“I almost walked up to the office to call you guys the first night, but my friends convinced me not too.”, Kaylee told Jodie and I, not long after returning from 6th Grade Camp.
It was probably a good thing she didn’t because, although Jodie and I had fully intended to leave our phones turned on as we slept, we had forgotten to. Awesome parenting, right?
“So…?”, I prompted her.
“The food was bad and I didn’t sleep at all the first night!”, she told me.
“Would you do it again?”, I asked her.
“No!”, she said, firmly.
“Really?”, I asked again.
“No!”, she demanded.
“Why?”, I asked.
“The food was horrible!”, she repeated, adding, “And the beds had graffiti all over them, and….”
“….it wasn’t that bad, then!”, I interrupted.
“… and everyone kept farting! My friends and I all used the bathroom at the same time…”, Kaylee continued.
“…so no one knew who was farting?”, Jodie interrupted, laughing.
“YES!”, Kaylee confirmed.
Although I missed my little girl, I am proud of her. My own experience with 6th Grade Camp some 36 years ago – ironically, at the same campground and ( likely ) bunk houses – was disastrous.
Due to nerves, bad food choices, or both, I didn’t shit for the entire week. Showering was also traumatic. I spent the first two days with unrinsed shampoo in my hair before I gave up on bathing altogether. I was all-too-happy to return home, or at least I would have been if my mom didn’t immediately whisk me off to an event at the Portuguese Hall upon picking me up – unshowered, filthy, and still very constipated, in dress slacks and a tie.
So, no Kaylee. I’m not sure I’d do it again, either…
My chair at work did lose an armrest a few weeks ago. I was denied a new replacement due to budget cuts and ended up reattaching it with an entire roll of scotch tape. The other option was digging through the graveyard of abandoned chairs leftover from prior layoffs and voluntary retirements, but most chairs were in worse condition than mine. I’ve had a desk job for 25 years now and it never ceases to amaze me that no matter what you spill or where you spill it, the stain always manifests itself as a dark stain in the chairs’ fabric exactly in front of your crotch. Inexplicably, armrests are inevitably more convenient than napkins when in meetings or battling it out with a coworker over email. So, scotch tape it is, and, if I’m going to sit in a stain, I’d much prefer it to be my own.
As the story goes, my Mom and her identical twin sister, Bernadette, were traumatized throughout their adolescence by being forced to wear hand-me-downs and homemade attire due to my grandfather’s frugalness. This resulted in an insatiable desire to shop for clothes upon reaching adulthood, but only at discount clothiers.
Unfortunately, they didn’t get it out of their systems before I was born. Some of my earliest memories are of my mom and aunt dragging my cousins, brother, and I to go “clothes shopping” with them. My Mom always admitted this “urge to shop” was a direct result of her childhood deprivation. Being kids, we entertained ourselves as best as possible, often by hiding in the clothes racks – much to the chagrin of our Moms’ and the store clerks. And the clerks? They knew my Mom and aunt on a first-name basis. As to whether this was due to them being identical twins and easily recognizable, or their frequenting the stores so often as to become regulars is debatable. My money is on the later, however.
As I grew up I have no doubt my Mom’s biggest disappointment is that I didn’t inherit her love of clothes. It’s not for lack of trying, either. She’d drag me to Nordstroms, eager to buy me the latest in Men’s “Surfer Wear” that was all the rage in the 80’s and 90’s, and was always shocked when I’d shrug off her attempts. It is a little known fact that, yes, for the most part I let my Mom dress me all through middle school and high school.
My Mom got the last laugh, though. Between my brother and I? Four granddaughters. All of whom have inherited the clothes shopping gene. She’s never been happier.
This comic is a tribute to my Mom and my aunt. Shop til you drop and spend every penny, just please, oh, please, don’t drag me along anymore.
The first of my “draw comics, faster” New Years’ Resolution for 2024.
One downside when drawing digitally, at least for me, is that I’m given too much control : I can can zoom in ( and in, and in, and in ), flip, rotate, skew, erase, un-erase, re-erase, sketch over, sketch under … with the end result usually looking like crap. My OCD inevitably gets the better of me.
This year I’m trying to keep it loose and get these done a little faster. I have a lot of ideas I want to pen down this year. Hopefully, they’ll make you smile, or think. Hopefully both.
It’s been two years since my last treatment for prostate cancer. If there’s still cancer growing in me, there’s not enough of it to detect in my bloodwork.
If there’s anything good about prostate cancer, it’s that it can be detected through a simple blood draw. The blood draw looks for a Prostate Specific Antigen, or PSA. A high PSA doesn’t necessarily mean cancer, but if you’ve had your prostate removed ( like me ), anything higher than zero is bad.
I get tested every three months. The days leading up to those tests are anxiety-inducing to say the least. I try my best to push the worst parts of my cancer treatment as far back into the corners of my mind as possible, but those memories start creeping up, like clockwork, as the blood tests near.
Staying busy helps.
My daughters, now 12 and 14, haven’t outgrown dear-old-Dad, but their own interests, friends, and hobbies have freed up time for me to take on some new interests of my own. I’ve started taking online art lessons, formed a garage band with some of the neighborhood dads, and have even started doing some freelance software development.
Let’s go Broncos! Make us Proud! Touchdown Broncos! For the Crowd! Stomp Your Feet! Rattle the Stands! We cheer for you. Your biggest Fans! …..BEE!
Pop Warner is over for my cheerleader, which means it’s competition season. On January 20th we’ll be headed ( again ) to Last Vegas for the 2024 JAMZ Nationals. It will be our third such trip. Our first competition was met with the untimely demise of the family van. The second resulted in a new pet. Who knows what will happen this time. Hopefully? Just a trophy. First place would be nice.
There’s that point in life where the training wheels come off, and one’s pride inevitably takes a hit. The only recourse? Hop right back on again, and start pedaling.
Calling it a “cup” is probably the worst decision in the history of naming things. At best it could be some sort of headgear. At worse, you’re just confusing young boys as to what the heck it’s actually for, much less where it goes.
If there’s one thing COVID taught me, it’s how important it is to get up and move. Being confined to a desk for work is bad enough, but being confined to my house is something else entirely. After dealing with lower back pain for a months I tried some things.
First, at the recommendation of my friend and neighbor, Missy, I bought a standing desk. It’s a relatively affordable tabletop model from Vari, just big enough to fit a single 27″ monitor. Unfortunately, my monitor was 32″, just big enough to hang over the sides of the platform and bulky enough to max out its’ hydraulic lifting mechanism. After cannibalizing a smaller monitor from my kids’ gaming setup, my back pain was better, but persisted.
Next, at the recommendation of my wife, Jodie, I started following an online Yoga Instructor, Adrienne. Adrienne’s video, Yoga For Lower Back Pain, is short, concise, and effective. I’ve been doing some variation of her routine nightly before bed ever since, effectively serenading my wife with a cacophony of cracking, popping, grunting, and ( yes ) occasionally farting noises as she drifts off to sleep. Again, it helped a little, but the back pain persisted.
Next, I submitted myself to a chiropractor, specifically Cooke Chiropractic in Rancho Bernardo. I survived 47 years without ever seeing a chiropractor and only did so at the recommendation of my wife. First off, Ian Cooke is awesome. He showed me massaging techniques with a racquetball, various stretches, and encouragingly told me that I would, in fact, be back up and running in no time. Near the conclusion of our first session he positioned me on a small massage table, gently placed his hands on a couple of spots on my back and hip, and rearranged every single vertebrae in my back with a violent jerk. This resulted in a loud audible crack, an even louder shriek from me, and hysterical laughter from my wife. It helped a little, but the back pain persisted.
Finally, I bought a Fitbit and started tracking my steps. I never gave the 10,000 steps-a-day thing much thought until I realized how little, in fact, I was actually moving throughout the day. Sure, I’ve made a habit of regularly lifting weights, prefaced by a short warm-up on a stationary bike. I’ve even been a devotee of Shawn T’s T-25 workout for several years ( basically, Insanity for the less-inclined ). But, I was averaging only 3,000 steps-a-day. Cranking it up to 10,000, with the help of Adrienne, a standing desk, and a few sessions at Cooke Chiropractic finally did the trick. My back pain is gone and I am even running a few days a week, too.
At this point you’re probably wondering what in the hell this long winded monologue has to do with an illustration of a misplaced athletic cup. Well, 10,000 steps is roughly 4-5 miles and can take a couple of hours. It’s a lonely plod without someone to talk to, so I often walk with my family and friends. On these walks I’ve realized that walking not only loosens up ones back, but ones mouth, too.
To my friend, Missy, thank you for sharing your story. And to her son, Allan, I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire.
Happy Mother’s Day to the best wife and Mom a family of misfits could hope for. We promise we’ll clean our rooms if you lay off that wicked backswing of yours.
Mother’s Day crept up on me this year. I almost ran out of time to draw my wife, Jodie, a Mother’s Day Card, something I’ve been trying to do every year since I started dabbling in comics and illustrations six years ago. Jodie has been really ( and I mean really ) into Paddleball this last year, so this particular theme seemed appropriate. And no – I don’t dare go up her against her on the court less I have my ass handed to me. I’ll stick to drawing her instead.
Drawn and Coded 