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GAH

Rally caps have been activated.

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"I’m so happy this game is over, I could kiss you right now".

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Jose Bautista - part time referee, part time paramedic.

Courtesy of Amanda Rykoff

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SO IN LOVE. 

The new Batgirl design has been often credited to Cameron Stewart OR Babs Tarr but rarely to the both of them. The design process was in fact a collaboration with both artists contributing to the final design.

Cameron: When DC first approached me about taking over Batgirl as...

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1,775 Miles.

And here we are again. Another great long entry about my emotions. Some might view this as dramatic. Some might view this as brave. Most will probably scroll on by because TL;DR. 

I am so homesick it’s literally affecting everything around me. I am so worried that I will be stranded again 1,000 miles away from my family when something terrible happens. I am so fed up with pretending like I’m totally happy not experiencing milestones with my own family. I am so tired of having to constantly push down the anxiety of me never being able to see my dying family member because my plane ticket isn’t until September 17 and he could die any day. I am so sick of grieving without a hug from my mom and dad. I don't know if I can take another sad phone call and airplane ticket purchase. 

I’ve been in this constant state of ignoring how homesick I am since I returned from spending almost a month back home in December. Grocery shopping with Mom, watching action movies with Dad, Thanksgiving dinner with the McKenzie family, learning how to cook Dad’s green chile, Hobby Lobby trips with Mom, sunsets with Bucky on the porch, sleeping with the curtains open and waking up to birds chirping on the ledge of a flower bed. I fell back into a life of what I thought were just old memories. Old memories that I tried to tell myself weren't as great as new memories because it hurt too much to realize what I missed. 

Ever since my brother’s death I have a whole different view of my family, of making memories with my family, of cherishing those small happenings, of realizing “holy shit this could all be gone.” What used to be a call once every couple of weeks with a few text messages weaved throughout has now turned into a long call at least once a week always ending with an I love you. What once was ignored is now very apparent: I am incredibly homesick. 

So usually the answer would be “well, go home.” Easier said than done. You see, I wouldn’t even be writing this if it wasn’t for me falling madly in love with Russ. While I have a Colorado life I miss and grieve to be a part of again, I have the most amazing husband who I fully believe was meant to be with me. He’s worth all of these feelings, but even if he’s worth it, it doesn’t mean I can just swallow every feeling of loss and sadness I have when I think of home. This is why I will always return to New Jersey, even if it pains me every time to step back onto that plane. 

Words like these are why I always feel like I'm the luckiest girl in the world. Some men would feel incredibly threatened or angry by me being so open about how I am not 100% happy or complete. I am so thankful for how levelheaded he is, because in times like these, I need it. 

My mom suffered a heart scare on my birthday, she woke up feeling like a rubber band was around her chest. They performed all of the tests, we waited for bad news to come back; the doctor said her heart's in great shape. Why did she feel like she couldn't breathe? Stress. What can I do to help her with stress while living in New Jersey? Nothing. Do you know how awful it makes me feel that I can't help, as not only a human being, but as a daughter, a now only child? Incredibly awful. I am someone who wants to help, I am someone who always tries to put others in front of what I need, especially when it pertains to people I love and care about. I've never felt more frustrated when I can't even help cook dinner or help my dad take our dog to the vet. 

You see, nobody ever warns you about what happens after you reassess the relationships you moved over 1,500 miles from. Everything was fine as long as I had the "next day" to call my parents or to talk to my family members. Then I learned that next day is not always promised, and that you can be living perfectly well and fine with ignoring things and people until life slaps you upside the head with the reminder that your day, and their next day, is never promised. 

What’s the purpose of this? There really isn’t a purpose. I just really fucking miss home and this might help those around me realize "oh, not all is right with her, that's why she feels and acts the way she does." 

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I drew this comic for ComicsAlliance and wrote an article about representation in all-ages media. I have a lot of feelings, okay?

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I ACCIDENTALLY CLICKED ON MY TUMBLR BOOKMARK AND THIS WAS AT THE TOP AND I CAN'T DEAL.

♫ It’s like you’re my mirror. My mirror staring back at me ♫

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Early Morning Grief

My world came tumbling down in a Wawa parking lot while waiting for a club sandwich. How’s that for an opening line? What started out as an innocent venture for dinner involving my favorite food turned into a quick drive home and a really fucking shitty adventure while doing one of the hardest things I will ever have to do. I never thought I’d see myself here. I had one sibling. A brother. Five years older than me, and waaaaaay smarter than anyone I ever knew. I’m pretty sure he could have made a computer serve you coffee if he really put his mind to it. I lost him on August 29… what a dumb day.  I used to follow him everywhere growing up. He’d let me play with he and the neighborhood guys in the Eucalyptus orchard by our house and I’d always get stuck being the monkey in the middle… which I thought was totally awesome. My fifth birthday party was full of 10 year old boys who would bring me a wrapped Barbie doll in exchange for pink birthday cake. I’d play “52 card pick up” diving around the living room trying to catch a full deck of cards  because it’d make him laugh. He was always willing to go outside and play catch with me, even if he would throw too fast sometimes. We’d play hours and hours of pixelated adventures on the Apple or Nintendo wasting the beautiful California days away trying to save a princess in the wrong castle. We’d build with LEGOs, well, he’d build with legos I’d stack a bunch of bricks on a green rectangle and call it a house for my Barbies and his MASK figures to live in. As we grew older, teenagedom took over. We fought like all siblings do. His music was always too loud late at night, I would take his CD’s and never give them back, he would look at me weird, I would spill soda on his computer desk. Our poor parents. We still were closer than most brother and sisters. He’d take me to school in his Tiburon with the ridiculous soundsystem and he’d let me hang out with his friends at parties. He never “shunned” me for being his little sister, and that’s a big reason I am the person I am today. He left for Florida, came back, moved to Denver, and left for Florida again.  I fell in love and ran off to New Jersey.  We hardly saw each other because we always figured he and I would have another 50 years to spend time together and laugh about Mario Kart or listen to 90’s grunge. That thought helped with my “oh I should probably give my brother a call” thoughts. Well, that didn’t work out.

I barely remember being in Colorado. It was as if somebody else was living my life and I was watching it from afar. I said goodbye to Luke in the same room that 7 years prior, he put his arm around me while we sat together and consoled one another when we said goodbye to our grandmother. I said goodbye to Luke with “Tonight” by the Smashing Pumpkins. I said goodbye to Luke by standing up on wobbly knees and trying to break the awkward sadness (something he hated) by saying “Go Giants.” I said goodbye to Luke by carrying the box of his ashes out of the funeral home in my hand. 32 years of life in two urns and a plastic box.  No no no, that’s cynical. 32 years of life in two urns and plastic box and in the memories and stories of those who knew and loved him. I said goodbye to Luke with a slideshow of his life that I can’t even think about watching again (even though I must have watched it 50 times while putting it together). I said goodbye to Luke by writing his obituary. I said goodbye to Luke by getting on his phone and posting an update to his Facebook. I said goodbye to Luke by packing his video games in a suitcase and bringing them home with me. I said goodbye to Luke by crying until I thought I couldn’t cry anymore. I said goodbye to Luke by realizing that I am now an only child. I said goodbye to Luke by remembering to realize that life is really fucked up sometimes and to remember that sometimes when life is shit the smallest story can seem like the greatest gift. ...Like the evening after Luke’s memorial services when everyone, besides his close friends Ed, Robert, and Rana, had left my parent’s house and we sat outside on the patio laughing at my brother’s lack of fashion sense. Or Rana adopting Yogi, my brother’s very young, very hyper, very goofy and extremely lovable pit bull so that my aging parents with a senior dog who couldn’t take him in, wouldn’t have to take him to a shelter. I remember waking up in Denver, the day after I arrived in Colorado to say goodbye and getting a tweet from a girl named Kelly who wrote my name on her arm during a marathon to say that she was running for me. The owner of the funeral home bringing in his Westie on the day of my brother’s services because he knew I loved them and figured it would cheer me up. My parents, my husband and I sitting on a patio in Leadville drinking mixed moonshine drinks (no joke) and eating takeout pizza the weekend after Luke’s memorial services and trying to move on and make new memories while still keeping the old memories alive. Small acts of kindness mixed with big acts of patience and understanding are the saving graces of life.

I’m still in a state of shock. I’ll pass by the small urn I have of his ashes and shake my head in disbelief as if that will make everything go away. It doesn’t. Saying goodbye to 2013 was much needed, but saying hello to the first full year without my brother is way more painful than I thought it’d be. I know that it will get better. I know that someday I will no longer grieve over the happy memories. I know that Luke will live on the hearts of those who knew him.

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A cross-section of wall paints from an 18th century theater. Each band represents a different coat of paint that was visualized with reflected light microscopy at 100-times magnification.

Image by Natasha Loeblich, Colonial Williamsburg Foundation.

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Elspeth Moore

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We’re very excited to be welcoming First Lady Michelle Obama back to the show this Friday! Here she is kicking Jimmy’s butt in a fitness competition the last time she was on.