We'd succeeded once again in perpetrating the great hoax for the mainstream that keeps comic-collecting such a fantastic hobby: that we're sexless dweebs. And in the end, it always befuddles me that they've never been able to figure it out and unmask our charade. I mean, without the sex, drugs, and occasional good deal on a pricey book, why else would grown men be into comic books?
- Kevin Smith, "Comix!"
"The Lost City of Candor"
When I got exiled to the Garden State, I made myself a promise.
I swore that I would not let the East Coast change me. No matter what happened, I'd still be the same patient little comic book geek, but with a job and an apartment for which I'd actually pay rent in a timely manner.
Roughly seven months into my proscription (I love thesaurus.com) I have found that I have failed. Anyone who receives regular e-mails from me (the both of you) will know what I'm talking about. I am becoming Angry As Fuck Clark With Crazy Tirade Typing Action (TM). Moreover, I seem to be losing all sense of candor and privacy. I feel like I'm losing that joie de vague that once marked my prose. Speaking in constant and thinly-veiled metaphor used to be my thing. It used to make me me. Now, I just seem to let it all hang out.
I'm putting on weight again, too. I really oughta go for a run. I'll do it tomorrow.
The only part of this that really bothers me, however, is that I seem to admit to masturbating way more than I used to. Nobody needs to know about this. I used to understand that. Now, I seem to reference doing so every other blog entry. I have no idea why this has become the case. I think I'm just trying to plumb the depths of frankness and shock value because it seems to me that the blog bubble has burst, and I'm desperate to keep my readership with dick and fart jokes.
It's also entirely possible that this is all about distance. With a thousand miles between us, I feel liberated enough to admit to some of the terrible shit I've been up to.
I mean after all, it's kind of hard to talk about beating off to Wonder Woman fan fiction on Prewitt's computer when it's extremely likely he'll read about it on said computer while you're sitting on his bed thumbing through his back issues of New X-Men.
Then again, Prew-Prew was always a pretty cool cat. "Just clear the history when you're done," he used to tell me.
"Comic Contract Confidential"
I may or may not have signed a contract with Marvel Enterprises, Inc.
If I did do such a thing, I'm sure it's not quite as impressive as it sounds, as it was less, "We like you and want to give you regular work so you can quit your job, move back to the warm bosom of the midwest and spend the rest of your days banging out sub-par Black Panther scripts in a shitty little duplex you'll share with Brent" and more "We own this story now and don't you say any different or we'll crush you" (i.e. standard fare, "work-for-hire").
But hey, if this did happen to a 23-year-old unknown -- and I'm certainly not saying it did or even that it didn't -- that'd be fairly impressive on its own, right?
No. I'm not drunk right now. I do know whether or not this did or did not happen, just as I'm reasonably sure you can infer the same. My only question about this comes from the fact that if I did sign such a contract, it may or may not have contained a confidentiality clause I was a little unclear on because I may or may not have refrained from sending it to a certain fledling bowling alley lawyer who I recently compared to Doctor Doom to look over because he seems like a busy guy and it wasn't that complicated.
Then again, maybe I didn't.
I also may have scored the number of a cute intern on the elevator out of work today, too. It doesn't seem likely however. That really just don't sound like me...
"Dave, My Mind is Going"
After you write a six page blog entry about a movie you barely liked based on a comic you don't really read, you start to worry that you may be boring the vast majority of your audience.
Actually, it occurs to me that this is probably something nobody else ever has to concern themself with. I'm alone. I'm a lone. I'm a loan.
Anyhoozle, I just wanted to say to those of you who find the constant comic book geekery tedious, that it could be worse. Much worse.
So let me ask you: If I'm Ben Grimm, who's my long-standing rival whose unquestionably stronger than me, but fanboys like to see me pit myself against anyway? Who's my Incredible Hulk?
"Jersey Guy"
I have somewhat fallen out of love with Kevin Smith over the years. Which basically means, yes, I saw Jersey Girl in theatres.
It's not like I hate the guy or anything. Really, he's just kind of dropped off my radar. He hasn't done a movie in a while, and he completely abandoned the two comics he was writing for Marvel a few years back. I read recently that his reason for doing so was that writing those scripts was starting to feel like "a job". Oh boo fucking hoo, Silent Bob.
Despite this, I still wouldn't say that I hate him. He just doesn't light my fire like he used to. And I think I can best explain that through way of my bits:
In high school, Smith (uh, Justin, not Kevin) and I used to do the "White Hating Coon" routine from Chasing Amy twice a week.
By the time I was in college, I'd do a recitation of "Jay's Rap" from Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back anytime Jeffries asked (which was about twice a month on average).
Now in my post-collegiate career, every once in a while, I'll mutter, "Why are we walking like this?" followed by my closest verbal approximation of the sound of a flower pot shattering and wonder where that's from, eventually concluding it must have been an episode of Family Guy instead of Clerks: The Animated Series.
And yet I found myself buying Silent Bob Speaks: The Collected Writings of Kevin Smith this week, and wondering why. These are the best reasons I've come up with so far:
1) On the Fourth of July, Hank took me to Jay and Silent Bob's Secret Stash (Smith's comic book store, which Wizard Magazine once described as Comic Geek Mecca) and it was everything I dreamed of and more, saving my birthday from becoming a no-cake, no-frills affair. I picked up a Randal Graves Inaction Figure which is currently slacking around my cubicle, waiting for my Brodie Bruce to join him. (Somehow, I failed to retrieve him during my return to the Show-Me State.) On the way out, Walt Flanagan wished me a happy birthday. His dog was not in attendance.
2) It recently occurred to me that I wouldn't have possibly not signed a contract with Marvel if not for Kevin Smith. Now, I'm not saying he inspired me to become a writer, because that honor actually belongs to whoever wrote the delightful musical "Little Shop of Horrors." My rationale for this is that the phenomenal success of Smith's run on Daredevil was most likely the impetus for Kev's collaborator, Joe Quesada, being named the Editor-in-Chief at the House of Ideas, and I credit Quesada for Marvel's new open-door submission atmosphere that may or may not have allowed an unknown Missouri boy of questionable talent to wedge his toe in.
3) I really miss Will.
I finished the book on the bus this afternoon. It's not bad. It's really kind of interesting to read Smith glowingly speak of the love affair of Afleck and Lopez and his ill-fated predictions of the children they'll raise. The same goes for his post-Last-Samurai, pre-Collateral interview with Tom Cruise, as it's odd to think of Tom Cruise in a context that isn't all about crazy these days, though you can kind of see it coming. Plus Smith writes what is hands-down the greatest account of a comic book convention ever printed.
And on page 275, he uses three little words that have relit the fires of my love for him.
I'd feel remiss to end this entry before explaining that I don't actually consider Jersey Girl god awful. Hell, I think I like it more than Dogma.
My only real beef with Jersey Girl is that I didn't think the ending was quite satisfying enough. Ollie completely gives up any hope of a career he can find meaningful just so his daughter can stay in New Jersey? I really thought the scene where he explains the DOT's need to shut down the main road to the townsfolk was setting him up to get some type of public liason job with the Department, which would have given us a nice compromise where Gertie gets to stay where she wants, and Dear Old Dad finds gainful employment in an area approaching his expertise, but no. Apparantly he's going to dig ditches with a smile now.
Plus, we never get a Big Hollywood Screen Kiss between Arwen and Daredevil. What's up with that?
A month ago or so, I was asked whether or not the central thesis of the film was that Kevin Smith can't make good movies anymore because he has a daughter now. And not rhetorically. An actuall answer was demanded. I didn't know what the fuck to say, but I'm not sure whether or not this was strictly because that seems like a rather oddly specific and direct thing for Mr. Smith to try to say with a flick, or because I just really wanted to make out with the person next to me.
I guess we'll never know.
"The Lost Entry"
You know how sometimes you click the "publish" button after slaving over a fresh new entry, but blogger fucks up or something and you lose it?
This has nothing to do with the titular entry of this particular sub-entry, but doesn't that suck anyway?
I fully intended to write a "Show Me Potato Salad" Tour Diary in the style of Chuck Klosterman's recent book, Killing Yourself to Live in which I would have regaled you with tales of my week back in Missouri complete with an amusing anecdote in which I serenade Brent with a Weird Al style parody of "Still Fightin' It," and a horrifying tale of my descent into a place I can only describe as a "murder pumping-station," to say nothing of a beautiful yet shockingly self-absorbed account of the blessed ceremony that wed Myndi and Charlie DeVore.
I intended to, but it doesn't look like it's going to happen. I just don't have the time or patience for it these days and I don't want to write NEXT: "Show Me Potato Salad!" only for it to end up like "Songblog for Silverman" or that essay I always meant to write about working at Target but never got around to. I've got that crappy unfinished screenplay and whatever revisions Marvel may or may not decide to demand to consider.
I still have my copious notes -- which I only do for the blog when I'm trying to elicit comments like, "See. This is why you need a blog," from Prewitt -- and even started work on it, so who knows? Maybe six months from now, after Granny's finally kicked me out of the house and I've got a shitty apartment of my own where I'm afraid to sleep on my Ikea sofa bed for fear that an indigenous swarm of periplantae americana will devour me while I slumber, I'll stay up for a few nights mumbling "Can't sleep, cockroaches'll eat me" and writing a painfully personal and intimately candid account of the events that led me to turn to a woman I've been (not so) secretly in love with for my entire adult life and ask, "Would it be terribly inappropriate if I kissed you?"
Then again. Maybe not. Jesus Christ. Who actually talks like that?
"Blessed is the House of DeVore"
A lesson in Clark-style rhetoric: All that claptrap about my "great lost blog entry" is really a roundabout way of explaining why I, a man with the rampant freetime to blog about every tiny event he's witnessed, have managed to post twice without saying word one about Charlie and Myndi's wedding.
I didn't want anyone to think that I've been seething all this time because they didn't have that part in the ceremony were the minister asks if anyone has any objects, denying me the chance to stand up and declare my undying love for Charlie so I could finally ween him away from that harpy, or worse and far more likely, to think me far too self-centered to care.
So I just wanted to take this moment to thank them, again, for inviting me. I read a blog entry several months back in which the now and future bride described the difficult process of selecting whom could be in attendance in the face of limited seating, and thought it more than possible that I might be passed over, so I was overjoyed to receive an invitation.
I recently received a funny and touching thank you card for my wedding gift (which I had planned on wrapping in the Spider-Man gift-wrap my mom wraps all of my Christmas presents with, but she refused to let me, despite my protestations that people expect a certain "Clark panache" and the web-slinger fit the bill).
My inclination was to send a thank you card for the thank you card, but I'm trying to refrain from my penchant for meta.
But seriously, best wishes, kids.
"Letters to Kate"
I have written more missives to Kate Jeffries than any other woman alive.
I'm not sure whether I should find this depressing or not. It just seems kind of weird considering any interest I have in her panties is almost purely academic in nature.
Anyway, as you may or may not know, Kate and I tend to wile away our working days by exchanging frequent e-mails. So much so that I kind of consider Kate a co-worker. She's the only person I really talk to at my office.
Well, around company holidays, my job let's me leave at three on Fridays, and the first time this happened, I wrote Kate telling her I was leaving, and she balked, asking what she was supposed to do for the last few hours of her day without me. This happened again when I decided to take a full week off of work to cavort around the 24th State of the Union on vacation while Kate kept doing whatever the hell she does at the Kennedy Center all day. (She's explained it to me once or twice, but I always kind of space out.)
Any time Kate gets like this, I always kind of quietly think to myself, "Jesus, is the broad clingy and needy or what?" (Actually, I probably don't think this quietly as much as I write back to her, "Jesus, Jeffries. Are you a clingy and needy broad or what?")
After all, how hard can it be to amuse yourself at your job when you've internet access, right?
Kate recently took a week off of work so she could fly back to Texas and cavort around the Lone Star State and maybe take in a wedding. With my company holiday, this amounted to three days on my own without her.
And I totally lost it.
What follows are excerpts from the ten unanswered e-mails I sent to Kate's gmail account during her absence...
Thu July 7, 2005 4:22 PM
Boredom: God. I am so freaking bored! I'm on a three man team at work, composed of me, my boss, and the woman who trained me, right? Well the woman who trained me's on vacation this week, and my boss is working from home today, which leaves me all alone with the Desktop Team (The Geek at the Center of the Office Social Structure, Trivia Woman, and The Adjectiveless Woman without a Nickname). [CLARK'S NOTE: None of these people will talk to me.]
Trivia Woman just asked if anyone knew anything about Parker Posey. I didn't fall for the trap, expounding upon her admirable work in Christopher Guest movies or her star-turn as Tom Hanks' self-absorbed girlfriend in You've Got Mail. I restrained myself. But GOD! [CLARK'S NOTE: Trivia Woman routinely asks Geek at the Center questions about movies and films. Every once in awhile, she'll ask one that he doesn't know the answer to, like "Was Teri Hatcher in Lois and Clark before or after she did that episode of Seinfeld?" or "Whatever happened to that Urkel kid?" and when I chime in with an answer or contribute to the conversation, it's met with dead silence and they move on to another topic.]
Email Sarcasm: I wrote this about you in an e-mail to Erin, and I thought it was funny enough to share with you no matter what the consequences... Plus you get a good idea of how I talk about you when I don't think you're going to see it, and that's the type of thing I'd want to know. Like, when you talk about me with Hank or your family, is there a certain tone of pity in all of your voices?
Anyhoozle...
Is that sarcasm? I can never tell in these blasted e-mails. Who the hell can? (I suppose this is what emoticons are for, but I hate emoticons with a passion I can neither explain nor deny.) Kate and I have a lot of misunderstandings because she takes something I write in jest and assumes I'm pissed as hell about it. Here's my question: How often have I been really pissed at anybody and told them such? Now ask yourself how often I've been really pissed at someone and told them when I was sober... Never. Exactly. So does Kate think I come to work drunk or is she under the mistaken impression that I've radically shifted into Angry as Fuck Clark (TM) with Crazy Tirade Typing Action?
God. I love the girl to death, but sometimes she just doesn't get it.
You know what I find genius about this? (I mean other than what I consider a nifty reference to my proposed Clark action figure merchandising line?) You can't get mad at me about it, because the whole thing's about how you shouldn't get mad at me about my emails. I'm brilliant. Really and truly.
Taboo: Speaking of things I probably shouldn't have mentioned, I think I've told everybody I can that the two of us were talking about getting married. And by everybody, I mean two people, but that's still two people too many.
Why? I have no idea. Gotta say, I'm pretty freaking bored, though.
[CLARK'S NOTE: I have now told many, many more people. It's okay though. The two people I already told were the only two people who could possibly care. Besides, Kate will casually mention the contents of an e-mail I wrote asking detailed questions about the act of sexual intercourse to anyone who cares to listen. Just ask her. I need to ask a favor of you, now, gentle readers. I need you to flood the comments section with your rousing advocacy of me and Kate getting hitched. Ladies, I especially need you to write stuff like, "You two would make such a cute couple, and your babies would be adorable." The Parents Jeffries, if you're out there reading this, your personal endorsement would really help me out here. Why do I want you to do this? Is it because I love Kate and can't live without her? No. It's because I love Hank and I want him to suffer. I'm a kook.]
Thu July 7, 2005 4:52 PM
Okay. I am soooo bored, I am now going to attempt to create a response to my e-mail the way you'd write it...
Boredom: Told you you'd be bored without me, Clark. Ha!
Email Sarcasm: You ARE brilliant!
Taboo: Gah! Why?! [CLARK'S NOTE: Kate regularly writes "Gah" for "God" out of some long-running adherence to the Second Commandment.]
Parker Posey: Did you call her Christopher Guest work admirable?
Thu July 7, 2005 4:54 PM
Okay. Now I'm going to respond to your fake e-mail...
Boredom: You are so right Kate, as always.
Taboo: For laughs. For shits and giggles.
Parker: It's admirable by some people. I ain't one of them. Comic book flicks forever!
And see. Just like that. Whole new low.
Fri July 8, 2005 10:39 AM
Email: I'm sorry. I can't stop. Who else am I going to talk to about all of this crap?
The DeVores: I got my thank you card from the DeVores for my double timer. It was actually pretty funny. She thinks that you, me, and Hank should go to Baltimore for some drinks and encourages me to invite the Rum Bandit if I so desire.
Oh god. I just got this horrible flash of the future. It's me hanging out with married couples all by myself (or maybe with the company of the freaking Rum Bandit) until you all start having babies and no longer have time for me. Yeesh.
[CLARK'S NOTE: This is all part of a carefully constructed ruse by which I convince people that getting invited to do stuff is almost a burden in the hopes that it's true that people always want what they think they can't have.]
Fri July 8, 2005 3:29 PM
We must have died along, a long long time ago: You know how we get these lines in our heads sometimes?
Especially those lines that aren't very profound or funny, but burrow in anyway? I'm having one of those moments.
This time it's from the Nirvana Unplugged album. I think it's right before they do their cover of Bowie's "Man Who Sold the World," but I could be wrong. It's Kurt Cobain saying, "Am I going to have to do this by myself?"
He asks it so casually. It's not like he's desperate or anything. He just wants to know.
I'm having a meltdown, Kate.
[CLARK'S NOTE: Me. Talking about Nirvana. Yeah... I'm pretty freaked out, too. This type of morbid musing is actually fairly typical for a 3:30 e-mail, and once it's sent, I usually go get that afternoon cup of coffee that perks me right up.]
Fri July 8, 2005 4:03
GatC & the FF: Gah! Geek at the Center's talking about Fantastic Four! You wanna see this movie? Me neither.
Patsy Cline: Let me be clear here: I'm not crazy just because you ran off to Texas. It's a number of different factors which include the fact that you ran off to Texas... There's my vanished co-worker whose constant chatter saves me from the white noise of my own thoughts... The fact that I'm 23 and out of fun birthdays (Guess I really disproved the old, "Well, when you're 25 you can rent a car" chestnut)... and The Big Non-Secret Thing.
Electric Light Orchestra: I really wanna listen to "Sweet Talkin' Woman" now.
[CLARK'S NOTE: I also really like "Wild West Hero" on that album. And, of course, "Mr. Blue Sky"]
Fri July 8, 2005 4:07 PM
Never mind: I'm not having a meltdown. I just want to go home. That's all. I get them so easily confused.
How's it going out there?
[CLARK'S NOTE: It's at this point that I really start to crack. And yes, the Nirvana reference is intentional.]
Fri July 8, 2005 4:18 PM
Hmm: Wait, maybe I did have a meltdown and now it's over and I'm looking back in regret. I don't know. (I may go down or up or anywhere but I feel like this scribbling might stay... )
This fucking tears it, though. I have to make some friends at work. Look at me. Just look at me!
Vanity: May have had a totally Carly Simon moment... Is there any way to delete e-mails you've sent?
Fri July 8, 2005 4:44 PM
Family Guy Reference You Might Not Get: *BEEP* Uh yeah I was just wonderin', uh, mmmhmm, where the newspaper boy was. *BEEP* Haven't seen the newspaper in a couple days, wonderin' if you're ever gonna come back. *BEEP* Guess who! Sorry to leave you so many messages, just lonely here, thinkin' about the muscly arm paper boy, wishin' he'd come by and bring me some good news! *BEEP* Where are ya? *BEEP* Ah, you're starting to piss me off ya little pigly son of a bitch. Call me!
Fri July 8, 2005 4:58 PM
Signing off: Okay. I'm going home here pretty soon. I gotta tell you, though, this -- all of this -- is probably going to be a blog entry. "Letters to Kate" or soemthing. Instant classic. I do so love to cut, paste, hack.
[CLARK'S NOTE: Yeah. That's pretty much how most blog entries start.]
NEXT:
"The Crisis Thus Far"
- Kevin Smith, "Comix!"
"The Lost City of Candor"
When I got exiled to the Garden State, I made myself a promise.
I swore that I would not let the East Coast change me. No matter what happened, I'd still be the same patient little comic book geek, but with a job and an apartment for which I'd actually pay rent in a timely manner.
Roughly seven months into my proscription (I love thesaurus.com) I have found that I have failed. Anyone who receives regular e-mails from me (the both of you) will know what I'm talking about. I am becoming Angry As Fuck Clark With Crazy Tirade Typing Action (TM). Moreover, I seem to be losing all sense of candor and privacy. I feel like I'm losing that joie de vague that once marked my prose. Speaking in constant and thinly-veiled metaphor used to be my thing. It used to make me me. Now, I just seem to let it all hang out.
I'm putting on weight again, too. I really oughta go for a run. I'll do it tomorrow.
The only part of this that really bothers me, however, is that I seem to admit to masturbating way more than I used to. Nobody needs to know about this. I used to understand that. Now, I seem to reference doing so every other blog entry. I have no idea why this has become the case. I think I'm just trying to plumb the depths of frankness and shock value because it seems to me that the blog bubble has burst, and I'm desperate to keep my readership with dick and fart jokes.
It's also entirely possible that this is all about distance. With a thousand miles between us, I feel liberated enough to admit to some of the terrible shit I've been up to.
I mean after all, it's kind of hard to talk about beating off to Wonder Woman fan fiction on Prewitt's computer when it's extremely likely he'll read about it on said computer while you're sitting on his bed thumbing through his back issues of New X-Men.
Then again, Prew-Prew was always a pretty cool cat. "Just clear the history when you're done," he used to tell me.
"Comic Contract Confidential"
I may or may not have signed a contract with Marvel Enterprises, Inc.
If I did do such a thing, I'm sure it's not quite as impressive as it sounds, as it was less, "We like you and want to give you regular work so you can quit your job, move back to the warm bosom of the midwest and spend the rest of your days banging out sub-par Black Panther scripts in a shitty little duplex you'll share with Brent" and more "We own this story now and don't you say any different or we'll crush you" (i.e. standard fare, "work-for-hire").
But hey, if this did happen to a 23-year-old unknown -- and I'm certainly not saying it did or even that it didn't -- that'd be fairly impressive on its own, right?
No. I'm not drunk right now. I do know whether or not this did or did not happen, just as I'm reasonably sure you can infer the same. My only question about this comes from the fact that if I did sign such a contract, it may or may not have contained a confidentiality clause I was a little unclear on because I may or may not have refrained from sending it to a certain fledling bowling alley lawyer who I recently compared to Doctor Doom to look over because he seems like a busy guy and it wasn't that complicated.
Then again, maybe I didn't.
I also may have scored the number of a cute intern on the elevator out of work today, too. It doesn't seem likely however. That really just don't sound like me...
"Dave, My Mind is Going"
After you write a six page blog entry about a movie you barely liked based on a comic you don't really read, you start to worry that you may be boring the vast majority of your audience.
Actually, it occurs to me that this is probably something nobody else ever has to concern themself with. I'm alone. I'm a lone. I'm a loan.
Anyhoozle, I just wanted to say to those of you who find the constant comic book geekery tedious, that it could be worse. Much worse.
So let me ask you: If I'm Ben Grimm, who's my long-standing rival whose unquestionably stronger than me, but fanboys like to see me pit myself against anyway? Who's my Incredible Hulk?
"Jersey Guy"
I have somewhat fallen out of love with Kevin Smith over the years. Which basically means, yes, I saw Jersey Girl in theatres.
It's not like I hate the guy or anything. Really, he's just kind of dropped off my radar. He hasn't done a movie in a while, and he completely abandoned the two comics he was writing for Marvel a few years back. I read recently that his reason for doing so was that writing those scripts was starting to feel like "a job". Oh boo fucking hoo, Silent Bob.
Despite this, I still wouldn't say that I hate him. He just doesn't light my fire like he used to. And I think I can best explain that through way of my bits:
In high school, Smith (uh, Justin, not Kevin) and I used to do the "White Hating Coon" routine from Chasing Amy twice a week.
By the time I was in college, I'd do a recitation of "Jay's Rap" from Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back anytime Jeffries asked (which was about twice a month on average).
Now in my post-collegiate career, every once in a while, I'll mutter, "Why are we walking like this?" followed by my closest verbal approximation of the sound of a flower pot shattering and wonder where that's from, eventually concluding it must have been an episode of Family Guy instead of Clerks: The Animated Series.
And yet I found myself buying Silent Bob Speaks: The Collected Writings of Kevin Smith this week, and wondering why. These are the best reasons I've come up with so far:
1) On the Fourth of July, Hank took me to Jay and Silent Bob's Secret Stash (Smith's comic book store, which Wizard Magazine once described as Comic Geek Mecca) and it was everything I dreamed of and more, saving my birthday from becoming a no-cake, no-frills affair. I picked up a Randal Graves Inaction Figure which is currently slacking around my cubicle, waiting for my Brodie Bruce to join him. (Somehow, I failed to retrieve him during my return to the Show-Me State.) On the way out, Walt Flanagan wished me a happy birthday. His dog was not in attendance.
2) It recently occurred to me that I wouldn't have possibly not signed a contract with Marvel if not for Kevin Smith. Now, I'm not saying he inspired me to become a writer, because that honor actually belongs to whoever wrote the delightful musical "Little Shop of Horrors." My rationale for this is that the phenomenal success of Smith's run on Daredevil was most likely the impetus for Kev's collaborator, Joe Quesada, being named the Editor-in-Chief at the House of Ideas, and I credit Quesada for Marvel's new open-door submission atmosphere that may or may not have allowed an unknown Missouri boy of questionable talent to wedge his toe in.
3) I really miss Will.
I finished the book on the bus this afternoon. It's not bad. It's really kind of interesting to read Smith glowingly speak of the love affair of Afleck and Lopez and his ill-fated predictions of the children they'll raise. The same goes for his post-Last-Samurai, pre-Collateral interview with Tom Cruise, as it's odd to think of Tom Cruise in a context that isn't all about crazy these days, though you can kind of see it coming. Plus Smith writes what is hands-down the greatest account of a comic book convention ever printed.
And on page 275, he uses three little words that have relit the fires of my love for him.
I'd feel remiss to end this entry before explaining that I don't actually consider Jersey Girl god awful. Hell, I think I like it more than Dogma.
My only real beef with Jersey Girl is that I didn't think the ending was quite satisfying enough. Ollie completely gives up any hope of a career he can find meaningful just so his daughter can stay in New Jersey? I really thought the scene where he explains the DOT's need to shut down the main road to the townsfolk was setting him up to get some type of public liason job with the Department, which would have given us a nice compromise where Gertie gets to stay where she wants, and Dear Old Dad finds gainful employment in an area approaching his expertise, but no. Apparantly he's going to dig ditches with a smile now.
Plus, we never get a Big Hollywood Screen Kiss between Arwen and Daredevil. What's up with that?
A month ago or so, I was asked whether or not the central thesis of the film was that Kevin Smith can't make good movies anymore because he has a daughter now. And not rhetorically. An actuall answer was demanded. I didn't know what the fuck to say, but I'm not sure whether or not this was strictly because that seems like a rather oddly specific and direct thing for Mr. Smith to try to say with a flick, or because I just really wanted to make out with the person next to me.
I guess we'll never know.
"The Lost Entry"
You know how sometimes you click the "publish" button after slaving over a fresh new entry, but blogger fucks up or something and you lose it?
This has nothing to do with the titular entry of this particular sub-entry, but doesn't that suck anyway?
I fully intended to write a "Show Me Potato Salad" Tour Diary in the style of Chuck Klosterman's recent book, Killing Yourself to Live in which I would have regaled you with tales of my week back in Missouri complete with an amusing anecdote in which I serenade Brent with a Weird Al style parody of "Still Fightin' It," and a horrifying tale of my descent into a place I can only describe as a "murder pumping-station," to say nothing of a beautiful yet shockingly self-absorbed account of the blessed ceremony that wed Myndi and Charlie DeVore.
I intended to, but it doesn't look like it's going to happen. I just don't have the time or patience for it these days and I don't want to write NEXT: "Show Me Potato Salad!" only for it to end up like "Songblog for Silverman" or that essay I always meant to write about working at Target but never got around to. I've got that crappy unfinished screenplay and whatever revisions Marvel may or may not decide to demand to consider.
I still have my copious notes -- which I only do for the blog when I'm trying to elicit comments like, "See. This is why you need a blog," from Prewitt -- and even started work on it, so who knows? Maybe six months from now, after Granny's finally kicked me out of the house and I've got a shitty apartment of my own where I'm afraid to sleep on my Ikea sofa bed for fear that an indigenous swarm of periplantae americana will devour me while I slumber, I'll stay up for a few nights mumbling "Can't sleep, cockroaches'll eat me" and writing a painfully personal and intimately candid account of the events that led me to turn to a woman I've been (not so) secretly in love with for my entire adult life and ask, "Would it be terribly inappropriate if I kissed you?"
Then again. Maybe not. Jesus Christ. Who actually talks like that?
"Blessed is the House of DeVore"
A lesson in Clark-style rhetoric: All that claptrap about my "great lost blog entry" is really a roundabout way of explaining why I, a man with the rampant freetime to blog about every tiny event he's witnessed, have managed to post twice without saying word one about Charlie and Myndi's wedding.
I didn't want anyone to think that I've been seething all this time because they didn't have that part in the ceremony were the minister asks if anyone has any objects, denying me the chance to stand up and declare my undying love for Charlie so I could finally ween him away from that harpy, or worse and far more likely, to think me far too self-centered to care.
So I just wanted to take this moment to thank them, again, for inviting me. I read a blog entry several months back in which the now and future bride described the difficult process of selecting whom could be in attendance in the face of limited seating, and thought it more than possible that I might be passed over, so I was overjoyed to receive an invitation.
I recently received a funny and touching thank you card for my wedding gift (which I had planned on wrapping in the Spider-Man gift-wrap my mom wraps all of my Christmas presents with, but she refused to let me, despite my protestations that people expect a certain "Clark panache" and the web-slinger fit the bill).
My inclination was to send a thank you card for the thank you card, but I'm trying to refrain from my penchant for meta.
But seriously, best wishes, kids.
"Letters to Kate"
I have written more missives to Kate Jeffries than any other woman alive.
I'm not sure whether I should find this depressing or not. It just seems kind of weird considering any interest I have in her panties is almost purely academic in nature.
Anyway, as you may or may not know, Kate and I tend to wile away our working days by exchanging frequent e-mails. So much so that I kind of consider Kate a co-worker. She's the only person I really talk to at my office.
Well, around company holidays, my job let's me leave at three on Fridays, and the first time this happened, I wrote Kate telling her I was leaving, and she balked, asking what she was supposed to do for the last few hours of her day without me. This happened again when I decided to take a full week off of work to cavort around the 24th State of the Union on vacation while Kate kept doing whatever the hell she does at the Kennedy Center all day. (She's explained it to me once or twice, but I always kind of space out.)
Any time Kate gets like this, I always kind of quietly think to myself, "Jesus, is the broad clingy and needy or what?" (Actually, I probably don't think this quietly as much as I write back to her, "Jesus, Jeffries. Are you a clingy and needy broad or what?")
After all, how hard can it be to amuse yourself at your job when you've internet access, right?
Kate recently took a week off of work so she could fly back to Texas and cavort around the Lone Star State and maybe take in a wedding. With my company holiday, this amounted to three days on my own without her.
And I totally lost it.
What follows are excerpts from the ten unanswered e-mails I sent to Kate's gmail account during her absence...
Thu July 7, 2005 4:22 PM
Boredom: God. I am so freaking bored! I'm on a three man team at work, composed of me, my boss, and the woman who trained me, right? Well the woman who trained me's on vacation this week, and my boss is working from home today, which leaves me all alone with the Desktop Team (The Geek at the Center of the Office Social Structure, Trivia Woman, and The Adjectiveless Woman without a Nickname). [CLARK'S NOTE: None of these people will talk to me.]
Trivia Woman just asked if anyone knew anything about Parker Posey. I didn't fall for the trap, expounding upon her admirable work in Christopher Guest movies or her star-turn as Tom Hanks' self-absorbed girlfriend in You've Got Mail. I restrained myself. But GOD! [CLARK'S NOTE: Trivia Woman routinely asks Geek at the Center questions about movies and films. Every once in awhile, she'll ask one that he doesn't know the answer to, like "Was Teri Hatcher in Lois and Clark before or after she did that episode of Seinfeld?" or "Whatever happened to that Urkel kid?" and when I chime in with an answer or contribute to the conversation, it's met with dead silence and they move on to another topic.]
Email Sarcasm: I wrote this about you in an e-mail to Erin, and I thought it was funny enough to share with you no matter what the consequences... Plus you get a good idea of how I talk about you when I don't think you're going to see it, and that's the type of thing I'd want to know. Like, when you talk about me with Hank or your family, is there a certain tone of pity in all of your voices?
Anyhoozle...
Is that sarcasm? I can never tell in these blasted e-mails. Who the hell can? (I suppose this is what emoticons are for, but I hate emoticons with a passion I can neither explain nor deny.) Kate and I have a lot of misunderstandings because she takes something I write in jest and assumes I'm pissed as hell about it. Here's my question: How often have I been really pissed at anybody and told them such? Now ask yourself how often I've been really pissed at someone and told them when I was sober... Never. Exactly. So does Kate think I come to work drunk or is she under the mistaken impression that I've radically shifted into Angry as Fuck Clark (TM) with Crazy Tirade Typing Action?
God. I love the girl to death, but sometimes she just doesn't get it.
You know what I find genius about this? (I mean other than what I consider a nifty reference to my proposed Clark action figure merchandising line?) You can't get mad at me about it, because the whole thing's about how you shouldn't get mad at me about my emails. I'm brilliant. Really and truly.
Taboo: Speaking of things I probably shouldn't have mentioned, I think I've told everybody I can that the two of us were talking about getting married. And by everybody, I mean two people, but that's still two people too many.
Why? I have no idea. Gotta say, I'm pretty freaking bored, though.
[CLARK'S NOTE: I have now told many, many more people. It's okay though. The two people I already told were the only two people who could possibly care. Besides, Kate will casually mention the contents of an e-mail I wrote asking detailed questions about the act of sexual intercourse to anyone who cares to listen. Just ask her. I need to ask a favor of you, now, gentle readers. I need you to flood the comments section with your rousing advocacy of me and Kate getting hitched. Ladies, I especially need you to write stuff like, "You two would make such a cute couple, and your babies would be adorable." The Parents Jeffries, if you're out there reading this, your personal endorsement would really help me out here. Why do I want you to do this? Is it because I love Kate and can't live without her? No. It's because I love Hank and I want him to suffer. I'm a kook.]
Thu July 7, 2005 4:52 PM
Okay. I am soooo bored, I am now going to attempt to create a response to my e-mail the way you'd write it...
Boredom: Told you you'd be bored without me, Clark. Ha!
Email Sarcasm: You ARE brilliant!
Taboo: Gah! Why?! [CLARK'S NOTE: Kate regularly writes "Gah" for "God" out of some long-running adherence to the Second Commandment.]
Parker Posey: Did you call her Christopher Guest work admirable?
Thu July 7, 2005 4:54 PM
Okay. Now I'm going to respond to your fake e-mail...
Boredom: You are so right Kate, as always.
Taboo: For laughs. For shits and giggles.
Parker: It's admirable by some people. I ain't one of them. Comic book flicks forever!
And see. Just like that. Whole new low.
Fri July 8, 2005 10:39 AM
Email: I'm sorry. I can't stop. Who else am I going to talk to about all of this crap?
The DeVores: I got my thank you card from the DeVores for my double timer. It was actually pretty funny. She thinks that you, me, and Hank should go to Baltimore for some drinks and encourages me to invite the Rum Bandit if I so desire.
Oh god. I just got this horrible flash of the future. It's me hanging out with married couples all by myself (or maybe with the company of the freaking Rum Bandit) until you all start having babies and no longer have time for me. Yeesh.
[CLARK'S NOTE: This is all part of a carefully constructed ruse by which I convince people that getting invited to do stuff is almost a burden in the hopes that it's true that people always want what they think they can't have.]
Fri July 8, 2005 3:29 PM
We must have died along, a long long time ago: You know how we get these lines in our heads sometimes?
Especially those lines that aren't very profound or funny, but burrow in anyway? I'm having one of those moments.
This time it's from the Nirvana Unplugged album. I think it's right before they do their cover of Bowie's "Man Who Sold the World," but I could be wrong. It's Kurt Cobain saying, "Am I going to have to do this by myself?"
He asks it so casually. It's not like he's desperate or anything. He just wants to know.
I'm having a meltdown, Kate.
[CLARK'S NOTE: Me. Talking about Nirvana. Yeah... I'm pretty freaked out, too. This type of morbid musing is actually fairly typical for a 3:30 e-mail, and once it's sent, I usually go get that afternoon cup of coffee that perks me right up.]
Fri July 8, 2005 4:03
GatC & the FF: Gah! Geek at the Center's talking about Fantastic Four! You wanna see this movie? Me neither.
Patsy Cline: Let me be clear here: I'm not crazy just because you ran off to Texas. It's a number of different factors which include the fact that you ran off to Texas... There's my vanished co-worker whose constant chatter saves me from the white noise of my own thoughts... The fact that I'm 23 and out of fun birthdays (Guess I really disproved the old, "Well, when you're 25 you can rent a car" chestnut)... and The Big Non-Secret Thing.
Electric Light Orchestra: I really wanna listen to "Sweet Talkin' Woman" now.
[CLARK'S NOTE: I also really like "Wild West Hero" on that album. And, of course, "Mr. Blue Sky"]
Fri July 8, 2005 4:07 PM
Never mind: I'm not having a meltdown. I just want to go home. That's all. I get them so easily confused.
How's it going out there?
[CLARK'S NOTE: It's at this point that I really start to crack. And yes, the Nirvana reference is intentional.]
Fri July 8, 2005 4:18 PM
Hmm: Wait, maybe I did have a meltdown and now it's over and I'm looking back in regret. I don't know. (I may go down or up or anywhere but I feel like this scribbling might stay... )
This fucking tears it, though. I have to make some friends at work. Look at me. Just look at me!
Vanity: May have had a totally Carly Simon moment... Is there any way to delete e-mails you've sent?
Fri July 8, 2005 4:44 PM
Family Guy Reference You Might Not Get: *BEEP* Uh yeah I was just wonderin', uh, mmmhmm, where the newspaper boy was. *BEEP* Haven't seen the newspaper in a couple days, wonderin' if you're ever gonna come back. *BEEP* Guess who! Sorry to leave you so many messages, just lonely here, thinkin' about the muscly arm paper boy, wishin' he'd come by and bring me some good news! *BEEP* Where are ya? *BEEP* Ah, you're starting to piss me off ya little pigly son of a bitch. Call me!
Fri July 8, 2005 4:58 PM
Signing off: Okay. I'm going home here pretty soon. I gotta tell you, though, this -- all of this -- is probably going to be a blog entry. "Letters to Kate" or soemthing. Instant classic. I do so love to cut, paste, hack.
[CLARK'S NOTE: Yeah. That's pretty much how most blog entries start.]
NEXT:
"The Crisis Thus Far"
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