The Road to Zortopia Continues....

I've mentioned before that sometimes, when I'm all alone and feeling the desperate need to reach out to the fuzzying images of my fleeting childhood, I google "Zorts."

Or "Zortian."
Or just "Zort."

It's my hope that somewhere in this world, there's another 10 year-old stuck in a 20-something body, still drawing those 3-legged aliens with uninhibited glee.

Recently, I've been quite lucky.

And I'm still on the hunt! So, what a surprise to find that not only has my 1st discovery (I like giving myself credit for this as a self-proclaimed "Zortianographer"), Joe Kuth, had given me a little shout-out on his Red Panda Comics blog.

AND, out of the countless Google images that are still, sadly, my own, there was another glimmer of hope: a delightful Zort tribute by DeviantArt-ist Mike Dugan.

I need to start googling more often.

And, now that the men have fully represented in the Zortian department, I ask: where my girls at???

‽

The Zortians Are Coming....

Well this just makes my little heart go pitter-patter.

I got the urge today to once again Google the word "Zort" (surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly, this is an ongoing hobby of mine), hoping in silent desperation that there was indeed another little nerd child out there who was as enthralled with the world of "Ed Emberley's Big Green Drawing" book as I, and was painstakingly uploading their myriad of childhood sketches of the little one-eyed darlings in hopes of reaching me on the other side of the interwebs - like a Google message in a bottle.

(For those of you not versed in the world of Zort, please refer to my previous zortian ramblings.)

The back cover of the best [drawing] book ever.

Usually, I have no such luck. I find only my own images, which tends to make me somewhat depressed about the state of my almost 25 year old life. However, today: breakthrough!

I am happy to say that after many years of looking, I have found another work of zortian perfection:

Courtesy of Joe Kuth @Red Panda Comics

This adorable piece of imagination is by fellow blogger, talented artist, and obviously awesome dude, Joe Kuth. I can't tell you how excited I was to find this. Actually, I'm telling you right now, though I shouldn't since it's slightly embarrassing: I may have peed a little.

The best part of this discovery is that I no longer have to hide my blushing face as I fawn over little green men with three legs - there are others out there who share in my appreciation of Ed Emberley and his wonderful world. (Read an interview with Kuth here; you'll see what I mean.)

BUT WAIT - (that's right, you know the rest....)

....MORE EXCITEMENT!
Joe, in part with his blog, has put together a tribute book to Mr. Ed Ember' himself, consisting of artwork drawn by other fans around the country!

Where the fuck was I when this was happening?!

Thankfully, my disappointment at not getting the chance to be included in this book was overshadowed by yet another amazing discovery (I'm running out of ways to emphasize my text):

Yes, it's true. There is a documentary. About Ed Emberley. Coming. Soon.

Does this mean that Zortians might make an appearance as well? Possibly even......animated?

Only time will tell......and I will await, ever anxiously....

‽

An Unscheduled Flashback. Deal.

Sooooo, I haven't been writing very frequently these days. STFU, it happens.

It's been absolutely crazy at work, then there was Easter in Ohio, and when I DID finally get a moment to myself, it either didn't last very long, or my brain could not scramble together coherent words worth writing down; it would have sounded something like Bill Cosby talking whilst fully submerged in Jell-O.

That said, I've been unable to keep up with my Flashback Friday (I only lasted two weeks....this is not a surprise.) Each day I attempted to begin writing one to redeem myself, cleverly naming it with the use of the current day: Monday Memories.....Time Travel Tuesdays....

But alas, shit happens. So screw alliteration. It's a fucking Wednesday and I'm gonna talk about my childhood.

As you know, I love to reminisce, especially when I'm back in NJ, sifting through my treasure trove of junk, now piled carelessly in our attic after my room was taken over (thanks little sis!). This can also be described as my tendency to hoard massive amounts of childhood paraphernalia in an effort to cling to the past. Whichever romantic notion you prefer.

I do not shy away from sharing the great colored pencil masterpieces of my imaginative youth. They are the gentle reminders of a simpler life, where diner place-mats served as canvases, and people were drawn with no necks. Every idea seemed like a good idea. Like the time I wrote the label of every room in marker next to the light switches: cause everyone needs to be reminded of what room they're standing in!

Here a few gems I was able to dig up last weekend:

"Tara's Different Kinds of Cats," My First Book
 I must have been at most 5 when I crafted this masterpiece. At least I hope so. I don't even know why I made this book about cats....I wasn't a big cat person. My guess is that I only knew about 2 kinds of dogs, but at least 5 different types of cats. They were also easier to draw.

This was followed up by "The Parrot and a Computer on a Stick," inspired by some interesting pencil tops.

"An Un-Ordinary Family," My First Script
When I was about 7-9 (the years are blurred here), I came up with what I thought to be the most groundbreaking and fantastic idea for a play/movie ever imagined: a kooky family with an uncle named Popie and an aunt who hoards cat food, and their general crazy shenanigans (gee, wonder where I got that idea...) My cousins Beck and Missy were giddy with excitement at the prospect of acting this out. We often put together our own plays to perform in front of the family.

This particular performance debuted at Missy's house alongside our other hit "Sometime's You're Gonna Get Hurt" (a musical, complete with a namesake theme song.) But "Unordinary" was different; this was gonna be big...like Hollywood big.

I started the script and tried to put together a production in 3rd grade (see my above announcement that was taped to our classroom door). This plan eventually fell through, since attention spans at that age are slim. Apparently, I assumed that all scripts were just a continuous stream of consciousness that took up three columns to a page.

"Return to Chewandswallow," One of My 1st Rip-Off Books
I say one of my first rip offs because the first one I wrote was actually based on a Full House episode where D.J. befriends a horse. I was so proud of myself, I brought it to class to show off (man, I was such an egotistical little first grader). Then one girl, who probably meant no harm at all, pointed out that she had watched that Full House episode the previous night too. Bitch.

Anywho, after my devout love of "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs," I decided that there should be a sequel. (They literally came out with one a few years later....but whatever.) The big deal here was that my mom taught me to sew the binding myself. I must have been tired after doing all that, which probably explains why the rest of the book was done so crappily. I prefer the laziness factor over the risk of being perceived as retarded.

"Personality T-Shirt," Take This As You Will
We had to make a t-shirt design that displayed our personality traits. Don't judge; it was 1996 for god sakes.

This Is Not About the MTA, Is It....?

I have anger issues.

I realized this over the previous weekend after bitching out an MTA employee. Usually, I would maintain the belief that anyone who works for the MTA deserves this, as they seem to care nothing about anyone, and generally have no soul (except of course those guys who announce the stops like they're the radio jockey for Lite FM. Those guys got soul.)

But granted, they do work long hours and get screwed by the system (let us not forget the recent strike.) And this isn't my first time bitching someone out. Since I've started living in New York and grown some balls after a highly awkward childhood, I've had many a hot-headed encounter with persons of authority.

First there was the small incident of being reprimanded for unpacking my NYU dorm boxes from our family truck on move-in day. The police officer (or "traffic cop," which though sightly less intimidating is probably the most accurate) sternly instructed me to move our vehicle from the side of Water Street, as it was against standing room policy. I, dripping with sweat and already freaking out over carrying six large bins of crap up to the 15th floor (while mom complained about ridiculous amount of said crap) promptly began to yell my exasperated rant on the corner for all to hear:

"DOES IT LOOK LIKE I CAN MOVE THE CAR NOW??! NO ONE IS HELPING US, NYU COULD GIVE A CRAP ABOUT TRYING TO MAKE THIS EASIER AND THEY TOLD US TO PARK HERE. YOU CAN'T YELL AT ME! IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM TAKE IT UP WITH THE DAMN SCHOOL!"

Needless to say, mom was quite startled that I had the gall to back-talk a police officer. He did leave us alone......but that's probably because he thought I was crazy.

The next time I flew off the handle, was in Ohio. Ryan and I had rented a car to drive back to NY with all his stuff (why do I always seem to be in the process of moving! No wonder I'm so stressed...) Everything was all reserved a month in advance and I was feeling dandy as we approached the Avis counter at the airport....until he informed me that my credit card was invalid.

Me: Why is it invalid?
Indifferent Employee: Because it's a debit card.
Me: Yes, but it's also a credit card.
Indifferent Employee: The system won't read it as such.
Me: Why didn't they tell me when I was GIVING MY CARD INFO OVER THE PHONE A MONTH AGO??!!!
Indifferent Employee: I don't know.
Me: I NEED THIS CAR TODAY! I have no other way of getting back to NY! How can I pay for it?! I can give you CASH-
Indifferent Employee: We don't take cash, only credit cards.
Me (to Ryan): Maybe we can use your mom's card for now....
Indifferent Employee: But she would have to be the one to drive the car if it's in her name.
Me: WHaaaAAAA???!!!^%(^&#*^)#$*@($)!#(!!!????

Cue ballistics.

In a slew of tears, swear words and most likely some crazy spastics, I chewed the indifference right out of that mofo. That's when he called airport security. Ryan, meanwhile, hid behind the counter and tried to forget he ever knew me.

You can call it rebellion, or PMS, or even temporary insanity. I call it lack-of-patience-cause-I-live-in-freaking-NYC. And yes, perhaps, I have a bit of a problem with managing my anger.

Can you really blame me though? After years of being so eager to please, the exemplary student that was just scraping by, I wanna get mad. If you push me, I'm gonna push back.

But I think that sometimes, things can get out of hand. And it's gotten to the point that my fuse goes off without me even thinking about, or realizing that I'm acting out of raw, raging emotion. My bout with the MTA is an example of that.

It was the night of the torrential downpour. It was 2am. We were tired and waterlogged. Luckily, we caught a Q and were making our way back to our lovely Kensington cockroach-infested abode. The Q stops at Atlantic/Pacific to this announcement:

"Due to a downed tree on the Q line, all service is suspended until further notice."

That's it? No other alternatives? No "sorry we're leaving you in the cold and rain tonight to fend for yourselves"? No sympathy for those who cannot afford a cab?

I was fuming.

After exiting the train, I marched right up to the MTA man in his reflective vest, a train attendant standing nonchalantly behind him in her sunglasses (?), and commanded him to tell me how the hell I was supposed to get back home if there were no freaking trains running to where I needed to go.

He looked at me with no emotion whatsoever and shook his head. "I don't know."

Damn I wish I could use the phrase "I don't know" for every single answer to god-knows-what!
"Do you know how to do your job?"
"I don't know."
"Well gee, sir, I'm sorry to trouble you with such a silly question; as if you'd know, wearing that shitty MTA yellow vest and everything."

If people don't think I know, they'll leave me alone! I bet this is what this guy was thinking. I wasn't settling for that.

"Where are you going?" he finally asked, once I wouldn't shut up. A crowd had formed around me: I was speaking for the masses!

"I need to get to Church Ave, the Q stop. To Kensington"
"You can take the IRT line."
"That WHAT? What are we in the fucking '80s? What the fuck are you talking about."
"The 1, 2, 3 line, number lines. Take it to Brooklyn College."
"Are you on crack???! That is nowhere near where I just told you I'm going!"
The woman behind him just stared on. I couldn't tell if she was just enjoying the show, or if she was in fact dead inside.

I stormed off, cursing and thanking him for being such an asshole. Ryan stared at me as if I had unleashed my inner She-Hulk. I had actually convinced myself that my confrontation was nothing more than an exasperated plead for advice. But, according to Ryan, it was more like raging-bitchtastic-spit-flying-tirade.

After sharing a cab ride home with a very nervous Jewish waiter/ex-personal trainer (which happened to calm me down a bit - I was upstaged by neuroticism) it finally hit me. I was uncalled for. I was out of control. I was angry. And it made me feel so awful inside, that I could turn into such a monster of a person. But I don't think it had anything to do with the MTA....but perhaps it did have to do with Authority.


So, wherever you are, sleepy-looking MTA employee. I hope that you can forgive me for my harsh behavior. Please don't throw yourself in front of a train: I'm sure you were just over-worked and pissed off by New Yorkers, like you are every day. Just like me.

Zortians! @=(:)

Ever wonder where my crazy sounding AIM/Hotmail name (amongst others) comes from?

Once upon a time, when I was a youngin', my neighbor, Sandy, bought me "Ed Emberley's Big Green Drawing Book," since whenever she saw me, I was always drawing. I had never heard of the illustrator, who used simple shapes to teach one how to draw just about anything.

I flipped through the dragons, animals and other green things, until I reached the section on "Zortians." Zortians were really just a conglomeration of green circles in the shape of an alien, with three stick legs, a pig-like snout and seemingly one large eyeball. I was immediately hooked.

Why do I draw funky green space creatures all the time as a signature? Is it "zort" (as in the Pinky exclamation) or "zortian" (like "martian")?

I started drawing zortians (or "zorts" as I quickly shortened it to, after their home planet's namesake) on EVERYTHING. First it was mimicking Emberley's drawings. Then I started to imagine what a Zortian world would look like, and even came up with a story about visiting the planet "Zort" myself.

When I started middle school, I would draw them during class, on tests and worksheets, as they took on human personalities by sarcastically mocking writing samples, pointing out math equations and rules, and generally keeping me occupied during lectures. One time I did get in trouble (History class...Ms. Barnard had no sense of humor), but for the most part they either went unnoticed or were gleefully encouraged by teachers who knew I was a [weirdly] imaginative girl who always did well, and just wanted to express herself.

And that's what it really became for me: an expression of my moods, ideas and thoughts. Zorts were my alter-egos, springing to life in pencil on the page, and saying what most of the time, I was too afraid to say myself. Middle school was a shitty place, and as I retreated into my quiet world, I let them speak for me. To exhibit those things I so desperately wanted (and needed) to convey, in order to prove that even though I was labeled "sensitive" and "shy," there was a real Tara inside just waiting to burst out, with all the humor and zest of a cutely precocious little green alien.

Why am I still using this simply, childhood drawing in my life today (at the old age of 23)?

Zorts are a symbol to me, in a way, of my childhood, of my humor, and my ability to express myself. When I draw one, it's as if I'm saying, "This can only be from Tara." I'm sure many people draw or have drawn zorts before. It's a popular book, and I always worried that by using someone else's drawings, I wasn't being myself at all.

But the important thing is that I have made them my own, bestowed a personality on these whimsical creatures that only I could have crafted. And now that I am older, I have learned that I can show my true colors to anyone.

It's an ongoing process, and I'm not completely there yet. But these little guys only reinforce that growth, and stand as a reminder that I will always be unique in my own odd, alien little way.

@=(:)
(Emoticon zortian)
[Stay tuned for more Zortian photos in the near future!]