Really, the only way to read a comic book is on your belly, on your bed -- sunlight pouring in through the window, the sound of kids playing outside, maybe some conversation coming in from another room. A bag of chips or a bottle of water or some airpopped popcorn at your side, and nowhere to be for hours yet. Just you and the pictures and the words in sequence.
There's a painting by Ian Dale, a friend of mine, of a little girl lost in a gallery of art. Cowed by the brilliance before her. And disconnected from it, because of the images exploiting women, not created by them.
It's a story told in panels, but it's nonsequential. That's why I thought of it.
I had an awesome day yesterday -- haircut and writing screenplay in a coffee shop and buying comic books and eating Chinese food and crashing early, crashing hard, while watching the very silly The Quick and the Dead (notable for: Sam Raimi directing, Russell Crowe below the title, and Leonardo DiCaprio looking very, very boyish). Today, it's the gym and a reading group meeting and later, meeting some folks for drinks at the Blue Room. Who needs to worry about work, after all? Huh?
I'm running out of bookcase space, which means I need more bookcases. I'm operating on limited room space, however, and I like things the way they are. I just happen to like my books even more. Every problem got a solution, I'm sure. Just can't figure this one out yet.