Archive for the ‘Misc.’ Category

Stout Story in Latest Spook House!

Wednesday, October 10th, 2018

Spook House 2 #2 on sale today!! It’s got a scary comics story I wrote and illustrated for my grandsons. Eric Powell did a great job coloring my story. If you haven’t seen Spook House, you’re in for a treat. It’s scary stories for (future Monster) Kids!

Dino Fest!

Friday, September 28th, 2018

The T. rex character from the Jim Henson dinosaur movie

I hope to see all of you dinosaur lovers tomorrow at the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County for Dino Fest. I’ll have a table set up and I’ll be selling many of my dinosaur-related items.

It’s 9:00 AM to 5:00 PM tomorrow, September 29.

Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County
900 W. Exposition Boulevard
Exposition Park
Los Angeles, California 90007

Fantastic Worlds

Wednesday, August 29th, 2018

Here’s a preview of one of the covers for Fantastic Worlds: The Art of William Stout. This 300+ pp. book with over 500 illustrations is available for pre-order at Amazon. The street date is November 7 — just in time for the holidays! The art, of course, is by Stout. The text is by Ed Leimbacher (Ed wrote the fabulous intro to Stout’s Legends of the Blues) with an introduction by Robert Williams. Each of the twelve chapters covers a different aspect of Stout’s famously diverse career (dinosaurs, Antarctica, comics, film design, LP & CD covers, etc.). 2018 is Stout’s 50th year as a professional artist.

The Revenge of the Creature

Wednesday, August 29th, 2018

 

Fair warning out there to all of you Creature of the Black Lagoon fans. I just received my Blu-ray Creature From the Black Lagoon two-disc set (with all three Creature movies, plus two of them in 3D). I, like many others, purchased it for the 3D version of The Revenge of the Creature, which has never been released in 3D blu-ray form until now.

Well, not exactly like until now.

Instead of the crisp, crystal clear 3D of the Creature of the Black Lagoon 3D blu-ray, two images side-by-side (like a split screen) show up when I try to play the Revenge 3D version.

Checking at Amazon, this problem seems to be rampant among the disc sets released yesterday. Buyer Beware until Universal fixes this idiotic and frustrating error.

ARETHA FRANKLIN 1942-2018

Friday, August 17th, 2018

When I heard that the Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin, had died, my first thought was, “Is life truly worth living without the presence of Aretha?”

I mentioned in a recent journal entry what a lucky life I have had. A big chunk of that luck was to have been on this planet during Aretha Franklin’s wave of recordings for Atlantic Records. From this point on, those incredible performances will now have to stand in for our dear departed diva.

I was in my last year of high school (1967) when Aretha’s breakthrough LP I Never Loved a Man the Way I loved You was released. It hit my generation like the proverbial ton of bricks. This was different; this was new. James Brown was well established as the King of Soul. To me and my friends, James’ music sounded like it came from another planet. Enter the Queen: Aretha Franklin. Her music sounded as if it was the first music to emerge from Planet Earth.

Here was African American music that was different from what was coming out of Detroit and Motown. It was richer, deeper, sexier and more meaningful. It struck the deepest of chords.

I grew up in a couple of nearly all-white communities. My second major home was in Thousand Oaks, an extremely conservative community (when the first black family moved into Thousand Oaks a cross was burned on their front lawn). The guys in my hang-out group were all musicians (we were all in rock bands). Our sole exposure to black culture back then was music. Along with our Beatles and Yardbirds covers (we were exposed to black American blues second hand by British Invasion bands), we had already started to incorporate black music into our band’s sets.

I’ll never forget what was said by the lead guitarist from another band as we walked home from school and Aretha Franklin was brought up in our musical conversation.

He confided and whispered to me, “When I hear her sing, she gives me a boner.”

That was revelatory (and pretty forbidden) back then. And it caught my attention.

I bought that LP — and her subsequent Atlantic LPs — and became immersed in her world and her music. Her interpretations of songs crossed racial lines and united us as human beings, all of us yearning for the love and sharing the heartbreaks she expressed. Aretha built cultural bridges for us all, white or black or brown.

My favorite performance of hers is “I Say a Little Prayer”, a song written by the dynamite white songwriting duo of Burt Bacharach and Hal David. What originally seemed like pure white pop music (I love Dionne Warwick — the original singer of most Bacharach/David songs — but her recordings were definitely aimed at an MOR — Middle of the Road — audience), the song was given a deep injection of transcendent soul by Ms. Franklin. Her version builds and builds until it soars.

If you have not been exposed to the music of Aretha Franklin (how is that possible?), then I would recommend the purchase of her first four Atlantic albums: I Never Loved a Man the Way I loved You, Aretha Arrives, Lady Soul (with a guest spot by Eric Clapton) and Aretha Now. Keep in mind that when you hear her performing the best music black culture has ever produced, that she is backed on those LPs by a magical mix of dedicated black and white musicians — plus Aretha’s own amazing piano playing. If you’re a male, it will probably give you a boner.

I have had bouts of weeping over Aretha for days now. I expect they will continue.

May all of our tears cleanse all of our souls.

Her music lives on forever.

DONNIE WADDELL 1960–2018

Wednesday, August 1st, 2018

I am one of the luckiest guys I know. Last night I had a casual dinner with one of my favorite actresses, a woman who is as sweet and kind in person as she is on screen. That bit of fortune got me to pondering and reflecting on some of the other wonderful, lucky experiences in my life of which I’ve had many.

Donnie Waddell was one of those experiences. My friend just tragically passed away. It leaves a huge gap in my life in addition to losing one of my favorite reasons for attending WonderFest in Donnie’s home town of Louisville, Kentucky.

I met Donnie a long, long time ago. I thought it had been at Louisville’s 1985 RiverCon, where Dan O’Bannon and I were sent to promote our movie Return of the Living Dead (that was the sole promotion we were allowed to do for the film). But Donnie told me we had met even earlier, when Donnie first ventured out to California. Regardless, our friendship became thoroughly rooted when Donnie first asked me to be a guest at WonderFest in Louisville, Kentucky. It was there I also became friends with writer-artist-caricaturist extraordinaire and all round nice guy Frank Dietz.

Frank was already a regular at WonderFest and after that first one I became a WonderFest regular, too, and WonderFest became our second family.

Above: Donnie (wearing one of my WonderFest shirts) and David Colton, founder of the Rondo Awards which are presented during each WonderFest.

Frank and I would always do whatever we could to get as much Donnie Time as possible because Donnie Waddell was Louisville’s comedy genius. If he had chosen that career path, I have no doubt that Donnie would have become the next Patton Oswalt (whom he physically resembled) or Robin Williams. He was that funny.

Donnie was often Frank’s and my chauffeur around Louisville, driving us to the off-campus WonderFest events. One night we decided to play a trick on Donnie. While I kept Donnie distracted, Frank borrowed some hot red frilly undies from one of the convention’s lady guests. Frank snuck out, somehow got into Donnie’s car and hung the delicate underthings on Donnie’s rear view mirror. Then Frank returned to our dinner table.

Eventually, it came time to leave. We followed Donnie to his car, then we all got seated inside. Donnie turned on the engine and then looked up at his rear view mirror. Without missing a beat, Donnie launched into well over a half hour’s worth of comedy riffing and improv, using the undies as a prop. I thought that Frank and I were going to die from asphyxiation we were laughing so hard. Different voices flew rapid fire out of Donnie’s mouth as he drove us back to the hotel hosting WonderFest (Donnie was an extremely skilled mimic; he could do just about anybody. And he didn’t just do impressions of the usual famous stars; he also did dead-on impressions of people like Forrest J. Ackerman and Ray Harryhausen.

Above: That’s Donnie (far right) sitting next to me during a dinner at VinylFest.

Eventually, for reasons I can’t fathom, Donnie and WonderFest drifted apart. Although I always saw him there, he was no longer part of the show’s staff. I felt bad for Donnie because I knew how much WonderFest and its long line of media guests meant to him. Whenever I would return home from WonderFest my sons would always ask, “Did you see Donnie?” He had charmed them, too, on that very first WonderFest trip.

Above (from L to R): Writer and Creature of the Black Lagoon collector par excellence David Schow, Donnie and Video Watchdog founder and editor (and Mario Bava biographer) Tim Lucas — all part of our beloved WonderFest family.

Besides being hysterically funny, Donnie Waddell was incredibly generous. From time to time I would receive surprise gifts in the mail from Donnie, usually obscure books or DVDs he thought I would like. The same thing would happen at each WonderFest. “Here, Bill. I thought you might like this.” It was typically something very precious to him he had found at Half Price Books (or some other Louisville shop) that he thought deserved a larger audience.

I miss my lovable teddy bear of a guy, his kind, generous soul and his devastating wit. Some people that you meet in life are unique and irreplaceable.

Donnie Waddell was one of those guys in spades.

RIP my dear, dear friend.

STEVE DITKO 1927 – 2018

Saturday, July 7th, 2018

I am sorry to report our loss of the great Steve Ditko, one of the most talented and original storytellers in comics.

When I was first exposed to Ditko’s art, I didn’t like it. I was a dumb teen who was much more used to and admiring of the slickness of my DC Comics art heroes, Carmine Infantino, Gil Kane and my favorite inker of their work, Murphy Anderson. Steve’s work seemed really cartoony in comparison.

It didn’t take long for me to change my mind. The quality of his work on Spiderman improved exponentially (more importantly, I got used to Ditko’s unique style). And then he started drawing Doctor Strange. Steve used a very standard panel grid for his Marvel superheroes work. But within those plain squares and rectangles Ditko produced for Doctor Strange, a fully-realized exotic netherworld lived and breathed. It was as though Ditko was able to tap directly into his own spinal cord to create a world weirder than anything else that has ever been drawn for comics. I don’t think any subsequent Doctor Strange artist came even close to matching the eldritch nature of Ditko’s work, no matter what they did with the shape of the panel borders.

In 1972 Harvey Kurtzman and Will Elder asked me to venture back east to assist them on “Little Annie Fanny” for Playboy. It was my first time in New York. On the very day of my arrival, the first thing I did was to walk into a phone booth and look up Steve Ditko in the telephone directory (something I don’t think you can do anymore — are there still phone booths in New York? If so, do they still have attached phone books?).

I found him. It read “Ditko, Steve – Artist”.

I didn’t have the huevos to call him. I was just simply thrilled and gratified to see published proof of his existence in the very city I was standing in.

I continued to follow his work, both in the past and in the future to that moment. I was crazy about his Amazing Adult Fantasy comic book stories and tracked them all down. I savored every story that ended with an alien or monster pulling off a rubber mask, drawn in a way by Ditko that made me think I could hear the rubber as it was stretched off the character’s head.

I followed the black-or-white (no shades of gray) Ayn Rand-ian rants of his character Mister A. I even looked at Steve’s well-drawn S & M indulgences. In researching Ditko’s artistic history, I marveled at how similar his work in the early 1950s was so similar to the work of Joe Kubert at that same time, and where their different artistic paths led them.

I was lucky enough to find and pick up the original art to my favorite page of my favorite Ditko Warren (Creepy and Eerie) story. It’s an ink and wash job that depicts a man screaming himself into insanity within a series of eerily disturbing panels, something I feel that only Ditko could pull off with such spine-tapping depth.

My friend Jonathan Ross made a terrific documentary, Searching for Steve Ditko (which also features Neil Gaiman). Track it down; I highly recommend it. Those two share the same reverence I hold for Mr. Ditko, his work and his privacy.

I never wanted to violate Steve’s privacy by contacting him. Like I said, for me it was enough to know that he existed — that the man who wove such mesmerizing images before my eyes was real.

Bless You, Steve Ditko and your superb body of work. May it haunt us all forever.

HARLAN ELLISON 1934 – 2018

Friday, June 29th, 2018

I lost one of my dearest friends Wednesday night when the great writer and raconteur Harlan Ellison passed away. It was Harlan who told me, “The thing that sucks about getting old is losing your pals.”

Harlan was a great, award-winning writer, a champion of creators’ (especially writers) rights, a phenomenally outrageous speaker, an acid-tongued political gadfly and, easily, one of the most loyal and loving friends I have ever had.

Harlan marched from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama with Martin Luther King. He was the third most anthologized science fiction writer (after Ray Bradbury and Isaac Asimov). Harlan wrote the best Outer Limits episode (“Demon with a Glass Hand”) and best Star Trek episode (“The City on the Edge of Forever”). He’s in the Science Fiction Hall of Fame (Harlan hated being called a “science fiction writer). He was the editor of the incredibly important and influential Dangerous Visions anthologies. When he served as the creative consultant on the first two seasons of the revamped Twilight Zone show in the 1980s, he brought the quality level of that show up to some of the best TV that medium has ever seen.

The Los Angeles Times described Harlan as “fiercely independent, vengeful, sardonic, opinionated, confrontational, foul-mouthed, petulant, infuriating, defiant and a general all-around nuisance — as well as engaging, gregarious, funny, fastidiously organized and generous to his friends”.

Harlan Ellison was all that and much, much more.

I had heard about Harlan before I’d ever met him. His volatile reputation intrigued me. I first saw him speak at the first science fiction convention I ever attended, a WesterCon in Santa Monica in 1969. I hung around on Harlan’s periphery, watching him interact with, entertain, educate and insult a variety of friends and fans. He was never dull and often a wonder to behold.

That year I was working as the sole illustrator for the pulp magazine Coven 13. I was absolutely thrilled and delighted when my editor, Arthur Landis, handed me an unpublished Harlan Ellison story to illustrate: “Rock God”. I drew a double page pen, brush and ink illustration with a strong Jack Kirby influence. After it was published I heard through the grapevine that Harlan hated it.

Shortly after that I was exhibiting at a comic book convention at Universal Studios being put on by my pals at the American Comic Book Company (for whom I was doing lots of advertising illustration). I spotted Harlan and approached him. I caught him totally off guard when, after introducing myself, I said, “I hear you hated my illustration for ‘Rock God’”. For a brief moment Harlan was at a loss for words — the only time I’ve ever seen Harlan at a loss for words.

“Where’s your table?”

I brought Harlan over to my display of works for sale. He looked at my work and then proceeded to purchase one copy of each and every thing I had for sale.

We’ve been close friends ever since.

We shared my friend Byron Preiss as a publisher. I illustrated “Shattered Like a Glass Goblin” (the story that got me hired to storyboard and design the Conan the Barbarian movie) for Byron’s publication The Illustrated Harlan Ellison. When Byron was in town (L.A.) he would usually take Harlan and me out for dinner. At one dinner I was in the middle of beginning my 1981 book THE DINOSAURS – A Fantastic New View of a Lost Era. I was both writing and illustrating the book. I handed one of my scripted stories to Harlan, hoping for his approval. He began to read it and then suddenly burst out with a loud “Woo HOO!” He derogatorily read aloud a passage from my story to Byron and our collection of fellow diners. “Purple prose — and I don’t think it gets much purpler than this, my friend.” He held his nose and handed me back my story.

Harlan’s very public criticism of my writing stung — but as I tell my students, criticism is a gift. It is meant to make you better at what you do. I tell them if I want to be told my work is great, I’ll show it to my mom. But I’m not going to learn anything or get better at what I do by being told I’m wonderful.

I reevaluated my writing and never indulged in purple prose ever again. Happily, Harlan made me aware of this particular bad writing habit of mine when I was beginning my book — not after it had been published.

I told this story to my sons when they were boys. When my oldest son Andy had finished some of his college application essays, he asked me to read them critically. “Be Harlan Ellison brutal, Dad.” “Harlan Ellison brutal” became a phrase used often in our family when one of us wanted the honest truth.

Harlan changed my life for the better in another way. We were visiting at his home, Ellison Wonderland, catching up with each other. I looked smugly pleased as punch as I told him I was making money hand over fist working as a full time consultant at Walt Disney Imagineering, designing Disney theme parks. It was the most money I’d ever made on a sustained job.

He looked at me like I was some kind of schmuck.

“You’ll have something from me tomorrow, Stout.”

Harlan sent me two quotes:
“A man is what he does with his time.”

“Artists are not corrupted by money; they are diverted from their true path.”

I put those two quotes on my studio wall and quit WDI that very week.

Harlan was married five times. He hit the jackpot with his fifth wife Susan, the wife I felt he always deserved: sharp, attractive, patient, loving and someone who didn’t hesitate to call him on his shit — in her very own sweet English fashion.

I’ve got a hundred Harlan Ellison stories. I’m not talking about the stories he has written (I’ve got nearly all of those, too), I’m talking about what happens when you’re around such a colorful guy.

I’m not going to tell them all here, though — I’d be writing this blog and doing nothing else for the next few years.

I will tell you this one story, though, as it is a tale I tell with some pride.

When I was the production designer on the Masters of the Universe movie, I had a really bright guy working for me as a P. A. (production assistant; basically, a go-fer). His name was Josh Olson. I saw Josh sporadically after Masters, usually running into him at Comic Con International. One day I got a call from Josh. He had been nominated for an Academy Award for writing A History of Violence, the terrific David Cronenberg movie. Josh was in the middle of a dazzling experience and he wanted to share it with someone who had been there at Josh’s humble cinematic beginnings. So, we went to Oscar parties together and had a helluva time. During our times together he mentioned how much he admired Harlan Ellison and Harlan’s writings.

“I know Harlan; he’s a close friend. I can introduce you to him if you like.”

Josh lit up like a Christmas tree. I made the call. I didn’t tell Josh that this might end badly, depending upon Harlan’s mood and what Ellison thought of Olson’s writing.

After they met, Harlan called me.

“Where in the hell did you find this guy Josh? He’s like the long lost wonderful little brother I never knew I had.”

Harlan and Josh became the bestest of best friends; absolutely inseparable. My pride comes from facilitating the circumstance of two of my own good friends meeting each other and becoming their own future best pals.

You leave a vast chasm in my life with your departure, Harlan — and a lot of other lives, too. Your writings, your YouTube videos and the fine documentary on your life, Dreams with Sharp Teeth, will sadly have to be our proxy for guidance from you from now on.

Mike ‘n’ Me

Wednesday, June 6th, 2018

(Danya and Mike Parks)

My dear pal, collaborator, colleague, Monster Kid, model kit maker, sculptor and guitarist Mike Parks has passed away after a struggle with stomach cancer at age 66 (I am going to use the present tense throughout this tribute because I’m still having a hard time believing Mike is gone).

Mike and I have been good friends for well over twenty years. We met at WonderFest in Louisville, Kentucky. It was there that our collaborations began. I create the line art for the official WonderFest T-shirt each year (the talented Lee Staton does the coloring). I then try to get that image to Mike ASAP to give him enough time to sculpt his interpretation of my design as a bas-relief standing plaque. He makes a small, limited number of these plaques for sale at WonderFest (they always sellout pretty fast). Here’s a detail of one:

(Photo by Barbara Staton)

Sometimes, when I am a bit behind deadline, I send Mike a copy of my tight pencils of the T-shirt art prior to my inking it, just so he won’t be sweating the show deadline (as much; he always took turning my art into a bas-relief plaque VERY seriously). It wasn’t always a direct or exact translation of my art because of the rules and limitations of three-dimensional art that don’t bind me as a 2-D artist. I look forward to seeing how he tackled those difficulties, as he always comes through like a champ, making my work look better than it actually is, with changes that always adhere to the spirit of what I had created on paper.

A special highlight of WonderFest for me is seeing Mike, his smart and lovely wife Danya and his 3-D interpretation of my T-shirt art.

Danya. Boy, Mike won the spouse lottery with Danya. Intelligent, funny, politically fierce and beautiful (a seemingly ageless beauty; I suspect she’s got a horrific portrait of herself hidden away in her closet or attic), she always accompanied Mike to WonderFest and even did a lot of the heavy lifting in preparation for the show (the weight, bulkiness and size of sculptures makes me really glad I just sell books, shirts and flat art).

Mike and Danya are crazy about animals (Mike is a cat guy. Throughout his life he rescued over 200 cats and built loads of cat shelters). Danya is a vet (animals — not Viet Nam). They are both vegetarians, so we do not share a lot of dinners together, BBQ aficionado that I am. We do seem to always find time, though, to have long chats about many things important to us either at the bar or, most often, up in the Monster Kid Clubhouse, a secret hangout at WonderFest for staff and guests.

Like I said, Mike is one helluva talented sculptor. But before that career (as well as throughout his sculpting career), Mike was an awesome guitarist. Way back when (in the 1970s) Mike was the roadie for the Detroit hard rockers MC5. Mike never lost his rock ‘n’ roll spirit — and that was another subject upon which we bonded. Mike and I could (and sometimes would) talk forever about music. We loved turning each other on to great bands and good music. He introduced me to the music of one of his favorite bands, Kings X.

Mike is one of the most generous (and humble, despite his prodigious talents) guys I know, regularly thinking of others long before he thinks about himself. Here’s an example:

WonderFest began as a model kit show, an ideal venue at which to sell monster and other sculptures. Mike Parks was one of the first garage model kit makers in the world. Early on, Mike noticed a sadly common pattern. Adult collectors would often bring (or drag) their little offspring to the show. The collectors would sometimes drop a grand or more on a kit, but when their kid asked for a couple of bucks to buy something, their dad would snap at the kid, “I told you: I don’t have any money!

Seeing that broke Mike’s heart — and made him angry. So, he began making little sculpted monsters to give to kids for free (even though these mini-masterpieces took a lot of his time and materials). In the sculpting biz, tiny monsters with big heads are known as “super-deformed”. Mike called his super-deformed line “Tiny Terrors”. Mike’s sense of humor saturated nearly everything he touched; his Tiny Terrors were a perfect venue for expressing Mike’s sense of funny. One of my favorites in this line is his Godzilla:

Check out the bottom of Godzilla’s foot!

I already miss this kind, gentle soul. WonderFest, as much as I love it, will never be the same now that Mike’s gone. His death leaves a gaping hole in that event, one that I doubt will ever be filled. It also leaves a hole in the hearts of all who knew him. In our sorrow, though, let us not forget that Mike lived a very rich life, being able to live his dream of making a living at music and art and having Danya as his loving wife. Triple lucky!

Rest in Peace (and Keep On Rockin’), my talented friend. And a massive model kit box full of love and affection to Danya, who took such good care of our lovable guy for all these years.

Please help the kind spirit of Mike Parks live on by donating to his non-profit charity, Felines in Need (Felinesinneed.org).

Packed Weekend!

Tuesday, May 22nd, 2018

This last weekend was not a typical weekend for me. I’m always busy but I was busier than usual this time. Please allow me to share:
Friday: I had picked up four images from my friends at ArtWorks (where I have all of my art shot) the previous day for a Sideshow Collectibles project. I realized that two of the images were not up to my standards, so I completely redid both of them and rushed them back to ArtWorks who were nice enough to get the photography back to me that same day. A couple of these images turned out to be among some of the best images I’ve ever done (Sorry I can’t share them yet; I’ve been sworn to secrecy!). My wife and I dined at Bacchus Kitchen (a neighbor had kindly given me a 20% off coupon for this fabulous restaurant) that evening. We watched Bill Maher on HBO upon our return home, plus an episode of This Is Us.

Saturday: Early in the morning my wife and I drove over to a part of Pasadena owned by my pal, the talented artist Kenton Nelson. Kenton bought and restored a row of old craftsman homes in a great Pasadena neighborhood. Kenton is he current president of the Pasadena Breakfast Forum (nicknamed by some of our offspring as “The Old Men’s Breakfast Club”), a group that’s been around since the 1930s. Kenton and magician Mike Caveney invited me into this exclusive (only 45 members allowed) club a few years ago. We get together for breakfast at the CalTech Atheneum every other Wednesday. Each meeting features a half hour talk by one of the members. The first talk is always autobiographical; the rest of the talks given can be about anything (I gave an illustrated talk on the history of life in Antarctica about a month ago). This Saturday morning Kenton hosted an coffee-and-sinkers open house for the Breakfast Forum members from 8:00 to 11:00AM.

After Kenton’s, we returned home and I sent off the images to Sideshow, then colored four more entries for my book Legends of the British Blues: Elkie Brooks, Jon Lord, Dick Heckstall-Smith and Ian A. Anderson (the acoustic blues player; not the Jethro Tull leader). Elkie and about ten others will be appearing in an article I just wrote for the Whole Life Times entitled “The Godfathers (and a Godmother) of British Blues”, in which the origin of blues in the UK is explored and examined.

During the day, my wife and I began preparing elements for the dinner we were hosting later that evening. We had invited some very dear friends we’ve known for a long time. We met through our kids’ school. Their family consists of some of the kindest, most generous folks we know. Sadly, due to a medical emergency, they had to cancel. I suggested that, since we had most of the food in the making, that we invite my son, his wife and our grandsons over for dinner — which is what we did.

To my amazement, one of our previously scheduled dinner guests dropped by with flowers (beautiful sweet peas!), a great salad and a wonderful bottle of wine by way of apology for having to cancel on us. Like I said: incredibly thoughtful and kind.

Our family got together. I got to play with my grandsons, we had a great dinner, and then my son Andy proposed we rent Thor: Ragnarok, which we did. It’s one of the very best Marvel films, great to look at and very funny. It was directed by a new favorite director of mine, New Zealander Taika Waititi, who also co-directed What We Do In The Shadows and directed the brilliant and quirky Hunt for the Wilderpeople. A great time was had by all!

Sunday: I tried out a new model at my figure drawing workshop: Michelle Gibson. She was so good that the entire workshop applauded her after she completed her final pose for us.

I then rushed home, as I had purchased tickets for the Supermarket. The Los Angeles Times is hosting a month-long food festival/charity fundraiser, The Food Bowl. They timed it to coincide with an annual one-week event here in L. A., The Night Market a collection of incredible food booths with tasty international specialties offered up by the city’s best chefs. The Supermarket is a special area within the Night Market. The Night Market is free; entrance to the Supermarket is ten bucks. I sprang for tickets for the whole family. The Supermarket was carefully curated by Jonathan Gold. Jonathan Gold is an excellent reason to live in L.A. He was the first (and so far, only) person ever to be awarded the Pulitzer Prize for reporting about food and the first to take the food truck movement seriously. He began at the freebie newspaper the Los Angeles Weekly and graduated to writing a weekly food column for the Los Angeles Times. He performed a pretty spectacular job of curating the Supermarket. We sampled dishes from around the world, my favorite being the beef brisket and hot links I purchased from Bludsoe’s BBQ (the best BBQ in L.A.). We tried all different kinds of food and shared them family style. The biggest hit with my grandsons was the soft shell crab sandwiches (they missed out on the baby octopuses on a skewer, which they would have loved. Sold out, though).

Another key part of this Night Market experience was getting there. It was being held in downtown Los Angeles at Grand Park. Several years ago, I (and several hundred thousand other L.A. denizens) discovered that we have a subway that serves Los Angeles when it was featured in the great Tom Cruise film Collateral. My wife and I decided to take the Gold Line Metro to Grand Park. It was my very first ride on the system. I was impressed; fairly simple to use and very clean. I’m going to start using it more.

After an afternoon at the Night Market, my wife and I headed home on the Gold Line. We watched John Oliver on HBO and then called it a night. I had the foresight to bring home a tray of Bludsoe’s BBQ which I consumed for lunch the following day, stretching out my foodie adventure.

Allow me to repeat myself: a great time was had by all.