What About Laughing Gravy?

* Quick, get Phil Baruth and Dan Barlow together!

Why?

Well, Dan is moving.

Up.

In the world.


Trees & Hills comic group co-founder

Dan Barlow (here's the man's blog)

just informed me and the world he's moving -- to Montpelier. "After four years of working as a reporter in southern Vermont - covering great things like a 34-year-old nuclear reactor, nude teenagers and pirate radio stations - I'm hitting the big time," Dan sez. "Well, big time for Vermont. Starting Feb. 19th I will be one of the Rutland Herald's two reporters covering the Vermont government. Yeah, the government that Howard Dean used to run before he started doing whatever he's doing now. This means I'll be in charge of writing about things like the Vermont House and Senate, our swell old Republican governor and ... nude teenagers (if they decide to follow me to Montpelier). I may even write things about our wide-eyed freshman Congressman or our socialist Senator. We'll see."

We shall indeed. Congrats, Dan!

But in the meantime -- whither Trees & Hills? What will happen to this adventurous band of New England cartoonists once Dan moves (choke) North?

Will this move mean the group is growing, spreading its roots further over the Green Mountain and Granite State landscapes?

Will the roots be deep and sound, or shallow and spread, like those damned conifers that blow over in wind storms?

Or will Dan still nurture and support the collective, or will he cast it adrift, leaving it shy of one activist co-founder?

Can Colin keep it afloat with his compatriots sans Dan?

And -- What about Laughing Gravy?

Only time -- and Dan -- will tell. Stay tuned.

[Trees & Hills group photos by Mark Martin, from his glorious Jabberous blog, circa May 2006: http://jabberous.blogspot.com/2006/05/comics-club.html -- see that link for ID of those pictured, save ---- Bjork -- who is he, anyway? And is he still drawing? Does he have a site? Did DC Comics approve of one of you wearing a Batman t-shirt? Did you have to pay royalty fees, or was that included in the price of the shirt, and First Sale Doctrine rules uber alle? Colin?]

* Speaking of which -- Damn, I let the Trees & Hills group down yesterday.

Amid all my catch-up posts, I neglected to mention that

the monthly Trees & Hills drawing party is happening, like, today, and I forgot to post the info & link about it yesterday!

Colin writes, "drawing party (always the 3rd Sat. of each month except under extenuating circumstances) will be happening this Saturday 2/17 at Tim Hulsizer's house in Keene, NH; email Tim (escapevelocity at hotmail.com) for directions and other info." BTW, here's the link to

Tim Hulsizer's site,

________________

* Don't know if you read the comments posted to this blog, but my short review of the documentary Jesus Camp prompted a strangely familiar hit-and-run swipe from an outraged Christian fundamentalist, in this case the right Rev. Don Spitz of Hampton Roads, Virginia. The link from his comment yielded this

little one-post blog,

a rant in the wilderness.

In his comment on my review, Rev. Don Spitz said:

"Sounds like you have some real serious hatred issues directed towards Christians. Suffice it to say, most, if not all problems on the planet earth are from people like you who reject Jesus Christ. Our prisons are filled with people, like you, who reject Jesus Christ. Most if not all rapes, murders, robberies and thefts are committed by people, like you, who reject Jesus Christ. AIDS is mainly spread by people, like you, who reject Jesus Christ and have sex outside of marriage or else like children with AIDS get it from people, like you, who reject Jesus Christ. I hope you will turn from your sins and receive Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior and escape the fires of eternal hell. Turning from your sins and giving your life to Jesus Christ is the only way you can escape the fires of hell and receive everlasting life. If you persist in your sins and continue to turn your back on Jesus Christ, you will be lost forever."

Now, I love this shit. Of course, as we all saw during the election season of 2000, we sinners embracing the Lord as our Savior doesn't necessary win the respect of fellow Christians, as then-not-yet-President Bush amply demonstrated by jeering and openly mocking a Born-Again woman on death row the very week of her execution. We're all to take his conversion on faith, but -- well, you get the idea. "By their works ye shall know them."

Rev. Spitz's post is a pip. I'm not mocking the man, whom I don't know any more than he knows me, but I am assessing his words. The wording resonates oddly with past brushes with other angry zealots.

Keeping the context of mere movie reviews and/or articles, I recall how, way back in 1989, I interviewed Alejandro Jodorowsky about his then-new movie Sante Sangre and placed that interview, in different forms, in a number of zines and papers, including our local 'activist' newspaper The Valley Advocate (out of Northampton, MA). My interview/article prompted a short published letter from two area feminists who attacked me for writing about the film -- which was Alejandro's delirious fictionalized account of a serial killer's career and eventual redemption, as only Alejandro could tell it -- who accused me of being a misogynist and of hating women, concluding, "We know who you are and we know what you are doing to women."

My first wife Marlene, to whom I was married still at the time, was absolutely outraged by the letter. She wrote a response, as did I. But the Advocate refused to allow either her and me to respond. The screed stood, and thereafter I made it a point to instantly respond to any such bile when it was directed my way.

Fact: In 99 cases out of 100, the accusers never, ever respond or reply.

Thus was established a pattern that became familiar to me over time, during the Taboo years and especially the Tyrant years. Foolish me -- I thought after the endless customs battles, censorship rows and difficulties finding printers, binders or venues for the calculated confrontational agenda of Taboo, doing a nice little all-ages dinosaur comic would be a piece of cake by comparison. Oh contraire!

No sooner had Tyrant #1 arrived in comic shops than a steady flow of angry letters from Creationists began to trickle into the ol' SpiderBaby Comix mailbox. By comparison with the Taboo era, the Tyrant letters were far more angry and contemptuous: I was judged a sinner for my dinosaur comic, and was a greater threat to humanity than I had been publishing horror comics. I find it hard to believe the publishers or creators of Turok, Son of Stone, Kona, Monarch of Monster Isle, Gorgo or Star-Spangled War Stories (with "The War That Time Forgot!") ever received this kind of hate mail, but those halycon days of the '50s and '60s many evangelicals cling to as "the good old days" of Christian America rule were perhaps more tolerant of that most malignant of all comics genres, the dinosaur comic book.

Of all those who wrote, sometimes vehemently judging me and my family in rhetoric fully of a piece with the good Rev. Spitz's comment, only one -- one! -- responded to my reply letters, striking up an exchange of letters (and comics) that was fun and lively and at the very least a conversation of sorts.

What I found, in all but that one case, was the letter-writers weren't interested in conversation, they were interested only in venting, in blasting me (and my family): an odd, vindictive form of 'witnessing,' to my world view.

I engage, they refuse. A sure path to communication and possible conversion, my friends!

In any case, I replied directly to Rev. Spitz's post on 2/14, which follows in the spirit of possible conversation:

"Wow, Rev. Spitz, you sure pretend to know a lot about me you don't know. Having not caused most of the problems on planet earth (though I think I can honestly say a few of those can now be chalked up to our President, who claims to be a true believer in Christ), having not been in prison, raped, murdered, robbed, or have/had/or spread AIDs, and as I do indeed believe in Jesus Christ (though not as you do), I reckon you just struck out on every single count in your rant against me and my modest post -- which is, after all, a movie review (in that it's the comments on Jesus Camp that seems to have brought you here), nothing more. What sins, precisely, am I persisting in? Not practicing my Christian beliefs in perfect accord with your own? Using the good brain God gave me at birth? Practicing my own faith as I see fit, rather than as you or others demand I do? Isn't this America? I thank God it isn't your fiefdom, yet. Making vile accusations and posting personalized bile and fear isn't in accord with the New Testament Christ I was raised with, or believe in -- nor, for that matter, is much else I can divine from your accusatory screed."

Any word from the Rev, I'll let you know.

I'm not feeling the love, though, as yet.

We used to have this old 45 RPM record in my family's modest collection, and I'll go out with that tune:

"Praise the Lord, and Pass the Ammunition, Praise the Lord, and Pass the Ammunition, Praise the Lord, and Pass the Ammunition And We'll Allllll Beeeeeee Freeeeeeeeeeee!"

Winter At Last!

Just a week or so ago, folks were tubing down the West River in Dummerston (with Global Warming protest signs) -- I kid you not -- a first for Vermont history in January.

Finally, though, we got hammered Sunday and yesterday with just a bit of the winter weather that's been nailing the rest of the country. Though precious little real snow fell yesterday -- it was a lethal mix of sleet/freezing rain, maybe an inch or so -- it was, at least, real winter weather. Mid-January. In Vermont.

Now, the last winter I recall with this little snow at this point in the season was back in 1979-80, while I lived one my own (pre-marriage to Marlene) in a brick school house on Fisher Hill Road in Grafton, VT. We had no snow until late in January, but we had the usual winter cold -- meaning the frost layer sank dangerously deep, sans the protective insulation of snow cover to keep it at bay. Folks had their wells freezing, and the mud season that spring was mind-bending, the worst I've ever seen.

This winter, though, has been the warmest on record for Vermont and New Hampshire. While it's been a real blessing for Marge and I, with the move and all, it's been a disaster for every VT business imaginable, from ski areas to eateries, including local yokels dependent in part on the money they earn plowing. With 60+ degree days (and some nights) until this past weekend, it's been unlike any VT winter in this half-a-century-old Vermonter's memory. Weird.

Anyhoot, it was therefore a treat to stay in all day yesterday, pretending the winter storm was much, much worse than it was. That said, while I'm unafraid of driving in any kind of snowstorm, I give the greatest respect and widest berth to freezing rain and sleet storms -- hence, easy-pie decision to just. Stay. Put.

Nice, too, to have a leisurely day home with Marge. I did fuck-all. Sweet.

Back to work, now.

________________

Bush, Whacked -- For Real?

I've thought this for a long time, and with greater conviction since watching all I could stomach (rather than just listening to) last week's Iraq War speech from our President (that was fifteen minutes of a twenty-minute speech -- I almost made it):

check out this weekend's edition (you may have to scroll down to "One Flew Over the .... White House?") of NewsForReal.com,

and tell me it just ain't so.

Delusional? "Delusions typically occur in the context of neurological or mental illness. A false belief based on incorrect inference about external reality that is firmly sustained despite what almost everybody else believes and despite what constitutes incontrovertible and obvious proof or evidence to the contrary. The belief is not one ordinarily accepted by other members of the person's culture or subculture."

Antisocial Personality? "Is a psychiatric diagnosis recognizable by the disordered individual's impulsive behavior, disregard for social norms, and indifference to the rights and feelings of others. Central to understanding individuals diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder, is that they appear to experience a limited range of human emotions. This can explain their lack of empathy for the suffering of others, since they cannot experience the emotion associated with either empathy or suffering. Risk-seeking behavior and substance abuse may be attempts to escape feeling empty or emotionally void. The rage exhibited by psychopaths and the anxiety associated with certain types of antisocial personality disorder may represent the limit of emotion experienced, or there may be physiological responses without analogy to emotion experienced by others."

And so on.

It all makes so much sense of the insanity of the current situation.

While you're at it, scroll down to "News For Real" for January 4th:

"The Washington media spent the holidays trying to guess what the President's new plan for Iraq might be. Meanwhile in the back rooms of the White House Karl Rove and White House Chief of Staff, Josh Bolten were doing what any world-class chess player does when facing defeat -- plot a series of aggressive moves to throw their opponent off balance in the hopes of regaining the initiative.

How do I know this? Well, since God only talks to Rev. Pat Robertson – and, when He can't get through to Pat, George W. Bush – I didn't get it from Him. No it came to me in this news flash late yesterday:

Washington, D.C. - As President Bush prepares a new statement and stance on the war in Iraq, his cabinet is once again in the midst of transition. In the latest change, National Intelligence Director John Negroponte will resign to become deputy secretary of state, according to a government official....The shift, while seemingly abrupt, will allow Negroponte to return to his former career path as a diplomat. Negroponte will serve under Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice.

It was that last line that gives away the strategy. “Negroponte will serve under Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice.”

Never! Negroponte quits as head of one of the most important and powerful posts in government, a job that puts him face to face with the President of the United States every morning, of everyday of the week, to accept a position as Rice's assistant?

Fat chance.

So what's up? Here's what I think is up -- and if I were Bush I would be itching to get on with the game.

Move 1: Announce what the administration knows will be a very unpopular decision to send more troops to Iraq.

Move 2: Let the Democrat-controlled Congress throw a fit and hold hearings the administration knows will stir up additional opposition and shake loose new damning information on the administrations march to war and mismanagement of that war.

Move 3: Just when all the above is hitting the fan, Dick Cheney announces he is retiring from office early due to “health concerns," and because he does not want to be "a distraction" when he is called to testify in purjury trial of his former No. 2. Scooter Libby.

Move 4: The next day Bush announces he will nominate Condoleezza Rice to replace Cheney.

Move 5: At the same time Bush announces he is nominating Negroponte to replace Rice as Secretary of State.

The above series of moves makes political sense on so many levels that I consider it inevitable...." etc.

[Thanks to Tim Viereck for steering me to this blog; much appreciated, Doc!]

Crazier still, I'm willing to bet yesterday's post about Swamp Thing merchandizing atrocities continues to score more hits and comments than this does.

Ponder the insanity of our Commander-in-Chief and the Biblical Armageddon he's determined to foment, or fuzzy Swamp Thing slippers?

The slippers win every time!

It's a whacky ol' world...

Have a great Tuesday, all.

Back in the Saddle Again...

It's amazing how completely life has changed in the past week, marking 2007 as a genuine New Year from Day One. Marge and I live in a new home, and though I'll be preoccupied with the final dregs of the move for another couple of weeks (including clean-up), we do have buyers for our Marlboro home (the closing is before the end of the month) and all is well. The great financial risk paid off, and the move that made so much logical and logistical sense, personally and in terms of social responsibility (Marge has barely gone through a half-a-tank of gas in over a week, where we used to both fill up multiple times per week; we'll be consuming far less gas once the move is truly behind us), is remapping our emotional landscape in unforeseen ways.

Windsor itself is a very cool town -- though, like all towns, it has its underbelly, which is apparent, too. We've been gravitating here now since mid-October, when our house-hunting began in earnest, and the sense of this potentially being "home" has matured into this being home in a remarkably brief interim. Windsor is nestled just north of Mount Ascutney, a lone mountain strangely apart from the Green Mountain chain here on the eastern edge of the state, and that mountain now plucks a pleasant nerve whenever I see it.

Growing up in northern VT, my formative years and teen years were landmarked by Camel's Hump, that beautiful mountain in North Duxbury that's visible from interstate 89 from a variety of views. My heart still flutters when I first see the Hump en route north, and it remains one of those geographic life anchors one never outgrows and forever finds surprisingly, profoundly moving with every encounter in an uncanny, primal way. I hiked the Hump many times each year from age 12 to 22, and knew much of the mountain well. For the first third of my life, Camel's Hump was the center of my universe, such as it was.

Since 1980, Wilmington and Marlboro have been my home -- where Marlene and I lived through our married life together, where my daughter Maia and son Daniel were born (at home) and raised and grew into adulthood -- and the mountains there (Haystack and especially Hogback) became orientation landmarks with their own gravitational pull. I lived in their orbit for a little over two decades, and hiked Haystack a number of times. Though I never grew as intimate or connected to those mountains as I did to the Hump in Duxbury, they're nevertheless sights and climbs (whether via car or foot; Route 9, which I drove daily, cuts up over Hogback, embracing a positively breathtaking 100+ mile view from the roadside) which never fail to move me.

Since the decision to move from the area really took hold this past fall, that drive moves me differently than ever before, the sights of both mountains pluck different nerves: I'm saying "goodbye" to the mountains that sheltered my family, in which I realized my life goals (in comics) and then changed my life completely, where met my new soulmate (Marge), which I shared with her as we fell in love and bonded (we used to drive to the top of one of Wilmington's back roads and watch the sun set behind Haystack), which nurtured my children until they left the mountains to move to the town and begin their own adult years.

Now, Mount Ascutney is the center of a new orbit, a new life phase. As I drive every other day from Windsor to Marlboro and back again -- down with an empty car, back with a full car -- my heart lifts a bit when I first see Ascutney just north of Springfield.

"I'm almost home!" I think, and it's true.

Almost home.

___________________

A very, very good, funny, dear man I had the rare pleasure of working with at First Run Video before my departure from that employ two years ago is on his death bed in Townshend, VT. He was diagnosed with cancer this summer, and is now in his final weeks (perhaps days), discharged from the hospital and at home with his wife. In the end, they could do nothing for him.

It's heartbreaking -- why do monsters like our Vice President live so long, do so much harm (oh, excuse me, "service for their country"), while humble, productive, responsible, forever upbeat men like this fellow die? There's no reason to or for it; that's life. That's death.

This is a real heartbreaker; I shan't say more, as it's nobody's business but his and his family's, but it's too sad and shaking not to note this morning. This has colored much of the month for me, too, and is really having a devastating impact on those I once worked closely with, daily. A prayer for my friend, please.

___________________

This just in from Molly Bode, beloved wife of Mark Bode, from away off in California. A couple of years ago, Mark and Molly moved back to the West Coast from their 1990s life in Northampton, MA (drawn there, pun intended, by the allure of the Tundra publishing experiment); their now-adult daughter Zara is still in the Northampton area, and making her own kind of music:

"Just sending out a reminder for you not to miss Zara's show THE SWEETBACK SISTERS at:

The Elevens
140 Pleasant Street Northampton
Sunday, January 14
413-586-9155

About The Sweetback Sisters:

The Sweetback Sisters, a group of pie-eyed plunkers, perform an incredible array of old time honky tonk music with sweet girl-on-girl harmonies, sure to warm the hears of any of you. The lavish and lovely voices of Zara Bode and Emily Miller plus an all-star band: Stefan Amidon on drums, West Virginian, Jesse Milnes on guitar and fiddle, Joseph "Joebass" DeJarnette on upright, and last but not least our rolling thunder himself, Ross Bellenoit who highlights the night with electric guitar riffs, mandolin and lap steel guitar.

So get your ass in gear, grab a beer and swoon while we croon the country classics.

Check out

this link

for a taste of the music."

Molly concludes:

"And somebody please videotape it and send it to me!!!!!!"

BTW, there's also a Brattleboro, VT connection: Stefan Amidon is an amazing percussionist, brother of Sam (accomplished musician on many instruments and actor) and son of the Amidons, who are a fixture of the folk music scene in Southern VT. Stefan blew me away years ago while he was still in high school and performing as part of the "Stef and Jeff" percussion duo on the stage of Brattleboro Union High School; he has since performed in a number of bands, including work with his family.

If you're in the Northampton area, check 'em out!