Oh, Crap.

It seems that I have a Facebook, now.

So, in case you like this blog, but find all the pictures kinda off-putting, friend me! All the mundane anecdotes, none of the art!

Scents of The Spaceways

Here's something I should have mentioned awhile back: This summer I drew a science fiction epic for Opium Magazine. How epic? It contains the following panel:

Of course, I needed to get epic to compete with the issue's cover, which bore the longest story ever told (approximate reading time: 1,000 years).

Issues available online.

The Golden Age Mighty Tweed

I, of course, am not the first to don herringbone for the betterment of humanity. Dennis Tweed, two-fisted criminologist, was the original Mighty Tweed. His earliest adventures were recorded in the pulp pages of Spicy Haberdashery, along with classic heroes The Devil's Dandy and Ole King Spats.

The Golden Age Tweed eventually made the transition to comics, appearing as a regular back-up feature in Ready-To-Wear Boy's Dungarees Brand Comics (later shortened to Ready Adventure).

Aw, man. Now I want to draw The Devil's Dandy.

The Mighty Tweed

Is there, for the geek, any form of introspection more elusive than satisfactorily choosing what your super-powers would be? Sure, everyone wants the deluxe all-inclusive Superman package, but then you become just another hyperbolic everyman. But get too specifically self-referential, and you end up with joke powers like "Cosmic Procrastination."

I think I've come up with a nice, elegant suite of powers that would be fun to have, and not entirely useless if I somehow stumbled across, say, an invasion of Lava Monsters.

Whatever super-powers I had, I'd eschew spandex for a nice green tweed suit.

Now, to the powers:

Flight, obviously. The sine qua non of super-powers, right? You don't want to have to ask Hawkman to carry you off by your armpits every time the Justice League takes off, right?

Forcefield, because I'm a coward. I'm not one to grit my teeth and mutter, "Legs... broken. Lungs... mangled. Kidneys... shredded. Must... keep... fighting!" Also, I assume the forcefield keeps me comfortable in all environments, otherwise my wool-clad self would risk heat stroke the first time I responded to an emergency in July.

Infinite Pockets. Not a flashy power, but incredibly useful both on adventures and in day-to-day life. Imagine having absolutely anything you ever had the foresight to shove in your pocket, immediately available! I don't imagine these as TARDIS pockets—that is, pockets of infinite interior dimension—so much as quantum-cloud translators. Anything placed in the pocket becomes an uncollapsed quantum wavefront, a potential object waiting for me to put my hand in my pocket and bring it back into concrete Newtonian reality. This has the handy side effect of preserving the objects in their original state. So, if I put a straight-from-the-oven apple pie in my pocket, and pull it out ten years later, it'd still be piping hot and fresh.

I'm undecided if I can claim that this power also includes being able to recall all the things I've ever put in the pockets, or if I'd have to keep detailed records of the millions of objects I stashed away.

(Also, I have no interest in being told how poorly I'm treating quantum theory. If radioactive spider-bites don't cause cancer, then quantum theory can give me infinite pockets.)

So, there you have it: I AM THE MIGHTY TWEED!