What Time Is It?

I've wanted to draw a picture of Marceline, the Vampire Queen from television's Adventure Time for a while. She's just such a great character - definitely sympathetic and likable, but always just a little evil. This is obviously quite a rough sketch. I resorted to Google image search only once to find out which hand Marceline strums her guitar with. I'd already blocked out Marceline's pose at that point, so the axe-bass winds up pointing down instead of up. Frankly, I like it that way better.

Poem of the Week

A Girl's Garden

By Robert Frost

A neighbor of mine in the village
Likes to tell how one spring
When she was a girl on the farm, she did
A childlike thing.

One day she asked her father
To give her a garden plot
To plant and tend and reap herself,
And he said, "Why not?"

In casting about for a corner
He thought of an idle bit
Of walled-off ground where a shop had stood,
And he said, "Just it."

And he said, "That ought to make you
An ideal one-girl farm,
And give you a chance to put some strength
On your slim-jim arm."

It was not enough of a garden
Her father said, to plow;
So she had to work it all by hand,
But she don't mind now.

She wheeled the dung in a wheelbarrow
Along a stretch of road;
But she always ran away and left
Her not-nice load,

And hid from anyone passing.
And then she begged the seed.
She says she thinks she planted one
Of all things but weed.

A hill each of potatoes,
Radishes, lettuce, peas,
Tomatoes, beets, beans, pumpkins, corn,
And even fruit trees.

And yes, she has long mistrusted
That a cider-apple
In bearing there today is hers,
Or at least may be.

Her crop was a miscellany
When all was said and done,
A little bit of everything,
A great deal of none.

Now when she sees in the village
How village things go,
Just when it seems to come in right,
She says, "I know!

"It's as when I was a farmer..."
Oh never by way of advice!
And she never sins by telling the tale
To the same person twice.

***

Two weeks in a row now I've posted a poem brought to mind by a song... although this week's song is actually just the poem set to music. I think we've all known someone like this - well-read on a subject, maybe, but completely ineffectual when it comes to practical application, yet still completely full of themselves...

Why are y'all looking at me like that?

Adventures in Animation: Where On Earth Is Carmen Sandiego?

When most people think of Carmen Sandiego, they think of the game show. And, you know, why wouldn't you? It was a lot of fun, and it made a cappella music a thing. That's a really tough theme song to compete with.

Well, does anyone remember the cartoon series based on the educational game? Cuz that one had a pretty fun theme, too, although a bit more dramatic and operatic than the finger-snapping fun of the Rockapella jam. I'd almost forgotten that this show existed until I found it on the shelf at the local FYE for only $10. So I thought I'd pick it up and see if I could justify why I watched it so much as a kid.

Where on Earth is Carmen Sandiego hasn't aged particularly well - the animation's a bit shoddy (especially the framing CG sequences), and the writing, at times, is downright awful. Oh, and then there's the chief, whose Max Headroom-style antics can be pretty entertaining for the minute or two before they get real old.

But, you know, I still found myself enjoying this show, mainly on the strength of its other characters. Sibling detectives Zach and Ivy lead the hunt for the master criminal, mostly known for pilfering high-profile artifacts from antiquity simply because she can. Ivy kicks a lot of butt - a strong female lead in a time period not really known for having good female characters. Zach's got a lot of early 90s "radness" in his speech, but he's not overly grating. Ultimately, the duo has to solve most of their problems with their brains rather than their brawn - a refreshing approach to action stories in children's entertainment.

The real draw, of course, is Carmen Sandiego herself. She's barely in most of the episodes, but that's not a bad thing. She's a real mystery, and that's a lot of her appeal. She's cool, confident, and always manages to be a step ahead of just about everyone. Best of all, when she does lose, she tends to lose with a bit of grace and dignity. She's a noble thief - she steals what she can, because she can, and she's in it for the sport. Plus, she's voiced by Rita Moreno. That's pretty cool. We don't get a lot of prominent Latina characters in fiction, and few have the poise and stature of Carmen Sandiego.

I'm actually surprised there's not more Carmen Sandiego nowadays. She's a childhood relic, good only for punchlines in jokes also involving Where's Waldo, and that's just not fair. She got saddled with a children's edutainment show, which maybe leaves a sour taste in some people's mouths, but it's not a bad show at all. And, I'll admit, I always liked the Carmen Sandiego experiences. They proved that education could be fun, if couched in a sufficiently fun narrative. And a cool character like Carmen Sandiego deserves to come back more than a lot of old franchises that keep getting revisited over and over and over.

Just, you know, leave the time-traveling game show out of it. Man, that was not very good.

Project 22: Photographer Noire

You want to know the strangest thing I've ever seen in this sordid business?  You ask a man who's photographed more naked senators in flagrante for the most shocking thing he's ever seen?  If you're here looking for sick thrills, I'll promise you that I'm not going to play along.  I don't do that line of work.  Not anymore.

So at the start of my story, there's this man.  You've seen his type.  He's thin-shouldered.  Slouches.  Sniffs the air like a rat every time he's startled.  Not a stiff bit in his whole body.  He slips me an envelope with an old grey picture and some lunch money.  "I want a photograph," he says.

I think I'm clever.  I flip the picture around.  "You've already got one," I say.  And it's a nice one, too.  Pretty girl, late teens, black hair bobbed like a flapper and a skirt hanging ever-so-nicely above the knee.  Not exactly an under-the-mattress picture, but it's nice enough for a bathroom mirror on a Saturday night.

He shakes his head and says, "Not of her.  I want her daughter."

It feels dirty.  This is the point where I'm about to give the money back.  I slide the envelope back across the desk, but this guy slaps his hand down hard.  I didn't think he had it in him.  "Please" is all he says.  He's sincere - the most pitiful kind of desperate.

"Find someone else."

"I'll pay you twice what's in the envelope when I get the picture I want."

A man can't hold onto his values forever.  I pocket the envelope, pick up the camera, and head for the door.

"They'll be in Central Park during the lunch hour today.  Look for them in the Ramble."

I close the door behind me before I can give it another second thought.

The Ramble's a great place for funny business, but there's little enough of that right now.  I mosey for nearly half an hour before I spot her.  The girl from the photo.  She's got a couple of worry lines from growing up.  But it's unmistakably her.

And there's her daughter.  Bright yellow dress with a white lace trim and these chubby legs that she can't quite bend sticking out the bottom.  She sees some dandelions in the grass and laughs.  Sounds like a string of bells.

I pull out my camera and try to take the picture - subtly, from behind a bush.  I don't know how it happened, but the girl sees me first.  She plucks up a flower, totters over to me, and presents it to me like I shouldn't be ashamed of what I'm doing.

I take the picture anyway.

The girl laughs again, and that catches Mother's attention.  She rises to her feet and walks towards me, angry and afraid all at the same time.  I step back, ready to make my retreat, but she stops.  She looks me over, taking in every unpressed wrinkle of my getup.  She can smell the cigarettes and bourbon, even in the open air.  She looks me in the eye, folds her arms, and nods.  Then she sits back down.  And that's it from her.

A few days later, and the man is back in my office.  I give him one thin envelope.  He gives me two thick ones.  No words are spoken, until:

"Was she happy?"

I don't know which one he's talking about.  "I don't know."

He smiles a bit, showing two rat-like teeth.  "She never did, either."

I never learned the full story, but I'll tell you this right now:  That was the only time anyone ever told the unsolicited truth in my office.

Best, funnest project I've had in a while.

My friend Jeremy pointed me to Nika Harper's "Wordplay," a Geek and Sundry vlog (Tangent: The word "vlog" is probably the only word dumber than "blog"). I checked it out once, didn't think much of it, and then kinda moved on... until it popped up again in my recommended videos on YouTube. The third installment challenged its viewers to write a short (500 word) noir story with the keyword "photographer." I was in a bit of a funk that day over my writing, and I decided that this sounded like a fun project. And I just loved it.

Admittedly, I didn't get the story down to 500 words (I'm hovering around 650), but I'm still quite pleased with the result. I did a bit of research for the story, too, about period photography and Central Park in New York City. And by "did a bit of research," I of course mean "browsed a few Wikipedia articles." Same difference.

There's actually a draft picture on my iPad of what the illustration almost was - a guy hiding in a bush trying to take a photograph of a little girl. I forgot about the sketch, though, and just drew the photograph itself later on. I had the hardest time not making this little girl utterly horrifying - the uncanny valley was just not my friend. So the final result is a picture that walks the very fine line between cute and nightmarish. Given the tone of the story above, though, I think that's a good place to be.

Power Up!

Shazam!

Poem of the Week

Girl-Watching

By Dan Brown

In the years I’ve been at this

(Lots, not to be precise)

You’d think that once or twice

At least I would have seen

Some anomalies. I mean

Some major ones. As in

Not feet but little wheels,

Or crests like cockatiels’.

Where are they keeping the girls

With a chrome exterior,

Or an extra derriere?

Apparently nowhere.

Assuming my sample’s valid,

The pool is limited

To the standard types I’ve tallied;

Such variance as there is

In the usual congeries

Of   physiognomies —

And yet enough of   it

To be worth the looking at.

The walking by, for that,

Of   the same girl over and over

Would be no cross to bear

If   it were that one there.

***

Found this poem a little while on my poetry spinner app. Read it, then listen to this. Then you can thank me for having the rest of a good day, cuz I guarantee you will.

Although whether that will be due to the great song or the absolutely epic white-people-dancing, I can't tell.

Poem of the Week

Dulce et Decorum Est

By Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

***

Chances of you having read this poem in high school are pretty good. What impresses me most about Pwen's poem is the way he decries the supposed "glory" of war without vilifying the soldier. After all, the soldier is just doing what he sees as his duty, and is far more likely to suffer the ill-effects of war than the civilian poet who protests the war or the politician who sends him out to die. Sadly for Owen, he was both a poet and a soldier, and he lost his life in the war.

Cooking with Braddy: Ravioli Skillet Lasagna

Some days you just want to come home after work and cook a nice, simple dish. No fancy ingredients, no crazy techniques... Just a couple of frozen raviolis, plenty of cheese, and some bottled marinara sauce... So why for the love of pesto do I make things so complicated?

See, the above recipe (thank you, Pinterest) is really not that difficult. I thought it wouldn't be "cool" enough to just buy some marinara off the shelf, though, so I decide to go and make my own (roughly based off this Food Network recipe). Trouble is, the recipe for the sauce has a prep time of about an hour, and I just didn't wanna wait that long for my din-dins. Oh, and I replaced all those nice, convenient canned and frozen foods with fresh alternatives without really adjusting the directions at all.

Now, I've been trying to steer clear of a lot of canned foods ever since I finally looked at the nutritional facts on a can of Mandarin oranges (Daily Nutritional Value: None Percent), and, even after last night's failed experiment, that's a practice I plan to continue. Fresh is just better. More expensive, true, and sometimes more time consuming, but better.

All that said, the final result wasn't too bad. True, the tomatoes didn't break down quite like I wanted, so I wound up with a sauce far chunkier (and far less saucy) than I'd hoped for. The cheese mixture worked out pretty nice, though, and the raviolis and spinach cooked just right. If I were to go back and modify the recipe some (allow more time for the sauce to cook, and probably use more tomatoes), I think I'd have a real winner. As is... well, it's REALLY HARD to make frozen ravioli completely inedible, so at least I have some half-palatable leftovers to last me a little while.

At The Kid's Table

I need more single friends.

There's nothing wrong with being married... probably. But when you're a single guy, and all the people you're used to hanging out with get hitched, you start to feel a little left behind.

I guess I just don't get why people have to go and reproduce. Now, more often than not, when I get together with my married friends, I find myself spending a lot of time with my friend's children because - and here's the scary part - I have more in common with the kids than I do with the people I've known my entire life.

See, my friends all get talk about their families, their spouses and children (and I don't think I have any of those). When we go beyond familial stuff, we tend to focus on the same boring topics of conversation: work, how much mileage my car gets, mortgage payments... It's really kind of a drag. When the kids are around, though, it's always, "Whose your favorite pony? Mine's Rarity!"

And, sadly, I know more about the latter subject than any of the former.

Sometimes, though, when I'm with my friends, we don't say anything at all. I'll admit there's actually something comforting about that - the ability to spend time in near complete silence with people I've known for so long can be almost as cathartic as laughing about that one time in high school when we all went to Homecoming with someone else's girlfriend (Fun Fact: That was a bad idea).

And, sometimes, when my friends are all off having grown-up conversations, I get stuck with the kids, and I find that the conversation there tends to dry up, too. Of course, THEN it's usually because the kids are too busy trying to keep hold of my legs as I desperately try to kick them off.

I think I'd be fine if I never get married. I probably would need to get new friends, though, since I'm pretty much just going to be shunted off to the kid's table from here on out. Of course, the kid's table DOES have macaroni I and cheese...

Adventures in Animation: Kim Possible

Kim Possible was never really my show. I mean, I did like it, but it was really something my friends obsessed over more than I did. I caught an episode every now and again during my college days - pretty much whenever I wanted something fun and inoffensive. How does it hold up now?

Yes. Yes it does.

I mean, it's a super-dated experience now. Just listen to that theme song - totally early 2000s pop music. Plus, who the heck wears belly shirts anymore, Kim.

Beyond that, though, there's a real solid premise here. Spider-Man proves that teenage heroes are quite the viable property, and Kim's super-spy aesthetic isn't that far off from the spandex genre. Kim balances all the usual concerns of a teenage girl with the more weighty issues of saving the world week after week.

Admittedly, a lot of those "usual teenage concerns" are a little on the cliche side - cute boys, make-up, skin care, cheerleading practice... It's a very Disney princess sort of thing. Still, Kim kicks a lot more butt than most Disney princesses, so it works out pretty well.

Plus - and this is important - this show is funny. A lot of the comedy comes from the performance of Will Friedle, mostly known for playing the older brother in Boy Meets World. He did a bit of voice acting once that show ended, and he's always got this high-energy delivery that brings a lot to the character.

Beyond that, there are some surprisingly great action pieces. A big highlight is any time Kim Possible faces off with her femme-fatale rival, Shego. They could have easily gone with the petty catfight route, and while the two adversaries usually snark about the other's weight or complexion during their duels, they both swing hard. It's actually some of the best fight choreography I've seen in animation.

Now if only Disney would actually put out an affordable DVD collection. My buddy managed to snag his copy through the Disney Rewards Program, but for me to buy it on my own would set me back $60 a season.

And, yeah, I'm actually a little tempted.

Project 21: If Only You Had Been There

While walking down the street
The other week or day,
I saw a speeding car
Coming the other way.
And in that car, a crooked driver -
Her hair was thin and gray.

Then, from the yellow guiding lines
Her car began to stray!
That other lane was empty -
A relief, I'm sure you'll say,
For any lonely passer-by
That car would surely slay.

But now that relief has left us,
The truth I must convey.
The thought I had - most ghastly! -
With guilt I now relay:
I wished that you had been there
To stand there in her way.

This poem... is a lot darker than I anticipated. So's the picture. I lost interest in the whole thing about halfway through, but I didn't want to completely abandon it. It's done now.

Next project will be better.

Knight Baby and the Nefarious Vampire

Momma told me I could grow up to be whatever I want. I say, "Why wait?"

I'll admit it - this isn't one of my finer drawings. See, I meant to draw a baby with a pacifier in his mouth, but my roommate pointed out that it looks more like a moustache, and now that's all I can see.

Although, truthfully, I think I like it better as a moustache.

Don't Look Up

Clearly, someone is gonna get hurt tonight.

Big Screen Breakdown: Man of Steel

Confession time: So you remember that time that I raved about how much I love Superman? Well, I said all that, having never actually seen a Superman movie before. This summer's Man of Steel was my first, and, given my deep love for everything the character means, I went into the film with some pretty high expectations. In thinking about my reaction to the movie, I have to be careful to separate what I wanted the movie to be from what it actually was. And what was it? Well...

• This is the best-looking movie I've seen all year. Zach Snyder's apparently known for his visuals, and it shows here. The action sequences are thrilling, but there's also some really great camerawork in the quieter moments.
• Speaking of appearances, Henry Cavill looks more like Superman than anything I've ever seen outside of an actual comic book. If only he'd had the little red shorts, the look would have been 100% perfect. He acts the role just as well, bringing a real human element and emotional vulnerability to the impervious Man of Steel.
• This movie needs more supporting cast. Amy Adams plays a great Lois Lane, but she doesn't quite get enough to do. And Lawrence Fishburn really needs more to do. He gave me the one moment that actually made me cry in the theater. He's too good to be relegated to what's basically a glorified cameo.
• I'm sure that Michael Shannon (who plays the villain) subsists on a diet of amphetamines and scenery. Which is great. If you're going to be a villain, be over the top. Those are the best kind.
• The Superman fathers really, REALLY make me feel conflicted. My personal idea of what Jor-El should be like is probably the exact opposite of how much we see of him in Man of Steel... and yet Russell Crowe is very, very good. His presence helps imbue Clark Kent with some of the morality that Superman is known for.
• And then we get to Kevin Costner, who plays Superman's earthly dad, Jonathan Kent. I was less than impressed with what hints we got of his character in the trailers, and the movie... well, those flaws are all still there. Jonathan frequently comes off as kind of cowardly, and he teaches Clark a lesson that rings false with who Superman is supposed to be.
• Is there some rule that says that superhero movies this summer are supposed to have ridiculously awesome action sequences with female characters? First there was that creepy Extremis woman in Iron Man 3, and now there's the Kryptonian woman in Man of Steel. It's an odd trend... but a fun one. I fully endorse women kicking butt in movies.
• The Kryptonian fight sequences are just... just beautiful.
• Man of Steel is going to get compared to Batman Begins a lot - David S. Goyer's involvement will guarantee that. Interestingly, I found that my favorite aspect of Batman Begins - the non-linear background story - doesn't work as well with Superman, while the big climactic fight - which fell short of impressing in Batman Begins - really works in Man of Steel
• I have about 80,000 things I could say about the ending of the film. Y'all really need to go see it so I can talk about it. It's gonna be a source of contention, but, ultimately, I think it works, especially when you consider that this is the story of Superman becoming Superman.
• Verdict: Highly recommended, despite some glaring flaws.

I Can't Believe How Much Braddy Spoils Man of Steel

Once again, I got a sneak peek at one of the biggest movies of the summer, and this one's a doozy: Man of Steel is a crazy risky movie. There's a lot of just mind-boggling moves the film's creators pulled, and those guarantee that this will be the movie everyone talks about this summer. Keep your well-behaved children at home, because HERE. COME. THE SPOILERS!

• First, the question I know you're already asking: Should I stay after the credits. The answer, of course, is yes: they reveal that the next film is going to have Lex Luthor, and that he will be played by Smallville actor Michael Rosenbaum.
• DC plans on creating a Justice League movie, and they lay the groundwork here by featuring a cameo from Wonder Woman... although I'm not sure that making Wonde Woman and Lois Lane the same character is such a good idea.
• It's a Superman story, so of course there's Kryptonite. The CG effects showing Superman's skin boiling when the Kryptonite gets him are a little intense - so much so that I'm surprised this movie got by with a PG-13 rating.
• I didn't know Stan Lee made cameos in DC movies...
• Fun Fact: I bet most people aren't aware that, in the comics, Superman has a super-powered dog named Krypto. Well, after this movie, everyone will know.

Project 20: Here I Come To Save...

Every Friday after work, Alicia Leonard stopped at the same cafe on her way home from work to drown her sorrows in the same soda and Caesar salad. Something about the cafe soothed her when she felt troubled. The pasty pink walls and faded floral patterns had lost much of what kept them playful and vigorous in years past. The servers, clad in limp yellows and browns, smiled as a default, the excitement of at last finding employment nearly eroded to nothing now that the realities of standing on one's feet all day had become painfully apparent. In short, the cafe was a completely ordinary place; which, to a woman of such practiced ordinariness as Alicia, was immensely comforting.

So intent was Alicia on wallowing in the mundanity which surrounded her that she didn't notice the sound of the bell ringing over the entranceway. After all, it was only a bell, meant to attract the attention of those compensated for noticing such things. It had nothing to do with her. Nor, for that matter, did she notice the crashing of dishes to the floor and the surprised gasps of the waitstaff; for, if she had, she might have realized that the gasps came first, as if they had been shocked out of normalcy by the appearance of something majestic, something tremendous, even something far out of the ordinary.

No, what drew Alicia's gaze away from the pale leaf of Iceburg lettuce dripping with shredded Parmesan and mayonnaise was the sound of a voice, which said, in a most unassuming tone that would have sounded surprisingly ordinary to anyone other than Alicia:

"Hello."

At once, Alicia felt her cheeks flush, and her composure slipped for just a moment. But by now her need for ordinariness was so strong that her pulse soon restored itself, her hand soon leveled, and her eyes, which must have popped for just a second, returned to their usual size.

"Won't you sit down?" she said, without turning to face the man who addressed her.

She didn't need to see him, for she knew already what he would look like - stiff and straight as an arrow fired from the bow of Justice. That's what the radio announcers always said. Never mind that Justice was always said to be in possession of scales and a blindfold, and a sword, if there arose a need to be combative. Still, the arrow metaphor was apt - the man was a soldier, through and through. So much so that the simple act of sitting down in front of a woman who had once been his friend - an act which showed, despite his best efforts, more vulnerability than he had ever displayed before any photographer - was unnatural to him. Alicia sensed the moment of indecision, and then the man lowered himself into the seat.

He was dressed in his uniform - something Alicia had hoped never to see again. Unlike most soldiers with their camo greens and grays, here was a man dressed to stand out. A bodysuit painted bold blue, spangled with red and white stars, and a pair of bright yellow gloves. It was a gaudy affair, to be sure, but it immediately and unmistakably identified him as Hero. The press had never had another name for him, and, until five years ago, neither had Alicia.

"You're looking well," she said.

The spangled soldier sat down. "You as well, Lisa."

Instinctively, Alicia ducked her head. "Don't call me that, please."

"Why not?" Hero said. "It's your name. Lisa Lee, intrepid girl reporter. The woman who always ran ahead of everyone else, getting into scraps she should have known she couldn't handle on her own. It's how I always knew you."

"I'm not that girl anymore," Alicia said. "I haven't been that person for a long time."

"You could be again. I can help you."

Alicia was taken aback by the intensity of Hero's voice. She looked briefly into his eyes and saw there the same simple conviction that had captured her imagination so long ago. Her hand trembled. She smiled, but she turned her gaze back to her salad. "It's not that easy. Not even for you. I know who you are, Carl."

"Everyone knows that by now," Hero said, waving his hand dismissively. "Who would have thought that Carl Ellis, lowly clerk, could actually be the same costumed avenger that protected the nation from threats both terrestrial and alien?"

Alicia wanted to say, "That's not what I meant at all." Instead, she said, "If you had told me, I would have believed you."

"I couldn't say anything," Hero said. "It wasn't..."

"Safe?" Alicia felt the bitterness in her voice. It stung Hero, as well. The man with the impenetrable hide, made speechless by a single word. Alicia lowered her voice and tried again. "I had to change my name when I found out."

"But that's my point," Hero said. "We made the announcement on TV. It's over. Everyone knows now. You don't have to be Alicia Leonard anymore. You can come back to your old life now. I can protect you?"

"And my new life? What about it?"

Hero shook his head. "This isn't you."

"You don't know me as well as you think," Alicia said. "You can't understand anyone who doesn't get the chance to understand you in return."

"Nobody came closer than you," Hero said.

"I know. I saw who you really were, even before the announcement." Alicia swallowed a sob that had been slowly building in her throat. Her face became stone. "No one should have found out the way I did."

Alicia had never seen Hero so vulnerable as he was now. She did not, however, expect to see him look so genuinely surprised. "When did you find out?"

Alicia breathed in deeply. The air steadied her trembling lip. "The bomb at the Universal Gazette, when Doc Trauma tried to get his revenge on me for the story I wrote after his trial." She raised her eyes again from the table and fixed Hero with a gaze both accusatory and sorrowful. "The attack that killed you."

Hero nodded. "I remember." 

Alicia bit her lip. "Carl," she said, and then she paused, knowing what she wanted to say next but afraid to say it. She gave a long sigh, and then: "I saw you in the blast."

"You couldn't have," the soldier spoke frantically now. "The flames were too big, the smoke too thick."

"But I did. Do you know what I felt in that moment, Carl, when I saw you had survived the bombing?" Alicia smiled. She blinked hard, but a tear still slipped down her cheek. "I was so happy. There you were: your clothes were burning off, but you were all right. That's when I knew who you were, and I thought, 'Hero will save us.'"

"And I did."

"But not everyone."

Carl fell silent, unable to respond. For all the world, despite the sharp jaw and stiff shoulders, he looked like a sullen teenager, balking at parental reprimand.

"No," he said at last, "not everyone."

"Why didn't you? Tom Goldman died because you disappeared after the bomb. Who knows how many others were killed by Trauma's other devices?"

"Twenty-three." Carl straightened up and looked Alicia directly in the eyes. "I read the reports."

Alicia shook her head. "I couldn't bring myself to."

"I had my orders," he said. His voice took on a rigid, formal quality, as if he were reporting to a superior officer. "At the time, the military wanted to keep my civilian identity a secret. When the bomb went off, Carl Ellis had to die. I was ordered to return to base."

"You didn't have to..."

"But I did," the soldier snapped.

A long silence fell between them. Carl spoke first, starting with a nervous laugh. "I love you, you know."

Alicia nodded. "I loved you once, too. How could I not?"

"But you won't come back."

"You have to go and be a Hero again," Alicia said. "I have work of my own."

"You could go back to the Gazette," Carl said. "They need you there."

Alicia gently placed the fork she had eaten with across the rim of the plate with her half-eaten salad. "That's the difference between us, Carl," she said. "You need people to need you. I don't. Not anymore." She stood up and pulled her pocketbook out of her purse. She walked to the register and paid her bill. Then, as she reached for the door to leave the cafe, she stopped and turned again to the table where Carl still sat, his gaze still locked on the plate of salad. Alicia let the door close and walked back to the soldier. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she felt the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his uniform.

"I don't blame you," she said. "You are still, and always will be, my Hero."

The soldier sat still. Alicia's hand lingered. She feared to admit that liked seeing him like this - not hurt (she could never stand that), but human. At one time, she would have stayed to comfort him, but she couldn't shake the feeling that, now that she no longer needed him, he did not need her. She withdrew her hand and left him to make that realization for himself.

To be honest, I wasn't too thrilled with this piece once I got it down. In my head, it works pretty well, but I'm not sure that starting in medias res was the best idea. Without the necessary context of the backstory (which is all in my head), the story's kind of unsuccessful.

But I am fairly pleased with that introductory paragraph. I've started trying to establish a better sense of place in my prose. I think I got a good diner scene set up here.

The picture, again, is a bit of a rush job, but fairly atmospheric still. I REALLY need to dedicate more time to light studies.

Out from the Woods

Yeah, it definitely looks safer out there.

Adventures in Animation: 90s Cartoon Movies

Man, remember THESE shows?

I'll admit I never saw Batman: Mask of the Phantasm until about two weeks ago, which should come as a bit of a surprise to everyone who's ever known me, ever. I mean, the movie got a big-screen release, is constantly referenced by other entries in the DC Animated Universe, and (here's the most important part) only costs $5 at Target. And yet I never saw fit to watch it Neil just recently. Go figure.

Now that I've seen it, I have to say that Batman: Mask of the Phantasm may be the best Batman movie ever. It's got some pretty stiff competition from the Christopher Nolan films, but in some ways it proves to be even better.

The movie juggles about three or four plots at the same time, switching between them fairly smoothly and giving enough time to all of them that the viewer never feels lost. My biggest complaint about the movie is that the Joker plays a pretty prominent role, but he feels shoe-horned in, like the writers had some requirement to feature at least one big-name Batman villain, even though their plot didn't need one.

But, seriously, this movie has the BEST all-time portrayal of Bruce Wayne. He gets a bit of screen time as the womanizer (kinda like what Christian Bale does in the Nolan films), but we see how tired he gets of the whole thing. It's a humanizing moment for the man who, I must remind you, spends most of his time dressed up as a spandex bat punching out the mentally challenged. He needs all the humanizing moments he can get.

Moving on from there, we've got Tiny Toons: How I Spent My Summer Vacation. Now, unlike MotP, this movie was ALL OVER my childhood. I probably watched it dozens of times growing up, and I'm pretty sure that, at one point, I must have had it memorized. And that's... kinda funny. I mean, I LIKED Tiny Toons, but I remember very clearly losing interest in the cartoon really quickly, especially once Animaniacs hit the scene.

Now I'm going to have to go back and watch Tiny Toons all over again, because this movie is hi-LARIOUS. Seriously, it's a ton of fun. Like a lot of Warner Brothers fare, it's reliance on pop-culture references hasn't aged all that well ("Hey, kids! Remember Arsenio Hall?"), but the characters are just fantastic.

Particularly, the character of Babs Bunny impressed me the most. I don't recall liking Babs all that much, but she is really, really funny. She shares a lot of scenes with Buster, and, more often than not, she steals the show from him. It's great.

And, of course, you've got Plucky Duck introducing children to the concept of schadenfreude long before they develop the physical capacity to even pronounce the word.

Finally (not to give anything away), but Tiny Toons: How I Spent My Summer Vacation has the best plot hole I have ever seen in a movie.

So if the big screen offerings this year don't look too pleasant, I'd advocate a trip to the bargain bin. These nostalgic classics hold up pretty darn well, and they set you back less than the cost of a theater ticket.

Project 19: Angel of Mercy

For every prayer that passes mortal lips, a phone rings.  Every silent supplication uttered under the breath or in the heart is connected directly to the holy halls beyond the pearly gates of Paradise.  Every plea on bended knee is recorded and acted upon by the angels assigned to guard over their mortal kin below.  And every working day, between the hours of eight and five o'clock, it falls to Angelo, archangel in training, to screen the calls of Heaven.

Angelo follows the rules regarding the manner by which he is to compose himself to the letter and budges not one tittle beyond towards the spirit those rules are meant to preserve.  Like his peers, he is clothed in the white robe and halo customary of all angels.  His robes, however, are spotted with crumbs and stains, and his halo has gone brassy from lack of polish.  Angelo scratches often under his chin, irritated by the stubble he has allowed to grow there, but he remains completely ignorant or uncaring regarding the cause of the itch  His eyes are baggy and sunken from late hours spent staring longingly at the lights of the Vegas strip from his celestial balcony. Angelo arrives this morning to work - as he does most mornings - possessed of the most unusual temper ever seen in a heavenly minister.  He dons the earpiece, lets out a sound that is as much a growl as it is a sigh, and prepares to receive the first prayer of the day.

"God, are you there?  It's Matilda."

"Mattie!" Angelo cries with no enthusiasm.  "What's shakin', honey?"  The angel spoke into a receiver that, millenia ago, would have transmitted his voice back to the supplicant on Earth.  Now that the air had been so crowded by talk radio broadcasts and other pollutants, Angelo had no fear that his voice would be heard.

He listens disinterestedly to Matilda's plea.  "My son is sick," Matilda said.  "I know it's just a cold and I shouldn't worry, but I'm scared for him.  Please help him to feel better."

"Sure," Angelo says.  "We've got plenty of time for that."  Matilda continues with her prayers.  Angelo has already diverted his attention to the half-filled cup of soda he left at his desk the day before.

It was the same thing he heard every day.  "Please protect my family."  "Bless the poor and the sick."  "Let Schwartzman make this one field goal."  After the first thousand years of the same routine, Angelo wondered if he should have kept a tally of the different requests he received.  He kept it up for only about a hundred years, although to this day he still tracks the incoming prayers of profane motorists and construction laborers who accidentally dialed into the celestial hotline through their inadvertently vain use of the name of The Lord.

Matilda disconnects, satisfied that somewhere, on some cloud, someone had heard her.  Angelo sips his soda and belches loudly.

"Keep it down over there," a voice shouts from an adjacent cubicle.

Angelo bares his teeth and throws the now-empty soda cup towards the garbage can.  It sails gracefully through the air and lands just shy of its intended target.  Angelo picks angrily at his teeth; then, satisfied that he can delay no longer, he presses the button on his receiver, ready to take another incoming prayer.

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name."

"Hey, sorry," Angelo says.  "You have the wrong department.  Form prayers go directly to the machine."

Still the voice drones on.  "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth..."

Angelo presses the button on his receiver again and again.  "No, you're not understanding, I can't take this call."

"Give us this day our daily bread..."

"Hey!" Angelo calls.  "I need a tech guy here ASAP!"

The sound of footsteps in the corridor, and then a portly angel with a disheveled robe and hair frayed like the end of a rope appears in the entryway to Angelo's cubicle.  "Lost connection?" he says, wearily.

Angelo rips his headset off.  "I've got a Lord's Prayer on my line."

"So?  Just record it.  We're a little busy.  Storms have cut off all access to India."

"Listen, Tubs, I've worked here for long enough that I shouldn't have to take down these silly rote prayers anymore.  Been there, done that for about seven hundred and fifty years.  Now, do your job, get this call off my line, and fix the connection.  You have until they say 'Amen.'"

The portly angel sighs and crawls under Angelo's desk.  He plucks at the wires streaming from the headset and mutters to himself.  "Blessed are the meek," he says.  "Blessed are the meek," over and over and over.

Finally, success.  "For thine is the kingdom, and the po-"  The voice in the headset abruptly ceases.

"That should do it," the IT man says, emerging from under the desk.  "You really could have just taken the call, though.  It'd save us all a lot of time."

"It's the principle of the thing," Angelo says, sitting back at his desk.  "You'd think a place like this would be all about principles."

"Yes," the IT man says with a weary glare in his eye that completely escapes Angelo's notice.  "You really would, wouldn't you?"

Another voice calls out at the other end of the work floor, and the portly angel gallops off, kicking his sandaled feet high in the air.  Angelo places the headset back into his ear just as a new call on the line beeps in.

Angelo curses, "Crap!" and plucks the headset back out.  He rubs his ear and looks around guiltily, hoping no one heard him.  Even in Heaven, a swear is not always forgiven.

The coast is clear, for the moment.  Angelo puts the headset on again and prepares to take the next call.  He presses the button and says, for only the hundred-and-eightieth time "Thank you for calling Heaven.  My name is Angelo.  Would you like to try our soup of the day?"

"Our Father, which art in heaven..."

Down slams the headset again.  "I.T.!"

Man, I've been wanting to write this character for a while!

The character of Angelo has been in my head for probably a few years. In fact, I've actually drawn him before. I actually didn't reference the original design at all before drawing this one, so I'm quite surprised how similar the two designs wound up looking.

I plan to continue this story at some point, where we'll take this misanthropic seraph out from the call center and into the real world... but that's a story for much, MUCH later down the road.