The Banned Book Week project

Class project: Do some ad materials for a campaign or business. I picked national Banned Book Week (already over for this year, folks), presented by the American Library Association.

I did slightly different designs for a poster, a bookmark and this totebag. I liked this one so much I'm having it actually made into a totebag at Zazzle.

So you don't have to squint: Alice is holding "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" and saying, "When I'm not falling down rabbit holes, I'm curling up with a banned book."

Of course, the term "banned book" is a bit loaded. Some have pointed out that we live in the land of the free press. But plenty of people have tried to yank particular books off the shelves of public and school libraries in an effort to decide what's best for everyone.

(Should you want a closer look, you can click on the picture here.)

Goodbye, Old Friend

He was a good boy, that Oscar. Suffered many an indignity in his day, at the hands of small children and large dogs and the occasional inconsiderate adult. He bore most of it stoically and kindly. Not your usual aloof cat. He preferred to sort of melt in your arms, or on your lap. And if he was less adventurous than most (his twin brother met an early end playing "chicken" with the cars in our old neighborhood), that was OK. He enjoyed sunning himself on the pavement. He liked the shade of our little Japanese maple on a hot day.

Just last week, he even deigned to share the couch with the giant woof. It took him a moment to decide, when Pearl leaped up on the couch next to him. You could see the old man sitting there, thinking, "Well, shitttt. I'm arthritic and half-deaf and my kidneys don't really work anymore. Is it too much to ask to have a little couch time by myself?"

He thought about leaving. But I think his old bones were weary enough that after a good long moment or two of considering his options, he decided he could stand to have her back pressed up against his shoulder. They stayed that way for a long time.
I'd post the picture I took that day, but it doesn't seem right to make him share the spotlight today.

Would your kid read this book?

Yes, so for one of my illustration classes, we put our childhood selves in an imaginary picture book based on things we liked to do or wanted to be when we were little. I remembered how a neighborhood friend (who, I'll admit, looked nothing like the curly-haired kid in the background here) and I used to teach ourselves walkovers and handsprings and whatnot. We thought we were pretty good.

In my imaginary story, though, we are not equally good -- my friend is better than me. At gymnastics, anyway.

Screaming Fun Comes to an END, bwahhahahah!

Well, children, it is time, at last, for the one-sentence ghost story to come to its conclusion, and I have to say I was torn -- torn, I tell you - by the truly macabre entrees. In the end, I settled on four finalists, all of  whom are deserving of prizes. As were others (and if you didn't win anything this time, please keep entering these contests, because your time will come -- I swear).

As usual, thank you for entertaining me. I had fun. 

The winners will receive bribes for reading my blog, to the extent that I can reach them. Although, I do not know who "Roark" is, and that person is first up on my list. So if you are "Roark," and you want to identify yourself, I will have a  prize for you.

First Prize for Meshing Sex, Love and Bone-Chilling Fear in a Sentence of Splendid Rhythm And Cadence goes to Roark o' the Blogosphere for this:

"Windshield steamed and their lust sated, the two lovers fell back in joyous exhaustion, then turned to gaze at the clouded moon that silhouetted their car in the remote cornfield -- and saw a row of bright eyes peering through the half-open passenger window."

First Prize for Writing an Entire, Especially Sinister Episode of the Twilight Zone in a (kinda) Single Sentence goes to John Campanelli for:

“Piece of shit raccoon -- I just had these aligned,” muttered Frank as he squatted next to the tire and waited for his eyes to adjust to the county-road darkness and make out the torn remains of the creature that had sent his Cadillac into a rattling rage back there on 57; instead, wrapped around the treads, Frank saw mud, blood, and a sparkling swatch of shredded leotard.

First Prize for Brevity and Unspoken Evilness goes to Stylissima Kim Crow, who seemed like such a nice girl till I read what lurks behind those smiling eyes for:

"As the limping mailman lurched his way onto the front porch, she realized the stained bag slung over his shoulder held items far more than letters and bills."

And -- last but definitely NOT least -- the Edgar Allen Poe Special Prize for Writing A Really Long One-Sentence-Story That Resembles Pen in Hand's Own Nightmares During the Spring When Our Allergies Are At Their Worst goes to Debbie Parker for:

"I woke up the Eve of Halloween to a loud crash coming from downstairs, afraid, knowing that I was the only one home at the time, laying there listening to what was to come next, beginning to shake hearing footsteps coming up toward my room; heavy footfalls that sounded like no friend of mine, with a sudden bang of my bedroom door being opened by the intruder about to enter my quarters only to find that I am awaking from a dream of being awaken by a loud crash coming from downstairs, afraid, knowing that I was the only one home at the time, laying there listening to what was to come next, beginning to shake hearing footsteps coming up toward my room; heavy footfalls that sounded like no friend of mine, with a sudden bang of my bedroom door being opened by the intruder about to enter my quarters only to find that I am awaking from a dream of being awaken from a dream by a loud crash coming from downstairs, afraid, knowing that I was the only one home at the time, laying there listening to what was to come next, beginning to shake hearing footsteps coming up toward my room; heavy footfalls that sounded like no friend of mine, with a sudden bang of my bedroom door being opened by the intruder about to enter my quarters only to find that I am awaking from a dream that I cannot awake from."

Wolff Spider

At first I was convinced this was a wolf spider. We tend to get 'em out on our woodsy deck about this time of year. I'd seen his/her web develop over the last couple of days, but didn't see the creature itself till I gazed out there in the low afternoon light, when the web was practically glowing.

After looking up "wolf spider" on Google, I'm less convinced it's a wolf spider, but since Mr. Wolff here agreed to be in some of my shots, I can, with confidence, call it a Wolff spider.
Whatever it is, it's beautiful. Not that I want it, say, on my lapel. But it gorgeous all the same. If you're the kind of person who loathes spiders -- well, you're probably not still reading. But if you like to gaze at spiders and want a closer look, click on the pictures.

Mary Eats an Apple

I've come to really like my illustration-department colleagues, and I'm no longer aware on a 24-7 basis that I'm old enough to be their mother. Heck, I'm probably OLDER than some of their mothers. They're -- dare I say it? -- fun.
Yes. They're fun.

So I got on a ladder ...

More observational drawing.
That was my command to myself the day before yesterday. So today I decided to put that into action by sitting on top of a 5-foot ladder erected on my porch so I could catch a slightly elevated view of the car here. I know, it doesn't look that elevated. All I can say is that I wouldn't be able to do it on a 12-foot ladder.

Halfway through the sketch, I got an Important Phone Call (caps intentional), and was quite relieved to climb down in order to take it. Hours later, the car I'd been drawing had gone on an excursion. So I had to park my car where Carlo's car had been -- we drive the same model -- and try to re-create the approximate scene. Then I had to climb back on the ladder.

What the neighbors must think....

More tempera resist