The puppeteer, cartoon-voice legend, and artificial-heart inventor (really!) was, according to his estranged daughter April, “a very troubled and unhappy man.” One could hardly expect any less from the voice of Gargamel and Dick Dastardly.

…to Thurl Ravenscroft, whose deep resonant voice was heard in Disneyland singing-robot-animal shows, old time radio, religious albums, Elvis records, the animated film The Brave Little Toaster (as Kirby the vacuum cleaner), the original How the Grinch Stole Christmas (singing “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch”), and in commercials for over half a century as Tony the Tiger.

…a novel that had an illustration for every page was called a “Big Little Book.” Zak Smith’s personal project to create “Illustrations for Every Page of Gravity’s Rainbow“ might be considered a Big Big Big Book.

…to Dale Messick, the Brenda Starr creator and the only (then) living cartoonist to get a commemorative U.S. postage stamp, and to Debralee Scott, the love-frustrated kid sister on Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman.

…the onetime Seattle illusttator-cartoonist known for her “Victorian Lowbrow” art and her triangle-slash logo, now has a website full of artowrk, cool ephemera for sale, and remembrances about the crazy days of old Belltown.

…the Rocklopedia Fakebandica, which claims to be the ultimate authority on fictional rock bands in movies and TV shows, doesn’t just include the obvious entries such as Spinal Tap or Jem and the Holograms. It even has the Beets (from the cartoon Doug), Lenny and the Squigtones (from Laverne & Shirley), and the notorious ’60s would-be hipster film The Phynx!

…just keeps on a-comin’. Today, we must say goodbye to Frank Kelly Freas and
Will Eisner, two of America’s greatest illustrators and graphic storytellers.

…in quite the same precise way as supposedly “wholesome entertainment” that’s actually creepy/offensive/horrific. I’m thinking right now of Santa Claus Conquers the Martians, “Starving Artist Sale” mass-produced oil paintings, the old Today’s Chuckle front-page newspaper joke, Leave It to Beaver, The All-New Leave It to Beaver, and retro diners decked out in Fifties Fetishism.

Thus, I suspect I’ll love that new kiddie movie, The Polar Express.

First, it has Tom Hanks (my vote for the most overrated ham actor since Richard Burton) in not one but five roles, including Santa Claus and a ten-year-old boy.

On top of that, Hanks and the rest of the cast have been digitally transformed into hyper-realistic versions of the paintings in Chris Van Allsburg’s original book—figures that were haunting in an intentional, moody way.

The result, according to several reviewers and online essayists, is a “creepy” spectacle filled with “zombie-like,” “dead-eyed mannequins.”

And it’s in 3D at Imax theaters!

Sounds like entertainment to me.

I’ve been on a political-news fast since this morning. I’m refusing to get bitter, depressed, or frustrated.

I’ve been cleansing and renewing my mind with Looney Tunes and Doctor Who DVDs, with Comcast digital cable’s opera music channel, with the coffee-table book Playboy: The Photographs, and with the last two stories in my main man D.F. Wallace’s anthology Oblivion. And I’ve been trying to jump-start my one-month novel, to little success thus far.

Tomorrow, I’m likely to spend the day locked up with my yet-to-be-written novel. I might read only the sports and living sections of the newspaper. I’ll go out later that evening, but will instruct my schmoozing companions to stick to discussing personal and/or upbeat topics.

I’m sure that within a few days, I’ll have something to say about the national tragedies. Until then, let me remind you of a certain famous fictional political organizer, “Boss” Jim W. Gettys.

As played by future Perry Mason costar Ray Collins in Orson Welles’s film classic Citizen Kane, this “W.” is an admitted “no gentleman,” a crook and grafter. He’s the target of the egotistical-yet-populistic publisher Charles Foster Kane’s short-lived political career. (In the first draft of the screenplay, it’s clearer that Kane isn’t running for office directly against Gettys, but against Democratic and Republican candidates who are both in Gettys’s pocket.)

It ends badly. Gettys finds and exploits a scandal in Kane’s personal life. On election night, Kane’s right-hand man instructs the press-room staff at Kane’s New York Inquirer to use a pre-set front page headline, “Charles Foster Kane Defeated—FRAUD AT POLLS!.”

Kane wastes the rest of his life as a grumpy old conservative hermit, with no sense of humor and horrid artistic tastes.

Dear God, please don’t let me end up like that.

…with a little time on his or her hands has concocted a little motivational video for John & John fans, Visualize Winning.

…I’m currently watching the first Presidential debate. I’m watching it on C-SPAN (and, with a Net connection, so can you). They’ve got a split-screen shot of both candidates on at all times, with no annoying cutaways to the questioners.

Kerry and Bush are giving off the respective auras of my favorite Cartoon Network duo, I. M. Weasel and I.R. Baboon. Kerry’s articulate, level-headed, and cool. Bush is muffing his lines, darting his eyes about nervously, and turning every response into a lead-in to some pre-scripted talking point.

Of course, the op-ed pundits have warned us for the past week not to judge the debates on body language but on message content. There, too, Kerry’s mopping up Bush like just about every baseball team’s mopped up the Mariners this year.

Kerry’s giving solid responses, short and tart but packed with action proposals (or phrases that sound like action proposals). Bush reiterates past buzzwords and demographically-tested catch phrases.

Of course, the cable channels will declare Bush the “winner” of the debate, no matter what.

Today’s batch starts with the big alterna-comix emphasis at this year’s festival, which culminated in a rather rambling panel discussion among our ol’ pals Harvey Pekar, Peter Bagge, Gary Groth, Jessica Abel, and Gilbert Hernandez.

Back when I was a grunt laborer for Groth, I quickly learned that cartoonists seldom speak in the taut word-balloon language in which they write. They ramble. sometimes they get to their intended point; sometimes (particularly in the case of the beloved Mr. Pekar) they end up somewhere else entirely.

So I wasn’t surprised when the conversation wandered off topic often. Still, the panel made several cogent statements. It concluded that after many years of bitter struggle, “graphic novels” (whatever the heck that term means) have gained a foothold in the mainstream book biz. Of course, that just means there are more of those titles out there, which means a lot more chaff (repackaged superhero crap, comics written to be sold to the movies) as well as a little more wheat.

Artis the Spoonman is now also Artis the Slam Poet, ranting about five centuries of oppression against the true human spirit.

I didn’t get to a lot of the great bands that played over the four days, including Aveo, the Killers, the Girls, and Drive By Truckers. But I did enjoy the thoroughly rockin’ sets by the Witness (above) and the Turn-Ons.

My sometime alterna-journalism colleagues in Harvey Danger have re-formed, and played their first all-ages gig in five years. Sean Nelson, bless him, still looks like a journalist, but his singing voice is stronger than ever.

From the above image, I won’t have to tell you that wristbands for the nighttime stadium rock show were gone within an hour and a half on Monday. Built to Spill singer-songwriter Doug Martsch (below) sounded more Michael Stipe-like than ever.

The reunited Pixies, however, sounded just the same (marvelous) as they ever did. They played all their should-have-been-hits and then some, in a tight hour-and-a-half show. Few singers can make me so happy, singing about such bleak topics, as Mr. Black and Ms. Deal can.

One more set of these pix to come.

…was first sold, P-I cartoonist David Horsey depicted a rude businessman walking into a store and asking if there was a “WonderJock.” Well, now there is. (Viewer discretion advised.)

…”found” concrete poetry based on junk e-mail headlines? A similar premise drives “Spamusement!: Poorly-drawn cartoons inspired by actual spam subject lines!”

…has a remarkably serious, positive assessment of the “graphic novel” phenom.