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Once again I am on the road (this time in Philadelphia) - with no way to post pics of my adventures to the blog. Catch-up will have to happen later next week. I am happy to report that my wrist is nearly back to normal, so drawing and sketching has begun to resume. The critters and gardens are assuredly growing in my absence and the east coast has changed a bunch since last time I was here over a decade ago. Incidental updates can be found via twitter and/or Facebook. Posts with pics to resume soon. :-)

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I teach a character design class at the Hussian School of Art. For today's assignment we sat in the Bourse building's cafe area secretly sketching some of the tourists that frequent the Independence Hall area. When I wasn't encouraging the students on different approaches or giving some teaching tips, I was drawing the tourists as well.

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I've written about Jan and Lana so often on this blog that I don't need to introduce them (do I?).  They are the dancing stars, the soon-to-be movie stars, the team that keeps me honest in a Norah Jones waltz, the instruction that burns but lasts.

Here they are, dancing at Philadelphia's Thirtieth Street Station.

Because that's how good they are.

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For much of last year I worked on a book that took me deep inside the world of 1871 Philadelphia—the clank of Baldwin machines, the boats on the Schuylkill, the innards of Eastern State Penitentiary, the rattle of a newsroom, the world of William, first introduced in Dangerous Neighbors.

I wrote a book.  My husband made drawings.  And then I stood back and thought.  What next?

Today I am having a preliminary meeting about this book of mine, this character I love, this Philadelphia to which I will always be true.  I don't know what will happen, but I do know this:  Sometimes we have to step away to know what it is we should be stepping toward.

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Every Tuesday I arrive an hour early and walk in a different direction at Penn, settling my mind for the teaching ahead.  This is what I saw this past Tuesday, when I walked first to the most eastern end of the campus, and then west.  That's my city, shining, from the newly renovated South Street Bridge.

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The rose is burning
in its watery vessel-
searing my eyes

Tangerine Rose, 7 x 5 inches, oil on linen mounted to panel
This piece will be on display in this upcoming exhibit:
Small Works 2010
Artists' House Gallery
December 3 to December 24, 2010
Two receptions:
First Friday:
December 3,
5 - 8:30pm
Sunday,
December 5,
1 - 4pm

Artists' House
57 North Second Street
Philadelphia, PA 19106
(215) 923-8440
[email protected]

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Thanks to a friendly bet between Philadelphia Mayor Michael Nutter – a friend of First Book and honorary chair of the 3rd annual Book Bash – and Cincinnati Mayor Mark Mallory, children in Philadelphia and Cincinnati will receive 3,000 new books.

The bet ran between October 6-10, 2010 alongside the National League Division Series between the Phillies and the Reds in which the winning city receives 2,000 books from First Book. And since there are no losers when it comes to books for kids, the losing city receives 1,000 books.

“When children read, it builds confidence and creates a life-long love of learning,” said Mayor Nutter. “The real winner of this bet will be the many children in both cities who will receive increased access to quality, age-appropriate books. “

Here at First Book, we could not agree with Mayor Nutter more. And as always, we are proud to help support children in both Philadelphia and Cincinnati with the resources they need to be successful in school and beyond.

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Today’s poem is brought to you by Random.

Haikus are easy

But sometimes they don’t make sense

Refrigerator

Here are some other things that amused me.

Last week at Comic Con, Michelle and I met the guy who made this winning Steampunk Iron Man costume! [Agent M]

Hey Philadelphia! Hollerado’s single-take music video for “Americanarama.” [YouTube]

Have books? Then you need bookshelves. 35 of them. 35 awesome, incredible bookshelves. [Francesco Mugnai]

Your Ad Here. (Hopefully not.) [eConsultancy]

Gritty, gorgeous photos of broken neon signs. [Slate]

Crochet animal sculptures. Heck yes I said it! [My Modern Met]

If you’re an unknown band trying to gain popularity, this is not the way to do it. [AV Club]

You know what’s cool?

How far will your dollar go? These photos will show you. [Jonathan Blaustein]

Phonebook art! [Inventor Spot]

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Perhaps the greatest gift that a speaking invitation yields is the chance (the excuse) to stop and collect one's thoughts.  That's what I've been doing these past few days, as I prepare for the talk I'll be giving at the Radnor Memorial Library in mid-November.  I want to read from Dangerous Neighbors that night, and I briefly will.  But I also want to look back at the road that brought me here—at the bad poems and the kind criticism, at the doors that opened and shut, and, mostly, at the percolating passion I have always had for my city.

In hunting for proof (or explanation) of this passion, I have come upon strange, forgotten queries, notes, promises, explorations, and exhortations, including a history of West Philadelphia that I decided to write (apparently for no one) at the age of 23.  I have also discovered this fragment of a poem, penned on the eve of my twentieth birthday, misplaced apostrophe and all. 

"The city is my lifetime," I declared, hints of the grandiose abounding.  It could not yet have been (despite my "long living").  It is, perhaps, now.

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A quick post to announce an appearance. I’ll be popping into Collingswood, NJ this Saturday, from 10AM-4PM, for their annual book festival. Never been to Collingswood (a town in South Jersey, just outside of Philly), but this seems like a great little event (click on the logo above for more details!). I didn’t sign up early enough to be one of the authors giving a talk or sitting in on a panel, but I’ll have a table among the exhibitors – booth 87 to be exact. I’ll be selling and signing copies of DWEEB and chatting folks up about my new book, which has recently been retitled The Only Ones and is due on shelves in less than a year. Perhaps I’ll even have a few surprises up my sleeve. So if you’re from New Jersey or Philadelphia or Delaware, or heck, even if you’re from Bhutan, come on by. Seeing you will be a treat. Until then…

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(taken from the eastern end of the R5 platform at 30th Street Station, 7:17 PM, Rick Moody's The Four Fingers of Death in my bag)

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Rooftops in the Snow, oil on linen on panel, 10 x 8 inches, 2010

I did this out the smaller studio window this afternoon. Snowed again all day today. It has not amounted to much as yet, just a lot of cold wetness melting in the streets and sticking to the old piles of snow. And scaring the populace, with our fresh memories of the recent blizzard and power outages. It's certainly pretty though!

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One of the very first times I took a train alone, I was a kid, taking summer ice skating lessons at the Wissahickon Skating Club. My mother dropped me off at the Bryn Mawr station and I climbed on board among the business suits wearing my furry sweater and my thick nude tights; my skates, wrapped in an old pink towel, were safe in my plastic blue bag. It wasn't yet 90 degrees, for it was still the morning hour, but by the time my connecting train broke down, it was hot, and the business suits had left, and it was only me and a number of lovely ladies bound for their cleaning jobs in Chestnut Hill.

After a long time of sitting on a train that wasn't likely to move again, the conductors let us off and we walked the final stretch of track like a sad processional—me with my skates, the ladies with their cleaning things. I wasn't even close to where I needed to be. In fact, I had no idea where I was. I had, I remember this, five dollars in my pocket.

I was rescued by the ladies bound for Chestnut Hill. They hailed a cab, they stuck me between them, they made sure that I was dropped off first at that Wissahickon rink—late for my lesson and sticky hot in my fake summer fur and thick tights, my five dollar bill still in my pocket.

I never saw them again, of course. I never learned their names, or if I did, I don't remember. But they remain with me.

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(Visiting the set of the upcoming movie DIARY OF A WIMPY KID . . . more photos to come)





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Budget passed. Libraries are staying open.

I have mixed feelings about this “unless you pass the budget, we will close the libraries!” sort of PR move, but I have to admit that I didn’t follow this last one as closely as I have followed these things in the past. I am, as always, happy that libraries are staying open. That said, I honestly didn’t think this wouldn’t pass. I don’t want people to feel threatened to vote for things — more cops, more fire fighters, more librarians — I’d like them to vote for things because they’re a good idea. Budgets are terribly complicated and we’re all making tough choices about money. I’d like to think that we could, possibly, trust our elected representatives to stnad by their words, as when the Philadelphia mayor said “We will not close facilities that serve our most vulnerable populations, such as libraries, health centers, or recreation centers.” I realize that the final decision is not his alone, but I did feel like folks had our back on this one.

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Today is, if you believe The Writer’s Almanac, the date in 1731 that Ben Franklin founded the first circulating library. The blurb is neat to read but short on references, so here is me fleshing it out a little.

It was on this day in 1731 that Ben Franklin founded the first circulating library, a forerunner to the now ubiquitous free public library. He started it as a way to help settle intellectual arguments among his group of Philadelphia friends, the Junto, a group of civic-minded individuals gathered together to discuss the important issues of their day.

Each of the 50 charter members bought an initial share into the company (40 shillings), which helped fund the buying of books, and then paid a smaller yearly fee (10 shillings) that went to buying more books and maintaining the library. In exchange, the members could borrow any of the books. Donations of books were gladly accepted.

They called their charter the Library Company of Philadelphia, and the next year, Franklin hired America’s first librarian, Louis Timothee. At first, the books were stored at the librarian’s house, but by the end of the decade, they were moved to the Pennsylvania State House, which is now known as Independence Hall.

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Several weeks ago Jesse Shiedlower, Editor-at-large of the Oxford English Dictionary and its first-ever North American editor, Barbara Wallraff, a senior editor and the ”Word Court” and ”Word Fugitives” columnist for the Atlantic, and Ammon Shea author of Reading the OED spoke at The Free Library of Philadelphia. Listen to the podcast here.

To learn more about how much fun it can be to coin words check The Sarah Silverman Show’s take here.

So are you down with the OED? I certainly am and if you are feeling generous feel free to buy me the tee-shirt.

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