250 Words on Squaring the Circle

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

“Squaring the circle” is a geometry problem so infamous that it became a metaphor for an unachievable task. The challenge: construct a square with the same area as a given circle using only a compass and straight edge. It’s impossible because the area of a circle is a multiple of π (3.14159265…), a number with an endless stream of digits that can’t be translated into a square with those tools.

Nevertheless, centuries of crackpots have tried to square the circle. Including me.

A similar problem is trisecting an angle: it has been proven impossible to divide an arbitrary angle into three equal parts using a compass and straight edge. 

I can’t tell you how much time and paper I wasted trying to trisect an angle until I satisfied myself that it was at least impossible for me. 

Perpetual motion is the ultimate futile challenge. No device, no matter how you arrange its weights, pulleys, magnets or gears, can run forever without putting energy into it. Friction and other thermodynamic waste grind every machine down until it stops. No system is 100 percent efficient.

I know that. I believe that.

And yet the number of times I’ve thought, “But what if . . .”

For as long as I can remember, whenever someone told me something was impossible, I set out to prove them wrong, or at least prove to myself they were right. At worst, it provides light mental exercise. At best, there’s a Nobel Prize in it for me.   

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Robert Duvall

I've seen many fine and touching testimonials to the late actor Robert Duvall, with mentions of his great performances in "The Godfather," "Apocalypse Now," "The Great Santini," and more. But very few have mentioned this, my favorite scene of his ever, from the movie "Secondhand Lions." 

If you haven't seen it, it's a good movie with a great cast, and even a bit of artwork by "Bloom County" cartoonist Berke Breathed. Recommended.

When I began my "Last Mechanical Monster" webcomic back in, oh, 2012 or 2013, I thought of two actors whom I'd love to portray my old mad scientist, Sparky, if anyone ever wanted to make a live-action movie of it. First was Christopher Plummer. Second was Robert Duvall. Both are gone now, and since nobody's clamoring to make that movie I guess I lost my chance. 

Sparky in action. See if you can imagine Duvall in the role.

250 Words on Stuff that Isn't for You

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

One of the milestones of maturity is realizing that not everything is made or meant for you. 

Other people can love music, literature, entertainment, food, or sports that you find inexplicable, confusing, repulsive, inane. It’s fine! Believing that is a big step in accepting you’re not the center of the universe. 

Too many argue the opposite: “I hate it, it’s bad, and anyone who likes it is stupid.” How small-minded. 

Take Taylor Swift.*

Early in her career, I was dismissive. Lightweight pop. But as her career grew, so did my appreciation for her work and work ethic.

Swift’s songs weren’t made for middle-aged men like me, and I wasn’t living the lives of kids to whom her lyrics spoke. She was an artist for them, not me, and while I’ve come to like some of her songs, I could never love her like they do.

She also seems like a decent person, a refutation of the axiom that there are no ethical billionaires. Millions pay money to hear her sing. I see no crime. 

I try not to judge any art as “good” or “bad.” De gustibus non est disputandum. I prefer Roger Ebert’s standard: Does the work achieve its intended purpose? If so, it’s a success. The strongest criticism I’ll level publicly is, “It’s not for me.”

Of course, the corollary of “Not all art is meant for you” is “Your art isn’t meant for everybody.” Accept some audience indifference and trust that the right people will find you.

*Or Bad Bunny.

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Lost and Found on the USS Hornet

Here's a neat TV news story from my daughter Laura's aircraft carrier, the USS Hornet Sea, Air and Space Museum: a museum volunteer poking around some compartments of the ship that have been locked up since the Hornet was decommissioned in 1970 found a sailor's old high school class ring. The ring provided enough clues to identify the sailor and locate his family! 

Aside from the heartwarming story, I love the idea that there are still deep recesses of the ship that have yet to be fully explored. An aircraft carrier, even an old one like the Hornet, really is like a small city at sea.

250 Words on Thunder and Lightning

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

Thunderstorms are my favorite meteorological phenomenon. The flash, the boom, the gut-thrumming rumble. The familiar world is transformed into something alien and frightening. You are small and nature is immense, but indoors you’re reasonably safe and can enjoy the show. 

Thunderstorms are rare where I live now, in northern California not far from the Pacific. We don’t have the violently colliding air masses and geography to create them. But I grew up in South Dakota, where the smell of ozone in the wind was a herald announcing their imminent arrival. You could see the front advancing toward you, black clouds gathering over the horizon, lit from within by arcing sparks. 

Ball lightning is an unusual phenomenon that scientists aren’t even sure is real, but my grandparents always swore they saw a cloud of sparkling light float down their chimney and dance around the living room before evanescing into the air. I’d pay good money to witness that.

Probably the most awe-inspiring natural phenomenon I ever saw happened one night I was flying out of Dallas during a thunderstorm. Our plane broke through a deck of clouds to find another deck above us, with rain filling the gap between them. Every few seconds, lightning flashed between the decks, illuminating distant funnel clouds connecting the layers above and below us, like pillars in a vast and empty warehouse. 

We quickly broke through the top deck into clear skies, but I’ll never forget that vision of Hell or Heaven, I wasn’t sure which.

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Viva Bad Bunny!

Bad Bunny with Lady Gaga

So I guess I'm a Bad Bunny fan now.

I'm not compelled to speak out on all the passing controversies of the day, but I had some thoughts on Mr. Bunny's Super Bowl performance I haven't seen anyone else express.

First, no, I don't speak Spanish. That's not a deal-breaker for me. I don't speak Italian, either, but I'd still go to an opera. Plus, the sound quality in Levi's Stadium was such that I doubt even native Spanish speakers understood many of his lyrics unless they already knew the songs. 

I was impressed by three things. First, the propulsive energy of Mr. Bunny's performance. It reminded me of Bruno Mars's Super Bowl show in 2014. Before that I was aware of Mars, of course, but he attacked that performance with such joyful intensity that I instantly became a fan. Same with Mr. Bunny yesterday.

Second was the stagecraft. He and his team built and then disassembled a Puerto Rican cane field, a casita, a bodega, an entire community of musicians and dancers and street vendors and power poles, in the middle of a football field during a break in the game. The choreography was astounding--everyone had to be in exactly the right spot at the right time, from a bartender who handed Mr. Bunny a shot glass to a kid sleeping on a bench (who a lot of people are saying was Liam Conejo Ramos, the boy in the blue knit cap who was kidnapped by ICE, but it wasn't him). 

Third was the storytelling. I didn't know the words but I certainly understood the story Mr. Bunny told of community, tradition, hard work, family celebration--you know, all the classic American values. The entire show was as wholesome and, dare I say, as conservative as could be, right down to the real wedding performed in the middle of it and his "God Bless America" (in English) at the end of it. 

I found it all much more interesting and entertaining than the usual band standing on a stage singing their greatest hits. As a storyteller myself I admire and appreciate masterful storytelling from others, and Mr. Bunny delivered for me. Your mileage may vary.

250 Words on the Secret

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

Occasionally I’m asked to critique someone’s writing or cartooning, and give them advice on how to build a career.

I’ve learned to be wary.

First, nine out of ten people who ask my opinion don’t really want it. They want to be told their work is fantastic and they don’t need to change a jot. So the first thing I try to figure out is whether I’m talking to one of those folks, or to the one out of ten who genuinely wants feedback and is professional enough to take it.

Sometimes people want to know “the secret”: the password, the trick, the right person to approach with the right pitch. Once in a while, they’ll even ask me to do it for them—make the connection, grease the wheels, get them in the door to make a deal.

Of course the real secret is that there isn’t one, and I don’t have the influence they think I do. Even if I wanted to, there is nobody I can call who would offer them the “Standard Rich and Famous Contract” that Orson Welles gave Kermit the Frog. 

Every successful creative person I know has a different story about how they made it. Their way probably won’t work for you. Sit down, do the work, and put it out into the world however you can. If anyone likes something you did, do more of that. Get rejected. Get experience. Get better. Get noticed. Get paid. 

That’s the only secret I know. 

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LumaCon 2026

An overview of the main room at the Petaluma Recreation Center. Other vendors and events were set up in surrounding rooms and outdoor spaces.

I had to take a quick spin through my favorite little comics convention in the world this morning, even though I couldn't commit to tabling this year. Librarians put on the LumaCon Comic Convention for Youth in Petaluma, Calif. to support kids' creativity, promote reading, and give young creators a chance to mingle and mix with professionals. It's free and has a bake sale. What's not to love?

I did a lap, said Hello to lots of friends, bought some books, and then headed out to the rest of my busy day. I'm glad I made the effort. It's a great event run by great people for all the right reasons.

Cartoonist Tom Beland greeted me as I entered the big room.

Nearby, Andrew Farago from the Cartoon Art Museum, his wife cartoonist Shaenon Garrity, and their son Robin.

Comic book artist extraordinaire Brent Anderson.

Cartoonist and Schulz Studio staffer Denis St. John, autographing a book I bought from him.

Another Schulz staffer, editor and "Kid Beowulf" cartoonist Lex Fajardo.

Maia Kobabe, author of one of the most banned books in the U.S., "GenderQueer." We had a nice conversation about graphic medicine.

I also ran into Schulz Studio head and cartoonist Paige Braddock, best known for the comic strip "Jane's World" and her new series for kids, "Peanut, Butter & Crackers."

Down a hall from the big room was space set aside for people who just wanted to sit quietly and draw. It was full. Another example of why I love this event.

Keywords/Keyimages

From the mailbag: my copy of a new book titled Keywords/Keyimages in Graphic Medicine, edited by Lisa Diedrich and Briana Martino, which Pennsylvania State University Press was kind enough to send me because I'm one of about 60 cartoonists, professors, and deep-thought-thinkers who helped write it.

This is an academic book, aimed at people teaching or working in the field of graphic medicine. I wrote three essays for it, titled "Metaphor," "Space/Time," and "Subtext," all illustrated with art from Mom's Cancer. 

The assignment, as I understood it, was to take an interesting image from the text and analyze what its intent was and how I used the unique tools and tropes of cartooning to achieve it. Some of the literary analysis dives pretty deep, and it's fascinating to hear cartoonists explain their thinking in their own words. Lisa and Briana have been working on the book for several years, and I think it's a really neat approach to understanding comics in a way that's reminiscent of Scott McCloud's work. 

I'm happy and proud to be a small part of this thing, which I think will be an interesting and useful contribution to the field for a long time.

250 Words on Pre-Electric Entertainment

[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 mechanical contraptions and entertainment media created before the harnessing of electricity. For example, I think a pendulum clock is just about the most wonderous device humans have ever conceived. 

I love old-timey record players: Edison cylinders, Victrolas, etc. We used to have a Pathe Freres Actuelle spring-powered phonograph from about 1920 that came down through the family, and I played 78s on it quite often. It transported me to a time when a wooden box brought all the music of the world into your home. What a revelation it would have been!

I also have a niche interest in stereoscopic images. Think of the classic Viewmaster toy, but a hundred years earlier. Almost as soon as photography was invented, clever people thought of shooting two photos side by side and placing them in a lensed viewer so that the left eye saw one image, the right eye saw the other, and an illusion of depth was achieved. 

A well-appointed turn-of-the-century parlor might have had hundreds of stereo cards, neatly filed in elegant cases, for visitors to amuse themselves with for hours. Three-dimensional tours of the Holy Land and other exotic locales were a popular subject for people who could never visit them themselves. 

These days you can buy a good-quality antique viewer for less than $100, and cards for $5 to $10 each. I particularly like to find vintage stereo views of places I’ve been. Between them and phonographs, Victorians could experience the world without leaving home. 

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Unboxing

I'm not cool enough to shoot an unboxing video, so how about an unboxing photo? "Mr. McFly! Mr. McFly! This just arrived! I think it's your new book!" said Karen when UPS dropped it off, because that's the ritual in OUR house. 

Presenting the 20th Anniversary Edition of Mom's Cancer, soon to be on bookshelves near you. In has 32 pages of new content, including 22 new pages of comics that tell what happened after the original book ended. It's the ultimate, definitive edition!

It should be in stores in early March. If you have any interest in buying a copy, it would be a big help if you'd pre-order it now, either from your local bookstore (preferred) or online retailer. Pre-orders tell bookstores and everyone up the chain to the publisher how well they can expect the book to do, and it's important to make a good first impression.

Plus, I will renew my traditional offer of mailing a free signed bookplate to anyone who wants an autographed book and sends me their mailing address. (Honestly, I haven't ordered those bookplates yet, but it's top of my to-do list!) Such a deal!

It's always a great day to hold your new book in your hands. They smell wonderful. Mom would've loved it.

250 Words on Jury Duty

[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’ve been called for jury duty often but selected only once, when I was in my mid-20s and working as a newspaper reporter. I thought my job would disqualify me; it didn’t. I served about a week on a rape trial. 

That trial had a “Perry Mason twist” dramatic enough for television. The defense attorney tried to shake the victim’s credibility by claiming she couldn’t even describe where the attack took place. For example, she said it was in a car about half a mile from a highway, while other evidence suggested the distance was more like 40 yards. Then the prosecutor stood and asked:

“How far apart are you and I right now?”

“A hundred feet,” she answered. 

After lunch, the prosecutor produced a tape measure, stretched it between them, and asked her to read the length: 12 feet. 

Everyone on the jury instantly got the point: the victim was an unusually bad judge of distance. That didn’t make her a liar or impeach the essence of her testimony. She just couldn’t look at something and tell you how far away it was.* 

We deliberated thoroughly, giving the defendant the benefit of every reasonable doubt. Everyone took the responsibility profoundly seriously. Then we found him guilty.

People moan when they get a jury summons, and strategize ways to get out of it, but I think everybody should serve on a jury at least once. I left satisfied and proud, with more faith in my fellow citizens and the system.

.

* I still think about what a gamble that was for the prosecutor. It seemed like a completely spontaneous and unrehearsed question on his part. What if she’d answered it correctly?

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They're Dinky

I have a bookmark folder that is simply titled "Happy." It contains about 50 links guaranteed to make me smile. It occurred to me that I could share one from time to time, and maybe it will make you smile, too.