Tuesday, November 07, 2017

Research and Restoration

Back in September, when I was home for a few weeks, I made a trip down to City Hall to see if they had any old photos of my house.

JC used to have a great collection of photos, but they were damaged in the flood waters of Hurricane Sandy, the same flood that dumped four feet of water into my basement.

(I wasn't there at the time. I was safely above the water on a 4th-floor apartment in Hamilton Park. The previous owner had to sort out the flooded basement in Lafayette.)

City Hall had low-res photocopies of photos of my house, so I took those. It's hard to see exactly what my "tin house" looked like, but when I walk down the block, I see earlier restorations. I don't know how accurate they are, because Lafayette isn't legally a historic district, thus there is no requirement to restore facades to their 1938 appearance.

I hope the photos are eventually restored, and meanwhile, I'll have to take my best guess from the photos and from the restorations on the rest of the block.


Houses from down the block




Sunday, November 05, 2017

School Night Out


If you'd told me in 1986 that Daniel would be headlining shows across the country, that he'd even play at the Hollywood Bowl at one point, I might have believed you. I had heard his tapes, heard his raw talent, could hear the perfect songs behind the thumping and the chord organ and the coyote saying aroo-aroo-aroo.

Probably not in 1996, though. Maybe not even in 2006. Things were rough for a while. But here we are.

And here I was, young for a night, heading backstage on a school night. It's not the thrill it once was as I've got an eye on the clock the whole time, never quite able to overlook that I have to work in the morning. And it's not like you can bluff your way in at these big shows--you need to set up a pass in advance.

I sat outside at the counter at Two Boots just before the show, and a homeless guy came by asking for money. "That could've been Daniel with a few twists of fate," I thought. He's lucky his family accepted his problems as their responsibility. And he's lucky to have a tolerant diaspora of friends he has known for 30-40 years. He is complicated, to say the least. His memory is strange to me—he doesn't remember the people he's met in the room, but he remembers taking me to a Butthole Surfers show in 1986, and going to the movies in West Virginia in 1992. He remembers me getting out of my car and lifting up the seat to let him into the back with Louis and Nick from the Chronicle. He remembers I work at Marvel. I don't. I work for DC now and I've told him that a half-dozen times. That's not how his memory works anymore.

He and I snapped a few photos together. I help my phone out and we looked at them.

"I don't even recognize myself in photos anymore," he said.

I knew exactly what he means. He's aging faster than I am—he is on medication, doesn't exercise, drinks too much Mountain Dew. But I see it in myself too.

Listen up and I'll tell a story
About an artist growing old
Some would try for fame and glory
Others aren't so bold
And everyone in friends and family
Sayin' "hey go get a job
Why do you only do that only
Why are you so odd?
And we don't really like what you do
We don't think anyone ever will
We think you have a problem
And this problem's made you ill




Thursday, November 02, 2017

Historical Landmark

I found this while researching a possible trip to Tunisia.

And it made me laugh.


Sunday, October 29, 2017

More Home Improvements

Stuff I bought and hung up in my Burbank condo:


I bought a Moroccan mirror. My plan was to go to Mexico and buy a Mexican mirror, because it seems more appropriate for SoCal, but the Moroccan store is right by the North Hollywood metro. So Moroccan it is. 


A coat rack? Well, sort of. An everything rack by the front door. I have been looking for an interesting coat rack since I moved in. I finally gave up and got a cheap one. 

Friday, October 27, 2017

Fun with Photoshop

I had to cough up a photo of myself for a panel I'm on at work. All the other women on the panel had dazzling professional headshots with perfect skin and make-up, and blurred backgrounds.

I do not have one of those.

I guess I should get one, maybe. I'm not sure I will. That is so not my thing.

Meanwhile, I had to give them something. I dug into my snapshots and faked it.

Can you spot the differences?


Sunday, October 22, 2017

One in Every Port


I got a new toy! 

Because I don't have enough to do...


Sunday, October 01, 2017

In Memoriam

So this happened.

photo provided by Scott Edelman
I did not plan to speak at the memorial celebration of the life of Fabulous Flo. But among all the stories told from the podium, none of them mentioned Flo being a pioneer for women. Which she was, along with presumably dozens of other women behind-the-scenes as well as the women in the spotlight, such as Marie Severin and Ramona Fradon.

Every generation seems to neglect its own history, and the praise for each next wave seems cursed with a lack of respect for those who came before. And so I felt it necessary to point out that Flo was a woman in comics long before we were holding panels congratulating ourselves for the invention of something that has been around for decades.

We fetishize certain jobs, pretending only they matter. The mainstream equivalent is society ignoring traditionally female jobs—nurses, teachers, caregivers, secretaries—and talking about how women were not in the workforce before they became middle management, heads of corporations, coders, and executives. Of course they were in the workforce. We just discounted their efforts and neglected their contribution.

Women have always been in comics. Just take a look past your value system. Writers and artists matter, but they are nothing without the people who presented their visions to the world. 

Big City of Dreams

Looks like a fun place.




Saturday, September 16, 2017

Angeles Crest

My mother came to visit, so I rented a car and we drove up into the mountains.

San Gabriel Mountains

Friday, September 15, 2017

Meanwhile, in Burbank

Shit's going down in the building laundry room.