Interview with Noah Van Sciver by Noah Van Sciver.

Caption: “Miss I think you dropped my phone bill. Here you are!”

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Many of you are familiar with the cartoon work of Noah Van Sciver. He’s the near-sighted artist behind that one comic book that you would maybe buy if you saw it in a comic shop, but don’t feel like buying it online because of all of the work involved. But did you know that he also has to find a different Denver band every single week and interview them for a comic strip that is published in Denver’s alternative weekly Westword?

Well, he does. And he’s been doing this for 3 years every week.

I recently sat down with Noah to discuss his upcoming projects and his life in general. And it was easy because, well, I’m Noah.

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Hello Noah. how are you doing? I know you have seasonal affective disorder and everything. Are you feeling ok?

Well, I guess I’m alright. Just a little cold here in my morgue-like room.

How’s the constant laughter over crappy movies that goes on all night by your roommate and his friends been?

My nerves are pretty jangled. It’s tough to drown it out sometimes. I guess I’m just happy that people get to have so much fun with this apartment that I’m paying half of. And I’m only sorry that I don’t want to see these people that hang out here at all in my life. Maybe if they told better jokes I’d laugh with them.

Bitter?

Yes. So what?

Excellent. (cough) Ok. So, tell us a bit about your life, Noah. What’s it like to be the cartoonist behind such instant comic classics like “The Denver Spider Man” and “Abbey’s Road?” And who could forget those loveable Chickens? What are your days like?

I wake up on the filthy futon cushion on the floor I call a bed, roll over and finish the crust from last night’s domino’s pizza that has been sitting out all night, near my head waiting for me like a loyal pet. I’m just in my boxers and there’s greasy garlic sauce and crumbs all over my face, my sparse chest hair and happy trail. I’ll pull a bigger crumb out of my belly button and pop it into my awful mouth while I pull my pale body up off the floor (knee joints popping) to properly wipe the sauce off of my hands onto my boxer’s fabric.

Next, I’ll usually take a fuzzy-eyed gander at the pages of my latest comic story that are splayed all over the ground under my feet. They will cry out to me “Finish us, Noah! Finish us!” And I’ll look down and whisper “no.”

I’ll use the bathroom, playing the old footprint game where I try to match up my steps with the steps of my former self, that are told in the footprints made on my filthy bathroom floor.

Then, I’ll fall back onto my bedroom floor and try to get a few more hours of sleep.

And so on and so on… My life’s nothing really to brag about.  Just a bunch of out-of- focus vignettes.

… So when will Blammo #7 be out?

Soon actually. It came together pretty quickly.

And what about The Hypo?

Not for a while more. Don’t worry about it, friend.

(coughing) Sorry I think I have something wrong with my throat or something.

Alright, well keep it coming towards me, why don’t ya?

Sorry. (COUGH)

Disgusting man. You make me sick. It sounds like you’re bleeding in your throat when you cough. I’d better not get what you’ve got.

I am you. Do you have any goals for 2011?

No. Not really. Just to continue drawing my comics. Watch more MAD MEN.

Maybe read some more….

I like you. Do you like me too?

(Cough) Damn you!

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So there you have it folks. A fine interview! Wow!

The champagne of blogs

The Bus ride.

Okay, so you’re on a city bus. The kind of bus that a certain kind of person rides all day just to sleep where he’s not going to get beat up or peed on. Your seat cushion is warm, moist and probably salty if you had the sudden urge to taste it. This bus is packed to the rafters with drifters. And all you want to do is get to the street corner nearest to where you work. Where you work is the nearest place to hell, but the pay is just enough to keep you from begging on the corner with the rest of these bus passengers.

in the mean time between the failure that is your attempt to blend in with these bottom dwellers, you sit and stare at the floor.  Something has caught your eye. Something bright and flashy in this sea of sad color palettes. It’s your shoes. Your shoes which are far too white and attention grabbing for anyone who is trying as hard as you are to blend in and look like he really belongs on this rolling Mos Eisley spaceport of a bus. Shoes so white will give the impression of  innocence and angelic purity. Of financial completeness. They might scream “I have a bountiful life, and my pockets are stuffed with crumpled up bills. Oh please won’t you rob me? Won’t you please spread my wealth by way of theft?” You quietly and discreetly tuck you feet underneath your seat and gaze intently out the fingerprint smudged bus window at the street signs, while your seatmate, who looks like Mother Theresa but is a gruff man and probably not as kind, breathes his paint-thinning breath just above your ear. Making a whistling sound with every breath.

“Why oh why don’t I have a car?” That phrase is being written over and over on a chalk board by Bart Simpson inside your skull. Screeching chalk added for bad measure.

–Wait! Wait! You just want to pause here and make one thing clear for all of the readers: You are not a wuss. And you are not some Neo-Reaganite yuppie who wants to give these passengers all blankets via Lord Jeffrey Amherst. Your heart bleeds for these people. It hurts you all the way to the bone that they’ll be peeping their little beady, blood-shot , codeine ingesting faces in your window tonight  instead of curling up by your fireplace with one of your good books.

But the truth is this: You are scared and that’s all there is to it. All you want to do is get to your stupid job, sit in front of your crappy Dell computer and enter data.

The television show OZ ran from 1997 to 2003. It focused on a Prison nicknamed “OZ” for the Oswald State Correctional Facility. This was a very scary television show. Wikipedia says: “Oz chronicles the attempts of McManus to keep control over the inmates of Emerald City as well as the drug trade and the violence. There have been many groups of inmates during the run of the show and not everybody makes it out alive.”  And damn it all to hell  if that show isn’t exactly what you see around you as the bus rolls up to your stop.

These damned white shoes. You duck and crawl under the mad cow disease, and SARS, and west nile virus as you make your way off of the bus. You imagine it dragging and scraping the road with the weight of the filth it holds, but are actually surprised that on the outside it looks just like any other city bus. Certainly the smog was no more or less than any other public transportation in this city. The tires looked full. The advertisement was wholesome. The bus driver looked just like your average joe, just getting by. Friendly even.

Well who are you? You catch a fleeting glimpse of your face in the reflection of a business’ window and stop mid step. Backwards a few steps to take a second look. And there you are.

My god in heaven. If that isn’t the ugliest man you’ve ever seen.

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My friends. I have a few announcements! Here it is. Here is the autobiographical comic that you’ve all been waiting for! YES! It’s Noah Novella by Grimalkin press, and it’s well worth the 5 dollars to get it to your home. I’m not kidding! I took 200 of these with me on tour and SOLD OUT fast! They are what you’ve been looking for your entire life. just look at that cover! What a nerdy kid. If you want to laugh and cry over life’s occasional unfairness, buy this comic from Grimalkin press.

and if you have website that reviews comics, please write about it. I like this comic a lot, and hope that it will catch on. Here!

So the other day I did a signing with Diary comic artist Sam Spina at Time Warp comics in Boulder. Westword paid me to draw a comic strip account of my experience as an Alternative cartoonist signing in this ungodly world of frowns.

Click on the pic above to see this comic!

Also, i drew a comic for the Baltimore Sun in collaboration with Neil Gaiman, illustrating a one panel comic of something he overheard at a flea market.

This is the glamorous life of a 21st century cartoonist.