Journal
Kurt Weill's STREET SCENE plays more like a spoof of an opera than an actual opera. By the time they get to their ice cream number, the resolve to hold in my laughter is all but obliterated and it isn't long before we make our exit and instead go rendezvous with friends.
Balmy night, all glass in sight fogged up. Music, drink, and nibbles abound. New characters continuously introduced without rhyme or reason. All in all a rather Clowesian evening.
That was Friday night. Sketch above dashed out at Agora's patio Saturday afternoon over an $11 Duval, followed by some reading. These days it's the newly released (speaking of Clowes) THE COMPLETE EIGHTBALL 1-18 paperback which I preordered maybe a year ago and it arrived precisely on its official release date of Nov. 1st. I'd only ever read 3-4 issues of the original EIGHTBALL releases due to the difficulty of getting ahold of them and boy am I enjoying finally getting the chance to read them [in order] in their entirety in this new format. What a singularly demented vision it presents, and what a high standard for comix-making it encapsulates.
Already on issue #7, which over the course of five days I realize isn't much for many but it is for me. Quite a lot on the docket these days. Trying to wrap up inks on the latest THE SOLAR GRID in addition to another comix thing, poster thing, and a writing thing.
The New York Times tells me of Aaron Carter's passing who I haven't even heard of since “Crazy Little Party Girl” was released in 1997. Celebrities passing isn't something that typically phases me, but because the first and last I'd seen of this person was his innocent 9-year old version, in my mind it's that 9-year old boy who was found dead in a way. That child didn't have to be brought into the world just to be raised and exploited by alcoholics or be subject to a jaded version of fame at such a young age. Been doing a quick skim of what this clearly disturbed person has been through over the past 25 years, and you can't help but see the singing/dancing ghost image of his 9-year old self in your mind's eye and think how terribly tragic it all is. How it was allowed to happen at all, all while society watched on, as we do most things.
Finally remerged back to life right before Labor Day weekend, otherwise known as another American excuse to grill meat and watch sports. Neither of which I did, but rather O got to tend to some lingering house issues (some of which involved power tools, so yeah, still very American).
Have also been working on multiple comix projects, one of which is pictured above; an Arabic edition of a short autobio thing called SELECTIVE MYOPIA which I did for The Nib many moons ago. Because it'll be running in B&W, I had to mess with various attempts at tones to replace the colors, which is what you're seeing in the print-tryouts above. Although the color palette in the original is very limited, it is utilized as an integral part of the storytelling. To get the same effect with halftones meant needing to be able to easily differentiate between the different tones while also making sure the tones aren't awfully distracting and are 100% print-friendly.
Been working on another comix gig in addition of course to THE SOLAR GRID (will it ever end?). And actually, there was yet another short comix thing I worked on a little while back. It's called MOUTHFAIL, currently being serialized on my substack.
Actually now that I think of it, this year really has been the year of comix for me. Usually my time is taken up by projects of a very different nature, and I have to literally carve out little nooks of time to do comix, but this year... it's been mostly comix so far. Not entirely, but mostly.
I clearly spoke too soon. Tested positive for Covid last week and again this week. Throughout I haven't experienced anything super acute, no high pitch fevers or anything like that. Instead it's been a kind of lowkey misery throughout: phlegmy cough, shortness of breath, crappy appetite, foggy head, fatigue and weakness, and a generally sour attitude. Every once in a while I'll think I'm getting better, but quickly realize I'm not. In that sense, it's not a case of feeling something at the onset and then letting it gradually dissipate as you would other sicknesses. It's like the sea, waves crashing onto shore, some bigger than others, but it's the sea's forever state of being.
Triple-vaxxed though, so I hope that counts for something.
After over two years of dodging it, our blessed household has finally succumbed to the plague. Wife and kid are down which left me with the responsibilities of holding the forte for a couple days. But as soon as wife began to recover, I was struck by fatigue and a most ghastly cough, all while continuing to test negative for the particular plague bug. Which is curious, but I am very much thankful for.
Luckily also, child's spirits are up and he maintains a generally playful demeanor. With the house turned into a quarantine facility though, workflow is taking a huge hit this week.
I too have little tolerance for excessive branding, so when I discovered that Moleskine puts out blank memo books with the exact same trim size as Field Notes', I opted to give them a try and I'm sure glad I did.
Blank brandless cover aside, these Moleskines are thread-bound compared to Field Notes' cheap saddle-stitching (staples). The interior paper is quite superior with the ink from my fountain pens never bleeding through as much, plus it is a serene cream tone which is much easier on the eyes. Half the pages are perforated which I imagine will come in handy if ever I need to slyly leave someone my number (haha, no but y'know, sometimes you want to write something down for someone). Cover stock is heavier than Field Notes' so it doesn't curl up and get that worn look as quickly, and it comes with a back cover pocket thingy which I find is always very useful.
And honestly, if it didn't have all these advantages, just the absence of obnoxious branding alone would've been enough to win me over.
In Mexico City you will experience a full year worth of seasons in a single day. Mornings start off cold under a thick blanket of gray, which rips open just before noon, allowing the hot hot sun to peer through. You will sweat and squint your eyes, even behind mirrored-sunglasses, and this will last for a good few hours until the clouds return and decide to come down on you with thick fists of hail. The sky in Mexico City will seem so awfully close to your head, which will make absolute sense once you discover that the city is even higher than Denver, America’s touted “Mile-High City”. Why isn’t this fact so popularly known, you will wonder. Until you realize that Mexicans care little for too much branding.
The above is from a short reflective thing I wrote about my time in Mexico City. It can be read in its entirety: here.
Off to Oslo in a couple days which leaves me with the impossible task of attempting to ink 7 pages of comix in less than 48 hours. Get the entire batch of 14 pages scanned and ready for [digital] lettering on my flight (and maybe a little in my eventual hotel room) so I can send this project out and be done with it before prepping my keynote presentation, which luckily isn't until day 4 of the conference (June 30).
I've been riding the 1000mph wave for a good few months now and it looks like it is bound to continue for the remainder of the summer. It'd be nice to sit under a tree and watch the birds sometime.
I recently learned that Alaa Abd El Fattah is really into comix. Not only that but he seems to have impeccable taste in the medium. One of his all-time favorite series is 90's era THE SANDMAN for example.
He is now on day 83 of hunger strike. The internet tells me that the human body can survive without food for up to two months. This puts Alaa's health well beyond the critical zone.
Here's a recent BBC article on Alaa's situation, and here's one from The Intercept. And here's a link to his book containing much of his insightful and incredibly clairvoyant writing from prison.
He is of dual Egyptian/British citizenship and has been denied access to a consular visit.
Those interested in helping and believe they live in a democratic society can contact their representatives. Alternatively (or simultaneously) you can raise hell on social media using the hashtag #SaveAlaa
I hope he doesn't mind my less than accurate depiction of him in this shortish piece of comix I've been working on, but more importantly: I hope he gets to see it at all.
New bike arrived and have just about finished assembling and adjusting everything that needed assembling and adjusting. Very different from my older bike which was a race bike (Gitane) customized for long hauls. But realizing that I actually haven't done any long distance biking in over a decade and don't see myself doing so anytime soon, figured I might as well get me something better designed for inner city commutes.
Enter The Dutchie from Sole Bicycles out of Venice Beach, California. Many many moons ago, I spent two summers in the Netherlands, one in Rotterdam and one in Amstersdam during which I became quite fond of the Dutch bicycle. In particular, the girl's Dutch bicycle which comes without the top tube and instead allows for super seamless mounting and dismounting. Why it has to be demarked as a girl's bike I'm not entirely sure, but if you are a man and caught riding one, chances are a Dutchman is likely to point it out to you. But, this is all a digression; Dutch bikes—be they the ones designated for male or female—are the most practical city bikes I've ever been on, so I was quite pleased to see an American bike-maker have something Dutch-like on offer, complete with back-pedal breaks.
Of course, the “cool” factor will have one typically leaning towards a fixie or somesuch, but fuck cool. I'm an old man now and appreciate efficiency and anything that will promote an upright back.