The minicomic story is done and finished and completed and over.
After a rough-draft rant of memory, I made 6 x 7.5 boxes to sketch out the panels. I then jotted down loose text boxes on each panel to see how the comic would read. I made my comic pages, scanned them, and applied the letter boxes in Illustrator. I colored it in Photoshop and printed it for proofing. I had it done before Sunday afternoon, and it's remarkably close to my initial idea. I've never made a two-pager this quickly.
I emailed it to my publisher Sunday and found out today -- the deadline -- that it's sideways. Fuck.
Here's the cover of the comic. It will be distributed exclusively at the nation's biggest geek convention.
Mom drove up on Saturday. We took her to the college for the fireworks. Your Sister made a picnic, and we arrived two hours early to grab a good watching spot. Much conversation ensued, including the debate of Sinatra vs. Elvis as Entertainer of the Century. Mom also suggested Sammy Davis Jr, and I'd argue he's pound-for-pound the best entertainer in his weight class, but the other two are heavyweights. I made pancakes and bacon the next morning before she drove home.
Your Sis and I sat down to watch coverage of the Palin resignation (more below), and we turned to the Wimbledon men's final for just a few minutes. That turned into 90 minutes as the fifth set was a marathon. I'm no fan of Andy Roddick, but this was his best match yet. If he can build on it for the U.S. Open in August, he could win his second major. That night we watched the director's cut of Das Boot but stopped after two-and-a-half hours. We'll pick it up again soon. It's good. Your Sis remembers seeing it in Germany. This version is dubbed, badly, in English.
I was given sucky news about the plays. Because there are now five shows in rehearsal and there is no schedule coordinator, I was told my planned Tuesday rehearsal will have to relocate. The new Broadway revue needs our space; the theater's piano is in the warehouse now because that's where the annual summer youth camp will be held. My calendar, however, says it was to be held in the performing hall. I'm finding this out at 8 p.m. last night. We can move to the performing hall for one night, I suppose, but we won't have air conditioning or our furniture. Also, the camp's presence in the warehouse means we have to pack up our props after each rehearsal this week. That cuts into our practice time.
I called the titular production manager to see what the protocol is for this. I don't know what my options are. I was told, essentially, I can have no rehearsal Tuesday or move it to another location. I got no support. Our one-act got no support, I should say. We open next week. The review opens in three. Seems they are the secondary priority.
This might be my really and truly last straw. I may finish this show and never take that stage again. It's not worth this level of frustration to weave together basic competence and communication. I can do comics instead. I might stay on as publicity director, if that job is ever officially handed to me, because it takes relatively so little time.
I bought small props for the show but not the ceramic knickknacks. The local store for such stuff was right next to the theatre's street-festival booth this weekend, and I wanted to avoid it.
In the News
If anyone knows the real reason why Sarah Palin quit, they ain't saying. The conservatives have dismissed her as a "quitter" who can no longer even claim to be a on-term governor if she does try to run in 2012. Many rumors are flying about kickbacks regarding a local construction business. But that sounds like small potatoes compared to everything else that dogged her on the White House campaign.
My guess: She has for all intents starred in a reality show for over a year. She got more attention than she wanted or rather she got more bad attention that she wanted, and she's tired of it. it's not fun anymore. That's my most benevolent assumption. The worst assumption is that she actually signed to a new reality show to follow her large family.