We have Walkie Talkies

(Author's note: another something I wrote in Lynda Barry's Writing the Unthinkable Class. )
I'm at Frankie's house. So is my little brother. The T.V.'s on but it's a non-cartoon so nobody's watching.
We're on the floor, leaning against the blue floral couch. We have walkie talkies.
I'd concluded, recently, that since we could hear truckers on the walkie talkies that truckers could hear us,and wouldn't it be funny if we messed with them!
Franky puts his Smurf Singsong Record on his phonograph, sets the needle and cranks the volume. He shoves the walkie talkie up to the speaker as "Won't you come home, Smurf Baily?" blasts through.
Frankie's mom yells from the kitchen to turn it down. He ignores her. My brother and I tune in on the other walkie talkie. Above the hiss and static we hear a trucker blurt "Someone's playin' bull$#!*!"
This is funny because:
1. He heard us.
2. He said a bad word!
We crack up laughing. Frankie turns off the record and improvises into the speaker.
"Do your balls hang low/Do they dangle in the snow?" he sings, giggling at his bravado.
The trucker isn't amused. Soon he's threatening to find out where Frankie lives so he can "come over 'n' kick [his] ass."
This is really funny because:
1. He heard us
2. More bad words!
3. Frankie got a grownup really, really mad!
Foolishly, my brother and I boast of Frankie's antics to my mom and dad.
Our walkie talkies go away for awhile.

Shocks and Bonds

(Author's note: here's something I wrote in Lynda Barry's Writing the Unthinkable Class. It's in the second person, but it happened to me in the 1980s)
Disneyland's Main Street Penny Arcade is full of early 20th century amusements. Most are in wood cases and cost a nickel. There's black and white slide shows, a wooden fortune teller, and a machine that will rate your kissing ability (with lightbulbs) when you squeeze the handle.
You're at the Electricity is Life shock machine. For a nickel you can test how tough you are: insert the coin, grab the two upright bars, and see how long you can hold on. An increasingly strong stream of electricity flows through your hands and arms. A dial measures progress.
Are you tough enough to take it?
You admire tough people in adventure stories. Do you have any trace of toughness? You've never taken a bullet or won a sword fight. Could you? Maybe the shock machine will tell.
The current starts as a faint buzz. It grows stronger as the dial rises, points up, than dips to the right. It hurts, slightly. Like a Novocain shot. Your arms grow stiff.
Don't wuss out! Hold on!
A bell goes off. The electricity stops. The relief is soothing, like you've dipped your arms in warm water.
You did it! You're tough! Okay, this isn't as tough as taking a bullet, but you didn't wuss out.

One day (you spent a lot of time at Disneyland) the machine is broken and gives shocks for free. Dozens line up for free shocks. Then everyone finds they can all get shocked together by holding hands, with members on each end of the chain touching the machine. It's an odd bonding experience.

Years later you question the saftey behind playing with a malfunctioning shock machine. And is it ethical to get shocks you didn't pay for? Or were you shocklifting?

Lynda Barry's Writer's Bootcamp

Stray G introduced me to cartoonist/author Lynda Barry awhile back. I liked what I saw!
When I heard Lynda was giving a two day 10 hour writing seminar in Los Angeles, I had to attend!

A picture of Marlys greeted us on a white board.

Her writing class was very different than any I've taken before. None of the usual jazz about plot, story arc, setting, scene structure, characterization and so on. For each exercise she'd have us number our pages from one to ten and then toss a subject our way. The first ten cars you remember, for example. Then we'd pick one and picture it, writing answers to questions including "Where are you? Why are you here? What time of day is it? Who's with you? What's to your right?" I was amazed at the details that popped in my head- stuff that hadn't crossed my mind for decades.
Then came the writing. You had to keep the pen moving. Stumped? Write the alphabet or draw spiral until the words returned. And absolutely no re-reading while writing! The latter was very helpful, as I'm a sucker for getting hung up on what's "wrong" with something I'm working on.
Lynda was kind enough to spend her lunch hour autographing books. She took the time to chat with each fan and even pose for pictures. (That's a lot nicer than another well-known cartoonist who stopped autographing books because some of them ended up on Ebay.)
For a picture of Lynda and me (in my non-duck form) click here. (I almost Photoshopped the freaky red out of my eyes, but thought it looked kinda cool. To bad I can't make my eyes do that in real life.)
If you like Lynda Barry, you must take this class. You'll have fun. You'll have a pile of material. You'll never write the same way again.

p.s. I feel a bit guilty because when I met Animation Queen Sally C. last year I didn't have a camera and was too shy to write much about it in my blog (was afraid I'd write something dumb and offend her). So I feel a bit guilty with posting a "...so I met this artist and here's my picture!!!" about someone else. The next time I run into Sally C, there will be pictures! And words too!