Sarah

evandorkin @ 3:28pm: Still Working On The Charity Piece



I'm in the "What the hell does that guy look like?" stage of the pencils. As well as the "I forgot some details on that guy's helmet" stage. And the "I completely screwed up the Ringmaster from memory" phase. That last one would have bothered me twenty years ago, I think. So, no more guessing games, had to start hitting the comic books. Most of my reference is boxed up these days, lugging several Marvel Omnibus hardcovers and Masterworks up to the office last night almost dislocated my shoulder. 

Gotta get this thing done in a few weeks for the auction. Been busy and put this on the back burner longer than I meant to, yesterday I pulled it out and added some more villains and smudges to it. Also made some advances on a strip layout for Bongo, as well as an outline for a script that really needs to be tackled and tied up asap.

Which reminds me, I gotta get back to work.

slg_news @ 7:01pm:

• 10:55 Check out Captain Long Ears by Diana Thung, coming in May! is.gd/5KSTF bit.ly/6mhOCE #

jdeguzman @ 12:07pm: The New Year and the Little Stranger
I'm spending New Year's Eve really tired of being pregnant. I can't believe that I'm supposed to have nearly another month of this. My whole self rebels against it: No, no, no, this baby needs to come early. It's technically already full term, so it just needs to get out of me. There have been nice moments, when the little thing bouncing around in me was a gentle reminder that the two of us were up to something, and wasn't it a nice little conspiracy for us. But now? I'm getting punched in the bladder, I have distinct baby feet tenderizing my abdomen from the inside, my feet and face and hands are puffy, and last night I couldn't get out of the bathtub without help. It's a humbling experience. At times, my body becomes so removed from what I think of as mine that I talk to myself in the third person -- like when I'm trying to turn over in bed or get up off the couch. "C'mon, Jennifer, you can do it."

In my dream last night, I wasn't pregnant, and I was climbing a hill, swimming in a strange lake full of tiny Lovecraftian creatures, generally cavorting around in my old body, and it was so much fun. Morrissey turned up for some reason, and he was telling me about how when he resolved to be famous, he would be famous, and erase all traces of Stephen Morrissey and just be Morrissey, a new entity who was nothing but image, all surface and symbol.

Swimming, though, has been a common element of my dreams while I've been pregnant -- and no wonder. I have someone living in a water world inside of me. It's weird to think, that at this moment, my body is the whole world of this someone whom I don't know yet.

jdeguzman @ 2:01pm: The Allure of TV Judge Shows

Originally published at Possible Impossibilities. You can comment here or there.

I’m officially on maternity leave, with hours at home to while away. I have grand ambitions to do as the author of this 1912 pregnancy handbook, The Prospective Mother advises:

Such then is the influence of the mind over the body that anyone who wishes to cultivate good health must correct the faulty habit of always thinking of herself. The most suitable form of diversion will depend upon personal taste. Domestic duties absorb the attention of most prospective mothers, but domestic duties should not occupy them exclusively. Outdoor recreation is necessary and serves the double purpose of strengthening mind and body. Public amusements should also be patronized; no prospective mother has the right to sacrifice herself to pride. Music, the various arts, a systematic course of reading, the acquisition of a foreign language – all these are commendable forms of diversion, and others will occur to anyone. Obviously the avocation will be most happily chosen if it directs the attention into channels likely to lead to the greatest pleasure.

But let’s be honest. Outdoor recreation? I can manage a walk to the mailbox and back these days. Music? I tried playing the piano, but my sausaged-up fingers are stiff and clumsy. “A systematic course of reading”? Ah, there we go. I downloaded Ulysses on my Kindle. And then promptly despaired over how my brain has grown soft. Plus, I really don’t care about Stephen Dedalus and his stupid errand and what occupies his twenty-something-guy-mind right now. (I think I need to shift my Modernism impulse to Virginia Woolf.) There’s writing, of course, for which reason I also downloaded Francine Prose’s Reading Like a Writer, and I’m planning a trip to the library to check out some YA novels to read as research and easy diversion.

But I know that I will fall into my guilty pleasure: Watching TV judge shows. I have always loved TV judge shows. Back when I was a kid, the only choice was The People’s Court, presided over by Judge Wapner (Divorce Court didn’t count, as it was acted, and I didn’t much care about divorce cases when I was a kid, anyway). These days, our fine country has a wealth of judge shows. Here are my impressions of all of them — and their judges — that I’ve seen.

Divorce Court, presided over by Judge Lynn Toler — No longer acted, Divorce Court now features the familiar sight and sound of two people who genuinely hate each other bickering about who was controlling or cheating or lazy. All this has nothing to do with the actual “case,” which is usual “S/he owes me money” small-claims stuff. My favorite case featured a long-haired wannabe rocker who spent $1500 on a pair of leather pants because it was necessary for his image. The litigants can be shrill and are usually both what Judge Judy (see below) calls “marginal people,” but Judge Toler displays a good amount of warmth, restraint, and TV-judge-show-style wisdom. She’s also very pretty.

Judge Alex, presided over by Judge Alex E. Ferrer — Judge Alex is the most even-keeled of all TV judges. He was a cop! A trial lawyer! A criminal court judge! And now a TV judge! He says nuh-uh to drama, and shuts down people who want to start in on it. For that reason, I don’t have any vivid memories of any of his cases, but at the same time I tend to turn off his show out of frustration less often than other judge shows. Judge Alex, like another TV judge, Marilyn Milian, is Cuban-American and pretty foxy.

Judge Joe Brown, presided over by, uh, Judge Joe Brown — The opening of his show has Judge Joe Brown proclaiming that he’s here to “promote manhood and protect womanhood,” which gives you an idea of his sense of gender dynamics. He often berates the men in his court for their lack of manliness, whether it’s because they let women pay for things or wear earrings. Things get out of hand in his court often because he wants to challenge men’s manliness. He told one that he was acting like “an unruly woman,” because there’s no worse insult than to compare a man to a woman.

The People’s Court, presided over by Judge Marilyn Milian — The classic show remains nearly unchanged since the days of Judge Wapner, down to the music and the typewriter sounds as the litigants’ claims appear on the screen. The most unwelcome new feature is the guy who stands on the street and asks the mush-mouthed people standing around him what they think of the case. The most obvious new feature is Judge Marilyn Milian herself (my friend Mike called The People’s Court “the pretty lady show”). She plays into that fiery Latina archetype and blows her top every once in a while, but overall is fair in her decisions. The cases themselves are usually pretty mundane — shoddy handyman work, cell phone bills.

Judge Judy, presided over by Judge Judith Sheindlin — Perhaps the most famous of TV judge shows, Judge Judy is, to me, fantasy-fulfillment for sensible people. Stupid people are told outright that they are stupid. Liars are called liars. People who act like asses are labeled “marginal people.” Sometimes Judge Judy can be a little too mean, but when she corners someone in their bullshit, it can be amazing. My favorite incident of this is when a guy was acting like grabbing his ex-wife and pulling her toward him was no big deal. So Judge Judy asked him to demonstrate what he did, using his mother in place of his ex-wife. It was a real King Solomon moment.

evandorkin @ 9:05pm: Sketch Card #1

jdeguzman @ 4:51pm: Post-Christmas
Mmm, Christmas. I made quinoa and mushroom pie flavored with dry vermouth, thyme and sage bechemel sauce. (I modified a Bon Appetit recipe for mushroom quinoa risotto, put it a pie crust, and gave it a sauce.) Eet was deelicious.

Brian and I were pretty exhausted of buying stuff so we only got small presents for each other.

My family was astounded by my impressive proportions. I don't know if I'm going to make it to my baby shower. After next week, though, I'm off work and resting. I feel like I waited a bit too long to do this, but I had stuff to do, you know? I just approved some proofs last week. But the way I feel now, I can't even imagine working on Monday. All I want to do is loll around.

I'm passing the time by reading Ulysses. My Kindle tells me I'm 6% finished with it.

jdeguzman @ 7:01am: A Moment with a Shanghai Taxi Driver

Originally published at Possible Impossibilities. You can comment here or there.

In summer 2006, I went on a two-week trip to Taiwan and China with a group of engineering students. It was a perspective-expanding experience for me, not only because I saw another country but because I had the opportunity to connect with people whose interests were so different from mine. One of those people was Adam Loero, who, sadly, passed away this week. When I heard the news, I thought of the nicest day I had in China–when I toured Yuyuan Garden in Shanghai with Adam and another student on the trip, Tony. I wrote about that day and about Adam in an essay called “The Most Important Thing in the World”:

Eventually, I joined up with Tony and Adam, two mechanical engineering students who were as besot with Yuyuan as I was. I was grateful to have someone to exclaim to over the throngs of fat koi, orange and black and white and yellow, the meandering paths on artificial miniature mountains made of imported lake rock, the poet’s desk in a pagoda open on all sides to the garden, the languorous wisteria vines, the three large stones that appeared to me like three old men fishing at the edge of the green water. We walked on rocks worn smooth and shiny by five hundred years of visitors’ footsteps and drank Chinese beer in a cool, dark pagoda. The day before, we had found an English-language bookstore, and Adam had bought a Chinese phrasebook. (I had lost mine on the plane to Shanghai, and was disillusioned with it, anyway, since my earnest–and somewhat desperate–attempts to ask in Mandarin where I could find a bathroom had been met with silent disdain.) As we rode back to our hotel in one of the ubiquitous Shanghai taxis (light green this time), Adam made what conversation he could with the driver, consulting his book to ask the driver’s name, to tell the driver–probably unnecessarily–that we were Americans, to comment on the weather, and he was elated to at last talk to someone in China in their own language–to say more than ni hao and xie xie.

That’s what I remember about Adam, a young man I knew very briefly–that he was so excited to talk to someone, to connect with him. Adam’s death has saddened me and reminded me how important it is to see and treat other people as people, and how valuable someone who does that is.

evandorkin @ 8:36pm: The Gamut