Hunted!
CAREY: Here's what I think. Don't judge it. JER: Go ahead. CAREY: You have these poachers killing off endangered elephants in Africa for their ivory. I say turn it around on them! Make them the hunted! Show 'em how it feels! JER: Wow. CAREY: It's... these poachers. We need to get them off the streets. JER: Henh? CAREY: Not the streets, but you know. The jungle. Get 'em out. JER: So, what, you put a bounty on their heads? Let people hunt 'em down? CAREY: Well, no. The government, see, this is how it works: You capture these hunters. You chase them around with guns, make them run for their lives. Finally, you get them in a net or a cell and you say, "oh, I'm sorry, do you feel scared? Well, we're gonna pull your teeth out and sell them!" JER: Yikes! CAREY: "And maybe your leg too. Or your arm." Then you knock 'em out. Give them an injection and they're out. JER: Horrific. CAREY: Here's the part where it comes together: they wake up and their arms are all bandaged up. But they're bandaged up in such a way that they think they have no arm. Well, it takes a few seconds, but then they realize that they do still have the arm there, but they've learned a lesson: this is how the animals feel. JER: Mmm. So, you don't kill them or de-limb them. CAREY: No, you show them mercy. JER: Sounds humane. CAREY: And that's it. JER: And what's the desired outcome, then? They've seen the error of their ways and they turn their backs on poaching? CAREY: Yep. They tell their poacher friends, too: "oh, man, you should've seen what they did to me. It showed me the light. I'm never doing that again, too risky." JER: So, you've effectively produced evangelists for animal rights! CAREY: Mm-hm. Get 'em on our side, that's how you win. JER: Sounds pretty solid. Hey, did I tell you I've been having my own ideas about how to help the environment? CAREY: Oh yeah? Like what? JER: I think we should pass legislation: all cop cars are hybrids. CAREY: High five. Let's make it happen. Labels: dialogue
Dude Gone Mad
As it turns out, the new copywriter at the agency where I do my day work is a minor internet celebrity. No, really, I'm not kidding. A blog star, if there is such a thing. Danny Evans is his name and his daily hit count is, I understand, somewhere up in the four digits. He sells adspace and merchandise and he has real-live fans. When he writes about his kin, he uses pseudonyms out of necessity. I asked him how he does it and he told me, "I don't know. I post nearly every day, that helps. I just started writing about being a dad and people thought what I had to say was clever." And it is: DadGoneMad.com The other day, he asked me if it would be okay to link to me. I told him, No thanks, I don't think I'm ready. Have to tidy the place up a little first. Anyhow, give him a visit. And tell him old Slappy J sent ya.
Boy, it's some kind of day when you watch a video proving one of your greatest heroes is not only a genius, but a seriously disturbed, Satan-loving lunatic as well. Get a load of Grant, if you've got the stomach:
Do not, under any circumstances, drive to the store and buy a copy of The Information. Trust me. It's not worth it. You're definitely going to want to download it instead.Don't hesitate. Possibly Beck's best album in nearly a decade. And while you're at it, snag yourself a copy of The Tragic Treasury. The perfect choice for any Merritt fan. Or Lemony Snicket fan. Or both. Or neither. Go on. Splurge. You've worked hard.
Remember Dina Babbitt? Apparently, the battle rages on to have her art returned to her. It looks as if the cartoonists' petition has grown to over 450 names. Strange to see my name listed among so many talents I grew up admiring.
And finally, you've probably heard the legend: the notoriously wordy Hemingway was once challenged to write a novel with all the depth, intricacy, subtlety and nuance of a full-blown novel in as few words as possible. Eventually, he emerged with his opus... a novel with only six words: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." Wired decided to offer the challenge to a few other authors of note: the six-word novel. The results are pretty interesting. A few are downright fantastic. Go have a read.And good night. Labels: dialogue
Traffic pwned!
Yeah, got me, I was ticketed for speeding in Seal Beach. This was a few months ago, mind, and I'll spare everyone the story of how the cop wrote the wrong posted speed limit on the ticket, which upped my fine by over 80 bucks and the freak circus that traffic court turned out to be and the numerous trips I had to make to and fro because no one is ever clear about who you need to see or where or when or how much it costs. Long story short, I spent all day today in traffic school. Quick crash-course for those who don't know: ticket fines are unbelievable here in California and so is car insurance. Points on your driver's license haunt you for years in horrifyingly expensive ways, but there is a way out of it: traffic school. Granted, it's often as expensive as a ticket, if not more, and you have to sacrifice a day of your life to sitting amongst other pitiful specimens who are in the same boat as you... but it wipes those points from your driving record, provided you haven't been to traffic school in the last 18 months. So, okay. I'd been putting it off, but my traffic school certificate is due on October 5th, so it was time to find a school with a class today, the 30th, the only available day I had left to take the damn thing. Long Beach offers several, but all were booked. (There's even one exclusively for gays and lesbians. Okay, I'll admit it, I tried to get into that one too. If nothing else, I thought it would make for a good blog post headline: Jeremy Bear - Gay For A Day In Traffic School. No dice, though, the next available class was on October 7th. Grr.) Eventually, I called Low Budget Traffic School in north Long Beach. Lucky me, they had an opening. An 8:00-3:30 class, which would fulfill the requirements.  Now, I can be a stingy bastard when I want to be, but any educational program with "Low Budget" in the title... I don't know. But, bleary-eyed, I trekked up to Paramount Blvd. near Lakewood. The place was more or less a dump, but whatever. Bars on the windows, etc. I signed in and squeezed myself into the class with roughly 25 other tortured souls. My plan was pretty straightforward: I'd brought along a sketchbook and several drawing tools and I'd purposed to do sketches and comic strips for my own amusement the whole day. I can think of worse ways to spend a Saturday. For roughly the first half our, we endured a lousy traffic video, circa 1991 or so. It was hosted by a gaggle of Hollywood legends: Craig T. Nelson, Paula Zahn, Scott Bakula, Rue McClanahan, Hammer, Annie Potts... a veritable Who's Who of entertainers no one cares about anymore. Eventually, the instructor walked to the front of the class, switched off the video and sized us up: "Good morning, lawbreakers." We shifted and looked at each other. Again: "I said, GOOD MORNING LAWBREAKERS." The class managed a weak "Good Morning" back. The instructor was Mr. Aaron Hernandez, a stocky, 60s-ish character with deep, distinct features and a moderate Mexican accent. "Sometimes the DMV asks me," he began, "'Mr. Hernandez, why do you kick so many students out of your class? You probably kick out more students than any traffic teacher in the state of California!' I tell them the same thing I'm going to tell you: I will only kick you out if I sense the devil in you." Was this cat serious? The devil? Without warning or hesitation, he launched into his philosophy on life and spirituality. Apparently, he's faced down the devil in many a classroom. "I've got joy, joy, joy in my heart," he reiterated many times throughout the day, "and I love you all. Oh, I look at you and you're so beautiful to me. Each one, so beautiful. But the devil has no place here." It didn't take long before every one of us, to a man, realized we were about to spend the next 8 hours with a psycho. First of all, there were the jokes. Awful, awful jokes that were so unfunny, we were often unsure as a class when the joke was over. Early on, a routine was established: Mr. Hernandez would tell some ridiculous, drawn-out joke and when he would fail to get a laugh, he would reach for a stack of Scantron driving quizzes and threaten to make us take tests all day. The only way to convince him otherwise was to laugh wildly and applaud. And that was how the day went. 1) Joke. 2) Threat. 3) Forced laughter and applause. 4) Repeat. Might sound funny, but, let me tell you, it's hard to maintain the will to live after a few hours of that litany. It was Evening at the Improv with Josef Mengele. And then there were the stories. Mr. Hernandez insisted on referring to himself as our "uncle" and would often begin a story with "let me tell you something that happened to your uncle." He would then unravel some lurid yarn from his days as an officer in the LAPD: The 6 year old girl who was raped and urinated on. The drunk mother who cooked her own baby on her kitchen stove. The man found burning to death in the middle of the street, begging Hernandez to shoot him in the head. None of it really had anything to do with traffic, mind you. Just tale after tale designed to make us crap ourselves. And with the stories always came tears. I began making hash marks in my sketchbook each time Uncle Aaron burst into a crying fit. (By the end of the day, I counted seven.) And, of course, there were the humiliation exercises. He'd begin by dangling a carrot in front of us in the form of money or free drinks or snacks or time. (Example: "Tell you what, I'll let the whole class out an hour early if someone answers this question right." He drew a picture of an intersection on the marker board, illustrating crosswalk lines between two of the curbs. "You, what's your name? Carlos? How many crosswalks do you see in this picture?" "Uh... there's..." "Come on! Quickly!" "Whuh... four?" "No, how many do you see? Right here! With your eyes." "...Not four...?" "Use your eyes!" "Well, I guess... one, then." "Incorrect! The right answer is four. See, stupid? Now everyone has to stay the full time! Should have stuck to your guns, mijo!") It quickly became apparent that our punishment for speeding was 8 hours of humiliation. Unfortunately, Mr. Hernandez would periodically snap and single out a student for torture or possible expulsion. One girl had the nerve to wrinkle her nose when Hernandez mentioned that we were all stealing food and rent money from our families by having to pay for traffic school because of our reckless behavior. He harassed her until she apologized to him. "'Sorry'," he said, with a madman's smile, "is the magic word. Your uncle loves to hear the magic word." He would also advertise his school to us at every opportunity. At the end of a joke or a particularly clever comment, he would cock an eyebrow and proclaim, "Low Budget!" He did magic tricks and at the moment he made the colored hankies disappear: "Low Budget!" He pointed to a framed photograph of a horse on the right wall: "See that horse? That's my horse. The most beautiful horse in the world. Know what I named him?" We all shrugged. "Low Budget!" He danced, he joked, he chided and embarrassed. He performed and wept and spun yarns to drive us insane. But it wasn't until he started singing and playing his piano at the front of the room that I made my fatal mistake. Regard below:  Yeah, that's right. I have no idea what came over me. I happened to have my digital camera on me and I snapped a picture of him as he played. He stopped immediately. Slowly, Uncle Aaron stood up and glared right at me, cold as ice. For a few seconds, nobody said a word. "I'm fucked," I thought. "He sees the devil in me." Eventually, he scanned the room and spoke: "Let me tell you about a student I had several years back..." It turned out to be a story about a student that reported him to the DMV for not being a good teacher. The student has accused him of spending the entire class talking about himself and telling stories and cracking wise instead of teaching about traffic safety. The tale went on for a good 10 or 15 minutes. "The moral of the story," Hernandez concluded, "is if you have a problem with me or this class or the way I teach it... if you don't like the jokes or the lessons or the piano playing... have the courage to be a man and say it to my face. Don't go behind my back and complain to people that will try to take away my license to teach." Loud and clear, buddy. I got it. 'Please don't rat out Uncle Aaron with your fancy digital camera.' This was officially Traffic-School-On-Crack. Where was Becky Ferrell when I needed her? Eventually, it was time for a lunch break. We had half an hour, so I jumped in my car and stared driving. I called Carey, desperate for a friendly, familiar voice. We only talked for a handful of minutes, but it was long enough for me to relate to her that I felt very frightened and alone. "Only to you," she said. "How do these things happen to you?" The last half of the day was a mix between trying to stay under the radar and slowly getting pissed that, by law, I had to endure this nutcase. More jokes, more crying, more lurid tales of the LAPD. More lessons about respecting your elders and defeating the devil. More "Low Budget!" Very little traffic-related information. He started doing Field Sobriety Tests, offering, once again, the opportunity for the class to get out as much as an hour and a half early if a volunteer could pass it. Courtney, the girl who sat beside me, was still living in hope, so she volunteered for her turn at being humiliated. ("Come on, guys," she pleaded with us as she walked to the front of the room, "don't you want to get out of here?! At least I'm giving it a shot!") She completed the sobriety test flawlessly, but, of course, Hernandez refused to give her her victory. He made up some ridiculous reason on the spot for why she did it wrong. Something about not turning around at the exact moment she was supposed to as she stood with her eyes closed on one foot, fingers alternately touching to her nose. If it wasn't obvious before, it was painfully so now: no one passes the Sobriety Test. "One more volunteer!" Hernandez offered. "Come on, if you pass it, the whole class gets out at 2:00! A baby could pass this! What are you all, stupid?" Nobody moved. Everyone was on to this bastard. "Boy, you must all really like sitting in those chairs all Saturday, huh? Can't even pass a little Sobriety Test when you're sober? I-yi-yi!" Fed up, I raised my hand. "Finally! Come on up!" I stayed planted. "I'm not volunteering," I said. "I have a question." His eyes narrowed. "...Go ahead." "I was just wondering... in all the years you've been teaching this class... have you ever ever let anyone out early?" Holy guns, the look he gave me. Then he started stuttering. "W-well, depends, you know... it's, uh... 'early' is... for some people... eh..." He stopped. A pause. And, once again, it was Story Time. This go-around, it was all about him and his partner when he was a rookie cop and the debates they had about the Letter of the Law and the Spirit of the Law and blah blah blah. 10 minutes later: "...In answer to your question, young man... no. Never. The State of California requires 400 minutes of your time here, so you're going to be here for 400 minutes." For the rest of the day, he referred to me as The Loudmouth That Blew It. As in, "I was going to say we could get out a half hour early if you get the next question right, but, thanks to The Loudmouth That Blew It, that's not going to work. So thanks, Loudmouth." If it's not already obvious, I'd abandoned my plans of drawing in my sketchbook early in the day. Who knew when El Pollo Loco would turn on me for not concentrating on his chaotic rambles. I did manage to get one sketch in, though... a portrait of Uncle Aaron himself. I'm usually not too great with likenesses, but the dude was so distinct, it was almost hard to screw up. Here it is:  Eventually, it was time for the last video of the day. A mid-80s ditty, hosted by a fully alive and upright Christopher Reeve. ("Mr. Reeve gave us a very special message before he went up to Heaven," Hernandez told us, "so pay attention.") During the video, Uncle Aaron went back to his office to fill out the certificates. After a few minutes, he came back out the classroom. He pointed at me, gave me the "c'mere" finger, and disappeared into his office again. This was it. Tell my wife I love her. Remember I'm an organ donor. Goodbye, cruel world. I walked over to his desk, where he was filling out paperwork. JER: You. Uh. Wanted to see me, sir?
HERNANDEZ: You didn't fill in your address on the sign-in sheet. "Jeremiah" is it?
JER: Oh. Yeah, "Jeremiah." Um, it looks like nobody put their address on the sign-in. It should be on the card I filled out, right?
HERNANDEZ: Yeah. I guess it is. Don't worry about it.
JER: ...O...kay...
HERNANDEZ: You like your name? "Jeremiah?" It's a beautiful name.
JER: ...Thanks. Yeah, it's... usually, I go by "Jeremy."
HERNANDEZ: "Jeremy."
JER: Yup.
HERNANDEZ: I love my name. "Aaron." Another beautiful name.
JER: Definitely.
HERNANDEZ: My brother, he hated his name. "Enoch." I'd say, "hey, where you goin', Enoch?" He'd say, "don't call me that!" I'd say, "why not, Enoch?" I had fun with him, you know?
JER: Mm.
HERNANDEZ: ...
JER: Well, all right...
HERNANDEZ: Tell me, Jeremiah... who referred you to my class?
JER: Um. Well, it was on the list, you know. Traffic court, they give you the list of traffic schools, and...
HERNANDEZ: So, you just picked our school off the list.
JER: Yeah.
HERNANDEZ: "Jeremiah Bear."
JER: ...
HERNANDEZ: I'm glad you're here.
JER: ...Thanks.
HERNANDEZ: Jeremiah, did you learn anything here today?
JER: Oh, all kinds.
HERNANDEZ: Good. That's what I like to hear. I learned something today too.
JER: What did you learn, Uncle Aaron?
HERNANDEZ: Ha ha ha. I love that. Love it. I learned that I need to have a little more patience, eh? A little more love. I got the joy, joy, joy in my heart, but sometimes I get a little pissed. I had a teacher talk back to me yesterday. One of my traffic teachers. I can't stand that. You want to teach at my school, you don't talk back to me, you know? But I remember my purpose. I remember why I'm here. And I say, I got to love. Love in every situation, you know?
JER: Yep.
HERNANDEZ: Okay, go watch the video. I did. Fortunately, I'd only missed a minute or two of Chris Reeve's brilliant, beyond-the-grave insights on stopping distances and cargo truck blind spots. Eventually, the day was over. Everyone was spent. As Hernandez called out the names of everyone to hand out the certificates, I think we all felt a certain camaraderie, like war veterans. No one else in the world could ever know our Special Pain, but we knew. We remembered. Finally, my name was called. The coveted object of my desire. It looks like this:  Whatever. I wrote my John Hancock on it and figured, what the hell, why not one last Hail Mary before I head back to my regular routine? I asked Uncle Aaron: "how about a picture of you handing me the certificate?" He cheerfully obliged.  While I was pushing my luck, I hit him up again: "And what do you say? How about taking a picture of me receiving the certificate?" He did.  So that was my big, fat traffic school experience. I do not want to relive it. Uncle Aaron made sure to tell all of us to refer our friends to him if they need traffic school. Yeah, here's a referral: don't get caught speeding. You'll never get those hours back. Labels: dialogue
MyDisgrace
My hair is falling out. It's happening. Thin up front, thin at the crown. Au revoir, youth. A lot of it's probably age and a lot more of it is probably the stresses of the first half of this year. Who cares, it's going. Nothing for it, I guess, but a weekly trip to Carey's school to help her out with her Cosmetology credits by allowing her to do what's called a "scalp treatment" on that pate o' mine. I go in the hopes that Father Time will lay his fagotty fingers off me for a little while longer. Will it reopen any hair folicles or am I deluding myself? We'll see. Anyhow, I sat in her chair at Golden West and she got to work. CAREY: Put that down, please.
JER: What. It's fine. It's just a hair dryer.
CAREY: I know, but you're not supposed to... Jer, seriously.
JER: Okay, okay. Sorry. I don't see what the big deal is.
CAREY: This is what I do now. It's a tool I use to do my job. I don't come to where you work and start touching your tool.
JER: ...
CAREY: ...
JER: To be continued.
I guess it was inevitable, especially after my pet peeve list a few posts ago, but I'm on MySpace. About a month ago, I was forced to give in and set up an account to pull a file off of someone's MySpace page and, as of a week or so ago, I've been spotted. I blame Joe, frankly, for he was sneaky and snide enough to blow my cover first. Not that I'm drowning in a wealth of MySpace friends... in fact, a few have found me and I've found a few others. It's strange, too. I'm fairly savvy on all things internet, but MySpace makes me feel like a luddite. "Inviting" and "bulletin boards" and "my top 8" and all that jazz... I understand it, but, holy frijole, I have no desire whatsoever to acquire the necessary skills to Pimp My MySpace. On the other hand, I've already made contact with a couple of dear friends from days past, so it's not all bad. I can understand why people get addicted. None of this changes the fact that MySpace is the ugliest corner on the internet and I think that's my hang-up. Not that I've taken full aesthetic advantage of this, but I like Blogger and I've stayed loyal to it for the past, yeesh, 4+ years. Blogger gives you the option of making your page look and behave virtually however you can imagine. With MySpace, you're saddled with ugly no matter what you do. So, I don't know. I'm not committed to spending vast amounts of time there, but I guess I'm friggin' plugged in. (Hello Cara, Tim, Nicole, Kirsten, Russ, Gregg, Joe, Christy and Allison... you dear people that cared enough to "friend" me. Oh, and Tom. Mustn't ever, ever forget good ol' Tom, who loved me first and best.)
A few other bits of business before I go: Keep forgetting to mention this, but October 7th! It's on once again: 24 Hour Comic Day 2006. It was easily the most brain-beating, ridiculous 24 hours I spent last year, but I guess I'm headed into the fray once more. Believe it or not, I'm easily as nervous about it this year as I was last year, if not more. So, if you think about it, drop me a line or a note of encouragement, I'll definitely need it. Oh, and check in on my site for the latest opus on October 8th (or shortly thereafter). G-gulp.
What else? Turns out Cara and I aren't the only ones who are peeved.
Finally, yahoo! I'm in the club:  Labels: dialogue
"Hey, I have a joke for your friend Adam. It's really great."
JER: For Adam? CAREY: Yeah, he likes dirty jokes, doesn't he? JER: Oh yes. CAREY: Okay, here it is: Let's say you... okay... if you... here it is: if you had sex 365 times in one year, right? JER: Mm-hm. CAREY: ...And you took all the condoms, you know, all the rubbers, and you melted them all down... JER: You melt the condoms? CAREY: Right, you melt them all down, what would you have? JER: Um. I don't know. CAREY: A f***ing Goodyear! JER: Okay...? CAREY: Get it? JER: Well, why are you melting the condoms? Wasn't it already a good year? CAREY: No, "Goodyear" like the tire! Goodyear Tires! It all melted into a big Goodyear Tire! JER: Oh. Hmh. CAREY: What?! Michelle Michelle just told it to me! You don't think that's funny? JER: It's just sort of a jump. When did tires come into play? CAREY: I said "rubber"! JER: Yeah, okay. I just... okay. Maybe it was in the delivery. CAREY: What was wrong with my delivery? JER: Nothing, sweetheart, it was great, but something, I don't know, something was missing. CAREY: Jer. JER: Wait, wait, I just found it online. Here's how the joke is supposed to go: CAREY: I just told you how it goes! JER: "Q: If you had sex 365 times in 12 months and melted down the rubbers to make a tire, what would you call it? A: A f***ing Goodyear!" CAREY: Right! JER: It's that "to make a tire" part. It's necessary to the joke. "To make a tire." CAREY: Hm. That makes sense. I guess I thought it would give away the answer if I said that. JER: Well, you have to give your audience a chance. CAREY: Still, it's good! It's funny! JER: It's okay. CAREY: Go tell Adam! JER: I'll do my best. Labels: dialogue
Pneumatica!
Lately I've begun yelling "Pneumatica!" at my wife for no reason at all. Like last night, when I arrived at home: CAREY: Today was long and stressful, Jer. I think I really need a hug.
JER: Aw, I'm sorry, babe. What happened?
CAREY: Well, the whole day, everyone kept... Jer.
JER: Yeah?
CAREY: Aren't you going to hug me?
JER: Pneumatica! And while we were making dinner: CAREY: I poured us both iced tea.
JER: Thanks, I'll get them.
CAREY: The green glass is mine.
JER: Mm. Hon, why do you always get the bigger glass? I think it's safe to say I drink more than you do, but I always end up with the little glasses or the tumblers.
CAREY: I like the green.
JER: Yeah, but even if there aren't any green, if there are two different glasses, mine is always smaller. Haven't you noticed that?
CAREY: Well, I don't know, but this time the little glass happened to be the one that had your ice in it.
JER: "My ice?" What's different about my ice?
CAREY: It's the ice that accidentally fell on the counter before I put it in the glass.
JER: ...
CAREY: ...
JER: Pneumatica! It seems to be the perfect punctuator. I'm waiting for it to catch on, but I probably shouldn't hold my breath.
My sister told me that she really enjoys reading the conversations I transcribe for entertainment's sake. So, just for her, here's another one. (Back story: A couple of weeks ago, I journeyed up to Golden West to have Carey cut my hair during her class hours. She gets credit and I get a free haircut. As you can imagine, Carey's class is filled with girls that are mostly, well, younger than Carey.) MICHELLE MICHELLE: Hi, husband!
JER: Erm. Hi.
MICHELLE MICHELLE: Aren't you Carey's husband?
JER: Yep. Hello. Sorry, I don't remember your name.
MICHELLE MICHELLE: I'm Michelle Michelle! It's actually Michelle Michel, but you say it "Michelle Michelle"!
JER: I'm Jeremy.
MICHELLE MICHELLE: Omigod, do you go here?
JER: As in, am I a student? No. Just Carey.
MICHELLE MICHELLE: If you were a student, would you vote for me?
JER: Um.
MICHELLE MICHELLE: I'm running for Homecoming Queen 2006, baby! Yeeeahhhh!
JER: Wow.
MICHELLE MICHELLE: Maybe the public can vote. Sara, can the public vote?
[Sara shrugs]
MICHELLE MICHELLE: I bet they can totally vote. Can I count on you?
JER: Ah. Sure. You obviously really want it.
MICHELLE MICHELLE: It would be awesome! Or, ooh! Do this: Sign up for one class, something dumb like typing. You totally don't even have to go. But you'll be registered as a student. Then your vote totally counts!
JER: Well, that makes sense.
MICHELLE MICHELLE: If anybody asks if you're a full-time student, just tell them you are and show them your registration and by the time anyone knows that you're part-time not even taking the class it'll be no big deal because your vote will have counted!
JER: Sounds a little complicated, but I suppose it's a small sacrifice if the glory of the crown is at stake. For Michelle.
MICHELLE MICHELLE: Michelle Michelle! I want it so bad!
JER: Um.
MICHELLE MICHELLE: So what do you do for a job?
JER: I'm an illustrator and a multimedia designer.
MICHELLE MICHELLE: An artist?
JER: Yeah.
MICHELLE MICHELLE: So you draw?!
JER: I do!
MICHELLE MICHELLE: So do I! I have sooo many drawings!
JER: Oh yeah? How do they look?
MICHELLE MICHELLE: They KICK ASS!!
JER: Oh, good.
MICHELLE MICHELLE: WOOOOOOOOOO!!!! I can't help but think, though, that this is how the conversation should have gone: MICHELLE MICHELLE: Hi, husband!
JER: Erm. Hi.
MICHELLE MICHELLE: Aren't you Carey's husband?
JER: Pneumatica! Labels: dialogue
Come here, baby, and kiss me like you mean it.
JER: So here's the latest: Lauren's currently at 3 centimeters. She's going in Monday for a look and if she's at 4, they're going to go ahead and induce. There's a pretty good chance I'll have a niece on Monday.
CAREY: Whoa! That's so awesome. Is she scared?
JER: I don't know, I forgot to ask. She's going to the same hospital in Columbus where Tom & Christie had Turner. Unfortunately, it's about an hour away.
CAREY: An hour! That's too much, what if something happens?
JER: Like what?
CAREY: Like the baby! What if she has to have the baby on the way?!
JER: Well, I think you usually have more than an hour once labor begins.
CAREY: You never know. Don't forget, lots of babies are born in taxi cabs.
JER: ...I don't think any babies are born in taxis, Sweetie.
CAREY: Are you kidding me? It happens all the time!
JER: Well, yeah, on TV.
CAREY: It happens on TV because it's a real situation. You think they just pull that out of thin air?
JER: No, I think it's a convenient way to put the Fresh Prince in a situation where he has to deliver a baby on the way to a Lakers game.
CAREY: Ha ha ha haha! "Fresh Prince!" Where do you come up with these?
JER: I don't know. Either way, though, Lauren's going to call me Monday and tell me what's up.
CAREY: I'm sure she'll do just great.
JER: Oh yeah. Little "Ellie Martin."
CAREY: Mm.
JER: ...
CAREY: ...heheh heheh...
JER: What.
CAREY: ..."Fresh Prince"... I talked to Lauren this morning and she is at 4 centimeters (JeremyBear.com: Your #1 News Source for Late-Breaking Cervix Updates!), and the doctor has her definitely scheduled to induce tomorrow. Love ya, Laur. Hang in there. Can't wait to hear how it went.
All right, my conscience can't withstand any more. I can no longer pretend that my "Did Ya Know?" feature up there in the corner was an entirely original idea. While the individual factoids are indeed my invention, the original concept came from Dirk Voetberg, the funniest guy alive. See?Sorry, Dirk. Try to take it as a compliment.
Go Veg! Since my Great Lent Experience last year was such a ripping success, I decided to give it a go again this year, raising the stakes slightly. This year, for Lent, I'm a vegetarian. Not vegan and a not a true hardcore vegetarian in the strict sense (I'm allowing no more than one meal a day with some sort of fish), but close enough. Looking at my calendar, we're already halfway through Lent and I haven't slipped up yet. It's hard, but the wife is thrilled, needless to say. I'm already fitting into pants I thought were lost causes. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel pretty darn good lately. Veg! Who knew?
Carey's a week into Cosmetology and a week out of Virginia Country Club. Our Lives v.2 begins now. Mostly, she's enjoying it. It's not easy being the only person in class whose age doesn't end in 'teen, but she's making due and I have no doubt the whippersnappers will soon be riding her coattails. Each day she comes home with a wealth of information about cutting, coloring, perming, sanitizing and all things gussy-up-ish. More and more, this seems to be a good move. Care was drowning, she really was, and I can't remember the last time I saw her so positive about anything. Plus, I get to be Mr. Bread Winner, at least for the moment. We've had brief periods of living only on my freelance (ex. when we headed West), but it's never lasted more than a handful of months. Now, though, it's on me for the medium-term future. So, I'll be busily picking up freelance where I can and concentrating on not getting fired from my day job. Anyhow, a week in and it's her Spring Break already, so she has the week off. To get into the spirit of things, Carey will be making a brief, topless appearance on Wives Gone Wild XII: Long Beach Nights. Well, either that or she'll be putting plans together and buying materials to redo our kitchen. Spring Break! Woo!
Um, just for you, dear, I've spotted a really terrific NPR concert by The Magnetic Fields, streaming and free to all. (If it's not already obvious, I friggin' love the Fields. Their rendition of Yeah! Oh, Yeah! in this show makes me want to see them live. Someday.)
In case anyone's curious about the types of things I've been working on lately, I've been putting together a dandy lil' sumtin' for Toshiba. They decided it would be in their best interest to market their Xario ultrasound device through the use of comics and superhero weirdness, so I was tasked to come up with "a comic book that talks and moves" for those fine folks. So, enlisting the illustrative help of Joe St.Pierre (Spider-Man, Green Lantern, Bold Blood), and composer/sound designer extraordinaire Andy Ryckaert (not to mention a lil' creative direction from Drew), I cobbled together the first of what will be 6 episodes, released over the course of the next several months. Art by Joe, music and sound design by Andy, voice work by the inimitable Don Ranson, Carrie Gordon and Tony Carnaghi... script, editing, animation and art direction by yours truly... it's my first official experiment with Adobe After Effects. Be kind: Xario!
Finally, for those who don't already know, Carey and I put in a briefer-than-brief appearance in Akron last week to attend Uncle Harry's funeral. I'm really glad we made the trip. It meant a great deal to Grandma and Grandpa... and, frankly, it meant a great deal to me too. In the end, I wound up saying a few words at the funeral service (I read my previous blog posting, actually). Had a little difficulty getting through it, as I did have terrific affection for ol' Uncle Harry, but it turned out to be a really good, really important time to say goodbye. And, lending a surreal sort of symmetry to the day, I finally met my only blood nephew, Parker Isaac Burtoft, hours before saying goodbye to my only blood uncle. He's a really terrific kid, and cute. I wish I'd had more than a handful of hours to spend. A few pics, all with Parker: 
 Labels: dialogue
I'm beginning to look a lot like Christmas New Year's
Huh! Happy New Year, I guess!
Item the First:After roughly a year of going hair-cut-free, I'm cropped and crimson. A little something for the holidays, you understand. Also, after, what, seven years? of the same ol' scratched pair of specs, Carey treated me to an early Christmas gift in the form of new glasses. I'm a new man in every way. A little before and after: 
and
 Probably a smart move, don't you think?
Item the Second:What a haul with the Christmas loot! Fine, fine merchandise filled my stocking, not the least of which was technology-related, thanks to Care and Dad, who came through with a new Razor phone and digital camera, respectively. The digital camera is a smart little Olympus with some pretty beefy resolution and modest video capabilities. To say my need for this device was dire is an understatement. The Razor... what can I tell you? Truly a thing of beauty. Who's that cat walkin' my way with the slick designs and the Bluetooth wireless? It's Jeremy! Jeremy! A couple of pics: 
A photo of my new digital camera, taken by my Razor phone.
A photo of my Razor phone, taken by my new digital camera.
Item the Third:About a month ago I finished a project that's way more time-consuming than it looks. A web-ad for a product that's no longer Top Secret called the "MoGo Mouse" which is a legitimately cool wireless mouse for laptops that stores and charges in any laptop's PCMCIA slot. Simple and fairly ingenious, it's already getting a lot of press. Anyhow, the "MoGomercial". Script by Steve Webb and Drew Mehl. Music by Charlie Hickman. Art, animation and narration by me. Look.(Oh, and bonus points if you can spot my Christ-like cameo.)
Item the Fourth:If the visual style of the MoGomercial looks familiar, it's because I began work on our Christmas card the day after the project wrapped. Listen, it's not easy to switch gears. Honest. Thanks to those who wrote to say they enjoyed the card. I'm going to reply to you shortly. Apologies for taking so long. By the way, more than a few asked if the story was true. It really never occurred to me that people might think we'd actually been robbed by a homeless Santa. Sorry, should have included a disclaimer. But put your fears to rest, loved one: Carey and I weren't the victims of any Yuletide robberies. (That's not to say we've never been robbed here in Long Beach... we have. But never in our current building, which has a pretty formidable security system.) Also, a conversation I found myself having more than once, regarding the card's artwork: THEM: Nice job on the card! Funny!
ME: Oh, thanks. It's a chunk of work to do these things, but it's worth it when people mention that they enjoyed it.
THEM: Yeah. By the way, I never knew you were so good at drawing likenesses! That looked exactly like you and Carey!
ME: Thanks. Hooray for photo references!
THEM: What do you mean?
ME: Well, you know. All of the pictures started out as photographs we took. I just drew from the photos.
THEM: Oh. Hm.
ME: Yep, just took the photo, composed them onscreen, printed them out, lightboxed 'em, scanned in the drawings... voila.
THEM: "Lightboxed"?
ME: Yeah, a lightbox is a box with a glass top and a florescent light inside. I put my photo printouts and drawing paper on top to do the art.
THEM: So, you traced it?
ME: Kind of. Certain details are made up on the fly while drawing. But yeah.
THEM: Ah. Well, that's cool I guess. I just thought you actually drew it.
ME: I did...!
THEM: Yeah. "Traced." Well, it fooled me anyhow!
ME: ...
THEM: But you did write the poem part of it, didn't you?
ME: Yeah.
THEM: Yeah. So that part was original. Very cool.
ME: ...
Item the Fifth:Remember Josh's contest? Turns out I'm a double-winner.Man, I'll bet you wish you'd entered! Thanks, Josh. Akron pride is alive and well in Long Beach. By the way, if you happen to be reading, the shirts arrived minty-fresh and well before Christmas! Nice work! 
Item the Sixth:Speaking of Christmas cards, I'd be remiss if I didn't throw a link to Kent Currie's very silly Holiday greeting. The kid went above and beyond and he deserves a shout. (And if you don't happen to know him, you might think he's hamming it up for the camera. Trust me, he's not. That's really Kent, unfiltered and uncensored.) Funny, dude, and very original. How you ever came up with the idea of a Christmas eCard featuring you sitting on a couch spouting clever little tidbits with Charlie Brown music playing in the background is beyond m-- wait a minute. KENT!!!!
Item the Seventh:A taste of my Christmas shopping fun! VINTAGE SHOP GUY: Unfortunately, we're out of fondue sets, but we'll probably have more in after the holidays if you want to get your wife a gift certificate instead.
ME: Yeah, I guess I'll do that. I'll take a gift certificate for $50, then.
VINTAGE SHOP GUY: All right, let me print one out and we're all set. Sorry again about that.
ME: No, no, don't worry about it.
VINTAGE SHOP GUY: Okay, sign here. And, this gift certificate is good through December 2006.
ME: Hah?
VINTAGE SHOP GUY: You can use this gift certificate any time throughout the coming year. It won't expire until the end of December, 2006.
ME: Aha. And... what happens when it "expires"?
VINTAGE SHOP GUY: Well, you know. That's it. It's no longer good.
ME: Gift certificates can expire?
VINTAGE SHOP GUY: Of course.
ME: So, if I come back here in January of 2007, I'm out of luck.
VINTAGE SHOP GUY: Eh, yeah.
ME: But you'll still have my $50.
VINTAGE SHOP GUY: It's for tax reasons. We need to know what year to claim the sale.
ME: Well, wouldn't you claim it this year, since I'm giving you the money now?
VINTAGE SHOP GUY: No, it's more complicated than that. It's pretty standard to put an expiration date on gift certificates.
ME: You sure?
VINTAGE SHOP GUY: Oh yes. and BODY SHOP CASHIER: Okay, your total comes to $47.67. How's your Christmas shopping coming?
ME: Oh, I'm done. Just getting a few stocking stuffers for my wife.
BODY SHOP CASHIER: Aw. Will this be credit or deb-- oop, you only got one of these makeup cases.
ME: Yeah?
BODY SHOP CASHIER: Yeah, they're on special. It's... never mind, I'll go get you another one.
ME: Oh, okay... what's the special?
BODY SHOP CASHIER: It's "buy one, get the second for 1/2-off."
ME: I see. That's okay, one's fine.
BODY SHOP CASHIER: No, it's a really good deal. It would be kind of dumb to only buy one. It's fine, I'll go get it.
ME: No. Really. I'm just... one's good.
BODY SHOP CASHIER: Oh. Are you serious?
ME: Yeah. Maybe if it were free, but--
BODY SHOP CASHIER: Half-off, that's like 9 dollars.
ME: Mm.
BODY SHOP CASHIER: Too much?
ME: Too much!
BODY SHOP CASHIER: Oooo-kay...
ME: TOO MUCH!!! and STARBUCKS GUY: What can I get for you?
ME: Just a gift card.
STARBUCKS GUY: No problem. How much?
ME: Anh, ten bucks.
STARBUCKS GUY: Okay, ten dollars, and here you go. Anything else for you tonight?
ME: No, just one question: when does this expire?
STARBUCKS GUY: What do you mean?
ME: This gift card, when, like... is this good forever?
STARBUCKS GUY: Yeah, of course. At any Starbuck's.
ME: So, if, say, two years from now...
STARBUCKS GUY: Absolutely. It's like cash. We're not going to run away with your cash and say, "too bad!"
ME: Right! Exactly! It's cash! Gift cards and gift certificates shouldn't expire!
STARBUCKS GUY: And not only that, it's illegal for stores to put expiration dates on gift cards. It was a bill in Congress for awhile and it passed recently. Gift cards are good forever.
ME: Congress... I knew it! I was lied to today!
STARBUCKS GUY: Really?
ME: Hoodwinked!
STARBUCKS GUY: You bought a gift certificate and--
ME: They told me I had one year... or else!
STARBUCKS GUY: Hnh. Well, next time you're in there, you let them know.
ME: Oh, don't you worry about that, I'll tell 'em. Thank you, Starbucks!
STARBUCKS GUY: You're welcome!
ME: Merry Christmas... AND GOD BLESS YOU!!
Item the Eighth:In keeping with tradition, here's the first sketch of the year. Can you guess the hidden meaning?  Surprise! There isn't one! Labels: dialogue
Lawsuits, foodstuffs, babies and other blogs
While out sailing on the ocean,
While out sailing on the sea,
I bumped into the Savior
And He said, "pardon me."
I said "Jesus, you look tired"
He said "Jesus, so do you.
Sit down, son,
'Cause we got some fat to chew."
I've had several unfinished posts languishing in pre-publishville for weeks. Sorry, I know it's been awhile. Unfortunately, my absence from the blogosphere is due largely to my work schedule. I've been layering the overtime thick and spicy for the past month or so and it simply can't be helped. Getting lots and lots of work done, but it's left me little time for extracurriculars like eating and sleeping. That's not to say nothing's been going on, though.
Congratulations, Hoff!
So what happened with the comic and the lawsuit?Without getting into an exhaustive blow-by-blow, here's what happened: the Monday after receiving the letter from the law office representing Mount Paran, I called Dr. Tilly, the headmaster. We had a mostly good-natured debate for nearly an hour over the legalities of my use of the name "Mount Paran Christian School." Needless to say, we didn't see eye to eye. His position: - The name is trademarked and copyrighted and my use of it was non-permissable.
- My portrayal of the school was defamatory in that it wasn't an accurate representation of the school's standards, practices or theology.
- Parents of students and potential students were searching on the name "Mount Paran Christian School" and coming across my comic, which could have a potential affect on enrollment.
- Blogs and personal websites are subject to the same rules and standards as any other published material in terms of what's legal.
My position: - I attended the school and I don't need permission to journal my experiences there, particularly if they're true.
- My comic wasn't defamatory. No one was portrayed negatively and, again, it's all true. Even if I had depicted a negative experience, I'm afforded that right by the First Amendment, as long as I'm honest.
- I doubt my comic would affect enrollment by a single student. If parents are calling and complaining, it would probably be a better idea to entertain a dialogue with them about their concerns, rather than try to sweep the issues (and their accompanying theological implications) under the carpet by suing me into taking the comic down.
- Blogs and personal websites aren't subject to the same rules as other published material. I've made no money on my Mount Paran comic and I've neither used it to sell or promote any products or services. It's a story from my life that I've decided to tell using the medium of sequential art in a digital environment.
- Frankly, it's pretty shitty for a Christian school to throw Christian principles out the window by not contacting me directly (and all my info is freely available on my site as well). Until I called them, the only contact anyone had with me, "disgruntled parents" included, was a letter from a law office.
At the end of the conversation, I assured Dr. Tilly (who really is a lovely man) that I meant no harm toward Mount Paran, as it's one of my most treasued life experiences. In fact, I had and continue to have terrific affection for the school. I wasn't going to take the comic down, but if he could think of any compromises, I'd certainly be open. A couple of weeks later, Dr. Tilly called with a suggestion: change the title tag of the web page containing the comic to something other than "Mount Paran Christian School" to knock it further down in the search result listings when the name of their school is searched on. I cheerfully obliged. So, instead of Mount Paran Christian School, the comic is now known as Faith Healer, until I think of something better. As a side note, Dr. Tilly apologized about approaching me through a lawyer rather than calling me directly. For the record, there's no ill will toward the school or its administration from my end. (By the way, Warren still works there.)
Ding dong, hooray hooray, the Schweitzer family is back to bloggin'! After an extended hiatus, Jon and April are once again pumping out updates. If there's anyone who needs to feed the masses occassional wisdom and frequent tomfoolery, it's the Schwyzen clan. You were missed. Congratulations on the latest Schwyzen on the way!
You might have noticed the latest add-on to the blog in the upper right corner: Didja Know?Randomly generated pearls of wisdom from yours truly. Click the "More" button to generate another! Learning is fun!
PANDA EXPRESS LADY: Okay, an order of Orange Chicken with Lo Mein, would you like a medium drink with that?
ME: Yes, please.
PANDA EXPRESS LADY: Small, medium or large?
ME: Uh. Medium.
PANDA EXPRESS LADY: I think all we have's medium. Is that okay?
ME: ...Yes.
PANDA EXPRESS LADY: Is that for here or to go?
ME: To go.
PANDA EXPRESS LADY: That's $6.37. And here's your medium cup.
ME: Thanks. Do you take a card?
PANDA EXPRESS LADY: Sure. For here or to go?
ME: It's still to go.
PANDA EXPRESS LADY: Okay, here's your card and would you like your receipt also?
ME: Nah, that's okay.
PANDA EXPRESS LADY: Great, here it is.
ME: What's this?
PANDA EXPRESS LADY: Your receipt!
ME: Ah.
PANDA EXPRESS LADY: ...
ME: ...
PANDA EXPRESS LADY: Sir?
ME: Yes?
PANDA EXPRESS LADY: I think that's everything. Is there something else you need?
ME: Just my food.
30 seconds later
ME: I think the iced tea is out.
PANDA EXPRESS LADY: The what?
ME: The iced tea. It's out. Any idea how long it'll be to refill it?
PANDA EXPRESS LADY: Iced tea dispenser is right over there, sir.
ME: I know. It's out.
PANDA EXPRESS LADY: It's self serve.
ME: Never mind.
 We're all about cross-promotion here at JeremyBear.com. And good news! Blog-buddy Josh Smith is hosting a very special Christmas contest on his own site. With real prizes and everything: not one, not two, not six... but five lucky contestants will win an "Akron: Like Vegas with Jo-Jo's" T-shirt, specially designed by Team Gitgan! Be the belle of the ball! Ooze cool! Don't delay! The rules? There virtually aren't any! Just say something thoughtful about his website (or, if you like, something snotty) in 30 words or less! Or, concoct a snappy phrase for his blog's header! Or be like me and refer others! Any route practically assures victory! And tell 'em Slappy J sent ya!
On the surface, homosexuality might seem to be a morally complex issue. Thankfully, there's usually a pastoral voice of reason to gently guide us toward wisdom. Holy crow, I haven't laughed this hard in awhile.
On a, believe it or not, related note... Carey and I had a lovely Thanksgiving. We invited several friends over, but only our neighbors, Phil and Carlos, managed to put in an appearance. A delicious feast and I'm proud to say that this year I prepared the entire turkey myself. No pre-cooked, store-bought Thanksgiving Day kit! Nossir! All natural and all from scratch! Oh, and Carey made everything else. Also delicious. Show off. By the way, a tip for a great Thanksgiving Day tradition: Amazon yourself a copy of Pieces of April, starring Katie Holmes and directed by Peter Hedges. If Thanksgiving movies are a genre, this one is my favorite. Touching and strange. Worth at least a rent.
 Still several months to go for Lauren, but Erin is ready to pop any minute. Her due date's next week, but this young man is acting as if he might be coming early. Breathe, darlin'! You've got a cheering section on the west coast! Let's see some crown!
Happy 27th to Lauren, by the way. Zow!
That's all the time I've got. I wasn't kidding when I mentioned several nearly-complete posts earlier. They're on the way! (Coming soon... the Hooters blog! Stay tuned!) A bientot. Labels: dialogue
Obstetricize, foo!
Word from Lauren: it's a girl! Which makes me... still an uncle. Hey hey! A nephew in December and a niece in April! It's really getting down to the wire with Erin and she's yet to decide on a name. "Norman"? "Francis"? "Beauregard"? "Millard"? "Chas"? "Cartwright"? "Wang Lung"? "Gimley"? "Pratt"? "Barney"? "Greg Jr."? It's all up in the air! Lauren and Steve, on the other hand, have decided on "Elliana Grace". Yeah, it's Princessy, so what? You have a problem with that? Lauren got her ultrasound last week, which proved inconclusive in the gender department. Luckily, a family friend is studying to be an obstetrician and invited Lauren to sneak in for a second scan. At this point, they're 99% sure: that's a vagina! Lauren sent a few pics over and provided the following annotations: Attached are the pics of our little one. Again, it's "ELLIANA", but you can just say "Ellie". :) :)
Okay, so the pics you are looking at... (I know they look clear to me, but can be hard to translate).
This is the "thumbs up" pic. It's just her hand and arm. The glowing part is her elbow.
Here's the "Mostly full body" shot. It was the position she was in when we got our first ultrasound, so we couldn't tell what she was. If you can see, the spine is pretty clear at the top. She is face down, you can see the profile, then the knees are tucked up to her chest.
This one's a closer pic, so you can just see her profile (face up) at the top.
I wasn't going to include this, but they were attached, so oh well. It's the one that apparently tells us she is a girl. It looks like a "u" shape, but it's the bottom of her butt and underneath her legs. |
Sheesh. And I thought decoding spam was difficult. I'll have to take your word for it, Laur. It would take a more astute observer than me to unlock the mysteries of gender identity from these images, but I guess that's why people go to obstetrician school. Still, a niece! Pray for pretty! Labels: dialogue
6 Billion Awaiting Instructions
Do you ever get the feeling that, as a society, we're being told what we're supposed to care about? "Ashlee Simpson just turned 21."
"Oh. Does anyone like Ashlee Simpson?"
"Doesn't matter. She's 21. Just so you know."
"Got it."
"AIDS is an auto-immune disease that affects heterosexuals as well as homosexuals. You need to think about a cure."
"That is terrible, but my wife has Lupus, which is also an auto-immune disease that's actually even more common than AIDS in the United States. I wonder if--"
"No. AIDS. Think about AIDS."
"I'll... try."
"Ashton and Demi have tied the knot. Their difference in age is 15 years."
"...Okay...?"
"George W. Bush once picked his nose at a baseball game."
"Uh."
"Andres Serrano peed on a crucifix and called it 'art.'"
"Mm."
"Major League Baseball has been lax about steroid testing."
"So?"
"So that. It's important."
"Why? To whom?!"
"IT'S IMPORTANT!!!"
 Fortunately, my posting Lauren's preggo pic a week or two ago was sufficient to guilt Erin into sending me one of herself. The big day's less than two months away. You're really starting to let yourself go, darlin'. Watch that.
The other day, Howard Stern was poking fun at bloggers. "Who are these losers? Don't they have anything better to do than yammer on and on about every minute detail of their pathetic lives? Does anyone really care?" Apparently, Howard isn't familiar with his own job description. Irony!
Schwyzen gently pointed out to me: "I hate to say it, but there's ' discreet' and there's ' discrete.'" Ach. Well, I'm not too proud to admit to needing a vocab-related selfangulation.
I rarely check my own web stats, but sometimes you just can't help it. I'm always surprised to learn that the number of distinct (or, I guess, discrete) visitors that happen across JerBear.com in a given month is well into the hundreds. How are these people getting here? Search engines, for one. Since approximately 95% of the content of this website is archived blogs, it's no surprise that I've generated enough varied content to turn up on a fair amount of search engine results. So what are people searching on to find me? Well, according to my web stats, here are a few choice phrases: white hair
unfiltered saki
"blood in the litter box"
Paige Davis
bear porn
"putting out for Hitler"
furry chests
panty smeller
"pre teen turkey"
trolling for strippers
stone lodged penis
excessive orange ear wax
hiding feces
i'm a bear called jeremy, i can do most anything
stupid drunken monkey pics
masturbating after passing a kidney stone
big niggaz
transformers stand for justice
"I'm fat now"
dropping keys down elevator shaft costs and, for some reason... my wife likes to be spanked i hired a spanking on her birthday at her place of work So, I don't know, to all of you with personal websites out there: don't get too cocky with those web stats. Reality can be jarring.
Finally, if you happen to be that last lonely soul on the internet that hasn't seen it yet, you really need to check out the re-cut movie trailer for The Shining. If you didn't know before, marketing is everything. Labels: dialogue
PowerBlog 69!
You'd be surprised how many posts I begin that I never finish. Happens all the time: some notion will strike me that seems funny or sad or peculiar or exciting or strange... and I'll realize after I begin typing that I really only have about two sentences to say about it. I've built up a pretty impressive library of Blogs That Never Were over the years and it occurred to me today that it might be a meaningless excercise of mundane proportions to dedicate a post to several of them. A PowerBlog! Heck, 69 is a nice round number. Onward!
Not all black people, Kanye, just you.
 Surely I can't be the only one who refuses to go to Six Flags based on the creepiness of their mascot, can I?
Man, where can I buy an album by these guys? They've got a great sound.
Look, Mirrormask opens this weekend in a few theaters around the country. If, like me, you're lucky enough to live near one of said theaters, please go. Box office sales for the first week will determine whether or not it gets a full-blown release and the world really deserves to experience this piece of art. Check listings.
People that don't like comics should give Adrian Tomine a try and people that do like comics really should.
Lately I've been remembering many, many horrible things I've said to people I love over the course of my lifetime and I've been feeling really bad about them. I'm sorry.
Join the navy, brothers and sisters. You'll find that common weeds taste like soul food, y'dig?
Websites are wonderful things. I hear from long lost friends fairly regularly because they just "happened to find me on the internet". (Hola, Mr. Dr. Spence!)
I can't describe how friggin' crazy it makes me that there's even a debate about whether or not the theory of evolution should be presented as a theory in schools. Great Scott, is this world ever backward.
When I was a little tyke, my teacher asked the class who we would have lunch with if we could have lunch with anyone in the whole world. My answer was Don Adams, who played Maxwell Smart, Agent 86. As it turns out, he died yesterday.Bye, Don. I'll miss ya.
 T-minus 7-1/2 months to 30. O god.
Remember Kim Becker? From Grace? Yeah, she blogs too.
LAUREN: Hey, Jer, we've picked out names for the baby.
JER: Really? Lay 'em on me.
LAUREN: Well, if it's a boy... it'll be Evan Jeremiah. Because, you know, we like the name and we like you.
JER: !!! Holy cow, man! I don't know what to say! That's incredible! I can't possibly live up to that!
LAUREN: You probably won't have to, we think it's a girl.
You know how Arrested Development is the best thing on TV? Well... wait, you didn't? Well, it is. Go watch.
Does anyone other than Schwyzen remember the Mall Dropper? I kind of doubt it.
I feel so incredibly awful that it's been nearly a year since I've eked out one of my Suggest-A-Scripts and I still get suggestions all the time. I really really really will get back to that. Really.
What if you could register or patent an activity, like you can a phrase or invention? Like, every time someone did one certain thing, you received a quarter? If this were possible, I think I'd patent masturbation, because there really should be some sacrifice involved and, yahoo, I'd retire in an hour.
I just finished a two year sketchbook in a year and nine months. Damn my prolific soul!
I'd really, truly planned on visiting Ohio over Christmas, which would have been my first Christmas in four years with the family, but no dice. The funds just aren't there. Nonetheless, we're planning a spring visit.
It's been awhile since I've updated my Recommended Reading. Anyhow, at the moment I'm reading Anansi Boys, which, so far, isn't bad.
JER: What's up, my nizzle?
CAREY: Stop right there. You know I don't like racist words in this house.
JER: That's not racist, it's not even the real 'N' word.
CAREY: But it means the same.
JER: Look, if a black man were in this house and he used that word, would you yell at him?
CAREY: Yes I would. I'd say, "that language is fine for you to use on the street, but--"
JER: "The street?" Nice race relations there, babe.
CAREY: Jer! You know what I mean! That's their word, not ours!
JER: "Their?"
CAREY: STOP IT!
If you haven't tried podcasts, you really should. For one thing, you don't have to miss Knute Larson ever again.
This weekend I played checkers with Carey. I spent much of the game telling her about my Grandpa Bear, who was a legitimate checkers champion. I sort of miss Grandpa. He was a smart man and I have the feeling he might have let me in on The Secret if I'd ever taken the time to ask him.
Bloggers are ridiculed pretty often and sometimes it gets to me. And then I'll read a post like Kirsten's and I think, "screw 'em. Life is gorgeous."
2005 will see the publication of not one, but two books by Chris Ware. Ware is probably the finest living graphic storyteller and this is truly an embarrassment of riches.
Never did get around to mentioning this: my good buddy Tim McMahan has put a chunk of his spare time into his personal shrine to plagiarism, got ripoffs?. In a nutshell, he collects examples of the most blatantly copied ad campaign of all time, "got milk?", and posts pictures of them in his Gallery of Shame. Worth a look and a laff.
Lately, I've been having visions of doing a webcomic. Maybe the further adventures of Mount Paran, but I don't know. I thought about a series of one-page bios on people I respect and admire. I can think of several people I'd like to do, but the first would surely be this guy. No whammies!
Who decided boxers were cool? I hate them. They're the very definition of discomfort. Boxers are like France: they pretend to support you, but when it's time to make a stand, they leave you hanging. Buh-dum-bump.
This might seem harmless, but I'll warn you: the longer you watch, the more disturbed you'll become.
There's a really funny discussion over at The Comics Journal message boards about unintentionally sexual comic books of yore. My favorite offender by far is a Christian comic from the 70s about the book of Revelation, There's a New World Coming. A couple of choice moments: 
and
Tomorrow night, Carey and I are enjoying a relationship first: we're going to a baseball game together. Actually, I can't remember ever attending any sporting event with her, it's just never been a priority. Whatever, go Dodgers!
I'm obsessed with Google Maps. For some reason, I can't stop grabbing satellite images of places that are important to me. It's like an illness. For example: This is my house:
 | This is where I work:
 | This is where I grew up:
 | This is where I met Carey:
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So the big stink over here in California, Governor Schwarzenegger has called for a special election and everyone's throwing a tantrum about how much the election is costing. The left-leaning are on the horns of a dillemma: go to the voting booths in droves to stop the evil Republican agenda? Or boycott the election in order to complain that an expensive and unbalanced election was held that was barely attended? Look, no one said being a Democrat is easy.
Or how about this: a reality-based TV show that's completely predicated on the allure of seeing others humiliated? Can you imagine? I THINK IT MIGHT BE CRAZY ENOUGH TO WORK!
I'm a big fan of grammar and vocabulary, even if I'm not exactly an expert. Mom tells me I used to literally strangle my sisters when I heard them mispronounce a word. An intense lad, me. But vocab flubs still make me nuts. One I've been hearing a lot lately is "discreet" in place of "distinct", which I don't understand at all. "As I see it, it's not one big problem, but rather two discreet smaller problems." What? Sure, they sound sort of similar, but that's a big difference and the difference seems to elude those around me. Meanwhile no one cares. But, make no mistake, you'll never catch Erin Burtoft or Lauren Martin making those sorts of mistakes. Not after I'M done with 'em.
 Both Sheryl Crow and Fiona Apple have long-awaited albums that are about to drop, which makes me a very happy young man.
Who decided that pink was a feminine color? I love pink. Mix a little white with red and suddenly it's either gay or girly. Ridiculous! Sometimes I try to sneak pink into my designs and I always get the finger wag: "I don't think we're trying to appeal to an exclusively female demographic with this piece, Mr. Bear. Change that to yellow." 'Exclusively feminine' my aunt banana! I want pink!
Have you heard about this? Apparently, they're making a Diary of Anne Frank movie, casting Anne Frank as herself using photographs of her as a guide to building a CG Anne. Come on, that's creepy.
Enough with the bleached film, the high-speed photography, the half-nekkid choreography and the green-screened pop whores... that's what I call a music video, who's with me?
As reported on WailerMutterings... Tom & Christie Burns had their baby today - Everett Thomas Burns -- at about 3:30pm or so here in Worthington! So happy for them. Turner now has a baby brother! Congrats, guys! Can't wait to meet him! Congratulations, Honuses! Now update that blog 'fore I turn you over mah knee!
JER: Have you noticed that, when I first started the blog, it was mostly updates on us for our family and friends... and now it's sort of evolved into a weblink warehouse of anything on the internet that catches my fancy?
CAREY: Yeah, I noticed.
JER: I wonder if that's a good thing.
CAREY: Eh.
JER: You think it was better when it was funny little anecdotes about our lives?
CAREY: Sometimes. Maybe.
JER: You might be right. But what's going on that's worth reporting?
CAREY: Lots of things. You were chased through Long Beach by a car thief and you never even mentioned it!
JER: Hm. That's true. That's blog-worthy.
CAREY: It's what your readers want.
JER: Yeah, but how do you know? You could start your own blog, you know, no one's stopping you.
CAREY: Eh.
About a month ago, I was chased through the streets of Long Beach by a guy who I think was either a car thief or a gang member, probably both. I escaped, but it was scary.
Even though my Dad swears they're the left arm of the vast Liberal Conspiracy, I can't help it: the wife turned me on to NPR and I can't stop listening. It's like a high-culture addiction. Morning Edition! Talk of the Nation! All Things Considered! Prarie Home Companion! More! More! MORE!
Periodically, I work on my stand-up routine. I've never really seriously tried my hand at stand-up in a bonafide comedy club, but one day... I've been putting together my act for about... eh... about eight years now. Here's an excerpt: And how about Diet Coke? These people are geniuses: they took something as sugary and caffeine-laced as Coke and stripped it down to one calorie. You have to ask, though: if they managed to fish out all the other calories, what exactly is the problem with getting rid of that last little fugitive? Is he that elusive?
The Diet Coke calorie is the King of Calories in my book. Ice cream calories, beer calories, cheesecake calories... these are a dime a dozen. The Diet Coke calorie is James Bond. He's Tom Cruise. He's everything a calorie should be. If you're a calorie and your daughter brings home a Diet Coke calorie, you know you've done something right. It, uh. It goes on from there.
 Yeah, go ahead, pull up to the drive-thru and just try to order one of these things by name without feeling like a complete failure as a human being.
Seriously, do not miss this week's issue of The A.V. Club. Featured interviews are Gaiman and McKean, so it's worth a look. Not that I'm biased.
 That's my desktop wallpaper up there. What can I tell you? I love the Coz! And, living in the ghetto, I also like what he has to say (if you're not careful, you may learn something before it's done.... hey, hey, hey!).
For our small group, we're supposed to be reading through this book by our pastor and I'm having trouble finding the motivation to pick it up. I hate to label it "Christian Self Help", but isn't that what it is? Unfortunately, I have little to no patience for self help books, even the Christian variety. Maybe I need to just swallow my pride and read the friggin' thing.
For awhile it was The Cure, then Blues Traveller took the title. But, I don't know, anymore I'm starting to wonder if System of a Down isn't my least favorite band of all time. How can people listen to these chowderheads?
I'd like to take this opportunity to give public kudos to my good friend, Danny Wright. A few months ago he asked for my advice on starting a blog, so I threw him a few opinions. And now, his is one of my favorite spots on the internet. His blog is consistently updated and consistently interesting, sparking some great discussions and, though I hate to admit it, my favorite posts of his are the ones I disagree with. Keep 'em coming, Danny.
Only on the internet could something as ridiculous and gonzo as the Wikipedia exist. For the few who still don't know: it's a community-populated, comprehensive encyclopedia of Everything. Anyone can add to it and anyone can change it. It's an enormous mass of liquid information. If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't believe it, but it's fast becoming the ultimate reference tool. Score one more for the hive.
Really, what's a "spiritual goal"? Back in my Christian school days, I was constantly told to "set spiritual goals" for myself, but I wonder: do you ever reach them? Sure, 'pray daily' or 'read through the New Testament' are goals, but aren't they more discipline goals? 'Get closer to God'? Is that a spiritual goal? If so, does anyone ever check it off their list?
Sometimes I feel like the last person on Earth that drinks tap water.
You just know that somehow, somewhere there are twin girls in elementary school right now named Katrina and Rita and their classmates are giving them all kinds of shit. Poor kids! Leave 'em alone!
A practice that's gaining some apparent popularity in trendy LA establishements is the co-ed bathroom. A friend of Carey was recently telling me about it: "it's just cool, you know? At a club or a bar, just one big bathroom. Really laid back." Why is this cool? It sounds like misery. I don't like doing God's Work in front of other guys (or even my wife for that matter), much less women I've never met. Ever sit in a bathroom stall, waiting until the room is clear before the Big Release? Multiply that paranoia by 20 and there's your co-ed bathroom.
Have to say it: give Michael Brown a break. It's easy and convenient to take the mistakes he's made and turn him into the focal point of all the anger, pain and hatred. Somehow, it's more fulfilling and substantial than blaming the real culprit: Hurricane Katrina. Brown's right: local authorities should have done more, and faster. So are we really angry at Brown for defending himself? People have suffered and died and they continue to do so and a lot certainly has been botched in the relief effort. But here? Now? Is blame helping?
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If all mankind minus one, were of one opinion, and only one person were of the contrary opinion, mankind would be no more justified in silencing that one person, than he, if he had the power, would be justified in silencing mankind. Were an opinion a personal possession of no value except to the owner; if to be obstructed in the enjoyment of it were simply a private injury, it would make some difference whether the injury was inflicted only on a few persons or on many. But the peculiar evil of silencing the expression of an opinion is, that it is robbing the human race; posterity as well as the existing generation; those who dissent from the opinion, still more than those who hold it. If the opinion is right, they are deprived of the opportunity of exchanging error for truth: if wrong, they lose, what is almost as great a benefit, the clearer perception and livelier impression of truth, produced by its collision with error.
— On Liberty, John Stuart Mill This and other very interesting nuggets are found on the American Library Association's website. As it happens, this is Banned Books Week, and there's a very interesting and informative page about "Challenged and Banned Books" for emphasis. Sometimes I think that, across the board, censorship is fairly bogus.
Fonts are a total drag, man. A lot of pretty ones out there, but one of the lousiest aspects of design is sifting through the mountains of total crap in order to find that one, beautiful diamond in the rough.
I've been meaning to mention this for a long, long time: I've never met Dirk Voetberg in person, but I've received the occasional email from him. Friends, this man is hilarious. He's a stand-up (and I swear I will get up to LA to watch his set one of these days), but in the meantime he does have a website. Funny funny!
Okay, these are absolutely fantastic.
I like Blogger, I really do. It's free, it's reliable and it's served me well. But I have to admit: while it's technologically more liberating and (I think) intuitive, there's a real community spirit to spots like Xanga and Livejournal. These people can't get enough of each other and it shows in their comments boxes. (Like Jewett, for example. That cat may love the internet, but not as much as the internet loves him. Woof!)
Came across a list awhile back of the 50 Greatest Graphic Novels Of All Time and was slightly aghast at how much of the list was complete crap. (Okay, "crap" is pretty strong, but are we really considering "Ultimate Spider-Man" a milestone in graphic literature?) Anyhow, I started thinking about what would go on my own list of 50 Greatest GNs and, before I knew it, I'd written one. I swore, however, I'd never post it anywhere, lest my cover as a reasonable adult be compromised. Too late.
Every so often, an illustration is taken all the way to final art before the client decides to pass on it. Don't worry, I still get paid, but it's sort of a shame because a substantial amount of work went into something that no one will ever see. Here's an example: 
JER: Have you had the steak chili over at Claim Jumper? Oh man.
CHAD: Ooh, that sounds good.
JER: You can order it as your side dish with any sandwich. It's not listed as an option, but a waitress told me it's no problem.
CHAD: Have you had their country fried steak? Too big to finish, but I'm lovin' every minute of it.
JER: Mm.
CHAD: ...
JER: Remember the days when you'd hear adults talking about how good their food was and you'd think, "could you be any lamer?"
CHAD: Yeah. "Talk about something cool, will ya?!"
JER: "Like doin' it!"
CHAD: Ha ha ha! And then you grow up and you realize...
JER: ...Food's got it all over sex.
CHAD: ...
JER: God. Could I be any lamer?
99% of those "Learn to Draw Like the Pros!" books are 100% bunk, but I do love it when artists I respect and admire give a peek behind the curtain at their process. Art tutorials. I don't know, I love 'em. A few good ones on the net are worth a look, such as Coop's, Michael Zulli's and Adi Granov's. Don't bother with this guy's, though. Self-important blowhard.
I only mention it rarely, but I do worry about my wife on occassion. Those that know her well know that her life has been littered with health struggles, which makes simple things like work and excercise particularly difficult. Frankly, she experiences more pain than someone her age should ever have to think about. Lately, it's no different. Despite her commitment to the meds, the Lupus seems to be giving her grief and that really sucks, so prayers are appreciated.
 That's Kent, my college roommate. Great guy who lives in Manhattan, happens to have a dramatically concave chest. That's his new girlfriend beside him, Anne. She's an up and coming actress of note who you might have seen on TV (a national ad spot for the American Medical Association). "She's a really great girl, Jer," Kent tells me, "she's smart, she's beautiful... she's really turned on by that gaping hole in my chest!"
Finally, since I'm only getting around to posting this on Wednesday, a very Happy Birthday to my dear sister Erin Burtoft, 28 smackeroos today. Enjoy it, Er. Pretty soon it'll be nothing but bibs and high chairs, crayons and lunch money, school plays and track meets, girlfriends and mortar boards. You'll do just fine.
Whew. I think that's 69. Okay, I'm beat. Later, skaters. Labels: dialogue
At least I'm a bad dawg
AFRICAN FELLOW AT THE GROCERY STORE: Hey. HEY. ME: Uh? AFRICAN FELLOW AT THE GROCERY STORE: Yeah, you. I like your hair. ME: ...You do? AFRICAN FELLOW AT THE GROCERY STORE: Yeah, man, look at that! If I had hair like that... pfft! I'd be a bad dawg. ... Hear that, gents? Step 1: Cut and bleach your hair. Step 2: Neglect it for ten months. Step 3: Bad dawg!
Okay, I'm just going to get this out of the way: my comic submission failed to make the 2005 SPX Anthology, which, I'll be honest, hurt. Unfortunately, this edition wound up being low on page count and high on Established Name Comic Pros, so the odds for folks like me was next to nil. Hell with it, maybe I'll take Rich's advice and get it published elsewhere. In the meantime, I'm just going to post it here: Click to read Mount Paran Christian School.(It's an autobio short that really, truly happened when I was a tender lad of 11 at a private Christian school in Georgia, told without comment or exaggeration.) And since I'm in a dedicating mood, this story is for Allison Dabbs, who knew me when.
While I'm on the subject of comrades of yore, I received a startling email from Erin Robbins, a Mount Paran friend, concerning Danny Diaz, our former classmate: Danny Diaz was in a really bad motorcycle accident. He is in a coma and not doing good. His brain is swelling. He is married to Allison McLuhan and she is eight months pregnant. Please pray for him and his family. It's got to be really hard on Allison. My brother and I are trying to let anyone who knew him know about this, so he will have a lot of prayer. The doctor told Allison today that he might not make it. I will let you know when I find out more news. Thanks in advance for your prayers.
Danny's dad set up a voicemail that you can call for the daily update. He updates it every evening. Yesterday the update was: he had the best day yet. he is still in a coma. his mri showed nothing more and same with the eeg. A specialist from the Shepherd Center came to interview Allison about moving Danny to their hospital. They have a whole dept. that specializes in coma patients . The number is: 404/923-8776. for now, he is still at Kennestone. |
I barely knew Danny back when, but my heart certainly goes out to him and his family. Any prayers are certainly appreciated.
Katrina. Not that the world is waiting for me to weigh in, but this truly is a horrific situation. I'd link to the news stories, video segments, blog accounts and relief funds for and about the disaster, but I'm sure you've already been inundated with plenty. Nothing to say but prayers for the victims. If you can help with your wallet, do.
In the midst of death, however, we are in life. Congratulations, Danny and Charity.
Speaking of babies (creepy ones at least), I've been meaning to link to this for awhile. Look if you dare, but know that Chris Cunningham is a genius.There. I think this post has sufficiently wandered everywhere. Labels: dialogue
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