Innocent Bystander

It was a dark and stormy night...

I am a wimpy dreamer.

At the first sight of anything going off the rails, I wake up. So I rarely see dreams through to their ending. I just wake up before that happens. I also rarely remember my dreams. But last night's was exceptional...

I have always had a fear of looking through the peephole of a door or out a window to find someone unexpectedly looming outside. Last night's dream keyed in on that. I was in a house that was very familiar and belonged to a family member, but it was no house that I had ever been in. It was the proverbial dark and stormy night (sorry, Snoopy). For some reason I had awakened in the dark and padded softly down the steps to the front door. On either side of the door were two high windows, both with blinds on them, but the blinds were up. As lightning flashed outside, I went to lower the blinds and then I saw him: a tall, gaunt figure of an unshaven, dark-haired man standing on the porch, his tattered coat pulled up around his neck and shoulders.

"Get off the porch!" I yelled, as I quickly dropped the blinds on the window on the right side of the door.

I heard footsteps on the porch. I peered out of the left side window before dropping the blinds. I couldn't see anything in the dark of the covered porch, but then lightning flashed and I saw the man had moved to the other side, right near the brick pillar (the textures and details of this dream--the blinds, the brick accents on the porch, the wood on the floor and steps of the house, the torrential rain falling in the background--were very vivid). As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw his head turn slowly to stare at me. I yelled "Get off the porch!" one more time and reached to turn on the outside light. When I flicked the switch, nothing happened. Instead the man on the porch slowly raised a light bulb to his mouth and bit down on the glass end of it. He began slowly chewing on it, all the while staring at me through the window...

And then I woke up.

I am a wimpy dreamer.

Call it a milestone, call it old age, call it my cheap-ass ways...

I did something today I've never done before.

I got my car washed. No, I've done that before, numerous times. But as I was paying for it, the extremely perky and nice young woman behind the counter asked me numerous questions...

"Debit or credit?"

"Student or military discount?"

"Senior discount, over 55?"

That one made me pause. Yes, I am over 55 these days, if only a tad, a scooch, a smidgen. She saw my hesitation and added, "$1.00 off!!!" (Yes, she spoke in such a peppy way that I heard three distinct exclamation points.)

She had me at the dollar sign.

I like to think my friends would back me up on this: I'm a generous guy. I love giving presents, I remember birthdays, I tip well in restaurants (most of the time). But there is a small, tight-fisted, let's face it--CHEAP--part of me that loves any kind of bargain. Even a one dollar one.

I said yes, I am indeed over 55 but I don't have an AARP card (those I shred and once, in a fit of I'M NOT THAT OLD YET, DAMMIT, sent it back marked in red sharpie STOP SENDING ME THESE THINGS!!!). She said it didn't matter, all I had to say was yes.

And so I did, thus turning another one of those "milestone" age corners in my mind, the "senior discount." I'm a firm believer in that you're only as old as you feel (or, the glass half-full version of that adage, as YOUNG as you feel), but lately I've been feeling pretty damn old. Positively creaky at times. But for a person who as a kid thought 40 was ancient, I guess I'm lucky to be around, still getting my car washed.

So, yes. I took the dollar. But I added it to my tip to the guys who dry the cars. I guess all is not lost.

I (Heart) Seattle...

At the end of March, I had a chance to visit Seattle for the very first time. It was a cold, rainy, blustery weekend. And when you live in sunny San Diego, cold means anything below 60 degrees. In Seattle that weekend, the temperature never got above 45 save for the last day I was there, when it was sunny and 57 by the time I boarded a plane to fly home.

Seattle has a very funky, east coast city vibe to me. Not New York, more like a Pittsburgh-type feel. Old buildings, old infrastructure and an attempt to make downtown seem vital and busy. In Seattle, that attempt works, although it does seem to roll up the sidewalks at 7:00pm or so.

One thing Seattle has is an amazing independent bookstore (which I sadly did not take any photos of), the Elliott Bay Book Company. The store was a downtown mainstay for many years (since 1973), but up and moved just east of town in 2010, up onto Tenth Ave. It's a large, warm, inviting store, with tons of books and a very inviting display. I would pretty much live there if I lived in Seattle, which was a question I asked myself a lot while I was there...would I want to live there? The weather was such a turn-off--I am so spoiled with San Diego's warm temperatures and sunny skies--that the answer is probably a no. But you know...never say never. (There is also a great downtown comics store, Zanadu Comics, located within walking distance of Pike Place Market. They too had an amazing selection of books.)

As usual, I took a ton of photos. Here are ten of my favorites. I didn't re-invent the wheel here, photographically. As I took what I thought were original and startling photos, I pretty much found all my angles and shots reproduced on postcards, prints, and other epherma, as I roamed around town and visited various shops and such.

Pike Place Market is one of those legendary places you hear about all the time. I first became aware of it in Sleepless in Seattle, the Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan rom-com. I love old farmers' market type things like this, so it was a natural for me to want to visit it. I was totally unprepared for how often I was drawn back to it.

Pike Place has a ton of beautiful old neon signs throughout its rather rambling building, as you can see from this shot, looking down one of its main halls. The neon gives you the impression of stepping back in time a bit, the same feeling the Farmers' Market in Los Angeles gives me, each time I visit. The Market has a lot of other, more touristy things in it, like souvenirs, art, t-shirts and other clothing and a couple of levels of stores, including a magic store, a comics store, and a paper collectible shop (where I bought a vintage map of the 1962 Seattle World's Fair--more on that later in this post).

More big neon. Not sure if those are "fresh" restrooms or not, though. (I was in one of them...not too fresh.)

Pike Place is one of those old-fashioned fish markets, where the guys behind the counters yell at each other and throw fish back and forth. They'll pack it all up--as this crabby photo indicates--for you to take home with you, wherever that home may be. I took a photo of a 130-lb haddock, but I'm not showing it here. It may cause nightmares. It's one big-ass fish (do fish have asses? I guess they do...)

The building is particularly beautiful at dusk, as the outside neon blinks on and the sun sets. Unfortunately, the inside of the place folds up and closes down at 6:30 each evening, but the exterior remains a vivid reminder of what will happen again tomorrow.

We had a brief moment of freedom from the rain one day, so I hopped the monorail and took the long, grueling ride--all 2 or 3 minutes of it--to the Space Needle. It's a landmark leftover from the 1962 Century 21 Worlds' Fair that took place in Seattle (Century 21 being the title of the event, and not related to the real estate company of the same name). The whole area around the Space Needle is abuzz with museums and such and getting ready for a 50th anniversary celebration of the event which many think put Seattle on the map (I mean, Elvis did a movie--It Happened at the World's Fair-- that took place at that Worlds' Fair...what more do you need?).

I didn't go up in the Space Needle. It seemed a bit pricey ($19 for a long elevator ride) and the cloudiness of the day kind of turned me off. Crowd-wise, it would have been ideal, as almost no one was there. Maybe next time...they have a great souvenir shop in the base of the Needle that has pretty much all your Space Needle needs.

Here's one of those museums: Paul Allen's EMP structure (that black reflection just left of center is the Space Needle, by the way). The "Experience Music Project and Science Fiction Museum and Hall of Fame" seems a little grandiose to me, at least as a name, but what is one to do with all those Microsoft millions, even when you're not Bill Gates. I roamed into the inside, and other than a lackluster gift shop geared more to the music side of the joint, I was kind of unimpressed. The Frank Gehry-designed building looks like some kind of metallic fabric revealing...well, something, like a curtain going up. It's pretty colorful, especially in the sunlight, which bounced out for a moment or two while I was there. That black bar near the bottom right, behind the lamppost, is the track of the monorail, which goes through the musuem, right where the colors split.

Yeah...the EMP is right next to the Space Needle. Even though it was a very soggy weekend, workers were bustling around getting ready to open the 50th anniversary celebration of the World's Fair.

And finally, there's this, Pike Place Market at dusk, that warm neon sign bringing much warmth to the cool blue rise of the evening. I imagine that sign, glowing like that for so many nights, brings some small measure of comfort and familiarity to the residents of Seattle. It sure is inviting, even for an out-of-towner like me.

My Art School Days and John Johns...

Cartoonist/illustrator Drew Friedman--who is a personal favorite of mine--currently has a wonderful post up on his blog about Pittsburgh-based cartoonist John Johns. Mr. Johns (and woe to any parent who names their children in this fashion...I mean, c'mon, seriously? Are you that devoid of creativity?) was the president of my alma mater, the Art Institute of Pittsburgh, back in the 1970s when I was a student there. And yes, I even graduated.

I have very vague memories of Johns. I know he was a local legend and he came to one of Pittsburgh Comicons one year. He did caricatures of every Pittsburgh Comix Club member (somewhere in all my stuff, I think I still have mine) and handed them off to each of us. He was an affable, avuncular type, prone to a lot of smiles, and had a real larger-than-life presence. I remember a penchant for big bowties, but I may be mistaken. And I think they took me to meet him when I did my pre-school interview, before enrolling for the 2-year course in what they then called "Visual Communications," a fancy name for advertising art and design. Because I told them I was interested in becoming a comic book artist, that immediately meant "cartoonist" to them, so they took me to meet Johns and Ted Sallows, who was their cartooning teacher. At that school, cartooning and comic books were synonmous, if not in real life.

At that point in time, the Art Institute was still offering a complete full day of classes to each and every student. I started in March 1974 and graduated in June 1975 and went to class five days a week, from about 8:30am to 3:30pm. Soon after I graduated they had succeeded in attracting so many new students and had such a confined space that they went to a morning and afternoon shift each day. I don't know what they do now.

But I digress...I don't think I was aware while I was in school at what a local treasure John Johns was. Drew Friedman does a much better job of relating this than I could, other than my own foggy memories, and how much I liked the guy, even though my contact with him was minimal at best. He was a great talent and worked under incredibly tight deadlines. But don't go by me...click the link above and read Drew's post and see all the great art from Johns.

A Tale of Two (well, eight) Hoodies...

I bought ANOTHER hoodie today, a rich blue one made of soft material and unlined. It's so nice, it's almost like a "dress hoodie." That brings the total number of hoodies in my place up to about eight. Three blue, three gray, a green and a brown. It is a multi-cultural display of hoodies on the rack on my closet door, a kind of a "We Are the World" of hoodies.

Now there's nothing wrong with this, really. Hoodies are a very comfortable and utilitarian garment. They're soft and warm (at least the fleece-lined ones are) and that hood part of the hoodie sure comes in handy if it rains.

But let's face it: Hoodies are the uniform of urban hipsters and I am hardly that. In fact, I'm probably about a quarter of a century to old to be wearing them. There should be some kind of automatic alarm with an electric shock that keeps people my age out of The Gap and Old Navy. But still I buy them.

I don't think this is a feeble attempt on my part to maintain the dying vestiges of my misbegotten youth. I don't think it's a late bloomer thing, although I definitely qualify for that. I do think it's a comfort thing, and not just as in "comfortable." Hoodies are to me the clothing equivalent of comfort food, almost like wearing meat loaf, but, you know, without the meat.

Still...maybe someday I'll actually buy a big boy jacket. I just have to find one that has a hood.

No Oscar® blogging for me, see?

While I will probably be watching the Academy Awards broadcast tonight, I won't be returning to my traditional live blogging it for all the world to see. Despite the clamor of my extensive readership (you both know who you are) to do so, I just don't have it in me this year. I'm fairly certain I will have my laptop right in front of me, but I'll probably be working. However if the mood suits me and I have something particularly pithy--and pissy--to say about the proceedings, you can read it on either Facebook or Twitter (#gg92101T). But don't hold your breath. It's bound to be a very long show and you will die.

New York Times: You should be better than this...

This is one of those instances where I show how fast I've grown old. It's the digital equivalent of "Hey, you kids! GET OFF OF MY LAWN!" and I am acutely aware of it. But some things just shouldn't work this way.

Three weeks ago, I subscribed to the New York Times via their iPad app. I love both the Times and my iPad, and since they were offering a one-month trial at 99 cents, I thought I'd see just how often I'd use it. After the one-month trial period, the price was $20/month.

I subscribed on January 15. Now to me one month means 4 weeks, but evidently to the New York Times, headquartered in that city where everything moves faster, one month means 3 weeks. I was billed $20 for the next month on Feb. 8. In addition, in order to cancel your subscription (which, after 3 weeks I had decided I wasn't going to renew), you have to call them and talk to a living, breathing person. No in-app cancellation, no online cancellation.

So what happens when you call the customer service department of what is arguably the world's greatest newspaper? You get the hard-sell. "How about if I give you another month at 99 cents? How about if I give you 3 months at $12.99?" No, I insisted, I called to cancel. When I complained that I was billed a week early and had no chance to cancel by the date I thought I would be billed, I was told that a month is 28 days, that the New York Times was very clear about that. When I told the customer service person that I was, in fact, billed on day 25 and not day 28 as she insisted, I got another pitch to stay a subscriber. I was also told I would not have access to the iPad app or the website. When I asked if I could still read the 20 articles a month I previously had access to before subscribing, I was begrudgingly told yes, and then offered STILL ANOTHER DEAL.

I understand this is the way of the world with any subscription, especially in the dying world of newspapers. But you'd think--YOU'D THINK--a paper of the stature of the New York Times would be above having an obnoxious customer service department that makes you feel like you've just walked onto one of the skeeviest used car sales lots on the planet.

Yes, I cancelled my subscription. But it would have been so much easier to just cancel in the app or online. And that's my problem with all of this. They want you to call so they can badger you with offers to stay a subscriber. That's the part I think the New York Times should be above. I expect more from the "paper of record." I guess I expect too much.

Today's observation...

I think the Gingrichs get their hair done at the same place the Devo guys get their hair done.

My plan for an 8-day week...

I have put much thought into this and I think it's time to consider an 8-day week.

All of us are much too busy and stressed out. Adding an extra day to each week will give us much more time. In addition, I'm advocating that we maintain a 5-day work-week, and dedicate the extra day to the weekend.

Because there's nothing better than a 3-day weekend. Except maybe a 4-day holiday weekend, which would be much more possible with my 3-day weekend plan. Martin Luther King Day? 4-day holiday weekend. See?

Plus, with an 8-day week there would be only 45 weeks per year (give or take 5 days). Think of how much your vacation-time percentage would increase! I'm no good with percentages, so you'll have to work it out yourself, but trust me...it'll seem like you have much more vacation time!

And Christmas will come much sooner!

Think it over...you don't have to decide anything right now. In the meantime, I need to start writing the companies who make calendars and get this thing started.

Umm....does anybody know who makes calendars?

The new Innocent Bystander...

Here it is...the new Innocent Bystander, redesigned and rethought for the new year!

Increasingly over the past few years, photography has become a major creative outlet for me. I wanted to do something--beyond the alliterative "Friday Foto"--which would incorporate my photos into the blog, and I think I've come up with something. That something is the banner at the top of the blog. More on that in my next post, though, coming right up after--well, above--this one.

I've given a lot of thought to redesigning this blog, and picked out a Typepad template that gives me greater freedom with the banner and more room to write (alas, I can't customize the fonts and colors, though). The sidebar stuff has been simplified (no more Flickr photos, no more obnoxious Amazon.com wishlist), and I've added a top bar with a series of buttons that will link you to long articles on the original Innocent Bystander (my self-published comic books of the 1990s and the Geeksville series of the early 2000s), my first "IB Book," The Dispensanator, and also my Twitter and Facebook page, if you're into those things. We live in the era of vertical integration on the Internet. This is my feeble attempt to keep up. I both love and hate all of this stuff, depending on the time of day, the direction of the wind, what I had for lunch and whether or not I've had a nap.

I'm hoping this rejuvenates my take on this blogging thing, something that has been an important constant in my life for the past seven years and something I'm a tad reluctant to give up. I hope to introduce some new features, including some looks back at the IB comic books, with some rare material. That stuff may interest me and only me, but that's okay. If you haven't figured it out by now, the very definition of blogging is self-absorption. And that's a topic on which I'm an expert. Stick around and I'll prove it to you over the next year...

Please note: Older posts may look a little wonky with this new design. Rather than go back and resize 208 Friday Fotos, we'll all just have to live with it, but it'll keep only one of us up at night: the really anal Gemini.