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.

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

I am running on fumes.

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

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

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

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

Cooking With Villainy: Alfredo Sauce

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

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

Wait, I need to do this properly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Doom commands you to toss with noodles.

Doom commands you to indulge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fixing A Hole Where the Mail Comes In

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

Picture of the Day
Starbucks is flirty.

Thinking Things Through

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

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

+ + +

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

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

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

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

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

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