Along these lines, another phrase I sort of dearly love is when guys qualify any compliment they give another guy by adding that they're "comfortable with" or "confident in" their sexuality, or the even more ludicrous "...with their masculinity¹"

Which is ridiculous, because if the guy really were comfortable with or confident in his sexual identity, he wouldn't feel the need to qualify his sentiments. If you say "Well, Tim is looking really good today" and follow it with a chaser of "You know, I can compliment another guy because I'm confident in my masculinity," then what you are saying is "I AM NOT GAY, OKAY? PLEASE DON'T THINK THAT." That is sort of the opposite of being comfortable or confident. It is sort of being the opposite things. Not being the opposite things? Not in this instance, is what.²

I also think of this whenever some guy discounts his ability to acknowledge masculine beauty. "I guess George Clooney is good-looking. I wouldn't know. My girlfriend thinks he is, I guess she knows what she's talking about." Which is crazy BS, of course, because first off it seems to imply that you just can't add, and somehow wouldn't understand that women would find soft blue eyes, a rugged jawline and swaggering confidence³ attractive - and therefore you were raised in a sensory dep tank - but also because guys comment on other guys' attractiveness all the time. Whenever a guy gives another guy shit about wearing open-toed sandals and socks⁴, or about needing a haircut, or dressing like a putz, that guy is saying "Your level of attractiveness is insufficient, go increase it." He's creating a standard of masculine beauty to which he insists other men must adhere. He is making the effort to make the men in his social circle more pretty to him.^{5 6}

Anyway, where I was going with this is: I bet Brad Pitt has terrific balls. Just fantastic. Soft, smooth-shaven, warm and pillowy. You could rest your cheek against them and sleep for hours, cooling your fevered brow on the marble slab of his abdomen. I bet they pulse, gently, but reassuringly, like life-giving stones and swirling waters. Probably smell like blueberries. Bet they have good heft, too, probably feel good in your hand. This is what I think of Brad Pitt's balls, and I can say that because I'm confident in my masculinity.⁷

How about you? How do you picture Brad Pitt's balls? What are some of your favorite phrases, quisling modifiers of wounded egos or otherwise? I had one more but I got distracted by something and forgot about it. I don't even know.<sup>8


1</sup>Which is ludicrous because masculinity and homosexuality are not mutually exclusive, you know, because come on, Rock Hudson. And I know you're thinking 'David Hyde Pierce,' but I say again, ROCK HUDSON.

² Late Addition footnote: Oh yeah, and it also implies that homosexuality is necessarily a negative condition, which is dumb, I forgot to mention that ...

³ Swooooooon.

⁴ PS: That really is totally unacceptable, even ironically. AND post-ironically. Knock it off.

⁵ Just off the top of my head, seems to be an obvious social and biological impetus to this sort of behavior. You assume that pack primate alpha males would want not only their own genetic material to pass on, but also those of their immediate clan, particularly as the individual benefits from the overall attractiveness of having a "better looking crew." Or if you look at sociological anthropology from the individual view, then it speaks well to the human capacity to extrapolate our sense of self to the level of the group identity. Or maybe casual homosexuality was the norm in primate societies, I dunno, I'm not Calamity Desmond Morris here.

⁶ What the hell, another footnote so soon after the last? Sorry, I had to get in on this; the reverse of the above-described male is - and tell me if you know anyone like this - has got to be the girl who, the second she is in the company of any homosexual male, starts to dish on handsome men, even if the homosexual man in question is not the kind to dish or gossip. Her identifying phrase is "Oh, you'll appreciate this," and then mention is made of Johnny Depp. This is the woman who has bought into the idea that straight men cannot acknowledge beauty in another man, and also she's kind of a pain in the ass. Homos*, back me up here.

* And birds.

⁷ Inform Carthage.

⁸ HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW, MANNING??

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I think one of my favorite phrases in English is "Never Let It Be Said," which is a high-falutin' and very defensive way of saying "Oops." Folks only say it when they're caught doing something they perceive as being somehow damaging to their reputation¹, it's something that's said by folks who like to micro-manage the way that people react to them. Folks who make a big deal out of paying back the five bucks they owe you ("Never let it be said that I don't pay back my debts!"). You know the kind of people I'm talking about. Assholes.

I like it because it's a command as well as a damage controlling sentiment. Dudes are all instructing you how to behave in the circumstances where someone says that they don't have a sense of humor. "Never let it be said that I don't have a sense of humor. Go. Spread the law into the land." Then you go off on horseback at full gallop. Carthage must be informed!

This came to mind because, a couple weeks back, I corrected a dude in the middle of a big screw-up. And his response was "Well, never let it be said that I don't own up to my mistakes."

"What if someone does?" I axed.

"What if someone does what?"

"What if someone says that you don't own up to your mistakes?"

"Don't ... don't let them."

"What if they insist? Do you authorize the use of lethal force?"

I guess what I'm saying is that the common phrases in English parlance which I like the best are the ones I'm able to use to screw with dudes' heads. Never let it be said that I don't like to screw with dudes'² heads.


¹You're only sixteen, you don't have a rep yet.
² That was going to be "people" rather than "dude," but I couldn't figure out if it should have been people's or peoples'. Never let it be said that I say dude that much in casual conversation nor that I thoroughly know my possessives. Spread the law into the land. Inform Athens.

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Everyone's favorite "Guy Who Rides Bikes In Multiple Sclerosis Society Events" Ben Barnett (contribute to his upcoming bike ride here) has created possibly the most insane community of all time: mad_ape_den

For those of you new to mad ape den, read a little about it here.

Inexplicably, today is David Bowie day on the community, and I've contributed "Life on Mars?" (It's a favorite of mine because I love oblique social criticism AND the keyboard stylings of Ric Wakeman). How did I get Mickey Mouse, Ibiza, the Northern Broads (that's a place, not a bunch of tuff dames from Canada) and John Lennon down to three letters? Go see!

And then contribute to Ben's ride, seriously.

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In the years before I moved out of Tucson, I was making a concerted effort to pare down my possessions to something manageable - I'd been a collector and a pack rat, and was neck-deep in useless geegaws. In the last month before I moved, I got everything I owned down to the point where I could have conceivably packed everything (outside of furniture) into my car.

Imagine my surprise when - after two months of living up here without ninety percent of my stuff - I'd ultimately coming to realize that I didn't actually need nor want a lot of the possessions I'd packed and brought with me after all. Yup, it's time for me to GET RID OF MORE COMIC BOOKS. ( Behind the cut )

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Seattle Drink 'N Draw (now with its own blog) was last Friday, and was a pretty darn good success. We packed Shorty's, which admittedly does have great atmosphere and hot dogs, but which I'm not sure we want to have the next D'n'D. Very loud very quickly. It is somewhat cosmopolitan, despite the clowns-eating-hot-dogs theme, so it's nice to have an upscale place for out-of-towners, but I think I'd rather have a quiet place with more tablespace where we can all actually talk and chill instead of perch and shout.

I went to the Emerald City Con on Sunday (I would have gone on Saturday, but I got called into work (halfway through a plate of Pierogi at the Polish Home Piergoi Festival) and was there until after ten that night, meaning I missed Jordan Crane down at Fantagraphics. This actually disappoints me greatly). I have mixed feelings about Cons, where most of the mix is "I do not like them" and the other part of the mix is "They're only okay." It is very nice to see friends, meet some artists whom I admire, but the trumpeting blare of hucksterism and waving banners of clueless mediocrity kind of get up my ass with cleats on, if you will.

My favorite thing about Cons is the insatiable optimism of novice creators getting their stuff out there for the first time, all their enthusiasm, how they consider it a victory every time someone stops at their booth, talks to them a little, or - holy moley - BUYS THEIR BOOKS. Some of these shiny-brand-new types will walk on air if they clear three copies of their book at the end of the day.

What I dislike about Cons is that it won't do them any good and no one can help them. I'm distrustful of Cons and what I consider their dubious value for the indy and small-press publisher; I've spoken with too many creators who are delighted to simply meet their expenses for the table, hotel and travel, meanwhile giving up the time they could spend working or promoting themselves on any field greater than a one-at-a-time face-to-face greet with something like a 1000:1 ratio of creating dedicated readership.



Anyway, conversation for another day. More to the point, I did a little cooking yesterday - Kate mentioned that she'd never had baked Mac and Cheese, so I took it on myself to whip up the preceding mess for her. I have to tell you that I do not really know what I was using by way of proportions, but honestly you don't need me to tell you - when it's creamy and cheesy, then you will know it's time to bake it. I used a box of rigatoni and copious amounts of Monterey Jack as my base, then flavored it with about half as much Raclette (du Haut Libradois) and a block of Parmagianno Regianno about the size of a postage stamp cubed, plus a couple tablespoons of this feta I've been marinating in blood orange and rosemary. You may have trouble finding blood orange marinated feta, and I just don't know what to tell you about that.

Baked the whole mess for about half an hour at 350 degrees (or until browned) with some crumbled bacon on top, and the result will give a Silverback gorilla a fatal deep vein thrombosis at forty paces. The accompanying brussel sprouts are just sprouts 'n butter baked alongside the mac and cheese, and the result is probably tonight's leftovers and a double bypass.

I surely did more than cook, and in fact ... I DREW! Oh boy! Drawing! I received my first commission stemming from the recent Lord of the Rings Masterpiece Series 2 trading card set (whew, saying that twice is a lungful), which was a full-color family portrait of the entire Fellowship. They had to take this photo twice because Gimli blinked.



And that's kind of it! I'm glad that this week has fewer things to do, to be honest, because I'm fuckin' exhausted and could use the downtime to work on Zayde Todt and Jeremy and/or sleep.

Oh yeah, and I finally read Promethea this week. That's Alan Moore's best dialogue in years, hands down. Well, the exposition stuff is maybe a little stilted, but whenever the ladies were actually just talking rather than setting up Crowleyism 101, it was a fuckin' delight. Also, is it wrong that I found Bill to be the hottest of the Prometheas? Probably ...

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I realized that I hadn't yet written about going to Portland for the Stumptown Comics Fest ... and I'm STILL not going to, as I do not have any of the books or art I bought with me today (so I can provide URLs to the artists), BUT I was reminded of the thing because I just found in my coat pocket a limerick written for me by LiveJournal's own Anne Moloney:

The mighty Calamity Jon
Oh the glorious things he has drawn.
A wee man of bats;
An Iron Man, fat;
A Frankenstein boy on the lawn.

ANNE MOLONEY EVERYBODY!
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And whilst we speak of terrific things, I point out Steve Wolfhard (Whom I also met at Stumptown) and his document of the best day of his life, complete with illustrations. Fish Kill Gut Slicks have never been so satisfying.
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And I guess since I'm in a mood to post awesome stuff, here's Isabella Rosselini humpin' bugs. Awesomer/exactly as awesome as it sounds, depending on your tastes.

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