There was one New Yorker cartoonist, perhaps one of many that felt the same way, who yelled at Ross one day during the thirties, ‘Why do you reject drawings of mine, and print stuff by that fifth-rate artist Thurber?’
'Third-rate,' said Ross, coming promptly and bravely to the defense of my stature as an artist and his own reputation as an editor.
Luke and I were looking at Hieronymus Bosch’s painting The Garden of Earthly Delights and discovered, much to our amusement, music written upon the posterior of one of the many tortured denizens of the rightmost panel of the painting which is intended to represent Hell. I decided to transcribe it into modern notation, assuming the second line of the staff is C, as is common for chants of this era.
so yes this is LITERALLY the 600-years-old butt song from hell
EDIT: I still can’t believe this took off like it did this is crazy??? Just wanted to let people know that there are indeed errors in the transcription and this is indeed not a very good recording (I threw this together in like 30 minutes at 1 in the morning,) but I’m working with the music department at my college to get the transcription more accurate!
I can’t imagine it being matched. The UFC has never, to my recollection, matched a contract. They let Hendo go, King Mo go and Robbie Lawler go. They’re not the matching types.
Matching Melendez’s deal (IF they do), would open up a lot of discussion on a lot of different topics.
Edit: Originally I heard it was a 350K contract. According to some beat guys, it’s actually 200K with PPV points (lol, cute).
I also think putting out a matching offer is the last thing the UFC wants to do, because it makes them look like hypocrites coming off that Eddie Alvarez fiasco.
I have a feeling that matching offer thing was one of the many holdovers from his Strikeforce contract. UFC doesn’t really do that because it’s more trouble and hassle than it’s worth considering their dominance of the sport.
The worst part of all this, though, is that under any other circumstances this would be such a huge story. Unfortunately, Bellator is pathologically fucked up when it comes to promotion. Gilbert Melendez just became $200,000 richer and also guaranteed nobody will ever make him a star again.
Just FYI anon people are name dropping you in weird sexist shit on gingerhaze's blog.
Today was pretty weird.
At about 2pm this afternoon, I was in the middle of explaining Kafka’s Metamorphosis to a tenth grader of my acquaintance, when suddenly my phone started BLOWING THE FUCK UP. I took a second to look at my phone and saw that I was getting Twitter alert after Twitter alert in response to a tweet by Noelle Stevenson.
I check out her tweet and it’s a screencap of a blog comment calling her a feminazi (sidenote: hey, dudes, if you use the word “feminazi,” literally all you are doing is telling me two things: 1) you don’t know anything about feminists and b) you don’t know anything about Nazis), but also embedded in that comment is an oblique reference to me being really mad about how ladies used and abused my comic book knowledge?
Look, trying to understand this comment with zero context while at the same time answering questions about how Gregor Samsa’s physical condition reflect what was happening to him spiritually was not super easy. (Another sidenote: look, I’m not trying to grammarshame someone or whatever the fuck, but this comment would have been WAY easier to understand if this dude had had less ideas about how women should act and more ideas about where periods should go.)
And so now I know the comment meant this: I would be mad that a woman used my advice on how to get into comics and then complained that it’s hard to get into comics.
If there is any ambiguity on the matter, allow me to clarify:
I do not in any way agree with that shitlord’s opinion.
The VERY REASON I wrote a “Batman for the Uninitiated” post (and a Superman one &c.) is because there are numerous barriers to entry in comics, not only within the continuity itself, but literally in the physical act of walking into a comic store and buying a book, especially if you are a woman. I feel like that is clear in the subtext—if not the text—of the post itself; there’s a reason I try to warn about books that feature sexual violence and talk about the ready availability of digital comics.
I WANT women reading comics. I WANT women making comics. I WANT women starring in comics. If you don’t, you’re a piece of shit, and I’m not sorry for saying that.
(Sidenote: so what if she got into Batman via the Christopher Nolan movies? There are, what—optimistically—500k regular comics readers? The Christopher Nolan movies made LITERAL BILLIONS of dollars. Statistically, they are going to be someone’s introduction to Batman. That’s mathematics, fake nerd.)
If I may borrow from Chris Sims, whose name also got invoked in this discussion: “keep my name out of your mouth, son.”
Don’t make me the arbiter of who’s a fake geek.
Changed my mind. DO make me the arbiter of who’s a real geek and who’s fake.
All right, all you adult women who are just getting into comics and like to cosplay, line up on the left. All you dudes who think these ladies should have to pass some kind of superhero LSAT to wear a cute Batman outfit, line up on the right. Now, everyone who’s a real geek, step forward.
Not so fast, guys on the right.
If you have, as this guy claims, “dedicated a lot of time and money and actual effort to study and dedicate [your]selves to comic books,” and the lesson you took away from a lifetime of Superman, Batman and Spider-Man comics is that it is a cool idea to make someone feel like shit, you don’t know ANYTHING about comic books.
01. What’s New Pussycat 02. What’s New Pussycat 03. What’s New Pussycat [Live 1979, Royal Albert Hall] 04. What’s New Pussycat 05. What’s New Pussycat 06. What’s New Pussycat [Digital Remaster] 07. What’s New Pussycat [Stereo Mix] 08. What’s New Pussycat 09. What’s New Pussycat 10. It’s Not Unusual 11. What’s New Pussycat 12. What’s New Pussycat 13. Thunderball
Hanoi-based developer Dong Nyugen has elected to remove the tremendously successful, tremendously difficult Flappy Bird from the App Store and Google Play. Nyugen’s free reflex game has been at the center of a media firestorm,…
this whole piece is so great. but the chain of cause & effect here is really really important.
Last April, the Missouri athletic administration held diversity seminars for all athletes, part of the You Can Play project, focused largely on lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender issues. Mr. Sam was one of several athletes to approach Pat Ivey, Missouri’s associate athletic director for athletic performance, to compliment him for the lesson. But Mr. Sam was the most effusive, Mr. Ivey said, as if trying to tell Mr. Ivey something.
“When Mike finished the conversation, he said, ‘Coach, I know I can play,’ ” Mr. Ivey recalled. “And we kind of had an understanding of each other, that this wasn’t just him saying, ‘Good job.’ This was him saying: ‘Coach, I’m involved in it. I’m a part of what we just discussed.’ ”
This might be a little inside baseball for some, but Michael Sam is a defensive lineman at a Division I school. In a sport that is made up of biggest, baddest guys a defensive lineman is the biggest, baddest guy on the field. And Mizzou is a Division 1 school.
It shouldn’t matter, but let’s face it, it does matter. This could be the shot heard round the world. I hope Mr. Sam stays injury-free and so he can kick some ass on Sundays.
But Michael Sam knew this going in, which makes it all the more remarkable that he did what he did when he did.
Naturally, coaches and executives told Sports Illustrated that the league just isn’t ready to “deal” with an openly gay player. Yet, forty-five years ago, Vince Lombardi was not only giving opportunities to Jerry Smith, but warning his players not to discriminate against him. Lombardi also invited players he knew to be gay to his training camps.
I’m not one of those people that gets sober and views the drug or the drink as evil. One of the things that was accentuated in my early sobriety was that I was the one who couldn’t control my drinking.
Booze, on its own, isn’t a bad thing. There are a LOT of people that can drink socially and not have a problem. Some can even drink often and not necessarily be an alcoholic. So I don’t demonize the damn thing, because I recognize that it’s not the fault of other companies or society. It’s me.
I take a similar view on drugs. If you aren’t an addict or an alcoholic and you want to light up, I don’t view that as an inherently bad thing.
But when it comes to stuff like heroin, I’ve never known anyone to use it occasionally. It’s not a drug that you can just pick up at a party here and there and leave it alone after. It fucking haunts you. You may have a friend who swears to have anecdotal evidence to the contrary, but that guy they know is likely either lying or the drug’s just lying in wait to get back at him.
I don’t proselytize about straight edge living, because that to me is another form of taking someone else’s inventory. Another big no-no for recovering drunks and addicts. But goddamnit, when it comes to some stuff, there’s just no getting around it. When it comes to heroin, don’t snort it, don’t inject it. Find something else to do. Find anything else to do. Because that shit will ruin you.
And if you ever find yourself past that point of no return, there are resources out there. Get some help. It doesn’t matter if you’re a low level clerk, unemployed, homeless, or an Oscar-winning actor. You deserve better than this. Find an AA meeting or an NA meeting, depending on your poison. Trust me when I tell you that if you just sit and listen, no matter who’s in there, you’ll find someone that you can identify with. I’m a young male Atheist in my early thirties, and one of the stories I heard that I identified with most - including some eerily similar beats - came from a 73-year-old woman.
That goes, too, for people I know reading this that are sober but still suffering and isolating. Get to a meeting, or a doctor, anything. Get the help you deserve, and don’t let anything tell you that you don’t deserve better. I realize that I’m probably writing this to and about myself, particularly since I’ve been isolating a lot as of late.
Yes, Philip Seymour Hoffman being found dead with a needle in his arm sparked this. And yes, I find it more than a bit strange that the passing of a total stranger should have any bearing on what I do or how I feel. I hate myself a little bit for that, if I’m being honest. But it’s also known that he was trying to get better and had recently put himself into detox to try to kick it, and he couldn’t. That hits a little close to home because I’ve known people in sobriety who tried so hard but fell short, and there was always some little thing that they could have done - whether it’s to go to more meetings or see a doctor about depression – that could have made all the difference.
So get out and get help. Share your story. Don’t let yourself become one.
Another CLASSIC #SUPERBOWL MOMENT: Bob Costas loses a portion of his self-respect and dignity that he never recovers, followed by “Elvis Presto” completely shitting the bed on a “magic trick” that they had fixed.
I can’t emphasize that enough. They fixed it to go the way they wanted it to, and it still didn’t work. That’s an astounding level of incompetence right there.
I like Jimmy, but his show isn’t my thing. I like an edge, whether it’s biting (with Letterman) or silly (with Conan). It’s not that I begrudge it or think it sucks, it’s just not what appeals to me.
However THIS IS AWESOME because I’m a huuuuuge Dick Cavett fan. I always found his interviews fascinating, even as a kid, and I’ve spent hours watching old clips of his show online. My favorite era of VH1 is when they would do “7 Days of the 70s” and run all those old episodes of Cavett.
It strikes me that we don’t have a guy like that around, who can host a television show and actually have an engaging conversation with everyone from a guitarist in a band to an author of high literature and make it compelling without stunts or phony, patronizing ass-kissery.
It’s our loss. I wish Cavett still had a show on television every week.
Also, if you haven’t heard his excellent interview on Alec Baldwin’s “Here’s the Thing,” check it out. Even if you don’t like Baldwin, it’s a GREAT listen.
Can you explain how the James Brown tape works for you? As an atheist and a dry drunk, the reliance on a higher power is what has kept me way from AA specifically. Is it necessary to think that the higher power has God like attributes? that it actually has an influence in, and concern for your life, or is it just that you need to have some aspirational thing that is outside yourself?
go to a meeting. if you’re referring to yourself as a ‘dry drunk,’ for fuck’s sake, go to a fucking meeting. it’s as if you are on fire and refusing to go to the hospital because it’s named for a saint, and you’re not catholic. the only thing you need to believe is that you cannot bend the world or your life to your whims. that’s it. that’s all. i promise. and if you find yourself in a room that insists otherwise, find a different room.
The Fix: You’ve mentioned spending a spell as a “dry drunk.” What initially kept you from getting into AA?
Fraction: I hope this doesn’t offend anyone, but I’m an atheist. I don’t believe in God. And I don’t go to meetings, they’re in church basements. And churches are above church basements and that means God. So, quite simply, I let fear of religion keep me away. That was why I was a dry drunk rather than someone who was in the program. Then I was kind of a tourist for a while where I would kind of drop into meetings and get used to the idea. I was listening to things and picking things up, but I didn’t make a serious go at it. Then I had a friend who wanted to go and she asked me to stay with her to basically make sure that she didn’t leave the room. Something in that meeting made me realize that it was a journey that she and I are now on together. That was day 1 of my 90 [meetings] in 90 [days].
Someday, when I’m in a better place mentally, I’ll write more about my own experience and struggle with sobriety (seven and a half years at this point). In particular, I’ll write about the uphill struggle I faced - with myself, mostly - being an Atheist in a program that talks about God. A. LOT.
The long and the short of it, though, is that it was only an obstacle because I allowed it to be an obstacle.
Before anyone gets the wrong idea: no, that doesn’t mean I “surrendered” to the idea of a God or spiritual being. I’m still an Atheist and always will be. Occasionally I’ll get questions as to how I reconcile that.
The answer is that I don’t, because I don’t have to.
Some believe that if you follow the program in its intended spirit, then you’ll realize that the God component isn’t necessary. I think it’s intellectually dishonest to pretend that when they wrote God, they didn’t mean…well, God. So in that sense, I get why people go with the “We Agnostics” line of reasoning, but the truth is that the foundations of this program were laid eighty years ago, and they were laid by normal men who could not help but be men of their time. God was kind of a thing then. Well, sure, he’s still a thing. God’s huge. He’s almost as big as Jennifer Lawrence on Tumblr (she’s cool and all but you people need to chill the fuck out). The point is, it’s way more acceptable now to not only be an Atheist but also be vocal about it than it was in the early part of the twentieth century.
So I cheated. I still did the work and the steps, just without the God part. I was lucky enough to come up in rooms where people knew I was an Atheist and told me that the one thing they always heard about the whole goddamn “God” thing was that it was more important you let go of your own God complex. There were others who said that I could treat the program itself as my higher power, butI find some inherent discomfort in that. The closest I’ll come to declaring a “higher power” is maybe the rooms, because actually going to meetings has been crucial, especially my ability to relate to a disparate array of tales and travails. But even that’s kinda bullshitty, so I won’t say it unless I’m pressed.
I guess what I’m saying is, if you’re like me and this shit was literally killing you and you have to stop, and you get into the rooms and start struggling with the God thing: just don’t. It gets a lot easier if you don’t. Work around it. Whatever you need to tell yourself to do, whatever bullshit excuse you need to come with, whatever petty philosophical arguments you need to avoid. Go to that length to work around you. You can make it work as an Atheist, and Matt Fraction and I are two prime examples of that.
If a well-educated time traveller from 1914 met one of us, he would conclude that, in the past century, humans achieved a new level of superintelligence. But do a mobile phone and an Internet connection make us extraordinary? http://nyr.kr/1hk91vX
Illustration by Hannah K. Lee.
Before you click the link: the abbreviated summary provided above does a disservice to what’s actually postulated. The scenario is actually that the time traveller is asking someone questions to determine how smart she is. The time traveller, not seeing that the person behind a curtain was answering queries using a smartphone, would assume that person was brilliant and not…well, cheating. It’s an essay ruminating on our reliance on technology that asks the question whether we’re suffering cognitively for the sake of convenience.
It is not a time traveller from 1914 seeing someone with a smartphone and going “WOOOOOWWWWEEEEEE PEOPLE GOT REALLY SMART!” Which, unfortunately (and unintentionally), the person posting this implied when they cut out that important qualifier of the curtain.
Anyway, go read it. It’s good and it gives me anxiety because I rely SO MUCH on things like Google and my damn phone for everything. I’m not one of those that’s attached to it to the point of being oblivious, but goddamn, I don’t have a great memory and maybe this is part of the reason why.
I'm the only thing standing between you people and Ragnarok, okay?
Shockingly, the most annoying moment I had on the subway yesterday didn’t involve uncreative twenty-somethings trying desperately to be noticed by riding the subway with no pants on. Yes, they did converge at an inconvenient time at the Union Square station, clumping together in loud semi-circles and causing me to miss a train.
I guess the goal at some point was to get other people to react with shock and/or delight, but now the only people that acknowledge pantsless riders are other pantsless riders. Us normals – unsuspecting squres, trousers and all – just do our best to operate around this annoying no-pants party that occurs every year. How do people whose goal it is to shake people out of their comfort zone act so oblivious to the people they’re supposed to be “targeting”? And if this is “Improv” Everywhere, how do I “yes, and” missing a train? Yes, and…I guess I’ll catch another one and hope to God I don’t have to deal with this again?
So I did. And that’s when something happened that was a bit more obnoxious and discomforting than people being so brave as to do something everyone else around them was doing (the real heroes – your move, The Troops!).
I finally caught a train, which for reasons I don’t care enough to investigate was every bit as crowded as it is during rush hour on a weekday. Maybe it was due to the No-Pants Subway Ride Aren’t We Just Fucking Darling and Hilarious Annual Extravaganza, though I think it might also have been people trying to get the fuck home in time to catch celebrities at the Golden Globes slur through their acceptance speeches. As I wrapped my head around the congestion (and the Hollywood Foreign Press Association), I heard a raspy, female voice cry out “excuse me ladies and gentlemen” from the opposite side of the subway car. Riders are familiar with this type of monologue, which is always accompanied by a story of hard times, a request for money, mention of (fictional?) children, and an assurance that even if we didn’t give, there is still a God above us that loves us.
Except this speech didn’t have any of that. Well, it did have the God part, but that came after a long spiel about how the world is ending. And it wasn’t a story, just a straightforward declaration.
You can imagine my disappointment. No details, no threats, and no tips about how best to dress our underground bunker. I don’t know about you, but when I like my apocalyptic proclamations to come with some fire and brimstone, or at the very least give a mention towards a very specific group of people who are then deemed responsible for hastening the coming rapture.
No, nothing nearly that interesting. Just that the end is coming and God is ready to take us. Good to know he’s prepared, because it’d be a real bad look if we all showed up and Heaven was just a total shithole that he hadn’t cleaned up after his dinner party last night. The least you could do is clean out the litter box. I mean, Jesus! (And by that I mean Jesus, his son, should probably pitch in with the chores.)
We get to our stop, and naturally I assume it’s over. But no. She simply moved forward a few feet, to the next door, and gave the same exact speech again for the handful of people who had gotten on. We get to the next stop, and again, a few feet forward and another repetition.
I was almost at my stop when she tried to move past me to continue her spiel.
"Excuse me," she insisted.
I did not budge.
"Excuse me," she repeated.
I simply looked at her and mouthed the word “no.”
Obviously this woman had something wrong with her, some sort of illness that gave her the delusion of prophecy. In that sense I felt sympathy for her. However, there was a group of children sitting in front of me who were obviously spooked, and they needed assurance that this crazy lady was just that - crazy. They needed to know that this was all nonsense, and they also needed to know there were people out there that wouldn’t allow such terrible things to happen. In that moment, I was the only thing between us and the End Times. I was a savior, a hero.
But only because it was SO FUCKING CROWDED on that train that I couldn’t move.
Shortly thereafter I exited my train, pleased to find myself having filled the role of an accidental martyr.
That’s the end of the story. I suppose it wasn’t all that interesting, but it did give my day a little flavor.
Well, back to my life and the crushing anxiety I’ve been dealing with since having to come off my meds due to a lack of insurance (soon to be rectified by being brought on permanently and getting benefits as of the first of February). It’s a life where it only feels like every subway ride is the end of the world. But don’t worry, I’ll spare you the speech during your commute.