My Death

Fish-philes know I suffer from debilitating headaches. I am convinced my death will come as my brain expands and explodes through my skull.

Let me explain:

You and I know that the skull is made up of several bones, held together by elastic-y sutures. For some time, I thought my brain was pushing out along one of these natural connection points causing one side of my skull to have a sharp, near-90-degree angle (B) rather than a gentle curve (A). But, no.

The ridge is the temporal line, also naturally occurring, but mine has been increasingly sharpening, which is worse than the theory above. If the above were true, the elastic-y sutures would allow for some give, like the earth's crust movements. Instead, my head will explode out like a volcano (C).

My doctor won't entertain this notion. I consulted a biologist who also disagrees with me. And, I've consulted a geologist, who tells me volcanoes form along fault lines (sutures). He insists the pressure exerted against my skull by my brain is more likely to kill me than it is to make my skull explode like a volcano. He did, however, suggest I keep my head from becoming excessively warm.

All this has only convinced me I'm right. All these people telling me how wrong I am—methinks these ladies doth protest too much!

Once, a palm reader told me I'd die abruptly (now young, but suddenly). That's cool, I'm ready to go. Rather, I've been working on my will with an attorney, so I'll be ready to go in a few weeks, once it's notarized.

Crazy, you say? My doctor and neurologist can't account for the headaches, nor can they offer any suggestions to minimize them. take that! :-)

Summer '11 reading list

It's the last day of summer, and before work I finished reading my last summer book and inked a little sketch I did, inspired by the reading.

After I finished writing and drawing my short adaptation of Wuthering Heights, I took a little breather with some light summer reading.

First up, Nancy Drew in The Hidden Staircase, followed by also-penned-by-"Carolyn Keene" Dana Girls in By The Light of the Study Lamp. While I enjoy the Nancy Drew genre, let's just say reading two back-to-back exposes the formula unflatteringly. And, shhh—the mystery can be solved basically by the titles.

Next, I turned to some classics. Good-bye, Mr. Chips was a bit delightful and a bit disappointing and a bit sad...seeing someone's life scroll so quickly by.

Little Women was a surprising joy. As a boy, I'd avoided "girl books" but this novel (like many "children's classics") was actually written for an adult audience. The first part was a bit preachy, but I enjoyed how the girls applied their childhood lessons as adults in the second part. Alcott's description of Laurie's loss and artist malaise after Jo turned him down hit home. In general, the novel made me appreciate the lessons my folks taught me over the years. On the subject of "girl books," I also read Anne of Green Gables. Sweet, but a rare example of how a filmed version surpasses the novel. Read the book then watch the '80s mini series to see what I mean.

Lastly, I turned back to "boys classics" with Penrod and Sam. Oddly, the second and most famous in a trilogy of books featuring Penrod Schofield. This one is supposed to focus more on his friendship with Sam, but really just jumps around from vignette to vignette about Penrod, ending with a set up for the last in the series. Written in 1913-ish, it's another example of horrific racism of the day. The racism in Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew were written out in the '60s revamps; the racism in a novel like Huck Finn can still be seen as literature. But Penrod and Sam doesn't deliver anything lofty alongside its depictions of Penrod's alley-pals Herman and Verman. Aside from the curiosity of "how it was" and "how far we've come," I could do without it and the whole novel, I guess. A disappointing end to my read-a-thon.

But still, here's a sketch of Penrod and Sam. It was fun to draw the boys in knickers and newsboy caps. Otherwise, all I could think of was Little Women in Space. Maybe I'll still do that one.

Summer boys—2011

Hello, summer!

Here to the left is Robert, with his big, bright, green eyes, and always-talking, always-laughing mouth.

I met Robert during Pride. Because MIT commencement/reunions typically falls on Boston Pride weekend, I can't usually go. But this year, they did not, and I went to Paradise's block party with Adam. There, met Robert.

It was just his birthday, so I colored this sketch I did of him a while back for the occasion.

HBD!















As for some other eye-candy, clockwise from the left:

Skinny indie boy with nicely muscled arms, wearing some lightweight green cut-off sweatshorts that left nothing to the imagination.

Kid at MIT campus, who, from a distance, looked fat. But closer up, it was all muscle. I've never seen anyone fill out every inch of cotton madras shorts. Seriously, every inch of fabric was accounted for.

Another kid I saw on my commute. He was wearing denim cutoffs, and biking shirtless, shoeless, helmetless. He had a cute hayseed look about him. But really, he needs to wear a helmet.

Dude talking to another dude at the Porter Sq Shaw's. His arms filled out his cotton plaid shirt sleeves nicely. Otherwise, he had the 30-going-on-40 look. Or, he was a youthful 40. Either way, very nice!

Summer gals—2011

Recently, I took a day off to do some writing for my WUTHERING HEIGHTS project, and I stopped by Diesel Cafe to see my friends Steve and Adam.

Nearby was one of those newfangled preggers gals who show off their preggers form. Definitely not the mod maternity wear I saw in photos of my mom.

In truth, the showing off of the belly wasn't nearly as bad as the showing off of her back fat rolls. AND, if she hadn't been loud and obnoxious, she wouldn't have caught my attention at all.


















By contrast, I saw this vision at Sherman Cafe, where I stop every Thursday morning before therapy.

I LOVE HER!

She has this moderninzed Mama Cass redux thing going on. Hippy head-band, flowy printed micro-dress, and sandals.

Well, I thought it was a micro-dress...turned out to be a shirt, because if she moved right, you could see her denim Daisy Dukes underneath.

The quote is somewhat accurate...they were out of whatever she had intended to order, though I don't think she was so daintily concerned about it.

Next next, Summer boys!

Le Menu

My parents' hobby is restoring big old houses. They do most of the work themselves, and they are good at it. But, 3 story homes are kind of a lot for 2 people, so they accumulate and store. Not like pack rats, per se, but they aren't so good at purging. Recently, my mom started the process, and stumbled upon a box of letters and postcards and stuff from me and my sister to her and my dad.

The letters I wrote while I was in college were pretty un-interesting to me, but the ones from Saint Louis were pretty good. Most of it, I had similarly captured in journal form, but still fun to read, a little. Weird to have such a detailed glimpse back at one's self from decades ago.















What really nabbed me were some of the personalizations on the greeting cards I gave them as a little boy and teenager:

"You don't look a day over 39! Happy 38th birthday, Mom."

"Happy late birthday/On-time Father's Day" (my dad's birthday is in February, Father's Day in June)

"Happy Mother's Day. Your present will be late, but you will still get one."

"Don't worry about getting old and all your wrinkles. Happy Birthday"

So, I haven't changed terribly much, forgetting birthdays and presents. Oops.

Among the items was this fake menu I had to make in Junior High French class. I recall the teacher being a bit annoyed at deliberate details such as charging 20 Francs for a cup of coffee against 22 Francs for an entire meal.

I laughed when I re-read this—and it's still making me laugh—was my pun, "Oo-la-lard." Lard not only means lard in French, but also bacon. Anyway, a bit more of vintage Tim Fish for ya.

Wuthering Heights Preview

Some Heathcliff, with the cast for height comparison.

























Edgar and Isabella Linton. In the moment of drawing, Edgar looks more like a guy I work with, and Isabella looks more like a Barbie doll. Oh well.

























I didn't get much opp to draw Hindly and Hareton, but they look pretty similar to this in the final pages.


Ok, this was a tough assignment...14 page excerpt, preferably a self-contained portion. Thinking...thinking...whirr...whirr... I ended up doing a 2 page spread summarizing chapters 1-9 and then focused the next 11 pages on chapters 10-17, then added the ghost bit for the 14th page.

I started off from notes, then a tiny hand-written script, then 5"x8" thumbnails (pages 1-2 to the left), then 11"x17" pages.

Was a fierce debate whether to add some color, gray shadows, or keep it stark B&W. Excellent arguments were made all around. I added gray shadows but left it to the publisher to decide whether to go with them or the B&W.

I can't wait to see it in print! Though June 2012 is a long way off.

Poor Aggie—!

I just scanned this from Adam's sketchbook. I had drawn this in February to explain the horrific event of the morning.

Aggie, now 11, starting tripping and falling casually in the past year. However, in February, she took two nasty spills.

The first, I was taking her outside, and she was was a bit excited, and missed a step, ultimately "sliding" down the small flight of steps to my building. I felt really awful.

Later that week, she was bounding inside my apartment, eagerly seeking her toy, Person. Twisting awkwardly, she slipped and landed hard on her left hind hip. In the days that followed, she would yelp in pain if I touched her, or even at random moments.

Not sure if it was the first fall, second, or combination, but she ruptured a knee ligament. Fortunately, she did not need surgery, and recovered just by me making sure she stayed calm and not playful. That was a challenge as she started to feel better.

Kick ahead 6 months, and she'd basically fine...though less and less playful. She is having an increasingly difficult time getting up and laying down. If she's not laying on a rug, I have to help her up. And, I must limit moving about my loftspace too much: being a sheepdog, she's hard-wired to make sure she keeps close track of me. If I move too far from her, she compulsively follows. Sometimes, if I am not mindful and move around a lot, I catch her laying down only to struggle to get up less than a minute later. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Until I make her stay in a spot that she can monitor me without getting up.

When I saw this sketch hanging out with Adam this morning, I blurted out "Poor Aggie—!" before I was consciously aware that I had titled the sketch that.