HAPPY NEW YEAR, one and all!

Just an early AM post, before the day's labors continue (I've already prepped a room for painting; this is break-time), to wish you all the sweetest kiss-off of 2006 possible, and most fantastic opener to 2007 imaginable.

Of course, it will suck for some of you -- but I don't wish that for you.

It's only the best I'm sending out to ya --

Happy New Year!

In our new home, at last...

As of this morning, Marge and I are in our new home.

Still much, much to do, so I'll sign off after saying (a) awoke after a remarkable dream this morning, omen of a great creative phase ahead, I believe; (b) our kitties Tuco and Lizzie have settled into the new digs already, and seem quite comfy after what must have been the most stressful weeks of their isky-punkin lives; (c) drove to Marlboro this AM to continue the move of the stuff we simply couldn't get up here via the movers, and drove home in the first VT snowstorm of the year.

It was a hairy trip, going 35-45 tops on icy Interstate 91 and witnessing (in my rear-view mirror and then right in front of me) two very nasty accidents, both involving SUVs, while passing no less than four other recent collisions/rollovers en route. It was an arduous trip, and arriving at last at the 2nd Windsor exit and then home felt, well, like home -- with an urgency I didn't believe possible on our first day in our new house.

The night before the movers arrived (on the 28th), I pulled an all-nighter, packing like mad for the final stretch. The move itself was incredibly tough on the movers (in part because they used a tractor trailer instead of two trucks, as originally planned; the tractor trailer couldn't make it up our Windsor driveway due to the pitch of its angle uphill, so the four guys had to haul everything up the length of the driveway to the house) -- and on us. Whew.

Still, more to go, for me -- comics, books, and the vast studio library, which even after packing daily since mid-October, I'm still working my way through. It'll all be done by January 14th, do or die.

Speaking of which -- Saddam. Dead. It was the first news I heard on the radio en route south early this morning. President Bush would have played this for all it was worth two years ago; instead, he's forced to lay low, so hideously fucked this Mideast debacle of his making has become in the eyes of all [12/31 addendum: Bush and Laura Bush in fact spent part of the post-Saddam execution period in an armored vehicle, sheltered from a possible Texan twister; what's God saying to him now?]. When I stopped to gas up this AM during my drive to Marlboro, I went into the store to pay for my gas and a fellow customer missing a few teeth brayed, "Hey, they hung Saddam!" -- and everyone in the store went dead silent. Not a comment, just a few scowls -- no one was feeling jubilant, save for the fellow shy of enamel. He looked around, frowned, and darted out of the store after paying for his cigs, without another word.

OK, gotta run -- painting a room, unpacking, fried and yet amped as only a move can make one... now that we're on high-speed via Comcast, this blogging is a breeze, time-wise!

In case I don't make it on here tomorrow, Happy New Year, one and all!

The Movers Cometh..

... tomorrow.

We've been moving two carloads per car per day all week, including Christmas -- it's the heavy week, and I mean heavy. Weight-wise.

But the new house is feeling like home already, despite this twixt-homes limbo we're inhabiting today.

So, last post from Marlboro, ever. We're packing up the computers tonight; I'll next post from our new digs in Windsor.

High-speed access, here we come!

Gotta run -- pack -- box -- prep -- have a great New Year, one and all, and I promise a livelier 2007 online from me than you got in 2006!

More CCS Memories --

[That's Cat (aka Cayetano Garza), Gabby (aka Ignatz-Award-winner 'Ken Dahl') -- both making divine music -- alongside moi and Alexis and Kristen Frederick-Frost, doing sketches and signing books, at the CCS auction two Saturdays ago. Photo by Robyn Chapman]

More on the CCS auction -- a post and photos by the incredible Robyn Chapman, cartoonist extraordinaire and Goddess of CCS in more ways than I can say -- is waiting for you

at the local White River Junction UVScene site.

Check it out!

Tuco Loves Everyone!

Meow!

In the past few weeks, our cat Tuco has proven to be the most social cat Marge and I have ever known. He's always greeting everyone in the coming and going of the move prep, and he whole-heartedly approved of the prospective new buyers/owners of our Marlboro home (by falling asleep on the fellow's lap during their first visit!). Here he is amid a interspecies lovefest with Penina, one of the CCS freshman (during the move this past Saturday).

Much to report, but man, I am beat. The current semester of CCS is now over for me -- I wrapped up my classes yesterday and this morning, then bombed back to Marlboro to be here for the plumber, seeing to minor but necessary repairs for this Friday's inspection.

But, like, that's boring, eh?

In the meantime, enjoy the following goodies -- plenty of eye-candy and virtual-fun:

Joe Lambert's photo album of our move this past Saturday, and a partial tour of the home we're leaving...

Joe's photo journal of the CCS auction's downstairs sketch factory, which was cooking away a mere two Saturdays ago --

-- and Sukimon's photo album of the CCS auction's main action, upstairs!

The auction was a great success, BTW, and big fun. And you missed it --

Happy Holidays, one and all!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAN!

21 at last!

Congrats, son, and may you have 80 more years
of good health, good times, and good life...

[For the rest of you, more later today, as time permits...]

"Because It's Moooooooving Day, Mooooooooving Day -- Pick the Carpet Up Off the Floor, Get On Your Overcoat,
You're Out the Door, Because It's
Moooooooooooving Day --"

Ah, a little Holy Modal Rounders to open the morning.

Yep, it's moving day -- a caravan of Center for Cartoon Studies students will make the pilgrimage to Marlboro this morning to lend Marge and I a hand with stage #3 of our move (the real moving day is December 28th-29th; that's when the hired movers arrive and everything left her goes north). I pay everyone for gas and we offer a real home-cooked massive breakfast in exchange for their hard labor today, and we try to make it worthwhile and some fun for all who pitch in.

I've arranged for coffee to be a-waitin' for them at our local and beloved country store Sweetie's en route, then chugchugchug up the hill to the Bissette hacienda, where I'll be cooking up my famous (hereabouts) homemade flapjack breakfast en masse to fill everyone up to the brim. I serve 'em hot off the pan/griddle as they are ready, along with VT maple syrup and butter, rashes of bacon, sausage, tons o' orange, tomato and cranberry juice, and some seasonal apple cider.

After cramming tummies to the tom-tom drum point, we'll then load up the rental truck I've got parked in me yard and everyone's cars and vehicles, and then upstate we go -- to our new home in Windsor.

About a month ago, the CCSers and we did the same thing, only our destination point that day was our storage barns a short drive from our Windsor abode. It was the best we could do before the closing. Today, though, we'll be bringing everything (including a little furniture and at least one futon bed) to our home -- we closed on Tuesday, it's now ours.

And last night, the buyers of our current Marlboro home came by to drop off the signed contracts -- so, sans disaster, we've pretty much found the new residents of our beloved Marlboro homestead, which has been so kind to us. Marge and I were married in this house; Danny grew up into young manhood here; we love the house, this home, the land, the view, this community.

But it's time to move on.

OK, I gotta go -- boxes to finish packing, things to move in prep for the big move today; more to report later!

Have a great weekend, all...

Bigger than Life:
As the Semester Comes to a Close...

...time is growing short in the Center for Cartoon Studies fall semester. I've only got two more weeks of teaching, including this week; it's been a productive and pretty amazing semester thus far, and I managed to cram the complete history of comics into this fall semester (I fell short last year, cheating the first-ever class out of the '80s and '90s -- my bad!).

It's been a lot of fun pulling together the final three weeks of lectures. Wherein the previous 10 weeks (David A. Berona was guest speaker for week 11, covering his field of expertise: the 'lost' graphic novels of the early 20th Century) were utterly dependent on scans, slides, passing around rare items and viewing the occasional video clip, packrat Bissette kept every scrap of video ever given to me throughout my years in comics, meaning these last three weeks have been brimming with video interviews, artifacts (the real Harvey Pekar/David Letterman appearances!) and news items (including some choice TV news attacks on comics from the '90s) that bring the respective participants, creators and events to vivid life.

It's also been a fascinating process, combing my collection for these clips and going through the selection process. Aside from the spectacle of seeing myself 10-15-20 years younger (which my wife Marge has savored a little too much), it's been a real trip down memory lane seeing younger incarnations of my friends and peers: John Totleben, Rick Veitch, Dave Sim, Scott McCloud, Frank Miller, Larry Marder, John Byrne, Diana Schutz, Kevin Eastman, Peter Laird, Jim Lawson and the whole Mirage Studios crew, Colleen Doran, Michael Zulli, Steve Murphy, Melinda Gebbie, Clive Barker and many no longer with us (including Julie Schwartz and the late Dave Cockrum) -- right on up to the Image years (1992-93 for me) and Todd McFarlane, Rob Liefeld, Jim Valentino, Erik Larsen and company. These folks and many others are among the potpourri of convention tapes, event tapes, news shows, ancient comics video productions from various corners of the country, including near-complete series (like TV Ontario's Prisoners of Gravity, compliments of co-producer and head writer Mark Askwith, the man who gave Taboo its name!).

Most odd of all for me personally has been seeing Alan Moore in various video clips and interviews, spanning our entire years together -- a decade-long friendship and professional relationship, it was, and I'm far enough along from the termination of that relationship a decade (yep!) ago that I can enjoy Alan's on-camera presence sans pain or anger. I miss him, but it's all OK now; nice to "see" him again.

Ah, the '90s.

Also among the clips is a young James Sturm -- before I knew him, though we first met sometime back there at San Diego Con or Bethesda or somewhere -- along with folks I only got to visit a couple of times, like Jim Woodring.

Some of this my students will see, some they won't -- a lot of useless, barely-audible convention video adds up to nothing of use in the classroom, though the footage sparks vivid memories for me. Still, it's been a trip working through all this material.

Given time, I'll make sure to copy all this material onto DVD and send it off to the HUIE Library/Henderson State Library Stephen R. Bissette Collection, fully annotated. That may necessitate viewings with cronies like Rick Veitch to confirm the facts (hell, my memory slips at times -- Bob Herr recently caught me on this very blog fucking up my own Swamp Thing comics collaboration credits, and Rick Veitch caught me last year forgetting entirely about our fleeting lunch with a whacked S. Clay Wilson here in Brattleboro, VT! How could I forget that? I did!). Anyhoot, point being, the CCS freshman are getting quite a snapshot of the last 30 years of comics via this video collection -- and it'll all be available to anyone able to visit HUIE's Bissette Collection down the road.

Ah, gotta run -- we've got a house closing to get to.

It's been quite a ride thus far, and it's about to get more intense... ciao for now!

My Weekly Reader...

...that's what this once-daily blog has turned into, sorry to say. (Just like grade school for you fellow old-timers, eh? I just came across a little stash of those archaic elementary school treasures while packing on Saturday.)

The move continues, with the closing on the new house going down tomorrow AM -- and the very good news that we have a buyer (and, incredibly enough, a backup buyer) for our Marlboro home, too. This has thankfully removed most of Marge's anxieties about the move, and given us considerable confidence in the wisdom of our decision to do this crazy thing in the first place.

That said, there's much hard work ahead, and not a day goes by without hours poured into the process in multiple capacities. This means almost no computer and/or writing time, which has been a disappointment in more ways than one, but the tasks constantly at hand are many and increasingly urgent.

More news as all this falls into place. Know for now that all is still going surprisingly well, I've only falling down the backsteps once carrying boxes, and we'll be in our new home soon.

I'm cautious about saying too much more, though; don't want to chance any (further) missteps or false expectations.

_________

Feeling momentarily fried on all-things-moving, after a busy Sunday morning -- sigh -- packing, Marge and I played hooky from our own lives long enough to dash down to Brattleboro and catch separate matinees of movies we both wanted to see -- but not together.

Ya see, Marge hates cinematic violence, so Mel Gibson's Apocalypto was on her "definitely don't see" list, especially given its epic 2+ hour running time and instant critical notoriety for its Mayan sacrificial horrors and characteristic Gibson onscreen brutality. For me, having little patience for studio-produced 21st Century romantic comedies, I'd rather have my face gnawed off by a jaguar than sit through well over two hours of The Holiday (Eli Wallach's character role notwithstanding).

Preserving our marital bliss, we carpooled to the theater, kissed, divided and conquered, emerging individually slaked and recharged after our respective matinee entertainments had unspooled.

Our capsule reviews: Marge loved The Holiday, reportedly crying through part of it -- "but a good cry," she cooed -- and was most surprised by Wallach's performance, which may yet get me into the theater. I was captivated and engrossed with Apocalypto, which taxed my credibility only with its over-the-top childbirth sequence amid the climactic gauntlet mayhem -- otherwise, an engaging and decidedly masculine classic of its form. The NY Times review belittled Gibson and his film for not emulating Herzog; they miss the point entirely -- with Braveheart and Apocalypto, Gibson is most clearly following and improving upon the directorial efforts of a prior generation's star-turned-filmmaker Cornel Wilde, whose best films (The Naked Prey, Beach Red, No Blade of Grass) were similarly unapologetic for their aggressive, violent, pulpish and rigorously physical endurance tests; unflinching films with rich emotional cores and tough world views. Apocalypto is essentially a remake (and an inversion) of The Naked Prey, with similar end-of-empire colonial underpinnings and ideosyncratic collisions of sentimentalism and savagery.

Gibson's new film worked for me; more sickening, to my mind, is the useless spectacle of squeamish critics ignoring Gibson's accomplishments in order to whine about the quotient of onscreen bloodshed amid America's bloodiest era since Vietnam. That era yielded a Christmas season (1971) bounty of Friedkin's The French Connection, Polanski's Macbeth, Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange, Peckinpah's Straw Dogs, Siegel's Dirty Harry, and Russell's The Devils; how soon we forget. For a nation continuing to indulge and (via a spineless Congress) sanction its leaders's basest instincts for warmongering, torture and bullying, the disconnect is increasingly revolting. To date, I've heard/read no discussion of the obvious links between the Christian population's embrace of Gibson's The Passion (of the Christ) and chronologically concurrent eruption of abuses at Abu Ghraib, Guantanemo and "extraordinary rendition" kidnappings and torture; for a filmmaker so clearly obsessed with martyrdom, penance and repentance, one would think the heartfelt and transparent thematic response from Gibson via Apocalypto would prompt some substantial discussion or debate, but it's all being swept aside as trivial: only the mock collective outrage at simulated violence merits discussion, with obligatory nods to Gibson's personal misbehavior.

If only similar outrage had been so quickly mustered and mobilized against the genuine horrors, the real blood on our collective hands...

_________

Returning home, I packed some more while Marge wrapped the last of the Christmas presents we have for friends and family. We then bolted out the door to savor an evening at Jeannie and Mark Martin's cozy log cabin home in Massachusetts, and a good old-fashioned Christmas season party at the Martins. It was a capacity crowd, a grand time, and it was great to see some new faces -- hello, Colin, Dan and Phayvanh! What an amazing surprise! -- among those I'd not seen for years.

Then it was home agin, home agin jiggedy-jig, and down for evening. Without packing.

Up this AM -- and packing anew...

_________

Among the casualties of the move and the lack of time to blog has been updates and current news, links, etc. I used to be pretty dependable for. It's beginning to catch up with me, as books I have some small part of are seeing print without a whisper from me here.

* First up is Rob Walton's exquisite one-volume completion of his classic 1990s comic Ragmop, which is indeed a thing of beauty. Unlike most things of beauty, though, it's also gut-busting, fall-down funny and savagely precise in repeatedly bulls-eying its many social/religious/political targets, which are (literally) legion (in the Biblical sense of the word, natch).

From Rob's revamp of Jack Davis's classic It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World movie poster art for the collected Ragmop cover to the abundant extras and appendices in the back of the book -- this is as jam-packed as a 'special edition Director's Cut' DVD, bunkie! -- Ragmop is a true delight, and hefty enough at 452 pages that if you accidentally drop it on your cat, you'll be making a trip to the vet or the pet 'semetary' in a skipped heartbeat.

I've posted numerous times here over the summer and fall about this revised & expanded completion of Ragmop, and there's not much more I can say with the little time I have this morning, except to holler, in virtual space -- don't delay, snap up your copy (perfect Christmas gift, too!) today. Pronto! I'd be ballyhooing Rob's epic regardless, but it behooves me to mention my own minor contribution -- an introduction -- if only to prompt a few of you out there to

read the online interview with Rob about Ragmop over at PaneltoPanel.net, and place your order while you're at it!

* Secondly, the new issue of Video Watchdog magazine -- #128, cover-featuring actor Tony Russel of 1960's guilty pleasure Wild, Wild Planet -- sports a review by yours truly. Nothing momentous -- a trifle entitled The Hollow is my subject -- but its nice to be in VW's pages again, and here's hoping after the move I can get back to work on my freelance writing (including more, of substance, for VW) with my old enthusiasm. As usual, though, Video Watchdog is compulsive cover-to-cover reading, and my favorite magazine of them all.

_________

Howard was dead right --

Howard Dean of Vermont, then a candidate for president and now the chairman of the Democratic National Committee, quoted February 2003:

"I firmly believe that the president is focusing our diplomats, our military, our intelligence agencies, and even our people on the wrong war, at the wrong time. Iraq is a divided country, with Sunni, Shia and Kurdish factions that share both bitter rivalries and access to large quantities of arms."

Howdy All -- Catchup with those Fries?

Morning, all, and sorry I've been away.

It's been a long week or so. We've had some computer and internet woes amidst total preoccupation with all things related to the move -- including buying the new house and starting the process of selling our current Marlboro home -- on top of the day jobs and daily duties, so apologies, but it's been, ah, overwhelming, to say the least.

There's much to report, but little time to get it down for you.

Let's see, though "I'll have mine" soon (high-speed internet access, that is, in Windsor), it's been important to me to responsibly transition out of the nine months of labor (what, no contractions yet?) on getting some or any form of high-speed broadband internet access for Marlboro. I'm happy to report that the months of work on the behalf of the entire committee just this past week yielded a $50,000 state grant for Marlboro; it was the efforts of Patrick Moreland initially and Jane Wilde and Tom Lowell in the home stretch that landed this grant, and it's a great accomplishment -- though it's a drop in the bucket in terms of what Marlboro and the neighboring towns will need to accomplish the goal of high-speed internet for all. Cable, Verizon, etc. are clearly not options, so it'll be towers, antennae, repeaters and such to accomplish the task in Marlboro's rugged terrain. Still, a very significant milestone, this, and a good grace note to depart from the process, knowing seed money is at last in place. Now the real work begins -- but for Marlboro as a town, not ol' Bissette, who's bound for new horizons in just a couple of weeks.

*************

This past Friday, Marge and I closed on the loan necessary to the new home purchase, and the closing on the Windsor house (if all things fall into place) is a mere week away. With that at hand, we've been busily packing and moving daily -- the most momentous moving day thus far was

the weekend we had help from Center for Cartoon Studies students (photos posted here by lanky Joe Lambert, who is a godlike being).

It's a process which we'll be repeating soon for one last haul before the real movers show up after Christmas; Marge cooked up a hell of a meal for all involved and we paid for gas, so it's not slave labor or anything (next session, I'm cooking up a massive batch of home-made pancakes and more for the students helping; grub is a necessity!). My son Dan has been pitching in, too, and we put in an evening together of box-hauling and packing just last night.

We've still got a long way to go, though, and a short time to get there...

*******************

There's also been some quiet resolution to the Dave Sim exchange,

over here on Dave Sim's new blog.

Wow, Dave blogging -- it is the 21st Century.

For those of you blissfully unaware of this exchange, the

bombshell hit over here on Al Nickerson's Creator Rights site,

way back in June, and

my reply is posted here, on the same site.

I waited the summer to post for a couple reasons: I wanted to think through my response and not respond out of anger or a defensive position; I wanted to see if anyone else would weigh in (I love how those who chide me at times about these matters simply never engage, especially when it could make a difference); and I wanted to be sure Dave had nothing more to add or say on the matter. That said, this all worked out for the best in the end.

The recap and highlights are posted here, though, for easy digestion.

A little context: Dave and I go waaaaaaay back, this latest exchange continuing a conversation begun in, oh, 1984. Dave and I have never backed away from confrontational conversation, even if it sometimes takes years to sort things out. And Dave, like Rick Veitch, can say any damned thing they'd like about me, having known me and put up with my bullshit for decades now, through thick and thin (that doesn't mean I don't reply when they're talking shit, mind you -- and Dave was most certainly talking shit).

This feels like a resolution, and I'm happy about that.

Nice to have this behind me, too, before the new phase in my life begins.

I see the move to Windsor providing a geographic transition point to the emotional/creative changes ahead.

It's all a big adventure, really.

***************

Time's up for this morning.

I have a mega-full day ahead, teaching at CCS and prepping for tomorrow's CCS sessions, too.

BTW, we of the CCS had a great week past, including

an amazing morning drawing session at the Quechee, VT VINS (Vermont Institute of Natural Science) Raptor Center, drawing a half-dozen birds-of-prey from life (photos posted here by jangly Joe Lambert).

This was a truly excellent life-drawing session, which I put together with the good folks at VINS, especially Karen Keane, Teresa Mitchell and Amala Posey (who is the bird handler in the photos Joe's posted, and was the most gracious and informative host imaginable), and the blessings of James Sturm and Michelle Ollie at CCS -- and I'll find a way to post my drawings here soon.

I'm honestly stunned that we were the first drawing class to arrange such a session with VINS; I mean, Dartmouth is just across the river. I'm the first drawing instructor to think of this and act on it? Well, there ya go -- another CCS innovation!

VINS is an amazing resource, and we were privileged to have this kind of access to such amazing birds. Having the chance to sketch owls (two species), hawks, kestrels and a full-grown Turkey Buzzard in a classroom setting was a once-in-a-lifetime experience I'm determined to make not-once-in-a-lifetime. This needs to be an annual or every-semester event!

It was also a natural progression from our earlier fall drawing session at the likewise-nearby Montshire Science Museum; both experiences, I feel, provide eye/heart/mind-opening experiences for young artists and cartoonists.

And we geezer cartoonists can use the shot of adrenaline, too, this brings.

OK, I gotta run -- more later, best to y'all --