Bleeding Neon

Up until recently, I’ve been of the mindset that running is something you only do when being chased by a tiger. And, to some extent, I still believe that our bodies aren’t designed for the impact of shoe-covered feet smacking down on a hard surface. None of that has stopped me from starting a Couch to 5k regimen last week.

There are a number of variations on this approximately 10-week program to get a relative newcomer to jogging/running (i.e., me) up to shape by slightly increasing speeds and distances of jogs in intervals with walks over each week of the program. Pretty straightforward. The one I’m using — because the chart breaks down suggestions into easy-to-digest minutes — is this one, but they’re all about the same in that they provide a structured, but customizable, approach to starting on the road to running.

I started on my birthday last week (Aug. 4), and as of this morning, finished the third run of the second week. It’s hard, I’m not going to lie. In the first place, I hadn’t been to the gym in about two months (vacations, work, blah blah blah), though that’s the other thing I started in tandem with this C25K thing — regular gym visits again. But even when I normally did cardio activity at the gym, it would be about 30 minutes on an elliptical or 20 minutes on the treadmill, so 15 to 20 minutes running/walking didn’t sound so much of a challenge. Oh boy, was I wrong. Even though up to this point, the longest jog has been four minutes (this morning, buffered by about five minutes of walking on either side), it’s taken everything I have to keep my chest from exploding. As I write this, half an hour after finishing, I’m still a little wheezy. Dealing with things like wind resistance, hard running surfaces and — if you believe my GPS-based running software — elevation variations of up to 60 feet provide a much harsher experience than gliding along on a stationary elliptical trainer watching episodes of House.

But that’s good. I needed a challenge, a shake-up, a new routine to break the old routine of letting myself go. It’s forcing me to wake up before 6 a.m. every running day, even when I have nowhere else to be that day (much to the shock of my girlfriend, who is used to me sleeping in until about 10 a.m. on Sundays, and now I’m awake for hours before she is). It has me back on pace for the gym, where I can now focus more time on weight training, because I’m doing my cardio-intensive activity in the morning instead of cramming everything into one session. And I feel pretty good so far, no shin splints or knee pain or anything of the sort. My back is sore right now, but I think that’s a combination of the hard breathing and residual soreness from the back and shoulder work I did at the gym two days ago (my lower back is just fine). I’m even considering a half-marathon, something I’ve been talking about for years but never got around to doing.

Of course, this is only week two. When I get to the point where my plan has me trying to do 15 to 20 minutes of straight running, I’ll be easy to find: Just look for the guy lying down on the side of the road, crying.

Yep, that’s me, approximately AHEM AHEM years ago at 19 or 20, playing guitar and singing with Rahne, my Nine Inch Nails-like musical project about which you’ve probably read too much here. I had no idea this photo existed until my old bass player, Brian “Sterling” Kirsch, posted it on Facebook somewhere.

This is when Rahne was still just me and Sterling backed by a cassette player (fancy!), and our shows were more about dress-up than, um, music. I mean, the music was serious, but so was the planning that went into glamming up. This particular image was shot at Cyber-City Cafe, which was a gay-owned and very gay-friendly internet cafe at Flamingo and Maryland Parkway. And we were a gay-friendly band. That probably explains why this night, I wore a tight baby tee that read “SLUT” (now I remember!) on the front. I believe later I added the Rahne logo above it. And I think I still have it somewhere.

And yes, I was wearing sunglasses at night.

Somewhere, I have this show recorded on cassette. It includes a terrible cover of Prince’s “Darling Nikki,” long before everyone else covered “Darling Nikki.” If I find it, I’ll attempt to share a digital version with you. Because you’re full of self-loathing.

Illustration by Michael Todoran

Place Gallery is a scrappy, homespun art gallery and artist studio run by one of my oldest friends, the awesome Gina Quaranto. In recent months, Place, located on Main Street across from the S2 Art Center, has become a favorite among the local underground/low brow/outcast art scene, hosting multiple shows every month, with epic First Friday receptions including artisans, live music, libations and more. It’s technically the first gallery in which I’ve ever formally shown art (in the LVSK8 IV group show). And, sadly, it’s become a victim of multiple factors threatening to crush its already delicate existence.

This summer, the building housing Place has had power and air conditioning problems — not something that a business in the Las Vegas summer can endure. Then, a few weeks ago, an exploding electrical transformer rocked Main Street, damaging businesses for blocks, including Place, which is now missing several window and door panes. The gallery has been temporarily closed due to the conditions, and while insurance will cover replacement of the glass, it won’t do so without a steep $5,000 deductible, which Place just doesn’t have in pocket.

Art Renegades, the collective that organized LVSK8 IV, is moving the skateboard art show temporarily to Todd VonBaastian’s Alios Gallery, a few blocks south of Place at 1221 S. Main St., where a second reception for the group show will be held this Friday. At the same time, a fund-raising event is being held at Alios for Place, called “Picking Up The Pieces.” Details are still being worked out, but there will be some sort of art auction, raffle prizes, bake sale and other fun stuff to raise funds for Place — whether it’s to pay for repairs to the existing location, or help pay for the gallery to move somewhere less volatile.

I donated five of the Giant Robot prints (as seen in my online store) for the art auction, as well as a complete set of comics from Pop! Goes the Icon (including The Utopian #1-3 and Omega Comics Presents #1-2), and I’ll be down there for the benefit auction/reception as well. It starts at 6:30 p.m., and I highly recommend you come down and toss in a few bucks. Great deals on locally grown art can be had. And you can see the monstrosity I painted on a skateboard deck as well.

If you can’t make it to the event, donations are being accepted online as well.

Lolita’s Cantina & Tequila Bar might be awesome. It might have delicious, Mexican-inspired food. It may have tasty cocktails crafted with precision by expert mixologists. But even though I attended the VIP opening event last week, I can’t tell you any of that. The event — by the time I got there, at least (fashionably late, but by no means overly so) — was overcrowded, to the point I couldn’t properly assess the layout of the venue, nor even easily make my way to do so. It was hot. And after waiting at the bar for 15 minutes behind just one person, I gave up, and frustrated, just grabbed my girlfriend and left.

There were, to be fair, servers bringing around appetizers … not that any of them stopped for us. However, if there were servers carrying pre-made cocktails (at an event like this, there should have been, to ease bar traffic), either they stopped serving mid-party or never made it my way, but I didn’t see them. Apparently there was supposed to be some 3-D technology happening. Again, if there was, I never saw it. What was there? There was an emcee roaming the event with a wireless microphone, loudly addressing crowds over the DJ’s beats. There were groups of people ordering what seemed a dozen mojitos at a time. There was a venue design that seemed unable to accommodate a reasonable flow of traffic — not a good thing for a location touting itself as a nightlife destination.

There seems to be a trend with these restaurant-club fusions opening at Town Square lately. Like nu sanctuary (which is located directly below Lolita’s), these venues appear to be iterations on the same old restaurant/nightlife concept touting themselves as something new, different or even innovative. But their opening events have been messes, no better than your average touristy nightclub experience: too many people, overly loud music, understaffed bars — none of which lead me to believe they’re doing anything unique or distinctive. Yes, you don’t want an empty room at a party — it doesn’t look good for the people in attendance or the post-event press release. But 1,200 people packed into the VIP party for Lolita’s, and I can’t say for sure, but that feels a bit uncomfortable for even the 10,000 square-foot space (and who knows how much of that is customer-accessible area?).

This is how these things typically work: venue soft opens, works out the kinks, then invites media and whatever “VIPs” to an event. This event is the first (and possible only) chance to make a good impression, to make the venue appear to be as awesome an experience as heralded in advance press releases. Now, sure, the experience of those in attendance should somewhat resemble that of the general public, so that we can relate the best assessment of the restaurant/club/bar/whatever. But at the same time, if you’re going through the fuss of designating an event “VIP,” then the idea is to make sure those in attendance are taken care of, beyond opening the doors and the bar.

Here’s the thing: I want to say nice things about Lolita’s. I want to marvel at the 3-D entertainment, indulge in strong shots of tequila, snack on some contemporary Mexican cuisine. Hell, I was even looking forward to it. And it’s not fair to judge the place based on one overcrowded, overheated event. But often, as I said, this is a business’s only chance to make a first impression, and if it’s a bad one, I’m not likely to go back of my own volition.

I’ve been buying too many comic books. Without good reason or justification. Just because they’re there, and they’re cheap — or free — and I can’t say “no.” But I need to, right now, before I can no longer walk into my closet (I can’t) or my girlfriend kicks out me and my comics.

See, here’s the thing: I collected comics regularly when I was a kid, like most of us did. And when I hit my teenage years, I stopped. That was the early ’90s. Sure, I read and/or picked up an issue here or there, but I didn’t see the inside of a comic book store for about 15 years.

Then, as the story goes, I got bit by the comic bug again at San Diego Comic-Con about three years ago, and I started actually buying new issues again regularly, but that wasn’t the problem. That’s only about seven to 10 issues a month, if that. No, the problem started when I discovered Dreamwell Comics’ seasonal sidewalk sales, where the store (now called Wishing Well) would unload its back stock for pennies per copy. So I’d walk away with a stack of comics for the same price as a Capriotti’s sub (mmm Capriotti’s). At first, it was neat: Filling in holes in my back issue collection for a dime or a quarter a piece? Sweet! But then came eBay.

Not that eBay was new or I was new to it, but I discovered — don’t ask me how — a certain seller on there who auctions off Roger Stern’s “research copies” of comics. Stern is a comic book writer mostly known for his Marvel comics work in the 1970s and ’80s, hence, when he’d take on a new assignment, he’d have to bulk up his knowledge of that story or character set by consuming reference material, i.e., lots of comics. Well, these certified reference copies go for sale on eBay, the bidding is relatively low, and next thing you know, Pj is receiving boxes of dozens of comics on his doorstep. Again, at first this was really cool: “Ooh, Roger Stern’s reference copies! Certificates of authenticity! More comics to read!” But this week, the most recent batch came after a confluence of circumstances that have stuffed the closet in my second bedroom/band practice space nearly full.

Torpedo Comics, a giant online retailer launched by System of a Down drummer and certified comic geek John Dolmayan back in 2007, recently went out of business, and all of its assets were being liquidated. So yes, that means millions of comics, art, toys, games and other geek ephemera were being auctioned off for pennies on the dollar.  We’re talking lots of 5,000 comics for less than $20. And, wouldn’t you know, Torpedo was based here in the Vegas Valley, and of course, who gets the auction announcement directly sent to his e-mail? Yep. THIS GUY. Oh, what’s that? You have online bidding? IT’S LIKE EBAY FOR COMIC NERDS.

Thankfully, I set a spending limit for myself and got outbid of a few lots at the last second, but still, on Friday morning, I sauntered up to a warehouse in North Las Vegas to pick up another 350 or so comics I didn’t need — or as I found out later, already had — as well as some original art from a mid-1980s run of Iron Man by Mark Bright, Ian Akin and Brian Garvey. Money-wise, only the original art really set me back, which is OK, because that was still a deal. But the comics — oh, the comics — were subsequently dumped in my closet with two or three other boxes my guitar player, Peter, had generously donated to my collection over the last month or so.

To be fair, I don’t have THAT many comics. I have what amounts to maybe (now) seven or eight “long boxes,” which each hold about 250 comics. That’s barely 2,000 comics. I have friends who have entire rooms and houses full of these things, along with statues, figures and art (I’m looking at you, Harry Fagel). Me, I’ve never been into the collect-and-display aspect, at least not since I was still rocking a sweet mullet. But it does seem like I’ve gotten to the point where I’m just buying them because I can, not because I need or even really want to.

So … the buck stops here. That buck being the credit card in my wallet, of course. Don’t worry, Ralph, I’ll still be stopping by Alternate Reality every few weeks to pick up my (ever-dwindling) pull list. But as soon as I can find the time (hah!), I’m going to have to actually tackle this four-color monster growing in my closet, thin out the herd, and get my own eBay auctions up and running again. Before you see me on the side of the road, sitting atop a throne of long boxes, holding a sign reading “will work for comics.”