The daring adventures of Mac and Tosh (Part 1. Er, Part 3, technically)

It was time to test out the scanner of the new multi-function Brother MFC-9130CW or as I like to call it, the heavy thing that sits on the corner of the desk behind me, so I grabbed a collection of Mac and Tosh comics I made when I was a wee one. As you will see below, my sense of humor was already suitably dark, albeit somewhat unsophisticated. The bleed-through is an accurate reflection of the thin and worn paper, hence I’ve made no attempt to fix it.

Mac and Tosh "The Bomb"

I dated some of my earliest comics but not this series. There are several important clues, though. The lowercase “a” is written the “normal” way and I switched to the “fancy” version around the age of 10 or 11. The appalling spelling (“heavan” and “hear we come”) also indicates the period before I suddenly developed an internal spelling checker. I’m going to say I was around 8 or 9 years old at the time this epic was penned.

Speaking of penned, I bravely inked the comic without drawing it in pencil first. Note the very first word was a mistake that I crossed out and corrected. Perhaps white-out did not exist back then. You can also see the classic “make a balloon then scrunch the words to fit inside it” technique favored by many budding comic strip auteurs.

Sadly, Parts 1 and 2 seem to have gone missing. One can only imagine the tense build up leading to the eventual catastrophic demise of the characters.

Also, I can’t recall which was Mac and which was Tosh. Their names are directly ripped off of the Goofy Gophers featured in Warner Brothers cartoons, of which I was (and remain) a big fan. At the time I probably thought of it as an homage. At least I didn’t also make them gophers. Their explosive deaths could have been inspired by one of many Warner Brothers cartoons but most likely something from the Roadrunner series. I like how either Mac or Tosh looks on the bright side even as they let slip their mortal coils.

The last three panels are scratched in with pencil and I have no idea what the cryptic “TERRI DID THE” message refers to (Terri is one of my sisters). I also have no idea what the circle, #, square and 61 are references to or why they are repeated twice. It’s like clues to a murder mystery, but the only deaths I know of are in the panels above these would-be clues.

Anyway, I’m going to recreate these strips to see how they’d look from an adult perspective. My guess is sad, but in a different and less-cute way.

Book review: Lisey’s Story

Lisey's StoryLisey’s Story by Stephen King
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Lisey’s Story is, at its heart, about a woman, Lisey Landon, coming to terms with the death of her husband, two years dead as the novel begins.

It is also about family and the sacrifices made to keep them together–or to merely survive them.

Along the way are ruminations and reflection on the life of a famous author, being the wife of a famous author, the attendant unhinged and occasionally violent fans, flashbacks to exceedingly ugly childhoods, and a bond that reaches from the past and through an extraordinary place out of time that helps bring closure on a life and love over too soon.

There’s also a creepy monster in some spooky woods and the deranged fans (two, one via flashback, the other a more immediate concern) keep things from getting too maudlin. This is still a King story, after all.

A lot of interesting ideas and themes are at play here and for the most part King juggles them as ably as you would expect. At one point you may even believe the deceased author Scott Landon is not entirely dead–and you may be right, in a way–but in the end Lisey’s story is one in which doors to the past are quietly closed.

The weakest part of the story may be in the overall structure. It’s a sprawling and at times rambling work, sometimes feeling like a lazy ride down a river in summer that suddenly and briefly changes to a plunge into unexpected rapids before easing back into that slow drift again. This is to say the pace is often languid but at times uneven. Some may mistakenly think the deranged fan is the central plot when he actually just serves as another piece to the puzzle in getting Lisey to where she can put the past behind her.

King plays with several of his familiar elements here, and while I roll with them without blinking, others may find the unique phrases the characters use, like “bad-gunky” and “smucking” a bit twee.

Despite its girth, Lisey’s Story has an intimate feel. There is no big bad evil here, no world-destroying plagues or zombie apocalypses. There are supernatural elements, but the most horrifying parts are contained in the depiction of Scott Landon’s childhood at the hands of a deranged and violent father.

Lisey’s Story ultimately succeeds because Lisey’s journey feels authentic and earned. Strip away the creepy “long boy” and the demented fans, the land of the Boo’ya Moon where the dead gather, the flashbacks to childhood terrors, and you are left with a story that simply tells of how one person deals with the grief of a lost love. And that story is told well.

And you may look twice the next time you see someone hefting a spade.

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Book review: All Out

All Out: A Father and Son Confront the Hard Truths That Made Them Better MenAll Out: A Father and Son Confront the Hard Truths That Made Them Better Men by Kevin Newman
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of All Out is that Kevin and Alex Newman wrote their own chapters independent of each other, allowing the reader to directly compare the father’s and son’s take on events and more importantly, how the two saw each other, which forms the heart of the book.

And they often saw each other very differently, creating a tension that existed between the two men until they were both adults.

In a journey that starts with the senior Newman co-hosting CBC’s Miidday, moves onto his brief (and disastrous) stint as co-host of Good Morning America, and ends with him back in Canada as part of CTV’s W5, Kevin Newman provides insights and observations about the TV news business, ranging from the long hours that necessitated so much time away from his family, the sometimes farcical demands of producers and handlers (on Good Morning America he was asked to dye his eyelashes to make them darker and presumably more masculine) and ultimately how for decades his work defined so much of his existence–at the expense of family and life outside work.

Alex’s journey begins as a young boy, sensitive and creative, bullied in school and seemingly failing at living up to the masculine ideals of his father, showing little interest in sports or other “guy” pursuits.

It comes to a head when at age 17 Alex realizes he is gay and comes out to his family. Or rather, he tries to come out but his father actually cuts him off at the pass, so to speak, by asking his son (who had called a family meeting), “Is this about your sexuality?” From that awkward beginning, the two start a process of testing and challenging each to accept each other as they are, not as they wish they were.

For Kevin he finally realizes that work is just work and family matters more. He lets go of his own hangups regarding what he sees as the masculine ideal and confronts his discomfort with homosexuality. In the process he achieves a breakthrough in his relationship with his son and with his own father as well.

Alex’s struggle with being gay stems not so much from being afraid of how others would see him–virtually everyone he knows was accepting–but in how it defined him in a way that he didn’t like. Being gay meant he could never be that ideal son that Kevin wanted and tried so much to shape through the years. At his darkest moments he contemplates suicide, as many gay youth do, but a network of friends and acquaintances keeps him from going too far into the abyss.

The writing by both men is fine if not extraordinary, though Alex ably captures the voice and mentality of his younger self. Kevin’s behind-the-scenes look at TV news is in some ways quietly horrifying and in other ways warmly affirming–it turns out Peter Jennings really was a warm, wonderful person. But it is the intertwined story of the two men that speaks strongest here, and it is difficult to not be moved by the self-realizations that allowed Kevin to fully embrace his son for who he is–and to finally let go of the mental baggage he had carried for decades, allowing him to finally, truly be content.

And not have to worry about dying his eyelashes ever again.

Thumb up.

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I can’t smell (but my throat feels better)

I am officially on Day 4 of Being Sick and two-thirds through the holiday weekend. Today I feel much like the stuffed turkeys that will be consumed tomorrow.

What started as a slight scratchiness on Thursday evolved into “Why is there a tiny chainsaw constantly running in my throat?” by the evening. Blessedly, that diminished by late Friday. Taking its place was a general feeling of being run down, as well as increasing  congestion in my sinuses. That appears to be peaking tonight as my nose has been plugged up all day and I can’t smell anything right now. I am sitting here with a nice cup of Chai tea and I gave the teabag a good sniff before dropping it in the cup. Nothing. Not even the slightest bit of aroma. Drinking it I can detect something but it’s weird to have a sense just switch off like that.

I’ve been imbibing Nyquil in the evening and so far it’s been pretty effective in helping me sleep, just like the TV commercials say.

I’m up later tonight as well, so perhaps I am on the odorless mend now. However, if the usual pattern holds true, the cold will next visit my chest, to be followed by days of racking coughs (i am coughing as I type this, somewhat politely, but with a feeling of doom hanging over me that the polite coughs will give way to the “blow paper off the desk” coughing soon enough).

All in all, being sick still sucks, which is hardly a revolutionary thought. It’s resulted in me going to bed early, I’ve missed two runs (the idea of running is so off-putting right now I can’t even articulate it. I’d probably get a few hundred meters in, collapse and be eaten by a bear/bobcat/python) and I’ve tried to compensate for my general state of misery through eating. Even that simple pleasure has been diminished now that I can barely taste or smell anything. So yes, sucks.

By coincidence the next stat holiday, Remembrance Day, falls on a Friday, making it another three-day weekend. I would like to make a request to not be sick that weekend. Thanks in advance, arbitrary forces of nature!

My throat hurts

October is my official “complain about all the stuff I haven’t complained about previously this year” month.

Tonight I’m complaining because my throat is sore and we are heading into a three-day weekend. The timing is unsurprising, my body has a knack for this sort of thing.

On the other hand, we are also heading into what will be the first big storm of the season, so it’s going to rain and blow and I’ll be happy to just curl up inside all weekend with a nice cup of hot chocolate, anyway. So lose-win(ish).

Also, I should correct the above, as it is already raining and blowing. And I had a cup of hot chocolate.

That is all.

1,000 creative writing prompts: 6 of 1,000

Prompt 6
(from Chapter 1: Time and Place):

Why do you think some people only focus on their “glory days,” their great successes from the past? How might you keep yourself from looking entirely backwards in the future?

Answer:

This is a dumb question because the answer is obvious unless you deliberately want to obscure it up or unnecessarily dig deep into reasoning that is pretty apparent and doesn’t merit a lot of thought.

Why do some people focus on their glory days? A better question might be why is “glory days” wrapped in quotation marks? But the actual answer is because glory days implies a time in the past when someone had achieved more than in the present, perhaps a great deal more. One example would be an actor who had a string of hit films early on but whose career has fizzled out in middle age. When choosing what to focus on, what do you think this actor would prefer, his fantastic successes of youth or his dismal, mediocre slog into middle age (not to mention the fact that he’s also slower, older and not getting any younger)? That’s just human nature.

How might I keep myself from looking entirely backwards in the future? This is also easy: I never had glory days to begin with. Also, unlike many people, I’m actually healthier and in better shape now than in my youth, so in a sense my glory days are happening now. Also also I could keep myself from looking backwards by wearing blinders (surprise twist answer). Technically blinders don’t prevent you from looking backwards, they just make it more difficult, but it’s a better answer than wearing a bucket on your head. Or is it?

P.S. I’ll be glad when I get past all these time-related prompts. If I had a time machine I’d seriously consider moving forward just enough to achieve this.

[spoiler title=”Explanation of this exercise” icon=”plus-circle”]These are prompts featured in 1,000 Creative Writing Prompts, Volume 2 (Goodreads link). My intent is to write ultra-short stories that are no more than a few paragraphs long, working through the prompts in order. When I am done I will perhaps have a party of some sort.

Sometimes the short stories will be longer and sometimes instead of a story I will answer the questions (most of the prompts are in the form of questions).[/spoiler]

Run 469: Slowly, in the gloom

Run 469
Average pace: 5:22/km
Location: Brunette River trail
Distance: 5:08 km
Time: 27:18
Weather: Cloudy, some drizzle
Temp: 15-13ºC
Wind: light
BPM: 173
Stride: n/a
Weight: 154.7 pounds
Total distance to date: 3735 km
Devices/apps: Apple Watch and iPhone 6

Tonight I had no real desire to run. I felt tired (see previous post) and the threat of rain was tangible. Nevertheless I donned my jogging duds and headed out, completing a somewhat slow 5K. For reference, my 10K on Sunday had an average pace of 5:23/km. Tonight my pace was 5:22/km. Granted I was trucking along on Sunday and tonight I was content to simply maintain a steady if unspectacular pace.

There were no issues otherwise. The weather was cool but comfortable and apart from some very light drizzle at the end, it remained dry. The most noticeable change was how much gloomier it was compared to just four days ago. It was gloomy. Where the tree canopy is thickest it was nearly dark. I suspect that I’ll only get another week or so of runs in after work before it gets too dark without some kind of bionic night vision suddenly manifesting itself.

In the meantime I’ll chalk tonight’s run as “at least I went out and did it.”

So tired

I briefly fell asleep on the couch tonight. The last time this happened is a time I cannot recall, so probably about a hundred years ago.

The relentless pace of work is definitely having an effect. I am jealous of those who have good-paying jobs and yet still somehow have a bunch of time to surf the web while at work. I can’t even get through lunch without people coming up to me, let alone casually peruse the endless treasures that the internet presents. And by endless treasures I mean amusing cat images.

This reminds me, I need to find a good hiding place once NaNoWriMo starts. Distraction is the #1 killer of potential stories, at least where I’m concerned. It’s one of the reasons I actually prefer the smaller screen of a laptop to a comfy 24 or 27″ display. Those large displays make web-surfing pleasurable and enticing. A laptop display merely makes it serviceable. I’m also more inclined to make my writing program run full screen and pretend the internet doesn’t exist on a laptop. It’s win-win, except for actually having to buy the laptop.

All of this assumes I’ll have the energy to write come November, of course. We’ll find out in a mere 27 days!

Run 468: Short shorts and the call of nature

Run 468
Average pace: 5:23/km
Location: Burnaby Lake (CW)
Distance: 10:02 km
Time: 54:05
Weather: High cloud, hazy sun
Temp: 12-14ºC
Wind: light
BPM: 165
Stride: n/a
Weight: 154.6 pounds
Total distance to date: 3730 km
Devices/apps: Apple Watch and iPhone 6

The best part about today’s run is no bears interrupting it.

The weather was nice but cool, starting at 12ºC and rising to 14. I wore my long-sleeved t-shirt but would have been fine in a regular t-shirt, I think.

I started out brisk as the weather, hit my usual two km slowdown and settled into a steady pace until I got to the bridge at Deer Lake Brook. Approaching along the trail on the other side was a serious-looking runner. Even though he was on the “wrong” side (my side) I decided to shift over to avoid an awkward mid-bridge collision. Instead of climbing the stairs, though, he simply tagged the lowest one with a foot, then spun around and headed back, becoming my spirit/jogging guide by default. Initially he pulled a little ahead but I managed to keep pace well enough. I lost sight of him on the twisty part of the trail just before the athletic fields and figured he had pulled ahead, but lo! He had actually slowed, I closed the gap and then maintained distance until he turned off at Still Creek.

This may be partly why my pace was faster today, as having someone running ahead of me kicks in that ol’ competitive spirit (unless they’re absurdly faster, in which case I simply stick my tongue out at them as they blow past, wishing them well). I ended with a pace of 5:23/km, my best 10K of the year, besting my previous best by five seconds. Not too shabby.

As it was my first 10K in a few weeks I’m expecting to be sore and tired. The tired part has already hit, the sore part will likely come tomorrow morning.

It was not as crowded on the trail as I had feared and everyone was observant and attentive and no dogs off leash or bears off leash. Yay. There were plenty of joggers, including a curiously large number of young male joggers wearing short shorts straight out of the 70s. Are they becoming a thing again? I’m not objecting, just curious.

Also, the call of nature came in the form of the world’s biggest unprovoked would-be bowel movement. This happened a few times, fortunately when I had already completed the run and was walking home. Still, having this near-impossible urge to go and nowhere to, well, go, makes for an uncomfortable walk home. But I made it, sparing all a gruesome ending to the story.

Overall, this was a surprisingly good run. I think more than anything it’s just a relief to be running in conditions where the outside temperature is not close to my internal temperature.

Delicious Halloween eggnog

I know, you’re thinking, “Isn’t eggnog that thick, indulgently sweet stuff you drink over Christmas? Why are you talking about it in reference to Halloween? You must have the holidays mixed up, lol!”

And yet here it is, October 1st, and not only do the stores already have their Halloween candy (appearing when summer had barely officially concluded) but today I noticed whilst in the neighborhood grocery store that there was eggnog in the dairy section, next to the milk. I was there in the morning so there’s a good chance it was actually shelved the night before, when it was still September.

It’s popular to mock and jeer the commercialization of every holiday, official or otherwise. And for good reason. This is silly. They are going to be selling eggnog for the next three months.Their initial shipment will expire before Halloween. Before summer has been over for even a month. Before some people finally stop wearing open-toed sandals for the rest of the year.

I was tempted to get some.

I remained strong, though. I don’t want to encourage further acceleration of the great merging of all holidays, even though that seems inevitable. I figure we’ll be more than 50% of the way there if Valentine’s candy shows up before Christmas. This is a real possibility.

Post #34

The last time I had 34 or more posts in a month was way back in October 2009 when I wrote 38 posts. I’m still not sure how I managed that. Temporary insanity, perhaps. Maybe this current spate of activity is a sign that I’ll be firing on all cylinders for National Novel Writing Month, coming some 31 days from now. Looking over my posts since the start of the month, my novel will be less a story and more a series of image macros about someone who runs regularly. I’ll call it The Jogger. No, too plain. That Jogging Guy. Hmm. That probably wouldn’t work, either. To really cash in it should be something like The Girl Who Jogged or The Girl Who Wore Running Shoes or The Girl [something something to go with the other billion novels that have appeared recently that have titles starting with “The Girl.” Thanks, Stieg Larsson who isn’t even alive].

Anyway, one of the things I’ve noticed is I can no longer stay up late on the weekend like in olden times because my body is so used to getting up early that all of my fun/party genes turn out the lights by 11 p.m. This is to say that while I am typing this I am also starting to nod off, so I’ll probably go to bed soon. But at least on the weekend I can sleep in. Except I feel guilty now when I do that, then regret it after I wake up because I have less time to do other things, both productive and otherwise, and also I won’t get the 12 hours of standing activity on my Apple Watch and somehow that has become important to me. On the plus side, it has reduced the chances of varicose veins or gout or something. Whatever it is that happens when you don’t stand enough, like our hunter/gatherer ancestors used to (I mean that they stood a lot, not the opposite. I’m pretty sure they spent almost every day hunting bears or maybe just one especially wily bear who always eluded their spears and traps. They’d call him Ol’ Scoot because he’d always scoot off before they could catch him. You couldn’t just sit around when Ol’ Scoot taunted you like that. Plus maybe you haven’t developed enough brain power yet to stop gathering poison berries to nosh on, so you really need some of that good bear meat or the stories around the cave fire are going to be all, “Remember when we had more than three of us to tell stories about that stupid Ol’ Scoot to? No, I’m good on the berries, thanks.”)