Monthly Archives: February 2011

A Picture for You

Diaries are for ranting–not so, not today–it’s amazing what a good night of sleep can do to the spirits. Gorgeous weather in Munich –winter’s death rattle at last? And then (–) is getting bigger every day. Still three weeks to go until he’s done, but I wouldn’t be surprised if one of these days he (she?) just said “fuck this noise” and Chuck Norrised a little fist right out of the side of my stomach. I can sense the eagerness to be born. Like my developing eagerness to give birth, but–

I will certainly miss rubbing my despotically fat stomach.

In the meantime, because the nifty people at wordpress display the searches that have lead others to your site, I’ve noticed that a marked percentage have found their way into my lair with some homosexual keyword– only to be horribly disappointed! Well, no more. I will do my tiny part–this is a picture for all the people who also like balls touching. It’s an oldie, but a goodie– my copy of Clifford Baker’s photograph from “The Male Nude.” (Censored, ’cause I’m not sure if you’re allowed to display ‘adult content’ on WordPress. Though circle-jerks are so junior high, I don’t even know if they count as adult content… They don’t, right? Oh well. Whatever.)

Winter Is Over

A Cautionary Tale

There was some comedian, I don’t remember his name now… in his routine, he talks about a woman haranguing him for his unhealthy lifestyle. “You do so many drugs; you drink, you smoke!” She rails. “Look at what it’s done to your body!”

A beat, before the guy looks back at her and smirks:

“You’ve had three kids, and YOU want to talk to ME about fucking up my body?!?!”

Haha, but seriously, it’s no joke. Pregnancy does fucked up shit to your body. I’ve been lucky. Very lucky. Killer heartburn, yes, cravings for Subway’s Spicy Italian subs during bouts of monster insomnia, yes, but (–) is a very good kid. He (she?) doesn’t want to hurt me, so I haven’t thrown up (!); haven’t gotten varicose veins; the acne of days of yore has stayed dormant. I don’t have edema (swelling of ankles) or stretch-marks.

That doesn’t make it less grotesque. The pictures don’t lie:


My Life Before. A Care-free Existence of Sushi, Drinking, and Pixelated Dongs

My life now. (Note: The pics are very small. To see them large, right click and select ‘original’ size, or click on the magnifying glass icon and then ‘original’.)

These are some of the pictures from the sessions I’ve been having with W. I especially like number four… maybe other pregnant chicks recognize that feeling you have at 3:33 in the morning. (You know, the clawing of the face…?)

And the pictures beg the question: Will a corrupted belly button ever go back in its home? Will areola (sp?) keep the scary dimensions of a slice of Genoa Salami??? Time will tell.

In the meantime, I’ve been going over to W’s twice a week for drawing sessions. It seems to be going good… =) I like him– I guess strange people like other strange people, but he is professional and friendly. I enjoy our chats about art; he is obviously very dedicated and I find his manner of drawing inspiring. Loose and expressive.

Click around on his flickr site if you’re interested in some of his other work. I recommend the drawings from 2011/2010 (black and white.) He may  have an exhibit here in Munich later this year–I hope he does and that I’ll see some of you there.

BTW, Happy Valentine’s Day, moofies. =)

Homo Agogo #1

What’s good, people? It’s FRIDAY!
And that means:

-guys in love
-jagged teeth

click to make it big


Here’s a quick sketch, with Juno and Dr. Fail eating cake at a local cafe. Author’s disclaimer: Those two are not actually gay lovers. Just in my heart. ie, the hearts represent my artistic LICENSE.

Because men together are sweet. <3
Honk if you love men together!

Also: Dr. F consistently looks like a girl in many of his photos. Not so much in real life. But since I enjoy the photo-realism style, I could not help but capture him any other way. …

Have a good Friday, everyone ^-^b

Would a Martin By Any Other Name Smell Just as Sweet?

or The Crazy Confessions of a Name Addict

“But names, once they are in common use, quickly become mere sounds, their etymology being buried, like so many of the earth’s marvels, beneath the dust of habit.”
Salman Rushdie

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth and the waters and the animals, and then man, and he let man name everything in the world around him–but not himself. There was a reason for that.

Be careful when you name something or someone, for then you have the power of a god. You are playing god. It is a blessing and a curse.

The other day, we were celebrating a belated birthday at our old Munich watering-hole, Joe Penis, and right as I was about to slip into the gentle arms of a tacoma, I realized something funny: Other than J, sitting right next to me, all three of the guys at the corner of my table were named Martin. Three Germans, all three of them in their late twenties/early thirties. All three Martins.

Incidentally, J’s boss at work is also Martin; my good friend’s roommate’s boyfriend is also called Martin; said good friend recently went on a blind-date with a Martin; and my roommate’s sister is dating a young man with the charming appellation Heinz-Martin. …When I engaged one of my neighborhood Martins in conversation about his name, he confessed to me that at the last company he worked at, TEN PERCENT of the male working force shared his name…

Which got me wondering. I don’t have a problem with the name at all, but what on earth made it so appealing to German women in the late seventies/early to mid eighties? I don’t know, and light research has revealed little in way of a German celebrity with that name or a book with a vampire-protagonist named Martin, but it’s something to consider, here on the brink of having to name my own kid. On the one hand, every Martin I know rocks the name in his own way, but it still would be nice to NOT give my kid a name which will one day be used by ten percent of his colleagues at work due to a freak and inexplicable trend.

People keep asking me if I already have a name picked out for (–) and what it is. Of course I do, a name-obsesser picks out her names WELL in advance of pregnancy, arguably, a TRUE name-freak gets pregnant in large percent for the sheer joy of the naming; but I never tell anyone. I figure when the kid is born, the name will be there and everyone will just have to deal with it and not make faces because it’s done and they won’t want to hurt my feelings. >:P

But it does make me a bit sad–The name I have picked out, I’ve had  for a very long time. I first saw it in high-school; I randomly picked up a book in the library and there it was, on the title of the book (also, it is the name of the protagonist). I remember staring at the cover, dazzled by it. I really wanted to meet someone with that name–and never have.

It’s not  ‘made-up’, it is obscure, but traditional: I wanted a traditional name, the kind where you could not peg when your kid was born based on name alone. “Oh Jennifer, huh? So you were obviously born in the late eighties/nineties…” is what I wanted to avoid. I didn’t want a Hungarian name, because many of them, in my humble opinion, skirt butt-ugly, though I did want a name my Hungarian relatives could easily pronounce, which actually ruled out my favorite Japanese boy name (it would be regularly butchered by Americans, Germans and Hungarians alike).

And this name, I thought, was perfect–it’s traditional, but not mega-popular like ‘Michael’ (another name I think is very nice, but entirely too used)… I like the short version as well as the long… And since it is old, I thought it would definitely never become trendy, like the recent slew of Aidens and all names rhyming with -aiden, Kayden, Brayden, Jaden, J-dinn, and whatever fucked up spellings people pick.

With my beautiful name, I was ignorant and happy.

And then, out of a masochistic urge, I go online and the TORTURE begins. This name, that I have loved for years; which is orthodox and quite old-fashioned–is actually on the rise. Massively, it would appear. It is on every name list, near the top–some sites even label it as ‘trendy’. TRENDY??? My beautiful name?? Twisting the knife deeper, I poured through message boards and bled while people who are naming their kids monstrosities along the lines of Josabella Isadora Grace are considering this name for their baby boy.

Where did this name even surface?? I want to scream into the Net. Nobody answers. The book I got it from, though it did make a splash in its day, was published in the seventies. It is a classic, but not a widely known one. Nor does anybody mention it as their inspiration. Is there a famous artist, actor or celebrity who has this name now? Not that I can find. Is this the name of Paris Hilton’s last snugglepookie or some dude who won the hearts and minds of the masses during the last season of American Idol? Not that I can see.

SO WHY?!?!?

I would not mind if the name was simply more popular than I had previously imagined. Ok, fine. Some old-fashioned names are making a comeback (like Henry, protag. of ‘Time Traveller’s Wife’) and that’s fine too–at least there is a reason. I can point and say “Well, people read this popular book by Miss Niffenegger a few years ago and now it has inspired them to name their kid Henry.” But with (–)’s name, I can find no reason and yet it’s rising popularity has a frightening momentum. Literally, from nowhere–it’s on vertical spike straight up and I think–in five years, will this be the next Justin or Aiden? In thirty years, will my kid be sitting in a Mexican restaurant with two other guys who randomly have the same name he does? Will people shake their heads when he introduces himself and laugh inside thinking, “Oh yeah. I remember when your name was so in for like five minutes during 2010-2015… and then everyone got fucking sick of it.” Will my kid be like… “God, my stupid mom couldn’t even go on the fucking internet and do a little research and now I’m stuck with this.”????


I feverishly hope not, because I CAN’T NAME (–) ANYTHING ELSE!!

Consumed in a conflagration of frantic two am paranoia, just when I think of overturning years and years of loving the name, and finding something new, I quickly quelch the urge by going on to Forvo. If you don’t know this site, check it out: It’s a place where you can have just about any word or name pronounced in any language. So, with my guts twisting (don’t laugh, a name-freak can get diarrhea over a shock like this!!), I put on (–)’s name and listen to it through my headphones. Deep calm ensues. It reminds me of rain. The Hungarian word for rain.

It’s his name.

Unless he’s a girl. My mom says “Just name her that even if she is a girl.” (My mom is also stuck on it.) Online rebut from an anonymous woman:  “It’s so pathetic when parents give their girls boy names (apparently another popular thing to do right now). It’s like they were disappointed and never got over having a girl.”

Actually, I love girls. Girls are awesome and statistically not as gross or smelly as little boys. But finding a girl’s name has been a real jihad. Looking online depresses me further. It’s like I can smell the cancer chomping away at the soul of my poor America when I read the names people are naming their little girls. Overblown, hyper-floral TUMORS. Princess names on steroids. I do apologize to people who love those sorts and I suppose some would argue that a long, complex name with second and even third name additions packed with cultural and family-history meaning is so nice–but I find it insufferably vulgar.

Some can be good when used judiciously (a good old friend named her daughters Madeleine (sp?) and Amelia, and I think these names are pretty and fit her girls well, but when visions commence of of tubby women wrangling flats of muffins into their carts at Costco, while bellowing “Jezzabella Avery Hope Meyer-Johnson, you stop that this instant!!!!” … I throw up a little, in my mouth.

Or Nevaeh. It’s ‘Heaven’ spelled backwards. Saints preserve us. I bet God threw up a little in his mouth when people started that trend.

And hyphenated last names are like… say wha…? What is this generation going to do in twenty years, when little Jezzabella Avery Hope Meyer-Johnson wants to marry a Colton Alexander Hauser-Dunkleberger? “Honey, the Meyer-Johnson-Hauser-Dunklebergers invited us for dinner… are we free Saturday night?” Haha!

Hyphenated names are passing the fucking buck to your kids, who WILL have to decide either on an entirely new name, or prune down the name somehow if they want to get married. So just take your husband’s name. Or say ‘fuck that noise’ and keep your own name. Decide on one last name for your kids–but hyphenating does nothing. You just, as we say in Hungarian, gave the turd a slap. (The turd may have MOVED, but it’s still there, waiting to be dealt with.)

Gah. Girl names.

I want a kick-ass name for a girl! Unfortunately, the Japanese name I really like for a chick rhymes with my last name. Sigh. And a few girl names I like start with ‘m’. Just like my last name (not into alliteration.) People in the void, do you have any suggestions? Fifth comment post gets to name my female baby.

If nobody volunteers, I may just have to christen the poor thing my own creation.

Eloha. Yes, Eloha. Isn’t that kind of sweet and pretty for a girl?

And I bet nobody will ever guess it’s ‘a-hole’, backwards.  ^-^b

Happy February to All

Things I love:
-Brigitte Bardot’s MOUTH
-people wearing headphones
-random bandages

And now they are together at last!  Weeee!

This pic is called ‘First Love’, it’s dedicated to
my jun-o-matic and my test audience was my mom– as always when I show her something I’ve drawn, interesting dialogue ensues. But isn’t that what making pictures is about? Having dialogue ensue?

Mom: “…is that a dildo in the left girl’s mouth?”
Me: “…no. It’s just like… a pipe. For breathing. Like a ventilator pipe.”
-Why does she need a pipe to breathe??
-I dunno. It’s symbolic. You know, you’re in love and //vague, swirly hand-motions here// you can’t really function properly. You can’t see, you can’t breathe… everything’s this disgusting Pepto-Bismol Love color….
-Oh. Oh, ok. I figured it was a fake dick, because they’re both girls and they’ve got to use what they can… Well anyway…. why is the end of that needle glowing?

FYI, it’s not a glowing needle. It’s a lollipop. I mutter:

-I knew this was a bad idea.
-No, I’m glad you showed me, I think it’s very nice… but your mind is always in the gutter.
-Hey, it’s about LOVE. And INNOCENCE. YOU saw a dildo.
-But I just don’t know why you can’t draw a picture with a man and a woman in love… it always has to be two girls, or two men…-
-One of them IS a male…
-Oh god, I give up.

But I know my mom feels my pain:

Her Christmas project last year was a Sysiphusian (sp?) effort to draw ten-odd  hand-made Christmas cards of our back yard in the snowy winter for our relatives in Hungary. I remember her fuming for days after a conversation on the phone with her cousin Zsuzsa who had received one of these cards:

-This is really beautiful. But why is there a plastic UFO next to the
-There’s this… levitating… plastic thing…to the left of the gazebo. At first, I thought it was a plastic chair.. but now I’m thinking it’s a UFO…
-It’s a BIRDBATH!!!!!! Covered in snow!!!!!
-Well, it doesn’t really look like a birdbath at all. You drew a flying saucer…
-I’m never sending you anything I draw again!

Showing people–it’s a bitch.

My mom gets points for at least getting that it was BBs mouth.
She’s my drawing buddy! <3
Anyway. So sleepy I could die.
Goodnight, crocodiles =)