Memorial Day is for remembering

I’m pretty far from what anyone would consider a “hawk.” I’m generally opposed to armed conflict, and have been specifically outspoken against the fronts the United States has put itself on in the last few decades. But there’s a distinction that some people — of all political stripes — tend to overlook. While I detest war on principle, I fully support a person’s decision to join the military, and I’m exceptionally grateful for their service and willingness to put themselves in a position that could literally come at the cost of their life.

My dad was in the Air Force. My uncle was a Marine. My oldest friend was in the Navy. Many more friends served in the Army. Luckily, they all came home, more or less intact. All of them have some of the most hilarious stories to tell that I’ve ever heard. Some of them have things they don’t talk about.

I might not always agree with the reasons for going to war, but I never forget that it’s people — real, everyday people — who fight in them. Saying thanks seems like the least I can do.

And now, Jack Kirby has something to say about your gonads

It’s not me, it’s you

OK, to be fair, it’s a little bit me. A little.

In my mind, this was going to be yet another post apologizing for the lack of posting, swearing to do better, blah blah blah. But then I realized — you don’t give a shit. So what the hell am I so worried about?!

As the metaphorical-you might’ve guessed, I’ve been a little burnt out. On comics (superhero comics, mostly), the lack of interaction here (even from friends, for Christ’s sake) and the online comic book community.

Oh, man, the comic book “community” — with a few exceptions, it’s the most insular, Mean-Girls-on-the-prom-committee group of people like I haven’t seen since I was first able to drive myself somewhere. When I first started blogging about comic books I was inspired by three people who had gotten there way before I did; since then, one has “retired,” another is making his own comics, and the last is part of a group that tends to be very pleased with itself. I’ll leave it to you, Cricket-in-my-Pocket, to conjecture on who is who. But at one point, these writers (and others) reminded me of the joy I  got out of comics, so much so that it made me want to share that with other people, too.

There is very little joy in the comics community now. Or in comics in general, for that matter.

But I’ve decided that’s really not my problem. My problem has been listening to it, and I’m going to try to avoid doing that now. As the Joker so wisely said once, sometimes towns need an enema, and that goes for brains that have been crammed with bullshit, too. What does that mean for you, the imaginary reader? More Kalimán, more Adventures in Sound, more talk about comics from smaller publishers. And while I’ve caught a lot of hell — deservedly — for dropping the ball on it, the Movie Club will make a reappearance.

Other than that, no promises. I can’t promise any of it will be good (though I’ll try). I can’t promise it’ll be on a regular schedule (though I’ll try — for me more than you, sorry). I can promise, though, that this will be the last self-indulgent, rant-filled post I squeeze out here.

I’m tired of bitterness and cynicism and cooler-than-thou posturing. I’m ready for some joy.