June 6th, 2002


so vain (you probably think this week's strip is about you)

Naaa. It's about the Queen. Roughly speaking. Apologies to the two Dutch tourists strangely mutated into blue rinse ladies and everyone else who suffered elision/mutation in the progress of art. tinyjo, this is Cassie's TWS debut! Meow!

It's still a bit close to Comics 2002 for me to be entirely coherent about it, but I'm hoping to push it into 9 panels shortly. After all, lots happened there. I got into Bristol late, after a day of ill-organised filming (we got the bastard light levels wrong in shot 17! Nooooo!), brain further frazzled by spending the entire train journey listening to Star Guitar on loop. Then I had to find the Cube Cinema Party venue, which was (sings) in the red light district, down a crack alley, masquerading as a cultural centre --though the Cube's building had burnt down, this apparently wasn't the problem, the problem was that they'd forgot to put in toilets when they rebuilt -- where I helped the Kochalka Puppet Theatre make cardboard monkeys, bless their shiny helmets. The evening passed in an incomprehensible blur of candles, cheap beer and performance art, punctuated by nipping out to the There Goes Tokyo zine table where I talked to lovely Leonie O'Moore, who had a new comic Poop-o-rama, a mature and fascinating examination of the superheroic/villainous condition, including safety advice from the Human Torch and Batman in the temping agency, funny and fine. The first performance guy put on animal masks, sang music and occasionally broke out into robotic dancing. The squirrel was fairly obvious, but we couldn't quite figure out what the green mask was supposed to be, a duck maybe? Being dressed in white, he looked best as a bunny. The Kochalkas beat each other up with cardboard to Monkey vs. Robot, and we laughed. I think robots had the edge, slightly. Andrew berated me for not doing more comics, and Richard explained that he couldn't make Caption because he had a Danish girlfriend or something [the two halves of KPT]. Honestly. When the evening began to slide prog-rock-wards we sloped off to trucatechresis's parents where I drunkenly felt sorry for myself for a while.

I was fine the next morning, though, because though I hadn't been at Comics 2002 the previous day, Damian had, and he had bought veritable sh*tloads of cool stuff. [In no particular order] Toenail clippings, a (choke, gasp!) really surprisingly decent anthology, with some top art and a solid mix of genres, from Big If publications (tho' a touch heavy on the rock-attitude here and there for me), Pride of An Angel, a curiously charming meander of spikey scribble, from Pantomime Press, also home to to bouncy yet gruesome mock-horrorfest Dr Ripper's Mutiplex (another bizarre double act, Small Press seems full of these wee folies-á-deux), a Bunny Girl and Pig Boy photocopied mini (edge of sanity, it's called) from Nigel Aucterlounie, all of whose web presence has fallen prey to subculture wastage, sigh, he's great though, some piece of high-times stoner stuff called Toonadelic Times, the usual round of dole queues, police baiting, shags and getting high. Website? You are kidding, right? Also a little foldee from brilliant Steve Marchant available for one nutmeg or a kiss, aw bless. Apparently he did a big performance thing about Spiderman on the Saturday which I missed, boo hiss, where audience participants had to dress up as false Spidermen. Can't remember who the false Spideys were (I'm no follower of the webbed one, except for all the brilliant pastiches by alt artists that have been going on recently) but one was played by Dave Morris, who had at least one good thing out, I'm sure, it's in the pile somewhere ... er ....

That's all for now. It's late and time for bed, and I have a work appraisal tomorrow. Expect more of the same in my next post, when I'll go into the difficulty of finding Sunday Lunch near Bristol train station, the all-new and very shiny Girly Comic (aka the best excuse yet for getting a colour laser printer) and why I didn't see Terry Wiley.
  • Current Music
    bizarre mix of prefab moulded hamburger and latest eminem
2020 lack of vision

"Jeremy Dennis! Neat!"

Been wasting time at work reading the awesome Borderline online comics zine, and various blogs of UK small pressers. Wandering back through the TRS (The Review Sheet) archives, found an old review of my last (untitled, misprinted, uncorrected, badly photocopied) zine, by Andrew Luke.

"Jeremy Dennis once again finds the auburn fluffy toy in a world of metallic hum and artificial weather."

To think, I used to cry when I read my reviews :)

Funny thing, this morning, coming into work, I got the strangest impression that my face was turquoise (middle of the nose downwards) and orange (eyes up over forehead), both colours light and luminous, as if my skin were stained glass with sun shining through. It hit again on the way under the underpass, coming back from lunch, a harsh diagonal streak this time, the exact same orange. What would you call that? Not exactly a hallucination. Maybe I should try and draw it ...

Ooof. Just cut out half the introduction to my Annual Report. At this rate I'll be able to make a whole nother report from the excised pieces. "When I started working in May last year, Spired.com offered little (if any) of the functionality it claimed, and the information on the site was outdated, badly written, inappropriate, and in some cases quite inaccurate ..." True, but not exactly Annual Report material.

Aargh. Concentrate.
  • Current Music
    give me back my Mull Historical Society CD, Alex!