Month: September 2007

From me and the girls

We love you

Kath

Marvel is pleased to announce that the highly-anticipated She-Hulk #22, featuring new series writer Peter David and artist Shawn Moll, will also ship with an Ed McGuinness variant cover. She-Hulk #22 McGuinness Variant ships in October and more ordering details will be revealed to retailers in the upcoming Marvel Mailer on Tuesday. Featuring the beginning of a brand new arc entitled “Jaded,” perfect for readers new and old alike, She Hulk #22 puts the world’s most dangerous lawyer in the world’s most dangerous job…and you won’t believe where it leads! Peter David revolutionized the Hulk during his acclaimed run with the Jade Giant, so when it comes to She-Hulk, expect the “incredible!”

This fall, the She-Hulk will Smash like never before and it all begins with She-Hulk #22, featuring a standard cover by Mike Deodato, a variant by McGuinness… and a top secret Zombie variant by McGuinness!

The famed educational establishment is getting all sorts of heat since they’re inviting Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad to speak at their campus. Seems he had a hole in his schedule since he wasn’t going to be visiting Ground Zero. (No word yet on whether he’ll be permitted to go to Disneyland. And if you have to ask why I brought that up, you’re too young for me to explain it.)

Naturally the University is being hammered by people who want to see the invitation revoked, because they’re incensed that they’re being forced to come and listen to him express his viewpoints over…

Oh. Wait. That’s right. No one is forcing them to do so, any more than people who are repulsed by certain TV programs or radio shows have had the “off” buttons removed from their TVs and radios.

No, it seems that they are revolted by the very IDEA of the Iranian thug getting up on a stage at Columbia and denying the Holocaust ever existed.

Except…this is America. And at the core of what makes this country great is that, if we find an idea repulsive, we’re supposed to respond to it with more ideas, not the smothering of those ideas. He wants to claim the Holocaust didn’t happen? Fantastic. Have him do so, and then confront him with survivors of concentration camps, or soldiers who were there when the camps were liberated. Let him call each and every individual a liar to their face, if he can.

But who knows what the long-term result could be? There’s no such thing as an instant life-transforming epiphany. Even when it seems that’s what’s happened, odds are that the groundwork was laid for it over the course of years. Someone like the Iranian president (which is easier to type than his name) isn’t going to instantly realize he’s wrong, but perhaps the seeds of doubt can be planted, in him or in other deniers. It’s worth a shot. The dissemination of ideas is ALWAYS worth a shot.

In point of fact, he probably should have been allowed to lay a wreath at Ground Zero. And he should have been met there by an assemblage of family members of victims, standing there with photos of their loved ones staring accusingly, putting a human face on the terrorism that he purportedly supports.

Perhaps he won’t care. Chances are he won’t. But again, you never know. The man, for all his bluster, for all his vituperation, for all his wrongheadedness, clearly has a fascination with this country, almost as if he’s seeking our approval and has absolutely no comprehension how to go about it.

We speak wistfully of world peace. Of everyone getting along. But many people are reluctant to fully get behind the first step to such a goal, which is to understand the views of those in opposition to them. I’m not saying “agree with” or “condone.” I’m saying “understand.” Understanding why people believe what they believe, and–if you disagree with them–doing your dámņëdëšŧ to make them understand YOUR point of view. Understanding one’s enemy on human terms is the only real path to peace, which should be self-evident since thus far dehumanizing the enemy or trying to bomb him into oblivion hasn’t gotten the job done.

The song says, “Give peace a chance.” Won’t ever happen if speech is smothered.

PAD

So yesterday was Ariel’s sweet sixteen party. We came up with a rather nifty and memorable outing for her: We rented a luxury suite at the home stadium of the Long Island Ducks, the local baseball team that plays in the Atlantic League. Where else can you see former Mets on the field, Bud Harrelson coaching third base, and Pete Rose’s son swinging a bat? We had a good turnout, a combination of Ariel’s friends, our friends (including Bob Greenberger and son Robbie), a *very* nice job of catering (the normal hamburgers at Ducks stadium taste like hockey pucks, but the catered ones were great), and terrific overhead seats enabling us to gaze down loftily at the peons. (The only problem with a luxury suite is that it ruins baseball for about a year once you have to return to *being* one of the peons.)

All we needed to make the evening complete was for (a) a baseball to come flying our way or (b) the Ducks to win, thereby extending their season since this game was the second game of a best two out of three to continue into the Atlantic League version of the World Series…and they’d already lost the first time. Unfortunately no balls came near us and the Ducks lost 3 to 2, so the actual game results were a bust. But other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, the play was great, and Ariel grooved on seeing her name in lights up on the Ducks scoreboard wishing her a happy birthday.

PAD

Back in March of this year, I was contacted by the organizers of the Orlando Comic Book Convention and asked if I’d like to come. It was over the weekend of my birthday, and I said, “Look…I don’t want to ditch my family on my birthday. If you’d be willing to fly down me, my wife and my two kids, then I’m in.” Honestly, I wasn’t expecting them to agree to it, but I figured, what the hëll, I’d give it a shot.

They agreed to it. Hurrah.

Then I realized a couple months later that it was on Yom Kippur weekend. And I said, “Guys, we have a problem. I didn’t realize there was this conflict.” They said, “What can we do to make this work for you?” I said, “You need to find me a reform synagogue that I can attend for at least part of Saturday.”

Never heard from them. My name was still on the website, but not a whisper.

I mentioned this to an Orlando-area retailer at Dragon*Con who said he was looking forward to my coming. He got right on the problem and, in less than a week, found a local Reform synagogue that was willing to extend guest passes to myself and Ariel.

Meantime, not a word from the organizers. I wrote to them and said, “Okay, look, what’s the deal? Am I still coming, because you haven’t gotten us any tickets yet.” They asked if I was still interested in coming. I said yes.

Didn’t hear from them again.

However I did get an e-mail today from a fan asking why my name was no longer on the list for the Orlando Comic Con, which is the first definitive word I’ve had that I’m not attending.

So if you’re at the convention and you hear people saying, “Where the hëll is Peter David? Why didn’t he show up?” feel free to say that, hey, he was as surprised as you were.

PAD

Third part of the four part introduction of the Isolationist, and a single issue tale in which Jude finally comes to terms with his dilemma. Whad’ja think?

PAD

So I was discussing the Emmy results with Kathleen while Caroline contentedly played with her new plush unicorns she’d gotten at the Renfaire yesterday. And, commenting on the fact that Stephen Colbert got beaten for best performance in a variety show by Tony Bennett, I said, “Twice in a year he got beat out by a singer in a one-shot special. Son of a–” And then I caught myself in deference to our four year old’s presence.

And apparently thinking that I had simply suffered a memory lapse, Caroline piped up, “Bìŧçh.”

I said, “Aw no.”

Given all the incentive she needed, Caroline cheerfully said, “Son of a bìŧçh. Son of a bìŧçh.”

Kathleen said, “Caroline, those are grown-up words. Don’t say that.”

“Don’t say that?” she said.

“No,” I reinforced. “Don’t say that.”

“Ðámņ it,” she muttered and went back to her toys. “Dammit dammit dammit.”

Oh yeah. That Father of the Year award’s looking pretty shakey.

PAD