New deal: Stuff Owen Likes # 0

So this blog basically died when I started taking my degree seriously, but now my dgree is basically over and I think I've got an Idea on how to revive it. In addition to my oh so insightful quips about living the life I do I will begin a series of installments called "Stuff Owen Likes". This will be loosely modeled after the popular "Stuff White People Like" blog. By the way I've never actually read this blog as 'blogs' are not included in the "Stuff Owen Likes", but I have heard of it and I think I understand the basic premise. For tonight though I will just say that this weekend I have been doing, consuming and listening to far too much "Stuff Owen Likes" for me to write anything that would do said stuff justice. I'll just say that as soon as tomorrow, dear readers I will begin sharing with you, the wonders of the reality in which I exist, (or seem to anyway). Should I add ad nauseum? I think I shall.

Fighters Fight

In an interesting turn of events the name of this blog now holds a bit more water as I have recently undertaken boxing as a passtime and source of excercise. If theres one thing I know about boxing it's that boxers need cool nicknames in order to win bouts. So I would like to open the floor to any suggestions of what my boxing nickname should be. To get the ball rolling I've included some ideas I've come up with myself.

Rocky
Mr. Punchy Pants
The Mighty Hemmorage
Rocky II
Owen "Not in the Face" Clark
Rocky III
Mr. Motts (a refference to the term Tomato Can)
Jiminy Rickets
Rocky IV
Mr. Can't We Just Hug Instead
Owen "Why Didn't You Tell Me He's Allowed to Hit Me Back!" Clark
Rocky V
The Coma

Pick your Favorite or send me your suggestions, your help is appreciated.

Sequential Pulp Fiction

I really like comics. I also really like old detective stories and film noire. Here's a short list of some Pulp style comics that are currently being produced and are available at your better local comic book store.

100 Bullets
Here are 100 untraceable bullets an untraceable gun and a dossier on the person who ruined your life... you have carte blanche do with it what you please. This is the premise of the hugely popular series by Brian Azerello and Eduardo Risso. The first several story arcs of this series are amazing. The art is expertly drawn and coloured, and much of the writing is Ellroyesque to the bone raw. Many of the early trades can be read as stand alone stories while the latter volumes start to piece together a labyrinth of underworld political intrigue. Personally I preferred the series as an apparent collection of one offs but the weaving together of supposedly unimportant characters into a massive world of criminal intrigue is expertly done and does keep you guessing where everything is going to end. I personally think Volume V "TheCounterfifth Detective" is the best comic I ever read I would also recommend Volume VII "Samurai" Which is a particularly gritty prison horror show that is well worth picking up. (if you like Samurai and want to read something in the same veinHellblazer: Hard Times, by the same author and artist, is one of the most savage prison stories I've ever seen)

Stray Bullets
1970's (or is it 80's?) Small time hoods, thugs and psychos. David Lapham pulls no punches in his nihilistic crime series where the reader is forced to abandon any notion of justice or fair play. This series has an outstanding juxtaposition of the brutality the criminal world and the everyday banality of those who get wrapped up in it. The series also features really cool pen and ink art that completely suits the coked out rock 'n roll pace of the story. Volume I left me gasping for air at the unapologetic brutality of human misery, while Volume II takes crime out to small town America where even the simple life can get pretty bloody. Not what you would call a feel good book but worthy of attention for it's kick in the guts honesty.

Criminal
This is a fairly new series. The 6th issue just came out this week. The first story arc, "Coward" follows a professional heist man who lives by a strict code of rules. When he is forced to bend the rules against his better judgement everything goes to hell. Likable characters, good art and a great story. The first issue of the second arc just came out featuring the same writer artist team of Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips. From what I can tell all the stories revolve around the same secondary characters in the same sketchy Tavern, "The Undertow". So far so good, the new arc looks promising too.

Fell
Another brand new one. The first collection of this series just came out in trade, and a very attractive although more expensive hardcover formats. Each issue is a straight up police story where Det. Richard Fell must navigate his new beat of Snowtown, bust the bad guy and save the day. I really like how each issue is resolved by the last page, essentially allowing the reader to pick up any issue out of sequence and still enjoy it without all the back story. The series also seem to cover all the bases of police work including the classic interrogation scenario as well as domestic disputes and more bizarre serial killer plots. Both the writing and the art, (by Warren Ellis and Ben Templesmith), scrape the edges of the surreal in an incredibly compelling way. Or maybe it's so real it just seems surreal... wow, I just blew my own mind. It might be too soon to say but this may be my new favorite comic.

Pick em up, read em, let me know what you think... if you want to borrow any just let me know. Cheers.

First Impressions are Key.

Last night I went to a birthday party for my friend Mike (read his blog, "sneaking out the hospital"). I got really really drunk. By the time it took three tries to swallow a sip of beer I knew that the party was over for me. I stumbled outside and jumped into the cab one of my friends had called for themselves. "C'est quoi ton nom?" the cabbie asked. By some miracle I managed to remember who the cab was actually for and forced the monosyllabic password the driver was looking for. "Chhhh---ad" I said, and we were off. Once I was home I striped down to my undies and climbed into bed. As I breathed heavy drunken breaths and told myself I was home free, the shifting darkness of the room started to do things to my brain and stomach. That's when everything went wrong big time. The spins may have taken hours to set in but then again it might have been seconds. I had no sense of time. Once my mind had ascertained that there was no way around it and that I would indeed be throwing up, I jumped from my bed. Unfortunately in my haste I had overlooked the impaired nature of my equilibrium and promptly fell thunderously onto my end table and ultimately onto the floor. This no doubt caused quite a bit of noise, but there was no time to worry about that. I jumped up again and ran as fast as I could to the washroom. I almost made it too. But alas, my stomach would not wait to revolt and just before I could open the door a buckshot blast of bile burst from my pursed lips and onto the floor. Still reeling for this preemptive strike I managed to complete the evacuation of my stomach contents into the toilet bowl. Once that was out of the way I began to worry about the vomit on the hallway floor. Well, necessity breeds innovation and I took to the task of cleaning up the mess with the only absorbent at hand, toilet paper. It was at this moment, half naked, drunk and on all fours trying to clean up my mess with fistfuls of soggy Charmin, that the door to my roommates bedroom opened. Like an animalistic reflex I blurted "Sorry. I'm the worst. Where's the mop?". The shadowy figure at the end of the hall sympathetically responded, "Don't worry about it." and proceeded the saunter past me to the kitchen. Once within a foot or two of me I noticed something different about my roommate, "Did you get a haircut?". Before the sentence was fully past my larynx I remembered, Katrina's mother was going to be staying with us this weekend. Immediately I realized the full gravity of the situation. The apologetic grin I had been wearing seemed to jump from my face and leave a look of puzzled humiliation in it's place. I stood up, keenly aware that I was wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and a thin layer of puke and momentarily contemplated holding out my hand and introducing myself. Luckily panic set in at that moment and I quickly but proudly walked back to my room. This was too much... I'd deal with it in the morning.

Rain on Pavement

Went out for a smoke tonight on the balcony of my new apartment. It was Raining. For the first time in months I could smell rain hitting pavement. It was a moment. I'm glad I had it.

Happy Zombie Christ Day

I love easter. No, not the chocolate, or painting eggs, and no I'm not particularly religious. But I do love zombies. Any day that commemorates a man rising from the dead is a day I want to be a part of. So heres to easter, or as I call it Zombie Christ Day.

No I'm NOT Stalking You!

I'm not what you would call a social butterfly. I'm certainly no hermit either. But I'm not the type of guy would walk up to someone in the metro who I had a class with three years ago and might have said two words to at a party once and start a, "so how have you been?", conversation. Having said that, I will say hello to a co-worker that I pass on the street, or drop in on a sick friend just to make sure they're ok. So when three different people in three different circumstance accuse me of stalking them in the span of a week it really sticks in my prick. I mean, what the fuck? Am I supposed to snub you as you walk by and then be all chummy next shift we both work? Or do you want me to avoid you like the plague when you're feeling shitty and let you die alone?(well maybe in that case it's not unreasonable) I for one like it when someone acknowledges my existence in this largely homogenous urban terrarium. Personally I get a little lonely in the anonymous crowds. When someone takes the time to say, "Hey, I know you." it makes me feel a little more connected. Of course I blame technology for this phenomena of forced avoidance. Cell phones, text messaging, instant messaging, Facebook, etc... These inventions have forever altered the socially acceptable means we have of communicating with one another. Where it was once normal to knock on someone’s door when you were in the neighborhood, we now send a text message delicately asking if they are busy and if they would mind if we swung by. It's gotten to the point when we can't even call people without a furious round of instant messaging before hand just to make sure the conversation will be worth the effort of actually speaking the words. It's sick. It's driving us apart as humans, (who are social creatures by the way). I'm of the mind that I don't want to live in world where every friendly "hello", "how ya doin" or "wanna hang out" needs to be proceeded by an obnoxious digital bleep in order for it do be deigned legitimate. SAYING HI IS NOT DEVIANT BEHAVOIR DAMNIT! So screw, those of you who can't handle a hello on the street or a random visit, I ain't stopping and I'm switching my cell phone to silent.