Beanie's Folly, pages 10 and 11

I went to a comic store with a friend last week, and it only served to reinforce my hatred of the direct market. I asked for a couple things they didn't have, which is a problem I've had before with this particular store. Mind you, I wasn't asking for anything too obscure. On the contrary, these were well-publicized hot sellers that the store's eccentrically attired proprietor couldn't seem to keep in stock. Based on my inquiries, he handed me an expensive hardcover volume that he assured me was one of his picks for book of the year. I cautiously flipped through its pages. It looked like it was drawn by the mongoloid love child of Kent Williams and Alex Robinson. I didn't even bother trying to read it. I put it at the bottom of the stack of stuff I was thinking about buying, where I could feel its mediocrity infecting me. After a few moments of this uncomfortable exposure, I handed it off to my friend. I wound up buying the latest issue of Morrison and Quietly's Batman (why can't anyone seem to keep these guys on the same project for more than a few issues? Does DC really expect me to look at Phillip Tan's scrawlings after reading three issues of Quietly's exquisite renderings?) and an old issue of Mome (which I will continue to buy as long as they publish Tim Hensley). Anyway, the whole experience left a pretty bad taste in my mouth. The poorly informed recommendation, the inability to keep things in stock, even the music they were playing all served to reinforce the shame of my nerditude that I've been suppressing since junior high From now on, I will be happy to let Amazon undersell their dust-encrusted, socially inept, frequently obese real-world counterparts, except for The Joker's Child in New Jersey, where everyone has the good sense not to try to sell me anything that obviously blows, and Comic Relief in Berkeley, where I get a discount. And maybe Hanley's. I guess I'll just buy my mini-comics online or at shows. My issues with hipper-than-thou shitholes specializing in "hand-printed matter" are the subject of another rant entirely. p.s. here's some pages from my next book.

I'm being interviewed on Pirate Cat Radio

Tonight at (or around 6pm) I'll be on Pirate Cat radio Promoting SF Zinefest and making an ass of myself. http://www.piratecatradio.com/listen.php

Beanie's Folly, page 9

Beanie's Folly, page 8

I've had some trouble drawing since I've been back in San Francisco. I've only had one day off since I've been home, and I managed to fritter it away reading old comics and watching old SImpsons episodes. I've had some inspiring experiences since I've been back, including a flattering e-mail from a guy who is just about as "famous" as an indie cartoonist gets these days. I've also been enthusiastically re-devouring a lot of the comics I rescued from my childhood collection just before it was sold. I just finished Peter Milligan's 'Egypt.' Despite some lacking art by Glyn Dillon (I thought he was so good when I was in high school) and Phil Gascoine (I'd never heard of him before, and I've not seen the name since), it was pretty good. It's got a great, weird plot about time travel and re-incarnation. The ending doesn't quite pull everything together, but after seven issues, I was so endeared to the main character, a free-wheeling jerk aptly named Vincent Me, that I didn't mind filling in some substantial gaps in plausibility myself. Re-reading Milligan's stuff has really reminded me where my narrative voice comes from. I've been reading stories about glib sociopaths since I was fourteen. Everyone in my books just talks like the lizard from 'The Enigma.' Anyway, here's page eight.

Memories for sale

As I type this, I am sitting in my childhood bedroom in Fair Lawn, NJ. My mother is coughing violently in the next room as a Jamiacan woman with a barely decipherable accent tends to her many ever-changing needs. I'll be inking pages and getting drunk in the backyard all week, but not before the two most important parts of my pilgrimage to the Mother-land. Pilgrimage the first: to my father's grave; pilgrimage the second: to my favorite Jewish deli. I'll post the fully inked pages upon my return to the sunshine state. In the meantime, I thought everyone out there in blogland (both of you) might enjoy reading the text of the craigslist ad I posted to sell my childhood comic book collection. Enjoy, and pass it on to anyone who might be interested.

Beanie's Folly, pages 5, 6 and 7

The Folly of Beanie Boylan, pages 3 & 4 (pencils)

These pages were drawn in my room late at night while listening to the third Blue Oyster Cult album, which is great. Page 3 was partially inked in Portland while listening to the fifth They Might Be Giants album, which holds up really well. As I type this I'm back in my room, listening to the second Wolf Parade album, which is boring me to tears.