new work

My first illustration for The New York Times Sunday Book Review appeared this week (AD Nicholas Blechman), and it's a great review, so please read it, all about the "new domesticity." I am making pickles as we speak, so I knew of what I was drawing! Click on the drawing below to reach the review.

I also have had a few cartoons in The New Yorker since I last updated this site, of which I'm equally proud. Here is the latest:



There have been others, but you'll have to ask my Dad about them, he's keeping track. ;)


a propos of nada

Some true trials and tribulations from my garret-dwelling days, here, at thehairpin.com.


all the jobs I ever had brought me here

My latest essay at thehairpin.com is about all the jobs I had before becoming a cartoonist. Perhaps it'll give you hope, or steer you to a wise path...

Here's a teaser. Click on the image, or here, for the whole thing.


recipe comix at saveur.com

I had my "recipe comix" moment at saveur.com! Click on the excerpt below to get the whole strip.


"The Bir's"

My latest essay at The Hairpin, about the unique friendship between a man and some persistent birds.

Here's an excerpt:

One night in his Paris garden apartment, my best friend Juan was making me dinner (spaghetti with frankfurter rondelles, carrots, tomatoes, and onions, his specialty), and he told me that a bird had come to visit him the day before. He was puzzled that birds were always coming into his apartment from the garden. I explained to him that it was only to be expected: viewed from the garden, his place didn’t really seem to be inhabited by a human being at all. The back windows opened onto the garden at eye level — and by opened, I mean opened wide every morning, all year round, whatever the weather, because Juan believed in fresh air, and he never put the heat on.

One winter, Juan had my dog for the night. She gave him a fright in the morning when he had trouble waking her up from her curled up frozen torpor, and he was afraid to think what might have happened if he’d slept in. The apartment was very dark and very damp, the stone walls were raw, the ceiling beams were hung with spider webs, and there was practically no furniture. Clothing left in his closet for any length of time re-emerged covered in mold. The only reason Juan himself wasn’t continually covered in mildew was because for his birthday and for Christmas I always gave him a good supply of those little humidity-absorbing boxes that they sell in hardware stores.

The birds, starlings mostly, would peer into the gaping window from the garden tiles, cocking their little iridescent heads to the right and to the left, viewing it with each eye, intrigued, whistling in awe. Perhaps they mythologized it, telling tales to their hatchlings about the Forbidden Cavern at the foot of the garden. (read more)

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