Done Deal

She's buying the Rogue today. After seeing the near-identical trade-in offers three dealerships , she's getting a used Nissan over a new Toyota. The Nissan has a better warranty, and that sealed the deal. I'm sure she'll miss the sports car, but she still has the motorcycle. The warmer weather has lured the local bikers all around the mountains, and she's got the itch. She might be back out there as early as August. July, if Roo if colicky.

I sat down last night and drew three pages of the second comic. I did another one before work today. That's half the comic penciled. I might be finished by Wednesday, safely within my May 1 deadline. The secret here is larger images in a simpler style; I can crank them out quickly. It's exhilarating in the face of the near tedium of the hero comic effort. I am through working on the first one; I would never stop fidgeting with it unless I keep my hands off it.

The ant traps seemed to have worked. The area in front of my workshop's outside door looks like a scene from Ken Burns's Civil War documentary. My temp -- the hungry spider -- appears to have packed up his briefcase, donned his hat, and left for a fresher buffet. When the comic work is done, I'm a'cleaning the workshop from top to bottom. Then I need to go outside and jumpstart the garden.

Soul Destroyer of the Day

Going Rogue

Your Sister is shopping around the sports car over her spring break. She met with two Nissan dealerships yesterday to hear their trade-in offers and scan their wares. She saw some decent offers and models, and she may close the deal before the weekend. She's leaning toward a used model, as there doesn't seem to be much difference in warranties for new or used. She has another appointment today.

I have very little to do with this. My name doesn't appear anywhere on the car, and she went through this when we bought the Matrix. We almost bought a used one back then, but the price difference was minimal, and the warranty was affected. Buying a car is like buying any other complex contraption: You do some homework, examine your finances, and shop around. I encouraged her to keep one hand on the ripcord if the salesmen were too pushy. Also, I suggested asking for the CarFax report for the used cars. Otherwise, she's flying solo by design, and she'll be fine.

She's looking at the Nissan Rogue, a parallel version of the Matrix, and that's if she doesn't simply get another Matrix. They've worked great for us. She took along the boot of the baby carseat to see how well it fits.

Your Mom is officially baby crazy. She's buying various baby implements when she finds a bargain. Yesterday she bought sheets, nail clippers, and diapers of various sizes. This was after she promised she would only buy items from the registry, and these things aren't there. She rationalized the purchases, and I can't fault her generosity, but I'd rather channel that initiative toward what we know we need. Also, storage room is a growing concern.

We are under another ant assault at home. Each spring, her bathroom and my workshop become ant clubhouses, and we set down traps on top of traps. Ants literally tumble onto me from a workshop lighting fixture. I put traps in the attic twice this month. Also we cultivate spiders, allowing them to have a corner and dine on whatever they can catch. I currently have a longlegged monster called Presley next to my serial-killer corkboard collage. Stay thirsty, my friend.

I have all but finished the hero comic. I'm tweaking design elements like sound-effect fonts and the cover frame. I may take it to the printer this weekend, one week earlier than I planned. I have just over one week to do the eight-pager, and that should be feasible.

Picture of the Day
This is a robot cutting a ribbon in Japan.

When Last We Met, I Was But the Learner.

After a quick Mexican supper, we arrived at the hospital for the first childbirth class. Last week's class was canceled due to illness. Three couples were signed up, but only two arrived. Your Sister suspects the missing couple is two of her students. I joked about her teaching at least one of the couples because she sees students everywhere, and so many local girls are knocked up. We have no confirmation. So we will continue to suspect.

The other couple was probably a little younger than us. The teacher has three kids and has worked in the birthing center for 11 years. She assured us upfront that, contrary to scuttlebutt, the local birthing center is top-notch and hands on. There's a better nurse-to-patient ratio, she said, and almost all of the employees are moms. That was nice to hear. She combined two classes into this night's time, and everyone was happy to only have two more class meetings.

She showed us posters of the pregnancy development, pointing out that heartburn and frequent peeing are due to squished innards. She listed the symptoms and responses to possible pre-term delivery. We saw a video of the various labor stages, and I learned later this was Your Sister's first delivery video. I think mine was in seventh grade.

We then did breathing and squatting exercises. Your Sister's back did not enjoy some positions, but almost all of them were positions from her pregnant-yoga book. The nurse urged the menfolk to constantly encourage the wives after contractions, and Your Sister threatened to clobber me if I did that. I will instead quote all the training montages from the Rocky films ("you're gonna eat thunder and crap lightning!").

We ended the evening with Lost which continues to be awesome.

Picture of the Day
Learn it. Live it. Love it.

Mixed Messages

I say this is a vague warning light. My car has it. Your car has it. When it lighted Friday afternoon, I didn't know what it was trying to tell me. I thought it might be the battery. I had been warned the battery was low during my last check-up. It came on about 20 miles from home, and I worried the car would die on me. And I didn't want to ask Your Sister to curl up in the Nissan to fetch me. I did get to town and pulled into a car shop to check the owner's manual. There I found this light has two meanings:
1) the brakes are gone; or
2) the tires are low.

The brakes felt fine, and I drove home (just over a mile away) and inspected the tires. The rear left tires was pudding. I've lost a couple of tires this way since moving from South Carolina. I'd say I've had three flats in six years, and that seems like a cornucopia. I put on the spare tire only after taking a hammer to the wrench to dislodge the lugnuts. The next morning, I drove to our favorite local tire place -- a sign of bad tire luck is that we have a favorite tire place -- and found it closed. On a Saturday morning, no less. This hamlet's service businesses are insane. The other tire place fixed me up within a half hour using a $5 tire patch. The dealership said a tire fix done somewhere else doesn't void the warranty. Double bonus.

After polishing off the last inked page, Your Sister demanded I celebrate with beer. We got an outdoor table at the pub, and I ordered a Bass. It arrived in a Samuel Adams glass, and I thought that name looked awfully good. She agreed. But a good friend of hers also as a boy named Sam, and we're trying to avoid that kind of parallelism.

Your Sister had quite the haul from the Sunday baby shower. We now have three copies of Goodnight Moon, and I got the baby owner manual book I've wanted for a few months. My baby knowledge is nil. The majority of my statements in the second half of 2010 will be "you can't do that? really?"

The nursery is filling up quickly, and both mothers had to be told that we can't accept a furniture suite. A crib and changing station, yes. But a chest of drawers will not fit, not with the wall of shelves we intend to keep and use. This upset Your Mother, who thought she could fix the problem by giving us one from her house, misunderstanding that we don't have room for ANY extra furniture piece. Now she's worried we won't have adequate storage space in the room. I called My Mom to warn her she may get a confused, frantic call from Your Mom about nursery furniture. And she wanted to know, foremost, if we had named the baby yet.

No. No, mom. Not yet.

Picture of the Day
To the Book Wheel!

Grr. Mow. Grr.

The old lawnmower was still in the driveway nook when I got home, but Your Sister was missing. She had brought in the mail and put down her backpack, but she was not in the house. Or the yard. And she wasn't answering her phone again.

Tangent: Her phone stinks. It often fails to alert her when I call or when I leave messages. It pisses me off to no end. I think we need to upgrade phones before we venture forth into the world with Roo. I'm looking at the Droid phones from Verizon; the apps are free, and the pop-out Qwerty keyboards are nice. Back to our show.

I decided to clear out the lawn of sticks and debris before trying the new mower. I kept my phone on me in case she called. As I neared the street, I heard the neighbors talking. I peeped over their mailbox and saw Your Sister down their driveway, chatting it up. I joined her and subtly gave vibes that we needed to leave pronto, not because I was angry (which I was) but because they love to talk, and I was burning daylight.

Pregnant wife found, I fetched the new mower and crossed my fingers as I started it. Normally, you have to yank the ripcord a few times to get the engine going. This is standard procedure. The instructions, however, said to gently pull the cord back and replace it in the handle cradle. That sounded crazy. But by God that thing buzzed to life with the gentlest of arm movements. And it devoured the lawn. There wasn't much lawn to gobble; the yard is still recovering from the snows, but what tufts of grass it did eat, it did so quickly. I'm enamored with it.

Your Sister is trying to sneak me into the women-only shower this Sunday, and I won't hear of it. One of the attendees wants me to be there, and that's sweet, but this party has been for the ladies since it was first suggested. Your Sis needs a party without me or our parents around. I'll stay home and ink.

The theater sent out an email announcing a reverse telethon -- they're gonna call all their past volunteers and ask for money. The time and day they gave is when I'll be in another state at a baby shower. Darn. Dang. Shucks.

And as I left the house this morning, the old lawnmower was gone.

Picture of the Day
My new lawnmowing suit.

Not Quite A Viking Funeral

Constant Reader writes:

What, no Jeffrey? Your own flesh and blood shall not carry the name of your arch enemy and doppelganger nemesis?

I did consider giving him all the wrong names I usually get -- Jeffrey, Eric, Andrew or combining them as JeffreyEric Andrew -- but those names have lost all charm. I resent people failing to get my name right. I mean, there's only one of me compared to the 6 billion of them. But it's so prevalent that the fault must lie with me. I do not exude the proper wavelength for my name.

Trivia: The name Drew is on the first batch of names. For either gender. But it's stock value drops significantly when put with my last name. A Double-D name is verboten.

+ + +

Our fish-wrapper has a fairly active classified section, and I check it for curiosity's sake. I noticed a graphic designer solicitation a few weeks back. I also recently read an ad for buying lawnmowers and motorcycles for what I assume is a backyard small-engine business. My grandfather did the same; he was the most popular small-engine repairman in town, and he went on to teach repair at the local technical college.

I didn't inherit any of this, you understand. I knew enough rudiments to keep my mower working a few years longer than it should have, but I knew the neighbors hated the racket (one offered to lend me his so he wouldn't put up with my rolling calamity) and I hated the constant smoke. I knew I was buying the new mower, and I called the ad number yesterday. I told the man he could have my old mower, that he would be doing me a favor by taking it. It couldn't be worth enough folding money to make much difference anyhow. Hopefully I'll go home tonight and find the old one gone. And I hope it serves him half as well as it did me.

+ + +

Your Sister now finds it painful to sneeze. Her diaphragm has no room to expand. It brings tears to her eyes, and I apply ice cream.

+ + +

The latest episode of House was weak. We watched it after Your Sister caught the rest of Lost, which was very not weak.

Picture of the Day
I started inking page 17 last night. I might finish inking it this weekend. FINISH THE INKING! RELEASE THE INKING KRAKEN!

Change of Plans

Before I got into town, Your Sis called to say the birthing class was postponed due to teacher illness. There's no word when it will be made up.

I took her out at Pescado's. While there I suggested a new name: Isaac. Two things work in its favor: 1) it's not common; b) it means "he laughed" in Hebrew, a reference to Abraham scoffing when God told him he'd bear a son at his old age. The Biblical allusion is a cute bonus (and that's all it is), but the sound of the name and its seeming rarity is the hook for me.

I've had a problem in suggesting names; Your Sister will veto them because she associates them with students of the same name. Isaac sounded safe, and I mentioned it over quesadillas. As we're commenting on this, she spied one of her students walking behind us and said hello.

"Hi, Isaac."
"... You're shitting me."
"Nope, that's his name."
"God dammit."

So I'm stopping with the names for a while. Unless a really great name leaps out at me.

My Mom, desperate to know the name right now, said S.C. hospitals fine parents who take a baby home without naming it first. I replied that we wouldn't rush into a name to avoid a fee. I'd rather behold the baby and realize he looks like a certain name than force a Jeremy to live as a Kevin.

This is becoming an obsession. Thank God Lost is there to distract me. It's a great episode this week. Again.

Between dinner and Lost, I assembled my new lawnmower. It's my first in a decade, and it's clearly more advanced. It's simpler and beefier and prettier, and I honestly can't wait to mow my lawn. I'm completely domesticated.

I started page 16 last night of the comic, and I'm just under one month before the convention. I'm anxious about wrapping up everything, and I plow through with my nose inches away from the art boards and ink.

Picture of the Day
My Name-o-tron robot has given up.

All Baby Stuff

Roo's movement is quite obvious to Your Sister. Not so much for me. She will often put her hand on her stomach and ask me to watch it move as the baby kicks and adjusts. He tones it down considerably when I'm looking, and I only see her hand move when she burps or laughs.

When I put my hand on her belly, I mistake my pulse for his movement. She likes to sit between my legs and put my hands on her belly for a while to feel Roo wriggle around. But I feel very little. She'll move back to her seat for a few minutes before she practically stands up in shock as Roo does a Matrix move. To give me a show, she's now squishing her stomach to get him to respond. It unnerves me a bit.

"He's not spongecake."
"He's turned. I'm only squeezing his feet."
"How short do you want him to be?"

The student teacher who gave us some buckets of clothing gave us some more and two baby-seat boots and a toddler swing. It's a floor-standing seat with a mobile. The nursery is quickly filling up, and we're gonna have to clean out the shelves of non-baby items soon.

We have our first birthing class tonight, and I wish it wasn't the one night of the week Lost airs. Of course I'll watch it when I get home tonight, but still. It's the principal of the thing. We could have taken a later black of classes, but we'd literally deliver before the classes were over.

Picture of the Day
Quick, to the Am-I-Sure-I-Really-Be-A-Dad-Mobile!

If You Prick Us, Do We Not Bleed? In A Bag?

I gave blood Saturday morning at a local church. Three churches team up to host the blood drives on a rotating basis. I was supposed to do this last month, but it was snowed out. The church folks called me to ask that I not give blood until they could hold the session this month. I assume they're competing with other drive hosts for bragging rights. Maybe there's a commission involved. There's no danger of me going to another place to give blood; these people are the only ones who do it on the weekend.

They like to make appointments. They want to know when you will arrive, but it doesn't matter. It's still first-come, first-drain. You sign in, take a number, and sit. I've learned to take a book. As I sit there and wonder if I'll be hooked up within an hour, I imagine bringing my laptop and loudly accessing random porn to see how badly they want my blood. It might allow me to jump in line. The nurses practically glow when they see my big arm veins. It makes their job easier, and I fill a pint pouch within five minutes.

At each station, I asked about my book, Spook by Mary Roach. The volunteers thought it was fiction, and as I explained it was a series of essays investigating the scientific pursuit of theories on the afterlife, I cold see their eyelids droop with each word after "essay." If I had all my blood, I would have thought to spice it up by adding "and then she develops toe cancer and falls in love on a beach with her retired vampire chiropractor."It really is a great read. The second chapter, for instance, looks at how research into semen influenced the notions of the soul's physical whereabouts in the body. As technology improved, and the eye could see further into the cellular structure, the soul lost its status as a physical entity. No one could find it.

A few hours after the donation, I noticed everything I tasted was metallic. Otherwise I was fine. I called the Red Cross later in the day, and they suggested it was a low calcium level. I took one of Your Sister's calcium supplements. I also made note of the low blood pressure. When I gave blood in August, I measured 122/74. On Saturday, I'm at 112/61. I haven't ran nearly as often as I did last year yet Your Sister says Saturday's was a better reading. She also noted I haven't had nearly the amount of wings (slathered in ranch) and beer. I argue the food isn't unhealthy. It's the natural oils from my skin I take in as I lick my ranch-slathered fingers.

While we were out that afternoon, I bought m first new lawnmower in a decade. I held off on buying one for a few years. Dad and I had agreed to buy a new one before he got sick, and I always mentioned our deal when we would meet after his diagnosis. It was my good-luck charm; as long as he had one more thing to plan for, he wouldn't go away. I hoped. Mom declared she would see the deal through, but I wouldn't pick a new mower until she was settled. It sits in our storage room still boxed up. I wanted to wait until the hero comic was done to go mow, but the yard may not wait. Suddenly the show-flattened lawn is sprouting.

We drove down to Columbia Sunday for a shower thrown by her college pals. It was fun. They put on a great spread, and we traded pregnancy notes. Then I found myself siting on a couch opening shower gifts in baby wrapping paper. Never thought I'd be here. Your Sister drove the whole time both ways while I read her the Sunday New York Times. We got back just as the sun set and grabbed Mexican dinner before calling it a day. I woke up super early (for me) today to ink another page. I should be done with the pages by next weekend.

My Mom again asked to know the baby's name. She's antsy. We might tell her Voldemort Bismark just to stop that line of questioning.

Picture of the Day
I must see this.

Hurley's Not a Bad name. Or Sawyer.

To prepare for the prom, I put down a deposit on a tux rental Wednesday. Later that day, Your Sister stated her preference for my suit instead. I'm gonna try to get my deposit back. I am not confident.

Yesterday's doctor appointment was short. She was weighed and measured (all in the "perfect" range, we're told). Roo's heartbeat was heard, and the doctor asked about any signs of premature delivery. That was all they wanted. I mentioned the ultrasound and our previous failure to get it done for My Mom. We hopped across the hall, cranked up the Babyscope, and there was Roo. We saw a nose (I think it's yours). We saw a hand. We saw the package. It's definitive: Roo's a he-boy-man-lad. That eliminates most of our cool names. We go back in three weeks.

While we were in the doctor's office, the satellite muzak played Shambala by Three Dog Night, a song used in one of the best Lost episodes (it's at the 55-second mark).


I reminded Your Sister, and it calmed her down a bit. The doctor asked what we were talking about, and I mentioned the song and Lost and he said "oh yeah, where they're driving around in the van." Yes. We couldn't have picked a better doctor.

I called Mom to break the boy news to her, and she's still floating on a cloud about throwing/starring in a baby shower. She wanted a name, and I couldn't oblige. We have our first shower Sunday. Your Sister was so pooped from being scanned that she went to bed very early. I went to work. I am now ahead of the date/page formula. After less than a week of inking, I'm on page ten and halfway through. That assuages my vacillating fear of not having a book ready in five weeks. I'd like to think I could do the second book in about two weeks, including a color cover.

I had to give Your Sister the boot to the guest bed. Her snoring was horrendous. I feel great shame for kicking out my baby mama.

Picture of the Day
Lady Gaga is a good trade-in for Miss Piggy.

Zonked.

Your Sister and I had a long conversation about the guest bed. It shares space with her office and her clothes. Meaning no matter which one of us is sick (or noisy) she would have to use that bed or wake me up before the sunrise to get her day's items together. I'm not happy about sending a pregnant woman with a hinky back to a small bed with a weak mattress. But she insists. I a relented. But I didn't need to do this last night. I got to bed at midnight and went out like a rock. Your Sister could have gargled a boombox, and I wouldn't have known.

I also inked page six, so I'm still on the page/date schedule. I'm now inking the nine-page fight scene. I lettered the comic yesterday too. Once I replace the pencils with inked pages, the comic proper is done. That leaves the covers. The second mini is mostly scripted and thumbnailed.

Picture of the Day
And I thought I had a bad day.

Can't Sleep. Clown's Gonna Eat Me.

I am running on fumes.

I discovered after the spring clock change that I have a small window of sleep. If I stay up until midnight, my body needs an hour minimum to wind down. I inked page 5 last night and went to bed around 1. That combined with a certain nasal resonance achieved by Your Sister to conspire against me. I slept on the couch. Until the cats started mewling, that is, and I dragged myself up to spray them with a water bottle. I may have gotten three hours of sleep. I consider this practice for Roo.

Speaking of him, we got the first non-family baby gift -- a bag of washcloths and a hooded towel -- from the neighbors. It's cute. The card was addressed initially to my alter ego, Jeffrey, a name that has followed me all my days.

I had the notion that I could finish each page on the same number date in April. I did page five on April 5th. But given my mummy brains, there's no way I can ink all of page six tonight. I'm having much better results inking pages with large art. Luckily, that's the majority of the comic. I did my first villain panels last night, and it looks good.

Picture of the Toil
I scanned in the pencils to start lettering, and I'm halfway through that. I'll replace the page backgrounds with the finished inked pages. But now I can test the legibility of the type and play with balloon placement. Some balloons are gonna save my bacon by covering spotty backgrounds.

Cooking With Villainy: Alfredo Sauce

I really should start these weekend recaps during the weekend instead of trying to remember everything Monday morning.

It was my turn to make dinner Friday night, and I tried to make alfredo sauce again. My first go was a shame. Too watery, too bland. It was milk soup. This time, I goosed the recipe.

Wait, I need to do this properly.

Doom obey a paltry retail cookbook? DOOM HEEDS NO COOKERY CROCKERY! Doom freestyles because Doom has mad moves, yo!

The effrontery of this impudent pamphlet amuses Doom, and Doom bequeaths it precious Doomblog time. Laugh along with Doom. That was not a request.

1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup butter
3/4 cup grated Parmesan
1/4 tablespoon salt
pepper

Doom commands you to combine the butter and cream in a medium size skillet over medium heat. Doom DEMANDS you add another 1/3 cup cream.

Doom commands you to allow the butter to melt and turn the heat to low when the sauce begins to bubble.

Doom commands you to stir frequently for six minutes then turn off the heat.

Doom commands you to add 3/4 cup of Parmesan. Now you must add another 1/2 cup.

Doom commands you to stir the cheese until it melts. When thoroughly melted, you may now salt and a dash of pepper.

Doom commands you to toss with noodles.

Doom commands you to indulge.

And with these changes, that sauce was magnificent. I didn't make enough noodles, but we used a loaf of bread to sop and sop. We practically licked the pan. I jotted down the changes in the recipe book.

We shopped Saturday for larger maternal clothes. Many shirts were tried. Many looked ridiculous. Your Sister noted earlier in the day that she had belly cleavage -- other women were staring at her tummy instead of making any eye contact. We figured the ugliest maternity shirts (and their stupid, stupid collars) were meant to draw the eyes away from the Roo. She found some items, but one pair of capris was too long, and I suggested she add a second hem button higher up on the pants leg.

We hopped over to Best Buy to see the iPad display, and we got hands-on time. I can see the first-impression appeal. If I walked off the street with no notion of what other gadgets can do, I'd buy one. However, playing with one shows the limitations. As the salesman said, it's a wireless iMac. That's not a selling point to me. It's a half-laptop minus the webcam, mic, keyboard, and the ability to run some browser software. Also, why would anyone use the included NYTimes app to read text blocks of breaking news when the Safari browser lets you read the entire paper with photos? My opinion stands: It's a halfway device, and the subsequent models should be the true innovations.

One interesting notion might be the digital distribution of comics. Many companies have tried to become the iTunes of comics online, and the publishers are nervous about it because of easy online pirating. They don't release their full monthly libraries online. But the new Marvel iPad app might be the first big landmark. Most comics are sold nowadays through what are called direct-market shops. There are very few issues in grocery and convenience stores anymore and bookstores don't want single issues to deal with anymore. But there aren't that many direct comic stores nationwide. I'm lucky to have been in towns with a store nearby, although the newest one is close only because I have an commute for an hour to work in its town. The iPad could make comics widespread again when the price on the machine comes down. Writer Warren Ellis noted that if Marvel sells 4,000 copies of its app, that would surpass their number of retail outlets. That sounded low, but the Barnes & Noble website states they only have fewer than 800 stores nationwide.

She attended an Easter mass that night, and I stayed home to ink. As of Sunday night, I have inked four pages. They ain't great, but they're clear, and that's what I want. After just two days of inking, I'm almost a quarter done. This is fucking shocking. My eyes felt the strain of working with tiny pens, and I ran a little. This worked up an appetite, and we devoured bar food.

Pictures of the Toil
Here's the first page. The style of the first panel's building reflections were swiped from an artist named John Romita Jr. They saved a crappy drawing. That empty circular sign will have lettering added on the computer.

Fixing A Hole Where the Mail Comes In

I started looking at car seats. The rules on their use are well-intended. Yes. They are also dumb as fuck. For the first year, a child must sit in the back (no problem), in a car seat (still OK), facing backward (retarded).

While driving, I could glance in my rear-view mirror to look at my baby to see if he's OK. But because I won't see his face now, I'll have to constantly keep an ear out for any trouble. That's distracted driving. How is that preferable to the momentary look-see?

I learned that some baby seats use boots or bases to lock into the car. The boot stays latched in, and the seat unhooks quickly to be carried. I also discovered that some brands sell strollers that will accept their car seat. The stroller Your Mom bought us will accept the same brand's baby seat. But the baby seat costs as much as the stroller.

However, Babies R Us carries a stroller/seat 2-pack by the same brand. I took back the stroller Your Mom bought and exchanged it (and paid a small balance) for the two-pack. Now we have a seat to last him at least 12 months unless he's a behemoth (a word of Jewish origin, we learned). Your Mother shall never know.



The stroller she bought was a deluxe model with shock absorbers and an MP3 speaker. It's not an exact swap, but this is a better deal. Also, it comes in gender neutral palette. If there's a problem with it, it's that the baby will sit backward in the stroller, facing the handlebars. It's more rear-facing, but a little window flap lets us look at him as we push the stroller. But that's only when we have Roo in the car seat in there.

In the wide time-swamp of making a comic, I get a thrill from the smaller projects that can start and end the same day. Or week. Our mailbox has gone Pisa on us thanks to inundated soil. We thought we installed it well despite lacking the proper tools. When the mailpost kit said we needed a mallet (which we bought), it should have said "sledgehammer. We couldn't smash the post into the ground deep enough with a puny rubber hammer. I debated using concrete on the post and bought a pail of it before the snow hit, but the more I read, the more that seemed like large answer to a small problem. I bought a sledgehammer yesterday and fixed the post in about 15 minutes. And now I can hunker down with the comic again. This warm weather is luring me outside to work on the yard and garden. I may clear out the row of dead plants behind the house this weekend to get some vitamin D.

I finished the first round of pencils. Now I'm going back through to touch up weird angles and bad anatomy and perspective. I'm astonished to be here so soon, and I'm terrified the pages will spontaneously combust.

Picture of the Day
Starbucks is flirty.

Thinking Things Through

Yet another advantage of watching TV shows online: You avoid the network's promo bugs, those little icons for other shows that run in the corner of the screen. They used to be only the station icon. Now we get animated blocks of text and show logos. Unfortunately ABC decided to pimp the return of V with a red V and a countdown clock during Tuesday's Lost. At one point, the V obscured a crucial piece of text provided by Sun. The reaction was strong and may have led to a boycott of sorts. According to this article, the ratings for the V premiere were the lowest of the show's brief run.

Roo's kicks are getting rough. Your Sister practically hops off the couch when they hit. We are now signed up for new-parent classes at the hospital. They start later in April, and she was concerned it would hurt my progress on the comic. She said I didn't have to go if there's a schedule conflict. I won't hear of it. This is a group effort all around. The only baby-related event I'll miss is the girls-only shower.

+ + +

Because Your Sister is a registered Republican, she receives fundraising material from the GOP. Yesterday she got a solicitation disguised as a straw poll ballot for the 2010 campaign. It lists these names, and I'll qualify them:

Mississippi Governor Haley Barbour (who?)
Indiana Governor Mitch Daniels (who?)
Former House Speaker Newt Gingrich (disgraced)
Former Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee (marginalized)
Former New Mexico Governor Gary Johnson (who?)
Former Alaska Governor Sarah Palin (magnetic, popular, flaky)
Former New York Governor George Pataki (marginalized)
Current Representative Ron Paul (earnest, smart, tends to get strident)
Minnesota Governor Tim Pawlenty (a wannabe)
Current Representative Mike Pence (who?)
Former Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney (marginalized)
Former Senator Rick Santorum (ruined by Dan Savage)
Current Senator John Thune (who?)

Not a stellar line-up. Note who's missing: Bobby Jindal, the Louisiana Governor who bombed on live TV when he tried to rebut Obama's first speech to Congress last year.

It says a lot of the current Congressional minority leadership that none of the GOP Senate or House leaders are considered viable presidential candidates. All of the ones on the above list either have glaring concerns or a lack of national prominence. 'Course Obama had the same visibility issues four years ago. And let's be fair, if the Democrats had to offer a new candidate for 2012, they'd be just as screwed (Biden? Pelosi? Yikes.) . Except for Palin, the GOP has no elevated presence, and her support is tenuous. She's foremost a celebrity and has little chance of surviving a protracted presidential campaign. We didn't return the ballot.

We were entertained by the rhetoric that Obama is taking money from trial lawyers and Wall Street fatcats, to use their words. The Democrat has Wall Street backing? Really? The letter said he might rake in a billion smackers for his re-election campaign. I can see that. I think the campaign will only become more lucrative for everyone.

Picture of the Day
I might make this a t-shirt.

A Night Out

I've made online adjustments to our registry. I added onesies (is there no dignified name?) and removed the South-African designed Bumpo. We were handed one last night by the teacher couple who fed us. It was a nice evening at their place, talking a lot of school stuff and a little baby stuff. They have a baby younger than a year old and giant dog that eats teddy bears. We had wine and fajitas.

We got back home after ten, but I recorded this week's Lost. I watched it while Your Sister prepared for bed. It's a good episode; things are happening.

I drew most of page 18 today, and I might finish it tonight. I plan on cementing our newish mailbox this weekend, weather permitting. It's leaning badly.

Neither the office nor the post office are closing for Good Friday or Easter for what appears to be the first time. I'm confused.

Picture of the Day
This is what a volcano eruption looks like from an airliner.

New Look

Trying something new via Blogger's tricked-out templates. If this is awkward to read, let me know. I may tweak it in the next few days. The map background is a nod to writing you in South Africa.

Taking A Break

Your Sister stays home today to catch her breath, both literally and figuratively. She just wants a little break. She noticed some calf swelling last night, and it went away once she put her feet up. She has a teacher workday Friday, so that will help her take it easy this week.

(Confession: My first wife ran to the woods while taking a sick day. I learned only that night that she wasn't sick and used the whole day to scavenge from our house and move to her new digs. Whenever Your Sister calls in sick and I go to work, one of the many stupid voices in my head wonders if she'll be there when I get home. She's done nothing to continue this. It's all my dumb brains.)

I used my lunch break yesterday to stroll another Target and see what baby items leaped out at me. I'm concerned we'll need home clothes for Roo. We have outfits for seeing people, but those won't be worn around the house. I awoke to find the registry suggestion list with my work stuff. I'll call Your Sister later today to ask if this is now our shopping list.

Your Aunt wants very much to help us as we become parents. Last night she emailed me an offer to pay my student loans. I thanked her. I told her I was humbled by the generous offer and I'm lucky to be in such a caring family. Then I told her the student loans are but a memory. We took care of them last year.

Before Your Sister retired to the royal bedchamber, she posed for reference pictures for the comic's last scene. My heroine is robed and curled up on the couch. I started page 18 today. The arbitrary April 4 pencil deadline now looks feasible. I still need to fix the perspective-heavy backgrounds using reference photos.

Picture of the Day
This looks like a real article but sounds a bit fake.

Must it Be Monday?

We didn't do much after you left. We got groceries and ate a light lunch as we were still packed to the gills with pancakes. We couldn't even get Starbucks to power us through the afternoon work. She hunkered down with her laptop while I drew some more. I've now moved from the street fight to the nighttime apartment scene. I have six pages to go, and I want them penciled by Sunday. That will give me a month to tidy up backgrounds using Google Street View and fix inconsistencies before I ink and letter. I'll also need a cover image to pencil, ink, color, and letter.

During a bathroom break, I got a call from the local theatre asking me to audition. The director asked what how we are.

Me: Very pregnant.

Him: Still? Seems like she was pregnant eleven months ago.

Me: Yeah, she feels the same way.

That raised my hackles. While one could (rudely) argue I'm using the pregnancy as a dodge, I instead say I'm refusing to commit to anything until we establish a new routine. Say I did agree to work a show (and pretend I'm not preparing for a convention), I'm quitting said show at the first sign of any baby complication. In this, I am unreliable. I'm saving them and me the trouble or scrambling at the last second. They just canceled Glass Menagerie because an actor was took sick to prepare adequately, and they again refused to do a reading-theatre version to at least fulfill the sold tickets. Why is a scaled -back show worse than no show? Anyway, I again think the recent award was given in hopes to bring me back sooner. I haven't found any wall space for it yet.

I called My Mom to fill her in on registry info. She also may be joining my uncle for a trip to Vegas after little Epic Win is born.

Your Sister suggested I have wings while watching last night's giant annual WWE show. I gobbled them and had one of the bottled beers you brought us a few months back and marinated in rasslin. I also worked on some sketches for the publishing logo.

One of the teachers invited us for dinner Tuesday, and she'll give us more baby hand-me-downs.

Picture of the Day
The recently released cover to the last Scott Pilgrim comic.

Work Is Made

Since last Sunday afternoon, I have smacked out ten and a half pages. That's astounding. And they don't look all that sucky either. I've taken full use of my digital camera to create instant reference photos, and they will be preserved for the sake of comedy. No one would recognize me in the subsequent drawings as most of the pictures were for female character, and I didn't draw my beard.

According to the baby book, we are now, finally, certainly, and absolutely at the beginning of the third trimester. We are at 27 weeks. Your Sister suspects the downward pressure she feels is because her hips haven't widened yet. She also has a girl name she's holding onto like a life jacket. She also suggested a decent boy name to which I struggle to object. She may have picked the winner.

There are calls for snow today and tonight, and that's a problem for the school. Tuesday is the rescheduled day for the state writing test. The county got a break from the state to move it back to March 23 based on snowfall problems. Even a two-hour delay tomorrow could wreck that plan, and the test would need to move again. Whatever snow we get is supposed to be gone by Wednesday, and that's some comfort for Mom as she plans to come up for the baby appointment. She wants to lay eyes on Your Sister in person, to truly believe she'll be a grandmother.

Internet Gadget of the Day
Behold The Emergency Yodel Button.

Sketchy Progress

I stayed home sick Wednesday with a sudden head cold. I ate Vitamin C pills and yogurt, and Your Sister bought me the delicious 99-cent frozen pizzas that I adore. I actually napped. I hate naps. I feel better today, but I ate that I missed a day of drawing.

Something I realized when working on this hero minicomic: I usually don't draw this big. Even when I draw on art boards, I tend to pack the comic page with too many panels. This time, I deliberately made bigger, fewer panels per page to leave room for the dialogue. It's made for panels wit lots of space inside for backgrounds and people (and they'll get covered by word balloons), and it's made me draw in larger strokes.

I'm getting down the basics of the panels and moving on to the next page. My backgrounds will need tightening, but that can be done right before I ink. I want to come back to the pages with a fresh eye and catch the problems before I declare them ink ready.

Here are the small sketches of two pages and their accompanying larger, tighter drawings. I ned to add shadows and flesh out the backgrounds.

+ + +

Moving Picture of the Day
This made me laugh up my medicine.

Introspection and Toil

We take turns making dinner. Always have. This changes only when the other is buried in work, illness, or existential morass. I made dinner last night, but it wasn't a real dinner. It was ruben sandwiches.

Ruben sandwiches are messy to make, and the best people to make them are diner cooks. They have a big, flat cooking surface that was probably built greasy. It doesn't matter if the sauerkraut tumbles out or the dressing spills. Me, I get neurotic about the innards becoming outards. I work delicately. I baby the sandwiches when I flip them. I make it more work than it needs to be.

Then I feel guilty over the size of them. They are slivers of sustenance. They are credit card-thin. I make two of them for each of us. This can't be my attempt at making a supper: Two-dimensional appetizers that are ready in 20 minutes. It's not equal work. I must construct delicious tower for my baby mama.

I continue to work on the comic. After two pages, I see that I am timid in my panel structures. I must flesh it all out more. I must push. I'm glad to realize this now, at this point. The comic is telling me what I need to do. I'm glad to have this much progress and yet have enough time to adjust and correct. I'm also delighted to be making a 20-page comic.

Picture of the Day
I'm developing this kind of collaboration.

Weekend Funtime

About those FaceBook pictures of me:

I dropped by Toys R Us Thursday to see what was marketed to the youngsters. I like to keep track of the designs and franchises. Sometimes it's surprising. An entire aisle, for instance, is devoted to pro-wrestling figures. I had no idea demand was that high for them. The toys for the recent Star Trek movie collect dust as do those for the GI Joe film. You never know what's gonna be a hit with kids.

The push for the new Iron Man film has begin, notably with the toy helmet in those photos. The previous version was a faceplate held on by a stretch band. It's blah. I noticed the new full-head helmet and played with the sound buttons and light-up eyes, and thought it was cute or kids. If I were eight, yes, I would beg for this. But I'm much older. Back on the shelf it went.

The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a good fit for the shelf with my lucha masks. It might not, however, fit my head. I mentioned the notion online, and the reaction was unanimous: Dude. DUDE! I went back the next day and bought it.

I got it home convinced that when Your Sister returned from Charlotte, she would see me wearing this toy and resolve to never leave me alone again. (I also considered buying tiny ones for the cats to wear as she walked in the door.) She got back home earlier, and with no warning, and I had to reveal the contraption quicker than I planned. She loved it. Even wore it. The next day, I put on my suit, and she took pictures of President Rocket R. Science. The helmet now sits on that shelf, bookending lucha masks with the Vader helmet.

Your Sister weathered the trip well, and she recovered Saturday night while I attended local roller derby. It was a blast, and I think it allows Asheville's various subcultures to mingle in good humor.

Still adjusting to the time switch, but I'm able to start the hero minicomic. I showed the panel sketches and script to Your Sister, and she seemed to enjoy it. She found no major plotholes, and I put pencil to artboard Sunday. My first panel was a perspective-heavy establishing city shot, and it was no fun. If that's the most difficult panel I do -- and I suspect it will be -- I'll be fine the rest of the way. The convention is two months from today, and I can do this. I can really do this.

What I cannot do is see one of my favorite authors. Chuck Palahniuk (Fight Club, Haunted, Lullaby) will be in Asheville for an intimate reading and autograph session, and I shall be at prom instead. It's not horribly disappointing. I won't regret our last public outing before Roo's birth. But this is the second time I've missed out on a Malaprop's appearance because of a prior engagement. I guess this balances the toy helmet.

We bought larger clothing for her Sunday at Target. While she was trying on outfits, I shopped for socks and found some nice deals. I also found a pair of socks that may have been returned. The label was damaged, and the socks were dirty and worn. I suspect someone traded out the socks they wore to the store with this pair on sale. I remember working retail and discovering little schemes like this. She gets winded easy now, and we walk slower. She makes time to walk as much as possible. She simply goes slower now. We are looking at budgets to see which insurance policy Roo will join and how long Your Sis can stay home from work.

In a fleeting moment of regal largess, she suggested I have buffalo wings last night. I was to eat them Friday before she got home, but she returned early. She hadn't eaten supper, and I took her out. Last night, I had the wings. Eh. It's not something I would have weekly anymore. Maybe I picked up Your Sister's disinterest.


Picture of the Day
Could be a new t-shirt. I didn't make this.

Singled Out

The Missus is off to a convention, and I'll see her again tomorrow night. We said our goodbyes before she drove to work, and she got teary. She always did, but now we can blame it on the pregnancy. She dabbed her eyes, and now my hanky has her tears on it. I tell her things like "neither of us are gong off to war," and it does no good.

I will do more thumbnails and sketches for the hero mini. If I can open up my style a bit -- more cartoony -- I can draw this quick. I've again tweaked the script for dialogue, but the panel layout from yesterday remains. I'm sure I'll adjust the words right until it's printed. My panic over the deadline is assuaged a bit. I can do this. Probably.

Picture of the Day
Or maybe I'll just drink tonight and watch basketball.

Progress

Just to prove work is getting done. These are shaded panels from the medieval comic.


I also started another draft of the hero minicomic and changed the layout of the ending. It has the tone I wanted, now in simpler panels. I'm getting up earlier and going to bed later to work on it. Not that you know anything about that.

I'm taking Saturday night off to see local roller derby.

This week's Lost is the goods. See it when you can.

I think Your Aunt wants to buy us a new car, site unseen. I'm trying to dissuade her. Also, Your Mom is anxious to learn the baby's real name. I may suggest Roo-sevelt.

Milestone

We start the third trimester today.

A student teacher gave Your Sister two big Tupperware bins of maternity and kid clothes. We dug through them Friday night. The tubs are organized into age-months for the kid. Most of the clothes Your Sister tried on were too small. She translates this as being fat. I argued that any pants with leg hems that short wouldn't fit most adults. This student teacher must be tiny. I also suggested that she gave us hand-me downs from someone else, and the student teacher may not have been able to wear them either. A number of items for mom and kid still have tags. She found a few shirts that fit, including one hideous frock we dubbed "the Dharma Shirt" that looks like it's from the mid-'70s scenes in Lost.

The next evening, we stepped inside a mall maternity store and found some new pants and tops. I sat in the changing room with her to help with shoes and pants legs. The cashier said she didn't look so far along in the pregnancy, and I repeated that throughout the weekend. She sometimes gets down about being big, but she's nowhere near as large as she thinks. Also, she's pregnant. I underscore the word repeatedly: pregnant. From behind, you can't tell she's carrying.

Speaking of babies, Your Baby Daddy signed a three-year deal with the Chicago Bears. Peppers is too good a player to stay in a small-market team his entire career, and I hope he becomes a marketable figure in Chicago.

Before the maternity store visit, Your Sister worked a Saturday makeup day, and that ruined her weekend. We drove to Asheville to do our taxes and walk through downtown. A few months back, I picked up a print by a local painter named Sarah Faulkner. It's hanging in our bedroom. She has a booth at the Woolworth Gallery, and her work clicked with me. It's miles away from the usual folk amateur styles you usually see in local galleries.



Your Sister thought the art would make for good nursery decor. We visited the artist's booth and picked out two prints, but they're for the rest of the house. They're a bit gloomy for the baby room.






We still may use the brighter art for the nursery. We'll see. I like the idea of staying away from pastels and primaries for the nursery. I want Roo to be exposed to the wide range of colors.

Before we bought maternity clothes, Your Sister escorted me to into the teen-jewelery stores so I could buy new earrings without looking creepy. I now have new adornments. No new piercings, mind you. Just new baubles.

I finished inking the medieval comic while she was at school, and now I must pencil the hero minicomic. I have just over two months to complete it. I measured out my art board dimensions, and now I need to make tighter sketches from my thumbnails. It'll be a pinch, but I can do this. I need to script the medieval comic, and Your Sister needs to do the calligraphy for the original poem's stanzas.

I can tell we're gonna change the clocks soon, because the morning daylight feels different. I want to run again, but I need to do the comics instead. I'm debating internally some ideas for table decoration at the convention.

We had some buddies over last night for supper and conversation, and one of them admitted to never seeing Star Wars. I gave her a standing invite to come by and watch one of our copies. I also offered to crank it up that minute, but it was too late in the evening. I fast-forwarded the Oscars afterward. The ceremony looked small and rushed. The pretaped nominee readings were breathless, and I'm convinced final presenter Tom Hanks improvised his comments for brevity. I'm OK with who won. I've liked Jeff Bridges since seeing him in the second King Kong remake. I was very disappointed that they eschewed the performance of any original song nominees, but I appreciate the tribute to John Hughes.

Moving Picture of the Day



The new Iron Man 2 trailer. While I'm not crazy about the team-up of new villains -- seemingly obligatory since Luthor worked with the Krypton 3 in Superman 2 -- Paltrow and Downey look like no time has passed since the first film. I always enjoy Don Cheadle. But the final bit here sold me: They developed a logical portable-suit solution. In the comics, Stark kept his suit in a briefcase. In the film, the briefcase IS the suit. And it's the red/silver variation which a number of IM fans grew up with.

Snow Shuffling

We hunkered down at first. The snowfall was apocalyptic, and the subsequent wind and sunlight added ice to the cotton candy/mashed potato drifts. I worked online for a few hours and offered to walk with Your Sis to the town's Italian pizzeria for what's become our snowstorm tradition. She assured me she could walk the three miles plus there and back as long as we took it slow and let her catch her breath on the hills. We did. Our road was a glacier, but the rest of the trip was smooth and bright and windy and brisk.

We got to the shop, wolfed down buffet pizza, and headed back home. She has trouble bending over now, and her attempts to fix her socks just made her mad. I offered to help, and she grudgingly assented. She thinks it's demeaning to both of us if I fix her foot clothing. I say she's being silly. I told her I wished someone would say something. I have a surplus of what-for I need to dish out. But I fixed her socks, and I'm sure I'll be tying her shoes soon. She's starting her third trimester next week. This stuff is gonna happen. And it's temporary, I tell her. She's gonna have a crash diet at the end of June.

I got home and did more online work. About an hour later, the snowplows rumbled by. When they departed, I shoveled the driveway and the road in front of our property. I waited too long however, and the debris froze as soon as I walked to shovel other areas. Even sweeping over it didn't break the ice chunks. The first Wednesday of the month has become a fundraising night at the local Mexican restaurant. The money goes to the high school, and I drove her out to it as a reward for grading papers all day. We swapped snow horror stories with other teacher people and got back in time to watch some TV before collapsing into heaps. OK, she collapsed. I stayed up to ink our comic. I'd like it done by next weekend -- inked, scanned, lettered, and polished. I have to get cracking on my minicomics.

Her school has a three-hour delay today, and a make-up day is scheduled for Saturday morning. We drove to the local Buck of Stars before heading in different directions for work.

Picture of the Day
I predict that women will be throwing their partners by the 2018 Olympics. A number of pairs did this kind of lift (one might argue it's more of a brace than a lift), and each was shocking and well done. I appreciated the athleticism.

900 Posts

Yep, we hit a milestone.

I'll skip some telecommuting hours today to shovel the snow. We still won't be able to drive until the plows clear the way. It's oddly silent out there; even the nighttime highway noise is gone. This telecommuting isn't bad, per se, but it requires adjustment. If I hadn't gotten a cool pad for the laptop, there's no way I could put in a full day. Well, fullish, anyway.

I'm using what would be my two commute hours to work on the comic before and after working from home. Your Sister is now facing another Saturday of teaching. Cabin fever struck her hard and early, and she swept the driveway last night. I can't stop her. I can only check on her and invite her inside.

Two items of news:

1) We haven't heard from the doctor's office, and we were told earlier that no news is bueno. The assumption then is no gestational diabetes.

2) Your Sister's teaching assistant has bailed, citing family circumstances. This is something of a relief for her. He couldn't get his assignments together, requiring her to prepare to cover his lessons while preparing hers. Even though she has no safety net now, she's back to what she was accustomed, and she's glad the end came this early in the semester.

Lost has turned a corner, and I'm relieved. I think it can focus on the core characters now.

Picture of the Day
The rare female rebel pilot.

Whiteout

This is the rare late blog post because I spent the day telecommuting. While our tiny village was and continues to be pummeled by fat snow clumps plummeting to the earth, Asheville didn't get enough to slow traffic. My office computer was switched on there, and I connected to it from my workshop. I worked the majority of the day on files that could have waited a few more days.

I don't see us leaving the house until Friday. We've gotten at last six inches of styrofoam snow, and it isn't supposed to stop until tomorrow morning. We went for a short walk today to survey the damage. Before we left the driveway, we spotted a utility truck swamped in the street. Within five minutes of walking, our footprints vanished. Somehow, we still have our satellite service so we're catching Lost tonight.

I have to sign off from the laptop. My eyes are dead.

Picture of the Day
"Roads? Where we're going we don't need ... roads."

Plans Are Suggested

Your Sister is averse to belly pictures, and we've only taken a handful since her bulge emerged. Now, I'm not going picture crazy, documenting everything we do and supplanting an experience with the depiction of the experience. I do want to make a record of the most incredible nine months of applied biology we'll encounter. But she has days where she feels huge and unattractive and old, and I scold the camera and send it to its room without camera dinner. Some quick photos were taken and posted on FB where Your Mom practically called her gigantic.

My Mom is feeling better with a new prescription called Pristiq. She's making plans to accompany us to the next appointment in late March, and she again is asking about names. We're no closer to a name and probably won't lock in a top-five list until Your Sister is convinced it's not a girl. Is it possible the doctor was confused by the machine imagery? Yes. It is probable? No.

I started inking our medieval comic. I realized after one panel that using fat-nib pens to delineate art based on slim-lead pencils kills my art. I moved to the thinnest pen I have -- 0.2 mm. -- and I like what I see. The stiff plasticity is diminished, and a more organic contour emerges. This might be my ink style from now on. I'll put up scans as it nears completion.

We bought cooling stands for our laptops, and I drew my journal comic on my new machine as I watched Olympic hokey from the couch. That's so scifi. I'm gobsmacked. If I didn't have a pregnant wife and various comic projects, I'd liveblog TV shows. Your Sister, however, did talk to one of my fellow roller derby fans and demanded he take me to some of the Asheville games this summer.

I picked up my drama award Saturday over a dinner out with theatre buddies. It's nice. It'll look good on the wall. Your Sis reminded me she wants me to do theatre when a show strikes my fancy, even if it's in Asheville. I dunno. I wouldn't get home from rehearsal until after 11 each night, and that might stretch for three months. That knocks me out of watching Roo. I don't see me doing theatre again for years. And that's fine. I have comics and games and a baby to mold into a genius.

Picture of the Day
Marvel Comics is publishing Girl Comics, a new anthology created entirely by women. Nice idea. Horrible name. Here's a page from the first issue. These are all current Marvel superheroines.

The one on the bottom right was played by Halle Berry in the X-Men movies. The upside down hero is Spider-Woman, who had her own ABC Saturday cartoon years and years ago.

Here's her cartoon opening sequence.



Yes, her "spider-like powers" include flying and hand lasers. I don't know.

Sugar Rush

We had the glucose test this morning. We arrived at 8:30, and she was given a cup of clear, cold liquid. She could pick her choice of flavor, and she chose "flat Sprite." She was concerned about the taste so I had some first. It wasn't bad. The cold overwhelmed the flavor at first, and it quickly took on a lollipop-syrup flavor. I only drank a fourth of what she would have to chug, though. After that, we sat in the waiting room to kill an hour. I had my laptop and worked on my journal comics. This was my first time using the giant laptop outside the house.

They drew her blood, and she weakened. She said giving blood has only been a problem in the last year or so, but there's no suggestion of anemia. After a few minutes, we visited with the doctor. He checked Roo's heartbeat (136) and asked for updates. We didn't have many notes. We made an appointment for March 24, and the doc will do an ultrasound just for My Mom. I took her to Starbucks after, because, really, why shouldn't you follow a packed sugar drink with another? We'll find out Monday if her blood-sugar is OK.

Picture of the Day
The Canadian hockey team took some shit for celebrated by drinking immediately after their gold-medal win. But how happy does these winners look? Gold on home ice? The IOC is lucky they kept their clothes on.

Cooking With Villainy: Cucumber Raita

Doom's kingdom of Latveria has failed to dominate the Winter Olympics in the soon-to-be-annexed nation of Ca-na-da. Despite the construction of skatebots, skibots, and bilathalonibots, Doom has yet to feel the treasured gold medal in Doom's iron fist. Doom's designs are, of course, impeccable and perfect. Therefore, Doom must conclude a conspiracy is afoot to deprive Latveria of its rightful recognition. As always, the blame lies at the feet of That Accursed Richards.

RICHARDS! DOOM CALLS SHENANIGANS!

To salve this shame, Doom repairs to the kitchen, and there shall Doom concoct another success, another testament to Doom's unerring glory. Doom shares this new recipe with you, the unworthy denizens of the planet over which Doom shall soon extend his benevolent reign.

Doom bequeaths to you the Cucumber Raita!

For this exquisite delight, gather you these elements:

• 1/4 tablespoon sugar
• 8 ounces plain, low-fat or fat free yogurt
• 1/2 tablespoon fresh crushed mint
• 1/4 cup coarsely shredded unpeeled cucumber
• 1/2 tablespoon minced sweet onion
• salt and pepper to taste
  

Doom commands you to combine ingredients and apply to side dishes or preferred protein vehicle. Doom at times entertains the notion of drizzling the raita upon his sirloin and jasmati rice. It soothes the rage inferno ever stoked by the continued existence of That Accursed Richards. Doom indulges upon and is momentarily distracted from his plans of vengeance, but never in his designs of grandeur.

Doom has nothing more to say to the likes of you. Begone!

Holding On To Old Stuff

Friday was the lone regular day of school Your Sister had last week, and all is chaos. Meetings with parents, mandatory department sessions, and items to grade and test are piling up. Her week is a junkyard of deadlines. Instead of breezing into the theatre award banquet that night, I took her out to dinner. The banquet was just across the intersection from us, but I had turned down an invite for Valentine's Day (horrible timing) and didn't change the RSVP when the banquet was moved to later in the week. She wanted pizza, she got pizza. She let me have wings, and they were devoured. I joked that my absence would guarantee I would win an award. Ha ha, that's a good one, pass the napkins.

I won an award. I got a call about 9:30 that night from my director liaison who's no longer the liaison, and he informed me I won best supporting actor for the Scrooge play. I credit my translator actor for making the ghost scene work despite the lack of other actors' familiarity with their lines. The sideburns also proved my commitment to the play, and it's possible they threw me a bone to keep me around. The director and I agreed we'll all have dinner together next weekend.

On Saturday, Your Sister taught for five hours while I tried to find a case for a hard drive. I removed my PC's drive (very, very easy) and needed a shell to plug it into and connect to my laptop. Radio Shack, our town's only electronic franchise, closes on weekends. Because no one tinkers on electronics on weekends. That directed me to the shop where I bought this PC four years ago, and he had exactly what I needed. Now I have a 180G back-up drive AND all my files from the PC. I still have my 2000 PC, and I yanked out that drive and drilled through it before throwing it away. It was 3 gigs; I have jump drives bigger than that. I have boxes of needless computer equipment, and I'm offering some of it to the school's newspaper staff. I also was able to finally get my hair cut.

After all that, we drove to the ag center for the annual maternity consignment show. Instead of individual booths and vendors, items were categorized and labeled with prices and scan codes. We bought two Fisher-Price toys we remembered from childhood, although I argued the old phone toy wouldn't work for today's kids as it no longer resembles modern phones. We got a baby sling and a frontways papoose and a sun shade for an outdoor pen. Not much, really. We didn't plan to grab a lot. We just wanted to see what's out there for kids and moms (Dads can go eat bugs.). Maybe in a few years, we'll swoop in and get much more stuff. Oh, the very first item we laid eyes on was a Roo book. We didn't get it; it was a good omen but a weak story.

We attended a teacher party that night, and I indulged in peach moonshine. I woke up Sunday starving and wobbly.

I ran on Sunday, and I am weak. I have to build myself back up. We watched Olympics between bouts of grading or drawing. I might get our medieval comic penciled by the weekend. I am powered by movie DVDs as I toil in the workshop.

Picture of the Day
This is the new bay window on the space station. I don't have to tell you what this resembles.