Breaking News!

"Gay" Man Understands Women.

The media, or People.com, is all over it:

"I got teased in school because people figured I must be gay because I understand women," the phenomenally popular American Idol castoff says. "I think that's why guys didn't like me – because I got along with girls so well. When I went up to girls they would give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek like I was their gay friend. But I was the straight guy that understood them."

(I put the "gay" in quotes only because Sanjaya claims not to be. Not that there's anything wrong with it. But I've never met the straight man who will wear his hair like that. On purpose.)

Like Crystal Meth, But Better For Your Teeth

I swear, I could spend all day combing the internet for items about The Highwaymen. I don't know how other writers/artists get anything done. Imagine if I had, like, TWO books out.

And the Hits Just Keep On Coming...

From Randy Lander at the best-named comic-related site out there, Comic Pants:

"The Highwaymen #1 (DC/Wildstorm): Entertainment Weekly editor Marc Bernardin has serious geek cred, writing the weekly “TV Watch” for Battlestar Galactica and having moved around in comics circles for some time. Now he’s writing his first series for Wildstorm, which looks like a solid action offering about a pair of old couriers coming out of retirement for one last job. Sounds fun."

More 'Highwaymen' Sweetness

This, from Blogcritics Magazine:

"The Highwaymen sounds like a great idea for a Hollywood buddy movie, albeit a geriatric one. Able “Speed” Monroe and Alistair McQueen were the ultimate couriers and they’re coming out of retirement for one last job, transporting a top secret package for a dead President. Writers Marc Bernardin and Adam Freeman team with artist Lee Garbett to bring this one to life. I’d love to see Sidney Poitier and Clint Eastwood in the inevitable film version. Coming from Wildstorm June 20. Anticipation factor: 7"

I can live with being one factor of anticipation lower than two new Warren Ellis books. Oh, yes. I'm fine with that.

(Though Sidney Poitier and Clint Eastwood are a tad older than I'd imagined. More like Morgan Freeman and Sean Connery.)

"If You Read Nothing Else..."

This, from some dude named Eric:

If You Read Nothing Else

"This month, I'm most excited about The Highwaymen, a mini-series about two guys who used to courier items around the country. One of them drives fast while the other shoots fast. It's been years since either of them worked together (and, apparently, they might hate each other's guts a little bit). However, when they are recruited out of retirement to run one last job for a dead President, they have to step up. That's just a darn nifty idea...gotta love the old-codgers-coming-out-of-retirement bit."

Also:

"This storyline actually seems like it might have a little game if carried out properly. Driving, shooting, and death-defying antics... who could ask for more, really?"

The nicest part about this is that I have absolutely no idea who Eric Jacobson is...but I dig that he digs it.

Sorry...

Had a few days off, and have neglected you. I apologize, baby. I hope you'll forgive me.

A See-Saw of A Morning

I woke up my daughter, Sophie, much like I do every morning. I knocked on her door (not that she cares, just as a courtesy), walked over to her closet, picked out what she was gonna wear for the day—a lovely royal blue ensemble—and went to the edge of her bed.

Now, mornings with Sophie can go any number of ways, as any parent of an autistic child will tell you. There are the nights when she doesn't sleep solidly (awake at, say, 4:00 am, clapping and laughing) and, as a result, wakes up a clingy, weeping, inconsolable terror. There are the times when I'll open the door and find her stripped of her pajamas, sitting on her dresser making faces at herself in the mirror, reciting dialogue from an episode of Dora the Explorer she saw three months ago.

And then there are days like today.

I walked over to her bed and she was laying there, head on her pillow, eyes fluttering open. She looked at me, smiled and—in a rare moment of clarity, where the fog that she lives in lifts—she said "Daddy!"

Parents of typically developing children get this every day, but for us...this is rain in the desert, a candle in the dark. This is magic.

So, yeah, today started well.

Of course, while running to catch my morning train, I split the crotch of my pants wide open. Even so, sitting there, balls exposed to the elements, it was still a good morning.

Highwaymen #2: Solicited!

Boo-yah!


The Highwaymen #2 (of 5)

Written by Marc Bernardin and Adam Freeman; Art by Lee Garbett; Cover by Brian Stelfreeze

The explosive miniseries continues as the Highwaymen, after surviving an ambush at their secret desert HQ, head south of the border to retrieve the package they were hired to transport: a college co-ed named Grace Anderson. But what's so special about her that this pair of retired couriers are willing to face off against biologically enhanced CIA agents and the entire Tijuana police force?

Wildstorm | 32pg. | Color | $ 2.99 US

On Sale July 18, 2007

Dumb-Ass Press Release of the Week

Ultimate Chargers/Unilever
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
April 10, 2007

MEDIA ALERT

Bilingual Ultimate Chargers Activation Tent at Texas Motor Speedway
The Ultimate Chargers is capitalizing on one of NASCAR’s fastest growing demographic, Hispanics.

WHAT: Stop by the bilingual Ultimate Chargers fan zone tent and try delicious food samples, ride in a car simulator, win prizes, get great recipes in English and Spanish and home solutions ideas that put you in charge of how your family eats, lives and plays. Samples handed out daily!

Hellmann’s is the official mayonnaise of the Texas Motor Speedway. ¡Hellmann's da lo mejor! ¡Muestras gratis todos los dias!

Also, be sure to check out the Ultimate Chargers blog for the latest on the Ultimate Chargers, the 2007 NASCAR Busch Series races, and the nine Unilever sponsoring brands that back the Ultimate Chargers at www.ultimatechargers.com/blog

WHERE: Located at the Display Midway near Gate 1 towards Turn 4 at the Texas Motor Speedway, Fort Worth, TX

WHEN:
-Friday. April 13, 11:30- 3:30
-Saturday, April 14, 8:15 - 1:30
-Sunday, April 15, 8:15 - 12:30

Comicky Goodness Update

Well, let's see.

We're about to deliver the last script for The Highwaymen to our editor, Scott Peterson, today. We took our last pass on it over the weekend, now just rereading to make sure that we pay off everything we set up over the course of the five issues. We've seen a lettered version of the first issue and, after rewriting most of it, it reads like a real comic book. We've seen the first three covers, and the first couple of passes at logos. And we got a half-a-page in the April issue of Previews. Hot damn.

Monster Attack Network is steaming along. Proofed the whole damned thing, and sent our text edits back to AiT/PlanetLar Central Command and our requests for fixes back to the artist. In a month or so, that too will be a real comic book.

And the scouring the earth for new work goes well. Taking part in a couple of anthologies, waiting for approval on a couple of other books, got a standing offer we need to figure out how best to take advantage of, shaking the trees and seeing what else will shake loose. We are not above swiping at the low-hanging fruit.

My Brief But Illustrious Pugilistic Career, Part Two

FIGHT TWO
I was a fat kid. Not as fat as I am now (I've since earned it), but that kind of 12-year-old fat that just looks unfortunate in a t-shirt and shorts. It was the summer between my seventh and eighth grades and I was going to a park a few blocks away with my next-door neighbor. Let's call him Hunter.

We hit the park, which was just on the edge of the mythical Bad Part of Town. Baldwin, where I grew up, bordered a few different municipalities. Some of them, like Rockville Center, were just peachy. But others, like Hempstead and Roosevelt (hometown to Eddie Murphy, Howard Stern, and a whole shitload of criminals), were not so peachy. These were towns where you'd swear the Jim Crow real estate practices were still in full effect. The Stern family notwithstanding, these were towns entirely populated by black folks. And, while some of those families were completely upstanding and just people who wanted a better life for their children, some of them just didn't give a fuck and raised thugs. Or, probably more accurate, just let thugs raise themselves. We're not talking South Central drive-by-ville, but it could be a dangerous part of Long Island.

So, me and Hunter were in the park. Doing what 12-year-old kids do. Playing tag. Climbing in the jungle gym. Swinging on the swings. Whatever. And then we were set upon by a pack of Older Kids. Freshmen in high school, from what I recall. Seemed like 30 year olds to us. Led by a guy named Harold. Tall and skinny. Beginnings of a moustache. And they proceeded to pick on us. Mercilessly. They threw stuff at us. Pushed us. Shoved us. When we tried to run, they cut us off. They herded us to the entrance to the park, and then trailed us as we started to make our way home. We took the longest way home we could devise, hoping they'd eventually get tired and not actually follow us to our houses—thereby rendering our sanctums sanctorum vulnerable.

Never raised a fist that day. I was too scared to. I just went home...and never spoke of it again to Hunter, or anyone.

But I started working out. Lifting weights. Like a fiend. Probably more than a 12-year-old should. I didn't care. That wasn't ever going to happen again.

And it didn't.

She Makes a Good Point

...and not just because of my love for Las Vegas.

Katherine Keller wrote an editorial for Sequential Tart making a case—a pretty solid one, actually—that the big San Diego Comic Con should actually leave San Diego and move to Las Vegas, a town built for conventions with nothing but hotel space and con floor space up for grabs. Granted, Vegas can be miserably hot in July, and I'd miss being able to dine on the Waterfront, but I won't miss the insanely jacked-up prices for decent hotel rooms or the crappy flight options.

And I'd probably gamble my savings away. But it'd be a fun town for that kind of con. It's worth thinking about...

Back From Vegas

If I hadn't been suffering from a chest-bursting cold—complete with enough cold sweat, shivers, and rib-quaking coughing fits to fill a buffet—this Vegas trip might've been one of the best. As it was, it was pretty good.

Ate well (and held off on the Halls long enough to taste the high-priced steak), saw a decent show (Beatles Love, at the Mirage—better for the soundtrack than the interpretive dance), and gambled a lot (and got my clock cleaned steadily...but never went to an ATM and still came home with money in my pocket). What more can you ask from Vegas?

Here's my favorite moment: We were down at the Old Strip, on Fremont Street, in a casino called Four Queens. I'd bounced off my losing streak by sitting at a $10 double-deck blackjack table. When they changed dealers on me, I took my $175 and left to go find my wife, who was playing Roulette. I watched as she placed her bets—a set litany of numbers with special significance to her (birthdays, anniversaries, etc)—and placed a $5 chip right on top of hers on "30," the day of the month on which we were married.

Of course it came up. And it paid out 35 to 1.

In hindsight, I should've but a $25 chip down, but I'm not that kind of gambler, especially not on Roulette, which is only a hair more strategic a game than a slot machine or pick-up-stix.

Still, I was fiscally raped for the balance of the weekend. But I had a great time.