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Salgood Sam's work reminds me of a description of I once read of The Cure (the band): walking in the space between mainstream and alternative. He can draw as well as any commercial/mainstream comics artist, while combining the themes, sensibility and "auteur" feel of alternative/independent comix.

Here's a preview:

dl.salgoodsam.com/backcover/dr…

And here's some beautiful original art pages you could own by pledging:

www.kickstarter.com/projects/s…
dvhstudios.com/2012/01/it-is-a…
new website:

dvhstudios.com/
My site, www.dvhstudios.com, now has a blog as a news page.

www.dvhstudios.com/news/
I will be there. It's this saturday and sunday, in Montreal, place bonaventure.
table 726, friday 515 to 9, saturday 945 to 9, sunday 945 to 5, otakuthon, palais des congres, montreal, quebec, canada.
sequential.spiltink.org/2009/0…
I was going through some pictures today. My mom used to be a very pretty lady, but that was 30 years ago. She's not in her 20s anymore. I had my played my part, being the first born, in digging those trenches in her face. It's sad to look at pictures of your mom when she looked like she didn't have a care in the world, when she was younger than you are now, and then to look at her now. It reminds me of an Émile Nelligan poem.

DEVANT DEUX PORTRAITS DE MA MÈRE

Ma mère, que je l'aime en ce portrait ancien,
Peint aux jours glorieux qu'elle était jeune fille,
Le front couleur de lys et le regard qui brille
Comme un éblouissant miroir vénitien !

Ma mère que voici n'est plus du tout la même ;
Les rides ont creusé le beau marbre frontal ;
Elle a perdu l'éclat du temps sentimental
Où son hymen chanta comme un rose poème.

Aujourd'hui je compare, et j'en suis triste aussi,
Ce front nimbé de joie et ce front de souci,
Soleil d'or, brouillard dense au couchant des années.

Mais, mystère de coeur qui ne peut s'éclairer !
Comment puis-je sourire à ces lèvres fanées ?
Au portrait qui sourit, comment puis-je pleurer ?
                                                                    -Émile Nelligan

I was trying to find a picture of my parents' friend who is dying of cancer. I intended to draw a card and give it to her when I was going to visit her today. I wasted too much of time and I did not draw the card. It was time to leave.

I was dreading this all week. I knew I wouldn't know what to say, what to do. There isn't a program in university that teaches you what to say to someone who has a few weeks to live. I can read a 500 page book, write a 10 page essay, paint a landscape, draw posters, extract teeth, create a 3d model of a fantasy creature, make 64.70$ an hour, repair cavities, I have doctorate from the biggest French university in North America, … but when it comes to this, like most things in the real world, I'm a complete failure.

Her husband, who is also my godfather, was there. Her coworkers were also there, they thought I was her son. She told me she was really tired. She was balding. Her eyelids looked heavier than whales. Someone had designed her, using her skeleton and her thin brown paper-bag like skin and had forgotten to add layers of muscle and adipose tissue. There was only little hill under the blanket, surely corresponding to where her uterus was. On the desk, close to her bed, there was a binder with medical articles bout her illness, flowers and a card, a Vietnamese prayer book and other catholic items, a picture of her, healthy and smiling with a cup in her hand. Her designer had removed all saturation from her, yet the framed photograph was bright and vivid. Other than seeing my grandparents cry at my uncle's funeral in 1998, while half naked soccer fans drove by the streets outside the funeral home, honking and screaming in jubilation, this was the most godawful juxtaposition I have ever witnessed.

I spent most of the time there reading the articles, staring at the corner of the desk, staring at the bottom of the vase, at the medical machinery, sometimes at her sleepy face. How do you deal with this? In about 30 minutes I will have to leave to attend a mass at her house. How does my godfather deal with this, organizing his wife's death? Making calls to invite friends and family, finding a priest, making sure there will be food for the guests? How do you organize the death of someone you have lived 30 years with? His youngest son had to go buy cookies, because last week we were also at her house praying. How do you go to the supermarket to buy chocolate chip cookies for the people who will be snacking after having prayed for your terminally ill mother? How do you study for your math exam 3 days later? Her siblings were there last week, cleaning out the fridge, throwing out the expired and rotten food, scraping the stained inner walls of the fridge. She hasn't been home in awhile after all. How do you deal with this? Why do you have to be in a situation like this?

The last time I saw her she dropped by the clinic with a dental emergency. Her temporary crown had fallen off. I tried to cement it back temporarily as best as I could without interfering with the work of her dentist because the work was still in progress. She gave me a ride home afterward. She asked about what I was studying, saying that she admired me for going through dental school even when my heart wasn't in it and to go back to school to pursue my interests. She said I was a good boy to have obeyed my father like that. She was a nice lady. She was really hard working, regularly working over 40 hours a week to run her plastic company. She was a good person and I wish I didn't already know the answers to all the questions I've asked and to why she has to go through this. I already figured it out all those years ago in that funeral home when the world cup fans where driving around as happy as my family was sad. Justice or fairness is about equality and equality is about balance. And there is balance in the world. Someone will be unlucky and someone will be lucky. Someone will be very rich and many will be very poor. Someone at this very moment will be twitching due to an orgasm and someone else will be twitching due to a stroke or a seizure. My grandpa will let his face melt in his hands while standing in front of his son's corpse while a soccer fan will wave his arms and flag in celebration. It all balances out. Who says life's not fair?

There isn't even a fraction of residual Kimveer Gill effect left in my routine. The scare and the questions and the resolved and the motivation probably lasted a good week and I was back to thinking about how I will do the next project with the minimum amount of effort, about my receding hairline, about how it would be cool to the be greatest graphic novelist in the history of the universe, about why I can't get laid a reasonable 3 times a week, about who's the coolest boxer, about girls and other trivial pursuits. My hairline doesn't seem that bad after having seen chemo rob someone of half of their hair. My effeminate build doesn't seem that bad after having seen a sleepy skeleton. My annoying libido does not seem to matter at all when I think of what's happening to this family. I hope this keeps me in check longer than the KG effect.

When we were talking about our antisocial dads, her youngest son told us that she wanted him to live at home until he got married. There's not much left in the Pandora's box for her after all. Her husband demanded that they try curing her again, one last shot with chemo or a drug. The odds are against her, she suffers from a rare cancer, uterine leiomyosarcoma, and since she is so weak, treatment might remove all the time she has left here. It's come to this: last requests and praying or begging, unless you see a difference. It's come to the point where a mother asks her baby boy to live at home until he gets married because she doesn't want her husband to be lonely when she's gone.

When I left the room and walked away from the hospital I almost cried. There was heavy quicksand in my chest and my organs were sinking slowly. I can only imagine what this family is going through, how empty and heavy their chests must feel, how pricked and sharp the acid coated spears that are piercing them are. I can only imagine how horrible it must be to have to work on an engineering project at a time like this. I don't even want to imagine how Christmas will be for them without their mom, his wife, their sister …

                                                                  -DVH, 18/11/2006 – 19/11/2006
Wednesday night, the night of the shooting at my school, I was watching a dateline show on TV. It was that show where they catch pedophiles in a house in Florida. It's funny at 1st. The pervs meet a decoy young girl or boy in a chat room, start chatting dirty and they get invited to a home in Florida where they expect to meet a horny and willing young teen who's home alone. They then show up to the house and instead of finding the object of their lust, they are interviewed by a dateline reporter. They are humiliated and arrested and sent to prison.

My dad is against these tactics. He has a point, I mean even though they are gross and sexual predators should be stopped, these men are lured and some might not have done anything wrong yet. Now I don't want an ipod, but if someone offered me an ipod for 50$ or 20$, stolen or not, I might start wanting it. It is a good way of preventing and stopping sexual offences, but it's a deceptive way of doing it.

It bothers me that NBC made a show out of this, thus getting ratings and $. And of course on Wednesday, right after the show, there's was an interview of the good-looking 23 year old female teacher who had a liaison with a 14 year old male student. That rubs me the wrong way.

Now you see, this is deal with this world: if you're white, you can't criticize black people or any other ethnicity, if you're male, you can't criticize women, if you're straight, you can't criticize homosexuals, etcetera. Black pride is ok, but white pride is racism. Feminism is ok, but I've never heard of masculinism and it would probably be considered sexism. Gay pride is ok, but hetero pride is homophobia (ok, I'm exaggerating but I'm sure you get my drift). So basically if you're a black jewish lesbian, you can say whatever you want about anyone else but no one can say anything about you 'cause you know, you're an oppressed minority.

The real problem I have with all of this is that there is a clear difference in the way we perceive a male offender and a female offender. Males can't really be victims of a sex crime now, can they? Heck, males can practically never be considered victims of anything unless the oppressors were stronger and meaner males. The teacher who had sex with her student, whether you consider it a crime or not (I know my brother doesn't and I don't think any 14 year old boy would turn down having sex with their hot teacher, I know that at 14 only a few things seemed cooler than having sex with a hot woman: comics, a new SNES game, and maybe going out with some girl I had a crush on), she still did something "wrong," yet her punishment was practically nothing compared to what the men got. You can argue that the 14 year old boy wanted it, and I'm sure he did, but didn't the decoy who chatted with these men also pretend to want it too? I don't think the men traveled to Florida if the decoy didn't make it sound like he or she wanted it. It basically means that is it ok for an adult female to have sex with a willing teenage boy but it is not ok for an adult male to have sex with willing teenage boy or girl. Now, tell me where's the fairness in that?

I'm not saying adults should be having sex with minors and I'm not saying sexual predators shouldn't be stopped and I'm not saying that the pedophiles that got caught fail to gross me out. I'm just wondering why you can get away with it when you're an attractive female and get an interview with Matt Lauer to tell your side of the story, whereas if you have a penis you're on TV being humiliated, arrested, questioned by the police, thrown into a cell.

Shit, I have work at 1.

DVH
I normally wouldn't be doing this, but I'm not in the best mood alors...

Yesterday, I finally got to speak to my best friend. It's been awhile. For 2 people who've known each other for over a decade, who are practically related, who were born 3 days apart, ... life can always get in the way of everything.

Anyways, she told me about how she enjoyed watching "Loft Story." I had to rant. Everything about that show rubs me the wrong way. Loft Story, being a quebecois rip off of Big Brother, implicitly promises the same thing: a bunch of people from different walks of life in the same household, look at them interact. But this is a load of shit. Reality TV is a load of shit. The appeal of reality tv was that the characters could be anybody, you know, you, me, the girl next door, the weirdo at work, the cab driver, ... anyone, not just good-looking (caucasian) actors. But shiet suddenly reality tv has become like everything else. The male contestants on Fear Factor are a bunch of cocky relatively good-looking dudes who can't swim and the female ones look good in swimwear but are always scared shitless of rats or something. The Bachelor is about 1 guy with 25 babes, oh and I haven't seen a black, red, yellow or mocha bachelor yet. So what's "Loft Story"? No it's not a circus performer, model, oriental convenient store clerk, software engineer, rock musician and the Pope living together. It's a bunch of the best looking quebecers in their 20s who spend more $ on clothes and grooming than anyone. Yeah, they are also all white, since the black girl got eliminated 1st. I mean, aren't you supposed to show us a bunch of different people interacting? These people aren't different, if they didn't meet on the show they'd have all met next week in the same trendy nightclub.

This is why shit like this piss me off. Every story, movie, book, tv show, ... in the world is about good-looking white people. Everyhting is about good-looking white people. Only good-looking white people are allowed to be represented in stories, are allowed to have lives, are allowed to fall in love, have sex, are allowed to have adventures. If you have a tint on your skin, you're a sidekick, you don't get the girl, you take the bullet for the good-looking white protagonist close to the end and he goes on to beat the villain and save the day. Heck, even if you're white but not good-looking enough you'll be given the role of best bud to the main character. It's fucking sickening. A story with an all caucasian cast is a story for the general public, but a story with an all african american cast becomes a black movie, just like a movie with an all asian cast becomes a a chinese movie or a movie for orientals and white guys who wanna bone jap school girls.


By the way, I do not watch tv (honestly) and I am a fugly non-caucasian. Figures huh?

DVH