
Your pal, Neal (PS: Have I got a pitch for you!)
Those Who Know, Chuckle.
Fish talking about water.

Your pal, Neal (PS: Have I got a pitch for you!)
WITH THE ADVENT OF BLOGGING, men of letters have become men of keystrokes.
HAVING JUST RECEIVED ORDERS FROM Fearless Leader to define my principles in 106 characters or less and then disperse them yea seedlike to the multitudes, I replied as follows:
Clearer thinking. Don’t litter. Say “please” and “thank you” and mean it. And stop killing the children.
Go ye now and do likewise. It’s what he’d want you to do.
“WHEN DID ART BEGIN TO be about purging one’s personal demons instead of making people smile, wonder or otherwise get over themselves?”
THEY SHOULD HAVE CALLED IT “Carpocalypse.” %$#@!ing publicists.

That spirit of collegial creativity is one of the ideas behind Do Not Screen, a website which purports to present the contents of a mysterious red box in the “vast remoteness of Northern Michigan.” The contents included hundreds of cut-up 16mm film strips and a variety of other documents, some retrieved from envelopes marked “DO NOT SCREEN:”
Rather than re-assemble the film myself, I am, in the spirit of analog, snail-mailing frames from the film as well as a url with a corresponding activation code to scholars, students, theorists, film buffs, cultural anthropologists, writers, artists, editors, and others. In collaboration with the Critical Media Lab, I will manage a database that will reassemble the film in its proper order, with each frame-series (the strips of 12 frames) being activated as frame recipients log onto the website and enter the unique activation code that corresponds to their film strip. The more people who enter their frame numbers, the more complete the film will be.
Under a lens, the strip I received in the mail last week seems to show a group of 50 people dressed in cold-weather 1940s businesswear standing around someone’s backyard. The accompanying handwritten document, brown and crisp with age, was a labor receipt for ash retrieval and ditch filling. The whole exudes a creepy and cool aura, and I can’t wait to see how it all turns out.
“COMIX” IS TO “COMICS” AS Zippy the Pinhead is to Snoopy, or Robert Crumb is to Jack Kirby: irreverent satire rather than bemuscled superheroes. The Internet has made it easier for would-be comix artists to reach an audience, and the following examples never fail to provoke in me either laughter or deep thought (or both). It’s easy to get lost clicking through “back issues;” you have been warned.
1. XKCD. Stick figures with brains and a heart. Probably the most accessible high-intellect and -soul pieces I’ve seen since the original Howard the Duck. Most of the math jokes are over my head, but it’s a tribute to the artist that they’re still funny.
2. PeanuTweeter. Random tweets replace the Peanuts gang’s word-balloon speech for an effect that’s ironic and wistful in a Rosencrantz And Guildenstern Are Dead sort of way.
3. Garfield Minus Garfield. As it says — a Garfieldectomy leaving the other characters intact. What’s left resembles one young man’s solipsistic fever dream, horrid and wonderful and cutely disturbing.
“I’VE NEVER WISHED A MAN dead, but I have read some obituaries with great pleasure.”
Whether or not Mr. Twain actually Why Clarence Darrow said these words I do not know. But for those having difficulty cheering one more death, yet no compulsion to weep for the decedent, it seems to capture the moment nicely. (Although Ann‘s “Osama Been Gotten” is nice too.)
— Neal, whose Facebook page today reads “…Having a surreal experience. Fortunately, so is everyone else.”
SAW THIS WHERE I FIRST interned as “Neal Ross.” I was naive enough then to think it merely humorous.
Cub reporter: “If it’s news, I report it.”
Old journalist: “If I report it, it’s news.”
Newsman Emeritus: When I report it, it’s history.”
SINCE WHEN, IN THE MOVIES, did the Romans become the good guys?
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