Art of the Genre: The Art of Calvin and Hobbes
I’m on vacation, but I just can’t seem to take a break from writing about something art related, even though I’m technically ‘off duty.’ Currently, I’m on my first leg, the dreaded trip from L.A. to Vinalhaven Maine, a small island off the coast of the mainland.
Now that is a journey! Up at 3 AM, on a plane at LAX at 6:30 AM, a layover in Chicago at noon, then on to Manchester, New Hampshire, at 5 PM, then into a rental car for a 4 hour drive up the coast to Rockland, Maine, where I get a room at an inn to await the 7 AM ferry to the island the next day…
Yeah, it was kind of rough, but once entrenched in a cabin overlooking the Atlantic with a bit of wifi and no phone service, relaxation can be had. So I now sit on the porch, watching the 15 foot tides roll in and think about one of the more brilliant moments of the trip thus far.
Yesterday, as my six-year old son, Ash, looked through the various books stowed in the cabin’s bookshelves he pulled forth a tattered copy of The Essential Calvin & Hobbes. It had been many years since I’d read one of these Bill Waterson classics, but as I saw him pull the book out, I was filled with a feeling of nostalgia.
My son, as it turns out, is the same age as Calvin, and is a single child, although instead of a pet tiger he has a plethora of plush Pokemon at his service. Nonetheless, he’s now reading fervently, has a bit of a precocious streak, and instantly fell in love with the book that is admittedly almost too large for him to read.

With directing great superheroes comes great responsibility. I wish director Marc Webb knew this. Or perhaps directing superheroics on screen isn’t something the man is capable of.



Make a list of the ten best horror movies of all time (or the hundred best horror movies of all time) (or the thousand best horror movies of all time) and at least half those titles will be low-budget, independent films. There’s a reason for that.
As I watch the tumbleweeds blow through