being painful.

So needless to say (but I will, oh I will) my computer shut off again. So there I was, alone in a cafe, staring at two men as they typed away furiously on their fully powered, plugged in laptops. And I hated them. I hated them so much. But they had the Power Chairs, and I was just a man at a cafe table. Weak and without working, powered, technology.

I think the term "power chair" may confuse some people. It's not exactly a throne, nor is it one of those scooters that promised old people independence and fulfilled life long dreams.

No, it's a simple chair, near a power outlet. So I can do work. Like an adult.

As you can see by this blog actually being finished and posted, I eventually got the power chair. Maybe it was because he was finished with whatever he was doing, or maybe it was because I was staring at him angrily from a few feet away. Who knows, but he left, and I, with Gollum like speed, placed my ass in the best seat in the building.

I won't lie. It's not that comfortable of a chair.

Elegiac, Hauntingly So

My Borders shut down recently. I know, let the depression sink in for a moment. if you aren't sad it's because you hate me and want to see me suffer. As you may have guessed, I've spent many of the past few days searching endlessly for a new place from which to read, drink coffee and avoid writing, while drinking coffee.

My search was essentially a huge failure. I got into my car feeling very gung-ho, and got as far as about two blocks away before I came upon a Starbucks and gave up immediately. I mean, they do have coffee, tables and internet. That's like my three basic needs right there. I can deal without having books to browse--or at least I can bring my own.

Imagine my surprise upon entering said Starbucks discovering that they are planning a remodel (were, it started today.) So even the place I didn't want to go to in the first place is shutting down. I'd call it bum luck but I see the common factor--me. I was about to embark on another epic quest of block-traveling import when my mother suggested "Books-A-Million" to me. Yeah, she said, it's right down the street.

I don't know if you know this but--I grew up in Books-A-Million. I used to ask to go there everyday after school. I was very serious about this store. It had Joe Muggs coffee (Frozen cappuccino? Yes, please.) and a copious amount of comics not to mention an entire section of Star Wars books which were kind of my thing.

Then, in what would become the story of my life, the store shut down. That is to say, became Full Sail University. Shortly after that I (my mother) discovered Borders and life was good again, or so I thought. I--in my beautiful ignorance--did not realize that companies aren't necessarily permanent, no matter how much love and attention you give them.

Not until my reemergence into the beautiful world that is Books-A-Million did I realize what I had been missing. First off--the frozen cappuccino? It tastes like childhood. They have a humor section that is easily four bookcases long and a comic/sci-fi section that stretches into eternity, into the beautiful light of fake knowledge and imaginary galactic lore. I have found my happy place, and it is a terrifyingly corporate bookstore. My inner hipster is crying, but as I still have pants that go down to my very non-flip flop shoes, I figure I can get away with it.

It even has a "last chance" section with books costing 1, 2 and 3 dollars. Where you can find such killer titles as "Elegy Beach." A book that is said to be "hauntingly elegiac." It doesn't exactly make me want to read it--but if that's the kind of review I can be expecting, you can be expecting me, right here, every other day.

Plus the store is pretty much devoid of people my age--maybe I'll get some work done.

Daytona and Stuff

I went to Daytona this weekend, and before you ask, I did not attend the Daytona 500. To be fair however, being in Daytona during the race is very similar to actually being there, as you can hear absolutely everything that goes on at the speedway from anywhere in the near vicinity (for example, neighboring countries.)

I went to visit a few friends to whom the word "NASCAR" means "loud noises" and "insufferable traffic." Although, giving it the moniker of "insufferable" is being incredibly generous. To put it mildly, it was difficult going anywhere. So, while I'd love to regal you with awesome beach tales and drunk humor, we basically played video games all weekend.

As you can see, the scary traffic monster is keeping me from a building, some would assume it's a house. Don't, it's a restaurant. The traffic didn't care about my hunger. It was all "Walk, punk."

If I was the proud owner of a helicopter, I imagine I could have played "Spot the Road." The game where the question "What do we do with the Helicopter today?" is answered. Islands? Mountain ski resorts? Ridiculously hot women? Nah, spot the road in Daytona, bitches.

I suppose I could finish this post by lamenting the incredible loss of money that occurred this weekend (it was only 50 bucks all told, but, guys, that's like 25% of my current net worth) but instead, I'll say this: If you want to do anything like blogging professionally, you will probably have to use Social Networking tools, like Twitter or Friendster. I left my Twitter account alone for all of two days and it very obviously felt horribly abused.

I realize "Dave (me)" looks really thin in this picture. Don't hate my self-image.

I'm going to do my best to get into a multiple post a week rhythm, but working on the comic website is slowly, possibly irrevocably, driving me insane. And every time I'm in desperate need of something comically newsworthy to talk about in a post, some tragedy inevitably happens that makes throwing anything other than personal humorous stories out quite difficult.

I'll sign off tonight with best wishes, thoughts and prayers, for everyone in New Zealand and Libya at the moment, as said people recover from (or continue to go through) their separate tragedies/issues.

Live Well

I'll get to my 'regularly scheduled' content in a moment--or rather I'll start writing it soon, but I wanted to get something said first.

Yesterday, a friend of mine, Matt Moran, passed on. He was a friend (a great friend) to many. He was young and no one expected his death, no one really believes it. It's unsurprising how very--effected--we all are by this tragedy.

As it always seems to be, he was one of the good ones. And I don't mean that in some cliche 'only the good die young' kind of way. He was truly good. He made life better for those around him, he made it fun. He lived with passion and if nothing else, we should take away from his life--not his death--that we can follow his example--we can live well.

I say this all the time in some vain effort to convince myself to do better that 'life is for living.' Matt knew that. Sometimes I think that I don't. If you have dreams, goals, passions--you need to pursue them. This concept of 'Tomorrow' or 'the Future' ... next year, next month, whatever it is...it's a not a guarantee. It won't always be there. Life can be as fleeting as it can be beautiful, and at some point you have to pursue it--reach out and grab it, as it were.

Matt loved the water, and the woods...Nature really. But I remember a conversation with him where he talked non stop about the lake and how much he loved being on it. The beach, the lake you name it--he loved the water. He said that to me a lot. The reason I bring this up? Matt loved the water--and he spent a lot of time on the water. He was always there.

Find what you love and do it. Learn from Matt--have something you love and have it be said when your time comes--that you did that--what you loved.

I hate to quote Serendipity here--but it is one of my favorite movies, but there is a quote (a real quote) in it that makes sense in times like these:

"You know the Greeks didn't write obituaries. They only asked one question after a man died: 'Did he have passion?' "

Onto happier and brighter things.

And for Matt--thanks for everything, rest in peace.