Touch me. Touch me like you didn't touch me last night.

Freakout: IN EFFECT
Barring Unforseen Circumstances:

AM GOING TO BE PUBLISHED WRITER!!!

Unless some bigass ad comes in late and sucks up my space, will have little 350 word sidebar thing in next month’s issue of XXXXXX XXXX.

I’m X’ing it out because, if I didn’t, the UNFORSEEN CIRCUMSTANCE MONSTERS would totally JUMP UP AND DOWN ON IT AND FUCK IT UP.

Will give details when I get final confirmation.

***Freakout underway. Bushmill’s in system.***

PAID WRITER!!!
FREAKOUT!!!

*smooches*

benjamin

man_size

man_size

          Harvey Pekar, famous for his American Splendor comics, as well as the film about him that shares the same name, is not the everyman that most articles predictably and laboriously paint him as. How do you refer to somebody who’s been writing jazz reviews for forty years as an everyman? Or how about a guy who doesn’t get to be on Letterman anymore, since he turned the tables on the open mockery of him one too many times?
          I’ve read most of American Splendor, and I’ve enjoyed it, but it's rarely knocked me out. Don’t get me wrong, it’s some impressive stuff—the impression varying greatly with each artist who illustrates Pekar’s work—but it’s never been the sort of thing that I’d go out of my way to pick up regularly. The slice-of-life dialogue can really be killer, but it always felt a bit disjointed to me.
          Man, Quitter kicks the shit out of that little stereotype I’ve been nursing. The usual 90/10 dialogue/narration formula is flipped over as Pekar writes about his amazingly interesting early life, from the heady days of his being the best street fighter in his neighborhood, to his occasionally debilitating bouts of inadequacy and paranoia, to his countless jobs and week in the Navy. This is no longer “slice of life,” this IS life…a fucking interesting one.
          This is the kind of autobiographical stuff I can totally dig on, this is a guy going through and telling us his highs, his lows, and all with a detachment that’s not totally unemotional. When I finished, I felt like I had a way better grasp on Harvey Pekar, and a far more vast respect for him and his life.
          I feel bad enough that I’ve gone this far without mentioning that this is—near as I can tell—the best art I’ve ever seen out of Dean Haspiel, and that’s saying a lot. Easily the most impressive to me about this is that each panel isn’t just the usual “snapshot” art. Instead, each one threatens to keep moving if you take your eyes off of it. We’re talking Jack-Kirby’s-Captain-America-is-striding-towards-the-Red-Skull-and-somebody's-gonna- lose-an-eye kinda power here. His framing of movement is incredible, with some amazing three-panel-spreads that tug your eyes along with the text, the character, and the flow of the story.
          Haspiel pulls nice camera angles without making them feel forced, and keeps the background as alive as the main character. One panel I really loved is where we see a young Pekar in class, watching the teacher, and a girl to the side looking away, but not at Pekar. It’s like she’s sneaking a glimpse at some off-panel crush, and Haspiel’s letting us in on her secret.
          And the fights. A lot of this book comes down to fighting, where Pekar excelled, and was finally able to feel that he had accomplished something. His narrations of the schoolings are full of awesome, and Dino’s art…fuck, man, some of those punches made my goddamned jaw ache.

           Listen to me, wanking away like a fanboy, or worse, an actual critic. Ignore my noise, and just get out there and buy The Quitter.

           As for me, I think I’m gonna read it again.

 benjamin