I’ll warn you right now. The title of this blog post makes more sense than what follows.

In case you haven’t guessed by now, this is the conclusion (fingers crossed) to the nameless blog post from two days ago. And you can choose to read that first post or not. Actually, I doubt anything you do could help make this story make more sense. In fact, I might recommend reading that post backwards and you might actually be better off.

You see, I just wasn’t content to wait until the AZ court house assistant came back from vacation to investigate, and hopefully clear, my outstanding citation from long ago. I called the AZ courthouse this morning to see if anything had been done yet. Read More...

I don’t really expect anyone to actually read all of this. But if you have a strong constitution and appreciate Catch 22 types of situations, read on.

1. Last July: I get my first ever moving violation for making an illegal right turn from a lane that required all traffic pass straight through the intersection. That’s right! I have had a perfect driving record for my entire life until last July.

2. Several weeks later, I get a bill in the mail for the ticket. $75. I promptly forget about it.

3. A few weeks later I get a notice.
"Oh crap! That's right, I never paid that."
Now that I have missed the payment deadline, I have to go to traffic court and tell the judge why I didn't pay it, and then, um...pay it. $212. Court date is set for Sept 3rd.

Read More...

This morning Oliver and Amélie were having breakfast. I was making lunches.

Oliver was so excited to tell Amélie something that he could barely get his words out. I heard a stream of meaningless syllables.

Me- Oliver, slow down, I can’t understand a word you are saying. You sound like this: amorifashlimitarbydok.

Amélie- I understood him, Papa.

Me- You did? Sheesh! It must be some secret kid language that I don’t understand.

Amelie after a minute to think- Well, papa, there is a grown up language that I don’t understand.

Me- Right. And you know what, honey? I don’t understand that one too well either.

Last February, the family was driving back from a vacation in Death Valley. It was a long drive back to San Francisco and the children were sitting in the back watching a cartoon on a portable DVD player (fortunately with headphones). I had a long time to let my imagination wander.

It had been a long time since I had made comics for Oliver and Amélie. I wanted to start a new one. I had already made a dinosaur story, an under the sea story, a haunted house story and a knights and dragons story. That left many classic children’s themes yet to pick, and that day I was deciding between an outer space story and a pirate story.

Before long I knew there was great potential for fun if I combined the two themes. Yes. Pirates in space. That would be a great theme. Read More...

Personally, I find using a blog to espouse political musings somewhat vulgar, and I don’t plan on doing much of it here at Depot Dad. But then again, when did the risk of appearing vulgar ever stop me?

- - - - -

Even though Obama may have used the machinery of the Democratic party to get elected, I have this gut feeling the guy is actually a closet centrist. His messages are just so darn practical, inclusive, and free from typical leftist dogma. I think he is inspiring too, a wonderful blend of big dreams and feet on the ground. Is this guy for real? I feel like I'm waking from a nightmare, to the smell of coffee and a new day. I'm honestly moved to see so many other people who seem to feel the same way.

I'm not a very politically motivated person, but I have to say that this is the first president that has inspired me to ask, what can I do? Amazing.

Of course, I remember Bush's first campaign, where he sold himself as a very moderate Republican, but then after three months of Bush in office it was like the whole country had to learn to goose-step.

Personally, I’m very interested in seeing the consequences of Obama’s proposed Keynesian spending plan for stimulating the economy. Keynesian ideas have been so dismissed and ridiculed for the past thirty years or so that I’m fascinated to see if there is any life left in this approach. Personally, I believe it is the right answer for our times.

So we will see, we will see. But I’ll tell you this, I am hopeful.

. . . . . . . . . .

Okay, I just want to be clear here because I think the comments in the previous post may be addressing a different issue. I'm not complaining about whether there is an "oh" sound in "Oh nine." I'm complaining about the use of Two Thousand instead of saying Twenty.

The year has always been pronounced as two two digit numbers 19(nineteen) 92 (ninety-two) for example.

I want this convention to continue. 20 (twenty) 09 (oh nine)

The use of the phrase "Two thousand and" is what bugs me.

And no, you have not missed my other 4200 hundred peevs. I’m just posting them in the order I think about them. ; )

Okay, its a new year. In fact it is the year 2009. But you probably already knew that.

But I’d like to ask you to do something. Would you please say the new year out loud as you read this? Go ahead. 2009.

Well, if you are like most people you probably said this...

“Two thousand and nine.”

Now unless you are reading over mom or dad’s shoulder, odds are that you were born in the twentieth century. And it is a pretty safe bet to conclude that in those formative years, you got used to saying the year as. “Nineteen ninety-two,” or whatever.

Yes, Nineteen ninety-two. NOT, One thousand nine hundred and ninety-two. I mean, come on, so many syllables in that second choice! Of course we avoid it. Nineteen ninety-two just sounds so much cleaner.

So why do people insist on saying Two thousand and nine? It sounds infinitely better to my ear to say Twenty oh nine. And thankfully, these odd “Oh” years will be over in a few months, and people can start saying the even shorter, Twenty ten. Whew!

And I’ll bet that if you are over one hundred years old, you and your family said Nineteen oh nine. So why haven’t we adopted the same rule in this century? People are just crazy.

Please do Depot Dad a huge favor and see if you can get in the Twenty-something groove. Got it? Good.

Do you sleep on one side of the bed or the middle?

I was rummaging in the back room of a soon to be closed used book store in Kansas City. I don’t remember why the owner let me back there. I was rapidly scanning the stacks when I came across three small books with illustrated covers. Their titles were incomprehensible nonsense. They were called...

The Gashleycrumb Tinies
The Willowdale Handcar and
The Curious Sofa

Read More...

And all of them from the genius of Edward Gorey.
I’m quoting these from memory, so they may be slightly misquoted.

The first born of Mrs. Keats-Shelly
Came to light with its face on its belly
The second was born
With a hump and a horn
And the third was as shapeless as jelly.

Each night father fills me with dread
As he sits at the foot of my bed
I’d mind not that he speaks
In jibbers and squeaks
But for seventeen years he’s been dead.

The sight of his guests filled Lord Cray
At breakfast with horrid dismay
So he launched off his spoons
The pits of his prunes
At their heads as they neared the buffet.

The man was a GENIUS I tells ya!

After my last heady post, I think it is time for some serious low-brow indulgence into pure fluff. Otherwise known as....Depot Dad’s favorite fictional female characters he’d most like to...uh...meet. Read More...

As you might imagine, I’ve been preoccupied with the idea of death a little more than usual these past few months. And some people, knowing what I’m going through, have asked me to share just these thoughts. I mean, I know how it is supposed to go, the idea that people dealing with a potentially terminal illness must suddenly have profound insights into the meaning of life and the human condition. Its natural to wonder what things look like when the ground you’ve been standing on isn’t there anymore.

And so to the question....have I had any profound insights? I’m just going to let this blog post roll off of my fingers and we’ll see what we have at the end. Read More...

It is all well and good for single parents, or any single, to make a list of traits that they would like in a potential partner (if they want one). But there is another list that is even more important, I think.

This is a public service reminder that people usually don’t get what they want by playing it safe. If you live in a bunker that you peer out of now and then in order to scan the horizon, it is time to take a moment and ask yourself, what are you willing to risk for love?

Are you willing to...

1. ... be shown that you are not right all of the time?
2. ... get hurt and suffer disappointment?
3. ... be blameless if it doesn’t work out or get off the ground?
4. ... swallow your pride?
5. ... look foolish in the eyes of others?
6. ... let another see your weakest moments?
7. ... own your own insecurities and not project them onto another?
8. ... occasionally compromise your own needs for the needs of another?
9. ... learn?

Does this list look insurmountable? Can you do it? Are you willing to do more than wait for prince(ss) charming to land in your lap? And I don’t just mean “getting out there and meeting people,” though that certainly helps. I mean that after you do get out there, are you prepared to let your guard down and let life in?

Besides wealth, fame and a record of good deeds, there is another measure of someone’s life and that is simply to ask, “What were they willing to risk in life? What chances did they take?”

Okay, it’s a new year, and I’m ready for my own fresh start. And I’m starting with my poor neglected blog.

I’ll start with a story of how amazingly lucky I am, and yes, I think this will be the last time I mention my medical treatments in December.

I realized early on in the treatments, that this was, in fact, a rare opportunity. I mean, when was the last time I was told to sit in a chair for three hours and do nothing? And I couldn’t foresee the next time this would happen again. So for many of the days, I brought along my drawing supplies and made great progress on the latest Oliver and Amélie comic. It made the time there go a bit faster.

But on the last day I was just done. I didn’t want to draw, I didn’t want to chat with the other patients. I closed my eyes, pushed my reclining chair fully back, cranked up my iPod and simply waited for the time to pass. Well, about fifteen minutes later, there was a tap on my foot. I opened my eyes to see the entire nursing staff of the infusion center standing around my chair. They presented me with a signed card, a bottle of champaign, a photograph of the team, and too many kind words.

It turns out that when you spend a little bit of every day sticking needles into someone, it becomes a kind of grounds for intimacy. And the truth is, I grew very fond of the staff at UCSF. And, it turns out that they felt the same way about me.

I was an unusual case for them. You see, most patients at the infusion center were getting doses of chemotherapy. And they came in one day every three weeks or so. So it was unusual for the staff to see someone every single day for a month. And even after only just a few days, I already felt like part of the family there. I used to joke that I should start picking up my mail there.

And I really will miss seeing them. They are the most extraordinary people working every day with patients who were much worse off than I was. So thank you Michelle and Pauline and Bruce and Marisa, and everyone at UCSF. I’m a lucky guy to have been helped by such an amazing team.