Letters to Holly

Monday, July 11

The Good Guys Win

The Brazil-USA soccer game may be the most astounding bit of sports I've ever seen. If you get a chance to watch it, do. Listen to the crowd become rabidly pro-US as Brazil stoops to blatant clock-killing theatrics. One gets the feeling that even if the US loses the semifinal game Wednesday, this victory is so dramatic, so good, that the team can be satisfied with this World Cup experience.

I don't know why it rattles me to see Hope Solo wearing so much make-up to play. I like to think it's warpaint.Otherwise, I feel like a scolding prude to tsk-tsk. I'm too young to start wagging a finger, and the majority of my brain doesn't understand where that annoyance springs from.

The sidekick has learned to stand by himself, and we of course assume he gleaned it at daycare. He also has become very clingy to me, and I'll bet money it's because I'm the one to "rescue" him from daycare. He now associates me with comfort. I'm OK with it. I scoop him up. He bounces in my arms. I ask him where a certain toy is, and he points to it and wants to play. Down he goes, and he's content for ten minutes or so. As he's aging, he's becoming much more self-sufficient for playtime.

The Saturday paper interview went very well, and the only way I can look badly upon it is if the interview makes me look like a schmo. We talked comics and papers for a few hours. The reporter used to read comics, and he has boxes of toys tucked away somewhere, waiting for a proper display place. He took photos of me inking a page from the eMMA comic and mentioned he might call to follow-up on quotes and questions we didn't get around to. We both arrived at the same conclusion: If you have the Internet and a way to put your work online, you are a comic publisher. I, who sell my books online and in stores, am a comic publisher. Any kid in Brevard can do this. You no longer need a print shop or the "proper" equipment. Draw it, scan it, link it = You're publishing.

The only hiccup for the interview was my failure to get a haircut beforehand. I went to the barbershop just after they opened, and it was already packed with tourists/camp workers. Also, one of the barbers went on vacation. After an hour, I had to go back home to wait for the reporter. I currently sport a pelt on my head, and I am not happy. I also had a bad experience at the grocery store with a rude shopper. Either he's an out-of-towner who thinks the townies are idiots, or he's a fellow townie who assumes anyone in his way is a tourist. Judging by the larger crowds everywhere, this weekend marks the arrival of the new folks. Suddenly, there's nowhere to park, and the lines are longer.

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My tomatoes are finally coming in, and I picked a few cherry tomatoes. Hokey smoke are they tomato-ey. They taste like four tomatoes in one skin. Your Sister requested I make more mashed potatoes from our garden pluckings, and I'm all for that.

Picture of the Day
Saturn is suddenly sporting a storm so big that it wraps around the upper hemisphere. I'm sure it's a forest fire set by illegals.

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