Writing and Drawing

Dizzy's In Park Slope

2012-01-20T13:56:00.005-05:00

Since November of last year I have had paintings hanging at Dizzy's in Park Slope curated by Radar Curatorial.

Stop by and say hi Thursday Jan 26th 7:00 pm., and have a bite to eat.

Show ends Feb. 3rd.

Dizzy's 511 9th Street, Brooklyn

Bumper to Bumper

2011-12-01T08:51:00.013-05:00

You know, I think this was actually one of the first pieces that I started on when I began the "Things I Miss" series quite some time ago. For whatever reason, it never got finished and got shuffled around for maybe a year or two until a few weeks ago.

As I began building up one of the cars, it started to resemble a gelatine mold of Grimace, not of a grimace (lower case "g") although it could maybe be inferred as "a twisted expression on a person's face, typically expressing disgust, pain, or wry amusement," but in this case I am talking about that big purple guy from the old McDonald's commercials. It is weird that the word is associated with these feeling and the place. Apparently when he was first introduced, Grimace was supposed to be a villain, some four-armed shake stealing bad guy. They even called him "Evil." Can you believe that? Here's another surprise: I have not eaten anything served under those golden arches for over three maybe four years now, due in large part to a wheat and gluten allergy that I had developed/discovered and the subsequent knowledge of what is actually in your food while learning how to manage my diet. Not gonna lie, I kinda sorta miss it. But if I did in fact partake, in addition to a bunch of other not so fun things, I would most likely bare an expression of a grimace, (lower case "g") disgusted with my self for eating something that caused me pain with a hint of wry amusement because, let's face it, I'd be in the ball pit sippin' on a Shamrock Shake.

Oh yeah, I was talking about the painting. As I continued working, the painting developed into something that reminded me of one of those Mexican wrestler masks...

...and shortly after that, I thought it looked one of those Native American carvings of an orca whale wearing a Mexican wrestling mask. Until...

..it was all done and got itself a buddy. This one is called "You are kidding me? On the Bumper Cars?" And that, my friends is a whole 'nother story.

Still Lifes: A Nanny's Work

2011-03-22T15:34:00.009-04:00

Suspected by many, toys do indeed come to life and play while children sleep. In this case, a bulked up version of a yellow ranger strums the 'ol Banjo. I wonder if Trini had these skills or if this was part of the modifications made to retool the merchandising franchise?

A Jurassic/Rubenesque Brachiosaurus.

Backwoods Woody and his Crocodile Pal.

Lego Man Walking.

Documentation Station

2010-11-24T12:02:00.009-05:00

I am standing knee deep in piles and piles of papers , scraps, and index cards with drawings and doodles and notes and jokes. They have been accumulating over the past few years and
I have developed a bad habit of stuffing them in boxes and bags and tucking them away in corners, closets, and shelves. In a sense they all sort of non-exist in the sense that I am not doing anything with the sketches and writings and such, but at the same time are super annoyingly present in our not so huge apartment. So, I have given myself a challenge. My mission: Scan and Shred it all and put the paper strings of things in a clear bag and drop it in the recycling bin outside of our building, thusly freeing myself (and Amanda)of the crazy town filing system I have been employing for far too long. I just hope the little flatbed is up for the task.

The featured drawing in this post was found in a plastic grocery bag amongst a bunch of other random papers, a box of replacement bicycle tubes, some scrabble tiles, A Skip-Bo card, a lidless tube of Cerulean Blue Hue, old medical bills, an action figure of a black hand Luke Skywalker in his Jedi Outfit, and a shiny quarter machine sticker depicting a scuffle between Jasmine and Jafar from Disney's Alladin (it is labled "Jafir and Jasmine" so naturally I have to keep it forever, as one day it will be valuable.)

Become a Fan on Facebook

2010-11-20T11:52:00.001-05:00

It's official, you can "like" Tanked.

shifting my focus.

2010-10-07T13:19:00.002-04:00

So, I am back working on Tanked. I have nearly all of my scenes animated in Flash, and I am working in Premiere to piece everything together. After that, I will record sound. But before I get to that, I have been hitting a few snags. I think I kinda lucked out on the first episode as far as technical hang ups, and now I am getting them in spades. I do not really even know what "in spade" means, I even looked it up and got no real answer. I had a similar thing happen when I was asking my google search what it may be that I was doing wrong, and what I needed to do to make it right with this project. You see, I make all these in flash , export them to Quicktime, and then import them in to Premiere(and then back out again as a Quicktime or something You Tubeable.) Each transition came up with some sort of problem.
All of the images I use for Part Two have been either created in Illustrator, or live trace tooled from Photoshop to .Ai. The intent with doing it in this way was so that the final product would have a better picture quality. In doing so I got the "bigger is better" notion as far as file size went and made the Flash document properties to reflect a larger screen size, not realizing that consistency was key when exporting them as Quicktime. I kept getting parts in my videos where bits of images would break up(like the image above). I thought it was just part of the process, and I would just try again and get the same results. When I figured out the sizes had to be the same, I changed the Quicktime settings to my randomly assigned numbers I made up for the Flash documents. The result seemingly worked, as a Quicktime file. However, Premiere is a little bit more sophisticated and wants everything all orderly. Apparently there is some sort of standard for these things, and I am finding out the hard way. 720px by 480px 29.97fps seems simple enough, but applying these parameters to several files that I thought were completed is going to be a bit of a chore, especially on a few with complicated bits of animation.But I have to admit, I do love it.

Though the dawn may be coming soon ......

2010-09-23T12:38:00.002-04:00

....unfortunately, portfolio updates to my web page still may be some time. It's not for lack of trying, mind you. I've got all the pieces put together in Dreamweaver, scrolling index bars and all! I have not, however, made payments to my hosting site so there's a bit of a hold as far as additions to my dot com. Soon, I hope, soon.

Ooh dream weaver
I believe you can get me through the night
Ooh dream weaver
I believe we can reach the morning light
Dream weaver
Dream weaver
Dream weaver

....that song get's in my head every freaking time I open the program.

Zeke and Elias Numbers One Through Three

2010-09-07T20:32:00.010-04:00

I am very excited to be part of the group show in the form of the “Raconteur”

University of Massachusetts Amherst
September (Sept 7th-Oct 7th).

Participating artists and writers:

Geoffrey Owen Miller Shane Campbell Sara Purnell Mollie Roth Jungah Kim
Jung Eun Park Donna Hunt Chris Bertholf Emily Carr

Lines of the End.

2010-09-03T09:35:00.017-04:00

I have reached the inky black line portion of two of the three panels.

It is a good feeling as the deadline draws near. I had quite a lovely time in the studio yesterday. Amanda decided to stay at home to work on her embroidery while I painted, so I cleared off her table and reconfigured my work space to accommodate working on the two panels without having to relocated myself. Amanda has engaged herself in a huge undertaking, hand embroidering a Family-Tree of Bill Cosby.

Featured here is the first version of the patriarch himself. Yes, the first version. She recently did another because as she got in to it and produced more and more likenesses in the lineage she wanted the background color to be different, to reflect a denotation of of relationship based on the degrees of separation. She has the colors of floss wound round plastic pieces tacked to the wall in her studio which creates a lovely gradient.
Yesterday she finished a face made headway on the final portrait during our shared-space studio day. I have a feeling someone will be in Chelsea for awhile tonight with stitching and linking her completed set of images.

Amanda Tillers's Bill Cosby (1.5")
Cosby Tree In Progress

And here, is where I will be. I put two of my tables together in an L-Shape, a strip of glass that I found discarded on a the curb to use for mixing sits between the two paintings which makes it very easy to flow from one to the other. The photo was taken from my computer on the small high table where Amanda sat yesterday and where I will be working on the third panel that is part of this series. It still resides inside my computer as a collection of drawings scanned and positioned in a large Photoshop file waiting to be printed out one page at a time and and taped together to it's
full 2ft by 4ft size and then transferred on to an panel that I had gessoed, what seems like, quite some time.

The two characters featured in this narrative are ones a few people may recognize.
The mulleted man in the purple shirt is Zeke.This particular painting resides in the collection of Ben Pederson, whose videos you should most definitely check out. The bespectacled man in the hat is known as Elias. I am thinking of getting my Etsy account back up to make images available for purchase again.

But not now, I've got things I got to do.

Multi-Tasking

2010-08-26T11:25:00.004-04:00

Here's another sketch that I did for the the narrative paintings I am currently working on. Layers of paint are being applied to some of the 2ft by 4ft panels and I am tweaking the arrangements of another using photoshop to re-size and place the pieces within the larger frame. As I mentioned before, I work from home and I continually have to balance myself with the home and studio. Amanda and I spent the greater part of Saturday intensely cleaning the entire apartment. I crawled under tables with a the brush attachment of mt dirt devil in hand, sucking up the dust clumps from the Masonite. I sat on the hardwood floor of the studio section of our apartment and fed page by page of bills and other documents until the motor of the shredder whined and grind. The fish tank got fresh water with a new arrangemnt, and Fishy McFisherson swims with more of a swish to it's tail than before. The challenge is, maintaining. Little bits at a time so as not to get buried under it all again. Little breaks during working to make less work later. I find keeping this little section at the corner of our kitchen counter cleared and the stove top whipped down sets a tone for the overall. Our kitchen is uber small and just a few dishes by size comparison seem daunting, but once it gets going, it goes rather fast. Now, if only we could figure out what to do with all of our shoes, between the two of, we have a lot of shoes.

2010-08-17T20:17:00.005-04:00

I have recently been working on generating several images to be part of a series of large narrative panels. We carried quartered pieces of masonite several blocks home from the big 'ol corporate hardware store near the Gowanus. The lumber yard just down the block from us has been sporting a for rent sign for some time. Two trips in one week to the location, for unrelated reason. I bought a hoe for a bridal shower earlier in the week. On this trip, I won 5 bucks from my lady sayin' that the alley we were walking towards did in fact come up along side the back of the store. The substrates weren't exactly cut straight, so we pulled the collapsible metal sawhorses out from under the yellow couch and retrieved the skill saw from the op of the closet. It has been a long time since I work with masonite, I forgot how much sawdust is produced. I swept the clumps of brown while Amanda readjusted the guide. Amanda recently took to studioing where she works in Chelsea, so the room we once shared together is all mine. I still have the tendency to take over the apartment when work mode is in full force. The kitchen table was covered with plastic wrap for some time for gesso application. The sawhorses came in handy for another station. I have squares of blue insulation foam with drawings tacked that lean against the bookcase and side table in the living room, and a a large mock-up drawing hangs with magnets on the back of our front door waiting to be transferred after a few more coats of titanium white. Amanda brought home to me a half gallon jug. I am lucky to have such an wonderful girl in my life. The place is a mess, but the pieces are coming along nicely.

if I say it, it will come.

2010-06-26T17:47:00.005-04:00

So, the thing about these flash movies....they take a long time. I had a bit of a set back with the whole looking for/acceptance of loss/(eventual)replacement of my drawing tablet pen.

Back when I was getting paintings ready for the Fringe show I had this wacky notion that I would, in addition to a salon full of paintings, complete the second installment of my animated series Tanked. You see, a nice friend of mine agreed to lend me her projector on the night of the opening so I could show some of the little videos I have done (link to videos.) I really, really wanted to throw something new into the fold. But, I was sort of at a loss as far as that there digital drawing pen thingy went. So there I was, a day or so before the show and I actually thought I had a stroke of luck by finding a replacement pen at a store in the city, but as it turned out, the guy behind the technical services counter sold me the wrong model. (I guess in hindsight the stroke of luck was the lady who I found in the same place the next time I stopped by, who refunded me fully even thought the package had been opened)

All hindsighty again, perhaps it was a good thing that I was without access to my tool for my animations, as then maybe I was able to concentrated more on the the task at hand (which was to complete the paintings that needed to be done, which was a little bit more immediate as it was, as I mentioned before, a few days until the opening.)

Funny thing about the here and now, I am posting this as a little update to what I am working on/testimonial of eventual completion ...kinda like what I did with the scan of the unfinished painting of the library cart of books in a previous entry. That painting to this day remains unaltered since it's scanning.

Here's hoping that posting of works in progress is not some sort of a jinxy mcjinxerson or combination of potential slackatude. Mind you, it's not going to be anytime soon, but TANKED part two: Search and Rescue? will be done sometime soon(ish.) I said it in a blog, so it has to be true.

Oh, but in follow up to a another posting of an in progress, I did in fact complete one that i shared in preparation. This here is on of the paintings that did get finished in time for the Fringe Show. Seperate as it may not seem for the whole "Search and Rescue" animation I am working on, it was part of the series "things that I miss." This painting is now owned by another lovely friend of mine who so kindly blogged about the show for The Bric Wall I really appreciated the shout out, and I think my gratitude may have something to do with the amount of linkage in this here posting. Well that, and I do love me some html. Which reminds me, I have to add my portfolio to my webpage. One thing at a time.

Somethin' Fishy.

2010-06-21T16:32:00.004-04:00

I went to the Mermaid Parade for the first time this year. Now, I have lived in this city for several years and have always had great interest in attending, but for one reason or another even with the previous few years’ threat of extinction, it hasn’t happened until now. Earlier in the week emails had circulated amongst our friends trying to coordinate travel. A few were headed down on their own so we touched base with a couple who we had mentioned the plans to the night before. Confusion over the similar sounding names of a subway station (Atlantic/Pacific) and a neighborhood bar (Pacific Standard) garnered a gin and tonic and ride in the back of a friends company car. Amanda and I sat cross-legged like kids in the back of station wagon, as there were no seats in the vehicle that bore the name of a competing company of one of my jobs. If ever a time for over site, this was one, it isn’t often that we get to casually travel by car without a fare rate.
We hit traffic by the water where the Verrazano towered and crossed further down the road and above our heads. It was a little past two, and our friends had already arrived, but I refrained from letting it get the best of me. Anyway, the view, company, and soundtrack kept us going as we finished at a crawl for the last five miles
We finally got off the highway and miraculously came across an exiting vehicle at Mermaid and 17th super close to the festivities. Amanda hopped out to reserve as our friend backed in. A lucky happenstance, probably appreciated the most by our drivers wife who is several months with child.
The four of us headed up to the boardwalk, peeking at a pair exposed while polishing off a bag of cotton candy before we hit the planks.
We found out friends situated near the end of the line and settled in to watch the parade pass us by. I couldn’t help but notice the large number of BP/Oil Spill themes. Faces smeared with black makeup and slick stained fins were sad reminders of our current situation in an otherwise festive setting. Right now as I am writing, I have the day off to get some work done in the studio. I took a break from my work on some studies for a project I am participating in later in August to make some lunch. It’s been a busy week and the kitchen was sparse, but there were some scallions, cucumbers, and Green Goddess in the fridge and a can of tuna in the pantry.
Remember that whole Chicken of the Sea/Jessica Simpson thing a few years back? People really ate that up at her expense. However, this year at the parade people weren’t laughing while they held signs bearing the tuna companies logo and mermaidy mascot paired with anti-BP sentiment.
I flipped the can in my hand over to look at the expiration date, as it had been on the shelf for quite sometime. With all things considered didn’t seem like so much of a bad thing.
In doing so, I got the idea that there are a lot of things that you could figuratively flip over and see a “Best Before Date” of sorts. Obviously, the Gulf of Mexico was “Best Before 4/20/10” the opening credits to most movies and television shows (as well ad about billion other things) were “Best Before 09/11/01” and Lik-m-aid Fun Dip so much better before the color changing blue raspberry/green apple business got added to the triple pack in the late 90’s. The saliva triggered staining flavor still accompanies the far superior and more covertly consumed grape and cherry. Don’t even get me started on the 2 to 3 ratio of stick to dip absurdity. I’m sure I’m not the only one that this upsets. I take my candy consumption very seriously. This one time, I popped my peas and carrots color combo of skittles in my mouth expecting a limey orange goodness only to return the candy all slimy and slightly chewed back in to my hand for examination. You may or may not know this, but for a brief time lime was replaced green apple. This completely threw off favorite flavor combinations concocted and consumed for years. The alteration was short lived, the crap apple craziness stopped, and I’d like to think I had a part in that. After I got over the shock of what was happening in my mouth, I scoured the source for some sense of what had happened. There was no notice other than the text change from lime to green apple to give warning. I wasted no time in calling the customer service number that I found on the reverse side of the packaging, resolutely lodged my concern, and the original integrity of the red bag was restored. Well, a few months later, all signs pointed to back to lime. Now, I’m not claiming full responsibility for the companies retraction of infraction, I am sure there tens of hundreds who did the same. But the important thing is, a difference was made. The Moral? Let your voices be heard and let things stay at their best for evermore! Doot-doot doot-dah- doot. (that’d be the sound of the end of my public service message if I made it such.

New Work to be featured at Fringe Salon

2010-05-17T21:32:00.002-04:00

Come to Fringe Salon 248 Broome Street between Delancy and Grand Thursday May 27th between 8 and 11.
No admission, no drink minimum. Just a bunch of new paintings.

Boarding trains with books.

2010-05-08T16:12:00.006-04:00

I dog-eared after the reading THE END, when it wasn’t. I still had 16 pages left.
I probably could have finished, I thought, as I sat in the train noticing that it
took longer than I estimated it would. I debated cracking it back open while I swayed staring aimlessly as the train tunneled from the point of entry from the bridge until the Atlantic-Pacific stop. Ah, well. Why rush? Let it all digest, I guess. Actually, it was little nagging. I really had anticipated finishing, even threw a couple of Buffy comics in my expandable file folder just in case. (The accordion style safekeeping was for work papers, just thought I should mention.)
But alas, I got through Julie’s Julia project, down to the duck de-bone, but there was a bit more to go. I preemptively thought about how nicely this book would look on top of Olive Kitteridge, the first book I had finished with my new-found transit time. It has been a long time that I was afforded significant subway time, and I have been relishing in it lately as I shuttle from place to place, making house calls doing estimates for a moving company that I work for. I have found myself eying the spines of the books in our apartments and mentally making a plan of attack. Fictions, Memoirs, Plays, Short Story collections and more seem to edge themselves off the shelves. A couple rereads tempt me (I read John Irving way to young, I think I can appreciate some parts of Garp with a little bit of experience below my belt.)
However, I have so many new things to sink my teeth into. I am not a particularly fast reader. The first time I read Wicked it took months, granted this was in college when I had school work, there was no musical to accompany, and it had slid down the back of my loft and hid behind my roommates bed. I always feel a sense of accomplishment finishing a book. It’s funny in some ways, being proud of doing something you love. But in some respects it takes work to make that time. Sometime literally, when the work you do gives you a commute and some sit down time.
So with that said, I am sharing with you an in progress piece that I am working on in the “things I miss” series I have mentioned a few times in the last few entries.
I used to work at a Border’s bookstore in Canton, Ohio. There was always a library cart that sat near the information desk where books were placed and shelved back to where they belonged in a continuous flow throughout the day and finished off at night. It was a great job, with great people.
The painting and this book (and the paperwork for the jobs today) are just a few things that I hope to complete soon.

3rd and final attempt at delivery

2010-05-07T11:56:00.004-04:00

I am getting ready to to another painting, very appropriate to my current situation. This is the sketch that I scanned to re-size to fit it's destination. This new series that I am working on focuses on uses images to represent objects, events, people, and times that I miss.
I have a few hours in between jobs today and I am spending them at home finishing up a few more of these paintings as well as hoping to catch the UPS delivery for it's third and final attempt at delivery. The alternative if missed is a long, long subway ride to the end of the line to pick it up at the warehouse, that is if the don't send it back to the original distributor.
The package contains two hex chains and locks for our bicycles(which are both taking up space in our apartment.) Last year Amanda's bicycle was stolen, so we replaced it and I was given a great thre speed by a friend. We shared a lock if we rode together, and kept one chained out front and the other upstairs when not in use. Recently, my bike chain was stolen. Just the chain. At first I wasn't sure if I should feel insulted or not. But the way I figure, they were able snip the lock with some something heavy duty, and then pull the chain from around the pole and off the bike. However, I bet they were slowed down by the cable that I run through my front wheel(it looked like they tried to cut it, but but it was still looped around the wheel.) Still, they made off with an expensive chain and destroyed the not so cheap lock. Our birthdays are just a few days apart so my mom asked what we would want. I was leaning towards pony, but being able to ride our bicycles again seems more practical.

May the Fourth be with you...

2010-05-04T22:29:00.006-04:00

...and also with you.
This is a scan of a drawing I did while babysitting some kids that just today I was super excited to share the Star Wars Day play on words awesomeness. I think the littlest one(year and half) mistook my clothing choice to be a representation a "disturbing lack of faith"(guess he prefers hokey religions and ancient weaponry) or something when he puked on my Han Solo shirt. He seemed alright after my costume change when he also later got to play it like Yoda when I debuted the piggy-back style Bjorn carry on the walked to his older brothers' after school pickup.

Prep work

2010-05-02T23:08:00.003-04:00

It was humid as all heck today. I found the pieces of the oscillating fan, assembled the thing and sent it spinning to circulate the stale air. The process of pulling air from the front window and pushing it the length of the apartment and out again through the open windows in the back displaced loose papers and scattered them across the floor. Papers stuck with pins to the wall flipped and curled and softly sounded while they flittered with the breeze it made. I scooped up a few studies and tapped the stack on the table to straighten the pile of printouts and drawings. On the other side of the room placed on a brown paper covered table, several substrates are being prepared with paint applied in thin layer, smoothed after it dried and layered again until it's ready to add my image. I have finished a few pieces and am now working on the next batch that will be displayed at the end of the month at Fringe Salon in the Lower East Side. Over to the left is a drawing I did in preparation for one of the paintings in this series. Makes me miss the smell of the water and the refreshing sensation of splashing around. I'm 'bout do for a good jump in a lake, I suppose. Not sure there's much in the way of swimming holes in these part.

something a little different....

2010-04-30T10:49:00.006-04:00

A while back I scribbled this in one of my notebooks. It's been shuffled around with piles of paper during random cleanings and re-organizations, I've found it on the floor when it was blown off the table from the wind of a window left open. It somehow seems to resurface every now and again. I scanned it after a finding with the intention of "doing something with it later." It's been in my computer now for quite some time. The little bit up top says "chickens step in their own shit." It's a weird little somethin' or other, and I've been meaning to more frequently add the randomness. So, there you go.

Another one of those Things That I Miss

2010-04-26T22:47:00.000-04:00

"delicious, you'll have to give me the recipe"

2010-04-19T11:51:00.004-04:00

Here is a pencil drawing of a scene from the animation TANKED part one: the diver

I have written the story part two: search and rescue? and have been working on generating some more images, I've even gotten as far as getting few scenes started in Flash.

Below is a before and after of the initial scan of the pen drawing and then the colored illustrator file of one of the characters(scuba guy) that will make an appearance in the second installment.

If you haven't seen the first, click on the link in the highlight text above. I am hoping for a much better final product with the second, using illustrator files instead of photoshop will make for better image quality, and I'm hoping to borrow a friend's recording device so as to avoid that swirly sound of my overworked computer that my internal microphone inevitably picks up

the winner takes it all.

2010-03-01T00:02:00.002-05:00

No giant inflatable beavers here, but here's a lil' animated short I made while watching the 2010 Vancouver Olympics.

Site updates.

2010-02-10T10:02:00.002-05:00

I have been making some changes in the website, adding an additional section where I will be putting videos I have been making.
Short Films on Mollie Roth.com
or
YouTube TheMollieRoth

Two steps.

2010-02-10T01:00:00.002-05:00

stacy number one

2010-02-08T10:45:00.004-05:00

This, as well as some of my other paintings, are available to purchase through Etsy.

Click to Visit

Things that I miss

2010-02-01T09:31:00.002-05:00

'nother from the left side

2010-01-13T20:47:00.002-05:00

2009-12-20T18:39:00.002-05:00

So I have been spending a lot of time figuring out flash to get my animated shorts up and running. The above drawing is a preliminary study of one of the characters. The first part in the series will be up and running in the beginning of 2010. In the meantime, enjoy this little snippety of a preview.

From the left handed sketchbok.

2009-12-13T10:50:00.002-05:00

The rapid reproductive rate of our rabbits......

2009-11-05T10:30:00.005-05:00

.....has given reason for a new show. For the remainder of November at Rabbit Hole Studios, works from the artist at Rabbit Movers will be on display. If you are in the New York/Brooklyn area, come to Dumbo tonight sometime between 5 and 9 for the opening where there will be musical performances and readings.
The exhibition is co curated by marina girch and terence degnan
featuring
jilian brodie
alexandra coveleski
mollie roth
matthew palmer
jack carr
gian d angelo
james yeh
nathan allen
marina girch

Rabbit Hole Studio is located at 33 washington st. in Brooklyn NY (between plymouth and water)

"NYAB Event - "Coniculus: Rabbit Collective Winter" Exhibition

2009-10-06T17:02:00.004-04:00

I am very excited to be a part of The New York Underground Comedy Festival in association with SuperEgo in a night full of comedy to benefit GIlda's Club

So, please join us Thursday, October 8, 2009 at 9:00 at the New York Comedy Club
24th between 2nd and 3rd NY

The show will be hosted by Michelle Dobrawsky, and feature a great line-up of comics including:

Sean Donnelly (XM Radio, Little Seany Boy Show)
Francoise Gordon (Caroline's)
Dale Sorenson (Broadway Comedy Club, MTV)
Marissa Heiser
Chris Worley
Marc Maietta
Mollie Roth
Katie Madonna Lee (Women's Prison Movie)
Nathan Efferson
Julie Rosing
Diane O'Debra
and special guests!

There will also be e a raffle at the show with prizes from Gotham Girls Roller Derby, The Rejection Show, Erica Weiner Jewelry, Dynomighty Design, Gingerdead.

The above illustration will also be available as a raffle prize.

Buy Your TIckets Now!

A Day of Traveling.

2009-09-10T21:11:00.006-04:00

I sat in the airport at a 6:50 in the a.m. and watched while a middle aged man, his wife, and the man’s mother argued with the women at the gate why they had not been informed that their flight had left with out them. I was amazed at the collective nature with which the airway employee handled the situation. Her name was Julie, they asked, amidst the morning melodrama. I did recall a name associated with a “final call for boarding” while I played on my laptop, Canton-Akron provides the service of Internet free of charge.
“We have been sitting here since 6:30” he shouted while his wife and mother talked over top of him. In a huff, he turned on his heels and paced down terminal. The oldest of the three fanned herself and flustered over the incident, mumbling about a heart condition. The woman at the counter, well you now know her to be Julie, continued to remind them that she had made the announcement multiple times. Clusters of other soon to be passengers nodded among themselves in agreement that Julie had in fact made this broadcast.
Finally a few security guards came and explained them that for a 6:45 flight, it is necessary to be there before 6:30 to board, as they close the gates ten minutes prior to take-off and start the process earlier than what is stated to be departure. The scene went on to an escalated state, but nothing of great interest. Poor Julie I thought.
Anyway, cool thing about leaving CAK at that hour of the morning, I was home at my kitchen table in Brooklyn sipping coffee with my girl by 9:00. I had thought I would need some sort of nap to recharge, but instead I geared up to cycle, for the first time, into Manhattan to meet Amanda in Chelsea for lunch. The initial launch onto the Manhattan Bridge was kinda trying. You access the path by half circled incline and once you hit the bridge you are very aware of how high you are very soon. The fear in me I think made the pedaling more difficult, and once I was over the water I have to say I felt what one might describe as scared. Later I was told that when going over the Brooklyn Bridge if you hit a certain speed the slits in the wood slats makes it seem as if you are floating over the water. I am curious to experience this for myself. Anyway, back to the Manhattan Bridge, I have to admit I stopped about a third of the way over. Um, hydration is not to be neglected. Yeah, that’s it. I really needed to drink water for maximum performance. Actually at that point I totally doubted my capabilities at completing my journey. But then I thought of one of my cousins that I had just visited with in Ohio and how she does these sixty-five mile tours, and I figured what’s five or six, well ten or twelve if you count both ways, but really, I could do this. And I did. Cycled through China town, gotta little turned around (I wrote Houston on the directions instead of Hudson) but eventually made it and made a lunch date of it. On the way back I once again enjoyed the bicycle path along the Hudson and stopped at a shop to get a bike map. They were out of maps, but I left with a new foldable cargo basket for my newly installed back bike rack. It was seven dollars cheaper than what was available at the Brooklyn stores, and I found it quite novel that Manhattan prices where more economical.
There was a lane on street next to the shop and I decided to follow it for a while. I ended up passing through NYU, Tompkins Square Park, and then went down through Alphabet City to the Lower East Side. I was able to pretty easily found my way to the Bridge and headed over into Dumbo where I detoured to Trader Joe’s. The store was a madhouse, so I settled instead on a produce stand to get a few things. I transferred my purchases into my new basket that I temporarily attached with zip-ties I got at Rite-Aid (they had a quick release function that sort negated their anti-theft installation reasoning.) I got home and made an carrot cabbage Asian cole-slaw with toasted sesame seeds that I shredded myself (which I think took less time then the wrap around to the dried fruit and nuts section line at Joe’s.) Which reminds me, I am out of Apricots. Mayber I should have waited instead of grated. I package up my fixings, and tossed in a couple of beers (the cooler that we have miraculously is the same size as the basket.) I once again got on my bike, this time staying local wit a trip to Prospect Park to enjoy the remainder of Labor Day into it’s evening with a group of friends. All in all, it was a lovely holiday. Oh, and I am like 87% sure that I saw Morgan Freeman on the Hudson River path, on rollerblades.

Something Trashy.

2009-08-23T18:10:00.004-04:00

When I was in college a few guys I knew would go dumpster diving. They had a few places that they favored, and came back with interesting articles that they incorporated into their sculptures. This sort of pastime was also an obvious connection for a few others that I shared a space with last night. One, during harder times, would forage for food, another, during fast times, found a discarded bag of cocaine in a trash bin near a university in New York. The lights that hung over the lot glistened as we reminisced, standing immersed to our shoulders in the cool clean waters of a secret location somewhere near the Gowanus is Brooklyn, N.Y.
Now, I have never been dumpster diving in any fashion, and to this day I still can’t claim that feat, but I have swum far enough from the city lights to see the stars, yet close enough to my apartment to bike back home to get dry clothes after I swam in, of all things, a dumpster (the depth, as I said, was just above shoulder height, hence the no actually diving and all.) Now the location of this establishment is pretty much a secret, The Times did an article, so people know it exists, but unless you are really good at location determination based on structural suggestions from article photos, or you had the privilege of an invite, chances are you would walk by and never know it was there. I did, almost twice a week for the last few months I walked right by without ever knowing it was there. That’s kind of the point of it, in some respect, to avoid overcrowding and maintain the hangout in the backyard kind of feel. At least that’s what I gleaned. Amanda and I entered through a gate earlier in the afternoon and cycled passed a couple of old cars that competed for their spot in the lot with a patch of unruly greenery, as well as some stored RV’s, and construction equipment. We leaned our bikes against a forklift, and felt no need to use the lock. Most of the other attendees were expected to arrive later in the afternoon verging on evening, so we lavishly enjoyed the bocce ball with a few other friends, and swam in one of three conversions as one by the rest of the amazing guests filtered in.
The pools, as I said, are made out of dumpsters. Dumpsters, I tell yeah. Gently used, at that. The forklift that provided support to our bicycles, I found out later, was instrumental in the arranging of the three vessels. Two of taller bins were positioned parallel to each other, and a shorter “kiddie pool” ran through the center, h-ing out the design that was surrounded by a painted deck. Each tank had standard ladders installed, and an efficient filtration system. The interior of dumpsters themselves had been smoothed, the floor lined with sand, some with sand bags (which provided seating in the shallow pool) and walls were lined with a double tarp system which sealed the water, nearly 20,000 gallons between the three, from spilling into the canal nearby. I swam in two shifts, night and day, taking a few breaks to lounge in the chairs, make some new friends with the toss of the polina, or watch the fire breather spew flames just as the owner of the lot strolled in. My, “you’re gonna be in trouble” nature flared up a bit, but was quickly snuffed as I saw the man watch the flames light up the night sky and then walk over and shake the coordinator of the evening’s hand. It was one of those happenings that you just happened upon when you live in a place like this (if you just happen to be extremely freaking lucky.) And I was one of many through the day and night who stopped for a moment to a look around, and acknowledged with a smile at that they fact that they were actually there. Swimming in dumpster.

The Yolk's on me.

2009-07-26T13:38:00.004-04:00

I am a little accident-prone, the illustration above is of the aftermath of a pez truck that encountered the underside of my foot. A couple cola-flavored candies were lost that day. I am no stranger to breaking objects and enduring personal injury as a result of my own inadvertent doing, and sometimes not so smart maneuvers (I give you welding while wearing sandals and socks, in hindsight, wrong for more than one reason.) Most recently, my left hand is still a little tender from it’s encounter with a chain link fence when I looked over my shoulder while in motion on a bicycle; my college roommate has quite the collection of glued back together knick-knacks; there’s a broken shredder out there because I wanted to see what shiny mylar would look like in little slivers. Okay, that last part was not so much an accident as it was a lapse in impulse control. At any route, breaking things isn’t so hard for me to do. I cracked and egg over the pan today, upon exiting it’s shell, the yolk grazed my finger and separated itself from its little bubblyness. When it hit the pan it was fusing with the white, and I had to take a moment to simmer myself down. No spatula slamming, no fit throwing. This is what I am working on. Calm. It’s just an egg, but darn it all, I wanted it to be fried, not flawed.
Fried eggs are a recently new addition to my diet, I used to only eat a version of scrambled eggs that I cooked until they were a dry flaky weirdness and then doused with Red Hot. Now, if not fried, they might be omletted with various types of cheese or sautéed mushrooms, maybe some spinach or sun dried tomatoes. One yummy version comes from left over Dal Sagg and either munster or armenian string cheese, depending on what we have. There was a salmon scramble option at brunch the other day, and I broke my “if I can eat it, I will eat it” mission statement. Another day, another day. But the thing about the eggs, you see, they don’t always come out perfect every time. Sometimes the yolk breaks right away. And you’ve got the option to scramble the mistake right then and there, but then it’s just a stirred up mess at that point, no slightly browned slices of fresh garlic, no asparagus cooked in olive oil, nothing. Just a deflated defeated slop. You could still throw it in the rice you cooked and slosh on some Dr. Bragg’s and Siracha Sauce and call it a day and it will be almost just as good, but it’s not the same when you’ve got it in your mind to have that orangey yellow eruption with intention.
There’s been an occasion or two where the shell-to-pan transfer is a success, and then somewhere in the flip, there’s a flop and the goo bubbles out from underneath as it solidifies, but I think the worst is when everything else go well, and when you get it to the plate, you find it to be overdone. I’m trying to pay attention to the details, which brands of eggs seem to be more prone to success or failure. The size, shape, and color are factors. Brown eggs, more brittle than the harder shelled whites, tend to splinter and poke holes in my yellows, for example. Googling tells me that fresh eggs produce the best shape when frying. Hmmmm, our lease agreement specified no babies or dogs, I don’t remember anything in there regarding poultry...

Next Show

2009-07-23T16:28:00.001-04:00

2009-07-09T16:55:00.002-04:00

Curled up in my sleeping bag, flashlight in hand, I turned page after page of “meanwhiles” and action sequences paired with colorful panels on thin yellowed older than me by at least seven years paper. I had four thin books borrowed from the barn stash, two of which were completely devoid of the glossy covers, the other two still had the remains of the outer shell. A portion of the covers had been removed, the top couple of inches on of the front sliced cleanly away. Evidence in the form of slivers through the first few pages indicated that when the other two still had their covers, a similar situation might have occurred. I wondered, perhaps, if these where stripped issues, something I was familiar with in my book store working days, sitting in the back wharehouse, removing covers of mass market (paperback) books and magazines to be sent back to the publishers, and the contents destroyed. Seems like a waste, I know I was always tempted to keep the castoff portions. If this was in fact the case, that these old issues of illustrative narratives somehow escaped destruction, well it made them seem a little bit more adventurous for the journey. True, yes, if they had been better preserved versions in more pristine condition they may have had some sort of monetary value, and maybe handled with more reverence, bags and boards, maybe even graded. But what fun is that on a night in tent when I was the only one too wound up to sleep? So I’m a little excitable, it’s true, but this was even without the pixie sticks I wasn’t permitted to purchase from the gas station where we stopped in to pee (Amanda convinced me it was a courtesy to refrain from unleashing the effects onto the other three people that would be in close quarters for the rest of the car ride).
The light coming from my wind-up style was in full strength to illuminate the pages I was reading in my tent, all three beams were blasting onto the well-spoken seaman with Spock like eyes and a green Speedo. Another character remarked that he spoke as if he was reading from a book, or something similar. There was a panel of two girls embracing, I made up my own mind and read between then lines with that one. It was very late, and at thirty I was engaging in a summer camp fantasy in the Catskills, color wars and all. I grew tired before my light faded and needed to be rewound. The mechanical whirl of the recharge, I feared, would most likely wake my tent mates. Up closer to the barn the fire still crackled and murmured conversation soothed this city girl into a Sub-Marnier themed sleep until the tacking up of the outhouse sheet for a door and chopping of firewood roused me in the morning. However the other two in my tent where still asleep, and there was a fantastic four to be read, so I stayed nestled between the protruding root to my stomach sleeping left and gulch to my right where the visible rock was removed before pinching our tent. I had to sort of nestle in to the hole, which gave me a bit of anchoring to minimize slipping down towards the corner at my feet. You see, it wasn’t until it was rather dark that we had gotten our sleeping quarters situated. There was already quite a bit of a slope to contend with and it wasn’t until later that we realized how rough the terrain we had chosen was, an inconvenience that seem to grow as the damp ground below dried and settled. It was a minor setback to a well needed out of the city weekend trip. My team, incidentally, had the task of maintaining the fire, which I have to say was a stroke of luck in my book. Rummaging through the woods, for dry kindling to start in the morning amongst the ferns was a lovely chore indeed. Also enjoyed, was breaking up the brush that needed cleared away, which also provided a nice accumulation of ash for cooking later in the evening. Through the day, members of the purple team could be seen snapping and stepping off twigs as well as sawing and swinging axes. I liked having a task, I have to say, being a guest and all, it felt nice to contribute. The day was filled with games and fun, points were scored, and the whole thing was taking in varying degrees of seriousness. We had an injury during volleyball, an obstruction during the egg toss (I was part of a pair that went all the way to the end until a cradled catch of an egg lobbed from one end of the gaming area smashed into the metal chair that was used to tie the finish lines for the other games. The judges on the deck above had mixed reviews. One woman felt sympathy towards the misfortune of being so close to an obstruction, but a boisterous voice said, “She should have looked” which made the call and I was out. We also lost the wheelbarrow race, mainly because we would rather forgo the points than to possibly induce injury on our youngest team member. I think we ended up in fourth place. Maybe we should have kept better score in badminton, and maybe our end of the evening skit would have benefited from better direction, and there is a slight possibility that we kinda sorta dropped the ball in the baking portion of the competition (rice crispy treats were no match for woven pie crust or cheese cakes.) However, all points aside our efforts as a team of fire maintainers glowed brightly well into the evening that was filled with music and fireside chats. So suck it, striped team! General cleanup? What’s that anyway? People pretty much took care of there own mess anyway, I didn’t see any of you wielding an axe in the name of friendly competition.

Either Oar.

2009-07-02T16:47:00.003-04:00

Last week, I was up and out by seven a.m. on a Saturday, mind you. I know that for some people that is an everyday occurrence, but not I, especially on a Saturday. But that’s not the point, so anyway last weekend my cousin who lives in Hawaii (not to be confused with the cousin’s who are part Hawaiian) came to visit as well as participate in, of all things, a canoe race. But not just your average ordinary summer camp canoe style slap in the water kind of thing, to be more specific the race was called the Liberty World Outrigger Competition and for fifteen miles she and her crewmates paddled (or oared?) there was a preference to the distinction, but maybe it was just to the object not the action, and come to think of it, she called the wooden thing she brought with her to the mainland in a padded bag a paddle, with authority. The long thin boats, the kind that seat six and have a stabilizer on one side in the Polynesian style, lined the shore of the Brooklyn Bridge Park in Dumbo, in the quiet sunny early morning. Boat by boat the crews maneuvered the vessels from the grass down the stone step seat things over the rocks and into the East River. I was already impressed with their trip from the shore to down under the Manhattan Bridge overpass for the starting position. I would have gotten tuckered out just from that. The rowing, wait no, paddling, look like a lovely little dance. My cousin told me there was a specific couple of things that was called out let the team know when it was time to switch sides, but I don’t remember what it was. I tried to listen, but the traffic from the bridge overhead overpowered what was being said out there in the East River. The East River, incidentally, isn’t actually a river. Someone recently told me this; I think it is because of its ocean water connection and not fresh water sourcing. Hmm, but it’s not an estuary either in case that is what you were thinking, it is a tidal strait. Cue the rainbow and the more you know jingle jangle. It’s all about some learning here. You want to know what else I learned; sitting on the stone steps on a Saturday morning with a book is a delightful thing to do. But wear sunscreen, cause even at seven thirty in the morning, the sun is still ‘a shining even if it’s a bit chilly, and stationary shoulders are an easier target. ...Hut! Ho! That’s what it was, the thing the said for the changeover, and now you know. And that’s half the battle, I guess.

It's been a while.

2009-07-01T22:58:00.001-04:00

I have neglected this little attempt at releasing some thoughts and drawings like a dog in a car on a hot day with the windows up. Well, maybe I’ve left it open a crack, like I’m not a total absent minder. I’ve been conscientious of the negligence, but still the fact remains I haven’t done much about it so that when I come back to it I find a panting sweaty pissed off pooch that will totally make a mark outside of my bedroom door in retribution. Okay maybe it’s not so much like that. I don’t have a dog, and if I did I wouldn’t leave it in a car on a hot day. One could argue that I also don’t have a car, so the probability of me leaving it in a car that I don’t have is also pretty slim. So I guess that isn’t the most accurate analogy. Maybe it’s more like not calling a friend for awhile, like a long, long while and then when you finally do get around to it so much has transpired in between the last time you chatted that a lot of really good topics kinda get passed over and you end up talking about the weather, which by the way, has been crazy lately. On more than one occasion I have found myself gazing up at the beautiful mammatus cloud formations with a well-deserved amount of wonder, eventually making a connection with their appearance and a forecast of turbulent weather. So as beautiful as they are, I can’t really enjoy them as much as before when they were just something beautiful above my head when I know now it just means I am going to have to walk in the rain again. So yeah, I guess it’s like that, the long time no call thing. It’s easy to get distracted, really easy to get distracted. There’s all this life stuff going on, and then this whole trying to make a living thing and be social and have a relationship and eat healthy food and poop and pee and make food for others and sometimes clean up their poop and pee. The list could go on and on. But they are just excuses, really. And you know what, there’s a dude out there that has got no arms or legs, well he has arms from like the shoulder to the elbow, but still. Does he make excuses? No. In fact he writes books and wrestles and goes on Oprah and everything. So, I’m going to make a change, I’ve done it more than once in my life, some of it even for better. I am going to contribute more to this here Writing and Drawing bloggy thing I created, open up the window, if you will to let things that shouldn’t be left inside all stifled and let them thrive on the outside. Who knows? Maybe I’ll lose steam or get overwhelmed by other things again. But I am going to make more of an attempt. You see that little thingy up there. Yeah, I printed a bunch of those out and cut them into a neat little square to pass around and get my name out there, albeit with a little reservation in the sense that if in fact the receiver does go to my dot and then from the image map menu page clicks their way onto this here Writing and Drawing, what would they have found, a big empty space since November fourth. So, here’s to being ambitious ‘bout productivity.

2008-11-04T09:10:00.001-05:00

The day is finally here, and it has been a long time coming. Today we have the opportunity to change the direction this country is going, hopefully for the better. In these past few months the focus on politics has been strong to say the least. In New York City, Obama has been displayed on posters, tee shirts, and the like. One of the more unusual usage of the Senators image in the somewhat disturbing storefront window display that has been up since a bit before Halloween at all the Brooklyn Industries. At this particular chain of clothing store, mannequins have had a disproportionate Obama likeness mask that eerily and gleefully gazes at passersby. It is bit creepy, I have to say, but nonetheless there is an abundance of support around these parts, and it is wonderful.
It is frightening, though, to realize that in many other areas of the country Joe Little Kid may have a cabbage patch McCain tucked under his arm, they really do exist. And apparently the Pallin wig is a big seller to Orthodox Jewish women who are modeling the look in a not so Tina Fey parodying way. When I was back home in Ohio, I overhead a young girl who had picked up a book about McCain, and addressing her mother, she confidently said “look, this is who you can vote for,” as if it were the only option. Driving through Pennsylvania seeing roadside signs ten feet wide and bumper stickers supporting the McCain and Pallin pair sent a chill of the reality that this may not be a change for the better. I am terrified to think what will become of this country if Obama is not elected, I just hope for the best, and pray that everyone realizes that their vote counts. It should be an amazing turnout at the polls, and hopefully it will turn things around.

Mouse Balls

2008-08-24T01:29:00.000-04:00

I made up this job once where this boss would always ask me to do weird tasks. One invented day in particular he asked me to go into each office and clean all the mouse balls. Which was odd, you know, because if an office has a mice infestation problem I think there’s a bigger picture to focus on other than making sure that their genitals are clean. And those suckers, I imagined, weren’t easy to catch. Personally, I don’t have balls, but if someone was giving out a free wash job I don’t think I’d scurry away. I’d line up, maybe go twice, once for each ball. There’s two of them right? I’m no expert with that general genital area. One time whilst making an anatomically correct snowman, I put the cheese-ball balls on top of the twig penis, I thought they started from above and sorta worked their way down. This was in college, I could have benefited from a book.
Anyhoo, after I manifested a catching, a little bit of embarrassment was felt on my end when my “boss” came into the room where I made-believed that I had cornered and trapped the pretend vermin. There I would have been, had this actually happened, cotton swab in one hand and a gentle but firm grip on the little guy with the other. I have to say, the way I have the story going, the mouse did appear to be quite happy about his concocted circumstance, though I am not entirely sure about that one, again not an expert in that area. But he was much more hygienic than before I fantasy found him. And hygiene is important, that’s why I have a detachable shower head with multiple speed settings. Seriously a few clockwise clicks and strategic positioning, and you are well on your way to getting yourself very, very clean.
Um, back to the mouse ball stuff, apparently the boss from this fiction meant the little rolly things on the computer mouse. I can’t be held responsible when words mean two different things.
But on the serious, I have noticed that in New York there are a quite a bit of critters lurking about. The pigeons in the park and the rats in the subway are one thing, that’s the wilderness of New York City. But when they come into my personal space then I have some issues with the arrangement. Up here we’ve some big bugs; they look like an entrée from Fear Factor or something. Is that still on? (Better check my references.) Ooh, more apropos is that show with that guy who walks around with cameras following him while he eats the flesh of anything he finds, but I can’t remember the name of it, so Fear Factor is it. Oh but back to these giant bugs, I thought they were cockroaches but I have been informed that they are water bugs. I don’t care what they are called if you crawl over my face and you have more than two legs, we are gonna have some problems. Well one night, such a thing did in fact happen. After waking up and flicking something off my face, I see this beast of a thing scaling the wall. I grabbed a shoe to smash it(normally I am humane and do the capture and release thing, but this effer woke me from a Sarah Silverman sex dream and clearly he had to die. Now, she can crawl over my face whenever she wants to). So yeah, the bug, so I squared up and went in for the kill. Did you know these things could fly? One minute he’s in my bedroom the other he’s crawling on the tiles in the bathroom. Which I realize, New York apartments are crazy small, and it’s not like he has to far to go, but still I didn’t know they flew. I looked for another line of defense, grabbing what I thought was bug spray and sprayed the shit out of the thing and he still didn’t die because it was actually that Lysol Disinfecting stuff. Apparently I have a problem with things that look the same as well. But I figured its okay, you know, because if he crawled over my face again at least he would be 99.9 percent free of bacteria, and I’m fairly certain his balls would be a little cleaner for the journey

Brand New Day

2008-08-08T23:43:00.001-04:00

So I should be busily writing and preparing for Tuesdays comedy show, but naturally I am looking up vocal performances of Megan Mullally on YouTube and downloading Joss Whedon’s Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog on ITunes.
It has been five full days since I have smoked a cigarette, four days prior to that when nary an indulgence happened in the daylight, and only a puff at a party or a single cigarette that lasted for three days was what I had to owe up to.
In short I am quitting smoking.
But tonight, I caved. In effort to squelch the habitual companion to typing, I failed and lit one up and breathed it in. Ah sweet mystery of life....
Turn the count back to one. I feel a little guilt for failure.
Excuses a plenty.
Neil Patrick Harris, sing another song tonight, and tomorrow I will start again my plight the fight against nicotine. This fight I am fighting, harder than it may seem. Forces me into poetic writing, to distract me and keep me fighting from once again cigarette lighting.
Wish me luck.

(Neil Patrick Harris stars in the little downloadable musical vignette I mentioned, I just wanted to make clear my references.)

What's yout ETA?

2008-08-01T01:09:00.001-04:00

I just flew in from Tennessee and boy... Oh how I wish it were that simple.
Apparently there was a bit of wind and foul weather Sunday in New York City.
I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t here.
We departed the Volunteer state around eleven o’clock in the a.m. The plane was a cute little commuter that had propellers and everything that departed from the tiny tri-cities airport. About a half an hour later we land in Charlotte, a quick look and see in some of the shops and we arrive at the gate where there was another gift shop. I deliberated over a bag of cheese popcorn, only because the buildup at the register looked long. That’s the only good reason for forgoing day glow powdered fluffy kernels of goodness. By the time we had browsed the key chains and bobble head beaver pens, the line dwindled and snacks were purchased.
We lined up to board, avoided tripping over the wheelie cart that the woman in front of us was totting, oblivious to the extra space she took up with her tag along, all the while maintaining a comfortable distance from this hovering girl behind us who found in necessary to exist three inches over your shoulder at all times. I complimented my travel companion on her expertise at a smooth connection(perhaps as a buffer for switching my position, leaving her to the hoverer) and remarked what an easy flight it was. Yeah, I spoke to soon.
After we settled in for our anticipated hour and a half flight, we instead spent the equivalent and then some of that time on the tarmac, waiting for the go ahead to depart to JFK. Thank goodness for Cheese Corn and puzzle books to pass the time. Ah, but it was all in vain. Instead of a liftoff, we returned to the gate to “refuel.” As we readied ourselves to exit back into Charlotte’s airport, an announcement was made to make sure that we removed all of our belongings in case we decided to “change our plans.” Um, okay. “Yeah, no. I don’t really think I want to go home today; maybe I’ll just hang out here instead. I think I saw some rocking chairs with a view of the hanger and Bath and Body Works is having a buy one get one sale.” That wasn’t exactly what we had in mind, but seeing as how we were informed that our flight was cancelled as soon as we deplaned, it was what we got. Sure, “refuel.” A likely story.
Long line story short, we stayed in a hotel nearby. There was a free shuttle and a discounted rate for stranded passengers, so it’s not all doom and gloom. Plus there was a Mexican restaurant with margaritas nearby and the hotel had a pool. Our packing had not prepared us with proper swim attire, but we were determined to make the best of things, so boxer shorts and tank tops made do.
We awoke at the leisurely hour of 4:30 a.m. to catch the shuttle for our seven o’clock connection correction. The woman behind the counter told us that her driver hadn't yet shown up. “I can’t believe it” she stated, feigning sympathy, “actually I can” she added with a shrug, her less than concerned state of being was a little unerving. She finally called a cab, a single van cab for the five adults, two children, luggage, and cars seats. We figured they family of travelers would get it first, but the woman suggested to the other two adults that she went ahead with the two kids with us, and they could get the next one. I was shocked how democratically well handled the situation, when I found out she was Canadian and it became more clear.
We got there in plenty of time, and it was a good thing to. Both of us were “randomly selected for addition screening.” (I bet it had nothing to do with the SSSS’s printed on the corner. Maybe they think distressed passengers to be hostile. ) The search turned out to be nothing more than a slightly fancier because they used technology rummage through our bags, similar to what I encounter, sans swabbed analysis, every time I pass a random subway station search site. Seriously I’ve been searched almost every time I enter a set up. Maybe I look suspicious. I don’t know, but if that’s the case I wish someone should have said something sooner. But anyhoo, we actually took to the sky not to terribly long after our stated time, and everything seemed to be going our way until we were informed that Laguardia wasn't accepting any landings and we were being rerouted to LaGuardia, so we fell into a holding pattern and circled.. What I wouldn’t give to have gotten more cheese popcorn that day! After a few spins, they had to refuel. No sarcastic inferred air quotes there. I’ve heard tale that planes keep only what they need as far as gas goes for issues of weight control, and I didn’t want to test that theory by staying up longer than they intended. So it was good morning Baltimore, where we land at the pump and wait another two hour before heading back and finally landing at LaGuardia.
Oye. I wonder if they include all those extra bits if adventure into frequent flyer miles.

Feed My Dog

2008-07-09T06:57:00.000-04:00

So it’s been getting pretty hot and humid these days, but it didn’t always used to be. A while back I got a correspondence from a friend of mine; it made me chuckle and then draw.
The story takes place in a cooler season, but not without complications. It’s one of those times that can be reflected upon when one is wishing away the hot and sticky days of summer, though I’m not knocking the winteriness either. There’s fun to be had then too. Like this one time when I made an anatomically correct snowman, I put the cheese ball balls on top of the twig penis. But that’s and another doodle and tale for another time.
For now here’s:
Writing by MEGAN RANDLETT Drawing by MOLLIE ROTH

Let’s see, the other day there was an icy, rainy, snowy mix.
Campus had a delayed opening until 11, but my class is at 1, so I had to go...it was great, there was icy water above people's ankles all over the campus.
I was walking around in the most ridiculous boots that soaked up the water completely and became icy sponges. I kept having to take my socks off and let them dry out.

That was Wed. , on Thursday, I left my apt. early to go get my students V-day candy, since I had to teach
at (name of school) . I walked out and instantly remembered I hadn't moved my car during the storm.

My car looked like one of those cars that gets abandoned by the side of the highway.
There was a huge snow pile blocking in my front passenger side car.
I had no shovel and 1 hour to free a car from icy snow. I borrowed a shovel from the liquor
store and started trying to shovel; the shovel was plastic and bending with every push. I was
minding my own business and thinking I would still make it to class on time when I hear someone talking
behind me. I turn around, and it’s this very strange man who walks his dog through my parking lot talking
to himself. I turn around and he’s yelling at me
"YOURE LAZY, YOU SHOULD HAVE MOVED YOURCAR!!!!"(Drunk man, smelling strongly of booze).
"I know sir; I guess I have to pay for it by shoveling myself out" (me)
"YOURE LAZY, YOU CAN'T SHOVEL OUT, YOU NEED A PICK, WHY DIDN'T YOU MOVE YOUR CAR!!!??!"
"I know sir; I'll get it out eventually."
He then grabs for the shovel and begins to "shovel" out my car but really he's so drunk that he’s just hitting my car 'cause he can't aim, (no big deal, the Saturn is made of all plastic component parts in case you didn't know) He then turns to me and says
"FEED MY DOG!"
"what?"
"FEED MY DOG!"
He hands me a piece of jerky and instructs me to break it up into pieces and feed his little Pomeranian while he's hitting the side of my car with the liquor store's shovel. It’s now like 620 and I know
I have to cancel class, but I don't know how to get away from this man. Then he says
"GET INTO THE CAR AND BACK IT UP"
"Sir really, its stuck, and I have to go call out from work"
"GET IN THE CAR AND BACKIT UP"
"But really, its stuck I have to"
"BACK UP THE CAR!!!!!"
I get in, it was totally stuck, I finally convince the man that I have to go call out of work, but thanks for his help. Before he leaves he says,
"WHERES MY DOGS JERKY!!!!"
(it was in my pocket, I have it back to him) and then he says to
me, the first thing he said not yelling,
"if you want a job, I'm a manager at Dunkin Donuts and
McDonalds"
I canceled class and my neighbor helped shovel me out. I have bruises and cuts on my hand
and it wasn't all done until 7pm and I started at
520. But on the plus side, after graduation, I think I have a job at McD's.

a poem. it rhymes.

2008-07-02T19:50:00.000-04:00

There is a tree that I can see when I have myself a look,
it’s frame, the pane, of a window nook.
Surrounded by boxes, hastily packed, too much of stuff, and space we lack
Finding a place for things to go
some we keep
and others to the curb we throw
Items not needed but not past their prime
are left near the stoop for someone to find
so that whoever who happens to glance at the ground
might look upon and consider a treasure found
for recently fortune and I have in such a way met,
in the form of a discarded and beautiful five piece drum set
but before I can hear the rat-a-tat-tat or crash or a boom,
I have to find myself another room
so off to storage for a little while it will go,
until I find a room to rent, then on with the show.
But now it is me and the tree and she’s in the other room,
unpacking boxes, my help she will have soon.

Beer Bad.

2008-06-29T23:04:00.000-04:00

"Beer is good but I have found if I drink too much it makes my belly round."

The drawing on the side there has been scanned directly from the sketchbook designated to the non neglective usage of my left hand. I am typically a right winger, unless we are talking about politics or ice-hockey, however, I have been making art with the south paw, that up there is an example.
The drawing/poem was done when, still in my line of vision, a condensation-forming bottle of frothy bodega bought beer stood as a still life.
As many of us know the consumption of this liquid tends to formulate itself in an ever present bulge above, and sometimes protruding over, the cleverly designed belt buckled waist line. Okay, so maybe it’s just me that has a collection of clasps that keep my drawers from drooping. (side bar, thanks to Kate H.C. for the new one from Texas.)
But anyhoo, there’s a little bit of ironicism in regards to revisiting this piece that was done awhiles back, taking into consideration the time at which it was drawn.
Back then, it was a bit of wit in words in regards to the beer belly syndrome.
Little did I know, the bulge I attributed to the beer I was drinking was actually a more complex reaction do to the ingredients of what made brew and many other foods I had been consuming.
Wheat and barley, to be precise.
...My nemesis.
Upon consumption my body attacks itself, seeing the contents as a toxin.
I have spent days after eating things with these constituents with pain and perilous poos.
There is no paper that says it, but a thing called Celiacs is what I have to blame for the last year of my life spent with too many days in bed with discomfort and an accumulation as thick as Pigpen’s dust clouding my head.
A blood test proved inconclusive, because there is no pink for positive, or blue for a no go procedure to either confirm or deny.
I opted out of the expensive endoscopic biopsy that had been scheduled, and realized that when I ate wheat or gluten, I felt bad, and when I didn’t, I felt better.
“Doctor it hurts when I do this,” as the patient pokes his eye, is what came in to mind, and the follow up is, “stop doing that”.
A prognosis without the papering of uninsured advice, and an old timey comedic classic. Works for me.
Which brings me to earlier tonight, more specifically dinnertime. Used to be, I was hungry, I would eat ...problem solved.
Thaw a frozen pizza, zap up some easy mac.
Done and dunner.
This wasn’t every night, mind you. But seriously some days it’s not just cause it’s easy to “run for the border.” Fact of the matter, sometimes that stuff just plain tastes good.
However, such an indulgence these days would leave me with a swollen, throbbing gut, and a body that lacked the ability to absorb the nutrients of the next day where carrot juice and a quinoa avocado salad was on the menu for lunch and blackened chicken with a pineapple, plum, peach, and papaya salsa served over spring greens was shared at dinnertime.
You may have noticed on the super market shelves these days, products protesting to be “gluten free.”
That means that the contents of the food does not contain wheat, rye, barley or oats(oats can be okay digestively, but are very often cross contaminated by wheat flours used in products made on the same production line.)
More and more, people are being diagnosed as gluten intolerant, 1 in 100, if I remember correctly from what I read, but it is a relatively “new” trend in diagnostics, so much so that if spelled incorrectly, Microsoft Word will try to tell you your trying to spell the name of this years NBA’s championship green jerseyed team. If you really, really can’t spell.
I just finished a book called Gluten Free Girl, an educational and inspirational read. It’s funny how things are easier to understand when you know more about something because someone else knows more than you, and you take it all in. And, I think I can agree with the characters from Joe G.I, maybe Scarlet (cause she was hot) on this one, that “knowing is half the battle.” And a fraction of the other portion was found in the meal that was prepared for me tonight in our gluten free kitchen. Fried chicken with a rice flour batter, drizzled with spicy gravy from a recipe that was gluten free, that also soaked the frozen (sans wheat) cornbread muffins that were complimented with a brown rice medley and steamed and seasoned broccoli goodness.

Initial entry

2008-06-19T21:02:00.000-04:00

So this here is where you will find some of my writings and drawings, and some writings that have been inspired from other peoples drawings, and likewise drawings that have spurned from the writings of others as well as a few of thises, thats, and other things. So, check back regularly.