I Am Going to Write the Title For Batman

The title of this blog post doesn't mean a damn thing, but it sure did catch your attention didn't it?

Maybe not...

I am not going to re write the title for Batman, I feel like that one is pretty much written in stone. I am, however, going to review Frank Miller's Batman: Year One.

This is not my first venture into comic books. I had the very lucky fate to be best friends with the owner of a comic book store when I was 19 or so, and he put into my hands Sandman, and I sort of took off from there. As a voracious reader, I had never taken comics seriously because they had pictures, and how much story could you really convey in such a short amount of time. When I gave the first one a real chance, I realized that it had it's own way of entertaining and enrapturing you. The only way that I can really describe the feeling is by saying that it's the middle ground between watching television and reading a book. What is being said is just as important as the art. They aren't pictures to match the story, it is art that conveys a story.

Eventually, my friend sold his store, and then the friendship puttered out, and my drive to read comics sort of did as well. I missed them for a while, and tried going to a new store, but it wasn't the same. I quit buying them and went back to a books only world.

The catalyst that ultimately led to this post was Comic Book Men. I'm a pretty big fan of Kevin Smith and generally eat up whatever he gives the public.Watching the show also reminded me of the stories I had read just a few years ago, and the feeling of having a collector's worthy comic in your hand. I also missed the connection to the story that comic books give you. It's unique and quite lovely. When I read them before I read more independent books and the only super hero books I read were Teen Titans (I had a soft spot for some reason). This time I wanted to learn more about the heroes I had been watching on television and in movies. These are heroes that not only have inspired some really great creative minds and I wanted in on the action!

I ended up at a store here in Pittsburgh called Phantom of the Attic Comics (clicking on the link will take you to their Facebook page) and asked the nice men there if they could help me transition from the darker independent books I'd been reading before to the more mainstream world of comic book heroes. As per usual (or at least it has been in my personal experience) the guys were very nice and helpful and walked me through a few stories and we finally decided that Batman would be the way to go.

I wanted to read a story that told the beginning of Batman, because like a true nerd (I hope it's the nerdiness and not the fucking OCD-ness) I must start at the beginning.

Frank Miller- yeah, that was the way to go.

The graphic novel actually says it's by Frank Miller and David Mazzucchelli and I don't want to skimp on where credit is due.

The opening page is quite striking, as I'm sure it is meant to be. I don't think I'll be spoiling anything if I mention that obviously Bruce Wayne is an orphan, his parents killed by a mugger. We all know that. The movies did well to explain it, but the first page of this graphic novel was pretty amazing and expresses emotions that I just am not sure the movies could. At least not for me. Opening with the young Mr. Wayne kneeling between his dead parents is a sure fire way to get any person, whether comics are their 'thing' or not, interested.

What struck me the most, and what I guess I'll be writing about the most, is how kick ass Gordon is in this telling. Again, I've only ever seen the movies, so I was pretty sure that he was just some cop guy who called Batman when things got rough.

No sir! He is seriously the shit! I have to admit, he was my favorite character in this collection. I was never aware of how stressed he was, how deeply convinced of failure. While so unsure in his personal life, and at first of his position in Gotham Miller goes on to portray Gordon as a man who knows his business, when I always thought it was a bit of a fumbler. He is also not a man to be trifled with, able to take on some big bads all on his own, when I thoguht he needed Batman to get anything damage done.

 I also very much enjoyed reading a Batman who was more than just cold and calculating, and always right. Batman fucked up, a couple of times. He could have really gotten people hurt and maybe should have given up his vigilante justice for the better of Gotham City. This Batman teaches a lesson though because he persevered, kicked some ass, got confused, and persevered some more. I can definantely see the makings of a hero here, if not a fully fledged one.

I had no idea that Catwoman would be in this story, or at least not so soon. I was excited when I saw her, but in the end I was very confused that the story seemed so weak to me, as to how she fits into everything. I did really enjoy one panel in which a cat who has just been in the middle of some major destruction walks casually back to her arms. The image of Catwoman just standing there, with that not even cocky just self assured body language I felt a bit of a connection to the character. It's one of my favorite parts of reading a comic versus a book.

Some of the panels in the book just blew me away- I took a picture to prove it.

That bottom panel for what ever reason really grabs me. I kept turning the page back to it after I passed it, that was until I hit the last page, and the very last panel gave me goose bumps. This was an enjoyable read overall, and it gave me exactly what I was looking for on my journey back into comic books. The very last panel, I can't stop going back to it. I almost posted a picture, but for those who haven't read this I would like to save that for you to experience on your own.

Batman: Year One by Frank Miller and David Mazzucchelli
               with Richmond Lewis
ISBN: 1-4012-0752-6

There Are Green Striped Tigers on Okinawa

I've been trying to write this post for like a fucking week now. For whatever reason it hasn't been easy. I know exactly what I want to say, and I think it's something some would like to read. However, I just seem to clam up after about two sentences. So, so far this one's a record breaker.

On February 10 (which as it turns out is today), it will be 3 years since my Dad died. Now, obviously, this has been a trial for me. This year is a big one, since it's the first time I'll be essentially on my own (emotionally) to deal with this. I've grown to be okay with that, but I know it's not going to be easy. I decided that writing a post about Dad could be cathartic, but I didn't want to write something that would bring the reader down.

So I've decided to share some of the funny little things about our relationship that make me smile.

For instance:

Until I was 13 or so, I sincerely believed that there was a species of tiger that was green with black stripes living in the jungles of Okinawa. I only assumed there were jungles in Okinawa ( I still couldn't tell you if there are) because tigers live in the jungle. I believed this because that's what my Dad told me. In my mind the logic was simple. Dad had been to Okinawa and I had not. He was Dad, he knew everything, so of course there were green tigers in Okinawa. I stopped believing him when I was 13, I think that's the time that a normal kid really truly stops believing in Santa. Up until around the time that being a teenager hits you, there's at least a small part of you that still thinks your parents know all the behind the scenes secrets and that what they tell you might have some merit. Around the time that hormones really take over, that shit turns into angsty bitterness and your parents don't know a damn thing until the first time something breaks in your first apartment.
Or the first time you do your taxes.
So, I'm not sure I even stopped believing because of my own ability to figure out how silly the idea of a green tiger was as much as I quit believing because I just started assuming that my parents were stupid and knew nothing.

Dad had tons of stories like that though. He was the son of the man who told him when he was 7 or 8 that if he went out at dawn and bathed in the dew all of his freckles would disappear (they did not however, which I'm grateful for because when I got bored I would play connect the dots on his arm). I think they both took a special pride in fucking with their children's minds in a way that wasn't quite abuse. What was cool, was on the surface these men, especially my Dad, were incredibly serious. Dad would just completely catch you off guard when he was being 'silly' no matter how well you knew him. It could be very endearing. Or infuriating.

My father's way of nicknaming was...unique. It also caught him a ton of shit when I got older. As far as I understand it, it was my Dad who first called me Ryla, which most of my close friends and family call me. However, like many dad's, he also had a special nick name that only he called me. When I was little it was Baby Girl. Very sweet and all. When I turned about 10, maybe even a little younger, he dropped the 'Baby' part off. I don't know if this was at my insistence or not, but I just became 'Girl'. I don't remember ever complaining about it, I thought it was normal. Other people thought it was awful.

 "That child has a name you know!"

Was the general response. My friends mom's were quite concerned that I didn't have a 'woman' in my life (I lived a few states away from my Mom when I was younger) but I had become quite accustomed to being a little Tom Boy and wasn't bothered by the fact that we talked about lean-to's and ways to compost for when Dad was able to go live amongst the wild.

I always told him he was one survival magazine subscription and a couple rooms of canned food away from a stand off with the FBI in Texas...
He was usually the only one that enjoyed that joke too. Twisted fuck.

Dad was also quite stubborn, something I've been told a time or two that I've inherited. When we would both get irritable (which is an adjective my Dad used with uncommon frequency) it was like having two wolverines penned together. We were low about it too. My father and I could treat each other like complete and total shit about the silliest things.

Dog Slobber

We got into a 45 minute argument that resulted in us not talking for like 2 days over dog slobber once. It was insane. It was over whether my cousin should throw away the binki that had been licked by the dog or not. The subject then switched to whether dog slobber was less gross than human slobber. In a fantastic display of diminished intelligence we then argued the magical healing qualities of the substance. Because, someone must be right, all the time.

So - green striped tigers. He eventually told me where they came from. He remembered one in He-Man

Which means, this man, who was very serious...and a little unconventional...had at some point in time sat down and watched He-Man with me. Enough to remember the green tiger in the show. I find that means I was incredibly lucky.

Here we are. The mustache is pretty amazing there.

I know I was very small back then, but I keep thinking that Dad was really into 70's fashion in the late 80's.

I went through 10 years of looking real weird. Dad went through this like, year, looking like a statesman.

 Like I said, that was a short phase.

For the record, he was saying
"Get that damn camera out of my face, girl!"

Regarding My Coworker's and How They Are The Shit

It takes a certain type of person to work in a call center

If you've ever seen the the quote "You don't have to be crazy to work here, we'll train you..." then you have an idea of what it's like to work in the type of place I choose to work. "We're all insane down here" also applies.

What's great about my job and my coworkers is that we're all almost the exact same amount of insane.

You have to be, to do what we do. To call complete fucking strangers, convince them you are worth their time, and that the organization you are calling for is worth their money. Sometimes whether you believe it or not. I often say that it takes a certain lacking in morals to do my job as well, but that might just be for me...

I want to tell the world about the group of co-workers that I love and adore, but I won't be naming names.

The first person I ever really talked to at my job was a rather large looking dude, short in stature, but fairly muscular. He stood out to me because at first I thought he was hitting on me. He asked me what my name was and when I said "Sharyla" he said "Oh, that's unique." My immediate response, because it's who I am, was "There are quite a few things about me that are unique".

He caught me off guard with the quickness of his reply, which was simply "Well, I'll have to find out about those..."

Do you see where I could have thought this person was coming on to me?

As it turns out, he wasn't. I'm just really egotistical.

Since then, he's become a friend, and a great one at that. He's so optimistic, but not in the way that makes you want to rip his toenails out and poke his eyes with them. In the refreshing way that makes you just want to be around him. Also...he tells people he's a different nationality almost every fucking phone call, and it's hilarious.

The second person who made a real impression on me is a younger kid, 23, and admits that no one likes you when you're 23...not just because it's a song. This kid seriously rides his bicycle to work in any weather. He's got a cat named Lovecraft, and knows his shit when it comes to music. He's also quite the smart ass. He'll often respond to text messages with lines from our scripts. For instance, one of the many organizations we call for is an environmental one, talking a bit about Global Warming and Jet Stream Patterns...

Me: "Do I still need to come to your house after work?"
Him: "You're always welcome of course"
Me: "I'm just worried about the weather"
Him: "You should be"
Me: "?"
Him: "A study preformed at Rutgers says that the Arctic melt is causing blocked jet streams ..."
Me: "Ass"
Him: "I knew that's what that would say before I even opened it..."

How well they know me already...

The catalyst of this post was some deep back pain. It was excruciating, and part of the reason this post has taken so long to finish...also I'm lazy and uninspired. I was pretty sure I was losing a kidney or was going to have to take a 5lb shit at first...and then I really couldn't think at all beyond the pain. I tried, not at all valiantly, to work through it, but this was the kind of pain that I couldn't talk without sounding pissed, and contributors don't really respond to that tone. Eventually I decided I was going to see a medical professional about this. However, I was broke. I'm sort of always broke. I called MedExpress but they wanted $109 to walk through the door. Then the Office Manager printed out a ton of information for me (that I didn't ask for, she just...did it) on the available free and sliding scale clinics in the city. I made some phone calls, but that wasn't working out either. Finally I gave in and decided to just go to the emergency room. The Office Manager took time out of her day to drive me to the ER and informed me that she would wait for my call to come pick me back up. This was after my friend kindly offered to go with me so I didn't have to wait by myself. I ended up using that friend as my emergency contact because that's what made the most sense. Yet another co worker, one I have barely talked to since starting the job, drove my friend and me to the pharmacy, where my friend paid for my prescription and bought some food for dinner at work that night.

I will fully admit that there is a deep part of me that is quite ashamed of this story, that I would let myself become the person who would need that much help. However, the part that is just so grateful to have such a wonderful group of coworkers, who would be that kind, thoughtful, and resourceful to boot, much outweighs it.

The greatest part is the story above only accounts for a few of the awesome people I get to work beside daily. They are incredibly intelligent, and the ones who aren't...well, they're entertaining. They are diverse in beliefs and cultures but are so easily respectful of each other. And it seems to me that if you prove you're worth your salt, and willing to be just as openly fucking twisted as they are, they'll treat you like family.

It's the shit.

Your Children Are Cute...I Hate Their Voices

So, I guess, for this one some background information may be necessary.

It is important to know that I work on the phone for a living. I talk to people, complete strangers, and ask them for money. The first time I was exposed to this type of work I was 19 years old. I excelled at the job, but like most 19 year old's I wasn't quite practiced at being an adult. Since then I haven't learned a whole hell of a lot about adulthood, but I have picked up a thing or two about the job.

For the last 4 years I've worked in a call center of some sort. Currently I work for a company that I won't be naming, but I make fundraising phone calls. I really do find my job to be rewarding, but it's also a great trial. This is one topic you'll read about fairly often, mostly because some of the people on the other end of the phone are, to put it lightly, bat shit fucking nuts. Some of the weirdest shit comes out of these peoples mouths.

But today, I want to discuss answering machines...I feel as if there needs to be a general rule about them. Or multiple. Or maybe just four.

1. For the love of all things holy--do NOT put your children on the answering machine.
          Don't get me wrong, I love children. I'm Aunty to the world, but I sometimes want to actually understand the message I'm trying to listen to. Kids are cute, however, they are not your or anyone's secretaries. There's at least one reason for that.
Think of all the times your child looks at you and says something, in gibberish, that you can't even begin to understand? Now why in the world would you think those who are childless would understand it!?!? I still need a translator for a niece or nephew I have that is under 3!
           Also- those little 'Mickey Mouse' voices that are so high and precious...when yelling into a tiny microphone and then blown into my eardrum become  sort of a bother. It's so loud...I swear...it's torture.

2. Don't sing. Just do not do that. If you're singing on your answering machine it's because it's the only way you can force people to listen to you. I'll bet you my left tit that a person who is singing on their answering machines gets 50% less messages because people can't hold out until the end.

3. Don't introduce your pets on the phone. I know you love all 19 of your cats but there are reasons this type of answering machine intro is a bad idea:
   A- Least likely result, you'll lose a date. Though, if you're introducing your 19 cats that ship has most likely sailed.
   B- People like me, know how to use your crazy against you. You, my friend are simply giving me ammo.
   C- Do you really want to be that person? I know it's wrong, but people naturally judge others...so do you really want to make that type of impression right off the bat? I think not.

4. Your answering machine, believe it or not, is not a platform for saving my soul. There is a time and place to minister and while I'm trying to sucker money of you is not it. No amount of one line Bible verses at the end of your answering machine will really help me...I'm a bit too far gone at this point.
In addition- what if I DID want to discuss your religion. Not super helpful to start that conversation off one sided...honestly, that's just a little rude.

I know it may sound...cranky...to demand so much from people and their answering machines, but you only have to hear it every once in a while. I have to here it all day...every day. This is how psychotic breaks happen...

Lunatic Fringe

Recently, I've been asked by various friends and family about my blog. I use to be pretty into book blogging, but in the last couple of years, I've fallen away from it.

Now, however, I feel as if I have a TON to say, and damn it, audience or no, I will say it.

So this new space on the World Wide Web (remember when we actually used that term?) is a place for me to truly let all my crazy shine.

I plan to continue reviewing books, while adding random tirades about people, places, and things that bother me. Two topics that can you can look forward to are People that Sing on the Bus and That Last Step Before the Escalator Ends.

For those who may be reading this and don't know me, or don't know me well, I suppose the next logical step is a brief introduction.

I am a 27 year old single chick who lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

If only that's where it stopped, but then if it was, this wouldn't be half as much fun would it?

I am...unique. I am often a contradiction, always just a little bit snarky, but fairly polite, I hate people in general but love the job I do which is based on talking to complete strangers for hours at a time. I am extremely self-conscious but also egotistical and self-centered. I come from a pretty poor background but can sound expensively educated when I really want to. When I'm in a good mood I watch documentaries about The Holocaust. My personal favorite is: I am an only child, but I also have 7 siblings.

I'm also...quirky. I never let anyone else shuffle the cards, and I have to keep score, even though I can't do math. I am just now getting to a point in which I can sleep without having a documentary on...but it's been a slow progression and we're not out of the woods yet. I'm a grammar Nazi, or so I'm told. I think when people say 'I seen' and I sincerely feel that the Buffalo Bill like serial killer rage that it induces it's perfectly appropriate (but I suck at using commas correctly). Whistling is absolutely forbidden when in any room I have control over and most public places. Don't sing when there's no music playing. I will hate you. Forever. If you are one of those people who drums their fingers on a table be prepared to be asked how  long you'd like to keep your phalanges because I would truly like to remove them with a dull blade. Also, for the love of all things holy, do not, EVER shake the damn couch with your leg. If you want to move, that's delightful, but if I wanted to move, I wouldn't be sitting here. If I wanted to vibrate I would have put a fucking quarter in. This will also put you on the list of people that could save my life and I'd still want to take their eyes.

Maybe I'm just a bitch.

2012 wasn't good to me. A relationship that I was a fan of, ended. Suddenly, over the phone. After 3 years. So I made this huge move, well, not compared to others I've made, but still...I moved. The town I came from, which I lived on the outskirts of, has about 1,400 people. Now I live in Pittsburgh...and I really don't feel like looking up the population, but it seems as if it's much more than 1,400. It was a hard transition at first, and I learned that on top of all that controlling weirdness above, I'm also fairly closed minded and judgmental. I'm working on it...

I have also realized that there are these things I want to get done with my life, which is new to me, because I've been fairly spontaneous all my life, so planning is odd.

 At this point, I'm a person finding a whole bunch of new things that seem a little more than interesting about herself, and wants to explore as many of them as possible. I'm quite sure some of it will be entertaining and I also want to share some stories from my past that need to out among the public I am sure...so I'm here to document myself for a while and I'm letting other people 'watch the magic happen'.

Enjoy...