January 22nd, 2003

smokin'

Wotta revoltin' development

Haven't posted in a few days, but I have a note from our doctor so please don't give me a demerit. Actually, it's from our dentist, as earlier today Sarah underwent the second of two emergency dental procedures in the past week. She's been so zonked out on novocaine, painkillers, steroids and antibiotics that I'm expecting George Romero to invite her to a casting call for the next Dead movie. My poor girl. After today's root canal she seems to be recovering some and I hope she gets better quick. I don't know how to use the scanner, for one thing. (I"m only kidding, Sar, don't hit me when you see that).

Not much else has been going right either, work has been a nightmare for reasons I can't get into, the weather's been pretty harsh here in NYC, and all my friends seem to be getting hit with bad luck lately. Not all of them, thankfully, last Saturday I had a really swell time at Stephen DeStephano's birthday party, where I got to see him and our other fellow Instant Pianist Robbie Busch, both of whom I haven't seen in a while. Ditto David Mazzucchelli and Richmond Lewis, who I am eternally grateful to because when Robbie introduced them to me a ways back I ended up adopting one of their cats (Mr Jinx). I had a great time and the food was good and of course, very often talk ran to comics (and ran away screaming). Forgive the name-dropping, if there is actually such a thing as name-dropping in comics circles. The scary part of the night was that I actually found a parking spot in Hoboken (1) that was close to Stephen's place (!!!). I have always disliked driving in Hoboken, a beautiful little town ruined by overflow, too many cars, a surplus of hipsters and weekends full of roving college brutes. I hadn't been there in a while and was surprised to see Washington Street filled with Johnny Rockets and similar new businesses and franchises amongst the old bars and restaurants. A weird mix, but still, it's a nifty town. I'd love to live there if I could afford it, could park there, could stand the weelkend crush of unrulies and could have a house instead of being crammed into a shotgun-style apartment with an ancient kitchen. Great place to visit, tho'.

Guess that's the rambling this time out. I'm just unwinding after a hectic day and figured I'd check in and see what rolled off the keyboard. Before I go --

RIP Al Hirschfeld and Bill Mauldin, two of the greats who slung the ink around. We could all only hope to live as long and as well as Mr Hirschfeld (not to mention possess that inkline and eye), and only shake our heads at how a humane and talented guy like Mauldin spent his last days in pain, suffering from Alzheimers, with decades of memories lost to him and only his war years left in his head. Such a place, this mortal coil.

Roll the dice. Move your mice. Mousetrap.