I just got back from a little airplane ride, generously provided by my friend Dan.

Dan, for the record, is my number-one fan, and nobody can take that title from him. You see, he was the first person ever to buy artwork from me. His last name, for the record, is Strohl…

Anyway, airplane ride. I understand that some people love aerial tours. It was nice seeing things I recognized. We circled my house, and I could even tell that Sandra and Patches were in the front yard (I called before take-off and told them to expect me). But the turbulence — even wee little drops and nudges — scares me clear to the core of my obviously yellow belly. Intellectually I have absorbed the fact that bumpiness is not indicative of “impending plummet.” My hind-brain, however, refuses to get on board.

So… it was a tame tour of the valley instead of an extended tour up the canyon and back. Still… I got pictures of my house from 1500 feet up.

–Howard

I’m back. I’m exhausted. I slept in this morning, and then took a nap after breakfast… for two hours.

I doubt I’ll get any cartooning done, but I’m good with that. Today is a recovery day.

–Howard

Yesterday was devoted to preparations for Penguicon. I’m pretty sure I’m ready now. My bags are packed, and they’re in the car.

Oh, and my stomach is threatening to secede.

See, I found out I’m on the “hot sauce tasting” panel, and I realized that I’m not “in training” at the moment. My p-gates are wide open, fully stocked with the neurotransmitter that tells my brain I have something too hot in my mouth.

So chalain and I went to lunch at the local Thai place with Rodney. I was going to order the five-star curry, but we got to talking with the waitress, and discovered that there are actually around 20 stars on that scale. There’s no point trying to train yourself for hot food in one go, and not going for something actually HOT. I had the five-star last week and never broke a sweat.

This time I broke a sweat. I also made the mistake of eating quickly, and not fully chewing all those fresh peppers. Now I’m busy depleting p-trans throughout my tract, which means that this morning my stomach feels like I drank a barrel of boiling oil. Fortunately I’ve been here before and I know that no actual damage is being done — there are some nerves firing, and the signals they send are worrisome, but I happen to know who pulled the fire-alarm.

Punk kid.

Anyway, I’ve just bounced up to about 75% of my usual training level. Bottled hot sauces are not likely to give me any measure of grief come Saturday.

–Howard

That’s a wasps’ nest, dead. Our guess is they built it last year, and hadn’t yet recolonized it this year. The hole in it was unavoidable — the nest had been built around numerous vines, and we couldn’t get behind it to cut the last of them free.

One more picture behind the cut.