Froggy boy goes to the art gallery

Last night, Froggy Boy paid a visit to the art gallery


He became one with the artwork of Magdalena Abakanowicz


At midnight, the Nelson's new addition looks positively spectral


Later, Froggy discovered his old street would never be the same


So he went to the art institute disco and hopped the night away

all photos and illustrations by natalya bond aka jennifer brothers

nippin' out

Sometimes people ask me what are some good comics to read. A lot of my favorites are Webcomics, but the company I work for does distribute quite a few comics that I am a big fan of. Among these are Lio, by Mark Tatulli. Lio is a pantomime strip, sort of a Harry Potter meets Buster Keaton with a hint of Edward Gorey. Lio's world is an interesting one, full of pet dinosaurs, grisly experiments and fooling his parents into thinking he's dead by lying on the ground with his head in a pool of cherry pie filling. Needless to say, not all of his rough sketches make it into print. The comic displayed here is such an example. I hope that nobody from my job sees this, because it would be strange to have to draft a cease and desist letter to myself.
Also, it would be neglectful of me to mention both my company and silent comic strips and not provide a link to Pepe, a daily comic drawn by someone named Moco which could just have easily been drawn in the 1930's as today. Also interesting is that it's referred to on the site Pepe en Espanol, even though there are never any speech bubbles. Not to worry, though. Pepe's antics speak for themselves.


Pepe is often the death of the party.


There are Octopus gags aplenty in Pepe.


Pepe does not like his wife very much.


Like Lio, Pepe also conducts traffic with the spirit world.


Outmoded racism in Pepe makes a good joke great.

Finally, in a bit of an attempt to regain any good karma I might have lost in last Tuesday's post, here's an interview with Garry Trudeau, another of our cartoonists. One of his characters, B.D. was the subject of a longer story arc in which he was wounded in Iraq, lost his leg and suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

100 Haikus about Bonn, Germany

After months of intermittent efforts, I have finally finished writing one hundred haikus about my year living along the Rhine. I finished this project in September 2006 to coincide with the five year anniversary of my arrival in Bonn. I am posting them today because it is national poetry day in the United Kingdom, and that's a good as occasion as any.

Eventually, I would like to make these into a little booklet complete with translations, footnotes and photographs. So let me know if you might be interested, and I'll make sure you get a copy. For now, though, I thought I would just let the text stand on its own. Comments and corrections are welcome, as are questions about language or content. Thanks to Adam for encouragement and editing, Cory for penning the inspirational collection "100 Haikus about the Science Library" and thanks to you for reading. And be warned, 100 haikus is quite a few, so it might be best not to try and read them all in one sitting, if you dare try reading them at all.

Mr. Airplane Man

Editor's Note: I had some ethical qualms about the caption contest that I announced earlier for this photo, so that has been withdrawn and replaced with the original post. Sorry for the confusion.

Before you read any further into this post, stop for a moment and see if you can figure out what is going on in this picture.

My initial guess was that it was photoshopped, but unless Gibson Studio Photo Service in Grove, Oklahoma was way ahead of its time, that's not the case. Next I thought the man was waist-deep in a frozen lake, but the ice would hardly have supported the weight of the plane. And the guy would probably not have such a calm expression on his face if he were in water that cold.

The answer, which you may have guessed by this point, is that the man is an amputee. Bizarre, huh? My neighbor brought this picture over one night while we were all drinking beer on the porch, and after we'd stared at them a while, he gave us the back story.

Apparently his sister had purchased some land in Garnet, Kansas, but in order to claim it they had to dissemble an entire barn and move it off the property within 24 hours, a fine-print clause the seller had already used to scam a few other folks. My neighbor's family, however, succeeded, and in the process discovered a box of documents similar to this one.

Turns out the previous land owner had taught war veterans (either WW2 or Korea, I'm guessing) how to drive again, and in some cases, how to fly small aircraft. My neighbor says he has another picture of the same guy sitting in the cockpit with a dog sitting beside him, but he's not sure exactly where it is right now. I know it's a bit exploitative to display them here, but I couldn't help but share these. Thanks to my neighbor for letting me do so.

Hex appeal

Editor's note: with the onset of October, this site will be indulging in a large number of Halloween-related posts. Earlier today, I had posted a movie review of a short educational film designed to teach high schoolers about the dangers of heroin, but I decided to go with something less macabre to kick off my favorite month of the Gregorian calendar.

This summer, a friend of mine was supposed to attend what she called a "witch camp" somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. Unfortunately, she didn't wind up being able to go. Regardless, the idea of a "witch camp," whatever that is, stuck in my head. If there's a witch camp, than surely there's a fashion camp out there somewhere. I started to wonder what it would be like if a candidate from each camp did an exchange (A witch goes to fashion camp, and vice versa). So far, I have only written an article about the first scenario. However, I would certainly welcome a submission about a beauty queen going to witch camp. I think this drawing works either way.

Witch Goes to Beauty Camp

The first thing the witch did when she got to fashion camp was stick the handle of her broomstick in the beauty fan. When the photographer rushed over to ask what in Hades she thought she was doing, she told him she thought her bangs would look better flat against her forehead.

The photographer, who was already irritated at having to spend valuable time photographing a witch, was about to launch into a tirade when he noticed something peculiar about her. "Oh, my...your black dress is offset perfectly by your green skin," he said, brushing a strand of blue/black hair back from her blemished forehead.

The witch remained nonchalant, remarking simply, "If I must pose, I would prefer to do so au naturel. I want the world to see me, warts and all."

She is known only as Witch, and she is the fashion world's newest sensation. Within days of her arrival at Fashion Camp early last summer, Witch has landed a number of lucrative endorsement deals. Her leap from the pages of Goethe's Faust onto the glossy covers of some of the most high-profile glamour mags in the world has been remarkable, and so far she claims to be enjoying herself.

"A black mass on Walpurgisnacht is not terribly different than the launch party for a designer's new line, aside from the beverages. Personally, I find a lot that is hideous, beautiful, and a lot that is beautiful, hideous. It can be difficult to tell exactly who is posing in the shadows of whom."

The fashion press has seized on the candid crone's remarks, citing her "hex appeal" and crediting her with the invention of "wicked chic." Many glamour specialists say "wicked chic" offers a viable alternative to young women tired of the druggy waif look that has dominated magazines since Kate Moss was a teenager. Also, Witch's arrival on the scene is just in time for fall styles, which rely heavily on cutesy skeletons and other traditional Halloween imagery.

"There's something supernaturally sensuous about the way Witch walks down the catwalk with her black cat beside her," said Cleo Hirschberg, an editor for Fazshion Magazine. "Never in all of my days as a fashion correspondent have I seen such an enchanting combination of awkwardness and aplomb."

Miss Witch herself appears rather nonplussed by all the hoopla surrounding her sudden iconic status. "I'm going to live as long as Methuselah, so it's all very much the same to me. I'll still be zipping around on my broom when Louie Vuitton's great-grandkids are six feet under."

The witch's unnatural beauty and candor have won her a place at the top of the fashion world, but there have also been uncomfortable moments. "At one of the press parties, a bigwig designer proposed a toast to her," reporter Hirchberg recalls. "He asked her what her poison was, and everyone just gasped when she answered 'frog's wine.' They all laughed, though, when Witch explained that Frog's Wine is just an old sailer's term for gin."

Blue Collar Gorillas

This is a glimpse of life at Blue Collar Press, where Jennifer and many other area artist/musicians earn their daily wage. They do neat shirts, posters, and assorted music merch design and distro, and even made me some complimentary buttons to promote this humble little site. As evidenced by this photo stream, they also employ gorillas.

Kinser feature from the UDK, 1/23/03

At Ryan and Kelly's wedding this summer, several of you recalled this article I wrote for the University Daily Kansan about Ryan's unusual feat of drinking an entire 44oz cup of Vanilla Flavor Shot. I didn't have a copy, so this had to be tracked down from the Resource Center at KU's William Allen White School of Journalism, of which I am a proud graduate. I think that many of you will enjoy seeing this article again, for two important reasons:

1) It really happened
2) It's Ryan Kinser

And please don't strain your eyes trying to read it above. Get the large version. Thanks to Mark at the J-School for digging this up, Jenn for photocopying it, our friends for reminding me about it, and Ryan for being Ryan.

Trip to the Wetlands

Clyde Ahote's Haikus from the Wilderness

The Baker Wetlands
on the first Sunday of fall
where tallgrass stands tall

A chorus of kaws
the white noise of the blackbirds
circling the tree

Cattail cotton haze
a girl throws a crabapple
into the green sludge

The sunflowers turn
a faded shade of amber
in late afternoon

Jennifer Brothers
considers a sunflower
with her camera

the young man marches
into the marshes wearing
ecogaloshes

Wetlands boundary
follow the raccoon's footprints
to Wakarusa

What then should we do
when we finally make it
to the outside world?

the click-clack of feet
following the red wood road
there's no place like home



Click here for more of Natalya's photos of wildflowers.

original artworks

This corresponds to an earlier piece on this very site about bidding farewell to an adobe Igloo in a Lawrence, Kansas backyard. The piece ends with the narrator likening himself to a miniature llama/birthday cake decoration that has been moved to a windowsill and given a cidada cowboy as a rider/companion (actually, the hat itself is artistic license). The piece was drawn in summer, but has not yet been publically reproduced until today. Unlike its companion essay, "Goodbye Gloo," the spirit of this piece is believed to be more than pathos. The rendering of a smile on the llama suggests a willingness on part of the artist to move on; to put a happy face on future travels. Upon the piece's unveiling at the Nowhere gallery on 19th and Alaska Streets, one reviewer called it "The song of the open road played by a cicada's kazoo while seated upon the pastel-toned saddle blanket of a miniature llama. Endearingly not-believable."

This piece was made with the usual medley of oil pastels and outdated stamps of a monkey wishing us happy new year.


Most of my drawings could be regarded as "outsider art," in that their expressionistic qualitiy clearly outweighs any real craft. And from time to time, they get made fun of. But validation from the art world is at hand. This drawing was a runner-up in the band Minus Story's "No Rest for Ghosts" art contest. The drawing is part of a 2001 series of oil pastel portraits originally entitled "Rejected Muppets." The series was later incorporated by Jonathan Nagel into his performance at the 2004 Farmer's Ball, to mixed reviews. Someday the series may be displayed here, but only if the curators of fate deem it so, and only if there is an interest on part of the critics and art fans in my reading public (provided such a public exists).

belated 9/11 tribute to a 9/11 tribute

I first discovered the Twin Towers of Rosedale entirely by accident. It was a hot July day in 2004, when I was working for the City of Westwood (which for those who don't know is really just a small neighborhood outside of Kansas City proper).

I had been driving around in a city truck killing time until lunch, and when I got a bit carried away singing along to Janis Joplin on the radio, I swerved a bit and an empty wheelbarrow flew out from the truck bed onto 47th street right by the Apple Market. Fortunately, I loaded the thing back in the truck before traffic was impeded, but I was a bit embarassed and decided to make myself scarce for a while.

Once that adrenaline wore off and I drifted back into my usual sleep-deprived psychosis, I drove north into the more unkempt neighborhood of Rosedale, a place no Westwood employee is supposed to visit while on the clock, if ever. I drove a few blocks into the god-fearing, barbecue-loving neighborhood where I lived until I was four, but which I still don't have mapped out too well. I turned a few times and then a few more and all of a sudden there it was: a 10-foot-tall replica of the World Trade Center, planted in a flower bed in someone's front lawn.

I couldn't believe my eyes. I marveled at it for a minute, noticing the somewhat crudely-made plaque at the bottom that listed the events of 9/11 in brief along with the total number of people killed. "Never Forget," it read at the top.

I returned to the maintenence shack a bit bewildered, and when I told my co-workers about the discovery they seemed amused but skeptical. I wondered if they believed me, as I was honestly not sure I'd really seen those towers myself.

When I did try to drive back and find the towers later that week, I didn't see them anywhere. Maybe they really had been an illusion, a hallucinatory result of not sleeping more than a few hours each night. I had almost given up my search when, at the corner of 44th and Fisher, I saw them. The Twin Towers of Rosedale were real after all.

I drove back by a bunch of times that year, always to point out the monument to friends. We all thought the towers were pretty funny, but I think we all silently wondered about the artist's motivation. Even if he were just a kook who got a bit carried away with patriotism and yard art, 9/11 must have affected him rather deeply to inspire such a large, unconvential tribute. I may have laughed at the man's monument, but I did respect where it was coming from.

I was also kind of afraid of the whole thing, which is why the photo Jennifer took of David and I is so blurry. We didn't want to hang around and scare the owner into thinking Bin Laden and his V.I.L.E. henchmen were trespassing on his property, so we didn't have time to take a proper flash photo. Sure enough, the last thing I heard about that block of Fisher Street was that a dead body had been found in someone's back yard. Probably unrelated, but you never know.

Today, the KC twin towers are a thing of memory, just like the real-life buildings that they were modeled after. Gone, but not forgotten. Rosedale -- like much of working-class America -- will not forget.

Will Oldham comes to Lawrence

Will plays some songs


Will turns into a cat


the hipsters are baffled by the transformation

The above photos are from Will Oldham's free in-store at the Love Garden in Lawrence. They painted a nice little backdrop for him and I was fortunate enough to have a place near the front. A lot of people crammed in to see him play, but everyone was silent as could be during the set, aside from one guy who passed out cold and fell down back by the recent arrivals section. Also entertaining was the way one of the Love Garden house cats crawled up on stage and stared at Mr. Oldham while he played, which he seamlessly incorporated into the lyrics of his songs.

The highlight for me was when he took requests. I called (but not too loudly) for "Blockbuster," meaning his song from the "Hope" EP, "Werther's Last Blues to Blockbuster." A few people yelled out other stuff, but Will just started strumming for a minute and stared off in concentration, as if trying to remember the chords. Everyone quieted down again, and sure enough, he played the number I asked for. I was very excited, and grabbed Jennifer's ankle from where I was sitting Indian-style on the floor. There were quite a few times I had stayed up all night in Germany playing guitar with Wade, either at our places or on the Rhine, and that song never got skipped. Pretty neat to hear the man himself play it by special request.

Haikus and photos, 8/25 - 9/3

Some Haikus and pics to chronicle the last two weeks or so. All the photos in Missouri (the bulk of the lot) taken by Jennifer; Kansas snapshots snapped by me. Missouri locations include old Frau Meierhoff's stained glass factory and loft in the City Market, and various Joplin landmarks like Arde's Villa, a restaurant which was built on the site of a deserted public swimming pool. The links will lead you to albums from Jennifer's flickr site. Worth checking out.

Kansan locales include Maggie's Farm in North Lawrence, Kansas State University, and a scenic overlook of the Kanzaa Prairie just outside Manhattan.


warehouse of treasures
the golden areolas
of the statuettes


highway underpass
where cyclists fear to pedal
playground of the trolls


3,000 years late
for my meeting with mneme
muse of memory


hedges and lilies
of redding's mill missouri
petrified cherubs


fake classic frescoes
where children once went swimming
a lifeless blue hose


hamburger hi-way
the road to obesity
is paved with milkshakes


the capri motel
sleep off decades' worth of kitsch
with our special rates


oh goodness greenness
behold the kanzaa prairie
you lone sunflower


BWB
traveler from New Jersey
surveys his old state


Professor Wetzel
reports the latest findings
from the microscope


a window closes
on the giant shuttlecock
just a reflection


I played the mouth harp
in the order of kaos
organic space jams


magic birthing hut
amadeus was born here
on saturday night


the science of bugs
is not to be confused with
the study of words


gondola travels
under the venetian bridge
ripples of stained glass


the devil's blue dress
is hung up in the closet
bye bye, debutante


take a final hit
from the dark bowl of perry
embers of summer

Python Personality

In the process of clearing out the family basement, my mom found this profile I made as a second grader at Westwood View Elementary School (mascot: Pythons). For any of you who may have clicked onto this page without knowing who I am, or any of you who know me but maybe never realized what ambitious travel plans I once had, this page should clear things up a bit. For a larger version, click here.

frauen, die schreiben...

My friend Ayla maintains a lovely and frequently updated Web log about life in Hamburg and wherever else she travels. The other day, it was on the top 20 list of Wordpress's best blogs of the day. I'm not sure what that means, but it's certainly well-deserved. As a tribute, I'd like to hit you all with this verse encouragement to check out her site, .11freundeundich.

A light in Ayla's Attic, September 2006

What does Ayla keep in her attic?
What thoughts will achieve such loftiness?
What memos will she send forth
from her personal blog-acropolis?

A poem, a slideshow, an artfully cropped photo
Points of interest on an idea's journey
from germ to sublimation
word-experimentations
undertaken by this fate-bound band of first-generation bloggers

The German tagline translates to:
"women who write are dangerous"
But I don't feel threatened
Only inspired to keep describing
the whos whats hows and whens
without stopping too long to question why