Jim Nolan's Blog

Cage-Free Cartoon

Today's Six Chix cartoon by Isabella Bannerman. Looking forward to being cage-free again!

Don’t Use My Last Name As Your First Name

It’s all Nolan Ryan’s fault

My name is trending on the baby name lists. James, a perfectly good name, is #4. I’ve got no beef with that. It was good enough for James Brown, it’s good enough for anybody.

But the name that’s trending is Nolan, #64 and rising.

The final straw? An article on the front page of the New York Times today, with a photo of a Brooklyn couple and their baby boy, Nolan. If it’s becoming popular in Brooklyn, in a few years’ time it’ll be in the top five.  

This is just wrong, and I say this on behalf of all Nolans. Real Nolans.

Nolan comes from the Irish surname Nuallán. It has been variously described as meaning chariot-fighter, champion, famous, or noble. This, however, is probably an Irish marketing gimmick to sell knickknacks to American tourists named Nolan.

Every Irish surname, at least according to the souvenirs you can buy, descends from similar highfalutin ancestry. Nobody wants to bring back a keepsake informing the world that in the original Gaelic, your name means “horse thief.”

That said, I like the chariot fighter angle. In this one, single case, it’s probably true.

So I think I’ve established that Nolan is an ancient surname, descended from a noble race of famous warrior charioteers, pulled by steeds we purchased fairly or captured in the wild and tamed.

I can understand, then, why non-Nolans are so desperate to get it in their names somehow, even if it goes in the wrong place.

Nolan Ryan, who is named after his father, started the trend, or rather, his grandparents did. Maybe they had been on a trip to Ireland and got bamboozled at a tourist trap. Or they had seen some of my people going by in the family chariot. Naturally it was appealing to them.

Unfortunately, Nolan Ryan lived up the Nolan name in every way: Baseball Hall of Fame, most no-hitters of any pitcher, most career strikeouts.

How does a last-name Nolan compete with that?

The example we find is not encouraging.

There is a ballplayer listed in Wikipedia as “The Only Nolan.” How Edward Sylvester Nolan got his nickname is unclear. According to Wikipedia, it may be because no other Nolan had ever played in the major leagues. A pitcher, he had a lifetime record of 274 strikeouts, compared to Ryan’s 5,714.

The Only Nolan was blacklisted in 1881 for “confirmed dissipation and general insubordination.” So perhaps fans and teammates thought, “thank God he’s the only Nolan playing for us.”

At least there is no mention of stealing horses.

Given his example, we Nolans might as well change our last names to Ryan. Or simply flip the order of our names. Nolan James doesn’t sound half bad. Better yet I’ll change my name to Nolan Nolan, it’s distinctive and uses the name to its fullest potential.

Look, if you want to give your son the name Nolan, it’s fine by me. He’ll probably grow up to be a great ballplayer.

As for us last-name Nolans, we’ll be watching Ben Hur.

The perfect garden, revealed

Another great cartoon by my wife, Isabella Bannerman, perhaps indicating that spring has arrived. 

New Literary Stickers Available

Our latest selection, click to enlarge. We are sold out of Alice Dunbar Nelson. We have Shakespeare and Austen in large (3x5) and small (2x3) sizes; the rest are 2x3. They fit great on phones, laptops, and cars. All the illustrations are by Isabella Bannerman. To learn more or to order, visit us at literarylocations.com

My Easter with Baby Yoda

Social distancing in a galaxy far, far away.

Baby Yoda Easter Egg art and photo by Mark Baldo

I live in a suburb of New York City, so like much of the rest of the country, we are hunkered down, venturing out only for walks and, occasionally, groceries.

I am grateful we don’t have the virus, and heartbroken for the many thousands who have died from it.

But I am also grateful for Disney+ and Netflix. While I may have to socially distance from everyone I love, which is getting more surreal by the day, at least I can catch up on binge-worthy programs I missed.

Like “The Mandalorian.” As you probably know, this series almost single-handedly recruited tens of millions of subscribers for Disney’s new steaming service. Created by Jon Favreau, it takes place in the Star Wars universe and introduces fabulous new characters like Greef Karga, Cara Dune, and Kuiil.

And, in a sensationally staged reveal at the end of Episode 1, we also meet “The Child,” a.k.a. Baby Yoda. The character has generated billions of dollars for Disney and almost as many memes.

I love Baby Yoda. It’s impossible not to.

Not only is he incredibly cute, with big puppy eyes and floppy ears, he has super powers that allow him to heal those near death, deflect flame throwers, and levitate a rampaging Mudhorn, a giant rhinoceros-like creature with ill-intent. The Force is strong within him.

Din Djarin—the Mandalorian of the title—is a gruff bounty hunter, but under his Beskar armor lies a heart of gold. He must protect The Child from Imperial evil-doers who want to capture him and restore the Galactic Empire.

I watched several episodes yesterday, Easter Sunday, as I had no place to go—we’re basically not allowed to visit anyone—and not much to do.

It transported me to an unknown world I’d never seen before…

One with Mynocks, giant pterodactyl-like creatures who attack at night and carry you away for a late-night snack.

Klatoonian raiders with an AT-ST, a 28-foot tall ground-assault death machine.

Elite mercenaries, stormtroopers with an updated E-Web Heavy Repeating Blaster, cunning assassins, and an ex-secret police agent turned warlord with a badass TIE fighter.

At any other time, this boldly imagined universe would have seemed far more bizarre and dangerous than our own.

But, Easter without your family? Or church services? Or getting together with friends and neighbors?

This insidious COVID-19 has made them all, at least for the time being, a thing of the past.

In the world of The Mandalorian, at least you can see the Mudhorns.

Squirrel King: Birdseed, Mayhem and Madness

Lions and tigers and squirrels, oh my. 

Cartoon by Isabella Bannerman

While watching an episode of Netflix’s popular “Tiger King,” my wife casually mentioned that I am the Squirrel King. It’s an identity I embrace, but unlike Joe Exotic, I do not intend to become polygamous, at least not right away. Also, I’m guessing the neighbors might disapprove if I start blowing up gas cannisters, even with advance warning. 

There is this similarity: many furry mammals depend on me for their happiness. There is a family history to this. My father also used to provide for the squirrels, in his case unwillingly, because until recently, homo sapiens were incapable of outsmarting squirrels. “Squirrel-proof” feeders were joked about at squirrel gatherings, as hilarious, ineffective attempts by humans to favor avian species over them. The feeders not only sustained them with food, but with a sense of superiority to us.

To give the chickadees and cardinals any chance at all, Dad would trap the squirrels and release them at a driving range several miles away. Some of the larger squirrels may have hit a few buckets of balls before beating a well-worn path back to our yard.

Unlike Dad, I have discovered a truly squirrel-proof feeder, no doubt the result of some NASA-developed technology repurposed for sunflower-seed and cracked-corn protection. It’s an invention on par with man’s greatest achievements, breakthroughs like spray cheese or dry shampoo. Squirrels give it the old forest try, and soon give up, discovering that it’s easier for them to eat the seed on the ground that’s been spilled by the birds. I spread a little more of it beneath the feeder, too, resulting in the healthiest, plumpest population of squirrels in the tri-state area.

I imagine that to the birds and squirrels and chipmunks, I am like the horned god Pan in The Wind in the Willows, the beloved Friend and Helper of the woodland creatures. But it’s more likely I am considered the unreliable moron who hasn’t refilled the feeder yet.

To do that, I keep a plastic container holding 40 pounds of seed out on the deck. One day I forgot to put the lid back on, and when I returned 15 minutes later, a squirrel was sitting inside it with a dazed expression. It may have been the most amazing moment of its life, like you or me falling in a vat of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia. Its grandchildren have heard the story a million times:

Grandpa: “Why, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Quantities of sunflower seed beyond the dreams of avarice.”  

Grandchild: “Did you go and get Grandma?”

Grandpa: “I wanted to.”

My dad’s own squirrel-proofing activities came to an end when his trap captured not another squirrel, but a skunk. As long as the skunk could not lift its tail, Dad was assured, it could not spray him. The skunk had not heard this, however, and Dad got hit. You can just imagine the delight of the squirrels watching from the trees, some of them who no doubt had done time in the trap themselves. Their little paws must have been slapping their knees, if they have knees.

My rapprochement with the greater squirrel community has helped heal this rift between the Nolan family and the family Sciuridae. I may be their King, but I rule with a sense of noblesse oblige, extending these lovely creatures a helping hand in an uncertain world. There’s nothing exotic about it, but I hope my reign will be remembered fondly among my subjects.

Types of Bannerman Bunnies

Cartoon by Isabella Bannerman

I just love the way this cartoon by my wife Isabella is drawn. And I'm ready to eat that chocolate bunny now.