In September, 2019, Mr. B and I will have been married for 30 years. (If you’re so inclined, pearls are the traditional gift for 30th anniversaries; diamonds are the modern gift. I’m kidding of course. We’d prefer kazoos.)
In that time, he’s come to learn that gifts from me for important occasions such as birthdays and anniversaries will likely be late.
This one is only 4 days late, which, frankly, for me is almost like being spang on time.
I often spend the days between the event and the actual presentation of the gift telling him he’s wonderful. Because he is.
Sick-making, but true.
–I’ve done a few of these historical anniversary/birthday artworks over the last year or so. I enjoy doing them because they challenge me to draw a wider variety of subjects than I otherwise might choose to do. Plus I end up learning stuff: I vaguely knew the various steps involved in Edward Jenner’s development of the smallpox vaccination. But I hadn’t realized that we actually know the name of the cow involved: “a docile Gloucester cow called Blossom…” At least two institutions in the U.K. boast that they are in possession of her hide (St George’s Hospital Medical School, The University of London displays their Blossom in their library); several other U.K. museums claim that they are the repository for Blossom’s horns (singly, or by the pair). Also, the words vaccine and vaccination come from vacca, the Latin word for “cow.”
Considering all that, and following the advice from one of my favorite books, I felt I had to include Blossom in the Edward Jenner vignette.
–Despite my vague hostility towards the New England Patriots, I find it hard to dislike Rob Gronkowski. And, yes, he really did say “Yo soy fiesta” (“I am party”) to a ESPN Deportes reporter in 2012.
He began the interview with “Hola, Me llamo Roberto,” which is just sweet and marvelous and wonderful.
–Apparently, I will never pass up an opportunity to poke fun at James Madison’s height. (I knew that degree in American politics would come in handy.)
–“Dance Like A Chicken Day” is a real holiday — at least to the degree that any weird celebration is a “real holiday” — and is meant to commemorate the Chicken Dance, that standard of wedding receptions everywhere. But I am in a super-pedantic mood this week, and maintain that if they really wanted to commemorate the Chicken Dance, they should have called it “National Chicken Dance Day.”
Because as far as I’m concerned, the Chicken Dance and “danc[ing] like a chicken” are two very different things.
Plus, I find the idea of a rooster in a powder blue tuxedo infinitely hilarious.
I may be alone in this.
–Finally, there is NO WAY I am not counting this as 12 separate drawings for the purposes of The 100 Day Project. At least.
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