Archive for 2023

BY ED LACY, REISSUED BY D. JASON FLEMING:  Enter Without Desire (Annotated): The pulp noir classic.

#COMISSIONEARNEDEnter Without Desire (Annotated): The pulp noir classic by [Ed Lacy, D. Jason Fleming]

Marshall Jameson was an aspiring artist at the end of his rope. On New Year’s Eve he wandered into New York City on his last pennies, and stumbled onto a radio game show, won it… and found the perfect girl.

How could he know his good luck would lead him step by step into murder? But Elma was worth it, worth murder, and more!

OPEN THREAD: Do that comment voodoo that you do so well.

DAVE PORTNOY STRIKES BACK: Note the place that claims to hate him and his audience still has the sticker for his 2018 9.1 review in the window. The 2023 review is 7.3.

7.3 isn’t actually a bad review for Portnoy, but a 9.1 is almost unheard of — it means the place is worth a special trip. Don’t worry, Sauce Pizza, I don’t think you’ll have very many of those Barstool Bros you say you hate cluttering up your restaurants anymore.

CONSERVATISM, ANIMAL-STYLE:

Whenever I am down in the LA area, as I am today, my mind runs to ordering French fries “animal style” from In-and-Out burgers. (IYKYK.) But today, opening up the Washington Post, I discover the origins of a possible new sect of conservatism: Animal-House conservatives, who naturally do things “animal-style.”

Yes, the Post really does suggest that the 1978 comedy blockbuster Animal House bears some responsibility for the Reagan era coming to pass. The movie, quite simply in the eyes of the Post, “changed everything.” You think I’m kidding? The author offers a disclaimer:

I’m not saying that “Animal House” led directly to the election of Ronald Reagan two years later. But I am saying the movie empowered a generation of 20-somethings to aspire to a new hedonism — call it, at best, enlightened selfishness — that spilled over into the political sphere.

Senator Blutarsky smiles.

QUESTION ANSWERED: Why Bill Watterson Vanished.

“Work and home were so intermingled that I had no refuge from the strip when I needed a break,” Watterson recalls. “Day or night, the work was always right there, and the book-publishing schedule was as relentless as the newspaper deadlines. Having certain perfectionist and maniacal tendencies, I was consumed by Calvin and Hobbes.”

By Watterson’s own admission, he cannot accurately recall a whole decade of his life because of his “Ahab-like obsession” with his work. “The intensity of pushing the writing and drawing as far as my skills allowed was the whole point of doing it,” he says. “I eliminated pretty much everything from my life that wasn’t the strip.” While Watterson’s wife, Melissa Richmond, organized everything around him, he furthered his isolation, burrowing ever more deeply into the strip’s world. There was no other way, he believed, to keep its integrity absolute. “My approach was probably too crazy to sustain for a lifetime,” he says, “but it let me draw the exact strip I wanted while it lasted.”

When crises arose, it often seemed like the end of the world. First, there was the fight with the syndicate. It looks like a piddling matter now, when few newspapers turn a profit, but in the Reagan era, there was still some money to be made in print media—particularly in licensing the rights to popular cartoons. Watterson wasn’t opposed to licensing in principle, but he felt that nearly all the merchandising proposals presented to him would devalue his strip of its artistic merit. He fought with his syndicate for years and expressed his dissatisfaction with the business side of the comics industry in speeches, in interviews, and, eventually, in court. At last, he won a renegotiated contract and the right to draw bigger, more complex Sunday strips, something Watterson had wanted since he began. The victory was pyrrhic. “For the last half of the strip, I had all the artistic freedom I ever wanted, I had sabbaticals, I had a good lead on deadlines, and I felt I was working at the peak of my talents,” he says. But Watterson had designed a world for himself so self-contained that any disruption could mean its destruction: “I just knew it was time to go.”  

Read the whole thing.