In a further stroke of madness, I’ll be exhibiting my Untold Tales at San Francisco Zine Fest this coming Saturday and Sunday 9/4-9/5. Stop by and say hello!
San Francisco Zine Fest
Saturday, September 4 from 11:00am – 6:00pm
Sunday, September 5 from 11:00am – 6:00pm
SF County Fair Building
(formerly the Hall of Flowers)
9th Ave. at Lincoln Way. (in Golden Gate Park)
Lutefisk Sushi D closed last night, so I now feel at liberty to share my art from the show.
View my comics from this year’s Little Funny series.
Nalchik was a good place to recover. I spent several hours each afternoon in the hot springs with my nose above water and my hair freezing into icicles. The pool girls brought me tea. Every few minutes a bubble of carbon dioxide, sulfur dioxide or nitrous oxide farted up to the surface. I made no attempt to pursue the nitrous bubbles because I was there for healing, right? Healing.
Who would have guessed that I could make a living selling Panasonic R-70 “Panapet” transistor radios to the natives of Santo André, the smallest island in the Azores? The island’s population (excluding me) was descended from a stone soup of the original African slaves (mainly Ewe and Fon), their Portuguese overseers and a batch of mutinous Scots tossed into the sea and (legend has it) rescued by turtles. In the three-way genetic wrestling match that resulted, the Portuguese lost outright and the Africans and Scots fought to a draw in which their descendants ended up with dark skin and nappy red hair. They subsisted on fish, taro roots and hot sauce and couldn’t be bothered to emigrate.
Continue reading ‘All the Way Down’
Image CC-BY-NC-ND by Edson Martins
Be sure to come out and see my art in the Lutefisk Sushi comics show at Altered Esthetics August 05 – August 26, 2010. Hours and directions are here.
I have a new mini-comic in the LSD bento box and four new Little Funny micro-comics in the cigarette machine.
Here for your enjoyment are my Little Funnies from last year’s show (click images to enlarge). Thanks again Mozhi for the great Science Comics art!
My great-uncle Milton was one of the last living residents of Freeport, Kansas. He had made a fortune selling bibles to bible-salesmen, and he kept it all in cash in a bunker under his barn.
I fell asleep in bed last night with a wet cigarette in my hand. By the time the water alarm went off and woke me the room was already knee-deep and full of choking spray. I could hear the curtains begin to sluice. I crawled to the door and felt it with my palm but it was already deadly cool. I picked up a chair and threw it against the window but it bounced back, hit me across the shins and knocked me into the rising tide. I heard shouting from outside. An ax blade crashed through the sill and a gloved hand reached into the room. I grasped at it with the last of my strength. The waterfighter pulled me through the hole and carried me down the ladder. Then the rest of the squad let loose with fire from the hydrant and slowly, painfully extinguished the water. My house is now a steaming ruin.
You know what a suitcase party is, right? It’s a surprise going-away party. Everybody shows up with their suitcase packed, pays twenty bucks at the door and puts their name into a hat. The hosts pick a name out of the hat and use the money to buy a one-way ticket to wherever for whoever gets drawn. At the end of the night the hosts announce the winner and that person flies off to wherever the hosts picked and spends the next few years getting drunk, getting a job, getting married or whatever as an illegal alien in whatever unfamiliar country.
In the summer of 1986, after I dropped out of the U of M for the second time, I was sort of friends with this party promoter named Kurt who made everybody call him Phil after Phil Graham, and Kurt knew this chemist named Dave who made everybody call him Eulenspiegel because he wanted to be the new Owsley, and Dave was cooking all these variants of Ecstasy and his runners and acolytes were retailing them at Kurt/Phil’s parties. You’d get this big wave of emotion washing over the whole party as the drugs peaked. One after another people would giggle uncontrollably, or burst into tears, or tear off their clothes, or get the hiccups, or whatever. One time everybody got déjà vu.
Continue reading ‘Suitcase Party’
When I finally pulled myself away from this guy Matt who said he was an amateur film editor, and I got done tactfully explaining how contemptible it was to have one’s life’s passion to be editing someone else’s life’s passion, I discovered I was the only woman left at the party. In confirmation of my life-long hypothesis, none of the men seemed to have noticed.
Continue reading ‘Walpurgisnacht’
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