Growth Spurts

Your Sister is very uncomfortable. She can't sit in one position long nor can she easily stand without help. She yogas her back to help the pain, but Roo is now moving when she's trying to stretch, blocking her efforts to keep at any one exercise. Her feet are swelling at the ankles, and we walk or soak them. Her belly is now completely covered by the uterus, and that firm texture is now squishy. She's definitely growing forward now. I need to check our baby-seat boots in the Matrix and assemble the changing station. I might do that tonight.

I added three bags of Starbucks coffee grounds to our compost bin and churned the pile. Nothing has sprouted in the garden yet, but it's been a little over a week.

Tonight's Lost is supposed to be big. Last night's House was the season finale, and interesting doings occurred. They went all out on the direction and editing.

Picture of the Day
Know your geometry.

Fanaticon Weekend

We ran by the store Friday night to get snacks and hand sanitizer (which I forgot to buy after all and borrowed a travel bottle from Your Sister). After receiving new monsters from her students on letter-sized paper, I began to worry that the small size of the comic might prevent people from buying it to draw their design. I quickly printed out 75 letter-size versions of the last page, or tried to until my printer ran out of ink. This done, I packed up all the equipment (trading out a back-up surge protector for the one I use daily) and put everything in the kitchen to load in the car the next morning. I could do no more except wait.

Got out the door Saturday morning at 7:30 and arrived at 8:30. We were advised to park on the roof deck of the museum, but I used the first-floor deck nearest my assigned station. That gave me a ten-second walk to my table from my car instead of schlepping my gear on stairs. My table was exactly where they said it would be, and I plugged in the surge protector to the outlet right next to my table. This was a lottery ticket. I had my table set up by 9 a.m. with each comic displays and stacks at opposite corners and a chair set up with pencils and pens if people wanted to draw their monster on the spot.

The photos are up on FB here.
Here is the Citizen-Times gallery.
Here is the Mountain XPress one.

I chatted with the other guests as they set up their tables. The free downtown wifi was useless in the building, and I packed up the laptop. I started sketching to warm up the muscles, and I had nothing. The drawing engine wouldn't turn over. This rattled me; I had hoped to sell sketches throughout the day, and the first minutes of my convention experience were taking me off the rails. Rumors spread that hundreds of people were waiting outside for the show to open. A Ghostbusters car was outside. Darth Vader was playing bagpipes. I met with my Greenville publisher and his table as they set up, and we traded notes.

At ten, one of the organizers (in his Next Generation Star Trek costume) announced the doors were opening, and he was soon followed by a flood of people. Here's the gist: I don't think the organizers dared to hope for this many people. It was a near constant stream, even for us in the first-floor corner. The majority of artist folks were 30 yards away in a clump. We still got great exposure. My friend Jay and his sons (dressed as Jedi) were among the first to come by, and they ahd top tear through the show quickly before he went to work that day. They came back an hour later to buy comics, and he bought the first copy of my hero comic. The monster comic wasn't grabbing attention, and I quickly made a new sign that read DRAW THE MONSTER $2, and that got people to slow down. That's how I roped them in. This is why I brought a spare display stand.

I had joked a few months back that my hero comic -- the story I've tumbled for a decade now -- would collect dust while my last-second notion would sell out. I didn't (I printed too many copies for one-day show, I realized later), but the monster comic outsold the hero comic 5-to-1. I hadn't practiced my sales pitch, but I had it down within an hour.

"This is our comic about a werewolf and a vampire who find an egg on their doorstep one morning (show them second page of pterodactyl leaving them an egg in a basket). They don't know what's inside, and they prepare for their baby. And on the last page, open to show them, you get to design and draw the monster. There's an email address on the back cover, and if you take a picture or scan your age, we'll add it to our online gallery. This (point to display) has some examples of what we've gotten so far."

They were laughing at the egg page, but when I got to "you can design and draw," jaws were literally dropping open. One little girl was wearing a convention Robin mask, and when I showed her the back page, all the skin around her eyes disappeared, and the eye holes were pure eyeball. These were the magic words. That sold the majority of comics. I said the pitch so much in exactly the same way that I apologized to my neighbor tables. They loved the idea. And it was good, I admit. One kid sat down right there and drew his monster. The monster gallery is here.


Around 11, the organizers asked if they could plug into my surge protector to power the equipment for bands in the courtyard behind me. There were three acts: a medley from the ACT Little Shop of Horrors and two comic bands named How I Became The Bomb and The Falcon Lords. Everyone performed in costume. People stood in front of my table to look out the window behind me, and that helped sales. A few people from Your Sister's school came by, and I signed comics for them. I sketched on a convention-wide jam piece, and that loosened up my drawing muscles. In the rare downtime, I worked on my web comics.

Your Sis herself came by a little after noon with lunch for me, and she manned the table while ran to the bathroom. She heard my sales pitch so often that she delivered it as I spoke to other people, and she sold some issues. A few people from the Brevard paper came by and asked if I would want to do a paper feature. We traded business cards. I gave away more of those than I expected. I'm glad I made up new ones earlier in the week. Around three, a local podcaster interviewed me about my con experience. half an hour later, one of the organizers thanked me for the quotes to the paper and said they were his favorite. I thanked him for putting on such a wingding and told him these comics were made only because they presented this show. An hour later, some online friends came by. It was a party. Your Sis left around 2:30.

I realized I made some mistakes in my con plans. My signs were too small and too low. People bent at the waist to read them. I also charged too much for sketches. The table next to me were raking in money with $1 sketches. The vast majority of attendees were happy and friendly. There were lots of families and curious townsfolk. The occasional stereotypical comic geeks came by, but they were relatively rare. One parent worried the baby monster was created in the comic via explicit monster sex, and I assured her of asexual egg-delivery reproduction. Another woman picked up one of my drawing pens and asked if she could have it. She collects pens, she said. I told her I need it to draw.

I took photos of costumes folks who drifted by, including some semi-professional folks hired by the convention. I didn't use one letter-sized sheet I printed Friday night. I'll give them to Your Sis for students to work on between exams.

While I was aware of the hours, the day flew by. It was 5 p.m. out of nowhere, and the show closed. I packed up my stuff, thanked my neighbors, and walked the show for the first time so see what might be left out to buy. I found nothing that called out to me, and drove home. It couldn't have gone much better, and I'd do it again next weekend if I could. I already have plans for next year's show, Roo willing.

Meanwhile Your Sister was trying to lock down a crib that Mom was buying back home. Babies R Us and Toys R Us ran them in circles all day, and the changing station was not bought. The parents were aggravated. Your Sis was enraged. We bought one the next day at K-Mart after I convinced her that no one would care if it matched the crib and we could buy it immediately and have it done with. Problem solved. The crib should arrive at one of the two R stores next week, and I'll pick it up during lunch. When we both met up Saturday evening, I asked for a wings dinner to celebrate, and I got it. And had two beers. And slept like the fucking dead.

I mowed the lawn Sunday at the hottest part of the day only because it was between rainstorms. She slept a lot, and we walked with umbrellas to alleviate her swelling ankles. Over pub food, we discussed parental theories and a communal philosophy on raising Roo in response to how we were raised. We're at 35 weeks today.

Life is good.

Mind Boggling Moving Picture of the Day
Darth Vader plays the Star Wars theme on bagpipes to open Fanaticon.

Top 50 Hip Hop Samples

This is too awesome to wait for Monday: It's the top 50 hip-hop samples and the source songs. You want a study break? This is it. This is a party link.

Different Types of Offspring

I made the paper:

“For a first-year effort, this is a big show, and that befits Asheville,” said Gregory Dickens, a comic book artist from Brevard who is one of the more than 60 artists and vendors slated to participate. His titles include “Focus,” “We're Having a Monster” and “The Sleep Book.”

“If you're going to do it, it needs to be big. Brash, even. This is an unabashed celebration of pop culture and comics, and the distinction between those is rapidly vanishing.”

They ran the name of my comics. That's free advertising! I'm gonna make it rain in the comic shop! The paper's website ran my photo in the creator section but didn't ID me or run my interview there. Weird.

Your Sister made a drawing of her We're Having A Monster baby with a name we considered for our pagan goth child.


This week's Roo appointment was quick. Your Sister is at 33 inches and 173 pounds. She's put on 20 since we learned we were preggo, and that's right within the range we want to be. We go back in two weeks for fluid tests and to check Roo's position. Mom is going to order the crib equipment, and I'll pick it up next week.

Tonight, I pick up hand sanitizer and snacks and get to bed early.

This is what my con gear looks like as of last night. There's not much. I practiced my Iron Man sketches while getting my car inspected. I learned downtown Buncombe County has free wifi. I wonder if I can stream a webcam link from the convention.


I'm eager. I'm excited. I hope to hobnob with other comic folks at the bar afterward.

Is This Thing On?

The hiatus is work related. I just got major product off my shoulders. Also, we're pretty boring old people except for our (re)production.

We learned yesterday that the state DMV will not renew our vehicle registrations until it has proof the inspections were done. For my car, Brady the Matrix, I discovered the dealership did not inspect my car despite charging me for it. The serviceman found out where the error occurred and promised my car would move to the head of the line when I bring it by, and they'll make me street legal tout de suite. That won't be until next week, I suppose.

For her motorcycle, the inspection will wait until she's back in shape to ride it again. She suggested taking it to the nearby tire place this weekend, and I squashed that immediately. I have no experience riding it, and she's more than eight months preggers. It will wait.

I have packed up all my convention material except my current sketchbook and the laptop. Everything else is bagged or boxed. I can easily park my car and carry everything to my table. The con is offering curbside car-watching while we "guests" unload to our assigned area. I won't need it. I can park on the museum roof deck and walk there and back. I've covered all my bases for equipment, and I have nothing left to fret over. I just have to show up and hawk my paltry wares. I did get a suggestion for hand sanitizer from a con pro I know, and I'll pick some up before Saturday morning. Also, table snacks. I have none. I scouted the museum and my assigned space has an outlet. I'll take my laptop. This paragraph now hold the world record for Most Uses of the I Pronoun.

Roo is constantly moving, and it's substantial. I don't even wait for Your Sister to move my hand to her belly. I rest my palm there and feel him shuffle around.

Windows 7's ad campaign continues to educate me. Apparently it can simulate PowerPoint, a feature I had no idea about. I also discovered I have free chess and Scrabble game. Thank God I learned about this after drawing the comics. My next projects are a tattoo design for one of Your Sister's friends, more semiweekly comics, and making library signs for the high school. Also gardening and running and maybe raising a child. We haven't discussed the names since last week, but my preferences haven't changed.

Just saying: Lost was odd his week Good, but odd. There's another new episode next Tuesday and then the big blow-out series finale airs next Sunday.

Picture of the Day
Fanaticon is the cover story this week. The organizers also spent a half hour talking comics on one of the local radio shows yesterday. It's the event this weekend. I continue to argue with myself about how much I'm charging for the comics. The side that says "cheaper is better" wins out. I don't want to price myself out of sales, and a small b/w comic shouldn't cost as much as a full-size color comic.

I'm planning to wear my Fantastic Four logo shirt under a white-button up. That's my casual costume.

Does Whatever An Iron Can

We both arrived home at the same time -- me from work, her from a meeting at the college -- and piled into her truck of a car and zoomed to the theatre. We caught Iron Man 2, making this film the second we've seen in a theatre this year, and they both star Downey. That's not by design. We discovered that cinemas now offer blue trays to carry all your food items to the seats. It make sense for larger families, but for us it felt like a trough of gorging.

We saw the film, and dissected it as always over hot and fresh Krispy Kreme doughnuts. It's much like the first film intone, and you can tell it's made my virtually the same people. It's a little thicker, but consistent with the first film's attitude and style. If anything handicaps it, it's that the first film had surprise on its side. The cast is strong, and there is a post-credits tidbit to tease the next Marvel film. I properly geeked out.

Your Sis thinks she could catch the Robin Hood movie coming out this week in theatres, but she was not comfortable during the movie last night. She was distracted by Roo and claimed she could feel something triangular moving around. She assumes it was a foot. I don't think I can drive her to the next county, sit her in a theatre chair for two hours, and drive her back home with a clear conscience (What if she drives? Work with me here.). We have plenty of DVDs, a TiFaux, and NetFlix. The last NetFlix film we watched was Wall-E, and we gave up after 45 minutes. We were bored. We have no heart.

She moved all the diapers to the storage room bookshelves. It's now an armory for the butt. An ass-ory? An arse-enal?

Picture of the Day
I was never sure if that was all her hair. I assume not. It has to take years to grow that long.

Packed Weekend

A quick dinner at a bar Friday night turned into a parade of people we hadn't seen in forever. A pregnant stranger walked by and exchanged notes with Your Sister about due dates and movement. Her fetus had clearly dropped, something that hasn't happened yet with Your Sis. We're at 34 weeks today, with only six weeks left until the due date.

She took my monster mini to school to show off and made copies of the last page for her students to draw on. That feature went over like gangbusters, I hear, and two girls handed her their designs. I used them to start my online gallery. I hope every issue I sell at the convention leads to an entry.

As Your Sis and I surveyed the garden space, we realized a nearby peach tree was most sincerely dead, and I was commissioned to make it go away. Chopping down a tree is a satisfying experience. Particularly if it's a smallish tree. That done, I weeded the yard of all the nice yellow flowers she insists are weeds. With hands and arms shot, we went to lunch and to get garden stuff. We returned with five 50-pound bags of cow manure, fertilizer water additive, packets of seeds, and a few tomato plants. I set everything out to work with the next day, and we killed time before heading out for prom.

She wore a maternity shirt from Target and a black skirt, and I wore the suit bought for last year's work convention. I bought her the new Madonna concert CD for Mother's Day, and we cranked it in her new car's stereo. Roo immediately got active. I reached over and felt limbs move around, and he stayed moving until we got to the dinner restaurant. His movements dwindled over the next half hour. In the restaurant, we saw kids in their prom finery and overheard the other sharing their prom memories.

Dinner didn't take as long as we thought, and we killed time in Target before heading toward the prom. I have longed hoped to bedeck her in fashion jewelry from department stores, and I found a gaudy fake emerald ring she considered for about two seconds before putting back on the shelf. But then I thought of my high school ring and realized she could wear that. I should have thought of it for the prom, but she agreed to wear it to school Monday to extend our prom story. And finally after 20 years, a girl I took to prom has agreed to wear my school ring. It's a minor victory for our hero.

Prom was great. The kids looked sharp in a spectrum of dresses I hadn't seen before. I'm accustomed to a short range of colors and styles, but this collection of gals was muy diverso. Fabulousness reigned. We of course hit the free photo booth, and I posted those pics at FaceBook. The party was at the same country club as last year's, and it was again a perfect size for the number of kids. It was, unlike last year, freezing, and that eliminated the likelihood of kids sneaking onto the golf courses. They may have been further encouraged by how lovely Your Sister looked in the full blossom of maternity. A few teachers congratulated me on the monster comic, and I spread the word to the more arty kids. People sound excited for the show. I'm so releived to have the comics in hand that I'm almost nonchalant about the convention.

The tiller I rented was waiting for me Saturday morning, and the garden was officially begun on Sunday morning. I waited until 10 a.m. to be polite to the neighbors. People who crank up small yard engines before then should be pummeled. I chopped up the topsoil a few times. The small size of the tiller made it handy to steer by a pain to shove out of deep soil. My back was killing me. Also my hands were shot from tree-chopping and working the tiller handlebars. I spread almost 300 pounds of manure onto the soil and tilled that together before we headed out for groceries.

I waited until later in the day to plant the seeds and hopped online. I discovered an email questionnaire for the Asheville paper. I sent my answers along with the covers of the minis and a new photo of me freshly taken by Your Sis. I'm very curious to see where and how big it runs. I'm assuming it will be in the weekend tabloid.


Then I planted the garden. We've got lettuce, carrots, cilantro (all first-time tries), tomatoes, squash, and bell peppers. We used maybe half the garden space, and we'll plant more later in the summer.

That night, we wrote thank-you cards for the shower gifts and discussed the finances for the next year. If she takes a year off, we seem able to afford it. We think it's feasible, and I won't have to sacrifice too many Starbucks drinks. Priorities. I didn't sleept well, and I blame the aches of the weekend. I should have Adviled.

Before going to work this morning, I took the printer people two boxes of doughnuts. Tonight, we hope to see Iron Man 2. That's when I'll get my own doughnuts.

Birth Announcement of the Day
Cute.

Big Things Abound

This is a lesson that everyone -- not just pregnant teachers -- can glean precious wisdom from: Don't eat brown celery.

Your Sis became peckish a few hours after devouring the alfredo she breathlessly requested (Was she sopping from the pan? She was sopping from the pan.) and reached for celery. It was old. She observed this. She ignored this. She regretted this.

I came out of the workshop at midnight to find her pale and icky and praying to vomit. She rolled her eyes up and noticed a spider the size of an Ewok on the ceiling. I told her I'd wrangle it while she imagined ostrich feathers. By the time I dropped an elbow on the spider, she had purged. This was after she discovered that she couldn't kneel next to the toilet with that Roo belly. She used the trashcan on the sink counter and felt better immediately. She sipped ginger ale, and we watched Craig Ferguson until she was done.

That will probably be what raising a baby will be like.

Your Sister said she wanted to use her name vote for the middle name and continue the family tradition of Penns. I said I thought that was the plan all along. It appears I get to pick the first name now. The first name to be disqualified is Sean. I can't name a kid Sean Penn.

Hours earlier, we were attacked by a hailstorm. I put video on FB. Again, I'm glad I hadn't started the garden. I rented a tiller for the weekend, and I'll break ground the same day we go to the prom. Also, I shall chop down a dead peach tree.

Even earlier, I prepared a press release about the Asheville convention and my table for the town newspaper. I was pretty happy with it until I opened said paper's latest edition and saw another con press release in the arts section. Gah. And, yes, the paper still runs press releases verbatim. However, that was balanced by an invitation to appear on a local radio show about comics. I might do that the weekend following the convention. I didn't hear anything from an Asheville newspaper reporter regarding an interview about the con.

Also in that paper was an article about Prairie Home Companion broadcasting live from the music center in August. That's about three miles from our house. I bought tickets immediately. My birthday weekend so far includes the release of the Scott Pilgrim movie and PHC the next day.

Picture of the Day
And now I face the morning.

This Year's Second-Most Anticipated Delivery

This is what 300 minicomics look like. My friend at OfficeMax met me at the door and completed the purchase. The price was half -- half!-- of what I expected. I thought the estimate I was given covered only the 20-page mini. I figured that the passage of months since that estimate would mean the actual price for the hero comic would be maybe 20% higher given the ever-rising cost of paper. Then I'd pay something close to double that for both comics. Nope. The final price for both was $30 more than the estimate. That's a steal.

The print quality isn't consistent. There are some jagged edges to at least one page's artwork. When I saw that on the initial proof copy, I was assured that was due to a quick "proof" printing to set the print template. Not so, it seems. I'm not terribly upset; it doesn't distract much from the story, and it's possible the casual reader wouldn't notice. I'm in publication. It leaps to my eye. I don't think a request for a do-over would get my books on time, and I'm lucky to have found a store close to home that would/could handle the job this well. It's not perfect, but it's not as if the art was professional quality to begin with.

Also, 300 comics is a smaller bundle than I feared. I envisioned stacks of copy paper boxes. I thought I'd need a dolly to get them to the convention table. Now I think I can get everything from my car to my assigned spot in one trip.

Here I am with the vast majority of convention preparation done. Feels odd to be set this far in advance. I'm wracked with anxiety that the comics will spontaneously combust. But that's tempered with astonishment that I have made actual comic books.

We tried to hit the local Mexican restaurant for Cinco de Mayo and found half the county there. All items were half-price, even the beer. It was madness. We retreated from the mob and got pizza at the nearby sports bar.

Back home, we swapped name lists. She had more than ten names because she's a rebel. Both of us added names from the other's list. We then agreed to let the lists simmer on a shelf before we start the official whittling. My ideas are proper and inspiring. Her picks do nothing for me. But she admitted she has no affinity for boy names.

I learned the new local roller derby team, the French Broads, is holding a logo contest, and I am absolutely giving that a shot.

Awesome Consumer Demographic Marketing of the Day
The Tom Tom GPS system now offers Star Wars voices. Behold:

We're Now Like A School on Saturday

We missed your call last night because we were scarfing down dinner before the last birthing class. The nurse asked us if we minded finishing early; she's preparing to move this weekend, and she's still packing. The doctor scheduled to talk to us couldn't make it, and this felt very much like the last day of school. Motions were run through, and time was filled in a causal manner. Not that I'm complaining.

We saw slides of new babies and learned about skull molding, jaundice, and other physical distortions we could expect to see. We saw the various stations of the delivery room, including circumcision (no longer covered by insurance, now considered cosmetic surgery). She quizzed us on PURE and COAT and was surprised the calls knew them so well.

Admission: I nailed it. Your Sister, who wrote down the acronyms last week, couldn't recall them and was astonished I could. I told her I came to play. Also, she has pregnant brains and a head cold. She's allowed.

We then toured the birthing center and its four delivery rooms. They're small, which will help us keep the traffic low, and there's a chair for dads to sleep in. I think I'll take the floor. The security measures are comforting: two bracelets and a floor sensor five feet from the birthing-center exit.

We returned to the conference room for a well-intentioned but lengthy presentation from a local dental charity. Most of the lecture concerned children 2 years old and above. We'll be lucky to remember any of this. What pertained to us was the hope we'd clean the baby's gums regularly. We were given a finger sock for this; it looks like a tiny sweatband. We do live in a county with an accelerated tooth decay rate for kids, but we know to avoid the sugary drinks. Then again, the lecturer all but discouraged milk, including breast milk, because of its sugar content. She did, however, recommend fluoride toothpaste for kids, saying the additive's risks were exaggerated. We also saw a five-minute video from the early '90s saying exactly what the lecturer said earlier.
I don't think we're her normal audience. I suspect we're 20 years older than the new parents she usually addresses. While we sat for this 15-minute spiel, we were handed a flyer to teach us infant CPR. This should have been reversed.

We returned home to watch Lost in which shit went down. She has made her name list, but we have yet to compare them.

MUPPET NEWS FLASH: I just got a call from the printer. My comics are ready. I won't be able to get them for another eight hours. Gah.

A Thought Experiment
If you had to condense The White Album into one album, what songs would you keep from a count between 12 and 14?

The original tracks:
1) Back in the USSR (Lennon/McCartney)
2) Dear Prudence (Lennon/McCartney)
3) Glass Onion (Lennon/McCartney)
4) Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da (Lennon/McCartney)
5) Wild Honey Pie (Lennon/McCartney)
6) The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill (Lennon/McCartney)
7) While My Guitar Gently Weeps (Harrison)
8) Happiness is a Warm Gun (Lennon/McCartney)
9) Martha My Dear (Lennon/McCartney)
10) I'm So Tired (Lennon/McCartney)
11) Blackbird (Lennon/McCartney)
12) Piggies (Harrison)
13) Rocky Raccoon (Lennon/McCartney)
14) Don't Pass Me By (Starkey)
15) Why Don't We Do It In the Road? (Lennon/McCartney)
16) I Will (Lennon/McCartney)
17) Julia (Lennon/McCartney)


1) Birthday (Lennon/McCartney)
2) Yer Blues (Lennon/McCartney)
3) Mother Nature's Son (Lennon/McCartney)
4) Everybody's Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey (Lennon/McCartney)
5) Sexy Sadie (Lennon/McCartney)
6) Helter Skelter (Lennon/McCartney)
7) Long, Long, Long (Harrison)
8) Revolution I (Lennon/McCartney)
9) Honey Pie (Lennon/McCartney)
10) Savoy Truffle (Harrison)
11) Cry Baby Cry (Lennon/McCartney)
12) Revolution 9 (Lennon/McCartney)
13) Good Night (Lennon/McCartney)

I went with these and rearranged the sequence:
1. Revolution I (Lennon/McCartney) (except I'd use the electric guitar version)
2. Everybody's Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey (Lennon/McCartney)
3. Dear Prudence (Lennon/McCartney)
4. Cry Baby Cry (Lennon/McCartney)
5. Blackbird (Lennon/McCartney)
6. Julia (Lennon/McCartney)
7. Back in the USSR (Lennon/McCartney)
8. Birthday (Lennon/McCartney)
9. Helter Skelter (Lennon/McCartney)
10. While My Guitar Gently Weeps (Harrison)
11. Savoy Truffle (Harrison)
12. Martha My Dear (Lennon/McCartney)
13. Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da (Lennon/McCartney)

Very Expensive Picture of the Day
Picasso's Nude, Green Leaves and Bust sold for $106.5 million at auction yesterday, a record price for a work of art. I like the Gaugin fruit in the left corner.

Omissions Everywhere

I forgot to mention this yesterday because I have the dumbs: We spent Saturday night scanning the bookshelves for author and character names. I moved across the book spines, announcing the names, and she scribbled them all down before I realized what she was doing. I intended for her to vote yea or nay before making additions to the list. Now our list looks insane. I suggested we each pick out the ten names that we prefer and then compare the lists later. The communal choices go to a new list, and then we pick from that.

I made my list of ten names last night. It was harder than I thought to stretch it to ten. I could have stopped to five. I have no problem with using Your Father's and Brother's name as a middle name. My preferred names, then, should read well with that one. We ought to have a name in a few weeks, and the media will be alerted.

Your Sister was feeling icky again and stayed home. A doctor's visit told her the baby is fine, but she's worn out. I'm fighting something too and of course blame any contact with children for infecting us.

The medieval comic was released to the world this weekend, and it does not feature Your Sister's name. I understand. It's a huge comic (109 pages!), and it was probably slapped together by a small crew of overworked illustrators. Still, I waited a few days before informing her, and I felt awful about it. It's her first comic, and she worked hard on it. I sent the publisher an email weeks ago specifically asking for her name to run alongside mine. Vengeance must be meted out, and I shall sic the spooky Twilight Zone boy on those responsible.

Picture Fraught With Prepubescent Peril of the Day


There. Now they've got what-for.

Meet and Greet

As I dove home Friday, Your Sister met with a teacher buddy to catch up and swap maternal stories. She told me during dinner later that the friend was complaining about having no time to grade papers. She leaves school, buys groceries, cooks, feeds her kids, plays with them, bathes them, and puts them to bed before she can even think of grading. It was noted that her husband doesn't help out. Your Sister used to as an entree to say she was lucky to have me as a husband compared to some of her friends and their husbands.

I stifled my constant reaction to comments like this: They married badly. Nice people, all, and I have no intention of lecturing folks on their marriages. But this is why you kick the tires a bit before you wed. This doesn't discount the possibility that spouses change behavior later in the marriage. It happens. But a self-respecting husband does his share. Maintain a competitive market value, I say. Wives talk about us, and having the county's best husband can only balance

We drove down to Spartanburg Saturday for the latest shower. This was thrown by cousins of cousins at the church where I grew up. This church was my second house; I was there Sunday mornings and evenings and Wednesday nights. And vacation bible school and revivals. Sometimes we were the first people there. My parents had keys to the doors. I gave Your Sister a tour of the place and related stories, such as the spot where I ran into a door with glass and needed stitches. The shower was great; we got loads of stuff we needed and tasty cake leftovers. One gift was a toy dog a neighbor gave us and signed it with the name of the dog I had as a kid. That got to me. I was surprised by my reaction.

Before the shower, we stopped by my hometown comic store. I visited with the owner and took advantage of the annual Free Comic Book Day. I showed off the pregnant wife a bit. I admit it. But I also ran into one of the comic couple I knew from days gone by. Her husband died the same year as my dad and uncle, and that made for a tough few months. She looked great. I met her new husband, and she seemed hesitant to introduce him, as if I would disapprove. I scuttled that anxiety immediately. I'm glad to see her happy and with a husband who encourages/shares her interests. They're still technically newlyweds and appeared goofy in love.

We drove home just in time to see the Kentucky Derby at the local pub. I think we're missed seeing it together in person once since we started dating, but we did watch it together over the phone. I was in Orlando for work in 2006.

She felt ill all day Sunday and slept while I worked on convention stuff. Later in the afternoon, I cracked open the videogame I bought in early April as a reward for finishing the comic. I'm slacking on tying up the loose ends. I'm forcing myself through this last 10% of the con preparation.

Picture of the Day
Einstein's desk from the day he died.

Slouching Toward Bethlehem

I stopped by the print store to see a proof copy of the comics. I didn't get it. Apparently the store was swamped with impractical orders. The day before, I saw a man commandeering the constant efforts of the print-desk associate; I learned later that he had been there virtually all day (8 to 8) working on a brochure and bookmarks. That's madness.

I appreciate that I have software at home and years of experience with it to cobble together what I need before handing it to the print people. I appreciate that other people don't have this. And I thoroughly understand that many people who want a print project really have no idea what they want. Instead they know what ads they like and hope to recreate as closely as possible. Hence the gabillion "got milk" ripoffs. Also the peeing/praying Calvins.

When I arrived, I waited about half an hour before they opened up my PDFs for the first time. I watched the associate (not the poor bedraggled creature from the day before) as he imported my PDFs page by page into another document to print them. That cocked my head. My PDFs were the right size and adorned with crop marks. They were ready to print. I made an effort to reduce their efforts. That's not altruism; the less they have to do, the more it resembled what I had in mind. I learned their software requires importation and printing. No matter how I gave them my files, this step would be necessary. Seems redundant.

I was told last week that I would save money and save them time if I made the files 4.25 inches wide. I had made them 4.125 inches wide. Since then I had bumped them up to the requested size. But the associate this day said the pages were too big to easily print with my attached page numbers. After a few tries at sizing the pages correctly, I held prints in my hand of the pages and the covers. They were not attached to each other or trimmed. Still, they had the pieces and the method to start the process. The cover looked great, by the way. I did not see a proof of my monster comic, but they have a template of sorts to follow. The paper and card stocks are nice. They have two weeks from today to get it done. It's out of my hands until I get my hands on it again.

I picked up Your Sister for the latest doctor visit. Her blood pressure is good. She was worried she hadn't put on enough weight since the previous visit, but the nurse said that gain would come soon enough. Roo's heartbeat is around 130. Your Sister has trouble lying down for the heartscan, but she toughs it out. We talked to the doctor about names and the childbirth classes, and we emphasized our trust in them when gametime arrives. We go back in two weeks. They did not crank up the bellyvision. On the way home, sparked by a Facebook comment, we agreed to circumcise Roo. The science argues that it helps prevent disease, including HPV.

That reminds me that Your Sister has already ceded the birds/bees talk to me when the time comes. My notion is to tell Roo to cautiously indulge himself. It's my hope that I don't become a parent who rails against the very bachelor activities he enjoyed. I've seen one of my exes make such comments online, and it's such a drastic reversal that I wonder if she posted them after losing a bet.

After an outdoor dinner, I mowed the yard and finally hacked at the backyard bush damaged by the snows. I was pooped. She was pooped. We plopped on the couch and turned on the TV. And this greeted us:

Of course, we watched the whole thing before she adjourned to the bed and me to the workshop. I'm enjoying this languorous pace for preparing my convention materials.

Tomorrow is mom's baby shower.

Out of My Hands

One more tidbit from the delivery class: both moms-to-be asked about episiotomies, and the nurse said the on-call doctors do not favor them. There was much relief. But, she said, the back-up team is a bit ... happy with them. But mothers can request a procedure not be done unless absolutely necessary. I admit I didn't know what the procedure was at first. I started to clue into it and commenced squirming in my chair.

I took the comics to the print service at OfficeMax after work. I met my roller-derby buddy there, and he escorted me to the print desk and got my order started. They said they could get me proof copies by Thursday afternoon. I waffled on how many copies I wanted and decided to order too many. I can always sell later what doesn't sell at the convention. I handed over my jumpdrive, and they downloaded my PDFs. I was shaking with anxiety. I was stuttering.

Tangent: I had a horrible stutter as a child and required years of speech therapy. Turned out my mouth was moving too slow for my brain, and words came out as a mush. It still happens to me, and it manifests most obviously onstage. I talk too fast, regardless of how much caffeine is in my system. It also comes out when I'm wracked with nerves. Like when I hand over the project I've tackled for four months. Just like that, the convention is two weeks away. But I did this on schedule, and that's a comfort.

Speaking of the convention, one of the organizers contacted me and asked if he could give my info to a newspaper writer covering the convention. I might make the papers. That could sell more copies. I also started looking at options to sell the minis through my website. I tweaked the front page of the site to tease the medieval comic coming out Saturday and the convention two weeks later.

Your Sister had some discomfort last night and couldn't get comfy on the couch. She eventually sat on the arm of the couch before stretching on the floor with the yoga book. The yoga helped. Within an hour, she was comfortable again.

Your Father delivered another bag of baby stuff earlier in the day.

Picture of the Day
An unofficial illustration of what Lost would look like animated. Ben is an alien.

Almost Done and Almost Done

The second delivery class was packed with information.

We learned of the types of delivery assistance: augmentation and induction. Induction includes the use of a uterus balloon to open the cervix and let the baby slip down, a hormone pill that relaxes the cervix, and epidurals. Most labor medicine won't affect the baby. Morphine will, however. This week's round of videos included a C-section, epidurals, and the use of duellas. We also saw the forceps and vacuum suction tool. There were two acronyms we learned too: PURE and COAT.

PURE is for the support crew (the husbands):
Position is for moving and adjusting the mom in delivery,
U is the frequency of urination,
R is the relaxation we're to encourage, and
E is the environment, including playing bouncer to family members. The nurse teacher made it clear that they can keep the family at bay if so instructed by the mothers-to-be.

COAT is for the water breakage:
C is the color. If the water isn't clear, the baby may be exposed to excess fecal matter in the uterus.
O is odor. If the water has an odor, it may be mom's urine and thus not the onset of labor.
A is for amount. Water breakage will be significant and possibly in stages.
T is for time. The dad is to mark when the breakage occurs, telling everyone how long they have before the heavy labor kicks in.

There are also the Five Ps (a quick Google shows the amount changes and what the Ps stand for.
Position, passenger, pelvis, psyche, and power relate to the elements of labor and seem to be the nurse's mnemonic for attending to the moms.

The videos drove home the reality of the labor experience and the gravity of having a baby. It focused me to a degree I hadn't had before. It was anti-panic. Maybe it's a paternal instinct, a resolve to get Your Sister and Roo through this. She's concerned about the average 14 hours for labor. Specifically, she wants to know how we'll handle the parents. I told her, with no uncertainty, that I will send everyone home unless they behave. I'll be in the delivery room with her the whole time. Outside that door, I don't care what they do. Inside, we will not tolerate their insolence. We will go Dr. Doom.

One of the videos showed a German couple giving birth. The father hovered over the mom and gave constant assurance and congratulations. Again, Your Sister threatened the pimp hand if I did that I suggested instead that I would bark commands. In German.

We were told all insurance provides coverage for a 48-hour stay beginning when the baby is outside the mom. That extends another day if there's a C-section. The nurse gave us sample box of Enfamil formula.

+ + +

I finished the comics. The covers, lettering, page layouts, tweaks, and PDFs are all made and fretted over. I hope to drop them off at OfficeMax today. I gave the store a shout-out in the inside cover of the monster comic for being open on weekends. There are at least two local stores that lost out on a nice chunk of change because of this. I don't conside this project finished until I have the issues in hand and the table materials prepared. And of course I have to work a convention table for seven hours.


The last page of the monster comic will let people draw the monster in the open shell. I added a samples page on the inside cover.


And the very last thing I did was change the hero cover logo from red to white.

Eight Months

As we officially mark eight months of pregnancy, Your Sister is getting uncomfortable. The school chairs are not her friend. Roo's kicks are getting stronger. She soldiers on, and I try to keep her still and bring her things. Your Mom continues to pillage the local bargain bins for anything baby related despite Your Sister's instructions to give it a rest. Your Dad dropped off three bags of stuff yesterday, including Your Brother's baby blanket. I spent a good five minutes rubbing the blanket in my hands and sparking deep-seeded memories of my childhood. It feels just like the one I had.

I am thisclose to finishing the comics. In the two weeks before the convention, I'll make table displays. I bought a bundle of art supplies during my lunch break and am saving my receipts for tax purposes.

Moving Picture of the Day
A longish package for the Blue Ridge Rollergirls season opener.

Things Get Did

After Your Sister bought the new Rogue, she picked me up for lunch and to show off the car. It's not a wagon like the Matrix. It's an SUV. Any vehicle with an emergency brake pedal is a truck, as far as I'm concerned. It's a foot longer than the Matrix and few inches higher. She likes it, and it's much easier for her to get in and out. It's still not as big as the SUV Saturn tried to sell us in 2008. My memory of that is a cave on wheels.

After work, we attended a teacher birthday party, and I chased a toddler for a half hour.

We tried out a new restaurant in town, a sandwich nook on main street. It's called Mayberry's, and it's right across from O.P. Taylor's. Yeah. But it's a good shop with nice decor. Our waitress said she recognized me from running in the evenings which reminded me that I need to run in the evenings as soon as the comic stuff is done.

I went by the printer Friday afternoon to drop off my hero comic and was told that if I gave them both comics at the same time, I'd get a reduced paper rate. I was also informed that I'd save the cost of trimming pages if I added another .125 inches to the width. That's feasible. I was eager to hand them the book and get it out of my hands and off my back and from over my head. I left the store frustrated but convinced the deal was too good to pass up. I inked the monster comic Sunday and dashed off a quick cover drawing Monday morning. Both comics will be done and handed to the printer before this weekend. This, I swear.

I attended roller derby Saturday night and watched the debut of the new Asheville JV team, the French Broads. When the majority of our party went home, my buddy and I moved to the "suicide seating," the floor space at the rink's edge. If there's a spill, the competitors will fall into your lap. That didn't happen (dammit), but one of the Blue Ridge Roller girls, Chief Goober, did suffer a separated shoulder during a trip. We see similar injuries every bout. I might attend the next home bout in early June depending on how Your Sister is doing with Roo. She's sure she can see the baby's growth each day, and he should be averaging a half-pound increase about each week for the next month.

As I took out the compost bucket to the backyard bin, I noticed a piece of roofing flapping in the wind. I had heard the noise all day in the workshop but had no idea what caused it. The roof's ridge has a metal capper on it hammered in place. There is a string of them along the roof's length, and the one nearest the driveway was almost off. I hopped up and screwed and hammered it back down in a burst of giddy competence. And down I shimmied to add cheese to the baking pasta dish.

Picture of the Day
Seen around town during the president's vacation. I had no traffic problems, and I've heard from at least one person who saw the plane land at the airport. The local radio preacher felt his oats and informed the president -- who was no doubt listening -- that he was splitting the nation and could take the Shirley McClaine and Rosie O'Donnell. I almost crashed laughing at references to people who lost prominence five years ago.

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.