December 31, 2002
Last day. What a year! I can’t complain about much of anything. I’m doing what I love to do. How many can say that?

The Arizona Republic is doing a new year wish list for the state and they asked me to contribute. The assignment was, “What do you wish for Arizona in the coming year and how would you pay for it?” I knew all of these “civic” politico types would go on and on about the usual pie in the sky blah-logna, so I decided to be short, sweet and even more full of blah-logna. My contribution:

“Arizona needs respect and cash, here’s a simple, cost-effective way to do both: Pit the Tombstone Vigilantes against a group of pedophile priests in a demolition derby in Sun Devil Stadium. Give them all Crown Vics to drive. The pay-per-view revenue alone should cover most of our budget woes thru 2010.”

Of course, they declined to run it. Too offensive.



“Every exit is an entry to somewhere else.”
—John Lennon

December 30, 2002
Brad Radina (EJ’s dad) sent me the Top Seven Reasons Not to Bait Javelina for A Relative:

7. Once you're made an official member of the Javelina Biker Gang there's no getting out.
6. They think the way they smell turns you on.
5. The relative is afraid to look at them.
4. They think you like them, really really like them.
3. You give them a bowl of dog food and they take a garage and chicken house.
2. Relatives get to go home and just admire pictures.
And the #1 reason --- Sean Penn doesn't know where you live.

The finance committee met this morning and the knives are out. Lots of good discussion on where True West needs to be in 2003.

Finally got all our Christmas cards out. Went out in mail today. Actually kind of early for us. Sometimes we foal in January.

“Sometimes you have to get to know someone really well to realize you're really strangers.”
—Mary Tyler Moore

December 29, 2002
I rarely get headaches but I had one almost all day yesterday. Didn’t get jack done, just vegged around and took two naps. Kathy thinks it’s some sort of flu bug (she had a headache all day Friday).

Last night I read and perused my Film Noir poster book which I got for Christmas. Wonderful stark, sexy images. Very inspiring. As I finally drifted off to sleep my mind was racing with plot points for my own noir graphic novel. It’s the story of a drummer in a honkytonk coming out of a bad relationship who goes off the deep end and begans a saatar soaked search for the perfect sex.

As I turned off the light and floated in and out of concsiousness I hit upon scene after scene of events that happened to me when I was a drummer in Tucson. The only thing missing is the voice and the bare bones story. Actually, which one.

I had a great day. Made bacon and eggs for Tommy. Looked at an Atlas about where he can go snowboarding near Boulder (he’s going there to see a girl). Went for a walk with Kathy.

I want to do a snow story and a rain story, or at least stories where the weather is the co-star. A major author recently did a short list of things that will never work, and one of them was a book, or short story starting out with weather. However, in Raymond Chandler’s stories, the rain in LA is absolutely mesmerizing! I can’t get enough. I also love the snow in “It’s A Wonderful Life,” and the rain in “Two-Lane Blacktop.” The snow in “Dr. Zhivago.” It reminds me of snuggly warmth and love. Or, the proof against it.

"An old thing becomes new if you detach it from what usually surrounds it."
—Robert Bresson, French film director

December 28, 2002
Studio woes. Another bird in here this morning (two yesterday). They’re coming in thru the dog door, then they fly around and literally shit on everything before I can get them out. The dog is shitting in the morgue room on the floor because Kathy can’t sleep if the dog barks and Peaches barks when coyotes or javelina come near, my printer is on the fritz and is possibly broken, I don’t have a port on my home computer for my digital camera and Robert Ray won’t be coming out until Monday and the place is generally a pit. Other than that I’m happy.

The javalina didn’t attack last night. Now I’m wondering if maybe they stole one of our credit cards and spent the night at the Boulders. Maybe not. Brad R. just called and he’s emailing a jpg of the photo he took of the little biker gang on Christmas and I’ll forward it to Bernie and maybe you can see it right here before Monday.

Mare and Dan Rosenbaum came by yesterday (they are visiting from Brazil). Dan came on his bike in the morning and signed the dissolution paper for his stock. Mare came after lunch (she had lunch with Betty Huff and DeAnne G.).

Don Radina came out in the afternoon and we gave him the tour of the TW offices, then Kathy came and we went to El Encanto for dinner (he bought, we left tip, $10 cash). Don had good advice about stock and business.

Came home around seven. Built a fire in fireplace and watched some TV. Dropped in on the middle of “The Last Picture Show” and it was so good. Jeff Bridges, Cybil Shepherd, Randy Quaid were just little babies (it was filmed in 1971). That is the movie and kind of stories I want to tell. So small town Western.

I seem to have settled on “Endlessly OK” for the Tombstone trime travel piece. I think it says what I want to say about my lifelong obsession with the OK Corral.

“Too many people overvalue what they are not and undervalue what they are.”
—Malcolm Forbes

December 27, 2002
We got hit hard last night by the Javelina biker gang. All the doors were shut, but they pushed in the side door of the garage (evidently it wasn’t shut tight enough) and just made a mess, ripping open bags of cans, newspapers, everything. I’ll take a photo of it and if I ever get the computer interfacing down, it will go up. They also ate through the sideboards on the chicken house, dug under the chicken wire, and got inside, rooting up all the food dishes in there and turning them over. I assume the two hens survived by hiding in the brooding portion of the house which has tiny doors, just big enough for a chicken. I haven’t gone out there this morning, but I suppose I should. Yep. Just checked (7:29 a.m.), and they rooted right around my makeshift rocks and flipped everything upside down again. Big gouge marks everywhere. Hens are fine, but rattled. This means war. No UN inspectors, no fly, pig sty zones. The gloves come off tonight

Interesting parallels. We armed Iraq when we hated Iran and now they are using those arms against us. We fed the javelinas so we could amuse E.J., now they are coming back for more and we want to kill them. Hmmmmmmm. Where’s Sean Penn when you need him?

“I'd kill for a Nobel Peace Prize.”
—Steven Wright

December 26, 2002
I plan to finally get our Christmas cards out today. Here’s the fifth paragraph (written in third person of course) “Bob is going into the fourth year of owning and running True West magazine, which will be celebrating its 50th anniversary in 2003. He can actually read a spread sheet now and often spouts capitalistic phrases at dinner like, “pass the gravy or I’ll cut off your fully vested equity.” and “accrue this!”

Christmas day, most of Kathy’s family came out for dinner and my nephew E.J. was excited about seeing the javelina. At about six, we put a tray of dog food out in the driveway to entice them in and periodically checked it, but they didn’t come. After dinner I got the ladder out and EJ and his sister Cedes went up on the roof and waited for about a half hour but it was just too cold. So we gave up, went back inside and had dessert. At about nine, Grandma Betty and Don’s boys left and the kids were wrestling on the couch (that would be E.J., Cedes and me) when Brad came in from the kitchen and said, “They’re here!” We all ran to the door and peered out, but couldn’t see anything. Sneaking through the garage we could hear them grunting and chewing. Slowly we all got closer and there they were in all their stinky glory! Ten javelina, lined up and eating dog food which was scattered across the driveway because one of them had grabbed the tray with his mouth and tried to run off with it, but another hippo clotheslined him and it spilled out. I got a digital camera for Christmas so I ran inside and got it. Shot off about seven shots and if I can figure out how to interface with this computer, I’ll post them for all to see.

“Everyone seems normal until you get to know them.”
—Old Vaquero Saying

December 24, 2002
Soggy and soaked. Sky socked in with clouds. Still dark (6:54 a.m.). Expecting snow on Black Mountain. Thought is might snow all the way down, but I went out for the paper and it’s just mighty juicy out.

Rained all day yesterday. Wore a wool vest and tie. Big business pow-wow at two. The Daiss, The Brinks, R.G. and the Bells went over plans for 2003. Very promising and productive. Afterwards called Bob McCubbin on a conference call and told him the news. He was quite receptive and we are all on the same page.

I read a very insightful interview with comedian Bernie Mack in the current Rolling Stone. The question was, “When did you feel like you finally nailed your act?” His answer: “I stopped listening to other people. And that’s when I came into my own. I was honest with myself and became honest with my comedy. You ever had a fight, and you’re scared to death, and the other guy throws a punch, and every punch he hits you with ain’t fazing you, and the next thing you know everyone’s around you going, ‘Man, you knocked the shit outta him,’ but you can’t remember what you did? That’s what happened. It just clicked, man, and I didn’t look back. I became Bernie Mack.”

This anecdote triggered a similar memory. When I turned 30 I knew what I wanted but I couldn’t seem to get it. A friend told me, “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” After another failed relationship, I found myself at a wake and there were bonfires in barrels in the front yard. I felt alone, vulnerable, unsure of myself. Well-meaning people were giving me advice: “be nice, be gentle, be diplomatic.” Instead, I started yelling that I had a pickup and a big cock (in actuality a rooster). Most of the women closest to me recoiled in disgust and moved away. One pretty girl hung with me for a while, and traded zany comments, but I was on fire, burning white hot and she couldn’t take the heat and finally moved off into the darkness. I stood in the doorway of the house and continued yelling. Mourners were fleeing in cars and on foot. Others shook their heads in dismay, but I kept going, turning off even my longtime friends from Kingman. One person didn’t flee, wasn’t grossed out and actually thought I was funny. It was Kathy.

“When you do not know what you are doing and what you are doing is the best --that is inspiration.”
—Geronimo

December 23, 2002
Wet and soggy out. Still dark (7:23 a.m.). Great day yesterday. Had the staff Christmas party at the Daiss spread. Abby went horseback riding. Cowboy Dan and Christina came. It was fun to see them. Gus and Patty were the only no shows. Played games, told lies, laughed, came home around 7:30.

Had a rough morning. Wanted to get some things accomplished in studio but it was cold and I wanted to flee, go back to bed. I forced myself to stay. Thought about some scenes I want to do, of snow, cold, rain. Grabbed a stool and plopped it in front of the stove and started culling cartoons and snippets of dialogue from The New Yorker. That felt somewhat productive.

Also, put the head phones on and listened to T’s CD and using free thought association wrote down words and thoughts that came into my mind as I listened to the music. Of course the lyrics had the most sway, but some inspiration came from the instrumental passages. A few of my random ravings, cleaned up for publication, of course:

Shotgun wedding at a desert crossing, niteclub venting, beefcake daunting, burn down the trailer park, don’t dare be shot in that Bozo nightmare, cocaine nose ring, body heat bren-a-dore stinkin’ up the highway, cycle goin’ sideways on a oil slick highway, fast track thumping, get a grip grab on your fake ID, come upstairs honey, so scared of hangin’, flag bending iguana, do what I wanna, don’t ry to stop me, cause I’m gonna, grinding, groveling, grabbing all the loin cloths, all the nos and nods spare my life, can you see me later? leave it on my window sill, empty homescape, white boy pain in a European brain drain, turn the lights down, in the days of my youth, what does it mean to be a man? brown-eyed-man, T-minus five, so hard to see, what we could be, double G stupid, black man’s cupid, rollin’ down Rodeo’s main drag, born on a slit-eyed pony, doin’ bar-b-que roasted, howlin’ down gasoline, slappin’ up a soft machine, tryin’ to keep my motor clean, saintless eyes, fightin’ for a fair shake, quakin’ like an earthquake, don’t you dare die down, eradicate that seduction line, take another live round, fakin’ all the honey down, all night shootin’ match, lay the mutha downtown, ridin’ on a meltdown, jump daddy, pump pappy, get off of that divorc—aye, tell me what I wanna hear, cuz it’s true, I like you true stop, go dot, run down battlefield. Blow by gimme thigh, driving down every damn useless road, stoppin’ at the juice joint, they tell me no gas or lubrication, no highway rest stop, laughin in the sunshine, a bullet in the brain pan, hairline fracture, this town is fuckin’ crazy, just like a loony bin tracers after me, I’m tired of fighting, wanna flee over that last ridge, lost cause, anti-freeze, I warn you, that’s some shoes I can’t wear...

Is there a thread of narrative in there? Is there a juiced up story to tell? Probably. It’s up to me to dig it out. Like a crevice of gold dust, hidden in a bank of rock (or a dry hole). But I never know when these thought fragments will come landing in the middle of a problem, a concept, or a story idea. I call it reticulated retention (I stole this from Kathy’s psychiatry vocab). I never know when it will coagulate or masterbate. Ha. Listen to Rappin’ Bozeman.

“I like to read your diary. It makes me feel normal.”
—Allen Fossenkemper

December 22, 2002
One of my best friends celebrates his birthday today. Charlie Waters is 55. I sent him Tommy’s CD (Tommy’s middle name is Charles after the birthday boy).

Very cold out. We met JD on the road and he said it was 32 last night. Got a fire in the studio stove. The cedar is popping and snapping. Feels quite snugly.

At four yesterday Tommy and I drove in to El Conquistador for a Saturday lunch. Listened to his CD all the way down. Kathy drove in her car (so she wouldn’t have to listen to it and so she could make a deposit, or so she said) and met us. I lost a bet with Kathy that T. would know what Texans do with day-old chicken fried steak, but alas, he didn’t know the answer (they put it on bread with steak sauce), so I had to pay for lunch ($36 cash). From there Tommy drove to Tempe and we went by Wonderful Russ’s house and I played him the “Gin And Juice” cut, but he wasn’t nearly as enthused or excited as I was. From there Kathy and I motored down the 51 to downtown Phoenix to attend Robert Ray’s block party. Empinadas (or what are those deals—candles in sacks) lined the streets, Had a great time talking to D’s and Daiss, Carole and Bud. Robert showed me the April cover that Dan designed. Needs work (Sorry I looked at it because I mulled it all the way home). Listened to the LSU-U of A basketball game on the way out. U of A lost in the last second, 65-64.

Intrepid Dan Buck found a great snippet on Arizona Charlie’s Wild West Show where the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals protested his show in Denver. The incredible angle is that this was in the 1890s. The more things change...

Got the inspiration to do a feature on Monuments to Nowhere, after finding a photo I took in Northern Colorado two summers ago of a huge monument to some railroad barons. Not long after the monument was built, the train tracks were moved farther south, killing the shortlived town and today the only thing that remains is this huge monument in the middle of nowhere. I have a hunch there are probably others out there. And eventually, all monuments will look like that.

Finally wrote our Christmas letter yesterday. Here’s the first paragraph: “This is our first year of the Empty Nest Syndrome and we are suffering the usual symptoms: the 7:30 bedtime, the weekend naps and snoozing, the giddy choices on TV without teenage interference. Back in play are the nude bacchanals, the coffee table dancing, the jumping up and down in the driveway and shouting “We have our life back! We have our life back!” Of course this is a Christmas letter, so we are exaggerating some of this.”

“A happy home is one in which each spouse grants the possibility that the other may be right, though neither believes it.”
—Don Fraser

December 21, 2002
Business meetings all morning yesterday. I have been wearing a tie for the past three days (much to the shock of my staff, especially Abby who keeps betting I am going to run out of ties very soon). I just feel more professional. And I need all of that I can use.

Went over cash flow spread sheets with Carole and R.G.. One shows us losing $90K and the other shows us making $110K. As they say, “The Devil’s in the details.” Or, is that “God’s in the details”? Either way, it’s a pig in a poke (I’ve never quite understood that saying). So how about “Don’t let an art pig poke around in your cash flow spread sheets.”

The bank mixed up our debit card IDs (personal accounts, not TW’s), so every time I have debited art items they have been coming out of our house account. Kathy exasperated. I had to go up to the bank, stand in line for twenty minutes (Okay it was probably seven minutes, but I was irritated) and got cards reversed, deposited enough to cover balance. Did run into Gregg S. who is in on the Rawhide deal and he told me their master plan. Smith & Wesson is proposing a 50,000 square foot museum. Big ideas, hope they can pull it off. Right now they’re battling “404 flood plain drainage” problems, or some such governmental crap. I can just imagine the hoop jumping and agony they must be going thru.

Listened to Tomcat’s CD in my office. The parody song “Gin And Juice” is credited to Phish, but someone told me Dave Mathews is in on it. Whoever they are, these incredible musicians took a rap song and redid it as a hillbilly, mountain song, complete with honey dipped harmonies and Southern accents, mandolins, the whole nine yards. When you hear the music you think you’re getting something off the “Oh Brother, Where Art Thou” soundtrack, but then you start listening to the lyrics with lines like, “Dr. Drey brought some bitches from Compton, Hos keep on talkin’...I got a pocket full of rubbers and my homeboys do too...rollin’ down the street smokin’ endo...with ma mind on ma money and ma money on ma mind...” You get the idea. I’ve listened to it about ten times now and I laugh every time. Just flat out genius. Oh, to be that outrageously funny and good.

Went up to Bashas’ after work and it started to rain. Got ingredients for green chile stew, came home and Tommy built a fire in the fireplace and Kathy came home around seven. We snuggled in and talked about fictional heroes (they are both reading “Atlas Shrugged” by Ann Rand). Watched a show on Instinct and went to bed around 9:30.

“Creation is a drug I cant do without.”
—Cecil B. DeMille

December 20, 2002
Great birthday yesterday. Deena and Kathy took me to lunch at the Cracked Crab, then came back to the office and Carole had cooked up a birthday deal and Robert Ray’s mom made a rum concoction (very good). The staff got me a 1918 7 jewel Waltham pocket watch (maybe as a hint to be on time occasionally). Very sweet.

Came home at five and Kathy and kids were in the house making chicken fried steak (Texas style) with green beans and mashed potatoes. Thomas made me a CD half full of some of my favorite rock tunes and half full of his. We went up to Dairy Queen after dinner with the boys in the front and the women in the back, and as “Stray Cat Blues” by the Stones blasted out of the speakers with T. Bell and I playing air drums (while I drove!), I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the girls trying to breath through all the testosterone. They didn’t complain (as a guy you gotta love that). The CD also has “I Hate to Say I Told You So,” by the Hives, and “Hello Operator” by the White Stripes (opening for the Stones on their current tour). Led Zep’s “Good Times, Bad Times” (which has the single most amazing drum playing in the the history of Rock—triplets on the footpedal!). From there it was all downhill with “That’s What I Like About You” by the Romantics, and “You Shook Me” by AC/DC. You can just imagine how badly the girls wanted to get out of that car. Thomas and I didn’t even go into Dairy Queen. We just sat there and punched around, listening to snippets. He included “Gin & Juice” a hillbilly parody of a rap song that is just hilariously fantastic.

“I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me.”
—Hunter S. Thompson

December 19, 2002
Wall to wall meetings yesterday. Started at the Cave Creek Museum board of director’s meeting at 8 a.m. and ended with a numbers crunching session with R.G. and Carole at five. Many stories to tell, many fascinating people I met, reminders of things I did in the past I can’t remember doing. For example, someone at Dillon Precision showed me their tattered copy of “The Lighter Side of The Kennedy Assassination” which I produced for New Times Weekly at least a decade ago. As you no doubt have surmised it was in very poor taste. My favorite was “The Zapruder Film I’d Like to See” and it was a colorized version of the famous sequence (I can’t believe NT sprang for the full color!). I mimicked the grainy green infamous 8mm film, but in my frames when Kennedy’s arms go up to his chest, he reaches in, pulls out a .45, turns and shoots Oswald and lights a cigar. Can you believe the Dallas Observer (also owned by New Times) ran this piece (in Dallas!) and I got no death threats or ass whuppings? Amazing. And I barely remember dong it. No comment.

Got up at six this morning and Kathy served me oatmeal in bed. Argued about Trent Lott. I love to argue with Kathy about politics, but I hate to argue with her about money, especially our money, and really especially money I have lost. Ha. Carole called on cell phone to wish me a happy birthday.

Curve ball on the business stuff. Nothing is a slam dunk. More on that later. Got to get into office.

“Do not waste a minute—not a second—in trying to demonstrate to others the merits of your performance. If your work does not vindicate itself, you cannot vindicate it.”
—Thomas Wentworth Higginson

December 18, 2002
Feeling almost giddy. If you go back and read the business timeline you will see many very dark moments when it seemed like everything was going down the drain (actually, it was a daily, sometimes hourly fear). There seemed to be no logical way to salvage anything and yet I still felt “resilient.” Call it delusional, call it ignorance on steroids, but somehow I knew this was going to turn out alright. Of course, in today’s business climate and world uncertainty, our business is a long way from being bomb proof, but you could say the same thing about Microsoft. Or not. The difference is now I have solid, financial help. Ay Carumba! Or, as we say in our house, “Cinchi Coogie Cahgie.” (mindless syllables which somehow mean something to us).

Big meetings today. Got a Cave Creek Museum board of director’s breakfast at 8 a.m., then a meeting at Dillon Precision at 10, and another business pow-wow at 2.

Yesterday, John Beckett shot a photo of the staff out front. Afterwards we all went to El Encanto for lunch ($10 cash). There were 19 of us. Marshal Trimble came out, Dan H. came out from Phoenix. John also took individual shots of these outlaws so I can post them here and when I mention them, you can click on their name and go get enough info to stalk them. Groovy, eh?

“Trust your own instinct. Your mistakes might as well be your own, instead of someone else's.”
—Billy Wilder

December 16, 2002
That darn Santa is amazing. After asking for $100Gs (see Sunday’s entry), I came into work yesterday and was immediately approached by two new investors who say they see the potential of True West magazine and want to buy in. Amazing to say the least.

Had a long business meeting with Dave Daiss, R.G. Robertson, Bob Brink and I about the offer and how to handle it. We will be meeting again tomorrow to finalize details of a new company. Very exciting as I’ve been pulling this wagon all by my lonesome for almost two years. Thankyou Santa Claus and any other beings or spirits (hello father Bell!) who had a hand in this. I have long believed that the Universe is always trying to help us, but that we are sometimes too stubborn or stupid to see it. And as a recovering cartoonist and Lutheran I admit to a certain belief system that borders on mystical goofiness, but that’s my truth and if you don’t like it, go create your own damn universe.

"Everybody wants to build and nobody wants to do maintenance."
- Kurt Vonnegut

December 15, 2002
I did absolutely no work yesterday. I had big plans, but I was a slug. Built a fire, took a nap. went for a walk, fed the chickens, petted the dog, but no artwork.

Now I’ve got birds in my studio. I’ve had about six of them, two at a time on several occasions. I think they’re coming in through the dog door, attracted to the dog food in Peaches’ dish. They get in and can’t figure a way out. I have very high ceilings so they fly back and forth, pooping on all my artwork (some actually look better for the additions). I have to get the pool skimmer and drive them to the crow’s nest and after opening the roof hatch they eventually hop up the ladder (I’m not making this up) and go out onto the deck and fly off. Weird.

Carole G. emailed me and said: “We had 5 coyotes chasing quail in the back today (at the same time). We have lived here since 1985 and never have seen anything like that. Food must be scarce.”

We are having staff photos taken on Tuesday and then I can post everyone’s photo when I talk about them so you can see all the geniuses and heroes I work with.

This morning Kathy and I went in early to Phoenix and had breakfast at the Matador. Had the huevos rancheros ($20 cash). Visited with the owner Mike and his son. They are Greek and he always remembers that Deena broke the first glass in their new location when she was a baby back in 1983. Supposedly it’s good luck, or maybe he’s been hinting for twenty years that we need to pay for the glass.

After breakfast, went to Jana B’s for her annual Christmas party. Tons of politicos and head honchos at her beautiful home. Met the art director at Phoenix Magazine who is from NY and she raved about our layout in True West. That felt good. Santa came at one and the kids went nuts and he had each one sit on his knee and tell him what they wanted. It was very touching, although I had to get a little rough with a five-year-old who got in front of me. The ambulance driver assured me he just had a mild concussion. I told Santa I wanted $100Gs in operating capital and he seemed pretty positive about making it happen. Some of this I made up.

Deena drove in from Tempe and we took her to brunch at the Good Egg ($13 cash). Then Kathy and I went shopping for a digital camera (my birthday present) at Best Buy. Placed just slammed. I told Kathy, “I’m in the wrong business.” Electronics cuts across all gender, class and ethnic lines. Everyone lined up buying sacks and sacks of goodies. Hard to believe the economy is not thriving.

From there we drove out to PV Mall and I got a new pair of shoes and two new sports coats. Kathy paid for them. Fun day.

"I worship the quicksand he walks in."
—Art Buchwald

December 14, 2002
Missed a dental appointment on Wednesday. Didn’t check my phone messages until Thursday night and missed their tickler call. I hate it when I do that. So rude.

Our True West holiday-holliday cards came in yesterday and they look smashing. As promised, here’s a version of the real card and a version of the “whore” card I had Abby print up as a joke. As a special offer to you and for a limited time, I’ll send you one of the “whore” cards. First come, first serve, while they last.
Send me your address and I’ll send one along. Impress your friends but don’t show it to your mother. And please don’t show it to my mom!

Last night Kathy and I walked up to the Nedoe’s for their neighborhood Christmas party. Very nice spread. Mark Nedoe has an Outlaw Josey Wales movie poster looming prominently in his living room. It is signed by Roy Anderson, who used to be our neighbor and is the artist who did the illustration of Clint with the two Navys held up in front of his face. Very cool (I'm jealous). At least four people said they read my javelina story in the High Sonoran Style magazine (culled from these very entries, see November 6, 17 postings). Also, our neighbors to the south asked about a “blood-curdling scream” they heard last week and we told them that was when Kathy was chasing the coyotes who were chasing Peaches (see last week.). And by the way, that is a scream they heard at least a half mile away. What a set of pipes on that gal (and her voice is loud too).

Numerous neighbors asked how the magazine is doing and of course I have my stock PR response, “You know I’m very excited Marilyn. We are paying the bills, we’re growing almost too fast. I really like our chances.” One woman named Marty said she thought it is amazing and special that a small town like Cave Creek (5,000) would produce so many “publishers.” It’s true. We have at least four newspapers, three magazines (and even magazine publishers who don’t publish here—the guy who started the Santafean magazine lives in Desert Mountain), several cataloguers, and a gaggle of writers. I didn’t say this at the party, but I think what it really says is that for some reason Cave Creek attracts humungous egos.

“Successful people are very lucky. Just ask any failure.”
—Michael Levine

December 13, 2002
Lots of business to attend to. We just landed a major account that does 1,800 orders a day and they have agreed to put one of our sub cards in each and every order. This is wonderful and now we’ve got to get a big order of cards which we had printed last year and are on a dock in Virginia, and we are in the process of getting them sent out here, pronto.

Had a good production-ad sales round table yesterday. Asked each person to bring in 3 ads they loved, and three they hated. Very spirited talk about “white space,” vs. clutter, etc. When it got around to Gus, he put our house ad in the “borderline” area. This was an eye-opener and we all talked about taking our own advice. One of the criticisms of the magazine is that it looks too crowded and needless to say this hit close to home. I think everyone learned something and we all want the same thing: a good-looking magazine.

When we finished the Christmas cards two days ago, Abby had the card on the screen and we were all looking at it and critiquing it. I wondered if the copy “Happy Doc Hollidays from the gang at True West” was good enough and somone quipped we should change the word “gang” to “whore”. We laughed hard on that one. Later, I went back out to Abbey and asked her to print me out two of the whore version. I hand cut them and sent one to my partner Bob McCubbin and the other to Bruce Boxleitner with the inscription: “Here’s our new Christmas cards. We got a thousand printed. What do you think?” I’ll run the card tomorrow for you to see.

“If you had to identify, in one word, the reason why the human race has not achieved, and never will achieve, its full potential, that word would be: ‘meetings’."
—Dave Barry

December 12, 2002
Got untracked yesterday and production finished the Christmas card and got it down to printer. Robert Ray ran herd on it from his sick bed at home, got us a better quote (saved us $250) and hammered out the mechanical specs, etc. That felt good.

Had a speech at noon out at 87th Ave and Bell Road (no relation). It was a Christmas party for the Space Challenger Learning Center volunteers (about 50) at Montecito Assisted Living Center. Very nice meal (in fact the best I’ve ever had at a speech and I do probably 250 a year). Speech was so-so. Got off on a weak track and stumbled to recover. One guy nodding off, two others got up and left (always a bad sign). Gave away about 50 True Wests. As an honorarium they gave me 12 passes to take my staff up in the Challenger flight simulator. Looking forward to that. Supposed to be quite fun until it explodes. Just kidding.

Speaking of kidding, I just got word that one of my ex-partners read the business timeline and is livid. Even though I edited out his name he is reportedly madder than hell, never wants to hear my name again. Thinks this whole journal thing is stupid, unprofessional and wrong. Well, there’s someone else who agrees with Kathy.

Got back into the office at around 2:30, worked on several articles, lined up a staff photo for next Tuesday. Went over new circulation numbers. We have dramatic increase in outlets we will be in. Our next issue, Feb.-Mar., will have almost double the number of copies on newsstand. This is a great victory and took over three years to make happen. Everyone very excited, except for that one ex-partner. No kidding.

"No matter how much cats fight there always seems to be plenty of kittens."
—Abraham Lincoln

December 11, 2002
The air feels wet and cold. It’s overcast. Started a fire in studio stove. Kind of grumpy today. Irritated at my production staff, not finishing their work, leaving early, being sickly.

I’m such a weenie. Our cat, Big Tom, jumped up on my chair and here I am on my knees on the floor, typing this so as not to disturb His Royal Purr-ness. What a Wuss!

“Everyone appreciates a full day’s work, especially if they’re paying for it.”
—Every small business owner who ever lived.

December 10, 2002
Got a small Christmas tree on Sunday ($45 cash). Kathy decorated it. Looks very nice.

Jana and I went to lunch today at Tonto Bar & Grill ($15 cash). She told me she was in the Palace Bar on Whiskey Row in Prescott last weekend and as she was leaving she said she heard a cowboy at the bar say, “You know what the three big Cowboy lies are, don’t you?” Jana said she hung back, waiting to hear the answer. “I won the belt buckle at a rodeo, the pickup is paid for and I was just trying to move the sheep into the barn.” I laughed til I cried (you had to hear Jana, Miss Urbane Liberal, tell it).

Had a long Image Review meeting with Gus, Meghan, R.G., Jana and me, trying to find images for the “50 Defining Moments of the Old West.” Then went right into looking for images for “50 of The West’s Most Western Towns.” Took several hours as we combed our archives, my postcard collection and our collective brains. Tedious stuff, but I like it.

Gun wrangler Phil Spangenberger came by around five. He just got back from working on the new movie “Hidalgo,” a $100 million story of a pinto horse. Amazing. Going to be a big one. Disney made a mint off of the animated Spirit Horse movie and John Fusco (who wrote Young Guns) wrote this one also. Supposed to be out next summer.

I’m trying to develope a new style of illustration where I mimic old photographs, but it has a misty movement. (Here’s my first rough sketches.)

“Everyone has talent at 25. The difficulty is to have it at 50.”
—Edward Degas