
Troy Hickman stands beside the Cyrus Thompson statue in Kings Row (City of Heroes online game), and gets something in his eye...no, really, that's all it is...

And then came Bronson. In this one, he plays a guy who
There's so much you could say about the Rick Springfield vehicle "Hard to Hold." I think the text on the poster says it all, though:
Departure times - There never seems to be a good one. Most of the time, I end up leaving Indy at 6am or somesuch. Why the hell is that? Do we have to sneak into the Vancouver airport under cover of dawn? I realize this is Indiana and all, but does that mean we're on the same "early to rise" schedule as the Clampett family? And why do they tell me to be at the airport two hours ahead of time when it usually takes me all of twenty minutes to get from the airport entrance, through all the security, to my gate?
The Look - When I board the plane, I've very cognizant of the people already in their seats. While walking down the aisle, I tend to count the rows from where I'm at so I can guestimate where I'm sitting. When I finally get to my seat, I hate seeing the person already sitting in my row making that "oh, god, he's sitting next to me" face. Between my broadness and my somewhat bikery looks, I guess I'm not most folks' first choice for a person with whom to share a five hour flight. Just for the hell of it, I ought to bring a book with me entitled "Living with Leprosy."
Waiting to get off the plane - What the hell is the problem? It shouldn't take half an hour to get my ass off a runway. And the folks getting their overhead stuff down...cripes! First of all, how much crap do you need to carry on? I see people bring on four items, then never once go to those parcels during the flight. There's such a thing as checked luggage, you know! I carry one small DVD player bag with me that has all my stuff in it (ipod, medicines, paper, pens, itinerary, etc.). It's small enough to fit under my seat, so I don't have to piss around with the overhead storage when it's time to...GET OFF THE @#$% PLANE!!!
Christmas Tree Guy (aka CTG, aka Arthur "Bushy" Thunderpants) - Christmas Tree Guy is the "glue" of the Living Room Gang, and so beloved in all our hearts. He was originally a demon from hell (along with his sister, American Idol's Melinda Doolittle), but one day Santa Claus came and rescued him, taking him to the North Pole to help with Christmas. Eventually CTG came to live with us, where he amuses us with his whimsical songs and dances. CTG always keeps a jelly bean and a nut under his hat in case he gets hungry (hence his song "Don't you wish you had jelly beans and nuts" to the tune of the Pussycat Dolls' "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me"). When he was in hell, he ate Garvin, but we got that monkey off his back (Garvin is a food they give you in Hell; it's highly addictive, so that you won't try to escape). Recently CTG disappeared for a few months, and when he returned, we learned he'd been off helping Santa battle Satan and Insanity Claus in an epic confrontation. CTG is an amazing entity, and it's really impossible to look at him and not smile. He's brightened up a lot of gray days for us.
Valentine's Day Guy (aka "VDG," aka "Chester Q. 'Nurple' Gobstopper," aka "Malibu Pete) - Chester is an old friend of Christmas Tree Guy, and a fellow holiday elemental. He was in the recent war fighting alongside CTG, and showed up at our doorstep, saying that CTG had told him to stop by if he was ever in the neighborhood. He's been staying with us ever since. Chester is also a singer and dancer, and he and CTG will often do duets. Chester came to us with a long time drinking problem. He found himself drinking 3 or 4 very large Malibus every day, and was rarely sober. After an intervention by the Living Room Gang, Chester got on the wagon, and has been sober for over a month now.
El Jefe (aka "The Boss") - El Jefe is the most legendary luchadore of all time. He specializes in fighting monsters such as the Aztec Mummy, the wrestling robot, the amazon women (yeah, I know, but HE considers them monsters), and other perils from south of the border. El Jefe has a great love for American soda pop, and will drink voluminous amounts if allowed. El Jefe is very proud, and if he feels you've insulted him, he will often say "I chop at your neck, senor."
Junior (aka "Berjusa") - Junior is...well, he's a baby. But that doesn't stop him. Junior's favorite thing to do is kick you in the groin (or as he puts it, "right in the nutz," with an extreme umlaut over the "u" in "nutz"), then follow it up with the dreaded "T-Bag Combo Meal," in which he crotches you in the face with glee. Despite all this, Junior is still just a baby, and can be heard uttering phrases like "support my head," and, if caught doing something he shouldn't, "I didn't know; I'm just a baby." Junior has taken to wearing a overly-large t-shirt with a choo-choo on front (which he calls "the Pain Train") and a cape on his back proclaiming him a "Future Whopper Eater."
The Testiculoids - These three aliens, Nutty, Balsam, and Scrote-zilla, are from the planet Testicula. When they came to earth, a mistake in navigation trapped them in a claw machine at a miniature golf course for a while, until we won them their freedom. They initially rebelled and went about a devious plan to take over the world, but eventually they decided they were just as happy in our living room watching TV. For a while they were at odds with Junior who, of course, likes to kick nuts, and when you factor in that these guys are from the planet Testicula, well...
Dog with a Chicken on His Back - These guys came back with me from one of my trips to Vancouver. I really couldn't say no because...well, look at 'em. It's a dog with a chicken on his back. So far we've been able to discern the chicken's name is Rooster Cogburn, but we don't know for sure about the dog. In my mind I've been calling him Lucky Ned Pupper.
Michael Crichton - Hey, if Gore deserves one, then shouldn't his "player on the other side"? Crichton has written some brilliant stuff regarding radical environmentalism as a new religion, and it makes at least as much sense (oh, ok, it makes ten times more sense) as anything Senor Carbonfootprint has said to date. 



convicted of statutory rape, and who wrote his final paper on Jennifer Love Hewett (complete with photo collage). Like the 35 year-old lady who got arrested for performing oral sex on a 14 year-old boy behind the Krispy Kreme donut shop, and came to every session of my class with a 44 ounce Big Gulp filled with booze. OK, the last two are hardly Sidney Poitier moments, but they were at least interesting). Yeah, I have no benefits, and I could make more money selling Grit, but sometimes I can see a student "getting it" (especially in my Creative Writing class), and it feels pretty darned good.
*I'm grateful for my talent. OK, so I haven't made Alan Moore money yet, and maybe one out of twenty comic fans could tell you what Common Grounds is. But you know, I haven't done so bad for myself, all things considered. Most of the folks in my family never got beyond grade school before they were sent away to some juvie facility. Pretty much every one of them eventually did serious prison time, ended up on the FBI's "most wanted" list, and such. Heck, my own mom and dad (for whom I am also grateful), while honorable people, had to drop out of school in the eighth grade to help support their families. And here I am, not only with an MA under my belt, but getting wonderful stuff said about my work by famous people, and finding myself in competition with Pulitzer Prize winners. I've only published about a dozen professional comics; half of those were nominated for Eisners, three others were popular enough to be adapted as part of a video game, and the other three were chances to write the Incredible Hulk, Witchblade, and Turok. I may not be on top of the world, ma, but I've got nothing to whine about. I'm thankful for the ideas that come into my giant melon-ish head.
and political correctness and lack of integrity out there. But for every mallet-head, there's someone who still thinks the world is a pretty cool place, and who believes that human beings are more than just one more species, that they're somewhere between the animalistic and the angelic, and as such about as special as can be. For every guy that cuts you off in traffic, there's another that'll help you push your car out of a snowbank. But Troy, do you actually believe that? Believe it, hell; I count on it.
the Andy Griffith Show. I'm grateful for long showers. I'm grateful for blog columns that eventually end.
* Along the same lines, how often have you seen movies where corporations or big business or CEOs are the villains? Now tell me how many you've seen where those same sort of entities are actually decent and moral? Hell, John Grisham has made a CAREER out of showing us how corrupt big business is (how about a few movies about evil mom & pop stores, Johnny?). According to Hollywood, big businesses exists only to pollute, screw people over, and commit covert acts of evil. Well...unless that big business is movie making or television...
*If Hollywood is correct, most homeless folks are women (with children) escaping from abusive husbands, or people who were turned out of mental hospitals (usually during the Reagan era), or colorful old coots who just don't care to play by "the man's" rules, or people victimized by (wait for it) a big corporation. Strangely, few of them are heroin addicts or crackheads or severe alcoholics. Take a walk with me through a bad area of Chicago or Vancouver sometime, and we'll take a tally of why most folks there are living on the streets. Interestingly, by the way, if you look at a lot of the sociology textbooks now, you won't see a single mention of homelessness being caused by or linked to drug and alcohol addiction. It's just not there. In fact, it'll say that almost all folks living on the streets are there because of "mental illness." Know why? It's because the clinical definition of mental illness has been broadened enough that addiction is considered part of it. So you're not going to be seeing a lot of mentions of homeless folks doing crack or drinking Sterno. They're technically all "mentally ill." Now, that doesn't mean we can't be compassionate and try to help, but let's at least start by being honest about why so many of them are there. Is the truth a bad thing?

Bottle Caps - Probably my favorite of the Wonka candies. I remember when I was around 8 or so, and there was this obscure little mom and pop place about a block from us. I'd walk over there and buy candy, and more often than not, it was a pack of Bottle Caps. I would've frequented that place more often, but just across the street from it was Stone's Drug Store, which carried not only candy, but also model kits, and most importantly, a whole rack full of comics!
Lemon-Heads - Oooooh, I love all the Ferrara Pan "head" candies. Lemonheads, Grapeheads, Cherryheads, Appleheads, you name it. You get a box of these bad boys, you sit on the porch swing on a breezy summer day with your copy of Avengers #115, and boy, you got yourself one damned good time.
Necco Wafers - Christ on a cracker, don't eat these things. As mentioned above, they're just discs made of chalk with a little sugar thrown in to fool you. I'd rather suck the blood out of a racoons ass that eat a whole package of these. They didn't even look good, with their pastels colors and chalky disposition. They looked like a candy your grandpa had eaten as a child, and had hated, and truth be told, I think that's exactly what they were...
Slo-Pokes - For those times when a Sugar Daddy was just too high-falootin', a Slo-Poke would do just fine. It was a block of caramel on a stick; those candy scientists are geniuses! Of course, on a particularly hot summer day...well, then it turned into embroidery for your jeans, but what the hell.
Wax Lips - I bought a bunch of these over the years, and never really understood the point. You could wear 'em like big red lips (now there's some fun), and when you were tired of 'em, you could chew them like gum. Except they weren't gum, they were wax. How often have you been at home, maybe during a blackout, and said to yourself "Man, I'd like to gnaw on that candle for a while"?
5. You see someone's car stuck in the snow, and they're trying to push it out. What do you do?
4. About half the class said that it depended on (A) how hard the slap was, (B) the age of the child, and (C) what the child had done to provoke it. About a third said they'd do nothing, as it wasn't their business. The rest said they'd go to some kind of authority, whether it was the store's management, the police, or Child Protective Services (though there's a real fear of CPS and their overzealousness).
to call for help on their cellphone. Of the ones who would help, most of them said they'd stop if it was a woman, but not if it were a guy (so if Laurie Dann or Aileen Wuornos were stranded, they'd stop, but bearded, scary-looking pussycat Troy Hickman would die from exposure).
Very few folks would turn her in. Some said they would offer to pay for her peanut butter. One guy said he'd slip a jar of jelly into her bag so the sandwiches weren't too dry. This question provoked a truly amazing interchange, however. I have an old hippie guy in one of my classes, and he's got some truly loco ideas. So when this question came up, he said he thought it was OK for her to steal it, because the store had more money than the woman did. Here's how the convo went from that point on:
So the other day my class gets into a discussion about who's smarter, their generation, or their parents'. Most of the class felt they're more on the ball than the older folks, so I decided to give them a "general knowledge" questionaire when we had a few minutes to spare. Below is the quiz in its unanswered form first, in case you want to test yourself. Then I present the answers, along with how my classes did on each one. Bear in mind that between my five classes, I had exactly 100 students take the quiz, so even I was able to figure up the percentages. Also keep in mind that the students in my classes run the gamut of ages, but most are between 18-25.

Among the incorrect answers: "Rico Star" (Ringo's brother, probably), and simply "Rizzo" (probably the sixth Beatle, after Billy Preston). More disheartening, though, were the number of folks who said "I don't know. I don't listen to them" or even worse, "That was before my time." (Hey, ya tool, almost 100% of everything that ever happened was before your time. You're only concerned with stuff that's occurred since 1987?)
Ahmadinejad is a boxer. Hell, I guess I would like to go a few rounds with him myself. One guy said he's "Gaundi" (misspelling aside, I have to wonder what he means; does he think Mahmoud moonlights as the Indian holy man?). Someone said he's "a prophet" (I didn't know I had any members of Al-Qaeda in my classes). A big 14% thought he was the prime minister of Iraq (oh, hell, all those countries over there are the same anyhow).
Among the incorrect answers: 15% of them thought the Pope lived in England; 10% of them thought it was France (5% of them can see your underpants). Also named were Russia and Germany. One guy said "in a parsonage" and another said "in Westminster Abbey." My personal favorite? "The Navatican." The Navatican? Yeah, like he's right outside of Reno...