My long awaited directorial debut has arrived … “Jeans”, by me.
Inspired by Rich McAuliffe and Gavin “off of” the Sidekick Cast.
And, of course, Grant Morrison.
Jeans: Two Superheroes Discuss the DC Reboot
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Category Archives: Blog
Writing on the Wall
Jackson skidded to a halt, the rough ground under his cycle’s tires crunching and kicking up dust. He was at least three miles further down the wall than anyone else had ever been. There wasn’t a tag in sight.
He hopped from the cycle and opened up the right pannier. Two rows of spray paint cans looked up at him. Excitement and fear bubbled together inside him. He wondered if Da Vinci had felt this way, looking down at his palette before making that first mark on a virgin canvas.
Of course, Da Vinci hadn’t been a refugee, or an outlaw. Da Vinci didn’t spend every minute looking over his shoulder, watching out for Scalpers and Skinners. Da Vinci didn’t sleep under an old bridge, taking turns on watch on a three hour rotation, and foraging for food in the abandoned malls and warehouses on this side of the wall.
Yeah, Da Vinci didn’t have The Wall.
Jackson pulled out a black and a red and began shaking the cans, the familiar clatter from inside them quickening his heart. He’d been tagging for six months now, his tiny contribution to the resistance movement, and every time still felt like the first time. He didn’t know what difference it made to the resistance, but he knew that the Scalpers and Skinners hunted taggers, and that was enough indication that it was worth doing. Anything that took their time and their attention away from the wall, anything that stopped its inexorable climb skywards, the endless building and fortification.
He knew he was painting a target on his back, but that was the point. Come on, you bastards, here I am. Come on, come down and get me.
Three miles further than anyone else, and still the wall stretched over the horizon. Perhaps it didn’t have an end. Jackson knew that was impossible, but a lot of impossible things happened these days.
Jackson popped the plastic lids off the scans and began to spray the outline of this tag onto the wall.
Three miles further than anyone else.
Come on, you bastards. Beat that.
How to fix Android Dialer storage and lost internet access.
A lot of Android users are complaining online about Android’s Dialer storage application using up too much space. Struggling for space on my HTC Desire, I cleared my dialer storage today.
As best I can work out, Dialer Storage is where Android text messages, picture messages, and call history are stored. There are notes on-line complaining is a long standing bug in Android that allows the data in Dialer Storage to run amok, eating up your Android phone’s precious internal storage. Turning down the limits on message storage doesn’t seem to produce a quick fix, as much as it looks like it should.
Clearing Dialer Storage data, through the Android Application Manager initially appeared to do nothing, other than clear the warning about limited space from my home screen. All my text messages and photo messages seemed to have survived as well. So, where did the space go?
Well, my messages did eventually disappear after I restarted my phone, so I guess these were maybe hanging about either in memory or in some sort of deleted state, cleared on my reboot. What was less obvious was that clearing dialer storage also deactivated my internet access point selection. My access point configuration was still in place, but my choice of default access point had been lost.
If you lose Internet access after clearing Android Dialer Storage, here’s a fix.
- Go to Settings
- Go to Wireless & Networks
- Scroll down and select Mobile Networks
- Click Access Point Names
- Click on the empty circle next to access point name, turning it green.
Your Android internet access should now be restored.
Secrets and Lies Live at Cardiff Comic Expo
A little late posting this up, but where else would you get the chance to see me accidentally get tongue-tied and say “wank” at Paul Cornell, or Charlie Adlard get a question wrong … about himself?
Hosted by the inimitable Sidekick Cast, I present … Secrets and Lies Live at the Cardiff Comic Expo 2011.
I had great fun doing this panel. It was great to mix with such a fantastic group of creators and Dan and Bones were on top form as hosts. If you watch nothing else, watch Dan “work the room” early in Part 1 of 3. If he doesn’t have a future as a cult leader, I’ll drink the Kool-Aid.
Blood Brothers Preview
After a last minute drop out from the 10thology book, Stu challenged me to put together a brand new story based on a set of illustrations. At least, that’s what he told me. He might just be taking revenge for the bedlam that was MWM Live.
Either way, I thought I’d let you all see the first few paragraphs of the story as it shapes up.
There were four blocks of flats, thirteen stories each, arranged around a set of abandoned gardens. The shape, the specific shape of the towers and their gardens, formed an alter to a god long dead. Scorp’s grandmother said so, anyway.
And Scorp’s grandmother knew things.
Like most things living, Scorp avoided the gardens. Scorp had his own place, down in the basement of Block Three, with the boiler, and with Fred. Fred had been the caretaker of Block Three for fifty years, right up until the day he died. Of course, he’d stayed on. Scorp couldn’t repair the boiler, for one thing.
“Are you paying attention, lad?” asked Fred.
Scorp opened his third can of lager and took a noisy slurp. He was too young to drink, of course, but the one shop that was still open on the estate had an arrangement. They sold Scorp his lager, his fags, and his scratchcards, and he looked after them in return. There had been a time on the estate when Scorp had been just another one of those kids that you stayed away from, that you kept on the right side of if you didn’t want your car stolen or your door spray painted. These days, things on the estate were different. These days, people stayed on the right side of Scorp because one day, if they were really, really unlucky … they might need his help.
“I said …”
“Yeah,” said Scorp, “I’m listening. You know, you talk a lot for a dead guy. I don’t get this much aggro from my mum, and she’s alive. Mostly”
Fred fished a spectral bag of tobacco from the pocket of his ghostly cardigan and started to roll a cigarette. “I always thought these things would kill me,” he muttered, ignoring Scorp for a moment.
“Yeah, well, you were hardly going to see werewolves coming,” replied Scorp. “I guess that was the problem though.”