I’ve just been through a week that has , by turns, been aggravating, infuriating, frustrating, terminally stress-inducing, terrifying, touching, exhilarating, illuminating and, now, diseased. I’ve got pneumonia again. (Sing that to the tune of the last line in each verse of “Lodi”: *Oh, lawd, I got NU-moan-YA ah-gin…*)

I’ll write more about this when my head degunks and I’m caught up on a deadline for the new DC project.

It really has been one of the most important weeks of my life, ever.

A few spammers have gotten past WordPress’ defenses the last few days, and we’ve been seeing porn type messages, er, penetrate to the comments sections. I’ve instituted another anti-spam measure that should help considerably. If you notice any strange behavior from the blog as you’re posting comments, please let me know.

From Gail Simone, via Mark Evanier’s blog:

Early this morning, the Texas home of award-winning writer/artist Lea Hernandez, my friend and co-creator of the graphic novel Killer Princesses, caught fire and burned. Half her house is now gone, and the rest is smoke-damaged. In addition, she lost at least six of her family’s beloved pets, two dogs and four cats. If you knew Lea, you’d know how devastating that is.

She’s lost a great deal of her family’s possessions, including irreplaceable art. She doesn’t yet know the full accounting of what’s been lost at this time.

Most know Lea as the brilliant creator of such works as Rumble Girls and Cathedral Child. She drew the Marvel Mangaverse Punisher book, and has drawn for Transmetropolitan, among many other accomplishments. She is also the co-founder and original editor for Girl-a-Matic, one of the most important venues for female-friendly comics created to date.

She’s also my friend, and it’s entirely possible I wouldn’t have a career in comics if she hadn’t asked me to write Killer Princesses for her to draw.

And finally, Lea is one of the last great firebrand hellraisers in comics.

Lea has two (wonderful, amazing) special needs children and right now they need a place to stay and some clothes to wear. More than that, they need some help, and fast, in the form of donations to her PayPal account. Lea’s a proud person so I’m going to ask for her. This is important, and a great chance to do a wonderful thing for a creator who has consistently enriched this industry we all love so much. Please, take a moment and send whatever you can to Lea’s PayPal account and help make this time a little bit less painful for someone who would do the same for you if the positions were reversed.

If you’re a retailer, I ask that you set up a donations jar. If you’re a creator, I ask you to think of how devastating this would be to your career and donate what you can. If you’re a reader, I’m asking you to take a moment and hit the PayPal link. You’ll be doing something heroic and you’ll feel great about it, I promise.

Read what Lea had to post on a neighbor’s computer while wearing her pajamas at Livejournal.com/users/divalea.

Donate (PLEASE) to her PayPal account at [email protected].

Finally, if I understand the story correctly (as told to me by Lea’s good friend and current Girl-a-matic editor), it was Lea’s daughter hearing the smoke alarm that allowed the family to get out in time, so for God’s sake, do everyone you love a favor and CHECK YOUR SMOKE ALARMS.

Thank you so much for helping. Really, any amount you can send will make a difference. That’s all I can say.

And also, if you have a blog or a myspace account, please spread this around as best you can. Every little bit will help and every eye that sees this might be someone who donates.

Sincerely and gratefully,
Gail Simone

Gerber again: Lea Hernandez is a friend of mine, one of the nicer people on Earth, and an important comics talent. Please help if you can.

From Daily Kos.

So much for the myth of the “liberal media”.

I’ve closed comments on the previous post. We were spending ‘way too much time on it. Honestly, I never expected it to generate so much discussion — though I probably should have. Humans are instinctively interested in the particulars of each other’s existence. Dr. Phil has built an empire on that principle.

Thursday afternoon, I had a brief conversation with a person who believes I ruined her life. On purpose.

Existence *is* like a box of chocolates.

You never know if you’re going to get creamy nougat or venom.

Quoting Mark Evanier:

“Keith Olbermann tears Donald Rumsfeld a new orifice. If you haven’t read Rumsfeld’s remarks the other day before the American Legion, go read them first. Then read Olbermann.”

Olbermann also delivered this commentary live tonight at the end of his “Countdown” program on MSNBC. If you can catch the replay later this evening, do.

You know those stories about kids who get mad at a parent and yell “I wish you were dead!”, and then the parent gets run over by a truck, and the guilt-ridden kid feels responsible for the parent’s death for the rest of his life?

Well, I’m dealing with something like that, but not about a parent.

About New Orleans.

I’ve never been to New Orleans. I have nothing against the city, per se, and certainly nothing against its people.

But something once happened in that town, while my figurative back was turned, that wounded me deeply. Without going into petty detail, let’s just say a trust may have been breached.

A year ago, I was lying in a hospital bed with pneumonia, feeling very alone. Betrayed again, in a way, albeit this time by my own body. There was nothing to watch on television but sports (I’m not a fan of anything but boxing and gymnastics), Turner Classic Movies (they were running Humphrey Bogart pictures), and, of course, the approach of Katrina.

As the storm bore down on New Orleans, deep down, in a very ugly part of myself, I thought: “Good.”

I wish I could blame it on the pneumonia, but a moment of infantile self-indulgence was the likelier cause. I wanted the storm to eradicate the city, but, you know, like not hurt anybody.

More precisely, I wanted the storm to obliterate that memory of betrayal.

My reaction when Katrina actually hit New Orleans was the same as everybody else’s — everybody’s who wasn’t in the Bush administration, anyway. I was aghast at the destruction, horrified at the human toll, infuriated by the government’s indifference, and so on. I’m pretty sure I broke into tears at least once, watching the coverage.

Now, I’m an adult, and I fully realize that I wasn’t responsible for a Category 5 hurricane, but I still feel the occasional pang of conscience for wishing what I did that day — because, in a way, it actually worked.

When I think of New Orleans now, the *last* thing that comes to mind is *my* paltry betrayal. I grieve too much for the city’s own.

If you’re not reading Carol Lay’s weekly “WayLay” comic strip on Salon.com, you should be. (Unless you’re a subscriber, you have to watch a brief advertisement to access Salon’s content. It’s worth it.)

Check out the archives and visit Carol’s website, too. If you’ve spent any significant time in L.A., pay particular attention to the “Local Color” link.

I’ve been wanting to post something more personal than a political rant, but what’s been going on in my life the past few weeks is still a little *too* personal to discuss here.

I’ll work up to it eventually.

In the meantime, in the interest of boosting my self-esteem, here’s an article by Greg Hatcher about *Omega the Unknown*, the *Phantom Zone* miniseries, and a part of my oeuvre that ordinarily gets very little attention, my run on *The Defenders*. The latter was one of my all-time favorite assignments, and Greg does a nice job of explaining why, from a reader’s point of view.