Bidin' Time Until Oh Nine

There are three things I want.
A dog. A van. A big kid job where I get to draw.
I don't think that's too much to ask, is it?

Frequent Flyer

I always forget how much I love airports because I never get to go to them. It's such a great place to draw people. No one is really paying attention to anything because they just want to get to where they are going, plus, it's more than just the soured and edgy folks you find on the bus or in the park. In airports you get an opportunity to see the shut ins and boring people.

Omniscient. Ominpresent.

I wish to be involved in all things at all times. How can I accomplish this when I find it a chore to merely go to work? Ok, so I don't literally mean all things and all times (time being an illusion in the first place.) I just want all the people I like to see to be in one place or in the same vicinity so I can socialize with them all at once and/or with great ease. Two birds, one stone, as it were. Perhaps the problem is that I am essentially lazy and want things to be accomplished in a simple manner.


Also, I must get used to being on the back burner. I've always said (since I was about 15) that I don't really need to be famous and wildly recognized, I would just like to participate in something grand. However, every time something I've participated in gets recognition and I myself do not, I feel looked over. Quite the conundrum I suppose, the human psyche is mysterious.

film drought

I watched El Orfanato (The Orphanage), the Guillermo Del Toro (director of Hellboy and Pan's Labyrinth) presented Spanish horror film last night. Suprisingly very good. It has a few hiccups, but all in all, one of the most appealing creep-fest I've seen in a while. Never hurts when it's in Spanish, not to mention; and this is going to sound really nerdy, but the color palette was gorgeous. It's amazing to me that the rest of the world knows how to scare people but American film makers just fall short, I can't think of an American horror movie in the last ten years that has been actually scary and not just gory and sensationalist. Any that come to mind are remakes of imports.

Going to see Synecdoche, New York (directorial debut of Charlie Kaufman, writer of Being John Malkovich, Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, and Adaptation) later today. I have high hopes for it, let me not be disappointed.

Dreamweaver

One day I will learn my limits.


Also;
I realized recently that I can't remember any of the nice things my father used to do for me as a child. I don't remember him reading me stories or helping me with my school work or teaching me how to be a human being. I know he must have done these things, the family dynamic was that he was 'the good guy' and my mother was 'the bad guy' and therefore he must have been the one to coddle me, but I have no recollection. I wonder if what I remember is truth, or if I can't remember because I am very selective of the memories I've subconsciously retained.

tribe of fortune

tribe of fortune, originally uploaded by blip_blop.

pictures from my escapade into central california, good food, good friends and too much imbibing. oopsies.

Forks And Knives

There's always too many things going on at the same time and then nothing happening at all. Totes missed Outsidelands Fest this weekend, only jealous now because my room mate and his cousin are there having fun and I am here alone. However, instead of Outsidelans, I went to a cabin near Pinecrest Lake, CA, and ripped it a new asshole. I owned you lake. Pictures and video and stories coming promptly.

San Francisco's finest

There are a few street fairs here that promote sexual promiscuity...like people dress up in the kinkiest leather costumes and there's public spanking and countless other debauchery.....but then there's people who just walk around butt naked. I guess that's their sexual expression, but it feels so mediocre. Like the sheet ghost costume on halloween.


for more pictures check out DJ Tennessee Valley Authority's Flickr and Jameth's Nature Abhors A Vacuum LJ

Pacific Northwest Sampler Platter

If you would like to see photos from my road trip, they are here



Flickr.com

There are literally a thousands pictures to upload, so more will be added each day. Hooray!

Road Trip!

Tomorrow Kyle, Tall Amy, and I go pick up our rental car from the delightful Sheraton Inn in Fisherman's Warf so that we can spend eight hours driving north into Oregon. I'm pretty stoked on getting out of The City. Georgio will be joining us on Monday in Seattle via plane.

In other news; my landlady, who lives below me, was screaming at the top of her lungs to no one in particular about the neighbor's sprinklers. Actually I think she thought she was screaming at the neighbors, but they weren't around, the sprinklers are automatic. They have a tendency to make their way over the fence and into our back yard where my landlady airs her blankets everyday. She was screaming "You turn that off! I know who you are! I will call the city on you!" and then a different neighbor's dog started yapping and she promptly screamed "Shut up you fucking dog!" I should mention that she is a married, mother of three boys, Indian woman who frequently yells bloody murder at her children. I've never heard her scream in English, and I don't think I want to ever again. I was a little terrified.

thoughts and feelings.

INVSBLoooOOoOOoOOOORRRBZ!

INVSBLoooOOoOOoOOOORRRBZ!, originally uploaded by blip_blop.

Went to Tidal Wave with Johnny C. today. Totes Brutes. We got there at about 1230/0100, and it was kind o dead. When we left at 330, it had filled up quite a bit. Pretty much worth the cost of FREE.

Gotham

I've never had New York Lust. I've never desperately wanted to go to the Big Apple and see the bright lights of the city. Until recently.
Its always seemed so cliche to want to go to New York, NY. Countless characters from musicals, books, movies, plays, and even songs go there to 'make it.' It's the Los Angeles of the East Coast. It's worse than that. It's more glorified and ageless.
For some reason an interest in the the city that never sleeps has been percolating in me and every day I get more interested in dropping everything and going there. Inherent wanderlust, I suppose. I don't know if i was born with it, or if it was engrained in me at a young age, but I get geographical cabin fever if I stay in one place for too long. I have to change everything and learn to live a new way. I know how to live in San Francisco, I know where to go to have fun in San Francisco, I know how to be bored in San Francisco. I don't know how to live in New York. It's a mystery to me. It's something I want to find out about.

on or near 4:20

this is a prime example of what happens in Dolores park, SF



a little collab' piece with the Grove St. O.G.z

flikr.com

the end of the world

Well...not really. Just the end of school. Forever. It's kind of weird to think about that. Also, I am turning 25 in two months. I'm not afraid or feel old necessarily, I just remember when I couldn't ever imagine being 25.

I was also thinking the other day about how there used to be a time in all of our lives that we didn't know when we needed to use the bathroom. And I can't remember what that felt like.

The Last Man On Earth

So I finally actually drew a comic. Matt K. wrote it out and I drew it up. Probably the best birthday present our friend Kyle's ever gotten.

thinking/feeling/dreaming

When I was six, my parents moved me from England to an island off of the coast of Africa known as Tenerife. I don’t remember how I felt about moving to this duck shaped, Spanish speaking oasis. Perhaps it was because a year before we had moved to England from California and I was in a perpetual state of limbo. I don’t recall much from my childhood but for some reason I have a very vivid memory of being seven and standing in what constituted as my school’s playground using a stick as a guitar and singing La Bamba. The curious thing is that the stick was also a Rounders bat. Rounders as in the weird English version of Baseball. A boring sport amazingly made even more boring and less athletic by making the bat smaller. The smaller bat meant you had to hold it with one hand and flail your arm in the hopes of making contact with the ball. The playground consisted of several hillocks with a sand pit in the middle. Sort of like sand dunes but with coarse gravel filled earth below it. We would play tag and Rounders and house amongst the scratchy desert bushes and dream of making skateboards out of planks of wood. Somehow my friends and I imagined that coke cans would suffice as wheels. No one ever actually made a skateboard. My school was small and English, a refuge for the British immigrants. Held in an old Spanish style homestead with wood walled rooms, tile floors and an arid courtyard between the moat of walls. I don’t remember much else from my time attending that school, except that one of the students, a boy I wasn’t friends with, cracked his head open on a rock in the dirt playground.