I needed some good news today so I opened up a fortune cookie that was sitting amongst my coffee stuff. It was probably about 3 months old and tasted pretty awful which was really disappointing. I opened up the paper slip and read "The stock market may be your ticket to success." Perfect.
I had spent most of the day trying to sketch ideas for the first few pages of the first issue of my first comic and I was not gaining much ground so I needed a tiny little pick-me-up from a magical cookie. I had been reading this blog I found called 3eanuts. They take the typical four panel comic by Charles Schultz and remove the final panel leaving the characters in their existential misery. "Despair pervades all" as they put it. I read all twelve pages that were posted because in this format I surprisingly identified even more closely with these poor souls. And that is quite a feat because Peanuts has been a driving force in my life for many, many years and to somehow give it a seemingly new life, well, the accomplishment cannot be understated. But anyway, I believe it put me in somewhat of a dour mood. The cookie's supposedly hopeful message merely joined the party.
Spring. Come. I have places to walk to and I want to be able to enjoy the journey a little more than I do right now.
brandon
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
memories an' shit
I love memorabilia as bookmarks. Right now my place in my copy of Sarah Vowell's essay collection "The Partly Cloudy Patriot" is being saved by my ticket to "An Evening With Garrison Keillor." In W.E.B. Du Bois' "The Souls of Black Folk" is a "World Famous Cable Car" ticket from my trip to San Francisco last summer. I always keep these little bits of ephemera but until very recently I have never figured out what to do with them beyond keeping them in small, decorative boxes. Of course my little boxes are full of things that won't fit in a book quite so snuggly, such as gift shop shot glasses, old t-shirts from parks I have camped in with my parents that are far too big (or too small), and a small chunk of the Blues Brother's vehicle, the Bluesmobile, that I accidentally broke off when my family was visiting Universal Studios many, many years ago.
Speaking of traveling, I have thought about writing a travel essay entitled something like "places I have pooped" because having IBS I have pooped more places than not. Any sort of environmental change engages my illness so needless to say when I travel I defecate. Well, it's an idea anyway. I have found it is always good to get all ideas out so they don't disappear. But perhaps it is best to not write down these ideas on a public blog. Oh well, I am not into editing these posts so it is going to remain. And I will be the one laughing all the way to the bank when the Travel Channel picks up my travel column that spun off of my essay and turns it into a hit T.V. series. So take that, sayers of nay.
Speaking of traveling, I have thought about writing a travel essay entitled something like "places I have pooped" because having IBS I have pooped more places than not. Any sort of environmental change engages my illness so needless to say when I travel I defecate. Well, it's an idea anyway. I have found it is always good to get all ideas out so they don't disappear. But perhaps it is best to not write down these ideas on a public blog. Oh well, I am not into editing these posts so it is going to remain. And I will be the one laughing all the way to the bank when the Travel Channel picks up my travel column that spun off of my essay and turns it into a hit T.V. series. So take that, sayers of nay.
a joke
I just heard this joke as the Ice Breaker on the podcast "Dinner Party Download" from NPR. This joke made me laugh louder than I have in quite some time. I frightened JennyAnyDots who sunk her claws into the bed and puffed her tail up. So here's the joke.
"So Jesus is walking around Heaven checking everybody out. Everyone is all blissed out with their harps and halos and such but there is this one fellow who is sitting all alone with his head in his hands and he is bawling his eyes out.
'Hey, hey there.' Jesus said to the guy. 'This is Heaven, you know. It's the place of perpetual joy and, well, you made it so we can't have you crying. Kills the vibe and such.'
'Oh, I didn't mean to cause any trouble. It's just that back on the earth I was a lowly carpenter and I had a son who was in the profession with me but when he was around 30-years-old he left telling me he had a mission to accomplish. So he went off into the wilderness and I never saw him again. I was really hoping I would be able to see my boy once I got here but I have looked everywhere and I haven't found him.'
Then Jesus exclaims, 'Father!'
And the man stands up and yells, 'PINOCCHIO!'"
Gets me every time.
"So Jesus is walking around Heaven checking everybody out. Everyone is all blissed out with their harps and halos and such but there is this one fellow who is sitting all alone with his head in his hands and he is bawling his eyes out.
'Hey, hey there.' Jesus said to the guy. 'This is Heaven, you know. It's the place of perpetual joy and, well, you made it so we can't have you crying. Kills the vibe and such.'
'Oh, I didn't mean to cause any trouble. It's just that back on the earth I was a lowly carpenter and I had a son who was in the profession with me but when he was around 30-years-old he left telling me he had a mission to accomplish. So he went off into the wilderness and I never saw him again. I was really hoping I would be able to see my boy once I got here but I have looked everywhere and I haven't found him.'
Then Jesus exclaims, 'Father!'
And the man stands up and yells, 'PINOCCHIO!'"
Gets me every time.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
wretching
I helped a friend move about a week ago and when we were finished her new roommate was in the living room sitting with her laptop. We came around to her side and she unpaused the episode of "Californication" she had been watching.
I thought about this today because I just spent two lovely days in Lincoln and the moment I began walking up my front steps I began to cry. I tingled all over and my heart began beating powerfully against whatever bone and cartilage is between it and the rest of the universe (and honestly that space seems so profoundly expansive most days but filled with nothing but air and grief). I walked all the way up to my apartment and I sobbingly fed my cat and put my coat on the rack and used the restroom and then I sat on what was once our bed and I wept bitterly for almost twenty minutes. I got up and paced up and down the hallway - into the kitchen, through the hallway, into the office, back through the hallway so on so forth for about half an hour. The whole time I cried so hard I was squealing and snorting. I screamed at God. "What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I can't be alone." So I texted a few friends I knew were there when I needed them but no one answered or they couldn't hang out just then. "Why the fuck should I be alone?
I've been alone before. I've been miserable before."
And then I remembered the show my friend's roommate was watching and I remembered how what happened in the couple minutes I stayed to watch struck me so deeply I could barely function the rest of the night. I drove from the house to an empty cathedral parking lot that was nearby and I wrote down every word from the scene I just saw because the whole thing was coursing through my mind very, very loudly. It is somewhat cheesy just reading it but I was in such a tender place it sliced through me with ease.
Here's the scene:
David Duchovney and his ex-wife were discussing "what went wrong" for them. He has a pretty quick answer. Seemed like a rehearsed answer.
"I would say we loved each other too much. And I think we made the mistake of getting it right the first time, and that put an insane amount of pressure on us to keep it going. And…we buckled. You know what I miss most about – well, aside from our daughter, of course. I miss your smell."
"That’s it?"
I thought about this today because I just spent two lovely days in Lincoln and the moment I began walking up my front steps I began to cry. I tingled all over and my heart began beating powerfully against whatever bone and cartilage is between it and the rest of the universe (and honestly that space seems so profoundly expansive most days but filled with nothing but air and grief). I walked all the way up to my apartment and I sobbingly fed my cat and put my coat on the rack and used the restroom and then I sat on what was once our bed and I wept bitterly for almost twenty minutes. I got up and paced up and down the hallway - into the kitchen, through the hallway, into the office, back through the hallway so on so forth for about half an hour. The whole time I cried so hard I was squealing and snorting. I screamed at God. "What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I can't be alone." So I texted a few friends I knew were there when I needed them but no one answered or they couldn't hang out just then. "Why the fuck should I be alone?
I've been alone before. I've been miserable before."
And then I remembered the show my friend's roommate was watching and I remembered how what happened in the couple minutes I stayed to watch struck me so deeply I could barely function the rest of the night. I drove from the house to an empty cathedral parking lot that was nearby and I wrote down every word from the scene I just saw because the whole thing was coursing through my mind very, very loudly. It is somewhat cheesy just reading it but I was in such a tender place it sliced through me with ease.
Here's the scene:
David Duchovney and his ex-wife were discussing "what went wrong" for them. He has a pretty quick answer. Seemed like a rehearsed answer.
"I would say we loved each other too much. And I think we made the mistake of getting it right the first time, and that put an insane amount of pressure on us to keep it going. And…we buckled. You know what I miss most about – well, aside from our daughter, of course. I miss your smell."
"That’s it?"
"When you left, I couldn’t wash the sheets because I didn’t want to lose that completely — you. And it fucked me up for a long time because I would wake up and I’d smell you and I’d think you were there. And that would — my heart would break all over again. I think that’s why I go in for the kiss all the time and then cry myself back to sleep."
I fled immediately after he said that. As I walked down the back few steps I cried uncontrollably conceding the horrible truth that David Duchovney had gotten it indisputably correct. I still haven't washed the sheets and I still haven't taken down the water color paintings from the kitchen. Or the pheasant feather she picked up and carried as we walked through Boyer Chute - the last thing we did as a real couple, together. I am so stuck. I am so bound. I feel no freedom and no peace.
I fled immediately after he said that. As I walked down the back few steps I cried uncontrollably conceding the horrible truth that David Duchovney had gotten it indisputably correct. I still haven't washed the sheets and I still haven't taken down the water color paintings from the kitchen. Or the pheasant feather she picked up and carried as we walked through Boyer Chute - the last thing we did as a real couple, together. I am so stuck. I am so bound. I feel no freedom and no peace.
on deaf ears
I discovered this amazing curriculum for teaching comic book writing. Drawing Words and Writing Pictures was conceptualized and written by the two series editors for Best American Comics, Jessica Abel and Matt Madden. I really want to some day teach this at the downtown library possibly or at the amazing Kent Bellows Studio here in Omaha. I also stumbled across this amazing comic book store in Los Angeles called Meltdown where these four dudes, who work in "the industry" and have a successful movie discussion podcast called Down In Front, are doing this live DVD commentary on Raiders of the Lost Ark. Holy shit. No kidding, this is one of the best ideas I have ever heard.
I am trying to rack my brains on how to make something like this work in Omaha. We have the film community (speaking of which the Omaha Film Festival is happening as we speak), we have witty and gregarious folk who could easily do a credible and entertaining commentary, and we have people who would attend such a thing. Oh wait. That last one. There's the rub. Getting people to break their bar routine or attend something that isn't heralded as the chicest event since last year's fashion week is like pulling all their teeth out and then punching them in the face repeatedly while pressing both knees into their chest while they writhe on the ground, bloodied and without companions. Where are your accusers? Right here. This city has got a serious problem supporting the talent within its own blocks.
You can read my wrap up of the Encyclopedia Show for Omahype.com here and see that even something as brilliant as that is not worth most Omahans' time. Tragic. Simply another reason why Omaha sometimes makes one ponder the usefulness of one's efforts. It seems there has to be great amounts of spectacle and pomp to gather a crowd. I feel as though grassroots doesn't work quite as well here anymore. I want to be proven wrong. This year, or maybe this year and next year, will be the years of accomplishment and movement. ONWARD!
I am trying to rack my brains on how to make something like this work in Omaha. We have the film community (speaking of which the Omaha Film Festival is happening as we speak), we have witty and gregarious folk who could easily do a credible and entertaining commentary, and we have people who would attend such a thing. Oh wait. That last one. There's the rub. Getting people to break their bar routine or attend something that isn't heralded as the chicest event since last year's fashion week is like pulling all their teeth out and then punching them in the face repeatedly while pressing both knees into their chest while they writhe on the ground, bloodied and without companions. Where are your accusers? Right here. This city has got a serious problem supporting the talent within its own blocks.
You can read my wrap up of the Encyclopedia Show for Omahype.com here and see that even something as brilliant as that is not worth most Omahans' time. Tragic. Simply another reason why Omaha sometimes makes one ponder the usefulness of one's efforts. It seems there has to be great amounts of spectacle and pomp to gather a crowd. I feel as though grassroots doesn't work quite as well here anymore. I want to be proven wrong. This year, or maybe this year and next year, will be the years of accomplishment and movement. ONWARD!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)