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A few years ago when I first discovered TVShowsonDVD.com and danced with glee that such a website existed, I went through their extensive list of shows and chose many that I'd like to receive alerts on should there be news about a DVD release. Some shows I choose out of desperate hope -- like Spartakus or The Mysterious Cities of Gold -- and some I was pretty sure we'd eventually get -- The Real Ghostbusters and Freakazoid. But lo, the gods of TV on DVD did not disappoint me, and Mysterious Cities has been released in the UK and should be available in region 1 early next year. (fingerscrossedfingerscrossed) There's a glimmer of hope that Spartakus may come out from the same company. Happy Geek Girl is happy!
Due to the fabulous mini-conversation from two weeks ago, I know many of you out there are happy about Mysterious Cities and Spatakus and a whole host of other cartoons from your childhood that have already come out or may come out or you hope will come out on DVD. Let's geek out on old cartoons! Maybe we'll even get a top 10 list out of it all. (That, and $10 for someone...)
Turning back to the water, she saw a long shape drift by. As it came under the light, she saw two hands raised to the heavens, partially submerged. Between them were two breasts, like inverse soup bowls, and a tiny waist that sunk completely into the water. A face bobbed into view, the skin flayed away, with shades of hair like river weeds or maybe strips of skin from limbs that wavered with light and current.
“Look!” she cried, pointing to the water. “Someone’s out there!”
Irene squinted hard at the river, as though she were looking through a pinhole, and shook her head.
Irene gave the water another glance, and when she turned to Sandy for the second time, her face was blank.
Sandy leaned over the rail, close to summoning a waiter. Irene was four-eyed, maybe she was blind.
The water was still and empty, reflecting the streetlights. A moth flitted against the glass cover of a lamp, and failing to gain entry, swerved away.
Irene smiled, a drop of black gravy on her dimple. “Just because I said there might be someone doesn’t mean they’re really there.”
Sandy took one more look at the water, where the blackness replaced the missing darkness in the sky. “It was a branch,” she replied. “It could’ve been anything.”
Irene stabbed a flower head with her fork, pinning it against her plate till the sauce ran dry. “Don’t worry too much,” she said, “Those people don’t come out at night.”
The floor is sulking. She almost always wears shoes in the basement, and the cement lies all day in agony listening to the first floor’s boards sighing loudly in ecstasy at the touch of her bare heels.
All it can hope for in its slow, cold way is that the woman will scoop the cat boxes, squatting on her heels, after she starts a load of laundry. Today oh joy oh joy she does. The floor is practically writhing at the smell of her (she always showers after the scooping, so her scent is thick)—the tangy rich odor. The cement feels (or maybe it’s just wishful thinking) just a bit of her damp warmth.
But then she is sweeping the floor, oblivious as always to the swooning house around her, ruining the floor’s pleasure with the horrible scented litter she sweeps up and tosses back in the box.
She yanks open the dryer, who feels violated and then guilty for enjoying it, dumps the hot, panting shirts and shorts into a basket, and heads back upstairs, carefully turning off the lights to avoid the lecture about electricity the man will give her later if she doesn’t. Even minutes later, the cords are still shaking in the darkness.
Over 80 creators.
51 different stories.
Songs from 11 different albums including single b-sides.
Comic Book Tattoo — an interstitial smorgasbord that clocks in at nearly 500 pages and has a list of contributors that span from established to up-and-coming — is undoubtedly one of the most interesting anthologies to come out in years. Each comic is based on a song by singer-songwriter Tori Amos and choices range from her most recent album, the rock-influenced American Doll Posse, to the hard-to-find early synthpop group album, Y Kant Tori Read.
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