Liz Greer, who is the editor of a blog called “Mill Valley Life,” recently interviewed me about my cartooning and greeting cards. It was a pleasure to be featured in her blog – you can read the piece here.
“Mill Valley Life” is updated nearly every day, with interesting stories about Mill Valley and the people who live there.
Thanks Liz – it was fun talking with you.
I recently took my two-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Kate, to Trader Joe’s. She likes coming along on shopping trips because she really enjoys looking at people. But she especially likes going to Trader Joe’s because the cashiers give out stickers to kids.
Most little kids like stickers. Kate loves stickers. It’s almost an unhealthy obsession. The only thing she likes even more than stickers is balloons. One time, my wife bought her a sheet of stickers that were all balloons and Kate’s head almost exploded.
Along with giving out stickers, Trader Joe’s also has this game they do for little kids. Every day, they hide this stuffed donkey toy somewhere in the store. If a kid spots the donkey, they tell the cashier where it is. Then they get a piece of candy.
As we got in the car, I said to Kate: “Remember the game at the store? When you look for the toy donkey?”
She replied with an emphatic “Yes!”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re in the store walking around. At one point, I looked down at Kate in the cart and noticed that her head was moving slooooowly from left to right. The look on her face was deadly serious.
“What’re you doing?” I said.
“Looking for the donkey,” she said, in almost a whisper. Then she continued to scan the store, like a robot.
I had forgotten about the donkey game.
“Okay, good job,” I said. “Keep looking.”
About ten minutes later, I was grabbing gallon of milk and almost dropped it when Kate yelled “THERE IT IS!”
She found the donkey – but I couldn’t see it.
“Where?”
She said, “There!”
“In the refrigerator?”
“No, no! Up THERE!”
The donkey was perched about four feet above the milk section, on a little ledge.
“Good job,” I said.
The entire time Kate was looking for the donkey---a good 20 minutes---she had the demeanor of a Secret Service agent, searching for a lone gunman in a crowd. (I know you’re here, donkey…you can run, but you can’t hide.)
I’m pretty sure that if I had played this game at her age, I would’ve had the laser-like focus Kate had…..for about a minute. (Look for the donkey…look for the donkey…look for the—oooh, ice cream!)
Right after Kate found the donkey, she was beaming. I looked down at her and thought: You got this skill from your mother. Both Kate and my wife are highly observant people. Me, not so much. I can’t count how many times my wife and I have had a conversation like this:
Me: “I really like this new lamp.”
Her: “I bought it six months ago.”
As I was driving home from the store, I was thinking about how much Kate is like her mom. Then suddenly I heard Kate’s voice from the back seat.
“Daddy?”
I turned down the radio.
“What sweetie?”
“Poo poo!” she said, followed by a huge belly laugh—which totally cracked me up.
I guess the kid is a little like me too.
A couple months ago, I got an email from someone at the San Francisco Department of Public Health. She asked if I was available to do some cartooning for an upcoming public health advertising campaign.
“The campaign is to promote the use of female condoms,” she wrote.
For several years, I did cartooning for the SF Health Department’s syphilis prevention campaign, which featured a happy-go-lucky cartoon penis named “Healthy Penis.” Those comic strip ads were fun to write and draw, so I was interested to find out what their new “female condom” campaign was all about.
I thought, Maybe they’ll want me to draw a talking female condom. She could be called Connie the Condom!
I emailed back saying that I was available and asked for more information. Turns out there wasn’t going to be any mascot for this campaign. They had something completely different in mind.
“We want to promote the use of the newly redesigned female condom (called FC2) among gay and bisexual men,” she said. “We’d like you to draw a series of illustrations which would show men how to use it.”
I was sent samples of illustrations showing women inserting the condom. They were plain and looked like typical textbook illustrations. She asked if I could create a new a series of cartoony illustrations of a man using the female condom. I was a little disappointed that there wasn’t going to be a goofy cartoon mascot involved, but was happy to accept the job.
Over the next few days, I worked on the sketches. The first drawing was a hand holding the condom. Pretty straightforward.
Then I started drawing the second sketch: a guy standing up, with his partner about to insert the condom. My wife was there for instant feedback.
“It’s weird to see one of your cartoon characters with his pants around his ankles,” she said.
“Yeah,” I replied. "It's really weird."
“What’s that behind his butt?”
“It’s his partner’s hand,” I said. “He’s about to insert the condom.”
“Don’t you think the hand should be a lot closer?”
“It’s close enough,” I said.
“His hand is like three feet behind the guy’s butt,” she said. “You have to make it much closer—he’s his sex partner.”
“You really think it’s too far away?”
“The way you have it drawn now, it doesn’t look like he’s about to have sex with the guy. It looks like he’s going to throw the condom at him and run."
She was right. It looked ridiculous.
I went ahead corrected the sketch and proceeded to work on the others. One Saturday morning, my two-and-a-half-year-old daughter walked up next to me while I was drawing a tattoo on a naked butt.
“What’s that, Daddy?”
“It’s a tattoo,” I said, then quickly moved the drawing pad out of view. “Why don’t you go play with your toys?”
In about a week, the cartoons were finished and approved by the Health Department. Here’s an excerpt (censored for the kids): The campaign launched this past Monday, on Valentine’s day, at San Francisco’s Civic Center Plaza.
I really enjoyed working with the Health Department. They’re great. Still, I wish I could’ve drawn a cartoon character named Connie the Condom. That would’ve been a lot of fun.
In my day job I work in development for a large nonprofit company. My company manages seven housing facilities for seniors—from government-subsidized housing to upscale retirement communities. Another facet of the company is that we offer Community Service programs for low-income seniors in the Bay Area. I raise money for these programs.
Because my office is adjacent to one of our high-end retirement communities, I encounter seniors every day. Over the course of six years, I’ve met some wonderful and interesting older adults. Jacques Iselin was one of them.
Originally from Switzerland, Jacques had a thick accent and a no-nonsense demeanor. He walked around the retirement community like he owned the place. The atmosphere of a retirement home, I’ve learned, is just like high school. It has all the same elements—the “in crowd,” the rumor mill, the backstabbers, the misfits, the troublemakers—except that all the “kids” are in their 70s, 80s and 90s. Jacques Iselin was definitely one of the “cool kids.”
When I met Jacques in early 2005, my first impression, I have to admit, wasn’t a good one. I remember him barging into my office and telling me—not asking me, but telling me—to do something. I can’t recall the details of his request but I do remember thinking, “Who the hell IS this guy?”
Over the course of the next year or so, I began to "get” Jacques. Beneath the gruff exterior was a nice guy. And a great human being.
Although my personality is nothing like Jacques’, I still viewed him is kind of a role model. He lived life the way I believe it should be lived. He traveled extensively, was kind, stayed active, and generously gave back to his community with his time and money. In the nonprofit senior services sector, two widely used buzz phrases are: “healthy aging” and “aging successfully.” Jacques was the embodiment of both those terms. (As his wife Silvia would say to friends, “Jacques is so healthy, it’s sickening.”)
In early January, Jacques began experiencing some pain which worsened over the course of a couple weeks. As the pain became unbearable, he went to the doctor. During an examination at the hospital, it was discovered that Jacques had cancer. Everywhere. Jacques’ body was filled with tumors.
Upon giving Jacques this shocking news, the doctor said there were two options: 1. Undergo a rigorous chemotherapy treatment that would likely add months, possibly even years, to his life or 2. Do nothing, in which case he would have just weeks to live. Jacques chose Option 2.
When Jacques returned to the retirement community’s Health Center, he wrote a letter which Silvia placed on the main bulletin board for all residents to see. It read:
“Dear friends,
You may have heard that I was in the hospital. The doctor discovered that I have cancer in several vital organs. Instead of enduring a painful and prolonged chemotherapy treatment, I have decided to leave this earth with dignity. I’ve had a great life. I’ve traveled the world and lived to a good old age. I have no regrets.
“I would love for you to visit me in the Health Center. My eyes may be closed when you come in but just say my name and I’ll be happy to talk with you. I look forward to seeing you!”
Last Friday, January 28, I went up to the Health Center to visit Jacques. He was lying in his bed, looking very frail, and his eyes were indeed closed. Instantly I had flashbacks of visiting my father in the hospital eight years earlier. My dad died of cancer in 2003 at the age of 63. I was surprised how quickly those memories came rushing back. I contemplated turning around. Instead I said, “Jacques?”
Jacques’ eyes immediately opened and he turned his head towards me. A weak smile came across his face and he began to sit up. It was clear he had lost a lot of weight. “Hey,” he said. “How are you?”
His well-known gruff exterior was gone. He was simply a dying man, at peace with his decision to leave this world. Thanks to the morphine, he was in no pain. He looked frail but he also looked extremely content.
We chatted briefly and I resisted the temptation to say “Goodbye.” Instead I told him, “We’re all thinking about you down there.” Before I headed out the door, I reached out my hand. Jacques grabbed it and squeezed it. “Take care,” he said.
Yesterday morning, February 3, I received an email from the retirement community next door. Whenever a resident passes away, we are notified. The email subject line was: “Death notice.” I knew who it was before I opened it.
Jacques Iselin passed away peacefully early in the morning on February 3. He was 87 years old.
Goodbye, Jacques. You lived your life well, with no regrets.
I hope to do the same.
For me, bad cartoon ideas fall into three categories:
1. The Obviously Bad Idea – when I immediately realize how awful it is, seconds after sketching it out.
2. The Bad Idea Disguised as a Good Idea – when I sketch something and like it a lot, but then later realize (usually after the caffeine wears off) that it’s totally lame.
3. The Bad Idea That I Still Kind of Like – puns, offensive material and obvious, clichéd jokes fall into this category. These are the ideas that are essentially bad but there’s something about them that I can’t help but like.
The other day I sketched something that fell squarely into Category 3. Initially I thought it was funny but later I had this nagging feeling that it wasn’t all that good. I was on the fence about it, so I did what I usually do when I’m in doubt about a sketch: I showed it to my wife Katrina. (Here it is, in all its crappy glory) After reading it, Katrina looked up and locked her eyes on mine. She was silent but her eyes said “Hell no.”
“So…you don’t like it.” I said.
“I hate jokes about women’s periods. HATE them.”
“But see, they’re robots and she’s asking—”
“I get it, but it's dumb. Sorry.”
“Okay.”
A few seconds of silence.
“You shouldn’t do jokes about women’s periods,” she said. “Not a good idea.”
I agree that, generally speaking, it’s a bad idea for guys to make jokes about women’s periods. But I see this more as relationship humor. You know, even robot husbands sometimes have to buy feminine products for their wives. They’re just like us!
Is it funny now? No?
Damn it.
Just saw this article on SFGate about the second-best gift wrapper in the world. She lives in San Francisco and her name is Megumi Inouye. I don’t really care about gift wrapping in general, mainly because I suck at it. I read the article only because I was intrigued by the fact Ms. Inouye is the second-best gift wrapper in the world. Who knew there were gift wrapping competitions?
Turns out Ms. Inouye got the title “second-best gift wrapper in the world” at a big contest in New York in 2008. The article explained that she would have been the first-best gift wrapper in the world except that she made minor error in the final round of the competition. From the article:
“The challenge was to wrap a baby grand piano. Inouye might have been slightly ahead but, in her joy, she forgot to do what she usually does—to fold over one edge of the wrapping paper, for extra strength. When she pulled the paper over the piano keyboard, it suffered a small tear.”
I remember in elementary school I got second place in a class spelling bee because I left out the ‘h’ in the word “rhyme.” For years, whenever I saw the word “rhyme” I thought about how close I came to greatness, but fell just short. I wonder what Ms. Inouye thinks whenever she sees a baby grand piano. “Damn it, I could’ve been somebody!”
Probably not. From the article, she seems like a person who wouldn’t get too worked up over losing a championship. It’s clear she has a passion for wrapping gifts that transcends competitions. Here’s her take on gift wrapping:
“Wrapping is self-expression. It is an extension of the gift. It is the soul of the giver communicating to the soul of the recipient.”For people who are good gift wrappers, that’s a heartwarming thought. For me, not so much. It’s unsettling to think that every Christmas, over all these years, my soul has basically been telling other people's souls to go f--k themselves.I’m glad wife does most of the gift wrapping.
Want to see a sketch of a cartoon idea that was induced by a mind-altering substance? Read on!One day a few weeks back, I was really tired. I was so exhausted that I resorted to drinking some 5-Hour Energy. (I try to use that stuff sparingly because it kind of scares me. It’s rocket fuel. I’m pretty sure one of the ingredients is paint thinner.)As usual, after about three sips of 5-Hour Energy I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to run around the block five times. And a few seconds later, a cartoon idea popped in my head. It seemed pretty funny, so I immediately I grabbed a piece of paper and sketched it out. I drew this sketch in roughly 14 seconds. Even though it’s shaky and rough, I like the look of the cat. In the final version, he didn’t change much. I should note this cat is based on my 21-pound cat, Simon. I’m pretty sure he drinks 5-Hour Lethargy.
I was recently interviewed by David Paccia for his Cartoonist Survey on his blog, David Wasting Paper. Over the past several months, David has interviewed more than 100 cartoonists, asking each one the same set of questions (about the favorite drawing tools, work environment, art background, etc.). You can read my answers to his questions here. Thanks David. I’m flattered to be a part of the survey.
If you’re into the nuts and bolts of cartooning, check out the archives on David’s site. Fun read.
I recently decided to start running in the morning instead of trying to run at night. For me, running at night during the winter rarely works out. After working all day, commuting and helping get our daughter ready for bed, I am exhausted. I’m a morning person, so I figured running before work is the best way for me to get (and stay) in shape. Today was Day 1 of the new schedule.
My alarm clock went off at 4:50. Then I hit the snooze button. I don’t remember hitting the snooze button. The alarm went off again at 4:55, which is when I groggily realized: Oh, yeah. I need to get up. My wife must’ve been reading my mind because a second later she muttered, “dontyouneedtogetup?”
I put on my running clothes and reflector vest, and then grabbed a flashlight. I was out the door by 5:00.
With the exception of races, I don't think I've ever I’ve gotten up this early to go running. Here are three things that surprised me:
1. Nobody else was out running. Or walking. I thought I’d see at least one other runner out there. Or even someone walking their dog. Somebody to give the Hey-how’s-it-going-you’re-also-up-early head nod to. I did see a fat woman in a blue bathrobe picking up her newspaper, but that doesn’t count. And I wish I didn’t see that.
2. There were no cars on the main thoroughfare in my neighborhood. None. Not even a bus or a delivery truck. I thought about running in the middle of the street for a couple blocks, just for the novelty of it. But I didn’t. That would’ve been stupid.
3. It felt good. Actually, it felt great.
I got home at 5:40 -- a 40-minute run. Not a bad start. I’m going to do the early morning runs on Monday, Wednesday and Friday and get up at 5:00am to draw cartoons on Tuesday and Thursday. So here’s to running and drawing cartoons early in the morning!
Thank God for coffee.
This week Tom Racine of Tall Tale Radio interviews Scott Hilburn of The Argyle Sweater, one of my favorite single panel features. Mike Witmer (cartoonist of the hilarious Pinkerton) and I are also on this show. Scott talks about his journey to syndication and answers all the questions he gets about his comic’s similarity to “The Far Side.” We all discuss how we work and cartooning in general. Tom, Scott, Mike and I all had comics on Comics Sherpa around the same time, so we talk about our experiences with that as well. Good times. Listen to the show here.
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