The Original Johnson

Not what you think from the title. If you are looking for a belated Christmas present for the thoughtful, creative person in your life--send them to Comicsmix for this graphic series interpreting the first superstar athlete of modern times: boxer Jack Johnson (whom James Earl Jones immortalized in "The Great White Hope"). 2008 is the centennial of Johnson rise to national prominence--in an era of unprecedented, virulent racial violence (and similarly immortalized in Doctrow's "Ragtime").
The Original Johnson is eyepopping and intelligent. None of the rote "fantasization" crap involving classic realfolk, as so decreed by publishers seeking gimmicks. This is visceral, exciting and enlighting stuff. Seldom does the New York Times laud a four color comic or graphic novel. They have. Check it out before the holidays end and the real world starts again January 5...

THE Infamous Christmas Post FINALLY

OK. Nothing amusing, nasty or even mildly Mencken-esque (he's spinning in his grave over what the barking spiders and oozing starfish on Wall Street have done to newspapers and book publishing). Nope it's this, from Charles Dickens. Something to think about for the next 11 months, and perhaps reflect upon as we look at 2008. Some say Great Expectations or Martin Chuzzlewit are Dickens' best work. For Literature professors, perhaps. Unh- unh, not for the real world. I say it's A Christmas Carol. Look at this pivotal passage. It will apply to so many things. And it's nimble: applies to each of us, and, in turn— each of can project it as a dodge or denial. Hope you had a Merry Christmas. Best for the New Year.Nat…

The Ghost calls, "Look here." From the folds of its robe, Spirit reveals two children; wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt down at its feet, and clung upon the outside of its garment. They were a boy and a girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish; but prostrate, too, in their humility. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing.

Scrooge recoils in horror. “Spirit…who are these children?”

"They are Man's," says the Ghost, looking down upon them. “This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it." The Spirit, stretching out its hand towards the city, cries, "Slander those who tell it ye. Admit it for your factious purposes, and make it worse. And abide the end."

"Have they no refuge or resource?" cries Scrooge. "Are there no prisons?" the Spirit mocks in Scrooge's own words. "Are there no workhouses?"