NYComic Industriousness

I got a letter to the editor regarding this blog the other day. "My dear Wetzel," it read. "How come you tease us with mentions of high-profile New York city comics panel appearances only to provide us with nothing but fruity homilies about the beauty of central park and music videos featuring Turkish men in disco outfits?"

It's a good question. I realize I've been a bit remiss when it comes to posting about the actual fun and exciting events in life, such as last week's visit to New York. Many outlines of blog posts unfinished litter the desks and tables of my apartment, tucked into drawers or scribbled on the backs of envelopes and theater billings. Most of these will remain unpublished, and it's probably best this way. But since you asked, I'll go ahead and tell you about my little trip last week.

I went to New York for a business trip, but as far as the comics industry goes, it's hard not to mix in some pleasure, laughs and drinks, and a sunny streak of days made the city a pretty nice place to be. I went to dinner with a couple of the cartoonist on Universal Press's roster, including Mark Tatulli (Lio, Heart of the City) and one of my other heros, Ruben Bolling (Tom the Dancing Bug). The rest of the time I hung out at our booth at the event or just walked around picking up various comic books and either putting them back down with a polite smile or ponying up for my own copy. It's fun to buy stuff directly from the creators, especially if they draw a little picture for you on the inside cover.

Even though it's larger each year, New York Comiccon is much more endearing to me than the giant one out in San Diego. In San Diego the gaslamp district is literally overrun by freaks, kids, acned manga princesses, 12-year-old Sith lords, paunchy superheroes and people who would probably be wearing a cape anyway. The San Diego event has a glizy Hollywood feel to it, with tons of movie stars, video games and all the pop-cultural cotton candy one can imagine. The New York event, by contrast, is only visible immediately surrounding the Jacob K. Javitz center. Once you've walked a few blocks away, the crowd fades quickly from sight, like an isolated little enclave of freaks in the much larger freak colony that is New York City.

The event gets pretty packed by Saturday, but it's easy to move around and talk to people for most of Friday. I met a bunch of peeps and took part in the panel discussion about the history of comics along with some other folks in the industry. We had a good chat, with a fair amount of lamenting how stagnant comics pages have become.

For example, Mark mentioned that you can't send Beetle Bailey to Iraq because that would totally mess up the universe Walker has created for that strip. And you can't drop Beatle Bailey from the newspapers because an elderly will write in or call and complain. And the kids these days don't read the newspapers, and they're running out of money, and nobody wants to offend anybody. Basically the same old laments as well as a bit of hypothesizing about future profit models. We had a good discussion, but it would have been fun if we'd had time for more than one audience question/rant. As we're often reminded, people don't really care about syndicates. They just want to read the comics they like -- a fact that the new gocomics.com Web site is planning to accomodate with a number of Web 2.0 bells and whistles.

The conclusion, if there was one, was that syndicates will adapt with changing markets. The three or four-panel formats we're used to seeing comics in will carry on for at least a while yet, even as the Internet opens up the playing field to all varieties of creators, enthusiasts, entrepreneurs and innovators, several of which are linked to on the "Funny Pages" sidebar on this site, by the way.

I didn't attend many other panels except for a group chat with Ender's Game author Orson Scott Card, who shared some writing advice and gave an update on the Ender's Game movie, which no longer has director Wolfgang Peterson attached ("It will be made brilliantly, or it will be made after I'm dead," OSC said).

I realize that this is probably not terribly interesting so far, so I'll close the Comic Con-related half of this New York post with a few of the most interesting sites I've come across at the conventions I've attended so far in both San Diego and New York.

-- A fat stormtrooper eating a burger in the Javitz center food court, all by himself and looking very tired

-- A fit-looking stormtrooper posing by the crosswalk outside the Javitz center, like an aberrantly attired and futuristically armed member of the Port Authority, occasionally posing with civilians and/or pretending to gun them down while their friends took pictures

-- Along the train tracks outside the convention center in San Diego, a large crowd gathered to watch as a man in a superman outfit "held up" a BNSF train that was stopped on the tracks

-- A zombie walk through San Diego with probably close to 100 people taking part (I've heard rumors of a Westport zombie walk in May, by the way, so keep your eyes peeled and your dead buried)

-- A black Vietnam veteran wearing army fatigures, marching down the sidewalk in the dead of night, saluting invisible comrades and shouting out orders to no one in particular.

(actually, that last one was something I observed from my front porch in Kansas City, but I think it fits in there somehow)

I'll finish up with a few notes about the city and hopefully a few fun-saver pics once I pick those up from the photo place.

In the meantime, I just put some new strings on my old classical guitar so I'll probably be playing that if anybody wants to like, jam or something.

Thursday Tracks: Internationalerockvideonacht / Amerikanischerundfunkblogarithm

I found this video of French-Canadian teen pop group Les Lutins earlier this week. I knew this song and had put it on a mix-tape or two, not thinking too much about what the vocalist looked like. In fact, I hadn't really thought through whether I thought it was male or female. Then I saw this. I wouldn't have guessed they were this young, but he's a very spirited fellow and it's a catchy tune. Take that, Jonas Brothers!


Next up, in my perpetual quest to listen to all Turkish folk/psych rockers of note, I found this from Baris Manco. It's called "Hal Hal," and it's got one of those infectious electric hooks he's so known for. They're like a Turkish P-funk, straddling folk and disco as well as bridging Europe and Asia. And if you think I'm being willfully obscurist, keep in mind this thing has 404,000 views at the time of my sharing it.

This isn't a video, but it's a great song by Erasmo Carlos, a Brazilian fellow who Stinj turned me on to. If it's currently the era of the Brazilian Hipster, as some would attest, songs like this certainly deserve some of the credit.

Oh, man. I just found this:


It's a medley of tunes in a variety of styles. The audience's appreciation and Erasmo's shy smile at about the minute mark make this a particularly lovely take.

While I'm showcasing hand-drums, long hair and high fashion, why not end this with a lovely ambient showing by German progressive/kraut/experimental rockers Popol Vuh, the folks whose music Herzog used for his film scores.



The hazy landscape in the video actually reminds me of the shot of barley waving in the wind set in Herzog's "The Mystery of Kaspar von Hauser."

The guy who posted this has a number of videos up at youtube.com/user/orangefunk, several from a great rebroadcasting of WDR's "Die Deutschrock Nacht."

Even if you don't enjoy the music in these, they're chock-full of fashion tips. But I think you'll like at least one of them. Until next time.

I Spend A Day In Central Park

April 17, 12:35 p.m.

Was not quite prepared for the city, so I headed in a zig-zag fashion to Central Park.

First I stopped at Bryant Park and ate a strawberry torte with a coffee from a nearby delicatessen. Flocks of children playing, sunshine on buildings, couples and single folks sitting at tables so leisurely it could be a Seurat painting.

Walked past delis, pizza parlors and curiosity shops, bought a pen and fun-saver camera. Sidewalks full of important-looking people, high-fashion girls benefiting from the finest cosmetics, hairstyles and sunglasses money can by. How so many people walk so many blocks in such high heels amazes me.

The sight of magnolia trees, statues, colorful striped awnings of hot-dog vendors at the corner at 59th and 5th Avenue sent a wave of good cheer through my weary frame. The same Central Park I remember, rocks and tunnels sculpted into the landscape, people everywhere, jogging, walking dogs, riding bikes, pushing strollers. A beautiful day.

Jazz quartets playing lazy trumpet solos. People lining the benches reading the daily news, talking with each other or playing with cell phones.

I snapped a photo for a couple as they stood atop the terrace overlooking the lake.

Slept for a while under a bright cherry tree, using my carry-on bag as a pillow. A guy with three dogs, three girls smoking cigarettes on a blanket and a listless African man with a worn-out bag and wooden drum rounded out my surroundings.

Went to the Neue Galerie on 86th Street and marveled at the intricate brooches and belt-buckles designed by the Wiener Werkstätte. When I good-naturedly asked the guard if they sold replicas of the jewelry in the gift shop, he said coldly, "These are not for sale." I think he might have misunderstood me.

Other items of interest in the museum included dozens of studies by Klimt of women fingering themselves in various postures, and the crown jewel, a bright blue painter's smock of Klimt's with wizard-like designs stitched on the shoulders in yellow thread.

A lindzer tort and a coffee later and I found myself back at the park. I read a bit from the Trakl book I bought at the galerie and finally fell into a real sleep on the lawn, only to be awakened by a child approaching me while screaming something in an indecipherable kid language. I didn't hold it against him, though. He was smiling and probably only about 3 years old.

I stopped and listened to a man with a white beard and bright green sweater play a pair of sonatas on an electric keyboard, reading off of some careworn sheet music with the word "BACH" printed on the front, an umbrella and a parasol erected decoratively behind him. I gave him four quarters and listened for about that many minutes. Not a bad deal.

I then strolled past the Swedish Cottage Marionette Theater up into the designated quiet space of the Shakespeare Garden. Full of flowers, beautiful old oak benches and tasteful inscriptions from the Bard, including these lines from "As You Like It":

Heigh-ho, sing heigh-ho, unto the green holly.
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
Then heigh-ho, the holly.
This life is most jolly.

Enjoyed a lookout from the restored grandeur of the Belvedere Castle, lingering on the ramparts and gazing out south over the lake.

Some girls sitting near the statue of King Jagiello gave me a lighter after I begged a light, smiling and saying I could keep it.

I found a seat outside the Alice in Wonderland statue and watched a bald crazy fellow run erratically in circles. Just when it looked like he was about to jump in the pond, he'd arc back and change his course before running in a circle all over again.

At 7:45 I left the park to meet an associate for dinner.

It was an altogether dainty and delightful afternoon!

(confession: the picture above is one Jenn took in Kansas City, but I did see many trees like it in the park and I haven't had the time to develop my fun-saver film just yet)

keeping it short and reality-based

Can't blog much right now. I've got a cold and I took some Claritin D (in case it's allergies) so I'm stuffed-up and pharmy-headed. So today I'll just hit you with this heartwarming true story from this week...

I was at the Shell station on Main the other day on my way out of town. I didn't think I had enough change for the turnpike so while I was fueling up I dug around in the seat cushions. An old guy came up and asked me for some change so he could buy a beer. I told him I didn't have enough to share and said sorry. He said don't ever be sorry. Then he looked in my back windshield and saw the chocolate Easter Bunny that's been sitting there since Easter.

"Is that candy?" he asked. I said yes. "Is it mine?" Sure, I said, though I'm afraid it might have melted a little. "That don't matter," he said, not taking his eyes off the thing. I pulled it out of the back and gave it to him, along with a cold beer that I had in my shoulder bag.

He said thanks and walked off, still staring at his new treasures. I hung up the fuel hose and got back in the car, where I found an extra cache of coins under my coffee mug, enough for the toll and then some.

Then I drove to Lawrence.

Events

If you're in Kansas City this weekend, come check out the Open Studios at the Hobbs Building.

And if you're in New York City next weekend, come heckle me at this discussion panel taking place at the NY Comic Con.

Both events should be fun.

Bringing it all back home...

"Why must it always end in heartbreak?" I asked my friend Kyle as KU sank to a 9-point deficit in the waning minutes of tonight's NCAA basketball championship. "That's just the balance of fate," he replied.

And then -- with all the predictability of a Kansas tornado -- the balance of fate swung in our favor.

75-68.

Unbelievable.

In honor of the Hawks' vicennial victories in the championship, I thought I'd share this song called "Hawk it To 'Em," unearthed a few years back by Jayhawk DJ Balagan (you can read more about the song itself on his homepage).

More from me soon, but until then, you may rest assured that early reports that I am currently serving jail time for lighting roman candles on Mass. St. were false.

Take care. Rock Chalk. And remember to "keep it classy."

LHW

I found this postcard at the Clinton Store near Bloomington Beach at Clinton Lake. I can't remember exactly what the caption says on the back, but I believe it's a photo on file at the State historical society of a child reunited with his long-lost Jayhawk foster family. A fitting image for this festive occasion.

Addendum: It's hard to imagine a song more appropriate for Hawks fans than "Hawk it to 'em" (except for those dated Orange Bowl references), but I thought I'd post one more celebratory soul song this morning. It's a track by Esther Williams from the Best of Jazzman compilation called "Last Night Changed It All." Enjoy.

Traveling En Masse to March on Mass. Street

A Normal Summer Saturday in Beautiful Downtown Lawrence:


Last Saturday Night:

(And that's blocks from where the largest concentration of folks were)

Much more from me soon about rumblings and rumors of a championship in Larrytown, but it is not yet the time to reflect. It's the time to anticipate and then -- hopefully -- to celebrate.

Both photographs by Jenn.

P.S. If anybody has any spare change, make sure to buy Derrick Rose some more gummy bears.

P.P.S> Getting on the roof is a bit sticker situation than it was when I lived on that block. They grease up the ledge now. Fortunately, all that petroleum jelly comes off of your hands after about 15 hand-slaps. Not to hard to come by on a night like Saturday.

KU Final Four Rap

This rap song, "LuvThatCrimsonBlue" is both timely and hilarious. My brother e-mailed it to me last night, and it looks like it's spreading among the Jayhawk faithful rather rapidly, thanks to Bic Media.

skittish

All right, I know trying to initiate a dialog on a blog with as small and apathetic a readership (and authorship) as this one is like trying to discuss world events at a rural saloon where the only customers are three regulars with their heads half-buried in buckets of the local blue collar lager. In other words, I don't have high expectations for starting a meaningful conversation here. But I'll give it a try.

I've been thinking a lot about hip-hop lately. Rap music. Whatever you want to call it. Just as long as there's that tic tic followed by that bump.

Rap is so completely co-opted by advertising culture, and yet you'll never feel as cool as you do when driving around with your windows open, the verbal barrage of some high-flying emcee blasting out of your car speakers over a nice sample and a phat beat.

I even went so far as to write and record a rap song once, which was a fun experience that also gave me an appreciation for how challenging it really is to compose and deliver effective, fast-paced rhymes while still maintaining a smooth flow.

So even though it's possible for a white kid such as myself to record a hip-hop tune (albeit a mostly humorous one), there's a social and racial divide I'll never make it across, an underlying tension and intensity I'll likely never feel the same way an authentic rapper would.

While reading through the now-retracted LA Times Story last week about the 1994 attack on Tupac (if you haven't seen it yet, don't miss reading the part about how Tupac accidentally shot himself in the groin while being attacked, then dragged himself into the elevator, rode bleeding down to the lobby, rolled a joint and called his girlfriend on his cell phone before medics and cops arrived on the scene, at which point he was wheeled out on a stretcher while raising a middle finger to the assembled photographers and news media) I marveled at what a totally different reality someone like that lives in. Even the folks who pull up to the stoplight outside my building late at night blasting that glitchy krunk shit that passes for hip-hop these days are clearly living in a far different city than I do, even if it's just a mile or so away.

Most likely there's little reconciling these two worlds. But what would it sound like if we tried?

Before I turn the discussion over to you all, I'll give you a tiny bit more background. I was driving to Illinois with my friend Jon a few months back, listening to the collected works of Ghostface Killah on my minivan's quite impressive sound system. Normally I would have skipped past all the skits and filler, but because it was a 5-hour drive, we decided to let them play, discussing the history, structure and notable examples of the hip-hop skit. And then Jon posed the question, "If indie rockers included skits on their albums, what would they be about?"

A few ideas crossed our head initially, but rather than allow those to taint your thoughts, I thought I'd see what you bring to the table. I usually don't ask much of my readers, so don't let me down this time. The future of modern music depends on it.

Dudestachery and Miscreancy

While I'm linking to other blogs, columns and late 18th century texts, I thought I'd go ahead and introduce a couple other favorite reads of mine.

Most recent to appearon my blog radar (a high-tech operation I run out of my garage manned by rejected space chimps and university students in need of college credit) is a site called Dudestach.blogspot.com, where you will find enlightening posts such as this one called "Roughly 13 Yao Mings."

My favorite Kansas City blog is definitely "The Random Ramblings of a Midtown Miscreant." This guy lives in the same part of town as I do, from what I gather, but takes a more direct and in-depth approach to exploring what makes Kansas City unique and what the real issues are behind the many problems its citizens face. He's not afraid to call people out on messing up, and he's got some great stories about the unsavory characters he found himself surrounded by while growing up in KC.

I'll be back tomorrow with a very serious question that I'm going to ask for your input on. See you then.