Though this is old news to some of you, I was saddened to learn of Harvey Pekar's death yesterday. He was a groundbreaking comics writer, bringing the everyday schmoo to comics. No superheroes, no bigger than life characters, just his life as a filing clerk in a hospital in Cleveland. He most famously worked with R. Crumb and many other artists, and can be credited as one of the earliest examples of autobiographical comics (which can be a good or bad thing depending on how annoying the subject is). His story was also made into a fantastic film, starring Paul Giamatti (as Harvey) and Hope Davis (as his wife, Joyce Brabner).
Here's to artistic schlubs everywhere! Raise your glasses to a guy who didn't often catch good breaks but let us enjoy his failures and fears.
Oh, and I just found out that George Steinbrenner died today. He owned the NY Yankees and he will probably be remembered by more people. Yet, he did much less than Harvey.