Resusciatation

Wait, what? 

This must be how people feel when their exes move on without them.

(See also what else does the Justice League and THE 99 have in common?)

Mixed Emotions

It's that time of year when everyone parses out their complicated feelings about a certain large comic book convention located in southern California, leading no one to satisfactory conclusions.

Let's review.

-Yes, it's changed.

-Yes, you've changed.

-Yes, we've all changed.

-Yes, it's insanely expensive and you could either get a new roof this year or you could pay for a hotel room at SDCC.

-I would probably not be going if I weren't employed in the field, as I would choose a new roof.

-Even those who go struggle with the ups and down over the course of a few hours.

-Yes, it's fun.

-No, it's not fun, in fact, it can kinda suck.

 -You probably can't go anyway, since you didn't plan ten months ahead of time, so your thoughts on not going have no actual bearing on the results. It's kind of like politics. Talk all you want. Doesn't matter.

 -You could just tell everyone you went, and stay home and buy that roof, since it's possible to be there all week and never see people you wanted to see.

-If I weren't going, I'd probably find some way to rationalize how I had made the better choice than those who went, but it would be absurd, because the truth is so much more complicated.

-When I don't go next, likely in 2021, remind me to bitch and moan about how stupid everyone is who is going, because they should all be buying new roofs instead. No, wait. Remind me to accept my spot in the world with grace and not put down those who still attend.

Decades of Everything Else

I was off to the Egyptian last night to see 1978 movie Superman (with New York-scapes by my friend Sam’s dad, who took photos from a helicopter), The screening included a conversation between a DC Daily host and Helen Slater (aka my former company’s lawyer’s sister).

I remember arguing the physics of the Superman ending with the girl down the street when I was a kid. I hadn’t actually seen the movie until tonight, so perhaps that’s why I was unable to suspend my disbelief.

The original Superman movie starts with a callout to 1938. When that movie came out in 1978, that seemed an impossibly ancient time, unrelated to the modern era. Watching the movie last night, I realized it's been longer from 1978 to now than from 1938 to 1978.

In my head, I roughly think of the last hundred years as "Depression stuff," "war stuff," "the sixties," "Vietnam/Watergate," and then anything after the Iranian hostage crisis and disco as "everything else, especially tech."

I might need to update my definitions.

The Highest Recommendation

The Indian food truck gave me a prescription discount card along with my lunch.

 Maybe I’ll just have a banana instead...

Say It Isn't So

When you have heavy hitters on your panel at SDCC, you do what you must to survive.

Life On the Edge

Everyone's favorite Burbank motorcycle cop was stationed at the scene of the crime again today.

I spotted him as I arrived at the dead end, and so I stopped and hit the walk button once a second for two minutes. It beeps every time it's hit.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

He left eventually. I like to think I annoyed him into departing.

The walk sign still hadn't changed, so as soon as he left, I crossed the street.

Against the light.

The horror.

Back in JC, I'd told a Lyft driver about my Burbank jaywalking warning offense.

He'd howled with laughter, said the Burbank police should check out Hoboken sometime, and when he dropped me off, he said I was the happiest passenger he'd had all day.

I'll take it, but you other Lyft passengers better up your game is all I'm saying.

I Need Help

God, who lives like this?

Monday Night Pottery

Here are photos of my latest pottery class output.

But first, a tale of taking a Lyft home from Burbank Rec Center.

Lyft driver: "It's chilly outside."
Me: "Weird, right? For July."
TLD: "And all that rain. And earthquakes. Maybe someone is coming."
Me: "..."
Me: "..."
Me: "Um, maybe?"

I didn't think the plate would make it through firing because it had a little crack in it, so I just tested out glazes on it. But it looks good and the crack isn't visible.

Hand built with imprints of my knuckles.

Clear and Present Danger

When TSA pulled me aside this morning, I wasn’t surprised, because I had a batter hand mixer in my carry-on.

You know, the kind of plug-in mixer with two paddles. Maybe your mom let you lick the batter off when you were a kid.

I had a story ready. I was giving it to a friend in LA. The real story is too odd, too complicated. I moved from New York to LA, but not really. I moved...but didn’t take my stuff and I saw this in my storage unit and thought maybe I could bake something with all those cherries on sale now. (If only I'd remembered to bring a cake pan.)

But when the TSA agent opened my bag, she only cared about the coffee beans I was carrying.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The offending mixer was purchased at Woolworth's on 14th Street and Avenue B in 1993.

Double the Fun

It's been a while since I discovered something new in my yard in Jersey City via my mom's wildlife motion-activated camera.

And while I was disappointed I found no new animals...I did find something unexpected.

The raccoons are teaming up now.