Women's March On Washington

16143343_10154696562765358_1664672558229153428_nYesterday was The Women's March on Washington. And LA, and London, and Jackson, Mississippi, and Denver, Colorado, and NYC, and Sydney, Australia, and . . . and . . . and . . . it was AMAZING.

It was huge (I won't be surprised if it's over a million, at final count.) I was at an Obama inauguration weekend, and at an Obama Inaugural concert, and the streets were packed, and this seemed approaching that in numbers. It was a great celebration of women, of diversity, of equality. And it was so positive. We marched together, we chanted, we met people, we admired each other's signs, we were polite, and kind and compassionate and loving and caring . . . it was seriously AMAZING. I marched with several cartoonist buds and a singer/songwriter friend of mine. We kept commenting to each other about how amazing and friendly this all was. How kind people were about little stuff like helping you by, or stepping on your toes by accident, or laughing about using the men's rooms, or being told that there was a 3.5 hour wait at Oyamel, for supper. (BTW, PROPS to Oyamel, and Gordon Biersch, handling a crazy amount of people, in a professional manner! What a buncha pros!) The signs were great. The chants were hilarious and/or sobering.

PINK WAS EVERYWHERE. I'm not a pink person, but I was yesterday :)

I want to post more about the March, and I will. But I've noticed that in some of the media coverage, the attempt has been made to narrow our focus, to say it was about one specific right or another. It was about a lot of things. It was about unity, acceptance, open arms, shoring each other up after a devastating election; it was about choice, it was about fighting misogyny, homophobia, xenophobia, and racism. It was about inclusiveness, and acceptance, and open arms. And I'm gonna say it: It was about love. Love which accepts people, and promotes them, and wants them to be recognized and embraced.

There were zero arrests. The police and Metro workers were friendly, helpful, and professional. The streets were packed. I lived in DC for years, until recently, and have been around a lot of protests and marches. This was . . . special. We were in awe.

There was joy. It was cathartic.

I want to say all this to you so that when your friends or your leaders try to denigrate it, call it names, paint it with the wrong brush, you'll know someone you can ask about it. Matter of fact, there are hundreds of thousands of people you can ask. And not just in one city. And not just in one country.

And, so, it was big, and it was beautiful. And it was encouraging.

As a person of faith, and by this I mean, a Jesus freak of sorts (no longer evangelical), I was thinking, I wish Christians loved on those of different stripes, I really wish people who say Jesus matters to them, could show up and love, in these numbers; as much as I see people here today reaching out to everyone, and then some . . . thats what I was thinking. It didn't steal my joy, though. And that's another blog.

I'm in an afterglow of sorts.

Yesterday we saw women and men and people of all ages, marching, all over the world. In support and affirmation of many different people, but maybe especially WOMEN.

Thanks for that, y'all.

My soul needed it. And I love y'all for getting out and showing up, and all of you who wrote me notes and texted me encouragement, and all of you who printed my art onto signs, and marched with it, and all of you who were with us in spirit, if not in body. Proud to march with, and for, you.

Onward and upward! Now back to the nitty gritty.

We call, we write, we speak, we fight.



NOTE ON THE PHOTO: The sign I'm holding is an edited version of my "How Many" cartoon (see previous post) for RESIST, the women's comics protest paper and site, curated especially for the March. My friend with me in the pic is Barbara Dale, a dear bud and a hoot of a cartoonist. The picture was taken by Ann Telnaes, cartoonist for the Washington Post. She's kickass, too!


The Bird

The last few months have tested me beyond. And yet, it's not a test. It's just . . . life. And whatever the opposite of that is. In the what-must-be beginning of this grief, this happened the other day. (Comics aren't always comic, but you probably already know that.)

Diary of a Freelancer Redux

Fog of Worry Diary I want to encourage you. But give me a minute.

I'm an introvert, it turns out. I know you wouldn't think that, because I'm smirky and I'm a comic and I'm a redhead. But, turns out, I'd rather be drawing and writing than almost anything else on the planet. The three exceptions to this are:

  1. being on, or in, water
  2. traveling with my guys
  3. climbing Mayan temples
  4. eating Mexican* food

*Or, Indian food. Either one. Both magically delicious in their own amazing way!

I know, that's four!! And then, five, with the asterisk! Keep reading anyway!

I think you have to be pretty self-motivated, when you're a freelancer. And lately, I've been frustrated with what I am  or am not getting done - that's a big piece of it too. In the last few months, I lost my dear Dad (very shaky still), and we've moved to a new city (this month), and I'm still staring at many unpacked boxes (intimidating, and where's my dang Martha White Corn Meal?). It's a (let's call it) challenging time of life. And I know "the West" gets it wrong, with grief, and how fast we should process things. But that's another bloggy wog. Sooooo, anytime I get down about my work, or my life, or my mood, I just pull out a sketchbook and my iPad . . . and I keep drawing, and I keep writing.

I talk to the Great Creator (which is a lot of what is in my head and on my pages) and I ask WHY? and WHY NOT? a lot. I think  right now that God may be very bored with me, but somehow fascinated, like a now-jolly, now-angry kid watching a roly-poly on the sidewalk. And I ask God questions, and I think, hmmm. God is not answering, God is observing, or God is waiting, or God is binge-watching "Stranger Things" on Netflix, like everybody else. And I think about how small a word "God" is, for the Great Creator.  And I want miracles for everyone with Parkinson's and Cancer. Right now.

I'm so glad to have my health, and mad that others don't.

And wondering why some people think they have to be mean to others. I'm horrified by what Leslie Jones has been going through, and proud of her for standing up to it. And mad about how that redirects her great, creative energy for a bit. Stealing her time (I'm always in a bad mood if you steal my time, even without all that hate attached.)

And then I'm back to me again, feeling inadequate, still, of all things! You would think that at this age, my middle-school insecurities would be wiped away, but nope, turns out, I'm human. Dammit. I keep trying to rise above that, but well, as you see.

And then I make a list of what I've done this year.

Which includes 300 drawings for two coloring books, plus comics and cartoons for Dirty Diamonds, The All-Girl Comics Anthology, an illustration for The Cartoonist, for the National Cartoonists Society, two comics and two ads for Magic Bullet (DC Conspiracy), my own work on Haint Blue, my it's-taking-forever graphic novel about the supernatural, and submitted my Fog of Worry panel comics to more than one syndicate (waiting on that). I've written and performed stories on stage with Story District DC and Storytalks NYC (Gotham Comedy Club), and performed my standup act at Comic Strip Live in NYC.

And I feel a little better, but cancer and Parkinson's are still attacking people I know and love, and their friends and family. I'm mad about that. I keep coming back to it.

And I spend a little time praying, and hoping prayer "works."

Back to drawing.

Hang in there, everybody, we are all on a journey no one else can really see. Because if they DID see, we would be embarrassed at how often we turn to brownies for solace, even if they ARE Fiber-One brownies, and so much better for you.

Right now I'm planning the fall cons - CreativeCon Panama City, and New York ComicCon. Well, I'm not the one planning them, who has time for that? (See: "Stranger Things".)

peace, love, and other things hippies say,









I'm Not OK, You're Not OK . . . But That's OK

We are all on a journey . . . and we should remember that. People can change. We can grow. And we are all in the middle of silent (or not-so-silent) struggles . . . in which we try to better ourselves, we beg God to make us better and/or we beat ourselves up for not being better. Hang in there. A cliché I love.

No Regrets - really?!

You know sometimes when you hear that movie quote "LOVE means never having to say you're sorry," and you think, well that's a crock o' crap?

That's how I feel when I hear people say, "No regrets," meaning, I presume that they don't regret, or allow themselves to think about regretting, ANYTHING. Which would be either, that they have delusions of perfection, or that they are totally in denial. Though, I'm sure I could use summa dat denial stuff, now and then. Like I'd like to forget about posting that Calista-Gingrich-has-woman-arrested-for-breastfeeding-in-public article, only to find out that it totally wasn't true. That is totally what I get for breaking my never-talk-about-the-candidate's-family-members-unless-it's-Todd-Palin rule. (Because, I mean, how can you NOT?)

Anyway, not to be sidetracked by my temporary dopiness, (hey, that IS a word!), THIS post is about regretting not having said or done certain things. When you lose a friend or family member, and you wonder what you could have done or said that would have made everything better . . . made things easier for that person in their last days, communicated how you felt and how much you truly loved them  and were glad they were in your lives. I think the best we can do in this life is to make sure we are more OPEN than CLOSED.

It causes a lot of embarrassment, of course. Exposing yourself in certain ways can cost you.

But I remember when I decided to leave my job as an artist/writer at Hallmark - it was tough. I got to write and paint all day, and had lots of cool friends! But, I knew if I didn't leave to learn the craft of comedy, I would always look back and be sorry. I never wanted to get to my death-bed and be worrying about myself in that way.

I probably won't die by something like parachuting out of a plane, it will be something stupid like "She fell off her platform shoes into a tub of water while holding a plugged-in radio," or "She drank her turpentine instead of her Diet Coke while painting her last masterpiece," which, btw, is something I've actually done. Yes, I once drank a sip of turpentine by accident instead of my Diet Coke. Not much, obviously . . . I'm still here. (DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.) Also, now, I keep the turpentine v. far away from my beverage while I work. Also, I've switched to acrylics, so now it's just murky water tempting me.

Anywayz, I want to be more like Oscar Wilde and say something like (slight misquote): "Either that wallpaper goes, or I do."

Try to achieve great things, fail a lot, make fool of yourself, achieve some stuff, love your family and friends, (and your ENEMIES, too, if you are VERY evolved, like Jesus), and laugh a lot along the way.

Allrighty, then.

No regrets.




p.s. - In tagging this latest post, the auto-fill jumped in when I typed "Jesus," and tried to fill in "Jerry Lewis." That was jarring.


Tough Row to Hoe

Comedy is a tough row to hoe. Now, I don't have actual experience rowing or picking cotton, but my parents grew up picking cotton in Mississippi. I remember countless times driving to see my grandfolks, and seeing miles and miles of cotton fields on the way. I thought they were beautiful, and I pretended they were snow, because we didn't get much of that. But, I've never had to pick cotton. The only bolls I ever picked, were ones my parents let me pick so I could see what it felt like - sorta.

So, this tiny little description of picking cotton is just from what my mom and dad have told me about it.

It's tough to hoe, and tough to pick. It tears up your fingers, because of the thorny husk on the outside of that fluffy tuft of fiber.

It's beautiful, but it tears your fingers apart to get to it.

Cotton picking is grueling, to say the least. (My mom refused to see the movie, "Places In The Heart," because, as she said, "Why would I want to see that? I lived it! I'm not going to see a movie about picking cotton." )

Comedy isn't pretty. It's definitely tougher for some than others.

But, in the end, it's showbiz.

It's never going to be "fair."

It will probably be very, very, deeply painful. And then, more awesome than you ever imagined. And then really painful again.

Are you IN, or are you OUT?

Comedy is tough for ALL of us . . . but it's very worth the blood, sweat, and tears.

Encouraging us all to hang in there, y'all.

Let's enjoy the loud laughs, roll with the gut punches of the tougher times, and celebrate the fact that we get to do what we love to do.

peace, trl

You Gotta Fly First and i mean it . . .

Listening to the radio right now like I do. A lot. And there are a lot of shows and interviews about (but not enough, they are too busy trying to figure out WTF is up with the latest candidate-we-never-heard-of-but-he's-got-an-ego-and-a-kabillion-dollars-so-why-shouldn't-he-run??!!!) job-hunting, how to survive being unemployed, and I feel the pain. But, unlike the viewpoint of a lot of those shows, it's something I'm used to. So, maybe I should say I'm empathetic, but not really in pain. Anymore. You see, I'm a freelancer. I've been a freelancer for many years. Also, my hubby has been a professional in theatre for decades. And, in theatre, most of your work is year-to-year, month-to-month, or show-to-show contracts. So, we know what it's like to put ourselves out there, work our butts off, and hope people don't stop seeing shows and buying art/cartoons/handbags-I-make-while-watching Rocco's Dinner Party.

My several years of attempts to get back into the "corporate" world just proved to me that even though MAYBE I could get in, staying in was another matter altogether. I mean, they TELL YOU TO DO STUFF. Like, all the time!! And, after you've been a stand-up comic (IS THAT WORD HYPHENATED?! I dunno), and a freelance cartoonist . . . well, let's just say that being a professional smartass doesn't exactly prepare you to EXCEL in a cubicle. (Read: they don't LIKE it when you say what you really think. They just asked you that because HR told them they are supposed to look like they give a flying f--- . . .) gaaaahhhh. See what I mean? Anyway, I gotta stick to jobs where brutal honesty and political incorrectness pay off. So, being a comic/writer/cartoonist/artist, or however you prefer to describe me, is PERFECT for me. I can blog in my  PJs. I can sleep in my clothes and then work all day in the same thing. Saves time. I can wear no makeup. Like EVER. I can pontificate on my blog and Tweet and Facebook and other nouns-turned-verbs. Is that a gerund? I dunno THAT, either. SEE HOW HONEST I GET TO BE? See how I get to yell in type whenever I feel like it!! THAT is freedom.

But, there are tradeoffs.

The freedom it does not necessarily allow you is financial freedom.

This doesn't mean you don't make money. It means you never know WHEN you're gonna make money. It is feast or famine. With a lotta famine in between. It works for me to wear my PJs as clothes and my clothes as PJs, first of all because I wear black all the time, so it works as a fashion statement, but also because I haven't bought new clothes in a long time. But, I don't care. I use gift money to buy art supplies. And then I make art and then I sell it. Circle of Life. Like in The Lion King! (Though, as our very little boy pointed out to us when that movie came out, "It's actually a Circle of Death. Because the lions eat the other animals.") Which brings me back to the corporate world.

The thing about not having a job and being in this scary scary market? Well, first of all you need to know that every artist, writer, singer, musician, actor, performer, event planner, filmmaker, freelancer of ANY sort which you know is USED TO SCARY. We live it, we breathe it, we ride the knife edge of when will another licensing check come, and will it, and do I have the money to go after fill-in-the-blank who definitely did not pay up, and thanking God that there are still AWESOME companies and people who value artists and writers, and then back to pleez-let-them-return-my-original-artwork-intact - WAIT!! This knife has too many edges. Bad metaphor. Roller coaster better? More of an analogy than a metaphor? I'm blogging, I don't have time to look these things up, and I have to get back to my 1920's-Paris-Bistro-Table-turned-art-table  and make some draw-rings. Man, don't I love the dash? Or hyphen? You can look that up, too, if you feel compelled. I have a Harbrace College Handbook, but it's gathering dust at the moment. I'm too  busy downloading vampire novels on my Kindle to bother that thang at the moment.

Anyway, all this yammering is meant to ENCOURAGE you. For reelz. Because, I have put myself out there. As have many others. Many of us are hurting in this economy (and if techies and nurses are having trouble being un- or under-employed, how do you think this economy is treating comics and writers and artists? The non-famous ones, I mean), but you need to put yourself out there. And keep doing it. It ain't easy. Matter of fact, mostly it sucks the biggest wind.

You might be surprised at this, but I'm actually an introvert. I'd rather sit and have a glass of wine with one or two friends than work a room or attend any party. I avoid crowds. (With the notable, which is why I'm noting it, exception of being on stage performing stand-up, and don't get me started on the psychology of that one! I just enjoy. Then I go backstage and beat myself up for all my mistakes, make notes on my set list and wish I'd been skinnier because then EVERYONE woulda liked me, really liked me!) Anyway, I do love performing comedy. I hate the business of comedy.

Trouble is, the business of freelancing ANYTHING is how you get the work. I have a couple of clients right now (and I feel really really BLESSED in this way) who really like my stuff. So, it's a volume game for the most part. If I do ENOUGH work, usually I make sales. It's a LOTTA work, I mean. You'd be surprised how many ideas get generated, drawn, and submitted to get ONE accepted. And I've been in this a while, so I'm not sending in stuff they've seen a kabillion times. But I love it. That's why I'm in it.

I had a whiny little text session with a friend in LA t'other day about how much I HATE the comedy business. Not the comedy, not performing it or writing it, or having tons of awesome hilarious people as friends, but the actual GETTING OF THE WORK. It sucks.

It's gonna suck.

This reminds me of a little thingy I read in (I think, and feel free to correct me if I'm wrong) Syd Field's book on screenwriting. Someone asked him in a seminar if Hollywood was really sexist and misogynist and racist and religionist and ageist . . . 'cuz that's what they had heard. His answer was . . .

YES. Are you IN or are you OUT?

So, that's the attitude we have to have. Even when we owe people money. Even when we don't know how to look nice for an interview, even when we are sick of getting new photos and spending hours resizing files and posting videos. Even when we really don't want to hear a critique of what we do, even when it seems everyone else is getting the breaks. (They're NOT.)

Are you in or are you out? Your decision.

I'm in.

I am a professional smartass.

And I'm glad my meds finally kicked in.

peace, love, and other things hippies say,


ADDED AFTER ORIGINAL POSTING: BTW, I'm not trying to give advice here. I'm just trying to encourage you. You are not alone. A lot of people feel your pain. And, really, actually  know how you feel, deep down. Ignore the politics of this - the politicians who tell you they care usually don't, or used to, but are so far away from our day-to-day, they are clueless. (When your job is trying to be popular, well, I guess it does something to you . . .) So, hang in there, in spite of them. (Okay, maybe that IS advice.)

Egyptian + Eye Candy

My first eye candy/breathing space pages are here. These pages are just women in art - lots and lots of women in art and design. I'm going to do more of these. It's a happy place in my journal. So far, I'm not gonna write on them. As much as I know you LUH-UH-UHVE my yammerin', I'm not writing on these . . . yet. That could change, but I like this spread just the way it is! As for the IMHO-tep page, I have always loved Egyptian stuff - but then, who doesn't? It's so odd and weird and strange. Not to be redundant er nuthin'. I think that's what we love about it - it's FOREVER interesting. The design, the culture, the art, the architecture, the politics . . . on and on!! I'm thinking Liz Taylor and Richard Burton (*sigh*) as we speak!! I worked with the kids this year doing hieroglyphics and Egyptian columns - and one permanent resident in my home, for going on 15 years now (?) is a tall-as-me inflatable mummy :-) sarcophagus. luv luv luv my mummy . . .

Anyway, here is my Egyptian page. I bought the papyrus roll at Plaza Art Supply in Richmond at VCU (btw,they have some awesome papers). The earrings are some of my favs. I taped them in here so I can wear them again, and then put them back. Anything for my art!!

So, we have red-zone air quality here today due to the fires in the Great Dismal Swamp. We had a 5.8 earthquake a couple of days ago, and we are bracing for Hurricane Irene here on the Virginia peninsula. Mother Nature, that big Earth Woman, she do make herself known!

peace, y'all, t

Jonesin' for a Latté

I confess - I like prissy coffee. By that I mean, enhanced coffee. Where you add a lotta milk, or some multi-syllabic syrup flavor. I think this started when I was a kid, at my grandma's house, having fried chicken for breakfast, and she would make us coffee-milk. Which was basically, coffee for the kids, mostly milk (this could have been to camouflage that fresh, very rich cow-milk, which wasn't my fav - I wanted "real milk!" My grandmama had no idea she was training me for Sbux!! Yep, I love me some grande sugar-free hazelnut soy lattés. *sigh* Salivating as I write this. Speaking of which, one day I was at Sbux, and this guy ordered a (and I quote! because I WROTE IT DOWN!) - he ordered an "iced-grande-breve-four-cups-of-ice-white-mocha." And I remember thinking, I don't wanna know THAT guy. He R high maintenance incarnate.

By now you know I save all kinds of trash - such as chopstick wrappers, train ticket stubs, and those little cardboard hand-protector-thingies you get when you buy coffee to go (when I don't have my huge travel "mug" with me!)

I'm working on creating pages from trash - so here's the first one I think I've published. You can tell how this page was made - with discarded cardboard-thingies (what ARE those things called?) which I taped together with clear packing tape. I added paper flowers and sewed them on with beads. I added grommets to the ends and used jewelry wire/hooks to add them to my spiral sketchbook. I still have not mastered the little grommet thingy, though.

The shape of this page is as you see it, just defined by the shape of the handholder-cardboard-thingies; the page you see peeking from behind it is part of a sheet of papyrus - working on an Egyptian page for later.

Today we are getting air quality warnings due to the Great Dismal Swamp fires in North Carolina. We are getting ready for Hurricane Irene and recouping from the shock of a 5.8 earthquake yesterday. Who knew Virginia had all THAT goin' on? And you thought it was all tricorn hats, peanuts, and ham.

peace, y'all


I did two art journal pieces yesterday - one is based on going to our fav Chinese place here, Peking - and my collection of fortune cookie fortunes, which I like to use in collages (2D + 3D). The other is this one, a purple page with a little gift card set I repurposed - just redesigned the card inside and wrote some private stuff on it! Feeling very introspective last night - and thankful for the outlet of art journaling!! I love paint and paper and pen! I think it's essential for creative people to have these outlets - otherwise you just feel "off" and irritable, and generally blecchy . . . I don't like feeling like crap, so I make a lotta art :-) Today I'm working on finishing an 80's style concert poster for a local concert series - I'm really excited about that one - it's flashing me back to early MTV! Another journal to come later today. To work! I spent the morning with my son buying crickets to feed our newest family member, Petri, an adorable skink we adopted from a college-bound bud of Andrew's. Now back to the paints!Whispers and Envelopes

Po' (but awesome!) Paella

Po Paella

We made paella on a budget the other night, and it was awesomeness! Two considerations for us were cost, and the fact that we had two vegetarians, and we didn't want them to have too much trouble picking out the meat and seafood, so we stuck to big chunks of chorizo, which they could easily spot. Also, we are fortunate in that LaTienda, a Spanish food importer, is based right here in Toano, of all places! So we can shop there. YOU are fortunate, in that they have a kick-ass website where you can order all foods Spanish: http://www.LaTienda.com.

I, BTW, cannot even THINK the word "paella" without thinking of the Fawlty Towers episode where Manuel makes (or talks a lot about making) his famous paella . . .

Here's the recipe - we were budgeting, and we have some great local fresh produce. My friend Alisa bought the veggies from a local farmer's market, and we went to LaTienda for the Spanish foods. I always keep smoked paprikas on hand - they add so much flavor! Anyway, here's the recipe we improv'd:

1/4 c. olive oil

4 cloves garlic, minced

salt (we had some French salt, but you can use kosher or sea salt)

fresh ground black pepper

2 teaspoons paprika - we used Spanish smoked paprika (the "bittersweet" style, from LaTienda)

1 large white onion, diced

1 zucchini, diced

1 yellow summer squash, diced

1 large (we used a ginormous one) bell pepper, diced

1 (14.5 oz.) can diced tomatoes

8 oz. Spanish style chorizo links (we got ours at LaTienda) - some recipes call for 1 pound, we went quality over quantity!!

4.5 cups chicken broth

2 cups short-grain rice (we used Bomba Spanish rice - it is awesome! you can sub Arborio)

pinch of saffron threads (don't hate us, but we skipped this, to save dinero)


Heat a paella pan or very large shallow skillet  - a big cast-iron skillet is awesome, but I used my flat-bottomed cast-iron wok my cousin Shelia gave me a few years ago (thank you Shelia, I love my wok!!)

Pour in the olive oil, and heat to medium. Add the paprika, and stir it into the oil. Add the onions and the bell pepper, and sauté  until softened. Stir in the diced tomatoes, chicken broth, and chorizo. Cook that about 5 minutes, and add the veggies. Bring the liquid to a boil, and then stir in the rice. Cook without stirring for about 20 minutes.

I noticed that I did add a little more olive oil as I was cooking - use the salt and pepper to taste; I tend to throw in pinches while I'm cooking - you know your own taste :-)

We bought picos (little Spanish tapas breadsticks), cheese, and anchovy-stuffed olives to use as apps and to eat along with the paella, and had a great fresh salad Alisa made - with a great vinaigrette she made. We thought another touch which would be great would be do mince the anchovy-stuffed-olives and add to the vinaigrette!

OH!!  and the SANGRIA:

2 cups simple syrup (sugar water  - dissolve sugar in warm water) - this part is to your own taste, k? I didn't put much sugar in the syrup, so you have to gauge this to your own liking

1 24 oz (750 ml) bottle red wine (I used 3-buck-Chuck)

1/2 c. orange juice

10 oz. Tonic water

thinly sliced oranges, lemons, apples, or whatever you have on hand

Mix, pour over ice, enjoy - I DID punch this one up with about 3/4 c. of Trapiche Malbec (Argentina) - and that made it JUST RIGHT :-)

What Do Women Want?!













Today I'm a wine-tastin', paella-eatin' redhead. Yay-iss.

What do women want? Some of us know . . . and some of us don't.

Today I wanted PAELLA and WINE - La Tienda brought in chefs from Jaleo who made the most humongous batch of paella I've ever seen in my life (pix to come)! It was delish! La Tienda is an amazing Spanish food import biz, based right here in my little town - check them out online! mmmmmmmmm

The wine-tasting part woulda been more fun, if SOME people understood the concept that, as George Costanza said, "We live in a society!!" Some people apparently think wine-tasting means get-all-you-can-and-camp-out-at-the-wine-table -and-hog-it-so-no-one-else-can-have-any . . . but I digress. The wine was good, the paella was awesomeness.

WDWW? Paella and wine is always a good start . . .

peace, y'all,

Blue Period

I will be an empty nester in a year - am I having pre-emptive loneliness? Is this why we've decided to get a puppy? Am I thinking too hard about it? You let me know what you think. Meanwhile, I like to connect people - and work on my art journals and other artwork!

Don't Touch Your Eyeballs

I love to cook. I hate to clean up. I have watched my amazing professional chef friend, Doug Scott (Boulder, Colorado), cook genius meals, and keep the kitchen as clean as when he started, dancing around the kitchen like the pro he is - like some amazing ballerina! Or whatever you call guy ballerinas! He once whipped up some Grande Marnier crepes for us, just on a whim, and they were sooooo fine . . . and it was like he didn't even use a pan! The kitchen was clean before he finished!!! How does he do that?!

I watch Rocco's Dinner Party and Top Chef on Bravo, and even the sloppiest chefs keep their kitchens cleaner than I do as they cook. I have not mastered this art. (BTW, I am now Tweeting every Wednesday night during my watching of that show - follow RoccosDinnerParty on Twitter!) Which might explain why my kitchen is not clean yet . . .

I'm still cleaning up from last night's venture. Or, rather, procrastinating thinking about cleaning. Which IS an art I've mastered.

Okay, about the food: I live in a rural area, and the fresh veggies available are awesome - especially when your neighbors drop them off on your porch. My bud Alisa dropped off a huge bag of fresh-picked (you know 'cuz the dirt was still on 'em) veggies, and it was the perfect makins' for calabacitas. There was fresh eggplant (saved that for later), summer squash, zucchini, jalapeños, tomatoes, and some bigass ears of corn. I added cheese and cumin near the end - which made it über-yummy, to use a technical foodie term.

I actually wore gloves to handle the jalapeños for roasting and peeling - but of course, I then handled the knife handle with bare hands, so my hands stung a little anyway. I made it the whole evening without touching my eyeballs!! A minor (read: major) victory for me! I usually forget, rub my eyes with my peppery hands, and spend the evening looking like I'm weeping at previews for The Real Housewives of New Jersey.

Last time I made my two-day mole, I didn't wear gloves. My hands were red and burning for three days. I touched my eyeballs many times, to wipe away the tears from touching my eyeballs the last time. I was a mess.

Anyway, mijo Andrew made Navajo fry bread to go with the calabacitas, and it was awesome! This meal was kinda inspired by my visit to the Smithsonian Museum of the American Indian with some of my art students (thanks to a Target grant, and am I being too tangential and parenthetical?). More specifically, and less parenthetically, our visit to the CAFETERIA of the Smithsonian Museum of the American Indian. Awesome Native American  foods, and I spent part of the time salivating (not literally, because that grosses out middle-schoolers) over some of the kids' choices: fiddle fern salad, fry bread tacos, and the exotic delicacy known as "chicken fingers." Okay, so I didn't salivate over that. But only one kid opted for the typical fast-food fare - all the others went experimental - and they LOVED it!

Anyway, we had an awesome meal last night. Calabacitas, fry bread, no eyeball touching . . . what's not to love?

peace and good food, y'all,


VISIONARY, for reelz!

It's been an amazing couple of weeks - from 5 trips to Richmond in as many days, to judging a comedy contest and performing comedy in Ohio, to making some new friends to hanging with creative geniuses in Baltimore . . . and going to the American Visionary Art Museum there. Seriously, y'all, this is a don't miss!!! Also, there is an amazing museum shop called "Sideshow," curated by a bud of Barbara's - it's amazing. I would pay for the train trip JUST to shop there!! I'm getting back asap!! Currently, there's a show there called "What Makes Us Smile," curated by the museum director, the awesome Gary Panter, and the hilarious Matt Groening!! It TOTALLY made me smile. Brilliant, beautiful, touching, hilarious. How many shows (art or otherwise), can you say THAT about?!! Enjoy the whoopie cushion bench, and the pizza box paintings, and the museum's astounding Pez dispenser collection - among many, many other wonderful, smiley-inducing thangs!!

I was also privileged to visit a Holocaust survivor in his home - he collects African Art (I luh-uh-uv African Art) - he had plenty of Yoruba art, and art from Cameroon - gorgeous, gorgeous stuff!! What an amazing person. Humbling to meet him. Awesome to hang with my cartoonist friend Barbara Dale, and my creative genius bud, and proprietor of QUIRKS OF ART, Jenn Raines.

Now things are settling down - no, wait, I'm getting ready to go to DC to pick up my son from a summer arts trip he's on - and getting in all the studio time I can, as I have several art projects on my table. Onward and upward!! This is a great summer so far - doing bills and business stuff (which I'm way behind on) next week - but I know that won't ruin my WHOLE summer . . . or WILL it?!

peace, y'all


Food Matters

I am a total foodie. And I love all those foodie shows.

"Destiny . . . Destiny . . . no escaping, that's for ME!!" (Ms. Lakshmi! Gordon Ramsey!! Top Chef! Iron Chef! That's for ME!!)

I gotta cook. And I gotta eat. Last night I made a fine Turkish dish. It was egg on sauteéd spinach. Matter of fact, I think that's what it was called, "Egg on Sauteéd Spinach." I'm sure it's losing something in the translation. But it was delicious. You sauteé (am I putting that accent on the right "e"?)  - or the quotes in the right place for that matter - or those dashes . . . geez, I'm OCD. Where were we? Oh yeah, spinach. You sauteé the spinach in olive oil and onions, throw in feta cheese, salt and pepper it, and steam/cook an egg on top. It's awesome and low calorie. Salivating yet?

When I watch Martha and Emeril, I get appliance envy.

These food shows are responsible for my buying tongs, a garlic press, and a nutmeg grater. (Once-a-year use: pumpkin pie.)

Not to mention the chef clogs. I bought those first. They are SHOES, after all. Hey, I’m not made of stone. Speaking of stone, isn't Curtis Stone a TOTAL DOLLFACE? You gotta love those Aussies. And, when they can cook, why, they're double yummy.

But now I’m becoming a downright diva: “I need a meringue torch and I need it now! Why can I not find a spatula which matches my dishes? I cannot go another moment without an egg separator!!!”


“I buy vintage cookbooks too. It’s really stepping back into a different era. Wow, I didn’t have a clue you could use lard to make macaroni and cheese.”


“I really DO love to cook. You know this because I own tongs . . . and I USE them. And I use the term “lemon zest” in daily conversation:

“Why, this could use a little lemon zest!”

“That wouldn’t have happened if you had added a little lemon zest!”

“I wish we could all be as happy as lemon zest!”

I also know my garnishes rather well. You’ve got your easy things – your lemon twist, your little radish rose-wanna-be’s. And don’t forget your capers.

I’m lovin’ the capers. Capers work hard. They’re like the Oompa Loompas. You may not notice them, but they don’t care. They’re green, modest, camouflaged, really, but they still do their work. They salt it up, honey. They pack a punch. Not like those freeloader garnishes. Paprika. Parsley. Pimiento. (Why are they all “P” words? Pretty pathetic.)

I mean by this, that pimientos are self-centered little additions. They are not contributing. They just sort of shout, “Look at me! Look at me!” Can you tell me what a pimiento event tastes like? I didn’t think so. They’re showy, shallow, and they do NOTHING. They are the Paris Hiltons of the food world. (Another “P” word!) Because I think we all know that the cheese is the one doing all the work in pimiento cheese. But who’s getting first billing? Yeah.”


Teresa’s Deviled Eggs with Capers, or “The Garnish’s Revenge”

1 doz. eggs, boiled

¾ c. mayonnaise or ranch dressing

1 t. Dijon mustard

Salt and pepper

Dill pickle relish to taste

Paprika (oh, well)

Capers to garnish (!), about 36-40 small

Halve eggs. Mash yolks. Add mayonnaise, relish, salt and pepper, and Dijon mustard. Stir together. Spoon into egg halves. Garnish with paprika (oh, well), and three capers per egg! These are delish. The little capers are hard at work for you on this one.

Stay hungry, my friends :-)