newyorkette

Image: carolita johnson

(Coming soon, with any luck, video footage of my new year’s fellow revelers burning President Bush’s effigy while screaming “stay the course!” on the stroke of midnight, along with Condi, Rove, and Cheney… I’d been looking forward to singing Auld Lang Syne, but this was fun, too!)

(image: carolita johnson)

Who’s read their New Yorker “Winter Fiction Issue” cover to cover yet? If you’re like me, you started last week and then the holidays descended upon you like a plague of locusts, and your TNY is languishing under a pile of wrapping paper, or stuck behind a car seat. I finally spotted mine rolling its eyes at me in exasperation from the sofa, picked it up, set it on my lap, smoothed out the wrinkles, and let it tell me a few stories.

This week’s fiction features an unusual love story (is that possible? is there really anything new, love-wise, under the sun? maybe): “Demolition,” by Louise Erdrich. There’s something about it that reminds me of Hardy. Not the part where the heroine is a guy, though. Watch out for those bees. Not online. Read it on the train to Grandma’s house.

On Chesil Beach has the saddest, most hilarious sexual misunderstanding I’ve ever seen represented in words. The key moment, when the bride is beginning to gag on her completely oblivious bridegroom’s tongue:

(…) and now she really did think that she was going to be sick.
When he heard her moan, Edward knew that his happiness was almost complete.

Marguerite Duras’ rather existentialist love story, The Bible, deals with another misunderstanding. Someone once told me that all love was based on misunderstandings, “beautiful misunderstandings.” He, too, was French. But let’s not generalize! Discover her iconoclastic compatriot, Boris Vian, Parisian royalty if ever there was one — and not the dorky Prince Charles kind — in “Prince of St-Germain.”

I tried to read Julian Barne’s “Personal History,” but perhaps it was too personal (some personal histories are best reserved for inter-family reading) and it did not engage me. Orhan Pamuk’s “My father’s suitcase,” was unbearable — all I kept thinking was “I hope his father isn’t alive to read this,” and mercy only came with the very last words. I also had no idea he was such a snob! But since most literary snobs are the result of great suffering, I forgive him.

My advice is, stick to tragi-comedy of the fiction. It’s all your poor little hungover head will be able to handle.

“Otis, 2006,” Carolita Johnson. (Click on the image for a larger scan, the original is about 14″ x 18″, india ink on watercolor paper.)

This was my big accomplishment this week: a quick portrait of Otis, a friend, as a Christmas present for the friends he lives with.

(Image: “Acrobat Squirrels,” carolita johnson).

Here’s a drawing I’ve been working on, on and off. This is what it looks like so far, but I may re-do it yet again. I’m putting it up for anyone who’s actually looking at blogs this week — it seems nobody’s blogging (Gawker has Rob the Bouncer subbing for them while they all take it easy this week), and all is quiet here, too. So, only the squirrels are still doing their job, which is to frolick, of course. (And dig up my bulbs, the bastards!)

As part of your winter festivities, why not attend the NYC Parks Department’s “Mulchfest”? See the “adverlita” in my sidebar, or just click here, then click on the link underneath the tree.

(The view from the Central Park reservoir, a few days ago.)

Happy Holiday Weekend everyone!

(”Champagne love” image: carolita johnson)

UPDATE: so, remember this ad got stuck in the wringer because I had no idea how to make it an inch tall and still clean? It turns out that this is all taken care of by a “pre-press operator,” in my case, a company called “Adfixer” (recommended by the folks at TNY) did it for $44. That’s a fair price, and my client was happy to pay it, since they got my ad for a friendly price already. Apparently Adfixer uses a very expensive software that I don’t need to buy unless I want to be my own pre-press operator.

My ad is now in this week’s The New Yorker, on page 125. It looks good! Nice n’ clean, slightly doodly-looking, which I like. It’ll appear three more times (but I won’t post about it anymore, don’t worry!)

Thanks for the suggestions!

BTW - I’ve been K.O. in bed for the last few days due to a case of food poisoning (no, not from Taco Bell!). It seems I got it from some plum tomatos. Oddly, miles away in a totally unrelated incident, a friend of mine upstate also got food poisoning, and had unfortunately shared his tainted meal with his labrador retriever…

Don’t know how I missed Partially Clips’ New Yorker gag, “Man With Martini.” Click on the partial clip above for the next two frames.

(image: carolita johnson)

Tad Friend’s portrait of his mother, not online, is as touching as it should be, but long (that’s what took me so long to get to this): “The Playhouse.” Odd that the byline in the contents says, “The house a mother built.” A mother? I think “my mother,” or “Mother” would have been more apt.

George Saunders’ “Shouts & Murmurs” piece, “Ask the Optimist,” is also on the long side, but devilishly cruel fantasies are almost never too long for me.

Nadine Gordimer’s “The First Sense,” subtly insightful and poignantly musical, has you thinking we’re talking about aural sex for a while.

And “The Good Book Business,” by Daniel Radosh, is a good update on the Bible’s reach and appeal if, like me, you only got to know the Bible in Latin and Ancient French in adulthood (I openly cheated my way to being “Christian Endeavor Youth Group leader,” and my “Confirmation” in my teens, in a bid to get myself kicked out, to no avail). And it’s probably better if you didn’t have the chance to translate the Bible for yourself and left it to surfers and ice-skaters!

(image: carolita johnson)

If your kid (I mean your child, not your baby goat) is a pain in the neck, chances are you’ve been buying him or her too many toys. You should have been buying books instead. My parents said “no” to everything except a book. Can I go out and play? No. Can I have some money? No. can I get this book about geology? Yes.

Teach your kid how to ask better questions (also, I don’t know any kids who got hurt reading a book, unless they were reading it while walking home and walked into a lamp post) (okay, that was me): give books.

BTW - the above was the full range of my advice regarding children. I haven’t got anything else.
For kids (baby goats) I can recommend the English translation of Madame Bovary, and the French translation of Moby Dick that begins, “Je m’appelle Ishmael.” (”My name is Ishmael.”)

Click on the cartoon for the larger version. (Image: carolita johnson)

I just heard the schmaltziest “op-ed” on NPR (about the so-called “War on Christmas “) from someone whose cred was that she does something for a site called “beliefnet.com.” If you can’t say something good about a person, it’s better to just make fun of their website’s “Why my pet is a blessing” feature with a few screengrabs and giving then the same treatment as the cartoon above:

Jude: “A saint of a dog”
Lisa-Dora: “God sent her to me.”
Sheena: “She saved my kids.”
Nevaeh: “Heaven spelled backwards.”

My other idea had been to put a health check next to each animal, a la: “Sparky: high-blood pressure, a stomach ulcer, and morbidly excessive licking of the entire living room carpet due to too much emotional responsability foisted upon her by owner, Sandy.”

BTW - this cartoon never even made it to TNY — I rejected it myself! It always made me chuckle, but it never seemed right for submission.

Click on the cartoon for the larger version. (Image: carolita johnson)

Not sure what to wear for the office holiday party?

Click on the goat for the full sized version. (image: carolita.org)

In case anyone’s curious, the little goat in my sidebar is a special “adverlita.” Every year, sometime during the countdown to Christmas I receive a catalogue from Heifer International, with a photograph of Walter Cronkite cuddling a duckling on the cover, proposing that I buy a cow or a goat or a flock of geese (or a share thereof) for a family or village somewhere less prosperous than where I live.

Part of my “adverlita” philosophy is to help friends, and another part is to simply promote things I think are good. I love goats. They always look like they’re laughing. I think goats are good. And I think Heifer International is a good thing, too. You can buy a share of a goat for only $10 in your own name or in the name of a friend or colleagues, or a whole goat for $120. Which is cheaper than your girlfriend or boyfriend’s present (if you’re a half-decent boy/girlfriend, that is).

Buy a goat, or share of a goat (I did!) : here.
For whole (or shares of) heifers, llamas, sheep, geese, ducks, water buffalos, wabbits, and even trees, etc.: see the full catalogue here.

** If you buy a whole goat in my name, I’ll give you the original drawing of my “get someone’s goat,” brush and india ink on acid-free paper, irregularly sized but frame-able. You just have to make sure I receive the confirmation email card they provide you with. If you buy any other animals, I’ll give you a drawing of that animal (more are coming, anyway, to keep the sidebar hopping — including the “trio of rabbits.”).

Heifer International: here.

NB: the change from “Christmas” to “Holiday” was effected in order to encompass whatever other holidays are happening at this time — I am possessed of equal measures of personal indifference and respect regarding all religions, and was only trying to be polite. (Hear that, pro X-mas warriors? Ever hear of being polite?)

(Click on the image to go to the complete strip — there’s a third panel!)”

Partially Clips: irony with a dash of wise-assery. Would that be wise-dashery? I’ll say no more. Have a look yourself. I have a hangover from too many holiday parties.

A few favorites, whether because of the deadpan humor (dog in wagon), or choice of image (as in the ducklings) or the dark humor (as in Mrs. Baxter):

Puppy and Kitten
Boy with Dog in Wagon
Ducklings
Mrs Baxter’s Baby

Browse through and find your own favorites: Partially Clips.

And if you want to see what a “fit model” looks like, in various sizes ranging from a 6 to an 18W “Goddess,” click here for the pics from my agency’s holiday party. (And then don’t let me ever catch you complaining that clothes are made for unreal people!)

(image: carolita johnson)

I forgot it was Friday yesterday! All these holiday parties are throwing me out of kilter.

Inserting myself back into the calender with a “TNY weekend reader,” I personally cannot condone Walt Disney for anything but his amusing Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse films. His cleaned-up takes on fairy tales have rendered modern childhood devoid of the warnings or wisdom that every child needs. Maybe reading the Grimm’s originals (I found a battered old mouldy book in my elementary school library), was what kept me from running away from home many a time — I learned the lesson that the world was dangerous for a child. But if you want to see what Walt wrought, here you go: Wonderful World, by Anthony Lane.

Patricia Marx’s “Santa Secrets,” deftly illustrated, but overwhelming, isn’t online. Which may be good, because if you read it, like I did, it may push you over the edge and make you close all those open “check-out” windows on your computer: I promptly decided I will not be buying any presents for anyone with a roof over their head this year. This, however, is inspiring: buy a goat for someone who needs one, here. For other useful presents for those who really couldn’t give a rat’s ass how many songs will fit on the latest iPod, click here. Heifer International is endorsed by Walter Cronkite, Jimmy Carter, Ed Harris, and of course, Susan Sarandon, among others. And me.

It’s probably a good idea to inform yourself on what our government is doing (or not) to prevent global warming: Elizabeth Kolbert’s “Hot and Cold.” My first suggestion would be to change the name of this phenomenon to something more frightening, since “global warming” actually sounds rather pleasant to me. “Earth: the warm planet” would probably attract intergalactic tourists! How about “global inferno,” “global frying,” “global slow-roasting”….?

Back to our little world, to forget the misfortunes around us for a few minutes, read Frank Gannon’s “Beyond the Bird Flu.” Perhaps you’d like to purchase an anti-bird flu t-shirt or sweatshirt? Check out the different options here: The Bird Parka Project. Part of the profit will go towards outfitting the pigeons on my fire escape with little parkas and earmuffs.

(Image: carolita johnson)

Here’s another rejected Venus. I don’t know why I got so interested in Venuses (Veni?), but there you have it. There’s even more where this came from!

Perhaps I find them so amusing because they seem like the Barbie Dolls of Antiquity. And who doesn’t like to take a shot at Barbie Dolls? Anyway, having been on the wrong side of the definition of beauty for so long before the world finally approved of me, I can appreciate the rancor on the side of the Venus on the left.

In case anyone doesn’t know, the Venus on the left is the “Venus of Willendorf”, and the one on the right is the “Mazarin Venus.”

And here’s a modern Venus I really like, too!

(Photo: Jeff Berlin)

When I first started to go to Los Angeles for photo shoots, I missed the ease of how one can grab a quick lunchtime bite in NYC. More often than not, in LA, a quick bite meant fast food. And though In-N-Out Burger and Baja Fresh are pretty terrific, I’m not much of a fan of McDonalds, Burger King, or KFC.

As I adjusted to the more casual pace of Los Angeles, I actually began to sit while lunching, and I hence discovered my then-new favorite place to do lunch - Fred Segal on the corner of Melrose Avenue and Crescent Heights. To this NYer, Fred Segal’s excellent Italian restaurant was a taste of New York bustle infused with a huge amount of Los Angeles. And having lived in Milano, Italy for nearly two years, I’m a bit of an Italian food snob, so when I say that Mauro’s is good, it really is.

When I’m in town, I can usually be found there a few times a week, sitting on the outside covered patio digging into a fresh fruit salad and perfectly dente penne arrabbiata. Their sautéed combination vegetable dishes, broccoli/ asparagus/ mushroom, for example, are also terrific. The veggies snap in the yummy rigatoni primavera, and though I did once get sick from the spaghetti with tiger shrimp, it too was ambrosial.

Of course, Fred Segal is also a high-end conglomerate of fabulous boutiques that attract fashion cognoscenti and fashion victims from mostly NY and Los Angeles. That’s one of my favorite things about the place - it’s NOT touristy in the Disneyworld sense. And that’s what also attracts the stars, who are ogled much more discreetly in this stargazing Mecca. Indeed, the last time I sat in the full-service restaurant with a talent manager friend, Salma Hayek was at the next table - I didn’t notice, of course

Guest blogger: photographer/writer, and airplane pilot extraordinaire (and old junior high school friend) Jeff Berlin.

That’s me above, drawing a pretty little girl named Georgia. I had to give her my candy cane to make her sit still, then draw her mouth from memory!

Managed to snap a couple of pics of Crawford doing his thing between sittings.

Here he is getting carried away with freckles on an imaginary kid he was drawing. People see this kind of thing and then cry with relief when their kid’s portrait comes out flattering! (I think this is one of his tricks!) (And of course, we only do flattering portraits!)

I’d love to know how many portraits we did today! It seemed like we must have done a good fifty altogether. We had to do a few drawings of ourselves and innocent bystanders to get things started, but once we started doing portraits it was nonstop till 5pm! And all for a good cause!

I’m working today, for the Children’s Aid Society at an event called “Miracle Sunday,” with fellow cartoonist Michael Crawford. We’ll be drawing in the “Kids’ Entertainment Tent” on Madison Avenue at 68th street. Read the rest of this entry »

(image: carolita johnson)

Emily Gordon remarked that this was an exceptionally good issue and I agree. Only the fiction got me down, but then, perhaps it’s good that TNY doesn’t assume we’re all sophisticated enough to dispense with identifying with the unfortunate yet. Empathy is the emotion of this century, and it makes ordinarily careless people act like good, caring people, instead of selfish overgrown children. Ever notice that in the movies the important, self-involved person with power becomes a hero when something happens to one of his loved ones and he suddenly realizes he should be more compassionate and create a new, helpful law or foundation? Tragedy must hit home before some people “get it,” and change. So, read “A river in Egypt,” and feel awful identifying with this hapless father of a stricken child: it’s probably better for all of us if you do!

Elizabeth Kolbert’s “Goodnight Mush” was very satisfying in that I agreed with most of her criticisms (negative and positive) of children’s books. She covers a number of different titles, vintage (re-issued) as well as new. The only thing that rang weirdly was the ending of her piece: “You don’t want to go to sleep. I don’t want to die. But we both have to. ” (My dad used to say things of this ilk, and my answer was along the lines of, “What do you want? A medal or a monument?”)

Also venturing into the world of those little creatures we like to romanticize and burden with the obligation to be wonderful, “kids” they’re called, Margaret Talbot discusses the difference between Barbie (and her competitors — I notice my favorite, Dinah-Mite, wasn’t mentioned!), and “Bratz” dolls in “Little Hotties.” Not online.
Read the rest of this entry »

(Click on the image for the cartoonbank’s website.)

I don’t always remember to post about my published cartoons, maybe because the unpublished ones are more on my mind. But here’s one that has a story behind it.

Last summer I got a job selling subscriptions to the Washington Symphony Orchestra for a month or two, which made me very little money but forced me to overcome my shyness. It was worth it just for the new ease with which I can now make a cold call (not that I have to make any lately, but I always feel one can never have too many skills). It also gave me an insight on how it must feel to be a man trying to pick up women on the street (I forget, why do they do that?), and how they keep going even through the scorn and disregard.

This is progress: when I worked in a software company a few years ago, they made me do cold calling and you know what I’d do? I’d hang up before anyone answered, and then write “no answer,” or “not interested,” or “will call back later” in my log book. I did not make a cent, either for myself or my company. (I suppose the idea of selling this software was made all the more daunting by the fact that I knew without a doubt that it came with a serious defect that would eventually cause the loss of entire databases of images. The thing was, I was also the technical support person they’d be calling with their “where’s my database?” queries. It felt like I was pulling my pants down for a spanking, really.)

Anyway, at this call center, one of the supervisors had a sweater that was full of pulls and snags on the back and shoulders. I asked him, “Do you have a cat?” He looked at me like I had telepathy — “Wow! How did you know?” I kept a little pad by my Purell-soaked telephone in which I wrote unusual names and addresses (like Jade Lightbody, or 2434 Dogue Run Lane), and wrote that idea down. I sold the cartoon that week!