250 Words on Time Capsules

[I try to start my day writing 250 words on anything. I’ll post one every Tuesday until I run out of good ones.]

Somewhere in a backyard in Rapid City, South Dakota is a jelly jar I buried when I was 7 years old. I don’t remember what’s in it, but I bet I could put a shovel in the ground within a foot of it.

I love time capsules. There’s something deeply romantic about leaving a message to the future. A note in a bottle. A nibble of immortality, the hope that anyone will care. “We were here, this was important to us.” 

In reality, most time capsules turn out to be disappointments. Those that haven’t been destroyed by water leaks are filled with the most boring antiques imaginable. Coins, proclamations, minutes from a board meeting. Never a singing frog. You could find half the artifacts in better condition at a flea market.

Two famous ones are the Westinghouse Time Capsule, entombed during the 1939 World’s Fair to be opened in the year 6939, and the Crypt of Civilization, sealed inside a former swimming pool at Oglethorpe University in 1940, to be opened in 8113. Both are worth a Web search. I appreciate their creators’ cockeyed optimism. 

Hidden in my rebuilt house, inaccessible but protected from the elements, is a signed copy of A Fire Story with a little note and drawing. I like to imagine that whoever finds it, whenever they find it, will take the time to read it and reflect on the life and times of the guy who stashed it. I was here. This was important to me.

* * * 

PLEASE SUBSCRIBE! I am sharing these little "250 Words On" essays via Substack, which will email a new one to your In Box every Tuesday morning. Just follow this link and enter your email address. It's free, and I promise to never use your address for evil purposes.

Unhappy Anniversary

The last photo we took of the wall of flame coming over the hills toward us as we evacuated. 

Tonight is a grim anniversary for my family and neighbors: eight years ago (!) in the middle of the night, the Tubbs Fire destroyed about 5600 structures, including ours. It also killed 22 people, and was only one of more than a dozen fires that broke out all over northern California during a freakishly intense and dry easterly wind.

My graphic novel, A Fire Story, says about all I have to say about it. I would only add that, at the time, I thought our fire was one of those once-a-century random disasters that happens sometimes. In the years since, as I've watched the western half of North America erupt into flames and our record of "Most Destructive Wildfire in California History" has been eclipsed again and again and again, I've realized that we were victims of climate change, and my book is an early entry into a growing body of work on what living in a climate-changed world is like. 

The street into my neighborhood. This is the exact spot I wrote about in the book, where I realized the scope of what had happened and uttered several "fucks."

Sometimes it seems like a lifetime ago; other times, like yesterday. Karen and I still look at each other blankly, trying to figure out if we had some item--a bowl, a tool, a piece of clothing--before or after the fire. Random stimuli raise the hairs on the backs of our necks. It changes you forever, I think. Or at least for eight years plus.

It's cool and cloudy in northern California tonight. We expect a little rain tomorrow. There is nothing we appreciate more than rain in early October. 

Our home shortly after sunrise the next morning.

Captain LOL

My pal Craig Yoe offered to send me a copy of his new kids book, Captain LOL + Rubber Chicken: Har Har!, if I'd consider mentioning it on social media. I replied with two caveats: I have scant social media influence (quality over quantity!), and I'd only say nice things if I meant them.

Luckily, it's easy to say nice things because Captain LOL is great fun and delightfully drawn. Superficially, it's a collection of dad jokes, dumb riddles and corny puns, with a little green fart cloud emitting from Captain LOL's tights on nearly every page. If that's all it was, I don't know if I could recommend it (although fart jokes are always funny).

 
But on top of that foundation, Craig has layered every page with richly detailed absurdity and metatextual silliness. I particularly enjoyed Easter eggs that the 7- to 10-year-olds the book is aimed at would never get but that someone who knows what comics were like in 1968 would love. Every page has a lot going on. It's dense in a way that would make it fun to read more than once.

My favorite feature is a little die-cut hole, passing entirely through the book, that gives every page its own hole-based gag. I know enough about publishing to know that punching that hole wasn't cheap, and a lesser writer or publisher wouldn't have bothered. It was worth it.

Craig is a writer, cartoonist, and publisher whose backlist shows a keen interest in comics history. He was the long-time creative director for the Muppets, after which he started his own company, Yoe Studio, with clients like Kellogg's, Disney, Cartoon Network and Nickelodeon. As a publisher, he's put out dozens of books reprinting obscure comics that deserved new attention. And, in my experience, he's a good person who approaches comics with deep knowledge, respect and love. 

I had fun with Captain LOL. Depending on your kid's affinity for Dad jokes and fart gags, they may, too. 

250 Words on Less is More

[I try to start my day writing 250 words on anything. I’ll post one every Tuesday until I run out of good ones.]

“I am sorry this letter is so long, I did not have time to make it short.” –Blaise Pascal*

When I lecture about comics, I often show that quote and talk about how the real art of cartooning is distillation. A cartoon isn’t an accurate rendering of reality; it’s not a high-definition video or a stenographer’s transcript. Comics may start with reality but then they amplify and simplify, polishing away everything unnecessary until they arrive at one gleaming gem of an idea. 

Whenever I rewrite or redraw a piece I’m not happy with, I always remove details, never add them. If I could ever draw a single black dot that conveyed exactly the message I intended, I’d die a very satisfied cartoonist. 

To be fair, there are others approaches to comics. There are artists who never use one line when a thousand would do, rendering elaborately cross-hatched minutia, and some of them are all-time greats! But temperamentally and philosophically, I lean the opposite way. 

I often end my comics talks with another quote, this one from cartoonist Larry Gonick: “Our brains represent things in some stripped-down, abstracted way. We don’t remember things as photographs or movies. We remember them as cartoons.”

I think that’s exactly right. When a cartoon is firing on all cylinders, it can feel less like reading and more like telepathy between writer and reader because a comic’s combination of words and images is speaking our brains' native language. That’s the goal: direct, instant, clear, intimate communication.

*Also attributed to many others, including Cicero, Pliny, Mark Twain, and George Bernard Shaw.

* * * 

PLEASE SUBSCRIBE! I am sharing these little "250 Words On" essays via Substack, which will email a new one to your In Box every Tuesday morning. Just follow this link and enter your email address. It's free, and I promise to never use your address for evil purposes.

250 Words on Hummingbirds

[I try to start my day writing 250 words on anything. I’ll post one every Tuesday until I run out of good ones.]

Ask people to name their favorite animal and most will say a charismatic megafauna: elephants, giraffes, whales, dolphins, gorillas, pandas, lions, tigers, bears—the especially attractive animals on zoo billboards. 

Mine is the hummingbird, which is not a magical mythical creature but might as well be.

I can watch them for hours—hovering, divebombing, zipping their long tongues in and out of flowers, pulling G-force maneuvers that would make fighter pilots black out. More than 360 species, all beautiful and fantastic.

Hummingbirds may appear to be gentle iridescent sprites but they’re brave and fierce, with a complex structure of hierarchy and dominance. Our yard always has one boss bird who surveys his domain and decides who enters. If you’re not on the approved guest list, expect to find a needle-sharp feathered bullet shooting toward you at Mach speed. 

At the same time, they can cooperate. We have friends whose home draws literally hundreds of hummingbirds that collectively drain several feeders per day. 

We once had a couple from Ireland visit the neighborhood who couldn’t wait to spot hummingbirds. It was one of the goals of their trip. At first sighting they were confused: they had expected hummingbirds to be larger, and wondered if they'd seen insects. We confirmed their ID and our visitors were delighted by their New World discovery. 

As am I, every time I’m in their presence. It feels like a privilege to encounter them, as if they were fairies from another realm. I’m not convinced they aren’t.

* * * 

PLEASE SUBSCRIBE! I am sharing these little "250 Words On" essays via Substack, which will email a new one to your In Box every Tuesday morning. Just follow this link and enter your email address. It's free, and I promise to never use your address for evil purposes.

I'd Like to Thank the Academy...

The day after my sister's wedding, my family and I took a few hours to visit the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures in L.A. We happened to hit it on a free admission day, but I enjoyed it so much I'd have paid for it! 

In addition to its permanent collection of props, costumes, production equipment and ephemera, the museum had exhibitions on Jaws, Barbie, Cyberpunk, and the films of Bong Joon Ho. Something for everyone! Recommended.

I was stunned to see the Aries 1B lunar lander from "2001: A Space Odyssey," partly because it's from one of my top-five favorite movies but also because I knew director Stanley Kubrick had ordered all the models from the film destroyed so that nobody could make a cheap sequel. I also knew the Aries was one of the few props that escaped that fate but had no idea where it was. And, suddenly, there it was! She's a beauty.

Swatches that defined the color palette for the "Barbie" movie. I love this process stuff.

The red-armed C-3PO from "The Force Awakens."

Iron Man's helmet and, in the background, Captain America's shield and, in the even further background, the back side of Morpheus's costume from "The Matrix."

This one is hard to see, but it's a matte painting from the film "The Running Man" (1997). It's a sheet of glass maybe 3 by 5 feet in size, so you're seeing reflections of museum visitors in addition to a backlit cityscape. Matte paintings were used from the earliest days of filmmaking. In the pre-CGI days, artists painted vast backgrounds on sheets of glass, through which live action was shot or projected onto the scene. One of the most famous is the enormous warehouse at the end of "Raiders the Lost Ark"; only the worker pushing the cart is real, everything else is a painting. I've always been fascinated by the process and never seen one in person. Cool! 

The Hollywood Sign, visible from the upper floors of the Academy museum, just in case you weren't sure where you were.

Congrats to Lis and Randy!

My family and I went to L.A. this weekend to help my little sister get married! It's her story to tell, not mine, but it was fun and beautiful and nearly flawless, at least until Darth Vader showed up and force-choked me. All our love to the bride and groom, my new younger brother.

In a weekend of lifetime memories and highlights, I was especially happy to reconnect with Steve De Jarnatt, a film director who's known Lis for nearly 20 years and me since my book, Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow? came out. 

Steve directed the movies "Miracle Mile" and "Cherry 2000" in addition to countless TV episodes, but our connection is the 1939 World's Fair, which I featured in my book and Steve is an avid fan and collector of. After our fire, Steve sent me a care package full of vintage Fair memorabilia and ephemera, which was one of the kindest, most generous things anyone did for me in those days.

Happy Daughters AND Comic Book Day!

I'm reminded that today is both International Daughters Day and International Comic Book Day. I am in the very unusual and nifty position of being able to celebrate both simultaneously, as my daughters have appeared somewhere in every graphic novel I've done (yay, crowd scenes!).

This drawing features me, my wife Karen, and our daughters Laura and Robin. Long-time readers may not recognize this art because it's from an as-yet-unpublished book that I suspect will probably stay that way. Alas. But at least I get to use it for today. 

Happy International Daughters/Comic Book Day, Chiquitas!

250 Words on Artistry Unleashed

[I try to start my day writing 250 words on anything. I’ll post one every Tuesday until I run out of good ones.]

I’m fascinated by artists whose creativity runs amok toward the end of their lives. Not just those who start when they’re old or work steadily until they die, but artists whose motivation seems to suddenly turn to pleasing nobody but themselves. It’s self-indulgence that can be baffling and even off-putting, but it’s also always interesting.

Beethoven was 55 and deaf when he composed his late string quartets, including Die Grosse Fuge (“the Great Fugue”), in 1825 and 1826. He died in 1827. The pieces were discordant and difficult to play. Audiences were bewildered. Critics called them “indecipherable uncorrected horrors” and “a confusion of Babel.” To modern ears they sound like Jazz a century before its time, and are now considered among his greatest masterpieces. 

Charles Schulz was no Beethoven, but I think he had a comparable late Renaissance. His comic strip, “Peanuts,” began in 1950 and became a cultural juggernaut in the 1960s. “Peanuts” was good in the ‘70s and ‘80s, but I think Schulz’s creativity reawakened in the ‘90s until his death in 2000, producing some of his most personal, thoughtful, and formally inventive work.

I’m also reminded of director Francis Ford Coppola’s recent movie “Megalopolis,” which he funded himself when no one else would. Critics’ reactions ranged widely, but all agreed they’d never seen anything like it. 

I think you can get the clearest distillation of a master’s artistry when they have nothing left to prove and don’t much care what anybody else thinks. That’s the pure spirit.

* * * 

PLEASE SUBSCRIBE! I am sharing these little "250 Words On" essays via Substack, which will email a new one to your In Box every Tuesday morning. Just follow this link and enter your email address. It's free, and I promise to never use your address for evil purposes.

Gornpyramide

 I made this.

It's my take on a German Weihnachtspyramide, a candle-powered carousel that is a traditional Christmas decoration in both that country and ours. Except instead of the Christ child in a manger or jolly Santa in the sky, I recreated the classic battle between Captain Kirk and the Gorn from the "Star Trek" episode "Arena" (1967).

Note the carefully observed details, including the Enterprise in orbit overhead, the Gorn's handmade weapons, and Kirk's bamboo cannon, diamond projectiles, and chemicals he found to make gunpowder. Also enjoy the scenic and iconic Vasquez Rocks, the shooting location of many "Star Trek" episodes and countless TV shows and movies, separating the combatants.

My tiny Enterprise, made of dowels and toothpicks.

The reptilian Gorn, with his silver eyes, gold toga, snare net, and obsidian dagger.

Our hero, James T. Kirk, smug in the knowledge that he has everything he needs--bamboo cannon reinforced with native fiber, diamonds, charcoal, sulfur, and potassium nitrate--to defeat the Gorn.

My glorious inspiration.

I don't know how the idea came to me but I've wanted to make it for a long time. Like, for years. Finally decided "Just do it already!" It was a tricky build--you have to optimize for mass, balance, and friction, and I basically had to build it twice to learn from my mistakes and get those right. Even still, it needs enormous vanes to catch enough candle heat to keep moving.

But, to quote Galileo, "It moves."

My wife, Karen, says she's never been prouder, but sometimes she's sarcastic and I can't tell.

I'm just happy in the knowledge I've created something that has never existed before in the history of the universe. Isn't that what Art is all about?

250 Words on Mythology

[I try to start my day writing 250 words on anything. I’ll post one every Tuesday until I run out of good ones.]

Do kids still love mythology?

I remember mythology—Greek, Roman, Norse, Egyptian—being a big deal when I was a kid, but I’m not sure if that was just my particular experience. I loved myths and read every book of them I could. My lodestone was the classic Mythology by Edith Hamilton, which has been in print since 1942. 

Myths illuminate us as much as the people who created them. What we fear, what we value, what we admire. Poseidon was volatile and cruel because the sea could be volatile and cruel; the sun god Ra was also the god of order because nothing mattered more to ancient Egyptians than the constancy of the sun. Gods were arrogant, petty, violent, vain. We know people with those flaws, and it’s easy to imagine the havoc they’d wreak with limitless power.

I loved mythology for its potent combination of superpowers and drama—soap opera on a cosmic scale. I was drawn to Marvel comics because they made the connection explicit: Thor and Hercules were the mythological gods AND superheroes, fighting alongside Captain America and Spider-Man. Marvel might as well have injected narrative nitroglycerine directly into my veins. 

Do young adults raised on Disney’s “Hercules” believe that Zeus was a faithful loving father? Do people accusing others of narcissism know who Narcissus was? Do they know Thursday is Thor’s day? Myths are our linguistic and cultural heritage, as much as Shakespeare or the Bible. I hope they’re still loved and taught these days.

* * * 

PLEASE SUBSCRIBE! I am sharing these little "250 Words On" essays via Substack, which will email a new one to your In Box every Tuesday morning. Just follow this link and enter your email address. It's free, and I promise to never use your address for evil purposes.

250 Words on Being in the Sports Zone

[I try to start my day writing 250 words on anything. I’ll post one every Tuesday until I run out of good ones.]

I have never been a natural athlete—except once.

In seventh grade, age 12, our PE class did a track and field unit. Coaches were scouting for talent. They set up all the equipment, and on that particular day I was the best high jumper in my middle school. Better than boys who were two years older than me. My form was perfect. It felt smooth and effortless. I floated and flew. I was in the zone.

What a tremendously exhilarating feeling!

The coaches urged me to join the track team, so I did.

And never came close to duplicating that spectacular performance again. 

I competed in high jump and long jump for three seasons, and stayed stubbornly mediocre at both. Whatever magic I’d had that day was gone. 

I did notch one triumph I’m proud of. Track meets are scored on a point system. The team that tallies the most first-, second-, and third-place points wins. At one meet, I was warming up to do poorly in the long jump when I noticed an 880-yard race about to begin with only one runner, so I ambled over and checked in. 

My competitor shot off like a caffeinated jaguar, while I plodded out the half mile choking on his cloud of dust. My coaches and teammates did a double-take, then cheered me on! I earned the second-place points for my team! A heroic heads-up play!

To this day, coming in second in a two-person race is my greatest athletic accomplishment. 

* * * 

PLEASE SUBSCRIBE! I am sharing these little "250 Words On" essays via Substack, which will email a new one to your In Box every Tuesday morning. Just follow this link and enter your email address. It's free, and I promise to never use your address for evil purposes.

250 Words on Gray Divorce

[I try to start my day writing 250 words on anything. I’ll post one every Tuesday until I run out of good ones.]

There’s a social trend called “gray divorce,” in which older people who’ve been married for decades split up, to the astonishment of their families and friends. Often the couples seem happy, faithful, settled, comfortable. Why upset the status quo? Why not just run out the clock?

I don’t want a gray divorce but I do think I understand it. As I get older, the idea that I have a finite and shrinking number of days on Earth grows more insistent, and I sometimes ask myself:

“Do I really want to put up with this for the rest of my life?”

“This” could be almost anything: Socializing with people I don’t like. Traveling to places I don’t want to go. Eating food I don’t want to eat. Caring what anyone else thinks. Enduring the hundreds of little obligations we all bear, many of them optional. 

There’s a perception that people lose their inhibitions and get cranky as they age. I don’t think their personalities change; I think they just drop their masks because they don't need them anymore. Sometimes that reveals an angry bigot, but more often, I think, it frees them to be who they want to be, do what they want to do, and fly their freak flags in all their colors. 

I’m no psychologist, but I imagine many gray divorces happen when one person looks at their spouse and thinks, “The obligation I really don’t want to put up with for the rest of my life is you.”

* * * 

PLEASE SUBSCRIBE! I am sharing these little "250 Words On" essays via Substack, which will email a new one to your In Box every Tuesday morning. Just follow this link and enter your email address. It's free, and I promise to never use your address for evil purposes.