My morning ritual:
A day without sunshine is like a day without outrage . . . and I always know just where to go to find some.
Coffee in one hand, notebook and pen in the other, I sit, either reading the newspaper or browsing news sites on the Internet. I am coiled like a snake ready to pounce on my prey; some bit of unfairness, some indignity that never takes very long to wander past.
Suddenly, I pick up the scent of a victim nearby.
I see a story about a flute player named Emily Lowe, who is being paid less than men of equal status in the Boston Symphony Orchestra and bringing a lawsuit to right the matter.
“There’s a cartoon here!, There’s a cartoon here somewhere!, I know it!”
My brows clutch and meet in anger. A growl rumbles in my throat and my heart beats just a bit faster.
My fingers tighten around my pen and I begin scribbling madly, scratching out every word I can think of that relates to music, orchestras, flutes. My pen moves like a possessed planchette, the pointer on a ouija board. It seems powered, guided in its search, by someone or something other than myself.
And thus a cartoon is born.
I always say: A day without outrage, is like a day without sunshine.
For me, a day without outrage, is also, a day without a cartoon.
And a day without coffee? Who knows? I’m afraid to find out!