Happy Holidays from The Bob

...and #$%! you, 2024.

As seen in Weekly Humorist

And happy Winter Solstice, the longest day of the year. At least for me. The day started when I got an early call, which at my age, only means bad news.

Friday was another day dealing with lawyers and depending on how close you know me, you know I’ve been tormented by lawyers the past year or so. They have inspired some cartoons. I was asked by the wonderful Adriana Trigiani (last name-drop of 2024), during our book event in Brooklyn Wednesday what cartoon ideas have floated around in my head that I haven’t quite solved. At the moment I couldn’t recall any—I was in sound-bite mode for the next images coming up on the Keynote—but there is one now I can think of. A couple is in a lawyer’s office and he’s telling them his hourly rates but is talking very slowly. The caption is probably not right yet, and I need to figure out how to properly show that pace.

The great Bookmark Shoppe in Brooklyn. (They have signed copies of all my books)

I’ve gotten emails about this newsletter and the requests I get is for more information about the craft of cartoons. I’ll do more and start with this issue. But first, I’m going to first wrap this up for those here checking in for just a quick laugh and want to get off this bus.

My dad drove a bus. There were stories of him getting lost in the Bronx with a bus full of passengers. He died young but did live to see me get published by first book, The History of the Snowman. I remember being very excited that I had bought a new car and was expecting to bond over that. He was a car guy, and it would have been one of the few things we had a common interest in. He wasn’t into sports or the Arts. We did both gamble. When I was young, I played poker. I was a math wizard who got a near perfect score on the Math SAT even though I didn’t take math classes beyond Algebra as I stopped going to high school, instead sneaking into art college classes and going to Pratt Institute in the summer. This would help me get accepted into the school. That, and a tennis scholarship thanks to a friend Joe, who mentored me. He trained me and then he went off to turn pro.

I would take the bus to Atlantic City to test a system betting. They would give you $20 in quarters to step on the bus. The All-You-Can-Eat buffets made it all worthwhile even if I never placed a bet. Harrah’s had vanilla mousse. The scheme was to double my roulette bet, every time I lost (betting either Odd or Even, or Black or Red), making it mathematically impossible to lose, if theoretically I win the last bet, which has to happen, eventually. I would be placing astronomical bets to win back $2 under the assumption eventually I had to win an even bet. Onlookers would be panicky and flipping out watching this reckless strategy. (which in retrospect, doesn’t make much sense to bet $400+ to win $2.)

Maybe this is why I don’t get nervous on big points in tennis or speak on TV. It helped when I would go over and then play in their poker tournaments. I did well but became dispirited and stopped at the right time when I discovered the cheating going on and that players at the same table were working in sync.

Right after I went to pick up my new Mini Cooper from the dealership, he passed away and never got a chance to see it. It wasn’t until the funeral that I realized the extent of my father’s gambling problem from my brother. I learned his lucky number was 29 and was actually not so lucky. Nevertheless, I put the 29 racing numbers on the new Mini in his memory. The last time I spoke to him, he was in rehab after surviving through the surgery for his brain tumor. I was wheeling him down the hallway and on the wall was a watercolor of a snowman. He simply said, “I hope you’re getting royalties.”

Yes, I know. I promised to wrap this up. But a lot has happened. For starters, I’m in the middle of a sleep study. There was a stretch where I slept only every second or third day. The last issue was done in a zombie-like state and I just skipped proofreading, unlike this edition which I am writing carefully and fully awake.

And thank goodness I am more awake because I was asked to talk about snowmen in the past days on BBC and PBS. On the BBC Radio, I was asked to give live commentary over two holiday specials, a la Science Mystery Theater, (here’s a short segment for Hot Frosty I did with my friend Carla; After a minute or so starts the 5- minute segment.

For PBS, I talked about snowmen and my book The Illustrated History of the Snowman. Friday, I went to the FOX studios to go on FOX Weather to discuss the impending snow coming and how it would affect snowman-making. It was supposed to be a short three-minute live segment. Click here to see the segment.

The producer rehearsed the three questions with me, but the host actually asked me variations of those questions and I used different answers. I suspect the producer was cringing until she heard me land the answers. We went double the amount of time, but nobody seemed to mind. I liked the host, and I enjoyed the whole experience. Every place I go to speak, I have to contend with the fact that the snowman story ends tragically with all snowmen melting (with the exception of this one).

I was told that when I die, it will be the one thing I will be known for, being the world’s leading snowman expert. Death loomed large in 2024 with many dear friends passing. As I write this, my dear doubles partner Tom passed this morning. We were close and tennis was just an excuse to get together to discuss life. He was the third close tennis friend you died this year and after one of my closest mentors passed away as my address book keeps shrinking.

Don Albright was one of my favorite teachers. He turned everything around for me. At Pratt institute, he insisted I stop painting realistically and draw lefty and use only a stick and ink. Then he took that away and had me draw using only ripped paper and collage. I saw things only in forms and it stripped away my pretentiousness and vanity of trying to render realistically.

We dined after class. He shared secrets about art and his life which I promised not to share. He took me under his wings and gave me lists of illustrators to research, Robert Cunningham, Robert Weaver… I think he just wanted me to stick with the Bobs.

I was planning to have a special dinner at my apartment with his best friend, Ray Bradbury. The incentive was to have him meet his hero, are you sitting, Robert Smith from the Cure. So, I was coordinating that and Robert Smith it seemed was interested in meeting Bradbury. Perfect. Never happened, but the prospect of it coming close was probably more fun than the actual event would have been. Like how you plan what to say for your big break-up, all of a sudden, your girlfriend is not following the script and you never get out what you plan to say. In the dress rehearsal in your head it always goes perfect.

Hosting a dinner party like that is like playing in a football game, it’s exhausting. I stole that metaphor from Bill Maher, who was interviewing Paul Reiser on Maher’s podcast. It’s a very interesting chat. I studied Mad About You and my first spec script for ICM was a Mad About You script about a disastrous trip to Yankee Stadium (I was born one block from the stadium). Now I use that expression when a couple thinks the whole world revolves around them. We all know an annoying Mad About You couple. And the dream dinner party never unfolds like in your dream.

Later today I am finishing a portrait of Ray Bradbury for an upcoming book with writer Nava Atlas, called Inspired by Cats, if the lawyers let us. I have been collecting written permissions for all the photos I used for reference, not without its headaches.

As seen in West Side Rag

Okay, let me go talk shop with my paid subscribers and cartoon people here. Again my deepest condolences to the family and friends of those who passed this year. Have a great restful holiday and let’s get 2025 off to a great start.

Special thanks to everyone working on my books with me, Joy, Nava, Sally, and everyone at Chronicle Books, W.W. Norton, Marty and Michael and the good people at Weekly Humorist. Thank you Richard and Mark for collaborating with me. Thank you Amy and Writer’s Digest. Special thanks to Trevor, Joel, and Bob at the CartoonStock. Thank you to Jane Friedman and Carol & Bob at West Side Rag. Linda at Wall Street Journal and Andy at Reader’s Digest. Everyone at the Milford Readers & Writers Festival, and the Erma Bombeck Workshops. And thanks to all my friends and everyone who reads The Bob. I love your feedback and support.