After a short vacation, I’m a bit behind posting comments from loyal readers. The last story, about the terrifying H-bomb, elicited these responses:
I remember thinking the same thing: why don’t they just stop? I wonder if all of us were terrified by the arms race…
Donald (not The Donald):
Bigger and better, the American exceptionalism crap conflating quantity and quality. As for these lovely human inventions to accelerate our unjust cause of complete suicide, taking the rest of the planet with us, we, too, demonstrate yet another fine example of the Concept of Perpetual Human Stupidity (credit to Johnny Hart). humans do not learn, do not care to learn, all for control wealth power at anybody else’s cause, never mind.
My added reference is what we do to the planet over the past century exponentially with nary a sensible reasonable rational logical thought process extant.
Well done. I read ON THE BEACH in high school and was depressed and scared for months after.
The situation hasn’t really changed, has it. Your cartoons remind us of the tenuous reality of our existence, particularly when you consider the fact that eventually we humans tend to do any and everything that we are capable of doing…
I remember those “duck & cover” drills very well. It just never made much sense to me. I knew Ft. Hood was just down the road a piece!! Knew we would be toast for sure!!
An earlier story, “Feats of Clay,” and related blog posts, also brought a number of comments.
Mike had this to say about my blog about erasers:
When I was in third grade, my dad (an amateur cartoonist) gave me a kneadable eraser. Short lived object. My teacher snapped it up, declared it “putty” and threw it away. Oh well.
Evelyn had this rejoinder to the art school teachers who didn’t understand my clay superheroes:
Of course it’s art! Cartoons are art. A pox on those fine-arters and their dumbtalk.
Ed, none of us really grows up-keep on keeping on.
Perhaps you never grew up? Fine, there is nothing quite like a visit to Neverland. Never finish growing up.
You were just too advanced for that ole art class.
Guess you were ahead of the art teacher! Did you ever find out what your mother and the art teacher talked about?
Scott also wondered what went down:
What a strange tale, Ed. Did you ever discover what the art teacher and your mom talked about?
I have no idea, but I’m guessing the teacher decided I wasn’t yet ready for the discipline of fine art training, and he was probably right. At that age I couldn’t imagine anything more boring than practicing shading cones and spheres. I wanted to DRAW, not learn a bunch of stupid rules. It really wasn’t until college that I finally realized the need to learn the basics.
Finally, several readers commented about the blog post titled “Forever Young,” about how drawing and writing transports me.
Jim had a similar experience:
Ed, that’s exactly how I felt when writing the chapter in my memoir about my days growing up in El Paso!
Sandra sent this note:
Yes, I agree—as you write the story from your childhood memory it begins to pull you back to the other place, the place where you are forever young—where, when there you feel those same feeling “in the skin”—Maybe that’s why we, as humans continue our story-telling (not only for others enjoyment but, to keep alive our memories.) sometimes it just feels good with happy memories and let’s us know our strengths with those trials in life.
I’ll end with Ruchel’s praise, which means a great deal to me:
Ed, you do know that your stories are as vivid as your ‘toons …
Thanks for all your comments.