Napkin Comics

Napkin Comics
A number of you have asked me if I got comp’d any more meals at the steak house. Turns out, the answer is yes — though a doodle on a napkin isn’t a guarantee, nor is producing them in quantity.

Things have gotten far more advanced, and by some accounts are spiraling beyond anything I had ever conceived.

Where we last left things, the manager, as a joke, gave me a pile of napkins to take home and draw on. The theory was that if napkins provided my inspiration, he’d toss several hundred at me and see what happened.

Problem is, spare time. Or, more accurately, lack there of. The napkins sat here for a while, and I found myself visiting the steak house again and again. …and again, and again, and again.

While I’m there, there’s really nothing else to do -but- draw comics on napkins, much to the dismay of my friends that wish I’d be more social and engage in conversation.

So, I decided to try something different, based on an off handed comment by two of my art buddies.

The first one said, “you really gotta put your name on these things, someone’s gonna come in and want to get these professionally printed on napkins.” The second one said, “you’ve got a wider audience than you believe, you need a web site.”

My first gut reaction was that they were chicken scratch level of drawings, and I didn’t want to put my name on that. But that got me to thinking, the printing on napkin idea was an interesting one. Consequently, I took the time, did a paper and pencil mock up, used the right comic illustration ink and tools, produced a master copy, and did a test screening on about 200 napkins.

I presented these to the manager, who got wonderfully excited and started passing them out at the bar. Sure enough, the initial “marketing” was an overwhelming success, and I was presented with another pile of napkins.

Since I had high resolution scans of everything, it seemed only fitting to follow up with the next comment. I mean, I already had a website, but in this case it needed to be a targeted one.

I’m happy to announce NapkinComics.com has gone live. I’ve put a small sampling of the high-quality printed ones up there for viewing. I’ve also posted some other strips to make fun of myself and the process. As I transfer more of the illustrations into digital form for reproduction, I’ll be posting them on the site. You no longer have to visit the steak house to enjoy the humor, but you do if you want to see over a hundred originals that are littering the walls behind glass.

On my second to last visit, I got approached by the regional marketing director.

On this last visit, I was told by the manager that a pair of gentlemen had come in, examined all the artwork for well over half an hour, and wanted to know how to get in touch. The manager gave them the website information. He gave me an entire box of napkins for the next round.

I’m still not sure where all this will go. I’ve done enough to establish a repeatable workflow that produces high-quality quantity printings out and at a faster pace. If I can figure out a way to move the printing part out of house, I’ll be set. I’d rather illustrate than replicate.

So, here’s the official announce to my friends: NapkinComics.com is live — disposable humor you can wipe your mouth on.

I Have One Sharp Claw For You

If we ever get another cat, I’m going to preemptively name it Widowmaker and cut straight to the point.

Recently we’ve taken a few trips out of state trips for various periods of duration (opposed to our instate trips of similar duration). All this has left our tan cat, Nova, feeling rather neglected, or at least he’s giving that impression. He wants to constantly hang around no matter what I’m doing.

For instance, flossing.

Flossing is our bonding time it seems. When he hears me brushing my teeth, he comes running in and starts meowing and stretching on the counter-side or along my leg, swatting at me to pet him and acknowledge he’s there. When I’m done flossing, I have to pull off a foot of string for him, hold it out, and he goes to town on it for a minute or so, then I dispose of it, and he’s content to hop up on the bed while we go to sleep.

Now, in my mind, sleep means getting rest. Sleep does not mean “Hey Walt! It’s 5:AM in the morning, it’s time to play!!!”

Try telling that to a cat, especially one with minty clean breath.

I’ve found that I can try to ignore him, but he’s discovered that with his claws, he can gingerly pull the covers off my head. I’ve even found that through will power alone, I can tune him out. Or used to.

He’s discovered, if not made from sheer premeditated design, that he’s got a single claw that is next to razor sharp. And, utilizing all the care in the world, it is possible to drag this lone claw lengthwise on some of my tenderish skin without drawing blood or scraping it in any way.

The net result is that it wakes me up very quickly. Please note that I did not say it wakes me up in a good mood very quickly, just that it was very quick.

And there’s a problem with that. One being that I’m not in the mood to play, and the second more pressing issue is that once you’ve been woken up with a full bladder, it’s harder to ignore than a cat that thinks chasing a piece of string borders on intellectual stimulation.

Once mobile and oriented which way is up, a delicate dance occurs as I try to find my way through a darkened room filled with obstacles without stepping on the very same cat that now thinks my moving legs are a slalom course.

Oh sure, I kick the snot out of him by accident, but he sends me reeling head first into corners of furniture long since forgotten. We have a great time. ‘Cause when we’re not doing that, we’re seeing if I can cut off the stream before he walks between me and the toilet with his tail as high as he can get it.

Sometimes this “have to be with you NOW” behavior extends into the day, particularly when I’m navigating stairs. Carrying something. That’s fragile. Or heavy. With my view obstructed.

This seems to be some feline game of amusement, with punishing repercussions dismissed by a wide eyed look of innocence. We all know it’s not.

So, the next cat I get, unless it’s had at least three legs amputated, I’m calling Widowmaker, cause the fall I took down the stairs nearly killed me.