harold the cryptodire and other sundays

harold the cryptodire

you’re looking at our favorite proto-turtle, obviously.

girlcate and i went to visit (and christen) harold the cryptodire [ above ], and also this fine duck, at the american museum of natural history, the closest thing we have to a graveyard for lost species, the least inappropriate place to pay our respects. Intent as we are, with our twitter feeds and flickr streams and readerless blogs and 720p-video-capturing telephones, on preserving every last detail of our idiotic little lives, we don’t seem to have much time left over to preserve any trace of our neighbors. i can only hope we turn out, in retrospect, to have been a lot more interesting and valuable than it appears we are.

[ remembrances of things past and excitement for those yet to come, below the fold. ]

study break

study break

girlcate is taking her final “1L” exam today.

final final?” my mother inquired. “this is the very last one?” her excitement inspired my own to ebb somewhat; i would be losing, for the summer months, my least assailable excuse for not showing up to things.

[ excuses, excuses, below the fold. ]

on my way home i remember only sundays

post-easter nap

you’re looking at a presumably well-earned post-easter-dinner nap on the train back to the city. apparently, confronting where we come from isn’t going to get easier with age.

[ two upcoming festivals and some sunday afternoon reckoning, below the fold. ]

along comes a sunday

cardboard coffee table

you’re looking at our new coffee table, in our new digs. our new “office chair” came in the most luxurious cardboard box we have ever encountered; we weren’t about to leave it out in the snow. the table holds itself together without recourse to fasteners or adhesives of any kind, and stores place-mats and video game controllers beneath its surface. we are so impressed with ourselves as to be nearly insufferable.

[ a million reasons to anticipate this weekend's mocca festival, below the fold. ]

rocks will fall

guest strip: welcome to falling rock national park

three aprils ago, on an unexpectedly sunny day in portland, oregon, i first made the acquaintance of the strange and lovable creatures that inhabit falling rock national park. from behind my table at the stumptown comics festival i thumbs-uped a passing gent with a tidy ginger beard and an obama t-shirt. he approached and asked if i’d liked to trade a copy of tick for a collection of his daily comic strip, bound in a small volume bearing a striking resemblance to the iconic mass-market edition of allen ginsberg’s howl, only without the “h.”

[ my first foray into owl art, below the fold. ]

first fest in the second city

the bean

i just got back from the proverbially* windy city and the unexpected delights of the second annual chicago zine fest. on the floor, i had the opportunity to introduce my patient civilian hosts mad dogg and travis to the work of some favorite third-coast artists, including aaron renier, laura park, neil brideau (one of the fest’s organizers), and lilli carre, whose beautiful new double-sided mini of the essence tells the brief story of a long life, twice.

[ other notable finds and zinester prom photos, below the fold. ]

just another congregation of impossibilities

just another writer

eliyanna kaiser, a writer of fictions, described to me the illustration she envisioned spanning the head of her new website. it was to be a portrait of the author at work, surrounded by, perhaps receiving counsel from, the archetypes of the genres in which she works: a fantastic fairy, a scientifically fictitious robot, a horrible vampire.

[ flights of further fancy, below the fold. ]

the district sleeps with its phone

counting the cars

i don’t have an iphone or whatever. a “smart phone?” a “data plan?” my phone just does phone stuff. and i wonder how many years i have before this paragraph is utterly incomprehensible (rather than just largely incoherent).

[ babble on, below the fold. ]

screaming from the gallery

screaming from the gallery

[ the following essay first appeared in fantastic monsters, an anthology ‘zine edited by caitlin m., which debuted at the 2010 mocca art fest. you know, in case you were wondering what all the capital letters were for. ]

The courtroom is colder than it was outside, but at least it’s also drier. Soles squeak against the linoleum, resoundingly but a-rhythmically, no matter how one tries to count it out. (Still, who can help but try; it’s an alluring but un-winnable game, a puzzle that can’t be decrypted.) Watches are checked aggressively, proactively: forty-three minutes. Longer, it is noted, than the Feldman jury took, but that, of course, was a once-in-a-career victory. The time elapsed is still less than most consensuses require.

[ the time it is elapsin', below the fold. ]

what’s good about good morning?


my buddy caitlin had a problem. her series of self-published comics, poems, and field guides had begun to attract attention. her mocca table was quickly picked clean, and she was asked to contribute to the forthcoming zinester’s guide to nyc. but at every turn, she encountered the same question: “do you have a ‘blog? where can i find more of your work?”

[ where indeed, below the fold. ]