secret comics

There's Something About Jimy

Just a note from the road -- spent the night in Houston, and awoke Wednesday morning to sports radio all abuzz about the Astros blowing a 5-5 tie in the 7th on a 2-run error by Craig Biggio in LF.** More specifically, folks are already talking about firing Astro's manager Jimy Williams as a possible remedy for the team's recent struggles (for instance, going 11-14 so far in June after a 13-14 May -- that's actually pretty crappy, now that I'm going over the numbers).

So... should they fire the bafflingly-named Jimy? [For the record, this is where a sports post sort of veers into maybe something possibly a little more interesting, so bear with me]. I have no idea if the Astros should fire Jimy, but my dad sure thinks so. My dad hates Jimy Williams. Based on the number of times we've covered it, it's one of the subjects nearest and dearest to his heart.

In fact, we were just talking about Jimy Williams last night -- again. During the first inning, or at leat by the second, my dad had somehow mentioned: (a) the Astros should fire Jimy, (b) Jimy's an idiot, and (c) Jimy's the worst manager in the history of baseball. OK, let me put in a little perspective here. I love my dad, but we don't talk much. He's not really much of a conversationalist I guess, but for some reason whenever we talk he loves to rip on Jimy Williams. That's one of the few familiar conversational threads we currently have, until the fall when we'll talk Texans pretty regularly and every once in a while he'll tentatively bring up Texas football. Like right after the OU game.

Anyway, my dad and I don't have much to talk about except sports. And, more specifically, Jimy Williams. Why does my dad hate Jimy so much? Is it because his name really should be pronounced "Jimey," thus automatically making him a Little Rascal? Who knows? But I'm not so dumb that I'll turn down the chance to hang out with my dad. In fact, I think gaining (or regaining) the languauge to talk to my dad on a regular basis was the entire reason I got back into sports early on in college. Maybe "sports" is the code that my dad and I have developed to talk about all those bigger, more impotant issues that for whatever reason we just don't do such a great job of handling directly.

Could I explain "the code" to you? Not really, primarily because I'm not even sure I understand it all that well, if at all. I mean, maybe we're just talking to talk -- focusing on that need for connecting on some level, any level, at the expense of those inevitable specific agendas we carry in conversation. Maybe that's why I'm happy to chat about, say, the Tracy McGrady trade when, truth be told, I could kind of care less... I just want to hang out and talk to my dad, and what we talk about doesn't really matter. What matters is that I want to be around him and he want to be around me, that in the end people need to be around one another, and whatever words we use to make that happen are OK by me.

So there you have it. I don't like Jimy Williams much myself, mainly because my dad doesn't. Truth be told, I'm glad to have old cranky Jimy around, messing with the Astros' lineup and copping "manager's decision" to every bone-headed move he makes -- he gives my dad and I something to talk about. That may not be perfect but it gets the job done, and for that I'm more grateful than I can probably ever say.

** Perfect. Biggio starts acting all retarded and and stuff in RF not a week after I proclaim his move from CF to LF a "good thing". See comments on Dymund Notez, supra.

Stacy's Mom

Dammit. If I would have known I could piggyback (or steal, whatever) my neighbor's wifi tonight, I would have been messing around with the Comics and whatnot rather than watching several hours of The Simpsons Season 4 DVDs with the commentary feature. Talk about the lesser of two particularly depressing evils, right?

In any event, let's hope this free wifi thing keeps on keeping on. [Whoops. As soon as I wrote that last sentence, things got all slow and not-worky. Stupid poetic justice.]

Gooooal!

I am sitting here with a real desire to write, well, bloody something, anything. But seems like the circuits are all tied up tonight -- I haven't eaten anything but a bowl of cereal all day, and I suppose I'm way too hungry to do any real good smart-thinkin'.

Of course that reminds me of my friend Ivan, who I love dearly and really miss being able to hang around with. He's one of the people who's absence really makes Austin feel like something less than it could be. Anyway, in law school I lived in apartment right across the alley from Ivan and his now-ex wife Helen. That's actually why I moved into that place -- I spent so many good hours hanging out with Ivan on the porch during undergrad, playing Trivial Pursuit and talking and drinking good beer that it seem only natural to be as close to that scene as possible. It's good to have your friends close, you know? Makes you feel safe, strong -- helps you remember the reasons why you're doing what you're doing.

So Ivan was of the opinion that you couldn't do much of anything on an empty stomach. He'd come over most nights when I was freaking the fuck out (especially my first semester) in school to (a) play Fifa soccer on my computer (never failing to let out several raucous and endearing "Gooooooooooal!"s) and (b) convince me to walk across Guadalupe with him to buy snacks at the Diamond Shamrock station. "You can't study on an empty stomach," he'd say, and I pretty much had to agree with him. Nothing like a big ass soda and a bunch of Dolly Madison cherry pies to make Prof. Weintraub's contracts casebook go down a little easier, even if I actually didn't understood fuck-all what I was studying.

He's make dinner on their grill as well, always inviting me to eat and make sure I was getting enough food to do whatever depressing stuff I had to do in law school. We would get Mangia Pizza and laugh when he'd make a funny production of yelling, "Mangia, tutti!" while everyone was eating. And he never turned down a trip to Burger Tex up on 30th street when the prospect of eating alone again was too much to bear.

Ivan never failed to extend incredible arms of generosity and hospitality to me when I was stuck in some really bad places, and I'm sure I was never the type of friend who deserved his kindness. I don't think that's the point really -- Ivan loved unconditionally, gave everything he had to the people he loved (sometimes, more times than probably should have happened to someone with as good a heart as his, to his own detriment), and is one of the best human beings I've been lucky enough to know. I'll admit I've been down some dark, lonely roads, and people like Ivan carried me when I didn't think I was strong enough to carrry myself. All the people I love so fiercely have given me this gift, too many to name -- A, Ben, Robert, Nik, Harry, Nat, Laura, Erica, and a bunch more besides... you know who you are, whether your name's here or not. It's late, and I'm not thinking so good.

More than that, Ivan helped me remember that I was OK even though things seemed to be turning to crap. He would listen to Rashaan Roland Kirk records with me or watch basketball or really just hang out when that was what I needed most. Ivan being Ivan was the gift he gave me that I carry with me to this day, and thinking about him tonight makes me realize how truly lucky I am to be here. Good night now, and sweet dreams.

Here's the Deal with Secret Comics T-Shirts

One: I am so totally happy that people really seem to like them. It means a lot to me, for reasons I'm not sure I can adequately explain. It's cool to have a funny, stupid idea that actually works out way better than you originally thought. Especially when you can brighten the day of a bunch of people you love and admire in the process.

Two: Now that you have your Secret Comics shirts, do something while you're wearing it! Something funny or boring or stupid at least, or anything at all really, and take a picture of you and the shirt and whatever it is that you and the shirt are doing -- then send me the picture and I'll start a gallery here at Secret Comics. I'll take files or hard copy, either works for me. Obviously the more ridiculous the picture the better, but the entire spectrum of human drama is a beautiful thing. Good luck, and have fun.

So... if you don't have a Secret Comics shirt and want one, post a comment or email me and I'll get you one. L or XL only, at this point. Sorry. Supplies are a little bit more limited these days, but nothing drastic.

Don't Bury Me 'Cause I'm Not Dead Yet

I am been completely slack regarding the blog for the past week... just when I get the t's in and make a big deal about them, I pretty much fell off the face of the earth. For the record, I have sort of been waiting for the new computer -- and now I have the new computer! Huzzah!

It showed up yesterday but I spent most of the early afternoon having a wonderful lunch then going to the Apple store to buy a fun game (because lord knows with a new computer I certainly haven't been buying myself enough shit lately) -- then I got down to the business of setting everything up. A gratifying thing to do without a doubt, but there were kinks to work out. Like I bought the printer with USB cable. Like I needed some inkjet paper. There's a trip to Office Depot. Like the cats knocked over every box I opened and spread as much debris over the apartment as they could. In an enderaing and infurating way. As always. Like blah blah blah... by late evening I was pretty much computer-ed out. So I watched so Cheap Seats. Went to the grocery store. Had a bowl or two of cereal. Read up on my mahjong. Sat and thought. Did some txt-ing.

And I closed the evening with SLASHER, an IFC-sponsored documentary about this California-based used car sales specialist (hence his name, "The Slasher") who spends a weekend in Memphis, TN running one of his slasher sales, smoking and drinking (Heineken) almost constantly, and trying to sell 40 cars with this $88 car promotion. It was bloody brilliant. My love for documentaries depicting offbeat endearing human drama is detailed elsewhere, so I'll only say this -- if you have IFC, check out SLASHER when you get the chance.

Of course, SLASHER ran until 1:30 a.m., so I overslept this morning. Usually the sun wakes me up early enough, but rain clouds moved in overnight and made me wish I'd set the alarm clock. I got up late. But at least I got up, better late than never. More soon...

Comics T's Update

So I recently received the Secret Comics T's -- please be patient with me, I'm still in the process of getting them ready to mail out. Should be early next week. And again, if you're a Secret Comics reader and haven't let me know you'd like a shirt (as well whether you'd prefer M, L, or XL -- keeping in mind I'm already sorta low on M's), then by all means post a comment or email or somehow clue me in.

I was a little worried that they wouldn't turn out so great... happily, I think they ended up looking really nice. I gave out the first batch last night at a rather large gathering at the Dog and Duck, and I think they were somewhat of a hit. It was really cool to see how supportive and nice everyone was about them -- I gave away all I brought with and had to promise Jack and Erin and couple of other people (I think) that I would give them one soon.

Dymund Notez

[Dymund Notez is a new feature here at Secret Comics that you may or may not ever see again...]

After checking out the MLB standings this morning, I have one question -- how the hell are BoSox 4.5 games out in the AL East? When did this happen? I guess I've been busy with moving and whatnot, but the last time I checked the Sox and the Yanks were in a dogfight for first, with Boston having the slight edge.

Sure enough, it looks like they're 6-4 in their last 10. Hmmm. Isn't Kevin Brown on the DL? Doesn't Pedro Martinez have the greatest hair in the majors? What the hell is going on here? Rather than getting all sabermetric on you, I'll just say things looks pretty even statistically. To wit:

Boston's got the 3rd ranked offense in the AL (4th in the majors), compared to the Yanks' 2nd ranked offense in the AL (3rd in the majors)

Boston's got the 2nd ranked pitching staff in the AL (9th in the majors), compared to New York's 6th ranked staff (17th in the majors - wow)

Finally, Boston's looking at an OK team fielding percentage .979, compared to the Yankee's not-much-better .981.

So the AL East should be a dogfight to the end -- no reason the BoSox should let the Yankees run away with the division, barring some catastrophic injuries. Meaning injuries plural.

And I guess we should bid a fond farewell to Astro's rightfielder Richard Hidalgo, who was traded yesterday to the Mets for bullpen filler Dave Weathers (what the fuck?!?) and an apparently mediocre minor league pitcher. Look, I've enjoyed the addition of Roger Clemens this season as much as the next guy, but the Astros are really starting to resemble cannon fodder for the Cubs and Cardinals. And it's not even the All Star Break. Maybe getting rid of Hidalgo will be just what the doctor ordered -- he was (obviously) playing like ass this season. OK, maybe we was a clubhouse cancer, but are Astros fans really supposed to look at a mid-June fire sale as a good sign? Sigh...

Dream Police, Pt. II

Why in the hell do we pay for cable? I'm doing laundry in the wee hours of the morning, and now is when I want to watch TV -- not in the middle of the day when there are actually other things to do and real live people to be around. So it's after 4 a.m. and every stupid channel is running infomercials, giving me pause to wonder why the satellite TV I am paying for is running nothing but paid commercials at this ridiculously late hour when I need to be distracted.

OK, I'll give the infomercials a chance.

I'm back. Just came across a charming program for ExtenZe. Sorry -- Ron Jeremy's ExtenZe. Don't really know what to say about this. Going to gouge my eyes out with a corkscrew now. And for the record, the Superfriends suck. What a lame show -- this is the best cartoon they can be running after 4 on a Sunday morning? I can't believe I was so obsessed with it when I was a kid.

Dream Police

Secret Comics has been getting a ton of hits because I previously misspelled the Olsen twins last name -- it's "Olsen" not "Olson". I guess they finally celebrated their 18th birthday and a bunch of morons expected naked pictures to magically appear on the internet... god, the whole thing is lame. Lame, lame, lame... What's even lamer is that I was at (one point) the second leading site listed on Google for the "Olson twins", right after some (also misspelled) fake-ass Olsen twins incest picture site. I mean, what else can you say after finding that out?

Lamest of all is that I actually take a little pride in my spelling and looking up things like how to actually spell the stupid, boring Olsen twins' name -- and somehow I still managed to goof this one up. Never again... no really, I'm never mentioning or thinking about the Olsen twins ever again, no matter how you spell their g.d. last name. Good night now, and sweet dreams.

Good Luck in High School, Tidmarsh

As I alluded to earlier, today was the day I was getting my satellite TV hooked up. Huzzah! The guys showed up shortly after the Jehovah's Witnesses took their leave, and did the job in a pretty quick and competent manner. I mean, I have satellite TV now, so I guess they did their job fabulously. They said they would have gotten the job done earlier but they had to deal with several wasps nests out back of our building -- yikes!

The first thing I was able to watch was a replay of the 2004 Scripps National Spelling Bee on ESPN2. My moving schedule prevented me from watching it when it originally aired, so this was my (one millionth) second chance to right a wrong of history. Awesome.

And it was awesome -- I really enjoy watching the Spelling Bee. Sure, there's a little "too cool for this" element to it, and the kids really are total geeks. But then again, so am I -- and those little bastards can spell circles around me. Mad props. I have an honest admiration for what the kids are doing, as well as my own weird-o penchant for human drama in weird places. Trust me, the National Spelling Bee is about as weird a place as you're going to find, and it is positively stuffed to overflowing with human drama.

I watched as Speller No. 76, a/k/a 8th Grader David Scott Tidmarsh of South Bend, Indiana, spelled... um, a bunch of hard words to take first place. He was completely compelling -- during his fellow competitors' turns, he would hide his face behind his name placard because, as he revealed in his post-victory interview, he was so nervous he almost couldn't stand it. I completely understand where he was coming from. And I really, really dug watching his almost total lack of pretense and/or artifice. He was nervous as hell and not afraid who knew it. A brave man.

A picture of Mr. Tidmarsh:

And then can the final round (Round 14, I believe)... the kid who fainted, only to get up and correctly spell the word at hand, badly misspelled, uh, some word, and David Scott Tidmarsh spelled his word for the round, then had to correctly spell a final word to take home the gold. He nailed it. And he couldn't keep from crying during those last to words -- he later said they were tears of nervousness, and who could blame him? I really admire his ability to experience all the emotions and pressure that would crush an ordinary 8th grader (hell, they'd come close to crushing you and me, if we were honest), and to be able to spell these ridiculous words nevertheless. He let himself cry and it was OK, you know? He was able to pull through, through the tears and nervousness and whatnot, and do what he was there to do. A true triumph of the human spirit.

Anyway, there's a DVD out now for the film Spellbound. Apparently, "Spellbound is the extraordinary documentary that follows eight teenagers on their quest to win the National Spelling Bee competition." That's a quote from Amazon. I'm going to stop by Waterloo Video and pick up a copy, so if ever you're in or around Austin, stop by sometime and we'll watch it.