Happy to Lose the Race to the Bottom

How many times has a client asked me, "I got a lower quote, would you like to beat it?"

I got the call today from a long time client. They have been truly wonderful for almost eight years, giving me lots of interesting T Shirt printing work and paying on time. It's been a productive, win-win relationship.

They have some new talent to promote, new shirts to print, and some new management in the mix. It's always tough to keep an account when management changes, but I always try.

I do not let my clients dictate the price at which I will work. I am selling quality and service, and I do not compete on price. Thus, every time I am asked to win the race to the bottom of the price barrell, I politely decline. That's what I did today.

There is nothing more corrosive to a small business operator like myself than trying to win the race to the bottom. If you win, you lose, because you will be pissed off as you work, to say the least, and when you account for all the extra time, materials, hassles and details of doing top quality work, you probably are LOSING MONEY on the low fee deal.

So, no thank you, I do not care to beat my competitor's price--or to let a client dictate the terms under which I do business. If a competitor wants to work that cheap, that is their problem. My condolences to them for winning the race to the bottom.

Cover Gallery

Greetings fellow humans. For the sheer heck of it, I have posted a gallery of comic book covers from my checkered career.
Kids, these are truly strange and wonderful comics books. In the course of creating them, my quest was frankly to establish what contact I could with the wholly other. And to rearrange the neurological furniture of the reader, natch.
Should you want to get ahold of any of these beauties, drop me an email.
love,
Steve

Cat Suit available as PDF file

I've posted a link to my new comic book Cat Suit as a PDF file on my website. Here's the web page with the PDF link:

http://www.stevelafler.net/lineart.htm

I couldn't be more pleased to give away my new story for free! More people will read it that way. Hell, it never hurt Jerry to give away all that free music, did it? It's not like he was all, "Boo Hoo, poor me, I'll never be a rich rock star this way!"

Hey, did I mention that Cat Suit is a bad ass great mo fo of a comic book? No? Trust me, it's fucking hilarious! Okay, be that way, go download that sucker and see for yourself.

And just in case you forgot, this Tuesday night April 17 is Manx Media night at the Press Club in Portland, 2621 SE Clinton St. at 7 pm. Chicago novelist Ben Tanzer will be reading from Lucky Man, and I will somehow contrive to perform the contents of Cat Suit.

Manx Media night at The Press Club

Readings from Steve Lafler's Cat Suit and Ben Tanzer's debut novel Lucky Man in Portland.

Chicago writer Ben Tanzer will read from his debut novel Lucky Man and cartoonist Steve Lafler reads from the first installment of Cat Suit at The Press Club (wine bar/café), 2621 SE Clinton St., on Tuesday, April 17^th at 7:00 p.m. Both books are published on Lafler’s Manx Media imprint.

In Cat Suit, cartoonist Lafler takes on the super hero myth for the first time in an Alternative/underground comics career that has seen the Dog Boy comic book series, Buzzard comics anthology, the Bughouse graphic novel trilogy and the recent 40 Hour Man.
Lafler asks, what kind of whack job would put on a skin-tight suit and head out into the city after midnight? What pathology, what perverse proclivity are we dealing with here? Is he fighting crime? Hell no, he’s just going clubbing—and he’s frankly perplexed when the bar flies & drunks want to pick a fight with him.

The guy is question is Manx, a costumed cat man. He can't figure it all out, so he goes to Dr. Grippo, a sultry lady shrink from Eastern Europe (a divorcee, she has a crush on Manx!)All heck breaks loose when Manx reveals to Dr. Grippo that he has fallen for Delia, a hottie he picks up on one of his late night excursions.

Lucky Man follows four friends from their final days of high school through their first couple of years out of college.
It is a story about friendship, growing-up and trying to move on. Interwoven throughout are explorations into dreams, the Twilight Zone, and The Greatest American Hero. There are drugs, road trips, breakdowns, violence, and adultery.

Ben Tanzer lives in Chicago where he shoots pool, dabbles in social work, compulsively watches High School Musical, and spends quality time with his wife and young sons. He has had work published in Rated Rookie, Clamor, Punk Planet, Abroad View, Opium, Thieves Jargon, The Truth Magazine, Third Coast Press, 20dissidents, and Caketrain.

Tanzer and Lafler will be on hand to sign books after the reading.

For further information send Steve an email.

Lafler & Beaupre on KPFA

On Monday April 2, I will be on KPFA 94.1 FM Berkeley at 3:00 p.m. talking with Denny Smithson on the Cover to Cover book show. Stephen Beaupre will be joining us by phone to chat about 40 Hour Man, which Mr. Beaupre wrote, and I drew.
You can listen live over the web at www.kpfa.org

Manx Media Mania this March 7th at Quimby's

It's all happening this coming Wednesday night, March 7th, at 8 p.m. at Quimby's in Chicago. I'll be there to flog 40 Hour Man, and Ben Tanzer will be our headliner, reading from his debut novel Lucky Man.

This should be a really fun, rollickin' evening, as Ben is a master ranconteur and he's on his home turf. I hope his fans don't rip his shorts right off him, but you just never know. Me, I've never been to Chicago (with the exception of the airports of course), so I look forward to checking it out.

In case anyone reading this hasn't heard, Manx Media released Lucky Man several weeks back. Hell, I guess the official publication date was yesterday (March 1), come to think of it.

Ben maintains his own inspired blog, so check it out.

Your money is not my money—it might not even be money!

Money does not exist. It’s a con game, an agreed upon illusion, a convenient conceit to chart the flow of power in our lives.

Where does money come from? How is it created? What do we mean when we say we “make money” or “time is money” ? And what the heck is “cash flow”—is money a liquid?

When you work at your job, you are indeed “making money”; for all intents and purposes, you are introducing new cash into your life where it did not exist before. But what about a bank that creates a $20,000 dollar loan for a car. Is that “making money” ? Did that 20K exist before the bank granted the loan? What about when the federal government expands the money supply? What about when Bush spends another several billion on his military misadventures? Is that “making money” ? It is certainly creating money almost literally out of thin air, aided by the stroke of a pen.

People tend to see money as an absolute, a measurable unit of, uh, measure. See how quick we get into the quicksand when attempting to define what money is?

I am interested in how money functions in the life of the self-employed person. It’s different for the self-employed than it is for the job holder, who can expect a predictable amount of cash per week, month, and year. The employee can handily measure income against expense, set up a budget and earmark an amount for saving and investing. They can become obsessed with their “magic number” as per the dictums of Money magazine in their quest for a comfortable retirement (Just thinking about the “magic number” concept reminds me why I consider holding a job a LIVING DEATH, where you mark time until you retire, close shop and drink or whatever).

Certainly it behooves the self-employed (bohemian or otherwise) to have a firm grasp of their numbers. How much do you take in during a typical month, what are your expenses, and what do you need to cover your nut? As I stated when I began blogging, an entrepreneur can set up a simple book keeping system, taking deductions allowed on the Schedule C and meticulously recording their income and expenses on a regular basis (and do explore all those lovely tax forms that help you keep more of your money—don’t be afraid of them, they are your friends!). Keep on those books on a daily, or at least weekly basis. Nothing will paint a more literal and accurate picture of the financial soul of your business than your financial ledger.

Armed with this information, you are in a position to make decisions about what your next moves. Are your profits enough to live on? That’s not bad, but what frugal things can you do to attract more clients, or make more per transaction? Are your profits far in excess of what you need to live? Good time to expand—create and execute a new marketing plan, acquire new equipment, take on an employee. Are you getting the crap kicked out of you? Rethink the entire business model RIGHT NOW! Do you have peak cash flow months and slow cash flow months like my T Shirt business? Then salt away some green in the flush months for the lean months.

The point is, money is not the end all - be all absolute measure of your success. In business, your cash flow, and in particular detailed information about your cash flow, is an accurate picture of the flow of power through your business effort, your business model and your business soul (business soul—that has to be an oxymoron!). This information will guide the combination of critical thinking and emotional thinking that you use to make the dozens of daily decisions about how to run your business life.

And isn’t that why someone becomes an entrepreneur, because they are passionate about the proposition of calling their own shots, nurturing their dreams into the real? Certainly the self-employed want to make a lot of money, but they are really in the business of manifesting their dreams. I’d argue that building the dream is the image in their mind’s eye first and foremost—the stack of cash is just a simple by product that naturally results when the fine tuned machine is hummin’ just right.

A Growing Boy Needs his Fun

I did not have a mid-life crisis when I turned forty, no, instead my gal Serena and I packed up our stuff and hauled off to Mexico for half a year. We traveled the country from the culture rich highlands to the fabulous beaches. I wrote and drew Jonk!, a graphic novella in my BugHouse saga. I picked up enough Spanish to get by. A very good time indeed was had by both of us.

To some, this will sound like the classic solution to the mid life crisis, running off on a grand adventure, but I was doing what I always did anyway: Writing and drawing comics. To say someone is having a mid-life crisis presupposes that they are desperate, melancholy, psychotic or otherwise in some dire straights. None of these conditions had befallen me at the moment of my fortieth birthday, I was a moderately happy camper getting a bit happier, a self realized individual continually following his bliss, as per the recommendations of the late Joseph Campbell.

Gotta admit things feel a bit different as my train pulls into the station marked FIFTY.

I still work for myself and I still create comics, both are fulfilling endeavors where I execute a portion of my dreams in real time. I have two children now and I love being a dad and all that implies. Serena and I are still a unit; I must have won the relationship lottery—all the ways our love has helped both of us grow into ourselves and each other has me convinced I’m the luckiest of men.

There are platitudes about middle age. One of them is “Life Begins at Forty”. It sort of did for me, I finally was in a great relationship. I finally figured out that bliss was not to be found at the bottom of a bottle of beer (let alone nine rapidly consumed beers). I found the success that comes to the self-employed by being too dogged to give up, give in or otherwise submit to the LIVING DEATH known as “a steady job”. Hell, I even bought real estate the moment before it got trendy, and I’m embarrassed to tell how well that worked out for me.

Another platitude about middle age is this: “Fifty is the New Forty”. Now what the fuck does that mean? It begs the question, what was the “Old Forty” like??? Did one walk to the mirror on their Fortieth birthday to see deep lines written in their slack face, the grim reaper peering over their shoulder? Or does it mean I am to try for eternal youth, deny middle age, and try to be young and fresh forever?

In my case, as I near the big birthday, here are some facts. Note that these are tied to ego, and youthful dreams.

1. I still do not make a living drawing comics.
2. I can no longer run a mile under five minutes, something I’ve been able to do since I was sixteen.

When I graduated college in December ’79, more than anything I was burning to make comics. All day, every day, I was literally consumed with the mission to sling ink and publish at all costs. That is literally what I have done since, always staying true to my vision, making no compromise to the concerns of commercial publishing. While I am thrilled to have chosen this path, have made some decent money along the way, and have near 100,000 comics and graphic novels in print, the basic fact remains: It has been necessary to maintain my T Shirt printing business in order to make a living. This hurts a lot, and there is no way to pretend it doesn’t.

The running thing, hell, it’s an illustration of the survival of my adolescent ego. I still want to conquer the world with my strength, my brute enthusiasm for life, while manifesting the joy of movement. At Forty, the aging athlete can still put it together; think of Kareem, of Robert Parish in the NBA finals, of Eamon Coughlan breaking four minutes in the mile at age forty.

Nobody plays in the NBA finals at fifty! Nor do they run the mile under four minutes. Thus it is incumbent upon me to accept my diminished physical powers, my softer middle age corporeal personage.

Where do I go from here? Do I amend my youthful dreams? Run off to Mexico again? (Hey, that sounds pretty good!). I’ll answer with my own near platitudes. It is necessary to keep growing and keep learning. It is necessary be eternally curious, and to embrace new experience. I will fan the flames of new creative endeavors.

As far a the model of continuously pumping out comic books and graphic novels in hopes that I hit the zeitgeist or otherwise catch on, it’s simply time for a new model. I sustained the old one for a long time because it was fun. If I am having fun I am doing something right. I’ve always been a process oriented artist. The process of creating my Bughouse comics was insanely fun, and then some. I’m not possessed of that burning passion to create comics come hell or high water at present.

If I was to continue pumping out comics under the same model, I then should not be surprised if the same modest, tepid response is the result. If you keep playing an out of tune guitar, don’t be surprised if it sounds off key! Time to tune that sucker up!

So I’m in search of fun. What will float my boat? What will work for me as an artist, an entrepreneur, a human being? I’ll be sure to report back on that.

Manx Media releases Lucky Man, the debut novel from Ben Tanzer

I am pleased to announce the publication of Lucky Man on my Manx Media imprint. Lucky Man is the debut novel by Chicago writer Ben Tanzer.

Ben has been a reliable purveyor of short stories and magazine pieces (he even profiled me for Punk Planet a couple years back!). Here he is with his heart wrenching coming of age story, focusing on a group of friends attempting to transition into adulthood. The book is harrowing and funny. It will resonate in particular with anyone who came of age in the Eighties.

I posted a Lucky Man page on the Manx Media site, but you can also go direct to Amazon and buy it there.

Mr. Tanzer and I will both be reading at Quimby's in Chicago on Wednesday, March 7th at 8 p.m., it should be a rollicking good time. We're working on some other appearances too and will post them when they are confirmed.

Lucky Man by Ben Tanzer, ISBN 13 978-0-9769690-1-3

Benb For Dummies--Wait, Benb is a Dummy!

At the tender age of nineteen, a strange and unpredictable entity appeared on my dorm wall: Benb.
He appeared there by virtue of the black magic marker that my good friend Tim Robinson wielded in his paw; Tim and I were immersed in a cannabis-inspired fit of graphitti. The best I could do was "The messenger from C.A.K.E.", but Tim, off the cuff poet and all around inspired genius that he was, hit one out of the park and introduced Benb to me, and to the world.

I've bring this up because I've posted a BENB page on my stevelafler.net website, for those interested in more Benb-ness.

The Monster of Rock

Frankenstein’s monster purchased Jerry Garcia’s legendary guitar “Tiger” at auction yesterday for an undisclosed amount. The custom axe was made for Garcia by guitar maker Doug Irwin.

The move comes two days after Frankenstein’s monster unloaded 55,000 shares of Google.

“I’ve loved string instruments ever since that hermit in the woods played his violin for me” quipped Frank, as the monster prefers to be called.

When this reporter mentioned that the encounter with the hermit ended badly, Frank quickly changed the subject. “I’ve been in love with “Tiger” ever since I saw the Dead in Oakland one Halloween back in the day—so I jumped at the chance to bid on it.”

The monster is currently in rehearsal with his new band “Frankenjerry”, which includes Wolfman on drums and Vampirella on bass. The Creature from the Black Lagoon has been mentioned as a possible keyboard player. No tour dates have been announced yet.

Illustration by Steve Lafler.

New Lafler Comics coming up in "Other" magazine

A ten page excerpt of my upcoming comic book called "Cat Suit" is scheduled to appear in the next issue of Other magazine.

A work in progress, Cat Suit asks:

Why would a grown man put on a skin tight suit and head out into the city after midnight? I mean, what is this guy really up to????

The guy is question is Manx, a costumed cat man. He can't figure it out either so he goes to Dr. Grippo, a sultry divorcee shrink from Eastern Europe.
All heck breaks loose when Manx reveals to Dr. Grippo that he has fallen for Delia, a hottie he picks up on one of his late night excursions.

The four pages above will be included in the piece in Other.

I freely admit that I don't know how long this piece will be, or when it will appear. Forty pages are drawn, about 60 are written. About 30 are inked.
This art and other recent stuff from me can be viewed at my stevelafler.net site.

I'm Painting -- I'm Painting Again

I'm cleaning -- I'm cleaning my brain.
Pretty soon now I will be bitter
Pretty soon now I'll be a quitter
You can't see it till it's finished.

My apologies to Talking Heads for quoting the preceding lyrics from Talking Heads '77 without consulting any lawyers!

In my previous post, I waxed darn near poetic about viewing Cezanne landscapes last week at MOMA in NYC. Damn if I didn't come home and get the paint right out!

Truth be told, it all dovetails with my central blog theme of Self Employment for Bohemians. I'd been thinking about my custom screen printing business; I've been a T-Shirt guy since December 1977. For those of you who can count, that's twenty nine f'ing years pulling a squeegee!

I love working for myself, but frankly never intended to spend my life as a T-Shirt printer. So, having put a toe in the editorial/commercial illustration worlds at varoius times in my work life and found it not too odious, I've decided to go ahead and jump in, test the waters as it were.

Whether I'm self employed in T-Shirts or in illustration, there is a constant imperative to attract new clients. Currently I have a sufficient clientele built up in Screen Printing to support me; I'm in a strong position to switch my marketing efforts to commercial illustration, looking for new clients there (In the course of business, there is an attrition of existing clients--thus the need to always be on the lookout for new accounts).

I'm painting, I'm painting again!

Note: Click on the above painting to see it bigger in a new browser window.

Let's Get Some Paint!

Sprinted to NYC and back earlier this week for an interview on the Joey Reynolds Show or WOR Radio 710, talking about my brilliant comix career, I suppose was the plan. Quite a ride, blasting out east and showing up at the WOR studios near Wall Street at 2 a.m, it’s sixteen degrees out. In for a few minutes with the resonant voice of Mr. Reynolds, then back into the sub freezing night, praying I can score a cab back to the hotel.

The highlight of my trip came the next day, as I visited the Museum of Modern Art—it was my first visit there since the Nineties, thus it was my first time in the new building. It’s spectacular. More of the collection is shown in a better space.

My brain was being happily crushed by the paintings on the fifth floor, four big Kandinsky’s making real inroads on my psyche, when I came upon a series of maybe four Cezanne landscapes. I’ve always loved Cezanne of course, but considered him a master who opened the door for the brilliance of Monet and the impressionists, of course Gauguin, but above all beloved Vincent, the beautiful tortured genius.

I saw Cezanne anew this time. He found a way to coax a profound truth out of his regimented yet diffuse brushstrokes. These landscapes reported accurately on the beauty of what Cezanne saw in the moment; the brushstrokes, angled and consistent, pull the world through the master’s senses and present it through the canvas. Of all the incredible stuff in MOMA, it was these few straightforward canvases from Cezanne that kicked my ass two days ago.

I’m gonna go out and buy me some goddamn paint (it’s been too long). Thank you Paul Cezanne for your warmth, your humanity, and your glorious chops.

Never Underestimate the Power of the Staple Gun

This piece recently appeared in my DIY column in Alarm magazine.

Long before the world went digital, before creative and marketing tasks were performed online, the DIY entrepreneur had one rough & tumble, indispensable piece of equipment: The Staple Gun!

Think about it. How do you get warm bodies to show up to see your band? How do you advertise a yard sale, massage services, a second hand store, a screen-printing business? You run off a couple hundred flyers, grab your trusty staple gun, and head out into the hood to spread the word. True, you will post to Craigslist (and other on line locations), you will email friends and send a stack of postcards. But don’t forget to paper the town with fliers if you want results.

Veterans of the postering trade know where the most productive forests of phone poles are found, they know what bulletin boards will yield the biggest crop of fresh faced college kids swilling cheap beer at the gig. They also know where the cops will chase you away, where the retailers will yell at you for defacing their precious avenue. Sure, every kid with a stack of posters and a staple gun knows they are, in fact, littering. An etiquette of sorts is observed. Most will pick up old, worn fliers that have fallen by the wayside and stick them in the trash, and most will not paper over an obviously new flier.

The fact is, it is necessary to be tough minded out there when postering, if not downright brazen. It’s normal to feel self-conscious about sticking fliers on every phone poll on a crowded street in a thickly packed urban neighborhood, or university enclave. Get over it! If you are trying to make a living, trying to drive a crowd to an event, trying to make the phone ring, recognize that you are a warrior on a mission. You are trying to stay alive; the fliers must go up! One note: try to avoid that hitter of stinky green bud before setting out on your mission—you’ll feel a lot less self conscious if your not laced to the gills on thunderfuck weed! And, you can reward your self by taking a little lift when you get home, if that’s your thing.

I came at my relationship with the staple gun and postering from an oblique angle. As a painting student at the University of Massachusetts on a budget, I purchased my first staple gun in order to stretch my own canvases. From the get go, I really liked the thing, an Arrow model painted industrial blue, it was a simple, elegant machine that perfectly executed the job it was designed for.

Upon graduation, faced with the horrid reality of working full time for minimum wage (the fate of many a painting student!), I turned to T Shirt printing to pony together the few bucks I needed to survive at the time. The T Shirt trade provided me with ample beer and date money as an undergraduate, so I dove back in. It was the path of least resistance between hunger and a burrito in my belly.

As I built up my clientele, I explored every avenue open to the low budget entrepreneur for getting the word out: Postcard mailings, postering, small ads in weekly or college papers, cold calling (yeccch!), and so on. Over time, I found postering to be one of the most reliable ways of attracting new clients—I actually got The Residents as a shirt client that way, as their merch person saw a flier on a phone pole near her house! I did their shirts for about nine years, and it was fun and challenging to produce their spectacular designs.

As a dedicated cartoonist, plying the T Shirt trade has always been a secondary concern for me. A cash cow, if you will. That being the case, I’ve had a tendency to do just enough commercial work to pay the bills, and spend most of my time making comics. There have been many times where, lifting my head from an obsessive bout of cartooning, I would notice I was down to about enough money for, say, two beers and clean laundry. In times like this I would dust off the trusty staple guy, grab a stack of my ever-present fliers, and head out to do battle.

I’d relocated by Oakland by then, and I knew my way around every nook and cranny of Oakland and Berkeley’s phone poles and bulletin boards. It would take most of a day and about 250 fliers to do the justice to the totality of the East Bay. Let me tell you, it is serious grunt work. But after making those rounds, I would feel relaxed enough about my economic prospects to quaff a cold one, nip a hit of bud, and uncork my ink bottle for another round of cartooning. In due time, the phone would ring, shirts would be printed, and more burritos would appear on my table!

These days, with the splendid power of Google Adwords and a million other digital and online tools at my disposal, the trusty staple gun rarely gets a workout. But I plan to dust it off soon, as I’ve lined up a couple punky power pop bands to play the publishing party for my new graphic novel. If I want to drive a crowd to the gig, I better head out to the streets with my staple gun and a stack of fliers.

The Road to Yagul

One fine hot summer afternoon in 1997, I found myself walking up the road to the ancient city of Yagul with Serena and Jenny. Yagul is one of the lesser known ruins in the Valley of Oaxaca in southern Mexico, less famous than the spectacular mountaintop ancient city of Monte Alban, or the mysterious palace at Mitla with its trippy geometric designs. No slouch of a ruin itself, Yagul boasts some super cool, creepy tombs you can climb down into. There’s also a virtual warren of multi-room buildings and the second largest ball court in all of Mesoamerica (after Chichen Itza).

As impressive as Yagul itself is, I really got a spooky thrill walking the road to the site. About a half-mile off the road on the right side, there were massive stone cliffs that appeared to be carved with some sort of art or hieroglyphs. I did a double take. Were we talking about some amazing natural rock formations? Or did the ancients of Yagul do this as their summer art project over the course of several decades? I don’t know! I took a picture of the cliffs, reproduced here, but it can’t do justice to what I saw.

That afternoon was one of those gorgeous deep blue sky days where every rock and cactus appears in super real, crystalline detail. A few billowy clouds gave depth and a timeless surreal quality to the sky. I gazed at the cliffs and a wash of impressions rolled over me. In the late afternoon sun they glowed with a sublime rosy orange presence. The sun was still high enough that the shadows were not deep, yet the forms stood out in hyper real relief. The jaunty presence of the rock, the color, the impact of their craggy statement, the actual fact of their existence in the immediate moment was overwhelming. I wondered if they were meant to be seen from a great distance, perhaps from the sky. Even as I was sure they were deliberately carved, part of me puzzled over whether they were natural formations. Deep in my skull, one voice assured me they were indeed shaped on purpose, only not by humans. What??? I snapped out of it! Take a picture, ya big dummy, we’ll figure it out later.

Checking my handy Lonely Planet guidebook, I see Yagul was built after A.D. 750, when nearby Monte Alban was on the decline. The book doesn’t have one word about my spectacular mystery rocks. In his book Oaxaca Journal, pop science writer Oliver Sacks mentions the rocks. He sees “…a cliff face with a huge pictograph painted in white over a red background, an abstract design, and above it a giant stick figure, a man. It looks remarkably fresh, almost new—who would guess it was a thousand years old? I wonder what the image means: Was it an icon, a religious symbol of some kind? A warning to evil spirits, or invaders, to keep away? A giant road sign perhaps, to orient travelers on their way to Yagul? Or a pure, for the love of it Pictographic doodle, a prehistoric piece of graffiti?”

I’m wicked happy that ol’ Oliver took the time to note this amazing piece of real estate, because I haven’t seen it mentioned elsewhere. I’m trying to remember the white paint over the red background part—I mostly recall the rock formations. But reading over his comments, I do remember part of my initial shock upon seeing the cliff pictograph: I had the distinct impression that I was already intimately familiar with it. It was almost as if I had done it myself! This was not a déjà vu, more like that feeling an artist gets when they are really pleased with a painting or drawing they have executed; they own it in their heart, they see it as no other possibly can because it belongs to them.

The Perfect Market

Just today I cam across this piece about Oakland's Bulky Trash Day. I'd written it for my wife Serena's zine "Have You Seen the Dog Lately" a few years back. It seems to belong here. I hope you enjoy it.

People, let me tell you: I love Bulky Trash Day. For its simplicity, its efficiency, its punchy elegance (such an ‘80s word), its seamless nocturnal logic. Whaddya mean, you never heard of Bulky Trash Day? Where you been living?

Okay, it’s an Oakland thing. Other towns no doubt have it, but I live in Oakland, so I’ll tell you about Oakland Bulky Trash day. Each neighborhood gets a crack at it once a year. The garbage company, Waste Management, sends out a postcard to notify residents when Bulky Trash Day happens in their neck of the woods. Each household can put up to three cubic yards of extra trash out for pickup. Man, think of it: 9 foot long by 3 foot wide by 3 foot high! Got a few caskets hanging around that you don’t need? No problem! Just stash them by the curb on Bulky Trash Eve!

Yes, there are rules…you can’t put stuff out days ahead of time (fines!), and you can’t put out toxic stuff or funky stinky ass moldy living stuff. It’s more for your run of the mill rusty old half bikes, scary loose wire microwaves, 1988 vintage electronics in a hopeless state of disrepair, and of course super ugly olive green ripped vinyl college couches with three legs. You get the picture. The spicy items are there too…all the knick knacks you no longer need can be handily stuffed in the odd spaces left after you move your big chunks into place.

Yes, you say, it’s nice to clean house and get all this crap hauled away for free, but why is this maroon so damn excited about taking the garbage out? Can’t you see? There is a primitive beauty in my new holiday of BULKY TRASH EVE. The City of Oakland, through its agent Waste Management, creates a perfect roving nocturnal market. Our garbage day is Thursday so, for us, Bulky Trash Eve comes on Wednesday night. The excitement builds in late afternoon as you and your neighbors start hauling the booty out to the curb. Let the scavenging begin! See anything you like? Hey, is that a one-of-a-kind Dog Boy lamp in Mr. Nagamoto’s Bulky Trash pile?? It’s mine! As darkness falls, the parade of funky 30-year-old Chevy and Ford pickup trucks with wooden slat payload bed extensions troll up and down the street. They are predators looking for prey… who are these people? Will they fix that old refrigerator and put it in their house? Will they sell that beat up (huge) TV for $17 to some bizarre storefront on San Pablo Avenue? Will they have a big yard sale? Who knows, but they are the real pros… they are in early. They are scoring items that will be traded, sold, refurbished or cherished. They work fast—the trucks are bulging, bursting with loot as dusk falls, and the waves of bohemians and college students begin in earnest. Not quite as practical, they arrive on foot or in 12-year-old Honda Accords that don’t quite fit that stereo console into the trunk. But they are savvy enough to avoid paying for dishes, frying pans, kiddie pools, bar-b-que tools and a host of other household and/or tiki-lifestyle essentials.

I’m hoping by now you see how efficient and cool this is. It works for everybody! You can get a lot of crap out of your house, basement, yard, attic. Anything remotely useful has about an 87% change of getting snapped up. The giddy energy and nocturnal revel nature of the whole thing lends a festive, surreal air, almost like an obscure fiesta day in Mexico—something cool, spontaneous and weird is going down that has its own sublime internal logic. It’s a bit like the expectant mystery of Christmas Eve I felt when I was nine. This instant market/free exchange of goods disappears completely the next morning complements of the city garbage trucks.

We had our Bulky Trash Day on my street this past fall. It was my best yet. Not only did we get rid of the reviled red scare chair (ancient vinyl ripped up dirty greasy uncomfortable handed-down-from-Greed-Pig-Boss menace), but I dumped 20 old frames from my screen print business. People snapped this stuff up! But listen, here’s the best part! Serena and I had been trying to pawn our old computer off on someone for six months. Maybe some readers know how that goes. NOBODY WANTS OLD COMPUTER! Tweren’t a bad rig in its day (1998), but a 266 MHz chip, 6 GB hard drive computer just doesn’t make it in this high-powered era. That sucker was loaded with Photoshop, Pagemaker, Flash, Illustrator and Microsoft Office for starters! Not bad for free. Well, I took a Sharpie and wrote a list of the software on top of the beast, then set it out on the sidewalk with the printer and manuals (sorry, still using the monitor). That sucker was gone in a matter of minutes! I felt good about that, I really hope someone is getting some good use out of it.

A final note, Bulky Trash Day is not without some tragic endings. Like a few years back, we put our old couch out. That’ll be the first thing to go, right? Sad to say, the cushions were snapped right up, and who wants a couch without the cushions? Thus it was with horror and revulsion (okay, maybe a bit of fascinated glee) that I watched as the dusty old thang was crunched to splinters in the maw of the merciless garbage truck!

What is Your Target Market?

How many times have I been asked this question? Usually it's when someone finds out I'm a cartoonist who creates graphic novels. Or maybe I'm trying to work some journalist or radio producer for an interview, and inevitably they ask the question, a sure indicator of how goddamn sharp and "with it" and savvy they are.

The question presumes I am creating a commodity rather than art. The question presumes that, naturally, my aim in creating comics is not self expression, rather it is to make a commodity and sell it for a profit. Period. Is not the ultimate motivation money? And are you not dumber than dirt if the motivation is not cold, hard cash?

It is true that I want to sell books. Lots of them. But for chrissakes, I do not now, nor have I ever had a target market! Besides myself, that is. Why the fuck would I spend my life drawing comics for some presumed audience for the sole purpose of making money? Where's the fun in that? Where is the ecstatic joy of discovery in that? If I want to make money, I'll have a real world job, or I'll create a real world business, like my custom T Shirt shop.

Anyone who asks that question wouldn't know real art if it came up to them and bit them in the ass. So... next time some unquestioning dupe of all encompassing consumer corporate commodification programming asks me: "What is your target market?", I'll have my answer ready:

"My target market is a group of free floating 100 foot long disembodied Moose peckers, hovering in the Maine woods just a few miles south of the Canadian border".

40 Hour Man to be reviewed in Boston Sunday Globe

Greetings Earthlings. My latest graphic novel, 40 Hour Man (with writer Stephen Beaupre) will be reviewed later this week in the Boston Sunday Globe on 11/26/06.

This means a lot to me; my comics work has been reviewed in any number of respectable weeklies (including the San Francisco Bay Guardian) and has even been written up in a feature article in the Boston Phoenix. 40 Hour Man itself has been reviewed in Booklist, which has certainly helped sales (library sales in particular). I've been both praised and slammed by The Comics Journal (this back in the day when that publication acknowledged my existence at all) a magazine that over it's history has provided a confusing mish-mash of egotistical rants as well as many glowing reviews of Fantagraphics titles (can you say "conflict of interest"?). Oh, and sometimes the Journal has produced some excellent, thoughtful writing on comics as an art form.

A Sunday Globe review is different, however. It's the first time I've had the singular distinction of being reviewed in a major daily newspaper. Only a handful of papers in the U.S. are more prestigious than the Globe--The NY Times and the Washington Post, of course. At this writing, the LA Times stands a bit tarnished from it's glory days under Otis Chandler, what with all the power struggles and budget busting there of late. The Chicago Tribune is maybe on a par with the Globe. The Wall Street Journal is up there with the Times and the Post, but it's a money rag, and a conservative bully pulpit. Still, please review 40 Hour Man, Wall Street Journal! USA Today? Don't make me laugh. That's not even a newspaper. I'm not sure what it is, no wait, I'm sure it's a bullshit propaganda rag, and it's big on sports. I'd love a review there too, by the way!

The Boston Globe is in a sense my home town rag. I never lived in Boston proper, but I did grow up in Massachusetts from the age of eight, until I split for the golden west at twenty three to seek my fortune. For all of New England, the Globe stands as the newspaper of record.

All in all, some few words will appear this Sunday in Boston about my latest book. I will sip coffee and smile. My good friend Beaupre and I will have a notch to add to our bonafides. Even if they deem to slam us, I'll glean something quoteable out of the piece to help me flog product!

James Baker: Senior Statesman and One Heck of an Experienced Election Thief.

Has anyone noticed of late, oil man/Republican operative James Baker, most recently seen slithering around the aftermath of the 2000 election (pulling strings for W.), has been making the talk show rounds lately? Must have a book out or something.

I guess the Republican image factory figures the electorate will see Baker lurching around, making pronouncements in his best election season corn-pone drawl, and they will forget to vote because they figure he’ll just help young W. and his gang of hoodlums steal another one?

Stay tuned to find out! And get your ass out and vote, at the very least.

The right likes to trot out old goons like Baker to lend their operation some patina of statesman like experience and probity and all that dark blue suit/red tye aura. But from where I sit, given his stumping for Bush in the aftermath of the 2000 election, James Baker is a fraud.