newyorkette

I’m convinced this is what I’ll see pass before my eyes just before I die:

This is my most recent post on the Huffington Post’s comedy site.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Rough sketches with my new brush pen:

Above, the George Washington Bridge as seen from one bank of the Hudson River (the bank that’s popular with geese).

Below, a broader view:

A little silliness.

Look familiar?

I was only 6 years old, but I’ll never forget Iron Eyes Cody’s very beautiful 1971 “Keep America Beautiful” public service announcement. If you’re too young to remember it yourself, click on the image for the video.

Get Iron Eyes Cody’s book, “Indian Talk” from the Akta Lakota Museum and Cultural Center, here.

As for Thanksgiving, I give thanks every day, thank you! (See?)

(Here’s the legal link to two versions of the PSA in case the link to youtube has been taken down again for copyright violation. Unfortunately, it only works for people with Windows Media Player, not for Mac.)

(and yes, this is a semi-repeat of last year’s Thanksgiving post, because I never tire of this PSA).

(click on the image for larger version, which also contains a few extra, edited here, stray lines—I’m not used to drawing with a ball point pen!)

I have some friends upstate who are goats. I like to feed them from the little candy machine that dispenses goat kibbles for 25 cents a handful. Oh, the congenial welcome! Oh, the little velvet muzzles against my warm palm! Oh, the laughing, coin-slot pupils! Oh, how delicious with carrots and potatoes! 

Me and fellow TNY cartoonist Michael Crawford at TNY Festival HQ, in the Acura Lounge, which commissioned me to draw this backdrop above, as well as the caption contest drawing below for this event.

In case you were curious, the image was the client’s idea, and below is the first draft, which was modified to the above as follows: – client was afraid it looked like the people were going to be run over by the speeding Acura, so crosswalk and clear “walk” signal on street sign were added, while pedestrians were instructed to look both ways, even though they had the light – client was afraid butterflies and birdies might end up splattered on windshield, so all flying objects were directed by flight control to fly in a safer zone – client was afraid the bunnies might be run over, so bunnies were sent to “live on a farm upstate” (meaning, I cooked them into a nice stew and served them to my children). – client didn’t like “bush” in back seat, so “bush” promptly relocated to the roomy trunk, while the flowers growing in the street were picked and placed behind the cartoonist’s ear in a coquettish manner – cartoonist refrained from submitting a version with pedestrians bodies flying in the air after being hit by speeding Acura, and multiple bunnies flattened with tire tracks plastered on street.

Hooray for Photoshop!  And FYI, I did not provide a caption myself.  

(Quick doodle during breakfast, hoping it’s not too unworthy.)

Not to mention all those dark chocolate peanut butter cups…

 Paul Newman, dead at 83.

Bear mountain always fascinates me. It looks so grumpy!
And here’s an awful, unfinished attempt to colorize it! So embarrassing! But it’s useful as a color study.

Taking a break from some jobs I’m working on, I found a photo of Sam, (aka Big Lug), and decided to draw him, since he never sits still long enough in real life for a portrait. I like images of dogs all rolled up into a ball.

This one is a pencil drawing, scanned, with color added in by photoshop. Excuse my naive use of the paintbrush option, but it was fun! I like the way it looks, though I should probably make my own custom brush strokes up next time.

Below, the original pencil sketch:

(And his ass!)

So, this is what happens. Sam, the dog, doesn’t like thunderstorms, see? So he freaks and runs off into the woods, bursting beyond his “invisible fence” in his disarray.

Everyone comes home, wonders where Sam, the dog, is. Sam! Sammy! Where are you? Woohoo, Saaaaaam! This goes on for a while. I decide I’m a guest, I better help, even though Sam has annoyed me, covering me in algae by paddling around me while I try to swim in the pond, and also chasing my fishing lure whenever I cast a line, unless I throw a log in the other direction to satisfy his irrepressible, if not insane, urge to fetch all projectiles in a frantic manner. I join in with the “Saaaaaam-ing.”

I’m “Saaaaaaam-ing” back and forth along the side road, but no dice. I have a feeling I’m on the right track, but a person earnestly searching for a lost labrador ought to eventually hear a distant hopeful bark, or a rustling of branches.

Nothing.

Along the road leading to the mailboxes, I notice there’s these three cats watching me, all “look at her, we’re glad we don’t have to be polite like her,” like. I’m getting tired of “Saaaaam-ing” already, and they all look so sardonic. So I ask them, with a note of provocation: “Well? You seen Sam?”

They perk up at this question and look at eachother. “Seriously, you seen Sam?” I ask. One of them sort of heaves a little cat sigh, and gets up and stretches. His friends follow, and they walk sarcastically (as all cats do) to the road, get in front of me, now and then doing that thing cats do when they want your attention, you know? Rolling around a little on the ground at your feet to show you how cute they are? “Okay, yeah, yeah, you’re cute but I’m allergic,” I say.

They lead me in this leisurely manner to the far end of the drive, and stop at the gravel just before the trees. I say, “Okay, then. Where is he?” They look at me like: this is it, kid. So, I look up, and there, about thirty feet into the woods, stands Sam with his flag-like red tongue flapping out in contrast with his hairy black mug as he pants hysterically, looking all embarrassed. Sam, you big lug! He stands there looking at me as if he would not blame me if I pretended not to have found him.

What does a dog like this do in his spare time? Why, he lies in the middle of the road, just so.

This morning I woke up early, slid my coveralls over my nightie, and sat down with my tea to wait for the exterminator, as I do every second Saturday of the month. He is very important to my tranquillity and peace of mind. Some people don’t mind the pitter-patter of multiple feet, but I prefer my guests to be upright-walkers. The cartoon is one of Crawford’s latest.
Now, where is that exterminator! I want to go to the beach!

Balking at the idea of upgrading my little blog for so long has meant I’ve been behind in my posts. This week I have a cartoon in the magazine, so I’m naturally relieved to learn I’m not cartoona non grata yet! We all get worried when we’ve sold cartoons but not seen any appear for a while. Did I say worried? I meant paranoid! Paranoid and worried! Anyway, here’s a catch up list of cartoons of mine that have appeared in The New Yorker most recently, with background on inspiration.

Above, appearing in this week’s TNY: I guess I don’t have to say that this has actually happened to me. Some “nice person” holds the door for me even though I am not near the door by a long shot yet, forcing me to step up my pace in order to not let them wait too long while I lumber towards them weighed down either by my heavy bag or by my metaphysical burdens.

I have a policy on door-holding: doors should only be held for a person who is within arm’s reach of actually taking up the relay when you let go of the door. Any longer, and the door-holder is just a pain in the ass. Unless, of course, the door-holdee has no arm available (due to multiple pieces of luggage or amputation) to hold the door. In that case, feel free to earn your brownie points.

The next cartoon is how I feel about the glute machine. You’re not doing it right if you have any dignity:

Below, this was inspired by a friend who kept claiming to aspire to celibacy in order to dump his girlfriend:

And next, I used to ask myself this very same question, until I started working eight hours a day on my feet (albeit very well-paid). It makes your feet hurt! Feet need support! I am now a Birkenstock fan, and plan on buying some orthopedic clogs for winter use. (Sooooo, that’s why!):

Last but not least, because I know many a bitter woman in New York who’d love nothing more than to be celibate by choice, but have never had the chance to exercise that option. By choice, I mean. (A little sympathy for them is due, particularly from the awful men they’re not having sex with: it’s hard to be a girl here!):

This one goes out to all my fellow TNY cartoonists slaving (or slobbering, or drooling, or whatever the case may be) over their batches (as usual, on Monday), this goes out to them: I know it’s hard, but DON’T GIVE UP!

I’m fond of these flyers, so easy to collect, often found slid into subway window frames, or fluttering around the seats. So brazenly hopeful, and so poetically badly written. What’s not to like?

(Click on the image for an unshrunk, full-sized version!)

This strip, by Scott Meyer, provides many a valuable “How To” lesson. Besides proving that having a job (or having had one long enough) and dealing with other human beings (or having had to for long enough) are great fodder for cartoon idea percolation (as opposed to psychic festering), it is very handy, particularly if you, like most people, have to deal with the usual human problems, such as how to:

Basic Instructions, by Scott Meyer.

(Front of bag/back of bag)

Just for fun (and not much profit), I’ve opened a CafePress account, where anyone who wants can buy themselves a newyorkette-themed mug, tote bag, or organic t-shirt. Check it out, here!

NB: If you’re a close friend or relative of mine that’s too broke or too cheap to buy anything, just let me know, and you’ll get something from the shop for Christmas (or Channukah) (or whatever I decide the excuse will be!)

After work, I got on the N train and went straight to Coney Island and read The New Yorker for an hour and a half. On my way back to the subway, I snapped this garbage can trying its best to resemble the parachute tower behind it.

Newyorkette just got an upgrade. Any oddities can be brought to my attention the usual way, or through the comments! (Comments are open again, but you must log on, and you must not be a spammer. Ha.)

I saw this window on the way to one of my jobs in the garment district, and it made me laugh. In case you can’t read the sign, it says, “Invisiwig: completely undetectable wigs.”

Yes, I went back to the beach. The sirens were calling. And so was the ice cream bell.