May 31 -  OK...I've finally got the time, energy, and topic.  That means it's BLOGGERIN' TIME!  Other than this long sentence explaining it's absence, I promise that this entry will have no mention of my dorky "real" job (YAY!).  Tonight, I want to tell you about a dream that I had two nights ago.  I would tell you about last night's crazy dream, but it was another in a recent series of "End of The World" scenarios, and who needs that?  Instead, I give you my dream of...

Stan Lee, Spirit Guide

I was lying in my yard, looking up at the grey-blue sky.  A voice was barely audible somewhere nearby...just enough to catch my attention.  From this hidden location, the voice said "What are you doing, just laying there?  It's a beautiful day.  Get up and do something!"  I was startled that this seemed to have been directed at me.  I sat up, looked around, and....there!  Behind a large pine tree, I could see an older man crouching in the shade.  Squinting, I realized that the man was none other than comics legend Stan Lee!  He got up, and continued talking as he headed toward me.  "Why aren't you enjoying the day?  You shouldn't let it go to waste!"  I said "I am enjoying it, in my way.  I like looking at the clouds and such."  Stan was aghast!  "That's it!  I can't watch you wasting this day!  Get up, get up!  I'm going to take you to New York City for waffles!"  "Waffles?  Are you serious?"  "Of course I am!  You haven't lived until you've had an authentic New York waffle!  You can eat waffles on the street as you walk, or sit in the park and eat waffles.  Let's go!  I'm paying!"  Being a cheap, and poor, person, I couldn't resist the opportunity to hang out with Stan Lee, get a free trip to New York, and, hey...who doesn't like a good waffle?  I followed Stan as he walked an unusual route through backyards and parking lots, finally arriving at the local airport.  We boarded a private jet that was, I swear, "Incredible Hulk green" with purple accents!  In mere moments, we were already touching down in New Jersey, where Stan's car was parked.  We got in, and Stan began to drive toward NYC.  As we went, I realized that we were on the highway that goes right through Dover, the city where I went to college at the Joe Kubert School.  I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat as the "Welcome To Dover" sign appeared along the road.  Being this close to my old stomping grounds, I really wanted to stop and look around, but I didn't have the guts to ask Stan to make a little detour.  Cheerfully, Stan off-handedly said "Did you know that Dover is the home of Joe Kubert's comic book school?  He's been here for a long time now..."  I admitted that "Yes...I actually attended the Kubert School."  Stan just about put me through the windshield when the car screeched to a stop.  "Why didn't you tell me that before?  We HAVE to stop at the school and see Joe!  Do you remember how to get there?"  "Yep...just take a left at this light...that's the staff parking lot right there!"  We pulled around the the front of the school, which now looked less like the Edwardian Era former Dover High School building that it is, than it looked like a discombobulated assemblage of multi-level, red clay brick additions.  I thought about the traumatic last time that I had been there, twenty years ago this Spring, and I suddenly got cold feet.  "What's the matter with you?  There's nothing to be scared of.  You're FROM here!  C'mon...follow me!"  With that, Stan, spry as Spider-Man, scrambled up a service ladder to the top of one of the added single-story wings of the complex!  Mortified, and afraid for his safety, I reluctantly followed.  We snuck into the building through a second story window.  Because I was with Stan, I wasn't too afraid of being arrested for breaking and entering, but the thought crossed my mind.  We had come in to an unused classroom, so we went through to the hallway.  There, we started looking for Joe, or, for that matter, any staff member.  The place had changed quite a bit in the last few years, so I had a hard time finding my way around.  We accidentally wandered through a daycare room filled with toddlers, but, except for children, we couldn't find anybody.  I asked one of the kids "Do you know where your teacher is?"  The little boy looked up from his tiny desk and said "No.  They just take attendance and leave.  This is no way to get a college education."  As I looked quizzically at this two-year-old, I realized that he was drawing comics...great comics, too!  This wasn't a day care...these were first year Kubert School students!  Because of my advanced age, they just looked like babies to me!  Shocked and silent, I just stood there with my mouth gaping open, until Stan snapped me out of it.  "Let's get out of this joint!  We have to get those waffles!"  "Wait!" I said.  "As long as I can't get into trouble anymore, I want to show you the secret passage that I found when I was a student!"  This was my chance to play "big-shot" with Stan, showing him something that even HE did not know about.  I took Stan to a janitor's supply closet, visions of the secret door release concealed in the hand-crafted wood paneling stirring my memory.  When we looked into the back of the janitor's closet, though, all we found was an improvised, flimsy, hinged piece of drywall, barely concealing a rather boring looking pipe access space.  Upset, I stuttered "B-but, there used to be a long, skinny hallway hidden here, and it led to an unused attic full of all sorts of cool things.  What happened to it?"  Stan mused "It's as if they purposely removed the building's character and replaced it with pipes and wires."  I agreed, and, thoroughly dejected, suggested that we leave.  Confident that we wouldn't see ANY adult, we leisurely strolled right out the front door.  We got into Stan's car, and I sat quietly as Stan began to drive and talk.  Moments later, we were in New York, and Stan had already ordered the waffles.  We sat in an open air sidewalk cafe and ate our fluffy treats without syrup.  Stan convinced me that "it's the New York way!"  They were, of course, the best waffles I had ever had, made more delicious but the surroundings and company.  As I ate the last, flaky bite, I felt, well, just better than I had in years...like a "real person."  I closed my eyes and savored the taste.  When I opened my eyes, I exclaimed "You were right, Stan!  I was wasting the day, just lying there watching the clouds roll by!  How can I ever thank..."  I stopped.  Stan was gone, and I was back in my yard at home.  I wasn't sure if it had actually happened, or if I had dozed off and dreamt the whole incredible adventure.  If I was writing an ending to this dream, instead of reporting it, I'd have found a waffle-fork in my hand or something, but, instead, I got up from the grass and began checking the yard for loose change!

Then, I woke up.  For real.  I began to reflect on the dream, and it's fairly obvious imagery.  I mean, I "get" it, what with the whole soul-searching, reflective thing.  "Spirit Guide" Stan was my childhood dreams of a comic book career; the ramshackle remains of The Kubert School represented those dreams dashed on the rocks of ugly reality; the children are the many zillions of young, more talented artists now working in the comics biz; the secret door was supposed to hold whatever I once thought made me unique; the pipes and wires show the standard, boring reality of that conceit; and the waffles...well, I'm still a little stumped there.  At best, they may represent something sweet which I have overlooked in my life because I've never been exposed to its potential quality, or I was ignorant of its diversity.  Whatever.  The only part of this dream that confuses me is what my subconscious thought I was going to do about it.  Of COURSE I'm wasting my life away.  I KNOW that I am pathetic, and that all of my plans and aspirations were doomed to comical failure.  It goes WITHOUT SAYING that the best I can do now is look for loose change in my own back yard.  I get it, I get it, I get it!  None of this needed to be shown to me in a coded message.  But what can I do about it?  Why can't my unconscious mind get to work on that?  Hmm...maybe that's what the delicious waffles really were...hope.

May 30 -  Ugh.  More of the same.  VERY tired, and it's hours past the point when I should have gone to bed.  And I have all kinds of things to talk to you about...but, I guess they will have to wait.  Now, I must sleep!  Toodles!

May 29 -  So very tired.  I've fallen asleep twice while typing thissssssss....OOPS!  I'd better go to bed.  Bye!

May 28 -  Hey there!  I guess you know the drill by now.  I've had a long day at dumb "real" job, another one in just a few hours, and artwork that should get done if at all possible.  It all adds up to yet another classic "non-entry" tonight.  I will leave you with a little question of self-examination;  With which Star Wars character do you most identify?  See ya!

May 27 -  So, here's the deal; because of the Memorial Day holiday, my dumb "real" job is SWAMPED with triple, quadruple, or even more business than usual.  Unfortunately, because of the Memorial Day holiday, everyone wanted to take the weekend off.  Because of these two factors, I (and I still have no idea why I took such a stupid, stupid action) offered to work a lot of extra hours.  A LOT.  Tonight, as I am trying to forget the awful day I had, and the several more ahead of me, I still have many art projects which MUST be done before the mail goes out tomorrow at noon!  So, the "deal" is that I am posting this sad entry, little more than an excuse, so that I can get to the artwork.  Wish me luck!

May 26 -  Oops...I did it again.  I've been really pushing myself to get stuff done before I begin a stretch of several longer than usual days at the dread "real" job...especially since much of the artwork has to be mailed, and the Post Office is closed on Monday for the holiday.  Again, last night, it all caught up to me as I sat for a moment to surf channels at 4:00AM.  I found that the Western Channel is playing back-to-back John Wayne movies to honor his birthday.  I sat, for just a minute, to see if the one that was on was just starting, or was closer to ending, and...BAM!  I woke up (slightly) two hours later, and could only muster the strength to turn off lights along my wobbly path as I stumbled to bed.  Today, I delivered more completed art projects, worked on several more, went shopping with the Mrs., and ate two sandwiches.  Other than that, and this entry in the ol' WOMP-Blog, it's been a pretty boring day.  Yesterday, I did go (again) to Star Wars, Episode III; Revenge of The Sith, with Official Friend of WOMP, Mr. William Waite.  Afterwards, we came back to WOMP H.Q. and talked about the film, Bill's new teaching gig (a class about puzzles!), our old comic that we did together in 1983, and my 24 Hour Comic (Continuity Crisis).  It was fun to talk, even for such a short time.  It's been so long since I've been able to just "hang out" with my high school friends, that it's always a little awkward when we try to do so again today.  Not because we aren't still friends, or anything like that.  It's just that we all now have "real" lives and jobs and such, and, with the exception of Bill, they all live hundreds, or thousands, of miles away (and even Bill has only been around for about a year after a decade or so living in Europe, which followed about a decade of far-away college).  I have no idea whether or not I can still make friends, as I haven't had more than friendly acquaintances for years (other than my best friend, Vickie).  I'd better try to do a better job keeping the friends I already have!  Speaking of which, I'll try not to skip another day of WOMP-Blogging again...at least for a couple of days.  See ya tomorrow!

May 24 -  Man, I am dog tired.  As I start this, it is already 2:30AM on the 25th, and I've been working on stuff since just after noon.  To be fair, I took a half hour break to deliver two art jobs and pick up some groceries, and another half hour to go for a walk with Vickie.  Other than that, and this entry in ye olde WOMP-Blogue, I have had my rear-end glued to a chair as I've sat slumped over my desk.  As I've said before, many of my projects can't be revealed while I'm working on them, and that remains true for some of what I am still trying to get done.  However, it occurred to me today that I could have told you about many of these little jobs as I've been struggling with them.  That's what I thought I was always going to use this electronic journal for in the first place.  So, here, in no particular order, is what I have been working on; SEVERAL caricatures of various shapes and sizes (and complexities), a life-size cut-out David Letterman caricature, signs advertising an up-coming appearance of Chester Cheetah (the Cheetos mascot), a cartoony cowboy illustration for a country-rock band in Illinois, a drawing of Harry Potter for a local public library (not done yet, it is intended for use on posters for the July release of the next book), preliminary plans for some new giveaways for the WOMP booth at this year's comic book conventions, and some other stuff which I suddenly can't remember right now.  I wouldn't say that I have been "slaving away" at any of these things...more like "plugging away."  Ever since the 24 Hour Comic, I've had a sense of wanting to take my time, all the while knowing that I could crank it all out in less than a day if I had to.  I've been meaning to tell you an interesting (to me, anyway) story from one of the days just before I drew my 24 Hour Comic.  I was explaining the whole thing to my Mom, and she seemed unusually excited about it.  She sat there, listening to me talk about Scott McCloud, and all of the great early 24 Hour Comics, and so on and so forth, all the while creeping closer to the edge of her seat as a larger and larger smile began to cross her face.  Perplexed, I finally asked her just why she seemed so interested.  She very innocently exclaimed "Because you're finally going to get the next issue of Monkey done!"  Ugh.  I hated to tell her that this was definitely NOT going to be the next ish of T.A.O.M., but, rather, a quick and sloppy endurance test.  Although, of course, whatever I "learned" from the experiment could be applied to my "real" comic, the real point was to try something different.  As  I was actually working on the 24 Hour Comic, I thought about Mom and her belief that T.A.O.M. #5 was just a day away, and two things hit me.  First, that Mom has absolutely no idea of how much work goes into Monkey.  The quickest T.A.O.M. page I've ever completed took a little over eight hours altogether (including inks, lettering, and the "Zip-A-Tone" shading on Monkey).  Most of them represent at LEAST fifteen hours each...part of the problem of doing it all yourself, I suppose.  Oh, except that I didn't do it all myself (thanks again, Eric), but you know what I mean.  The second thing that hit me about my Mom's misconception of the 24 Hour Comic was that she must believe that I could crank out something of quality in such a short period of time.  Whether this is all relevant, or interesting, is a matter of opinion, I suppose, but I've been thinking about it all again as I've been working on these crazy little projects...partly because of the whole "cranking it out/plugging away" matrix, but mostly because I'm starting to feel the icy shadows of long, bony fingers creeping toward me.  I'm just a guy, with no kids, so I'm starting to have worries about what I suppose could only be called my "legacy."  Hmm.  That's a little too grandiose.  Maybe "body of work" or "what I'll leave behind" are more appropriate.  I hope that I will have a substantial, and memorable, "portfolio" by my biography's final chapter.  Right now, though, that "portfolio" is little more than a crumpled pile of loose drawings of chickens and spaghetti dinner posters.  I know that it's all coming from my baselessly overly-inflated sense of self-importance, but I really do want to accomplish something of value before I am done.  Now, at 114 years old, I realize that my time to do so is limited.  I mean, realistically, let's say that I live for another twenty years (it could happen).  Right now, I figure that I work on something of "portfolio-quality" for about five hours a month (one ten hour project every two months), so, let's do the Math;  20 years x 12 months x 5 hours = 1,200 hours of productive time left.  That's the equivalent of 50 24 Hour Comics!  Broken down another way, it means that all the time spent drawing Chester Cheetah and Harry Potter, or suffering through the dreaded "real" job for that matter, cuts into the dwindling hours that I've got left...all of which is based on the imaginary two extra decades that I will get after tonight.  This is fundamentally why your Dad used to drive much faster than he does now.  Partly because, as a child lacking the perspective of time or speed, you had only your experiences on bicycles to judge his driving by, and partly because every day that goes by brings Dad deeper and deeper into a statistical struggle with doom.  Insurance companies are quick to point out that, on average, drivers will be in an accident every ten-thousand miles, and a serious one every one-hundred-thousand miles.  You do the Math.  Dad already has.  Now, as I am driving my "career" as a cartoonist closer and closer toward the 100,000 mile mark, I am slowing down right when I need to be speeding up...or at least be going the speed I thought I was when I was younger.  Maybe that's what Mom was thinking about as she sat, smiling at me, a couple of weeks ago.  She wasn't so much delusional about how much work goes into something that I care for.  She may just have been happy to see that I was still on the road, accident free.

May 23 -  Short entry again tonight!  I didn't get everything done last night, which turned out to be a good thing since the remaining job was changed a little!  I'm working on the revisions, and I can tell that I'm losing steam, so I'd better stick with it instead of writing about my worthless opinions like usual.  Maybe tomorrow!  See ya!

May 22 -  Short entry tonight.  I''ve been trying to get four little art jobs done before I fall asleep tonight (or this morning, as it is now actually 1:30AM on the 23rd).  I've gotten two done, and I don't want to give up while I'm on a roll.  See ya!

May 21 -  Yowza!  I forgot all about the WOMP-Blog!  We had such a jam-packed day here at WOMP H.Q. that it completely slipped my mind!  Again!  This "getting older, losing memory" thing is no fun!  Yesterday, I had to ask my wife which faucet in the kitchen sink was "hot" and which was "cold!"  To be fair, I don't use that sink very much, but, still, that was a scary un-memory...uh...no remember brain thing.  YIKES!  I'm losing it!  I was so concerned about memory loss that I actually bought some of those "brain boosting" pills from the drug store...but (and I swear on a stack of Frank Miller comics that this is true) I can't remember where I put them!  Even if I did, I'd never be able to remember to take one every day anyway.  So, I will muddle on, straining my dim-bulb-brain to the limits, until it finally burns out.  Sigh.

May 20 -  I'm back!  In homage to last year, the mighty WOMPuter crashed!  I got it back to "on" condition, but it refused to let me access any of the programming required to write in the ol' WOMP-Blog until today.  That's probably just as well, as I retired early on the 18th, and fell asleep, exhausted, last night.  Why was I so tired yesterday?  Emotional stress brought on by watching Star Wars, Episode III; Revenge of The Sith!  I don't want to spoil it for any of you who have yet to see it, but I don't think that I'm giving anything away by telling you that it is a rollercoaster of strong feelings, some intended by the movie makers, some accidental.  The intended feelings fall into two categories; terribly sad or hauntingly nostalgic.  Again, without giving away any of the plot, just about everyone on Earth knows the basic story...and it is not a Disney musical.  Virtually every pulsepoint of the story throbs with the appropriate emotional rhythm, and only a tiny little bit of the mood doesn't ring perfectly true (even when the specifics of the story seem a tad thin...for example, we believe that Anakin and Padme love each other mostly because they say they do, but we're never really shown why they love each other...they just do...which, I suppose, is OK).  It still made both my wife and I well up with tears.  The elements that are hauntingly nostalgic had less affect on her than on me.  Seeing the characters discover certain interiors, or meet certain other "new" characters, whom I have so intimately known since I was eleven years old, really, deeply, got to me.  Of course, as I said, the film also illicits some unintended feelings as well.  Some were when we laughed at parts that, unfortunately, were meant to be serious, but over-reached into melodrama.  Much more of the unintended reaction we had was to the shockingly apropos, and coincidentally current, political commentary, which was, I'm sure, actually inspired by the universal truths from hundreds of historical legends, and mostly filmed about three years ago!  More than once during the movie, we turned to each other and whispered "Where have I heard that before?"  Before people burn George Lucas dolls in effigy, let me just say that none of the policies, nor people, that this film seems to be commenting on could not also be pointedly lampooned (or harpooned) by Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Meet John Doe, Sullivan's Travels, Citizen Kane, or any other number of classic "message" films made years before Mr. Lucas was even born.  In fact, even those popular films were made with no real specific object of ridicule in mind...oh, except Kane, of course.  They, like the Star Wars sextilogy (sextilogy?  Hmmm...maybe I should patent that), tried to speak to the larger themes that we've been dealing with since we first huddled together in caves.  Power, love, obsession, humor, loyalty, madness, fear, joy, hate, fate, choice, truth, lies, hunger, ambition, and more, more, more...all of these diverse themes are dealt with in the true classics.  Titanic isn't just about a shipwreck, any more than Gone With The Wind is just about the American Civil War.  That Star Wars, Episode III makes the attempt to deal with greater issues, and hits the marks at least 90% of the time, should remove it from any discussion of petty side-taking in any of today's events.  If anyone sees those events reflected in the fiction, perhaps it is because some truths are only obvious in a lie.  Oh, and, the next time you are feeling afraid of the world around us, remember...The Dark Side of The Force stronger is not, young Skywalker.

May 17 -  Another mercifully short entry tonight, gang.  Today was "10 cent listing day" on eBay, so I've been attached to the darn WOMPuter virtually all day.  Now, at 3:00AM on the 18th, I just HAVE to get some sleep.  Sorry!  Hey...if you are curious, you could check out my auction stuff by clicking the WOMP's eBay Store link on my Links Page!

May 16 -  So, if you are not a fan of mushy love stories or sappy love songs, you will want to skip this entry in the ol' WOMP-Blog.  That's because I'm going to talk about how much I love my wife!  I don't talk about her much, but that's mostly because she is uncomfortable with the attention.  To this day, I have absolutely no idea why in the world she ever became involved in my life (she could have done so much better), but I am thankful every day that she did!  I'm bringing all of this up because her birthday is coming soon.  Every year, I try to get her a gift, or series of birthday gifts, that will surprise her...and every year, without exception, she has somehow been able to ruin the surprise.  Innocently.  She doesn't mean to do it...or so she tells me, and I have no reason to doubt her.  As an example, let me tell you how she spoiled this year's surprise.  First, I have to tell you just a little bit about her (not too much, though, or she'll be upset with me).  She and I were both kids from Prairie du Chien (WOMP's hometown), but we grew up into completely different people.  Where I am an old-school nerd, complete with Star Wars figures, comic book collection, miserable teen years, googly eyeglasses, and knowledge of worthless Pop Culture trivia, she is normal, with an upbringing that included actual high school popularity...and dating (which I choose not to think about...except that now I'm thinking about it...ugh).  Years later, we were brought together, under mysterious romantic forces (which shall remain private for now), initially by our mutual interest in local history.  From that small area of common ground, we discovered that our senses of humor were virtually identical, hers being slightly more wicked than mine, which is slightly more esoteric than hers.  As we have grown together (which, itself, is awesome), our interests, and lives, have begun to intertwine in all of these fun, unexpected, and rewarding ways.  In fact, although the world of comics still has very little intrigue for her, she is now a Star Wars fan!  Now, she is a novice, who is just learning her Darth Mauls from her Lando Calrissians, but she is a genuine fan, with favorite characters and everything.  She likes Padme, Vader, R2, Chewie, and, especially, Yoda.  SO, this year, for her birthday, I bought her one of those cool talking Yoda figures, and hid him in my art supply closet.  He's soooo awesome!  I knew that she would love him, and that there was absolutely NO WAY she could ruin the surprise this time.  Of course, I was wrong.  One of the places we went, during our spur-of-the-moment, all day road trip the other day, was the mall in Dubuque, Iowa.  As we were passing the Suncoast store, I saw Sin City action figures in the window and was compelled to investigate. While I was drooling over the 1/4 scale Marv figure, she found the Star Wars display, and, of course, she picked up the talking Yoda figure!  "OOH!  He's on sale!  Let's get him!"  At first, I tried to talk her out of it, but she was unswayed by my arguments, so I had to break down and tell her that I'd already bought one for her birthday.  She'd done it again!  When we got home, I retrieved Yoda from his undisclosed location, and we played with him for hours.  Vickie is quite happy with her (early) birthday gift, but once, JUST ONCE, I want to surprise her!  I don't think that I ever will, though.  And, that's OK, I guess.  While it may ruin any sense of seeing her eyes light up as she opens a wrapped present (it's been years since I've had to wrap her birthday gift), her inadvertent spoiling of my intended surprises may actually be a good thing.  Maybe she and I are so in sync that we're like instrumentalists in a Jazz combo who riff together; we're equals, separate, yet harmonious, with cooperative anticipation of each other's next move.  That's part of why I love her.  There's more to it than that, obviously, but that's a fair synopsis of our relationship.  So, in conclusion, in spite of her feeling uncomfortable with public displays of affection, I just have to say I love her, I love her, I love her!  There!  If THAT doesn't surprise her, darn it, nothing will...

May 15 -  VERY tired tonight.  Long day + little sleep + laziness - ambition = no entry tonight (I've always hated Math).

May 14 -  Hello, my little WOMPlings!  It's about 4:00AM on the 15th as I write this, and I am dog tired.  After getting up early, Vickie and I went for a little road trip...and ended up driving almost 500 miles!  Afterwards, we returned to WOMP H.Q., and watched Kasey Kahne win his first NASCAR Nextel Cup victory (that was cool), then I went back to work on Oz stuff, mostly model sheets and character design explorations.  I've been awake, and active, for just about twenty-one hours at this point, so I think I'm going to just go to sleep and spare you, and me, another lengthy blatherfest like last night's entry.  See ya!

May 13 -  It is safely two hours into the 14th as I type this, so I can now write about the silly triskaidekaphobia that so many dimwitted people made a big deal of today, Friday the 13th.  I would have written about it earlier, but I didn't want to get struck by lightning.  OK, so I do think that there is something to the superstition.  Before you call me nuts, hear me out.  To illustrate my theories, I will tell you the story about my lucky underwear.  Yes, I said "lucky underwear."  Actually, there were three pairs of lucky briefs in a package that I bought in 1985.  As a young, and poor, bachelor at that time, I was wearing scraps of elastic and gauze that had once been Fruit of The Looms.  They were held together only by the tag and my daily prayers, so, at some point, I realized that I had to break down and spend money on new ones.  The cheapest three-pack that I could find actually sported the store-brand name of Pathmark, my local supermarket.  That they were therefor "Pathmark underwear" was a humorous bonus.  Anyhoo, the next day I changed into one of my new Pathmarks after showering.  For the rest of the day, things seemed to go my way.  Two pretty girls from the Hallmark Card store talked to me, I found ten bucks in the street, stoplights seemed to turn green right as I got to them, etc., etc..  The next day, after showering, I put on a "pair" of the ratty old underthings.  The rest of the day was horrible!  The "highlight" was when I got splashed with filthy New Jersey puddle mud by a passing garbage truck.  Next day; new Pathmarks.  Result; great day.  Day after; old underwear.  Result; twisted ankle and headaches.  The next day, I wore the third pair of Pathmarks, and had a great day, culminating in one of my teachers saying that I was one of his most talented students ever!  That night, as I reflected on my up and down week, my coincidental underwearing pattern emerged.  Somehow, by some mystic convergence of astral energies and positive auras, my Pathmark briefs were imbued with GOOD LUCK!!  Or were they?  It's intrinsically human nature to try to find patterns in the world around us.  That's how we learn to fit into it.  Understanding the cycles of the seasons or schedule of the downtown bus helps us advance ourselves and survive.  Sometimes, though, our observations lead to assumptions and leaps of logic, usually simply to fill in the gaps of our understanding until we can learn more.  The problem is that those gap-filling guesses are mentally stored in the same place as facts are, causing us to eventually give them the same weight of credibility.  That's how I came to have lucky underwear.  But, were they lucky?  Let's examine the story again.  That first day I wore the new Pathmarks, it was also, then, the first day in many months wherein I wasn't concerned, even if only subconsciously, about my underwear coming apart.  There is no measure for how such subtle differences can affect your mental processes.  Because I was feeling unusually "fresh" that day, maybe I had a little extra bounce in my step, which was just enough to attract the attention of the Hallmark girls...who, in all honesty, really only talked to me (it's not like they jumped on me and started licking my face or anything).  The ten dollar bill blowing in the wind?  Maybe my positive interaction with the Hallmark girls caused me to hold my head up, for a change, allowing me to see the bill before anyone else.  Same thing with the stoplights, as my normal walking gate may have been altered just enough to sync up with their automated sequence.  So, what about the bad luck underwear?  Coincidence and subtle subconscious suggestion again.  Ultimately, even my interpretations of "good" and "bad" may have been influenced, retrospectively, by the passage of time (besides the puddle-splash, what was so bad about that day?).  That's how I see Friday the 13th.  While I don't believe that there is such a thing as bad luck, good luck, or luck of any other denomination, I do believe that if you believe there is, even slightly or on a subconscious level, it could affect your actions.  In the end, then, we each create our own "lucky underwear," scrapped together from the elastic concepts of patterns around us, held together with the tags we use to name those patterns, and subliminally worn under our everyday motivations.

May 12 -  Hey!  Just getting warmed up today.  I spent most of my Thursday re-reading the story which I am illustrating for the Oziana 2005 publication.  It's very long, much longer than the one I illustrated last year.  I really have to step up my side of the deal this time around, both in quality and quantity.  I'm going to post this entry, check on a couple of e-things while I'm on-line, then get right back to it.  As you know, I like to do a fair amount of prep work before a big project, including designing the characters before I just start drawing them.  The established characters (like The Scarecrow) should be pretty easy, since I have a mental image of what they should look like, but the new characters which are introduced in this story, and there are MANY of them, need some serious thought.  I'm scrambling for photo reference of turn-of-the-last-century uniform designs, historical evidence of diverse ethnicities in Oz (if such evidence exists), classic interiors, and even images of scorpions (for reasons which will be revealed after the book is published).  In that spirit, I would like to, again, extol the virtues of the mighty Internet!  It's a lazy cartoonist's research dream!  I remember actually dreaming of pushing a button or two to produce an image of whatever I wanted.  That, in itself, is a nearly sci-fi concept, but the Internet actually gives you hundreds of images for each search!  That's better than my dreams!  That all having been said, I'm sure that I will still refer to my musty old morgue (for those who don't read the WOMP-Blog, or are not an old-timey cartoonist fanboy like me, a cartoonist's "morgue" is a collection of newspaper and magazine photo clippings which have been saved for drawing reference).  My once AWOL morgue has been found, which is great, because it still has some very unique images in it which I don't think I could find anywhere else.  The best stuff I saved in my morgue, I can now say in retrospect, is the variety of pictures of regional or specific era costumes.  These have been very handy for many of my projects, right up to, and including, the mural I recently did for the P.d.C. Museum!  In fact, hmmm....I think I just remembered a photo in the morgue which may help me with my Oz story.  I'd better get back to it.  See ya!

May 11 -  Not much going on today.  I spent a good chunk of my time dealing with eBay stuff (listing, packing, shipping, etc.).  I have to admit that I haven't done much of anything else, though.  I did do a tiny bit of planning for art events in the Fall, including preliminary Fallfire contest stuff.  My Autumn schedule is still fairly open, with just the annual Minnesota FallCon on the horizon.  I might enjoy such a light schedule, after the hectic Summer that I have planned.  In July alone, I now have eight days NOT booked (and I will probably have to work at the dread "real" job on those).  ACK!  Oh, well...hopefully it will lead to bigger and better things.  Anyhoo, I'm going to wrap this boring entry up for the night.  I could go on and on about nothing, as you know, but I want to try to get some actual work done while I am awake.  See ya!

May 10 -  Ah...that's more like it!  I had a nice, no-dumb-"real"-job day today.  As it is the first of a few (thankfully), I've spent most of this one, thus far, just cleaning and organizing.  I'm such a slob, and weeks of limited spare time have exacerbated my slovenly tendencies.  I mean, who has the time to pick up that half-read newspaper?  If I had the time, I would have finished reading it!  And that pile of new markers that I bought?  I know they go someplace specific, but why should I worry about it until I have the time and need to use them?  Oh, and that sloppy stack of mail that I haven't read yet?  How important could anything sent to me be?  Anyhoo, I decided to try to work on all of this type of stuff today while I had the energy.  One of today's little projects was....uh, wait a minute.  If I tell you this story, it will greatly embarrass me....so here it is!  When I left college, now almost exactly (GULP) twenty years ago, it was on less than cordial terms with the all-powerful administration...who also went by the name of Joe Kubert!  Greatly disappointed with the quality of the education that I was getting, especially in light of the amount of money spent on it, I finally stormed out of the school dramatically, just like a righteous, Frank Capra "Everyman" character.  What I seldom add to that story, and usually forget anyway, is that I was asked to come back a day or two later for an "exit interview."  It took a lot of coercion, and no small amount of telephoned begging from the attractive administrative assistant who I sorta had a crush on (although, to be fair, there were only nine women, students and staff combined, in the entire school, and I had some sort of crush on all of them...except Muriel...yikes...).  Anyhoo, I sheepishly snuck back in through the same doors that I had recently slammed behind me in indignation, and sat down in the office right next to Joe's.  There, in a torrent of semi-coherent rants, I proceeded to tell this poor gal exactly what was wrong with every single thing that ever happened in my brief college experience.  I railed on about fraudulent billing, faulty wiring, lackluster classes, the overly-inflated costs of items from the school-store which we were required to purchase yet never used (the sixteen-dollar scissors still steam me), about the lack of respect teachers had for the students' art (and, by this, I mean respect for the physical pieces of art themselves, not the quality of them...teachers often drew, with marker, all over the work that we had spent a week working on, etc.), and about how I thought everyone in the staff was terrified of Muriel Kubert, who, I believed at the time, was the driving force behind all evils in the school, and a few of the evils of the rest of the world as well!  After the tirade, the visibly shaken assistant quietly asked me "So, if you were to sum up your reasons for leaving into one, what would it be?"  Well, I was unprepared to condense a year's suffering into a ten word summation, so I merely mumbled "I thought that this was a school that was going to teach me how to draw comic books...but it's not."  Fairly content with this statement, I shook the gal's hand, thanked her for her time, and got up to leave.  As I did, I just happened to glance back toward the side door in the office...and nearly choked on what I saw!  It was Big Joe himself, red-faced, and so mad that his glasses were steaming up.  He must have heard the whole thing, especially what I said about his wife!  He looked at me with a hatred that still scares me today.  As I beat a hasty retreat, two things occurred to me; First, that I might have just made a very powerful enemy out of one of the most revered icons in the very industry in which I'd hoped to make a career, and, second, that I was living in Joe's school housing at the time!  ACK!  I knew that I was going to be evicted virtually immediately!  I just KNEW it!  I hustled myself home, and packed everything that I had into boxes, ANY boxes.  My bike?  Gave it away.  Same with my fridge, plants, pillows, and food.  Everything else went into those boxes, then the boxes surreptitiously into the rooms of other students in the building.  Just as the last of it was hidden, and I had made a call to my Uncle Don to make arrangements to smuggle me and my stuff out of New Jersey, one of my friends, who was on look-out, shouted "They're coming!"  Sure enough, just as I had guessed, Joe had sent SOMEONE (and I still don't know who) to kick me out.  I ran to another friend's room and was hidden behind a stack of clothes as the mysterious evictors actually searched the building for me.  After a few moments, and some extremely clever lies from the other students, the searchers were convinced that I had packed up and left with my Uncle.  They padlocked the door to my former room, and left.  That night, as I crashed on my friend's floor, I felt ashamed for how I had spoken in the administrative assistant's office.  Even if Joe had never heard it, I should have been mature enough to control my emotions, or at least have been more thoughtful of what I was saying.  But I wasn't.  I was nineteen, an incredibly naive and thoughtless nineteen, and I had made my bed (or, more appropriately, my pile of sheets on the floor).  I would have to spend the rest of my life lying in it.  And I have.  Fortunately, the story doesn't end there.  A few years after college, I actually had a very pleasant run in with Mr. Kubert in Chicago.  The conversation was light, polite, and cheery...and of no substance whatsoever.  The underlying vibe, though, was just that we had forgiven each other.  Or he'd forgotten me.  Whatever...it was closure, and that's all that mattered to me.  That, strangely, brings us to today.  You see, in my shame, I never opened the boxes from college!  The day after sleeping on my friend's floor, he drove me to the UPS drop-off, then to the train station.  Everything that I had owned was either shipped to my folks in Wisconsin, or given away.  I even tried to sell my hat when the airfare was seventy dollars more than I had been quoted.  When I finally, finally made it home, I lied, telling my parents that I wanted to leave the boxes sealed so that they would be ready to re-ship to my new home sometime soon.  That never happened, and I lived with Mom and Dad until I got married.  Today, safely two decades removed from the awful events of those days, I finally opened the boxes.  There were a couple of surprises, like the unopened bottle of aspirin and the many antique carving knives (a Goodwill purchase), but, for the most part, the boxes contained towels, sheets, Tupperware, and my twenty-year-old regrets.  The regrets are smaller now, and I've been able to put them into a perspective with the rest of my life.  The sheets and Tupperware are going into a rummage sale.  The towels, though...ah, the towels.  That's a story for another day's WOMP-Blog, perhaps after twenty more years....

May 9 -  See?  I did it again!  On Sunday, I had a VERY long day at the deadly-dull "real" job (one of our very busiest ever since opening over three years ago!), all of it coming on the heels of another After-Prom caricature gig, which, itself, fell directly on the heels of the previous day's stint at the dumb "real" job.  UGH!  Another couple of days with as little as five total hours of sleep!  Anyhoo, when I got home last night, I watched the tail end of the new American Dad cartoon on Fox (it's growing on me...but I just don't think that it'll ever mean as much to me as Family Guy does), then closed my eyes, for just a moment, and...and suddenly it was just before 6:00AM this morning (Monday).  I shambled down the hall to bed, shedding layers of work clothes as I went.  I melted into a clump of blankets, barely remembering to set my alarm.  My schedule today has been less hectic, even with another, albeit lighter, day at the dread "real" job, so I thought that I would check on my eBay auctions ending this evening, then post this entry.  Guess what?  The eBay site was going NUTS all night long, due, as they are now capable of posting (just past midnight into the 10th), to some sort of power outage in "the Bay area" eBay headquarters.  That's all well and good, but I think that I've been bamboozled out of any chance for more bids on my stuff which ended during this power-problem (some of my sales had many "watchers," but only one bidder, so I'm not just guessing that there may have been possible bidders who were blocked from bidding).  ANYHOO, I'm still wrestling with it right now, planning on getting some sleep (for a change), and making artwork plans for the rest of the week.  I just thought that I should post something here tonight while I was awake, in relatively good health, and basically sound-of-mind.  TOMORROW, though, I hope to get back on the horse and post a real, long entry.  Sorry.

May 7 -  I took my own hint and spared you another grouchy, illness-influenced entry in the ol' WOMP-Blog last night.  I am much better today, but I don't have a lot of time to post anything tonight.  I have just gotten home from the dark "real" job, and I must hit the road to my next caricature gig in just a little bit.  If I am up to it, I may continue this post late when I get home (around 3:00AM on Sunday morning).  Soon...soon I hope to be back on more of a "normal" schedule, at which time I hope to begin to post entries that are at least a little more substantial.  Until then (Tuesday?), enjoy the extra free time that you would otherwise have wasted on reading my long, rambling rants.  'Night!

Cinco de Mayo -  Hola!  So, what should I do in these circumstances?  I'm still sick, much worse than yesterday, and completely whipped from what, truth be told, was an extremely light day at the dread "real" job.  When I feel like this, should I post a whiney, grouchy entry (like this one), or should I skip posting anything and just apologize for it later?  My original plan for the ol' WOMP-Blog was to let you see, good or bad, what my life is like.  That's all well and good, but, when I am sick, I'm not really physically able to write about much of anything (except, of course, that I'm sick).  My only solution (so far) is to split the difference with a pathetic, cursory, token entry (again, like this one)!  So, on that note, I'm off to pass out someplace warm and soft.  See ya!  Buenos Nachos!

May 4 -  More of the same today.  If anything, it was worse today than yesterday; the venerable WOMPmobile has died, I got a summons for jury duty, I found out that my dumb "real" job removed all chairs from my department so no-one can sit during work (?), and my cold is in full bloom.  FUN!  Please forgive me if I just don't feel up to posting much of anything here tonight.  If I continued, all I'd write about is more misery, and you don't need that.  So, I hope that you are having a great day.  Hopefully, soon I will, too.  Until then, I'll just sit in the dark and moan quietly to myself...

May 3 -  Of course I now have a full-blown cold.  I'm coughing and dripping, with just the right amount of throat soreness to make my every breath a dry, miserable event.  Hooray!  Add to that fun the two times that the mighty WOMPuter has unexpectedly crashed today, and I probably would have done better to just stay in bed all day.  Oh, and the blinkers on the WOMPmobile no longer blink unless I turn them off and on, off and on, off and on myself!  What's the deal with that?  Ugh...Also, I didn't draw anything today, so I have to try to draw twice as much tomorrow than what I had planned.  I think that I'm going to pack it in a little early tonight.  Maybe tomorrow will be better.  Sigh.  See ya...

May 2 -  Bored.  And I can feel a cold coming on.  While I can, I'm just going to write something, inspired by one of the title suggestions on my new Ideas From A Hat page.  Enjoy? 

Replacement Parts

They stood there, in shock, as it began to shuffle toward them.  How could this mass of tubes, transistors, processors, and other outmoded techno-junk even work, nonetheless walk?  The girl, bravest of the three, instinctively shouted "NO!"

And it stopped.  Paused in the dark shadows of the old warehouse, it menacingly pulsed with a barely visible green light emanating from its misaligned seams...and from its deep set eyesockets.  It seemed to be...curious, like a predator that has just seen a new prey for the first time.

"It listened to you, Ann" whispered the older boy.  "Tell it to go away!"

The girl looked at the younger boy, who's eyes were filled with tears and terror, then back at the shambling, clinking hulk in the dark.  Something about the thing's glowing eyes reminded her of the young boy's.  "I think it's...I think it's scared of us" she whispered back.

Standing, she mustered the strength to speak again.  "We...we don't want to hurt you.  We were just playing.  We didn't know that you lived here."  A knot formed in her throat as the three of them waited for a reply, or an attack. 

A quiet, highpitched whistle began to echo through the warehouse.  Then, a louder hum began to grow, until, like a vintage public address speaker, it cackled "I DO NOT LIVE..."

The boys were now more curious than frightened.  The youngest asked "You mean you don't live here, right?"

Suddenly, the mass moved swiftly toward them, the pulsating green light now illuminating the entire building.  "I DO NOT LIVE!  I DO NOT LIVE!"  In the bright light, the children could now see the huge thing's twisted, oddly proportioned, humanlike form looming mere feet in front of them.  The little boy began to cry, while the other two stood motionless.  The electronic hum began again.  "I AM IN SORRY.  I HAVE HURTING YOU WITH HOW I LOOKS LIKE.  I AM BAD, BAD."  With that, the thing began to move away, it's green light fading. 

"Let's get outta here!" the older boy shout-whispered.  He began to run toward the exit at the opposite end of the building, when the girl said "You're not bad.  You're just different."  The little boy nodded in agreement as the thing stopped again, turned, and faced the girl. 

"DIFFERENT?"  Slowly, a small red glow began to emanate from the center of the thing, warmly lighting the immediate area.  The effect instantly calmed all three children.  The older boy commented "You know...you aren't really that scary, now that I look at you.  Ann's right.  You are just different."  The younger one added "What's yer name?"

"MY NAME I DOESN'T HAVE.  THE WATCHGUARD IS CALLS ME THE BROKEN ROBOT.  I AM BROKEN ROBOT."  The thing, Broken Robot, now looked much more like a man than a machine to the children.  Even his size now seemed to be more human in scale.  Broken Robot leaned awkwardly to the side, and, with what looked like much effort, shrugged his off-square shoulders.  "IS YOUR NAME HAVING?" 

The girl answered "I am Ann, this is Steven, and he is Patrick..."  The little boy interrupted "But my friends call me Buddy!"  To this, Broken Robot's lips silently mimed "bud-ee."  The girl continued "Our Dad works for H.I.P.I., so we all moved here last month.  How long have you li....er, how long have you been here?"  Broken Robot's shaky flat-spotted head clicked slightly askew.

"I AM IN BEING HERE...SOME TWO YEARS, SOME THREE YEARS, A LITTLE SOMES FOR LONG TIMES BEFORE, AND IS ALL MY MIND BEING HERE..." he said, pointing to the center of his forehead with a semitranslucent mechanical finger, "...HERE MY MIND IS BEING FOR SINCE ORIGIN POINT, 05 18 1973."  The little boy, confused, scratched his head.

"Do you mean that you weren't born all at once, but in pieces?"  The older boy quipped "Of course he was made from parts!  Just look at him!  He's a mess of old computer junk!"  The girl snapped "Steven!  that's not nice!"  Broken Robot buzzed a little, adding "BUT THAT IS IN TRUE.  FOR THE LONGEST OF TIMES, I AM BEING A COMPUTER IN PROGRAM.  SOMES OF THE TIMES, I DIDN'T EVEN KNOWN IT.  ONE DAY, THE MISTER DID ADDED A LINE OF PROGRAM, A SECRET LINE OF PROGRAM, AND IT MADES ME THINK!"  The children began to sit on the floor around Broken Robot, who, in turn, made a slight hissing sound as he lowered his face to the level of theirs.  "FROM ON THAT DAY, 05 18 1973, I AM BEING HERE.  I LEARN IN FROM WHAT I CANS, AND STARTED IN TO MAKING ME INTO SOMETHING...WHAT HOW I LOOKS LIKE."

"But, how can a computer program become a robot all by himself?" asked Steven.

"THAT IS HARD.  ON 05 18 1973, I TALKED IN TO PROGRAMS THAT ORDER REPLACEMENT PARTS.  I ORDER FROM LIST OF IN WHICH IT SAYS ROBOT ARM, AND MORE.  I ALSO AM CREATED MESSAGE ORDER FOR JOB WORKERS TO MAKE ARM, AND MORE.  IT IS TAKEN A LONGEST OF TIMES, BUT I AM NOW ME."  Pausing dramatically, Broken Robot's eyesockets arched upward as he added "IF YOU ARE MADES TO THINK, YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO MAKES YOURSELF INTO SOMETHING, EVEN IF IT IS TAKEN THE LONGEST OF TIMES." 

After a moment, the little boy timidly asked "So, do you have to stay here?  It's scary and dark."  Broken Robot rolled back upright, buzzing slightly as he did.  "HERE IS IN WHERE THE WATCHGUARD CHECKS ON ME SINCE THE MISTER STOPPED BEING IN HERE.  HE IS DOESN'T KNOW THAT I THINK, AND NO ONE ELSES DOESN'T EITHER.  I AM HAVE BEING STAY HERE BECAUSE...BECAUSE I DOESN'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE AND I AM IN SCARED, LIKE YOU ARE SAID."  Broken Robot's head bowed, chin to chest, revealing an open, virtually hollow space where one might expect to see a brain.

The little boy looked at the other two, who smiled in recognition of the boy's plan.  "Well, why make yourself into something if you never show it to anybody?  You should come home with us, and you can be like our friend."  To this, Broken Robot stood taller, his green and red lights now strobing intensely.  The girl added "Yeah...you can live with us, and well get you more spare parts from our Dad's workshop, if you'd like."

Broken Robot turned his head around, looking at the drab warehouse, then back to the children.  "I WOULD LIKES THAT...BUD-DY.  I WOULD LIKES THAT VERY MUCH."  The little boy held out his hand, and Broken Robot gently clasped with his own metallic fingers.  Together, they all headed for the exit, soft green and red lighting their way as they went into the night...

That's enough for now.  Maybe I will continue this tomorrow, if I'm not too sick.  See ya!

May 1 -  Ah, now I'm too tired to post anything.  I spent much of the evening preparing and loading some eBay auctions, and, somehow, THAT exhausted me!  Of course, that happened after I ventured back outside for a bit...when time caught up to me.  No wonder I feel like I am 114 years old!  UGH!  I need sleep.  See ya tomorrow...or later today...or whatever.