Stephan Pastis's Blog, page 15

Call Me

For those of you who've always had a burning desire to ask me that Pearls question you've never asked, I'm appearing live on KSRO radio tomorrow (Nov. 23) at 5 p.m. PST (so that's 8 pm for you East Coasters).

To listen live on the internet, click HERE and then click "Listen Live."

To call in with questions, the number is 707-636-1350.

And I'm thinking I need to put together some sort of contest, but I don't know what it is yet.   Maybe I'll play Trivial Pursuit against one of you, and if you beat me, you get a signed sketch.  But I'm not sure what I want to do yet.  So if you have any good contest ideas, fire away.

And call in tomorrow to talk.  You'll find me very very charming.

There Are Worse Things Than Incoming Mortars (Updated)

Luck is a relative thing.

Take, for example, a summer vacation.  You arrive at the hotel and the front desk clerk tells you,  "You're lucky.  We ran out of regular rooms and had to upgrade you to a suite."

Or you go outside to the hotel pool and the pool attendant tells you, "You're lucky.  We've had rain all week, and today is the first sunny day."

But luck is different in Afghanistan.

"You're lucky," said our military escort as we got off the plane, "The base hasn't been attacked in weeks."

See, that makes me feel about as lucky as I would checking into a motel and being told, "You're lucky.  Guests here are kidnapped from their rooms a lot less than they used to be."

As if that wasn't enough, our military escort then delivered a more devastating bit of news.

"You're rooming with Jeff Keane."

As though having a bomb dropped on my head wasn't enough.  Now I'd have to stare at the creator of Family Circus standing around in his "Kiss Me, Dolly" underwear.

And don't take my word for it.  Just look at him in this pre-removal-of-pants shot and imagine for yourselves.

All that separated me from him was that little desk on the right.  See, here was my bed on the other side of that desk.

That's a mere four feet between me and The Jeffy.  Almost close enough that he could reach out and hold my hand during the night.  I finally understood the meaning of the phrase, "War is Hell."

But I am a trooper.  So I took one for the team and roomed with The Jeffy.

Our first step was to unpack.  I took out all of my cool clothes and put them in drawers.  He laid out his "I Love Billy" underwear for Tuesday, his "I Love PJ" pajamas for Wednesday, and the "I Love Dead Grandpa" thong for Thursday.

When we finished unpacking, we sat on our respective beds wondering what we could do for the next couple hours.  He was thinking about getting something to eat.  I was thinking about how I could change the locks while he was gone.

We compromised and each sat at the desk signing a bunch of the postcards with our characters on them that the USO had given us to hand out to the troops.

There we sat, me and the creator of Family Circus.  Him doing his patriotic duty by signing the postcards.  Me doing my patriotic duty by not pushing him out the window.

And that's when the air raid sirens went off.

"GET DOWN.  GET DOWN.  GET DOWN," shouted the garbled voice across the base's PA system.

And at that moment, my greatest fear was not my possible demise.  It was that my last vision on this planet, the one that would have to carry me toward the afterlife, would not be of a nude supermodel begging me to make these last few moments count.

It would be this:

So much for being lucky.

 

UPDATE:  Jeff Keane responds in the comments section below.  But keep in mind, his version of events is one-sided, biased, slanderous, exaggerated and wholly false.  Unlike mine, which is the God's honest truth.

 

There Are Worse Things Than Incoming Mortars

Luck is a relative thing.

Take, for example, a summer vacation.  You arrive at the hotel and the front desk clerk tells you,  "You're lucky.  We ran out of regular rooms and had to upgrade you to a suite."

Or you go outside to the hotel pool and the pool attendant tells you, "You're lucky.  We've had rain all week, and today is the first sunny day."

But luck is different in Afghanistan.

"You're lucky," said our military escort as we got off the plane, "The base hasn't been attacked in weeks."

See, that makes me feel about as lucky as I would checking into a motel and being told, "You're lucky.  Guests here are kidnapped from their rooms a lot less than they used to be."

As if that wasn't enough, our military escort then delivered a more devastating bit of news.

"You're rooming with Jeff Keane."

As though having a bomb dropped on my head wasn't enough.  Now I'd have to stare at the creator of Family Circus standing around in his "Kiss Me, Dolly" underwear.

And don't take my word for it.  Just look at him in this pre-removal-of-pants shot and imagine for yourselves.

All that separated me from him was that little desk on the right.  See, here was my bed on the other side of that desk.

That's a mere four feet between me and The Jeffy.  Almost close enough that he could reach out and hold my hand during the night.  I finally understood the meaning of the phrase, "War is Hell."

But I am a trooper.  So I took one for the team and roomed with The Jeffy.

Our first step was to unpack.  I took out all of my cool clothes and put them in drawers.  He laid out his "I Love Billy" underwear for Tuesday, his "I Love PJ" pajamas for Wednesday, and the "I Love Dead Grandpa" thong for Thursday.

When we finished unpacking, we sat on our respective beds wondering what we could do for the next couple hours.  He was thinking about getting something to eat.  I was thinking about how I could change the locks while he was gone.

We compromised and each sat at the desk signing a bunch of the postcards with our characters on them that the USO had given us to hand out to the troops.

There we sat, me and the creator of Family Circus.  Him doing his patriotic duty by signing the postcards.  Me doing my patriotic duty by not pushing him out the window.

And that's when the air raid sirens went off.

"GET DOWN.  GET DOWN.  GET DOWN," shouted the garbled voice across the base's PA system.

And at that moment, my greatest fear was not my possible demise.  It was that my last vision on this planet, the one that would have to carry me toward the afterlife, would not be of a nude supermodel begging me to make these last few moments count.

It would be this:

So much for being lucky.

 

Hey, Let's See You Sit Next to a Comic Strip Legend for Eight Hours and Stay Quiet

I'm on a flight sitting next to Doonesbury creator Garry Trudeau and I have a lot of questions.

Questions about how Doonesbury started.  Questions about the Doonesbury strips he liked the most.  Questions about the strips he liked least.

For me, this is out of character, for I make it a point to never talk to the person sitting next to me on a flight.  Especially a long flight.  And this one qualifies.

We are flying from Washington, D.C. to Frankfurt, Germany and then on to Afghanistan.  We are on a USO trip to visit the troops in Kandahar.

But this is Garry Trudeau.  And I have questions.

Making my mouth move even more freely are the Sierra Nevada beers I pounded at the United Airlines lounge just before getting on the flight.  (My goal was to get so drunk that my buzz would carry me through the next seven days of alcohol-free Afghanistan.)

Before I know it, three hours have passed and I'm still asking questions.

That's when Garry puts his index finger to his lips and says, "Shhh.  We should probably keep our voices down.  The guy on the other side of me is trying to sleep."

That's when I notice we are the last two guys with our overhead lights on.  We are the last two guys awake.

But that doesn't stop me.  So I keep firing away.  Only quieter.

Questions about what it's like to win a Pulitzer.  Questions about what inspires him.  Questions about any regrets he may have.

And then it happened.  I don't know exactly when it happened.  Or how.  All I know is that I had asked him this question about regrets and then looked over at this legend of syndicated cartooning and saw it with my own two bloodshot eyes.

Garry Trudeau was wearing noise-canceling headphones.

Because of me.

The guy he had chosen to sit next to.

At least now I knew one of his regrets.

It Better Be Good

I have a pretty crappy travel agent who I stick with only out of loyalty.

Anyhow, she recently recommended I visit a place that was a bit off the beaten path and not filled with tourists.

So my next report will be from there.

Wish me luck.  Because as vacations go, I never have any.

Add "Composer" to the List of Accomplishments on my Wikipedia Page

So I have a turkey sandwich in one hand and vitamin water in the other and I'm getting into my Honda Accord when a poodle-y looking dog pokes his head out of the half-open window of the car next to me and barks.

It shocks me so badly that I fall sideways into my driver's seat, causing my shoulder to hit the horn in the steering wheel.

Which causes the dog to stop barking.

I quickly close my car door and stare bravely at the dog.  He stares back.

I am having a staring contest with a dog.

Then he barks again.

So I honk the horn again.

And he barks again.

So I honk again.

And so it went.  For two minutes.

Bark.  Honk.  Bark.  Honk.  Bark.  Honk.

I'm not saying this is the proper way to handle "the-dog-who-pokes-his-head-out-of-the-car-parked-right-next-to-you-and-barks" situation, but it did mark the first time I've written an avant-garde symphony with a dog.

I am nothing if not innovative.

 

Signed Books While They Last

Just signed a bunch of books and drew a character in each.  To get one, go HERE.  But be quick, because they tend to sell quick.

While on the Facebook fan page, click the little "Like" button and I think you'll get notifications of whenever I post.

 

 

In Stephan We Trust: A Mission for Pearls Before Swine Fans Everywhere

The parking lot I park in here in Santa Rosa no longer has a person that takes your money at the gate.  They have one of those little parking machines you have to find and put your money in.

The fee was three bucks, so I put in a five-dollar bill and got two dollars back in change.

At least that's what I thought.

When I took a closer look, I saw that I had received two coins, each with former President Franklin Pierce on them.

In short, I was the victim of a practical joke.

I say that with great confidence because if you look up Franklin Pierce on Wikipedia, you'll see that the sum of his accomplishments is this:

"When the issue (of slavery) flamed up early in his administration, Pierce did little to cool the passions it aroused, and sectional conflicts reignited."

That last phrase is a fancy word for that little Civil War we had a few years later.  And that thing was a mess.

Wikipedia ends the article with this nice little summary:

"Pierce has been ranked among the least effective Presidents."

Okay, so my guess is that someone here in Santa Rosa is minting coins in his basement.  Which is fine, really.  My only comment to him or her is that they could have picked someone funnier.  Liberace and Scottie Pippen come to mind.

Now the even worse scenario here is that the coin is somehow REAL and that the U.S. Mint has finally gotten so low on the List of People Whose Heads Should Be On Coins that we're down to idiots who caused the Civil War.

I doubt it, but if that's somehow the case, surely my coin cannot be far behind.  I mean, consider this:

1)  I'm an idiot.

2) I've ignited sectional conflicts (I once angered the entire nation of Turkey);

3) My hair is more stylish than that of Franklin Pierce.  Which is not to say mine is stylish.  But please, look at this goofy mess.  And don't say it's a 19th century thing.  Because Lincoln was from that era, and except for that mole, he looks great.

So if you have some pull at the U.S. Mint, please, make things happen.  And I don't want to be pushy, but I'd like it done quickly enough so that the next time I park at that lot in Santa Rosa (probably next Wednesday), my change will have me on it.  And to make this as easy as possible, I've even located a photograph of me that I think would be nice on a coin.

It's me eating a crawdad I found in a nearby swamp.

I've carefully chosen this pose because it's symbolic of how it's a "dog-eat-dog" world and you have to fight for every dollar you earn.  And that makes way more sense than that silly pyramid with the eye over it on the dollar bill.

So please, if you have enough time to read to this point, you have a few seconds more to contact the Treasury Department and make this happen.  And for bonus points, send me their response, which I'll post here.  The worst they can say is no.  Which is doubtful, since they're down to Mr. Funny Hair.

And please, no requesting your own face on the coin.  While you too may be an idiot, I thought of it first.

They Walk, They Talk, They're ALIVE!

The animated Pearls are finally here.  Twenty-nine of them, in fact.  They were made by a company called Ringtales, the same company that does all the animated Dilbert and New Yorker cartoons.

I think many of them came out pretty funny, particularly the croc ones (at least in my opinion).   And a couple of them are almost touching (strange, I know).

Also, one quick word on the voices.  I already know from reader feedback that no two people hear any of their voices the same way.  So I know everyone will say, "Whoa, that's not how I hear Pig's voice" or "That's not how Rat sounds."   But these were the closest voices I could find to how I hear them in my head.

So click on the image below to go to the animations.  And let me know what you think.  There will be more in the months to come.

An Awesome Post

I'm eating lunch at an Italian restaurant yesterday when the waitress hands the woman at the table next to me a take-home box for her leftover pizza.

Wait.  Let me back up.

If you look up the word "awesome" in the dictionary, the first definition you'll see is this: "Inspires awe."

Inspires awe.

Landing on the moon.  I'd say that inspires awe.

Beethoven composing his 9th Symphony while deaf.  That would count.

Michelangelo's lying on his back to paint the ceiling of the Sistene Chapel. Yes, that would do it.

I bring this up because when the woman at the table next to me got her little styrofoam container for her two leftover slices of pepperoni pizza, she said this:

"This is awesome."

Yes, that little leftover box "inspired awe" in that woman.

I can only assume from her use of the English language that when she opened it, she saw on the underside of the lid one obvious thing:

A painting by Michelangelo.

Which he created while lying on his back in the styrofoam container.

Hey, it was an Italian restaurant.