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.