martinimade

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective days mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch - either in illustration or word form - and the other would make a companion sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise might make both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

The Lothario of Smith Street does not know when to say when. His will to woo is boundless; his energy bottomless. He will never stop banging his bongos if there is the merest hint that you may be swayed by his ardor. The Lothario of Smith Street wants you to know that, always.

Lisa and Adrienne, however, do know when to say when. For now, we shall say adieu to this weird little world we've created. In our absence, maybe this rich broth of random material will develop single-celled creatures that burble out into the universe. Unless it doesn't. But one lives in hope.

Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective days mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch - either in illustration or word form - and the other would make a companion sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise might make both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

Dear Lisa, 

While you have accurately conveyed what it is like to sleep in the same bed as our cat McGregor, you did leave out one of his favorite slumber poses. On really cold nights, he clamps himself on to the back of my skull like the face-hugging tentacled beast from Aliens. And I wonder why I wake up feeling so drained.
Sleepily yours,
- A

Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective days mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch - either in illustration or word form - and the other would make a companion sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise might make both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

Nita knows Election Season is just around the corner. Just today, three unrelated people — two men and one woman, if you care — came in asking for “Presidential Hair,” whatever the heck that means. But Nita aims to find a wig for every head, even the “presidential” ones, and spent tall of her working hours pulling the short-and-serious wigs off the shelves. No baldies, of course. No Farrah flips. Certainly no mullets. Apparently, the right hairdo is crucial for elected office these days. Or, if you don’t have the right hair already in place, a willingness to fake it.

Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective days mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch - either in illustration or word form - and the other would make a companion sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise might make both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

Our cat Barney, the one who we rescued from a barn, hence his name, is fixated on the sounds coming from behind the water heater. Sounds, of course, that only he can hear. He sits there, poised in mid-leap, muscles all taught and ready to pounce, listening. Then, unfailingly, he falls asleep like that, in front of the water heater, which is when all of the little mousies parade out. Squeaky jugglers lead the way, followed by the mouse marching bands and funny cars. Barney’s whiskers never twitch. He snores on, oblivious.

Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective days mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch - either in illustration or word form - and the other would make a companion sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise might make both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

Rain will start in 76 minutes, weather.com tells me. Would that it could be that accurate with the rest of my day. Mid-afternoon ennui will start in 54 minutes. Unless you have a nice cup of tea, which will forestall the inevitable by 12 minutes and 34 seconds. The dog will start barking about nothing in 9 minutes. She will stop in 9 minutes and 20 seconds, only to leave you wondering if it was really about nothing or if there was someone on the front porch after all. Mindlessly scroll through facebook every seven minutes and twitter every eight. And in 76 minutes, grab your umbrella.

 Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective days mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch - either in illustration or word form - and the other would make a companion sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise might make both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

That’s the thing about life. Well, one of the things about it. I’m not saying this thing is everything about life, just that it comes up more than you might think. I’m over-explaining again, aren’t I?

So the thing I was talking about is that it’s never the person you think you should be worried about who ends up causing all of the trouble. Take the Dude in the picture next to mine in our college yearbook. We all thought he’d do something crazy that changes life as we know it. Or, if nothing else, gets chucked in jail. But no. He’s a pediatric dentist an North Carolina. Kids love him.

The one we should have been worried about looked totally average. That’s the one who crashed the Greek economy. Seriously. All it took was a bottle of Ouzo, a stick of gum, and Pilot Rollerball pen.

You just never know. Am I right?

 Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective days mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch - either in illustration or word form - and the other would make a companion sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise might make both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

 Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective days mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch - either in illustration or word form - and the other would make a companion sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise might make both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

And so I says to him I says Nicky, you just gotta work through this beef with Vito otherwise Vicky the Nose is gonna get involved and you don’t want a visit from Little Tony. If Big Tony shows up, you might be OK, I says. It’s Little Tony you’ve gotta look out for. You know what he has the stones to tell me? That he and Little Tony got each other’s back and that he's got nothing to worry about. Not like me, he says, and points my ashtray. Those are gonna kill you.

 Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective days mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch - either in illustration or word form - and the other would make a companion sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise might make both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

Make a note: 9:37 a.m. on March 1 is the moment I’d officially had enough winter. I’m done not. I’m full up. There is no more room. Peddle your winter elsewhere. After ten weeks of not being able to see the ground, even my brown, hibernating lawn, my heart sings at any dash of color. Anything. Even the yellow of dog pee on a snow bank is starting to look sort of lovely, which is terrifying. And, yet, we’re at least four more weeks away from even a crocus or two. Maybe I feed the dog some beets, I can pretend spring is busting out all over?

 Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective days mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch - either in illustration or word form - and the other would make a companion sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise might make both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

Thumper Smith idolized Sluggo not for his casual outlook on this game called life but for his hairstyle, or lack thereof. Thumper also envied Sluggo’s nickname, which at least seemed tough and rowdy rather than bunny-ish and Disneyfied. Thumper tried to sell the “Thump” part but couldn’t pull it off. He blamed his hair, really, and planned to spend some quality time with his mom’s Venus razor once he managed to roll out of bed. Which would be any time now. Any time.

 Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.