In preparation for printing, I've added two more pages to The Locked Maze Book II to help with pacing: 30b and 41b. I had to backdate them to make sure they were sorted properly by MT.

Also, I got my second DD from deviantArt! You can read more about the DRAMA of that in my deviantArt journal.

See, the problem with having three different websites is that one forgets to copy things across them all (or is just plain lazy). :P

My paintings go off to the Foolscap convention tomorrow afternoon. I would be more nervous about it, but I am a bit distracted since this is also the weekend I am moving (not by choice - either the date OR the moving as a whole). I am just relieved to know those pieces will be safe Somewhere Else. (If only they could store my TV and personal documents for the weekend as well.) Oh, and if that weren't enough, I also have a wedding to go to.

I'm still toying with going down to the Browncoat Ball in Portland the following weekend, provided I don't drop dead of exhaustion between now and then. The comics track looked interesting. But, see, I've been to my share of computer conventions, and I well know the difference between the glowing PR for a given panel and the dull and uninteresting reality. And the drive can be really horrible because of f#&$^^*ing traffic in south Seattle and Tacoma. Meh.

The Last Unicorn is one of my Favorite Books, but Beagle's other works haven't really struck a similar chord in me, until the final tale in this collection of short stories: "A Dance for Emilia." I was quite literally crying my way through the whole thing. Jake is a second-rate actor who spends his life working small theaters and bit parts; his friend Sam is a dancer who gave it up when he realized he would never be good enough, and became a theater critic instead (he refuses to review dance, noting that he's too bitter). There's no judgement (or at least none that I sensed) between these two choices. But the unspoken grief Sam feels over this choice haunts the entire narrative, up against Jake's lesser sadness of mediocrity.

I heard some reality show girl on one of the lesser cable channels chattering childish epiphanies during a channel-hop yesterday. She said that if you loved something enough, that was all it took to succeed. And I laughed, with all the bitterness of poor Sam. It's not, else the world would be full to the brim with artists and musicians and writers. Instead we fall to supporting roles, like critics, teachers, assistants, and gallery buyers, or disappear entirely into other, less-creative, endeavors. Reading that story, I side with Jake. Better to be a forgotten nobody in the world you love, than standing on the sidelines, forever thinking about what you gave up.

I had a dream a year ago about the earth being engulfed in the sun and being carried away by aliens (not because I was special, mind you, they just were short on time and couldn't find the nobel laureate on their list, and, well, there was an empty seat...), so when I read the spoilers for Knowing, I figured I'd have to see the movie, eventually. But nothing prepared me for how truly awful it was. I really liked Alex Proyas' previous work in Dark City and The Crow, and I guess if I don't blame him for the badly-written script or the atrocious acting, at least the style and special effects were pretty awesome.

But here's the thing. This is a great idea for a movie. It's kinda like The Day The Earth Stood Still, but creepier, less judgmental, and ultimately far sadder. But then someone handed the idea to a goddamn psycho Christian with a huge chip on his shoulder and a need to soak the entire story in Bible piss. I mean, I could almost forgive the not-so-subtle jibes throughout the film that the only reason the protagonist is an atheist is because his wife died and he's just so broken up about it that he's decided there can be no meaning in the universe. It seems to be a common preconception among Christians who have never actually spoken to an atheist in their entire lives. And the whole pre-determinism is actually fine by me, since I have a thing for old greek plays and watching people try to escape inescapable fates.

The biggest thing that made me want to rip the DVD from the player and jump up and down on it was the constant OMG-It's-Aliens-But-Really-It's-Christian-Mythology!!!! There are 4 aliens. Yeah, 4. And they have little energy wings. And there are Signs and Prophecies, get it? And the Apocalypse - guess what, it's Scientific, sort of (the inaccuracies of the movie are a whole 'nother rant). But it's still the Apocalypse, except in this version, apparently the only ones righteous enough to be saved are cute little white kids. The rest of the human race (and the animal kingdom, barring fluffy white bunnies, it seemed) are Left Below To Burn. And if you weren't gagging on the symbolism yet, there's the epilogue, where the (adam and eve pairs of) little children are left on a new (Eden-esque) planet WITH A FUCKING BIG WHITE TREE. Oooh, that was subtle. I almost expected to see the aliens wearing Mormon aprons, but I guess whoever the Christian source was for this piece of shit didn't realize that his brilliant idea was thought up 150 years ago by an equally narcissistic fiction writer in New York.

Forget getting those two hours of my life back, I'm pissed that I can't erase that preachy, brow-beating, MarySue White Chosen People annoying shrill whine from my head entirely. There is not enough booze in the world.

So I have few things to announce here of trivial importance.

• Guess what? I have a facebook artist page. I have so many friends on facebook, I figured it was time I added my tiny shrill whining demand for attention to the mawing din that is the facebook monster. Right now it is just hooked into the mleiv.com feed, but who knows, maybe it will mutate into something more.
• Guess what? mleiv.com is now also iphone friendly. I know, I know, what's next? Twitter? Just cut me some slack; I work in technology and my peripheral exposure to all of this trendy bullshit eventually does wear me down.
• Guess what? I'm not at Comic-Con. I know, I've never been at Comic-Con. In fact, I've never been to a convention at all since the one time I went to Life, The Universe, and Everything as a teenager. Oh, and all those times I went to Comdex, but that's a different sort of beast. Anyway, since I finished Book #1 and started reading comics like mad, I actually am a little sad that I'm not there. Everyone else is. :( And my only opportunities for dressing up like slutty scifi characters are the occasional Halloween charity ball (which is really No Fun At All). And the last time I had someone be mean about my artwork to my face was in college. So I am really missing out here. ;) I will be crying quietly in my corner as I read the AV Club coverage.
• And speaking of Joss Whedon's Dollhouse, I've been rereading Gibson's Neuromancer. I gotta give some cred to BladeRunner, but Neuromancer definitely does seem to be the basis for 99% of my favorite scifi shows. I'd totally forgotten about the meat puppets, and I gotta say Whedon, you missed whole avenues there with the simstim actors. I mean, would you rather screw a puppet Scarlet Johansson, or hook in and BE a puppet Ryan Reynolds screwing Scarlet Johansson? Maybe I just have body issues, but the latter sounds a lot more awesome to me.

Anyway, so there's all the insignificant news. Go about your business. This is (sadly) not the Famous Comics Artist at Comic-Con that you were looking for...

In one of the most exciting and unexpected bit of news I've uncovered in the past decade, MONKEY ISLAND IS COMING BACK.

There is a downloadable five-episode set coming from telltale games under the label Tales of Monkey Island.

And LucasArts has re-released the original Secret of Monkey Island with all new HD graphics via Direct2Drive online download at around $10.

Both versions are PC, but I hear tell of an iPhone version on the way... watch Tales of Monkey island Blog for more news.

Apparently my comic has a wider following than I had thought, because I spotted a man styled as Jack Lucky in Portland this past weekend, complete with lovely fairy companion.

This was recently brought to my attention on deviantArt:

I am a very cynical person. But obviously still a little optimistic. I love this whole speech on how to become an artist by offering up the most unique commodity you have (yourself), and being persistent and hard-working with no regard for outcome. And his overarching point that you should be an artist only because you love it, and not for recognition - is definitely an ideal I can agree with. I know too many people who pick up writing, music, or art (or, all three) because they are looking to bring meaning and glamour to their lives, and it always feels false and annoying. Do it because you love it and you are unhappy without it. Then, if you are a colossal failure, you at least have an enjoyable pastime to distract you from your misery. }:^)

While watching the final hours of BSG provided little mirth, I was at least laughing my ass off reading the Onion AV Club's comments.

• "Many key moments were handled so badly you would think George Lucas wrote this finale."
• "I think of all the haters who were joking about [ending by travelling through] the Black Hole and I think, 'If only ... '"
• "As a contemporary human, I'm pretty pissed off that my ancestors suffered through centuries [of] disease and ignorance because Apollo read the Caprica equivalent of 'Walden.'"
• "Will Galen find Slartibartfast's face in the glacier when he gets to Scotland?"
• "Yes, in a show with FTL travel, sentient robots, hybrids controlling capital ships, organic robots, and organic spaceships, the possible presence of some kind of god is the most ridiculous thing ever conceived."
• "Prophecytown, where fiction goes to die. "