Comic Art Friday: Let me do right to all, and harm no man

Posted January 11, 2013 by swanshadow
Categories: Comic Art Friday, Reminiscing, SwanStuff, That's Cool!

As noted last week, I’ve developed a new focus for Comic Art Friday in 2013 — revisiting (more or less chronologically) some of the milestone artworks in my galleries, and considering from a fresh perspective why these pieces helped elevate my collection to its present heights. Because I’ve written about most of these pieces (and the characters they portray) in detail over the years, I’m seizing this opportunity to reflect more on what each of these drawings says about me, not only as a collector and connoisseur of original comic art, but as a human being as well.

Today our spotlight falls onto this potent pinup by Darryl Banks, best known as the penciler of DC’s Green Lantern from 1994 through 2001. Featured here are the seminal pulp magazine hero Doc Savage — often cited as a precursor to Superman — and his cousin Patricia, who periodically accompanied Doc and his assistants on their adventures.

Doc Savage and Patricia Savage, pencils and inks by comics artist Darryl Banks

I commissioned this piece from Darryl sometime in the closing weeks of 2004 (I could look up the exact date, but then, you know, I’d have to look it up), and he drew it during the first few days of 2005. For all I know, it may have been the first commissioned artwork he created that year. I know for certain that it was the first Darryl ever drew for me, but it was far from the last. We’ve done a dozen more projects since this one, including three for my Common Elements theme and a set of four — featuring the key female characters from Will Eisner’s The Spirit — for my Bombshells! gallery. But I’ll always hold a special fondness for this one, the nexus at which my relationship with Mr. Banks began.

As noted above, most comics aficionados know Darryl from his long run on Green Lantern, during which he co-created Kyle Rayner (DC’s Green Lantern standard-bearer for most of the 1990s). I, on the other hand, remembered him as the artist who drew the 1991 Millennium Comics miniseries Doc Savage: The Monarch of Armageddon. That book still holds up as the most effective translation of the Man of Bronze to the comic book medium. (It’s astounding how many attempts at a Doc comic there have been — by both of the major publishers, and by several smaller concerns — and how horribly wrong almost all of them have gone. Case in point: DC’s recent First Wave line, which managed to mangle Doc and several other classic heroes all in one fell swoop.) When I heard that Darryl was taking on commissions, I couldn’t wait to have him draw Doc once again.

You have to understand how important this was to me. Outside of comics, Doc Savage might be my favorite fictional character of all time. Throughout the 1970s, I devoured the Bantam Books paperback reprints of the original Doc novels, the moment each one was published. I practically memorized Philip Jose Farmer’s tongue-in-cheek “biography,” Doc Savage: His Apocalyptic Life, in which the author connects Doc to dozens of legendary characters as part of his Wold Newton chronology. (Capsule summary: Farmer posited that a meteorite strike near the English hamlet of Wold Newton altered the genetic structure of a handful of people who happened to be nearby. The descendants of these folks became, in Farmer’s alternate history, many of literature and popular culture’s seminal heroes, including Tarzan, Sherlock Holmes, and of course, Doc Savage.) To my mind, Darryl Banks (along with Mark Ellis, who wrote The Monarch of Armageddon) was one of the very few creators to see Doc the way I envisioned him through all 181 of the original pulp tales. To have a new Doc drawing from Darryl represented an incredible opportunity.

Doc Savage appealed to me, I think, because although he was an unparalleled physical specimen, his primary weapon was his powerhouse intellect. He surrounded himself with other brilliant minds as well — his assistants included the world’s greatest chemist, attorney, civil engineer, archaeologist, and electrical technologist. (Where Doc’s creator, writer Lester Dent, fell short was in giving Doc helpers whose talents were rarely of genuine benefit. Doc’s chemical expertise ran circles around “Monk” Mayfair’s, he knew more about archaeology than “Johnny” Littlejohn, and he possessed more inventive creativity than “Long Tom” Roberts. And when did a globetrotting superhero ever have need for a lawyer, or a guy who built bridges for a living?) Growing up as “the smart kid,” I loved a hero whose brainpower equaled or surpassed his brawn.

I also like a dash of nobility in my heroes, and Doc most certainly had that. By “nobility,” I don’t mean social status or an aristocratic background. I mean it in the sense of character. We’ve become accustomed in the modern era to heroes whose morals and ethics often barely distinguish them from the villains. Think of the post-Frank Miller Batman, and you’ll see what I mean. Don’t misunderstand — I want my heroes to have human flaws and foibles. The reason I favored Marvel over DC in my youth had much to do with the way Marvel’s heroes always had realistic problems, life challenges, and weaknesses, whereas DC’s Silver Age characters always seemed too good to be true. But I want even my imperfect heroes to be well-intentioned. Spider-Man made mistakes and poor decisions — sometimes horrifically poor ones (ask Uncle Ben) — but you never doubted that behind the mask, Peter Parker was a good guy trying to do the right thing.

Doc Savage had that noble character I admire, and would wish to emulate, in a hero. (As did many of my favorites, both in the comics — Wonder Woman, the Black Panther, the aforementioned Wall-Crawler — and in other media — Bruce Lee’s enigmatic protagonist in Enter the Dragon, to cite an example from a beloved film.) Witness Doc’s oft-repeated credo:

Let me strive every moment of my life to make myself better and better, to the best of my ability, that all may profit by it.
Let me think of the right and lend all my assistance to those who need it, with no regard for anything but justice.
Let me take what comes with a smile, without loss of courage.
Let me be considerate of my country, of my fellow citizens, and my associates in everything I say and do.
Let me do right to all, and wrong no man.

Wouldn’t it be a brighter world if we all tried to live by the Doc Savage code?

It always saddened me that Doc never got his just due in present-day pop culture. Most of the comics about him have been wretched, and don’t get me started about George Pal’s ludicrous 1975 film, Doc Savage: The Man of Bronze. But that Millennium miniseries pretty much nailed Doc. So, what a treat it was to get the artist who created the art for it draw Doc for me! (Later, I acquired from Darryl Banks about two-thirds of his original art pages from the first issue of The Monarch of Armageddon. A stunning double-page cityscape Darryl created for that issue adorns the entranceway of our house.)

Although I had only commissioned one other two-character piece at the time, I felt inspired to pair Doc with his indomitable cousin Pat. Even the most cursory review of my art collection reveals that many of my favorite heroes are, in fact, heroines, and Pat Savage could stand with the best of them. Although she appeared in fewer of her stalwart relative’s adventures than any of his male sidekicks, Pat always showed herself to be as smart and confident as (and often more mature than) any member of the “Famous Five.” Even when Dent and the other Doc Savage scribes fell into the trope of Pat as cliched damsel in distress — everybody in Doc’s inner circle got kidnapped a lot — they generally avoided making her seem foolish or weak in the process.

I very rarely offer specific direction to the artists I commission. In this instance, though, I remember asking Darryl to draw Pat without shoes. I had seen a then-recent example of Darryl’s commission work that depicted Wonder Woman barefoot, and I liked that concept for Pat here. Since James Bama, the artist who painted the iconic covers for Bantam’s reprint paperbacks, frequently portrayed Doc with his shirt hanging in tatters from his muscular torso, it made sense to me that if Pat were duking it out with some nefarious characters alongside Doc, she’d kick off her stiletto pumps to give herself better footing for the fight. (I’ve never understood why any heroine would wade into the fray teetering on high heels. Then again, it worked for Ginger Rogers… even backward.)

One of these days, someone will produce another worthwhile Doc Savage comic series, or better yet, a truly excellent Doc Savage film.  Until that day comes, I’ll keep admiring this fine drawing by Darryl Banks. And, like Doc, I’ll keep striving to make myself better and better, to do right to all, and harm no man. (Or woman. Or transgendered person. I’m an equal opportunity good guy.)

And that’s your Comic Art Friday.

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If I had a ballot…

Posted January 8, 2013 by swanshadow
Categories: I Love the Giants, Listology, Ripped From the Headlines, Sports Bar, SwanStuff, Taking Umbrage

…I’d ballot in the morning. I’d ballot in the evening, all over this land.

And assuming that ballot were for the National Baseball Hall of Fame (“the Hall” for the remainder of this post, because I’m not typing that entire name over and over again), here’s who’d be on mine this year.

  • Barry Bonds
  • Roger Clemens
  • Jeff Bagwell
  • Mike Piazza
  • Jack Morris
  • Lee Smith

Tomorrow, the members of the Baseball Writers Association of America (hereafter “the BBWAA,” because, well, see above) will announce their selections. I fully expect, based on the electors who’ve already publicized their votes, that Bonds and Clemens will not make the Hall in this, their first year of eligibility. Indeed, I would not be surprised if Bagwell doesn’t make it either, though the case for his election or omission is more easily argued from either side, in my opinion. (I doubt that Morris, who’s on the ballot for the 14th year, and Smith, who’s on year 11, will ever be elected, for different reasons than the aforementioned players.) Piazza? Hard to predict.

But let’s get this on the table right now: If Bonds and Clemens — the greatest offensive player and pitcher, respectively, of their generation — are not elected to the Hall tomorrow, as I suspect they will not be, it’s a travesty.

Most, if not indeed all, of the electors who left Bonds and Clemens (and possibly Bagwell and Piazza) off their ballots will say it’s because they cheated the game by using performance-enhancing drugs (“PEDs,” because… you know). Here’s the first problem with that: We don’t know whether they did or didn’t.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: We do know. Game of Shadows, and all that. Well, I read Game of Shadows right after it came out, and it impressed me at the time as the work of two muckrakers trying to make a name for themselves. There’s a ton of speculation in the book, and a lot of “he said, they said” scuttlebutt from sources the writers declined to identify, but not a great deal of what folks in the legal profession call “evidence.” The fact remains that we’ve never seen the results of a positive test for PEDs that Bonds failed, and I’m not sure we ever saw one from Clemens either. Bonds was tried in federal court, and was not convicted of perjury regarding PED use. (He was convicted on a single count of obstruction of justice, which may yet collapse on appeal.) The last time I checked, our legal system still operated on the principle of “innocent until proven guilty.”

But what about the evidence of our own eyes? Bonds grew from Bill Bixby (or Eric Bana, Edward Norton, or Mark Ruffalo, take your pick) into the Incredible Hulk right practically in front of us. Don’t get me wrong — I think he used PEDs. I don’t know whether he took anabolic steroids, but I’d guess he at least took human growth hormone (HGH). But what I think and guess is essentially irrelevant. My inferences, deductions, and suppositions are not proof. Like most people, I believe in a lot of things I can’t prove, and I’m entitled to those beliefs. I can’t, however, prove that someone is guilty of something simply because I believe it to be so. Two years ago, I was the foreman on a jury that convicted a man of murder. My fellow jurors and I convicted the defendant on the basis of evidence, not because we looked at the guy and said, “Yeah, I think he did it.” I believe Bonds, Clemens, and every other player suspected of PED use deserves the same consideration.

There’s another factor in this that frequently gets brushed aside. PED use, while clearly contrary to the spirit of fair play and integrity, was not against the rules of baseball during most of what today gets referred to as “the Steroid Era.” Make no mistake, using those substances was against federal and state laws. But unlike, say, cycling or the Olympics, baseball itself did not explicitly prohibit their use, nor test for said use, until well after PEDs were epidemic in the sport. Was that a loophole? Sure. But you can’t penalize people for taking advantage of a loophole if one exists. All you can do is close the loophole, and say, “No more.” Baseball has now done that — we might argue about how effectively — but that creates no retroactive license to go back and slap the wrists of players who might have engaged in activity that was not prohibited by the rules of the sport that then stood. If San Francisco starts metering parking on Sundays (which, not coincidentally, the city did on January 1), the meter reader can’t send me a ticket for not feeding the meter on a Sunday before the law changed.

One more point, and I’ll stop the ranting. People inside the game, whose expert opinions I respect, have estimated that at the height of the Steroid Era, as many as 75 to 80 percent of MLB players may have used PEDs to some degree. That means guys like Bonds and Clemens — and what the heck, throw Bagwell and Piazza in there too — were not outliers if indeed they used. They were part of the flow of traffic, just as you or I are when we nudge our cars upward of the posted speed limit to keep pace with the cars around us. (And we do. Let’s not be all sanctimonious here.) Does that make it right, if they did it? No. But it does mean there was a clear majority of players who were equally in the wrong. Which, to my mind, levels the playing field. It’s no longer “cheating” — and again, as noted above, it actually wasn’t cheating under the then-prevailing rules of the game — if everyone, or nearly everyone, is cheating. Ask the NFL Players Association, which turns a consistent blind eye to the widely intimated idea that perhaps 75 to 80 percent of its membership uses HGH to this very day, even though such usage is currently against the rules of their sport.

Anyone who knows me knows that I love baseball. It has been part of my life for more than 40 years, a part that I now love sharing with my daughter. And I consider myself a purist in a lot of ways — I prefer the National League style of play in which pitchers came to bat, and I enjoy seeing the fundamentals of the game practiced at the highest level. It makes me sad that we had a Steroid Era (assuming we’re not still having a PED Era in some fashion, which may be another example of assuming facts not in evidence). But let’s not kid ourselves: We did have such an era. We did not have a period in which a random handful of players — Bonds and Clemens included — used PEDs. We had a period, probably 20 years or more, during which the majority of major league players “juiced.” The idea that “everyone did it” doesn’t make it right, but it does need to influence how we view those who might have done it, and especially how we evaluate them within the timespan in which they played. Are we going to pretend, from the standpoint of the Hall, that those 20 years didn’t happen? That the statistics don’t count? That the games weren’t played? Ridiculous. We watched, even attended the games. We saw the achievements. They happened. And what’s more, we as fans of the game supported them, with our ticket-buying dollars, with our eyes on the television set, and with our ears to the radio. Let’s not act as though we didn’t. It’s hypocritical to harass the prostitute after we’ve paid for the services.

To those writers who take the holier-than-thou position that Bonds and Clemens, and others of their generation, don’t belong in the Hall because of the PED scandal, I say, “Take a good look in the mirror.” If you covered the game during the PED Era, and made your living by doing so, you were part of the problem too. You could have washed your hands and walked away. But you didn’t. You continued to draw a paycheck from a sport filled with guys dosing up with whatever BALCO and other pharmaceutical factories cranked out. You kept telling the stories, and selling the game. And don’t say you didn’t suspect, because if you didn’t then, why do you now? If you closed your eyes and held your nose all of those years, why can’t you do the same now, and acknowledge the accomplishments — within the context of the game as it was being played during their careers — of the men who provided you the means of your livelihood? Don’t act as though you’re better than they are. You are not.

If I had a ballot for the Hall of Fame, I’d check the boxes next to the six names listed above. Barry Bonds was the most amazing hitter I ever saw. Roger Clemens was one of the game’s most dominant pitchers. Mike Piazza ranks among the best to ever play behind the plate, both defensively and offensively… even if he was a Dodger for a lot of that time. Jeff Bagwell is a borderline call for me, but I’d vote for him. As for Jack Morris and Lee Smith, the former was the best starting pitcher in the American League for an entire decade, and the latter was one of baseball’s first and finest true closers.

In case you’re wondering, my exclusion of Sammy Sosa and Mark McGwire has nothing to do with whether I think they did or didn’t use PEDs. McGwire was a one-trick pony — a player whose only tool was power. He rarely hit for average, had no speed, and for most of his career was a subpar defensive player. He was a beefed-up Dave Kingman or Dick Stuart, to put it another way. Sammy Sosa wasn’t even that good — a pretty solid mid-level star who had a couple of spectacular seasons. I wouldn’t vote for either of them, not because of PEDs, but because to my mind, they weren’t Hall of Fame-caliber players. (Craig Biggio? Tim Raines? Please. Very good, but not great players, whose stats are at least partially inflated by longevity, especially in Biggio’s case.)

You’re welcome to disagree. I won’t argue with your opinion, or your right thereto. But this is my ballot, and I’m sticking to it.

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Comic Art Friday: A long year’s journey into daylight

Posted January 4, 2013 by swanshadow
Categories: Comic Art Friday, Reminiscing, SwanStuff, That's Cool!

Given that we all survived the Zombie Apocalypse — we did survive, didn’t we? — I’ve decided to do something a little different with our Comic Art Friday posts to begin this new year.

The arrival of 2013 brings me almost a decade into my comic art collecting phase. I acquired my first pieces in 2004 — amazing to consider, but there it is. Who knew then that nine years down the road, I’d have amassed a gallery containing… well… even I don’t know exactly how many drawings, to be honest, but somewhere upward of 400. (One of my self-assigned projects for this year is a thorough inventory.)

So, I thought this might be an opportune time to walk back through my collection and revisit some of the key artworks that have brought this behemoth to where we find it today. I don’t know yet all of the twists and turns this narrative may take, but I’m envisioning this as less of a “greatest hits” or “favorite pieces” retrospective (because, frankly, I do that at the end of every calendar year) than as a thoughtful reconsideration of milestones — items that helped direct and define my collecting path. These posts will focus less on the who, what, and where of each artwork (not that we won’t touch on the subject matter; we will, certainly), and more on the why — why I bought or commissioned this piece, and why it has specific meaning to me. That means that some of these posts will end up being not so much about what you see in the picture, than about the man behind the curtain. Or behind the collection, if you will.

I’ll try to keep the flow more or less chronological, but I’m not going to enslave myself wholly to dates. Mostly because on a given Friday, a certain piece from a general time period might plead with me more vigorously to write about it than does one that arrived somewhat earlier. But I will avoid making large leaps backward or forward. And, although I might on occasion choose to spotlight a piece that I purchased preexisting, I’ll concentrate on artworks I’ve actually commissioned, both because that’s the category that makes up the majority of my collection today, and because my commissions hold a unique resonance for me, as I had some part in their creation.

We’ll see where this journey takes us. I wouldn’t be surprised if we all learn some incredible things. (And yes, I know it’s the Incredible Hulk, not the Incredible Thing. Then again, Aunt Petunia’s favorite blue-eyed nephew is pretty incredible in his own right. But I digress.)

2013 should be an interesting year.

Let’s begin with the first comic artwork ever drawn specifically at my behest — this pinup of Booster Gold, penciled by his creator, Dan Jurgens, and later inked by veteran embellisher Joe Rubinstein.

Booster Gold, pencils by Dan Jurgens, inks by Joe Rubinstein

Now, it’s important to note that this is not the first piece of art that I ever commissioned. That honor goes to the Black Panther drawing I ordered from Bob McLeod (co-creator of the New Mutants, and longtime Spider-Man and Superman artist) in early September 2004. However, between that date and late November of that year, when McLeod completed his masterpiece, I purchased a couple of sketches by Dan Jurgens via eBay from a comics dealer in Minnesota. As we were completing our transaction, the dealer mentioned that Jurgens might be stopping by an upcoming local comics convention. The dealer suggested to me that since I liked Jurgens’s work, he might be able to persuade the artist to draw a quick custom sketch for me, if I was interested. The dealer stressed that Jurgens wasn’t actually a guest at the convention, and therefore would not be drawing throughout the weekend for attending fans, but since he (the dealer) knew Jurgens personally, he felt confident that he could corral the artist into one sketch if the subject intrigued him.

For the first time in my nascent commissioning career, I actually had to think about the subject matter before I requested a commission. When I’d approached Bob McLeod, the choice of subject was settled in my mind before I even knew the artist who would draw it — I wanted a Black Panther piece, and I specifically sought out an artist who had worked on the character in one of his earliest incarnations. Plus, I was already a fan of McLeod’s work, and had fairly extensive knowledge of his background and clear expectations of what I wanted. With Jurgens, I hadn’t a clue. I liked the two sketches of his that I’d recently purchased (a Tomb Raider pinup and a fight scenario between Thor and the Hulk), but all I knew of his work beyond that was that (a) he was the creator of Booster Gold — significant mostly because Booster was the first major new character that DC Comics introduced after reshuffling its entire character universe in the 1985 miniseries Crisis on Infinite Earths; and (b) he was one of the key writers and artists who created the 1992 Death of Superman storyline.

“Booster Gold might be fun,” I thought.

Apparently, Jurgens thought so too. He related to the dealer that it had probably been a decade or more at that time since he had last drawn the character he had designed, and he got a special kick out of revisiting the roguish time traveler after so many years. As established as Booster had become, no one asked Dan Jurgens to draw him anymore. Jurgens appreciated, and was perhaps even a trifle touched, that someone remembered his connection to Booster’s origin.

I learned a lesson from that experience that I’ve never forgotten through hundreds of subsequent commissions: Artists are people, too. Drawing comic book characters may be their livelihood, but they also want to enjoy the work, and to feel appreciated for their talents. As a patron, I try to keep that in mind. I make it a point to commission artists to draw things I believe they’ll enjoy drawing, and to be flexible enough to switch subject matter if the artist seems unenthused. I don’t overdirect the project — in fact, I rarely make any suggestion about the content of a commission beyond assigning characters (and I often offer a choice between Option A and Option B), unless the artist insists on additional input. (Some do.) And I do my best to let the artist know that I’m grateful for the time and skill he or she invests in my project.

It’s not uncommon for artists to tell me, once a commission is completed, “I really enjoyed working on this.” Indeed, several artists who’ve drawn pieces for my Common Elements or Bombshells! themes have said that the assignment was the most fun they’ve had in a while. I don’t think that’s an accident. I hope that as a patron, I help foster that enjoyment by being easy to work with, and by choosing subject matter that suits the artist’s style, tastes, and interests.

To me, that’s the very definition of a win-win.

One last note about today’s featured artwork. This piece was selected for publication by Back Issue magazine; it appeared in the May 2007 issue (#22) as part of a retrospective about Booster Gold and his frequent cohort, the Blue Beetle.

And that, friend reader, is your Comic Art Friday.

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Comic Art Friday: The best of 2012

Posted December 28, 2012 by swanshadow
Categories: Comic Art Friday, Reminiscing, SwanStuff, That's Cool!

It’s the Katharine Hepburn edition of our annual “Best of Comic Art Friday” post. (Old-time film buffs will recall Spencer Tracy’s famous commentary on the sex appeal of his frequent co-star: “There ain’t much meat on her, but what there is, is cherce.” By which he meant “choice.” I guess you had to be there.)

2012 saw, by far, the fewest new entries into my comic art collection of any single year since I entered the hobby nearly a decade ago. But as I examined the handful of pieces that came my way this year, I’ve got to admit that we made up in quality for our paucity in quantity. Some of the new artworks I acquired rank among the very finest in my gallery, and that takes some doing.

So, without further muss or fuss, here are my favorites from among the pieces that landed in my lap in 2012.

Favorite Common Elements Commission, Heroes Division:
“Did Someone Call For a Doctor?” (Doctor Strange, Doctor Mid-Nite, Doctor Druid)
Pencil art by Frank Brunner

Doctor Strange, Doctor Mid-Nite, and Doctor Druid, pencil art by Frank Brunner

In these days of cookie-cutter comic art, there are increasingly few artists whose style is so unique and recognizable that an item of their work could not possibly have been drawn by anyone else. Frank Brunner, who’s best remembered for his work on Marvel’s more esoteric titles (Doctor Strange, Howard the Duck, the unfortunately named Giant-Size Man-Thing) in the 1970s, is largely retired from commission projects these days, but graciously consented to create this masterpiece featuring three superhero doctors: Strange, Druid, and Mid-Nite.

Favorite Common Elements Commission, Co-Ed Division, Pencils Only:
“Somebody Scream!” (Tyroc and Songbird)
Pencil art by Peter Vale

Tyroc and Songbird, pencils by comics artist Peter Vale

Brazilian talent Peter Vale made me scream with delight when first I saw this matchup of sonic superstars — the Legion of Super-Heroes’ Tyroc and the Thunderbolts’ Songbird. The level of detail Vale delivered here is nothing short of incredible. You’ll be doing the art (and yourself) a disservice if you don’t click the image and get a bigger, closer look.

Favorite Common Elements Commission, Co-Ed Division, Pencils and Inks:
“First Thing We Do, Let’s Kill All the Lawyers” (Josiah Power and She-Hulk)
Pencils and inks by Tom Grummett

Josiah Power and She-Hulk, pencils and inks by comics artist Tom Grummett
One of the finest artists active in comics today, Grummett invokes the spirit of Jack Kirby in bringing together battling attorneys She-Hulk and Josiah Power, the latter of whom was a Grummett co-creation. I simply love the energy (and the “Kirby crackle,” which is energy of a different sort) in this drawing.

Favorite Common Elements Commission, Wicked Cool Concept Division:
“Heavenly Creatures” (Halo and Angel)
Pencils and inks by Sean Chen

Halo and Angel, pencils and inks by comics artist Sean Chen
Sean Chen shocked and surprised me with his inspired take on Michelangelo (the Sistine Chapel painter, not the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle). I can’t imagine a more appropriate scenario for heroes named Angel and Halo to find themselves in. This piece illustrates the primary reason I like to give my commission artists free rein on their projects — I would never have thought of a design concept this awesome.

Favorite Bombshells! Commission:
Tara, Queen of the Space Pirates
Pencils and inks by Darren Taylor

Tara, the Pirate Queen, pencils and inks by Darren Taylor
I added only one new entry to my Bombshells! pinup theme this year, but Darren “Roadkill” Taylor made it a doozy. The fact that the Pirate Queen shares her sobriquet with the lovely woman who married me this spring is icing on a spectacular cake.

Favorite Inking Commission:
Red Sonja
Inks by Bob Almond, over pencil art by Al Rio

Red Sonja, pencils by Al Rio, inks by Bob Almond

The comic art world suffered an inordinate number of tragic losses in 2012. Few affected me personally as much as the January suicide of the brilliant Al Rio. The Brazilian artist created one of the first pieces I ever commissioned — it remained, for several years, the most costly commission in my entire collection. I acquired numerous additional Rio works — both existing pieces, and newly commissioned drawings — in the years since. I purchased this unfinished sketch from Al Rio’s longtime representative shortly after the artist’s passing. Seeing it completed by my favorite commission inker, Bob Almond, gives me hope that Rio’s special talent will not be soon forgotten.

Favorite Silly-Grin-Inducer:
Thundarr the Barbarian, Princess Ariel, and Ookla the Mok
Pencils by Phil Noto, inks by Bob Almond

Thundarr the Barbarian, inks by Phil Noto, inks by Bob Almond

As noted above, Bob Almond has become my go-to guy for commission inking over the past decade. Bob’s versatility and chameleon-like gift for melding his skills with those of almost any penciler — as well as his easygoing demeanor and dependability — has resulted in our doing dozens of projects together. This one, our 50th, sprang from a fun, nostalgic sketch by comic artist and veteran Disney designer Phil Noto. I was a few seasons past my Saturday morning cartoon period by the time Thundarr the Barbarian debuted, but knowing that the character designs came from the pens of legendary creators Alex Toth and Jack Kirby, I gave the show a shot and enjoyed it. Having this fun drawing on my wall makes me smile.

Those were the highlights of this collecting year. Thanks for indulging my obsession.

May 2013 be kind to you and everyone you love, friend reader. We’ll see you back here for more stuff — as the great Chuck Barris used to say — in the new year.

And that’s your Comic Art Friday.

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Comic Art Friday: First thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers

Posted November 30, 2012 by swanshadow
Categories: Comic Art Friday, SwanStuff, That's Cool!

Shame on me — I haven’t posted a new Comic Art Friday since the dawn of the Internet. Okay… it hasn’t been quite that long, but it’s been a while. So, let’s rectify the omission, shall we?

In a Facebook group to which I belong, comic art collectors were recently asked to identify the greatest comic artists alive today. Along with the names you’d probably guess first — Neal Adams, George Perez, Adam Hughes, John Byrne — Tom Grummett garnered several mentions, including one from your Uncle Swan. Which is appropriate, because Grummett is one of the best in the business today, even though his name hasn’t quite reached household status outside the core of comics fanatics. Deftly blending old-school power and personality with a sleek, thoroughly modern sensibility, Grummett’s work on such titles as The Adventures of Superman, Superboy, New Titans, New Thunderbolts, and X-Men Forever has been dazzling readers for more than 20 years.

As you can see below, I pounced on the opportunity earlier this year to commission Tom for my Common Elements theme. (Click the image for a close-up look at Mr. Grummett’s spectacular drawing.)

Josiah Power and She-Hulk, pencils and inks by comics artist Tom Grummett

Featured in this potent panel are two of comicdom’s most prominent practitioners of the legal arts (that’s “attorneys” for the prosaically minded among us). On the left is Josiah Power, co-created Tom Grummett and writer Kurt Busiek as the star of DC’s Power Company series. On the right is mean, green Jennifer Walters, better known as the savage and sensational She-Hulk.

It’s tough to think of a more atypical superhero than Josiah Power. He doesn’t use an alias or secret identity, wear a costume, or even employ his awesome metahuman powers — seen in full display in Grummett’s artwork here — very often. Josiah prefers to work behind the scenes as leader of the Power Company, a team of superheroes for hire that’s structured like a law firm. He’s usually depicted in his normal human form, nattily attired in business suit and tie. Only on rare occasions, when his team is severely threatened, does Josiah explode into action in his transmogrified state — a gigantic, golemesque monster with skin like stone, crackling with energy. Even Superman himself stands in awe of Josiah’s might, describing him as one of the most powerful beings he’s ever encountered.

Josiah is also one of a small number of openly gay heroes in mainstream comics. He’s half of a stable, long-term couple with his partner Rupert. It’s refreshing to see a gay character portrayed in a superhero universe who is in no way stereotypical, and for whom his sexual orientation is an incidental aspect of his overall person, and not a device for sensationalism.

She-Hulk rates mention as the last major character created by Stan Lee before his retirement as the main man at Marvel. (Stan has “unretired” on a frequent basis since, both for Marvel projects and his own independent works.) Spawned during the television network run of The Incredible Hulk, She-Hulk served as a preemptive strike against the TV show’s producers, who were considering introducing a female counterpart to the Green Goliath. To enable Marvel to retain the rights to any such character, Stan and artist John Buscema concocted Dr. Bruce Banner’s lawyer relative, who gains her own emerald awesomeness via a blood transfusion from Cousin Brucie. Unlike her infamous family member, Jennifer not only controls her transformation into her super-sized self, but also retains her own personality and emotional balance while Hulked out. In fact, Jennifer eventually decides that she prefers her green Amazonian body, and simply stops changing back into her “normal” appearance. She continues to both practice law and fight supervillains in her tall, muscular, vividly verdant persona.

Also unlike her cousin, Jennifer is a social creature. She’s been affiliated with most of Marvel’s non-mutant superteams at one time or another, including the Fantastic Four (stepping in for an absent Ben “The Thing” Grimm), the Avengers, Heroes for Hire, and SHIELD.

Tom Grummett outdid himself in pitting his legal-eagle creation against the self-described “baddest babe in the universe.” Wouldn’t it be cool if this scene actually took place in the middle of a trial? I think our judicial system would be infinitely more entertaining if all lawyers settled cases by transforming into superhuman warriors and duking it out in the courtroom. Heck, I’d volunteer for jury duty just to watch.

And that’s your Comic Art Friday.

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SwanShadow Gives Thanks: Part 9 — Defying the Mayans

Posted November 22, 2012 by swanshadow
Categories: Aimless Riffing, Listology, My Home Town, Random Acts of Patriotism, Reminiscing, SwanStuff, Thanksgiving

Every Thanksgiving Day since 2004, I’ve posted in this space a 26-point alphabetical sampling of people, places, and things for which I’m grateful. I consider myself to have been truly blessed in life, despite having endured many of the dark times that inevitably arise when one lives as long as I have. I’ve been touched by so many great human beings and wonderful experiences that it’s impossible to list them all when I express my annual thanks. So, nine years ago, I hit on this structured overview method. I’ve returned to it each Turkey Day since.

This year has been a unique one. I got married for the second time, to the incredible force of nature I refer to in these posts as the Pirate Queen. We did some traveling, shared many fun times, and went about the business of being newlyweds, with all of the changes, reconfigurations, and negotiations that newlywedness entails. Quite a few of my appreciations this year derive from our freshly married life and our newly shared home in San Francisco, the world’s most spectacular city.

And on we go.

On this Thanksgiving Day 2012, I’m grateful for…

Acting and actors. It took me the better part of a half-century to figure out what I want to be if and when I grow up. Since embarking on a career as a voice actor, I’ve developed a deep appreciation for the craft of acting, and for the people who do it skillfully. (Which is pretty much every voice actor I’ve worked with to this point. But I’m getting better.) I’m fortunate here in the Bay Area to be part of a thriving community of voice acting professionals. My actor friends and colleagues amaze me continually with their talents, with their determination to succeed in a difficult field, and most of all, with their giving, encouraging spirits. You wouldn’t suppose that folks who compete daily with each other for paying work would be so supportive of, and generous toward, those against whom they compete, but I see it happen all the time. Not all creative people are good people — no more than all of the people in any category are good people — but most of the actors with whom I study and work are genuine and decent.

The Big Island of Hawaii, where the Pirate Queen and I spent a blissful chunk of our honeymoon. (And yes, I’ll get around to posting about that portion of the trip.) From the eerie moon-like desolation of the Kona Coast, to the lush tropical beauty of the island’s eastern shores, to the awe-inspiring power of Kilauea, the Big Island is a source of endless fascination. With luck, I’ll manage to get back more quickly than the 20-plus years than separated each of my first three visits.

My Clipper Card, my little plastic passport to public transportation. For the benefit of the foreigners in the room — that is to say, those of you not from the Bay Area — San Francisco is served by two separate transit systems. BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) is the sleek electric railway that connects San Francisco with the East Bay, and with its own airport to the south. (They’re working on an extension that will run all the way to San Jose.) MUNI is The City’s own conglomeration of buses, cable cars, trolleys, and an integrated streetcar-subway network known as MUNI Metro. The Clipper Card, introduced just a couple of years ago, enables passengers to utilize both systems with a single payment mechanism. With parking in The City at a legendary dearth, we use BART and the Metro as often as possible to get from our neighborhood to downtown.

Dim sum, exquisite bites of savory or sweet ambrosia. We’re going for some with visiting friends this very weekend.

I loves me some European paintings. A long-ago course in college first opened my eyes to the works of the classical masters. This year, we had several amazing opportunities to view some of my favorites up close and personal. In February, we saw the exhibition “Masters of Venice” at the DeYoung Museum. Among the attractions in this show were several creations by my favorite Renaissance artist, Titian, including “Danae” and “Mars, Venus, and Cupid.” In September, the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s collection offered some of the most memorable moments of our junket to New York City. I stood for several minutes in slack-jawed bedazzlement at an original poster by Alphonse Mucha, the Czech genius who pioneered the Art Nouveau style. As the old saying goes, I might not know much about art, but I know what I like.

Festus Ezeli, the Nigerian center out of Vanderbilt chosen by the Golden State Warriors with the 30th pick in the 2012 NBA Draft. The kid plays hard, and gives a great interview. More than that, just saying his name makes me smile. Go ahead — try it.

Gray squirrels (specifically the Western gray squirrel, Sciurus griseus). Several of them visit our back yard on a daily basis. I get a kick out of watching them cavort and forage and play hide-and-seek with the neighborhood cats. It’s funny — after living for many years in a suburb surrounded by semi-rural agricultural land, I figured that I’d never see a wild animal again once I moved into the big city. I see more squirrel action outside our kitchen window in a week than I saw in three decades in Sonoma County.

My favorite Horsewoman, also known as my beloved Daughter. I could fill volumes with tales of how bright and witty and talented The Daughter is, but for this particular line item, I’ll confine myself to her equestrian hobby. After 10 years of riding, she fulfilled her dream this summer by acquiring her own horse — a tall, handsome, four-year-old chestnut Thoroughbred she named Gryffin. A half-brother to 2011 Kentucky Derby winner Animal Kingdom, Gryffin didn’t enjoy his sibling’s career at the track, but he’s made The Daughter deliriously joyful as her stable companion. Having endured so much tragedy over the past few years, including the passings of her mother, her grandfather, and our family dog, she deserved something special. I’m delighted for her that Gryffin came along.

Itoya Profolios, in which I store my comic art collection. They’re archival-safe, elegantly simple in design, and the perfect vehicle for original art on paper. One of my greatest thrills is sitting down with an Itoya on the table before me, and marvel at some of the treasures I’ve managed to pick up over the years.

Johnny Foley’s Irish House, home of the most entertaining dueling pianists you’ll ever come across. The Pirate Queen and I dropped into Foley’s on our fourth date, and we’ve made frequent weekend pilgrimages ever since. She even had her bachelorette party there. Stop by on a night when Nathan, Jason, or Lee are tickling the ivories and belting out requests. The rest of the crew is talented as well, but those three guys consistently put on the best show.

KJ. Life goes on, but I never forget. I would not be the person I am today without her nearly 30 years of influence on my life.

Lady Liberty. I didn’t expect to be as impressed or moved as I was by seeing the Statue of Liberty in person during our New York City trip — even despite the drenching downpour that struck during our visit. It was powerful to be reminded what a privilege it is to be an American citizen… and to be reminded that almost all of us are the descendants of immigrants, whether willing or unwilling. We get a bit stuffy sometimes about “those people” crossing our borders in search of a better life for themselves and their families. Unless you’re 100% Indigenous North American, “your people” came from someplace else, too. Let’s not forget that the Statue of Liberty lifts her lamp beside the golden door as a sign of welcome, not to slam the door shut.

Mount Davidson, the tallest of San Francisco’s 47 named hills. We live about a third of the way up.

Nineteenth Avenue, the busiest north-south thoroughfare on the western side of The City. For my final two years of college, I commuted along it several days each week to and from San Francisco State University. These days, it’s the path I travel when I head toward the Golden Gate Bridge to visit The Daughter, or other points northward. Man, there’s a lot of traffic on that street some days. But without it, it would be tough to get out of town in that direction.

Orange October. For the second time in three years, my San Francisco Giants won the World Series championship. This season, the Giants battled back from potential elimination six times during the Division and League Championship Series, on their way to a sweep of the Detroit Tigers in the main event. (Ironically, I was a Tigers fan as a youngster, before switching allegiance to the Giants when my family moved to the Bay Area in the mid-1970s.) Behind stellar play by World Series MVP Pablo “Kung Fu Panda” Sandoval, National League MVP Buster Posey, and a fortuitous late-season acquisition, second baseman Marco Scutaro, and with lights-out pitching by the best collection of arms in baseball, the Giants took a determined step toward establishing themselves as the Team of the Decade.

The Porthole Palace, as I nicknamed the Pirate Queen’s house the first time I came to pick her up for a date. Little did I know I’d live here someday. It’s quirky and cozy, and it’s home.

Quentin Tarantino. Because someone ought to be thankful for the director of Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, Jackie Brown, and Kill Bill. Someone other than QT himself, that is.

My Rode NT1A, the microphone that is my constant companion during my work day as a voice actor. It always makes me sound good. The performance is up to me. I took it on the road with me when we went to New York, and recorded an actual job on it in our hotel room. (My second microphone, which I also love, is a Studio Projects C1. But that doesn’t start with R.)

Subaru — specifically, the green Forester I inherited from KJ. It’s a sturdy, solid, dependable car. I was unaware until very recently that Subaru has a reputation as the unofficial vehicle of the lesbian community. (Seriously. It’s a thing.) I’m totally cool with that. I’d make a terrific lesbian. I like women, and I drive a Subaru.

The Trivia Championships of North America, which we’ll call TCONA to save me typing. Held in Las Vegas each summer, it’s a merry assemblage of trivia-obsessed folks from all over the continent. This year, I came home with a gold and a silver medal in team competition. More importantly, I spent a rollicking weekend at Circus Circus renewing old Jeopardy! acquaintances and making several new friends. Next year, TCONA will invade the Tropicana. You’ve been warned.

Union Square, the heart of San Francisco. Every now and again, it’s cool to just stand in the middle of all the commotion and watch the tourists hustle past. Wander through the ginormous Macy’s. Stroll into Neiman Marcus and pretend you can afford the stuff they sell there. Have a plate of silver dollar pancakes at Sears Fine Foods. Bask in the glow of the big Christmas tree if it’s the season. Wonder how so many panhandlers convened in one location. Drink in the atmosphere that is Baghdad by the Bay.

Video games, my favorite projects as a voice actor. (Okay, let’s be honest — my favorite project is any one that pays.) Among the characters I got to play in games this year were a Pied Piper, a snake monster, a Russian jeweler, a beatnik priest, a street thug, and a mysterious narrator. Yes, I love my job.

Our wedding, during which the Pirate Queen became my wife. (That’s a double W, if you’re keeping score.) On a beautiful, breezy Saturday afternoon in May, we exchanged vows in front of about 50 friends and family members outside the Argonaut Hotel on Fisherman’s Wharf. The Pirate Queen was a radiant vision in white, as lovely a bride as any man could hope for. The Daughter stood in as my Best Person, and carried out her assigned duties with aplomb. The accomplished a cappella quartet PDQ sang two soaring numbers. I managed not to drop the ring or trip over my own feet. It was the perfect start to our new life together.

XD. I don’t know exactly what Extreme Digital Cinema is, but they have it (and huge signs boasting about it) at the Cinemark cineplex where we occasionally catch a flick. I think it’s something like IMAX, only all digital. Aren’t you glad someone invented that?

Yirgacheffe, a delicious coffee from Ethiopia. As you probably know if you’ve been a regular here over the years, I love a good cup of coffee. I’m especially partial to the brightly tangy, citrusy varietals grown in East Africa, of which Yirgacheffe is one. A mug or two, and I’m ready to face the day.

Zaftig women. Rubens, Titian, and Botticelli knew what they were doing when they selected those voluptuous models for their masterpieces. I salute my female friends who refuse to succumb to the cultural propaganda that a woman can’t be attractive if she wears a dress size in double digits. Ladies, be boldly unafraid to rock the beauty in yourselves, curves and all. The legendary philosopher Sir Mix-A-Lot said it best: “To the beanpole dames in the magazines: You ain’t it, Miss Thing.” Word.

And of course, I’m thankful for you, friend reader. I’m sorry I’ve been AWOL these past several months — I’ll try to post more consistently in the coming year. (Yes, there will be a coming year. Those Mayans just ran out of tablets to write their calendar on.) I still have plenty to say… some of which may actually be worth your perusal.

I hope you and those you love have a magnificent Thanksgiving. Take a moment to count your own blessings, and let the people for whom you’re grateful know that you appreciate them. Now go have some turkey, already.

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Our Hawaiian honeymoon: Day three

Posted June 29, 2012 by swanshadow
Categories: Hawaii, Reminiscing, SwanStuff, That's Cool!, Where in the World is Uncle Swan?

[Catch up on what happened on the first day and the second day of our adventure.]

Day three began with breakfast at a joint called Cheeseburger in Paradise. We did not — repeat, not — have cheeseburgers for breakfast. We did, however, have a sweet view of Waikiki Beach through the restaurant’s open window.

Paradise. Cheeseburger not required.

In case you were curious, this outlet is part of a chain that is apparently unrelated to the similarly named chain owned by singer Jimmy Buffett, whose similarly named song clearly inspired both chains. Now you’re not curious, merely confused. Join the club.)

Appropriately stoked with high-protein, high-carbohydrate fuel, we were itching to break in the snorkeling equipment we’d purchased the day before. Thanks to a tip from a guidebook and a recommendation from our Cheeseburger waiter — whose name was not Spicoli, but could well have been — we loaded up our rental car and headed for the north shore of Oahu. Specifically, we aimed for a spot dubbed Shark’s Cove.

Shark's Cove: Just because we didn't see sharks, doesn't mean you won't.

We did not — repeat, not — see any sharks. We did, however, spend a couple of joy-filled hours swimming with a variety of gorgeous tropical sea life, including an array of colorful fish that would do justice to any aquarium. In fact, snorkeling at Shark’s Cove offered a taste of what it might be like to swim in an aquarium, were one thus inclined.

A few tips we’d pass along to other snorkelers who make the trek to Shark’s Cove:

  • Get there early in the day. Parking is limited, and somewhat challenging to negotiate.
  • Leave your flippers in the car, or better yet, at your hotel. The rocky seascape here renders fins useless — or worse, makes them an encumbrance. Unless you’re venturing well out into deep water — which we would heartily advise against — flippers won’t benefit you in this environment.
  • Do, on the other hand, wear water shoes. The reef and rocks at Shark’s Cove are razor-sharp, as the numerous gashes they ruptured in my knees will demonstrate.
  • Currents here can be very powerful. As alluded above, it’s easy to get beaten up here by waves dashing you against the rocks. It’s easy to imagine that if you venture out beyond the relative shelter of the cove, fighting the motion of the ocean could quickly develop into a losing battle. Be careful out there.
  • Take a cheap waterproof camera. We didn’t, and wished we had.
  • As is true anywhere in Hawaii, don’t leave anything of value visible in your car. Predators abound. We didn’t encounter any problems ourselves, but all those signs posted everywhere warning you about thievery are there for good reason.

We give Shark’s Cove high marks as a snorkeling venue. It’s well worth the drive around the island from Honolulu to check it out.

On our way back into the city, we stopped for lunch at Giovanni’s Shrimp Truck in Kahuku. There are probably a couple dozen food trucks and shacks of every description as you drive through Kahuku on the Kamehameha Highway, all specializing in freshly caught local shrimp. (Imagine if Forrest Gump and his pal Bubba had moved to Hawaii and chosen the slacker life, rather than opening that gaudy chain of touristy restaurants.) Of these, Giovanni’s enjoys the most widespread reputation — a reputation we found well deserved.

We shared a plate of the hot and spicy shrimp; they were indeed as volcanic as advertised (a sign cautions that they don’t offer refunds if you find the dish too hot) and quite delicious. Or, to say it local-style, “Da shrimps stay so ono, broke da mout’! Chee!”

Giovanni's hot and spicy shrimp: Local-kine grinds... so ono!

Giovanni’s surrounds its truck with a nice permanent set-up, featuring picnic tables shaded by an open-air roofed structure, sinks for postprandial hand-washing, and indoor restrooms. There’s also a shave ice truck on site in case you need help cooling your mouth after downing the shrimp.

Appetites sated, we continued on to Valley of the Temples Memorial Park in Kahaluu. This multicultural cemetery features a half-scale replica of the ancient Byodo-In Buddhist temple in Uji, Japan. It’s a stunning building nestled in a lush, serene location at the base of the Ko’olau range.

Byodo-In Temple, Valley of the Temples Memorial Park

We spent a blissful hour wandering through the temple and its grounds, soaking in the quiet, admiring the architecture, and watching the fog creep in over the mountains. The Pirate Queen enjoyed seeing the massive Buddha statue inside the temple (she’s seen me shirtless often enough that you’d think this wouldn’t be much of an attraction, but apparently it was) and ringing the colossal bell in the courtyard.

I watched as a black swan scudded along the surface of the pond. I think she and your Uncle Swan shared a bonding moment.

When a swan meets a Swan, coming through the rye...

Our next stop, Nu’uanu Pali, offered a breathtaking view of the windward shore of Oahu from 1200 feet up the side of the dormant volcano. When I say “breathtaking,” I’m not speaking hyperbolically. The wind rips through the mountain pass with gale-like velocity, producing sufficient chill to make you forget for a few minutes that you’re in the tropics. Despite the briskness, the view is nothing short of incredible.

The view from Nu'uanu Pali Lookout

One can see all the way to the offshore island called Mokoli’i (“little lizard” in Hawaiian), also known as Chinaman’s Hat — or, as we might put it in these more ethnically sensitive times, Asian Person of Chinese Extraction’s Hat. We were, however, eager to get back into the cozy, cyclone-free confines of our rented Toyota in fairly short order.

Safely back in Waikiki, we ventured across the street from our hotel for dinner at Sansei. The Waikiki branch of a local chain of upscale sushi restaurants, Sansei serves up an intriguing spectrum of dishes, some of which can best be described as “experiments in seafood.” Some of the experiments work better than others — one or two of the combinations we ordered seemed to be outré for the sake of outré -ness — but on the whole, we enjoyed the dining experience, bizarre flourishes and all. It was pleasant to relax on the restaurant’s third-floor lanai in the relative cool of the evening, tucked around the street corner from the bustle of the main drag. Plus, there were those mediocre Hawaiian-tinged cover tunes wafting across from the tiki bar to serenade us.

Thus ended our third day in the islands. I’ll regale you with tales of Day Four soon.

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San Francisco Restaurant Resolution: Week Three — Town Hall

Posted June 22, 2012 by swanshadow
Categories: Food Glorious Food, Listology, My Home Town, San Francisco Restaurant Resolution, That's Cool!

The third week of our eatery exploration (read this first if you missed the original premise) found us celebrating our first monthiversary at a restaurant called Town Hall. I thought this would be an appropriate location for a special celebration, because our first outing as an “official” couple — the first time the Pirate Queen introduced me as “the boyfriend” to people she knew — was a company holiday party a year and a half ago at San Francisco City Hall. Since I didn’t think Mayor Lee would let us set up a candlelit table in his lobby, Town Hall — which, as it happens, is nowhere near City Hall — seemed like the next best thing.

Town Hall is located in SOMA (that’s “South of Market,” for you out-of-towners) in a building that I suspect was once a factory or warehouse. Due to the entire interior surface of the restaurant being exposed brick and glass, sound reverberates through the dining room like a colossal echo chamber. Dinner at Town Hall is, for this reason, a little like eating next to a jet turbine running at full throttle. It may be the loudest place I’ve ever taken a meal where there wasn’t a baseball or basketball game being played. (The noise pollution on the night we visited was exacerbated by a tableful of testosterone-fueled yuppie businessman types whose conversational volume level betrayed the quantities of adult beverage they had consumed during their stay.)

Fortunately, the food kicks butt.

I started with an appetizer of barbecued shrimp, served in a decadent Worcestershire-based sauce that perfectly melded sweetness and sharpness. A pair of old rubber galoshes, grilled and covered with this sauce, would be awesome. The shrimp, tasty in and of themselves, were exquisite. I was glad that the Pirate Queen talked me out of my first choice, buttermilk biscuits accompanied by prosciutto and red pepper jelly. (But we’re going back to Town Hall, specifically for those biscuits.) The Pirate Queen kicked off the festivities with piquillo peppers stuffed with blue crab and cheese, which she described as outstanding.

For my entree, I chose the buttermilk fried chicken. Now, let’s be honest — the best fried chicken comes from your grandma’s stovetop, not a fine-dining kitchen. Most restaurants that serve fried chicken opt for either of two extremes: crispy but blandly flavored, or deliciously seasoned but mushy and greasy. Town Hall achieves that rare split up the middle — a crust that’s light and crunchy but also redolent with spices. The meat underneath was done to a turn while still moist and juicy. It wasn’t the best fried chicken I’ve ever eaten, but it reminded me of that one, which is about as good as you can find. I’d have taken a bucket home if they’d let me. The Pirate Queen loved her main course of bacon-wrapped trout — she said that her favorite fish arrived perfectly cooked, and you know… bacon. (Quite a few dishes at Town Hall feature bacon. I’m not saying that as though it’s a bad thing.)

In addition to the cuisine, we gave high marks to our server, who made a couple of spot-on suggestions, and was attentive without being intrusive.

To reference an old proverb:  You can’t fight City Hall, but you can fight hunger at Town Hall. This superlative eatery nearly pegs the Uncle Swan ratings meter with a lofty four tailfeathers out of a possible five. I’d have given them four and a half, as the Pirate Queen suggested, but I feel compelled to dock half a tailfeather for the excruciating noise level. Still, Town Hall delivered the finest flavors we’ve sampled so far on our summer tour. It’s definitely cleared itself a spot on our “must go back” list.

You’ll find Town Hall at 342 Howard Street, South of Market in downtown San Francisco. It’s an easy two-block walk down Beale Street from the Embarcadero BART and MUNI station.

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Our Hawaiian honeymoon: Day two

Posted June 15, 2012 by swanshadow
Categories: Hawaii, Reminiscing, SwanStuff, That's Cool!, Where in the World is Uncle Swan?

[If you missed what happened on the first day of our adventure, read about it here.]

Our first full day in Hawaii — and all of our days in the Islands proved remarkably full — began with breakfast at LuLu’s Waikiki, conveniently located just around the corner from our hotel. With its spacious open-air dining room and decent food, LuLu’s quickly established itself as our go-to spot for morning fortification. (The popular breakfast choice on the Waikiki strip is a joint called Eggs and Things, centrally located in the hotel district, but we never saw a morning where that place didn’t have a line out the door. We didn’t fly all the way to Oahu to stand in an hour-long queue for an omelette.) LuLu’s is primarily a sports bar — judging by the decor, the owners are major Boston Red Sox fanatics — but they dish up a perfectly acceptable breakfast, and we never had a problem getting seated quickly so we could speed along with our touring.

Iolani Palace: Not the actual home of Hawaii Five-O.

Appetites sated, we headed for our first sightseeing stop: Iolani Palace, former residence of the Hawaiian royal family and the only royal palace located on U.S. soil. Iolani was high on the Pirate Queen’s list of must-dos, and she was duly impressed with the spectacle on display. After donning handmade cloth booties that fit over our shoes (to protect the palace’s vintage hardwood floors from thousands of clumsy tourist feet), we joined our docent, Cousin Tino — everybody’s your cousin in Hawaii — for a guided tour. You can’t take photographs inside the palace, but trust me when I tell you that you’ve never seen a house quite like this one.

Iolani Palace: "The Life of the Land is Perpetuated in Righteousness"

Between the opulent furniture, museum-quality artwork (mostly portraits of the Hawaiian royal family, and other monarchs whom they befriended), and fascinating history, we thoroughly enjoyed our visit. Cousin Tino made the time both informative and entertaining (we were his last tour of the morning, and a relatively small group, so he treated us to an extended stay with “extra stories”).

Ali'iolani Hale: Also not the actual home of Hawaii Five-O.

Following our stroll around Iolani Palace, we ventured across the street to check out the exterior of Ali’iolani Hale (“House of the Heavenly King”), the building that formerly served as the seat of Hawaiian government and today houses the state’s Supreme Court. It’s most recognized for the familiar statue of King Kamehameha I that decorates its courtyard. If you watch the current version of the TV series Hawaii Five-O, you might also recognize Ali’iolani Hale as the headquarters of Steve McGarrett and company. I regret to inform you that the Five-O team does not actually work here, and in fact, does not exist. Sorry… fiction. (Viewers of a certain age might recall that the original Hawaii Five-O used shots of Iolani Palace as the team’s home base. Sorry… also fiction.)

Kamehameha the Great: Not the original statue.

Ali’iolani Hale’s Kamehameha statue has a rather amusing back-story. Commissioned in 1878 to commemorate the 100th anniversary of Captain James Cook’s arrival in Hawaii (an arrival that didn’t turn out all that well for the captain), the Kamehameha statue was designed by Thomas Gould, an American sculptor living in Italy at the time, and cast in bronze in Paris. Unfortunately, the ship carrying the statue from France to Hawaii sank off the Falkland Islands, and the statue was thought lost to the Atlantic. The forward-thinking Hawaiian government had taken out a hefty insurance policy, the payout from which paid for a recasting of the statue, which Gould promptly shipped. But wait! Enterprising local Falklanders recovered the original statue and sold it back to the wrecked ship’s captain, who in turn sold it to the Hawaiian government. Finding themselves with two identical statues, the Hawaiians installed the original on the Big Island’s Kohala Coast, near Kamehameha the Great’s birthplace, and mounted the replica — which you’re looking at here — in front of Ali’iolani Hale.

Next, we made a stop at a Wal-Mart to purchase snorkeling gear that we’d use during the trip. We scored complete sets of equipment — snorkels, masks, fins, and water shoes — for a relative pittance. Wal-Mart in Hawaii is pretty much like Wal-Mart on the mainland, only with more aloha shirts and macadamia nuts, and with an L&L Hawaiian Barbecue concession instead of a McDonald’s.

National Cemetery of the Pacific at Punchbowl Crater

Our travels next took us up into the hills overlooking downtown Honolulu, to the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific at Puowaina. Lodged in the lush green concavity of an ancient volcanic crater (hence the nickname “Punchbowl”), the cemetery houses the remains of thousands of military veterans. Punchbowl is also home to a group of ten marble memorials to Service personnel from World War II, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War whose remains were never recovered — “whose earthly resting place is known only to God.”

Dedication stone, Court of the Missing at Punchbowl Cemetery

It’s a touch ironic, I suppose, that in a place as teeming with tropical life as Oahu so many of the attractions that draw attention are memorials to the deceased. Having grown up in a military family, however, I’m acutely conscious of the sacrifices our Servicemen and Servicewomen are called upon to make. For that reason, it was important to me to take the drive up to Punchbowl with the Pirate Queen, whose father was a sailor during the Second World War.

Statue of Columbia at Punchbowl Cemetery

Overseeing Punchbowl from the head of an enormous staircase is a statue of Columbia, the mythic female figure who personified the young United States in the 18th and 19th centuries — hence the name of the nation’s capital, the District of Columbia. (Moviegoers know her better as the logo of a popular film studio.) Columbia pretty much got shoved aside in American symbology in favor of Lady Liberty around the turn of the 20th century, but when Punchbowl was dedicated in 1949, she received her corner in the limelight.

All aboard for Paradise Cove!

Our day transitioned from reverence to revelry in the late afternoon, when we and a few dozen of our new closest cousins boarded a bus bound for the Paradise Cove Luau. When planning our luau experience, the Pirate Queen and I had debated driving our rental car out to Ko Olina on the far western edge of the island, where Paradise Cove is located. Our decision to take the shuttle instead proved perspicacious, as the slog through Honolulu’s rush-hour gridlock took nearly two hours to traverse. Much better to relax in air-conditioned comfort while letting a professional manage the stress.

Now, you might be thinking, “Isn’t a commercial luau all touristy and whatnot?” Um, hello… we’re tourists.

Paradise Cove's dancing cousins... well, probably not actual cousins.

Never having been to Hawaii before, the Pirate Queen wanted to take in a few of the classic essentials: see the kalua pig rise from the imu (the underground fire pit in which the pig is roasted); taste some poi; get a temporary Polynesian tattoo; watch some hula and a fire knife dance. Paradise Cove delivered on all of her expectations, in fine style. We scored front-row seats for the imu ceremony. The Pirate Queen was chosen as one of the audience participants in the always hilarious poi tasting (a culinary undertaking she will not eagerly repeat). She got a lovely flower drawn on her arm by a handsome, shirtless young Hawaiian gent. (She had mostly perspired through the tattoo by the time we got back to Honolulu.) We had a pretty fair meal and a great view of the entertaining show, complete with the requisite hula and fire knife dancers. We shared our table with a nice young couple from Australia, from whom we learned that Burger King franchises Down Under are called Hungry Jack’s (hey, you never know when trivia like that might come in handy) and whose accents I struggled to commit to memory for future voiceover projects. And, we saw an amazing sunset over the Pacific.

Sunset at Paradise Cove

All in all, we enjoyed a delightful evening of stereotypical aloha.

And that was our second day on Oahu. I’ll regale you with the Day Three doings next time.

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The perfect Cain

Posted June 14, 2012 by swanshadow
Categories: Celebritiana, Hero of the Day, I Love the Giants, My Home Town, Ripped From the Headlines, Sports Bar, That's Cool!

Over at ESPN.com — a site owned by a network that typically can’t be bothered to cover the Giants because, after all, we don’t have real sports out here on the Left Coast — David Schoenfield just asked the question, “Did Matt Cain throw the greatest game ever?”

Well, let’s see…

Matt Cain's perfect game: June 13, 2012

No hits.

No walks.

No baserunners.

27 up, 27 down.

14 strikeouts, tying the record for the most ever in a perfect game… a record set by Sandy Koufax, who for five seasons may have been the greatest pitcher ever.

A feat accomplished only 22 times in the 130-plus years of baseball history.

Yes, Mr. Schoenfield…

I believe he did.

You go, Matty. We’re glad you’re on our side.

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