I’m not really into the whole sword and sorcery/fantasy stuff. You may have thought I was because of the sci-fi, time travel and superhero stuff but no, that ain’t my thing. Crazy ass names I can never pronounce or remember (one of the many reasons I wasn’t into Game of Thrones), goofy wizards and magic everywhere. Flibbbidity-flu! 

Some people are BIG into the role play board games like Dungeons and Dragons but I’ve always considered that way too much effort for a board game. To me, a game shouldn’t last more than a couple hours tops. 

The closest I’ve ever gotten to this was Heroclix. That’s a game involving miniature superhero and villain figures (about an inch and a half tall) that have dials built into their stands. It’s an ingenious design, where a character starts out at full strength but when they meet an opponent in battle and lose if the dice roll goes against them, they take a couple turns on their dial and lose strength, speed, etc. If enough damage is taken on, they die. There are a lot of tactics as the characters meet on a map and battle it out. There’s a lot less advance planning involved though, and really, no world building.

D&D is all about world building, developing characters, creating campaigns and god knows what else but ultimately, it’s a lot of effort and the games stretch out for anywhere from weeks to months to years, depending on how often the participants gather, the pace of the campaign, etc. it seems they can vary wildly. My daughter was part of an ongoing bi-weekly campaign with her friends for months. From what I heard, there didn’t seem to be a lot of forward progress, although Theresa’s character did set someone on fire once and they walked through a town but that seemed like that’s all that happened. Matthew’s crew, on the other hand, has just been going crazy with quests, missions, invisible giants, chaotic evil, the works. It actually sounds like fun but again, seemingly a big time commitment. 

Recently, I got together with my regular Bad Video night crew (me, Mike, Don, Jim and Doug), but for the first time in the 35+ history, it was a virtual gathering via Zoom. Aside from a couple sound issues, it worked well and if we got hammered, no one had to worry about driving home. Bonus! 

But we also wondered about what else we could do together online, and while there were a few suggestions, Mike joked about playing D&D. I later proclaimed that if we did it, Mike would be dungeon master, knowing full well he’d never take on the assignment as it’s waaaaay too much work. Neither would I. 

But, as always, at a certain point, I start thinking about it and if we did do it, here’s how some of our characters might look:

*Mike would be a Sewage-Wizard named Gluuurrmonstgansh. He would live in an underground lair, festooned with feces to keep intruders away but can pluck one of his eyeballs out and send it flying around anywhere, to see all things. Kind of like a modern day drone. Meanwhile, he can also detach his mouth and fly it anywhere to communicate with anyone. His nose can detach but can only run.

*Don is WAHHHtoomph, is a simple storekeeper and a metamorph that can transform–at will– into an eleven foot tall creature consisting entirely of screaming baby heads of varying sizes. The crying can sometimes turn into devastating sonic screams.

*Jim is Shastaliternalipp, a one legged, 14 fingered mage that can create anything imaginable out of glass. Each glass creation is remarkably fragile and will shatter at a touch, sending thousands of razor sharp shards of glass slicing through the air for a distance of no less than 100 miles but no more than 102 miles at nearly the speed of sound.

*Doug is Vvanderhamlanannopengliadishvon III, a philanthropic, erudite elf that can mimic anyone else’s power but every time he does so, he will either grow twice his normal size or shrink to half his present size.

*I would be Rotterdammurungstrom, a scheming traveler who long ago found an enchanted mallet. Anyone I hit with my enchanted mallet transforms into a 31 foot tall toad that spews acid and burps lightning. I wear a protective slicker. My mallet speaks to me in a disrespectful manner.

There, I’ve accomplished something in the world of D&D. 

In the mid ’80’s, Linda and I went to some family cottage off a lake with another couple, Judy and Bob. It was a fun weekend and a good time was had by all, although I vaguely recall almost getting us killed at a country bar by constantly yelling “Yeeehaaaaa!” whilst in my cups. Drunken bad judgement. I could tell you stories. Hey, I am! All in all, it was good though, with the exception of the tubing incident. That got a bit dicey. 

As a reminder, I have this weird thing where I’ve got to be grounded in some fashion, in some stable form of environment that I can control or some combination thereof. Floating, swimming and/or sinking in water does not compute with my system. I don’t know — I really do wonder some times if I’m on the spectrum. Cataloging, labeling and micromanaging every child’s actions and behavior started *after* my time as a kid. That and Transformers. 

So, with everyone at the cottage –I think– having the complete knowledge that I’m uncomfortable around open bodies of water, as well as being swallowed up by them, we all agreed to try a little tubing. This of course is where a boat speeds through the water dragging someone on a tube instead of on water skis, which is a different skill set but the tube is easier to balance I think. I agreed so as not to be a stick in the mud, also probably figuring there’d be a floatation device employed and I wanted to show off my mad skillz to Linda, who, although we weren’t really dating yet, I like liked her. 🙂 So, I was fitted with a life preserver– which should have been the end of the drama — and out we went, the girls driving the boat, Bob and me on the tube. 

The first round went well, they did a few turns and banks but we held firm on the rope’s handle. It wasn’t easy though, as you try to compensate the weight distribution of both of you on each turn, going into and out of it, as it’s fairly precarious. We managed to hold out for the ten minutes for the round. I assume it was maybe ten minutes but when you’re holding on and doing the whole compensation thing, etc., feels a LOT longer. On the boat, the girls would signal “Again? Faster?” And Bob gave the thumbs up. “YES”. Well, ok, I can do it again Bob, if you can, you goof you.

Round two saw faster speeds, sharper banks and went for what felt like 2 hours and 27 minutes, as I held tight, body spread out on the tube, every bit of my body acting like memory foam, adjusting, compensating, compensating. Finally, the round was done, we’d survived again and I’d had enough. I managed to stay above water and confound the boat’s attempt to upend me. Signal from the boat “Again? Faster?” I was  starting to wave them off– Bob signals “YES”. Bob, you sunnuvabitch. I managed great during the first two, I’m less confident now, as I think the girls are really warming up to the challenge.

Round three saw greater speeds, banks, probably a twirl, I don’t know. Every muscle in my body is either screaming for release, focusing on grip strength or finding new and imaginative ways of shifting my internal mass in whatever direction it needed to keep the damn tube on the surface. And I’m pretty sure Bob’s not trying to compensate for anything. I’m doing that for the both of us. But what ho, you say Rick, so you go in the water, so what? Well, to you, it’s the water. To me, it’s a type of terror in liquid form hiding more terror underneath. So, you see what the incentive level is for me here to keep this sucker on the surface. Finally, the 37 hour marathon third round ends and once more, we are victorious, for I am tenacious. The girls sig–Bob signals “YES”  — BOB, YOU MOTHERLESS **********!

The boat’s just ripping through the water, zipping here and there, careening, banking twirling, spinning, jumping sharks, being shot at by spies, WHATEVER. My toes are now white-knuckling their grip on the front of our blow up raft, my shoulder blades have protruded enough to hug the central ribbing of the craft and my anus is desperately attempting a meaningful attachment to the tube through my trunks. Compensating….compensating….compensating. 

Finally, one turn too many, and instantly I knew the jig was up, as I just couldn’t compensate on the last turn, felt it all giving way. With a loud SMERPOP of my skin separating from the plastic, I was flying up and above the water….as I was still holding onto the bar. I snapped out of it and fell into the Terror below, went under, glub glub, all that, popped up, thanks to the preserver. Bob paddled over with the raft and I managed to crawl onboard. I did like Bob. Fun guy. And he likes the water, so he didn’t see his actions as evil. 

But that was the last time I ever went tubing because frankly, I feel I did it and did it well, and since it wasn’t really *that* enjoyable, I probably don’t ever have to do it again. 

The next installment when I do it, will feature snorkeling.

There were seven of us guys who decided to all pitch in and rent a jeep for the day to go explore the island of Oahu. Full disclosure, I can’t remember the names of any of the guys — this being a class trip, we were all kind of thrown together–but we were clearly anxious for a road trip. There was one guy who was legitimately 18 and had a proper ID (unlike me with my phony FOI card) that could be used to put the jeep in his name. We convinced him to do so, even though he wasn’t even going with us. He and a few others were renting mopeds. Good luck with the handbrakes! I’m going to say the guy who technically rented the jeep *in* his name was “Steve”.

Off we went, zooming around the island. Saw some beautiful sights and soon we were into a rather strange area where it was all red dirt. Must have been a lot of excavation and construction around, as we saw traces of it here and there. I’m not entirely sure it was open to the public but I don’t think there were any signs posted to keep us out. That was odd, because the land was really pretty chopped up, dug out — kind of like digging out land to pour foundations, etc. but there was nobody around doing anything, so we just motored around, totally surrounded by red rock, red dirt, everywhere. And that’s why it happened. Visibility while driving around all this red dirt was a bit tricky, as one surface was indistinguishable from another, like say, drop offs. 

We were cruising along, all packed in the jeep– two in front, five in back–when suddenly, the co pilot sees an EDGE in the ground coming fast, and impossible to see until we were almost on top of it. Red dirt on the ledge, red dirt in the distance, almost seamless. Well, the guy driving reacts as quick as he can and slams on the brakes and we skid forward. The front tires go over the edge, we freeze, as we go over edge, hanging onto the roll bar for dear life as we all stare down at more red dirt– but how far down IS the ground? Turns out, five feet, as the front of the jeep hit the ground and for a second, the jeep’s ass end was straight up in the air with all of us clinging onto it. Then, for what seemed like a year, we hovered there, wondering if we were going to flip forward or back, before finally, gratefully, settling back, with the rear tires on the ledge. We carefully got off and of course began the high fives of survival! Hell yeah! Then we had to figure out to get the jeep off the ledge. We also decided to not mention this to Steve.

Thanks to some lumber from a nearby construction site, we were able to cobble together a ramp of sorts, get it into neutral, and roll it down. On with the trip! We opted for more off roading but away from the red dirt and things got a little muddy but not bad. We did get a bit too close to some off limits area where we ran across some barbed wire fencing that scratched the hell out of the vehicle but after the ledge, we just rolled with it and decided to not mention that to Steve either. 

Eventually, after several hours out and about, we hit the highway to take the jeep back. Cruising at 80 in the diamond lane, we noticed a weird humming noise and a shimmying. I was positioned up on the back right end hanging off the roll bar of the jeep. Looking down, I saw the right rear wheel wobbling, it looked bad but it was so loud with the wind, no one could hear me anyway, so I made a wobbly hand gesture and we had to hope it’d hold out until we got back. Thankfully, it did. We decided not to mention that to Steve either. We returned the jeep to the rental place, making sure the torn up left side was facing away from the office and back to the hotel we went.

A day or so later, we hadn’t heard anything regarding any trouble with the jeep, so during the final night’s celebration, we told Steve, who of course freaked out. But all in all, it was a helluva great time in Hawaii.

The flight home was mostly like a Twilight Zone episode. It was only like a nine hour flight back home because of tail winds but we were sort of racing the sun — because we gained five hours going back, it never really got dark, so, no night and two whole days blended together into one long, crazy day. 

How do they stand it in Alaska? 

I’m not sure if I’m posting my “Man of Infrequent Action” series before or after this but it certainly applies. 

The days were for excursions and we decided to rent some mopeds and scoot around Oahu, specifically for a few of us–Diamond head, the inactive volcano. It took some adjustment, getting the hang of the vehicle. The accelerator was contained within one handle bar grip, the brake, in the other. Up until that point, when riding a regular bike, I never had hand brakes, just the regular foot brakes.

We were all spread out, motoring along at different speeds and with seemingly clear sailing, I was ahead of the pack. The entryway into Diamond head is pretty cool. You enter a tunnel, and when you come out, about fifty feet along, you make a fairly sharp left turn, and on and up you go. Mind you, I had no knowledge of these details. The following is how I learned of them.

So I was zipping along at whatever the top speed is for a moped, maybe 30 or 40 mph — really getting the hang of this thing now– and I was approaching the tunnel. As I entered, I figured it best to throttle down a bit, as I wasn’t sure what was coming up. Here’s where my inexperience with handbrakes kinda hurt me. I applied the brake, but I neglected to let up on the gas. So I didn’t really slow down, and the light at the end of the tunnel was fast approaching. Ironically. As the tunnel spit me out at full speed, an incredibly worried me saw the road ahead taking a sharp left. Straight ahead though… nothing. After the road curved off, a steep drop off. Admittedly, I barely had time to panic, although I was fully prepared to panic like you wouldn’t believe. 

Since I’m an idiot who can’t suss out handbrakes and I was still going at full speed, I had two options. One would be to try and make the turn but it was blind and I don’t think I could have remained upright. The other option –which I chose– was to go straight and maybe jump off the bike, going full Shatner, and fully prepared to lose the bike over the cliff.

The drop –which at that moment was better presented to me as being about 1,000 ft down, was spreading out in front of me as I moved from the road onto the dirt, now some 15 feet away from the edge. Turns out, I’m likely not the first idiot to find myself in this exact position. As soon as I hit the dirt section, I ran into deep ruts carved into the ground (undoubtedly precisely for this type of situation), which turned the moped into more of a bucking bronco, which shook my hands off the grips, me off the bike, and piled me in a heap on the ground. About five feet from the drop. 

But being 17, and being in Hawaii, and no one actually seeing me do this, it was a lot easier to say “woo! Close one.” Then hop back on the bike and continue to Diamond head. Finally figured out the brakes, too. 

It is funny how a moment like that alters your perceptions a bit. By comparison, the island hopper plane I took the day before had a 121 year old pilot and the plane was leaking oil badly throughout our many take offs and landings. Under normal circumstances, that might have bothered me but after the moped incident, eh, not so much.

I am kind of curious as to whether they ever did put a guard rail up at that turn. 

Maybe Google street maps can tell me…

Next time, the wrap up.

First, the fun. Of the some four or five days we were in Hawaii, while daytime consisted of outdoor excursions and sight seeing, the nights were celebrations. The biggest event was a giant luau for several tour groups, including the class. It had all the touristy stuff, with the dancers, flame sticks, singers — was Don Ho there? (Look him up, kids) No, I don’t think so but I imagine *someone* had to sing “Tiny Bubbles”. (Again)

We were all having a great time, some of us aided by the Blue Hawaiian. A curious drink — not overpowering but a cocktail that will sneak up on you. It was at this point that it was announced that they were forming the Kissing Line. In essence, all the guys would line up and all the women would line up, and the two lines would move in opposite directions, kissing each other as they go. Kind of mind boggling to even conceive of such an event by today’s standards but keep in mind, this was 1980 after all. Maybe the last vestige of the swinging ’60’s and ’70’s, free love, you name it. Well, I was certainly enjoying it. Lining up with the *requirement* to kiss a couple hundred girls, most of them your age? Good lord. I am glad I was born when I was. 

And, usually not knowing where to draw the line, there were technically more guys than girls, so after the last girl passed by, I simply went to the opposite end of the guys line and caught the whole female contingent again. A couple girls from my class were wise to my antics but rules were the rules. Good times. Blue Hawaiians.

Next: danger

So senior year at Alan B. Shepard high school, we had the pretty amazing opportunity  to go to Hawaii for our senior trip. In a surprising move, I opted to go. With the cool kids, even though I wasn’t one of them. To their credit though, they were not only the cool kids via popularity but they were pretty cool in general, to me anyway and it made for a nice trip. Remarkably, all the assholes stayed at home! We had the prerequisite parental chaperones, who were also very cool and laid back. The trip cost $1,000 and I’m not sure if I paid for it or my mom did but I got the green light. 

Full disclosure, I went on the trip because I had a crush on a girl who was way over my pay grade. She may or may not have known but was always exceedingly nice to me either way. It was on the trip that I found out that a different girl was interested in me. But for whatever bizarre, frustratingly awkward reason, I suck at making a move. Terrified at rejection? Abandonment issues? Just plain old, socially awkward incompetence? The list of women in my life that I’ve had relationships with before settling down and getting married would be easily twice as long if I ever actually would initiate. Not that the list was that long to begin with. But I digress! There was no great romance on this trip. I did end up kissing several hundred women but we’ll get to that in a subsequent post.

The *other* full disclosure is that even though drinking age in Illinois was 21, it was 18 in Hawaii. And even though I was only 17, I was able to manufacture a very presentable fake I.D.. I can give details as I’m sure the statute of limitations has run out after 40 years. I’m also fairly sure that my method would probably not work today, with heightened security around the world. I hope not anyway. 1) I went to a K-mart and picked up several registration forms for a Firearm Owners Identification card. On the form was a blank mock up of what the card would look like, the empty square for your ID pic, the official FOI markings and symbols, line for DOB and a signature line. 2) I found the most respectable, professional picture I could find of myself that would look like an acceptable ID photo for an 18 year old and trimmed it down to fit the photo square exactly. Ran the sheet through a typewriter (look it up, kids) to add pertinent info like the date of birth, then signed it. I had grabbed several forms just in case I screwed up. 3) Cut out the filled in card section from the sheet, carefully glued my photo in place. 4) Then took it to be double laminated, making for a sturdier looking and feeling ID card. Then carefully trimmed the sharp edges, rounding them off in a professional manner. I’ve got to say that I’ve always sucked at these arts and crafts things but I performed quite well in this instance. 

Thus, the day came and we were off in a jumbo 747, the biggest plane I’d ever seen up until then. Something like three seats, then another six in the middle then another three on the side. Two interesting bits here. One, it was going to be a 12 hour trip, but we’d be gaining 5 hours due to the time change, so all of our internal clocks were basically going to be screwed soon. Two, as soon as we got up in the air, evidently, Hawaiian drinking age rules applied. Interesting. 

In the coming installments, I’ll cover the Kissing Line, the Moped Incident, the Island Hopping Incident, the Jeep Incident and the Blue Hawaiian. A helluva drink.

It’s really a good thing I’m getting everything out there in the blog this year. There will come a point, I’m sure, where the details will fade.

Until next time!

Sometimes, you come across an amazing achievement. I’ve been a Star Trek since the ’60’s and enjoyed the latter day spinoffs to varying degrees but there is a charm and brilliance about The Original Series which has been tough to match. The writing, the characters, the acting set a certain benchmark in sci-fi television. And it created a legion of die hard fans. Such devoted fans in fact, that 40 and 50 years after the fact, there have been some groups that have gone to pain staking lengths to recreate every small detail of the show. 

Until now, I knew of only one production that had rebuilt *all* the original sets from TOS and actually produced their own version of the show, dressing up and playing the parts of Kirk, Spock, McCoy and the rest. They did a good job and are to be commended for their dedication, but they ended production about 5 or 6 years ago. This was the “New Voyages” production. Again, they did a great job but didn’t *quite* get there. 

The show I’m talking about today DID get there. Star Trek Continues is, in a word, amazing. I’m going to compliment them now in a couple of shocking ways and I’m not exaggerating a bit. First statement: these actors and this production is of a higher quality and better performed by this cast than the JJ Abrams films. Abrams’ films were a mish mash of lens flares, bad impersonations, “reimaginings”, and warping of old stories. I’m sure his heart was in the right place but he’s first and foremost a Star Wars fan. He knew nothing about Trek and it showed. Turns out, his take on Star Wars wasn’t stellar either but I digress. *Star Trek Continues is a Superior Product*. 

Second statement: this show’s goal was to basically show how the Enterprise’s five year mission came to an end and it succeeds. As far as I’m concerned, they’ve earned the right to have their season put on the shelf right next to the three seasons of TOS. That’s how good a job they’ve done. Now, a bit about each of the vital parts that *make* it work so well.

It all starts with Vic Mignogna, who plays James T. Kirk. This guy is a huge fan of Trek from way back and, while not a dead ringer for Shatner, he has a similar body type, the right “look” and pulls off a very convincing Shatner. Not a cartoony Shatner, no. It’s obvious Mignogna and the rest of the cast have too much respect for Roddenberry’s dream to not take it seriously. He does a very good Captain Kirk. A good Shatner. I *think* that in addition to writing and directing some of the eps, Mignogna might also be the main or one of the producers. I haven’t dug into the behind the scenes stuff yet. 

Todd Haberkorn plays Spock, and seriously, I’ve seen people try and play Spock in the past, both professionally and fan based and somehow, Haberkorn manages to inhabit Spock, and yet make it his own. I’d argue that portraying Spock, while honoring the spirit imbued in him by Nimoy is maybe the toughest challenge of any of these characters. He sells it and he nails it. Finally, an actor who is a worthy successor to Leonard Nimoy. Sorry, Quinto. Folks, I’m telling you now– I get swept up in these stories and I’m not seeing a fan recreation. I’m seeing new adventures featuring the characters I know and love. 

This was obviously a side project for these folks so that might be why producing the 11 episodes took about six years, roughly from 2013 through about 2017. So there were a couple things changed here and there, such as two actors playing McCoy. Larry Nemecek portrayed the good doctor in the first couple eps and Chuck Huber carried out the part for the remainder. They both do a serviceable job in the role, although since I’ve only seen six of the eleven eps so far, there may be a more McCoy-centric episode I haven’t seen yet. 

Montgomery Scott is played by none other than Chris Doohan, James Doohan’s son. And he can do the Scottish accent just as well as his dad. He’s an excellent addition to the cast.

Grant Imahara, Kim Stinger and Wyatt Lenhart round out the cast as Sulu, Uhura and Chekov and also do a respectable job representing the characters. As with TOS, they still get secondary status but I would argue they get a tiny bit more attention here.  

Then there’s the character of the Enterprise itself. All the outer space stuff is perfectly done. The SFX are cutting edge, yet tailor made to blend in with the ’60’s sensibilities BUT with a proper, remastered upgrade like TOS got on DVD and blu-ray. And the interiors are simply perfect. Every detail is spot on, from the bridge, with every light, button and sound effect, through the specific quarters of Kirk, Spock, sick bay, engineering, the hanger bay, right down to the corridors, turbo lifts and Jeffrey tubes. You may as well have just gone back in time. 

The music, the lighting, the camera positioning and directing are all immaculate recreations of the standards and practices of the original show. 

And the writing is not only top notch but the practice the old show had of taking societal issues and mirroring them in the scripts is in fact mirrored here. Another wonderful and we’ll done homage. 

Then there are the guest stars who further legitimize the experience. Marina Sirtis (Counselor Troi in TNG) does the voice of the computer in this universe. Michael Dorn (Worf) does the voice in the Mirror universe. Michael Forrest, who played Apollo in TOS, John DeLancie (Q), Erin Grey (Buck Rogers), Lou Ferrigno (Incredible Hulk), Colin Baker and Nicola Bryant (Doctor Who) and Cas Anvar (the Expanse) all play parts and I’m skimming the surface here, as I’ve only seen half the eps. 

What else can I say about this? If you loved the original series, I think it’s worth it to watch Star Trek Continues. It gets a standing O from me. 

I’m neither rich, famous or well known. So, if I desperately wanted to get a comic produced that I did, I’d have a few choices. 

1. Organize production myself, work with Diamond distributors and a print, plus digital storefronts. I’ve done this a lot in the past.
2. Contact an existing comic company, publicize and print your book through them. You share profits but they handle the printing and some of the advertising. I did this with Mickey & Maj. 
3. Go through a Print On Demand service that handles comic books and try and publicize that. Did that with 100 Covers
4. Start a Kickstarter campaign or some other crowdfunding site. These types of sites often help out those who don’t have the resources to do or try anything else. Or those who don’t want to make the effort trying the other ways.

The key point there here is “resources”. Going the crowdfunding route was really helpful if you had little or no resources. It seems things have changed. 

In recent years, more and more, I’m noticing that a lot more people with resources are taking advantage of crowdfunding–and I’m not just talking about in the comic book world. When it comes to resources, money’s a good one. Fame is another. You would *think* that someone with fame and money wouldn’t need to ask for hand outs from the crowd to fund their project. I’ll site two examples with some hypothesizing thrown in regarding possibly extenuating circumstances.

Example One: veteran artist/writer Jim Starlin is involved in a crowdfunding venture with Ominous press to produce a new Dreadstar graphic novel–a character Starlin created decades ago and was pretty popular, I believe. Jim Starlin is also the guy who created Thanos. Anyone familiar with the Marvel movies knows this character. Starlin even appeared in Endgame as one of the members of a support group at the beginning. 

So, Starlin is a BIG name in comics, created Thanos, and many other Marvel characters. So he has fame, status and prestige. One would assume he also has money. But the above accomplishments don’t necessarily make him well off. Being a freelance illustrator, we can never assume this, as health insurance and any number of other circumstances may factor in. Years ago, due to an injury to his hand, Starlin feared he may never draw again but after therapy, he’s back at it. Ominous press is the company who’s running the campaign. Do they have no resources or is this just Starlin’s personal corporation? I don’t know. 

But is Starlin in a much better position, with greater odds on benefitting from crowdfunding than the low level, no name creator who’s desperately trying to rub two nickels together. Yes. Again, maybe Starlin and Ominous Press both are in dire financial need and are forced to go this route. Maybe.

Example Two: Todd McFarlane is a former comic artist that created Spawn back in the early ’90’s. Spawn was immensely popular and after McFarlane left comics shortly thereafter, he went into producing action figures, featuring sports figures, and comic characters including a Spawn figure. 

In fact, he has an entire production facility at his disposal for creating state of the art action figures. His company has made hundreds, maybe thousands of them and recently even got the license to produce a bunch of DC characters in high end action figure form.

In addition all the licensed product he has, the monthly Spawn comic still gets published (albeit by other creators for the past 25 odd years) and there’s a brand new Spawn film in the works, the first in over 20 years. He’s very much large, in charge, and in the public eye.

So yes, Todd’s done *quite* well for himself over the past 30 years and is reportedly worth around 300 million dollars.

But hey, Todd decided that he –or the people who work for him–are going to “remaster” the old Spawn figure, maybe do some remodeling, extra features and extra heads. And that you’re going to fund the whole enterprise. 

Yes, the guy who’s worth 300 million is crowdfunding the venture, asking for $100,000 as the goal.

Recently, when asked why he’s crowdfunding the project, considering his vast resources, Todd explained that this was “the best way to get it in front of the most eyeballs”. Todd hasn’t exactly remained hidden. A simple press release about a new Spawn figure would get him all the orders he could want. He also added that any critics of this don’t have to buy it. 

Now, I’ve never considered McFarlane to be a good artist, nor *any* type of writer but as far as business goes, he seems highly intelligent. He couldn’t have *entirely* lucked his way to 300 million. And then there’s the old axiom that when you’re trying to get some production off the ground, never spend your own money. And oh, the money from other people he’s now got to spend! The goal was $100,000, but at last look, it had already raised over 1.3 million. Thank god there’s a sucker born every minute, eh Todd?

Of course, there’s another factor here. Todd’s expenditures. He’s been known to spend money fast and loose in the past. He once spent 3 million dollars on a home run baseball because it broke the home run record. Unfortunately for Todd, the record was broken shortly thereafter and his baseball was suddenly a LOT less valuable. 

I don’t know, is it possible he lost his 300 mil and the toy factory? Seems implausible but you never know. Maybe he’s really destitute? If so, thank goodness his fans have handed him over million –so far. 

Side note: Another disturbing element to crowdfunding — the no shows and the scams. There have been campaigns where the money was spent and the product never materialized, even *years* later, with the creator offering only excuses. My son tells of a video game that’s been in production for the better part of a decade, they’ve name dropped big time voice artists, promised big things and raised millions. No idea when it’ll see the light of day. Just doing a Google search on Kickstarter campaigns will net you many stories about the many reasons why projects die, backers lose their money, and usually have little to no legal recourse

Other cases are blatant scams to begin with, but there are a lot of crowdfunding places all over, ready to take your $$$. Do your due diligence if you’re ever thinking about donating to one of these.

As for the abuse of the system, it seems widespread. In the end, I feel sorry for the small entrepreneurs who are trying to raise funds and get attention and can only look on, as people ignore them in favor of handing their cash to famous millionaires.  

This shouldn’t take long. This may have been late ’80’s or early ’90’s. Linda and I went snorkeling once. The thought was that you could paddle around just off the beach and I could reach down and touch the ground as I go, while I could see stuff underwater. I had my snorkel head gear, wetsuit, even had the big old fins on. I knew the mechanics of proceeding forth, with the kicking and the propelling. So off I went, slowly drifting in shallow water. Look at the pretty shells. It was soothing and nice. It was initially odd breathing through a mouth piece but I basically got used to it. I moved along, hands slowly taking turns touching or tapping the sand as I went. The sloping descent of the sand as the water got deeper was very subtle. Until it wasn’t. 

Suddenly, the sandy bottom dropped out from beneath my reaching hand. The drop may have only been six inches, maybe a foot or more but the second I couldn’t touch the ground, it felt as if I was suspended over a thousand foot chasm. My vision got dark, my heart was slamming against my chest and only then did I realize I didn’t know how to move backwards. But after a brief, Kramer-esque flail-a-bout, I righted myself… gathered myself… reminded myself that it’s just shallow water. I went back in for a bit, staying parallel to the beach *and more aware of my surroundings*.

Really, what the hell is wrong with me? Maybe we’ll come to a realization together during this year of posts. 

You ever have a situation where you’re committed to spending a few hours with people you really don’t know–and don’t *want* to know, for various reasons? I’ve had a few situations like that over the years. They’re not even your acquaintances, but someone else’s. You go, you do your time, you pretend you’re interested in someone’s arcane hobby or job or whatever. You laugh, you nod, you basically put on a performance. I’ve only had to do this a handful of times in the last 57 years, thank god.

I don’t know about you, but after a day of that, I’m tired. After one instance, that evening, I was racked with such utter exhaustion, I just wanted to crawl into a hole and cover it after me. It’s as if the fatigue within me had gained sentience and was actively working against me. I think it all goes to mental exhaustion. Physical exhaustion is one thing but mental exhaustion can be worse. Your mind can really wipe itself out when dealing with stuff. Tension, pressure, problems, health, money, you name it. It’s a thing.

There have been a couple days lately where I’ve gotten out of bed exhausted, as the days have blended together. 

Work wise, things have been busy, which is good, but there’s never any set schedule, Monday thru Friday, 9 to 5, etc., so that doesn’t distinguish the days. I might work through the weekend then have Monday thru Friday clear, and that messes up my internal clock a bit. Having the family home all the time, *really* puts things in Dimension Z.

But in case you find yourself waking up exhausted, with the weight of the world on your shoulders, and you’re developing a pain in the Atlas, remember—

You’re not alone. 

There are many of us putting our backs into it as well. Let’s spread that energy out a bit. We’re tougher than we think we are.

I think the planet’s put on weight.