So. Been gone a while. Nearly three months, in fact. There’s no excuse, really. I’ve been working on other projects, but I still could have carved out some time to write about the funnybooks if I’d wanted. There’s certainly been no dearth of good ones to discuss. So I dunno. I guess it’s just that I wrote a satirical rant on the death of Ishmael and didn’t know how to follow that up.
I toyed, briefly, with doing more of it. Becoming the Stephen Colbert of funnybook commentators. But I only got halfway through an argument that Jack Kirby deserved to be treated like dirt by his publisher before 1) I started feeling a little sick to my stomach over saying that shit even in jest, and 2) I realized that I couldn’t possibly be any funnier than the guys who make those arguments for real on funnybook message boards all over the web. So that was out.
I almost came back a few weeks ago when I made my weekly jaunt to the funnybook store and found nothing I wanted to buy. That was a pretty momentous occasion. I’ve been making that trip for 25 years, and had never before walked out empty-handed. That’s right: every week, for a quarter-freaking-century, I bought at least one funnybook that I really wanted to read. And that’s just the weekly trips. If you toss in my more erratic childhood visits to newsstands and grocery store spinner racks, it’s more like 40 years of never-frustrated funnybook-buying.
On the one hand, that made me feel sort of sad and pathetic. And on the other, it gutted me. Which in turn made me feel even more sad and pathetic. I started writing a column about that, but realized it really wasn’t worth more than a couple of paragraphs. Then I got over myself, thought “First World Problem,” and stopped whining.
(It was all just an artifact of scheduling, anyway: the following week, I spent double what I normally do and was damned happy to have so very many good comics.)
So why am I finally back now? Well… I found that I really missed the ol’ nerd farm. I mean… It’s been a nice vacation. I’ve enjoyed flexing my fiction-writing muscles these last three months. But I’ve begun to miss running off at the mouth about comics. While I doubt that I’ll try to write about everything I’m reading anymore, it’ll probably be good for my sanity if I crank out one column a week. Yeah. Let’s see how that goes…
In the meantime, just so this entry isn’t completely devoid of new funnybook goodness, feast your eyes on the prog-rock-ready cover to last week’s Prophet #35:
(This book continues to wow, by the way, even as it moves beyond its “weird future vignettes” stage and into something of a “sweeping space epic for freaks” period. I will always miss the era of disturbing insectoid mysteries and vagina-faced monkeys, but this is good, too.)