It's National Mario Day!
I learned all I needed too HERE.
Basically March 10th is abbreviated Mar 10, which looks like Mario. Clevah, clevah! It's not May the Fourth be with you but hey, according to that-there link,there are over 1200 "national" holidays. They can't all be home run touchdown GOOOAAAALS!
So, why not. Wear red and blue. Play some Mario. Be nice to a plumber and his lesser known brother. It's Mario Day.
Friday, March 10, 2017
Monday, March 6, 2017
Nerdy Bastard
Comic Review!
Started Wednesday March 1, 2017
Bastards like comics. I don’t want to start a new blog so I’m putting these up to feel better about writing it all down.The nerd store I work in sells a variety of nerdy paraphernalia. I’m in good with the comic crowd and after talking comics with my people I am a little resentful having to wait until I get home to start in on my comics. Today I had quiet on my side.
First Thing I Read When I Got Home:
Shade the Changing Girl #6 Good read. #5 ends in a cliffhanger and this issue took right off. There is a lot of fun potential building up and drama is sure to ensue. Shade is her own worse enemy and this issue sets up what is sure to be quite the rivalry.
Bullseye #2 Ah, Bullseye, what a bastard. Just enough story to present Bullseye as the murderous jerk he is—but also provides a mission, the rescue-my-son-sort no less, and that coupled with sociopathic code make for a very entertaining read.
Extremities #1 Oh my yes please. This issue comes at the reader flexing and showing off all it’s mighty potential. I’m not a gore hound but I found the flying blood and severed torso’s and such to be more awesome than awful. Image has some more #1’s coming at us. I can’t afford for them to be awesome but I suspect that won’t stop anything.
New to The Stack (which is by no means a negative reflection):
Deadpool #28. Part one of four is all I needed to see on the cover. I have the normal cover. There is a more awesome cover out there with ‘Pool-as-Venom that I did not get. I’m sure I’ll get to my love/hate of variant covers eventually.
Nightwing #16 Normally I get to this book pretty quick. This week my copy was damaged. I get the variant cover so it was either buy the wall cover or wait. My budget is limited. I wait.
Also on The Stack:
The Walking Dead # 161 I think. It’s the quarter issue but I don’t follow the book so…
The Old Guard #1. Looks good and is only a time-budget that has delayed my reading. THANKS wife, kids, pets and friends.
Optimus Prime #4: These feel longer than the average comic book. I really enjoy the artwork so far so I also spend a little extra time staring at the pages.
Sunday, March 5, 2017
Bastard Rising
I did that thing where I remember I have a blog.
2017...am I right?
I've been going over some of my article-post-things that I never completed for whatever reason and have decided to push myself a little more to post more.
I am a semi-active comic nerd and have decided to write little review-esque little blurbs on the issues. I have a couple of ideas of where I might eventually send them but in the meantime I am going to post them here.
I'll also get some of my bar stories written to completion too.
I work at a comic book store and a bar (but not as a bar tender). Before that I worked with teenagers for six years.
Such will be the tales from the bastard's mouth.
...probably.
2017...am I right?
I've been going over some of my article-post-things that I never completed for whatever reason and have decided to push myself a little more to post more.
I am a semi-active comic nerd and have decided to write little review-esque little blurbs on the issues. I have a couple of ideas of where I might eventually send them but in the meantime I am going to post them here.
I'll also get some of my bar stories written to completion too.
I work at a comic book store and a bar (but not as a bar tender). Before that I worked with teenagers for six years.
Such will be the tales from the bastard's mouth.
...probably.
Friday, November 4, 2016
Twenty Year Kiss
I kissed this girl, you see.
She wanted me to, there in her room in the basement. I was not an expert on making out by any stretch of the imagination but I had been spending a lot of time with this girl.
She was a little nervous and when I had moved closer and leaned in because of the motion—not because I was making my Official Move, she had looked down at the last second to scratch her nose on her hands.
It was the giggly sort of nervous. I was sitting on the floor and she was lying on her bed, our faces close enough it would the smallest adjustment to my posture and our lips would meet.
She paused mid-sentence to think of a word. She was distracted enough I moved in and brought our faces together.
We kissed and I must have blinked or something because now it’s twenty years later. She stayed awake and made sure to tell me it was officially twenty years. I always remember the date but somehow I forget she likes to start at midnight. I joke that it was much later in the evening by the time we kissed.
I know twenty years is nothing to sneeze at but also celebrating things extra because it’s a round number seems arbitrary to me. Don’t get me wrong—I love the number ten and sure it’s neat when it can cleanly be divided into a number (and don’t even get me started about the number five!) but I’m not sure it’s the kind of thing that propels one into a partying frenzy.
When people ask what we’re doing to celebrate I say, “Stay married. Probably.” But we like to sit around and make plans for the future that will some someday, somehow involve just us. Her and me trying to get a jump on the future version of “us” that does not inherently include our daughter and son. We are planning on being the youngest old people ever.
Secretly we have started putting our change and spare dollars into a jar to someday buy an RV. She’ll drive. I’ll write. Maybe find a nice campground to tend for a summer...
When people ask what the secret is I tell them there isn’t one secret, really. Maybe it’s because she is co-dependent and too forgiving and I am an irritable bastard who feels less irritable around her.
It’s certainly rare to find someone who doesn’t make me itch like people do; even people I proudly admit to loving can say or do something and bottom line is it makes me feel like the only way to get a good scratch in is with some distance from them. That I found such a person with boobs and a fetish for bastards is not a card you can expect to be dealt twice.
No one is perfect and I’m positive enough to hope my cynical nature helped preserve my marriage when times where tough. I could tell myself that it folly to think there was such a thing as a perfect fit. I’ve met what seemed like a perfect couple and seen them not only get divorced but they end their marriage in such a way that jaws drop. And while my wife is certainly capable of driving me crazy I’ve never thought there is a female out there who would drive me less crazy. I mean, I’m a bastard but people like me—I hear their stories. If you say “adult” to me I silently add the word “dysfunctional” before it.
And I also know I’m not mounted high up on a horse named Functional. I’m what I’d like to call mostly functional. I know funds are low and rent is always due. But I also got the night off to go do something. Even if I’m not sure what we will be doing blowing off work seems like the thing to do, and is there for responsible.
She wanted me to, there in her room in the basement. I was not an expert on making out by any stretch of the imagination but I had been spending a lot of time with this girl.
She was a little nervous and when I had moved closer and leaned in because of the motion—not because I was making my Official Move, she had looked down at the last second to scratch her nose on her hands.
It was the giggly sort of nervous. I was sitting on the floor and she was lying on her bed, our faces close enough it would the smallest adjustment to my posture and our lips would meet.
She paused mid-sentence to think of a word. She was distracted enough I moved in and brought our faces together.
We kissed and I must have blinked or something because now it’s twenty years later. She stayed awake and made sure to tell me it was officially twenty years. I always remember the date but somehow I forget she likes to start at midnight. I joke that it was much later in the evening by the time we kissed.
I know twenty years is nothing to sneeze at but also celebrating things extra because it’s a round number seems arbitrary to me. Don’t get me wrong—I love the number ten and sure it’s neat when it can cleanly be divided into a number (and don’t even get me started about the number five!) but I’m not sure it’s the kind of thing that propels one into a partying frenzy.
When people ask what we’re doing to celebrate I say, “Stay married. Probably.” But we like to sit around and make plans for the future that will some someday, somehow involve just us. Her and me trying to get a jump on the future version of “us” that does not inherently include our daughter and son. We are planning on being the youngest old people ever.
Secretly we have started putting our change and spare dollars into a jar to someday buy an RV. She’ll drive. I’ll write. Maybe find a nice campground to tend for a summer...
When people ask what the secret is I tell them there isn’t one secret, really. Maybe it’s because she is co-dependent and too forgiving and I am an irritable bastard who feels less irritable around her.
It’s certainly rare to find someone who doesn’t make me itch like people do; even people I proudly admit to loving can say or do something and bottom line is it makes me feel like the only way to get a good scratch in is with some distance from them. That I found such a person with boobs and a fetish for bastards is not a card you can expect to be dealt twice.
No one is perfect and I’m positive enough to hope my cynical nature helped preserve my marriage when times where tough. I could tell myself that it folly to think there was such a thing as a perfect fit. I’ve met what seemed like a perfect couple and seen them not only get divorced but they end their marriage in such a way that jaws drop. And while my wife is certainly capable of driving me crazy I’ve never thought there is a female out there who would drive me less crazy. I mean, I’m a bastard but people like me—I hear their stories. If you say “adult” to me I silently add the word “dysfunctional” before it.
And I also know I’m not mounted high up on a horse named Functional. I’m what I’d like to call mostly functional. I know funds are low and rent is always due. But I also got the night off to go do something. Even if I’m not sure what we will be doing blowing off work seems like the thing to do, and is there for responsible.
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