I’m home from another trip to the National Cartoonists Society Reuben Awards. This year the awards were held in New Orleans, and one of the highlights of the trip was spending a day building a house with Habitat for Humanity. There were plenty of jokes about the structural integrity of a house built by cartoonists, but at the end of the day I think we were all pleased with the effort we put in, and humbled by the entire experience. The subsequent tour through the devastated lower 9th ward where the levees broke during Hurricane Katrina was especially sobering.
It was great to catch up with all the friends I’ve made over the last few years, and spend time with some new faces as well. I was particularly glad to finally meet The Daily Cartoonist’s Alan Gardner, and Cul De Sac artist Richard Thompson.
There are some photo-rich updates from the weekend online from Mike Lynch, MAD’s Tom Richmond, and The Daily Cartoonist. Eagle-eyed viewers may spot a certain robot cartoonist in these links.
I recently designed and put together a new website for my good friend Rina Piccolo and the five other ladies behind the collaborative all-girls comic strip Six Chix.
Couldn’t help but participate in the draw yourself as a teenager meme floating around the net.
As you can see from the previous entry, I’ve reached 100 in my series of warm-up drawings. Check ‘em out on Flickr or in my portfolio. It seems like just yesterday the series reached 50.
Oops, I keep forgetting to link to this. Jeff Andrews interviewed me a while back for the Design Inspiration website, and the interview is now online. LEARN! Startling facts. DISCOVER! The secret to long life. BEHOLD! My hairy face.
I’m tickled by this surprisingly thoughtful review of Excelsior 1968 by Jeremy Axelrod of the Huffington Post. Some choice quotes:
On its own terms, though, the project is evocative. Something about sampling that convergence of lives—a Venn diagram of bygone adolescence—has always had a voyeuristic (even poignant) appeal, and this is no less true of Martz’s blandly exact adaptation.
And:
Martz bills his mass-portraiture as an exercise, but it’s also a prodigious visual study of a small universe of personalities, now long dissipated to cubicles, fortunes, graves.
Well, golly.

A pair of hitmen, hiding out, and waiting for their cues is
about to find themselves at odds, and, dare I say, in bruises.

Ode to a 50-foot Keith Richards
Keith! Oh Keith! Your craggy face,
I bet it could be seen from space --
all pock-marked, creased, and krinkled.
IMAX-size, you fill the skies
with planetoidal bloodshot eyes
as massive as they’re wrinkled.