Some of these things I don’t understand are of a serious nature and
some aren’t. Some of them concern the real world and some don’t.
Don’t confuse them.
I don’t understand...why Penn State students rioted when football
coach Joe Paterno got rightfully fired for his silent approach to
the child molestation crimes committed by his defensive coordinator
Jerry Sandusky. I don’t understand why every Penn State employee
or executive who knew of these crimes hasn’t been fired. I don’t
understand how anyone could have sympathy for any of them. I don’t
understand how any parent of one of those moronic rioters wouldn’t
be horrified at how little compassion, morality, and intelligence
their tuition payments have bought.
Let me make this simple because it really is absurdly simple. What
Sandusky did was a heinous crime. If you witness or have knowledge
of a heinous crime, especially a heinous crime against a kid, your
first call is to the police. Let me say that again. Your first call
is to the police.
It is not to the football coach. It is not to the university that
employs you. In other similar situations, it is not to a church
or a corporation or a political party.
It is a heinous crime. You report it to the police.
Because I guarantee that, if you don’t call the police, if you instead
make the call to any of those listed above, they will spend weeks
and months and even years trying to either cover up that heinous
crime or figure out how to spin it so that they will suffer as little
negative impact as possible.
It’s a heinous crime. It’s a matter for the police. It does not
get any simpler than that.
I don’t understand...the point of Frank Miller’s Holy Terror. It
strikes me as all rage and no art, a banal exercise in brutality.
Miller’s heroes and villains are one-dimensional. Those innocents
who die during the course of this nightmarish scenario are nothing
more than additions to the body count. Miller’s work has steadily
diminished since he went all Hollywood on us. He has transitioned
from one of the most interesting creators in comics to an angry and
fearful blowhard. Holy Terror? More like holy crap!
I also don’t understand...Miller’s ranting against the Occupy Wall
Street movement. It’s as if he’s become some field hand desperate
to be allowed to serve in the big house. Sorry, Frank, but you’re
not one of the 1%. You’re just a loud-mouthed sell-out.
I don’t understand...why the self-checkout machines at the Medina
Library occasionally insist that I must pay a fee of $18,790.086.31
to check out a book. Exactly $18,790.086.31. The same amount every
time it happens. The librarians know it’s a glitch of some sort,
but no one knows where this number comes from. The IT folks can’t
seem to eradicate it for good. They get rid of it, but it always
comes back. It even gets printed on our receipts.
I don’t understand...why Herman Cain’s supporters can’t recognize
that his “9-9-9" tax plan actually raises taxes on the middle class
and lowers taxes for the rich. Now while the 1% will call that “a
good start” to their goal of never paying any taxes, shouldn’t those
Cain supporters who are of the 99% be concerned?
I don’t understand...why anyone would join a remembrance discussion
of a no-longer-with-us comics creator to make snotty comments about
the deceased. If you’re one of my Facebook friends, you know that
I often start such discussions on my Facebook wall. I start these
to remember industry friends of mine and sometimes industry figures
whose work meant something to me.
Recently, I hosted one such discussion about Frank Robbins, who was
someone whose work I admired greatly and who was also a friend and
a collaborator on several of the comics I wrote for Marvel in the
1970s. One poster correctly pointed out that Robbins was a major
part of the retooling of Batman in the late 1960s and early 1970s.
The retooling was guided by editor Julius Schwartz and brought to
wonderful heights by some of the best writers and artists who ever
worked on Batman, including Denny O’Neil, Neal Adams, Irv Novick,
Dick Giordano, Bob Brown, and Frank Robbins.
A few hours into the discussion, some yahoo took extreme offense
that we were talking about anyone other than Neal Adams and made
downright churlish comments about Robbins. I “politely” suggested
this surly poster shut his pie hole. He persisted in his insults
against Robbins. I booted him, deleted him, and un-friended him.
I ignored his private messages which basically consisted of “How
dare I do all of the above?” I ignored his private messages. He
had no more claim on any more of my time than he had a right to do
whatever he wanted on my Facebook wall.
In retrospect, I shouldn’t have been surprised by this guy’s rude
behavior, just that I hadn’t noticed previously what an utter jerk
he is. But his worship of Neal Adams - who I think it’s an amazing
talent, a great friend to creators, including myself, and all kinds
of good guy - has a business aspect to it as well. This poster has
made a career of aping Neal’s style for advertising and non-comics
commercial art. One wonders if he was “defending” Neal’s assured
place in Batman legend or his own imitative turf. Either way, as
I close in on my 60th birthday, I see no reason to suffer such an
idiot. I don’t regret that I have given him decent reviews in the
past, but I don’t plan on giving him another moment of my attention
beyond today’s blog.
So today’s closing moral is...learn to shut your online pie hole.
If someone is praising the late Sidney Scripter or Peter Penciller,
don’t chime in with how much you hated their work. No one who has
loved that creator’s work is going to slap their forehead and say,
“My God, he’s right!” They are simply going to wrinkle their noses
at your bad smell and consider you an asshat forevermore.
I’ll be back tomorrow with more stuff.
© 2011 Tony Isabella