The publisher seems fine with my schedule for getting him the minicomic next week. I laid it out in a horizontal format without doing much at all to alter the original comic. The original ran in vertical form, a little smaller than 8.5 x 11. The new format will be horizontal at 4.25 x 2.5, smaller than a dollar bill. But the comic fits just fine. I take two panels and make them a page, and take the next two panels, make them a page. Since the original comic was set up with two panels a tier, this creates no problem. Even when I have my two long page-wide panels, they aren't broken up in the layout. Unfortunately, this makes for a thin comic: 12 pages and four cover pages. But I can add eight more pages of related filler in the back for a nice 24-page comic, covers included. I've sent off the proposal and the new layout to the publisher for his comments. He hasn't seen the comic before, but I can't imagine he'd veto it.
Your Sis and I attended the annual school ceremony for recognition of students and teachers. This is, I think, the fifth consecutive year she's received an award from a student for her work. I'm not surprised. We ate finger food before the fairly short ceremony. I also got to see the student newspaper editor received a scholarship and congratulate her on her academic career. And then we were home for snacks and "Lost." This season ends next week, and we'll finish "Six Feet Under" before the end of June. We'll be exploding with free time just as summer vacation begins.
I ran yesterday for about two miles. It was the farthest I've run since the Halloween race, and I'm sure I'll be able to get up to the 5k distance before the July event. Adjusting my work on the comic will help; I won't have to sacrifice running to slap together a comic for the mid-June deadline. I'm feeling the run today. The legs are tight and surly. I also tried running without my iPod, and it made a difference. While I was a bit distracted by my breathing, the time went by much quicker. I think I get stuck in songs, figuring out when they end and how far I should run before then. It's an extra timing pressure I don't need right now. It's a big relief in general. It was going to be impractical if not impossible to do with any level of quality. I realized this morning just how little I would be able to do had I remained in the Shakespeare production. I still want another shot at it though.
After the run I made fried chicken and improvised on gravy for the mashed potatoes. I mixed the left over grease with milk, flour, and chicken broth. Your Sister seemed to like it. Because I ran so well, I treated myself to a bottle of Coke. A small glass one, not a two-litter. I treat soda as a reward now, as opposed to my halcyon days of yore when I was practically breathing soda.
Pictures of the Day Lucasfilm and Disney-MGM are teaming up for exclusive knick-knacks at their Orlando location this summer. To promote it, they have a series of posters of the Star Wars gang in airports.
As the comic unfolds, I don't think it's possible to get it done before the HeroesCon, but I do want to finish it as best I can. I think I'll offer the publisher my dream comic from a few years back. Even though it ran in another title, I own it. And it's not bad for a story originally set to 4 pages. I may be able to rework it with small panel edits as a 16-pager. Maybe add some sketches to pad it to 20 pages and a cover. If not, the publisher still has two of my stories in as many anthologies to sell at this year's show.
I started the new panel layouts and realized that I limited myself to a confined area of the spaceship when, logically and thematically, we need to see more of it. So that will be the next tweak. And then I'll stop fidgeting with it and start drawing the damn thing.
The potatoes are growing at a potato's pace, unfortunately. We are just six episodes from finishing "Six Feet Under." Your Sis made stir-fry.
Moving Picture of the Day I'm very curious to see this. I enjoyed the graphic novel and its sequel, and I believe we donated the books to the school library.
As I expand the story -- and new facets emerge from the Divine Facet Factory -- I'm encountering a trouble that I wanted to avoid: the story is getting bloated. I've written myself away from the original tidy ending, and now I have a nicely layered tale with no conclusion. Not that it needs a bold note to end on; I'd like to have a significant bon mot to leave the reader, but now I can't sculpt one based on the last scene. Something has to change, and it needn't be the plot structure. The dialogue can even be rejiggered to work with the panel construction (although the panels will change as I add more pages).
I just need a way to avoid three things: 1) Cliched dialogue 2) Stiff dialogue 3) Predictable dialogue.
I feel the story is safe; the more I consider it, the more I like it. It's a perfect mini-comic structure. If it never continues past this one issue, the cheese stands alone. But I pride myself on turns of phrase and clear communication, and I can't stand the thought of writing the reader toward a blah exit.
I'm getting closer to the time at which I shall lock myself in the work room to slap this comic together. I talked to the publisher and discovered he'll print the thing for me. But I realistically may not get this out before the June convention. And that's OK ultimately. I'd rather have the story done right than done sloppily.
Picture of the Day Your Sister loves this song.
News of the Day Rat bastard Jerry Falwell died today. While he is known mostly for creating the Moral Majority into a massive lobbying entity, he fell to inexcusable notoriety by blaming 9/11 on pagans, abortionists, feminists, and gays. In doing so, he displayed the same pigheaded religious intolerance that made a worldwide impact on 9/11. And because of this, I hold no remorse for my glee that I shall never have to hear fresh idiocy from his mouth again. He was joined in this horseshit by Pat Robertson, and I hope Falwell is preparing a pair of asbestos pajamas for him as we speak.
We planted seed potatoes Saturday morning, our first try at growing food. We made two rows, planting about 40 pieces of quartered Kennebuc potatoes. We'll add fertilizer and mulch as they sprout. If they sprout. Really, all the hard work is done. we've prepared the ground for the food. Now we just inspect, water, and weed as necessary. A late lunch followed, and I began the page layouts for the comic.
I finished a full script draft Saturday morning, writing dialogue as the story unfolded in my head and breaking the exchanges down into manageable panels. I know the dimensions of the comic will be small (4 x 5.5 inches at most) so panels can only hold so much information. If you start a new scene, you need an establishing shot (and of course my first page breaks this rule as I'm starting with a dream sequence, and withholding that info adds to the mood). If you have a conversation, the amount of words per panel limits the amount of art in that same panel.
I've found it much easier to write and then draw, but I tend to see the scenes moving like a movie. I make mental snapshots of each crucial movement or phrase, and then I tailor those snapshots into a coherent panel sequence. But sometimes, the mind presents a full developed location, and I find myself trying to write within it.
An example looks like this. I already have the established location, but this bit of script doesn't say how the heads will be located in the frames or which will be the dominant image. That will be figured out in the layout process. But, again, sometimes, I know exactly how the panel should look, and I'll note the details so I don't forget. Artist Me will sometimes forget what Writer Me was talking about.
PANEL DR: Your rang? CAP: Evening. Or afternoon. Whatever it is. DR: It's evening.
PANEL, show more of Doc CAP: How's Carter? DR: I’ll run a scan on Carter once he wakes up and eats something. CAP: You think he’s getting worse?
PANEL Carter asleep, strapped to the bed, with the machine in his room. Maybe an attendant with machine. DR: I think he wants off this ship and away from us. CAP: Smart man.
I need to figure out names for my characters, but nothing depends on that information right now. Too often, writers will come up with a snazzy name and gimmick and construct a flimsy plot around it. I'm working from the opposite direction. Some folks have names. Some don't. I'm writing a situation, not a narrative.
With the script done, I returned to the comic after lunch and started sketching the panels. I made a page template at half the size of the mini-comic dimensions. The rule of comic design is that if looks good small, it will look good big. Also, sketching small restricts the temptation to draw in detail. At this point, I'm just trying to ensure eye flow and composition. This grid works out to nine panels per page with sketch and note space beside the grid. There is no standard way to do this. This is how the templates fit in my sketch book. As I look at the script, I see how many panels could conceivably and legibly fit on one page, and how the panels can accentuate dramatic tension. As I draw each panel, I check it off the script. And if a panel flow changes how the dialogue will play out, I'll note that on my script printout.
See how the third panel is crossed out and next to it is a replacement panel. I changed the perspective to allow more information. Currently, my script hits 15 pages -- pretty short. I now have the luxury of adding pages to pad out the story. Some pages are a little tight with panels, and I can space those frames out to let the pages breathe. And that's where I am now.
Sunday, we visited my parents, fed them dinner, and strolled Lowe's to talk gardening. I'm thinking we'll try corn next. We know we'll get tomatoes from the compost bin. This was my Parent's first time seeing the new car and Your Sister's new haircut. They liked both a lot.
This morning I checked a local printer to see how much it would cost to produce 100 copies of the comic. The estimate hit $230. That's not practical. So I'll print the comics at home. That may not leave me enough time to make and print the comics for the June convention, but I can still send my publisher the finished product for shows later this year. Still, I'd like to sell a few copies at my nearby show.
Moving Picture of the Day An old scene amended for current movie audiences.
I spent much of yesterday in a blur of creativity, pounding out conversations, panel sketches, and a story skeleton for the mini-comic. My Stupid Sense isn't tingling yet. Your Sis agrees the idea may have potential, but she chided me for writing an origin story. She knows I hate origin stories. I wish the majority of comic-book films would present their character origins in a five-minute montage and get on with the story. Except Batman Begins, which was incredibly well done.
We caught a school soccer playoff game after work. Our girls won 3-1. A strong sun blasted us, and I awoke this morning feeling weak. I only had one beer with last night's fajitarittos. I know I'm not hungover. I'm sipping Gatorade to stave off nausea.
I had the notion of a publishing title for years now and considered it for a name of the mini-comic. It was a light-hearted, goofy turn of phrase. But as I started to compile story ideas, I brainstormed on building a tale around the title itself, and suddenly I have a Very Big Idea that can be a series of stories, all stemming from a once-throwaway joke name. And it would be darker, less screwball. I'm being vague, I know, but I'm still swimming in the happy ether of a thought explosion, and this is a temporary euphoria that could appear as pathetic delusion once my brain settles down. I might trash the whole idea. Or not. At this point, I have to pursue something to make the comic (or maybe comics) before the convention. So I'll work with this for now. The first issue of this would be all introduction with later stories to follow.
I have a handful of mini-comics from other guys working with the publisher so I have templates to follow in size and presentation.
We had a teacher pal over for dinner as part of our planned open-house events. We want to throw parties this summer, and a small dinner is akin to cracking our knuckles before getting to work. Your Sis made stir-fry, and many school matters were discussed. I contributed the geek topics.
Picture of the Day Here's how far I got with the screwball idea before my mind turned a corner. This was going to be my cover art. The Podunk story did the exact same thing. It was to be a parody of 1950 atomic monster movies, and then it became a statement on simmering racism. It lost the fun but became something more substantial. This threatens to do the same, just without, so far, the social commentary.
I am so fucking jazzed right now. It's like I drank seven crackuccinos.
I'm going to the local annual comic convention in Charlotte next month. My anthology publisher will have a table, and I'm going to whip together a mini-comic for sale. I won't make a profit here. I'll print maybe 50 copies and sell them for a buck each. I luckily have notes for a smorgasbord comic -- a mini-anthology by itself -- and I can produce it before the convention weekend, I'm sure. I have an extended story in the works, a few actually, but will need much more time to flesh it out. The trick for the immediate project is to not worry about making a classic, just get ideas on paper and get my name out there. There's an anthology title I worship called Dork! produced by Evan Dorkin, and it will be my template for this very sudden project.
I may sit behind the con booth and sketch for passers-by, a notion that gives me the holy-shit giggles. Me, sitting alongside pros and other indie guys, hawking my spindly brain gunk. I guess I'll need personal business cards too. I've been to this con before, a few times as a reporter for the daily paper. Most professionals there are quite nice to talk to. Lou Ferrigno, the TV Hulk, was not. An utter jerk. But there are a few regular attendees who have drawn comics forever, since before even Your Sister was born.
Now that I think of the usual attendance of 20,000 people, maybe I'll print 100 copies.
I got home early enough on Friday that we zoomed to the local stadium-seat theatre to watch Spider-Man 3. I won't spoil anything for you, but it's a big, fat Spidey movie that will appeal to longtime comic fans more than casual moviegoers. The movie reviews seem to concur as critics are hitting the film hard for being dark and weighty. But that's what we loved about the Spidey comics in the '70s. I knew the reviews wouldn't keep audiences away, and the film made almost $150 million in three days. We scarfed Krispy Kreme doughnuts while we debated the film. There was quite a bit Your Sis felt she needed to know about how the film compared to the comics.
I ran at the gym on Saturday and outlasted all the poorly dressed seniors who flocked to the treadmills once I arrived. I don't know if my stamina or my funky doughnut sweat intimidated them, but they did ultimately peel away, leaving me along to run my 5k. We spent much of the weekend again poring over research papers, but we did catch the four hours of Kentucky Derby coverage. That night, we attended a retirement luau for local teachers. Good food, good atmosphere. We wore garish tropical shirts. We picked up a Smirnoff Green Apple 6-pack on the way, and man is that good hooch.
On Sunday, we worked over more papers, and I watched some playoff basketball. She tried a pork soup dish at the local Mexican restaurant, and we believe they used the entire pig for the dish. The bowl was huge, and it had various sizes of pig chunks within. We went to Pizza Hut for dinner, a place we haven't been to in ages, and made a run to the grocery store for cookies for her. No, she's not pregnant. I also had my very first Twinkie. No, I'm not pregnant. It's good. I expected a bland, muddy snack, but the cake is so tasty and light, you don't need the creme filling.
Picture of the Day Neptune and its moon Triton.
In the News You can download the anthology comic here.
ABC announced that "Lost" will end in 2010 after three more seasons of 16 episodes each. The shows will run in uninterrupted blocks each year. I'm OK with that and relieved to hear the show will end on TV and not on the movie screen as rumored.
Between research papers and eating, not much is going on at Chez Debacle. I watched this week's "Lost" with Your Sis last night, and the show is barreling toward the season finale with much greatness.
The Eats anthology is officially released tomorrow. Go to an area comic book store (Comicopia near the Fenway Citgo sign or Newberry Comics at Harvard Square, and I can't believe I know where the comic stores are in Boston) and you'll get a stack of free comics.
Draw'ring of the Day My website needed dusting off, so I redid the text for the art section, streamlined the photo section and changed the frontpage picture to a drawing. Here's what I slapped together in Illustrator. It'll go on the front page Monday. I should probably do a self-portrait once a year like the great painters did.
In the News Spider-Man 3 hits domestic theatres today. The reviews are mixed, but that won't stop it from becoming the second hit of the year after 300, another comic film. I'm boggled that there's a third Spidey film. My geek brain can't grasp the idea or the fact that the franchise has made so much money and the character has become even more popular. It's like everyone is catching up to what we all knew 20 years ago. Even my dad admitted to seeing why I bought so many comics month after month, when he would drive me to the local convenience store, after seeing the first film. We're seeing it this weekend. No matter what.
Monday was fairly quiet. I started another level on "Guitar Hero" and discovered that extended metal songs are designed to kill fingers or us mere mortals. They're songs designed purely to one-up the guitarists in other bands. Artistry has nothing to do with it. It's technique porn.
Yesterday, on whim, I ran. First, I did not run down to the main road as before, and that solved my shin problems. But it was wildly hot and windy. A tailwind may have helped me run a nine-minute mile uphill. Or it may have been the inspirational power of "Disco Inferno." One can't diminish it's cosmic force. I alternated running and walking for an hour and eventually made myself run up both giant hills, the one downtown and the one near our house. I would walk for a few minutes, telling myself, "OK, that's enough. You don't have to do anymore." After a few minutes of walking, I'd hear myself say, "Well, this is a manageable stretch to run" or "I bet you can't run up that hill." And off I'd go like a moron. I think this worked best for my cardio as I still feel like I grew a third lung even this morning. This may be trick to prepare for the race in two months.
Your Sis made a great pork and potatoes dish last night, and she claims you gave her the idea for roasting the side items. If so, thank you. The apples and onions and potatoes were fuhntaztik.
I'll be able to post a link to the Eats comic anthology this weekend. The preview copy I saw looks solid. Apparently it will be printed in some fashion. Picture of the Day Here's the garden as it stands now. The right side is the one I dug up and leveled off. I researched potatoes and found that we can probably start planting within a week. And then we'll boil 'em, mash'em, put 'em in a stew.
We enjoyed the suddenly great weather with an outdoor Mexican dinner Friday night. I got up early Saturday to work on the garden. I chopped up a good quarter of it while listening to the NPR lineup (Morning Edition, Car Talk, Wait Wait). I hit dirt after days of chopping through clay. I found wood planks, no doubt used as a border for an herb patch or maybe composting. I also found chunks of concrete which looked like parts of an old driveway. I bet this was from the first homeowners before the drive was paved. But why bury it here?
We grabbed pub lunch and started talking through various marital matters, and unfortunately this led to an hourlong Serious Talk about things that were percolating between us. I'll take the heat for this one. There were comments I should have made earlier, and I didn't deal with them well. But we cleared the air and realized we had interpreted things distinctly, and then gave mutual apologies and that was that. Then we worked on school papers for the majority of the day. Your Sis had the hungers for pizza, and we grabbed two movies as well.
The Devil Wears Prada is a film I wanted to see when it first came out. It looked snarky and quick, and I worship at the feet of Meryl Streep. I was worried that it would be a teen girl's film, but while it wisely holds off on the language and sex, it isn't hollow. It is light. It's almost confectionery, but it's not stupid. I enjoyed it. I didn't buy Anna Hathaway as the former editor-in-chief of a major university daily newspaper, but she doesn't have much heavy lifting here. She doesn't have to act, just react. Streep gets exactly the right amount of screen time for her role. I wouldn't own the film, but I'm glad to have seen it.
A Scanner Darkly is the second animated Richard Linkletter film after Waking Life. It's a nifty small scifi film built mostly on scenes of people who sound like they're improvising their dialogue, and that degree of affecting performance goes a long, long way. I like Robert Downey Jr. as an actor, but if he were onscreen any longer in the film, I'd want to strangle him. Keanu Reeves does well as does Winona Ryder, but Woody Harrelson almost steals the film with some sharp comedy work. The animation is done on top of filmed performances, and it does add to the feel of the film. It also looks a lot like my cover work during the Greenville days (except I didn't outline in black). This is good, heady stuff.
I unfortunately woke up early Sunday morning (at 4:44, oddly) with what felt like a wisdom tooth in my eye. It took half an hour to get it out from my upper eyelid, despite using water, contact lenses, contact solution, a Q-tip, and my fingers. I don't know what it was. I couldn't get back to sleep, and I killed time until 7, when I went to finish my tilling.
We decided to only dig up half the garden. I finished my half a little before 9. Almost two hours of digging left a 29 x 6 foot mound that stretched at least 8 inches down. I raked all that back down to level the dirt. Once again, gardening builds muscles. Seeing development on an anatomy model is one thing, finding it on yourself is another. Also, I am sore as hell. We lunched on leftover, and I bought groceries while Your Sis tackled more school stuff. Later in the day, I mowed and weeded the yard. I am beat as beat can be, even this morning. We bought seed potatoes to plant maybe this week. We also got chicken wire to lay down around the garden. Supposedly cats won't walk on it. I also want to plant catnip away from the garden to distract them.
I killed time playing more "Guitar Hero," including a Rage Against the Machine song that I forgot about. I love this game. I'm convinced I can move almost laterally to playing real guitar when I finish this.
I filled up the gas tank today for only the second time. I got 440 miles on less than 13 gallons. Also got my crackuccino.
So, yeah, I was in bed when you called but not fully asleep. I may have sounded odd when I answered because I thought three things all at the same time: 1) It's another prank call. 2) It's bad family news. 3) Your Sister, who sleeps next to the phone, isn't moving. The girl can apparently sleep through explosions.
Don't hesitate to call us when you wish. It was just the rare early night for both of us. Usually, yeah, I'm awake.
There are no grand plans for the weekend. She has to compile school information, and I find myself curiously, um, curious about the NFL Draft. That will last approximately 34 days starting tomorrow. I will also till the garden some more.
Picture/Geek Babble of the Day Yet another comic-book movie is in the works. Robert Downey Jr. plays Iron Man, and these are the first decent pics we've seen from the set. The story from the comics is industrialist playboy Tony Stark was captured by guerrilla forces (originally Korean, then Vietnamese, now maybe Al Qaeda) to make high-tech weapons. In the capture, his heart was damaged, and he made a supertech pacemaker. Then he built a suit of armor around the gadget, fought the captors, escaped the wilderness, and returned home to run his billionaire empire and fight crime.
Here's what I spy with my geeky eye. First, Downey looks the part. Stark always had some type of facial hair, and his got the right age and complexion. Second, the boy is cut. I don't think I've ever seen him in such good shape. Third, that pacemaker design is nifty. I like that he can't fully disguise the device, unlike in comics where its subcutaneous. This makes him an obvious "iron man" even outside the armor. Iron Man is, essentially, Batman in armor. He's a sex mo-sheen with more money than God. Unfortunately, he drinks like a fish, and he gave up his armor to a sidekick while he dried out. But he's smart without being a geek, and he saves the world from such threats as the Mandarin (A Chinese tyrant with ten power rings), Crimson Dynamo (the Soviet/Russian Iron man), and a slew of c-level thugs with gadget-powered evil schemes. I loved the book when I was young but haven't picked up an issue in decades. The writers always seemed to overthink the premise, and it wasn't fun or engaging.
This appears to be the film version of the classic Iron Man armor. The design has radically changed over the years, but it started off in the early 1960s as what you see above: a bulky, gray boiler with limbs. He's an old-school Marvel character, working alongside Captain America and the Hulk.
Working in the garden right now is a simple task. I'm just moving the soil. The upper row is the driest, and digging through that took some time. As I move closer to the compost bin, the soil is looser. And down the slight hill, the soil is fine. I used a shovel to churn the soil when I got home. Just me and the iPod and the shovel. I'm still finding a surprising amount of rocks. For a garden that appeared well tended when we bought the house, it should be clear of the quartz I'm finding. I found one rock, close to the surface that was almost two feet wide and 10 pounds heavy. How did they plant anything on top of that? It's not a decorative chunk, either, although I did find what appears to be a stake yesterday. It's developing into backyard archeology.
Your Sister pointed out that we have accidentally grown asparagus. I turned around, and there were the stalks, about a foot tall from the dirt. We'll let it grow a bit taller. When I finished, I had a 4 x 7 foot gouge in the ground, with fresh, moist clay piled atop of the pinkish topsoil. It looked like I just buried a body. I expect to do this to varying degrees in our delineated patch, but I can save some time by simply watering the dirt. I expected rain this week, but we've gotten nothing so far.
After that, I washed up, made dinner, and helped her look over school papers. Unfortunately, the digging had strained my wrist and I couldn't grasp the pen with my thumb. I hope she can read my notes.
Picture of the Day This is a billboard for The Economist. It has a motion sensor, and when someone walks underneath it, the bulb lights up.
Did some floor exercises when I got home. Today, I plan to work the garden soil for a while to aerate it and work various muscles. Gardening is not a passive activity, I'm finding. Your Sister made a fantastic curry sirloin dish, and we threw back some wine with it. The end of the school semester is driving her crazy. Short deadlines, papers to grade, exams to prepare for -- this is the roughest patch of work this school year. I want to take her hiking, but I'm not sure we can spare the time. As it is, I'll be looking at papers with her tonight before "Lost" comes on.
Picture of the Day Factory for WW2 bomber nose cones. If we were serious about waging a war, we'd ration resources and employ the citizenry in such activities.
In the News This is the reason you don't have a presidential line item veto: Bush will either accept a withdrawal timeline or reject generous Iraq funding. The Democrats say they can outvote the veto, which will make the bill into law. That's pretty rare, but then Bush himself has rarely used his veto power.
+ + +
The news that a possible inhabitable planet has been discovered means very little to me. I support deep-space exploration, but we're not employing enough development or budgets to consider it seriously. And by the time we're able to look at this second earth with any reliable technology, we'll see something that throws our theories into chaos. It's inevitable with space research. We're still learning about the sun, and it's literally 1 million times closer to us than the new planet. Our sun is 8 light minutes away; the planet is 20 light years distant. It would take you 20 years to get there if you traveled at the speed of light.
I follow the same running route because the sidewalk follows the road so I'm not out of public view in case something goes wrong, but I'm not in the road either. It does cause some problems. The traffic drafting is tough if the construction vehicles belch thick smoke at me, and the route is peppered with intersections, so I have to watch out for people turning in front of me. Also, this route is all hills, and if I can manage that, I can manage the flatter sections of a 5k race.
I walk from the house to the start of the next road and start to run when I get to the speed sign. This is all downhill to the main road. I turn onto that road, and start a slow uphill, and this is where my shins start to hurt. Every time, regardless of stretching or eating habits. The downhill also curtails my stride, and the uphill combines with that to give me the first big lung hurt. Before I go half a mile, I'm already huffing. The sidewalk breaks in front of the school, and I have to run on the uneven grass. This does not help the shins. When the sidewalk starts again, so does a stronger incline. The cemetery is the halfway point. If I can pass that, I can make it to the first big intersection. This is one mile from the house. But I'm always hurting by then. It becomes a test of will, really, and the iPod helps a lot. If I get a good song to crescendo here, I can push myself.
Yesterday I made myself push pass the intersection and run a bit further. (Right before the last race, I was able to run for another mile before turning around.) I walked around the library park, turned around, and started walking back home. Before I got to the cemetery, I made myself run. My shins were killing me. I tried different walking patterns to shut them up. They calmed down a bit as I started to run, and I made myself run back to the first school entrance. I walked another 200 yards, and then made myself run all the way back to that speed sign. That's the sharpest incline of my possible run route. It's even harder than the notorious downtown hill. I'm gonna start making myself run this house hill every time, sometimes more than once. I want to be able to attack that downtown hill in a race, and I want to beat my time from the first race.
Sometimes I have to look down to avoid staring at my running benchmarks. Sometimes I imagine people I detest mocking me. Sometimes I imagine I'm in a musical montage like in a Rocky movie. Whatever makes me keep it up.
I got home Friday to learn that I was allowed to play in the faculty vs. seniors basketball game. I learned this 30 minutes before gametime. We talked on the phone briefly, and then I changed and ran all the way to the school. I had about 15 minutes of shoot-around time and introductions before we started. It was a loose game. Set up as a fundraiser, there were maybe 50 people watching in the gym as the nice weather kept everyone away. Each team had to play two women at all times, and I worked the game as a back-up. Two volleyball girls refereed, and neither knew the rules all that well. Also the scorekeeper was constantly confused as to which team was which, and another student gave play-by-play over the PA for the whole game. A tad distracting. I was happy with the time I had on the court, but it had abeen a while since I had even touched a basketball, so I didn't expect to hit all-star numbers. Didn't make a shot, mad a few bad passes, but I did block well (always my specialty), and I made a fast break or two. I was referred to by the announcer as Your Sister's Husband for the game. We won on a last-second shot. The team was carried by the basketball coach, who was throwing down threes all game. After, the faculty went to the pub for beers. I was sore. Your Sister stayed on the court for much longer and played hard. I was impressed with her effort. She did good. I wish more students were there to see that.
On Saturday, we took Your Parents out for lunch and to visit downtown. They like the new car, and we had a good time with them. After some coffee at Malaprops, we bought them some snacks at the Chocolate Fetish. It was oddly warm, and we got home early enough for me to attack the weeds and garden, and, per her request, without a shirt. I never do this, but a husband has to keep the missus happy. I also got to work our some of the soreness for the previous night's game. I have to say that I'm shedding the winter shapelessness, and I'm toning up a bit. I hope to run today to get over the last of the basketball soreness. I picked up a to-go order in the new car and discovered that driving it at night is like being in the Red October. It's black and silver and red and very, very cool. We filled up the car with gas for the first time since buying the car, and we got something like 425 miles on one tank. If we had decent gas prices, this would be quite a bargain.
We had lunch with Kathy, Travis, and their baby on Sunday. She's a good child, attentive, and happy. This led to a short conversation about us having kids, and we're both of the same mind: No. The good weather continued, and she declared I would grill steaks for supper. And I did. Again, happy missus upkeep.
Picture of the Day I'm sure this says something about his ego.
I cut the lawn on Tuesday as soon as I got home. Literally. I changed into the yard pants, grabbed the iPod, and made with the mowing. We're under siege by slow-moving, methodical dandelion weeds, and the weather prevented me from siccing the weedeater on them after work Wednesday. Your Sis ordered pizza for dinner Tuesday, and we ate the leftover for dinner last night. She went to bed early, and I watched "Lost." We're both working on her first round of student papers.
I also started writing a mini-comic for distribution at conventions through my unofficial publisher, the guy who prints the anthologies.
Picture of the Day This is an obelisk chair sculpture. The chairs are lightweight, and the whole thing retail of more than $8,000.
In the News The Supreme Court decision on partial birth abortions seems like a ruling that would only temporarily infringe upon those who don't want to carry to term. Even if this particular procedure is no longer available (and how many medial procedures are banned by Congress anyway?), others will be developed to replace it, and the legislative process will have to start all over again. I understand that the decision is seen as the first of incremental steps to make abortion illegal altogether, but I don't see that happening. Not so long as conservative lawmakers' daughters also find themselves with child at inopportune times.
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I have spoken to people who knew one of those killed at Virginia Tech. Jamie Bishop, an artist who taught German there, previously worked at Chapel Hill in the IT department. He was the first person I heard identified in Monday's attack via a message board. NPR presented a small report on him and his hometown friends this morning.
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Secretary of Defense Robert gates visited Iraq today and pointed out that the administration's military commitment is not open-ended. That sounds similar to the Democrats' rallying cry of a withdrawal time table which the administration very vocally denounces.
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I have no idea if you like Nine Inch Nails, but he/they have a new CD out, and it's pretty good. It's his first attempt at making commentary on current affairs as he usually writes about personal business and sexual interactions. Year Zero is his American Idiot, and his resistance to administration policies fits right in with his bailiwick of domination and resistance. It's a sparse production and somewhat light and poppy. He even commands his audience to sing along in one track, the first time I can remember him breaking the journal format of his writing and acknowledging his position as a performer. I loves me some NIN. This was the band I discovered and embraced when everyone else was worshiping Nirvana. When grunge took over, I was marinating in industrial.
The dealership called back Monday morning to say they could find no Matrix models with side airbags left unless we started looking at electric blue or white cars. We didn't want either, so we agreed to take the car they showed us on the lot Saturday. The still-turbulent wind knocked out power at the office right before 3, and I killed time at Barnes & Noble. I met Your Sis at the dealership at 6, and we emptied out the old Contour before trading it in. It was appraised at $1,000, a shock to both of us. I figured it would maybe fetch $200.
The salesman we talked to this weekend took our insurance information and the Contour keys and handed us to the finance officer for the billing. Then we signed about ten forms for contracts, registration, and warranty agreements, right before handing over the check for the down payment. Then we were handed to the service chief who showed us our manual and warranty paperwork. And he walked us out to the new car. Your Sis hadn't bought a new car before, so I made sure everyone was clear on what they were telling both of us. We moved the Contour contents to her sportscar, and I drove the Matrix home. I'd say we were there about 90 minutes.
It's a manual, and it's has been a few years since I drove one, but the gearbox is nicely built, and I had no trouble getting back into rhythm. It likes to go fast. Really fast. I like this car a lot.
Picture of the Day The language makes it funny.
In the News It didn't take long for the usual desperate blame-throwing to emerge on talk radio. It's the media, it's the liberals, it's a national move away from God, it's the anti-gun crowd -- everyone except the gunman. I almost understand the need to assign accountability. We face an boggling amount of mass shootings and have for decades. The California McDonald's shooting, the post office deaths, the office shootings, the school shootings. And the only way to make everybody safe is to also invite more danger. Arm college students? Arm teachers? Insert draconian safety measures (as if students didn't protest authority before)? Likewise the calls to fire the college president are in hopes that someone will face punishment when the gunman has escaped it through suicide. This, like 9/11, happened in the alignment of dark stars. A certain person on a certain day acted a certain way and did certain things. You can't escape chaos. By definition, you can't prevent it.
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The Pulitzer for fiction went to a sci-fi novel, The Road by Cormac McCarthy. I have to dig and see if the genre has won before.
David Sedaris, author and This American Life stalwart, came to Mayberry today in what must be the smallest stop on his 36-city tour. It's incredible that he held a two-hour reading just two miles from my house. Of course I attended. Of course Your Sis didn't. She doesn't find him funny; I think the voice annoys her.
Sedaris is a small man who looks like a cross between Anderson Cooper and Ben from "Lost." He read a short story about his Chapel Hill days called "The Heart Is A Lonely Menagerie," and then told us that he had never read it to an audience before. It showed. He was editing as he read, and he became stuck over word flow at points. But it was funny, and it was poignant, and it was good. It just was. Then he read a story published in the New Yorker called "All the Beauty You Will Ever Need" about how a water shortage in his Normandy house made him flashback to buying pot in a trailer outside of Raleigh.
He read a little bit from his diary concerning a recent trip to Japan. Many jokes were made about Engrish. He read some dog poems (The neighbor's pitbull named Cass/Bit the mailman in the ass/His lower teeth damaged his sphincter/ And now his walk's more distincter.)
But then he recommended a book for everyone to read, and it was the Zombie Survival Guide. Not only did he read the Q&As from the book (do zombies digest? how fast can they run?), but he went on to praise World War Z. Turns out, our gay nerdy New Yorker writer is a zombie-phile. Can't get enough of them. But you have to imagine the scene. This is a 500-seat house filled with couples over the age of 50, and he's going on for half an hour about zombies. He finds the book funny, but he's not sure if it's supposed to be. But he genuinely enjoys what each book does. And the audience is laughing in a mix of horror and habit. By this point, he could have read a soup can, and he'd get laughs. His rhythm was established, and he was working the room.
He mentioned that Night of the Living Dead was so good that it changed his life, but he was frustrated with those holed up in the house. He said he still gets annoyed that they didn't think to go upstairs and then destroy the stairs. The zombies couldn't climb. They'd be safe until the zombies got bored. He also complained about a woman from an earlier reading declaring that she'd be a vegetarian zombie. He was incredulous that anyone could think a zombie would have a choice. What would be the problem if we had zombie vegetarians? We could cut of their legs, chain them to the fence, and use them to cut the lawn. We'd sell them in garden centers. I tell you, the man has given this much thought. Somewhere in him lurks a definitive zombie story.
He went on to gripe about a recent letter to the editor in our fishwrapper. His publicity photo ran a few weeks back, and in it, he has a cigarette behind his ear. A reader complained. He's setting a bad example, she said. He'll be the funniest man with cancer, she said. And he went off. How dare anyone prohibit cigarettes in pictures, he asked. And he noted he's been smoke-free since January only because hotels are going smoke-free.
The two hours flew by, and I'm glad I saw it, but I can't believe that this guy was this close to my house.
Just as I left, Dad called to say my uncle Ray had died. He was my mom's oldest brother, I believe. He was diagnosed with cancer while back and beat the life-span estimate. He was a good and decent man. Retired Air Force too. His funeral was Sunday, and this was the first chance to catch up with some family for years and years. He received a full military funeral with taps and the flag given to his widow. I can't say I was close to him -- the family fell apart when my grandfather died 20 years ago, but the military honors and ritual hit me hard. I visited with my parents for a bit and drove back up the mountain during a small hurricane. The storm you're getting now hammered u for two days with big wind. It howled all night and driving through it was like hitting air turbulence. I don' recall being in a sustained storm like that before. There were reports of snow here and there.
We tried to buy the car on Saturday, but they didn't have a model with side airbags. A regional search turned up nothing, and I think we're going to break down and buy a model they have on the lot. By this time tomorrow, we may have a new car.
