June 13th, 2006


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The art is matted. The prints are done.

Well, no. It would be more accurate to say that *I* am done. If more prints are needed, I'll do 'em there. I filled print books and moaned and wailed and gnashed teeth, and there is no more than I can do.

Today, I burn art to CDs, print blurbs for the art show (the art show blurbs are a big help for sales, I find.) fill out the control sheets, and if my backing boards arrive, I'll bag 'n board the jumbo prints.

I'm having a really great idea for a comic. The serpent in the garden of my brain is curled around the brain stem and whispering about how cool it would be. He's very persuasive, this reptilian gentleman. Butter wouldn't melt on that forked tongue. Temptation rages. "One little panel," he hisses. "One little page. Ssssome conssssscept ssssketchessss."

I don't dare, though. All I could do would be to start, and then I'd get home from the Con, and be completely uninterested, because then I'd have time.

Our Muse, who art in our brains, lead us not into inspiration...

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The deer have pruned the Japanese maple, the blueberry, the gaillardia, and they browsed my black-eyed susans down to pitiful nubs.

"Eat meat for lunch," I told James. He sighed the sigh of a man who will be peeing into a bottle by nightfall.

It is probably entirely my enthusiasm for gardening that leads me to believe that a comic about a druid gardener would be awesome. It'd have to be fairly short--you can only battle the forces of kudzu so long before it gets old--but it'd be cool.
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Looks like the nominations are out for the Web Cartoonists Choice Awards this year. Digger is up for the same two categories as last year, Outstanding Black and White Art and Outstanding Anthropomorphic Comic.

As weird as it may sound, since we won in the black and white art category last year, I'd just as soon somebody else got it this year--I'd be terribly flattered, of course, but there are many good contenders there as well, and my ego's already big enough. Outstanding Anthropomorphic'd be nice. *grin*

My deep gratitude to anyone who nominated Digger for either category, and...err...WOOT!


Yet more snakes!

Walked down to the stream. Near to the path, on the edge of the bushes, was a large, heavy-bodied snake, maybe two feet long, very thick in proportion, a seriously meaty snake. None of the little whippy wormy snakes--this guy was pumpin' iron at the gym and always cleaned his plate. It was dark, dusty brown-black, with what looked like narrow, paler bands, a little like you get with a kingsnake, but much lower contrast, faint lines of tan on chocolate, the whole creature much thicker than a kingsnake and not at all glossy.

"Do not assume all snakes are poisonous," I told myself.* "That one you saw the other day was probably a brown water snake. Not all snakes are poisonous. Surely there are plenty of other other snakes that look exactly like cottonmouths." I went home and looked on line. There are indeed some look-alikes. So, banded water snake, or mature cottonmouth, Ursula isn't going to go prodding this legless gent to find out for sure.

When it saw me checkin' it out with the binoculars (I was maybe ten feet away, but I wasn't getting any closer) it slithered into the bushes. This doesn't mean anything--despite their reputation as some kind of scaly psychotic, cottonmouths, like the vast majority of snakes in North America, would much rather flee than tangle with you. (I recall a show once where several scientists set out to see just how aggressive cottonmouths were. At one point, they were standing around poking the thing with sticks, trying desperately to provoke an attack, and the snake was just "Let me go, let me go, I have no quarrel with any of you, let me go, let me go." They eventually concluded that as long as you don't step on them, and don't try to play with them, you'll probably be fine. This is good advice with any animals, and most artists.)

*Unless you're thinking of handling them, in which case all snakes are not only poisonous, but explosive.

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Okay, last post today, I swear to god, but this one was too weird not to comment on.

Driving back from the store, there's a McDonald's. On the McDonald's sign, under the Golden Arches and the billions and billions served, it says--I kid you not--"POETRY NIGHT -- FRIDAY 6PM to 8PM."

I am speechless--but not so speechless as not to compose a haiku in honor of this event.

Ronald McDonald
Is creepy--but not so much
As the McNuggets.