Walking on the Moon

I forgot to review Super Folks last night. That review is up on Bell Book and Candle now as well.

Will Eisner’s The Spirit #25, Aragones, Evanier, Amancio, Barta. Another reasonably diverting Spirit story. I do get a kick out of Amancio’s anatomy. There hasn’t been any unpardonable gaffe for a while, but occasionally his enthusiasm for the female form makes for some unrealistic depictions. Not the usual Power Girl overendowment problems, but some parts do appear to be glued on for effect. It says a lot about the goodwill I’ve built up for the writers that I’m letting that slide.

Doktor Sleepless #11, Ellis, Rodriguez. More of our walk around Heavenside after a few months of Dr. Sleepless stirring the pot. Or really plopping some ingredients into the pot and watching it work, I suppose. I can’t see a new reader jumping in here, but there are plenty of things to notice for the folks already playing along at home.

Sandman: The Dream Hunters #3, Gaiman and Russell. Russell’s adaptation of Gaiman’s classic Sandman story continues to showcase his beautiful draftsmanship and poignant storytelling. There are long lyrical sections where Russell leads us along through the plot without need of words, and exquisite panels where the composition of the frame and figures adds as much to the text as the expressively rendered faces. A master class in comic art.

Secret Six #5, Simone, Scott, Hazlewood. And on the other side of the intellectual spectrum, Simone and company’s wild ride through the DC universe with the villains continues. On the one hand, this is a pure action thriller; on the other hand, it’s remarkably well executed. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed the ride in a mainstream comic this much, much less gasped at a last page reveal. This is great genre comics. (Actually, it’s great comics, but if you’re not into the underwear perverts, the costumes and genre conventions may prevent your suspension of disbelief.)

Though I complain about it, there are many cool things about my job. One of those things is that it causes me to occasionally find myself in, say, Spain at 10:30 PM local time on a Sunday and starving after waking up from a jet-lag-induced crash. You may be looking for the good part, and so was I.

I went down to the front desk and asked about the food prospects. It’s Sunday in Madrid and I don’t speak the language. The desk clerk was not optimistic. A man’s gotta eat, so I’m off into the raining night.

I should mention parenthetically that not only is it raining, but I have no umbrella and no jacket; I’m dressed for Los Angeles. It’s nice to live in a place with only nice weather, but it does encourage one to forget to plan for the weather. My continuing inability to learn this lesson is a source of great amusement to my friends.

I walk 100 yards and there’s McDonald’s. It’s nice that I won’t starve, but eating at McDonald’s in Madrid seems to be admitting defeat. I’ll explore further before returning to the golden arches.

By this point, I’m actually getting into the adventure of looking for late night food. It’s always fun to wander around some part of a city that isn’t full of tourists. You get off the beaten path and get to see the people who live here going about their lives. Almost inevitably the most fun I have when traveling are those times.

So I’m pushing along through the cold and I pass a little something or other. I think they call them snack bars in France; it’s a little lunch counter kind of thing. It’s also packed to the gills, like a local bar on a Wisconsin football weekend. There’s a soccer match on. Now if I spoke any Spanish at all, I’d probably go for this, but I’m not excited at nodding and pointing at a bartender in a crowd to try to get a frozen pizza. It’s on the list above the McDonald’s, though, so things are looking up.

The landscape’s getting less promising, though. There are more apartments and small offices and fewer storefronts. There’s a closed bar – “Bar Chappeau” – and some restaurants that are wisely closed. And there’s some small nook that’s selling kebabs. I’m wondering whether this is worth a try, when I see the name of the place – Döner Kebab.

A week ago that wouldn’t have meant anything to me, but sometime in that week – it may have been this afternoon – I saw that name in my friend Phil’s IM status. Phil lives in Geneva, working for Google, and the sort of guy that I’m happy to follow into adventure. So if Döner Kebab is good enough for Phil, it’s good enough for me.

It was pretty much perfect. A made some half-assed attempt to order the special off the menu (and here you want to think sandwich shop menu), and failed miserably. I do not have wonderful pronunciation of languages I allegedly speak, much less ones I don’t. It wasn’t any great leap to figure out that I wasn’t from around here. But the fellow behind the counter replied to me in pretty good English that he was out of fries, but would be happy to cut me a deal on a kebab and a drink. He made the food while conversing with a few folks who were obviously regulars, and I watched Spanish TV on a grainy set and took in the atmosphere.

The kebab was fair. Nothing very tasty, but I was pretty hungry. While I was eating a few more customers came through, including a Japanese woman who was even more lost than I was. He flirted with her a bit and got her on her way with a late night meal. I paid up, and we chatted for a few minutes about the US economy. No, really. This is the kind of small joint magic I love.

Anyway, that’s how the Internet made my life better today. A small association nudged me into a vibrant Spanish slice of life.

I’ve been meaning to post this picture of me helping put up a fence on National Public Lands Day earlier this year.  I’m the one bent over.

A couple weeks ago my venerable 1990 Miata announced it wanted to be traded by flinging a spark plug out of the engine block, stripping the threads as it went. Now there are things one can do to repair such a thing, but it sort of makes you ask what’s next on the 18 year old car. I figured rather than waiting to see, it seemed like a good time to try a new car.

I picked the Scion xB and was able to pick up a used one for a reasonable price. It’s pretty much the anti-Miata. It’s got the boxy appearance of a mini-UPS van, though it actually gets better gas mileage than the Miata. I’ve been happy with it so far and look forward to a few more years of service.

WordPress cropped the thumbnails somewhat oddly.

A few weeks ago I finished an unusual penance.  If you know what I’m talking about, this may be of interest.  But, it’s probably not.  Thanks to Craig Rogers for the video.

I’ve been playing with a new instant messaging client, Empathy. If you’ve been having trouble getting my attention, that may be why.  Mail me if you see problems.

Just so you all know, I did get into a real-world, out-loud discussion today about who would win a fight between R2D2 and Dr. Zaius.  (I was an Artoo supporter.)

Sad to see George go.  Via the AV Club, here are some of his words on death.

“Ted, what’s your house number?”

“What?”

“It’s your Uncle John.  I’m on your street looking for your house and I don’t know the number.”

That’s my Uncle, all right.

He showed up Friday night looking for a place to catch a few z’s between San Luis Obispo and his home outside Phoenix.  My family isn’t the best long term planners.  I haven’t seen him in several years and we spent a day or so catching up and taking a flight before he was off again.  He’s a good guy and it was fun to see him. Brenda snapped a picture to document the history.