I found that property from yesterday on Realestate.com. If you’re interested it’s 832 Town Farm Road, Brandon VT. The sad part about it is that it’s evident that, in the not too distant past, people were living there. They must have been destitute to live like that.. You might not have noticed the dismantled crib among the trash in the living room. I find it very sad.
I spent today trying to put chicken wire around my tomato plants. Whew! I’ve gained a lot of respect for old time chicken farmers. When I was a little boy in Pennsylvania, my old man had a chicken yard. We had fresh eggs every morning and fried chicken every Sunday.
I didn’t realize it, but this didn’t go through. I schedule for 6:00 EST, and assume it will be posted. Sorry.
Nothing much. Yesterday I bought a new IPad Pro, 12.9. I bought my old one in 2017, and it was pretty well beat up, cracked screen and all. I use it to draw on my IMac. There’s an app called Astropad that mirrors the screen from my old IMac to the pad. I use it with Photoshop to draw with the Apple pen. I use my old IMac (2011) for Photoshop because the new IMacs all use 64 bit and the new OS’s don’t support my Photoshop CS 5.1. So I have two IMacs, plus I also have an old Macbook Air. Over the years since 1995 I’ve bought about 15 computers, not just for me of course. Frau Grace has two.
…while all you Eskimos (am I allowed to use that word? It’s hard to tell anymore) while all you igloo dwellers (is that ok?) are bracing for a huge winter storm. You can have it and good luck. Didn’t Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express take place on a train buried in the snow? Well Frederick E sent me a great video the other day:
Tomorrow, if I can remember, I’ll tell you a joke that this reminds me of.
I’ve been busy for quite some time working on another collection of my old magazine cartoons. I think the new book will have about 150. It’s really a big job. Torbjörn has helped me tremendously with the daily collections, and I’ve almost fixed all my mistakes, at least the ones he found for me. Believe me, it’s easy to make mistakes especially if you’re old and dumb like moi. I try to do it right by laying out everything before I put together the books in Word. If you’re interested, and if you have Excel, here is the layout of the upcoming collection:
What did I do last Monday? I made four gallons of my world famous bean soup. What time does the balloon go up? Here it is after about an hour of percolating on the stove. I simmer it for about 3 1/2 hours to really bring out that savory bean goodness. Mighty fine. Frau Grace won’t touch it.
I found this piece that I had written about Don Martin about five years ago. I don’t recall what it was for. Here it is:
When I was a kid I was crazy about comic books. MAD was just a child as well. I believe I started buying it at about the third issue. It was a comic book. It had parodies of other comic books and movies. Superduperman! Bat Boy and Rubin! Ping Pong! Will Elder! Jack Davis! Wally Wood! Absolute geniuses. Then in one terrible issue I read that MAD was going to change. No more parodies. It would now be more like a magazine for pubescent boys. I was devastated. At that time I had a subscription. I opened my first issue. Oh No! I leafed through it. Boring. Boring. And then I turned to that magic page. There was the funniest looking cartoon I had ever seen. There was a man sitting on a park bench. He had a huge, huge chin, and he was feeding pigeons. I laughed myself sick. With every issue that came, the first thing that I did was to find the two stories by MAD’s Maddest Artist. One story was in the middle, and one was on the inside back cover. I was a Don Martin junkie.
Now flash forward 35 years or so. There were hearings before Congress about the rights of cartoonists. (We don’t have many, by the way. Publishers take our work, own them, and pretty much do what ever they want to them.) Don Martin was testifying about how he was treated by William Gaines. I waylaid him after the session. Me, the fawning fanboy. Guess what! He knew about my work and was, at least, a bit of a fan of mine! Unbelievable! We became friends. Oh, by the way, I also met his second wife Norma.
Don was very mild mannered and soft spoken. He didn’t have much to say. Maybe that was because Norma did all the talking. She was the one who forced him through wifely persuasion (No. That’s wrong. She probably browbeat him into it.) to leave MAD and draw for Cracked. Don had dated her when he was in college. When he was divorced from his first wife, she swooped in and gathered up the remains. She was very bossy. Once when Frau Grace and I were in Miami, she swooped in on us, and planned our evening over my objections. She dragged us away from the party of cartoonists that we had been attending, we went to dinner, then to ice cream, then back to their modest home. She told us to take our shoes off before entering, and I had no problem with that. But I noticed that while I and the Frau were barefoot, Norma and Don left their shoes on. Very strange. But, for about five minutes, Don and I were able to sneak into his little studio and get away from her overbearing dominance. Then he was able to talk.
He was so very modest. He told me about his career, and most poignantly, how he came to create his wonderfully funny style. He had drawn a story, and while the story was good, the drawings just didn’t have what it took. (May I interject here, a good cartoonist knows that for a cartoon to be really funny, the drawing style and the humor need to complement one another. A silly joke must have an equally silly drawing. More subtle humor must have a more restrained drawing. The glove has to fit the hand.) Well, Don went home and started sketching. Sometime around midnight, from out of nowhere, that wonderful style of character magically appeared on the paper. He said “It just happened.”
That was the last time I saw Don. Not long afterwards he succumbed to lymphoma. He was only 68. What a terrible loss. In contrast, out of the blue, about ten years ago, Norma called me up. She was old, and now, as far as I could tell, totally crazy. If Don were alive, I’m sure he would draw her with that big chin, bitching and nagging at her poor, wimpy husband.