The Journal of Joe The Peacock. Yay.

Meet Asshole, The Three-Legged Dog (A Photo Essay)

2012-01-28T18:44:00.002-05:00

I visited my parents today (which, as an endeavor itself, is probably worthy of its own photo essay, but not today) and when my father and I were leaving out to go do a little male bonding, I saw this dog laying in the middle of the street:

"Oh no..." I said aloud, "Someone hit a dog and left it in the street. Dad, we have to go check him out."

My father agreed, and we pulled up closer:

I wanted to maintain a little distance, so that cars driving up behind me would have plenty of opportunity to, you know... Not hit me. And just as I was getting ready to get out of the truck and walk up to him, Asshole the Three-Legged Dog surprised me (happily!) and raised his head:

"Good!" I exclaimed aloud. "But I wonder if he's hurt..."

Just as I said that, Asshole sat up:

"Oh, what a relief," I said to my father. "He looks fine."

"I bet he was just getting some sun and enjoying the warm asphalt," my dad opined.

"That sounds like a lovely way to spend a Saturday," I agreed.

We decided to venture forth to the hardware store (and other places guys go to share in the experience of being guys). I pulled forward, thinking Asshole The Three-Legged Dog would move:

He did not.

In fact, he let us know exactly how he felt about the prospect of moving:

In fact, he sat there for the better part of two minutes, yawning and scoffing at us for daring to ruin his nap:

Finally, he got up and began hobbling over to the driveway of the house we assume he lived at, which is when we noticed he only had three legs:

As we pulled forward, my dad said "Oh, thats the three-legged dog I've heard about."

"He must be famous," I said.

"Oh, everyone in the neighborhood knows him," my father replied.

As we passed, Asshole the Three-Legged Dog shot me a look that read almost explicitly like "You made me get up out of a perfectly warm street just so you could pass by? Why didn't you go around? You know what? Fuck you, buddy.":

He then turned and ignored me:

"Wow," I said, "What an asshole!"

He then flipped me off with his one back paw:

We went on to have lunch and buy power tools.

That's it. I hope you enjoyed the story of Asshole, the Three-Legged Dog.

Director's Commentary:

The series of photos you just saw were from the SECOND time I saw Asshole The Three-Legged Dog laying in the street today. The first time, we were returning from grabbing lunch for my mother and the girls, and the sequence of events happened exactly as I narrated them above. It's hilarious to me that he did the exact same thing, the exact same way, twice in one day. I was hoping he'd do it a third time so I could get video.

Deleted Scenes:

1) The Head Raise Scene:

We kept this scene of Asshole lifting his head:

Because int he one below, the angle of his face didn't "read" for the camera very well. You will notice he is looking right at the camera, which is a big no-no in scene acting:

2) The Three-Legged Reveal

While this scene of Asshole with only three legs does fit the overall direction and theme of the story:

We opted for this one:

...because you can clearly see in the scene above that Asshole was looking at the damn camera again. He's so unprofessional. But he's famous and no one else could play his role, so we put up with it.

3) The Conversation:

We struck this scene from the original story because the dialog wasn't quite working how we wanted it to, and in post-production, we really felt that the antagonist for our lead in the scene needed to be much more nefarious, scary and alien. We re-inserted it when we remastered the story. I think when you watch the comparison video below, you'll agree we made the right decision:

(Can't see the video? Click here)

Politicians: "I'm Rich, You're Stupid", Picking Teams, And Being A Better Geek

2012-01-26T10:45:00.000-05:00

Today, I've read the following stories:

East Haven, Connecticut Mayor Joseph Maturo making a racist comment about "eating tacos" when asked what he plans to do to help the Latino community

Mitt Romney making $20 million in 2010, yet paying less than half in taxes percentage-wise than middle and lower class Americans,

Newt Gingrich wanting to sentence to death Marijuana dealers who sell a dime bag, absurdly promising a moon base by 2020 simply to be contrarian to the current administration's cutting of space program funding, and having an affair while condemning Clinton's moral character for doing the same in 1996,

MPAA and RIAA puppet and SOPA bill author and sponsor Lamar Smith, who would see sites and businesses that merely link to content that violates copyright having their DNS yanked (effectively shutting them down), violating copyright himself (and so I'm not accused of picking a team myself, I'll point out that PIPA -- the equally devastating bill in the senate -- was authored by Democrat Patrick Lehay)

And that's just today. In fact, it's just the past 3 hours. Every single day now, it seems there's a story about a congressperson, presidential candidate, mayor or governor who behaves in a manner that just outright shows voters they no longer give a shit about what we think or want.

It's like they're looking right into cameras across the nation and saying "I'm rich and you have no other choices. You'll vote for me and I'll do what I want. Fuck you."

With the information that's starting to come out about SuperPACs and their unlimited funding for "issues marketing" that essentially highlight a presidential candidate, it's pretty much a foregone conclusion that if you don't have the money to saturate the media with your platform, you don't stand a chance of actually being voted into office. (Seriously, regardless of your feelings about Stephen Colbert, PLEASE watch the video -- it's seriously panic-inducing):

This destroys any sense of fairness or level-headedness when coming to decisions on bills that affect the people that funded the SuperPAC in the first place. Our leaders are compromised. They lead us because they can afford to get in front of us, and they can afford to get in front of us because they're bought and paid for by corporations who seek legislation in their best interests.

So what do we do about this?

Do we sit back and take it?

Do we fill our bottles with petroleum and hurl Molotov cocktails at riot police as we storm the capital?

Is there even a middle ground at this point?

I think that these are questions that are going to come more and more to the forefront of our national dialog, and soon. In this, the YouTube generation, the outright stupidity and hubris of our elected officials is going to come to light -- it can't help but to. Everyone's got a camera on their phone. Internet access is everywhere. There's no longer a barrier to broadcast. The same goes with writing as a platform for discourse, with blogs such as CNN iReport and Huffington Post casting national attention to the thoughts of regular, ordinary people who have opinions worth discussing and footage worth viewing.

Pretty soon, we're going to have no choice but to answer this question. And I'm afraid that the answer is going to be A, because B is too much work.

"A single leaf working alone provides no shade." -- Chuck Page

With the number of youth these days who eschew access to the sum of human knowledge, available right from their phone, to broadcast how stupid they can be (for example, thinking that Obama shut down Wikipedia on the day of national blackout which protested SOPA / PIPA -- when they could have just read the goddamn link that was right on the front page of Wikipedia to see what the story was), I'm beginning to lose hope in the idea that they'll even understand what liberty -- honestly liberty, as in the freedom to choose who leads us; not the freedom to choose Venti or Grande at Starbucks -- even is.
That's why I wrote the opinion piece on CNN GeekOut the other day on being a better geek. I think it's up to us -- the real geeks, who actually read and research information because we have a passion for learning -- to educate these people. We have to take charge. We have to lead by going out in front of this whole mess and changing things.

Communities like Reddit have the right idea; they organized the SOPA/PIPA protest in the first place. But too often, honest discourse about issues devolves into talking-point laden political debate where people fight to be "correct" instead of being "right". It's sad that you see people taking party lines of any sort in debate. They may agree with things like improving school lunches to stem the obesity epidemic in this country, but they can't state that publicly, because it'd conflict with the Conservative talking point of choice and personal responsibility.

"If you're not with us, you're against us" -- that mentality is rampant in our nation. We've divided into teams. It's sad.

This isn't ice hockey or baseball. This is our country, our lives and our liberty at stake.

Quit letting your friends and loved ones fall prey to the concept that they have to pick one team or the other, whose platforms and opinions are paid for by the corporations that fund the mouthpieces spouting rhetoric. You may not want to run for office and take a leadership role yourself -- but you CAN exact change in this nation by being a better geek.

You can educate people, no matter how hard they fight. You don't have to sit there and take shit from them. I'm not advocating you be beaten down for trying to help, and you should know that that's going to happen if you decide to do this.

But you should at least try.

Do good. Don't allow injustice to stand. Don't let hypocrisy go unchecked. Don't let evil win. These are my mantras. They make me who I am. Call bullshit when you see bullshit; bolster and help those who deserve it.

But don't pick a team. And don't let your friends get away with doing so.

Butt Problems (Or, "Things You Knew Were Coming With Age But Never Thought Would Happen To You")

2012-01-23T11:54:00.000-05:00

Let me tell you, there are few times more sobering than the moment your inner 16 year old starts laughing his ass off at your old self than the day you have to buy your first tube of hemorrhoidal relief cream.

There I stood, in the pharmacy section of the local Publix grocery store. I've been down that aisle literally hundreds of times before, buying deodorant and shampoo and toothpaste. And as the years have flown by, I'd pass various items in the aisles geared toward old people and just snicker to myself.

...Except in that moment, when I was holding a box of Preparation H it in my hand, reading the back to determine which particular variation was right for my particular butt problem. Did I need Maximum Strength, or would regular strength do me just fine? Why did they even make a regular strength? Don't they know I want the maximum available relief for my butt problem? What about the kind with aloe?

It dawned on me just then: I'm old.

When you're a teenager, you cannot conceive of the fact that you're going to be old one day. It's just not going to happen to you. Sure, you're going to age. You'll be an adult, and that's gonna ROCK, cause then you can do all the things you want to do without anyone's permission! Except you won't want to. And even if you did, you won't be able to. Not in the ways you could then.

There's plenty of things we accept are going to happen to us when we get older, but put off worrying about: aches and pains. Grey hair. Medications. Stuff like that. But then, there's these moments where you're screaming in your head, "NO! NOT ME! IT'S NOT TRUE! IT'S IMPOSSIBLE!" and you want to fall from a scaffolding into a mile-long ventilation duct under a city in the clouds. And then, you realize, there's an entire generation of kids who won't get that reference because they've never even heard of The Empire Strikes Back. And it's these moments that truly hit you across the face and make you realize you're old.

These are some of the things I always heard about and knew happened with age, and never once believed they'd happen to me.

Butt Problems

Preparation H... The name alone is just plain funny, isn't it? You can't read the name and think in terms of the word "preparation" and the letter H, conceptualizing how they made preparations A-G. No. When you read, hear or see "Preparation H" the first thing you think is "Huh huh... Butt." As an adolescent -- hell, as a full-grown adult -- I couldn't think about it without laughing. I mean, it goes in your butt! It relieves hemorrhoid flare-up. It even has a butt applicator tip! There is NOTHING not funny about Preparation H!

Except when you have to use it. And believe me, it's not something I embraced easily. I put off even considering the idea of using it for weeks, until the flare-up started feeling like what you see in the commercials where the guy's butt is literally smoking.

I couldn't find the commercial with the guy's butt smoking, so here's a still shot from the show Whitney, which is about as funny as a hemorrhoid.

And if there's one thing less pleasant than actually having to use it, it's having to buy it. There you stand in the check-out, your Preparation H stashed alongside a tube of toothpaste and behind a case of Coke Zero. You hope that the clerk will just mindlessly whip the box across the laser scanner, just like he did with everything else... Nope. He saw. Now he knows that you've got butt problems. And then the bagger kid, he examines it as he puts it into the bag, and then your secret is out: you're old in public.

And then, there's actually using the stuff. It's not something you're really going to be prepared for the first time. You have two methods: the "applicator tip" or your finger. Neither is pleasant. One is foreign and cold and plastic and creates the immediate feeling of "this does not belong here," and the other is your finger.

The moment of acceptance: When you finally force yourself to apply the cream, and the feeling of relief is enough to make you go "yeah, fuck that shit, I'm old and this stuff works and I'm over it." From that point forward, you have no issues with jamming whatever apparatus you've chosen up your exit, because to not do so is to live in a fiery hell of discomfort.

The Ring Of Fire

"Oh man," you say, "I can't wait for Sunday and the big game! Beer and hot wings, here I come!"

OH MAN, YES PLEASE.

Then Monday arrives, and your stomach is turning and your butt is burning. And not even Preparation H can help. And you don't want to accept it, so you don't -- not for weeks. But inevitably, you hear yourself utter the words "Man, my stomach just can't handle that anymore" and a bell inside you dings. You've just ticked off another item on the list of issues that show up with age.

Other dietary issues begin to show up, like lactose intolerance and gluten resistance, and suddenly, you're making a conscious decision at every social gathering and friendly lunch. Do you play it safe and just go for the salad, or do you suffer tomorrow's hell for today's delicious stack of Extra Blazin' hot wings followed up with a bowl of ice cream?

OH MAN, NO PLEASE.

The moment of acceptance: when you realize exactly what those kinds of food are doing to the rest of your body as well, and you make that mid-life diet shift to become more fit and healthy. And then you realize, you're not craving that stuff anymore, because in all the ways that count, it just doesn't do you any good. Plus, reading your Kindle on the toilet is so much more enjoyable if there isn't a fire kindling in your colon.

I'd LOVE to play Skyrim all night, but...

I was a hardcore gamer. I say "was" with a pang of sadness, as this year, I had to accept I'm not hardcore anymore. First of all, I've started playing games at "normal" difficulty or below because it's so much more fun. I used to love the challenge of Insane difficulty settings. But now, the ability to afford a replacement television has caused me to abandon the need to suppress my urge to hurl the controller at the screen out of rage. The challenge is no longer a challenge, it's a frustration.

And while that's hard to stomach, it's nothing compared to the first time you put off gaming out of "responsibility." You promised to get up early and take the garbage to the dump, or you agreed to help your Mother-In-Law install shelving. This means no all-night Skyrim romps.

There used to be a time when I could slay these assholes for hours on end. Now, I'm lucky to kill one a night if that.

Sure, you'll try it. A few times, even. But as you age, your ability to work without sleep starts to fade, and there comes this moment when you begin realizing you're miserable the next day. That's not the "I'm getting old moment." No.

The "I'm getting old moment" is when you find yourself thinking how nice it'd be to slay dragons for the next few hours, and then start calculating the amount of sleep you will miss and how horrible the next day will be without it.

Responsibility... Eeeech.

She's Half Your Age

You're out at lunch with a friend, or you're shopping, and you both pause for a moment as you spy a beautiful young lady (or young male, if you're female. Or if you're not. Either way). You share a knowing glance with your friend. Then, somehow a conversation starts -- maybe she's your server at the restaurant, or asks your assistance at the store.

In conversation -- benign as it is, without any motive -- something comes up. A song might play on the speaker system, or a reference to a movie is made, and it comes out: she just graduated high school and is starting college. She's 18 years old.

Literally half your age.

Did you know that the minimum age to work at Hooters is 17 years old? There's something deeply wrong with that, considering the clientele of Hooters is made up almost exclusively of sad lonely men desperate for the attention of a sad desperate girl. Also, I don't care how much you swear to me you eat there for the wings, you're a liar.

And it only gets worse as you get older, I imagine. I'm 35 tomorrow, and this just happened the other day. I felt dirty, even though I wasn't hitting on the girl in any way whatsoever. It was the mere fact that I thought she was pretty that made me feel like Chris Hanson was going to pop out from behind the Customer Service counter and ask me to have a seat.

These Kids Today...

And on that topic, it's even worse when they aren't attractive because they look like this:

Seriously? Do they own mirrors? What the hell am I saying, of course they do. That's not the problem. It's not that they look retarded and tacky, it's that they THINK THEY LOOK GOOD.

I swear to God, these fucking kids today...

...until you realize that, in the 90's, we looked like this:

And while this was actually a "90's Throwback Party" costume from last year (at age 34), it is literally stuff from my closet from my teenage years:

I liked rap. I'm not sorry. And I still do -- but nothing after 1996. But don't get me started on that -- The Music Cliche is its' own blog post by itself, because it's never been a surprise to anyone that THEIR music is fantastic, while the current generation's music SUCKS.

But getting older isn't all bad.

There is a fantastic thing that happens when you get older: you stop giving a shit. You become free in all the ways you weren't when you were young and spry. You begin worrying less and less about the opinions of your peers and focus more and more on what makes you happy. And if you're doing alright financially, you also have the means to do some stuff you never had the permission or ability to pull off when you were younger, as this strip from XKCD so eloquently puts it:

...Just try not to get any butt paste on the balls, ok? They're difficult to clean.

"A VERY Satisfying Chew."

2012-01-21T18:21:00.001-05:00

A while back, my buddy Cully mentioned on Twitter that he was jonesin' for some watermelon:

So I suggested he try an alternative means of satisfying his craving:

At which point he publicly expressed a deep, dark fantasy of his:

So I obliged:

...Yeah, I know. In other news, with this and the video of me dancing in my socks in my kitchen for my wife, and making a weapon on an airplane and ripping open cereal bags with power tools... I've been toying with the idea of doing a video blog thing. Thoughts?

Hey, I'm on CNN GeekOut Today

2012-01-20T17:29:00.000-05:00

I spent my bloggin' time today writing an op/ed piece for CNN GeekOut about the proliferation of stupidity on the internet and how we, the real geeks, can help solve it.

So, like... Yeah. Go read that.

Run.

2012-01-19T20:33:00.000-05:00

The next time:

You're sitting in your car in traffic, debating going to the gym or just going home...

Or when you're trying to start the next chapter in the book you've been working on for a year (or two or three or five) and just can't make your fingers go and want to play Xbox instead....

Or the next time you're sick of eating green stuff on the new health plan you're on and want a double Whopper with extra bacon because God, it sounds good...

Or the next time you want to lay your pencil down and never draw again...

Or the next time that great idea had in the shower three days ago seems too stupid to present in the meeting and you're scared of what everyone else has to say...

Realize this:

There are way too many people who see you as competition and want you out of the way for you to take yourself out of the race.

Do what they want and sit out, or achieve what you want and run that motherfucker.

Stand Up Or Sit Down

2012-01-18T16:00:00.002-05:00

Today's huge anti-SOPA/PIPA blackout is brought to you by Reddit.com. They were the originators of the idea. They took a stand.

Then, we at Fark agreed to jump in, as did Wikipedia, Google, BoingBoing. We jumped in because it made sense to do so, because SOPA/PIPA would catastrophically affect us. Of course, we took it our own unique way and Fark sarcastically "Whited Out" instead of blacked out. It's cause we're just that way (of course, it helps that I'm the asshole in charge of things like that).

Then the rest of the whole internet joined the chorus, because it made sense to do so. Joining the chorus is easy, because your voice can blend in and still sound harmonious.

Solos put all the focus on you.

Taking a stand is only taking a stand when you have to brace yourself to be knocked over. Joining a group when the group is already there is just going with the trend -- and when something's right, that's a fine thing to do. But there's no getting around the fact that saying "Oh yeah, me too!" is taking a partial stand at best. When the crowd shifts and heads a different direction, you'll go that way too, because you're not out front seeing where you're heading.

If you take the metaphor literally: taking a partial stand leaves you bent over. More than that, it leaves you off balance and makes you easier to push over. Be the first one in the crowd to stand up and clap your hands when you see something worth clapping for. Don't wait to clap because everyone else is clapping.

Movements don't happen because a group of people willed it, they happen because a leader stood up and took a stand, and people followed.

Dancing In My Socks In My Kitchen While My Wife Is Out Of Town

2012-01-16T08:53:00.000-05:00

If you don't follow me on Facebook or Twitter or Google+, you're missing out on my lamentations about my wife being out of town on a puppy rescue. There have been discussions about my diet (Cocoa Pebbles, or hunks of beef?), my daily activities (Waking up at noon, Xbox, Football, Hockey) and the fact that I sometimes wear socks on our hardwood kitchen floor and dance to rap songs.

My friend Colette Bennett demanded that I provide video of the last thing. SO I DID:

You're welcome.

An Open Letter To Artists: On Vampires (The Non-Sparkly Kind)

2012-01-16T02:44:00.000-05:00

Dear Artists (and creators, and entrepreneurs, and anyone with a dream -- but mostly Artists),

Success is hard.

It's difficult to attain, as we all well know. Part of the reason is that it requires hard work, and hard work is... Well, hard. And because success is difficult due to requiring hard work, there's a rather large number of people who can't attain it. And they're the other part of the reason success is so hard. These people are the main reason I spend so much time writing about succeeding on your own terms and drawing your strength from within.

Because these people are a danger to you. They are vampires. They live off draining you.

When you succeed at anything, two things you never thought would happen, will happen:

First, people you thought loved you and cared about you will begin pulling you down and holding you back.

You won't understand it. In fact, you may not recognize it at first. The reason they do this is because people you've grown up with or have known for a long time won't be able to process the fact that you're moving forward. They will be jealous because they cannot. They will be hurt because they feel left behind. They will be angry that you don't listen to them. They will accuse you of being self important and selfish, and will tell you how you've changed.

This is because you've become selfish, self important and have changed. Because you're working toward your own happiness.

These things are not bad things. You need to know this. Caring about yourself and putting yourself first is not evil. It's not even wrong. It's what every single person on this Earth does all the time. We get jobs to afford nice things. We feed ourselves every day. We work out ways to take time off work to do things we want to do. We put ourselves first all the time.

But when you do it to elevate yourself, you will hear those terms lobbed at you as an insult. Because the people saying those things are weak and jealous and hurt that you would dare leave their little misery club. Selfishness is okay, so long as it doesn't make anyone else feel bad for not having it. When it does, you're going to hear an earful.

These are energy vampires. They will sap you of the thing that drives you. They have to keep you like them, at any cost, because bettering yourself reminds them of why they can't (or simply won't) better themselves.

How you know your real friends: they'll give you the space you need to shine. The praise they give you will be genuine and not laden with backhanded compliments or reminders of how you don't care about them or that you've become too good for them. They know that you need to fly. They won't shoot you down.

Second, people you thought didn't like you and complete strangers will come out of the woodwork to graft themselves onto you.

Note I didn't say leech off you. No. Its worse than simply sucking your blood. They want to find treasure without all the trouble of following the map. They will attempt to integrate themselves into your life and be part of your process. Leeches you can identify and pick off. Grafts become part of your skin and can only be removed with cutting and lots of bleeding during the process.

They will ask from you products or services you create and provide with promises of future payment or success or opportunity. They will never pay this back. They cannot succeed without your work or your involvement. If you analyze the structure they've built, determine if the whole thing falls down if you walk away. If it does, you're likely being used.

They will constantly praise you for qualities you wish you had. Not who you are, but who you wish you would be. The things they say appeal to the ego and not the spirit or heart. Always remember: those who praise you for what you are not wish to take from you what you have.

They will be angry when you don't give it to them. Like, seriously angry. They will accuse you of using them, despite the fact they asked you first. They will insult you by accusing you of being everything they actually are, and make you feel terrible and guilty -- for if they can't get what they want through praise, they'll work on your guilt and sense of friendship to get it.

These are physical vampires. They want to live off the thing that you make. They want to use you to survive. And they will do whatever it takes to make you their thrall.

How you know the people you can trust: they want to know you, not use you. They want to collaborate, not assign tasks. You can hang around and the topic of your work or success never has to come up. If they do want you to do something for them, they will pay you. FAIRLY. Either with money or in kind. But no one who cares about you for who you are will ask from you what you do without compensation.

Now, it's very important to note that not everyone falls into these two categories. I'm not saying everyone's out to get you. I'm simply warning you that these two types of people are either in your life right now, or will seek to enter your life as you succeed -- and the more you succeed, the more that show up (or walk away due to the jealousy and anger). And there is definitely a fine line between people accusing you of behaving badly to hurt you, and you actually behaving badly and them calling you on it. And you know the difference. Deep in your heart, you know when you're being a diva or namedropping or bragging.

But for the sweet ones, the kind people who are talented and amazing and who see their star begin to rise, only to have it hurdle back to Earth in a fiery blaze because someone shot it down, either out of jealousy or to wound them when they can't live off them like a lamprey... This is stuff you need to know and be ready for.

I liken it to getting your first tattoo: no matter how much you prepare and get ready and stare at the inevitable, the pain is still going to come. And you have no idea what it's going to feel like until it happens. And when you get through it (and trust me, you WILL get through it), the scar that's left will be beautiful and remind you always of the beautiful pain of realizing a hard truth. It will be with you always, and as the tenderness subsides, you'll be thankful.

Yours,

Joe Peacock

They Need Your Permission To Make You Miserable

2012-01-15T00:25:00.001-05:00

Here's a little present for you. It's a trick I discovered somewhat by accident around Christmas, when someone who used to be close to me showed back up in my life and proceeded to try to make me feel bad for being who I am, and then again very recently when some uncomfortable silences became uncomfortable conversations.

It's a simple question you ask yourself when someone (or someones) have gotten you to the point of frustration, sadness or even depression:

"How long should I let this person control how I feel?"

Once you ask that question, your feelings stop being a burden and become a choice. And you get to decide if you want to be miserable because an asshole has decided you should be, or if you want to go ahead and let that bullshit go and be happy (or, at the very least, stop feeling miserable).

This doesn't mean you have to quit caring about the person if they're someone you love. It just means you're not going to let them convert your love for them into misery for you. They need your permission make you feel bad. Choose not to let them.

And that's really the simple truth of it all: everything in life is a choice. Everything.

If you feel helpless in a situation, whether it be how you feel, or who you're with, or what you're doing with your life, begin breaking things down into choices and decisions. The truth is, as hard as it is to swallow, you are responsible for your own life. If you are honest with yourself, you'll see it. And even if you can't choose to leave a situation, you absolutely can decide how you're going to feel about it.

That's how you take control and own your life -- you decide to.

(P.S. If you want to make your own silly error message that's relevant to your own silly blog posts, go here. That's what I did)

The Rarest Frank Miller Thing Ever

2012-01-14T06:47:00.000-05:00

Back in 2009, I received a gift from my friend Howard Penner. Howard knows that I'm a HUGE Frank Miller fan. I collect anything I can of his; the more original the better. I have several original pages from his Daredevil run, his Elektra mini series, Sin City and others. And of course, I have everything that's ever been published that was written or drawn by him (up to a point -- when Dark Knight 2 came out, I gave up on Frank and stopped collecting pieces, mostly because when he decided to suck and phone things in, I decided I didn't need that crap).

So when I opened the package and discovered this print, I was a bit floored:

I'd never seen it before. In fact, I had no idea it even existed. I was blown away -- here was a Frank Miller piece I not only didn't have, but had no clue was even a thing. I thanked Howard profusely and immediately framed it and hung it in my office.

Then, my friend Ed Piskor put me in touch with the colorist, Kim Deitch. Kim was happy to see that someone had a copy. He explained to me that it was quite rare, but so was everything that young artists were doing back in the days when printing things was the only way to put them out in the world. I asked him to tell me the story behind it, and he gave me a short version explaining that it was a short run promo print to help out a store in Berkeley, CA.

But that was about it. That's all I learned. And it was enough to feel satisfied that it was a neat piece of rare history that I owned.

Then this morning, I awoke to an email from Howard which linked to the long story on the history of this piece. And it was sufficiently wowing enough to cause me to post this. It is posted by Robert Beerbohm, the publisher of the piece and the host of Frank Miller's very first ever autograph party, for the death of Elektra in Daredevil 181 in Berkeley, CA.

From the link:

Frank Miller poster project used for selling the day I hosted Frank Miller at his very first ever autograph event for the death of Elektra in Daredevil #181 which hit the stands 17 Dec 1981 - the event was four days later Saturday 21 Dec

I published this collaboration between Frank Miller and Kim Deitch who hand cut color seps on short notice. An admirable job with lots of detail. The only time in the world these two creator's comic art work crossed paths.

Lily Marlaine poster comic art story was printed up in Berkeley as an edition of 1000 color and 100 black & white posters.

Frank signed just shy of 400 of them that week end, was going to get back to finishing up the project. Then Best of Two Worlds suffered a catastrophic warehouse flooding Feb 1986 Valentine's Day week end

Same week end as Eclipse Comics HQ just a scant 43 miles north was washed down the Russian River.

Probably 70% of the print run was destroyed. Now this is a very rare published example of Frank Miller's beautiful art work. He used to be good when he was younger all inspired by Will Eisner's The Spirit.

Copies at all are rare, signed ones almost impossible now more than 30 years ipso post facto.

Hope you enjoy. We had a lot of fun that week end at Best of Two Worlds now in that galaxy a long time ago far far away.

So I thought I'd share that with you guys. It's not bragging; sometimes, magic just happens to you and you don't realize how magical it was until much later. And when it finally dawns on you, you want to share that moment and information with people.

...Okay, so maybe it's a little bragging. But only a little.

The Odds Are Against You...

2012-01-12T23:31:00.000-05:00

Fuck the fucking odds. The odds are a statistic created by the chaff who couldn't handle what you're going to do.

People (and not just any people; people who were supposed to support and love and understand me) always told me that the odds of my succeeding any number of things I've come up with are "a million to one."

And for a while, I listened.

And then, for some reason one day, I just stopped caring. I couldn't see why I'd let one million people who did it wrong stop me from at least trying.

I loved making web pages during the infancy of the web. Everyone said there was no future in it. It wasn't even as solid a hobby as drawing comics (which also got me called things like "loser" and "fag", which is why I stopped drawing -- a terrible mistake I'm working to correct).

But then one day, I thought "well, if there's no future in it, there's nothing to lose from just doing it." I answered an ad from a huge corporation needing someone be a "webmaster". The next day, I quit college and had a career. What are the odds? They're precisely dick. There are no odds. There's just what you do cause you know it's right.

I always loved to write. I've kept a journal since I was 12 years old. "You just think you're Henry Rollins," some people said (more than one, which is sad; I let more than one of the wrong person be that close to me). And you know what? Why couldn't I be? A smart self-starter who self-published his own work that hundreds of thousands of people read? Why not be that guy? So in 2002, I stopped listening to all the reasons why I shouldn't do it and I did it. I wrote a book on the internet (you know, that thing there was no future in back when I was 18?) and not only did people read it, tens of thousands bought the self-published version. Then, I got a book deal with Penguin. You know the odds of that happening? I don't. Cause fuck the odds.

In 2009, I was so overcome by the beauty of an original background from my collection of original Akira production art that I decided the whole world needed to see all this amazing art. I had no idea whatsoever how to do that. I called dozens of museums and art galleries; no one saw the point. Then I stumbled upon Toonseum in Pittsburgh through my friend Ed Piskor. They helped me organize the first showing, because they saw the magic. To date, roughly 30,000 people have now seen the original artifacts from a film they love, and millions have seen the scans and photos online. And we're just getting started.

"The odds are a million to one that you'll succeed!" All that means is that a million people got it wrong.

Fuck a million wrong people. More than a million people voted for every single congress person who has cheated on his or her spouse, stolen money, or otherwise gone down in flames. More than a million people bought a Zune. More than a million people saw Gigli in the theater.

Nickelback has sold more than a million copies of their albums.

A million people fuck up all the time. And you know what? Fuck anyone who decides to compare you to them. They're wrong.

And the truth is, those one million failures? They probably aren't actually failures per se; they're failures against a measurement set by someone else. "The odds are a million to one you'll get published by Penguin." But the odds aren't a million to one you can get published. In fact, the odds are 1:1 -- Go to lulu.com and upload your book and boom, you're published. Good job.

The odds of you selling a million copies of that book? That's a million to one. But if that's your measurement of success, you're just as stupid as the people who try to make themselves feel better by holding you down and reminding you of the odds all the goddamn time.

Do what you are meant to do, because you were meant to do it -- and let other peoples' definition of success be the last thing on your mind when you do it.

Walter and his Cat, circa 1995

2012-01-11T12:30:00.000-05:00

Note: I originally wrote this on Christmas Eve in 2008. I was reminded of it today on the plane, when I witnessed a man break down and tell the woman next to him just how thankful he was for her to be in his life. The indication I got was that they are friends and have been for many years, and that she has been a huge supporter of his. He was overcome with emotion and didn't care that he was on a plane -- he HAD to let this woman know how he felt, and he was joyful.

I've been particularly tuned in to other peoples' joy lately. I watched a woman savor a warm cup of hot cocoa at Starbucks a few weeks ago, pausing and closing her eyes as she was struck with just how satisfying it was. I saw a man playing with his dog in the park near our studio, rolling around in the grass as the dog wrestled with and pinned him.

Joy is one of the most beautiful things we experience as people, and what makes it so special is that when we experience it, we also allow everyone around us to experience the joy of seeing someone experience joy.

So find some joy.

* * * * * * *

This picture from flickr is one of the sweetest things I've ever seen:

Now, some people may want to laugh at Walter. He did, after all, load his cat up in a vehicle to bring it to a photography studio to be photographed with him. And sure, Walter's look might invoke a few jabs and snarky comments... But I find him endearing. And I think that whoever would laugh at Walter is secretly sad that they won't ever know the happiness this man has with his cat. I think that we should all strive for this level of satisfaction with our own lives... We should quit being concerned with the outside-in nature of society's lens on our actions and our attitudes and our clothing and our loves and just live our lives how we want to live them and love the things we love with abandon.

And that's the spirit in which I share this picture of Walter. And his cat, who doesn't look as happy as Walter, and is probably just doing this to make Walter happy. And she succeeded, because Walter IS happy.

It reminds me of a moment in 1994, when I was a Junior in High School working at the mall. I worked for a "market research firm," which is basically a company that pays people to lie about which movies they've seen in the past year and spend 5 minutes talking about their preferences in menthol cigarettes. It was the spring, and the pet store near our station in the mall was selling kittens. Being a 17 year old male who was too cool to care about much of anything, I never gave a crap about people who frequented the pet store - in fact, the majority of my shifts were spent making fun of them.

But one day, I looked over at the pet store to see a couple exiting. The man wore a bad comb-over and thick glasses, and he was pushing the woman in a wheelchair. She was severely overweight, and was wearing a mu-mu and her feet were very swollen. They were dressed shabbily and, on any other day of my life after seeing these two, I would have started into a stream of insults and jokes that would have had my co-workers dying of laughter. But no more than a second after spying them, I saw that the woman was holding near her chest a small kitten.

The kitten was resting in her elbow and nestled in her neck, and she was lightly stroking it on the back of its head. The kitten seemed happy. And the look on this woman's face is one that I will never - NEVER - forget.

She looked like she had just solved every problem she'd ever had in her life and had found a friend that would never judge her and would always love her. She was, at that moment, the happiest person I had ever seen in my entire life. It was a moment of joy that this woman was experiencing - not just happiness, the way we talk about being happy the Falcons won or that we are leaving for vacation in Jamaica in a few days or even that we got what we wanted for Christmas... This was JOY. Pure. Unadulterated. Uncontainable.

The real thing.

I began crying. Right there in the middle of the mall, in front his coworkers and all the cute girls and all the hip boys wandering around, this seventeen year old, callous, smart-alec jerk of a kid began crying. I couldn't contain myself. I just began sobbing at how tender and sweet that moment was. It struck a chord deep within me, and the image of that moment burned itself into my mind and has been with me since. It took me years to figure out what it was about that moment that struck me so hard, and when I finally realized the answer, my life changed. Not fundamentally... Maybe even only slightly. But it changed.

I realized that, at that moment, that woman was happier than I'd ever been or might ever be in my life. She'd found something that gave her the sort of all-encompassing joy that brings you out of the house when you're incapable of walking just to receive it, and when you do, you couldn't give a shit less about the people around you and what they think of it. She was an honest sort of happy, the kind which forces any amount of despair, no matter how little, from you so that you can just concentrate on what really matters. I got made fun of for the rest of the time I was at that job, and while I was embarrassed that I'd done it, I wasn't sorry and I wouldn't have traded that moment for anything (and still won't). It still brings tears to my eyes... Right now, in fact.

I hope YOU are happy.

I hope that among the horrible crap that 2008 (and other years) has brought you that you can find at least one thing in your life that you can just grab and hold and smile about every time you think of it. I hope that you find joy in moments, if not in life as a whole. And if you aren't there - if everything's miserable and you can't find small victories each day, please do try to find one. Maybe your cat. Maybe pick up a pencil and doodle something that will make you giggle. Maybe write a blog entry on the net about the silliest thing you've ever seen.

Maybe this picture of Walter and his cat.

Who knows. I just hope you find joy where you can. And when you find it, I hope you hold on to it. Cherish it in your heart and keep it deep within you, like a coal which warms you from deep within. Never let that ember burn out. Always stoke it and give it plenty of air to breathe. Hold on to your joy. Never let it go, because there are plenty of forces in this world which would be glad to take it from you.

Finishing The Book, Answering Letters, And Other Good Intentions

2012-01-08T15:23:00.002-05:00

For the past month or so, I've been doing a GIS (Google Image Search) for a word or topic that best describes each blog post. This post is all about restarting. So, when performing a GIS on the word "restart", I discovered that there is a spanish language band called Restart, and they look like what you see on the left (or, if you're on a mobile device, above). And they're just retarded enough to force me to pick them as the lead image for this piece.

Anyway.

There is a not-so-old adage that I've recently discovered:

The only thing harder than getting started on a brand new project is re-starting an old one.

I've got a few outstanding projects going on right now, and all of them took an unexpected break around the middle of December last year:

Just today, I checked my PO Box and found a stack of letters, Christmas / holiday cards and presents. I owe a lot of you letters and thank you's. They will be going out this week and next, and hopefully by the end of the month, I'll be caught up. That said, if I'm not, please know that I've gotten them and I appreciate them!

I am staring at Adobe InDesign, trying to figure out where I left off on laying out the new book. I think at this point, I'm going to have to eschew my whole "Did it all myself!" ethic and hire out the layout bit, just to get the damn thing done. I am going to stick to my January 31, 2012 ship date come hell or high water.

I'm going to have to wait on finishing my first comic story until the book is done and the letters are answered. Because no one's seen it and I never really announced a date, this one's not as big a deal. But re-starting on it is still just as annoying and frustrating and confusing and "I'll just do it later" inducing as the others.

All of that said, the good news is that so far I've stuck to my self-imposed, unannounced schedule on keeping up with this blog. That's some good news, right?

The DevilKitty With The Pink Dress

2012-01-06T14:01:00.000-05:00

Meet Julius:

Julius is a sweet, sweet kitty. He's my kitty. I love him very much.

But my wife... Well, she loves him, but they do NOT get along. This is because Julius is a punkass. He's my punkass, but he's still a punkass.

He picks on Andrea all the time by running out of the house and standing in the front yard, forcing her to chase him. If she gives up and walks back into the house, he climbs a tree and whines until we get him down, or runs into the woods and whines until we save him. So it's better that he just stay in the house.

And he knows this. This is why he runs out. Because he is a punkass.

So, whenever Julius runs out of the house, Andrea 'punishes' him by forcing him to amuse her. At first, it was chasing the laser pointer until it "hid" under the stove or a closet door, where he'd wait for an hour or more for it to show back up. Then, it became shaking the treat can (Pounce!) and making him salivate, then withholding said treats.

Then, for Christmas, one of our friends got our dog a dress, because she knows that I HATE animals in clothing (unless it's the Italian Greyhound AT-AT costume). So, when Julius ran out of the house on Christmas day, when he came back, his punishment was to wear this dress:

I love Julius. I feel sad when he's abused. But this... This is funny. And thus completes our little glimpse into our life at the house for today. Be well.

2012 Is Four Days Old...

2012-01-04T21:43:00.001-05:00

2012 is now four days old. This is a short, friendly reminder that you are going to die.

Quit fucking around. Your life is ending one day at a time. Fill it with things other than regret for not filling it with things.

The (Updated) Rules Of The Gym

2012-01-03T08:28:00.004-05:00

My trip to the gym last night reminded me of one of the most popular posts I've ever written, explaining the rules of the gym.

Apparently, it's still relevant. And, as far as I could tell from looking at all the idiots at the gym last night, it's not being shared by as many folks as it should be. Meaning, it's not being read by everyone who should read it (which, if my demographics are correct, is everyone, ever).

So please, do me a huge favor - link this post everywhere. Print it out and post it at your gym. Rent a sky-writing plane and share it far and wide with everyone. Because with all the New Years Resolution folks at the gym, I saw at least 15 flagrant fouls in the first 10 minutes alone (and as far as that goes, no, I do not hate or resent New Years Resolution people at the gym. I celebrate any and all opportunities for people to put a pin in a map and say "I want to be here." The people I do resent are the ones who won't be showing up in February and beyond. Those are the folks who I wish would just decide to stop NOW and free up the treadmills for those of us who actually take this stuff seriously).

This list has been updated for 2012, with a few new rules and some rewrites of older ones. Seven (!) years after its original publication, it needed some sprucing up. And for those of you looking for honest, direct advice for beginning a workout routine for the first time, here you go. My program has been touted by thousands of folks the past six years as being the only program they ever stuck with. And there'll be a 2012 refresh of the workout program coming tomorrow, so watch for that.

So without further ado:

------------------------

Joe The Peacock's Official Rules Of The Gym.

I have come up with some fairly simple and VERY necessary guidelines for those of you who have decided to pay your membership dues and head to the gym. These rules are not hard to follow, and most cover first-time foibles. However, a great many of them come from people who simply need to stop sniffing their own fumes and get real.

This list is compiled from discussions with and observations of hundreds of people during my 20+ years of working out, and I think that anyone and everyone who's ever stepped inside a gym -- even to deliver a newspaper -- would agree with me on all of them.

First, For The Guys:

1. Stop oogling the girls. It is human nature to look at beautiful things. We men are genetically predisposed to admire the female figure (unless you're one of those backwards people who think sexual preference is a choice, in which case, you checked the "chicks" box on your survey at birth). But come on - show some respect. Get a look, take a mental picture, and go back to whatever it is you were doing. Trust me, they know you checked them out and have long ago gotten used to it. But the staring and drooling? That's something they haven't accepted (and shouldn't have to). So knock it off.

2. No, seriously, stop oogling the girls. Yes, it's THAT bad a problem that I have to say it again. Seriously. Stop. You're making them uncomfortable.

She's trying to work out. Leave her alone.

3. Quit with the eyeballing. I know you love buying Tapout and Affliction shirts at Target, but you're NOT in the UFC. You're not hardcore. There's no need to stare anyone down or act like you are a badass. You're not. If you were, I'd have seen you at the MMA gym, and you'd know better, because no one who takes any form of martial arts seriously does that shit. We're not in competition. You can nod and smile, it's okay - no one will think any less of you, I promise.

4. Flex in the mirror at home. Sure, you need the mirror to watch your performance as you lift. And yeah, it's really cool to see yourself as you are all pumped and stuff... but must you do a full pose-down in the presence of everyone there?

5. If you sweat a lot, carry a towel. Wipe down the equipment you use. It's just respectful. No one wants to lay in your salty perspiration - if we did, we'd just walk up to you, turn around, and rub our backs on you like a bear would a tree.

6. Wash your clothes once in a while. Please.

7. If you cannot bench 405 lbs, don't get your buddy to sit there and "spot" you while the ladies pass by just so you can rattle the plates. Really, this one isn't too huge a deal - you want to damage yourself, fine by me - you're an idiot and deserve the pain. It's just frustrating to need a bench and have to stand around watching you attempt to look cool. Everyone sees your buddy standing on his tiptoes, dead lifting the weight off you. You don't look cool, you look like you need a hug and some reinforcing emotional platitudes.

Want to see what I'm talking about in action? Go to 1:50 in the above video. Don't be like Aleksey Vayner.

8. If you don't know how to use a machine or do a certain exercise - ask a staff member or someone experienced to teach you a bit about the equipment and routine. This isn't about you looking silly, its about staying healthy. You can injure yourself if you add weight to an incorrect movement. There's no shame in asking for advice and direction. Believe me -- it's actually something people respect.

9. However, don't go asking in the middle of a set. It's called "lane courtesy" and it's a term borrowed from bowling. While someone is concentrating on working out, don't go bugging them.

10. Unless your name is Lee Haney, Arnold Schwarzenegger or Joe Weider, don't give unsolicited lifting advice - Unless you see someone who's risking SERIOUSLY hurting themselves. And even then, be polite about it.

11. Just because she's female does NOT mean she needs or wants you to spot her. Some women refuse to visit the free weight area of a gym simply because guys insist on coming up to them and bugging them about needing a spot. If you wouldn't ask a guy, don't ask the girl. Leave her alone and go back to your machine, Randy Pan.

12. The treadmill isn't the place for a race, and no one wants to race you. Neither is the elliptical, stationary bike or stair climber. Focus on your own workout. Let other people have what little privacy is afforded them by line-of-sight displays.

13. The Urinal Rule applies to machines too. Let's say there's 5 exercise machines (say, treadmills) in a group. For the purposes of this discussion, assume the leftmost is #1 and the rightmost is #5, with #2, #3 and #4 falling where you'd logically assume they would. If I am on machine #1 and there is NO ONE ELSE ON ANY OTHER MACHINE, do NOT get on machine #2. Especially if you haven't been following rule #6.

14. Wear a shirt, you puffed-up prima donna.

NO.

15. To clarify: Shirts consist of a torso and a neckline. If you've cut off half the torso to show your abs, you've failed at rule 14. And sure, sleeveless shirts are okay, but if you've EVER spent money on a spaghetti-thin single strip of cloth that goes over each shoulder and meets a 2" wide piece of fabric around your waist, you're a disgrace to humanity and aren't much of a man.

16. SHUT THE FUCK UP. No one cares what you bench, used to bench, will be benching, etc. and so forth. Write it in a journal at the gym, and if you really need to talk about it, read it aloud to yourself when you get home.

17. Grunting is understandable and OK - yelling is not. Come on, man. There's the natural sounds of exertion, and then there's barking and yelping like you're lifting a car off of a trapped child. Quit trying to draw attention to your Herculean efforts by screaming like a banshee. Again, you're not a badass.

Don't be these guys

(credit: Arthur Gould)

18. You may be comfortable with your nakedness, but I'm not comfortable with your nakedness. This isn't homophobia, it's not wanting to see your twig and berries dangling everywhere, especially if you're not a "shaver." You're a man. You're ugly and hairy and gross. Cover yourself up with a towel at least, especially in the sauna / steam room.

----------------

Now, because I am not one, I don't really know much about the rules for women as they apply to other women. But I do have a few guidelines for you gals from an experienced guy's point of view. So, For the Girls:

1. QUIT ENCOURAGING THE GUYS. This has been a touchy subject since this list was first published, so let me be as clear as I can: you have a choice in gym clothing, and when you choose to look like a Pussycat Doll, you will be stared at like a Pussycat Doll. Now, some guys are just plain without couth and will stare at anything, but you can certainly control the extent to which you encourage that behavior.

I'm especially talking to those of you who laugh and flirt and flip your hair all over the place and blatantly poke your ass out when there's a guy present, and then get all pissy and angry when his eyes become glued to it. Wonder why the guys break rules # 1 and 2 in their list, making you feel so gosh darned uncomfortable? It's in part because you broke this rule (and to be clear: I am not in any way stating that this is a "she was asking for it" situation for sexual harassment or, as has been accused in the past, rape. There's huge difference between that and what I'm talking about, and you know it).

You get what you ask for. So don't ask for it.

2. On makeup: Now, I understand going to the gym after work or hanging with friends, and you have makeup on from that activity. That makes sense. I'm referring more to those who get all dolled up just to come to the gym - you come here specifically to get sweaty, and the last I checked, Mabelline has not a single product geared toward gym use.

3. Closed-toed shoes only, please. I know you're a girl, and as such, you're not supposed to stink, but your toes sweat just like mine do. And I've seen more than one woman (and a few guys) wearing open toed footwear who have had serious accidents involving dropped weights or stubbed toes. For your own safety, wear gym shoes.

4. Wear appropriately fitting workout clothing. It's one thing to wear form-fitting workout-specific clothing and spandex. In fact, it's very encouraged -- cotton is a terrible fabric to wear when you sweat. It's another thing entirely to wear those clothes one size too small because you think they tighten your flab and make you look like J-Lo from the back. They don't - if your ass and legs looks like a chewed wad of bubblegum out of spandex, they look that way IN spandex.

--------------

And then, there are a few things that really apply to everyone in general.

For everyone:

1. Stop comparing yourself to everyone in the building. You are there for YOU. Who cares if you lift more or less than anyone else, if you run slower or faster, if you can swim farther and faster, etc? If you're an athlete, relish in your own performance and quit grandstanding for those smaller / weaker / less fit than you. If you're a beginner or are just starting out, quit giving a shit about what other people may or may not be thinking about you right now - get in there and work your hardest.

2. Don't laugh at the "fat" guy / girl. They're there just like you are, they're working just as hard as you are. In almost every way possible, they're 10x the athlete you are - not only did they show up to the gym to get better, they did it amidst snickering and comments from assholes like you - and that takes more guts than you'll EVER have.

3. Don't spit in the water fountain - it's gross. Spit in the sink in the locker room sink or in the trashcan.

4. Passing wind is a natural occurrence, especially if you are exerting yourself. If someone lets one or 2 fly, or burps a little while running, just grow up and let it slide. That said,

5. Don't go farting all over the place. If you ate something last night that didn't agree with you and your intestines are blowing like the foghorn of an icecutter, stay home and jog around the block. If you're in the gym and a toot is building up, try to hit the restroom, or at the very least, sneak off to the corner no one uses (look for a climbing rope -- no one ever uses that thing).

6. Wipe down the equipment when you're done with it. You need to wipe off the control panel of the cardio equipment. You need to wipe off the handle grips. You need to wipe off the bench / seat of whatever you were sitting on. You sweat on it. You wouldn't knowingly enjoy touching stuff with people's sweat on it, so don't make them have to do the same.

7. Be courteous with "working in". It goes like this:

If you are alone (without a workout partner) and you see another solo person working out on equipment you need to use, wait until they are done with the set and ask nicely if they mind if you work in.

If you are alone and there are 2 people on your needed equipment, it's a bit less kosher to work in. If you can help it, wait.

If you are alone and there's 3 or more folks, just wait or use something else.

If you are not alone (you have a workout partner), you don't work in unless invited. Do not ask. Not even if it's just one guy and every other piece of equipment is taken. It's one thing to be by yourself and work into a team's routine, but it's just wrong to impose a 2-person waiting period into someone's workout.

If there's space, give space

8. When you need to wait on equipment - do so at a close enough distance to indicate you're waiting on that machine but a far enough distance that you are not crowding whoever's currently on it. And don't stare at the person on it currently - it's uncomfortable enough knowing you're holding someone up, so don't make them feel like more of a jerk by making them think you mind.

9. When someone else is waiting on your machine - cut down on the lollygagging. If you're with a buddy, don't clown around between sets and make the person / people wait on your goofy ass. It's just rude.

10. Eat somewhere else. Don't eat your energy bar / granola nut cluster / peanut-butter-coated-pinecone-rolled-in-birdseed when you're on the equipment. Not only is it unsanitary for you to eat around other peoples' excretions, but whether you realize it or not, you're leaving crumbs and sticky crap everywhere.

11. Don't sing along with your Walkman. If you're singing along with whatever shitty music they're piping over the speakers in the club, that's kinda annoying. But there's NOTHING more annoying than some dipshit trying to be the next Lil' Wayne while listening to the song over their headphones. Real life doesn't include auto tune, and you sound ridiculous.

12. Try to find a less-trafficked spot to do your calisthenics. Nothing's more frustratingly guilt-inducing than walking too close to (or over) someone trying to do sit-ups, pushups, air squats and the like. You feel like a jerk, but you also feel like the person you just inconvenienced could have helped themselves not be inconvenienced by going someplace you didn't have to walk through. So please find an empty out of the way place to do your jazzercise.

13. Clanging: A little clank or clang is normal, expected and OK. But rep after rep of *CLANG*CLANG*CLANG* is not only annoying, it's abusing the equipment and causing unnecessary wear. Plus, you're not really working out at peak efficiency for proper muscle development, but that's another post.

14. Only assholes track mud into a gym. You know better. Don't wear your construction-job work boots into the gym, and wipe the mud (or worse, doggy doo) off your shoes before walking around the floor. People use the floor for any number of purposes, including pushups, sit-ups and such. But even if they didn't, you've just dirtied up a place shared by hundreds of people a day. Treat the gym like your home and show a little respect (but don't lounge around in your underwear).

Your shoes go through all kinds of dirt, mud, litter, trash and sometimes even dog poo. Try not to track it into the gym. And while we're at it, Vibram Five-Fingers look retarded, as do you when you wear them. Just saying.

15. Replace the weights. And the bar you just used to do your deadlifts, and the kettle bell you just swung around, and the jump rope... It's not only courteous to keep areas tidy, it also helps those who want to use the equipment next to find it where they expect it instead of hunting around everywhere.

16. The water fountain: If you're filling up a water bottle, use the "short" water fountain. If there's only one fountain, step aside when people want a drink. And just like elementary school, if you're drinking from the fountain, don't put your mouth all over the faucet.

17. If someone has gone through the trouble of setting up a specialty station (dead lifts, power cleans, kettle bell swings), don't just step up and use it. You can ask, when they're done, if they would mind leaving the stuff there for you to use, but don't just step into their stuff. They took the time to set it all up, they are probably on a mission. You have no right.

18. Try not to chat trainers up while they're with their clients. Even if you've been super best pals since elementary school. Really, this one is up to the trainer to enforce, but if you're not aware or haven't had that discussion with them yet: if a trainer has a client, the client paid good money to have the focus and attention of that trainer. Don't rob them of their paid-for time.

19. Don't litter. It seriously galls me that I have to say this as an adult, in a place filled with adults. Throw your paper towels in the trash. Throw your gum wrappers in the trash. Throw your candy and energy bar wrappers in the trash. Throw your empty Redline bottles in the trash. If you don't want it anymore and it's not something you'd donate to Goodwill, throw it in the trash.

It's nice when a gym is clean. It's not nice when you're a litterbug with no manners and terrible parenting.

20. Wear flip-flops / sandals in the shower. I don't want Athlete's Foot. You don't want Athlete's Foot. Not even masochists who pay to be abused want Athlete's Foot. The best way to prevent getting it: wear flip flops in the shower. The best way to prevent giving it: wear flip flops in the shower. They're cheap. You can get a pair for less than five bucks at Wal-Mart. If you can afford Under Armor clothes for the gym, you can definitely afford flip flops.

21. Flush the toilet. Again, being an adult surrounded by adults, it's just plain disappointing to have to say this. I fear for the future of our gene pool when I see an unflushed toilet.

---------------

I think everyone will agree that these rules are not out of line. In fact, I think everyone would agree that they are really very simple and direct. AND NECESSARY. Please share them with anyone you know that attends a gym or otherwise works out. And if I forgot one, please leave it in the comments.

Thank you.

Live.

2012-01-01T12:17:00.001-05:00

Get up.

Right now.

I'm serious -- stand up out of your chair and finish reading the next few sentences, and then actually do what I ask:

Go out of the room you're in, go out of the building you're in, and do something new. Brand new. Something you've NEVER done before.

Pack a soda and a sandwich and visit a new park. Take a walk somewhere you've never been. Buy a new toy that isn't what you usually get -- if you collect figures, get a bike; if you buy games, buy some running shoes. Talk to strangers. Buy a book from a store you have never been to on a topic you've never read up on that you've always wanted to learn.

Live.

Especially if you're the resolution type. In the midst is making your plans for change and listing all the ways this year could be different, stand up -- RIGHT NOW -- and go make it different, if only for one day or one hour.

Change begets change. If you want to change, start changing.

Celebrate The New (or, "Fuck The Cynics")

2011-12-31T05:48:00.000-05:00

I cannot tell you how many times this year alone I've heard someone say something like "Why celebrate New Year's Day? I mean, it's just another day..."

Cynics, all of them. And you know what? Fuck them.

Celebrate tonight as the end of things.

Celebrate tomorrow as a new beginning.

Celebrate milestones and birthdays and sunrises. Celebrate the new. Send off the old in style. Mourn your losses, and then cut them loose. Embrace the next; the thing around the corner. The wrapped present about to be opened. The cards not yet turned over.

Feel anticipation! Feel excitement! Allow yourself to prepare to feel joy! Because what is life without these things?

It's empty and hollow and broken and dark, that's what. And anyone attempting to bring you down into that abyss is someone who deserves to fuck right off. Don't listen. Don't succumb. Don't be dragged down. Cut those ropes and snap those chains and break free of forces that keep you feeling heavy.

Cynicism is another word for sad. Don't be sad. You get so many days on this Earth and then you die. There is no getting around this. You do not get out of life alive. Do NOT take it so seriously that you stop enjoying it. Don't spend a single one you don't have to feeling down or dark or sad.

...And don't you DARE let anyone take your joy (or the anticipation of it) it away from you with their bullshit.

We All Fall Down...

2011-12-30T06:45:00.002-05:00

Accept this one fact, and your life will become instantly easier:

You will fall.

Just like accepting you will get hit in a fist fight, once you're done worrying about whether or not you might fall and just accept that it IS going to happen, you can go about the business of actually trying new things and going about doing something with your life that makes you happy.

Once you stop being afraid of the inevitable, you can concentrate on the rest of what it takes to move forward.

And when you fall? Well, the natural inclination is to say "Get the fuck up." But reality disagrees with that, in my experience. If you just snarl and get up and start plowing ahead again without thinking, at least for a moment, about what went wrong and how not to do it again, you'll likely just do it again.

So no. No need to be a hardass about it. Take a moment. Indulge in the most natural and, frankly, satisfying instinct we have as human beings: feel sorry for yourself. Analyze what went wrong and blame yourself for it and cry if you want to. But spend no longer than you absolutely must for that instinct to show up and for you to recognize it and get past it.

Just as falling down in life is inevitable, so is feeling sorry for yourself. So you need to accept that part of it too, so you can concentrate on moving past it as quickly as possible and getting back to life.

That's the thing that separates the successful from the self-pitying whiners. Everyone -- EVERYONE -- goes through the cycle of fail - pity - move on. But the whiners' method of moving on is to let everyone in the world know why it is they couldn't pick themselves up and dust themselves off and go back to it, while the successful get past the self pity and use it as motivation.

Because pity is the single worst thing that can ever be felt about you. When people pity you, they see you as incapable. It's not your fault. You're not able to take control and fix it.

And when you feel it about yourself, you can very quickly get caught in a downward spiral which leads to self loathing. And you don't want to go there; not if you want to actually enjoy your life. So the trick is to let it happen, and then the moment you begin finding all those reasons you're weak and can't handle life, get stronger there.

The old saying is an old saying for a reason: a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. Failure exposes those weak links. It's up to you as the owner of the chain to identify them and fix them.

Or, just let the chain of your life lay broken and mangled in the dirt. Either way; it's up to you. But know that at the end of your life, you're going to realize that you're the only person on Earth who was ever capable of fixing yourself.

Use the self pity to do that. Find those weak spots. Double and redouble your efforts to get stronger where you are weak. Take the time it takes to repair and rebuild and move forward; don't waste a second longer than you must on it. Just like in the gym, before you can get stronger anywhere, you must figure out where you are weakest and get stronger in those places.

As it turns out, just like in the gym, most everyone starts off weakest in their heart. And so, that's the first place you should focus on getting stronger. And that's what this and all the rest of my December posts have been about. And I hope they have helped.

We all fall down. When you do, remember what the old Japanese proverb (and Courage Wolf) says:

"Fall down seven times, stand up eight."

Change The Language

2011-12-28T08:18:00.001-05:00

I guess December has been a month of little revelations here and there on this blog. I suppose the reason for that is, I've had a few little opportunities (and one really huge one) to evaluate and re-evaluate life and all its little nuances. And while I usually try to temper my "you can do it!" style posts with some juvenile antics and pithy rants, I figure since there's already a pattern and there's only 4 days left in December... Fuck it. I'm going to spend the rest of this month trying to fix you.

One tool I've found that drastically changed my life and how I live it: I changed the language I use about myself. I used to be horribly self-effacing -- and not just for effect on this blog and in my books (which, you should know, I'll probably still do, because come on... It's funny). I used to genuinely put myself down, count myself out, and write myself off, both in word and in thought.

Then one day, Drew Curtis (my boss at Fark.com) changed something I never really paid attention to. Our internal mail list for staff was nicknamed "Assholes." The joke was that when something broke, you'd just email the assholes at fark -- thus, Assholes@fark.com was the address we chose. We used that address for quite a while. Then, one day, Drew randomly emailed all of us and announced we needed a new name for ourselves.

"The simple fact is, words matter, especially the words we choose to describe ourselves," he wrote. His theory is that the more we called ourselves assholes, the more we could begin to believe we really are assholes. So we changed our name to The Gnomes Which Run Fark. And you know what? I can attest that mentally picturing myself as one of several little gnomes banging a wrench on things definitely changed how I perceived my role at Fark. I was no longer the bad guy. I was a little helper man.

A little light went on in my head.

I'd heard for years about positive mental attitude, and believe in it whole-heartedly. Think good, be good. Point yourself in positive directions and positive things happen. It's just a fact. My entire career is a testament to it (and if you're sitting there brooding about how you've "totally tried it" and it's "all a bunch of shit," well... You're kinda fucking it up right now).

But I never applied that mentality to myself. And with Drew's inadvertent advice, I began changing the language I used when describing myself, at least out loud. It was hard, and it still is, but I forced myself to refrain from saying things like "I suck" and listing off all the ways I am talentless, and instead started saying things like "I admire the talent it takes to do [whatever]" and "I'll have to work on [aspect of myself]."

And slowly, changing how I spoke about myself began to change how I felt about myself. The language in my head began to change. And that's something that's both cool and odd about how our brains work: we don't realize when we're out of pain until we are in pain again. And when I started feeling down on myself after a while, I remembered that, for a while there, I was feeling quite good about the work I was doing and the things I was writing and the pieces I was drawing. Sure, none of it measured up to the highest talents in any industry... But who cares?

Drew obviously thinks highly enough of my talents as a carnival barker and designer to let me go talk to folks about non-intrusive marketing and design the things I come up with. You guys obviously think highly enough of my writing to read it every day and buy my books. Some of you think highly enough of my ability to draw that you tossed money at me last Christmas.

And I realized: why would I presume to know better what you think of me than you do? It's true that we all know ourselves better than anyone else could possibly know us, but at the same time, we are usually the worst at figuring out what others think about us... Which is why it's sad and strange that we dedicate so much time to that pursuit.

It's a challenge to change the words you use about yourself, that's for sure. At first, you'll find yourself thinking "This is silly. I feel ridiculous." I suggest those be the first words you change. Think instead that you are taking a new course, especially for yourself and by yourself. No one else can hear the thoughts in your head, so to them, your choice of more positive language about yourself has no context. It's just what you said about yourself. And while eventually you won't care what other people think, during this time that you still do, know that you leave them with an impression far better than the one you leave when you bag on yourself.

Even if they don't leave thinking "That was a pleasant conversation," at least it's not "Wow, that guy really hates himself. What a shame."

And after you master the art of stopping yourself from ripping yourself to shreds verbally, you'll begin to see that your brain actually rewires itself. It's conditioning. You're conditioning yourself to not hate yourself.

If you're miserable; if you're constantly feeling down and worthless, ask yourself: Do I WANT to be happy? Don't ask "Do I deserve to be happy" because right now, you'll just answer "no."

Just ask if you want to be happy. And if (when) the answer is "yes" give yourself a present. Give yourself the gift of trying to be happy. Trying to be happy is a gift that's yours to give AND to receive, and no one can ever take it away from you. Will you be happy? My answer is yes, and I stand by it. Trying to be happy will make you happy. Doing things for yourself will make you happy. Seeking new ways to think positively about yourself will make you happy.

For 2012, try changing the language you use about yourself (and, if you want an extra challenge, try changing the language you use about others as well... I've failed at that challenge, but mostly because everyone else sucks). Let me know how it goes.

My Christmas Gift To You (Or, "On Making Candy Canes")

2011-12-24T16:06:00.000-05:00

I've always wondered what kind of gift I could give to everyone at once, over the internet.

The "over the internet" part automatically eliminates physical goods, or else I'd give you all candy canes. And not because it's a seasonal treat, but because I absolutely love candy canes (I really do -- they're my favorite candy. I like sucking on the long end and spinning it around until it's made a sharp point. In fact, it's the only way I can eat candy canes. At this point, it's a compulsion). And to share something I love with you is the point of giving a gift.

So that leaves something digital. I don't write video games, and long ago gave up writing software. I'm no musician, and to watch me on video is a chore. So that leaves me with something written.

But what? Yet more stories about my foibles and misdeeds? While those are fun and definitely get laughs, they're transient. I don't want to give you a transient gift. I want to give you something that matters.

So, I'll give to you this holiday season a lesson I learned this year. It's not just "a really good idea" or "a lesson you learn until you forget about it" -- it's something that hit me like a brick and won't ever go away, forever. And it's something I wish I'd learned -- not just heard, not just thought about, but genuinely learned -- when I was young.

It's not "don't make mistakes" and it's not "don't make the same mistakes I did." In fact, it's the opposite. It's actually "Please make mistakes." Mistakes and the screw ups are part of the process.

"The process of what?" You may ask. The process of anything. Making things, drawing things, writing things, trying things. You are supposed to fuck it up. You are supposed to take a hard fall when learning to ride a bike or draw the wrong line in a drawing. It's part of the process.

And what's more, the mistakes and the screwups don't extend solely to missteps or falling or screwing something up. Sometimes, the mistake is waiting too long to start and having to rush to the end. Sometimes, it's starting way too early and learning midway through a new parameter or constraint that makes you start all over, which you could have learned if you just waited a minute.

And that's the point. You're supposed to screw that stuff up. Sayings like "It's not the destination, it's the journey" and those sorts of things exist because they're true. Indeed, they are platitudes -- simply sayings and advice that are so overarchingly true, they hardly apply to you when you hear them. They're not things that you feel when you read it. You don't take them in, you don't internalize them. You basically hear them and in your head, it sounds like "I told you so."

But I really learned that lesson this year. And I can't take out the thing inside me that makes me feel what I feel when I think about it, and then put it in you and make you feel what I feel. All I can do is try to put into words what I'm feeling, so I hope this works:

You can't have a candy cane unless you put sugar into the machine.

It's all part of the process. You take the sugar. You put it in the machine. Out comes a candy cane.

Every step of that is part of the process that creates the product. Remove the sugar or the machine, and you can't have a candy cane. And that's the trick -- if it takes you six hours of agony, staring at a blank page to get started writing your book, or drawing your first panel of the comic book, or striking that first chord of a song, then it takes you six hours.

That time is part of the process. The procrastination, the hemming and hawing, the research, the noodling and doodling and humming. It's who you are. It's the machine.

And sometimes, you gotta put the sugar through it to get the candy cane at the end.

The sooner you embrace this fact -- that all of it is the process -- the sooner you can get to work making and doing what you want to make and do. And as you do that, you can begin fine-tuning the machine, taking out bits you don't need and streamlining the process to be more efficient.

But not until you realize that the process is the process. And once you do realize that, life gets better.

I hope this helps, because it really helped me in my life. I cannot tell you how much, because to try would be to fail. But know that my most sincere wish this year is that you can take this idea, think about it and accept it, because I want YOU to be happy. That's your present to me.

Merry Christmas.

Last Minute Gift Idea -- Alcoholic Bliss Basket

2011-12-21T07:47:00.001-05:00

If you're like me, you fuck around until the very last minute every single Christmas, then scramble to get shit done. You're also 6' 3", nearly 300lbs and tattooed up one side and down the other, and are obsessed with Akira, comic books and Jeff Buckley. And if you're that much like me, stop it, you're creeping me out.

No, seriously. Freak...

Anyway, I happened upon a genius idea for a last minute Christmas gift when I was coming up with options for a nice group gift for Studio Revolver. I was in Target when I spied with my little eye a set of Marvel and a set of DC pint glasses:

My brain went "DING!" and I said "What the fuck? Why did my brain just ding? That isn't biologically normal" but I had shopping to do so I just ignored it. I'm sure I'll end up with a paralyzed left face sometime in the next week from the ensuing stroke.

I grabbed the glasses, bought some decent mid-shelf liquor, put them in a basket, and voila:

Yes, there are marvel glasses in the DC box. I couldn't fit all 8 glasses in the basket, so I just mixed and matched and put the rest back in a box. IT'S A MULTIVERSE CROSSOVER EVENT OF ALCOHOLIC BLISS. If only the box came in limited edition die-cut chromium gloss gatefold. Then it'd be ultra collectable.

It'd also be the 90's.

At any rate, the beauty is that you can do this with just about any type of pint or shot glass. There are so many novelty types, ranging from The Beatles to Twilight. And if you do the Twilight option, might I suggest adding cyanide to the basket? Preferably pre-mixed into the liquor?

Happy holidays!

You Got You Here...

2011-12-16T00:15:00.003-05:00

You're driving your car, and you get lost.

You want to get to where you intended to go, but you just can't find your path. So you keep trying. At some point, you realize, you're really, seriously lost. Time is ticking, gas is running out, and you need help. What do you do?

Even the most macho Tough Guy on Earth will admit that, at some point -- even if it's the last second before he burns his last drop of fuel wandering blind -- he will get directions.

And if he doesn't? Well, he runs out of gas and has to walk and admit defeat anyway. Or, sit by the side of the road until he starves to death. Either way, he got himself where he is.

Now, replace the car with living your life.

At some point -- and for some people it takes longer than it does for others, but at SOME point -- you realize that the source of your misery and your pain and your suffering is you. Either you're willfully punishing yourself, or you're willfully sticking around someone pushing you, but at some point, after years and years of assessment, all the data comes back and you realize, you're the common thread.

So what now?

Maybe the answer is to stop trusting yourself for a moment, because it's obvious you're fucking up and don't know where the hell to go, and you need someone to tell you exactly where you are and how to get out.

You got you here. Are you happy? No? THEN QUIT FUCKING LISTENING TO YOURSELF FOR ONE GODDAMN MINUTE AND ACCEPT HELP. Because you're wrong. Period.

And if you don't, don't be surprised when you starve or freeze, alone.

These aren't just platitudes. I'm not just posting fucking anecdotal shit here. I WENT THROUGH THIS. I learned my lesson. It took forever, but I learned it. And there's far more to learn, I realize that. But this lesson? And all the other lessons I post about? First hand experience.

You know... In case you were wondering.

Dread

2011-12-15T07:51:00.000-05:00

Dread is the worst feeling. It's the knowledge that something's going to happen (or an approximation of what's going to happen), combined with the knowledge that it's going to be bad, combined with the knowledge that you can do absolutely nothing about it.

And there it stands, like a nail waiting to be hammered. It's just a matter of time before the weight of fate comes slamming down on its head.

There is a silver lining to dread -- you have time to prepare for the inevitable. At least it's not surprise and shock. When you're in shock, you deal with the situation, and then you have to deal with the consequences -- and by the time those show up, you're out of shock and feeling all the pain and duress of things after the fact. Dread beats shock because you get it all over with ahead of time.

The other thing that dread brings with it is the ability to reflect on both the before and after of the event. You can call it a chance to harden yourself, or a chance to grow and mature. I'm not sure there's really a perspective on it that's succinct. It is what it is.

To paraphrase Frost, the only way out is through. All you can do is hunker down and steer the ship into the wave. Turning away and shrinking from it will find you washed over and crushed.