If you're just joining us, this isn't going to make a lick of sense. So in the words of Inigo Montoya: "Lemme esplain...no, is too much. Lemme sum up." "Saturday" is a book I've written and am currently illustrating.
Too summed-uppy? Ok.
"Saturday" is the story of India McGreevy (an imaginative little girl with a penchant for sarcasm), her parents Fred and Elizabeth (nice people with a penchant for martinis), and their various predicaments during one particular week (a week that seems to have nothing better to do than make all their lives unpleasant).
At this point in "Saturday" (the book), it's Saturday night. These panels come from page 29 for those of you keeping track at home. A day's adventuring behind her, India is back in the fortress of drawlitude (get it? "Fortress of Drawlitude"? Like Superman, except...um...never mind):
I was a weird kid who grew up into a weird adult. And a lot of my friends used to be the weird kid. Except as an adult, it's awesome. It makes for interesting people. In the words of Kerouac:
“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to
live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same
time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn,
burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders
across the stars."
So, the moral is: go ahead and be the weird kid.
By the by, today is Mother's Day. So, for all the Moms (including mine) who helped raise strange kids, who wondered often what on earth your kid was doing, wearing, eating or saying but loved them in spite of/because of their weirdness...thank you.
Also, it's all your fault. But mostly thank you.