***This journal is on a temporary hiatus due to ComicCon portfolio prep. I may update with personal posts from time time to time. The experiment will continue in August. Thanks!***

“Welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes out sighing.”
--  William Shakespeare

factotum |fakˈtōtəm|

Today two pieces of my childhood were ripped away. Ok, so that is a bit melodramatic. Today both Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson passed on from this world. Sometimes this rock treated them cruelly, but they both left a huge impression in my life. I hope that whatever lies waiting for them, they rest finally. My heart goes out to their families.

Both Farrah and Michael had their problems -- and we all know about them. They happened, whether it was their intent or not, in plain view of the hungry public. In this society we have a long tradition of celebrity worship, but what we really and truly desire is to see our heroes fall - and hard. It has kept publications like The National Enquirer, Star, The Globe and many others in business for a very long time. Whether it is truth or not, if the headline is sensational Americans will pick it up in the checkout line every time. I know, I know -- you're thinking, "Hey I don't read those rags". Neither do I Bub, but plenty of people do... enough for tabloids to be some of the highest circulated "newspapers" in the world. I am sure that will change with time as all things do... but that same style will appear in other ways. We are already seeing signs of that sort of thing with websites like TMZ (who also has a strong TV presence), Gossip Blogs a-plenty, Twitter and other social media/networking outlets - it's an interesting time for sure. Things spread like wildfire, true or not, critical thinking be damned!

Today is a perfect example of just that. Moments after TMZ reported Michael Jackson had a heart attack the net was a buzz with gossip. I had so many posts flooding my Twitter and Facebook pages; it was astounding. Soon after TMZ reported his death... and again the net was a flurry with chatter. The problem? None of the "facts" TMZ were reporting were confirmed. Did they get it right? Sure, I'll give them that. But it is not confirmed by the proper people - you can hardly call it a fact. That is just bad journalism. Now, I don't mind people mourning the loss of someone they admired. Please don't think I am hating on people for saying their goodbyes. But thousands upon thousands of eager people quickly spread this bad journalism, people who wanted to be the first to report the juicy gossip. How would these people have felt if he didn't pass away? I mean let's face it, do you think that TMZ is concerned with getting it right? Look them up some time if you are unsure. So I waited for confirmation and reported what I found out -- as it was confirmed. If it was unconfirmed I stated that. Not so hard to do either, really. I don't have a huge list of followers on Twitter, or thousands of friends on Facebook... but whatever impact I make in this brave new world - I want to try and remain objective when presenting news. I think I owe my peeps that much. Is it so much to ask that of other people? You're probably thinking, "They were right, who cares." Well that's the problem.

Oh yeah, one more thing. While I am sad about the deaths of two fallen stars - isn't it time we got back to more important things?

Ahmadinejad Demands Apology From Obama

Iran election annulment ruled out
Obama steps up push for healthcare reform this year

As some of you know already from my Facebook page, my Twitter or The Inner Sanctum forum -  the LA Times has gone and pissed me off. They published an "article" titled ""The Girls' Guide to Comic Con", which is basically a beefcake photo montage. I wrote a letter to the editor on Monday and I invite you to do the same. I don't think they will publish it as it is far too long. So, for your enjoyment/inspiration:


Dear Editor,

I am writing you today in regards to an “article” I stumbled across on your website titled “The Girls’ Guide to Comic Con”. (http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/news/la-et-girls-guide-to-comic-con-pg,0,4051009.photogallery?index=1) Of course you can scarcely call it an article. It appears to be a run down of all the “good-looking” superstars who may be making an appearance at the convention. I can’t begin to tell you how insulting this is to my peers and me. I do believe this is the year 2009... is it so hard to believe that women have interests in things like comic books, games, science-fiction and fantasy? I am a 33 year old woman and have been a part of this community most of my life. I have been playing D&D and collecting Star Wars, action figures and comics since childhood. I can attest to the fact that there are many women/girls who have been attending this convention for years – *gasps*– for the same reason as the “nerdy guys” who you talk about in your “article”. There are also many women who attend this convention as professionals. Yes – we write comics as well. Statements like: “Women will be rushing the stage, offering to do star Jake Gyllenhaal's laundry on those washboard abs that he acquired for the film, since he spends much of it fighting, shirtless or both.” and “What more do you need than the hunkiest Aussie to ever play the undead ... alive and in the flesh?” are not only insulting but they belittle our role at comic conventions. Women play an important part in the industry on both the creative and consumer sides. It saddens me to think that a young lady may stumble upon this article and think that “hunks” are all the convention has to offer them. You could have easily found a knowledgeable woman to write this article... the internet is full of them. Shame on you LA Times.

Sincerely,
Sarah L. Gerhardt
Proud Comic Geek and Writer


Go get em girls!!!

Procrastination

procrastinate |prəˈkrastəˌnāt; prō-|
verb [ intrans. ]
delay or postpone action; put off doing something : it won't be this price for long, so don't procrastinate.
DERIVATIVES
procrastination |prəˌkrastəˈnā sh ən; prō-| noun
procrastinator |-ˌnātər| noun
procrastinatory |-nəˌtôrē| adjective
ORIGIN late 16th cent.: from Latin procrastinat- ‘deferred until tomorrow,’ from the verb procrastinare, from pro- ‘forward’ + crastinus ‘belonging to tomorrow’ (from cras ‘tomorrow’ ).

We've all been guilty of it at one point or another, for one reason or another - or no reason at all. Welcome to the week of putting it off!

(Writer's note: Yes, I sort of took day 6 off. But between spraining my ankle and other issues, I just couldn't get to it. So I am combining day 6 & 7 in one entry. I wrote for more than 3 hours on this piece, so I figure it all works out in the end. This is a continuation of the story I attempted to start on Day 5. *smiles* Thanks for tuning in.)

The Morrows gathered together in front of the window to watch the storm; the weather reported a large snowfall – and around here that was rare. The snow fell heavily and audibly; a soft white blanket already covered their cozy house. It was only seven o’clock, but the evening light was long gone. It always got darker so much earlier this time of the year, but you would not know it from the Morrows’ living room. Their home was bathed in light — the windows both inside and out had lights strung ‘round them, lights burned brightly on the yuletide tree, and where there were not strands of glowing bulbs, a festive candle could be found in its place — they barely noticed the hour. It was Christmas Eve so, as was tradition in the Morrow family, the Yule log was burning brightly. Mom and Dad encouraged Molly to fetch her stocking, it was time to place it on the mantle. The radio was playing holiday music and the family was singing along when an emergency broadcast system tone rang.

[beep][announcer] “This is a Heavy Snow Advisory for the Portland Metro area... we are estimating as much as two feet accumulated snow by morning. Motorists are advised not to travel and to use extreme caution if they are on the roads, visibility is limited. We now we return you to your regular programming.” [beep]

[DJ]” This is a record for the Rose City, surely it will be remembered as the storm of the century. Snuggle in with the ones you love it is going to be a long night. Now let’s get back to some holiday cheer, how about White Christmas.” [music]

Little Molly stopped in her tracks, stocking in hand, and turned to her parents. Her wonderfully large brown eyes welled up as she softly asked, “Will Santa still make it?” There was a note of fear in her voice.

Molly was four, this was the first year she truly got the Christmas thing. She even wrote Santa a letter – with just a little help from her mother. Her angst was clearly visible to her parents, who could remember from their own childhoods the excitement one generates before the big day.

“Don’t worry Molly, Santa has Rudolph. He can make it through any storm.” Her father said, quickly reassuring her.

“Your Dad’s right, not only that Christmas Spirit guides his sled. I think this family has some of that. Don’t you?” Her mother said sweetly as she tussled her daughters hair and pulled her in for a hug and tickle combo.

Molly giggled her infectious little giggle, “Yes Mommy, we got it,” she said as she broke free from her mother and ran to the mantle with the stocking still firmly clutched in her hand.

Her parents looked on joyfully as little Molly toddled up to her stool by the fireplace. They watched as she eyed up the mantle, carefully planning the placement of her furry red stocking. She was an adorable little girl and the perfect blend of her parents. She had long, honey-blonde, curly locks like her mother and deep, dark, brown eyes like her father. She got her mom’s button nose and her dad’s elfish ears. They loved to watch her, but in moments this special the joy they felt was indescribable. Molly had obviously chosen her spot because she dragged the stool a few inches to the left and carefully, while stilly clinging tight to her fuzzy stocking, climbed her stepstool. This was a bit of a feat for her, as she inherited another trait from her parents – clumsiness. She steadied herself by grabbing onto the section of mantle she was claiming as her own. She looked at the bare mantle for a moment and then over to her parents, her face filled with puzzlement. “Help Daddy!” Molly called out, slightly frustrated when she realized she had no means of securing the stocking – which she still clutched tightly – to the bare stone mantle above the fireplace.

Mr. Morrow held back a chuckle as he stood up and walked over to the fireplace. “Well now, what seems to be the problem little miss?” He asked Molly as he lifted her off the stool with one hand and scooped her up into his arms.

“Daddy, how am I supposed to make this” – she held up her stocking – “stick on that” – she pointed to the mantle. She looked a bit distressed. Her little nose crinkled when she spoke, that was a sure sign of anguish for their young one.

“Well, Daddy should have thought about that. Tell you what, my toolbox is in the closet... I have just the thing. Her father replied. “I’ll just put you here so you can save your spot.” He held her high in the air with both hands under her tiny belly and flew her to her stool as if she were an airplane, she loved that game.

“I’ll wait here Daddy!” she called out with excitement, still giggling from her ride. She turned and looked at her mother. “Isn’t this a good spot?”

“Well... let me see...” Mrs. Morrow walked over and looked the mantle over and nodded. “I think you picked the best spot on the mantle Molly!” she exclaimed.

Little Molly clapped, though the stocking, which she still clung to tightly, muffled the applause. She was eager to wake up in the morning. As Molly understood it, Santa would fill this stocking with goodies like little presents or chocolates. This idea delighted her almost as much as the idea that something so normal and boring as a stocking could become so important.

Molly’s father walked back over from the front hall with some adhesive hooks in hand. “Here we go, this ought to do it,” he called from the other side of the room as he walked to meet his special girls. “I brought over three, your Mom and I will hang ours next.” He said with a broad smile on his face. He zeroed in on his daughter’s eager face, “Is this where you want it?” he asked, pointing to the mantle in front of his daughter.

“Yes, Mom says it is the best spot too!” Molly exclaimed proudly.

Mr. Morrow pulled the backing off the hook and placed it on the mantle, pressing it firmly against the stone. He gave it a small tug, and it didn’t budge. “Looks secure to me,” he declared.

Molly clapped and unclenched her fist freeing the stocking, she reached for the string to hang it and proudly placed it in the perfect spot. She admired it for a moment, the bright-red, fuzzy stocking with her name spelled out in glitter, she really did think it was in the perfect spot.

Mrs. Morrow lifted her daughter into her arms and held her close. “It looks wonderful darling. Great job!” she told her. She gently set her down on the ground, she could tell by the squirming Molly was anxious to look at the stocking again.

Mr. Morrow hung his just to the right of Molly’s stocking and Mrs. Morrow’s stocking to the left. This tickled the little girl, especially when her father stepped back and said, “Look, there is a Molly in the Middle!”

Molly tugged on her mother’s skirt.

“Yes dear, what do you need?” her mom questioned her daughter, who was usually more vocal.

“Is Santa going to be here soon?” she asked.

Molly had been asking this question for some time. It all began when the Christmas specials started airing and had been non-stop since. For Molly, soon could not have been soon enough. It was doubtful any answer her mother gave would sound like any less than an eternities wait. – except the answer that came next.

“Santa will be here tonight Molly, once we have all gone to sleep,” her mother reminded her. They talked about this very subject that morning. Though the young child was so excited, she had already long forgotten that talk.

“Can’t I stay up to meet Santa Mama?” Molly whined.

“No, Santa only visits good little girls and boys... and good little girls and boys go to bed at a reasonable time,” her mother replied matter-of-factly.

Molly didn’t want to end up on the naughty list, and she knew that disobeying your parents and not adhering to bed times were sure ways to end up there. She considered things a moment and then she responded. “Can we leave him milk and cookies?” she asked.

“That we can do for sure kiddo,” Molly’s mother replied, ruffling her daughter’s wavy locks. She grabbed her little girl’s hand and guided her to the kitchen.

“We can use my special plate!” Molly said excitedly.

“I am sure Santa would like that,” her mother responded. This was a pretty big deal, usually Molly would not even let her mother or father use it. The plate was a gift from her Grandfather, it was pink and glitter, with seashells embedded in it. It was kind of tacky really, but Molly really loved it.

Molly had a cupboard in the kitchen all to herself at her height where her dishes and cups were stirred. She opened the doors and pulled out the gaudy plate. “Here it is!” she called out. She walked it over to the counter where her mom had already poured a glass of milk. She had the cookie tin open.

“Pick out a few cookies for Santa Molly,” her mom instructed.

Molly picked one each of the six types cookies and laid them out neatly on her shiny pink plate. “There!” she said, proud of her creation.

“Ok, we should put these on the mantle since Santa will be there anyway to fill the stockings. What do you think?” Mrs. Morrow asked Molly.

“Yes, that sounds perfect!” Molly responded excitedly.
Molly followed her mother into the living room skipping all the way. They placed the cookies and milk on the mantle and Molly bounced in place. She just couldn’t contain her excitement any more.

“Goodness, someone is full of energy!” her father exclaimed. “But if she wants to stay on the nice list I think she needs to calm down,” he stated in a stern tone. Molly calmed down as quickly as she could, though it was obvious that this was a difficult task.

“In fact, I think it is approaching bedtime. Go one, get into your jammies!” Molly’s mother proclaimed.

Molly knew protesting would not be worthwhile so she hightailed it to her room. Her mother had already laid out her nightgown and though she struggled a bit, she was soon out of her day clothes and into her night ones. She hurried into the bathroom and carefully brushed her teeth and hair. Then she ran into the living room where her parents were waiting. She smiled brightly showing of her freshly brushed grin.

“Good girl, looks like you’re ready to be tucked in,” Mr. Morrow said as he stood up to meet his daughter.

“Yup, and then Santa will be here!” she announced.

“Well, we all need to sleep first, but yes he will be here soon pumpkin,” Mrs. Morrow replied as she stood up.

Molly’s parents walked her back to her room and lovingly folded her into the warm covers. They each kissed her softly on the forehead and said goodnight.

Molly tried hard to be a good girl and fall asleep right away, but her mind would not allow it. For what seemed like a long time, Molly thought about what the next day might be like. But eventually she drifted off, with visions of the celebration as the star of all her dreams.

The next morning when Molly awoke, bright and early, she ran into the living room. There were hundreds of presents beneath the tree... well she couldn’t exactly say hundreds, but there were more than she could count – so in her mind that meant hundreds. The stockings were full, the milk was empty, and there was nothing but crumbs on her pink plate!

“Mommy! Daddy! He came! He came!” Molly called out. It was indeed everything she imagined it would be – and more – and the day had just begun. 

The Morrows gathered together in front of the window to watch the storm; the weather reported a large snowfall – and around here that was rare. The snow fell heavily and audibly; a soft white blanket already covered their cozy house. It was only seven o’clock, but the evening light was long gone. It always got darker so much earlier this time of the year, but you would not know it from the Morrows’ living room. Their home was bathed in light — the windows both inside and out had lights strung ‘round them, lights burned brightly on the yuletide tree, and where there were not strands of glowing bulbs, a festive candle could be found in its place — they barely noticed the hour. It was Christmas Eve so, as was tradition in the Morrow family, the Yule log was burning brightly.



(Writers note: Well after more than an hour this was all that came out. It was a little like pulling teeth tonight... my own. It's end of month at work and I think I am a bit strung out from the ad game. I would like to finish this story for you all (what – 5 of you?, lol) and myself... but it will have to be tomorrow for now it is after 10 and I must crawl into my tomb. Thanks for tuning in)

(Writer's note: Hello again everyone. Today's entry will be a continuation of yesterday's entry. For readability I will post the entire story in this entry, there will be an asterisks by where I began today. Thanks for tuning in.)


Natalie looked down at her watch and then up at the clock in the classroom comparing the two. She was in tenth period, her last class for the day, and it could not end soon enough. Natalie was sixteen years old, and anybody who has ever been sixteen knows that sometimes a half hour could be an eternity. She tapped her pencil on her notebook, desperately trying to give the impression that she was paying attention to her teacher. Whether it worked or not, he paid her no mind. This, of course, allowed her to do nothing but concentrate on the ticking hands and wait for the school day to come to a close. Tonight would be Natalie’s first Friday night date. Her parents were allowing her to go out with a boy, in his car, to dinner and a movie. She had imagined the night a million times since Danny asked her out on Monday, and her parents gave their consent. And as the minutes ticked by at an agonizing rate, she daydreamed more while unconsciously doodling Danny’s name on her notebook over and over again.  In this fantasy, Danny arrives at her house in a fancy sports car, he steps out in a tux – a-la the James Bond movies her father so loved – with a dozen red roses in one hand and a heart shaped box of candy in the other. Nat looked down at her notebook and blushed a little at her doodles, flipping the page quickly hoping none of the other students noticed. She casually observed the other students, everybody – including the teacher, were busy doing their own thing. She was relieved that no one observed her foolish behavior. She figured surely plenty of time passed by then, the bell would ring at any moment. She looked down at her watch and then up at the clock. “Ugh, ten more torturous minutes,” she thought. Natalie let her thoughts drift back to Danny. This time he arrived to pick her up in a horse-drawn carriage. He greeted her with a smile and a bouquet of wild flowers.

The teacher had a keen eye and noticed that most of his students already had their weekend brains switched on. He knew there would be no accomplishing anything in those last ten minutes. “OK class, if you don’t tell Principal Kern, I am ok with you all taking of ten minutes early,” Mr. Richards announced to his class. And as if they rehearsed it, the class rang out in chorus, “Thank you Mr. Richards.”

As they all shuffled together their belongings, there was a mad rush to the door. Natalie though, too busy caught up in her daydreaming, did not even hear the teacher’s announcement. Mr. Richards chuckled to himself; the look was all too familiar. “ Ahem.... Natalie, class is dismissed,” the teacher said.

Natalie shook her head and looked around the class, instantly embarrassed to realize she was the only one left. “Sorry Mr. Richards... I must have... spaced out or something,” she replied with a crackling voice. Quickly she gathered her belongings and hurried out of the room. *She tore through the halls like a hurricane, ignoring the calls of her friends, time was wasting – she had only three hours before her big date. That day Nat ran home as if her life depended on it.

She opened the door and barreled straight for her room muttering something resembling a hello to her Mother.  She flung her closet open and looked at the clock, somehow, this time it was moving at an alarming rate. Natalie’s palms began to sweat; Danny gave her no clue to the evening’s plans, she had no idea what to wear. Her closet seemed to grow in size before her eyes; suddenly the choices were overwhelming her. She would look at an outfit, find it insufficient and toss it on the ground. What if he was taking her to a fancy restaurant and she wore jeans, surely that would be mortifying. What if he was in the mood for a burger and she was in a fancy dress, this was an equally terrifying possibility. The room began to swirl around her; it was her Mother’s voice that brought her back to reality.

“Natalie, dinner’s ready!” her Mom yelled from the kitchen.

Natalie flung her bedroom door open and loudly groaned, “Ugh... Mother... I am getting ready for my date with Danny... Sheesh!” She closed the door and resumed the inspection of her truly inadequate wardrobe. She was so pre-occupied with her dilemma that she did not hear the door open.

Natalie’s Mother stood at the door for a moment waiting for her daughter to realize she was there. A secret smile crossed her lips, she remembered her first date well and recognized her daughter’s distress. She waited another moment and when there was no sign of her daughter snapping out of it she cleared her throat.

“Mom! Why didn’t you knock?” Nat squealed in typical anxious teenager girl fashion.

“When you talk to your Mother like that she doesn’t have to knock,” she said half-joking, half-serious. “Besides, I thought you could use my help... you know I have done this dating thing a time or two.”

A look of relief crossed the anxious teens face. “Really Mom? That would be great!”

Natalie’s Mother walked toward the closet, gathering discarded clothing along the way. As she shuffled through her daughter’s wardrobe trying to piece together the perfect outfit she asked, “Do you know where he is taking you dear?”

“No, he said he wanted to go to dinner and a movie, but that was it,” she replied with a note of distress.

“It’s ok Natalie, we have this covered,” she said in a soothing tone winking at her daughter. Her Mother looked like a tornado as she whipped this article from that outfit and that article from something else. Soon, delicately laid out before her was the solution to her problems.  “So what do you think Nat? If you go somewhere nicer for dinner, you will fit right in. If Danny takes you somewhere low-key, you will not be overdressed. Besides, you always look lovely in green.”

It was true, Nat’s eyes were green and they simply sparkled when she wore anything that color. She was very impressed with her Mother’s choices. She picked her favorite black dress pants, a silky emerald green shirt and a floral scarf from a dressier outfit that matched surprisingly well. Suddenly she felt less panicked. “It’s perfect Mother, thank you,” she replied sounding genuinely relieved.

“Well if you need any more give me a call, but I better get some dinner before your brothers eat it all,” she laughed as left the room so her daughter could have some privacy.

Natalie spent the rest of her time fussing with the finishing touches. She was ready for date only moments before he arrived, mainly because she had tried her makeup and hair twenty different ways before she settled on a style.

Danny didn’t arrive in a sports car, or a horse drawn carriage, or a limousine; he arrived in his Mother’s station wagon – complete with his baby sister’s car seat in the back. He did bring her a flower, a single carnation. He took her to a Denny’s for dinner, and happily she was not overdressed. They saw a second-run movie in a small theatre. When Danny brought Natalie home he walked her to the door and awkwardly kissed her cheek.

Natalie’s Mother had been waiting in the living room for her daughter to return home, pretending to read a book. Her head shot up as she heard the door open. “How was your first date,” Nat’s mother called out before her daughter could even step beyond the entryway.

“Oh Mother, it was everything I hoped it would be,” Natalie said, obviously walking on clouds. She danced to her room and wrote in her diary about the best first date in the entire universe.