My father once nearly came to blows with a female dinner guest about whether a particular patch of embroidery was fuchsia or magenta. But the infinite gradations of color in a fine sunset - from salmon to canary to midnight blue - left him wordless.

But I read comic books. I read things like Richie Rich and Little Lulu.

Well, I'm always working on my comic strip and trying to, you know, keep cranking that out.

Yeah, I read Judy Blume. My mother didn't like that, but I read it anyhow.

I just met someone who read Gone With the Wind 62 times for exactly that same reason. She couldn't bear that it wasn't real. She wanted to live in it.

Watching everyone root through their psyche, it just delights me. Especially R. Crumb's stuff.

She has given me a way out.