It would appear that the writer Douglas Wolk has only a single brain, of normal size, in his shaggy head. However, I remain unconvinced that he’s not storing another one (massive, turgid, jigglingly all-knowing) in some top secret subterranean storage facility which he accesses remotely. There’s just no other explanation for the bottomless depths of his knowledge on certain subjects, namely comics, pop music, fringe culture and vegetarian cuisine.

His latest book, Reading Comics, is a must-read for veterans and newbies alike, and there’s a fantastic interview with Wolk by Tom Spurgeon up over at the Comics Reporter right now. If you’re in the bay area, Wolk will be in town this coming Saturday, Feb. 23, for WonderCon, giving a talk called “The Senses-Shattering Return of the Novel of Ideas!” at the Comic Arts Conference. Not to be missed.

Blurry scan of the cover of an anti-VD mix CD I made back in 2003.

Happy Valentine’s Day to all. And to those who hate the day, I say this: Valentine’s Day is a Christian corruption of a pagan festival involving werewolves, blood and fucking. So wish people a happy Horny Werewolf Day and see what happens. –Warren Ellis

T-minus 45 minutes and counting to San Francisco’s third annual Valentine’s Day Pillow Fight! Play nice, kids. Attendees are highly encouraged to post links to their photos and bloggings of the event here.

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Edward Burtynsky cares about our planet and has an eye for the surreal. His photography reveals nature transformed by industry, aspects of production that are vital to yet rarely witnessed by the general public.

The results of his extensive travel and research are stunning – the serenity of a sunset reflecting in fractured ground, the eerie silhouettes of coal mounds, the eternally halted machines of old industry.

…But even here, I know our work was worth the cost.
What we have brought to pass, no one can take away.
Life offers up no miracles, unfortunately, and needs assistance.
Nothing will be the same as once it was,
I tell myself. –It’s dark here on the peak, and keeps on getting
darker.
It seems I am experiencing a kind of ecstasy.
Was it sunlight on the waves that day? The night comes down.
And now the water seems remote, unreal, and perhaps it is.

excerpt from “A Distance From the Sea”
by Weldon Kees
(born February 24th, 1914 – presumed dead July 18th, 1955)

A poet, a novelist, a painter, a jazz composer, a photographer, an art critic, a radio personality and a filmmaker, Weldon Kees wore many hats. Always dapper, always daring without compromising his accessibility, he was a true mid-century Renaissance man: the twitchy post-war poster child of avant garde America.

On the rare occasion that I meet folks with knowledge of Kees, it’s all I can do not to grab their ears and plant a big, wet one on ’em. Despite his brilliance and polymathic output (perhaps in part because he’s hard to pigeonhole) Kees isn’t too well known outside of a small, devout cult of literati who seem to want to keep his legacy a secret. Personally, I wish his work would receive more wide-ranging attention.

Shien Lee wearing Vecona

Powerful women – what a dull world we’d have without them! Comrade Shien Lee is a striking cocktail of brains, ambition and grace. A musician, student and sometimes model, she moved to New York last summer and has not wasted a speck of time, launching Dances of Vice on August 18 – within just weeks of her arrival. Named after an expressionist Rosa von Praunheim film, DoV is a self-described dance and cabaret club, held at the Pussycat Lounge. Since its recent opening Shien’s project has gained significant momentum and popularity despite her being a newcomer in the notoriously soul-hungry city.

Shien Lee and Lucas Lanthier

Co-hosting the monthly event with Lucas Lanthier [Cinema Strange, Deadfly Ensemble] she’s welcomed a lofty roster of guest performers, among them Jill Tracy, Tempest Storm and Oryx Incruentus, and held a fashion show by Coilhouse favorite Vecona. There are art exhibits, live cello and jazz bands, vintage-style photos of the club’s patrons on a paper moon. She’s created a genuine modern-day salon – an inherently wonderful concept.

DoV festivities

In today’s revivalist boom it’s refreshing to see a place that not only brings light to the very best of vintage aesthetics, but also encourages the attendees to be creative and original. The proof is in the event photos – happy patrons making the kind of effort I thought was long lost; actually having fun with costumes instead of slapping on another vinyl cincher over a fishnet top. It’s no wonder Dances of Vice got such a positive write up in the New York Post, describing patrons who “flounced around the room in an Edwardian powdered wig, others marched in WWI uniforms, and still others posed in 1940s pinup wear”. So nice to see credit given where it’s due – Dances of Vice earned it, and with some inspiring speed.

Rasputina, one of the acts performing at the Dances of Vice Festival

Shien’s showing no signs of slowing down, either. Next on the agenda is the first Dances of Vice festival – a two-day event in February featuring an impressive bouquet of talent. Rasputina, The Deadfly Ensemble, Desert Sin, Nicki Jaine, Victorian fencing, and that’s just half of it. There will be an art exhibit, which I’m thrilled to be part of alongside talented artists like Lisa Mei and my pal Molly Crabapple. And! There will be a costume ball. If you’re in New York this February 8 and 9, you know what to do. See you there!

$teven Ra$pa at the Spectra Ball © Neil Girling

Once in a while some old friend on the east coast rings me up: “hey, where the hell are ya? You just up and vanished!”

I always get this big, stupid grin on my face. “Yeah, sorry, ran away with the circus.”

It’s true. This golden state has become an epicenter for fringe carnival/vaudeville/cabaret activity in recent years and thanks to a strange series of coincidences and acquaintanceships, I’ve found myself in the thick of it: surrounded nightly by aerialists and clowns, can can girls and contortionists, feral marching bands, burlesque beauties, belly dancers, magicians, inspired costumiers, sword-swallowers, snake veggie oil salesmen, gonzo musicians, stilt-walkers, fire-breathers, and well, the list goes on about as far as the Pacific ocean.

Aaron at Lucid Dream Lounge © Neil Girling

With Crash Worship warehouse roots in San Diego, an enclave of trendsetting troupes in LA, and benefiting from its colorful Bay Area yippie heritage, just about anything goes in this subterranean Cali carny set. Constantly touring, seat-of-the-pants caravans push themselves to the limits of physical and financial endurance, venturing into the fiery realms of SRL, the Crucible, Black Rock City and beyond. War wounds abound. This ain’t no Circe du Soleil. There is no safety net.

Tiffany of Vau de Vire Society at Download Festival © Neil Girling

That was the Tank Girl of the 90s, the one I fell in love with. We didn’t hear from her for over a decade, but this year she re-emerged in The Gifting, a new series by Alan Martin (the original creator) and illustrator Ashley Wood. What does the Tank Girl of 2007 look like? Alan Martin had the following to say:

Here’s the emerging new look for Tank Girl. We were concerned that she didn’t make her re-appearance in the same, tired old clothes that she bowed out in some twelve years ago. What was alternative, upsetting, anarchic, and just plain odd-ball back then has since become common place. Mainstream media smothers us daily with punky chic, and modern day babies can be seen sporting spikey hairdos and Travis Bickle T-shirts. The uniform of the cultural revolutionary has been sold to The Man. So how to rebel? How give the finger to the fashion fascists? Normal is the only way ahead. Dress like a high school teacher from the mid-eighties, or pick clothes from your boring aunty’s wardrobe. The only way left to rebel is to dress like you’re not rebelling. We hope to bring a whole different flavour to Tank Girl, as she borrows ideas from past cultural reference points (Fay Dunaway in Bonnie & Clyde, anyone?).

I completely feel what Alan Martin is saying. I like the look of the new Tank Girl drawings. However, the old-school, combat-boot-wearing, band-aid-covered, baseball-bat-wielding, kinda-dykey Tank Girl of yore will always hold a very dear place in my heart.

I’ll come out and say it: I love Ashley Wood’s amazing drawing style, but the new Tank Girl look doesn’t really do it for me. Maybe I’m being way too nostalgic, but it’s also possible that what I’m reacting to is the idea that so many people have decided to rebel by not-trying-to-look-rebellious that it’s starting to look like an easy way out of any real effort. I’m not saying that to undermine Martin’s very important message (see our Hot Topic Rebranding post), but it may be possible that so many people have caught onto the “rebel by looking normal” notion, and so many are using it to lazily avoid any attempts at interesting self-expression through clothing, that I’m just hoping that the pendulum swings back to the other side. You know, the side with the band-aids and corrugated tubing and knee pads.

But I guess I should get over it and enjoy the story. Comic book characters change, if it’s a good comic. When Maggie from Love and Rockets gained weight and creator Jaime Hernandez insisted that this was the way that Maggie was meant to be, I thought that was incredibly touching and honest. It’s impossible to keep up a certain look forever, and the story can be just as interesting once that look is gone.

(From the priceless Sun-Sentinel “Scared of Santa” photo gallery.)

It’s that time again. Can’t go anywhere without getting a shot of rancid Santa splooge in the eye. Can’t escape the mewling, reindeer shit-besmirched legions of consumer whores clamoring to buy perfunctory fad gifts for their relatives and co-workers. Can’t order a freakin’ espresso without someone trying to pour their special brand of putrescent nutmeg-flavored pus down one’s throat. Black Friday has ushered in what is arguably the darkest, bleakest period of the calendar year. Even if it’s a myth that suicide rates are highest during the holidays, some of the frailer agnostics among us will surely be reduced to gibbering husks by December 25th.

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But take heart, all ye heathens, Scrooges and secular humanists. There are so many delightful reasons to rejoice in the season besides the miraculous birth of Baby Jesus or being given a luxury SUV wrapped in a giant @#$!*& bow. Explore the wonderment beyond the cut.

Good morning, viagra world.

Start the day off right by simultaneously drying your face and contemplating mortality with a little help from the Tyrolean Towel Rack of IMMINENT DOOM. DOOOOM:

This fetching piece of Germanic history can be found in the Tiroler Volkskunstmuseum in Innsbruck, Austria. The sprawling complex is chock full of similarly bizarre pieces of functional art, like intricately painted antique cabinets, traditional ceremonial costumes, jaunty beast-headed sleighs, embellished tools, and lavishly personalized weaponry. Several historic walk-through “rooms” dating back to the Gothic and Rococo eras have been reassembled, replete with original hand-carved wood paneled walls, stoves, kitchenware and benches on which one can sit for a moment to rest.

My traveling companions and I spent several blissful hours ooohing and aaahing over everything. At one point, Dawn, an accomplished yodeler, was actually moved to song, her joyous yips reverberating up and down the long stone hallways.

Click below to see more wonders from the Alps.

I’m lucky to have not one but two Russian grandmas. Every so often I crawl out of my home, cursing and half-blinded by unwelcome sunlight, shedding the paint-stained jumpsuit in exchange for something nice to pay a visit. Ever since the first drop of dye touched my hair maybe 13 years ago, I’ve been given the business. This, I imagine, is something many of us share, the nagging question, the hovering “When”. When will you go back to your natural hair color? When will you take out that lip ring? When will that ink wash off your skin? WHEN WHEN WHEN. I’ve tried asking myself too but the answer always comes back the same – quite possibly never.

Age is slowly decreasing in importance even now. Research, life extension, better cosmetic surgery – our options are evolving. I’m not inspired by the plastic buffoons of Hollywood, instead I look to people I’ve actually met – take inventor, writer and wearer of many hats Tom Jennings for instance; a brilliant ageless creature, tattooed, pierced and stylish, striped socks and all. And what about Marchesa Luisa Cassati or Betsey Johnson or other people who overflow with creativity and, sequentially, vitality and remain outside the tired norm despite their age?

So how do we explain “never” and “there’s no reason to”? I can hardly explain the Internet, in fact most of my life is led in what seems to them like another plane of existence. Not a new question by any means, but how do we explain an entire culture, developed and thriving entirely outside of the elderly’s frame of reference? As a possible solution, I’m entertaining an idea of a full presentation with a laptop and a projector. A crash course on alternative culture. Will grandmas approve?