josh is cool

I've wanted to use that title for a long time. The next time I Google myself, which happens 10-20 times per day, that phrase will pop up. I need that sort of affirmation in my life.

Without further ado, here are this week's Friday Robots!


Friday Robots have been brought to you today by the letter Q and the number 22.

greetings from asbury park, NJ

When I first got my books back from the printers, I sent some out to a few cartoonists who I admire. David Fitzsimmons, an editorial cartoonist in Tucson, has long been a mentor to me, beginning when I was in middle school. Richard Thompson has a new syndicated comic strip called Cul de Sac (and has been more than generous with his time in answering my persistent and star-struck emails). Patrick McDonnell is one of the few cartoonists to have a hugely successful strip AND not be dead. His comic strip, to those of you who may not be familiar, is called Mutts. It is well-drawn, Buddhist-inspired, and is often both funny and moving in the same few panels.

Anyway, today I got a nice letter from Mr. McDonnell and I had to share this drawing he did of Carver:

I laugh every time I look at it.

Let this post serve as an open letter to any cartoonist who wants their work shown on a highly prestigious, Polk Award winning blog. Send me your drawing of a Falling Rock character and I'll post it for all the world to see. I'm arching my eyebrow at you, Jim Davis.

what we talk about when we talk about friday robots

Have a great Memorial Day weekend, everybody. I'll be back by Tuesday. Until then, let Friday Robots be your guide. Don't do anything they wouldn't do.

James Joyce KO

Like every English major, I've long wanted to meet James Joyce so I could punch him right in the face. Until last week, his being long dead has hampered my ability to do so. I wrote a story for Welcome to Falling Rock National Park in which Ernesto fulfills my longtime fantasy. For those of you who missed one of my most happy cartooning memories, here it is again: Ernesto vs. Joyce.

History of Bikes: Portland Bike

We have reached the last post for Bike Week at Falling Rock National Blog. Today I talk about my current bike.

My bike is a Trek 7200, good for riding around downtown as well as some trails. While I'm sure fancypants bike riders, like the ones I saw in Boulder with $4000 bikes and $1000 worth of clothes and gear, would guffaw at this bike, it suits me just fine. It fits into the category (I hope) of "nice enough to ride, not so nice it will get stolen."

When I got a job in Portland, the first order of business (almost before food) was buying myself a bike. This is the first time I've needed fenders to shield myself from wet streets. It has a back rack, too. A real commuter bike.

I am truly humbled by the bike riders here. Yes, Boulder has an active bike riding community. But most of those people are into long distance road rides. You'd see them on the mountain roads, riding for most of the day whenever it was sunny. Here people ride bikes as a job. There is a tough, small clique of bike messengers who make bike riding part of their identity. Long pants are almost unheard of, even in winter. They have walkie talkies and are in constant communication, even if they work for different companies. There is even a bike messenger race. They set a series of "pick ups" that each rider must make, then they all converge at one house and get incredibly drunk. Actually, that's not entirely accurate. There's drinking beforehand as well. Nothing like riding full speed through the streets of Portland in the rain while hammered. So I hear.

While not as hardcore as the bike messengers, I do ride to work and to run errands. I also have a couple of favorite rides. One is FlavourSpot. This is a cart located in the parking lot of a video rental store in North Portland. They make waffles, then wrap them into a cone and put delicious fillings inside. Nutella, ham and cheese, sausage and maple butter. It's the best. Even better is riding your bike there so you can eat even more and not feel bad about it later.

To get to FlavourSpot, I ride north to the St. John's Bridge, cross the river, then ride east along Lombard. On the way back I go on the bluffs overlooking the industrial sites on the river, then cross the Steel Bridge and ride through the new, fancy Pearl district to get back home. You get to see so much of the town this way.

The Springwater Corridor is a long trail that begins downtown and heads east all the way to Boring. Boring, Oregon is a real place. I really need to get pictures of their City Hall sometime. My wife and I will take the Springwater if we want a ride that doesn't involve traffic. One of the odder things you pass along this trail is a fair, which seems to be permanent. You can see the Ferris wheel as you go by. Then the trail turns and you're left to wonder how that came to be there.

Thanks for sticking with me for Bike Week. One never knows what tomorrow will bring for Falling Rock National Blog, you can rest assured you will be the first to know.

I'll leave you with this picture from Tucson. A bike with wings:

History of Bikes: Boulder Bike

After college I wanted to take my Gary Fisher with me to Colorado, but I couldn't fit it in my car. I went through a experimental phase with a road bike that constantly got flat tires when I rode it around town. Worse still, it had these bizarre racing tires that had the tubes stitched to the wheel, so if you got a flat you had to unsew the tire, put on the patch, and sew it back up again. Not exactly my kind of a bike.

I was reunited with my Gary Fisher when my parents drove up to visit me; they graciously brought the bike with them. I was ecstatic; I began to go on longer rides around town. Like the Silver Stallion, I now had the freedom of exploring the town in a way I couldn't have with a car or on foot.

I went through a number of jobs and the thing that united my experience was the ability to ride to work. Only one job I took required a car commute, but that was a temporary gig.

I've talked before about the bike path in Boulder. Let me say here that the Boulder bike path should be used as a template for all cities in this and every country on the planet. You didn't have to ride on the shoulder of the road, hoping that SUV wouldn't roll right over you. Yet the bike path went almost everywhere you needed to go. It was fantastic.

My happiest rides were from my job to the apartment where my girlfriend lived. I worked near the university, so I'd pedal through campus. In the winter it would be nearing dark when I rode, so I used bike lights to see once I got off the well-lit campus path. I'd pass by the two new dorms the university built, then the path went straight through a grassy field. After that I'd be in her neighborhood. When I got to her place, I'd call up and we would have dinner together, usually something warm and delicious (sometimes just warm was good enough). Then we'd watch DVDs on her computer. It all felt very cozy.

There were some weeks in the winter when I didn't ride. I don't think riding in the snow and ice is ever a good idea. But even on a cold day, riding your bike was easier than taking a car. No hassles with parking, no traffic jams. It's less stressful and makes running errands almost athletic.

When my girlfriend and I moved, I decided my Gary Fisher was meant to stay in Colorado. I sold it at a sporting goods consignment store. I'm sure it is still loved.

Here's the latest version of the Wahoo. Mine had a metallic tan color; it also had none of these fancy shocks. Heck, in my day bikes had one big wheel and one little one, and women rode them while wearing a bussel.

everybody's got something to hide except for me and my friday robots

As the Bard John Lennon said, "The higher you fly, the deeper you go, so come on."

Fight the Evildoers

Riding your bike is an act of defiance. We say we are dependant on petroleum. Instead of waiting for a solution to come down to us, why don't we take our destiny into our own hands? Yes, it means sacrifice. You get sweaty. You have to deal with motorists who think that, if it isn't a car, it doesn't count. But if you can find a way to ride your bike just one or two times a week instead of taking the car, that will have a much greater impact than signing a thousand petitions and walking in a hundred protest marches.

This morning on "Today" they had Rex Tillerson, the CEO of ExxonMobil. As you may already be aware, ExxonMobil is one of, if not the, most profitable company on Earth. They raise the cost of gasoline, post record profits, and make no claims of doing wrong. It's simple: the demand is there, and they figure they can squeeze more money out of the American people before we all buy electric cars and they become superfluous.

Yet to hear this plain-spoken Texan, you'd think he was running a mom-and-pop gas station just off Route 101. Matt Lauer, to his credit, asked prodding questions, but Tillerson brushed them aside. Flies on the windshield. I'll post this picture of Tillerson so you can give him the finger.

After you're done being angry at these companies who scorn their own customers, get on your bike, go for a walk, take a streetcar or other electric form of public transportation. If you can't exercise your American right to choose, the terrorists have already won.

History of Bikes: High School Bike

The first bike I saved up for was also the bike that lasted me the longest. It was a Gary Fisher "Wahoo." I'm still not sure whether the name referred to the sound you were supposed to make while riding it, or the Cleveland Indians' racist mascot. Either way, it was a good mountain bike.

I was one of, oh, about 3 people in my high school who still rode bikes. We had two gigantic parking lots but not a single bike rack. I had to lock my bike up to the fence at the school entrance. But I was proud to ride my bike to school. It set me apart from the massive line-up of cars every morning and afternoon. I also got to listen to mix tapes on my Walkman, which made for a much more pleasant listening experience than any of the radio stations Tucson had to offer.

I rode my bike to Saturday track practice and Saturday swim practice, depending on the season. My track coach once told me I should be doing triathalons, since I did all three sports already.

Summers were the worst time for bike riding in Tucson. Once, bored out of my mind at home, I decided to take a trip to the public library. It was so hot I had to stop at a mall just to be in some air conditioning for a while. By the time I got to the library I was covered in sweat and didn't feel like reading anything. I stayed long enough to cool off and headed back home.

The trip that really defined the miserable hot Arizona summer was one that I took with my two best friends and my younger brother. The four of us wanted to ride out to a baseball card shop. We told our parents what we wanted to do and they gave us a series of rules to follow. The rule that made the least amount of sense was also the one that our parents were most admant about. We were not to cross any "major intersections." If you have lived in Tucson, you know it is virtually impossible to get anywhere without crossing a few roads. Some of those roads can be considered "busy" if by busy you mean cars are on them.

We of course agreed to our parents' stipulations, little knowing the high cost of our little adventure. Below is an approximate map of the route from our house to the baseball card store. The longer, winding line is the route we were forced to take so as not to cross any busy streets.

Our improvised route took us through a golf course, a huge wash, some neighborhoods I've never seen again in my life, and finally up the biggest hill you've ever seen. Each of these elements presented its own unique challenge, which would have been tolerable if the temperature that morning wasn't 100 degrees and rising. Walking your bike through a sandy wash is not only uncomfortable in the best conditions, but when the sun is beating down on your back and you don't know where you are you begin to wonder if life has any meaning. That question was answered by the huge hill at the end of our ride.

It had already taken us all morning to reach the hill. There was no way we were turning back. At the same time, we had been beaten down by the sun and the sand and the neverending ride. Our morale was very low.

We began to ride up the hill. It was slow going, made even worse by the cars that would speed past us, throwing dust and hot exhaust into our faces. If I had been in the mood, I would have remarked on the irony of avoiding every major intersection only to have to ride on the shoulder of a road up this steep hill. Dangerous? Perhaps. Uncomfortable? Definitely.

Needless to say, we made it up the hill and into the plaza where the baseball card shop was located. We called home and let our parents know that there was no chance we'd be riding our bikes back home. By this time it was after noon and the temperature would only rise for the next three hours. They came in shifts to pick us and our bikes up.

Beaten but not broken, we continued to ride our bikes throughout our high school years, though we never attempted a ride as long as that one in the heat of the day.

Next up, the bike held together by duct tape: my college bike.

Snack of Champions

Green tea and kettle corn.

friday robots for peace

Since I've been making a Beatles mix for a friend who, crazy as it sounds, has not listened to them yet, I decided that these robots are the peaceful type. Peace, love, and lots of weed. Here you can see the robots in their natural habitat: my sketchbook. I think these robots are capable of flight.

My Muse

I was going to post a short story today about the death of my muse. Instead, I think I'll talk about animals.

Animals, real and imagined, continue to inspire me. When I was in high school, I took as many art classes as I could. There were two art teachers, one for "2D art" (as it was called) and one for "3D art." I took one semester of 3D art, but the rest of the time I spent drawing and painting.

In the art room there was a photographic encyclopedia of animals. When I was out of ideas and just wanted to sketch, I'd grab a volume of that encyclopedia and flip through it. I would soon find a strange looking animal and start to sketch. It was never long before I had my next idea for a drawing.

I recently saw a nature documentary on the Galapagos Islands. They were many shots of the marine iguanas that inhabit only those islands. In all the world, there is only one type of lizard that looks and behaves exactly as those do. That's amazing. It's the kind of thing that makes the earth a surprising and wonderful place to live.

Details make a story more interesting, and animals are nothing if not details. The way they look, the way they act. The not knowing what it is they're thinking. Everything about them is at once knowable and mysterious.

So here's to our roommates. From the ghostly tiger to the fuzzy baby hawk, here's hoping we can share many more days with them.

Best of Mutts

Mutts, by Patrick McDonnell, is one of the best newspaper strips of all time. It combines the artistic influence of classic strips like Krazy Kat with Buddhist sensibilities. Deceptively simple, an average Mutts daily is much deeper than a quick glance (and they are quick reading) will convey. In the introduction, Mutts is compared to a haiku, and I have to agree. The extreme brevity of each strip is used to convey a deep message that would get lost amid too many words or too many lines. One of my favorite strips from the recently published Best of Mutts contains 17 words total, yet it says more about life than some novels.

The design of Best of Mutts is beautiful, and fitting to the visual aesthetic of the strip. A simple cardboard cover (no dust jacket) lets the reader know McDonnell's commitment to ecological awareness. Even small touches, like leaving off a dust jacket or printing on post-consumer waste paper, make a lot of difference when the print run reaches into the thousands. Inside the front cover there is a collage of Mutts comics, arranged almost like a comic strip crossword puzzle. The single panels are fun to see stripped of their context. You concentrate on the panel composition instead of the dialog.

The book is arranged as a collection of McDonnell's favorite strips from each year of Mutts. Each year has a small blurb, written by McDonnell, explaining the major themes of that year and what he discovered along the way. It is an interesting way to read about a comic strip, to see how it developed incrementally. When you look at the very first strips, then flip to the end to see the more recent ones, it is clear how much Mutts has evolved. (This book ends in 2004, the tenth anniversary of the strip.)

I especially appreciate the novel idea of reprinting the Sunday strips as photographs of newspaper pages instead of the digital copies send out to newspapers. Mutts has always felt like an analog comic strip, and the warmer colors of newsprint are more fitting than the exact details of digital. It is also a subtle reminder of comics' place in the world: the best place to read comic strips, even in the age of internet publishing, is still the gray pages of a newspaper.

Daily strips have been reproduced here in varying sizes. Some are printed three to a page, to emphasize each individual strip. Others have been shrunk to smaller than newspaper size, allowing up to six per page, or twelve for a two-page spread. The story of Earl and Mooch attempting to hibernate works particularly well in this format. You can almost read it as one long comic; the smaller pieces joined into one very funny narrative.

I would recommend this collection even if you already own some Mutts books. The commentary by McDonnell, as well as the unique presentation, make this a Falling Rock Favorite.

Drawing Falling Rock

Digging into the overstuffed Falling Rock mailbag, I've discovered a disproportionate number of people wondering how I create my daily comic strip. At the risk of dispelling the legends that have grown up around my creative process, what follows is a step-by-step account of drawing one Falling Rock comic.

This is a picture of myself in my studio. The comics you see on my desk are merely sketches. One of these will be the strip for the day. The phone is a direct line to the White House.

Before doing any drawing, each joke is carefully tested in my personal lab. If it gets a rating of 22.43 or higher, it is suitable for my reading public.
Me at my drawing table. The sketch, now fully tested, sits in front of me for reference.

One of my army of assistants spell-checks the comic. He will also add any background detail I've forgotten. He is especially good at drawing palo verde trees.

The comic is ready to be shipped. It must be transferred from my studio, to this vehicle for decontamination and rejiggering, and finally to the internet.

The completed Welcome to Falling Rock National Park comic strip is being delivered to the McClatchy-Tribune Campus website. From there it will be downloaded by millions of subscribing papers worldwide. People will read it, laugh, and move on with their day.I hope you've found this photographic essay to be educational. It is the aim of Falling Rock Enterprises to not only entertain, but enlighten.

Also, to fight Communists.

friday robots are my wonderwall

Friday robots are back! After being preempted for Obama Shirt '08, we find our heroes in the Pacific Northwest. What are they up to? Where will they be next week? Each episode of Friday Robots always seems to raise more questions than it answers.

In a completely unrelated note, I'd like to talk about two other Friday features on the web. There is a feature of the Onion AV Club called "Friday Buzzkills." It's a sweet little post almost every Friday. The AV Club finds news that will bring us all down on this otherwise glorious day of the week. Well, I believe NPR has bested the AV Club for Friday Buzzkills. They have a program called "StoryCorps," in which old people talk about their lives and the tapes are all sent to the National Archives in D.C. They play pieces of them on Friday mornings. Sounds like a nice, uplifting way to begin your Friday.

WRONG. StoryCorps specializes in the most depressing kind of stories. Death, racism, poverty: you name it, StoryCorps has it covered. Even in supposedly uplifting stories, there is the discernible odor of tragedy lurking just around the corner. Don't believe me? Listen to today's little exercise in sadness.

Falling Rock National Blog assures you that it won't stoop the the saddest common denominator, like the Great Betrayer NPR. Falling Rock strives to bring you the most uplifting, light-hearted news of any blog in its vicinity. Stay back, Mr. Death! Falling Rock is here.