ZombieMommeh

Microbial Peer Pressure

2012-02-02T13:23:00.000-08:00

"Come here often?"

Microbes. You haz them. Your house haz them.

But did you infect your environment, or did your environment infect you?

I love yeast*. I love the idea of the little colonies that can be so beneficial if treaties are respected, and then turn so hostile if provoked. Bakers will tell you that different colonies of yeast will make different tasting bread. And even if you import a yeast strain from somewhere else, sooner or later, the colony will change, influenced by its new environment.

I love the little beneficial beasties in my digestive tract, and I always feel guilty (and indisposed) when I have to take antibiotics to get rid of them. I've been guilty of taking probiotics (like acidophilus tablets or yogurts) not only after a series of antibiotics, but after coming into contact with colonies of bad bacteria. "More reinforcements for our side", is my motto.

Daniel Smith and a crew from Argonne National Laboratory are taking these ideas a step further. They are conducting a study to find out more about the influences microbial populations have on each other. They're asking people who are moving into a new home to take samples of the colonies on themselves and on the surfaces in the new homes for six weeks to see... whose microbes win? Will the people's bacteria populate the new house? Or will the native strains change the people's microbial make-up?

I can hardly wait to find out. :)

And as a side note: I need to learn how to knit so I can make these brilliant bacterium toys for little Jo.

*Incidentally, yeast are fungi, not bacteria. BUT THEY IZ SMALL.

DeCaires Taylor's Silent Evolution

2012-01-25T12:58:00.000-08:00

Water has been on my mind recently. We're in a bit of a drought, and I've been contemplating how MUCH of a drought, where our reserves are, whether it's my civic duty to suggest we let our little patch of lawn die this summer, etc.

I am not yet done thinking about water. I have dug up some interesting things about water. Lillian and I have some interesting plans about water-related projects.

But in the middle of mucking about in day-to-day details like average rainfalls and weather forecasts, I stumbled across sculptor Jason deCaires Taylor's work. His underwater sculpture Silent Evolution is the exact opposite of what I had been looking up. A complete immersion in an unending abundance of life and water. Emotions instead of statistics. Beautiful images instead of functional charts. It was an otherwordly shock, a fluke of Googling. It completely made my day.

Remember the crew of Davy Jones' ship in Pirates of the Caribbean? Check out the real thing at deCaires Taylor's site www.underwatersculpture.com. (Don't miss the details of the living inhabitants under the "environment" menu.)

A Fourmyle Moment

2012-01-21T14:41:00.000-08:00

And now, because one can never do so often enough, a poem to my cat:

Lump of roadkill in my chair,

How camest to be thou bloated there?

Amidst his harem wakes he briefly;

A fleeting fighter, but peaceful chiefly.

Thy restful secrets teach to me,

Bodhisattva of Tranquility.

St. Damien of Molokai

2012-01-08T18:50:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, there was a leprosy problem in the Hawaiian Isles. It was a troubled time anyway, with the meeting of new cultures and the subsequent introduction of new social inequalities, new customs, and new diseases.

People freaked out about the leprosy and banished the lepers to a secluded spot. They were shipped food, but that was about it. The people of the leper colony were in a pretty bleak place. They were living in shacks, without medical treatment and with shaky attention to disposal of the dead. They had all the legal and substance abuse issues you might expect from a bunch of people who were sick, separated from loved ones, cut off from the world and going to die anyway.

The bishop of the region saw that these were people who needed help. He didn't want to order a priest to go, though, because of the safety issues. Father Damien, a Belgian priest, volunteered to go to Molokai to serve the lepers.

While he was with the colony (and the surrounding areas where people were in hiding with their families) Fr. Damien helped them build decent houses, working farms, health care clinics, a hospital, and schools. He encouraged them to respect basic laws and each other. Instead of giving them up for dead, he encouraged the people of the colony to live while they were still alive. He felt their standard of living and their dignity was precious. It was worth his life to him to show the people of that colony that they were loved -- and that they were worthy of being loved.

Eventually, Fr. Damien himself contracted leprosy and died. He was canonized a Saint in 2009.

Today, Fr. Damian is also the patron Saint of people who are HIV positive. Pope Benedict says of him that St. Damien "teaches us to choose the good fight -- not those that lead to division, but those that gather us together in unity."

More on Father Damien here: http://www.catholic.org/saints/saint.php?saint_id=2817
and from a Hawaiian Catholic here: http://hicatholicmom.blogspot.com/2011/05/feast-of-st-damien-of-molokai-photos.html

I wish I had time to do his portrait more justice.

Nature Moment: Golden Rumped Elephant Shrew and Crane

2011-10-12T14:12:00.000-07:00

Mr. Crane rides a water-hyacinth sailboat.

My office window looks out over a lake. (Yeah, I know, huh?) And in that lake, there are very invasive but deathly beautiful water hyacinths. Left unchecked, they begin to dot the lake like teeny green islands. If left alone long enough, they'll dot the lake like MASSIVE green islands. In the winter rainy season, this is incredibly gorgeous, because storms blow in and make the green mounds of water hyacinth skate across the lake like flower-festooned buffalo stampeding under a thundering sky. As they destroy their non-native habitat and promote fish-kill due to oxygen depletion. (But pretty fish-kill!)

Anyway, today there was a crane riding a water hyacinth clump barely wider than its own body as the wind blew them across the lake. It was almost The Best Thing I Ever Saw.

***

Less locally, Ms. Kinyak at The Daily Mammal introduced me to my new favorite animal: the Golden-rumped Elephant Shrew.

She has a fine collection of links to information about this distant little elephant-kin. One of the things that impressed me was that the elephant shrew is monogamous. I've often wondered how much of that behavior is instinctual and how much is learned. With humans, I feel it's a learned behavior; certainly in our culture there are specific behaviors you must be committed to in order to make a monogamous relationship work. I wouldn't say they are difficult behaviors; in fact, I enjoy them tremendously. But if you neglect the discipline, the relationship can evaporate.

My point is: how complicated a behavior is monogamy? Can highly simple animals do it, or does it take a more socially advanced animal?

Golden-rumped Elephant Shrew: social genius.

And my second point is: Elephants are socially advanced animals. Elephant Shrews are distant relatives of the elephant. Are these shrews tiny social geniuses?

To support my theory that Elephant Shrews are genteel social geniuses, please consider, if you will, their rumps. In her blog entry, Ms. Kinyak says: "The rump is golden for a reason. That pretty blond fur covers a padded area of super-tough skin. The idea seems to be that predators will be attracted to the golden glow and bite there, rather than somewhere that might hurt more."

Given the week I've just had at work, I find myself deeply impressed. That's a survival behavior I seriously need to adopt.

Well played, tiny Golden-rumped Elephant Shrew. Well played.

Book Review: The Kitchen Daughter

2011-09-11T12:59:00.000-07:00

McHenry, Jael. The Kitchen Daughter. Simon & Schuster, 2011.
http://www.jaelmchenry.com/the-kitchen-daughter/

Over a long Labor Day weekend, I read Jael McHenry’s The Kitchen Daughter and cooked up a huge pot of borscht. The book and the borscht were similar. Both had a complexity and nutritional content that were easy to overlook because of their disarming sweetness.

The Kitchen Daughter follows a young woman through the aftermath of her parents' unexpected deaths. 26-year-old Ginny Selvaggio finds herself alone in the house she grew up in, but she has more than just her grief to deal with. Her future is uncertain, her sister is determined to sell the house out from under her, and when she escapes to her cooking, ghosts materialize to haunt the aromas with disturbing portents.

Although these trials are interesting in their own right, the real restless spirit that seeks peace in this story is that Ginny lives with a form of autism called Asperger Syndrome.

If you’re just looking for an escapist read by the pool, The Kitchen Daughter succeeds as “chick lit” with an interesting twist. Ginny lives in a gorgeous old house, and her preferred coping mechanism is cooking -- the textures, scents and flavors of food feature prominently in the story, and there’s a certain guilty pleasure in fantasizing about living in the home she’s trying to protect. Fantasies about food and architecture are a definite chick lit plus for me. The defining focus of chick lit, though, is (arguably) relationships and self identity. This story focuses almost exclusively on how her life change forces Ginny to redefine her relationships with her sister, with her deceased parents, with the woman who cleans her home, and ultimately with her self and community. Reading a classic “chick lit” plot from the perspective of a main character with Aspergers is fresh and interesting just from an entertainment standpoint. The writing and the characters are satisfying - well rounded enough to immerse oneself in, but light enough to read without undue labor.

Where The Kitchen Daughter sets itself apart is the unusual and thoughtful way it broaches the subject of living with a “personality”. After the death of their parents, Ginny’s primary conflict with her sister, Amanda, is what to do about Ginny herself. Amanda struggles with how to deal with a label Ginny stubbornly refuses to accept. Amanda pressures her to get a diagnosis, move in with family, be taken care of. Ginny maintains that her quirks are within the realm of “normal,” fears that a label will cause what autonomy she does have to be taken away from her, and is confident that she’ll learn how to get by on her own.

“...I just don’t want anything to happen to you. Mom was so worried that something would.”

“And nothing has,” I say.

“Not yet,” she says. “But how will we make sure that nothing does?”

I ask her, “Has anything bad ever happened to you?”

“Lots of times.”

“Then how can you expect to keep me safe? Bad things happen to everybody.”

Amanda says, “That doesn’t help me feel better, you know.”

I’m at a loss.

- from The Kitchen Daughter -

In an alternate reality, I am involved with an agency that empowers people with disabilities to be more independent. From that standpoint, I was very pleased with The Kitchen Daughter. There were multiple ideas that were thoughtfully and compassionately explored. There’s so much to be considered about a situation like the one portrayed in the novel. Can you be sure that finances, basic daily living needs and emergencies will all be handled safely? And whose responsibility is it to make sure an individual is "safe" - their own or someone else's? How sure does anyone have the right to be about their safety? And what about interacting with family, friends, strangers, crowds, being a customer, or just being part of a community? What about love, or even kids? Gee whiz, how does one even interact with the disability itself? Do you ignore it? Let it define all? Treat it like a disease? Pursue the study of strategies to make living with it more graceful? McHenry sweeps through these massive considerations with a gentle touch that carries no aftertaste of political agenda or preaching. She does not write as an advocate or an expert, she writes as a storyteller, to the tremendous benefit of the ideas presented within.

As a side note, if you are interested in a practical non-fiction resource for adults with autism living on their own I highly recommend Life and Love: Positive Strategies for Autistic Adults written by Zosia Zaks, who is herself an adult with Asperger Syndrome. It’s a superb perspective into some of the thought processes and experiences that can be common to some people on the autism spectrum.

But back to The Kitchen Daughter. If you’re think about picking up this book because you’re in the mood for a supernatural story, you might be a bit disappointed. The ghosts who appear are marvelously used devices. They entertain, they move the plot forward by providing key pieces of information, they prevent Ginny’s cooking fixations from being just a gimmick by tying them back in to the overall story progression. You’ll remember them for who they were and for their role in the unfolding story, but you won’t remember them for their occult origins. If it’s a scare you’re craving, you’ll need to get your “spook” on somewhere else. These ghosts are mysterious and sometimes even terrifying, but McHenry prevents them firmly from scene stealing.

Just like a good bowl of borscht is so ruby red and pretty, so sweet and lovely that it’s easy to get to the bottom a bowl in a matter of seconds, I blasted through The Kitchen Wife in an afternoon and felt pleasantly refreshed after. When I paused to consider the making of it, I realized that like the soup that took us two days to prepare, there was substantial craft and finesse that went into the telling of this tale. And just as you hardly notice all those lovely antioxidants because of the sweet taste, there is value to this book that can be overlooked in the easy pleasure of reading it. Whether you’re looking for a light, tasty “snack” read for pleasure or something more substantial to fill a literary nutritional deficiency in your reading menu, McHenry’s The Kitchen Daughter will satisfy.

Five out of five zombies. Whether you’re looking for something light or something enlightening, you can’t go wrong with Jael McHenry's The Kitchen Daughter.

Hausfraus and Sieges through History

2011-08-26T12:48:00.000-07:00

While I was home ill with food poisoning, I spent some of my spare moments curled up on the bathroom floor studying siege warfare. If, in fact, my neighbors were lacing our water supply with hellebore to make their invasion easier (a la Solon's tactics at Cirrha), I wanted the family to be prepared.

Although I didn't find any seige-repelling tactics I wanted to use against the neighbors (if they were to blame - and I'm not ruling it out), I came across several interesting points from a feminist perspective.

The first was an incident mentioned in Michelle Ziegler's Heavenfield post, Lady Aethelflaed's Defense of Chester, c.907 . When the Vikings came, Lady Aethelflaed encouraged her troops to use what Ms. Ziegler refers to as "the beer and bee defense," first pouring boiling ale over the walls on the invaders and then dumping bee hives on them. I'm not sure I have enough liquor on hand to repel the neighbors by dousing, and John is allergic to bees so keeping hives is out of the question. I think, however, we could manage enough alcohol to get encroaching neighbors nicely potted, whereupon we could throw some of the enormous mutant spiders from our woodpile on them. I myself have stringent sobriety requirements before I will engage even a small spider in hand to hand combat, so I think this is a solid plan for home defense.

In contrast with the blatant display of Grrl Power from the Fragmentary Annals of Ireland, here is a chauvinistic bit of advice on siege warfare from Aeneas Tacticus, circa 350 B.C.: "4. The men of Sinope, when at war with Datamas, were in a critical position and in want of men. They therefore disguised and armed the fittest of their women, so as to make them look as much as men as they could, gave them jars and similar brass utensils to represent armour and helmets, and marched them round the walls in full view of the enemy. 5. They were not allowed to throw anything: for you can tell a woman a long way off by the way she throws." (Courtesy of Maria Pretzler's website http://www.aeneastacticus.net/x_40.htm which is also a fun read in and of itself.)

The contrast got me to thinking about women in warfare through the ages. Not professionals, like our military ladies or peace officers today. Regular civilians. How much has our approach to defending our homes really changed?

lolurchins

2011-08-24T12:28:00.000-07:00

Lolcats are over. Lolurchins are the new now.

Primary evidence: Echinoblog (featured as the science portion of one of this week's Smart Hours with the kid) discusses How Dentures, UV Radiation, Covering Behavior and "Collector" Urchins ALL intersect this week!!!!

Support evidence: This video (also from Chris Mah's trendsetting blog post).

Kittens of the Sea, I call them.

Smart Hour: Yellow Rose and Copper Vase

2011-08-22T20:35:00.000-07:00

Ambitiously, Lillian chose this image from Soon Y. Warren's "Vibrant Flowers in Watercolor":

This is not my first time at the rodeo with this particular reference picture. I have never been able to deconstruct and reconstruct rose petals in my head. They just turn into squiggles an inch and a half behind my eyes. I've never been thrilled with how my attempts to draw this rose come out.

Lillian chose to do her own background, a step which I admired.

Shortly after her attempt to reproduce the shading on the copper pot, she announced she didn't care for the way the colors blended on the butcher paper and voted we do a drawing that was "just our own thing". She dug out some card stock for herself and was much happier with the colors on this one:

I, on the other hand, was stuck with this pestering me:

And found myself drawing this:

Smart Hour

2011-08-17T20:55:00.000-07:00

The new school year has begun! Lillian, John and I have started Smart "Hour". Every school night from six to seven thirty, she does her homework. Then we look ahead in the book and talk about what she already knows and what she might want to ask her teacher about in class. With the time that's left, we inflict science, writing or history/geography on her. A few nights a week, she gets to pick: literature, music or art.

So she will pick going to Baskin Robbins for ice cream ("No, it's Smart Hour"), asking a friend to play ("No, it's Smart Hour!"), watching Pirates of the Caribbean ("NO! IT IS SMART! HOUR!") or... doing art.

Lillian picked the study photos from our book of East Asian art:

This picture was titled "man with beard". Lillian drew a woman holding a child. I drew a piece of cheese falling into a toilet. She admired my technical skill and moaned that hers wasn't very good. I admired the way hers made me look at the original in a whole new way. Well. Mine did too, but her "new way" was much, much nicer to think about.

Tonight she picked a house she thought was highly cool. I yipped at her to think about how she was going to use the space on her paper, which was her only real issue last time.

That's Lillian's picture in the middle again. She pondered aloud at me while she drew, "You know how some people can make corners and stuff, so it looks deep? How do they do that??" It's called perspective. And she haz a scary good grasp of it already.

Afterwards, we stood around and congratulated ourselves on how much we had improved, just in two sessions. Her use of spacing was fantastic. My second drawing looked only slightly like an outhouse, and there was no cheese this time.

Smart Hour is bomb.

[Update! Cheryl at Get a Grip On It joined us with her own cabana: http://getagriponit.blogspot.com/2011/08/four-houses.html ]

Fan art: Rembrandt's Danae

2011-08-14T18:46:00.000-07:00

Fan art of Rembrandt's Danae.

I didn't even see the use of red and green in the original until I sat down to doodle it.

Also, Rembrandt is terrifyingly honest about the female form.

Spanish Ladies

2011-08-11T20:11:00.000-07:00

I haz project in mind that I am thinking upon.

For about seven years now, I've been toying with ~~illustra~~ (oh, let's not be pompous here) doing a webcomic about Blessed Mariana de Jesus de Paredes y Flores. To prepare for this project, I wished to contemplate 17th century Spanish ladies.

While Googling las damas, I came across a blog entry called "Spectacular & Strong Spanish Women Portrayed in 19th & early 20th Centuries" by Barbara the self-proclaimed "boring historian" for her blog It's About Time. (Spoiler alert: She says she's boring but she isn't.) Barbara arranges some really lovely collections of art on assorted topics. To quote her, "There is a little museum in each blog -- no travel necessary."

I highly recommend a browse.

Meanwhile, that entry was exactly the resource I was looking for. I borrowed images from several artists, credited below, to diminish with my puerile scrawlings.

Row 1:
Adrien Henri Tanoux (French artist, 1865-1923) Portrait of a Spanish Lady
Albert Roelofs (Dutch painter, 1877-1920) A Young Woman Holding Flowers
Alexander Golovin (Russian painter, 1863-1930) Spanish Lady
Row 2:
Gustave Courbet (French painter, 1819-1877) A Spanish Woman
Robert Henri (American artist, 1865-1929) Spanish Girl
Carl von Steuben (1788–1856) Spanish Lady 1834

Peas and Bees

2011-07-20T13:39:00.000-07:00

I've been a bit fascinated lately with those who have taken vows to enter the religious life, so it was with great pleasure that I realized today was Father Abbot Gregor Mendel's birthday. (Thank you, Google.)

Fr. Gregor Mendel, Abbot of St. Thomas in Brno.

Mendel is best known for discovering two genetic principles: the Law of Segregation (every individual has a pair of genes for a specific trait, only one of which gets passed on to offspring) and the Law of Independent Assortment (for the most part, genes for completely different traits are passed on to offspring independently of each other). He experimented first on pea plants, which supported his theories very nicely, and then on honey bees, which not only failed to support his theories as tidily, but became so vicious they had to be put down.

I've harbored a fondness for Mendel's experiments since high school. They were tremendously romantic - real science, performed in the back yard! Real genetic experiments gone horribly awry, resulting in monsters that had to be destroyed, all on a budget the working man could afford! (Tiny monsters are still monsters.)

Recently I have begun to appreciate the romanticism of Mendel himself: born on a farm, worked as a gardener and bee keeper, attended universities where he did so well he was recommended for priesthood and the University of Vienna, where he then studied physics under Christian Doppler. He went to live in an Abbey as a physics teacher and spent the rest of his days immersed in religion, physics, astronomy, meteorology, and bee keeping. Well. Up until he became Abbot, at which point he spent his time wrestling with administrative headaches. But until that point, he had a remarkably romantic life.

Of late, I've had the chance to hear several ordained individuals talk about their choice to take vows and their lives after, their passion for God and their combat with sin (their own and the sins of the people they're given to shepherd). There are times of love so intense it enters the realm of the mystic and times of disillusionment so harsh it's hard not to walk away from it all. A private relationship with God is beautiful beyond description, but terrifying and utterly challenging. It's like skydiving. To give everything up to follow Him as a priest (or nun or deacon) and try to shepherd the (often ill-tempered) sheep of His flock? Oof. It's like skydiving into a pack of irritable pit-bulls.

I've heard two ordained men recently describe the drama involved in giving sermons. Both gave sermons that were extraordinarily well received by many, and violently reacted to by others. Both men were teaching Catholic truths. Both men had to deal with people attacking them to the point of challenging their right to their positions. I heard the entire speech of one and most of the other; there was nothing out of line about either. We can be hard on our clergy.

Fr. Mendel's time became increasingly tied up with administrative tasks and defending the church from petty attacks by the government. I find myself wondering about Fr. Mendel's spirituality and priesthood. You can't live a fairy tale forever. It's easy to love God in easy times, but how you feel about Him in the tough times is a truer glimpse into your soul. But I hope Fr. Mendel had people to pray for him, and I hope he never lost that head-over-heels, starry-eyed love for God that brought him to the priesthood and the study of God's glorious works.

Happy birthday, Fr. Mendel.

Pillars: Horse and Snake

2011-07-19T12:54:00.000-07:00

The Four Pillars of Destiny
They say the Year Pillar represents your childhood and your public image; the Month Pillar represents your growing age and business talents; your Day Pillar represents your adulthood, inner self and marriage; and your Hour Pillar represents your secret self, old age and contributions to the world.

Lillian's four pillars of destiny are:
Year - Yang Water Horse.
Month - Wood Snake
Day - Wood Horse
Hour (Secret animal) - Earth Snake

SNAKE Deep thinker, wise, mystic, graceful, soft-spoken, sensual, creative, prudent, shrewd, elegant, cautious, responsible, calm, strong, constant, purposeful. Can be loner, bad communicator, possessive, hedonistic, self-doubting, distrustful, mendacious, suffocating, cold.

HORSE Cheerful, popular, quick-witted, changeable, earthy, perceptive, talkative, agile, magnetic, intelligent, astute, flexible, open-minded. Can be fickle, arrogant, childish, anxious, rude, gullible, stubborn.

Glow Cat

2011-07-10T20:20:00.000-07:00

Color. Gobs and gobs of color. Inadvisable heaps and gurps of color. Great, tacky, tawdry messes of color.

I feel bad for real artists, slaving away over tasteful, meaningful, educated compositions. This right here is the digital equivalent of stealing your big sister's brand new box of crayons, wearing them down to stumps scribbling all over the walls, then eating the nubs and barfing on the carpet.

Sure, there's guilt involved, but it just feels sooooo good.

Book Review: Blood Work

2011-05-16T13:39:00.000-07:00

Tucker, Holly. Blood Work: A Tale of Medicine and Murder in the Scientific Revolution.

W. W. Norton & Company; 1 edition (March 21, 2011)

In Blood Work, Holly Tucker presents a history of scientific discovery, as rival doctors in England and France vie to be the first to prove that blood circulates and can be transfused from one living creature to another.

Although Blood Work is a true story, based on historical evidence, heavily footnoted and bearing an intensive bibliography, Tucker punctuates the tale with lurid, gruesome vignettes and pure speculation. She intersperses fact with graphic descriptions of medical procedures guaranteed to turn the stomach, speculations about horrific social habits like dining at the same table corpses have been dissected on, and fanciful, Gothic-fiction-worthy scenes of plague-ridden streets in London, rat-infested civic buildings in France and long-term care facilities in both nations sorely need of a visit from an omsbudman. It's like reading a history text marked up with the verbal equivalent of doodles all over the margins.

So. Of course I adored it.

Tucker takes a fascinating segment of history in its own right and turns it into the best kind of trashy pool read* -- great entertainment with a genuine nutritive value. She does a masterful job of pulling together medicine, history, philosphy, and politics to create a broad view of a controversial topic in an appalling time... all in soap-opera-esque spoonfuls guaranteed not to overtax the attention span. How did Ms. Tucker get so good at hiding nuggets of knowledge in mouthfuls of sensationalist sugar? She's an Assistant Professor teaching courses on the history of medicine as well as courses on French history and culture at Vanderbilt University. And this book is guaranteed to cut through an undergraduate's beer coma as quick as a barber slicing into a mongrel's jugular.

In Blood Work, Tucker will take you on a wild ride from gory, gross-you-out horror flick to political intrigue and court room drama. And although I didn't always agree with Ms. Tucker's points or interpretations, I raced through the book in several hours, highly entertained until the end.

Some of the many memorable moments from the book:

Plague doctors

1664: A comet appears. People in London freak out, saying it portends doom. Scientific thinkers say,"Superstitius hogwash."
1665: Plague wipes out half London.
1666: The other half of London burns down.

FREAK-AY.

Wandering through the streets of this chaos and the stacks of dead on the streets, doctors would investigate the homes of the sick to see if the plague was present. To protect themselves from contamination, they wore 17th century haz-mat suits: long cloaks, gloves, and elongated masks with goggles. The elongation was to hold incense and medicinal herbs to burn and, they believed, "purify" the air being inhaled by the physician.

Can you IMAGINE being stuck in the smoldering remains of London in 1666, seeing these guys roaming through your neighborhood like freaktastic harbingers of DOOM? I believe I would flat-out wet myself.

Yummy Mummies

A quote from page 176:

The "mummies" were destined for export to Europe, where they were prized for their purported curative properties by even the most highly respected physicians. Small bits of dried mummy flesh, ingested either whole or powdered, were believed to cure a wide range of ailments, such as headaches, paralysis epilepsy, vertigo, earaches sore throats, scorpion stings and incontinence. Like most Europeans, Martiniere had always believied that the mummies had been pulled from the ancient sands. Instead the apothecary-turned-body-trafficker admitted that smallpox, leprosy, or plague provided a steadier supply of bodies.

Wha-aa-aat? They ate... powdered... wha-aa-aat??

Pirates vs. Ninjas

Among the memorable historical figures introduced are Jean-Baptiste Denis the reputation ninja (my words) and Henri-Martin de la Martinière, pirate-turned-Paris-physician (Tucker's words). At the end of the book, they fight. (Sort of.)

Any book that involves pirates vs. ninjas is instantly awesome. End of discussion.

Great, gruesome fun. Take a moment to thank God you weren't born in the 1600s, then go get thee a copy of this book. And a bag to barf into while you're reading it. But I mean that in the most highly complimentary way possible.

*Pool read

n. A book that involves little or no effort to read. "I just want to lounge by the pool, read trashy novels, and drink."

Weed For Your Life

2011-05-09T08:59:00.000-07:00

Fourmyle loves to help me garden.

Mother's Day

2011-05-08T10:57:00.000-07:00

We've had a pleasant Mother's Day weekend. I made fish cookies for my mom. Lillian made me a card that promises foot rubs and let me decorate another one of her t-shirts. We adequately sang "Bring Flowers of the Rarest" for our heavenly Mother, but our choir director refused to let us sing Regina Caeli (which we bombed horrifically on, several weeks ago), I suspect as a personal gift from the director to Mary.

Warm wishes to all mothers, biological and otherwise!

Swim

2011-05-06T12:20:00.000-07:00

Because lately it seems the only two things I say to our daughter are: "It's time to get out of the pool" and "Quit punching your father in the kidneys", John and I decided to investigate signing Lillian up for water polo.

"All ages, all skill levels," the website said.

"Come down and let the coach see how she swims," the girl on the phone said.

Lill was unusually quiet when we went to the city pool to check it out.

The coach winced when he saw her, watched her swim and said, "Put her in swim team for the summer to toughen up. By fall I'm hoping to have enough 9 and 10 year olds to start an Intro to Water Polo course."

I thought that was a good plan.

"What did you think?" I asked Lill gently when we got in the car.

She looked at me with concern, maybe a little fear, and said, "Why were they wearing ...those ...things?"

The poor child. She had never seen a Speedo.

Once that garment was explained, she was back to practicing at home in the pool and on daddy's kidneys with her normal exuberance. A true Viking's daughter, that one.

Vacations, Haggin, Grinds

2011-05-05T10:09:00.000-07:00

I was on vacation for two glorious, gardening-and-geeking-filled, anti-social weeks. Now it's back to the daily grind. (I shouldn't complain; my daily grind's not bad. It's just that the absence of total self-indulgence is a little tough for my generation to handle.)

One of the gems of my vacation was a morning at the Haggin Museum, an exceptionally fine museum given the size (little!) and venue (south Stockton, considered barbaric even here in the Valley, where we saddle up a pig and ride over to the Bay Area when we want culture).

I took my sketch book and berated my beloved families because they left their books in the car. (Going to a museum without a sketch book is like going fishing without beer. Just no joy in the experience.)

They had some great exhibits on illustration (storybook and magazine covers), farm equipment (hey, me and the pig like farm equipment), and the native people who lived here eating acorns and writing compelling poetry before we germ-ridden hoarders moved in and chopped down all the California Oaks to make room for strip malls.

Back to the farm equipment for a moment: did you know a guy in Stockton invented the caterpillar tread? Yep. To help harvest asparagus. And who wouldn't look at a tractor with caterpillar treads and get the sudden urge to invert the pigs' water trough over the top and load that sucker up with guns? Once mankind started growing asparagus, tanks practically invented themselves is all I'm saying.

Enjoy the Haggin Yourself by taking a virtual tour of their collections.

[I had to do some homework on Vibert's "Check" . We wanted to know who the Cardinal was. Vibert was the star of the art show, as far as John and I were concerned: beautiful, funny, historically intriguing.]

With no announcement

2011-04-28T12:30:00.000-07:00

Appearing today in the Piker Press, my contribution for the April Fool's issue, all of which must have the title "With no announcement".

Gladiatorial Gardening April / Vacation Update

2011-04-23T01:54:00.000-07:00

For the first time in my life, I scored vacation for Holy Week and the week after. Been very busy with assorted religious activities, gardening, and some serious goofing off. It's been marvelous, except when I gave myself such a migraine at the Asparagus Festival that I yarfed. (Twice!)

Anyway, my dad finished the two big planter boxes out front, and I put in most of the seeds. And then put bird netting over it. The radishes are up already. Meanwhile, none of my seeds are showing in the three (un-netted) smaller planter boxes, except for two suspicious-looking stumps. I've been trying to force the finches to let me smell their breath, but they're just not cooperating. I'm not sure which flock-member to blame.

Bullet with age nix

2011-04-01T16:54:00.000-07:00

Globe at Night 2011 - Participate!

2011-03-23T22:57:00.000-07:00

We were out for a family walk by the river the other night. Lillian and both dogs spent most of their time running up small hills and falling head-first off on the other side. As the sun set, I brushed some of the dirt off the kid's face and pointed out the sections of the sky that were dark and the sections that glowed orange. It was a perfect time to have "the Talk," by which, of course, I mean an introduction to light pollution.

Beyond replacing your porch lamp with International Darksky Association-approved lighting (save money on your electric bill while helping baby sea turtles* get safely offshore!), is there anything we simple folk can do in the 15 minutes a day we have free to devote to science and conservation in between American Idol, self-help pod-casts, arguing over whose turn it was to unload the dishwasher and brazilian-waxing the dog?

I'm glad you asked! Globe At Night.org (not to be confused with the horror flick website "Glob Eat Night.org") is again collecting data from volunteers. Tell them what stars you can see, and they will publish a light pollution map of the globe. Bonus round: Take the map to your next city council meeting and slap the mayor with it!

From: http://www.globeatnight.org/more.html

Five Easy Star-Hunting Steps:

1) Find your latitude and longitude.

2) Find Leo or Crux by going outside an hour aftersunset
(about 8-10pm local time).

3) Match your nighttime sky to one of our magnitude charts.

4) Report your observation.

5) Compare your observation to thousands around the world.

The campaign is running March 22 through April 4. Get out there and look up!

*("But ZombieMo-o-om," you complain, "I live in Nebraska. We don't have baby sea turtles." Won't you feel ashamed if you go to let the cat in and there's a poor, little, orphan baby sea turtle, 1700 miles off course because of YOUR porch light?)

[Editor's Note: ZombieMommeh does not endorse slapping public officials, watching American Idol, giving anyone the Pimp Hand, uncontrolled glob binge-eating, or brazilian waxing. If you, your dog, or the glob participate in any of the above, ZombieMommeh encourages you to seek professional help.]

Gladiatorial Gardening March

2011-03-23T12:50:00.000-07:00

What's living -- and dying! -- in ZombieMama's garden right now?

The coliseum is packed with spectators that include the weather, the wildlife, my attentiveness, and the will of a few good plants to live. Thumbs up to live? Thumbs down to die? It all depends on the whim of that fickle crowd!

Updated: 3/23/2011

In The Boxes of Pampering:

January 2011

Nasturiums (climbing jewel mix out of an old musty packet of freebies that "expired" in 2006!) - thriving - blooming and ready to eat. (Not sure how to eat your lovely nasturtiums? Think about them anywhere you'd use raw onion.)
Zucchini (Cocozelle) - sprouted! - Such a sturdy seedling! I am in love. During the late spring storms we're having, Cocozelle lives in a French-inspired greenhouse made of an upside-down glass vase. (Ghetto cloche!)
Onions (generic yellow and red) - mostly all eaten- John has been grilling them to eat.
Chard (Bright Lights) - thriving - bullets won't stop it!
Spinach - thriving - not growing fast enough for demand. One variety is smooth leaved, the other is crinkly. The crinkles look cute, but hide aphids. That's all right. We know how to deal with ninja attacks around here. *grips bucket of soapy water*
Eggplant (Little Purple Tiger) - v1.0 k.i.a. - I blame the finches. v2.0 - ? - Still watching the six-pack container for sprouts.
Beets - thriving - Cute little rows of babies! Can't eat em yet.
Cucumbers (Diva) - v1.0 k.i.a. - finchmeat. v2.0 - Two seedlings have sprouted.
Pepper (Marconi sweet, golden) - v1.0 k.i.a. - I blame the finches again. v2.0 - ? - Watching for sprouts.
Basil (Genovese) - v1.0 k.i.a. - I'll share partial blame with the finches and my watering technique. Basil seeds are tiny. And I was kind of... assertive with the garden hose. v2.0 - waiting for sprouts.
Basil (Dark Purple Opal) - v1.0 k.i.a. - See above. It was like a cross between Hitchcock's The Birds and Rambo, but with a hose. v2.0 - waiting for sprouts.
Basil (Trader Joe's) - thriving, if you want to do it that way. My mother got sick of listening to me go on about my basil seeds and bought a gallon-sized basil plant. Now I can make "my mom thinks I'm a failure pesto". Or maybe a Fruedian vinaigrette.
Broccoli - thriving - This is John's broccoli. I'm keeping my distance.

v 2.0 planted approximately 3/13/11.

In the Southern Wilds: A long, narrow, and mostly wasted space between the house and the fence. Well, wasted to adult humans. The dogs, neighborhood cats, neighborhood kids, and Three Raccoon Amigos stomp through this area all the time.

Orange tree - thriving - It will be two years old this year. So little!
Peas - 1/3 MURDERED! - Only ~~three~~ lived, out of a dozen seedlings and seeds that were planted. 3/29: Seriously, I was weeding this weekend and admiring the Pea #2, who had chosen life, and trying to emotionally counsel Pea #3, who was writing its little last will and testament when I ACCIDENTALLY WEEDED PEA #2!! There was this weed... and the pea. I specifically separated the stalks and then pulled up the weed, only to find Pea #2 in my hands with an irreparably damaged stem and root system. This is why I got fired from the Improvised Explosive Device Disposal unit, back when I was a Spetsnaz exchange student in high school. Poor Pea #2, brutally murdered just as it was entering its prime, by the woman who claimed she loved it. R.I.P(ea).
Blueberries - thriving but anemic - I cannot find the Mir-Acid, and we have the world's most alkaline soil, so they're having trouble getting nutrients out of the soil. They're still blooming like crazy. I'm even more fond of them recently, as someone told me sharing my coffee with them would help make the soil more acidic. Now we bond in the mornings. If only they liked bourbon for a nightcap, we'd be BFFs.
Cherries (yellow) - healthy - The working theory was this tree was celibate. It's is in a spot that's hard to see and/or get to (for us and for other cherries). My mother is now of the opinion that it's producing, just not when we expect it to. Which makes it not celibate but, in this era of Lady Gaga and other demonstrative types, refreshingly discrete.

In the Blasted Lands: Hot, far from the path of travel and undependably watered. Like Brigadoon, this section of the yard floats in and out of the normal space-time continuum. Or maybe it's just that I forget about it for days at a time.

Me, Molly and the Blasted Lands. All three of us depicted as nicer-looking than we really are.

Asparagus - alive - I know nothing about asparagus. John swears they had some beside their house when he was growing up that they flat out couldn't kill. If neglect is a key factor in asparagus success, I've planted them in the right spot.
Strawberries - thriving - They neither need nor want my help. I think they have a cooperative agreement with the slugs who, like strange little nomads in a barren desert, bring them water at night in exchange for fruit.
Rosemary - thriving - For years, John and I wrestled with having to cook between growth spurts to avoid eating our single rosemary plant down to nubs. Then Target had a clearance sale on all their gallon rosemary plants. 99 cents each! We bought every plant they had and carpeted the Blasted Lands with them. At which point, my mother revealed to us that she really can't stand rosemary. That's fine; she never eats my cooking anyway.
Lavender - undead - It neither grows nor dies. It's the exact same size as it was when we planted it two years ago. Rumor has it, the lavender thirsts for blood. I'm hoping it wants finch blood.
Artichoke - thriving - If the dogs would stop stepping on it, it would be huge by now. The three leaves that survived the dog stampede are gorgeous.
Avocado - strung-out - Can avocado trees do drugs? Because mine looks like it does.
Cherries (Stella red) - thriving - The blue jays and mocking birds race us to a lovely crop every year. Unlike the finches (who are suckers) I love the jays and the mocking birds. The jays have breakfast with my retired father on the patio every morning, and sit on his legs to take peanuts from the blanket draped over his shins.
Grapevine - thriving - Just coming into leaf. Late summer, the jays and mocking birds also share the grapes. One year, one of the mocking bird children foolishly became a drunk and hung around eating fermented grapes until he went bald. I think he became my avocado tree's dealer. Until a member of the neighborhood cat mafia got him.
Potatoes (red norland) - sprouting - They've got the mariachis from Rango singing their ballad. Because they are gonna die.

St. Joseph

2011-03-20T23:35:00.000-07:00

St. Joseph's feast day was not too long ago (Mar 19). He was a noteworthy father in an unconventional family situation.

As I sketched, I contemplated fathers. Good fathers. Absent fathers. Bad fathers. I'm very grateful to the men I know who have been good fathers - my own family has several amazing ones. Some of the best dads I've known had the situation thrust on them unexpectedly. Some of the worst ran out on situations they spent years building. I've seen families survive without dads, but I've also seen the powerful impact a dad has when he's in the picture.

One enduring lesson to take away from St. Joseph: even if he's not biologically related, a good dad is priceless.

St. Joseph

Blair Witch Snail Swap Project

2011-03-19T12:32:00.000-07:00

Gardener Ruth Brooks found that if she collected the snails from her garden and dumped them off in the middle of nowhere, they would find their way back. The BBC made it a Citizen Science Project. Glee! I thought, and decided I would try it myself.

It was a dark and stormy day.

I collected my wee plastic tub of snails and set them to dry off in the garage while I ate dinner.

Then the power went off.

This flashed through my mind:

Ruth Brooks Blair Witch Snail Project at warriormommy.blogspot.com

So when the power came back on, I dumped the snails in the back yard and decided to wait to become a citizen scientist until I could hire some expendable lab technicians.

Safety first.

Rotifera

2011-03-17T20:34:00.000-07:00

Such lovely ladies. They are my current favorite animal thanks to the Artful Amoeba. There's just something about the way they blindly swing about, hanging onto the kitchen linoleum with their toes while they suck down and chomp up protists (or potato chips or cold asparagus or...) that really resonates with me. Aside from the reproductive aspects, they're like my little totem creatures. Or maybe it's just that my gastrointestinal tract remembers that time so long ago before we each went our separate evolutionary ways, the rotifers and primates. >.> ...mammals. <.< ...vertebrates.

Whatever.

Think primordial, darling, and CHOMP!

Rotifera

Geese! or further evidence my kid is a beautiful freak of nature

2011-03-15T11:47:00.000-07:00

I am not an experienced mother. I've always regarded kids as regular people with weird gaps in executive mental functioning and spotty manners. Most of the adults I know fit that description, too, so it works out pretty good.

Anyway, I never know what to expect from my own kid. This Sunday she approached me and said, "Mom, I want to spend some time together. Let's do a project."

"Cool," I said, wondering what an eight-year-old would come up with for a project. "Whatcha got in mind?"

"I want to organize the refrigerator."

Clean something? What? God bless John's genes, because I can't claim any credit for that impulse.

So it was that Lillian and I spent two astonishingly pleasant hours Sunday afternoon, wiping down shelves, arranging pickle jars and playing "safe or deadly" with tubs of expired sour cream.

"Today was fun, Mom," the critter said when I tucked her into bed that night. "Let's do a project tomorrow, too."

"All right," I said. "Whatcha got in mind?"

"I want to make geese."

And so, Monday night, we did. What an awesome person, this kid of mine.

The geese. I'll try to get a better photo of the facial expression on Lill's goose.

17

2011-03-10T20:50:00.001-08:00

What's up with weaving women?

2011-03-10T12:18:00.000-08:00

Curt Emanuel at Medieval History Geek made me particularly giddy this week with a book review of Filotas' Pagan Survivals, Superstitions and Popular Cultures in Early Medieval Pastoral Literature. In a nutshell, Filotas combed through literature from 500 - 1000 A.D. to find information on paganism.

To start out with, it was just a good book review. Thanks to Curt, I know exactly what type of info I'll get out of the book (more survey than analysis), and exactly what type of mood I'll need to be in to get the information out. (Catalogue/research mode? Check! Intellectually lazy, "pfft, I'll just wait until ABC Family makes a TV movie* of it" mode? Might want to catch Filotas a little later.)

Curt also included some passages/ideas he felt were particularly intriguing, which is another feature of a non-fiction review I really enjoy.

"The magic used by weaving women is cited repeatedly. But there is not a word about any other occupation, about charcoal-burners, wood-cutters, miners, fishermen, sailors (a notoriously superstitious crew), smiths (with their strongly magical antecedents), potters, tanners, wheelwrights, peddlers, beggars, thieves and prostitutes, all of whom undoubtedly engaged in magical rituals adapted to their unique circumstances." (359)

Filotas, Bernadette, Pagan Survivals, Superstitions and Popular Cultures in Early Medieval Pastoral Literature. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies (2005). Pp. 438, xii. ISBN: 0-88844-151-7.

Curt says (and this is where I started to get giddy): "Her message is clear; while we can glean some information about daily life from the concerns of religious authorities, we can learn far more about what was important to these authorities."

This is profoundly fascinating to me, on several counts.

I've been a writer (pronounced "hack") since I was eight years old. The art of what people mean vs. what they choose to write vs. what they choose to read vs. what they take away from it is just endlessly fascinating.
I've been an employee since I was eighteen years old. Watching that same art be applied to company procedure is fascinating. (As well as tedious/painful - it's a paradox you get paid to experience!) I tend to end up in jobs where I get to inflict/treat my clients to the process, too.
I've been Catholic since, like, always. We're really good at trying to codify and describe things. The same art applied by fallible humans to spirituality, morality and just people being people? Wow. Like all of the above, it's a cycle filled with function, boredom, beauty, egregious misunderstandings, ambiguity, and salvation.

It's like life! But in print! To argue over, be confused by, learn from and enjoy!

So the point Curt pulled out of Filota's text really set my mind abuzz! Why the focus on the weaving women? What could the authors of the texts have meant? Was this in response to a recurring problem? Was the concern spiritual or was it more of a mundane thing, like the neatly hand-written, angry little signs you sometimes see in an office bathroom that say: "Please make sure you flush completely"?

This was an era when people still believed in spontaneous generation, and when medical science was just a gleam in its daddy's eye. We'll most likely never know what people were thinking when they recorded what they chose to record.

But I have my own theories.

*Mr. Darwin, please explain to me what this sort of thing means for our species.

Monkey Business

2011-03-05T20:00:00.000-08:00

So there's this group of artists doing character design challenges. Draw four profiles and do a bunch of other artist stuff to make them look professional. Awesomesauce, I thought, and decided to play the home version.

This week's challenge: monkeys.

Monkeys?

Monkeys.

cyber-"pencils" draft version

What I know about monkeys you could fit in one tiny fist and fling at marauding leopards. So I started reading. These are some of the things I found:

1. Howler Monkeys. (Assorted species of genus Alouatta.) Why does the Howler Monkey howl? The Smithsonian explains why, and why you may want to heed the warning. Howler monkeys achieve their noteworthy vocalizations without the aid of professional lessons. Just like Justin Beiber.

2. White-Handed Gibbons. (Hylobates lar.) Fellow artist Jennifer Rae Kinyak at dailymammal.com had a blog entry that tipped me to just the type of story I was looking for about my models: a BBC article about another singer, song-writer who taught herself. She's starting her career by posting her music on the internet, too. (Yep. That's another Beiber reference.)

3. Proboscis Monkeys. (Nasalis larvatus.) WOW. Just ...wow. Chock full of interesting facts, those Proboscis Monkeys. The reason for the nose appears to be the same reason that most primate males do the seemingly-inadvisable: they think chicks dig it. Jolle Jolles at Mudfooted.com provides an interesting introduction to the species. If there are any similarities between these guys and the Beib, I really don't want to know about it.

4. Golden snub-nosed monkeys. (Rhinopithecus roxellana.) Hauntingly beautiful? A national treasure? Scary beyond all reason (per Carly B at the Featured Creature)? No, I'm done talking about Beiber; I'm talking about the snub-nosed monkey.

And now, all that reading and link-chasing has given me time to ink and color my monkeys. Presto! Thanks for monkeying around with me, I hope you've been as diverted as I have.

Finished monkey profiles. Hooray!

Basking

2011-03-03T21:05:00.000-08:00

Happiness is sharing a spot of warm sun on a cold day (with a friend who may or may not make a tasty snack later).

Marah Fairy

2011-03-01T22:45:00.000-08:00

Marah fabacea fairy, inspired by the Botany Picture of the Day.

Woodlouse

2011-02-28T22:42:00.000-08:00

Inspired by the Artful Amoeba's post What's in a Cubic Foot of Rainforest? and Jennifer Frazer's reference to "the ubercute juvenile gumps woodlouse" picture at National Geographic.

She was right.

Ubercute juvenile gumps woodlouse.

Polemonium boreale

2011-02-27T22:42:00.000-08:00

Polemonium boreale, from Botany Picture of the Day.

Polemonium boreale

Photoshop with a Wacom tablet. Base shapes and shading with "chalk" brush in a painterly style, then details added with a soft round brush in a pencil sketch style. Filter "ink outline" to finish.

Eggshell Planters: the Aftermath

2011-02-16T13:23:00.000-08:00

Oh, and remember last June when I had that twee idea about starting vegetable seeds in eggshells planters?

FAIL.

There were no survivors.

But my NEW seeds should coming in the mail any day now.

I'm sure they'll be much more cooperative.

Valentine's Day

2011-02-15T11:53:00.000-08:00

Ah, l'amour!

For Valentine's Day, John made a donation to the Bronx Zoo so they would name a Madagascar Hissing Roach after me.

How does he always know just how to make me happy?

Contagions - everything cool but, like, for REAL

2011-02-11T13:53:00.000-08:00

I like history. I like science fiction. I like horror. It only stands to reason that I would love science blog Contagions.

Contagions is written by biologist Michelle Ziegler, who says of it: "Contagions is place to collect some thoughts on history, infectious disease and science in general. My primary interests are in the history of plague, and the impact of infectious disease on the Americas. I also hope that this blog will be a bridge between the sciences and humanities."

There's always something interesting or terrifying to read. My favorite so far: Vampires in the Plague Pit. If that doesn't set a writer's mind to work, nothing will.

Zombie Fog ate our brains

2011-02-04T17:30:00.000-08:00

Actually, by this time the dreaded Central Valley Zombie Fog has been lifted for enough days that the living have returned to being alive, the dead have returned to being dead, and some semblance of sanity is creeping back to every day social interactions. But for a while there, everyone seemed to be suffering from behavioral changes. The Zombie Fog had eaten all our brains.

My friend Livia Vorange knows about this first hand. For a week, every conversation she had went like this:

Client: "Hi, I'm wondering if you can help me."

Ms. Vorange: "I can't even help myself."

Client: "That's fine. I'm past caring anyway. I'm going to vent now."

Ms. Vorange: "Misery loves company. Plus, if I'm in an appointment with you, I have a legitimate excuse not to do any more paperwork. What you got?"

Client: "Well. I used to think I'm a good person, but then I..."

+ six hours elapse +

Client (continuing): "...and I tried to hide the body in the freezer, but there was no room because of the OTHER bodies, and now PG&E says they're going to cut off my electricity unless I pay this huge bill, but the social program that was helping me pay my PG&E says I'm no longer eligible for the program because of all the missing case workers. Do you know any other programs that help pay electric bills?"

Ms. Vorange: "Nope. Nobody has money. Economy sucks."

Client: "Yeah, that's what I thought. That's why I had to rob the..."

+ two more hours elapse +

Client: "...HIS name on the offshore account, and the logical thing to do would be kill him, but I can't, because I have NO ROOM in my freezer! So you see my problem."

Ms. Vorange: "I always recommend reporting events like these to the appropriate authorities within ten days of the month in which they occur. Remember, always report in writing and keep a copy for your own records."

Client: "You're the first person I've met who actually cares. Can I give you a hug?"

Sometimes Livia and I wonder what will become of the world.

Still, the fogs have lifted, and people are starting to perk up. We're all finding new ways to survive and new places to hide the bodies. Spring is ever a time to bury the dead and grow our brains anew.

Gardening Offensively

2011-02-01T10:43:00.000-08:00

(Expanded from a brief Facebook post -- have I ever told you how much I hate Facebook?)

Not long ago, I found a few spuds from last year's vanishing potato garden (one of them had "Croatoan" carved in it). They inspired me to form plans for 2011.

I've drawn up grids, diagrams and timelines based on the successful Battle of the Winter Salad Box and our decisive victories in the Tomato Jungle ampitheatre. I also recruited my father to help me gain weapons superiority in the form of vertical supports for vining plants.

Note that haze the in the background. That's fog preventing you from clearly seeing across the street. In mid-afternoon.

I have chard, onion sets, and spinach advancing in the left-most box. Oregano and nasturtium are holding ground in the center until it's time to launch a zucchini. Beet seeds are staged to provide reinforcements in the right-most box, until it's time for the eggplants-and-wax-pepper offensive.

We're past our frosts. The soil is ammended. There's plenty of water. The whole thing reads like a tactician's dream, with one exception: we're missing the sun.

In the Art of War, Sun Tzu pointed out "Confront them with annihilation, and they will then survive; plunge them into a deadly situation, and they will then live. Try to grow them without the sun, you may as well stuff them a pile of poo in your closet."

It's the damned zombie fog again. Fertilizer and the hardened garden bunkers are of no use. Apparently, what I need are necromancers to bolster the undead. Or a winter crop of mushrooms.
But I shall not give in! As the Spartans used to say:

ἢ τὰν ...ἢ ἐπὶ τᾶς

Ē\ tā\n ē\ epì tâs

"Either [with] it [your garden trowel], or on it"

Fog, spring, Cheryl's karma, trails

2011-02-01T09:49:00.000-08:00

The weeks of zombie-fog-inspired madness, the change in season, and finding a treasured past postcard from Cheryl inspired me to write ...poetry.

Regretfully, I do believe Cheryl was hoping to inspire me to write something good. Worse, I sent her a postcard yesterday about the coming of Spring, only to find, literally minutes after putting the postcard in the mailbox, that she lives in the path of the monster snow storm rumored to be "freaking out" the Midwest.

First the glib "spring is here" postcard. Now, this poem.

Cheryl, you've done nothing to deserve this. The only thing I can think of is that the weeks of zombie fog have turned me into something... evil.

At least I didn't try to rhyme.

***

To say the best thing about Ripon is the almond blossoms

is to stretch the truth (and the laws of decent grammar both).

It is the trails.

Stretch

your legs along with dozens of neighbors

walking, running, riding bikes, horses, three-wheeled scooters,

all a stone’s throw from housing developments, water treatment facilities, the freeway,

then:

turn a clever corner and feel peacefully, adventurously

alone.

See the great valley oaks,

stretching

their limbs like cathedrals of black claws against the thin blue sky, while

wild grapes wind walls around the ground and

cottonwoods gently snow their seeds all late summer long.

Progress provides paved

stretches

for rollerblades or skateboards, while more paths are packed firm enough at least for wheelchairs, but

here a path branches off to take you ducking under fallen trunks, climbing up river banks, whooping over bike hills, balancing over handmade bridges, or dumping you suddenly in

a desolate room walled by fig branches and wild vines.

From Stouffer’s Park downstream to Caswell, the trails

stretch

their lengths alongside the little Stanislaus river, sometimes narrow as a footprint, sometimes wide as a lane,

stretch

their depths to encompass the best and worst things about Ripon both:

The trails

and the bugs

(respectively).

***

Meghan (miscellaneous neighbor kid) and Lillian (miscellaneous biologically-related kid)

Bernie and Sand, foreground. Herd of miscellaneous minions, background.

Fourmyle tries out psychic hair.

2010-11-17T19:00:00.000-08:00

Fourmyle tried his hand at channeling the dead hair of living celebrities. Sadly, he ended up contacting Hotblack Desiato while he was spending a year dead for tax purposes.

That's one disgusting nap.

(Photos by John, who was the one to alert us that something had "died" next to the woodpile.)

South Lake Tahoe

2010-11-17T18:54:00.000-08:00

Business has taken me to some pretty interesting places this month. John comes along as body guard / towel boy / photographer. At the front of the month, it took us up near Lake Tahoe, where I had never been. I personally think it is lovelier than Yosemite. (OH YEAH I WENT THERE.)

These are John's photos:

Hair-voyant

2010-11-17T18:47:00.000-08:00

Most of you know that my hair is psychic and channels the dead hair of living celebrities. You may have been wondering what news it brings from beyond.

My hair is currently channeling Rihanna.

Its otherworldly message is that I am awesome. But getting fat.

Yosemite

2010-11-17T18:37:00.000-08:00

John revealed to me that he had never been IN Yosemite National Park. He's been all over the world, but not to Yosemite. Lillian hasn't either, so of course we went. Here is Lillian at Bridal Veil Falls.

John made it up the trail to the vista point, but it blew out some cysts in his kidney and we ended up going home a day early. He swears it was worth it.

More pictures: http://www.flickr.com/photos/56048966@N06/sets/72157625414070270/ and John's photos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/hazzanghoul/sets/72157625289840307/

Gardening: Egg Shell Planters

2010-06-20T10:47:00.000-07:00

From ZombieMommy

Lillian and I are experimenting with using egg shells as planters for seedlings. Here are some sunflower seeds in eggshells, nested in the oregano. We also have peas and (how could I resist) eggplant seeds in some others.

Theoretically, you can stickem right in the ground when the seedlings are ready.

We'll see. I've got many ways to kill a plant.

Quick Trek Joke

2010-06-18T22:29:00.000-07:00

My BFF Spock by ~KCScribbler on deviant ART

(Click on that "My BFF Spock" link if the image isn't showing for you.)

Aref-Adib: Venus and Michelin Man

2010-06-14T12:56:00.000-07:00

Aref-Adib: Venus and Michelin Man A stunning and worthy artistic link.

Lill Art Update

2010-06-14T10:33:00.000-07:00

An art boost from Lillian. She just recently turned eight and had another major quantum leap in cognitive complexity. Everything: her behavior, conversation, responsibility, art, comprehension, EVERYTHING. Just bumped up a notch. Like overnight.

From ZombieMommy

I was outraged over this story, but the art was great. It is a typical fairy tale setting, with the youngest daughter being the recipient of abuse. Only this time, in the form of being the only one NOT allowed to wear contacts or dress "like a hootchie". John heard me say, "So her GOAL in life is to get contacts and dress like a hootchie??" and intervened.

From ZombieMommy

This one was John and I as characters from our favorite video game. John is putting a bug in my hair. I am in love with Lill's expressions and sense of movement.

From ZombieMommy

She discovered line weights over night. And is better at it than I am.

Sebastian's Serendipity

2010-06-13T14:50:00.000-07:00

Sebastian hit a rough spot of depression this weekend.

Without his Spartan grandmama to cook breakfast, he's been getting too much food. With half the people in the house missing, he's had the blues. There was the slumber party -- fun, but nervewracking. (Why was the baby left out all night? Why were there suitcases and pillows in the living room??? WAS SOMEONE ELSE LEAVING??!?) By nature, he's cheerful and dutiful, but he is a border collie missing half his herd, and it's hard for him not to take it personally. Yesterday he didn't finish dinner. This morning I found him stretched out beside (not on) his grandparents' bed, where the scents of the missing most linger.

Persons of faith know it's hard to tell the Hand of God from serendipity and coincidence. But this morning, serendipity seemed to be thinking a lot about Sebastian.

I woke up at five the @#$% thirty in the morning (Sunrise? Whatever. That's still nighttime, people.) and thought, "I'm fat. I should jog around the block!"

I grabbed the dog and set off for the short jog around the block. I always jog the short block. It's My Thing. But at the 3/4 mark, I thought: "Aaah, just to Doak."

At Doak, I saw the river trail and thought, "Aaah, just to the start of it, so he can pee on something good." At the last house, we stopped to watch a mockingbird put on a song and dance performance to rival Lady Gaga, complete with some jealous neighbor who would fly in front of him and blat out a one-note, "EEP. EEP." I don't normally have the time to stop, and I couldn't tell you why I chose to move on when I did. But it happened just so. And I'm glad it did, because...

At the trail, Sebastian wouldn't frolick. A playground is no fun by yourself. I hadn't intended to, but I tried walking down the paved part to get him to play. Nope. I didn't want to, but I tried the dirt trail. Play, dog, play. He sniffed around, but the fun meter showed almost zero activity. Normally I just turn around, but backtracking didn't suit me today. I looked across the field to the return loop. They had recently plowed. Most of the brush was only 4-6" tall. I decided to cut across the field. I never cut across the field. It's a place of tall grass and ticks and angry rhinocerouses and things that crawl up your pants legs or give you rashes or gore/trample you. It's a Bad Place. But today, I thought, "We could make it across before the rhinos get us," and so across we went.
Just as we reached the other side to loop back, the sprinklers at that very stretch of trail came on.

Sebastian, already working on a better mood, finally brightened up. He raced from sprinkler to sprinkler, biting each one with task-oriented, Border Collie efficiency. (Not one sprinkler escaped from the herd.) When he seemed satisfied, I turned toward home and let him play in the jets along the way. Just as we reached the end, the next set of sprinklers came on, and he had another batch of ten to play in as we walked. Just as we reached the end of the trail, the side sprinklers stopped and the ones at the mouth of the park came on. It couldn't have worked any smoother if they were motion activated.

By then, Sebastian was dripping, worn out and happy. There were other sights on the way home (a junior-high aged crow making ridiculous begging noises, dozens of snails on their mysterious morning commutes across the paved access road behind the golf course), but the best sight was the dog -- a little tired, but relaxed and grinning ear to ear.

It certainly wasn't my plan to give him such a pleasant morning. It was probably just lucky coincidence. But sometimes I wonder if God takes time now and then to be kind to good dogs.

Home Front Update

2010-06-12T09:53:00.000-07:00

Two cool days in a row with temperatures in the 80s. Winds at dessicating, howling, hair-whipping, ass-reddening speeds. Children and dogs have been swimming non-stop. Sprinklers have been run on-schedule. Pea plant and zucchini looking beat up anyway. Tomato plants prolific, not ripening. Cucumbers happy with life. Grapes thinned. Lavender harvested, trimmed. Orange tree site leveled. Round two of Handful-o-Blueberries pending. Radishes tasty.

West Ripon Road resurfaced. Steam rollers cool looking. Livermore VA hospital still lovely, Lillian complement on good behavior by chatty vets with liver problems, no turkey sightings. John's kidney function shows no change for worse. Doctors still perplexed about phantom-mega-kidney-stone, ordered CT scan to see if they can find it. It doesn't cause pain or problems, so we could give a damn.

Thursday night was first slumber party, hosted here. Lill and Elena took over living room on inflatable mattresses, told fart jokes until they passed out at 10:30. Fourmyle moved in and slept on Elena's hair. Girls baked muffins, read a story, cut up scraps from rag bag to create chic fashions for their stuffed animals, danced, swam, cleaned up portions of their mess. Very positive experience.

The Fishwife

2010-05-27T10:17:00.000-07:00

Io9 on Deviantart said, "I think the Pacu at work is in love with me. This is unsetteling. He only eats for me, and only will eat from my hand, and flashes his red belly at me when i come by and he tries to bite everyone else."

I found this madly romantic. Behold! True love from a pacu's perspective.

The Fishwife by ~LiviaVorange on deviant ART

Good Things

2010-05-26T15:59:00.000-07:00

A Short List of Good Things:

* Today is Lillian's birthday. John and I have an eight year old daughter together. She is strong, artistic, and full of good cheer. She is good with animals, good with procedure, good with helping, and deeply convicted of the importance of love.
* Today is the anniversary of the death of Blessed Mariana de Paredes, to whom have been attributed many miracles, especially here in the Americas. She died May 26, 1645. She is known as the Lily of Quito and I chose her as Lillian's patron saint many months before Lillian was born.
* John's new medication is actually really helping with his chronic pain. It's used to treat muscle atrophy and spasming in spinal cord injuries. He goes whole hours at a time now without being in significant amounts of pain. He's exponentially more cheerful, restless, creative and fiesty. There are side effects. (There are always side effects.) He also has wracking headaches and strange, sudden bursts of depression and anxiety. But overall, we're liking it.
* I finally found a truly satsifactory rearrangement of my art studio/sulking room. I moved the desk out and a love seat in. Now I sit on my fainting (sulking) couch, and John sits on the love seat. There is always room for 2 out of 3 of the following: Lillian, Sebastian and/or Fourmyle. The last one into the room usually sits on the floor. (Or pesters one of the above until they get huffy and move.) Sometimes we can squeeze all five of us in comfortably. The only one who hates it is Molly, and we have a stand we can use to bring her in if she can be trusted not to be a screeching, biting witch.
* The weather has been cool, rainy, and perfect.
* The flowers are blooming. There are peas, tomatoes, basils, spinaches, parsley and chard in the front yard. There are strawberries and cherries in the back yard that have just come ripe. Everywhere we walk, there is something pretty to look at and something good to eat. (Except the north side of the house, where there is nothing but a grassy strip for the dogs to poo on. >.> The north side of the house is a definite exception to this Good Thing rule. Terrifyingly, the dogs disagree.)
* A consumer today told me I have a gift for explaining things. It made me feel like a writer.

Fourmyle

2010-05-14T13:38:00.000-07:00

Ever-Lovin' Fourmyle by ~LiviaVorange on deviant ART

It's Friday morning. I have a day off. Life is good. Fourmyle, as you can see, is doing well.

Salvador Dali

2010-04-28T23:01:00.000-07:00

Surreal Systems Tray by ~LiviaVorange on deviant ART

I have something of a mad crush on Salvador Dali.

First because of his art. Then because he was kind of hot for a mega-superstar artist. And finally, for quotes like these:

"...at the age of six I wished to be a female cook, at seven Napoleon, ever since, my ambition has been continually on the increase, as has my megalomania: now all I want to be is Salvador Dali. But the closer I get to my goal, the further Salvador Dali drifts away from me."

and my favorite:

"Every morning when I wake up, I experience an exquisite joy -- the joy of being Salvador Dali -- and I ask myself in rapture: What wonderful things is this Salvador Dali going to accomplish today?"

Saint Josephine Bakhita

2010-04-25T21:39:00.001-07:00

"Lucky" by ~LiviaVorange on deviant ART

Saint Josephine Bakhita was born in 1869 in the Darfur region of Sudan and died in 1947. She was abducted as a girl and sold multiple times as a slave.

Josephine fascinates me, and it's going to take me a minute to explain why, so try to hang in there for me.

When two cultures come into contact, sometimes it goes well, sometimes it gets nasty. Sometimes the people learn from each other. There's a great fusion of ideas and a real positive synergy. The melting pot becomes beautiful and amazing. Sometimes, though, there are misunderstandings. Exploitation. Destruction.

I live in a melting pot. The United States is a melting pot of cultures. California is a melting pot of cultures. My neighborhood has white folk, Sikhs, Mexicans, Baptists, Dutchmen, Portuguese, African-Americans, Los Angelites and for a while, a Maori girl from New Zealand.

I have a lot of traditions. I love them very deeply. I owe more to them than I can briefly describe here. I need them. I'm sure others feel the same way about their religions and traditions and cultures. I wouldn't want anyone else to suffer the loss of their ways of life. I am deeply and intimately vested in seeing all our cultures and religions get along peacefully. I want to see us all get along.

Josephine, as I mentioned above, was born in the Darfur region in 1869. She interacted with several cultures. If it could go wrong, it did. Brutally.

To start, she was stolen from her family when she was about nine years old and sold as a slave. She was abused so badly that she could not remember her name. She went by “Bakhita”. It means “Lucky”.

In her biography, she describes her fourth owners as being the worst. She was subjected to pain and humiliation and fear. One of the things done to her was a form of tattooing: “All in all 114 marks were cut into her body and treated for one month pouring salt into the wounds. "I felt I was going to die any moment, especially when they rubbed me in with the salt," Bakhita wrote in her biography.” (from [link])

That's scarification. Many of the people for whom this is a cultural tradition feel that scarification is beautiful and well worth the discomfort. Scarification in and of itself isn't a Bad Thing. But what a horrible introduction to it, to be forced into it by cruel people and have it used to cut your status as a slave into your flesh. A good tradition given a bad name.

Fast forward a bit, to where Josephine gets “bought” by an Italian and his family. "This time," Bakhita wrote, "I really was the fortunate one, because the new master was a very good man and started to like me. I was not punished or whipped, so that it all seemed unreal to me, being able to enjoy such peace and tranquility."

Yay for First World cultures, right?

Not so much.

Josephine found herself staying at a convent as a nanny with a young daughter of the family. When the family came back, Josephine said, “It's been great, but what I'd really like to do is stay here at the convent. Don't forget to write.”

And the family who “hired” her tried to say politely, “Oh, no, dear, see you HAVE to come with us.”

So Bakhita and the convent had to contact the Church and the Royal Governor. Who had to come out with a big legal stink that since slavery was not recognized in Italy and had not been recognized in the Sudan at the time of Josephine Bakhita's birth, she was, in fact, entitled to quit a job if she wanted to.

Guess it's a far cry from a law being on the books to it actually being upheld in day to day life.

So there's our girl, Josephine Bakhita. Catching the raw end of the deal since she was nine years old. At every turn, seeing humanity's ugliest side. Every five minutes, she's hit with another situation that makes me – as someone interested in seeing cultures get along peacefully – just cringe.

So how did that shape her as a human? What kind of woman did she end up to be?

She was famous for being patient, smiling, and soothing. Despite the cruelty served to her, she did not want to stay away from people. She didn't hate them or want revenge or reparation. She brought peace to everyone she could in her immediate surroundings. She took all that harm and selfishness and created ripples of peace and generosity that impressed those close to her and spread out to be enormously far reaching. She advanced human rights. She was asked to share her insights and philosophy and knowledge with thousands. She endured great evil, but her conclusion from that experience was not that humans are evil, or specific cultures are evil. Just that it's important – so important – to treat each other well.

Pretty awesome. As an individual interested in how different cultures and traditions can get along well together, Josephine's own personal reaction to her own life story -- returning cheerful, patient peace-making when she was shown so much callousness and brutality -- amazes me and fills me with hope.

When we debate laws on immigration, gay marriage, separation of church and state, profiling and each and every time “we” must decide how we will interact with “the other”... Josephine Bakhita, pray for us.

Potato gardening

2010-04-18T00:08:00.001-07:00

Apr 17 Speedpaint by ~LiviaVorange on deviant ART

It has turned out to be quite the pleasure. For the entire family.

Extreme Meme

2010-04-11T19:25:00.000-07:00

(A meme is basically a fill-in-the-blank sort of picture questionnaire.)

People always ask me how I am, and I'm not sure how to respond other than to say "fine".

Lollermeister's Extreme Meme by ~LiviaVorange on deviant ART

Happy Easter

2010-04-04T14:05:00.000-07:00

It was a beautiful Lenten season. I look forward to a joyful Easter season.

In the realm of the mundane, Lillian got a Ken doll in her easter basket. Daddy's idea. But at least Lill decided to name it "Iron Chef Bobby Flay".

Story Time by ~LiviaVorange on deviant ART

Lillian and Sebastian

2010-03-24T15:06:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GC0577u6dYI

Lillian and Sebastian. Thanks for the video, Mom. <3

Happy Saint Pat's Day!

2010-03-17T16:53:00.000-07:00

Happy St Pat's Day by ~LiviaVorange on deviant ART

Happy St. Patrick's Day, darlings!

I made this and taped it to my lapel so I am officially wearing green at the office today. It was great, except that I forgot I was wearing it and attended two meetings with it on. >.>

Last year, I had an 8.5x11 color printout of St. Pat's head, which I taped to my back a la a "kick me" sign. Since Mar 18th, he has graced my office door. Occasionally I will decorate a post-it note with a dialog bubble and a message like "Alex is in a teleconference". St. Pat makes an excellent administrative assistant.

I have a feeling that I'm going to have time to take three steps into the afterlife before St. Pat comes to find me and kicks my ass.

...love ya, Paddy! >.>

QQ

2010-02-19T10:31:00.000-08:00

Did I mention John got me a graphics tablet for Christmas?

This scene has been happening all winter long here. Fourmyle can get in and out of the house on his own, but he prefers valet service.

Jan 20 Temperature: QQ by ~LiviaVorange on deviant ART

Trek, like a zombie, never truly dies

2009-12-02T13:54:00.000-08:00

In honor of the DVD hitting stores, please take a moment to enjoy possibly the finest Trek cartoon I've ever seen.

Vaudevilleshow's Romulan comic

ROMULAN STINKY FARTS by ~Vaudevilleshow on deviant ART

It is the second panel that is forever seared into my mind.

Squirrel Moll

2009-09-14T13:22:00.001-07:00

Work Haiku

2008-08-07T12:45:00.000-07:00

committee triggers:
flourescent tubes and hair gel
sweet and glitt'ring pain

***

good info or not

all-day meetings slay the soul;

bring many markers

Poetry: Turgid

2008-07-20T14:59:00.000-07:00

I just came across this again. It is, without a doubt, the best poem I have ever written.

~ Turgid ~

In the back lot of our love affair
Your slippery sweetness resonated like a gong.
There was a time you'd ask twice for a roll of toilet paper.
When will you ask me for rolls again?

Deep within the bowels of passion
Where heat rises with a moist scent, so thick you can see --
I made cinnamon rolls from a can, spread packets of icing.
When will you ask me for rolls again?

Just outside the kitchen of our relationship
A scratching sound claws at my eyes with scarlet streaks.
I tumbled down the hillside that summer day.
You'll never ask me for rolls again.

(Written for the Poetry Games: Awesome Crappy Poems Thread in the Piker Press Forums)

Red Hot Paintings that Sell!

2008-07-20T12:26:00.000-07:00

Is this a book review? Is it a humor column? Is it an artsy "how to"? No. It's just one of my pre-migraine days where too many lights / sounds / scents are really agitating. And -- fabulous me! -- I'm bringing you along for the ride.

Since people, television and sunlight are all making me queasy, this sort of day is perfect for flipping through old stacks of art books for learning opportunities. Bookish, you say? Perhaps. Boring as dried toast? Maybe in general. But not today! Today's lesson is the love child of Paris Hilton and Gene Simmons, and Emeril Lagasse is its au pair. Today we let Mike Svob and his (hilariously titled) book "Paint Red Hot Landscapes That Sell!" show us why we aren't rich, famous, and up to our unmentionables in meaningless one night stands!

Practice along with us, with an exercise taken from Mike's book!

Select a study photo. A different art book I read recently said "don't pick a crappy pix, dumb@ss, u suck too much as it is". So of course I rushed right out and picked a reference that, as a sample of photography, is just okay. This wasn't meant to be an amazing photograph. It was meant to clearly reproduce an amazing work of art without getting in the way. But I simply love the leopard, with his angry, googly eyes. I went with this as a reference photo anyway. Screw it.
Bronze leopards inalid with gold, unearthed from the tomb of Liu Sheng. Photo
from "The Chinese Exhibition: A pictoral record of the Exhibition of
Archaeological Finds of the The People's Republic of China" publication put out
by the Nelson Gallery-Atkins Museum of Kansas City, Missouri in 1975.

Step 2 is to make an outline drawing. Never mind the humble start, I am on my way to being the next Thomas Kincaide! (But redder hotter.)

Start with the darks. Let me point out here that I don't actually like Mike's art. His color schemes and compositions unsettle me and his topics make me vaguely cranky. Even if I have a mild dislike of his art, though, I love his approach to painting.

His work has a coked-out, arrogant rock star feel to it. "Ignore the color and small tonal value changes," Mike says. The ignorant, mouth-breathing, "I like this because it matches my couch" masses aren't capable of understanding nuance anyway. Just slap your darks on! Because (with the help of this book) you are Red Hot. Look at my practice image! Darks! I am red hot!

The glaze and the middle value. Mike's example was screeching magenta, but he's doing landscapes. (SEXY landscapes.) Landscapes are green. They favor a contrasting red color. I'm doing a ... well, a black and white leopard. Leopards are orange, right? Picture a color wheel in your mind. Perhaps tatooed on a bronzed Calvin Klein model. Look across the color wheel -- somewhere past the external obliques, perhaps simmering on the transversus abdominis -- to see what the complement to orange is. We go with blue!

Hm. It occurs to me that a leopard is not a landscape. Will this affect the outcome?

Re-establish the lights with opaque paint. Mike is painting with, uh... gessos and acrylics? Some sort of real, red hot, artist implements! I bet Mike rocks a sexy artist smock, too, which he removes only to service groupies. I don't have groupies. Or acrylics. I'm using GIMP and I had to rearrange my layers to make this work:
- Bottom - line art.
- Next up, glaze layer of solid color. (Set it to "multiply", kids at home, so it doesn't hide your line art.)
- Up top, the layer with the darks.
I was going to put my lights on a layer just below the darks, but I got a little flustered from the sex appeal of Mike's red hot example and slobbered my lights all over my glaze layer. It's like screwing up a real canvas, only less expensive!

Also I forgot to save step four, so you've only got one picture for steps 4 and 5. I know. You're devastated. The mystery! What DID it look like when I added the blue but hadn't yet added the white? You will never know, couch-matchers.

Re-establish the lights with... WAIT. Steps 4 and 5 were the same in Mike's book, too. What the hell. This doesn't go with my couch at all.

"Now introduce different color temperatures." He had all hots (RED hots!) and I've got all cools, so I guess I need to sex up my image with some oranges and reds and stuff. I have named this layer "panty dropping warm tones". I believe any commercially successful artist will understand.

"Finish up by painting in all the shapes that remain." What the...? Isn't that a little like handing someone a block of wood and telling them to carve away anything that doesn't look like an elephant? I guess if I could learn to do this, I could learn to paint red hot landscapes. That sell.

I'm not real wild about the end result. Mine is actually not so very different than Mike's. They both look a little bit like a kindergartener ate a few brightly colored crayons, then threw up in the playground after the wax clashed with the cafeteria food. Maybe an artistic kindergartener. But Mike's practice piece for this session is much rougher than his normal works, too. The whole point is this is practice.

This was actually a really fun way to play with shapes and lights and darks, with some sexxxay color thrown in. I learned a lot and enjoyed the crap out of myself. And if this wouldn't look good in your living room, it's because you needed new furniture anyway. Because, thanks to Mike Svob, I am red hot, baby.

Swirlies: Grandmother Bulldog

2008-07-16T19:15:00.000-07:00

You can see where my paper was slanted. >:

This is Grandma Bulldog. Her eyes glow red in the dark, and that thing around her waist is her very pluffy tail. She likes to wear it as a skirt.

Grandmother Bulldog was the third recurring character in the swirly mythos. Sometimes Grandma Bulldog lives with Swirly, but she does have her own home next to Aunt Pachi. Grandma Bulldog is very busy - she's a priestess at St. Utika's, the Swirly Catholic Church over in swirly world. I'm guessing that Swirly Catholic just a different rite, like the Eastern Catholic churches, but still in union with Rome. Who simply might not be aware that some of the Swirly Catholic clergy are female. There should be some interesting discussions when the Vatican learns that Fr. Bulldog is more properly Mother Bulldog.

Fanservice: Hazzanghoul's Evil Hair Machinations

2008-07-13T11:23:00.000-07:00

Lillian loves my stupid webcomic, God help her, and I have no idea what all was going on in her head, but she was sitting on the couch in my art studio drawing a Hazz 'n' Ash comic and shouted Ashlinne's dialogue as pictured at left.

I think the key point here is that my comic is better in her head than the way I write it.

Day Planner

2008-07-13T10:00:00.000-07:00

So my best buddy Josh's secret identity is the Day Walker. Now I find out my 6-yr-old is actually the Day Planner.

As we got out of the car this morning, she pulled me aside to show me our scheduled activities for the week. Sunday ("S" at left) will be Cake Day. Monday (down at the 6 o'clock position) will be Dog Walking Day. Shoot up to the noon position and you will see that Tuesday is Broccoli Day, (broccoli symbolizing virtue, filial duty and health). Wednesday (3 o'clock) is Cookie Day.

Do you know what this means?

I have succeeded in making my daughter even more anal retentive than I am. Anal retention -- with illustrations. She is going to rule the world. <3

Now, if you will excuse me, I have some baking to do. It's Cake Day! ^^

Games Parrots Play

2008-07-11T22:05:00.000-07:00

"Didn't Alex let John get a parrot?" some of you are thinking. "How is that going for her, I wonder?"

Let me introduce you to what it is like to own a parrot by sharing with you some of her favorite games.

Cage Cleaning When She Who Plays in Poop (that would be me) slides the floor of the cage out and begins using your arch enemy (The Pooper Scooper) to sift your litter, leap down into the fray. Save She Who Plays in Poop from the dread Pooper Scooper by latching onto it with both feet and biting anything in your way. If She Who Plays in Poop is ungrateful, lull her into a false sense of security by mimicking her actions. Pick up old food, large splinters of wood, and anything else on the bottom of the cage (let's not be coy - go for the poop) and fling it about, just like She Who Plays in Poop is doing.

Cage Cleaning Part 2. If picking a fight with the Pooper Scooper gets boring a) get your feathered head checked, birdbrain, then b) hop on She Who Plays in Poop's scoopin' arm for a ride that's better than anything they got at Disneyland. If the motion of the scooping gets too vigorous (or if She Who Scoops is getting too much poop actually cleaned up and put in that stupid plastic bag), steady yourself by digging your claws in and holding on tight with your beak.

Fashion Ninja. Sneak down from playground on top of cage silently, ninja style. Creep along the ground until you find where She Who Plays in Poop has carelessly left her jeans in a heap on the floor. Find the button and bite it off! When she screeches, laugh like an evil mastermind.

Computer Hacker. If She Who Scoops Poop looks like she's going to chase you back onto your lair atop your cage, make a break for the bed and go straight for her laptop. Distract her by making a spang for the power cords. When she dives to protect those, snag the trackball from her mouse and climb the mirror on the wall as high as you can go.

Ass Assassin. When you know you have overstayed your welcome and you are about to be locked away in the cage again, spit out the trackball so that it falls between the bed and the wall. While She Who Plays in Poop is digging for it, hop down onto the bed. Look cute and innocent. As soon as they take their eyes off you, punish Lovely Hairy Man (that would be John, of course) for not making googoo noises at you; dart across the bed and bite his lovely hairy bottom. When he demands She Who Plays in Poop catch you, act lethally cute. Purr. Coo. Ruffle your feathers and roll over onto your back, crooning. The minute they stop snuggling you, dart for Lovely Hairy Man's butt again. It's fun when he screams.

Steve Irwin, pray for us. >:

Swirlies

2008-06-15T14:57:00.000-07:00

For years now, we have been hearing of Lillian's imaginary friend, Swirly, who can do anything. And Swirly's mom, an afflicted being who can do anything you can do, but better. Swirly's mom also suffers painfully from all sorts of ailments, from which she has died many, many times.

If you share about your day, Lillian will tell you about Swirly's mom's day. Which is guaranteed to be just like yours, except one notch worse. Or one notch better. Or one more anything. It's annoying and flattering. (But not as annoying or flattering as Swirly's mom.)

When Lillian went off to kindergarten, Swirly went off to preschool. I guess Swirly was a big hit with Lillian's friends, because the kid across the street ALSO has an imaginary Pokemon, ALSO named Swirly. (FYI, Swirly predates Lillian ever having watched Pokemon, but as soon as Lillian saw Pokemon, she announced, "Oh. That's what Swirly is.")

As Lillian has grown older, her extended family of swirlies has grown in size. This morning I sat down and had Lillian describe the whole family for me. This is Swirly, and her mom. They have vines growing around their heads. (I never realized.) They also breathe fire, walk on lava, and can eat poison. (This, I knew.) Sometimes Swirly is 6, sometimes she is 16, sometimes she is a grown-up, so if you see another picture of Swirly and it looks different, do not be surprised.

You should also know that Swirly is a business proprietor. She owns a manufacturing plant in Africa where she produces carrot-and-broccoli-pies. That part of the swirlies story never changes. I crap you not.

Lillian's Birthday: Higher Math

2008-05-31T15:18:00.000-07:00

Lillian turned six years old. I have a six year old kid. A good one, too. It was a good birthday, though it represented a new need for higher math. Now we have to use TWO hands to count out how old she is.

We don't do birthdays on one day in my family. Partly because it's convenient, partly because, as a family, we are generally lucky if we recall correctly what month it is, let alone whether or not a day has particular significance.

So earlier in the month ("Isn't your birthday coming up? Did we miss it? Who cares, want your present?") Dziazdy and Gran gave Lill tickets to see Cats in theatre. Lillian was both terrified and ecstatic to see MACAVITY for REAL. A surefire equation for success. (Cute Animals + Leotards/Makeup = Awesome)

A little while later, she had one of her wee little cohorts over to cook a birthday cake in wee little fully functional cookware pans and decorate the tiny little cakies with gallons of frosting and sprinkles. (Arts/Crafts + Sugar Coma = Nirvana)

When John and I asked her what gift she wanted from us, she said "The Exploratorium. And dinner at Max's." So let it be written, so let it be done! We drugged up Daddy, piled into the car and zoomed down to San Francisco, where I realized that, mathematically, there was a flaw in my plan. (Stick Shift + San Francisco Hills + City Traffic = Incontinence)

As you can tell from the photos, Lillian has not yet outgrown being a ham. Some passerby earlier watched her striking poses in front of a color exhibit and gushed, "Look at her! She a natural actress!" I thought, nah, she's just full of herself. (Qty of Curls - Qty of Competing Siblings = Sum of Ego)

After Lill had touched every exhibit in the Exploratorium twice (without getting yelled at!) we walked over to the yacht park and strolled out the jetty to the wave organ to take pictures and listen to the sea glurping portentiously through the pipes. As we passed by this sign, John nudged me and said, "That's the only reason I wore underwear today." That led me to my final equation of the day. (Maximum volume of crap with a coefficient of age = Queen family genetic trait.)

Or simply: it runs in the family, and the older they get the more full of it they are.

A night at the lake

2008-04-27T14:11:00.000-07:00

A misleadingly hillsome picture of Woodward Reservoire.

Most of the area around the lake looks like the foreground. Hard sandy dirt covered with dried golden burr-weeds. This was a perfect weekend for camping - one of the first few where the days have been warm enough to want to be in the water. Lots of swimmers, and the campsites were only about 75% full. So we had a pleasant night in the tent, listening to the drunken baboons at the end of our mini-penninsula hoot "Riiiiii-cola" back and forth across the lake to another tent full of similarly beered-up young men. We were able to be far enough away from them that they didn't wake up Lillian or keep us awake, just provide an amusing soundtrack to giggle to as we watched the shooting stars overhead.

The show ended with one of the beerflies accidentally setting something (someone?) on fire. ("Fire! FIRE! OMG! OMG!" Low activity. "Andrew, you DUMBASS!" "OW!" Show over for the night.)

Getting to the campsite and immediately setting up the airbed for John seems to work well, since he can then alternate walking, sitting and laying down at need. We're hoping to try it again next weekend, and continue on until the season hits full swing. Beer- and fire-flies at the other end of the campsite are amusing. In the tent next to yours, not so. And the citronella candle hasn't been made yet that can take on THAT job.

Shameless Merchandising

2008-02-18T12:47:00.000-08:00

Man, I hate it when comic artists sell out and let their stuff be slapped on cheap, crappy low quality merchandise that has absolutely nothing to do with the original storyline whatsoever.

I offered to make paper dolls for Lillian. I said that if she came up with the characters to make stories for, I would draw them and make dolls of them. "HAZZANGHOUL! AND ASHLINNE! AND A LOT OF KIDS! No! One kid! No! A boy named William and a girl named Stinkerbottom! And a giraffe! And Ashlinne wants an elephant!!"

Never going to happen in the comic strip. But my kid wanted to see it. So I drew it. In manga, I believe this is what is referred to as "fan service".

...but Ashlinne would want an elephant.

Mattel seems to know my vices...

2008-02-18T12:11:00.001-08:00

If I end up in jail (or the padded cell next to Britney), it will be Mattel's fault. (And here.) But the scene pictured here is one of loving maternal nuturing. Not sociopathic glee. I swear to you.

Lillian used some of her allowance (with her father's permission - not mine. I know where this shit leads) to purchase some Barbie Fairytopia Mix and Switch dolls. THEY COME DECAPITATED IN THE BOX ALREADY. I didn't do it! They also come bald, with wee tiny wigs that allow them to velcro outrageous do's on and off at whim. And interchangable butts. They have interchangable butts.

This is actually a concept I find myself very supportive of. I would love to be able to velcro on the huge purple hair and a big, trashy ass for weekends, then go back to the librarian up-do and a no-curves, no-nonsense, no-flapping stick body for the weekdays. But my fantasies aside, Lillian was deeply disappointed when the velcro came off one of the disembodied fairy heads, leaving one of the dolls looking like a heavily done up Patrick Stewart in an endless series of drag outfits.

Whipping out my trusty bottle of Gorilla Glue, Mommy swooped in to save the day.

Gorilla glue has to be clamped.

I didn't ask for this.

However I did get Barbie's atm pin number. And the real story behind what happened to Skipper in Aruba.

Happy Valentine's Day

2008-02-07T18:21:00.000-08:00

Holy crap. What happened to December and January??

Christmas was fun, but too busy.

January was fun, but too virus-y.

February always has seemed more sensible than its "party-month" predecessors. We've got Lillian's Kindergarten valentines done. I went for a universal, pan-gender message of goodwill. It might have also been an unconscious dig at the germ-ridden nature of her classmates. I swear, this winter has been characterized by: "Gavin / Lena / Alonzo was coughing today!" and then boom. A wave of plague sweeps across the household.

Why didn't I get a flu shot this year?

In other news: The Social Security Administration has performed a background check on me and deemed me (and I do quote): "suitable". I am apparently not a complete waste of human flesh. Further, I now have the security clearance to know where our little nonprofit is hiding the tactical nukes. Woo!

Oh, teh Noes, Barbeeee!!!1!!

2007-11-29T17:33:00.000-08:00

WHY, BARBARA? WHYY-YY-YEEE???

This doll franchise really messes with my head.

Nuffin's Bad Mother's Day

2007-11-18T16:46:00.000-08:00

Lillian says Nuffin has dark hair, but she forgave my artistic license.

SitRep: Pneumonias!

2007-11-18T15:58:00.000-08:00

I have a tendency to fall off the face of the planet. That's because Life thinks that it's Mike Tyson. And that gloves are for sissies.

So Lillian got pneumonia. Then Sand got pneumonia. Then John got pneumonia. Or maybe it was John then Lill then Sand. Who cares. They were all freaky sick! And then I got a new position at work (yay!) and then drama flared up at work (gawd!) and then I went to the doctor and the doctor said, "Ur getting teh n00monias!!1!" and it sucked. Plus John was all, "my legs aren't working right" and "my kidneys aren't working right" and "my brain isn't working right" and I was all "zomg!!" and that sucked.

But then I did an illustration for the Press. And that didn't suck. And I got the energy to find my desk under all the crap. And that didn't suck. And some of the three feet deep crap on my desk was illustrations. And they didn't suck.

So I figured I'd update my blog.

Video Review: Edward James Olmos rocks Interdependence

2007-10-26T12:24:00.000-07:00

At work today, we watched the video "Discover Interdependence". Edward James Olmos and Bree Walker (click here to find out "who tee eff" Bree Walker is) narrate a 47-minute highlights reel from a camp that brought together 50 teens with disabilities and 50 teens without disabilities to show that we are all the same, and anything can be accomplished.

Bad things about the film:

The point of the film was ambiguous. Was this a 47 minute fundraiser for the World Interdependence Fund? Because it felt like it. There wasn't enough hard, usable material for me as a service provider, disability advocate or person with a disability. Way too much mushy-feely focus.
The copyright on the video said '92, but it looked like it was filmed in the early early 80's, but with big hair and social optimism straight out of the 70's. Youth of this millenium are far more cynical. And not as frizzy.
Edward James Olmos' mustache was, like, an entire INCH longer on the left side than on the right. Swear!
WTF is Bree Walker?

Fantastic things about the film:

Whoever put together the film might have been iffy on point and focus, but whoever put together that camp was a freaking genius. I have been to a lot of mushy-feely camps in my day, and NONE of them tied in the fru-fru activities with real, hard, important information the way that camp seemed to. I saw several clips of counselors saying, "You worked as a team to make sure you could all reach the top of the mountain / rope course / electrical tower. You need to take that teamwork from the course and apply it when you leave here." A clip from a career planning activity elaborated "You've just proved out there that you can do anything. We have the technology to make ANY career possible for you. Think about your personality, about what you want to do, and don't put your effort into something you only sort of like. I want you to put down a career goal you think you'll love. Something that lets you give back to the community. And I want you to look around at your team members' choices and support them -- tell them that job is not good enough for you! You're too valuable for that job!"
Ed Roberts. I'm only starting to learn who Ed Roberts was. In a nutshell, he was the Father of the Disability Movement - a kid who used a wheelchair and a breathing machine because of polio who came to the conclusion that other people staring at him or not making eye contact with him was THEIR problem, not his, and he didn't need to feel awkward socially because of other people's issues. (I'm pretty sure) he was the first person to challenge UC Berkeley that he wanted to attend college like anybody else - at the time, if they accepted people with disabilities at all, they had to view their courses on television in a separate room from everyone else. Because being in a wheelchair is contagious? Who knows. But the reason that sounds dumb to us now is in huge part because of Ed Roberts. Ed Roberts is dead now, but he was in that video, in a series of talks to the youth around a campfire. Ed was, for at least 8 years, the director of California's Department of Rehabilitation. That's the government agency in charge of training people with disabilities for jobs they can do. To have Ed Roberts and the Department of Rehabilitation backing up those kids must have been tremendous. DoR does a lot of great work today, but to give you a hint at what it's like now, they send almost everyone in this county to work at a Thrift Shop for two weeks. In their defense, that's a tool for evaluation, not an end goal, but the idea of a DoR counselor telling someone these days, "You're too valuable for that job! Let's see you set your sights higher!!" makes people laugh out loud. They do tremendous things, don't get me wrong, but they're pretty quick to suggest truck driving school or the quick "goals met" on the report rather than helping people reach new heights. I can only imagine what it was like when Ed was in charge.
Takin it back. Whoever organized the camp was also a genius when it comes to training people to take the information back to their communities and become activists at home. Several of the soundbites they played contained some practical perspectives on how teens could create positive change in their own hostile environments. No one in the room with me (including myself) could refrain from commenting now and then, "Yeah, but you know it's not going to be all supportive like that in the real world." But I don't think you can be a teenager with a disability and have missed the fact that people are cruel. As one of my coworkers said, the important thing was the kids were shown that their environments COULD be supportive and empowering, that they COULD achieve ridiculously difficult goals. Controlled setting or not, it was, for one week, physically possible. Which means they could conceivably control their settings again and duplicate some of that mutual acceptance and respect. And staff appeared to be onhand in the camp to reinforce that concept and provide solid steps to do just that. Neat.
Edward James Olmos. His mustache was, like, an entire INCH longer on the left side than on the right. Swear! That man has NEVER looked good and he has never needed to in order to be a SEX SYMBOL! Hot, hot, hot!!

Interesting film. Doesn't seem like the World Interdependence Fund is still happening. Which is a shame, because it's board of directors at the time of the film included Ray Bradbury and Goldie Hawn. I can only imagine what those board meetings must have been like. But I have my doubts that they can achieve a camp like that again any time soon - that represented too much excellent planning, sense of direction, optimism and money, all of which are in short supply these days.

The film's greatest use seemed to be a measure of where the disability movement has been and what we - at least locally - don't seem to be providing right now.

That and Edward James Olmos' mustache was hot. HOT!

Anxiety Attack!: Jacko

2007-09-19T12:57:00.000-07:00

Every now and again, my hair falls just right around my face and the flourescent lights of the bathroom glint just right off the makeup on the bridge of my fairly small nose and I look in the mirror and think...

Michael Jackson is trying to look like me.

Nuffin's First Day of School

2007-09-16T12:06:00.000-07:00

Do I need to say that the author's text is abridged? No, of course I don't. You only see heavily edited products here.Some interesting things went on in the creative process and image selection on this one.

Angelee's First Day at the Doctor

2007-09-14T21:21:00.000-07:00

Author Lillian is fond of firsts.
I'm going to take a moment to say that although most of Lillian's characters end up being named "Rose" and most of her stuffed animals end up being named "Bear-y", "Poodle-y", etc-y, the girl has always had a knack for coming up with character names. Trust me, in terms of what's appeared on the blog, you ain't seen nuthin yet. (Or Nuffin. She's next in the queue.) Lill has vast quantities of originality and genius that I'm terrified she's already trying to squelch into shoebox conformity. I wish I could keep the rest of the world away from my kid.

M Words

2007-09-10T18:57:00.000-07:00

Most weeks, Lillian brings home a little slip of paper in her kindergarten homework folder that says, "Next week we will be working on the letter ___. Please bring pictures of objects that start with this letter."

This was M.

Rose and the Baby-Eating Ghost

2007-09-09T16:07:00.000-07:00

Another tale told by Lillian.

Camus of the Wolves

2007-09-09T14:28:00.001-07:00

Story by Lillian. Art by Mommy.

Practice: ZombieMommy, the Foreshortening.

2007-08-12T12:01:00.000-07:00

This was done before 7:30 am, and before the first cup of coffee of the day. Not only was it highly autobiographical, but that's some pretty darn decent foreshortening for a woman who put mayo on the dog's butt and packed a gym-sock-on-rye for the kid's lunch.

Personal aside: Didn't I already DO this whole "get up for school" thing once already?

Didn't like it then, either.

Practice: Perspective drawing by Earnest Norling

2007-08-01T22:23:00.000-07:00

My good buddy Earnest says, in text that's been hand written in a charmingly sixth-grade style cursive, "This gear has twelve cogs - Let us sketch them in!"

"So first you draw half the gear with a compass showing the cogs." (There was my first damn problem. I don't have a compass. Ever try to draw a real circle without a compass? Of course you have. DOESN'T WORK, DOES IT? :P )

"Now you draw lines, as shown, from the plan to the corresponding points of the wheel."

Ta-daa! Earnest even draws a happy little toddler in a smock and beret to show how SIMPLE this process is.

After struggling with my ruler for some time, I inked my results, frowned at them, and then realized that my freehand "before" pics looked better than my laboriously produced attempt at correctness.

So I drew a demon in drag to eat Earnest's little toddler.

Practice: Blake's Virgins

2007-07-30T23:17:00.001-07:00

I was reading "Metropolitan Seminars in Art" by John Canaday (Portfolio 5: Composition as Pattern). Among the inspiring things in this volume was a breakdown of why William Blake's "The Wise and Foolish Virgins" rocked so much in its layout.

Wise Virgins on the left look so nice and orderly, but there's an increasing degree of motion as you move from left to right, drawing you over to the middle, where the pointing arm leads your eye into the angular chaos of the Foolish Hootchies Who Wasted All Their Oil on Pokemon Cards and Hefeweizen. Beseeching hootchie in the front has a hand that leads up and (in Blake's version) really works smoothly in line with Firm Virgin's veil to swoop yer eye back over to the Virtuous Wise Hotties Who Never Overdo Carbs and Balance Their Checkbooks Daily.

Doodling the Great Masters is enormously satisfying, both in its impertinence and in a "I can see this with a different part of my brain now!" way. Try it yourself from a pic of the original here: http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/blke/ho_14.81.2.htm

Last note: This looked cuter before I inked it. I hate inking.

Practice: Berg-Eltz freehand

2007-07-30T23:10:00.000-07:00

Finding time for art study and practice is tough. The latest diabolical plan is to stick to my normal webcomic update schedule and find time to work in at least two practice sketches over the course of the week.

This is a quick sketch of Berg Eltz Castle in the Moser Valley of Germany. It was done absolutely freehand. No, I'm not bragging. :P I'm making a note because I want to try the same sketch from the same reference photo again later, but next time with actually applying perspective and maybe shooting for correct proportions as a 'speriment. My hypothesis is that proper layout and planning = less suck. This is the sketch I want to come back to and rub my nose in while I beat myself with the rolled up newspaper.

If you're interested, I found a photo of the castle here: http://www.soworld.com/photogallery/Gemany%20Images/mosel_rhine%20river/bergeltz.jpg though that's not my reference pic.

The GIMP

2007-07-29T13:00:00.000-07:00

It stands for GNU Image Manipulation Program.

I've been hearing good things about this program for a long time. The best thing I've heard about it is that it's a free equivalent of Adobe's Photoshop (which you can Froogle for as little as $649 - a little over a grand for the extended version). The worst thing I've heard about it is that it's incomprehensible. But Photoshop is hard to learn to use,too - and I haven't heard that GIMP is less powerful. Just hard to figure out.

I can do a lot of thinking on my own for $700-1000.

I downloaded GIMP yesterday. By one a.m., I had figured out how to do virtually everything I could do on Photoshop. Now there's a bit more do-it-yourself on the GIMP - I've determined that there aren't as many beautiful brushes and have just scratched the surface of creating my own brushes. But if you're talking basic "insert pencil sketches in Slot A and produce finished comic from Slot B," we are solid. GIMP rules. If you know how to use Photoshop, you already know how to use the GIMP, you just have to figure out where the stick shift is and which switch turns the highbeams.

Definitely the better value for the money.

My Studio: The Chair and Pillow

2007-07-28T16:53:00.000-07:00

Exactly what I had in my mind.

My Studio: Starry Gnights

2007-07-24T19:57:00.000-07:00

We've switched rooms in the house. I've inherited what used to be Sand's studio for MY VERY OWN!!1!

NO ONE MAY MAKE A MESS THERE BUT ME!!!!

When I have a migraine, I can retreat therein and lock out all light and sound!!!

No one can touch my stuff!!!

And I can draw stuff on the walls!!!! (I kind of went with a Vincent-Van-Gogh-talks-with-Salvador-Dali-and-Experiments-With-Sperm-Overtones theme.)

I actually bought a chair to go in the corner. When it gets here, I'll make an effort to take a picture with proper lighting and scale and such so you can see how cool it looks.

NO MORE NOT BEING ABLE TO SCAN IN A CARTOON BECAUSE MY BELOVED FAMBILIES HAVE STACKED CRAP ALL OVER MY DESK!!!!1!!

Now my only excuse will be certifiable laziness. :)

Dog Skiing

2007-07-24T19:49:00.000-07:00

The sound of shrieking doesn't neccessarily alarm me anymore, so I didn't rush to investigate when I heard Lillian's screams. They sounded fairly pleased with themselves. What confused me was the speed at which the screams were traveling around the house.

What followed warranted photographic evidence for posterity. Lillian and Sebastian had spontaneously invented Dog Skiing. They both think this is The Best. Game. Evur.

Who Knew: natural science is bad

2007-07-07T13:09:00.000-07:00

This is me, my five year old daughter, and my husband John (whose resemblence to a middle-aged Hazzanghoul is not in the slightest bit coincidental). I am not working on my webcomic. I am spending Quality Family Time with my family. It is Educational Quality Family Time. Because we are watching the Discovery Channel. A documentary about parasites. Tape worms and round worms. THAT COME OUT YOUR BUTT.

I wanted to capture this moment in art, both to silence the screaming inside my head and to commemorate my daughter's last moment of innocence.

The re-enactment of the wife rushing with a pair of scissors to cut off the twenty foot tape worm that came out her husband's rectum is something that will be forever embedded in our family psyche.

Pool Update

2007-07-04T19:18:00.000-07:00

Lillian graduated from swim class and is now doggie paddling all over the pool and aggressively practicing more advanced techniques.

Sebastian got dragged in (it was 115 in the sun in the back yard this afternoon) and realized that Pool = Good Thing. He spent an hour and a half playing on the top two steps, much like Lillian used to. He got dragged out and allowed to swim back to the steps twice, and really wanted us to force him out again. I think once he sees Howie plunging in, he'll quickly follow suit.

Bad Dog!

2007-07-03T15:36:00.001-07:00

This was our dog, Sebastian, when we brought him home last November:

He's been a very good dog. He's half pure-bred border collie, half hound dog mix. Very smart. Very laid back. Very cheerful. Not inclined to get into trouble. But when he does, it's a doozy.

For those of you who don't know, John, Lillian, Sebastian, Fourmyle and I rent half a house from my parents, Bernie and Sand. It works wonderfully. And I'm not just saying that because they're going to be reading this. It truly does. Or did.

Bernie and Sand have taken their dog Howie on a cross country trip. They've been gone a week. This morning, Lillian did something for possibly the second time in her life. She came in to pester Mommy at 6:30 a.m. (as usual), then crawled into bed beside Mommy to chatter (as usual) and then fell back asleep (as, like, NEVER) until nine a.m. (I kept waking up, looking at the clock, then checking her pulse to see if she was dead.)

I think this happened once, two years ago.

John and I woke up so well rested. It was miraculous. And I wandered out in a good mood to let the dog out and then ... I found it.

Sebastian has never had to deal with a house that was completely quiet until 9 a.m. Usually Bernie is up at 3 a.m. Lillian is up between 5:30 and 6, then Gran and Howie are up soon after and Mommy is up (grudgingly) soon after that. There's motion, there's being let out to potty, there is food.

In the silence, Sebastian lost his mind:

He ate the corner off the ottoman.

I rarely beat a dog, but he did receive a walloping for this one.

Of course Sand isn't home to make the executive decision as to what should happen next. John and I are willing to purchase new sets of comfy chairs and ottomans (ottomen?), even if we have to stew Sebastian down and make tamales out of him to sell on the streets to raise enough money. In fact, I'm just about willing to do that anyway.

We did go out and purchase new ottomen:

We think they're cute, but we've saved the receipt. Sand can decide what should be done when she gets home. Up to and including making Spanish rice to go with the tamales.

Bad dog.

Kid Museums

2007-07-03T14:58:00.000-07:00

Lillian is a very agressive person. Like her grandmother, if anyone were to play Lillian in the movie of her life, it should probably be William Shatner. Though not because of the physical resemblance, in this instance, but because of the gusto, the presence, the sheer drama of The Shat. He's one of the few things that come close. Lillian doesn't just walk into a room, she bursts through the door in her gold shirt, does a fighting roll, comes up on her feet, says, "Spock! There! Is! A! Spider! ...in the Bathtub! You've.... got to see this!" Then breaks two hearts, punches a Klingon, and is out the door to conquer another brave new world.

Fortunately, she's also a bright, artistic person.

On the other side of the "=" sign in this equation is a surprising result. She loves hands on museums like San Francisco's Exploratorium or Stockton's Children's Museum. I'm not particularly surprised she likes them. Kids enjoy hands on stuff. That's a no-brainer. It's just a pleasure to me to watch how she enjoys them. I was such a cautious, laid back, "Let's see what happens to the first 50 people who touch that," sort of person. A "I'm not doing this for pleasure, I'm doing this for science," sort of person. Enjoyment was not a justification for action for me. I didn't have the internal permission to enjoy things. Watching her in the Exploratorium, she seems to have a very different experience than I did when I was a kid.

This picture is of us at the Vortex machine at the Exploratorium. In a chamber you can enter, a column of vapor forms and spins up to the roof of the little room - a mini-cyclone of smoke. If you exhale normally on it, you disrupt it and the vortex vanishes.

My approach: sit quietly, wait for it to form, and then see if, through practice, one could make the vortex slowly sway in rhythm to the gentlest of inhalations and exhalations - a dance of air currents coaxed from breath. It might take hours of sitting still, but oh, the sense of accomplishment!

Lillian's approach: wait for the Vortex demon to form, then attack. Death to our enemies! Is that all you got? Cuz I could do this all day!

It's not just a kid thing. I was even MORE that way when I was little. I've become a jovially rampaging herdbeast compared to the standoffish, silent soul I used to be. And Lillian has always been the way she is now. The sonagram proved it two months after conception when it caught her moshing to her own club mix (a sort of techno/Gwen Stenfani soundtrack of a heart beat base overlaid with gas bubble samples). Like vinegar and oil, we don't really mix, but our colloidal combination can be great.

And you know me, I'll watch the Shat in anything.