Archive for the ‘ face fashion ’ Category

BBC’s “In Search of Steve Ditko”


Go ahead and skip past the clunky first part of this otherwise highly engaging BBC documentary (or, for more specific instruction, skip ahead to 8:17, right around the point Alan Moore introduces himself as a magician), and delight in your growing Nerd Nowledge Center: you just got a Steve Ditko expansion pack!

Focusing on the mind-stunning weirdness of comicdoms’ randiest right-wing/Objectivist, the documentary gives a nice backdrop of the shadowy figure that doesn’t ever seem to penetrate the heart of Ditko’s weirdness (a weirdness the narrator alludes to time and time again). Was he a weirdy because he rode on the backs of busty Amazonian femalia? Was he secretly suffering from a severe morphine addiction? Or did he just hate the Jews? Drugs are touched on briefly, though examined more as cause than effect.

Thankfully, the examination stays away from hideously overwrought tropes and themes of a whole host of shallow, sedentary comic book documentaries (Superman is the first immigrant of the American Dream! Alan Moore and Frank Miller grew up comic books! Spiderman is the Everyman, as Marvel Heroes are Relatable!), and instead takes a more responsible, tenured tone of unspoken complexity of the human condition (the concept of “tension” existant throughout). That is not to suggest that the sins of the doc are totally absolved, but at least it chooses the creators, not the creations, as the central engine of interest and investigation (After more than Seventy Years, Batman-ia doesn’t show any signs of Slowing Down!)

In conclusion, Mr. Moore derives His power from His beard and, akin to Sampson, will wither and feebilze without its firm, graspy attachment.

Gorgoth lead singer Gaahl is asked what ideaologies inspires his music

An old jam from back in the day (for disclosure’s sake, I jacked both video and title from poetv), but, truly, one couldn’t choreograph this better. What’s the secret of heavy metal?……



Trailer for “The Road”

Goddamn, did I love this book. The trailer was a little trailer-y for my tastes (Howie Long Scream, natch), but Viggo Mortensen looks like he’s made of gristle and pain. It all rests on the boy, is what I think. And that’s what I think.

Isaac Asimov’s Head Housed Some Serious Mutton Chops

Collaterally, his neck housed an insane bolo tie.

Brian Sutherland: The Worst Boxer in the World

The Birth of Rorschach, Narrated by Alan Moore

And here, we have an example of what the film should have been. Hell, I would have prefered Alan Moore supplying the voice/over semi-static images to that chick’s piercing chide’s any day (and don’t even dare to bring up the motion comic). What a magician. What a beard.

Simply Sara Makes Strawberry Ice Cream

She has a face like Robert Z’dar.

And now, a haiku.

Camera move as fire
Screaming through the sugar sky
Held in sausage hands

I can hear her voice sweat. The Vince Guaraldi-esque music cues are a nice touch, though. It’s like watching a shut-in, diabetic version of American Splendor, without the comic books or human triumph.

Popular Mechanics Calls Out Billy Mays On All His Bullshit

Popular Mechanics, which is a lovely organization in its own right, has taken it upon itself to amass all the varieties of TV snake oil in the world and show them for what they really are: hobo urine (which is also why you should never put snake oil in your mouth or eyes). Yes, everything from the Sham-Wow to whatever bullshit Billy Mays is Devito-screaming at you to buy this week, they veracitize all of the TV’s crazy claims better than Ralph Nader ever did.

Take this excerpt from their product test of the Samurai Shark:

Although the Shark improved cut speed, its design limitations caused knife blade damage and potentially put the consumer at risk. A predetermined bevel limits the types of blades that can be easily sharpened, forcing a freehand sharpening process that most amateurs would prefer to avoid.”

Ha! Go choke on a super-ladder, Billy Mays. You liar! You fink! You tungsten-tossing charcoal-chin.


As long as we’re on the topic of Billy Mays being a fink, here’s a clip that subsists of a phrase I hear whenever I begin to slip into a hot madness.

It’s like a bearded fever dream. It’s like a drunken uncle who has to clean up his spill. The way his hands move to impart meaning. It’s truly awful. I don’needda cabinnidfulla cleenerz.

Why, this fella’s got a hole in his head!

I fully confess; my primary reason for uploading this video was to give the ‘face fashion’ tag a bit of a workout.

Perfectly nice gent, though.

The National Beard Registry

A surprisingly in-depth beard registry network, where beards of valor meet and grow. Search parameters include:

Florida Fiddler Convention
The Van Dyke

I don’t want to be surprised at the number of registered members in North Carolina, but somehow, I still am.