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My technophobic wife has taken an increasing shine to internet shopping.

Point, click, receive, wrap… Point, click, receive, wrap…

At this point, you might be thinking this is another husband-rant about all of the clicking activity and the bill that will come due in January. Well, that may be a subject for another post (I hope the title changes), but right now I’m trying to wrap my mind around the amount of email spam that her clicking has brought us. You see, we share an email account. Mistake? Maybe… but it has worked thus far.

Here is the problem, cleaning my inbox is the one thing I’m OCD about. I need it to be current or I lose focus. At work, I churn through emails faster than a Gopher on balsa-wood. If I can answer it immediately, it is gone. If it makes me mad, gone. If it is ambiguous and may not pertain to me, whoops, I hit delete. My inbox is squeaky-clean. The one at work, that is.

The shared inbox at home gets bogged down in December with order confirmations, shipping information, and advertisements. Oh the advertisements. Did I mention my wife is a technophobe? So, while she has mastered the checkout function of two hundred seventy-four websites, I can’t convince her that they won’t think any less of her if she unchecks the little box that says, “Would you like us to send you an ungodly amount of emails that are irrelevant, obnoxious, and likely to cause enmity between husband and wife?”

I should be working a second job to prepare for the aforementioned bill, but I spend my December trying to unsubscribe from every mailing list known to mankind. Only they lie to you when they allow you to hold the illusion that leaving them is an option. It’s a web of deceit – an impossibility. You cannot be removed from mailing lists. “You have been removed from our mailing list. We are sorry to see you go” is a lie from the bowels of the earth.

What the little button should say is, “Thank you for verifying your existence, I will now torture you every fifteen minutes with a blinking email reminder of your incompetence.”

♦

After trying unsuccessfully to remove our email address from yet another list, I marched to the den, bowed out my chest, and sternly gave my wife an ultimatum!

“Either you learn to uncheck the subscribe button, or we are changing our email address!”

Women don’t like ultimatums.

Of course, our email address remains the same and though wounded and alone, I am off to fight a MailChimp.

I am one of the teachers for our 6-8th grade Sunday School class. I love those kiddos and all the questions they ask. They make me think. Today, we discussed the fact that Abram was told by God to leave his country, and to leave his father’s family. God said He would lead Abram to…

There was a young husband who took a young wife to live in a shoebox beside a busy thoroughfare. The young man attempted to treat his wife with utmost sincerity and kindness, but often found that his tongue got in his way. Dull and ill-advised words suitable only for bachelorhood unfortunately found their way from his mouth to his young bride’s ear.

While the ever-patient bride overlooked most of the offenses, the stupid young husband constantly felt it necessary to pay penance for his outbursts by aiding his wife in her chores. After one particular peccadillo, the husband took it upon himself to do the laundry.

Knowing at least that colors and whites must go separately, he sorted the clothes into piles and decided to begin with the whites. In went the slightly dingy load while the hopeful husband added soap and waited nearby. When the buzzer rang, he jumped to his feet expecting to pull out gleaming white clothes. What to his wondering eyes did appear, but a washer full of pink. Pink, the color of panic. Nothing was the same as it had gone in.

With his bride due home soon, he frantically searched the load to find an offending single red sock. Casting it aside, he loaded the machine with bleach and ran the whites through once more. Bing – cycle over, no change. Pink panic.

A key at the door

A smiling bride

A kiss before the confession

Disappointment, accusation, regret

“My favorite shirt!” she exclaimed as she held up a blushing blouse. “Ruined!”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” pled the husband. “I’ll buy you another. What else can I do, my darling?”

“I will tell you what you can do,” she fumed. “You can promise you will never, ever, ever do the laundry again!”

“I swear it, my love,” promised the young man on bended knee. “I will never touch dirty clothes for as long as you’ll have me.”

One score and two years later, the older husband is still bound by his oath and forbidden to use the washing machine with the following exception: his rag towels.

With a family so large, the machine seems to run day and night, but can he help? Not besides folding.

I ask you the following, was the young naïve husband really so foolish decades ago, or did he craft a cunning plan sure to guarantee a life of marital slackness? Could you place that much credit for forethought on the brash youth who couldn’t keep his pie-hole closed? Would the wife’s version tell a different tale?

Have you ever seen someone completely out of context, recognized their face, but it took some time to come up with the venue where you typically interact with them?

Maybe you know a policeman who you typically see in uniform. Then you run into him at your son’s baseball game. The face looks so familiar. “How do I know this person?” you ask yourself until it finally clicks.

Or possibly you are at your favorite Portuguese restaurant and a familiar-looking woman you positively should know is seated three tables away, only you can’t recall her name. Maybe she is an old girlfriend (you’ve had so many), maybe you worked together, or went to the same high school. Also escaping you is whether you knew her well enough that you are compelled to say hello. Through the appetizer, salad, and main course you glance so many times she is wondering if she should call the police or if you are going to buy her dinner. Finally during desert, it comes to you that she’s the teller at the bank, leaving you nothing to worry about except her surly husband whose eyes are riveted on you.

All of that leads me to something that happened recently. For many years, I was an early morning gymrat.  I love going to the gym, but hate much of the meat-market style interaction that goes on there. I hate waiting for the lat press while Joey finishes texting. I loathe the flirting, that guy doing curls in the mirror hoping someone is watching, the girl who is wearing less fabric than my sock, and the people who sweat like they are being interrogated but don’t feel the need to wipe down a seat. So I started going to the gym at 5 am. At 5 am, the gym is full of people who are serious about working out. I made many friends over the years and joined a group of people who ran a few days a week as well.

One evening while at the store with my lovely wife, I saw a lady I knew I should know. While her husband didn’t look the least bit familiar, her face did. Across several aisles, I stared her down. I wracked my brain to come up with my association with this woman, but could not. Finally our paths met, she smiled when and said, “Hello Mark.” Upon hearing her voice, I knew immediately she was part of the running group from the gym.

I replied just like anyone would in the situation, “Hello Patty, I was having trouble placing you for a minute. I didn’t recognize you with clothes on.”

Those words hung there for a second while everyone besides me tried to make sense of them. Me? Oh, I didn’t really know what I’d said, I was just relieved to have the mystery solved. I stood there with a contented smile on my face until I noticed the shock on their faces. I did a mental recount of my statement and went directly to panic mode.

I’ll have that back, please!

Nope, no taking it back. I could only explain that I meant I was used to seeing her in very appropriate work-out clothes.

Yes, I’m still married and no, her husband and I did not tussle! (I could have taken him, though – with all of my bicep curls into the mirror.)

Have you ever seen someone completely out of context, recognized their face, but it took some time to come up with the venue where you typically interact with them?

Maybe you know a policeman who you typically see in uniform. Then you run into him at your son’s baseball game. The face looks so familiar. “How do I know this person?” you ask yourself until it finally clicks.

Or possibly you are at your favorite Portuguese restaurant and a familiar-looking woman you positively should know is seated three tables away, only you can’t recall her name. Maybe she is an old girlfriend (you’ve had so many), maybe you worked together, or went to the same high school. Also escaping you is whether you knew her well enough that you are compelled to say hello. Through the appetizer, salad, and main course you glance so many times she is wondering if she should call the police or if you are going to buy her dinner. Finally during desert, it comes to you that she’s the teller at the bank, leaving you nothing to worry about except her surly husband whose eyes are riveted on you.

All of that leads me to something that happened recently. For many years, I was an early morning gymrat.  I love going to the gym, but hate much of the meat-market style interaction that goes on there. I hate waiting for the lat press while Joey finishes texting. I loathe the flirting, that guy doing curls in the mirror hoping someone is watching, the girl who is wearing less fabric than my sock, and the people who sweat like they are being interrogated but don’t feel the need to wipe down a seat. So I started going to the gym at 5 am. At 5 am, the gym is full of people who are serious about working out. I made many friends over the years and joined a group of people who ran a few days a week as well.

One evening while at the store with my lovely wife, I saw a lady I knew I should know. While her husband didn’t look the least bit familiar, her face did. Across several aisles, I stared her down. I wracked my brain to come up with my association with this woman, but could not. Finally our paths met, she smiled and said, “Hello Mark.” Upon hearing her voice, I knew immediately she was part of the running group from the gym.

I replied just like anyone would in the situation, “Hello Patty, I was having trouble placing you for a minute. I didn’t recognize you with clothes on.”

Those words hung there for a second while everyone besides me tried to make sense of them. Me? Oh, I didn’t really know what I’d said, I was just relieved to have the mystery solved. I stood there with a contented smile on my face until I noticed the shock on their faces. I did a mental recount of my statement and went directly to panic mode.

I’ll have that back, please!

Nope, no taking it back. I could only explain that I meant I was used to seeing her in very appropriate work-out clothes.

Yes, I’m still married and no, her husband and I did not tussle! (I could have taken him, though – with all of my bicep curls into the mirror.)

The One series continues with a debut author.When I tell you that this debut author is my wife, I say it from the vantage of a blessed and fortunate man. Not only does she support me in my writing, I suddenly discover this new side of her. What she reveals in her story, Questions, in some ways is new to me too. We are coming up on our fourteenth anniversary and now I get this glimpse of a person filled with faith and enchanted by the simple magic around her. It truly is my privilege to present this new voice to you.

By Anatoly Liberman When we deal with the origin of ship and boat (the names of things pertaining to material culture), problems are almost predictable. Such words may have been borrowed from an unknown language (or from an attested language, but definitive proof of the connection is wanting) or coined in a way we are unable to reconstruct, but wife? Yet its etymology is no less obscure. My proposal will add to the existing stock of conjectures, and the future will show whether it has any chance of survival, let alone acceptance.

Image via Wikipedia

•  Do you serve crabs in this restaurant?

We serve everyone sir, take a seat.

•  Fat woman: Officer, can you see me across the street?

Officer: Madame, I can see you a mile away.

• Don’t you know the Queen’s English?

Of course I do, and so’s the King.

• 4.Can I have your daughter for my wife?

Well, bring your wife around and we’ll see.

• Me, drunk? I’ve only had tee martoonies.

photo by author

• Customer: Does this dog have a pedigree?

Pet owner: Look, If this dog could talk, he wouldn’t speak to either of us.

• That’s a strange pair of shoes you’re wearing, one black and one white. They must be unique.

Not at all, I have another pair at home just like them.

May I try on that dress in the window?

Well, we’d prefer it if you used the dressing room.

• Can you stand on your head?

No, it’s too high.

• Your sister is spoiled, isn’t she?

Not at all, that’s just the perfume she’s wearing.

• Did you wake up grumpy this morning?

No, I let him sleep late.

photo by author

• You’ve got your shoes on the wrong feet.

I know, I must have had my legs crossed when I put them on.

•  How do you get down from an elephant?

You don’t . You get down from a swan.

•  Do you know it takes three sheep to make a sweater?

I didn’t even know they could knit.

Image via Wikipedia

•  Do you serve crabs in this restaurant?

We serve everyone sir, take a seat.

•  Fat woman: Officer, can you see me across the street?

Officer: Madame, I can see you a mile away.

• Don’t you know the Queen’s English?

Of course I do, and so’s the King.

• 4.Can I have your daughter for my wife?

Well, bring your wife around and we’ll see.

• Me, drunk? I’ve only had tee martoonies.

photo by author

• Customer: Does this dog have a pedigree?

Pet owner: Look, If this dog could talk, he wouldn’t speak to either of us.

• That’s a strange pair of shoes you’re wearing, one black and one white. They must be unique.

Not at all, I have another pair at home just like them.

May I try on that dress in the window?

Well, we’d prefer it if you used the dressing room.

• Can you stand on your head?

No, it’s too high.

• Your sister is spoiled, isn’t she?

Not at all, that’s just the perfume she’s wearing.

• Did you wake up grumpy this morning?

No, I let him sleep late.

photo by author

• You’ve got your shoes on the wrong feet.

I know, I must have had my legs crossed when I put them on.

•  How do you get down from an elephant?

You don’t . You get down from a swan.

•  Do you know it takes three sheep to make a sweater?

I didn’t even know they could knit.

http://socyberty.com/folklore/a-jack-pot-of-old-folk-sayings/

http://socyberty.com/subcultures/more-old-folk-sayings-we-are-losing/

http://purpleslinky.com/trivia/random/trivial-facts-you-might-want-to-know/

An officer married with his colleague. One day he was braggingly said to his friends, “My wife is very obedient.”

Friends, “How?”

Officer, “Whenever I ask her to bring hot water, she obeys?”

Friends(Who were aware of the totalitarian attitude of the wife), “It is an absurd lie.”

Officer shouted in protesting voice, “Should I wash cutlery with cold water?”

Not much to report today. The wife is down and out with back problems again. Things have slowed down a tiny bit as far as work goes, which has allowed me time to get some of my personal projects started...that, and lay around lazily. Nothing really changes around here.

I'm starting work on something new (that I can't really go into detail about just yet) and I decided to post one of my really early, really rough character sketches above.

Steve~

Holy toledo things have been busy lately!

Lots of work and lots of family stuff has made it a wee bit difficult to get around to posting on the ol' illustration blog. Add all of that to the fact that I've been having a lot of trouble sleeping and you've got a recipe for disaster more annoying than a weekend long marathon of Ben Affleck movies.

Anyway, hopefully I'm entering a bit of a downspell and hopefully that'll mean throwing something up on here more often.

Hopefully.

I don't like making promises, so we'll just stick with hopefully.

Anyway, my wife has been snapping some pictures of me early in the morning and we think that we've discovered the reason I'm not getting any sleep.

The stupid cats seem to think my head is their bed.

(Don't give me any guff on the black and white stripped quilt. I've had it since I was a kid, it's ugly as sin, it needs to be thrown away, I've heard it all from my wife more than once. I'll tell you the same thing I tell her...it's not going anywhere. That's right, I'm a thirty year old Linus. Deal with it.)

Steve~

Here's a page from my zudacomics.com submission inked and colored.

I admit it...I'm not nuts about computer coloring. (Maybe it's because I'm not that good at it). Sometimes it just feels like a chore to me. (Once again, maybe that's because I'm not that good at it).

I'm about halfway through coloring the eight pages in my submission but I'm having trouble finding time getting it done with so much other work going on right now and with my wife on spring break and requiring a good deal of my attention. MY goal is to knuckle up and get it done this week.

Is that likely?

No.

It's nice to dream though.

Steve~

The promotional world for Stardust is starting, which has a nervous author convinced that no-one in the world is going to know about the movie or that it's good starting to breathe a sigh of relief. There are free screenings starting to get the word out, and according to Google news, if you buy stuff at French Connection you can get free tickets...
http://www.newsday.com/entertainment/ny-shoptalk0713,0,2458209.column?coll=ny-entertainment-promo


And I got a phone picture from my friend Kelli Bickman in New York letting me know that new posters have been spotted in Manhattan. They take some elements from the original poster and rearrange them...

(And Kelli says -- Neil.. S.O.S. i've recently fallen prey to a real-estate con-artist who is trying to steal my rent stabilized apartment/studio of 12 years and I don't have the resources to fight the court battle. Is there anyone out there who can help find me a pro bono real estate attorney in Manhattan (or will barter art)? or if there is anyone out there who has considered buying my work or commissioning a painting but hasn't gone the distance, now is a Very Good Time. Help me save my home and squash this con artist. A court date has been set for July 23. Thank you ten billion times for your help. kelli bickman - www.kellibickman.net I've known Kelli for about 15 years, she's a great artist and a very nice, kind person, so I'm happy to post this. Any New York lawyers who like art out there?)

Anyway, here's the International version of the original poster, which is a bit more golden than the US version.

I just realized this morning that the weekend Stardust opens is also the weekend of the Perseids meteor shower, one of the most active times for "shooting stars" of the year; so it wouldn't be unheard of at all for people to see the movie, walk out of the theater, and actually see a shooting star themselves.

Was the opening planned that way (if it was, this is an incredibly cool bit of marketing that I'm surprised I haven't seen mentioned yet), or was this just an amazing coincidence?

It's an amazing coincidence. But now I've told people, maybe it'll be a key wossname in the marketing strategy, in those parts of America where you can still see the stars.

...

It's all animal world here at the house. The last two cats came home from my assistant Lorraine's (she got a jungle kitten and decided she had too many cats in too small a house), while Fred the Unlucky Black Cat, who had vanished for several weeks, reappeared last night slightly the worse for wear -- he had an injury on his thigh that smelled like rancid cheese, which I washed with peroxide, and a new scar on his forehead, and he's now in the basement recovering and appreciating not being outside any longer. He now goes floppy whenever he gets picked up. I've gone from two and a half cats (the half being Fred outside in the garage) to six cats in a couple of weeks.

Fred's garage, which has a magnetic lock on the cat door, so only he can get in, has recently been invaded (which may be why he'd vanished, and also why he'd a new leg injury). Birdseed was scattered everywhere. So the Birdchick set up a camera to find out who could be doing it, and how.

The conclusion -- not entirely unexpected -- is that a magnetically locked cat door is no obstacle to a family of determined raccoons...

(Overexposed photo tweaked by Bill Stiteler.)

No hiking this week, sadly, as our car is still very much out of commission, but I did finally finish up my "Wheat Wife" painting:

I was going for an earthy look, but I feel like this turned out a bit more drab than I had intended. It was the sort of image that was really cool in my head, but on paper it's just a bit lacking. I had problems with the contrast between the snow and ground. The ground should be really dark from the dampness of melted snow, but it looks too high-contrast if I darken it, so I left it lighter than it really should be.

All of my little old ladies seem to end up looking the same. I guess I should try to diversify.

Well, at least I've got this one out of my head and down on paper. On to something new!

When I was just starting art school, a couple of my roommates had been hanging out with a guy who said with questionable sincerity that he could "see fairies." Although I, myself, have never "seen fairies" and cannot help but draw into question that sanity of this statement/person, he did once describe a little fairy-man that he had once seen who had wheat for hair. This description apparently left an impression and I'd always wanted to illustrate this character. I could never envision the fairy as a male however. So here is my interpretation:












I'm thinking she's some sort of harvest fairy. It seems only appropriate to have her carrying bread in her basket.


The composition for the painting is still subject to change, but in terms of color, I'm planning a very earthy color scheme - lots of brown, yellow ochre, gray, and white.

I've had this image floating in my head for a long time, so it will be nice to get it out of my system. So, credit goes to John-Who's-Last-Name -I-Can't-Remember-If-I
-Ever-Knew-It for the very cool 'wheat as hair' concept.