What has happened to Junket?!

This is not one of those good ideas that just peters out and quietly disappears before anything actually happens, is it...?

No, it isn't. Just an unexpected delay, that's all...I'll be back on my feet in a bit. An engine rebuild on the car I had been relying on as a daily driver, a trip to Ypsilanti, applying for a new line of work,and many other cares have been diverting my attention lately. But to comfort yourself over my lack of dedication, you should rent and watch the Devil's Backbone. It's a beautiful, frightening, and thoughtful Guillermo del Toro film from 2001, and it will break your heart.

Now that the intro is complete, Junket has a cover!

I have decided to post a foolish illustrated poem that I first wrote and started drawing pictures for in college that eventually got finished sometime in 2006. It has been sitting around in my desk draws at various apartments for quite a while now, doing nothing useful, and not being looked at even by me. had nearly forgotten all about it, but I discovered it again this evening while working on some drawings. I thought it could be a fun way to offset the slowness of the Junket updates. Blogger's formatting has prevented me (at least for now) from posting it as one long strip, so as usual, click on the small images for full size. It's a particularly clumsy way to navigate something in this format, I know...

Even though this was a three-day weekend, I have effectively run out of time to post a new comic page before I go to Michigan on Tuesday. While being late does cause me pain, I think it's a great opportunity for increasing suspense! If you don't all lose interest first...

However, take comfort in the fact that I have already written out the next five pages, and should be able to post several of them in quick succession when I return on Sunday. Maybe I'll learn to spell before posting them too! I also have plans of illustrating an official cover in the near future.

In the meantime I will be meeting lots of my wife's old friends (and a couple of exes) in a rusty Midwest city, and while they are all busy with wedding preparations I hope to borrow a bike and retreat for some solitary adventures on the 'streets' of Iggy Pop's hometown.

I am reading a bunch of H. P. Lovecraft right now, and thoroughly enjoying it. I will most likely have a lot to say about the problems I see with his stories and the despair I am already sensing that pervades his philosophies; but I will wait to voice my opinions until I have gotten a little further into the big collection of his stories I have on my desk.

I willingly admit I have a great love of Gothic horror, ghost stories, and weird tales, but I have to also admit that I usually end up feeling strangely dejected and empty if I read too much at a time of that sort of thing. It makes me wonder where exactly the unsettled feeling comes from, since I seem to find such pleasure in reading them. I suspect that it may have more to do with the Atheism and Nihilist despair that most writers of stories like these profess in their own lives, and less to do with the stories themselves...but I don't know.

I always shy from anything dealing with the Demonic, as I don't like to pursue anything that risks an unhealthy fascination with real Evil. A few fun scares from ghosts, aliens, monsters and creatures of all sorts in the tamer varieties of horror however, I find very enjoyable and entertaining. Still, it makes me wonder if there can really be such a thing as a 'good' or 'fun' horror story written by a Faithful Christian for right reasons? If it's possible, I wonder how a person would go about it... ?

Junket. page 4

Well now that I have introduced the story and had a chance to better figure out how I want to do the artwork, I think in the future I will drop the 'Junket' title except at the beginning of chapters. Also, in classic comic fashion, I plan on only coloring the first frame of every page---though I may change my mind about this after I see how it looks. I think I will keep the background grey from now on as well for better overall consistency.

I am always interested in comments and critiques! Thanks for reading...

I'm off to see if I can't build myself a wheel truing stand. Maybe a shelf too.

Junket. page 3

Garage sale find!

Old typewriters have such charm...they are a blast to use too; this one works perfectly.

Junket. page 2

Junket. Chapter I, page 1

May I present to you all, the first panel of my first webcomic:



Since I am still using blogger, the panel is smaller than I would like it to be, but if you click on it, you will able to see it full size.

I plan on trying to update once a week, so stay tuned...I've got plenty of full and partially developed story elements and characters to slowly unfold to you, but you will have to be patient as I navigate these uncharted frontiers. I hope you enjoy it!

One of the most difficult balances in life has to do with the strain that exists between duty and proper leisure, particularly the leisure that is creative. For most of us, the responsibilities that are part of our own personal lives encompasses enough to keep us perpetually busy if we let them; but to allow that would, of course, be a great tragedy. What of good books, sketching, walking, thinking? What of the cultivation of the mind, the solace in creativity, prayer?
Perhaps part of the reason I find this to be a dilemma is that at my current stage in life I have many aspirations that require an amount of time and freedom that are not usually available to the normal working person---I want to be 'settled' with a house, work a job that I am at least reasonably satisfied with, and I want to be living in a location with the intention of staying there for the foreseeable future; I want to put down roots: something I have never experienced, even as a child. I also want to finish my graphic novel, write comics, publish my children's stories, read an innumerable list of books, actually work at becoming better artist---how can all this and more fit within one (happily married and children-ed) person's realm of waking hours? There are only so many directions you can go at one time. Seems an impossible balance sometimes---still, there are always ways to make room for what you really care about.
The most interesting part of all this is how a person's own perspective changes constantly, and the importance you place on your various desires and pursuits wheels constantly across the whole spectrum of possibilities, often opening up new previously un-thought-of areas of wonder. This is, however, one of the best parts of life: warding off stagnation and narrow-mindedness, when all those new and wonderful things that stir and affect you from day-to-day are rummaging continually through your soul, bringing so many profound and beautiful treasures to the front. I suppose that it is really a matter of a certain kind of creative discipline if you wish to preserve any of these moments. I suppose too that if the artist within has something to say that is important enough, it will be said eventually no matter what the circumstances.
After all, it isn't about being heard or recognized, it is about participation in a beauty and the description of some certain truth of which we are particularly aware of at that moment. And that is why the artist or writer will stay up all night even to the detriment of health and relationships just to struggle to put down to paper that ever elusive whisper of something he can't quite describe out loud...

I'm Hooommmmmmeeee!!!

I miss Portland.

I'm itching for a good road trip. One with lots of small, old towns, greasy diners, minor car breakdowns that make us stop and enjoy the scenery, and nights on friends' floors. I think we'll be packing up the '72 Volvo soon...

Weird, occasionally risque, and probably unhealthy, but I like this guy's stuff a lot. The drawing style is rough, careless, intricate, and has that narrow color palette that reminds me of late '60s-early '70s sci-fi covers. His people and characters are very much alive too, and the worlds they inhabit are very compelling...






AC has been posting on her blog the fast few days, which has caused me to browse back through her older posts, for fun and for curiosity's sake, since I had only a vague sense of what was there. Wow! She has collected so much cool art and beautiful design on those pages; I am now struggling with (a common) overwhelming temptation to forget everything and just draw and invent ceaselessly...

After a exceptionally quiet weekend I am back to thinking too much about all the things that need doing; like working on cars, applying for work, figuring out how to make the paycheck stretch 'til the next one drops in the box...you know. And this is the second week on a row that I haven't gone to sleep before midnight.

I almost made it across the threshold of real creativity between watching Coraline on Friday and the wonderfully moody cloudiness and rain that has darkened the sky since Thursday; but I got as far as a partial outline of a new writing project and stalled out. Seems to be the way of things. I'm sure I'll finish a story one of these days...

There have been some great successes though! The Volvo 145 (after a LOT of tinkering and some new parts) runs better than it ever has, I made some much needed extra cash on various car work for folks, and I have responded to four more job listings!

They say it is going to rain for next two weeks. Either we'll get so homesick for PDX that we'll just up and leave, or we'll get all depressed about the economy and spend too much on beer...

Rainy days always produce more creativity in me than sunny ones. This may be because there seems to be an inherent melancholy in a grey day, and sadness is a greater producer of art than happiness. However, I don't feel sad, just thoughtful. Work is uncharacteristically slow today, and as usual, too many peripheral projects with too little time to do them loom near at hand. Perhaps I will have the opportunity to push off all the pressing tasks that consume my mind and channel this arty mood before the day is over...

I guess I am too busy to post.

Too bad.

Bleh.

I have a portfolio! Check it out.

Over the last year or so I have been fixing/tinkering on/rebuilding/reusing, etc. more and more of our things---household items, clothes, car, you name it---as opposed to throwing things away/taking them somewhere to be fixed/buying new stuff. As a matter of fact, we are buying less in general, and after selling and giving away a ton, we certainly own less---a lot less. I ride my bike for nearly every errand these days, and have cut out at least 60% of the money spent on coffee and dinner and movies and beer and all that; partially because things are economically more uncertain than ever, which very naturally changes one's perspective at least a little, and also because with a third person to care for and AC not working, I am generally feeling the 'pinch'. I'm not at all perturbed by any of this, but with these changes we have become so much more aware of how unnecessary it often is to get very many of the 'necessities' of living 'new from the store'. It is also surprising how many things are not such a big deal anymore once you have tried getting by without them for a while.

And I am proud of this. I am no environmentalist, but I have respect for conservation and careful consumerism: not for the sake of the Earth per se, but also for the effects it has on my own soul, my lifestyle, my values and virtues, and the state of the world around me. These is also more time for the simpler, better things in life, you know...? like playing with our little one. Not thinking about all the STUFF you have and all the things that need attention and fixing really dispels a lot of worry and business. I've still got two cars and plenty on my plate, but life has become distinctly fuller since I became poor...

Thinking about building fast cars makes me restless and keeps me from falling asleep at night. I spent too much time on the "Slammed Air-Cooleds" section of VWvortex yesterday and all I can think about are all the modifications I want to make on the 142....

I definitely have a car addiction.

I really like those Saturday mornings when the house is quiet and I am the only one awake.

I now have 8 silver-white hairs on my head---7 more than last time I noticed, which was just a couple of months ago. It runs in my family to go gray early, but it is still a little weird to see them popping up all of a sudden. I'm not ready to be old...

The young Asian hipster girl with the bullring nose piercing at Polermo Coffee called my bike 'delectable' yesterday. What? I was sitting there, quietly enjoying a hot cup of black goodness, and she came shuffling over, murmuring and ogling, then with just the right sort of lazy, sneering slur, she says: "Your bike is the most delectable fixed gear I have ever seen." Okay. I would like to flattered, considering all the hours and effort and planning it took to get it into the nice shape it is in, and I do usually swell with pride when it gets noticed around town, especially by cool-looking people...but, 'delectable???' Thanks for the thought honey, but that just gives me the creeps. Still, it was sincere appreciation...I guess.

...AC is amazing

If you have not yet discovered the world of BikeSnob NYC, it is time you did, cyclist or not!

Sometimes on long weekends I indulge in little obsessions. My attention will be caught by some new object or idea and I will allow my brain to run full-throttle in that direction, sifting through all the options, scenarios, accessories, ect. associated with my new addiction. Usually things quiet down soon enough after the realities of daily work and limited finances have time to penetrate the passionate dreaming---like the time I thought I was going to build an 1899-vintage track bike replica by welding up my own frame---someday perhaps, but the wild enthusiasm has boiled off to a calm, distant desire. On other occasions, these notions have a bit more staying power, mostly because they are more modest in scope and practical in execution. The current project is to craft my own commuter/messenger bag from, among other things, salvaged materials of a nature I haven't figured out just yet, and an old seatbelt for a strap. This idea is much more within the reach of practicality, so it just might actually happen; especially because my loving wife has agreed to sew it all up for me, one skill which, alas, I do not possess. The primary motivation for this venture is the gross price I encountered for any purchasable bag that I would be willing to wear: $50 minimum, rising to $200+! (I'm way too cheap for that kind of dough!) I admit that I spent far too much time online looking for a good cycling bag to replace my fraying, ugly, too-small one, and though I didn't gain a product, I gained ideas: one person (on Etsy.com) used recycled hang-glider material; another used sailing ship canvas; and my favorite one used old sheets of billboard ads. That is an awesome form of recycling! Now to think of something just as cool for my own creation...

12:02 AM

I have consumed a copious amount of Session Lager.
I am hopelessly riveted to a newly discovered online comic called Questionable Content.
I want to stay up and draw pictures.
I am wired.
I am going to bed.

In the life of anyone with an artistic temperament, habits, interests and any other pursuit which captures the mind and spirit, the life of the melancholic artist is a series of fits and starts, forgotten passions, and rediscovered loves. I am no different, and it seems I am always picking up something that was left behind at one point, or stumbling across some new excitement, only to change once again, albeit often subtly. There are times when this is disorienting, even frustrating, but I love the adventure, the romantic longing, continual renewal that it creates; and anyway, I couldn't change it without destroying something of myself in the process. Better to experience deeply and take the sad and lonely bits with the peaceful and happy ones than to live blandly, I say.

As if by way of proof of these musings, blog posting is so often sporadic and disconnected, but that is partly why you read here, right? Well, if you are curious as to what holds my attention at the moment, check out 140 Bricks for the ongoing battle to keep my vintage Volvos alive, and Imperfect'd for other projects I've been busy with---a new fixed gear build is peeping over the horizon...

I think I am finally turning into a real bicycle commuter. My trusty fixed gear cycle is now outfitted with lights, fenders have been ordered, and it has toe clips and straps; though I insist on riding brakeless for the time being. As for myself, I cleaned up my old helmet and (grudging) have started wearing it. There is little more distasteful than wearing a bike helmet in my book, but I have decided that if I am riding every day, on city street during rush hour, I really ought to take precautions. I also ordered some wool gloves for the chilly morning ride. Pretty much all set, I guess...I just have to wait for my body to get into the swing of nine miles a day again (round trip). However, it is unlikely that I would get much in the way of serious exercise without this riding to my carpool thing, so I am happy. (Plus it saves lots of cash on gas!) I feel great by the time I get to work, and the ride home is relaxing and reflective. The times they are a' changin'---I'm supposed to be a car guy, right?

Must have gotten into some idiot pills by mistake...this is a ridiculous day. I can't remember anything, can't focus...

At least I am laughing.

I hate work.

I just want to go home and ride my fixed gear Trek...




...

I have been watching the BBC series Planet Earth recently, and it is quite stunning. There is so much good that could be said about it, so much praise I could offer, that I will refrain from writing a whole paragraph and simply say: if you haven't watched it, you should.


I just can't get over the parasitic fungi in the rainforest episode...reminds me of Nausicaa in the poisoned forest...

This is perhaps the most beautiful blend of art and bicycle I have seen yet...absolutely lovely.



More pictures of it here under 'bicycles'.

Many many months have passed since I pursued, with any real gusto, the urges to write, and even, for the most part, the desire to draw. Creative outlets in general have taken a back seat, after coming right up to the point of (almost) actually self-publishing and selling artwork. Visions float through my head of never being anywhere without a good pencil and a battered leather-bound book of empty pages to fill with scribble; but the truth is, I DO carry around a handful of paper and graphite utensils (albeit, in somewhat less romantic form than described above) most places I go, and guess what? That's right, mostly blank. So what is wrong? I know what I want to write about, I can clearly envision the drawings I wish to scratch out. Am I creatively lazy? Maybe. But I think it has a lot to do with being distracted by things that simply cannot be ignored: wife, baby, two jobs, ailing car, etc. It is always easier to accomplish a tedious task or scramble to meet a goal not set by yourself than it is to sit down quietly by the window and pour something rough and mysterious out of your soul and onto blank paper---that smooth expanse, so empty and white and intimidating---but there is also an element of satisfaction and contentment in my life that dissipates so many of the emotions and tragedies that would otherwise overpower my melancholic personality and demand to be recorded. It's sort of like what Rilke says in Letters to a Young Poet, about how the artist or writer who wishes to be great must be sure to be lonely, isolated, acutely aware of tragedy and pain and sadness in life. I think there is a lot of truth in that sentiment, and now that I have a family, all that misery and longing that was so delicious and debilitating when I was single is pretty well abated. Not that I don't still, at times, steep myself in a pretty sadness or savor the idea of a tearful and passionate tragedy; it is merely that there isn't a lot of time for that sort of behavior anymore, and more to point, there is a lot less occasion and cause for it. All that being said, I intend to cling to my romantic notions and to hold dear the memories of my searching sleepless drama from times past, and as life unwinds, perhaps there will be an appropriate time and place for the sort of creativeness I crave...I hope it is soon.

What a week.

Old phone died, brand new replacement phone would not hold a charge for some reason. Transmission is going in the 145, which, being our daily driver presents the nasty reality that we do currently have a reliable source of transportation. AC is sick. Super-sick. And of course, her illness flared up only hours after I left for New Orleans to be gone for four days. Had to be in Louisiana for a wedding, which cost a lot more than anticipated, though I'm not going to say I regret going; it was pretty awesome overall, except for knowledge that my wife was miserable back at home. These things will sort themselves out to be sure, but for the moment, I am allowing myself a brief grumble. On a positive note, the weather has finally turned from frustrating and nearly unbearable heat to a hint of real Fall crispness, and that is aspirin for my tired soul.

What did I think of New Orleans? Well, the French Quarter was very enjoyable and interesting by day---but after a night on Bourbon St. for a bachelor party (not my idea), I found myself thinking: there are a lot of ways to find one's self on a fast track to the Abyss, and this has got to be one of the more effective ones. In a word, I was disgusted with what I saw. I did however encounter some cool fixed gear bikes, but being a slow and clumsy photographer I missed the girl riding a hot converted mixte up and down the cobble-stones. The bright blue one with the riser bars beside the fifty-story office building made me smile at the thought of a young professional confounding his bosses when he pedals up in the morning in his tie and clipless shoes, grinning and sweaty. Too bad I didn't get a shot of that one either. Overall, I would like to return to New Orleans someday, but I wasn't impressed as much as I had expected to be. Apologies to anyone who finds my review narrow or offensive...I guess I must be a little too Yankee.

Awesome or stupid???

Anyway, I'd ride it!

This is for Charlie

Sometimes imagination fails me...

Pastry Thursdays are the best invention ever! Thanks, ho mathetes.

Got some NOS (new old stock) tires for the fixie: Early 1980s Wolber touring tires from France; also picked up some NOS Italian toe clips and straps by REG. If you live near Santa Paula and need bike parts, check out the bike shop with no name on Main Street, it is full of new old parts from Europe and tons of lovely track and racing bikes. The guy has no card or name for his place; it feels like a French coffee house with couches and coffee tables and bike parts in glass cookie jars on shelves that line the walls; he also has many used parts and his prices are decent.

For about a month now I have completely abandoned my loyal Klein single speed and have been exclusively riding a fixed gear bicycle. First it was the Takara that I built up as a cheap trial run beater bike---since the culture surrounding these machines (though it is becoming absolutely huge) has no real affect on me, the bike would have to convince me through it own merits, and I had no idea whether or not it would be enjoyable to ride something that you can't stop pedaling. Well. It WAS fun (I had already figured I would be hooked right off), so I went ahead with my plans for a lighter, nicer, more serious rig. It took a little while, but my is she pretty. The Trek has been finished for two days, and I can't get off it. Riding a fixed gear bike is a completely new and wonderful thing. Cycling is more than enjoyable on this thing---it a compulsion. It has brought back all the joys of learning to ride when I was five, with a dose of the BMX tricks that filled my spare time in high school; it has beautifully smooth, silent operation and the effortless speed only a very lightweight bike can achieve. This bike truly is a joy to ride, and I encourage you all: forget about the dumbass hipsters with their tight jeans and messenger bags who ride them, it's got nothing to do with that; look at them as simply the rawest and purest form of bicycle. Go ride a fixie and see for yourself.

Bicycle shop owners and employees (for the most part) have got to be the worst snobs of any industry I have had regular dealings with. They are so much worse than the auto parts world, and that's pretty bad. I can't even count the number of times at this point that I have been looking for a part or asking advice at some shop somewhere and been told that nothing I am talking about makes sense, I'm stupid for not spending hundreds of dollars on factory parts, and my idea definitely WON'T work. Normally after going home and tweaking with things a little those same things work just fine. The bike I ride constantly (and have been for over a year) supposedly was going to fall apart and kill me by the 2nd or 3rd time out, and the reasons they cited for this was that it was 'unconventional' and built with used parts. I guess used parts are automatically weak, dangerous and dysfunctional. Hmmm. Does you ego require you to feel smarter, cooler and safer than me, or are you just really dying to sell me stuff? The most recent experience I had of the sort I am ranting about was when I called a bike shop about a half-link for a chain, a somewhat rare part admittedly, but not unheard-of. I knew I could order it, but I didn't want to pay shipping and then wait a week for a $3 part, so I was trying all the local shops. Yesterday was the second shop in a row where the owner adamantly insisted that no such thing existed---all the while I was looking at it online from a reputable source I have purchased from before---and when I gently tried to tell him that I was LOOKING RIGHT AT IT, he started huffing and puffing that no one would ever even want such a thing anyway and that is why they have never made them and never will, blah, blah, blah...

Now remember that I love bikes and work on them myself, so in all fairness I have to call myself a cyclist; and I also have my preferences (and prejudices) when it comes to assembly and parts and styles---and it is because of this a feel free to complain; however, I would rather see someone riding a stupid-looking bike than a cool one if that is what they like, and if some hip cat can put together his own bike for cheap I say MORE POWER TO HIM! What is wrong with the folks that think unless they are riding in spandex and a pro (who is actually your local high-school stoner) at a 'real' shop adjusted their shifter by turning the barrel adjuster with two fingers, they aren't doing something right? And where are the shop owners who really care about biking and not about selling expensive new bikes to timid middle-aged folks who just want to ride to church on Sunday? I just wish those who do know more than me and the droves of other amateur cyclists out there could just be a little kinder and more helpful, that's all.

Okay. I'm done.

Yesterday as we were hauling a load of excess ex-possessions to the thrift store, I got to thinking, as I often do, about how much AC and I love our old car. Both of us would prefer to deal with any problems that may and do come up (as they will with ANY car, old or new, I must point out), as well as the extra noise, inconvenience and discomfort that is part of owning a nearly 40 year old vehicle. The appeal of driving something like this has a little to do with a lot of things, but just because we feel this way does not mean that other people do as well, nor that they can even comprehend the motivation. Of course there are the occasional few that voice a tidbit of praise or nod in friendly approval, but much more often we have been recipients of snide remarks and full-on insult regarding our choice of automobile. I assure you that I rarely take real offense at all this---to each his own and all that sort of thing...I did however, in the course of these musings, come up with a bumper sticker that may offer an explanation that these critics could readily understand:









I really am thinking seriously of printing these, so give me some feedback in the comments if you would like some.

5-something pm on a Friday not that long ago, standing in BlockBuster with the annoying dilemma of what to watch? After a seeming endless stream of suggestions and musings we decided on Pulp Fiction. I had only seen it once before and remember being a little stunned (I was high school after all), so I wasn't sure what I would think of it this time around. But you know, it was good. I liked it. And I noticed something about it I didn't pick up on the first time: there is a theme that runs through the whole movie of the desire--albeit an awkward and misguided one---for morality and redemption, which I guess is fairly obvious considering the last scene and how Samuel L. Jackson handles the hold-up; but more than that, the characters who really look hard at making a change in their lives seem to come out okay---they are at least trying to face the right direction---and they walk away in the end, on to (hopefully) better things. The characters who are dismissive and content in their ways however all end up dead or in a really bad way by the end of the film. I might not be right, but I think there is a subtle thread through of faith in merits of living a good life...

But it still is a bloody gross flick.

Lately I have been reading Bike Snob NYC, a blogger who primarily comments about cycling, but who is also just a jolly, cynical complainer. Awesome. The following is an excerpt from today's rant:

...'Because when Mini drivers order up their rally-inspired sticker kits and
strap themselves into their little fun boxes, they feel good about themselves,
and they think the rest of the world should feel good about them too.

But that's not how it works. You should respect everything, but you don't have
to like anything. When someone sees me out there in my moisture-wicking chicken
suit pedaling the ironic Orange Julius bike down to the Jamba Juice store in
order to throw rocks through the front window, they don't have to like me, they
just have to respect me as a road user. (And trust me, nothing commands respect
like a chicken suit.) Nobody's as cool as they think they are, and no matter
what, you look ridiculous to somebody.'

And that comment about Mini drivers (Minnie Driver?) was in response to angry emails about this previous post:

'...The Mini Cooper is the Felt Curbside of automobiles in that it's a neutered
version of something that was once authentic, it evokes racing for people who
will never race, and it's "cute" in a completely derivative and studied way.
As a cyclist, I find Minis particularly annoying, because the trendier
neighborhoods of Brooklyn are filled with them, and they're generally driven
by the sorts of people who text their friends to ask them what kind of wine
they should pick up for the party as they roll through stopsigns into busy
intersections. It's only fitting then that these rolling graduation presents
would be sold as a way to " go green." The people "going green" these days
are the same people who did graffiti or experimented with homosexuality at
their liberal arts college--they enjoy flirting with a lifestyle they don't
understand in an environment where it's looked upon favorably, but as soon
as it becomes difficult, unsafe or embarrassing they conveniently abandon it.
Fortunately for them, you don't have to give up your car to "go green." Instead,
you just need to buy a new one with marginally better gas mileage. And
fortunately, "going green" also allows you to measure just how pretentious
you are by calculating your "carbon footprint." Or, in the case of the Mini,
your "carfun footprint." Hey, if people want to "go green" by buying a car,
or they want to go vegan by ordering a hamburger instead of a cheeseburger,
who am I to complain? But I still think a much better ad would have been:
"Mini: It's Fun-tarded.'

This is great!

http://equivocalcatharsis.com/post/2099

As ought to be expected, Monday morning has proven to be, well; a true Monday morning. And getting out of bed is never easy, but during this last week or so leading up to today (today being the worst), throwing back those covers and turning on the light has presented more difficulty than normal. Bedtimes have been reasonable, so I suspect all this exhaustion is due to left-over fatigue and stress, finally catching up with me from these last few months of busy-ness. Despite these complaints though, life has been full of interest and opportunity, and a lot of change---good change. Everything is beginning to come together concerning our many projects, dreams, and various duties---I have been trying to mop up as much as I am able before baby arrives so that I have the option of relaxing during that time...

Summer is alway full of action and change. This one (so far) feels like one extremely long work week, with a busy weekend tacked on the end. Still got a month to go too, but there are still a few things left to accomplish before the school year kicks in. Then the frenzy will abate a bit. Autumn is the time for breathing easier, quieting down, reading. California has very little pronouncement when it comes to heralding the Fall, but you can sense it's subtle hints if you really look. Red and yellow leaves will be sparse down here, and the air won't really have that crisp edge you wait for if you are from anywhere much north of here; but I am still looking forward to it. Some long walks when the air gets cooler, long reads when the evenings are prematurely dark...

The damnedest thing happened the other day: I was in line at Starr Market, buying my groceries on an average sunny weekday, when I noticed that the cashier in front of me was my former neighbor from back when I lived at The Pines. He was the unmarried, co-habiting, stay-at-home stoner who used to sit up all night in the carport outside my bedroom window with his girlfriend (or whatever you call her), screaming and swearing at her between swallows of Modelos and puffs on a Marb light, while she coldly and quietly repeated over and over: "You are the Devil. And I'm in Hell". I used to slam the window really hard to try and make a point after trying to sleep through this for hours on end...I should have gone out and said something menacing, but I never did. Anyway, there he was behind the counter, (finally got a job I guess) and he certainly recognized me; there was a moment of brief small talk. Then, looking and at AC's pregnant belly, he asked: "'that yours?"

Do you ever wish some days that the sky would turn ink black and dump cold rain over everything?

California is too comfortable; too boring, easy, soft, weak and complacent. We need some rain or wind or some sort of adversity for our atrophied spirits. There is only so much BBQ-ing on the back porch in the heat of yet one more sunny evening you can handle before all the paradise and perfection turns your head.

Winter is the only somewhat good time here...

But even that is bad because everyone huddles in their homes as if there was a blizzard and whine about the 'horrible' weather, pointing a shaky finger toward the thermometer: 52 degrees.

California has it's good points, I admit. I have loved it and I have hated it. There is a lot to see, a lot of history and culture, and many good people. But I don't belong here anymore. I am too far from home, and it's time to go.

I've had the eerie echoes of a song called 'Eden' drifting through my head ever since Pandora played it last night while I was working out at the Ranch. The internet station was set to play music by and similar to Delirium, a band I used to listen to all the time in college---an eclectic mix of chamber, choral and techno; weird, trance-like and filled with gloom and darkness. Feeling nostalgic, I had put it on as a background to the unwanted mechanicing for the night. Once again, I was back out there at the filthy shop, in the dark by myself, plugging away on the old car and wishing I didn't have to be there, wishing the car would just go away...

...after enough time turning wrenches in the heavy silence of the empty ranch and outbuildings with that ethereal music all around, I couldn't help feeling some of the old pangs of loneliness from the years before my AC and the New One. Emotions that that are tied up in work, silence, old cars and houses, and most of all, being alone. These days I have all but lost interest in working on cars anymore, and invariably, that kind of work seems to carry my back to old thoughts and feelings that are somewhat out of place in the life I am trying to live now. With my current job I can't escape it, at least not yet, but as Dylan says, "The times they are a changin".

Last night we watched MirrorMask, a very odd and cool film with a screenplay by Neil Gaiman. It was weird and creepy and wonderful. You should see it.

I've got a bug. A very serious fever. It's a bicycle bug, and I can't stop thinking about BICYCLES. I'm working on a fixie right now...the allure of the purity and simplicity of one fixed gear and no brakes...

Been trying to get a handle on creating Photoshop backgrounds...

At the independent coffee house last night we were sitting around talking about the image of a battered or distressed girl, especially if she is young and pretty, and how those sorts of images always have a peculiar and powerful affect on a person. And it doesn't matter whether you think the notion is perverse or not; it's simply, uncomfortably true...

It should be Friday. I am too tired for it to be Thursday.

I am enjoying working on a new logo for Three Days Cafe though. I have also been commissioned to come up with a poster for Roomsound's next concert. Freelance work is picking up!

'Now and again...'
(Chainsaw roaring in the background),
But the conclusion to this thought
Is never quite formed, and
Therefore never becomes a complete sentence
Between the morning storm clouds that fill the head
And the interruptions of
A Tall Idea Guy,
Who doesn't have a clue what it is he wants.
Of course,
It was better to get up
Out of bed,
Than feign illness;
But this is illness, at least in some fashion.
A disturbance,
An irrational and fearful apathy bred
From lack of sleep and
Disorderly habits.
Coffee however
Has healing powers over
Body
And even consoles the spirit a little...

'Now and again. Feels small to be in the world. Tired. Now and again.
The sinner scans the horizons,
Looking everywhere
Restless;
Desirous of his Lord.

It has been nearly a month since I turned in the final project for my Color and Design class at Ventura College. I feel a little sad sometimes that I won't be going back there those sunny quiet evenings...but I am grateful for the free time now and the huge gas savings. Perhaps I will miss it mostly because I simply enjoyed being forced to sit down and draw and learn about design, instead of always feeling frustrated that I never develop my creative side. I'm not a very good self-starter sometimes, so it was really good for me. My last art piece for class is something a little different; multiple applications of masking tape and spray-paint on the inside of a disembodied Chevy truck window...the project dictated that it had to be a work based closely on an artist of our choice, including a brief written essay. While thumbing through a book on graffiti from around the world I discovered this extremely obscure French artist who calls himself HNT/Honet. I never did find out much about him, nor did I find many examples of his work, but the project was really a blast.

I little while ago I was at a party and we were discussing good literature---Wilde, Waugh, Greene and so on---and from somewhere lodged deep in my memory/subconscious I recalled a book; the problem was, I couldn't remember the title or the author. Somehow I knew it was really good too, though I had never read it myself; just heard about it from a friend years before. After asking nearly everyone at the party if they could help us figure out what the heck this book was, but to no avail, I started on a quest. The only thing I knew for sure was that it was a work of Science Fiction of some sort, and had to do with Catholic monks and the Apocalypse. Not too much to go on it would seem, but I knew as soon as I saw the title I would know it. Well, a short time on Google and Wikipedia cured my ignorance and I swung by the local used book store and snagged an old tattered paperback copy for $1.79. At the party, the friend I was chatting with declared that when we finally found out what the book was it had better be awesome beyond reasonable expectation for all the trouble we had gone to; and folks, it was. A Canticle for Leibowitz is perhaps the the most Catholic, perceptive and beautiful work of fiction I have ever read. The book is filled with incredible descriptions of human goodness and sacrifice, a deep and accurate commentary on the Church and it servants, and many quiet, inoffensive digressions of personal opinion and thoughts about life by the author that has left me very moved. This is not a suggested read, this book is an absolute MUST!

I stayed up until two in the morning last night working on my Dad's old Nova, trying to get the engine in it so we can drive it back to Washington State---which is supposed to be happening in 6 days---and right now the motor is still on a stand in front of the car, the transmission is sitting in the corner, the driveshaft is rolling around under the car, and the radiator is on a shelf under the workbench. Well, this sort of thing is nothing new for me, so I'll plough through a couple more nights like last and we'll be on our way, God Willing. And despite the misery of going to work on 3 hours and 15 minutes of sleep, there is something undeniably satisfying, even fun, about staying up half the night struggling with some old greasy piece of machinery.

It's a beautiful morning and I feel introspective, though I'm not really thinking about anything. Seems when you finally feel that you ready to say something grand and insightful the words just dry up. So I am talking about wanting to be smart and literary, without actually being so...I don't mind at all though, the sun is warm and so is my coffee, and I have misplaced my textbook, so until I get more serious about finding it i can't do my homework. Ha!

Here is the finished version of the Macbeth cover. The blood was colored in Photoshop, but the rest was the result of hours and hours of penwork. My wrist felt broken when I was done!

While working on scanning a preferred version of Macbeth for the Summer Seminars at TAC I was commissioned to draw a cover for it as well. Now, I will refrain from stating my opinions on anything related to the S. Seminars and the way the school proceeds in general on things of this nature, and simply admit that I am not too good to desire wealthy Catholic people who are interested in Education and Culture to see my cover illustration, whether it be great or mediocre: I want my work to be seen! Either I will make the cut, or realize I don't have the magic---and I'd rather try and fail than always wonder and slowly grow bitter. So of course I am working extremely hard on this one---it has got to be good. So, after that dramatic intro, I here is the rough pencil sketch, which I plan to refine and finish in ink (and coloring the blood red at their own request):

As much as I don't like admitting it, I am often really bored in my design class at Ventura College. Our teacher for color and design is too used to a classroom full of high-schoolers it seems, and doesn't relate too well with college-age students, and, being an art teacher, is not very interested in structure or anything at all concrete. Sometimes I wonder if it is worth the time, the drive, the gas...but then I wouldn't be doing part-time graphic design for TAC if I wasn't currently in school---can't argue with that. I guess there's just no escaping that fact that this is what it means to go to Community College. The design teacher is so-so, but really not all that bad; my computer graphics teacher on the other hand is the worst I have ever experienced: I have learned a lot on my own despite her insane classes, but it's an uphill battle. There is a complete disconnect between the students and her as a teacher, and the classes consist of endless monologues, harsh criticisms of us students and a completely absurd homework schedule that changes every class. It is pretty unbelievable. Man. It feels nice to vent a little about this stuff...but summer is almost here, and I am already doing work in my new field, so I really shouldn't whine.

Speaking of which, I have some new drawings for your viewing pleasure:


A simple perspective exercise-turned-serious-picture (I was bored)



This one looks like paint (even in reality, not just on the screen), but it's actually marker. (I was even more bored)

You how sometimes you meet someone that really affects your life, and you want so badly to tell people about them, to describe in detail the time you spent and why it was so important, what it was that touched you...but somehow you just can't?

The 'Darjeeling Limited' has a strange intro movie before the main film starts called Hotel Chevalier. Wes Anderson has a real talent for creating a hip, melancholy, even socially awkward mood that is at once both tragic and endearing. Jake, the male lead childishly puts on his theme song just as his estranged lover enters the room. 'Where do you go to my lovely'(Peter Starstedt, 1969) plays almost continuously throughout the rest of the short, leaving the viewer with a bittersweet, restless sense of love and failure...It has been stuck in my head, as is the rest of the full-length film; sad, oddly content, rootless, unhappy, and yet ever-so-mildly hopeful.

And the second half of the project...

Here is the first half of my midterm assignment...

Well, today is me first day as a real graphic designer; granted, it is a part-time position, but I am actually working in the field I am going to school for...things couldn't be better!

I get a huge kick out of vintage pulp art: movie posters, comics, novel covers, etc.; they are always good for a laugh of course, but sometimes there is some real (if rushed) talent there, and some of the layouts and text are well executed as well. Those artists put out a lot of work for very little pay, and they have found a permanent place in to consciousness of American Art. The midterm for my design class is coming up in very short order, and I have been drawing a blank for a project idea---I think there is perhaps too much freedom of subject and media this time---anyway, I'm pretty sure I will follow some sort of '50s pulp magazine theme...fictitious, naturally. Here are some initial sketches. I will post a finished product whenever that comes about!

A couple of miscellaneous images...more later.

We have been without power at our house for nearly 24 hours now---in Ojai, for Pete's sake! It is all because of the Domino's Pizza delivery guy (we didn't order pizza, but someone in our neighborhood apparently did); he came around the corner at the bottom of our hill in his souped up late-model Camero, showing off, and couldn't make the corner...he was just fine, but his car, the power pole, and the supply of electricity to our entire block were not. It was a VERY dark night in SoCal, but we drank beer on a blanket in the middle of the street and laughed at everyone who came careening up the hill only to slam on their brakes to avoid the 'Road Closed' signs, and later on we watched La Femme Nikita on the Mac (because the battery life is awesome); which was a GREAT movie. They say the power will come back this evening...we'll see. And how am I blogging you ask? Local coffee house, baby.

More drawings from class. The wave was a project that had to be based on the Golden Mean, or in this case, the Pythagorean Spiral; medium is pen and colored pencil. I picked the smoking geisha from a National Geographic article because the caption next to the picture says that smoking was very fashionable in the Edo Period in Japan, despite all manner of anti-smoking pressure from the Shoguns---I found this way too entertaining, and I love old Japanese art anyway---'There is nothing new under the sun' and all that... This is only my second attempt at painting, which was a requirement for this project, and it is done in acrylic. Painting is hard. I enjoyed the challenge, but it was a very intense and stressful operation...

Another class collage, this time done at home on my own time with much input from AC. Colored pencil and blending stumps for the shoes, ink and marker for the soles and heel, and some Urban Outfitters tissue paper for the stockings.

This the first collage I have ever done (after spending a little time in Photoshop)...our wacky thinks-she-is-21-but-really-is-55 teacher made us 'create spontaneously'. Well, it was fun after all...

This is an epic moment. I am blogging from a brand new, bought-straight-from-the factory MacBook, MY MacBook, the first Apple I have owned or really used. I am not sure whether this marks a great fall, finally having succumbed to the absurd but seductive call of the unimaginably slick and hip, or whether this is truly the proper move into present times as I tell myself it is. Now that I am in school for Graphic Design, this only makes sense, and it has the added bonus of solidifying my commitment to a very exciting planned career change; but seriously, what am I going to do with 4 GIGS of RAM? Efficiently run my other bank-breaking purchase, the Adobe Design Suite, I guess. This is weird---I don't do things like this. Plodding along with used, scuffed, scavenged cast-offs os more my mode. On the other hand, this was a carefully weighed decision, made after many hours of agony and conversation, and I assure you, I am completely won over by the sheer sexiness of it all; still, it was quite an unusually large investment for the likes of me. AC consoles me by saying it is like buying my dentists' chair. She is absolutely right of course, and for that kind of support I am infinitely grateful. The way I like to look at it best though is the way my old friend from Oregon's dad sums up the dilemma of owning a car [and I paraphrase]: if you start out buying the $500 special that you string along for several months or (if you're lucky) years, then throw it away when it dies and get another $500 pile, at some point you will be too buried in kids and bills to even move up the $1000 rusty beauty; however, if you go out on that limb and get a new car right out the gate, you will have more time to save before the need for a new one catches up to you, and most importantly you are used to living with payments AND retain trade-in value. It's only up from there. Well, old cars are a way of life for me, and even if they weren't, it's way too late for that, but when it comes to something like this Mac...well, I have to say I agree with the premise. After all, of those who start out at the same place the guy who gets rich isn't usually the hardest worker or the most talented, he's the one who simply knew that someday he WOULD be rich, and acted as if it were already true. I guess the future will unfold in God's good time, and in His own Wise way. Alright, no more preaching tonight; I'm going to bed to dream about how amazingly cool, trendy, good-looking and intelligent I am now with my new tool [toy].

This may sound rather absurd, but AC and I have been on an '80s movie kick for the last few weeks. It started recently, one bored Friday night, when neither of us could decide on what to watch. She had never seen a good, classic '80s flick, so I grabbed the first one that came to mind: Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Well, we both had way too much fun watching it, and my memory was jogged a bit, so we followed it up later that week with Better off Dead. At this point we were both really getting into the mode; anyone who has seen one of the greats from that decade will inderstand. Then a friend told us we had to watch Subway ; a weird, super-hip, obscure French film by Luc Besson from 1985. What an awesome movie! Unusual, thoughful and simply beautiful; a lot like the Hungarian film Kontrol. That in turn sparked a search for more Luc Besson, (La Femme Nikita; Leon: the Proffessional; the Fifth Element---most of which we have not seen yet), and other strange, little-know oldies, that will probably fill our cue for the next few movie nights. Last night we really got out there with Some Kind of Wonderful...think what you like, it was a pretty decent show. Certainly sincere and sweet if nothing else, AND she drives a beat-up '60s Mini Cooper with no windows---hot! (My brother Steve and I were hopelessly in love with 'Watts', the drummer girl with the Mini, when we first watched it 'way back' in the '90s). Anyway, the song in the ending credits was really cool: some crazy mix of '80s Pop, and Celtic/Irish jig covering Elvis. Talk about one thing leading to another! I looked them up: Lick the Tins, from 1987, a one-hit-wonder band from London/Northern Ireland with a rave-reveiw album that just didn't get enough distibution to make it. (Call me crazy, but I love stuff like this; the smug pride of knowing about something so cool and obscure that no one else has ever heard of it!) The album is so rare Amazon wants $90.00 for one! Youtube has just their one hit song; look it up, you'll dig it.

As usual this is not the time be blogging. There are many, many things to get done today, and I am already tired and slow moving. But the computer screen is drawing me; it appears comforting and sympathetic. But it is a cruel, loveless thing. And now that I am here, my mind is soggy; I have run out of Important Observations, Critical Discoveries, and Artistic Musings. There is nothing to say that would help either of us, yet I am unwilling to leave this spot. Now; I must drag myself up from this seat, try to focus on happy things and the tasks at hand, and all the while wish I could be home on the couch with a blanket. I can't. But I'll think about it anyway.

As for me...

Every once in a great while I try and draw something from life, or at least based on something real. (heh) Not very artist-like, eh? Rashida Jones (Karen from the Office) has an interesting face, so...

Well, this still looks like a cartoon, but I tried.

For some reason I seem happier when it is cloudy. 'Paradise' is irritating, with its washed-out sunny days, low crappy buildings, and more-or-less soulless inhabitants. Out of town, in the hills on a cloudy day in the winter, this place isn't so bad...but it's still a 'waiting' place, a place loved and hated...more love than hate, the hate more like a despondent sigh. Do you think it is the cold, emptiness, adversity and the like that makes those northern folks, (what I once was) so productive and motivated?

At least it is cloudy today. It is a big help.

Chopper trike boy thingy...

Trying to expand on my Photoshop skills...there are some interesting patterns and an infinite palette of colors. This sort of has the look of something you might see on a graphic artist's site, which is good since I have decided to get back into graphic design.

The last time I posted drawings I probably should have said something about the pictures. The first one is a view from 'The Pines' looking over the porch railing toward the garage (for those of you who remember those rather golden days in Ojai). The other one just shows my love of old racing cars and something of a rediscovery of children's cartoon style that I used to do a lot. And in that vein, I have a few new ones based on a nameless bad-bottom motorcycle rider...

I am tipsy-to-drunk and it's 12:30am and I am listening to Joy Electric. It has been a long time since I have been in this position and I love it. We just watched a Dutch film called Black Book. A WWII story full of deception and tragedy, it is absolutely amazing, you MUST see it, though make sure you have a mature audience (don't want to offend anyone). This is one of those times when you feel stupidly happy and you can't imagine ever going to bed---one more beer, one more smoke, maybe another movie, you know---then you are hit with the weight of a thousand bricks and you fall to your pillow (or someone else's floor) in bliss and contentment, not to rise until sometime in the Sunday PM...

While pawing through some random bits of things this evening, we ran across a matchbook that we got in London. This was on the back.

Keren Ann is cool.

This might make me an incredible nerd, and perhaps even a bit of a narcissist, but I just created a blog devoted to Volvo 140s. I just have this unreasonable love for our car (the wagon), and will most likely be the owner of yet another one shortly. Hopefully I can post not only good stories and misadventures, but also some useful repair and technical information for those of us out there who own and/or love these cars; it can be pretty difficult to find much information at all about the 140, online or otherwise, so please comment and ask questions if you have any, I would like to turn the blog into an extensive resource. It should be fun, so check out the '140 bricks' link under 'glovebox' on this page. Oh, and if it works out and I get the '68 142 this weekend, you can count on an account of the build-up, from it's current $300 state to *daydream warning* a lightened, beautified, super-charged Euro-style race machine. Stay tuned...

Back to San Francisco this weekend. Too much driving, too much gas, too expensive. However, it means my brother Daniel and Anna's brother Joe get to each head for home and I get another Volvo 140. Bad timing for good things...

26 hours straight behind the wheel does a number to a body. I did actually sleep for about 30 minutes when our brakes overheated coming down out of the mountains that border Death Valley, but that was it. It is the first time I have made it that long without a total meltdown, and it makes me proud---but I can certainly say I don't want to do it again for a very long time---which will be easy, because gas prices completely broke us. Oh well. Roughly 3500 miles, two families and piles of close friends later, we are home, pooped, and looking forward to lying low. Goodnight all.

European cars from the '70s with fake wood grain dashes are simply awesome. My '77 Rabbit and now our beloved '72 Volvo are fine examples of a unique kind of motoring. A small racing steering wheel, a tach and cool vintage wheels on a car that really doesn't go that fast...brilliant! Anyway, I believe I will soon be adding this '68 to my collection. I can't help it, God made me this way.

Gearing up for another epic road trip. Ojai-to-Portland-to-Spokane-to-Butte, and back to Ojai, via the 15 and Vegas. Nine days and 3000 miles of friends and family from far away, all in the the trusty Volvo 145. We are not leaving for another week, but I am already thinking about it with rising excitement. I love traveling by car. My brother Daniel is coming back with us and staying for week with the hopes of some creative brain-storming and story-writing time. We may end up with some cool new art to post...and he will be playing the guitar non-stop!

Cold coffee is gross. Still, when you drink it at the rate I do in the morning, that sharp cold bitter shock to the mouth has a sense almost of comfort and nostalgia. It reminds you of other cold tired mornings; good ones, and really bad ones. Of course I prefer it warm, but it is undeniable that with a lovely cigarette in the morning, cold coffee, though not as pleasant as hot, is never unwelcome.

Well, I'm back from Austin. Steve is leaving tomorrow, for fifteen months...

And here in California it is sunny and warm, not too much to do, and quite beautiful. We are very lucky.

I've wasted enough of this morning.

Time for work.