Darkside Rainbow

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Yyyyeah, um…if you don’t get one, this boy ain’t gonna be the one to explain that particular fact of life. Just walk on.

You have no idea how close I came to either saying “screw it, I’ll do the comic late” or just doing one of the text-on-a-black-field lazy comics. My Cintiq 12WX is arriving tomorrow, and it entirely galled me to think of doing another comic on my cruddy old Adesso CyberTablet 12000. I think the only thing that saved it was the fact that I wanted to experiment with doing the line art in another program. I just acquired a copy of Manga Studio EX 3.0, and I think I’m in love. Manga Studio beats Photoshop for freestyle drawing by a landslide. It’s so bloody responsive that I almost forgot the hand-eye disconnection that comes from drawing on the tablet while looking at the screen; the way the different brushes respond to the tilt and pressure of the pen make them feel just like real art pens, sumi brushes, and pencils. It almost hurt to move back to Photoshop to do the color; Photoshop tends to drag my computer even with a dual-core 2.75Ghz processor, 2GB of RAM, and a 250GB hard drive. Five quick strokes with the pressure sensitivity on and I have to stop and wait for Photoshop to catch up. To have Manga Studio be so light and clean, instantly responsive with no lag…holy hell. I can’t wait to see what I can do with it with the Cintiq, where I have a bit more fine control (but not necessarily more skill, there’s a limit to my talent).

Er…anyway. This isn’t a software review site (though amusingly, I reviewed two animation software packages for my other job over the weekend), so no more of that. But if you notice a subtle difference to the line art, that’s why. The ease of use even shaved an extra hour off my drawing time.

Moving on to something a bit more topical: I had a rather interesting experience in the store yesterday. I was in Wal-Mart picking up a DiGiorno for pizza night, and made the mistake of going at four in the afternoon on Easter Sunday. There I was stuck in the so-called “express” lane for 45 minutes, wanting nothing more than to pay for my beer and pizza and get out. (Yes, beer and pizza. Pick your jaw up off the floor. On the weekends I take my Captain Queer hat off and go about life as a normal guy. Now shhh, don’t give away my secret identity.) The checkout-rack tabloids and fashion magazines held my interest for roughly three milliseconds, if that, before I found myself people-watching. My eyes landed on a man one aisle over; he was about my age, maybe a few years older. I’d guess him to be six foot six or so, with somewhat swarthy skin that could have been Italian or Hispanic; the cast of his features made it hard to tell. He had long, dark brown hair, neatly pulled back in a tail; lovely dark eyes, and a handsome face that wore a beard well even though I normally don’t like facial hair. He was carrying a few extra pounds in the stomach, but he carried it well; he was casually dressed, but something about him, the cast of his features and his stance, caught my eye.

So I watched. I didn’t stare, but I did admire a little (Hikaru, get your hackles down, all I did was admire); I was bored, and not above surveying a little man-candy to pass the time. I didn’t think he noticed, since I looked away rather often or stared off elsewhere and zoned out. I figured from the Maxim he was reading that he wasn’t likely to take notice of another man paying undue attention to him, no matter how subtly (or unsubtly, as I soon found out).

He noticed.

We happened to leave our respective lines around the same time, and at the exit he ended up behind me in the interminable wait for one of the geriatric Wal-Mart greeters to check our receipts against the contents of our bags. By that point I’d stopped paying attention to him; I just wanted to get out the door and make the short walk home. So I wasn’t really expecting to hear a gritty, amused voice at my shoulder:

“You know, you might want to try being a bit more subtle about ogling a guy next time.”

I started in surprise and turned around to find him smiling at me rather dryly. I immediately blushed; I hadn’t thought I’d been that obvious, but several times I’d completely zoned out and might have done it while looking in his direction. “Sorry,” I said with a sheepish, apologetic smile. “It was either you or the irritated, bitter housewives. You were the better option.”

Despite answering with humor, I was expecting discomfort, scorn, any of the other typical reactions. Instead he laughed. “Well, just so you know, I’m straight. But I’m also flattered by the attention. Thank you.”

My jaw nearly unhinged. “Uh.” Ever so articulate, as always. I think I was red from my hairline to my collarbones. “You’re welcome,” I stammered, unable to help a rather stupid grin, mostly from raw surprise. He grinned back; then the greeter cleared her throat impatiently, so I let her check my receipt, walked out, and went home without looking back.

I’m so used to hearing snotty comments from straight people should any gay person dare to find them attractive or display passing, harmless interest that it really threw me to have someone be so casual about it, and handle the situation with such class. That’s the way it’s supposed to work. I wasn’t actually interested in flirting with him, but if I had been, it would have been a simple matter of “Thanks, but I’m straight” answered by an “Oh, no problem” without the slightest hint of conflict, nastiness, or resentment caused by crossed signals, misunderstanding, or prejudice.

I wish more people handled things with such aplomb - from our side of the spectrum, too, as we often react poorly to straight people flirting with us as well.

Maybe then we wouldn’t have to deal with attitudes like this guy.

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