Painter Pattern Pen Basics.

Some of you were curious about Corel Painter's Pattern Pens, and how I used them.
Here's the scoop.

The pen takes a pattern:

And spreads lit along your brush stroke as if you were unrolling wallpaper:

But this wallpaper can do curves.
It can grow and shrink depending on how hard you press:


Painter comes with default patterns.
Here's some from Painter 8:


And here are some custom ones I made:


They're pretty easy to make.
Launch Corel Painter. Open an existing image or create a new one.
Then select the part you want to be your pattern.
In the example below (click for larger image), I selected the "hello", then I opened the pattern window (control F9), clicked the little triangle in the upper right corner, and picked "capture pattern".
A new menu appears, asking you to name the pattern. Type a name. You're done.


From the brush selection menu, pick Pattern Pens > Pattern Pen.
Then select your new pattern in the pattern menu.
Play around with the pen. You'll notice left to right strokes reproduce it right side up.
(Right to left strokes put it upside down!)

This works great on a white background, but if you put it in front of a darker background, you'll see the white background is part of the pattern too.


There's several ways to save your pattern without the background.
The easiest way is to select the white area (be sure contiguous isn't selected,) then invert the selection (Shift+Control I). Then go back to the Patterns menu and select "Capture Pattern."
Then, in the brush selection area, switch from Pattern Pen to Pattern Pen Masked.
The "background" is gone!


If you look closely, you'll notice this pattern has white edges. Some of the background is leaking in!

If it bothers you, here's the workaround:

Go back to the original "hello" image and select the white area (as you did before), and invert the selection. Now select none (Control+D) and fill your entire image with the same color as your pattern*
The image should look like a red rectangle, but if you reselect (Ctrl+Shift+D), your outline will reappear. Capture it as a pattern. You're in business!

The latter technique only works with Pattern Pen Masked. The regular pattern pen will draw it as a red ribbon.


*Also note that the deselect-fill-reselect-capture trick works best when your pattern is either one color or composed of similar colors. There's ways to get rid of the white edge for more colorful masked patterns. I'll tell you if you're curious.

Dumb Dream at 5003 Feet.

Terrifying dreams are called nightmares.
Annoying dreams should be called night jackasses.
Those happen all the time. They're stale, inconsistent, confusing, rambling. They tumble on like a bad joke with no punchline. The car won't steer. The phone won't dial. Teeth crumble. Details change. Things seem off. Yet you rarely think, Gee, this makes no sense. I bet it's a dream!
For example:

A little boy was stuck in a runaway hot air balloon. How would they get him down? Would he freeze? Crash? Then it wasn't a hot air balloon but a flying mushroom. But now it was crooked and scraping the ground. How could a kid fit in there? Except he wasn't in there. He'd vanished. Then he hadn't vanished!
He was everywhere!
Each time I turned the T.V. or radio, there was the kid who was supposed to be in the balloon but wasn't, and his creepy family. Except now they were the family from a television show. Huh?
Inexplicably, the they wouldn't go away! Television, radio and the internet were infested. Mumbling and puking sounds were prominent. Dad mentioned lizard people. What nonsense was this!?

I think I understand why I don't notice that I'm dreaming.

I Love the Pattern Pen

Painter's Pattern Pen is a fun toy.
If you've never played with it before, start playing!

Louis Wain Tribute II

I drew another tribute to Louis Wain, who specialized in drawing cats. He's best remembered for artsy ones he designed with wallpaper patterns. For decades it was speculated that he had schizophrenia, but I always thought the intense detail in his "wallpaper" drawings suggested some type of autistic disorder.
Sure enough, Many now believe he had Asperger's syndrome.
See? SEE?

"...Louis Wain did not have schizophrenia but Asperger’s syndrome. It is very easy to confuse somebody with odd beliefs with schizophrenia and to think that these odd beliefs are formal thought disorder...
...There is little doubt that he was a very eccentric if brilliant artist. He was also interested in mathematics, insects, bird skins, perceptual motion, science, and mechanical objects...
...He was bullied in school as many people with Asperger’s syndrome are. He spoke with an unusual tone of voice. He had preservation of sameness. He was interested in music and was very obsessional. He was very naïve. He did go through a paranoid psychotic period just like Isaac Newton but the fundamental diagnosis was Asperger’s syndrome. "

-from the above link (scroll down to second article to see it).

"I Bite"

Macheath wasn't for sale. He was the meanest, most misanthropic creature in the pet shop. Even the love bird who'd been half blinded by a mean customer (who sprayed cleaning fluid in his face) was more trusting.
I met Macheath the summer I worked there. Both his cage and his play perch were marked with "I bite!" signs. He "only" a Severe Macaw- about half the size of the more common ones. That didn't stop him from attacking anyone foolish enough get too close. Even the owner of the shop couldn't handle him.
Macheath was cute. And curious. His favorate game was watching me sweep around his pearch. As soon as I put down the broom he'd swing his beak through his dish and scatter more food for me to sweep. Was he trying to be funny? Trying to help? Was he trying to make sure I'd stick around?
I talked to him each day and he gradually let me get closer. I knew better than to put my finger near his head. Years earlier another macaw showed me why this was a bad idea. Then one day he rolled his head forward and puffed out his feathers. That's bird language for "You're my friend. Scratch my head please." I couldn't believe it. The mean bird who hated everyone was letting me pet him!

Sucko and the Salmon

I've been frying up trout and salmon for dinner lately.
My recipe is simple.
1. Coat the fillet with Cajun Seasoning.
2. Fry it in a cast iron skillet with melted butter.*
3. Open the kitchen door so the smoke alarm doesn't go off.
4. Fish is ready when the thickest part flakes and doesn't look like sashimi.

I never liked salmon until I started cooking it this way. I decided to expand to other fish. First up was catfish.
It lacked the meaty texture of salmon and trout. In fact, the meat seemed strangely familiar. Light and delicate like...
...every smelly decomposing fish I'd handled in my tropical fish shop days! This shouldn't be on my plate I thought, this is what I find when I lift up tank decorations and discover what's drifted underneath. Yecch!
Then I remembered Sucko. He was a suckermouth catfish I had about ten years ago. He had funny underslung lips so he could suction himself to rocks (or vegetables I provided) to slurp up food. There was something silly, almost cartoonlike about him: the goofy lips, the googly eyes...
He grew quite large over the years, and when he died he was too big to flush.
It's Sucko!I couldn't shake the thought. How can I eat a Sucko?
I won't be frying up catfish anytime soon.

*olive oil works too. Yes, it's fattening, but I just eat the fillet for dinner. No bread, no veggies, no salad or desert. The trade off is worth it.

Chronic Honkers

Ever ride with someone who hits the horn more than they hit the foot pedals?
Chrissie is a chronic honker. Woe to the cad in front of her who doesn't accelerate the millisecond the light turns green! Woe to the scoundrel who dares to pass in front of her!
The honk of wrath shall fall on their ears!
I'm not sure how to classify it. Paranoid? Childish?
Once a car in front of her stopped to drop someone off. There was nowhere to pull over so they had to stop in the street, slowing down Chrissie for several seconds.
She leaned into the horn like she was deploying a weapon.
"C'mon," I said. "They're dropping a guy off. It's not like traffic's backing up-"
"They're blocking my way!" she huffed, hitting the horn a few extra times. I was mortified.
Even those who don't block her way may still risk her honk. Once she gave a sound honking to some chump who turned into the wrong lane. I didn't think it was that big of a deal since

1. It was very early and there was no other traffic.
2. He was in the opposite lane and in no danger to us.

"Why'd you honk at him?" I said.
"He's not supposed to do that!" she said.

I avoid getting in Chrissie's car at all costs.

Silverfish

Silverfish are creepy. They make slugs look cuddly.
Who hasn't opened an old book or magazine and had a mummified one drop in their lap?
Their silvery sheen and Art Nouveau curves can't override their powers to freak people out.

Exclusive: Interview with my Cockatiel, Tosca!

Interviewer: Namowal says you're cranky and prone to biting. Is this true?

Tosca: So a bird can't bite someone once in awhile? What's the big deal?

Interviewer: Why do you bite? Does she scare you?

Tosca: Nah. I only bite her when she makes me mad.

Interviewer: She makes you mad?

Tosca: Oh yes. Mostly it's her hands. They're always trying to pat my head or make me perch on them. Who wants to perch on some stupid hand? So I tell her to quit it, and if she doesn't quit, I'll bite.

Interviewer: You talk to her?

Tosca: Sure. I talk to her in CL. Cockatiel Language. If I step back, flash my eyes and open my beak, that means stop that now or I'll bite. Namowal ignores the warning each time. So I show her some beak.

Interviewer: Namowal once had another cockatiel. Tell me about Quasi.

Tosca: I'm glad he's dead! I never liked him. He was a jerk. An ugly jerk with a jacked up lower bill. Always acting tough with me. And he'd totally kiss up to Namowal. He'd let her pet and cuddle him! It was disgraceful.

Interviewer: Is it true you once peeled a price tag off and glued your mouth shut? That Namowal had to take you to the vet to fix things?

Tosca: I suppose you never did anything stupid when you were young?

Interviewer: You realize that Namowal gives you food and water everyday?

Tosca: Big whup. Like I couldn't find food on my own! It's insulting!

Interviewer: Is there anything positive you can say about Namowal?

Tosca: Well, she plays a musical instrument I really like. Real loud and shrieky- I always sing along. A bagpipe like thing, except the air intake is by an internal fan instead a mouthpiece. She plays it by my cage each day. I think it's called "A Hoover".


**Bonus Pic**
Below is the original drawing I uploaded. Something's wrong. It's been fixed in the top picture. Can you spot the difference?

Starlings

I'm not supposed to like starlings.
Most books will tell you what a wretched piece of crap this bird is. Usually something like:
"The European Starling is considered a pest, and included here only to help you repel it. One of the least loved backyard birds, these dumpy, screechy, greedy creatures ..."
The trouble started in the 1890s when Eugene Schieffelin introduced a few modest flocks (from England) in New York*. Now there's millions of them in North America. Their rap sheet includes:

• raiding cattle feedlots (they eat the cow food, not the cows)
• evicting bluebirds and woodpeckers from nesting cavities
• smacking into airplanes
• hogging all the food at the birdfeeder
• making a mess

How hated are they? They're one of the few birds you can legally shoot, poison or beat to death. Even some people who consider themselves bird lovers have no problem killing this bird.
I enjoy starlings. I shouldn't, but I do. They're cute. I like their spots and iridescent feathers. I like their raspy voice and the way they flap their wings and puff out their neck feathers when they sing. I like how they collect shiny objects and get into mischief.
I like how I can watch them in so many places- parks, parking lots, or from my window.
I know they're bad, but I can't resist them.

*Popular lore says this was part of a plan to introduce all birds mentioned by Shakespeare to North America!

Face

I rarely draw cartoons of humans, and when I do, I usually use a mirror or a reference.
I tried this one from without either.
I used an underdrawing to help place the features but they still seem a bit floaty.

Update (self-critique a day later):
Left eye too big, right too small and too high up,
Nose too big and turned too right,
Mouth should be more forward.
Shading incomplete, awkward.
Hair details a bit sloppy...
And as I observed yesterday, the features seem to float.

I'm not playing the I'm a baaaad artist! Please tell me I'm good! game here. It's tricky to draw human heads. At least with life drawing I can hold out a pencil and measure proportions. For Cartoon Girl I cobbled together what I remembered about eyes, skulls, noses.
When I look at a really good cartoon- even if it's very stylized- the features seem anchored and interconnected. How the heck do they DO this?

Dance, Mary, Dance

Here's an experimental dance loop I pulled from my next cartoon*.



*In the animatic, she (and another character) are much smaller, and watching something else.
Originally they were just blinking and tilting their heads but I decided to make things more lively.

Blu-Cheeze Singles

Quick 'n' shameless cheese shopping...

The Horrifying and Delightful Scent of Chlorine

Scents trigger memories and feelings. It's weird.
I smell of rubbing alcohol and Warning! Needles! pops in my head. I sniff the old bottle of the floral room spray I used in college and I'm suddenly a freshman in 1987 (Will I like college? Will I make friends?)
Then there's the chlorinated pool.
I smelled my first one at swimming lessons when I was little. I was terrified. The pool was huge. And deep! I didn't trust the teachers. Who were they? How could they teach me to swim? What if my head went underwater and nobody pulled me up? I just knew I was in danger.
The smell of chlorine still triggers my Be nervous! reaction. Of course, more evolved parts of my brain follow up with Whoops, we don't seem to be at swimming lessons. No need to be nervous. Calamity closed..
That's my reaction to the scent in the daytime.
Years ago, on the way to a pool after sunset, I caught my first burst of chlorine and noticed it didn't hit the be nervous! nerve. Instead it was relaxing and nostalgic- like when you first smell the beach (or the hotel air freshener) on a trip. A complete opposite reaction.
I think I know what's going on.
My swimming lessons took place in bright daylight. Any after dark swimming was done on special occasions, either with friends or at a hotel pool on vacation.

Somehow, my brain does this math.

Chlorine scent + Daylight = Danger!

Chlorine scent + Night = Ah, it's great to be on vacation!

Brains work in weird ways.

Caffeine!

If my brain were an automobile, I thoughtit's driving with the parking break on.
I'd looked forward to having a morning off. I'd clean the kitchen! Get projects done! I'd be a productive morning! Yet I felt tired and dull. What was going on?
Then I remembered- I hadn't had any caffeine. Usually I start my day with a Diet Coke and a cup of coffee. No wonder I was so dopey.
I scrounged some coffee from the freezer, plugged in my old Mr. Coffee and hit the glowing red button. The machine clicked and sputtered. Soon the kitchen smelled like a Starbucks and I had a cup of it at my side.
Thank goodness for coffee! I thought, absorbed in my drawing. It's like a switch was thrown. I'm awake! Alive! My brain is a whirring blender of thoughts and ideas! Whoohoo! Better not have too much I'll have trouble holding the pen still...
Then I noticed I hadn't actually drank any.

Mealybugs!

Earlier this summer I bought some lovely potted crotons. They're a bit tricky to care for, requiring lots of sunlight, high humidity, and not-too-wet not-too-dry soil. Neglect them slightly and the leaves drop off.
I coddled my crotons, misting them, double potting them, setting up a pebble tray, checking the soil moisture level etc.. Then I saw them. A tiny patch of mealybugs on one of my plants. (What is it with pests this year? Carpet beatles, rodents and now mealybugs? What's next? Racoons? Bears?)

Wikipedia says:

Mealybug is the common name of insects in Pseudococcidae, a family of unarmored scale insects...

I have a different theory:

Mealybug is the common name for Buggis WhiteTrashis from Planet Slob, whose mission is to "Go to Earth and Destroy Houseplants". Hairy and lazy, they travel by teleport, leaving many a plant tender to wonder how on Earth did they get in here!? Their skills include killing plants, sitting around, and dribbling their powdery crud nearby. Easy to kill (in part, because the concept of "running away" hasn't occurred to them), they are nonetheless tough to eradicate because there's a billion of them on Planet Slob, waiting to teleport to the next available plant...

$!@!! Mealybugs.

note- their trick of spontaneously showing up on your plants is actually because, when freshly hatched, they don't weigh much and can be carried by drafts.

Cryptomnesia

I fear Cryptomnesia- the scary-but-true phenomena where you can steal somebody's work without realizing it!
After he wrote Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson discovered that he'd borrowed details (the parrot, the skeleton-as-pointer, some settings) from older works, even though, when he wrote them, "they seemed to belong to me like my right eye."
More recently, a popular novel was yanked from bookstores* when people discovered it lifted sentences from other works. The author claimed it was an accident. "Aw C'mon," critics snipped, " How do you accidentally steal an entire sentence...!?"
...but it can happen.
I think it works like this.
I see (or hear) Work X (a story, a movie, an expression etc...). Time passes. My brain remembers some details, but not the I saw this before detail. Reverse deja vu. I think it's mine. I incorporate it into my work...
...and someone notices that my masterpiece sure looks a lot like Work X.
Suddenly I'm a hack. A thief!
Am I cranking out other people's work as my own!? Too bad Blogger doesn't have a "plagiarism check" along with the spell check.

p.s. for the record, the background text in the picture isn't mine.

*the movie deal ended about this time too.

Glitter Cheese Party

Years ago my (then) roommate and I threw a cheese party.
We got a copy of Glitter, Mariah Carry bomb.
The snacks were cheese based- cheese crackers, mini cheese pizzas, cheese cake, and cheeze ball puffs. We had veggies too, with Bleu Cheese dressing.
For decor we cut holes in tissue paper to simulate Swiss cheese. I painted dark spots on two tall yellow candles for a similar look.
The fun started when we played the movie. We'd munch on the snacks, and pelt the screen with cheese puffs whenever the film got cheesy.

I Need a Shock Collar

Social skills never came naturally to me. I was in my twenties before I learned that you were, in fact, supposed to look people in the eye when you talked to them. Or that when someone asked "how are you," the polite thing to do was to repeat the question to them after you answered. By my thirties I'd discovered that people were way friendlier if you looked them in the eye and smiled when you saw them*. Who knew?
I still make blunders in conversation. Usually I don't catch them until later. So what I need is a custom shock collar that zaps me on the spot. Zap worthy offenses include:

• Talking to loudly. (What seems normal to me seems very loud to others)
• Interrupting (I just have to throw in some smart ass remark or anecdote)
• Know-it-all-ism ("d'ja know I just read about a study where..." )
• Talking too much (I try not to do this, but I suspect it happens. )
• Talking about esoteric, weird or boring (to other people) stuff ("Ever heard of Pacific Ocean Park?" )
  

Then again, I suppose peppering my conversations with "Youch!" wouldn't be a good idea.

*More than once I've accidentally smiled a bit too long and sent a message I didn't intend...

Animation Blocking in Flashland

Here's more animation blocking from my next cartoon. I'm getting the timing and action to work on crude drawings first. Then I'll clean them up.
When I did "I'm So Tired" I used started with a very simple animatic. The characters were drawn and colored before I made them move. The resulting animation was a bit stiff.
This time around, it's staging and movement first, details and color last.

Tasers, Jerks & Idiots

Open Letter to the Rat in my Backyard

Dear Rat,
I thought you were cute. You reminded me of your gentle domestic cousins. Still, you scared birds off the bird feeder and ate a lot of food. This couldn't continue.
I installed a baffle on a feeder post.
You learned a climb a nearby wall and jump.
I sprayed and scattered hot pepper mixes on the feeder.
You sneezed and kept eating.
I bought a feeder within a cage to keep out larger creatures (that is, you).
You squeezed in anyway.
Things got worse. You invited your rat friends over. You made a mess. You destroyed my squirrel feeder and chewed on my bird feeders. I worried about disease and property damage. Would you chew your way indoors?
I baited my larger Hav-A-Hart trap. A midnight inspection found you trapped within. I slipped some food and nesting material through the bars so you'd be comfortable until I could relocate you in the morning...
...except by then you were gone. You'd eaten the food, worked the door open, and escaped.
You, my friend, have signed your death papers. So get out of my yard now or you're going to the big hamster wheel in the sky.
Sincerely,
Namowal

Buzzy Buddy

click picture for larger image.

I found this fledgling hummingbird on my lawn a few years ago. He sputtered around like a broken helicopter, rising a few feet and crashing. I'd have left him there*, but two cats seemed very interested. I scooped him up. Both cats came up to me and stood on their hind legs, begging for their toy.
I moved the bird to a jasmine bush in my back yard (away from the cats) and snapped this photo. He resumed flying lessons for the next few days before taking off for good.
I get a lot of hummers at my feeder. Each time I see one, I wonder, Is that you, Buzzy Buddy?

*he wasn't hurt- he was just trying out his wings like a proper fledgling.

Soap Operas

I don't get these at all.
When I was little I figured it was one of those mysteries I'd understand once I was older.
I'm older.
I still don't understand their appeal.
They all look alike. Semi-glamorous setting, high end clothing, coiffed hair, and not much else. I feel like a space alien watching another species when I look at one:

If I were a space alien, here's the notes I would take:

Observation:
Person X says something to person Y. Person Z says something. Closeup on person X. Ajax commercial.
Analysis:
Heck if I know. I can't figure these people out. That being said, I can safely conclude that Ajax is tough on grease.

"We Can Tell You're On Something!"

In 2000 worked night shifts.
I was driving home around four am and accidentally turned right on a red light (the sign was placed between two corners just meters apart. I thought it referred to the second corner, not the first) Red and blue lights cop lights flashed in my rear view mirror. I pulled over.
Officer Jerk asked for my license and registration, and turned his flashlight on my face. "She's blown," he observed, as partner Officer Jerkette looked on.
I wasn't sure what this meant, but they cleared up. My pupils were huge. Surely I'd been partying all night and was as coked out as a 1977s dance club.
I wasn't alarmed. For one thing, I'd never done coke (or meth, or crack) in my life. Secondly, my pupils are unusually large. ( I'd seen an eye doctor about it a few years earlier. He confirmed they were big but otherwise healthy). Surely the cops would realize this was a mistake.
Not so. They didn't buy my explanation, patted me down, and searched the car for my "stash".
They were convinced I was a drug fiend. Every thing I said was interpreted that way.

Me: I was coming from work! It's just up the street. Ask them yourself.

Officer Jerk: We don't need to get your work involved in this.

Me: Yes, ask them where I was and what I was doing. They're my alibi.

Officer Jerk: You came from the Alibi Room?*

The Advil and other over-the-counter items in my purse? Obviously these were to quell the side effects of my evil habit.

All they found in my car was a blister pack of some sort of herbal vitamin suppliant. It was obviously a legal, commercial product. Officer Jerk just knew it was something worse.
"What's this?" he demanded.
"It's yours if you want it," I said, knowing this "evidence" wouldn't get me in trouble.
"That's okay," he said. "I don't like to put things in my body." Jackass.
He thought he found the jackpot in the trunk. I kept a sketchpad with me, plus pencils, and a sharpener which I kept in a baggie to catch the shavings. Officer Jerk raised the shaving-filled baggie in triumph.
"And what might this be?" he asked, like he'd caught the naughty kid at the cookie jar.
When he put the flashlight on them he agreed that they were, in fact, pencil shavings.
They also found a true crime book. They thought that was funny. Har de har.
I thought them finding nothing would be the end of it. It wasn't.
"We can tell you're on something," Officer Jerkette kept saying. "Admit it! We can tell by the way you're acting**!"
"I'm not on anything!" I said. "Can't you just run a test or something?"
"We can arrest you and do a blood test," she said, gravely. "And when it comes out positive that's six months in jail. Is that what you want?"
By now I upset. Getting blamed for something I didn't do. Something I never did. Having everything I said twisted to support their stupid theory. The fact that I might be arrested for something I didn't do. Tears rolled down my cheeks.
"If you didn't do anything, why are you upset?" Officer Jerkette demanded. "This doesn't add up."
Next came roadside tests. Close your eyes, spread your arms, touch your nose etc.. By now the sun was rising and commuters could slow down and watch the show.
"Admit what you did," they said, at least five times, "And we'll let you go.***"
Then they stepped away to discuss whether or not to arrest me. I suspect at least one of them had reluctantly figured out that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't a coke-blowing, meth-smoking, crack fiend after all. After five or ten minutes of chatting, they said that they'd "give me a break" and "only" give me a ticket. That was nice of them.

*A nearby bar.

**Earlier that night I had worried that there was something "wrong" with me that made people think I was weird. (I was something of a black sheep at that job- not shunned, but defiantly not one of the gang.) And now professionals in uniform were telling me how odd I was acting...

***Have innocent people ever fallen for that line and confessed to something they didn't do? I'll bet it's happened.

Idiot's Delight Tuna Salad

My improvised recipes are usually bad news, but this week I hit the jackpot.

1 single serving pack of chunk light tuna (about 2.6 oz)
lemon juice (I use the plastic lemon)
Louisiana style hot sauce
Mayonnaise

Drain tuna (if it's from a can) or pat dry (if it's from an envelope) and dump it in a mixing bowl. Add several squirts of lemon juice and blend it in thoroughly with a fork. Repeat, if necessary, until fishy scent is neutralized. Add Louisiana hot sauce to taste (depending on how spicy you like things). Add mayonnaise to taste (I use a twelve gram packet of of it).
That's it. It's now ready for your sandwich or crackers.

I discovered this by accident. I'd been making lazy tuna salad (albacore + mayo + relish) for lunch. Then I cheaped it out and bought the "premium chunk light" stuff...
...and found out why it cost less. It looked and smelled like cat food! I tried doctoring it with many a condiment (lemon pepper, chopped olives, even Caesar salad dressing), only to get cat food with a hint of lemon pepper, chopped olives, or Caesar salad. I wasn't expecting much with my lemon and Lousiana hot sauce, but it worked great. I felt like an alchemist. I'd turned cat food into gold.

Hermit Crabs

When I was little we had pet hermit crabs: Edgar and Allan.
They were slow moving, mellow creatures. My brother and I spent hours building Lego houses and mazes for them to explore.
One day I made the mistake of holding Edgar in the palm of my hand. Guess what happened?

The Beach Storms Me

In 1999, I took SCUBA lessons. It seemed like a good idea- I liked snorkeling. I lived near the ocean. Why hadn't I done this years ago?
The first lessons (in the same pool I'd learned to swim, decades earlier) were easy. Then the day came. The day we'd venture into the ocean!
I couldn't wait. There'd be fish! Marine wildlife! The Redondo Canyon (an offshore fault I'd heard of since childhood)!
Problems started on the beach. The water is cold, so you have to wear a wetsuit. This makes you buoyant, so you have to strap on weights. Add fins and SCUBA gear and you're more encumbered than someone in a Mickey Mouse costume.
"Okay guys, " the teacher said, "Wade in until it's deep enough to swim. The go to the buoy"
I started in. The water was up to my knees when a wave slapped me sideways.
"Pull her out! Pull her out," the teacher screamed. His thug helper yanked me into deeper waters. The carcass of a shovel fish smacked my face.
Somehow, I made it to the buoy.
The water was cold, brown and cloudy. Maybe it was runoff from the storm drains. Or leftovers from the nearby sewage treatment plant. No fish, no invertebrates, not even sea weed. Just the chain of the buoy snaking down into darkness.
When the teacher and his helper got the rest of us weenies out to the buoy it was time to visit the ocean floor. Fifteen feet under it was darker, colder and cloudier. I kept drifting upside down. A white flounder zipped by. The teacher gestured towards a dark hazy area- apparently the Redondo Canyon.
We returned to the surface. Another girl forgot to inflate her buoyancy bladder, grabbed me and pulled me under. I strangled her hit the button to inflate it for her. A guy was throwing up loudly. (He'd warned us earlier that even floating in water made him seasick. Why he was paying for the opportunity to puke through a SCUBA regulator escapes me.)
The instructions for leaving the ocean sounded simple:
Swim to shore until it's shallow enough to stand, then walk out. If a wave knocks you over, crawl out.
I almost made it: two feet of water, one foot... Wham! A wave slammed me down. Time to crawl out...
...but the weights and equipment were too heavy. I couldn't lift myself!
"C'mon!" the teacher hollered from the shore. "Crawl out! ^&*(*()!! Crawl out! Crawl out!"
Every few seconds a new wave smashed over my head, than pulled back and sucked me deeper into the sand. I was terrified that I'd drown or be buried. The teacher seemed to be under the if-she-really-tried-she-could-get-herself-out fantasy.
Nonsense. I wanted out of there more than anything. I was trying desperately to push myself up. It wasn't working!
Disgusted with my "laziness," the teacher finally dragged me beyond the waves and, without the current, I was able to stand. It was only then that I discovered that, while I didn't have the strength to lift myself when weighed down, I was strong enough to have chewed the nubs off the mouth piece.

Cracker Jack!

My cartoon bird is named Cracker Jack, but picking the name wasn't easy.
So many good ones! Mervin, Merlin, Orville, Jenix, Fred, Quack, Mack, Norman, Mox...
Closest runner ups to Cracker Jack were Otto, Wally, Flippo, Preston and Spitball.
If you provided "Cracker Jack," please email me your address.
You'll soon be the owner of the goofiest, silliest prize I could find...

The Next Cartoon... ...and a Contest!

I've mentioned that I'm working on my next video
Above is a concept sketch of the female lead.
I like the look, but am concerned the hair will be hard to animate.

To make the animation work better, I'm blocking in the main moves first.
The result looks crude (especially with screen captures), but you may be able to guess that our hero (right) is unhappy to see this visitor. Details, better drawings and backgrounds come later.



Here's a better drawing of the hero.

...and here.
I need a name for him (The female bird is named Mary, and the maroon visitor pictured above is a bit character). His working name is "Pico" but it isn't sticking. A contest is in order!
I'm not sure what the prize is yet, but it will be something goofy...

Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow?

I discovered the artwork/writing of Brian Fies* by accident years ago.
His latest graphic novel Whatever Happened to the World of Tomorrow.
It's delightful. It's about a boy and his dad. And science. And public optimism/cynicism towards the latter over the decades. Back in 1939 it was going to bring us wondrous things...!
The pictures are cute (and well staged!), the facts are interesting, and the attention to detail is astonishing. (There's even pulp comic book sections, each carefully crafted to look and read like comics from specific decades.)

Each time I look at it I find something new. Bravo, Brian!

*He's indirectly responsible for me illustrating this blog with cartoons. (My earliest posts are mostly photographs and/or snarky comments about stuff. Then, by chance, I caught some images from his blog where he'd drawn cartoons. I thought, I can sort of draw. Maybe I should try that...). So if you like Tail o' the Rat as it is today, thank Brian.

The Willies

Did you ever get "The Willies?"
Where you find a place so creepy that you can't stay?
Where were you when it happened?
It happened to me on The Big Island in Hawaii one summer.
I was in my teens, vacationing with my family. I wanted to see the Southern Cross (and nearby Alpha Centauri) for years, and knew they would be low in the southern sky at dusk.
The threes and shrubs of the resort blocked the lower parts of the sky, but I knew I'd have a good view from the huge lava field nearby.
The sun went down. As the sky darkened. I hiked to my observation post, delighted that I'd finally get to see parts of the sky I couldn't see at home. Alpha Centuri will be the brightest one I reminded myself and if you line it up with [the second brightest star] it'll point to the top of the...
Suddenly the lava field loomed before me. Hours earlier it'd looked like a sea of black rocks under a postcard-blue sky. Now it was blackness. Vast blackness. It was the creepy!
There was no time to search for famous stars or constellations. I got out of there!
My fear didn't make any sense. It wasn't like there were lava monsters or Jack the Hula Ripper on the loose...
...why was that lava field so spooky at night?

New 'Toon, New Rules

I've started my next animation. I've picked the song, and made reference keyframes for the lyrics and beat. Above are some trial "looks" for the protagonist.

I learned a lot from animating I'm So Tired.
Here's some commandments I'll apply to this cartoon:

I. Thou shalt block in major shapes and movements before futzing around with details.
For example, than once I did the lip sync first and then discovered the timing or position of the character needed to change. I'd apply the changes and find the lip sync was off. Or I'd fall in love with a single drawing, only to find it didn't really fit into the animation plans.

II. Thou shalt design an animation friendly character.

Shorpy, as I came to call the purple guy, wasn't designed well.*

Flat, no eyebrows (big mistake!) and a basic "I'm sitting on fire ants" expression. (Okay, he was so tired, but still...). His face expressions and movement were limited. He was at his best when he was morphing into other characters.


III. Thou shalt remember looping animation and use it.
Some time-consuming animation from I'm So Tired zips by like a train, never to be seen again. If I had any sense I would have made more of the animated symbols play in continuous loops.

IV. Thou shalt make the first thirty seconds more interesting
I'm So Tired starts out calm and later goes berserk. I fear some viewers never saw the crazier parts because they thought He's just rocking back and fourth and complaining! and hit the back button. Any good story teller knows you should hook 'em up front.

Of course, I'm open to any additional advice anyone can throw me.

*I'm not saying he's a piece of garbage, just that in retrospect he could have been constructed better.

Put it in the cart!

Grocery shopping splits my personality in two. On one side is penny-pinching, nutrition conscious Practical Namowal. The other side is Devil Namowal, the perpetual kid.
If they talked out loud, they'd sound like this.

Devil Namo: Ice Cream! Chocoloate ice cream with caramel! Put it in the cart!

Practical Namo: Like hell we will. That's fattening.

Devil Namo: Deep Dish Frozen Pizza! Put it in the cart!

Practical Namo: Are you kidding? That's over 600 calories per serving! Do you want to fit in your clothes or not?

Devil Namo: Ooooh! Root Beer! "Hand Crafted" Root Beer with "full bodied rich and creamy flavor!" And it's diet! Put it in the cart!

Practical Namo: You now better than to fall for hype. Geez! Put that down.

Devil Namo: Look! Vita-Whiz Diet Energy Drink! Vita-Whiz Diet Energy Drink! Put it in the cart!

Practical Namo: Were you dropped on your head? That's overpriced soda!

Devil Namo: but it has vitamins!

Practical Namo: Yeah, so does most food. Don't be an idiot.

Devil Namo: but it's fun to drink! Put it in the cart!

Practical Namo: Okay, okay. You win. It's expensive and stupid, but it is fun.

Funny Dresser Uppers

For a short time I had three candy-apple-red streaks in my hair.
I wasn't trying to make a statement or be hip. The hairdresser suggested it. I thought why not? It would be kinda funny.
I can't say I stood out. I live in Los Angeles. Many friends, neighbors and aquaintances are creative types. Goofy hair, clothes and jewlery aren't unheard of.
To really stand out you have to work at it. A few people do: Wacky hats, crazy clothes, nutso hair, maybe even a prop (non-dog pet on a leash, ukulale, rubber chicken). Brazen weirdness.
What's even weirder is how people react to them. It's binary. They're either admired or scoffed.

When admired, the Funny Dresser Upper is considered:

• original
• creative
• cute
• funny
• living by their own rules
• not caring what everyone thinks
• fun (a trip, a scream etc..)
  

When scorned, the Funny Dresser Upper is considered to be:

• trying to look original
  
• trying to be cute
• trying to be funny
• desperate for attention
• wanting to impress everyone (caring what everyone thinks)
• obnoxious (a freaking weirdo, a creep etc..)
  

I'm still trying to figure out the factor that sways these opinions. Is the admired Funny Dresser Upper more friendly or confident than the scorned Funny Dresser Upper? What sets them apart? I don't get it.

I'm So Tired

Here it is:
My first flash video:
"I'm so Tired" by the Beatles.
I wanted to do a Beatles song and picked this one because:

1. As far as I can tell, this one hasn't been animated before.
2. I like how the mood vacillates between lethargy and freaked out meltdowns.
3. It's only two minutes long.

I learned a lot about both Flash and animation as I put this together (mostly what not to next time!)

Special thanks to Sally Cruikshank for helping me out!

Who's Your Muse?

If I had a muse, she'd look a lot like this.
She doesn't inspire me with music or poetry.
"You're fooling around on the internet again!" she says. "You should be working on your Flash cartoon! Get to work!"

Who's your muse?

Paperbacks of Doom!

(Note: Some of this was originally posted as a comment to 10 Great Books for Traumatizing Children)

When I was growing up (late 70s early 80s,) I remember a series of cheap paperbacks, which, in retrospect, must have been created with Let’s get these kids reading with our gritty, tough stories in mind.
These included:

• The "True Ghost Story" featuring a ghost with a bleeding hole in his head (drawing helpfully included). We’re told in life he “sniffed glue”
• The "True Ghost Story" of basement haunted by the decomposing corpse ghost who'd been murdered by her husband, then cut up and buried under the floor bricks. Gruesome illustration included.
  
• The guy on the baseball team who brought cheer and joy, even when the team lost. Surprise! He was secretly sick. Then died.
• Little Jimmy is sick in the hospital. For Christmas he gets a dog and names it "Lucky." He seems to be getting better. Surprise! He dies a few weeks later.
  
• ”Cool Sed,” some pimp-esque lowlife who’s oh-so-cool. Then he gets shot. “Cool Sed is Dead.”

These books also introduced me to Lizzie Bordon, Kitty Genovese, the Hartford Circus Fire, and Hiroshima ("their skin turned black and fell off").

Real or fictional, characters in these books had it rough. Blood pooled, bones broke, diseases struck, animals attacked, ships sank, quicksand awaited...

...it wasn’t until years later that it occurred to me how violent and grim these books were, and how odd it was that they were aimed at kids. What were they thinking?