Meanwhile, over on Slate, somebody who didn’t get invited to the press conference is P.O.’d because Jobs didn’t snivel. Jeez.

Harvey Pekar died a few days ago. I started reading his comic book, “American Splendor,” when he started publishing it in the late 1970’s. Why did I buy those early issues? Two words:  R. Crumb. It was an interesting time for comics — undergrounds had already died, but now we had graphic realism, in the form of Pekar’s work, and what Crumb’s comics were evolving into, and what is generally recognized as the graphic novel, Will Eisner’s “A Contract with God.” I bought and appreciated all these things.

I also met Mr. Pekar a few times. While I admired his work, I  never enjoyed meeting him. His curmudgeonly appearances on David Letterman’s show weren’t an act; if anything, speaking with him in person was worse. Whenever I told him that I bought his comics and books and enjoyed his work, his response was a glare and a snarl. I’ve hung out with movie stars and sideshow freaks who treated their fans better. The last time I saw Pekar, a couple of years ago at the legendarily jam-packed Comic-Con in San Diego, he was the only person anywhere near his table. In the middle of 135,000 bodies in motion, his table was the doughnut hole of activity. Everyone gave him a wide berth, and I understood why.

Although I faithfully bought all his comics and books, I found much of the writing slack. It isn’t compelling to observe the dailiness of life if you have no observations to make, and in general, Pekar didn’t. His novelty was that he was among the first to put this sort of unwashed realism into comics form. Absent the work of some of his artists — Crumb, but also Frank Stack, and especially Budgett and Dumm — many of the stories wouldn’t hold any interest.  I’m not alone in this opinion.

What was the best of Harvey Pekar’s work? Moreso than the comics, or his books, or his newspaper and magazine writing, or the movie adaptation, the best Harvey Pekar work I ever came across was the stage adaptation I saw around 1990 at Theatre/Theater in Los Angeles. The show was deceptively simple — Dan Castellaneta (of “The Simpsons”) and an ensemble of supporting actors, and some theatre cubes. The cubes got restacked at times to form filing cabinets (Pekar was a file clerk) or to serve as a table and chairs, or to stand in for the front seats in a car. The writing was fast and funny and loose. The actors did a great job of fleshing out the characters from the comics; even the man who played Mr. Boats, who was clearly not an actor per se, but someone they found because of his physical similarity to the actual person, did fine. I went to see the play three times, then saw it again when the producers took it to the Comic-Con and did it again. Twenty years later, I’m still lifting ideas from that show. I was  glad to be in LA and able to see such things (and it felt lousy when the movie mocked what had been a terrific, sold-out, award-winning show).

I’ve always wished I could see that show again. I can’t — but tonight, in tribute to Harvey Pekar, we can listen to a shortened radio version of it once last time, at 7:30, Pacific Time, on Santa Monica’s KCRW. It won’t be available on demand or podcast. So if you’d like to hear it, here’s your one (and only?) chance. 

I’ve written here before of my admiration for the work of music producer Danger Mouse, who is one half of both Gnarls Barkley and Broken Bells, and whom I consider to be this generation’s Brian Eno — a visionary musical force to be reckoned with.

Here’s an interview he did recently with KCRW about his recent collaboration with Sparklehorse and with David Lynch (who is also interviewed), “Dark Night of the Soul.” I highly recommend the album, which is the product of three highly interested disparate artists — Lynch, Danger Mouse, and Mark Linkous — as well as guest artists such as the Flaming Lips, Black Francis of the Pixies, Iggy Pop, and others.

I may also have mentioned it here: Two months ago, I caught Broken Bells in San Francisco. They were wonderful. Until that concert, I had thought that Danger Mouse was expressly a producer. But over the course of the concert, he moved to every position on stage and played each instrument — keyboards, drums, guitar. He did everything but sing, and did all of it well and, in a way, humbly. There’s as much or more great music today than there was in the 60’s — you just have to go find it. If it says “Danger Mouse” on it, you’ve found it.

If you’re all hung up over the iPhone 4’s dropped-call problem, you should watch this music video, which presents a great solution: if you don’t want one, don’t buy one; if you bought one and you don’t like it, take it back. Exactly right. And in the meantime, get over it.

I’ve got about a million posts I want to put up here — including one in response to a semi-luminary (to me) who recently commented on this blog — but my schedule being what it is at the moment, they’re going to have to dribble out over the next several days.

In the meantime, you may have been following the Old Spice marketing phenomenon of the past couple of days in which the ad agency Wieden + Kennedy has been doing video responses within two hours to tweets they’ve been getting, all of them starring the now-famous new Old Spice ideal man. It’s fun, impressive stuff. Google it now if you haven’t seen it.

In the meantime, I provide this video, in case you were wondering how the Old Spice commercial that kicked all this off back in February was made. Watch this show — it’s 20 minutes long, but well worth it — and as you watch the commercial get deconstructed, make a bet with yourself as to how much of the commercial is physically staged and how much is CGI. I think you’ll be surprised.

Those kids today have no idea how lucky they are that they have things like the Internet and eleventy billion television channels to choose from and all the High Fructose Corn Syrup aggressive food corporations can stuff into them. In my day, we didn’t have any of those things. One thing we did have, though, is “Davey and Goliath.”

What was “Davey and Goliath?” “Davey and Goliath” was a claymation show about the adventures of a boy my age and his dog, Goliath. “Dave and Goliath” was one of those shows that kids had to watch because there was nothing else to watch. (The other one was “Hee-Haw.” I still have nightmares about that cornfield. Guaranteed, if you were out of town visiting relatives and you couldn’t sleep late at night, there was only one channel you could pick up: whichever one was running “Hee-Haw” at that precise moment.) In the case of “Davey and Goliath,” the reason there was nothing else to watch was because it was programmed on Sunday mornings, the sacred bastion of church TV in my youth. If you’d already read all your comic books and re-explored the woods and your tree fort, there was nothing else to do but watch “Davey and Goliath” and do your best to convince yourself that you were actually enjoying it.

I don’t remember much about “Davey and Goliath” except its pointed churchiness, in which an obvious moral lesson clarifies everything for Davey (and his reluctant audience), and Goliath’s mournful voice bemoaning something or other every episode with the declaration, “Ohhhhh, Daaaaveyyyy….” At least once a week, I still do this impression. I suspect that there are millions of American white men in their 40’s who do.

Today, on my birthday, I thought I’d celebrate our liberation from the strictures (and scriptures) of our youth. No longer are we shackled to one bad TV show we don’t want to watch. Now we can choose from an endless supply of bad TV shows we don’t want to watch. And, thanks to the Internet, we can also do other things, like find delightful parodies of childhood shows we despised. Here’s one of the best.

At some point or another when my Republican friends and I get together to talk things over, the discussion turns toward one person:  John McCain. We all speak wistfully of the McCain we once knew, or thought we knew, and the awful contrast with the McCain we see today.

Where we used to see someone pursuing a practical, pragmatic approach to immigration reform, one that recognized the impossibility of deporting 12 million people who are here illegally, we now see someone who is campaigning on pretty much the concept that they can indeed all be corralled and herded home. (And with no loss to the service industries that rely upon them, or the businesses that need them as consumers.)

What has become of the McCain who stood up to the “Moral” Majority, the profligate tax cutters, and the lobbyists who strip-mined the public trust? The guy currently bearing the title of Senator McCain bears no resemblance.

This piece on today’s Slate conveys one theory:  that McCain is so ashamed of his 2008 campaign that he can’t acknowledge his faults, and so has instead decided to embrace them. This is a variation on the trope that if you think I’m a monster, I may as well be one. I don’t like to indulge psychobabble, and that’s what writer Jacob Weisberg  is giving us here. But I do know that I miss the McCain I knew, or thought I knew:  the senator with principles and the guts to back them up. McCain 2.0 is just another party hack.

Some helpful beauty tips from one of this generation’s wacky under-employed kids. Enjoy!

More than 100 years after its dictation, Mark Twain’s unexpurgated autobiography is getting published. In the passages quoted in this press piece, Twain comes across less as the avuncular oracle most people think of now, but as, well, an angry netroot of today, lashing out at Wall Street and foreign misadventures. Thanks to Joe Stafford for making me aware of this.

Harlan Ellison is putting his own copies of his books up for sale. Reluctantly.