(Completely) Off-topic: Neat freaks and germophobes, turn away now.

Are you a "neat freak"? Are you a compulsive cleaner? Are you "tidy"? Then yeah, you should stop reading now. This is going to be like torture porn for you.

Since I'm not especially handy, around the house my chores are mostly relegated to anything that's gross, unpleasant, or oozing. From squishing spiders to snaking drains to cleaning any of a multitude of vile fluids; I'm stuck handling biohazards while other dads are getting standing ovations for building birdhouses or drying drywall or whatever it is they do. So, one of my little jobs is cleaning the vacuum cleaner.

An odd sounding task, yes? I mean, most people just have to vacuum and call it good. I don't think I even do most of the vacuuming. I muck out the crap clogging the vacuum cleaner, pretty much every time we use it. It's not the vacuum's fault, though: it's actually a pretty good vacuum, but it's fighting a losing battle here.

The first culprit is Sam's hair, the lab mix: Sam's hair has the same molecular makeup as rat's teeth. Maybe even denser. I have found Sam's hair on my desk at work. No idea how I got it there, but there it is. Of course, I keep finding the Wife's hair as well: every so often she gets hair extensions, and no matter how nice they look, I'm now positive that extensions are the base of an elaborate pyramid scheme involving vacuum repair men and plumbers.

Both kinds of hair clog the vacuum differently: the extensions are long, and wrap up around the rotating brush, while Sam's hair forms clots with dust. What do you call it when dust and hair forms a sheet-like layer? Oh, yeah, my house.

That's just out of the brush, we haven't even got to the bag yet. There's an extension, stuck on a paper clip, with a rubber band attached. And as long as we're running forensics here, there's chunks of foam innards from at least two separate stuffed animals, or possibly the couch. (Sugarpie's been a bit on the bitey side lately.) When this vacuum dies, it should be buried with honors.

To the best of my knowledge, I've never sucked up one of my or the kids' action figure accessories. Probably because the vacuum doesn't have that kind of juice.

Anyway, that's why no comic or toy post today, but we'll be back on tomorrow. Unless I have to clean up bile or flem or something.

Edit: Not fifteen minutes after posting this, I had to go pull an extension out of Sugarpie. And not out of the front end, either.

Read more!

In today's production of Reservoir Dogs, the role of Mr. Pink will be played by...Kross.

File under Schadenfreude: I'm referring to toys here, but it probably applies to anything you can trade: toys, comics, music, fantasy football picks, whatever. Say you see a trading list posted and someone wants something you have. You might think, "Oh, I'd be OK trading Item X for something else." Other times, you'll think, "Yeah, I have Item X, and it's awesome. No friggin' way, I'm keeping it." (Personally, I usually have to follow that with, "I wonder where Item X is?") Even if you want to help, nope, not happening; but it's nice to see, like a reaffirmation of your taste. The converse to that would be, say, when you check out the used CD rack and see most of your collection...

Kross, the ogre-looking fellow on the end, is from a line called Shadowrun, and looks better in a suit than I do. (I wear mine about once in a month of Sundays, and look nice, but it doesn't look natural.) I had pulled him out of the basement since he's come up multiple times lately: Toyfare mistakenly declared he had never been released, but of course he had: I'm not cool enough to pick up prototypes or unreleased toys. OAFE.net had a review of Kross that mentioned a $14.99 price point, but I picked up him and most of his line for about $3.99 a pop if I recall. Anyway, while I was putting up some toys, these guys all ended up together, and I remembered I had seen the new Reservoir Dogs box set the other day as well; all of which reminded me I didn't have Mr. Pink.

My memory's a little fuzzy on this one, but I think I didn't buy Mr. Pink because I thought it was B.S. that he didn't come with any guns, supposedly at the request of Steve Buscemi. The rest of the toys in the Mezco line had guns, and I know I have plenty lying around anyway, so if that was my reasoning it wasn't smart. Maybe I just thought three guys in suits was plenty. Or did I buy it and then lose him? Or did I not like the headsculpt? Until I took a second to look it up (again, OAFE) I thought maybe Buscemi's wrinkles were over-exaggerated until he looked like a raisin; but the likeness isn't that bad. I wasn't blogging or noting any of this stuff before, so the whys and wherefores are gone and forgotten.

I came late to the game on Reservoir Dogs: initially, I wasn't a fan of the "Super Sounds of the Seventies." It put me off the movie for a while, but you can't imagine it with different music. For that matter, I think Tarentino has pretty good taste in music, especially in terms of how well a song will work on screen; even if he occasionally has to go overboard in proving he knows more obscure songs and bands than you. I really liked about half of the Death Proof CD, which is probably par for the course for his soundtracks. Anyway, there's a figure of Tarentino as Mr. Brown in that box set I mentioned, but I can't see buying it unless it goes clearance.

Tarentino's also had figures as one of the Crazy 88 gang members in Kill Bill (with removable limbs!) and as "the Rapist" in Planet Terror (with alternate deformed head) and I don't have those either. I mention those primarily because I want an action figure of myself someday, and am insanely jealous.

Following my train of thought has to be like watching a Plinko chip bounce downward towards an unsure destination, occasionally getting stuck and having to be knocked loose. Well, so be it.


In other news, Nightcrawler came in twelfth in CBR/Comics Should Be Good Top 50 Marvel Characters! Kurt's my favorite comic character evah, and I gave him my first place vote, even though there's not a lot of truly great Nightcrawler stories...we'll get into that some other time, but I was glad to see him place so well.


Closer to the home front, after pissing and moaning about not finding any decent yard sale toys, I picked up for the Youngest a Fisher-Price School and silo. I got both, and some assorted non-FP toys, for under a buck, which is such a good deal I felt a little guilty but still took it and ran. The school didn't have desks or students or anything else, but is well built, charming, and lead-free; always a plus. The Youngest did promptly color a bit on a plastic part with a yellow marker, but that's what kids do, and it makes it his.

I had a ton of Fisher-Price toys as a little, little kid; and loved them dearly. My folks still have them up at their cabin, for visiting children and grandkids to play with. Even the random ones I've found at yard sales have been in obviously played with but pretty good shape; impressive for toys that are in some cases older than I am.

Posting this week is going to be hit-and-miss: this weekend we're off to Disneyland, which should be tons of fun in an exhausting, herding cats kind of way. The Wife has everything planned out, so we're in good shape on that front, but I still have a lot to do before then, like dropping the dogs off with my folks in Montana. Maybe they can whip them into shape: they've both had a problem with peeing in the house...the dogs, not my folks. Sugarpie wakes me up almost every night, barking, yet no one else seems to hear him. It's like a telepathic bark shot straight into my skull, utterly impossible to ignore. Just like having a baby again, except, you know, horrible.

My challenge to myself on this vacation, is to see if I can get a full night of sleep, go to bed at night and wake up in the morning style. I'm lucky if I get six hours of sleep a night during the week, and even that's broken up at least once. Last Saturday, Sugarpie didn't wake me up, the Oldest did, since he had thrown up in the living room. He felt worse for making a mess than he did physically, and apologetically said, "You can take a nap tomorrow if you want to. It's OK." That was nice of him, and I totally did, falling asleep with him while watching Star Wars.

My wife works hard and deserves it, but she sleeps like a corpse. So remember guys, presents and flowers are nice, but nothing says love like mopping up puke at midnight.


Nightcrawler panel from Excalibur #55, "The Ghost of Braddock Manor" Story and art by Alan Davis, inks by Mark Farmer. Read more!

Since we didn't have a babysitter this weekend, we haven't gotten out to see Ghost Rider yet. The report I saw on the news said it had grossed $44 million or so, which isn't a bad sign, but I was hoping to see it before another week of the internet bagging on it. I'm not expecting Shakespeare, and to be honest, if it's shiny and moves fast that's a step up from nine out of ten actual Ghost Rider comics I remember.

Even though I haven't seen the movie yet, the toys are here and there, if you're lucky, and I picked up Caretaker last week.

Caretaker comes with a removable hat, and a bigass hellfire shotgun thing. Does he have it in the movie, is it a holdover from the 90's Ghost Rider/Blaze comics, or is it just a typical projectile-launching accessory? Again, haven't seen it yet, so your guess is as good as mine. I was positive I had a couple of non-flaming .45's for him, but all I found right away were Chief Wiggums and Lou's from the Simpsons. Eh, close enough.

There's a great review for it over at OAFE.net, which did a pretty good job of selling me on it. The one thing poor 'Taker is missing is a flaming horse to ride on, so I did the best I could for him:

...and I have only a vague idea, since I bought him at a garage sale, but I think that's Strider, from the He-Man line? Or maybe not.

Also, my wife's been reading the Secret, from Oprah's show, and thinking all positive, so yesterday she achieved one of her short-term goals and bought a Miniature Pinscher. She named him, 'Sugarpie,' after Anna Nicole Smith's dog. I told you she was a big fan...she also is curious, with Anna and her son dead, what happened to Sugarpie. If Sugarpie is dead, it's a trifecta, Sherlocks. For that matter, a big 'Hi there!' to anyone misdirected here from Google; we talk about comic books here! Wait, come back!

Tiny dog, which thankfully means tiny poop. The oldest is doing a great job watching and taking care of...eh, 'Sugarpie.' The youngest has discovered jealousy, and will hop on anyone's lap if the dog is on it. (Otherwise, he's liking the new dog fine.) And Sam, the bitey dog in the title, seems like an ogre in comparison, but is being nice too.

Now if I can just avoid stepping on the poor, rhinestone-collared bastard... Read more!