...careful, the 'dish is on fire

Since we recently decided to forgo the boob-tube (nsfw) at my place, I've been doing lots of new and interesting things with the time that would have previously been spent sitting on my ass watching reruns of "Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives" or "Property Virgins" (no; it has nothing to do with virginity in the traditional sense).

One of the things I've re-appropriated this time for is reading comic books and novels. I haven't finished the novel yet, though not to worry, a concise and informative review of it is forthcoming; I assure you.

The comic I randomly decided to follow is apparently a fairly well known series and it was my good fortune to judge it by it's cover. Knowing nothing of the plot, writers, or artists, I bought a bound version of the first five or so issues to try it out and see if I liked it. Well I did like it... a whole lot.


DMZ is set in near-future NYC and follows accidental photo-journalist Matty Roth through civil-war-torn Manhattan in a dark, gritty time when Americans are forced to side with either the provincial and racist "Free States of America" or the cornered, paranoid, police state that is the remnants of the USA, shacked up on Long Island. Manhattan Island is a demilitarized zone between the two, and is sparsely populated by those who have been forgotten by both sides... Having banded together into block-by-block gangs and security coalitions, the city's residents are isolationist and subsist at a dark ages level.

If you like dystopic visions of the future set in familiar locations, this comic is sure to entertain. As it is produced by native new yorkers, scenes are rendered with such accuracy that you can tell which direction the frame is looking, and the story flows coherently from neighborhood to neighborhood. There's no risk of navigational non-sequiturs and New Yorkers are sure to get a kick from familiar places rendered in total destruction.

I promptly went and bought volumes 2-6 the day after finishing volume 1, which attests to the palatability of this series. (comic buying tip: go to the store on 33rd and 5th, across 33rd from the Empire State building, and for some reason, they're like half off, making them about 6 bucks a volume...)

Of course, not being able to stay away from video for long, I've been catching up on the Tour via YouTube in the evenings and Versus.com in the mornings (only streams during the live coverage time).

While Armstrong's Astana team took the lead in this morning's TTT (stage 4), Mark Cavendish of Columbia Highroad has won two stages so far (2 and 3), receiving the green jersey after the first win. According to the ego-masseurs at cyclingnews.com, the 'Dish' is "...at the precocious age of 24, the fastest, strongest and smartest sprinter in the world..." and having won Milan-San Remo and it's 20,000 Euro prize, has silenced his detractors.

I find the thought funny, cause ultimately what comes to mind when I think of cycling critics, is two guys sitting in a bar somewhere and one says to the other, "Hey, I think Cavendish is really fast this season, he might win some important races..." Then his friend retorts, "no he isn't."

At any rate, I think the surest way to silence nay-sayers in the sport of cycling is to practice one's victory salute or develop wholly new ones, in order to reinforce your win in the spectator's minds. Cavendish is worth recognizing for his uncanny ability to awe crowds with his broad repertoire of salutes and their infrequent repetition.

They range from the downright gleeful, as we witnessed Sunday....


...to the "display of might salute" (extra points for the Columbia Highroad six-pack jersey)...


...to the Triple-S, aka the "sexually suggestive salute".


Of course, every Pro cyclist knows, you'd never be in the race in the first place without tons of dough. Thanks to corporate sponsorships, these guys can race the biggest and most high-profile races without having to foot the bill for equipment, lodging, etc... The 'Dish knows this and repped his sponsors yesterday even more shamelessly than I do for this blog on facebook:


We all get lazy sometimes and just aren't in the mood to act all excited or promote cell phone plans at the finish line, and it's nice to see the 'dish is no exception:


I think he's trying to sign "whoop-dee fucking doo" to the crowd, and doesn't look too happy about the win; though his arm doesn't look to be in great shape here, so perhaps he's coolly showing off his wounds as if to say "man y'all are pussies, I fell over, got bandaged up, and still beat you to the line!"

Actually, I think I've got to re-phrase that last one, lest we forget that the 'dish is an englishman. It's like he's signaling, "Garcon! lets 'ave a spot of tea and a butta scone roit 'eah yea?"