I just slept away most of the day and feel like maybe I should at least try to get something done. It’s Monday today-or at least for a little while longer it is. It’s always hard to adjust to the time change when it comes. It’s dark at 4:00 p.m now and it makes me feel like the entire day is gone. The days are so incredibly short! And Fall is going away soon too to give way to the bitter cold and agony. I don’t know… Perhaps some good will happen this Winter. I’ve really got to get back to work on my book. I’ve taken about 6 weeks off of it, and now I’m itching to get going again! I’ve got to work out some parts that I’ve already done. I Got an e-mail from Chris Staros telling which parts to fix…

Here is a quote from a review that I recently got about Blammo #4:

“He is a young man, though, and it is evident in his obsessions and his seeming desperation for approval. His is a raw soul, it seems, twisting between feelings of self loathing and entitlement. I love that about the book. It is so honest that it almost feels painful. “

graphicnyc.blogspot.com/2009/11/graphically-speaking-blammo-4.html

I guess that about sums me up, huh?

Well, I’m sad that Halloween is over. I am in the pre-mourning stages of Fall. My beloved season. I’ve been in a weird stage of not knowing what to do with myself lately. Actually, I guess that’s not so weird. I have a new issue of Blammo coming out in a few weeks. That’s pretty exciting. It’s a good issue. Full of chuckles and such. I have to try to spread the word about it, which can be extremely difficult when you draw a comic book like Blammo. Especially in these days of serious graphic novels! God, if only I was old enough to have been drawing this comic book in the early 1990’s! I would have ruled the world! There could have been a Blammo TV show! I think if Blammo were a TV show it would be like Liquid Television. Anyway, this issue is being paid for by Kilgore books&comics. http://kilgorebooks.com/

Sometimes when I write in this blog, I feel like I’m alone in a room talking to a mirror. Which is normally how I spend my Friday nights. 

I’m reading a great book called The amazing adventures of Kavalier & Clay, while the snow falls on the city I’m wrapped up in. I wrap up in a blanket and read. 

I really need to invest in an actual bed pretty soon. I’ve been sleeping on this futon cushion for the past year, and I’m only getting older by the day, which makes me feel like I should be putting on some kind of adult facade. At least give some kind of impression that I am put together as a normal human being and less like a transient squatting in some abandoned home. It would also be nice to sleep in an actual bed instead of a freaking cushion! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about how cool it would be to be able to put things underneath where I sleep. Don’t take that storage space for granted, folks!

Now, I can’t speak for you, but, there are a few things I’d like to avoid in my life:

1. Dying a very messy death (i.e. hacked up with an ax, torn apart–anything really bloody). 

2. Having to cross a rope bridge over anything extremely high up.

3. Swimming in the ocean, and being caught in the current and carried out.

4. Being in a motorboat that could possibly be flipped over leaving me in a situation like #3.

5. Being lit on fire and not dying.

6. Getting stuck outside in an electrical storm.

7. Completely losing my eyesight.

and, not finally, but, because I’m getting tired:

8. Having any of my fingernails fall off.

Think about that! I can’t! It makes me want to throw up to think about what’s even under my fingernails! I imagine it’s like some sort of Clam meat! It’s really only a door slam on your finger away. Disgusting. I hate being human.

I found out that Bob Dylan died at 7:35 p.m. on October 21st in Denver, Colorado. That was the night I stood and watched him play with his band.

I stood in a crowd of people, all supposedly like me and watched them shake their bodies, and groove to some music with $7.00 bottles of Budwieser in their hands. Some were older, all salt and peppered hair, while others were only teenagers who had come to gaze upon the physical form of what they’d read was a “living legend.” Real life proof that anybody-ANYBODY- could become what they’d dreamt they could be. All classes of liberal society were there in full force. The more willing and able to afford it, paid for seats and were able to comfortably get a view of the spectacle. They were warm in their fleece vests, complete with the great man’s modernized “tattoo insignia” sewn on. Directly but subliminally where the merchandiser’s wanted it: right over the heart of the wearer. 

Other fans of the aging, great man, were crowded down on the floor and were not permitted to go up and have a look from the seated area. From down on the floor you could put on your t-shirt, screen printed with a retrospective picture of the young idealized great man (only $40), while you shook your body around to the stagnant, fake “New Orleans rock” music being played by a studio band, lead by a decrepit, old man who wished you would go away but leave your wallets and pocket books. 

The aging, frowning, great man stood on a stage that he had made sure to have raised far above the crowd, with a steel fence 8 feet in front of it, as to not permit these groovin’ vermin to get too close to him. From up (and back)there he was safe to deconstruct and deficate on some of America’s favorite songs. Songs that meant so much to the swaying crowd. Songs that the aging, mustachiod, frowning, great man wrote 40 years earlier, when he, as legend has it, clawed against all odds to play the music that was meant to bring people together. 

The man was hateful now. His skin looked like paper mache, sagging from being left out in the rain. Every pore full of cigarette smoke. Every line a testament to his growing resentment towards people like myself, and people like the seated fleeced ones. And towards the duties of being a cultural icon. And the steady stream of bills to pay from past lovers and secret out of wedlock children. I dare to presume what this man is really like by current sight and sound only.

Donned with a cowboy hat, western shirt, bolo tie and tight leather pants, growling at the audience. Verbally scratching away at songs that I hold dear to me. Songs that played an integral part of my young adult life. Traversing from song to song without a banter break to seemingly get through it. To get to the next city’s arena full of consumers. 

40 years is a long, long time, Bob.I’m not old enough yet to comprehend it and I couldn’t begin to understand how messy somebody’s life like yours could be. Is it a complete hell, Bob? Have you sold your soul to the devil? Is it a way to get back at me? Passive aggression? Are you asking the arena-filled audience how much they really like you? Testing the limits of their adoration? 

You old bastard. “Go quietly into the night.”

Okay Okay…. Here is my post about my trip that I wrote when I got back, but have been too busy catchin’ up with things to post. So, for anyone who still cares here is my trip and some more good stuff!

Today I got back from my road trip with John Porcellino. 

It was the first time (aside from a convention in Florida with Ethan) that I’ve gone out of my comfort zone (Denver) to meet people and sell Blammo. 

The drive was immensely painful for us! John was nearly a day late in picking me up, so we lost a day’s worth of driving and had to rush. Meaning no sleep allowed! But, after driving through “Nowhere USA” for 8 or 9 hours your body will black out to cease to blankness of it all. And even though John and I wore tough attitudes about “just getting it done,man” and driving until we reached Ohio, we noticed our dreams kept creeping into our real lives. With no other options (besides death by falling asleep behind the wheel of a car) we pulled in behind a gas station and tried to get “like 2 hours of sleep.”  

Something I should mention is that the little car that John rented to make this trip was in fact “little” and John is a cartoonist with 20 years of King-Cat publications and products behind him. And these products (as well as mine) were literally behind us! The car was so crammed full of comics that we couldn’t have reclined our seats with God’s help! Actually, if anything our seats were on an incline, folding each of us nearly in half as we rambled across the country like two mad paper salesmen, with machine guns pressed up against their heads.

This car became our very own pillory on wheels. Sleeping in the seat that night while the rain sprinkled on our tortured flesh I looked at the sky and saw a star. I wondered if maybe, perhaps my mother was looking at that same star. And was glad she didn’t have to witness her dear son possibly developing scoliosis in the seat of Chevy Malibu in a Kansas gas station parking lot. 

After our frugal nap time, we drove again into the darkness and uncertainty. We had to pull over into rest areas for 5 minute intervals of sleep. I would literally set my alarm 5 for minutes, and John would rest his head in his arms on the steering wheel, while I put my head down on a bag of King-Cat t-shirts that protruded in between the two seats, and for 5 minutes we were allowed to rest our road weary minds. Minds that had painted road lines burned into them,and had gone red and soft, like so much meat loaf.

Eventually we made it to Cincinnati for our first signing at a record store called Shake it!

We didn’t know what to expect, and at first it seemed like it wouldn’t go so hot. But eventually the night turned itself around in a favorable way. Cincinnati is a beautiful city! We could barely believe it when we got there! All original architecture has remained intact and besides a little wear, was a lot like stepping back in time and being able to walk down any American street circa 1920. That night we rested our heads in an unbelievable old building that was being rented out by one of Shake it! store owners. A tall brick now defunct Masonic lodge with many floors. We slept in an old ballroom on couches that lined the walls.

The next morning in Cincinnati, we stopped into a little “diner” so I could get a bowl of chili. The waitress had two black eyes, and didn’t like our western ways. John and I ordered water and I only wanted a small bowl of chili. “That’s it?!” she replied. “Yeah, sorry that’s it.” we said. She grumbled and walked away. After I ate my delicious chili, I payed with a tip. The man behind the counter said, “this is too much money!” We told him it was her tip and got out of there and out of that town.

Our next stop was a record store in Akron, Ohio. Akron seemed like my kind of place. It had a low-key kind of cool! Beautiful once again. The signing was at a store called Square records and man, they had a great selection of music. We bought some CDs and commenced with the reading and signing, before once again jumping into that heavy machine of burden and roaring away. Stopping on a foggy night to once again sleep in a dangerous place fully exposed to any kind of danger that found us.

We traveled my friends. We traveled and traveled, all across this land. Through nothingness and nothing towns. Through big skies and small roads, we drove our lives away. Through the big, big woods and green grass and the muddy, muggy distances. We drove, drove drove. 

We made it to Maryland where we stopped for a while to take a gander at a Civil War battlefield. It was now the home of a wide range of insects of all kinds. All fighting each other for a chance to enter any bed sores that may have appeared on my body as a result of the aforementioned long stretches of seat sitting. Luckily John and I made it through the searing battlefield without (as far as I currently know) taking any of those insects with us, snug under our flesh. 

It was onward then to Baltimore where we stayed with a friend of John’s and were finally were able to lay our crucified bodies in real beds. Stretching out our legs and taking off our socks! 

During that night, as I lay awake on an air mattress in Baltimore, I could hear the crickets outside of my window. I was far away from home. A twenty five year old. A man. I thought about my hopes and dreams as a young man that night. About all the other nights in my life I had lay awake, thinking and wishing I could be somebody. To make something of myself. And the deep fear I’ve felt that I would never make it. Never accomplish anything. And now, here I was, in Baltimore, one of many cities that I had never been in, on a tour. As an artist. And, I thought, Maybe those Crickets were talking about me out there! 

I’d sell them each a copy of Blammo.

While in Baltimore, I attended a party at Atomic books. When we pulled up I felt a sudden shock of fear hit me! I was standing right in front of a bookstore that about four years ago I found out about, and wished I could be a part of somehow. It’s a GREAT shop! I walked in a little shaky and introduced myself to the owners who I’ve only talked to through e-mail. Benn Ray, a part owner and I have collaborated on a few comic strips in the past and I was pretty excited to meet him! I knew we’d hit it off just fine, and I think we did! Below is the photographic proof:

John Porcellino had to do a reading of his newly released book at this party, and it was no big deal. He had been doing this same reading at every stop, prefaced with a small reading from one of my mini comics. This reading from my mini comic always killed at every shop. Everyone laughed and it loosened up John for his of his reading. Sort of an ice breaker. So, when I told him to do it here as well, he didn’t think twice about it. Well…. This time it didn’t work out so good. The crowd in Baltimore was so quite I could hear those crickets talking again. Only now they were laughing at us. It was pretty rough, and I hid behind somebody the whole time, with my head down, beet red! 

After all of that I talked to some people and found that most already were aware of me and my work. This was delightful. 

John and I returned to the home we were staying in, and went to bed, awaking in the morning to pack up our belongings and head out to SPX. We started driving, thinking that we could make it to the hotel with time to spare. Setting up our table and maybe having a chance to walk around for a while and talk to some of the other artists. This was not to be. We got lost on our way there and it took a little while and a few tears and rage to figure out where the hell this place was! 

Anyway, we found it and set up our table a little late. I remember being freaked out at first, and I thought “oh man, what if I don’t sell anything at all??” Luckily after a half an hour I felt more comfortable and sold a lot. I worked hard! 

The first night, was the Ignatz awards and I sat there and wondered why I wasn’t nominated for one. Why not, man? Maybe next year, or something… Maybe Blammo isn’t the kind of comic that wins Ignatz awards.

After the awards came a great time of free drinks with Jeffrey Brown, Zak Sally, Julia Wertz, Tom Neely and a bunch of other dudes. Everybody was out in the hotel halls laughing and having a good time. Nearly the entire industry was there and you could literally go from group of people to group of people and talk and it was just great!

I’m trying to remember what happened next, because I was really drunk by this point, but I think I stumbled up to my room (which was shared by Julia Wertz, Sam Gaskin, Grant Reynolds, John Porcellino and Nate Doyle.). I heard the next morning that it got a little loud in there, but I slept through it. 

The next day was another good one, in which I met Dustin Harbin. I knew him from the internet and was glad to meet him. We hit it off pretty fast like everybody else I met. I also took part in a panel on the future of comics. I can’t find the audio anywhere online though… Maybe somebody will post it…

That second night is when everybody hung out in our room and did Mad Libs together. It was bittersweet. I knew it was the end of my trip, and I didn’t know what to look forward to next. I still am looking for something…

Me with Gary Groth of Fantagraphics.

I met a lot of people during this weekend whom I respect very highly. Whom I was a big fan and had to hide it, so as not to embarrass myself. I had a great time. SPX made me feel like I had a tribe. I met cartoonists who I’ve never even talked to before in my life, and we were like old friends from the start. Comfortable and ready to go get Mcdonald’s together….That’s great to have that, and I’m  lucky. I’m so lucky.

Me and my pen pal, Jeffrey Brown:

Below: Me, John Porcellino, Joe Kuth, and Carol Tyler in Ohio.

Here is a podcast interview with me recorded during SPX (you may have you skip past a good portion of it to hear me):

http://www.hhwlod.com/components/com_podcast/media/Extended_Edition_-_SPX_2009.mp3

And here is a comic I did about my trip:

http://pwbeat.publishersweekly.com/blog/2009/10/01/cartoonists-on-the-road-porcellino-and-van-sciver/

And also here is a mixtape I did fro INKSTUDS!:

http://inkstuds.com/?p=2350

Maybe it’s some of my grandfather’s blood that flows through me that makes me so attracted to buildings. I walk around most times just to gaze and sometimes I catch other people walking by gazing up with me trying to see what I am looking at. Perhaps a nude woman in the window?

Every place you stand has been stood in before. Every old pile of bricks you can find has been involved with, and has caused a whole spectrum of human emotions in its existence. Most places you stroll by everyday are more interesting than you are. 

This building is one of the oldest surviving in Denver. It was built in 1863, only six years after Denver was founded. It originally housed a saloon and at one time a boarding house. This particular building was built after a huge fire in April 1863 that destroyed much of Denver, causing the town to pass the “Brick Ordinance” that required all new buildings to be built out of brick. This was still was the law until around 1940. So, when I walk around Denver, I can always spot the older homes and buildings by their big red bricks and stones. 

What’s also interesting to me is house the faces of these old buildings change over time. Originally, this building had a huge balcony on the front of it. 

Note the picture below that I stole of another site:

It currently houses the Blake Street Vault. A restaurant given its name because it houses an old hidden walk-in  vault  that is accessed through a secret entry in the ground floor. This vault is from 1880 and was manufactured by the Union Foundry Works in Chicago. 

There is a hidden magic in this city for me. And when I walk the streets in certain moods I can almost see what was once here. When the constant street traffic causes the asphalt to  recede enough to show a single trolly car track covered up for 50 years. Or when they remove a parking lot, and uncover the foundations of a once beautiful victorian home, that is long gone, but the basement remains intact ,it gives you a glimpse of a city of the past. One that is quickly disappearing from America.

But I can still see it. Like a man walking through a city after a great devastation, I try and piece together what once was. And it fills me up.

Denver, I want to occupy every room in every old building you keep. I want to hear all of your secrets. 

And I want to cry over your decapitated corpse. 

Wherever I wind up in life I’ll always think of you. 

You wear your rugged old west like a scar that you try to cover up with too much make-up. You dirty whore, you.

I am pretty sick of doing the self-deprecating cartoonist thing at this point. I’ve gotten so down on myself lately that it’s no longer funny to me anymore. Sure, I’m a nobody cartoonist who has the same amount of money as the next guy on the bus, but, all of that stuff has been said before. It’s a well-worn road that I don’t wanna walk anymore. 

I was talking to my friend one time about how I’d like to possibly branch out  into animation some day and he looked at me like I was a traitor or something. Like I wasn’t a pure comic artist. That’s true. I think of myself as more of an entertainer and–hot damn- an “artist”. I’d love to entertain people in any form of media.I bought a video camera so that I could mess around with it. I like putting things together. And like any true artist, why the hell would I want to limit myself to drawing boxes on paper and filling those boxes in with drawings and dialog?  So, yeah, I guess I’m not pure.

I have been working on my book so much lately that I’ve kind of engulfed myself in the story. After work I’ve just been reading and taking notes and drawing until bedtime again. Since this is my debut book, I just want everything to come out like it is in my head. And actually it’s starting to! Here’s the newest page that I’ve been posting everywhere:

Anyway.. I’ve been having a hard time keeping up with this blog lately. Don’t let me stop!

When I think about comics in my childhood, I think about my dad’s boxes of comics that he would re-read every year. I remember one series that he owned and would read was The New Fantastic Four, that featured the Grey Hulk, Spider-man, Wolverine and Ghost rider. 

I really liked that stuff. 

I also have a memory of one of Ethan or Josiah’s big blue and red blankets that had a tiny Spiderman head drawn on it, probably by Ethan. I used to love looking at that. These little things, mostly just freeze frames from my brain are all influences on me.It seemed like we were all so creative in my family. My sisters all made their own magazines out of computer paper and cutting out pictures from real magazines. I thought that was so cool! To have your own publication! It didn’t seem like it was so hard at all! I also remember seeing Micah drawing Calvin and Hobbes and I was shocked at how they looked like the real Calvin and Hobbes! 

Josiah was pretty good at coloring books. At least I remember him being pretty awesome at coloring in the ones that I had. And Dad of course would draw that head peeking over the wall. And myself, I was always filling up notebooks with my own comics.

When I think of the comic books in our house when I was young, I always think of Power Pack, though. And so, for this Comic book covered blog I decided that that’s the comic book I wanted to re-draw. 

Here is a link!

http://coveredblog.blogspot.com/2009/08/noah-van-sciver-covers-power-pack-23.html

I do these goofy drawings for the MCA. They use them in their lectures every friday. This past friday, Robin and I went to one of the lectures. 

Here are some of my drawings being used.

Also, This really great interview with me is up right here:

http://www.acmecomics.com/node/888

Thank you all for reading my blog. I love you all.