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Mike and Lucy minutes before being summarily evicted from Avo's in Fort Collins. |
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NEXUS on sale July 11. BADGER on sale in August. |
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EDITORIAL FOR BADGER 2 “DOG KILLER”
I’ve known Kevin Caron since moving to Colorado . Kevin took one of my early “How to be a Comic Book Professional” courses and we’ve stayed in touch. When Badger’s Window of Opportunity opened up, my first choice was Bannen, aka Neil Hansen, the Canadian lumberjack and firefighter whose art galvanized Badger in the eighties. Neil was wrapped up in something called bikinizero.com and couldn’t do it.
I’d started Kevin off on a spec project and I’d seen enough to believe he could do the job. Kevin has risen to the occasion. His mastery grows with every panel. Gone is the vacillating tone of the nineties (occasioned by a different artist on every book.) Kevin brings a fully-formed esthetic to the book, by which I mean he has long since worked out all influences and developed his own style. Because he lives just down the street we can choreograph the fight sequences in person.
Badger depicts martial arts in a way rarely done (Dixon/Mayerik’s Young Master and to a lesser extent Dixon and Jeff Johnson on Way of the Rat.) Our fight scenes will flow kinetically from panel to panel and show martial arts accurately in a way seldom seen in comics.
Which brings us to the exploding dog. It happened on the first page. Lest there be any misunderstanding, I’m a dog person. I have often been compared to dogs, but that is unfair to the dogs. By the time you read this my search for a new mutt will be over. But I shall never forget the mutt she will replace:
DINING WITH LUCY
Lucy is a border collie/German shepherd/ wolf hybrid we bought for eighty bucks from Puppies Unlimited. Two days after we brought Lucy home, the State Animal Welfare Board closed Puppies Unlimited for “unsafe conditions.” Lucy has never exhibited the slightest sign of illness except once when she ate a pail of depleted uranium pellets. Lucy likes to dine. And Lucy likes to dine in the finest restaurants. Unfortunately, most restaurants won’t admit Lucy because, let’s face it, she’s just a mangy old mutt who will eat anything. But Lucy looks like she could be a service animal. I assured Lucy that if she kept her cool and wore a harness we could dine together in the city’s finest establishments. Lucy has had all her shots and in is in tip top condition. She’s clean as a hound’s tooth, even if that tooth has “some tartar.” (The veterinarian recommended I brush Lucy’s teeth. This was bad advice, but at least she didn’t break my skin.) Companion dog harnesses are not readily available. We faked it, using a store-bought nylon harness and a makeshift tiller made from an old Bobby Jones putter. Early experiments were not encouraging. I set out with Lucy toward the corner convenience store with sunglasses and cane. A woman with a baby strapped to her belly walked the opposite way on the opposite side of the street, preceded by a pug. The pug yapped. Lucy went berserk. Howling with rage she pulled me into the street. “Do you need help?” the horrified woman asked timidly, cradling her baby overhead like Kobe Bryant at the free throw line. “It’s all right,” I smiled. “She’s in training.” We began at Sox and Cubs, a sports-minded sandwich shop in Wal-Mart Plaza off South College . Larger than life photos of Michael Jordan, Da Bears, and the White Sox are the decorative motif. Their Chicago-style Vienna all-beef hotdog is to die for. Nick drove. Nick draws comic books. I write them. I met Nick when I saw his paintings in the late Firehouse Gallery. They reminded me of Frank Frazetta. I needed a “volunteer” to drive and read the menu aloud. Sox and Cubs was a snap. No one blinked an eye, and the clerk asked if she could pet Lucy. I had a Vienna beef sandwich, Nick had the Harry Carey, and Lucy had the all-beef hot dog. Lucy thought it was the most excellent thing she’d had all day. My nephew Kyle did the honors at Avogodro’s Number. Lucy and I had a turkey sub with banana peppers. Everything was fine until I tried to buy three beers. I was meeting an artist friend from Cheyenne . “Who are these three beers for?” asked the bearded chef. “The 90 Shilling’s for me, the Fat Tire’s for Scott, and the Budweiser is for Lucy.” “Show me.” We walked to the booth and I pointed out Lucy. “We can’t serve that dog. In fact, you’ll have to take her out of here. We can’t even have her in the patio.” “She’s in training,” I explained. “Do you have a handicapped dog license?” Busted. Lucy and I were escorted to the door. I encountered resistance from unexpected quarters. My sister Jill dubbed the whole enterprise “totally twisted.” My friend Pete Brandvold, the western writer, said I was an “idiot,” and that I was certain to incur the wrath of the visually impaired. I was not deterred. I do not fear the blind. Let them do their worst. I shall smite them with my cane! It’s not about insensitivity to the visually impaired. It’s about sensitivity to Lucy and dogs everywhere. If the PETA people are right, and even jellyfish have feelings, then why should man’s best friend be barred from restaurants? Health concerns? Give me a break. Lucy’s cleaner than most of the customers. She refrains from licking her genitals in public. We were striking a blow for dogdom. We were ready for the next step: a sit-down restaurant with real waitresses. Applebee’s or Black Eyed Peas? Thank God it’s Friday or Ruby Tuesday? We settled on the Texas Roadhouse for a late lunch. We waited five seconds as I tapped my cane. A waitress quickly appeared with a dazzling smile—although I “couldn’t see it.” “Just one today?” she said. “Just Lucy and me. May we have a booth please?” The waitress showed us to a booth. I felt for the edge of the table and slid in. I ordered a 22 ounce lager. When the beer came, I cleared out the sugar bowl and poured beer for Lucy, who hunkered beneath the table. I ordered a 22 ounce Porterhouse steak. Everything was 22 ounces. The salad was 22 ounces. Before our entrees arrived, all hell broke loose. What are the odds that two blind persons with service dogs would seek out the same restaurant at the same time? A billion to one? I heard the waitress. “Right this way, sir.” The man came into view gripping the tiller on his German shepherd’s harness with white knuckles. It was a good thing because Lucy took one look at this pure-bred interloper, this Aryan uberhund, and went for the jugular. She roared out from under the table like a giant sand worm in Frank Herbert’s Dune. I don’t know what kind of training that German shepherd received, but it all went out the window when Lucy showed her fangs. I barely got a grip on the leash before they were nose to nose. Foam was exchanged. I dragged Lucy toward the front door. The waitress followed. “I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have put you in the same section! Oh I’m so sorry!” I smiled at her. “Forget about it. Happens all the time.” She watched with a puzzled expression as we got into my car and drove away. Although we were denied the Porterhouse, Lucy had shown that she was perfectly at ease as we moved upscale. Our next challenge was Jay’s Bistro, generally regarded as the best restaurant in town. “Lucy,” I said. “If we pull this off our next stop will be the Rainbow Room in New York City !” “WOOF!” Unfortunately, Lucy developed sarcoma on her left foreleg. At first we didn’t know what to make of the ominous black disc that kept growing and growing. It grew to the size of a ping pong ball and exploded in slow motion, as there was no blood to sustain the cancerous cells. We had that first tumor removed and prayed it was one-off. Lucy recovered completely, but within two months the tumor was back. She was fourteen years old. She’d jump on our bed every morning for a cuddle. She wasn’t the best dog in the world, but I wasn’t always the best master. She was the first dog I loved in that uncomplicated way. The tumor grew and exploded. Lucy stank like a charnel house. But it didn’t seem to affect her health or her daily enthusiasm for walks, barking, and food. Until the tumor grew too big and sprouted mini-tumors up and down that leg. I took her to the CSU Veterinary Clinic. They told me she was too far gone to help, even with radiation treatment. I took her for long walks every day and probably gave her too many treats. I waited until she could barely make it up and down the stairs before I made the appointment. I held her while they injected her with a lethal dose of sedative. I have not yet stopped crying. |
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This Website is run by Marcus Fusilier, proud member of: |
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News - July 2007 |
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Hear Mike Baron’s Interview from Word Balloon at http://www.wordballoon.com/BARON.html or you can download it at http://www.wordballoon.com/media/WBbaron.mp3 |
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(Last Update - 07/08/07) |
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Welcome to the World of Mike Baron. Mike has been one of the most innovative writers since he broke into the field with Nexus, which he co-created with Steve Rude in 1982. Badger followed Nexus. Spyke followed Badger. Feud followed Spyke. Mike has written Punisher, Flash, Deadman, Star Wars, and has three issues of Legends of the Dark Knight in the works, should the artist ever emerge from his cave.
Mike has been nominated for Best Writer in the Kirby, Harvey and Eisner Awards, and has won two Eisners for his work on Nexus. In his spare time he collects rocks and attempts to smuggle his dog into the finer restaurants. He is trying to write novels.
Here you will find Mike’s history of books, the characters, the Mike Baron Forum, and Links to other sites of interest, mostly Mike’s crackpot friends. |