Best Day Ever

I'll bet I remember what I was doing exactly 22 years ago today a lot better than you do. Happy Birthday, Chiquitas! We'll see you this afternoon.

The hospital warned us: if you feed them, they grow.

James Cameron Owes Me $500 Million

For various reasons having nothing to do with current hit movies (really), I got up this morning wanting to play with 3-D. The theory is simple; the application is hard. If you've got a pair of the ol' red-and-blue 3-D glasses handy (and who doesn't?), check out my first black-and-white anaglyphs:

The idea is to take two photos of the same scene a couple inches apart to mimic the stereoscopic view of your two eyes. Tint the right image red and the left image cyan, as below (in Photoshop, you can convert the images to Grayscale and then Monotone). Overlap them transparently (in Photoshop, "Multiply" the top layer) and you're done. Quick and easy. In theory.

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Two pics from slightly different angles stand in for your left and right eyes.

In reality, it can be tricky to get the two layers to line up right. The depth of field--which parts pop out and which recede--is determined by how you match up the images. Any little difference between the photos, like if you tilt the camera a bit or the wind blows a branch, can ruin the illusion. I've learned that choosing the right subject and being the right distance from it is important. These three experiments turned out best, but I've got six or seven others that hardly worked at all. I also tried some techniques that give a more full-color effect, but I wasn't happy with those either.

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Whenever I'm in an antique store, I love checking out those old stereo viewers and cards that were all the rage in Victorian times. The original Viewmasters. I could imagine myself going nuts collecting hundreds of those cards someday. The red-blue technique's not the same, but seeing a picture pop off the page is just as magical as ever.

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Ask Me . . . Anything?

As sometimes happens, a couple of things came together to inspire this post. First, one of my nephews interviewed me for a school assignment and asked some good questions about how one gets a book written, edited and published, an ambition we share. Second, I know a couple of cartoonists using Formspring.me, which is a very simple web thingie where anyone who wants can anonymously ask you anything they want, and you answer. Really. That's all it does. But it's interesting.

I don't want to do Formspring. The last thing I need is another Internet time-sucker demanding attention. However, I do like the idea of an "ask me anything" Q&A and thought I might just try it here. Serious, funny, trivial, anonymous or not. Anything. Ask your questions in the comments for this post and I'll reply.

I see two hazards: someone asks something I don't want to answer, or no one asks anything at all. I expect the latter. If the former, I reserve the right to evade or, if the question's completely out of bounds, delete (that's true on Formspring as well, BTW). But I promise I'll make a good-faith effort to answer as honestly as I can.

Keeping in mind that I'm not expecting the Spanish Inquisition--NObody expects the Spanish Inquisition!--let's see how it goes.


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Rock and Roll Jam

Yesterday I mentioned that I'd briefly participated in a "sketch jam"--an online forum where anyone could submit art illustrating a theme chosen by a moderator--and said I might share some results if they weren't too embarrassing. I found one I liked.

What I enjoyed about doing sketch jams were the constraints. I think constraints are important in nurturing creativity; they give it something to push against. For example, if I asked you to write a limerick about anything you wanted, you'd probably sit, staring, unable to think of anything. But if I asked you to write a limerick about snorkels, now you've got a kernel to build on ("There once was a man from New Yorkel..."). So: this particular week's kernel was "Rock and Roll."

My approach to the sketch jam was to play around and try out approaches or techniques I normally wouldn't, in an environment where it was OK to be bad. I'll show you what I did, then describe what I was thinking when I did it.

Aside from my hyper-literal take on the words "rock" and "roll," what I was playing with here was minimalism: how simply and economically could I draw and still tell a story? The 16 panels are a basic grid, and most of the shapes are simple circles and straight lines. Drawing the girl, I was partly inspired by Disney's famous flour sack, an old animators' exercise to see how much emotion could be wrung from a featureless bag:

Disney's surprisingly expressive half-filled sack of flour

So, that was fun and kind of worked. I found it worthwhile. I think these types of exercises are valuable in that they make you stop, rethink what you do and why you do it, and consider new approaches. Especially in cartooning, playfulness is important and easy to overlook.

Escape from Planet Nowhere

My pal Otis Frampton is starting a new webcomic that looks like it'll be a fun, rollicking, well-crafted adventure. Titled "Escape from Planet Nowhere," the story was inspired by a drawing Otis did for a sketch jam a while back. That link will take you to the story's title page; from there, click "Next" under the image to continue.

(Sketch Jam = a forum where artists gather for fun and exercise. In this particular web forum, a moderator chose a theme for each week and anyone who wanted could draw a picture illustrating that theme and post it for comment. A theme might be something like "rock and roll" or "soldier and child," which I think was the idea that inspired Otis's new comic. I did a few jams while Otis was moderator; if I can find the results and they're not embarrassing, maybe I'll post one or two.)

Otis created a series titled "Oddly Normal" about a spunky green-haired witch-human hybrid trying to survive her teen years as an outcast on two worlds. Originally published a few years back by Viper Comics, Oddly looks like she may find new life in ways I don't think I'm at liberty to discuss. But good ones! Otis is also a prolific sketch card artist (a whole niche of sci-fi/fantasy fandom I didn't know existed until I met him) and always seems to have a half dozen comic and film projects underway. Most nights he hosts a three-hour live webcast of himself at work, showing a level of confidence completely alien to me.

Professionally, what I like about Otis's work are his design, storytelling, and Photoshop chops. Except for his sketch cards, Otis works entirely digitally. Usually that wouldn't appeal to me, but Otis's work is full of energy and life, and he uses the medium thoughtfully and intelligently. I also have a lot of respect for Otis because he neither panders to nor is ashamed to write for a juvenile audience. "Oddly Normal" is made for kids (although there are levels that work for adults as well) and, unlike too many creators, Otis doesn't approach them cynically. Doing kids lit right is hard, and his work is sincere and unapologetic. (That said, I think "Planet Nowhere" is aiming at a slightly more mature audience.)

Personally, Otis was one of the first comics-cartoonist types I got to know when "Mom's Cancer" emerged. I've met a lot of people in the business--some very accomplished, almost all gracious and nice--but there are only maybe a half dozen I'd call friends, which I define as "I have their phone number and if I called they'd be happy to talk to me." He's one, and he and his wife Leigh are good people. If there's any justice, his big break is coming soon. Maybe it's "Planet Nowhere."

Milton Caniff Interviews

I've lifted a lot a blog material from my cartooning buddy Mike Lynch, but this time I'm just going to send you directly to his site to watch a wide-ranging 11-part interview with comic strip great Milt Caniff taped in 1982. Caniff, who died in 1988, created "Terry and the Pirates" and "Steve Canyon," and is on my personal list of Top Ten All-Time Greats. He's on a lot of people's.
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Caniff in his studio, 1947. I don't know whether he routinely drew from live models or this was just a publicity shot, but that's a pretty cool studio. I wonder what happened to all his books and props?

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Even more impressive than Caniff's work on comic strips, I think, is his continuing impact on the entire field of comics. A generation of cartoonists who came of age in the 1930s and '40s were influenced by Caniff's style--his mastery of light and contrast, as well as his powerful, confident, almost impressionistic brushwork--and passed it down to the generation after, who passed it on, who passed it on, until today Caniff shows up in the work of young artists who may not even know his name. Many cartoonists working in the '40s and '50s cited Caniff as a model, and there are echoes of him in modern artists like Frank Miller, Darwyn Cooke and Steve Rude.

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Good examples of Caniff's art are hard to find online. I chose these two panels from "Steve Canyon" because I think they illustrate his skillful composition, depiction of action, and use of black. There's a lot going on in both these panels, drawn in masses of inky blotches, but the action is always clear. Your eye goes where Caniff directs it. Just a day's work for Caniff, but masterful stuff.

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I'm not a Caniff scholar, but my impression is that his stock among modern critics tends to rise and fall. I've seen him criticized for being too old-fashioned and conservative, as well as just too darned influential. I gather that some people who really know comics get tired of seeing his imitators everywhere. Can't blame him for that! As for stodgy, it's easy to carp six or seven decades later. In the context of his times, and in comparison to what his contemporaries were doing, Caniff was a revolutionary whose work still holds up in my eyes.

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Anyway, if that's the kind of thing that interests you, then I expect Mr. Lynch's videos will interest you as well. As a bonus, the interview was conducted by Shel Dorf, one of the founders of ComicCon International and Caniff's letterer, who just died a few months ago. I admit I haven't found time to watch the whole thing yet (still hip-deep in deadlines), but I will.

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Gold Medal vs. Heavy Metal

I'm going to miss the Olympics.



That's the band HammerFall and the Swedish women's curling team, which won a gold medal in Vancouver. If I'd known curling was so totally wicked awesome, I'd've pulled the broom out of the garage long ago.
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Whatever Happened to the Comedy Album?

I woke up this morning suddenly aware that a big piece of culture had slipped away without me noticing: comedy albums. I don't know why I woke up with that on my mind, but I did (I also woke up this morning calculating the Earth's mass in my head . . . just checked, I was only off by a factor of three, which I consider pretty darn order-of-magnitude close).

Karen, when I get that faraway look in my eyes, this is where I go. Sorry. Love 'ya.

In my teens, it wasn't unusual to get together with friends and listen to comedy albums. I remember doing it in the family room of a good friend in junior high; I remember doing it with 15 people crammed into a college dorm room. Does anyone still do that? Or does it sound as antique and exotic as a malt-shop sock hop to someone under 35 or 40? Or was I just hanging out with freaks and weirdos all along (a real possibility)?

My prime comedy listening years were pretty much the 1970s, though I heard and appreciated material from before my time. In the mid-'70s, San Francisco AM radio station KSFO had a wonderful block of nighttime programming. As I recall, the evening started at 8 p.m. with Radio Mystery Theater, which broadcast modern original dramas. At 9 p.m. came old programs from the 1930s through '50s, a rotating mix of classic dramas such as "The Shadow" and comics like Fred Allen and Jack Benny, as well as occasional obscurities. Then at 10 p.m. came comedy, hosted by D.J. John Gilliland, and oh was that terrific! All the great stuff from the '50s and '60s. There were probably a good two or three years there where I disappeared into my room after dinner every night to listen to old radio programs and cuts from comedy albums. Most parents of teenage boys worry about them because they don't know what they're up to; I imagine now how my parents must've worried about me because they did know.



On top of that were comedy albums that friends and I bought, shared, swapped. A terrific mix of old and new. I loved Bob Newhart's button-down mind, both Bill Cosby's high-concept and well-observed family stuff, Allan Sherman, Nichols and May, Spike Jones. Tom Lehrer. Monty Python put out some albums that played with the vinyl medium as much as their films and television programs played with theirs. I knew a girl in junior high whose parents were so cool they let her play George Carlin loud! Richard Pryor. And poor Bill Dana . . . Mr. Dana came out of the Danny Thomas-Spike Jones-Steve Allen school of comedy and had the misfortune to play a dim-witted character named Jose Jimenez just when it became obviously wrong to do so. When I was 13, I didn't know Jose Jimenez was racist; I just thought he was very funny. (Mr. Dana later retired the character with apologies and received an Image Award from the National Hispanic Media Coalition.)





Comedy wasn't just an obscure niche of the recording industry. "The Button-Down Mind of Bob Newhart" was Number One on the Billboard pop chart in 1960, ahead of Elvis Presley. The last comedy album I'm aware of having a significant cultural impact was Steve Martin's "Wild and Crazy Guy" from 1978, which hit Number Two on the album charts and went double platinum. Everybody had it. Looking over the list of Grammy winners, I don't see much in the 32 years (!) since: some Weird Al, PDQ Bach (which I love), Chris Rock, welcome little blips from veterans like Carlin, Jonathan Winters, and Mel Brooks and Carl Reiner, and a new generation rising with Stephen Colbert and Jon Stewart. Some good work, but nothing explosive and universal. Certainly nothing I can imagine college freshman huddling around an mp3 player listening to.

Is that it, then? Is the comedy album a relic? Cable television doubtlessly stole a lot of their steam; whereas Bill Cosby put out at least one record a year between 1963 and 1973, today someone like Lewis Black produces HBO or Comedy Central specials at the same rate. Then there's the obvious fragmenting of culture, so that you and I could go our whole lives unexposed to each other's artistic and entertainment touchstones.

Maybe I'm becoming a cranky old coot (check that: I know I'm becoming a cranky old coot, I'm just not sure whether it applies to this issue), but it seems like something valuable has been lost. Something communal, some secret clubhouse conjuring the theater of the mind. It's hard to put a finger on it. I didn't even notice it'd gone missing until this morning.

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Great new word of the day: Pleonastic. It means repetitive or redundant (perhaps like that definition itself). Work it into a conversation.

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Whew.

Man, I've been busy lately. Still am. Just a quick catch-all catch-up post full of dubious detritus:

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This here blog is just recovering from an explosion of visitors brought by a single Tweet from online cartoonist Scott Kurtz, who enjoyed my post on the Catbayashi Maru. I met the popular and successful Mr. Kurtz for the first time a week ago (might write about the occasion someday, but probably won't). What made it fun was that Scott won the Eisner Award for best webcomic the year after I did, which we shamelessly lorded over everyone else. I liked him, his wife Angie, and his Dad a lot. Anyway, one whisper from Scott was enough to peg my visitor count for two or three days. I hope he uses his power for good.

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I just came up with the best way to get a charity solicitor off the phone, and I'm amazed I didn't think of it years ago. Today when the very determined lady asked if she could count on my $25 donation, I plaintively replied, "But I just gave you a lot more than that last month! Didn't you get it?" She thanked me and hung up so fast she was almost rude.

Karen and I like giving to charities, particularly local ones for which our relatively puny contribution might make a difference. What I don't like is when the cost of the follow-up letters and phone calls begging for more exceeds the value of what we donated in the first place. That'll get you crossed off the list pretty quick.

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Every so often, when Karen and I have a free afternoon, we pick some small town only slightly less randomly than throwing a dart at a map and say, "let's go there." We did it again last weekend, visiting a hamlet just a half hour away we hadn't been to in years, and had a swell time. Anybody else do that? I recommend it.

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I've got a couple of speaking engagements coming up I'll write about when I have some time. Both related to Mom's Cancer, and I can't express how gratifying it is that my family's story endures like that. It's very, very nice. Much appreciated.

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Anyone else remember Herb Caen? Dot dot dot.

Back to work, slacker.

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Oooh! Aaaah!

My world, welcome to it.

Starting when I was in my early thirties, I've had one or two migraine attacks per year. The headaches aren't unbearable, and I've learned that if I take a megadose of Advil when I first feel one coming on I can avoid most of the pain. Instead, I just go blind.

Perhaps I overdramatize. Not literally blind--I can still walk around without bumping into walls, and could read a book or drive a car if I really had to. But my visual perception gets very distorted, like looking through a kaleidoscope. Sometimes the world goes all pointillist on me: objects break up into vibrating dots, as if Scotty were beaming them aboard the Enterprise. Other times, a glowing, vibrating, transparent crystalline shape parks itself right in my center of vision and dances around to refract whatever I'm focusing on. As the episode progresses the shape changes, usually growing to form a distorting ring with a clear center.
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The first time it happened, I was working in a laboratory and was terrified, thinking I'd gotten a whiff of some bad fumes. These days, my migraines are kind of an annoying curiosity. I notice the little distortion zone forming, check to make sure I'm seeing it with both eyes (yep), slug down some Advil, and resign myself to wasting the next couple of hours lying with my eyes closed and waiting for it to go away. It can be almost enjoyable, watching the pretty light show and trying to map the dancing colors and shapes--a little neurological self-experiment. The effect is called an "aura," and it's easy to imagine that in an earlier era it would have been quite the spiritual experience. Eventually it fades, and I'm left with a diffuse ache behind my eyes and a dark gray nimbus brain-cloud that usually lingers until the next morning.

I knew a girl in college who got migraines--really painful ones. I admit I thought she was quite the drama queen, swooning and moaning and retreating to her room with the curtains drawn. I regret my lack of compassion. These things are your brain turning against itself, man, and can be very nasty and scary. Compared to many, I get off light.
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Why mention it now? Because today's my lucky day.
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Speaking of beaming aboard the Enterprise, Karen and I watched the 2009 movie Star Trek a couple days ago, for the first time since we saw it in the theater. Karen said she got more out of it this time. I found that the things I liked about it the first time I liked even more, while the things that bugged me about it the first time bugged me even more. Loved the characters (for the most part), hated the contrivances and plot holes. On balance, I stand by my review in May and grade it a "B," and just wish J.J. Abrams had given the script one more pass that could've brought it up to an "A."
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Still speaking of beaming aboard the Enterprise, this is for the three people who I know will appreciate it:
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I read something that took me aback. If a movie studio were to make (or remake) Back to the Future today and sent Marty McFly as far back in time as he went in the first film, he'd pop up in the golden oldie days of . . . 1980. My brain just melted . . . although that could be the migraine.
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I'm Alive

I'm back home, a day late and a certified survivor of Snowmageddon 2010.

My adventure began a few hours before I left California late Monday, when Alison (who works for my publisher Abrams, invited me out to speak to the Bookbinders' Guild, and made the travel arrangements) e-mailed that the airline had cancelled my flight. Curiously, the airline's website seemed to think everything was fine and on schedule. Two different customer service reps gave Alison and me two different answers. I left for the airport figuring I had a 50/50 chance of a plane being there for me. One was. We later realized that the airline had sent Alison an e-mail cancelling my return flight on Wednesday. Their original e-mail never specified which flight they meant, and we assumed it was the earliest. So I left San Francisco at midnight Monday suspecting I was on a one-way trip.

The red-eye arrived at JFK airport at 8 a.m. ET Tuesday, so I was totally fresh and energized when I reached the Manhattan apartment of Editor Charlie and his wife, the Lovely Rachel. Charlie went to work while I cleaned up and then met him at Abrams.

Tuesday lunch with Charlie (who took the picture), Jim Killen, the graphic novel buyer for Barnes & Noble, and Elisa Garcia, Abrams's national accounts manager for children's books. Poor Elisa, having to put up with three grown men talking about their passion for comics. It was a real pleasure.

After spending the afternoon meeting people at Abrams, reconnecting with some I'd already met, and talking a little business, Charlie and I reported to the stately Random House tower for the Bookbinders' Guild panel, which we thought went well and seemed to get a good response. About 30 people showed up for wine, hors d'oeuvres, and us. The topic was "Which Came First: The Book or the Blog?" and the first speaker was literary agent Kate Lee, who carved out a career finding and bringing web content to print when few people had thought to do such an outrageous thing. Her presentation was very interesting, a good complement to ours I thought. Then Charlie and I did our Abbott & Costello routine--focusing mostly on Mom's Cancer but also comparing and contrasting with WHTTWOT. We took some good questions, I signed some books, then we went to dinner.

Ms. Lee, me and Charlie at Random House. At the lectern is Alison Gervais, who arranged everything. It's not a good picture of her, sorry.

Dinner after, Charlie behind the lens again. I'm with Rachel and eminent designer-editor-author Chip Kidd, a friend of Charlie's who works at Random House and came to watch/taunt us. Chip drew a doodle on a paper chopstick sleeve that I rescued for my original art collection and can never show on a PG-rated blog. There's probably a name for the style of food we ate here but I don't know it. Like a Japanese type of dim sum or tapas: you order an assortment of bite-sized meat and vegetable morsels (some pretty exotic), which are skewered and grilled on a long hibachi on the other side of the bar. Fun and tasty.

Wednesday morning I slept in. Don't know why I was so beat. I later met Charlie and Assistant Editor Sofia for lunch, where we really dove into what I hope will be my next book that I hope will be published by Abrams. They had a lot of good questions, new and challenging ideas, and I came away a little daunted by the work I have to do but genuinely energized about doing it. This was the first professional-grade feedback I've gotten on my idea and it was constructive and useful. When the book comes out and I mention in the acknowledgements how it wouldn't have been possible without them, it's this lunch I'll have in mind.

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Poor Alison worked frantically to find me a way home, and eventually got me the last seat on a plane taking off today (Thursday) at 8 a.m. The rest of Wednesday afternoon I wandered Manhattan in a blizzard. It wasn't particularly cold. The biggest challenge was navigating the lakes of mush that pooled at each crosswalk--every Boy Scout knows that in a wilderness survival situation, keeping your feet dry is paramount. I decided there were many worse places to be stuck.

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I took this photo because I liked the bicycle and the black-on-white metal and branches. This was early Wednesday, several more inches fell during the day.

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I nearly passed right by the Empire State Building without realizing it. Beer saved me. See, I have a brother-in-law who collects t-shirts from brewpubs, the more obscure and exotic the better. So as I walked along enjoying gotham's transformation into a magical crystalline wonderland, my thoughts went exactly like this:

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1. Hey! That looks like a brewpub! Maybe they have a shirt I could get Marc!

2. Hey! This looks a lot like the place Karen and I got a shirt for Marc the last time we were in New York!

3. Hey! That place was on the first floor of the Empire State Building!

4. Look up.

5. Oh.

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Publicist Amy had talked to two of the best comic book stores in the world, Jim Hanley's Universe and Midtown Comics, about me coming in and signing books for them. I did. Both seemed happy to have me, particularly considering the weather, and said they'd been happy with sales of WHTTWOT. Hanley's also had a box of Mom's Cancer books in stock for me to sign, which I appreciated. Nice people running great shops, go spend money at them.

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David (left) at Midtown Comics bags the books after I signed them, with a "signed by creator" sticker on the front.

On Charlie and Rachel's suggestion, I went to the Museum of Modern Art to see an exhibition on the work of director-cartoonist-animator Tim Burton, which I thought was terrific. I may have enough thoughts on that to support an entire other blog post. For now, I'll say that if you have any interest in seeing a prolific creative mind at work and play, in a wide variety of media including animation, drawings, sculpture and film, it's worth a visit.

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Snow even makes garbage look good. Or at least better.

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I only slipped and landed flat on my back on the sidewalk once, which was pretty good in those conditions. Two tourists quickly and compassionately helped me to my feet. I could tell they were tourists because they quickly and compassionately helped me to my feet. Nothing damaged but dignity.

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I happened to walk past David Letterman's show at the Ed Sullivan Theater just as they were ushering in the audience for Wednesday's program. Thinking maybe some ticketholders hadn't made it due to snow, I asked the staffer at the door if they needed one more hand in the balcony. Alas, they had all the applauders and laughers they required. I walked around the corner and heard Paul Shaffer's band playing through the theater's side doors.

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Back to Charlie and Rachel's for an unplanned second night, about which they heroically hid their anger and disappointment. Another great dinner at another unique restaurant, an early-morning rise, a long flight home, and my Daring Blizzard Adventure was done.

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A street at dusk.

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Honestly, the storm didn't impress me much. For all the talk of schools, businesses and airports closing in near panic, I spent six or seven hours comfortably walking streets that were always navigable. Maybe Manhattan has superior snow-removal procedures, maybe the storm hit other places harder than the little slice of city I saw. I certainly didn't see any good reason to cancel every airplane flight on the East Coast two days ahead of time.

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But I'm not too sorry that they were.

All My Bags Are Packed, I'm Ready to Go

I'm leaving on a redeye tonight for a quick business trip to New York City. I can't begin to tell you how much I'm looking forward to the East Coast winter.

Item One on the agenda is a presentation that Editor Charlie, literary agent Kate Lee and I will be giving for the Bookbinders' Guild of New York, which has a monthly meeting on topics of interest to its publishing industry members (not all of whom, I gather, are directly involved with the physical binding of books). Tuesday's topic is "Which Came First: The Book or the Blog?" Editor Charlie and I will talk about how Mom's Cancer happened and, I think, some of the special issues involved in publishing graphic novels. Right now, he and I are struggling mightily to figure out why the PowerPoint slides I sent him aren't working. It's very possible my talk will be illustrated with shadow puppets.

Items Two through Seventeen consist of some other business, and with luck I'll get a bit of personal time on Wednesday to complete a little pilgrimage. We'll see if my schedule and the weather cooperate.

Pictures to come, I'm sure. I like New York.
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The Catbayashi Maru

So I've been in a Star Trek frame of mind the past couple of days anyway, and then 10 minutes ago my cartooning pal Mike Lynch sends me this:

You'll either get it or you won't. If you don't, that's OK--we can still be friends. But if you do, we can be good friends.

People write "LOL" all the time even when they don't mean it (in fact, that's an official "Lolcat" above), but I actually laughed out loud when I saw that. Thanks, Mike. Your debt to me is repaid; that was worth 100 quatloos.

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