Trick or treat? I got a rock.

Drove over to the Urgent Care clinic for Halloween. What I'd hoped was a bladder infection turned out to be my latest kidney stone. I've been getting these little bastards since I was 18... about every two years or so.

Yick. Yeah, they're very painful. So, I'm drinking fluids like a fiend now, hoping for that glorious sound that signifies an end to urinary tract misery:

*Ssssssss... tink!*

Last time, I horrified the wife a bit by fishing it out of the bowl and displaying it proudly on the toilet tank.

What d'ya mean "too much information?" This is good stuff!

Did somebody say "Drunken Monkey"?

Since the artwork is finished and approved, and since it is Halloween, I'd like to announce my very first published comics work: a backup strip in Furious Fist of the Drunken Monkey #2. On comic racks everywhere in January '05. A couple of preview panels:


Uh thankyuh.

A few friends, family and creepy camera stalkers might remember that, exactly two years ago at Halloween, I managed to pull out an undeserved victory in an art contest with a faithless rendition of the now-famed Drunken Monkey (in fact, second place went to the very astonishing Ryan Ottley, who's become the new Golden Boy of the comics industry in the last year or so, pencilling one of the hottest comics currently running - hoofah!). Two years and several emails with Monkey creator Rich Stahnke later, I'm lending my pen to his script for a piece of the actual comic.

Rich is a really cool cat, by the way, who's managed to forgive my hemming and hawing about art help with the first issue of DM. I bumped into him earlier this year at San Diego Comic-Con and the guy even comped me a copy of the comic. He's hinted around at teaming up on other projects, so who knows?
...


We have an elevator in our condo's building, which Carey and I make terrific use of, being that we live on the top floor. Every so often, I can't help myself, I look down at the little gap between the elevator door and the floor and think, "gee, it would really suck to drop your keys down there."

And yesterday, on the way home, I got The Phone Call.

"Jer, how close are you to home? I just did something really stupid."

Fortunately, Carey was able to wait with our neighbor for me to get home. But, yup, she'd dropped her keys down the elevator shaft. When I arrived, she'd already talked to Linda, the president of our HOA. We need to call to get the Elevator People to get down in the shaft and dig out the keys. Also, we have to pay for this particular service.

Somewhere in the neighborhood of $140.

Gah!
...


So last night I was prepping some final changes on the Drunken Monkey artwork. Beg pardon if this gets a little design-technical, but it's important to the story:

I decided early on to do all the comic art in the vector-based realm. I'm not sure I've ever seen a completely vector-based printed comic in my life, so I thought it would be cool to do something that stands out from the crowd. Adobe Illustrator is my weapon of choice for producing the actual art and, as you can imagine, it takes about 3 times longer than drawing it by hand, as producing vectors is a very exact science.

Um, also. Er. My copy of Illustrator is... er... pirated.

Oh, not the original version. That I paid a pretty penny for back in '98. But for subsequent upgrades, I didn't feel I could justify the expense, so I sort of did a little winky-winky, clicky-clicky, downloady-loady so I've been slightly less than legal for the past couple of years.

Anyhow, I went to save the changes and I got an disk-writing error. Weird, so I decided to reboot and try again. After the reboot, I clicked to open the file and... urk. "File corrupt."

To reiterate: I was doing the art in vector. To translate: There was no "hand-drawn original". Everything was in that file.

To clarify: I was f****d.

As I tried frantically to un-corrupt my file, recalling the days and hours that had gone into producing the art, I made a deal with God: "please help me get this file back. I don't have the time to redo it all. If You do me this favor, I mean it, I'll buy a bona-fide copy of Adobe Illustrator."

And, magically, with no rational explanation at all, I was suddenly able to open my file. Everything was there, good as new.

Yow.

Carey knew I was mid-crisis, so she was wisely staying out of my way. I walked out into the living room in a daze. She asked me, tentatively, "how's it going in there...?"

I told her what had happened. She was very happy for me.

"But wait. So now you're going to buy a real upgrade of Adobe Illustrator?"

"Yeah, that was the deal."

"How much does that cost?"

"A lot."

"How much exactly?"

"It's about as expensive as dropping your keys down the elevator shaft."

Little Jermo's Adventures in Slumberland

Really really embarrasing: a couple of nights ago, I fell out of bed.

Look, I have absolutely no idea how it happened. I haven't fallen out of bed since I was, jeepers, six? I was having a very peculiar dream about trying very hard to get up and get out of bed, when... WHAMMO! I was awakened by the sensation of my face + my entire body weight abruptly meeting our bedroom floor. It really, really hurt.

Also, it caused a terrific racket. Immediately, the cats flipped out and began tearing through the bedroom and the house, knocking over vases and other breakables. Carey sat bolt upright and started screaming "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD! YOU LANDED ON GILBERT!"

Well, no, I hadn't landed on Gilbert, but I was too shocked, irritated and embarrassed to debate the issue with her.

But what grown-up does that? Falling out of bed? What is this, amateur night?

High-Speed Creepy Camera People

"Great, super, spectacular, I'm being tailgated," I thought as I drove home from work on Friday. I hate tailgaters the most when there's absolutely no reason whatsoever for tailgating. It's time to be pissed off at someone and, lucky lucky, it happens to be you. My favorite method of dealing with them is to slow to ridiculous speeds until they get fed up and speed ahead and, failing that, the old Brake Test.

But when I looked closely at my rearview mirror, I noticed that it was a trendy-looking young couple - the driver a bleached blonde woman in a beret, the passenger a goateed hipster in a scarf and jacket. I should also point out that he was holding a very professional-looking camera.

I should probably also point out that he was pointing the camera at me.

So the guy keeps snapping pictures and I'm debating with myself about whether this is for real or whether I'm having some sort of narcissistic delusion. As soon as a break in traffic occurred in the next lane, the car bolts ahead and begins keeping pace with me. I look to the side, and the guy is still snapping pictures.

Of me.

The weirdest thing, though, was the look on their faces. They didn't seem angry at me. They weren't laughing or even talking to each other, so it didn't seem to be some sort of joke. They looked as if it was their job, just one more day of snapping photos of the dork in the black Jetta. I waved an awkward Hello-How's-It-Going-What-The-Hell-Are-You-Doing wave. They slammed on the brakes and flitted off down a side street.

Hah?
...


Spent most of the weekend on what I'm referring to as Comics Project #1. I don't want to name exactly what it is or who it's for, but suffice it to say that it will be my very first published comics work and I'm having the time of my life. I'll spill it when I'm done, but for now, I dunno, I feel as if I might jinx it if I talk about it too much.

Nothing big, just a single-page backup strip at the back of a larger comic, but still.

Okay. Shutting up.
...


Lately I've been getting spammed like crazy.

Not to embarrass my dear, dear wife, but several months ago, trusting faun that she is, she saw an Amazon auction for a Playstation 2 for somewhere in the neighborhood of $20 and she thought it would be a lovely surprise for her husband. Now, most of us would rightly assume that, you know, if it looks to good to be true... well...

As it happens, Carey's trusting nature is one of my favorite things about her, but it's gotten her into trouble once or twice. Upon inspection, the auction was actually for a *web-link for information on how to get a Playstation 2 for $20*, all you had to do was provide the seller with one dollar and your email address for this spectacular deal. So, bless her lovely heart, she GAVE THEM MY EMAIL ADDRESS.

It turned out to be a scam, of course, run by a company selling e-books. Buy several hundred dollars worth of books and you could gain dollar-book-credits that can be redeemed for prizes such as Playstations and blah blah blah... a complete rip-off and, what's worse, now they've got your email address (which they don't mind selling to spammers). It probably didn't help matters when I logged on and left them negative feedback.

Almost immediately, I began getting spam, which was previously a rarity. At last count, I'm up to nearly ten a day with no signs of slowing. It's a total pain in the arse to hassle with changing my address and getting everyone to update their address books, but I don't know, man, if this continues...

Good God, I hate spam.
...


Finally, Dad has informed me that Pat begins her chemo on November 1. There it is.

Sippin' Bacardi like it's y'birthday

On what was no doubt the single rainiest day of the year here in Southern California, extra-special, big-fat birthday wishes to my wife, Carey. She's 28 today and she just informed me that this particular birthday has exceeded every expectation she could have had, particularly loot-wise.

Happy birthday, babe. Mwah!

Chemotherapy

You may or may not remember the ongoing health woes of Pat, my dad's wife. Well, Dad gave me a call this morning and gave me a some very upsetting news: her tumor's not only returned, it's become a grave concern. A trip to a specialist in Houston confirmed that this thing's extremely dangerous and she'll need to begin chemotherapy immediately.

Needless to say, Pat's very worried. Cancer left her a widow several years back and she's understandably concerned for her future and the future of her children. Dad is optimistic about the chemo, but there's no denying that the months ahead are going to be intensely trying.

I don't know, man, it doesn't really seem fair to me. For those who don't know Pat, let me assure you: no one in the world is less deserving of such a horrible malady. Here's a young, vibrant woman who's endured more than any three people should ever have to face. This is a very disturbing development.

Obviously, our prayers and hopes and well-wishes are with her, not to mention her children and my father.

Apparently, it's time for someone to be sent through the ringer and, recently, the fates have chosen my family.

Hey kids! Comics!

It's no secret that I've grown obnoxiously fat and ill-motivated when it comes to my one-page suggest-a-scripts. So, for the latest installment, I've decided to do something special.

If you've bopped in by way of my homepage, you probably already know this, but the newest script isn't just a few hastily-typed words on a page... rather, a fully-painted comic strip. I dunno, I guess I just got the itch to crack open the watercolors.

That said, go have a look at what's by far the most labor-intensive suggest-a-script to date. Title suggested by an old family friend from the Georgia days who prefers the moniker "Big K", ch-check it out: And the Sherpa Did Not Get It.

Sorry in advance if you're on a slow connection - you may have to wait a bit.

Enjoy!

"Your mouth stinks"

Not "want some gum?" or "check your breath" or even, "time to tame that halitosis, dude". No, the wife told me the other day "your mouth stinks" and what can I say? Some fellows worry about whether their wives are being completely honest with them. I've never had to.
...


Cripes, I completely forgot to mention that I received my complementary copy of this a little over a week ago. Not sure if it's actually, physically on the shelves yet, but that's two me-illustrated X-Box/Playstation 2/GameCube games under my belt.

Don't bother looking for my hidden signature on this one, alas. This thing was done and out the door before it occured to me to get sneaky.
...


And while I'm feeling like a dweeb remembering old news, a much-belated congratulations to Dave and Johanna Matheny on the recent birth of little Maxwell.

(Isn't that a terrific name? Am I the only one who's irritated by the mundane cookie-cutter extremes of baby naming? If it isn't friggin' Jacob, Michael, Joshua, Ashley, Emma or Hannah in this day and age, you can bet your boots it's some other ridiculous extreme like Apple or Carrington or Soleil Moonfrye. When's the last time you saw a baby named Horace or Byron or Olive or Lydia? Those are great names, man, and they're just sitting there, waiting for popularity!)
...


Bush seems to have recouped a bit of dignity in the last two debates, but this thing is still a tough call. Pretty merciful that these debates are over, both candidates were beginning to turn into broken records by the end.

Death, racism, and journalistic integrity

Articles like this tend to piss me off.

Why is it that a news story is only worthwhile if it's attached to a tidy little moral or if it's represented as some sort of cautionary tale? As I understand it, Happy Endings and Lessons Learned are uniquely western, particularly American, when it comes to storytelling. It irritates me a great deal.

To be specific: I'm afraid that, while my Mom's story is indeed a lurid one, there's no lesson to be learned from it. She was not an abused or battered wife. She had no way to predict what was going to happen to her on the morning of July 10th. She didn't go into the house despite her better judgement, she just went in the house.

It's getting difficult to keep mum about the details of the case, but I'm doing my best. Holding on.
...


So I've been thinking lately about racism. And I've come to a very disturbing conclusion about myself.

Having lived in a racially diverse area for the past couple of years, I find myself exhibiting more racist tendencies than I did when I was living in an area with very little racial diversity.

Weird?

Why do so many minorities, particularly in Long Beach, absolutely insist on living up to their negative stereotypes? Obviously, there are enormous exceptions to every generalization. But, man... (am I allowed to say this? Is there even a way to say this?) What's with the dirtly looks, the snide eye-rolls, the overt "you want a piece of this, bitch?" attitude I get from the black and latino community every time I walk outside the building I live in? Should I carry a sign that proclaims "Yes! I'm white! My people took a gigantic crap on your people! If I could apologize for the fact that it's harder for you to get jobs, to start a business, to be respected in society... I would! I truly would! But it's not me! Sorry!"

It's a difficult frustration to voice, because even acknowledging it makes me sound like a racist. And I don't buy this "be color blind" horseshit for a minute. I'm thrilled to pieces that we're a culturally diverse nation. I'm not, however, thrilled that we're just as diverse in our flavors of hatred.

I tried to express these feelings earlier to a couple of coworkers. One of them understood, but the other played the "Personally, I tend to judge people as individuals, not as ethnic groups" card. Great. Thanks. That helps.
...


So I've also been thinking about death.

Carey is very insistent on cremation for me, should it happen that I go first. I guess I have no problem with that, but it does rob me of the satisfaction of deciding what I'll have on my tombstone. It's a big decision! How can you sum up an entire person, their dreams, their triumphs, their character, their experiences, their faith... all in 10 words or less?

Well, I've given it a bit of thought, and I've decided to try to come up with my personal tombstone text, whether or not I actually get one.

Here are a few contenders:

Here lies Jeremy Bear.
Easily in the all-time top 10% of people.

...

Here lies Jeremy Bear.
A guy who knew how to bust a rhyme or two.

...

Here lies Jeremy Bear.
Now that he's gone, the world is completely screwed.

...

Here lies Jeremy Bear.
A friend to all teens in crisis.

...

Here lies Jeremy Bear.
Scored a 28 on his ACTs, which isn't bad for no studying.

...

Here lies Jeremy Bear,
who would have been a terrific hero, given the opportunity.

...

Here lies Jeremy Bear.
Son. Husband. Jester. Visionary.

...

Here lies Jeremy Bear.
"Catch the fever!"

...

or, here's my favorite:

Here lies Jeremy Bear.
For more information, visit www.JeremyBear.com

I am Horus

It's been a long long time since I've posted and nyah nyah nyah, blubbah blubbah blubbah, snorty snort.
...


Updates on Mom? Suffer!

This post will have little or nothing to do with my mother, I promise. Mom, if you're reading this, sorry, there's really nothing I can do.

Okay, I lied: over the weekend I designed and uploaded a spankin' new, spankin' fun website dedicated to everyone's favorite mother. Go look at it for, like, an hour: BeckySpellman.com.

Okay, also, but this really is it: the big criminal trial is on November 15th, so I'll be in Ohio that week. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, don't sweat it.
...


Creative Renaissance

I don't know what's come over me lately, I really don't. I'm a creating machine. After what feels like almost a year of moping around, I'm writing, drawing, painting, plotting and designing for the pure hell of it in a burst of creative mania that I haven't experienced since college. After a long period of "I'll get around to it", I find myself Getting Around To It.

All that's to say... er... very soon (this time I mean it) there are going to be some very cool little nuggets coming to this website that demonstrate the fruits of my wandering.

And it's official, I'm saying it here and now and God strike me dead if I'm lyin': In the year 2005, I will have widely distributed, published comics work.

More I will not say, but the wheels are already in motion. Boo-yah.
...


Impulse! Impulse!

I take terrific joy in our not-so-recently-discovered pasttime of buying material on DVD purely on impulse, despite having never have seen it previously. I've considered starting an Impulse DVD review section here on JB.com. It's, you know, a bit of a public service I like to offer.

*koff koff* Uh.

Angels in America - Carey and I finished this one last night. It's a six-hour original miniseries from HBO and director-friggin'-extraordinaire Mike Nichols. Remarkably intelligent and poetic, this thing swept the Emmys and I can see why. Difficult to sum up, but it's a drama that takes place in the mid-80's American homosexual community, comparing AIDS to the great Biblical plagues. Cannot lie: it has some uncomfortably explicit moments, but the performances are flawless. See it. Or don't.

THX 1138 - George Lucas' first movie, re-cut, re-mastered and enhanced with all sorts of 21st century digital effects. I have to tell you, I really enjoyed it. I was expecting a sort of awkward 1st attempt at what would later become Star Wars, but this was something completely different. A fevered, art house, sci-fi character drama with almost no dialogue, set in some sterile, Orwellian nightmare future. A few bumpy edges in the performances, but this is one intriguing piece of film. Very cool.

The Triplets of Belleville - Gorgeous animation in a quirky style. It's French, but you might not notice because it's dialogue-free. Everything about this thing is a pleasure to behold. Worth at least a rent.

Citizen Kane - Neither Carey nor I had ever seen the film that's widely thought of as The Greatest Film of All Time, so we decided to impulse it. I'll have to say, I found it enjoyable and it's fairly apparent that the filmmaking technique employed by first-time director Orson Welles was certainly ahead of its time. Nothing earth-shaking, just a well crafted movie that's aged fairly well. Personally, I enjoyed the documentary (all about the controversy surrounding the film in its day) included on the DVD at least as much as the movie itself.

Human Nature - Not by any means a flawless film... for one, it doesn't quite seem to know how to end... but, by and large worth a watch. At the very least, it's much better than the awful cover suggests. A strange, multicolored romp about the secularization of a man raised in the wilderness, not to mention the journey of a woman born with copious amounts of body hair... er... well, it's a comedy from freak-weirdo-genius Michel Gondry, so what do you expect? If you liked Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, you'll... well... you might like this too, I guess, just not quite as much.
...


Politics? Eh, let's not.

Okay, it's been nearly a week, but I have to say it: while I'm committed to hanging in there with Dubya, a blind man could see that John Kerry absolutely destroyed him in the Round #1 debate.

It's frustrating. Bush had plenty of opportunities to dive into the details of the war in Iraq and why it's necessary and what must be done, moving forward, but he squandered nearly all of them, stuttering through the same broken record argument that's getting harder and harder to buy about Kerry's plan to resolve the situation: "See, uh, Senator Kerry used to act like the war was a bad idea, and now he's acting like, you know, it's a GOOD idea, so... uh, that's... you know, no way to lead an army. After all, what would a soldier think if he knew that his president used to think the war was a, a, a bad, you know, idea?"

Which is sort of a mischaracterization of Kerry's position anyhow. Our president has made some decisions that I agree with wholeheartedly, but he has the charisma of a cucumber.

But the VP debate last night? Well, now we're talking. Not quite the slam-dunk victory of the Presidential debate, but I thought it was pretty clear that Cheney fairly well mopped the floor with Edwards.

No doubt about it, this one will be close.
...


The Genteel Arts

I've been hanging out with a guy I work with named Jason Williams lately and he's been opening my mind to the world of historical recreation, specifically pre-17th century Europe. The guy sits on the board of directors for the SCA and daggone if he doesn't know his stuff. Armor, jewelry, weaponry, forging, battling, cultural customs, rules of the royal court... he's astonishing. He's been telling me all about it for weeks. It's like a whole little cultural oasis inside our own culture, complete with their own set of rules and disciplines.

Here's Jason (or "Duke John", I guess they call him) polishing a crown.

And here are a set of crowns he designed and forged/constructed himself, each worth around $15,000.

Recently I helped him come up with a design for a decorative chain for one of his buddies.

"What's this for again?" I asked.

"It's for a friend of mine. He's going to be knighted next week by the SCA."

"Whoa. That's a pretty big deal, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes."

"So how does someone become a knight?"

"Typically, through acts of courage and honor, a candidate is chosen. Usually, it was for terrific valor in battle, but if it's recognized that the individual has brought glory to the crown or the kingdom, a man could also be knighted."

"And what'd your friend do?"

"Oh, he's a hell of a nice guy."

"And what do you get if you're a knight?"

"You get the recognition of the kingdom. Lots of things. You're assigned squires to instruct and train in battle. They also assist you."

"So, if you're a knight, you teach your squires how to swing a sword or joust?"

"You teach battle skills, court protocol... you also instruct them in the... eh... genteel arts."

"The genteel arts, whoa! You mean, like, 'here's how to satisfy a woman?'"

"..."

"No?"

"No. More like, 'here's how to be chivalrous and gracious.'"

"Ah. Nothing sexual."

"No."
...


Nostalgia will have to wait another five years

My 10-year high school reunion happened over the weekend and I didn't manage to make the trip.

It's a shame, too. Some dearly missed friends were present, not to mention their babies, and I'm more than a little upset that circumstances have edged me out of catching up with the class of '94. I wonder who's happy, who's lonely, who's fat and who's bald. I'm more than a little curious about who followed through with the stuff they dreamed about doing ten years ago.

And I'll tell ya, while I haven't accomplished quite as much as I'd hoped in the past 10 years, I'm pretty contented in the knowledge that I'm doing what I dreamed. I sat at the back of every damned class I took, drawing instead of taking notes. Looking back, it may have even been a bit creepy how obsessed I was with getting Good at Art.

And even though "Good at Art" is something I may still be reaching for, I'm Good Enough for a Career and that makes me a very happy lad indeed.

Hih. 10 years.

Brainard, Rockwood, Schweitzers, everybody else... miss you guys. Sorry I couldn't make it.
...


What's Crackin'?

Oh, all kinds of things, not all of it interesting. We're in the throes of redecorating. Carey re-painted and jazzed up the kitchen in August, but we're still dealing with flooring issues. It's a drama.

Also, unfortunately, Pat's health issues are back. I'm not sure how far to get into it here on the blog, but Dad and the rest of us are certainly concerned. I'll try to keep updated, but please spit some prayers her way.

And speaking of health issues, Carey's mom is also going through the ringer. I wish I understood all the details, but she's had an off-kilter recovery from a recent stomach-related surgery. We're pullin' and prayin' for Shannon, thanks for doing likewise.

Carey's back in school, taking more interior design courses. Sadly, she doesn't feel much closer to making a career decision than when she started the schooling, but at least she's getting the facts. She continues to outshine her classmates, by the way.

It's been well over a year since our church exploded and we're still looking for a new one. A couple of promising places have flown across the radar, but we're kinda operating on reflex at this point.

All in all, I don't know. A lot has happened in the past couple of months, but I've been fairly consumed with the Mom stuff. Trying to resume regular blogger programming, but it ain't easy.