Sticky

Well, I haven’t picked on GW for a while so, I figured why not.

This is my picture for Illustration Friday the theme is sticky. "Sticky" was drawn with a Faber-Castle H-3 pencil on a piece of scrap paper then inked in with my Gel-Roller.

Do you have any gum? Do you want to leave some love for me?

Stack the Cat

There'’s a game I like to play with Percy. The game is called Stack the Cat. I start by placing a newspaper over Percy (He loves the newspaper tent.); then I see how many different objects I can put on top of the cat before he moves. Percy gives me a funny look whenever we play, but secretly I think he likes it.

I set a new record today and thought I would celebrate by drawing a picture of it. The new record was achieved by making the newspaper tent then adding a small pizza box, a water bottle, a book by Jim Butcher, a roll of tape, a racquet-ball, a TV remote, a rubber ducky and a pair of chopsticks on top.

See how happy he looks? I guess it'’s better than dressing him up in silly clothes.

"“Stack the Cat"” was dawn on a scrap piece of multi-purpose copy paper with my Gel-Roller that I recently refilled with ink then colored in Photoshop.

Do you play games with your pets? Do you love me?

Rain

This is my picture for Illustration Friday the theme is rain. “Rain” was drawn with my gel-roller on the back of a flyer for a radio show I did recently, then colored in Photoshop.

This is Ed. He was my stepfather for about fifteen years. On Ed's first date with my mother he wanted to look cool. Fearing his bald spot would turn my mother off, Ed bought some spray on hair.

I don’t know if anyone remembers spray on hair, but it was a big thing back when I was a kid. Basically, it’s a can of spray paint the color of your hair that you put on your bald spot. It always seemed to work great on the TV info-mercials. Of course on TV no one ever got rained on.

So, as Ed was walking my mother through the rain to our door at the end of their date his spray on hair started to wash off. I remember peeking through the curtains out onto the front porch, hoping to get my first look at the guy my mom went out with. What I saw was this angry looking man with black streaks running down his face and my mother laughing hysterically. Sure Ed kind of made an ass of himself, but it must have worked because they ended up getting married.

Personally I don’t get the whole; I don’t want to let anyone know I’m bald mentality. Hair plugs look stupid, the only good toupee I’ve ever seen was on Ted Danson and I know someone that had hair growing off of their nose because the Rogaine they were using had dripped. If I ever go bald I’m gonna own that baldness and let everyone see my beautifully shaped head.

Have you ever covered a bald spot? How about covering me with some love?

Potty Mouth

Today I was told I have a potty mouth. I could not fucking believe it.

"Potty Mouth" was drawn quickly with my gel-roller on the back of a flyer for the radio show I did last Thursday.

I'm still crazy busy right now. I have a lot of catching up to do. I got tagged by Pablo a while back and still need to do that post. I need to do a post for Caroline with my recipe for biscuits and gravy and I'm way behind on Fritz and Fritz. (Which may have to wait until summer is over for a new post.) I'm almost done painting the bathroom. Of course that means putting in the new floor and baseboard next. The short film shoot I've been doing is taking a lot longer than first planned and I need to find a real job. Other than that I have lots of free time.

I may have bitten off more than I can chew. Thank God/dess I have a big old potty mouth to put it in.

Do you have eyes bigger than your stomach? Do you want to leave some love?

I Never Got To Fly With My Father

When I was very young my Dad, who we would always call Pop, invented this silly game that he played with my older brother Scott. The game was called Lift Off. Pop would lay down on his back at one end of our living room with his knees pressed against his chest, then Scott would sit on my dad’s feet and the count down would begin. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… 0… lift off, then Pop would extend his legs quickly and launch my brother through the air and across the room where a bunch of pillows had been set up to make a soft landing area. My mother told me I was too little to participate but that when I got older I would get to fly too.

A few weeks after my fourth birthday I was deemed big enough to play Lift Off. Excitedly I cleared the living room and set up pillows for the landing. My dad thought it would be a good idea to launch Scott first so I could see how it was done. I was standing by the landing sight when the count down for my brother started.

5… 4… 3… 2… 1… 0… lift off and zing, Scott was launched into the air. He looked so graceful flying through the air with a gigantic grin on his face. It was like he was moving in slow motion. Then in slow motion I saw Scott’s grin turn from happiness to horror when he realized he wasn’t going to land on the pillows.

Scott bounced off the fireplace mantle like a brick encased in Jell-O, then hit the floor hard. I swear I could hear the bone in his forearm snap, a sound that still haunts me and I will never forget.

My brother had indeed broken his arm. The game was over. Pop drove my brother to the hospital while I stayed home with mom. They still hadn’t returned when my bedtime rolled around. I cried in my pillow that night for hours feeling angry, disappointed and frustrated knowing I would never get to fly with my father.

Four years later my parents got a divorce. I lived with my mom and didn’t see very much of Pop until the end of my sophomore year in high school. That was when I decided I wanted to live with my dad. By that time a lot of water had passed under the bridge and we hardly knew each other. Two years later when I graduated we were still having trouble communicating with each other.

That summer I had found a seasonal job thousands of miles from home so that I could save money for a backpacking trip through Europe that I was planning. My plan was to work all summer in California, and then come home for a month before setting out over seas. Pop wasn’t crazy about my idea. He wanted me to start college right away just like my brother had. I was adamant though and he finally gave in.

I worked like the devil for three months earning the money I needed. A week before I left California I gave Pop a call to let him know when I would be arriving and to arrange a ride from the airport. On the phone our chitchat somehow turned into a real conversation and we ended up communicating for the first time in years. Before hanging up we both said I love you. Something we rarely did.

Two days later I received a call from my brother telling me Pop had died of a heart attack the night before. Pop’s death didn’t really hit me until I got home and was surrounded by strangers that felt a deep need to consol me.

I cried in my pillow that night for hours feeling angry, disappointed and frustrated. It was like I was four years old and realizing all over again I would never get to fly with my father.

Happy father’s day Pop, I love you and I miss you.

Have you told your father you love him lately? Do you want to leave me some love?

Dance

This is my picture for Illustration Friday; the theme is dance. "Dance" was drawn with my gel roller on the back of a flyer for the radio show I'm doing tonight.

The first school dance I ever went to was the Sadie Hawkins dance at my Jr. High. I went with my two best friends Eric and Jeff. Eric was a tall math nerd with a serious acne problem and Jeff was the fattest, funniest kid I've ever known. Around school we were known as team dork. (I know it’s hard to believe I was ever so un-cool.)

We decided, as a group to go to the Sadie Hawkins dance thinking our odds of actually dancing would be better because it was up to the girls to select a dance partner. That plan didn't work very well. The three of us were wallflowers all night.

Near the end of the evening, while we waited in line for some refreshments, someone pinched my ass. I couldn't believe it.

"Guys, guys, some girl just pinched my ass!" I whispered excitedly to team dork.

"Well who was it?" asked Jeff

"I don't know. Lets sneak a peek behind us and see if we can figure out who it is." I answered barley able to contain my giddiness.

The three of us tried casually looking around but between the floating dots of light from the mirrored ball, the dimness of the gym and the large crowd of pimple faced teenagers it was impossible to tell who had reached out and touched me.

Disappointed, our focus returned to the line we were in and then it happened again.

"Guys, guys it happened again! Did you see anyone?" I screamed out over the sounds of Captain and Tennille.

"I didn't see anyone." Said Eric in disbelief.

"Yeah, you're just messing with us." Quipped Jeff.

"No guys. I swear it happened." I pleaded.

"Well." Jeff said, "If it happens again say 'Gotcha!' really loud and we'll all turn around together."

Then the three of us tried to act casual. A few minutes later my ass was once again pinched. "Gotcha!" I screamed turning quickly as possible with an enormous grin on my face. Suddenly, there I was face to face with Scott Huffaker, the track star of my Jr. High School.

Scott also had an enormous grin on his face, which turned rapidly to horror and then anger when he realized it was a male butt he had been pinching. My own happy grin turned to pain after Scott punched me in the stomach. "You're a big fag." He said.

"What does that make you then?" Asked Jeff. "You're the boy pinching a fags ass."

"Shut up you fat fag." Replied Scott while punching Jeff in the stomach. Then he punched me again, then he hit Eric saying, "That's for hanging out with fags." Then he walked away.

Team dork didn't attend another dance until the twelfth grade and by then I was the only member. Eric had moved to California with his Mom and Jeff became a drunken stoner.

I ran into Scott Huffaker some years later. He was working the graveyard shift at a 7-11. I must have surprised him when I walked in because he quickly tried to hide the porn magazine he had been looking at by sticking it partially under a newspaper. He didn't recognize me but I knew who he was. He looked unhappy and nervous and weighed about 350lbs. I also noticed as I was leaving that the skin mag he was looking at was a gay porn magazine. I wish I could feel good about the irony of this situation but I just feel bad for Scott.

Do you like wallflowers? Do you want to leave me some love?

Plop

Plop was drawn quickly with my gel roller on a scrap of multi-purpose copy paper. I screwed up my head so I cut it off, drew a new one, taped it to the first picture and then cleaned it up and colored it in Photoshop.

The rumors are not true. I haven't vanished. It’s just that I was so busy my butt cheeks fell off. I can't tell you how embarrassing that was. Thank God/dess it happened at a rehearsal and not during a performance. Anyhow, with the assistance of the cast and a roll of duct tape, I got my ass back together and back to work. The filming stuff this weekend was fun, exhausting and painful. I got sunburned and I think I burned my retinas out by looking toward the sun trying not to squint because the camera was rolling. I also had the joy of working with a four year old. What was it W.C. Fields said about working with kids? Heh, heh... Fun. Just kidding. On the plus side; I did get to see some friends I haven't seen in years, the crew was fantastic and they fed me well, very well, which is good because no one's getting paid.

I also had to do a dinner theater show on Saturday night. That show licked balls, but at least it paid. (I feel dirty.) Then I had a rehearsal on Monday for an improv show on Saturday. Tuesday I had rehearsal for a radio show on Friday. (Thanks for getting me the gig Jonpaul. Sorry I called you a bastard.) Tonight is the tech rehearsal for that show and tomorrow I have to study the script for another ball licking show on Tuesday. Oh yeah, and the bathroom still needs to get finished. I hope the duct tape lasts that long.

Of course, now that I have no free time I'm getting lots of ideas for posts. I'm gonna try and catch up on comments right now, but this snails pace dial up connection I'm working from may drive me crazy before I get all the way finished. Anyhow, that's my excuse for not being around lately and not visiting any other blogs.

I miss you all. (sigh)

Have you worked your butt off lately? Have you left any love lately?

Jungle

This is my picture for Illustration Friday the theme is jungle. "Jungle" was drawn on a scrap of multi-purpose copy paper with my gel roller. I was hoping to have a witty caption for this illustration that says something about humans thinking they can control nature when in fact we should be learning to live in harmony with it, but frankly my brain is just not firing on all cylinders right now. Maybe one of you could come up with a good caption for this picture.

I won’t be on line much this weekend. I need to spend today learning lines for a short film that shoots this weekend, (Ha-Ha! Take that Jonpaul. Who's the star now you Bastard?) plus I have a show on Saturday night and I’m trying to finish remodeling the bathroom so Gorky stops giving me funny looks.

Do you have a funny caption? Do you love me?

Portrait ( x 3)

I whipped this illustration out while listening to Modest Mouse. I drew it on a piece of scratch paper with my Faber-Castle 3-H pencil, then inked over it with my Gel-Roller. I did this picture for Illustration Friday the theme is portrait.

I stole this idea from the classic Norman Rockwell picture. I thought I was so clever, until I googled the image I wanted and found out people have been stealing this idea for years. Isn't theft the most sincere form of flattery? Err... Something like that.

Do you ever steal ideas? Do you want to leave this thief some love?

Portrait

The theme for today's Illustration Friday is portrait and the first post I ever did on this blog was a self portrait. Interesting, for me anyway, to go back and look at that post now. Both this blog and The Unknown have changed quite a bit since that first post.

I guess that is the beauty of a portrait, it captures a moment in the life of not only the subject of the picture, but also the artist who created it. The portrait creates a watermark of where both have been and a map to help guide where they're going. (At least it does in my little world.)

With those thoughts in mind, I present a repost of the first post ever on this blog. Enjoy!

This is a self portrait of me looking at a tree. It was drawn on the back of a November 26, 2004 page from an old "Get Fuzzy" desk calendar. That date means nothing. Am I not handsome? Will you love me?