So you know that thing where you take the very best of the six-hundred-plus cartoons you’ve drawn over the past eight years and put them in a book?
That’s what I’ve done.
Things of the Internet is the first-ever Noise to Signal collection. In fact, this is more like a prototype, created in a tiny, tiny batch for the Vancouver Comic Arts Festival. Really, you’re getting in on the beta. And because there are only a handful of copies left, it’s like getting into a closed, invitation-only beta.
It includes over 77 cartoons! (“Soooo… 78 cartoons?” “That would be correct.”) An emotionally evocative conclusion! A highly educational (mostly fictitious) colophon!
I also have a few prints left over from the festival, which are also on sale at the festival price of $10. I’ll be putting the remainder up over the next few days, but you can check them out now at the brand-spankin’-new Noise to Signal store.
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I built the new store using Shopify, which was both pretty easy and surprisingly fun to configure. Plus it’s headquartered in my hometown of Ottawa.
Every morning, I pray I’ll wake up in my own bed. But no: I’m back in that forest, pelted by rain, condemned to live the same day over and over until I can atone for my sin. Behind me a beast snarls; to my right, a twig snaps. And I’m running. On cue, the rumble of thunder—but this time, I whirl and swing up, and catch the beast between its armoured plates. I’m winning, oh god, at last, winning, and my world shimmers almost into reality before my eyes… and the dialog box pops up: “OnePassword Helper Unexpectedly Quit.” Blackness… and then rain, wet leaves, and the forest again.
I’m really excited about this:
I kind of reel every time I read even a little of Tangles. Sarah Leavitt‘s graphic memoir of her relationship with her mother in the growing shadow of Alzheimer’s Disease never fails to slide past my defences.
So the news that Giant Ant is working with Sarah to turn Tangles into a feature film is just thrilling. The trailer looks really promising, and I can’t wait to see it brought to the screen. I think Sarah’s the cat’s (or small dog’s) pyjamas, of course. And I’ve long thought her illustrations want to move—and now they’re going to.
So Coda 2 and me is workin’ the late shift. Good money, y’know, if ya can handle the smell and all. An’ suddenly Coda turns to me, and I’ll never forget the look on her face, and she says, “Rob,” she says, “I ain’t shovellin’ no pig guts into no Zamboni to more.” And I’m floored! When you got a BA in Political Science, you count yerself frikkin’ lucky to get a grade-A job like shovellin’ pig guts into a frikkin’ Zamboni. But Coda says, “I need to have a job with some meanin’.” I asks her, what the hell do ya need meanin’ for? Meanin’ ain’t gonna pay no bills. She don’t listen. She asks me, “You ever wonder why they’re payin’ us to shovel pig guts into a Zamboni? Like, what in hell their business model is?” Like I give two craps what their business model is. Me, I’ve always figured this place is probably wired to the gills with webcams for guys who get their jollies watchin’ people shovel pig guts into Zambonis. But that’s a theory. Anyways, she ups and quits, and goddamn if the frikkin’ Zamboni doesn’t jam up two minutes later. Just my goddamn luck.
What year is it? What? 2015?! Augh, no, too soon! I see the problem: a freed zone element was modified. The convergence is still developing, the lines are too faint—I had hoped for 2022 at least. Now I’m going to lose precious days refilling the temporal reservoir and the gravity buffers, and meanwhile that bastard Perrault is making the most of his head start. And his damage to the timeline is expanding: you’re still using internal combustion engines and taking the Republican Party seriously, for Christ’s sake. Wait… what’s the atmospheric carbon dioxide level..? Oh… oh god, no. Perrault, I swear, you’re going to pay dearly.
“Business on the sides, party on the top.”
“Sorry to break it to you, sir, but the party guests went home quite a while ago.”
Bob Mankoff from The New Yorker Video shares the mostly-positive results of the magazine’s Canadian Mollification Project. Turns out we’re a pretty forgiving lot.
A friend of mine just received one of those weird blank emails you sometimes see, dated 1969-12-31. Oh, I know what you’re going to say: it’s a server glitch, or the email program has a bug. Sure. You believe your thing.
Me? I like to think those emails actually come from Michael Collins, the Apollo 11 astronaut who had to spend a day orbiting the moon—cut off from all human contact, even radio—while Armstrong and Aldrin bounced around on it. How did he cope with being the loneliest person in history? I think he beamed messages into space… messages that ultimately bounced off some distant world or massive as-yet-undetected object, and have only now returned to us, transformed into email. All the data has been lost in the transformation; only the year of transmission remains.
So if you get one, just respond, “Hi, Michael—hang in there. You guys make it back fine.”
Michael’s the one in the middle. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)