2014 in Review

Stuff I did in 2014:

 -Learned how to properly cook a steak.

 -Learned to throw pots (very poorly, but still).

 -Missed out on an amazing house due to a leaking oil tank, and missed out on Richie Havens's house due to someone having a lot more money than I did. Still trying.

 -Got three Marvel ART OF movie books to press.

 -Edited a prose novel adapting SECRET WARS.

 -Launched seven more students into the world of Photoshop, but more importantly, did all I could to equip them for the world.

 -Helped a past student and a temp get employment.

 -Gave a talk in the UK, followed it up with a holiday in Romania and Bulgaria. Pissed off a Danish development worker in East Africa by making a smart-ass, intolerant remark about dental hygiene.

 -Went through three health insurance plans. No, four.

 -Made an umbrella.

 -Packaged two Choose Your Own Adventure-style books about the Oregon Trail.

 -I lost more weight without trying, without regular gym visits. My secret, same as last year, was to avoid processed foods which are full of sugar in the form of refined carbohydrates and corn syrup. Give it a try. Not just good for the waistline—also good for your outlook.

-Had a miraculous moment where I represented both major American comic book companies at the same time.

 -And I went back to the workplace, which is full of ups and downs, and reminds me that the part I don’t like is delivering bad news to passionate creators.

 Where I fell down this year is on anything social. I worked more than ever, which seems impossible, but I ended up in a job intended for two industry veterans. It’s only temporary, and will pass. I’ll be available for lunch soon enough.

Not too bad a year, especially when I look back at the hopelessness of past New Year's comments, but the whole construct of a year is kind of goofy. Tomorrow is just an extension of today, so I try not to put too much stock in noting the passage of one day to the next. Some years, I go to another country to be a tourist over New Year’s, just to avoid the superficial measure of success in a world where I’m usually able to overlook my solitary existence. It’s hard to do that when pop culture is bombarding me with messages about being with friends and family. Easier to be distracted by the challenge of sorting out a situation I don't understand.

It's funny how when you're young, you have so much life ahead of you—you dance, you go to parties and shows, you chase an elusive something through the night in Manhattan—and so much to look forward to, and then at some point it turns to despair, and then you wake up one day with that behind you, and instead it becomes about acceptance, and just getting through the days. Acceptance pushes disappointment aside, and here you are. Just getting by, having lost the hope of something amazing being right around the corner. What's right around the corner is more change, more transition, more ambition, and more day-to-day life as I fight back against the human predisposition toward comfort and routine.

Happy Holidays 2014

The guys are feeling especially Christmas-y this year.

A Bit of Science

Good news today!

I can finally show you some dinosaur photos from 2010 in Cuba.

Afternoon in JC

Had an afternoon at a two-year-old's birthday party today. None of the individuals in this photo are the birthday girl, though one of them is nearly two. 

That's Power? I Thought It Might Be Flu

A missed opportunity! I could have been 99.

But I Wrote It In 2012

Remember when GraphicAudio made an audio book of my Iron Man Extremis adaptation? This popped up on my Twitter feed yesterday:

And I clicked on it and couldn't figure out what what going on, because I couldn't see the 2014 list without an app or something. So I retweeted and forgot about it.

But others kept retweeeting, so I went back and downloaded the app. And sure enough, it's on a list there.

Nice work by GraphicAudio!

DIY Sunday

The weather is getting cold, and I realized if I didn't get my little DIY garage-door project done soon, it wasn't going to happen until spring.

My goal was this: The single-car garage, which is in the base of a condo building eight blocks away, has no alternate entrance. It's the garage door or you don't get in. I've long wondered what I would do if the opener broke and I couldn't get in. Rent a blowtorch?

Then my garage neighbors pointed out a little gizmo to me. It is simple -- you unlock the key core and tug it out. It's connected to a steel cable that you tie to the emergency release. You tug the key which tugs the cable which tugs the release, voila, you're in.

I found the gizmo for $10 online, ordered it, and then proceeded to let it sit on my coffee table for a month.

Today, I drove over to the Home Depot by the Holland Tunnel, picked up a 3/4" drill bit, and went to work.

Here are some photos of the project in progress. See how it works?

Dosa a Week

I was heading to work one morning -- yes, I have a job now, at least for a while -- and I passed this sign in the cursed restaurant space:

Why do I say cursed? Well, it's been so many restaurants over the years. The Parkside Bistro lasted a few years, and I'd call from the PATH with my order (always the same, involving cauliflower and potatoes), then pick it up ten minutes later on my way home. I even had dinner there with a few men along the way, back when I used to do that sort of thing. 

The rent is pretty high in this space, and I think that's what keeps restaurants shutting frequently. The owner of the space has a bad rep too, but I have no idea what that bit of info is based on. 

A Mexican restaurant took up residence for a while, and did great during the hurricane, but poorly after that. It's wasn't very good. 

Now we have an Indian restaurant, which seems to always be jumping. 

And now they have this. 

That same night, the Wednesday I saw the sign, I gave it a try. 

Pretty good! But then, we have two dosa carry-outs in the food court two blocks away at Newport. So it's not quite as delightful as it would be if, say, a fabulous healthy food joint opened. But we'll take it. A dosa is good enough for a Wednesday night. 

Now in Paperback

I got this book in the FedEx today:

It's the paperback version of the prose novel by my friend Larry, who I helped hire to write this. I also edited it from my kitchen table in Mexico, where I was also conducting interviews for Marvel's Art of Thor: the Dark World. 

I went to NYU last Wednesday to see a documentary about Larry at its premiere. I've known Larry since 1988, when he'd come say hello to me when I was an Epic intern at Marvel. 

He doesn't really look like this. 

This Is A One-Off

Here's a closer look at how the convention went for me.

Lots of freelancers I know bounce back and forth between companies, but editors have to generally choose one or the other. It was fun to be an exception.

Oddity on Garage Street

American Indians and Buddha hanging out at the old-man bar over on First Street.

Double Agent

New York Comic Con happened this weekend. 

That means I have a slight cold, there is a human sleeping on my sofa, and I need sleep. But it was a fun con, exceptionally sane in spite of the massive crowds, and I enjoyed the odd moment in my life when I'm working for both of the Big Two. 

The moment is brief, and I'm trying to enjoy the fun of signing at the Marvel booth before heading up to the DC hospitality suite. Basking in the moment as much as I can, because the situation will inevitably—necessarily—evolve.

Navrati in JC 2014

For the past few days, I celebrated my first normal-human weekend since I began my latest phase of employment. Meaning my first weekend without freelance work.

I did the sort of things most people do, like laundry, grocery shopping, a trip to IKEA, coffee with a friend, some apartment organizing, and then I briefly took a look at the barbecue festival across the street.

The festival was just silly. Is Jersey City known for its heritage of barbecue? Where did all these earnest young men in trucker caps and facial hair come from? Why do people choose to wait in long lines in the sun for the same food they could just go to the barbecue carry-out for on any given day?

The scene, and that is very much what it is, was depressing. I love where I live, but it's evolving, changing into something kind of annoying.

Later that night, a friend of mine—Ed Ward—was visiting from out-of-town. He was staying at a little hotel in India Square, up near Journal Square. I'd walked by it once after dropping off my car at my mechanic's, and sent him the link, and here he was checking it out.

"There's a festival up here. Starts at 7."

I went up on the jitney, the dollar van. We toured the movie palace, walked around Journal Square, and finally, the street party was happening.

Jersey City is still great and one of the most diverse cities in the country. You just have to go a little farther out to find it now.

A Touch of Imelda

It's that time of year when we all get confused about whether to wear sleeves or not, sandals or shoes, jacket or no. So I've been getting ready to swap out the seasonal clothing, but also not quite sure if I should yet.

I pulled all my summer shoes out of my closet.

This is ridiculous. And I have two more pairs under my desk at work. And how many of these shoes don't give me blisters? Only two sets.

And sometimes one of those rebels too.

Even Spidey Needs A Rest

I just found this in my Photostream.

Spidey must've had a long day at Baltimore Comic Con.

In My Parallel Life, I Never Left Austin

When an old friend of mine was in town in July, I went by WORD Jersey City to see him perform Ivy and the Wicker Suitcase with his wife and daughter.

At some point when I was chatting with him, he said, "You know, there's an HEB on Oltorf with a painting that looks just like you."

Sure, sure, I thought.

And then he sent me a jpeg.

Craftsy

I went through a tear of making stuff, right before I got utterly bogged down in work. 

Pottery was fun, but in the end, it was taking up too much of my time. My first-ever mug is below, complete with too-big handle. I loved pottery! But you can't do it in two hours a week. 

Day Job: The Previous One

I got around the paywall for the WSJ with a little help. 

So this has been going on for months now. A bit more detail is here. 

It's pretty nuts. Especially considering we're essentially inactive right now. 

Please Curb Your Dog

I wish I knew what the lower sign once said.

Book of the Month

Look at the bottom of this! It's for August, but I was traveling when this came out. 

Unexpected, but kind of awesome. 

Busy Day in Barcelona

Noooo! My shopping expeditions in Barcelona were a bust.

The caganers were of a terrible quality this time. If I'm honest, they were last time too, but I bought some out of habit. I suspect that the popularity with tourists has caused a kind of caganer gold-rush, turning out um, shitty caganers as quickly as possible. I'm backing out of caganer collecting except when I see high-quality ones from now on.

Then the shop with the Bionic sign above it, which never really was called Bionic but I suppose it's to do with commercial changes you can make in the Gothic quarter, is closed for good now. I bought clothes I wore almost every day in Kuwait here at this shop, when I was en route and desperate for something with long sleeves that was too frumpy-modest. 

I could buy clothes on Etsy from the couple that ran the shop now. But it's not the same without trying them on. 

Plus one of my other go-tos, On Land, was closed for summer vacation. 

And Tomo II, where I'd picked up a lot of inexpensive shirts over the year, was closed permanently as well. That one at least had a second branch near the train station, but I didn't find anything there I wanted to buy. 

One new addition was Fete again has a store in town, so that's a bonus. I used to get their stuff all the time until their shop closed some years back. 

I didn't buy much, and what I did buy from Fete and Anna Povo is a little too big, and I keep believing I'll have the time to take the shirt in. I made a special trip (with my T10 metro card) up to the Skunkfunk Outlet, but even the stuff I've bought at home from them never fit me quite right. 

I don't know what it is about Barcelona that keeps me coming back. I don't know anyone there and staying in the tourist area never brings me great luck with finding food. I realize Barcelona is a great food city, but I don't eat seafood at all, and I hate going into crowded places by myself. I had a fabulous, perfect lunch at a little cafe, which is what I gravitate to when I travel rather than proper restaurants. I'm just not a gourmet foodie in any way, because I have too many dietary restrictions, some legit and some self-imposed. Normally, I'd pick up fresh food at the open-air market, but not for a short stay. 

Staying in the beachside made eating trickier due to the massive crowds and shocking prices. But it was only one day, and I was packing a lot in, so the last thing I wanted to think about was researching good food in suitable atmospheres. I tried loading up Foursquare a few times for reviews, but in the end, just went by the kebab shop on my way back to my room. 

(yes, yes, I know, what a crime against Barcelona to not try this and that and good god, please don't give me hell. I have shit to do. I can't be obsessing for half a day about where to eat dinner. Reminder: this is my constant life, not a my once-in-a-lifetime fantasy holiday.)

My old Raval building has been renovated

I was pretty beat after my day of crisscrossing Barcelona in search of new clothes and caganers (and I stopped at the comic book store where I was a bit shocked by the sneering High Fidelity-esque brusque "assistance" I got--I wonder if they'd have been nicer if I weren't female and middle-aged. Did I come off as someone's mother looking for something I had no clue about? I won't be going back to that comic book store.) 

I took my chicken kebab back to my room, where I got back to work on the DC comic books I'm overseeing for the mass market until I couldn't see straight, then collapsed into bed. I'd have to get up before too long. 

The next morning, I ignored the gross processed-food breakfast basket and just ate the banana and peach I'd picked up. I headed out at the crack of dawn to the Barceloneta metro, zipped up to Plaza Catalunya, and caught the airport bus. At the terminal, I checked in, went through security, and happily immersed myself in a latte at Costa Coffee. Finally, I boarded a plane for the trip to Copenhagen, where I'd soon learn my United pass would NOT get me into the lounge as I'd expected it to. Instead, I found an outlet by a window, and worked for hours on editing a prose novel for Marvel. A really nice old man sat next to me for a while, and he complimented my work ethic when he left. That made me feel pretty good.

Eight hours later, I disembarked at Newark, caught the monorail to NJTransit to Newark Penn, crossed the platform to the PATH for the short trip to Grove Street, stopped by the all-night deli for a banana, an apple, and a little container of milk so I could have breakfast in my own apartment, then walked home. 

And I stood there at the steps of my building for a minute. And I thought.

Four flights to go, and completely out of willpower and strength. 

This is the always a tough moment. Challenging after every trip. 

I keyed open the door and took the steps, one at a time.

A Dorm in Barceloneta

My flight to from Sofia to Bulgaria was half an hour late, and by the time I got to the dorm room I'd booked in Barceloneta, it was already 8:30 p.m.

This was my first experiment with the dorm room. It was okay. The price was right at $130 for two nights, including private bath, a/c, wifi, and a desk. Oh, and breakfast, but it was a basket of packaged, er, treats left in the fridge. So an envelop of instant coffee, a packaged croissant, a sugary yogurt, some bread and processed cheese. Eww. And unfortunately, the a/c dropped water all over the closet, so that limited my a/c use, and the window was unscreened, so I didn't want to have it open at night when I had a light on.

The real issue with the room was the location. It isn't far from Born, but it's a little too far for easy convenience. The restaurants in Barceloneta are expensive and touristy, mostly for the throngs of beachgoers. I ended up at a kebab house the first night.

But for the price in Europe in August, I was doing all right. 

Made for Walking

I may have gotten a little carried away with the shoe thing.

Lots of tourists get taxis and people who live abroad for work often get vehicles or drivers. I rely on these and the bus.

I didn't want to leave the Sofia hotel maid with the problem of figuring out how to dispose of my old shoes, so I carried them along when I checked out.

I tossed them into the dumpster at the end of the block, then headed to the metro to head to the airport bus stop.

Sofia Walk

I hurried down to the meeting place for the free Sofia walking tour.

These free tours are an interesting phenomenon in lots of European cities. The idea is, I guess, that people work for tips. Or maybe it's to hone certain skills. Certainly, my guide was a historian.

There were many guides and a tremendous number of people, so they were all split up. I went with the last one who picked up the stragglers (that's me).

He walked us around the Sofia historic district, and eventually, I left him and headed to the archeology museum, then took a long walk over to the university.

Tomorrow I'd be starting my homestretch—that is, I'd be off to Barcelona, en route back home.

настойници

I saw a poster for this on the Sofia metro.

Looks great! Maybe I should go see it.

Yes, I immediately sent this to Keith Giffen.

Sofia Afternoon

The 0900 bus pulled away from Hotel Etar and out of Veliko Tărnovo. I'll be in Sofia by lunchtime, I thought.

That turned out to be a slightly late lunch, as I'd foolishly booked the bus that stopped by the Sofia airport first. This took a bit longer than I expected it to, because the roads leading up to the airport are in various states of disrepair. There seemed to be construction going on, so the bus driver eased the bus down the bumpy road with a bit of care.

Someone on the bus behind me had teeth that stunk of powerful rot. I'd noticed this on some trains too, but was in no position to guess if this was common among older people here or just plain bad luck for me. Certainly, there was more smoking in this part of the world than at home, but again, all I could do was make jokes, not assess with any real evidence if this was a societal issue or not.

I did make a snarky joke about it on Facebook, and that resulted in a tirade from an NGO worker (one with subordinates, paid lodging, paid vehicle or driver...none of which you get on the bus) who finds me superficial and accused me of not staying anywhere long enough to get to know a culture. Which...I can't argue with that on a two-week vacation. It's not remotely the same as renting an apartment and staying somewhere. Deep cultural understanding is not even on my agenda. My point here was to sightsee like the tourist I am. You can't possibly believe you'll develop deep insights in a few days of snapping photos of castles.

At least, I don't.

I know this much. The longer I stay somewhere, the more I learn to acknowledge my deep level of ignorance of a culture. Breezing through, I tend to think I've learned a few tidbits. Staying somewhere longer is a great experience, but unless you leave that situation understanding how much more there is to learn, you've actually learned nothing about the level of complexity of a culture. In Kuwait or Cairo, for example, I may know more than someone who hasn't lived there, but I would be foolish or vain to believe I'd done more than break off the tip and peek inside. Even people I know who have lived in other cultures for years speak of how much they have to learn.

And I know this. Being from another culture doesn't make you immune to jokes. Rotting teeth are not beautiful simply because I am traveling. They stink everywhere.

Being called superficial is not exactly pleasing, I admit. But I openly acknowledge a certain heavy-duty psychological armor goes on the second I get a passport stamp, the moment I head off alone in the unknown with zero resources save US-passport-privilege and the problem-solving abilities I carry along in my own brain. I am not going to be airlifted out by a distant company at the first whiff of danger. I don't have a fixer or a driver or a company-sponsored SUV. I don't have subordinates to enforce my dubious democratic values on, or a paycheck that reinforces my belief that I have something to offer. I'm a tourist, subject to the whims of fate and bus schedules and bad plumbing. Nothing more, now that I work and live stateside and get the common two weeks a year off work.

I was packing a lot into this two weeks. Two nights in London, the convention in Birmingham, two nights in Budapest, four nights in Romania, four nights in Bulgaria, and then two in Barcelona. It's too bad I can't get frequent-ass miles for the time I spend on buses and trains.

When my coach pulled into the Sofia bus station, I rolled off the bus and wandered down the block, navigating by iPhone to Favorit Hotel. It was completely and utterly pleasant, the best hotel I'd seen during my whole trip, including the Radisson in Budapest and the Hilton in London. I devoured some almonds and fizzy water from the mini-bar (later I'd learn I'd paid $9 for that), rested a bit, then headed down the block to acquire a banana and take the newish, gleaming metro to the center.

I walked along a grand boulevard to Alexander Nevsky Church, went in and played tourist for a while, until it was late and I was exhausted, and I headed back to my room. I had plenty of work to do, as even though this was holiday, the work never ends. I'd do some more touristing in the a.m.