Tail o' the Rat

Skydiving Duck: Screwing Up and Standing Up

2012-01-22T19:23:00.000-08:00

I was proud of my previous jump. I'd done my first stable exit and was ready to repeat the trick. After all, I was getting better, right?
I walked to the door, looked down, got into position, dove and...

...flopped around like a paper bag in the breeze. Whoops.

I got stable, practiced some tracking, pulled on time, and checked to make sure the canopy was steerable. It was.

Hey, this is pretty neat, I thought. I can see the freaking ocean! I never noticed that before.

I started to sing...

...but my common sense put a stop to that within seconds.

So it was back to keeping an eye out for other jumpers and staying in the holding area.
As I got closer to my entry pattern, I spotted two flags in the (student) landing area.
See those flags? I told myself. You're going to land right between them. Its not windy at all, so your downwind and final approaches should be about the same size. So enter the pattern near the flags and you'll end up between them.
The downwind approach went great, but my final approach seemed too close to the runway.
You idiot! I thought. Get away from that thing before the plane comes!

But now I was too low to turn away further. Turning makes the parachute dive. When you're low, the ground is included in said dive. Instead I tugged lightly at one toggle until I eased away from the runway. This was good, except now I was heading for the wind tetrahedron.
You're a menace! I thought. Can't you do anything right?
I knew better than to fix my eyes on the tetrahedron. Instead I focused on a patch to the left and gently steered away. Soon the ground zoomed up, I flared and...

...I was standing! My first stand up landing! The jump wasn't a total loss.
Then again, I managed to get my foot caught in the parachute lines as I boarded the shuttle back to the drop zone buildings. Tsk tsk. I should know better by now.

Skydiving Duck: Getting Better (Sorta)

2012-01-12T09:13:00.000-08:00

Here's how I think of skydiving most of the time:

This attitude can change the morning of a jump:

That being said, I'm slowly getting better.
Jump #15 was a coach jump. I hadn't jumped with this instructor before, but my rep as the problem student who sabotages jump run by door hesitation had reached him. "Remember," he politely repeated as we flew to altitude, "Follow me to the door right away, OK?"
Soon it was our turn. I was proud that I got in the doorway (and out of the plane) without stalling. I would have been prouder if my exit hadn't looked like this:

I was flopping around like a Sea Monkey again. I got stable a few seconds later. The goal of this jump was to control my falling rate to keep up with the instructor. Subtle changes in body position make you fall faster or slower. I was so-so at it. After the jump I got a peek at the video. My legs were bent way too much. This sent me backwards like a fleeing lobster.

Afterwards the instructor gave me some suggestions, including some exercises to improve both my leg position and my tracking ability.
After a week of practice, I was back in the doorway at 12500 feet. This time for a solo jump. I dived out the door and...

...Holy Geez ! I was stable! No flips, no rolls!
I tried some tracking. Legs straight, arms back, body position like in the exercises...

Wow! I was going straight. I was Superduck! Or at least Getting-Better-at-This Duck.

Could it be? Maybe it was possible that I'd someday get good at this sport?
Now for a stand up landing...

...whoops.
Not this time either.
That's okay. Superduck needs to remember that there's a lot more to learn...

Skydiving Duck: Solo Two (Adrenaline Boogaloo)

2011-12-30T16:25:00.000-08:00

Skydiving seems cool, but I still get second thoughts on the drive to the drop zone. What was I getting myself into? This was for bold, adventure seeking types, not me. I had no business getting on that plane.
The ride to altitude wasn't the torture it was in my earlier jumps, but it wasn't a merry-go-round ride either. A primitive part of my brain still sounded the alarm: "Oh noes! People are falling off this thing! And you're in line to do the same!"
Oddly, standing in the doorway wasn't as scary is it used to be. The exit was another story.

"!@#!!" I thought "I'm falling out of a $%!&^@ airplane! Holy *&%#!!" Those first few seconds are just overwhelmingly weird. Unnerving. I'm falling, yet I'm so high that the ground doesn't zoom up.
I feel like Alice in Wonderland when she tumbles down the rabbit hole.

Experienced jumpers tell me this part eventually becomes great fun. Will this ever be the case for me? When?
It still takes me about ten or fifteen seconds to quit flopping around and get stable. I suspect the comparative lack of air resistance might have something to do with it, plus the fact that I'm not relaxed as I should be.
Then I was stable. Hooray!
I tried to breathe deep and slow as I kept my eye on the view and the altimeter. See? I told myself. You can do this. Soon it was time to open the parachute.

I'm surprised (and a bit disappointed) that I'm still super frazzled after the parachute deploys. What's wrong with you? I thought, Why are you so rattled? You're a big baby!

Big baby or not, I was getting better at controlling the canopy. I practiced my flares at different speeds and kept nagging myself to fly safely: Look at the windsock! Where's it pointing? Look for the other jumpers. See anyone? What are they doing? Hey! Look before you make those turns!

Then came landing time. One of my instructors once suggested the best time to flare is a second or two after you think it's time to flare. I'm in no position to recommend this for everyone*, but it seems to work for me.

And what was this...?

Was I actually going to have my first stand up landing!?

I touched down, held the flare, was about to stand up when...

...I tipped over. Whoops.
Maybe next time!

*for flakes, sake, I'm just a student.

Skydiving Duck: Solo Time!

2011-12-15T19:43:00.000-08:00

The sun was out. The winds were down. Time for my first solo.
My inner critic played dirty. He split into two and heckled me from different angles:

Compared to the AFF jumps, things were simple. No routines, no exit practice in the mock-up.
I felt like a kid riding the bike without training wheels when I grabbed the rental parachute and put it on by myself. Within a half hour I was at altitude, in the doorway, looking down.

Okay, there's the airport. No clouds--Holy geez! am I really doing this!?--no planes, no peeps. One, two, three, go!

The first few seconds out are still a bit overwhelming...

...then there I was- back in the alternate universe of freefall. I rolled over by mistake but righted myself. Then I played "watch the altimeter and practice your turns."

The chute opened without trouble and soon I was in my landing pattern. Would I flare too high? Too low?

I know I'm supposed to flare when I get about ten to fifteen feet above the ground, but it's hard to measure when it's zooming at me like a freight train.

Toggles up, toggles up, I thought, mimicking what had squawked through the radio on my earlier jumps, not yet, not yet, feet together... I could see individual weeds zipping by ...Flare half way... all the way, hold it...

I planned a PLF but when my feet hit the ground they slid like I'd landed on a Slip 'n' Slide. I came to rest gently on my back (I'll have to ask an instructor how to prevent that, since a less gentle landing like that would be trouble).
My solo wasn't fearless or flawless, but I'd done it. I couldn't believe it.

Traditionally you're supposed to bring beer after your first skydive solo. I bought a bunch of it. My instructors had earned it: If they could teach a high-strung, easily frightened, pain-in the-neck student like me how to do this, they can teach anyone.

To find out what happened on my second solo, click here.

Skydiving Duck: AFF Level 8

2011-12-02T09:02:00.000-08:00

Weather and car maintenance had kept me grounded for a few weeks, but now the sun had returned. Time to do AFF level 8. Could I really do all those stunts in the dive plan? And what was this nonsense about diving head first out the door? I didn't like diving into a pool. How was I going to dive out of a plane?

I kept my breathing slow on ride to altitude. Compared to my earlier jumps, I was relatively at ease...

The door seemed less threatening. It was just... ...a door. Outside was a view. I was still nervous, but it wasn't unpleasant.

Then I was in the doorway. Could I really do this? The dive exit? The tricks? This was crazy! What was I doing here?

Ready, set, go!

The dreaded dive (okay, it was more like a cartwheel-dive hybrid) was easy! I didn't even flop around. In retrospect, I thought "Well of course it was easy! When you're in freefall your whole body is outside. Who cares what part goes out first!?"

As for the dive tasks, here's how I graded myself.

Front Loop: A-
Barrel Roll: B- (crude and awkward. Yahtzee Dice Roll is more like it)
360 degree turns: C (I rushed these, body position could be better)
Docking onto instructor: A- (nobody got hurt)
Turn and Track: C- (It was close to pull altitude so I cut it short. Better to pull on time than to track neatly into the ground.)
Canopy Landing B- (Who flared too high? Tsk. Tsk.)

The instructor signed my log book. I'd passed level eight and was cleared to solo!
Me? Solo? I thought. I couldn't do that. I'd mess it up. I'm not the kind of person who can...
Then I remembered those "I couldn't do that" thoughts aren't necessarily true...

Bonus Video:
I didn't tape my dive, but a tandem student sitting next to me had her jump recorded, and you can see me leave the plane (blue suit, with the yellow helmet). I'm only there for a few seconds, then the action returns to the tandem student.

(To see what happened when I tried my first solo, click here)

Skydiving Duck: AFF Level Seven

2011-11-18T08:55:00.000-08:00

When I signed up for AFF, it was on a "I'll try this level and we'll see about the others..." basis. Videos of the each level seemed intimidating, but the video of level seven freaked me.
Tumbling out of the plane!? Backloops? Barrel rolls? No way was I going to do stuff like that! I didn't do those things. That wasn't me.

But now, a few months later, I was ready to do the dreaded level seven.
Thanks to my history of bungled roll 'n' flop exits (including ending up on my back by mistake), this wasn't exactly unfamiliar territory anymore. Sure, I was still nervous, but the sky and drop zone had become more fun. The "what the hell am I doing here!?" vibe had faded.
It reminded me of Toontown from Who Framed Roger Rabbit?
It was colorful, friendly, unique, exciting...

...and what was more surreal and cartoony than falling through the sky?

Of course, Toontown wasn't Disneyland. Someone could drop a flowerpot (or a piano) on your head. Both Toontown and the sky require caution.

The plane ride is getting easier. The facing-the-firing-squad terror has fizzled away. Walking to that door is another matter. Remember when Curly from The Three Stooges gets scared and goes "Nyaaaaaahhhhhhh!?" That's me at the door!

It's amazing how dropping out of that door is easier than walking toward it.
I went through my routine. I tried the backloop.

It worked!
Now the barrel roll. That sort of worked, but I don't think you were supposed to keep rolling until you were on your back again. Whoops.

When I righted myself I tried tracking (for you non-skydiving readers, that's pulling your arms back so you fly forward).
How graceful was I? Think "Peter Pan on horse tranquilizers."
Soon the canopy was open. I remember thinking "That feels like a line twist" and looking up to find one. I'm getting good at kicking them out.
As for the landing...

...I still haven't been able to do a stand up. Guess I need more practice there too.
But guess what? I passed the level!
(To see what happened when I tried level 8, click here.)

Skydiving Duck: AFF Level Six

2011-11-09T09:00:00.000-08:00

As I work my way through AFF, my attitudes are changing:

My thoughts on the ride to altitude have been more consistent, but I'm shaking less than I used to...

All week I'd anticipated the exit to be like my previous ones: I'd leave the plane with the instructor holding on to a jumpsuit handle. Not so, I learned. We'd get into the usual exit position, but I was to leave first, and he'd follow.
What!? I thought. Jump out of the plane unattached? That's nuts!
Then I thought, Well, I don't see why I couldn't do it...
Soon enough I was on the plane, at altitude, stepping towards that screaming evil blowhole called "the door." (The primitive part of my brain is still convinced that door = bad news.) Fighting my instincts and the wind, I somehow got into position.
Ready! Set! Go!

Holy Smackerel! I thought as I flew Did I really just jump out of the plane? Wow! I can do this...!

Or could I? In seconds I was on my back. Whoops. Time to try out the "bring one arm in and you'll roll over" trick. It worked. I was back in position. Sorta.

Out of nowhere the instructor grabbed my arm handle, gave me the Relax! signal and let go.

Oh yeah. Relax! I'd forgotten about that. I relaxed (as much as I could) and found myself more stable. From there it was easy: spin left 360 degrees stop, spin right 360 degrees, stop etc... It was weird seeing the view twirl so fast, and even weirder to think I was causing it.

The canopy ride was uneventful. I still haven't mastered a stand up landing, but I'm not getting bruised either.
I thought my tumbleweed exit might have disqualified me, but I passed the level. On to level seven!

Skydiving Duck: AFF 5 part two

2011-10-27T09:09:00.000-07:00

I returned to the drop zone to retry level five (AFF). As I waited for my instructor, I looked up and saw the plane fly over. It was tiny- I could have eclipsed it with my little finger held at arm's length. Little dots- the jumpers- dropped out like clockwork. It looked like an early video game.

I was smiling as I boarded the plane, but Fear snuck on after me.

He spent the next fifteen minutes hollering about the door. I think he doesn't like it.
Getting myself to back out of said door is about as easy as getting a cat into a bath.

My exit was sloppy, but then I arched correctly. I couldn't believe I was floating (okay, falling) thousands of feet over the ground, unattached, and able to control my turns.
Freefall makes the "be here now" cliche real. Body position, the altimeter, and what's happening right now replace everyday worries and nagging thoughts. Maybe that's part of the appeal? I'm too new at this to know for sure.

My thoughts after the chute opened:
Yay! It opened normally..! ...where am I? Oh... there's the landing area.... Far above me I could see the plane dispensing jumpers. Below I could see other parachutes. Cool! I was in the video game!
Hey Super Mario, my cautious side thought, you're hanging 4000 feet in the air like a *@!! pinata. Why don't you, ah, check to see if you can flare and steer the parachute before you take in the scenery?

I circled around my holding area until I got to 1000 feet, where I was to start the landing. The plan is to fly with the wind at 1000 feet, turn 90 degrees (west) at 600 and turn another 90 degrees at 300 so you'll land in the wind. I had a walkie talkie strapped to my helmet. Some instructors flew me in with precise instructions. Others waited until I was near the ground and told me when to flare (slow down the parachute). I didn't hear anything.
After the 300 foot turn, I noticed I was heading straight for a flag in the middle of the field.
Way to go! I thought. The landing area is the size of Rhode Island and you point yourself at a stupid flag. Now what? I was too low for any real turns (turning drops you). Then I figured,

1. If I focus on the flag, I'll hit it for sure.
2. If I focus on the area to the right of the flag, and very subtly pull on the right steering toggle, I'll pass it.

The ground flew closer. By this time the walkie talkie usually squawked landing instructions.
I didn't hear anything.
Wow! I thought. They trust me to do it on my own?! Okay... I'll just wait till I'm almost down,* okay, flare to level off... ... flare all the way...
It worked! I landed gently (for me). Just right of the flag.
Later I learned that the walkie talkie wasn't working. The instructor was trying to tell me stuff, but the walkie talkie wasn't picking up. So that's how I accidentally landed without assistance.

Here's the video:
*technically this is ten to fifteen feet over the ground, but to me it looks like "almost down"

Click here to see how level six went.

Skydiving Duck VIII: The Big Spin (AFF Level 5 attempt, take 1)

2011-10-20T09:10:00.000-07:00

The trouble started at altitude. As with the previous jump, I was to leave the plane standing in the doorway, facing the plane, with my upper half completely outside. I grabbed the bar over the door, turned around, backed out and... ...wait. I was stuck. Had my parachute somehow hung up on something? Was I doing something wrong? I couldn't get completely upright*.

The instructor signaled me into the plane, No, I wasn't hung up she said. The only resistance was the wind, but that shouldn't be enough to stop me.

Thanks to my bumbling we had to wait several seconds for the plane to turn back into position.

Way to go! I thought. You're holding up the whole plane! I'm sure that's a good way to make friends at the drop zone.

A wave of fear and doubt hit me. I was screwing up. Causing trouble! Being a pain. Who did I think I was, doing this parachuting stuff?

Soon it was time to exit again. I stepped out, looked right, then left, and stepped out.

It's funny. My earlier drops from the airplane seemed terrifying and violent. There was no question that I was falling, and fast! Now they seemed more gentle. Not a cozy nap-time gentle. More of a Hey! I'm free falling again. Time to get to work!
The dive plan was simple. Circle of awareness and controlled 90 degree turns. It was nothing I couldn't do. Right?

At first things seemed good. Right ninety degrees, left ninety degrees. Then things went downhill...

...right ninety degrees, left 180 degrees, right 360 degrees. I was blowing it! (Later I'd learn that I'd rushed into the turns without checking the instructor's hand signals, and was sabotaging myself with uneven leg positions. Thus, the spinning.)
Then came pull time.
I arched, reached back and... ...where was that handle? It was as if a gremlin had pulled it out of my reach.

Don't be silly, I thought. It's back there somewhere. Go grab it! NOW!
But a few seconds into my hunt I started spinning again (in hindsight, I should have returned to an arch and taken a second swipe at it instead of hunting for it like soap in the tub). I arched to stop the spin, spotted the instructor nearby and-
-whumph!
The parachute yanked me upright like a rag doll.
The instructor pulled for me.
From exit to pull time, I'd made hash out of the freefall. This was going to be a do-over. I obviously needed more practice.**
At least canopy ride and landing went well.

Update: I took level five again and passed it.

*I was wearing a slightly larger parachute this time around, so maybe I mistook the wind resistance for being stuck.
**the instructor suggested I work on keeping my legs even in the tunnel. The next day I did ten minutes of tunnel time, focusing on those legs.. I'm getting better. We'll see how my attempt at level five goes...

SkyDiving duck VII: Arch Nemesis (AFF level four)

2011-10-14T09:16:00.000-07:00

Normally skydiving seems interesting and cool, but when I'm in that plane watching people drop out the door, I change my mind. Suddenly I'm nostalgic for the days when "trying something new" meant sampling Absinthe or making rugelach.
Why was I in this stupid airplane? How on earth was I going to jump out of it?
Fear pestered me on the way to altitude.

This jump required a new exit. Instead of crouching in the door between two instructors I'd be hanging out the door with one. The idea of hanging out the door seemed even scarier than falling from it. One of my subconscious rules must be "Don't hang from speeding vehicles."

When the time came I forced myself into position and went through the routine I'd practiced over and over:

Check right (instructor), Check left (propeller), kick forward... no wait... it was kick back, then forward.. hey, you're blowing it, dummy! ...kick, kick, arch!

Another sad, sloppy exit was underway.

This drives me batty because I know how to arch. Why can't I do it right away like I'm supposed to? Arrgh!

Then things got better. I arched properly, the instructor let me go, and I stayed in place.

I pulled on time and the chute opened normally. No twists!

It's funny. In the relative safety of the plane I feel scared, but when the canopy opens, I feel relieved. This in spite of the fact that I'm dangling from a kite, thousands of feet in the air, with plenty of opportunities to get mangled*

My landing went smoothly...

...until the "contact with the ground" part. I flared on command but there wasn't much wind, so it was another PLF roll. I'm getting good at those rolls.
And that's how I passed level four.
As for level five, well, click here to find out what happened.
*following directions and paying attention minimizes these risks, but I try not to fool myself into thinking "Yay! The 'chute opened. Now I'm safe!"

Skydiving duck VI: AFF 3, Take Two, with a Twist

2011-10-06T09:01:00.000-07:00

I was still frightened on the plane ride up. This disappointed me. Then again, my fear level had dropped a little. The soul melting terror of my earliest flights had been replaced with a distracting unease.
Minutes later I was out the door with a whoosh. You're supposed to arch. I thought I arched. I certainly yelled "Aaarrch!"

Alas, the GoPro video (see below) caught my bad form, as did my instructors.
I suppose I could have defended myself with "Gee, I was distracted, falling out of a plane and all." Instead, I added "Arch right away when you're out the door" to my to do list.

Lucky for me (and the instructors hanging on to me), my form improved. They let me go. Would I spin? Flip over?
Incredibly, I was able to hold still. Yay!
I kept a sharp eye on my altimeter. I'd botched my last lesson by not pulling on time. Nothing was going to distract me. Not the wind, not the noise, not thoughts, not even a pterodactyl or flying saucer...

...6500 feet, 6000 feet, 5500 feet, wave off, pull!
I felt the familiar tug of the opening chute. Ha! I'd done it!

Then I looked up. What the ...!?
The lines were twisted like a wrung out rag. This wasn't the cute little "X" twist I'd had a few dives earlier. This was a bad-attitude-"#@!* you!" twist.

I grabbed the risers and tugged them apart, and kicked out the twists. The parachute became much more cooperative.

I kept my eye on the landing area and worked my way towards it. I almost didn't notice that it was a beautiful day with a gorgeous view- the lake spread out like a flat emerald, the mountains like piles of brown sugar. Maybe that's good- one doesn't land safely by sight seeing.
I had radio help for landing. I currently don't get how the pros know when to start the flare.*
Yes, I get that you're supposed to do it at ten to fifteen feet above ground level. I get that you should be looking forward instead of down. Still, as I get lower and see the weeds zipping by, it's tricky to judge. I look forward to the day when I figure out how to do this on my own.
Well, I passed. Here's the GoPro video.
See my sorry exit and my recovery (well, the body position could be better but hey, I'm new at this) yourself:

To see what happened on level four, click here.

*Flare means pulling down on the steering toggles. When you get to the ten-fifteen feet above ground level, you pull them half way down and hold them. This levels you off (so you're flying parallel to the ground instead of at an angle.) for a few seconds. Then the canopy drops and you pull the toggles all the way down, which slows your decent long enough to land you gently. If you know what you're doing.

Skydiving Duck V: Altitude! Altitude! Alltitude! (AFF 3, attempt 1))

2011-09-30T09:07:00.000-07:00

I wanted to be extra prepared for my level three jump. I studied till I had the dive down cold: Exit, circle of awareness, two practice pilot chute touches, circle of awareness, lock on (keep looking at the altimeter) at 6000 feet, wave off at 5000 feet, and pull.
Being prepared didn't keep my legs from shaking when I did my practice exits in the mock up door. I knew most beginners were nervous, but this was silly.

That being said, on the plane ride I was delighted that my fear level had gone down since the previous ride. I was still scared, but it wasn't the vicious terror that tormented me earlier. And for the first time, I exited without screaming. It was almost fun.

At first things went great. Soon the instructors let go and I was flying on my own. Gosh, I thought. I'm actually doing this.

Then came the stupid thoughts:

I wasn't panicked, just distracted. Even when the instructors grabbed me again I thought Gee, I guess I wasn't as stable as I thought I was... ...oh !@$! Altitude! The parachute!
The instructor pulled for me.
Fail!
I was livid. How could I have been so stupid?
It was arguably the easiest, most obvious and most important move, and I'd blown it.

My inner critic let me have it:

How on earth had I gotten distracted?
I'll admit it's pretty weird up there. An alien environment:

In retrospect, I should have dropped the chatter about whether or not I could breathe (now really!) and go back to the plan. Arch. Heading. Altimeter. Repeat.

Update: (Oct 2, 2011) I repeated level three. Click here to find out what happened.

Skydiving Duck IV: Shakes on a Plane (AFF Level Two)

2011-09-07T19:56:00.000-07:00

I'm high strung. Like toy wound up too tight. Seriously. I jump when phones ring. I start when someone taps me on the shoulder. I was nearly arrested at a routine traffic stop because the police "could tell by looking at [me] that I was on amphetamines." I wasn't!

I was the timid kid (and adult) who never wanted to try anything new because it was scary.

And now I'm taking skydiving lessons. I'd passed my first AFF class a few weeks earlier. It scared me silly, but I passed.

In prep for the second class I learned (and practiced) relaxation exercises. I was impressed with how calm they made me. I couldn't wait to try them on the plane...!

...but when I got on the plane, they didn't work.

. As the altimeter slowly dialed up, I had a new top five list of heinous things that I suddenly loathed:

The sky
The wind
The noise the wind made
Airplanes
Jumping out of airplanes

What the hell was I doing? I was as frightened as the guy in Scare Tactics when the Rat Monster jumps out. Okay, I wasn't screaming or crying, but I was freaked!
And furious.
It wasn't like I'd never jumped out of a plane before. I knew the dive routine and simple parachute skills. I wasn't thinking stuff like "What if [this bad thing] happens!?"
You Big Baby!? I thought.. Why are you scared? You think that the Boogeyman is waiting for you out the door??

I bet the problem was how the brain works. The more evolved, articulate chunk of my brain knew what was going on and what to do. But there's also the primitive, unconscious animal part of the brain. "Frog Brain*," as I call the him, isn't that sharp.. And he has his finger on the panic button. As far as he was concerned, not only was I way too close to a "cliff" but I was "crippled" with a heavy pack that made it hard to move.
"Danger alert!" he croaked "Extreme vulnerability detected. I repeat, extreme vulnerability! Deliver an extra 50 cc's of stress hormone stat!"
Frog Brain really lost it when I left the plane.

Thus my usual "scream like a girl" exit.
And then I lost Frog Brain. I suddenly knew what I was doing: Arch (stable body position), check the altimeter, practice touches (the handle of the pilot chute**) turn right, stop, turn left. Hey, this was kinda fun. Whooohoo!
Frog Brain stayed away. I guess shortly after I fell off the "cliff" my situation was so alien that he couldn't find anything on his ancient "These Things are Bad" list.
In my original AFF jump the instructor activated the chute for me. I was determined to do it myself. What kind of skydiver can't even pull their own chute? I reached back, grabbed it the handle, threw it and...
WHUMP! I jerked upright. Hooray! I did it...!
...wait. Something was weird. Why wasn't it opening up?

I caught the problem. The lines were twisted. In class they'd taught us to untwist by grabbing the risers, spreading them and kicking in the opposite direction. It worked. The chute opened. Success!

As for the landing, that was a semi-success. At least it was a fun one.

Soon I learned I had passed the class. The instructor wrote I was "very good" in the sky but "nervous" on the plane. I'm looking forward to the day I can look back at this the latter and laugh.

As for Frog Brain, I'm still trying to figure out how to shut him up. He's a chump.

Click here to find out what happened when I tried AFF level 3...

*A good example of Frog Brain in action happens when you accidentally see a gruesome photo. You'll notice a jolt of shock before you're fully aware of what you're looking at. Before you think "Golly, it's a picture of [insert gory details here]," Frog Brain has sounded the alarm.

**The pilot chute is a cute mini parachute that you throw in the air to activate the main chute.

SkyDiving Duck III: Parachuting School (Chicken of the Sky, AFF version)

2011-08-24T18:00:00.000-07:00

Thoughts pestered me as I drove to the dropzone. Parachuting class? You? This is the stupidest thing you've ever done!   You're clumsy! You're a slow learner! Dropping out of a plane freaks you. You'll break your legs! You'll get killed! Why are you doing this?
Why was I doing this?. I wasn't a thrill seeker. It scared the @#$* out of me. It was something I'd watch from afar. That's cool, I'd tell myself, but I could never do it. This seemed reasonable. Then again, really something I could never do? What would happen if I tried?
A level 1 AFF class is the first of many required to earn a parachuting license. You spend several hours learning the basics, then jump out of a plane (with instructors.)   This promotional video shows a jump similar to the one I did*
I looked forward to meeting my fellow students. Would they be nervous too? At least we'd have that in common.
Then I met my classmate. He was my age. He was also a war veteran who knew no fear. He wasn't nervous, he told me.
That's who's supposed to be a skydiver, I thought. This guy has dodged bullets and bombs! What the hell have I dodged? Telemarketers? The meter maid?   I so don't belong here!
The skills I needed to demonstrate were easy... ...on the ground. What would happen in the sky? What if I freaked out? I practiced over and over. Out loud, in my head, in the door of a mockup plane, and on the ground. Thoughts like "you'll get killed," and "you'll be sorry" tried to butt in...

Then I was in the plane.
The engine roared like a lawnmower as I watched my altimeter slowly dial up to 12,000 feet. Other passengers began dropping out, each with an alarming whoosh.
What was I doing here? I was off my rocker to try this.
Jumping out of a plane is about as counter-intuitive as jumping into meat grinder. It didn't matter that I had a parachute. My instincts said "Get the away from that door!"
Then it was my turn. To exit, I was supposed to crouch in the doorway. Instructor 1 poised to my right, Instructor 2 hanging out to my left. To make sure we jumped together, I was supposed to lean forward; "Ready!" lean back, "Set!" and step out "Arch."
The "Ready" and "Set" went as practiced, but the arch was more like this:

Holy $#!+;!! I'd jumped out of a #!(*ing plane!
The initial drop is very different than any plunge I've felt on land. It's like being sucked into a roaring vortex of wind mixed with being shot downward from a cannon. This lasts a few seconds and is replaced by a "head out the sunroof at high speed" sensation.
It was time to demonstrate my skills.
The "circle of awareness" was easy: Check the altimeter (left wrist), check the horizon, check your right instructor, then your left. Got it.
Now for three "practice touches." This reaching back to tap the pilot chute** handle while counterbalancing with the other hand. Touch one went perfect. I reached back again.... ...where was it? The instructor nudged my hand in place. I missed it completely on the third try

Oh no! I'd blown it. Now what? Should I try again? No! Time's running out. Next task! I changed position to fly forward for four seconds. Okay, time to check that altimeter again. Should be 6000 and almost time to-
-Whoa! It was already 5500 feet. Time to wave off, reach back and-

I jerked upright. The chute rose over my head like a smoke cloud. Huh? How? As it settled into place I figured it out: an instructor had pulled my chute for me before he let go. I'd botched it! My inner critic let me have it:

Seriously, I wanted to focus on what I was doing. I could scold myself later.

I grabbed the steering toggles and did some turns. This is pretty cool, I thought.. The landing area floated below. Okay, I'm facing it, I'm heading toward it...

"Turn left," an instructor's voice crackled through the walkie talkie, "Now right..." Later I learned that, while I was looking at the landing area, I wasn't heading towards it. For all I know I might have landed in the next time zone if I hadn't gotten directions.
Then came landing time. You're supposed to land standing up, but even after flaring my chute (pulling the steering toggles all the way down to slow forward motion), I was still zipping along, so I did a PLF. (That's the army style landing where you roll to distribute the impact.)
I did it! I was on the ground without a scratch! Whoohoo!
No, wait. I didn't do it. The instructor had pulled the chute. I'd failed. I was a bad student. A bad parachuter.

I gathered the chute and headed for the instructors, I was sure I'd be scolded. Surly I'd get a "You know pulling your parachute is important, right?" lecture.
But the instructors seemed glad to see me. They went over the details of my jump, focusing on what went wrong and what I did well. I paid attention, figuring I'd still be learning stuff even if I flunked the thing.
Then the surprise came:

I hadn't failed. I passed! Sure I lost points for the pull-the-pilot-chute fumble, but the instructor said that he saw me wave off and reach immediately after he'd deployed it (it takes a few seconds after the pull to feel the parachute take effect). My body position (in freefall) was good they said, and my PLF landing was "perfect." I suspect they go easy on first timers so not to discourage them, but still, I passed! I couldn't believe it.
I could throw in a smug ending like "Don't tell yourself you could never do something," but there are many more classes to take, each with increasingly complex and scary (to me) tricks that I could never do. Or could I? Maybe....

To find out how my AFF level two class went, click here.

*I could have filmed my jump, but I was nervous enough without having a camera pointed at me. This was made at the same place I had my class, but the gal in the video is way more poised than I was!
**A pilot chute is a mini parachute attached to the main. Instead of pulling a ripcord, you grab the pilot chute by the handle and toss it. It inflates and pulls out the main chute.

Skydiving Duck II: Chicken of the Sky (continued)

2011-08-10T19:45:00.000-07:00

For the first half of this story, click here:

Edit: Not long afterward I tried the AFF level one class. To find out how I did, click here.

Sky Diving Duck II: Chicken of the Sky

2011-08-06T14:21:00.000-07:00

For the second part, please click here.

Painted Planes

2011-07-24T10:46:00.000-07:00

If I ruled the world, every airplane would have a face painted on it.
(This probably has something to do with why I don't rule the world.)

From July 24, 2011

"I Liked Goldfinches Better When They're South for the Winter"

2011-07-18T12:42:00.000-07:00

Guest Blogger: Cheeps, Purple Finch

I don't hate Goldfinches, but, to be honest, I like them better when they're south for the winter. Each spring they fly into town like a bunch of damned locusts. They act like they own the place. They perch on our trees and eat at our bird feeders. Can't they find their own bird feeders? And aren't there any trees in Florida or wherever the hell they came from?
And then they have to go shove their Goldfinchyness down my throat. They just have to flash those gold feathers and make their weird goldfinch sounds. Hello? This is California. We speak Purple Finch here.
What really frosts me is how I have to explain to my own fledglings about them, like why we suddenly have to share the birdbath with a completely different kind of bird. What if my kids grow up thinking it's okay to be a Goldfinch? That's we're we're heading.
Maybe some of us should take a stand.

"This Acorn PROVES the Sky is Falling."

2011-07-03T10:18:00.000-07:00

Guest Blogger: Chicken Little

The haters were quick to ridicule me. "That's an acorn, stupid!" they said. "The sky isn't falling! It's not even a solid object!"
The major media and folktale outlets pilloried me. The academic elites mocked me. Turkey Lurkey called me a "Dumbass."
Yet Professor Grousey Lousy of Matchbook University bravely observed, "Well, technically I suppose one could argue that much what appears to us as 'sky' is, in fact, bluish light scattered from particles of nitrogen, oxygen and so on. These particles are subject to the laws of gravity just like everything else, so, in a sense the sky is solid and falling."
So I've been proven right. Yet the media and children's books remain silent. Even the Foxy Loxy News Network won't touch my vindication. Shocking!
So far Ducky Lucky is the only one who weighed in. "I can reluctantly understand how the sky, in a sense, is falling," he sniffed, "but that doesn't match Chicken Little's notion that it was crashing down in dangerous chunks. A freaking acorn landed on his head. Did he turn around to investigate what hit him? No. He ran off screaming about the sky. He's barmy."
Isn't it just like those know-it-all jerks to call me names? They can't argue logically so they just attack me. Cowards.
Yes, it's true that an acorn hit my head. But do you know why? Because a piece of falling sky knocked it loose! Prove it didn't! Prove it didn't!!

Sky Diving Duck

2011-06-19T20:36:00.000-07:00

I'm not the adventurous type. I'd never climb a mountains, bungee jump, surf or ride a motorcycle. Skiing frightens me. Even elevators make menervous. So why was I about to jump out of an airplane at 10,000 feet?

Curiosity did it. Skydiving sounded freaky, yet the more I thought about it, the more I wondered what it was like. It's as if I have two minds. One is cautious and terrified, the other one looks for novelty and just has to know what something is like:

Curious Namowal: Let's try skydiving.
Cautious Namowal: Have you lost your mind!?
Curious Namowal: C'mon! It'll be the craziest thing!
Cautious Namowal: You don't like to jump off the high diving board and now you want to jump out of an airplane? You know that can potentially end very badly.
Curious Namowal: We'll do the kind we're we're strapped to an instructor. He'll know what he's doing. And you know they carry a second parachute in case the first one fails, right.
Cautious Namowal: Yes. And I know the term "double canopy failure" means chute number two doesn't open. Spatula City!

Curious Namowal won.
So there I was, strapped to an instructor in a roaring Cessna. There's something counter-intuitive about swinging your feet over the doorway edge of a plane that high. The wheel spoke hung nearby, pointing to the ground below.
"Put your head back," the instructor said.
Good, I thought, because then I won't see what happens next.
We swung back and leaned forward...
Whoooosh! The "Oh $#!!! you're falling!" sensation kicked in so hard that I screamed.

What had I gotten myself into?
Then the falling sensation stopped. The chute hadn't opened yet, but I suppose we'd reached terminal velocity. Since we weren't gaining speed, the "you're falling" detector in my head decided I wasn't falling and turned off the danger sensation. Now I was "floating" in a strong wind. Patches of green and brown farmland spread below. Clouds hung in the distance. This was bizarre. Crazy. Cool!

Curious Namowal: Holy Crap! We did it!
Cautious Namowal: Not so fast, Cannonball. Let's see how well this parachute works.

Something tugged me upward. I looked up as the blue and gray chute plopped open. Now we hung there, floating down as the ground slowly grew closer. It was a live action session of Google Earth, but more fun.
It was over too soon.
I could babble on and on about it. Instead, here's the video.

Wanna come with me if I do it again?

Skeptics: Real life vs. Television:

2011-06-04T12:35:00.000-07:00

As a skeptic, this kind of thing has always driven me a bit crazy.

When Bob Clampett went to Mars

2011-05-28T14:53:00.000-07:00

&lt;p&gt;&amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;gt;U&lt;/p&gt;
Footage from a Bob Clampett presentation, featuring a project he worked on in 1936, "John Carter of Mars." It was never completed.
I find it interesting for three reasons:

Effective use of a limited color palate (reds and blues).
Remarkably good animation for the mid 1930s.
Clampett is best remembered for his insanely brilliant Loony Tunes cartoons: Porky in Wackyland, The Great Piggy Bank Robbery, Big Snooze , Russian Rhapsody etc.. Yet this master of goofy characters could draw, animate and direct realistic characters too. Did his skill at the latter help with the former? Did the skill, planning and thinking required for projects like "Mars" help prime his brain for becoming a Warner Brothers legend?

I wouldn't surprise me.

Pose Woes

2011-05-20T13:01:00.000-07:00

When posing for a picture, I think I'm standing like this:

The problem is, I'm really standing more like this:

There's a gap between what I'm doing and what I think I'm doing.
So while I think I'm standing up straight I'm actually posed like a pile of old tires. Or I think I'm leaning in towards the next person when, in fact, I'm bent sideways like a broken pencil. It drives me crazy.

Dingbats! Dingbats! Dingbats!

2011-05-10T08:37:00.000-07:00

If you've lived in in Los Angeles, you've seen dingbats. They're those boxy apartments that sprang up the 1950s and 1960s. You know the ones: Stucco blocks held up on poles (or walls) so you can park under them. Some are plain, but many are adorned with garish details- glittery tile, funky sconces, and often a name splashed across the front.
These names always suggested something far different than "Standard Issue Boxy Dwelling:"

The Capri!
The Monte Carlo!
Camelot!
Kona Kai!
The Argyle!
The Stardust!

Some great (and ugly, and so-tacky-they're-wonderful) examples can be seen here, here and here.
And to think when I was a kid I thought all apartments looked like this.

Circus Peanuts: Something's Rotten in Candyland.

2011-05-05T09:04:00.000-07:00

Guest Blogger: Fred, Maple-Nut Truffle

What is it with Circus Peanuts?
Nobody likes them. Yet they're on display at every store. Meanwhile class act candy like Swedish Fish, Spice Drops, Dumdum Pops, and Wax Lips get second-class status.
Why do Circus Peanuts get all that shelf space? They're gross: Band Aid colored. Rubbery. Ugly. They look like something that should be floating in a lab jar. And why are they called "Circus Peanuts?" Did they get their start as a sideshow exhibit? Maybe you'll find them, if you're lucky.
Let's compare myself, a Maple-Nut Truffle, with a Circus Peanut.

Properties:	Maple-Nut Truffle	Circus Peanut
Decadent cocoa butter coating
Rich Buttercream center
Made with 100% pure Vermont maple syrup, farm fresh dairy, and spring harvested Hawaiian cane sugar
Looks like a pupae
Erases pencil marks
Probably emits toxic vapors when heated

So clearly I'm the superior candy. Yet can you find me at most supermarkets and drugstores? No! But you'll find plenty of Circus Peanuts What's going on?
The Dumdum Pops and I have a theory. The Circus Peanuts are blackmailing their way onto the nations shelves. I suspect organized crime is involved. It's the only explanation, I tell ya.

Illustration Friday: "Lesson"

2011-05-01T14:13:00.000-07:00

This week's Illustration Friday prompt is "lesson."

"And So Will All the Human Race..."

2011-04-26T09:10:00.000-07:00

I was listening to an English version of the Threepenny Opera when I drew this. The music's catchy, and the lyrics (originally written by Bertolt Brecht and translated by R. Mannheim and J. Willett*) are biting.
Take these samples from the end of the first act:

But say your son is close to you
And finds your pension’s not come through
He’ll kick you smartly in the face.
And so will all the human race.

and

Of course that’s all there is to it
The world is poor, and man’s a $#!+
We should aim high instead of low
But our condition’s such this can’t be so.

Oh snap!

*bad word bleeped out by me, but I'm sure you can figure out what it is.

Journey

2011-04-20T20:34:00.000-07:00

The latest Illustration Friday topic is "Journey".
Ever been on ones like this?

"What's with this Anti-Bullying Nonsense?"

2011-04-16T14:52:00.000-07:00

Guest Blogger: Harman Throttlefolk

It happened last Friday. At the George Washington Middle School cafetorium. As I plunged my fork into my chili cheese fries, I saw him. Ned Smith, dorktard extraordinaire. There he was, with his thick glasses, pimply skin, skinny neck, carrying his stupid cafeteria tray and looking all stupid. Something about him screamed Beat me! Beat the crap out of me!
Some instincts you don't ignore.
So I swagger up to him, call him a #@Iing @&$!! and knock the tray out of his hands. Chili, green beans jello and plastic hit the floor. Then I shove Ned down into it and pour my Pepsi on his head. Everyone's watching now. Some cheer! It's like the gladiator games and I'm victorious. Ned hobbles to his feet as soda drips from him. He won't even look me in the eye, and he's scraping the food off his shirt and I go "Next time watch where you're going, you !@#(!" Everyone laughs.
Then Fat-Ass Monitor Lady sends me to the principals office. Now I have to have lunch in the stupid office for the next too weeks because "bullying will not be tolerated.*"
What's with all this anti-bullying nonsense? Why should I accept some runtiod geek as my peer? How come he's tolerated and I'm not? I don't get why we're supposed to embrace the dorktard lifestyle. It's well known that winpy, nerdy kids are more lonely and prone to depression. Yet we're supposed to act like they're normal? It's hypocrisy I tell you. If this keeps up, America will be crawling with weirdos. And people like me, who stand up for what's right, will be locked up.
Chilling.

*Well, there is a threshold of bullying that they tolerate just fine. I was singled out because my victory left too much evidence. Some bullies work around the system by being more subtle, or doing $#!+ like wedgies and swirlies that the geekbastard won't report because he's too ashamed that his dorkatude lead him to that fate. But if us bullies compromise, what next? Will we then lose our rights to more subtle putdownmanship? Will we be prohibited from whispering "#@&&*+!" and "#^(&head" when a spazoid walks by? Will the proud tradition of "After school I'm gonna pound you!" fade into history?

Bottled

2011-04-11T19:46:00.000-07:00

I found a cool website called Illustration Friday.
Each week it introduces a new theme and invites artists to submit their interpretations.
The theme for this week is "Bottled."

"Road Rage is Righeous"

2011-04-08T09:05:00.000-07:00

Guest blogger: Rex Honkscreech
Everyone gives me crap about my driving. Like if some jerk cuts me off, they think I'm not supposed to cut him off. Are you freaking kidding me!? What kind of message am I sending if I don't cut the bastard off?. It's like saying "That's okay, go ahead cut me off. I won't retaliate. Why don't you cut me off again?" I tell ya, it's like they want me to go all World War II French or something. Sorry. This one man army rolls over for nobody. Cut me off, and it's for damn sure I'll cut you off!
People say I'm nuts when I drive off course to follow some jerk and give him the finger. They're all "What's wrong with you? Why are you so childish?"
Well, let me introduce you to something called "principles." You can't let people get away with stuff. You got stand up for yourself. When someone makes me mad on the road, he's earned my angry glare and special bird flip.
Then my wuss friends give me the "but that's dangerous!" speech. It's a shame how people let fear push them into Wimpyland. Thank goodness our founding fathers weren't afraid of a little danger. George Washington and all the other guys didn't go "Oh, we can't get England mad at us! We might hurt their feelings! There might be shots fired"
Too bad they didn't live long enough to enjoy driving. Can't you just see Thomas Jefferson side swiping some idiot who didn't get out of his way? Or John Adams running some dope off the road? I bet Benjamin Franklin himself would invent a special horn that went "F@$% you!". And he wouldn't be afraid to use it!

Why Meeting a Historical Person You Admire Might Be Horrifying

2011-03-28T20:14:00.000-07:00

What DID You Just Bite?

2011-03-17T09:07:00.000-07:00

There's nothing like eating food you really like.

There's also nothing like chomping down on something that doesn't belong in food you really like. The spell is broken!

What did you just bite?

And what else might your meal be mined with? So many possibilities:

Nightmare at 45 R.P.M.

2011-03-06T19:36:00.000-08:00

I dreamed of 45 records on needle-like stems.

Each one, when stepped upon, played.

Musical horror commenced:

Then came writhing tape to drag me away
To Cassette and 8-track Hell:

Where played the worst song of them all.

Mucha-thulu

2011-02-21T13:14:00.000-08:00

I couldn't sleep last night, so I got up and drew this tribute to Alphonse Mucha (the artist) and Cthathulu (the octopus-headed monster H.P. Lovecraft invented).

Grandfather Clocks: The Temperamental Timepiece.

2011-02-13T19:02:00.000-08:00

Grandfather clocks puzzle me. The little "it's another quarter hour!" chimes are cute and perky. Yet the hour gong is spooky, angry, and morbid.

This video* is a good example:

If chimes could be transcribed into English, they'd go something like this:

"Tra la la la, tra la la la...."

"Dah de dum da, tra la la la...."

then comes the hour count....

"Die!

Die!

Why is this? What's with the personality change?

*Okay, this clock is a beauty, and I'm glad it's being taken care of . I picked this video because it was a good example of the "mood change" between the chimes and hour striking.

Guest Blogger: "I Don't Care if You're White, Black, Green or Purple... ...But if You're Magenta, Get the Hell Away From Me"

2011-02-04T09:02:00.000-08:00

by Jack Tupp, Guest Blogger

I'm a fair guy. I don't judge people by color. My best friend is Phthalo Green. I dated a Cerulean Blue chick once. Heck, I'm part Vermilion on my grandfather's side and people always ask me if I'm part Mauve, so don't go calling me a bigot.
Magentas don't know their place. They're dumb as corks, but we're supposed to act like they're all smart. They have no class.   And we're supposed to pretend like they're all the Queen of England!.    Ever been around a bunch of them? You can just tell they're up to no good.
People call me names like "paranoid" and "dumb," but the truth is, I tell it like it is.   I'm not gonna pretend they're normal.. I mean, look at them. Listen to their stupid "music" or take a whiff of that crap they call food.
Then people say stuff like "Well, the Brain Surgeon at Station Hospital is Magenta and he's world famous."
But I know better. Everyone's all political correct so they'll pretend a Magenta Brain surgeon is okay .    So now we have a Magenta guy carving up brains!    Is that crazy or what?
Wha.. what's that? You're part Magenta?   No you're not... ...really,,,?
...Heh, of course I didn't mean all Magentas. Just, you know, the annoying ones. The loud ones. The ones with bad attitudes,
Hey! Don't up and leave. Geez. That's the problem with you Magentas. You're too sensitive!

Marketing Gimmicks that Bug Me

2011-01-30T15:56:00.000-08:00

Some marketing gimmicks annoy me.
For example...

"Chocolaty"

What it implies: lots of chocolate here!
What it probably really means: there's no chocolate in this, but it sorta tastes chocolaty. Or maybe it just looks chocolaty.
Same deal with "fruity," "buttery" "cheesy" etc...

"Made with 100%..."
What it implies: "This stuff is 100% [ingredient X]
What it probably really means: We're confident you're too stupid to understand the difference between "this is 100% X" and "We took a (probably small) portion of 100% X and mixed it in with the other slop."

Thus this:

Can be marketed as this:

"Crème"
What it implies: Made with farm-fresh cream! And it's a French word with the little doodad over the "e!" That makes it sophisticated.
What it really means: There's no cream in here. So we're calling it "crème. "

Maybe the crème is hydrogenated vegetable oil. Maybe it's beef lard. The latter is a compromise of sorts, as it least it has something to do with a cow.

I also see crème on expensive skin products*:

Other annoyances:
Surgery candy boasting that it's "naturally fat free" Does anyone think that Twizzlers are a healthy snack because they're fat free?

"Ancient Wisdom"
News flash. The ancients weren't that wise.   The ancients thought human sacrifice was a reasonable thing to do.   Then again, considering how many modern people are suckered by dopey marketing techniques, maybe I'm being too hard on the ancients.

Customized Internet Adds:
"[Insert your town here] person discovers miracle treatment for [what we think is probably wrong with you]."
I get stuff like "Los Angeles** Mom Discovers wrinkle cream (or weight loss cure)!"   Inverter Mom really gets around, as she's from El Segundo when I'm at work, and Redondo Beach when I visit my folks
In other words, advertisers are betting that I'm old enough to be fat and wrinkled.   Gee, thanks, guys.

*There is limited evidence that some vitamins (A, B3, C, and E in particular) may be of some use when topically applied, but I think the vitamins in skin creams are there to sell the skin cream.

** I don't get the local angle. Am I supposed to trust the product because a neighbor made it? Or think "Golly, that's where I live too. What a coincidence! I'd better look into this..."

Stay off the Grass, ya Black Dahlia Sillies!

2011-01-21T09:10:00.000-08:00

"Please stay off the lawn," the tour guides said. "In fact, stay off the sidewalk. And please don't do what someone did, the first time we gave this tour, and lie on the grass.
We stood in a nice suburban neighborhood. You'd never guess anything ugly had occurred 64 years earlier.
I was on Esotouric's The Real Black Dahlia tour, visiting locations associated with one of the one of Los Angeles's most infamous unsolved murders.
The guides tactfully steered us just south of the where the body (which was cut in two) was found in 1947. I think they wanted to point out the location without having us stomp all over someone's property, as it lies on what is now someone's front lawn, right next to the sidewalk.
Later I did some Google searching and discovered some visitors (and there are plenty) aren't so thoughtful. The case has a cult following and some people have spread out on the grass and posed for pictures. What the hell!?

I wonder how often it happens? What's it like to live there*? Do the residents get mail addressed to the victim? Do people leave flowers and plush toys? Do crazy people knock on the door and ramble on about the case?
Does the scene below ever happen?:

If this were my lawn, it would happen.
Or maybe I'd just charge each weirdo five bucks per photo.

*The house was built about nine years after the body was found. Rumor has it that the builder (or original owner) was obsessed with the case, if not personally involved, which I find hard to believe. Looks like a regular tract house to me.

Train Whistle Blues

2011-01-09T18:29:00.000-08:00

Want to stand out? Want to command attention? Want to scare the pants off of people?

Do what my neighbor did.

Install a train horn in your car.

Usually I hear a train horn in context. You know, with a train. It's no surprise. First there's the flashing lights and ding-ding-ding bells at the intersection. A low, distant row grows louder and the horn blasts, followed seconds later by the mighty machine itself.
It's different when I'm in my front yard, checking the mail and-

Suddenly, I'm on the tracks. It's right on top of me! I think, I'll be crushed! Mangled! Train Track Tartare!

Oh wait,I remember. There's no trains or tracks in the front yard. Heh heh. I almost forgot. Must be someone driving by with a train horn.
Part of me thinks it's rude and tacky to drive around with a train horn.
The other part of me wants one.

Playing with Whales

2011-01-03T10:28:00.000-08:00

I bet a few other people came up with the same joke...

Image Source : http://www.metro.co.uk/news/722787-divers-extraordinary-encounter-with-50ft-humpback-whale

Inking Trouble.

2010-12-30T20:18:00.000-08:00

Inking is more than tracing over the drawing with a pen or a brush. As wikipedia puts it

[Inking] can help control a story's mood, pace, and readability. A good inker can salvage shaky pencils — while a bad one can obliterate great draftsmanship and/or muddy good storytelling

It enhances weight, depth, shadow, light, textures, and general awesomeness.
And I'm rotten at it.
Here's a recent example.
I started with a digital pencil drawing of a snake.

Not a masterpiece, but he'll do.
Now let's add some digital ink:

Yeech. It's all lumpy and wrong. No professional artist inks like this.
Time to try again.

I added some dimensional details to the pencil pic. I even added crude ball and shadow as a reference:

Now for the ink:

It's a bit better, but something's still wrong. He's still flat and flabby.

I tried a third time:

Grrr.... I can't pinpoint exactly what's wrong, but it's like someone put the pencil drawing in a bag and worked it with a claw hammer, pounding out all rhythm and whimsy.

Does anyone know what I'm doing wrong? This is driving me batty!

Last Minute Very Important Letter to Santa

2010-12-24T09:26:00.000-08:00

by Roscoe the Bratty Kid, Guest Blogger.

Dear Santa,

Hi Santa, how are you? I hope you are doing good.
I'm writing this because some people said I was bad but the truth was I wasn't being bad!!!
Remember when I got busted for setting the beanbag monkey on fire? It wasn't on purpose. I put him on the stove but I forgot about him being on the stove and then I played with the knobs and that's how he got on fire but it was a 100% accident. Also my mom said a bad word when she caught me so maybe you could put her on the Naughty List.
Then at school I just happened to be sitting on the bench and there just happened to be an old pencil I found so I drew a robot on the wall but I thought it was okay because you can erase pencil. The teacher didn't think it was okay. So if she told you I was bad, then she told you a lie! Maybe she should be on the Naughty List too.
That was the same day I got in trouble for shoving Rex, but I only shoved him because he kept going "Rosco bo-bosco bananna fana fo-fosco- me-mi-mo mosco! Roscoe" all day and he wouldn't stop.
Also yesterday I got in trouble for singing "Baby, baby, soak your head in the gravy" to Rex. I was just trying to be funny but he got mad and told on me. That's why I got timed out.
I think Rex belongs on the Naughty List too.
So now you know the truth.. Also I did some good things this week. I ate my broccoli and chewed with my mouth closed and I took my vitamins ~~instead of hiding them in my old shoes.~~ So please put me on your good list.
Your biggest fan,
Roscoe.

p.s. Never mind about putting Rex on the Naughty List because he gets a bunch of candy for Christmas and his mom makes him share when I come over.

How to Fool Around on the Swings

2010-12-19T18:43:00.000-08:00

Guest Blogger: Roscoe the Bratty Kid:

I like the swings. They're the funnest thing to do at recess. But why just sit on them? Any baby in diapers can sit on on the swings. Here's what I do on the swings.

Standing Up:

Advantages:

Improved view
Looks cool.
If the sand is muddy the next kid who sits there might get footprints on his butt!

Disadvantages

If the teacher catches you, you'll get kicked off the swings.
If the sand is muddy, you may accidentally sit down and get footprints on your butt!

Over-the-Bar-Toss:

Advantages:

Makes the swings extra high!
Little kids will think you're really strong 'cause you can toss the swings over.

Disadvantages:

If you toss swings too high, you can't reach them.
Sometimes the swings get all crooked.
If the swing smacks you on the way down, everyone will laugh.
If the teacher catches you, no more swings for the day.

Twist 'em Up

Advantages:

Spinning action!
You can pretend you're a wrecking ball.

Disadvantages:

Some dumb kid might copy you and pinch his finger. Then he'll cry run to the teacher and tell her what he was doing and that you were doing it too. The teacher will tell you "Now you go sit on the bench and think about what happened!" and if you say "It wasn't my fault the little baby got his finger caught," then you'll be in bigger trouble.

Freestyle!

Advantages:

Side to side action adds exciting range of motion.

Disadvantages:

You have to get to the swings before the other kids do.
The other kids might get mad that you're "hogging all the swings" and tell on you.
Side swings may come loose and smack into you.

Tether Ball Ride!

Advantages:

It's really fun!
Other kids will crack up laughing at you.

Disadvantages:

When ball breaks lose and you sprain your elbow on the blacktop, you'll hear "That's what happens when you make poor choices" from every grown-up you know. You'll also hear "You're lucky you didn't break your neck, young man!"

The Bench

The bench isn't a swing. I put it on the list because I get benched a lot. Teachers are just picking on me because they don't like how I play on the swings. Also because they're mean. They say "swings are for children who choose to be safe" and "At least you won't hurt yourself sitting here."

They'll be sorry some day if a poisonous spider is hiding under the bench. He'll come out and bite me and then everyone will say "If only we'd let him play on the swings!"

Tyrannosaurs Rex: Beast with the Least

2010-12-06T09:01:00.000-08:00

I first learned about dinosaurs in the 1970s. I was five.
The biggest, baddest one of all was Tyrannosaurs Rex.* Illustrations showed him stomping around like Godzilla. His mouth hung open, presumably for roaring. And those teeth!

In books and movies, T-Rex was either:

Chasing dinosaurs
Grabbing them by the neck
Eating them.

He was the dinosaur. The king of them all! Few would mess with him, except perhaps other T-Rexes. And what battles those would have been!
A kiddie song about him went like this:

Tyrannosaurus king of the reptiles,
Teeth sharp like steak knives,
Fights all to live or die!

Tyrannosaurus he had a tiny brain,
But as the king he reigned,
By making the others lame.

Tyrannosaurus he was a great big guy,
Ferocious and feared by all,
Though his arms were very small.

Tyrannosaurus king of the reptiles,
Teeth sharp like steak knives,
Fights all to live or die!

As I entered my teens and twenties, ugly rumors were adrift. T-Rex probably held himself parallel to the ground, not upright, it was said. Instead of lurching around like a bear on his hind legs, he was slinking along, like a naughty dog.. Even worse, it was speculated that this vicious predator might have been, in fact, a scavenger! Instead of killing, was he picking through leftovers?
Ferocious beasts don't beg for left overs...

Recently, it got worse:
There's some evidence that T-Rex might have had feathers. Feathers!**
Vicious, brutes can't have feathers!
The once savage beast was now eating scraps and sporting plumage.
His rep as a beast has been destroyed.
As for the T-Rex fights I mentioned earlier, I'm afraid the truth might be closer to this:

Mrs and Mr T-Rex

*Okay, there were dinos much bigger than he was, but they didn't count because they stood in swamps and chewed leaves. I suppose I could have set "Biggest of the Baddest" or "Biggest as a subset of Baddest" but that sounds dopey.
**Actually it's believed that if they were feathered, it may only have been when they were young,

YOU Can Be a Crab!

2010-11-29T09:03:00.000-08:00

Do you dislike people? Want to annoy, irritate and intimidate them?
Maybe you should consider being a crab.
It doesn't matter if you work in the public sector...

Or the private...

You can be a crab anywhere!
Here are some tips to get you started.
Each day, concentrate on the following:

How stupid everyone is.
How rotten your life is, thanks to all the stupid people.

Adjust your posture and facial expressions accordingly.
When someone asks you a question, respond with...

...the "I can't believe someone could be as dumb as you" look:

Follow quickly with...

...the "Your stupidity disgusts me" glare.

Remember, stay surly. Make sure everyone knows how difficult they're making your life!
Practice saying the following:

"No!"
"Move! You're in the way."
"What d'ya want?"
"Can I help you?" (Said in a "I know you're wasting my time" tone")
"You did it wrong."
"We're outta [insert commodity here] so don't ask for it!"
"What're you looking at?!"

And never forget the all time classic:

Try to work in a put-upon "Your Welcome" before anyone thanks you.

And if someone ever says, "I hope it's not too much trouble," be sure to respond with an icy
"It is."

Five Anomalies from the Universe of Television Commercials.

2010-11-21T19:55:00.000-08:00

Television Commercials take place in an alternate universe. Things are different there:
Brand names pepper the conversations. Small talk is devoted to detergent, soap, and what to clean the floor with. Junk food triggers parties and dancing. Soda is slurped down in one swig, followed by ah "ahhh!"
Here are some other things I've noticed:

1. Shaving is Fun!

Check out their expressions the next time you see an add for razors or shaving cream. There's no concentrating, no strategic head tilts or expressions, just a sensual reaction as the blade glides down the cheek. What's going on? Is it dipped in opium or something?

2. Toilet Paper is for Squishing up to Your Face Because it's Oh-so-soft.

Gals don't shave their faces, but that's okay because they have "bathroom tissue" to snuggle. It appears to have a calming effect, especially if it's "quilted" or matches the tile.

3. Diapers are for Hobbyists who Like to Pour Blue Liquid onto Absorbent Surfaces.

The Commercial Universe is rife with this practice (compulsion? fetish?) Blue liquid gets soaked up by diapers, mops, sponges, paper towels and ShamWows. Sometimes the material is squeezed for more Blue Liquid Action.

4. Moms Think it's Cute when Their Kid Makes a Mess.

Aw look! Junior tracked in mud, got ketchup on his shirt and just knocked over the grape juice. Isn't he the sweetest thing?

I await the invertible insurance commercial where Mom marvels at how adorable Junior is as he burns down the house.

5. Kiddie Cereal is Spiked with Hallucinogens.

When I eat cereal, nothing happens. When kids from the Commercial Universe eat cereal, pictures on the box start moving. Then they fly up to the kid and start talking to him. Some kids even get sucked into a vortex of swirling fruit, chocolate or whatever flavor the cereal represents.

Sure, there having fun now, but I don't envy them. By the time they're twenty their brains will be so fried that they think Blue Liquid Action is a swell way to spend the afternoon.

Omi Project: Gato Neko

2010-11-14T18:52:00.000-08:00

Here's my contribution to the Omi Project.
Here's how it works- you buy the plastic figure, decorate it any way you wish, and send it in to be part of the display.
I picked a look that's 40% Japanese Daruma Doll 50% Mexican Folk art and 10% Louis Wain.

I found it tricky because I'm used to digital artwork (where's the undo button?) and my hand has never been that steady.

Stair Crossed

2010-11-10T08:49:00.000-08:00

I usually forced myself up the steps to the sixth floor, but I'd given blood the night before. The instruction sheet said "no exercise for the next 24 hours" Maybe you should take the elevator...?
Nah, I thought. They mean real exercise like running laps. Don't be a wimp. Take the steps.
Soon I had second thoughts. This was hard! I was dizzy and out of breath.
If the stairs could talk, they'd have said:

The elevator was starting to sound like a great idea.
Oh no you don't! I thought. You always wuss out when things get tough. Keep going!
I slowly pulled myself up the steps. If this were a fight, the steps were winning, and rubbing it in.

For someone who didn't want to be a wimp, I was sure looking like one.

Sometimes the truth is to lame to tell.

Frustrating Toy Hall of Fame, Part I

2010-10-31T15:21:00.000-07:00

When you were a kid, was there ever a toy that seemed like the coolest thing ever in the commercial, yet turned out to be a dud when you actually got one? Here's some I remember...

1. The Yo-yo.

The commercial always had kids doing something like this:

"Anyone can play!" the commercial promised, "Rock the baby! Walk the Dog! Even Loop the Loop!"

I couldn't wait to get a yo-yo and do some tricks.

Then I got one.

It did this:

I believe that trick is called "Drop and Stay There."

With some practice I mastered other tricks, including "Tangle the String," "Get Thrown Outside for Swinging That Around Indoors," "Get the String Grubby Looking," and best of all, "Loop-the-Thwack!"

2. Rubik's Cube

This one was sneaky. It was fun to play with. Then I discovered something awful:

I couldn't solve it.

I could solve one or two sides, but that was about it. And everyone seemed to know a kid or two who could solve the freaking thing. The rest of us "solved" it by taking at apart and putting it together.

3. Slinky

In commercials it walked downhill or (down the steps) like it was alive!

In real life it either just sat there, or, if given a push, plunked down a step and, well, sat there.

Of course, you could always do this!

Wheee! We're talking minutes of fun here!
This (PG-13) cartoon sums up the slinky experience nicely
4. Super Elastic Bubble Plastic

I've blogged about this before. It was a tube of glop. In the commercial, kids put a dollop of glop on a straw and inflate it into jumbo bubbles. According to the commercial, these bubbles "last and last!"

Every time I tried it, I ended up with sorry, lopsided blobs that lasted (and lasted) for a three minutes before they broke.

5. Mousetrap

The commercial showed a cartoony Rube Goldberg device. Crazy music played. A kid turned the crank, which triggered a kicking boot, that released a ball that sprung a lever and so on. The end result was a cage dropping on a plastic mouse as delighted kids yelled "Mouse Trap!"
The real life game had two problems:

1. It was dificult to assemble.
2. When assembled, it didn't really work.

I imagine this conversation occurred at the toy factory before the game hit the stores.

Toy Designer A: We gotta scrap that Rube Goldberg mouse catcher toy. It's just too hard to put together.

Toy Designer B: Hmmm.... ...how about we make assembling the toy part of a game? Make it a challenge. Like hitting a bull's eye in darts or bowling a strike.

Toy Designer A: Yeah, that's good, but even when the thing's built it doesn't work that often. Who wants to build something that doesn't work?

Toy Designer B: Good point... ...wait! I got it. The fact that it only works sometimes is part of the game too. Like a roll of the dice. We'll make it a board game...!

The rest is history.

What Blogging Taught Me...

2010-10-24T19:15:00.000-07:00

I started blogging to amuse myself and friends. I had no delusions of pending fame or fortune, but I was proud of my work. I'd been posting regularly for years. Sometimes it was funny. I liked the pictures and thought I was getting better at drawing them. I was proud to show it off.
Then something occurred to me.
I'd read about something called The IKEA Effect. It works like this: If you make or build something, you'll probably overvalue it. Even if it is, in fact, a piece of junk.
Was I overvaluing my blog?
Hmmmm... I thought. The blog gets visitors from all over the world. Thirty to one hundred visits per day...
...and after four years I've earned six followers.
It was an ugly realization. Most blogs I visit, even obscure ones, have scores of followers some have hundreds. This could mean only one thing. My wonderful blog wasn't that wonderful.

Back in the 1990s I'd dabbled in cartooning and submitted my favorites to magazines. Those rejections didn't bother me much because I figured it was a numbers game, with lots of cartoonists competing for a limited number of places to publish their work.

Rejection slips didn't necessarily mean the work was bad. Maybe the editor didn't like the style. Maybe they had all the cartoons they needed for now. Maybe they'd already published something similar. I knew from the start that rejection slips were the norm for aspiring cartoonists. No big deal.
This was different. People from all over the world had looked at my blog. Yet after 10000+ page views, only six people liked it enough to follow it? This wasn't an editor rejecting it. This was the the world rejecting it.

I hope you're proud of yourself, I thought, You've been trotting out your blog like a show horse, totally oblivious to the fact that 99.99% of the world dislikes it. Way to go. And in light of all this, let's make some things clear:

The one thing worse at being bad at something the discovery that you're bad at something.
How embarrassing.

Pumpkin!

2010-10-21T20:11:00.000-07:00

I drew a silly pumpkin. That's all.

They Hate Us BecauseThey Fear Us

2010-10-17T18:42:00.000-07:00

Guest Blogger: Tinkles the Teacup Chihuahua

Few dogs receive the open hostility Chihuahuas face.
"Obnoxious" say detractors. "Spoiled." "Yappy." "Rat Dog." "Stupid."
Why the hostility? Why so much effort to demonize us?
The truth is, they hate us because they fear us!
They fear a dog who isn't afraid to speak its mind. When I bark in high pitch yelps for twelve hours straight, it's me exercising my free speech. Nobody is going to silence me!
Yes, they fear us.
They fear a dog who isn't afraid to defend itself.
When I growl and snap at anything I see, it's me demonstrating that I WILL NOT BACK DOWN. Any meter reader, neighbor, child, squirrel, shadow or reflection that gets in my line of vision will pay!
Others wish they had my spunk. They don't, so they resort to verbal attacks.
They fear us because we're smart. Ever notice Chihuahuas don't pull sleds or guide blind people? No Milk Bone or "good doggie" will trick us into serving humans. We're above that.
They fear us because they're jealous. Few creatures are worthy of being carried around like a precious bauble. We represent what our critics lack. We're strong and outspoken, yet worthy of being dressed in a fairy costume and given nicknames like "Little Poopy Doopy" and "Princess Patooters"
They fear us because we're beautiful. Lets face it, most other breeds are catbutt ugly. Bulldogs look like they got their heads stuck in a trash compacter. Dachshunds look like they were squeezed from a tube. Shar Peis look like ragpiles. And most long haired dogs look like they should be the business end of a mop.
So the next time you hear anti-Chihuahua talk, remember where it's coming from- and be proud to be a Chihuahua. It's the dog to be!

Tosca, "Death to All Humans!" Psychobird.

2010-10-10T15:52:00.000-07:00

My cockatiel, Tosca, had been my only pet for years. He seemed happy when I was around, but what about when I was at work? Was he lonely? Sad? Cockatiels are social birds.
Certainly he'd appreciate a buddy.
I picked out a friendly yellow bird, took him home, and set him up in a nearby cage.
I figured they'd soon be best buddies:

Tosca seemed interested in his new neighbor....

Then it happened.
Tosca's flocking instinct went berserk. In his mind, he was the leader. The new bird was an underling. I was a non-bird: The Enemy!
Overnight, he went from being Tosca, Mild Mannered (if shrill) Bird:

To Tosca, "Death to all humans!" Psychobird.

He hissed, squawked and lunged when I got near his cage. I thought he was bluffing.

Certainly he wouldn't bite me when I fed him, right?

This was no play bite or warning nip. This was a hatchet chop with beak grinding. My fingers were bleeding. I'd expected him to like the new bird more than he liked me. I wasn't expecting attempted murder. How was I supposed to give him food and water? Or clean his cage?
And what kind of example was he setting for the new bird?
Hey kiddo, here's how to treat human beings!

I asked for advice on a cockatiel message board. "He's probably jealous," they observed. "Give him some extra cuddles..."
Do YOU want to give this guy some cuddles?

Tosca has never been a cuddler. He's strictly a "I'll stand on your finger if you don't try to touch me" bird.
Except now it's more like "Get near me and I'll rip your damned hand open"

I draped a towel on the side of his cage. I figured maybe if he couldn't see the new bird he'd calm down. Will it work? He seems a bit less aggressive...

... but he also seems to remember who put the towel up. The current vibe I'm getting from him is "I still hate you, but since you bring me stuff to eat I'll let you live. For now."
You're welcome, Tosca.

Mechanically Separated Goodness

2010-10-04T19:31:00.000-07:00

Lots of blogs (and way to many emails) are flinging around a picture of what's known as mechanically separated chicken. It's made from bits of meat that's been stripped from chicken bones.
Looks like ice cream. Tastes like chicken.

Other meats are processed this way. There's mechanically separated beef, pork, and turkey.
Lesser know varieties include:

Mechanically separate Smurfs:

Mechanically Separated Martians

Mechanically Separated Alien "Grays":

Mechanically Separated Unicorns

Oddly, they all taste like baloney.

The Great Cut

2010-10-03T15:02:00.000-07:00

Last week my friend Reid fell through glass and ripped his forearm open. Wide open.
To make sure nobody missed out, he took pictures and posted them on Facebook.
Here's a censored version I made for this blog:

(For uncensored versions, click here, or here, but be forewarned: they're nasty.)

Friends were quick to comment. I'd say the remarks broke down as follows:

" I just talked to my dad," Reid added. "I told him it was a pretty bad cut. I tried to explain but ended up emailing him one of the meatier photos..."

The conversation continued like this:

DAD: Holy shit Buddy, that is the worst cut I've ever seen! I mean really, shit! How the fuck.....?! ...hold one one second ... ... i gotta find something.

REID: What, Dad?

DAD: Printer paper, stupid! This can only be done proper justice with glossy photo paper.

REID: What, you want to show it off?

DAD: Hell yes! I'm showing everyone! I mean, that's a great cut. I'm proud of you! You did it just like a [someone from our family] should..... with GUSTO!!!! Well let me know if you need anything. I am gonna print this and head out of here. Love you Buddy!

Now that's a Hallmark moment.

p.s. Thanks to Reid for giving permission to blog about this.

The Fun House

2010-09-30T20:01:00.000-07:00

When I was little, the park had a "Fun House." It was a fiberglass shack with big rolling barrel. A hamster wheel for kids.
Cartoon character knockoffs greeted you on the side.
Say "hello" to Woody Daffy Duck Pecker and Bob's Porky Pig Boy. Or maybe Bat Boy. Or a toddling Freddy Krueger.

You were supposed to run in place, like this:

I never got the knack of it...

I had better luck on all fours...

...until a bigger kid (or kids) showed up and spun the barrel the other way.

Soon I'd be heading for the swings.

Dumb ol' Fun House!

What NOT to Do With Food Coloring

2010-09-25T10:51:00.000-07:00

I seem to be missing the part of my brain that tells me That's dumb. Don't do it!
For example, once I was curious about food coloring. What did it taste like? Did it have a flavor of its own when it wasn't mixed in with sugar, milk, flour, etc..?

I took a squeeze bottle of green dye and did this:

It had no taste. It did, however, still work as a dye.

Which in turn worked as a "this person is an idiot" indicator.

I Get Hacked

2010-09-22T09:11:00.000-07:00

My email got hacked.

People on my contact list got an message like this:

Lord knows what the link leads to. Maybe a sales pitch. Maybe a virus.
I'm not clicking it...
The "someone broke into my account" factor isn't nearly as annoying as the fact that nearly everyone I've sent mail to- including:

old friends
coworkers
internet acquaintances
relatives
people I've admired enough to send fan mail to...

...got mail from "me" with my duck icon and a bogus link. The next time these people see the duck icon or read my name, they'll think: hmmm... Namowal... that duck picture...... isn't that the spammer who trashed my computer? What a tool!

I originally picked the duck head icon because it was good natured and unpretentious. When it appeared (here and other places on the web) I wanted to communicate this:

Unfortunately, it now communicates this:

Guest Blogger: "My IKEA Girlfriend was Pretty Cool Until She Fell Apart"

2010-09-19T10:18:00.000-07:00


"Olimpia, my IKEA girlfriend"

Guest Blogger: Allen Heckskey, Los Angeles Resident

Olimpia smelled of particle board and lingonberries.   I bought her at IKEA.
I'll admit I had mixed feelings when I opened that flat box and saw all those pieces. I'm the kind of guy who can't put a model airplane together and I'm supposed to assemble a person? It took three hours. I kept messing up, like when I realized I'd put each hand on the wrong arm and had to take them off and swap them. One of her eyes rolled under my bed and it took twenty minutes for me to find it. She was a hassle to put together, but once I was done, I knew I'd made the perfect girlfriend.
She was wonderful. Gorgeous, slim, and fun. She never made me sit through dumb movies or musicals. Never hauled me to cat shows or swap meets. Never made me hold her purse while she tried on clothes. Never said "You should this..." or "Why don't you that."   Never got moody. Wherever I wanted to go or whatever I wanted to do, she was up for it. And she cooked the best meatballs you ever tasted.
Trouble came about six months later.   I thought it was my imagination when her skin seemed to sag at the joints. Then we were in line for "Cyberslashing Bloodsplatterfest 3D" at the IMAX and her arm falls off!   Try fetching your girlfriend's severed arm in front of a line of people.   I duct taped it back on later that night, but two days later, her foot came lose and her knee ripped open.   It got ridiculous.   More sags, breaks and rips. I taped her up as best I could, but it was clear her days as my girlfriend were over. Too "high maintenance." Plus she looked kinda stupid with all that tape.
I wasn't sure what to do with her. I thought of putting her in the closet or the attic, but that was too creepy.   I could have thrown her away, but she was like a ratty old bathrobe that you loved because it was yours. For now she's propped the corner of my bedroom.   It's not a total loss. She still tells me I look "great" every morning, and never complains that I "don't take her places anymore."

A Crummy Moth!

2010-09-14T20:22:00.000-07:00

Guest Blogger: Milton the Moth

" Eat your greens, little caterpillar," the adults promised, "And someday you'll be a beautiful butterfly!"
That's what I heard every day. All this buildup as to how someday I'd graduate from grubhood, emerging as a colorful butterfly. I often wondered how I'd turn out. Would I be an iconic Monarch? A sporty Swallowtail? Maybe I'd even be the kind with those big pretend eyes on my wings.
Well, imagine my surprise when I broke out of my cocoon and discovered I was a crummy moth. A moth! A plain, dinky, grayish moth. This is what I was waiting for?
My stupid caterpillar buddies all turned out as butterflies. They're too cool to hang with me anymore, but they still stop by to bug me. "Who's up for laps around the streetlight" one goes, and the rest crack up laughing. They also call me "Clothes Nibbler," "Porch Light Pest," "Cat Toy," and "Bat Bait". Gee, thanks guys!

The Phoenix: "This Fire and Rising from the Ashes is Getting Old"

2010-09-12T19:03:00.000-07:00

Guest Blogger: The Phoenix, Mythological Bird

"At first it was pretty cool.   I'd be getting a little rough around the edges and KABOOM! I'd burst into flames and rise up all new and pretty. Not many birds could do that! The Trick won me a lot of bar bets over the years. On weekends I'd do the performance artist thing and rake in the tips.'
It's been many a century and now I'm tired of the whole thing. I know my power is divine and mystical and all that, but really, couldn't the gods have tried a bit harder when they put me together? The immortality's good, but did they have to make it tied to spontaneous combustion? How stupid is that!? Sure I come out fine, but everything nearby gets trashed. I can't tell you how many cleaning deposits I've lost for destroyed property and smoke damage. Nobody invites me anywhere* .
Just last week I was unloading my shopping cart at Thriftimart and FOOM! I took out the conveyor belt, the tabloids, the gift cards and the candy selection. Most of my groceries too. The tequila bottle made it but then the lady behind the counter wouldn't let me buy it because now I looked "way under twenty one."
Stupid, stupid mystical power! "

*"Okay, this one annoying guy tries to pal with me, but only because he likes to put a marshmallow on a stick and hold it over my head "just in case."   Har har.    Jerk!"

Controversy

2010-09-11T14:25:00.000-07:00

When I "like" a controversial comment or subject on Facebook, I think I look appear this:

Too bad I actually appear like this:

The Sun: Why Do I Even Bother to Shine?

2010-09-07T08:46:00.000-07:00

Guest Blogger: Sol, A.K.A. "The Sun"
I was so eager in the beginning. I knew developing and maintaining a solar system would take dedication and work, but I was under the delusion that it might, maybe PAY OFF SOME DAY...
I'd considered my planet collection a work in progress.   I pulled the most interesting planets I could find into my orbit. I kept the moons spinning.   Installed an asteroid belt. Threw in some comets. Hung rings on Saturn (still making payments on these). I thought, this may not be the best planet system, but someday it'll be one of the greats.
Now, after 4 billion years of being snubbed as a location for intergalactic conventions, absent in "Planetary System of the Week" mentions, and not even a stub on the MilkyWaykipeda, it's become clear.
My planetary system is crap and I have no business running it.
No double stars. No pulsars.   Most of my planets are lifeless, and the one holdout is crawling with the most disgusting things you ever saw.
The final straw came when I took the "How will YOU end up" quiz on Facebook. I'd always figured I'd be fusing iron some day. And then I'd go supernova. Then everyone would point to me and say how awesome I was.   Nope. According to the results I'll eventually fall apart and become a "planetary nebula" which is the politically correct way to say "space booger". Left over at the core will be a "degenerate dwarf". That's like a tatertot that glows in the dark.
Boy, I'm glad I've worked billions of years for this!

Pickle Pup Gets Mangled

2010-09-04T15:46:00.000-07:00

I worked on a movie I'll call "Pickle Pup." My job was to blend computer characters (and their shadows and reflections) into live action scenes. As the show neared completion, someone sent out an email asking everyone who worked on the show to sign the official poster. It was going to be a gift for someone.
Most people just signed their names, but some added sketches of the title character.
I decided that's what I'd do too. I liked to draw, right? Never mind the fact I did absolutly no drawings, character design, or animation for the movie.

I planned to draw something like this:

What I really drew looked like this:

Arrrgh! It might have been okay as a doodle, but compared to the professional sketches on the poster, it looked amateurish. As in "I can't draw and am not aware that I can't draw." And it was right next to my signature (which in a state of cockiness, I'd made rather large!)
I tried to fix it.

Soon it looked like this:

It was a mess. What was worse, I was holding up the line. People behind me (including people who got paid to draw cartoons) were getting impatient. And wondering what the hell I was doing.

There was no saving the drawing. It was a smeared, mangled train wreck. I tried to blot it out into a stylish wedge of black:

The result was as stylish as a mustard stain. Right next to my name.
I should have blotted that out too.

Jupiter: "My Fellow Planets are Idiots":

2010-09-01T09:00:00.000-07:00

Guest Blogger: Jupiter
I really hate my neighboring planets. How'd I end up with such losers?
First there's Mercury. Hopped up little bastard. Always racing around like a lunatic.
Then there's Venus. She's always trying to outshine the rest of us. "Didja know Frankie Avalon wrote a song about me?" she says. "Did you know there's a goddess named after me?" I shut her up by pointing out there's a category of diseases named after us too.
Then Earth- yechh. He's infested with mold, spores and creatures.   A real slob. Last I heard they'd somehow spread to his frigging moon. He's wet and clammy too. Always tracks in mud. And he wonders why I don't invite him anywhere.
Next comes Mars.   Another embarrassment.   At parties he gets drunk, pulls up his shirt and points to Mariner Valley and goes "Let me tell ya how I got this!" He keeps changing his story- It's an asteroid impact. Then it's from a knife fight he got into with one of his thug moons. I'll tell you what it really is. It's a stretch mark.
And there's that tramp, Saturn. You went real subtle with those rings, honey!   And her moons? They aren't real.
Uranus and Neptune are two boring clouds of "duh".
There used to be Pluto. He was a stupid little pebble. He'd run all over the place going "Wheee! Me is planet! Me is planet!"    Were talking about a someone who couldn't achieve a circular orbit in a flushing toilet. Boy, I'm glad we had him put away.

Mad at Someone?

2010-08-28T15:21:00.000-07:00

Mad at someone?
Ready to give them a piece of your mind? Ready to show him (or her) how they've wronged you?

Tell them off and you may think you appear like this:

As for how you really look...

Bigger and stronger than most people?
Tell them off and you'll appear like this:

Average sized or petite?
Tell them off and you'll look like this:

You have been warned.

Star Nosed Mole

2010-08-22T18:49:00.000-07:00

An article I read described the star nosed mole as one of the least appealing creatures on the planet. I can see why. The wormy snout! The beady eyes! The claws! It makes a vampire bat look cuddly.

As a challenge, I tried to design a character that was clearly a Star Nose Mole, yet wasn't nasty.

I came up with these two.

The one above lost some depth and energy when I added the inklines and color.
Compare it to the "pencil" layer.
If anyone knows what I'm doing wrong, please fill me in.

Just added- a quick copy of the original sketch (darkened) and painted, as Linda suggested.

Humpty Dumpty's Greatest Falls

2010-08-19T20:29:00.000-07:00

When I taught preschool, I disliked the safety materials. They were the "Sammy the Squirrel Plays Safe" variety. They ignored what happens when you didn't play safe. That would make a lasting impression, but how do you sanitize it for preschoolers? I had a hunch something like "Sammy the Squirrel gets Hit by a Car?" would cause problems.
How could I show the kids the consequences of recklessness without giving them nightmares?

Humpty Dumpty was how Every kid knew he was the egg who fell of the wall and broke. Picture books showed him cracked and oozing!

I got out the magic markers and drew a series of Humpty Dumpty cartoons.
Each came in two parts. The first picture showed him doing something stupid: jumping from the swings, playing on railroad tracks, fooling with matches etc... I'd tell the kids "Oh no, look what he's doing now! What could happen next...?"
The kids would speculate, eagerly anticipating part two where Humpty got his comeuppance.
The second picture had him cracked, flattened, splattered, or poached. "Uh Oh!" I'd say. "Look what happened Now he's broken!" The kids loved it!
"Do you want to be like Humpty Dumpty?" I'd ask.
"No!" they said.
"Are you going to wait until the swing stops before you get off?"
"Yes!" they'd promise.
Those kids are adults now. As they were growing up, did any of them ever face a dangerous situation and choose to be safe, thanks to Humpty Dumpty?
Or did the kids just look back and think Damn, that preschool teacher was warped!

He Who has the Dough Makes the Rules

2010-08-14T17:45:00.000-07:00

You may have read about the bakery in Salt Lake City called "My Dough Girl" who was bullied by Pillsbury into changing its name on the grounds that "My Dough Girl" sounded too much like their trademarked "Dough Boy."
I could understand a problem if the bakery's logo or advertisements resembled Pillsbury's mascot (they don't), or if they sold similar items at the supermarket (they don't).
Yes, I get that it's in the best interest of a company to protect trademarks. Had the bakery been called "Doughboy" or "Pop 'n' Fresh," I'd be on Pillsbury's side. But "My Dough Girl?" Sheesh.

The Devil and the Fool

2010-08-14T09:56:00.000-07:00

Someone takes the last cup of coffee without making a fresh batch.
Jerk! I think.
Someone in front of me in the five-items-or-less line has seven cans of Fancy Feast, a bag of Ruffles, a box of Ding Dongs, and two bottles of soda her cart.
Dummy!
Someone carelessly bumps into me at the coffee house, sending the top inch off coffee over the rim of the cup and onto my jeans. Bastard!
Ask anyone who's been annoyed, inconvenienced, or endangered by someone else and they'll be quick to label the offending party. Either he's a "bad" person (selfish, greedy, mean, or pain evil), or "stupid" (careless, reckless, clueless, or crazy) It's like our lives are a story and we need true villains and fools to explain how we've been treated.
Of course, most of these cads probably don't wake up with evil or crazy plans. It's possible that these heinous deeds were, in fact::

Honest Mistakes (for example, maybe the gal with the loaded cart didn't see the sign)
Part of a More Complex Situation (She may have been in a longer line for some time and was invited to the quick check when it opened)
The Exception and not the Rule (She's normally conscientious about 5-item etiquette but you've caught her at the one time she's slipped up)
Misunderstanding on our part (Whoops, it wasn't a a 5-item line I was in!)

I should be glad that my annoying encounters aren't (usually) the result of evil and stupidity, but the part of my brain that hacks together my daily "story" is horrified.
"What!?" it responds, "You mean I'm not the valiant Good Guy, doing the Right Things in my daily battle with The Bad Guys and The Fools? You mean the whole lot of us are just flawed people with flawed perceptions? What evil foolishness is this!?"

JetSki Banjo Pig

2010-08-09T12:35:00.000-07:00

For Dueling Banjo Pigs.
(If you haven't checked it out yet, take a look.)

Pyrrhuloxia

2010-08-04T20:21:00.000-07:00

"Pyrrhuloxia" isn't a disease picked up at cheap motels. It's the name of a cardinal-like bird from the North American southwest. The Latin name is Cardinalis sinuatus. How'd they get stuck with a common name more complex than the scientific one?
They don't have them in Los Angeles, where I live. Too bad. I think they're cute.
Look at the sincere, determined expression on this Wikipedia photo:

Okay, I'm anthropomorphizing...
...but I bet he sincerely thinks the seed block is his and is determined to keep it that way.

Blue Footed Booby

2010-08-02T19:46:00.000-07:00

The Banjo Charmer

2010-08-02T08:53:00.000-07:00

Another offering for Dueling Banjo Pigs.

Yellow Bellied Sapsucker

2010-07-31T15:43:00.000-07:00

There really is a bird called the "Yellow Bellied Sapsucker."   Some name. It sounds like an insult. Break it down and it's a string of smaller jabs: "yellow," "sap" and "sucker."   It could have been named "Gold Breasted Woodpecker" or "Masked Stifftail," but "Yellow Bellied Sapsucker" it is.
Who came up with this name? Was he mad at them? Did a flock peck up his orchard?
Maybe he was simply blunt: "It's got a yellow belly, doesn't it?" he might have said. "It sucks sap outta trees, right?"
Imagine if this guy had been in charge of naming other birds:

Owl: Flat Faced Mouse Muncher

Pelican: Sack-Jowled Fish Scooper

Hummingbird:      Needle-Nosed Necter Nibbler

Duck:    Web-footed Dinner Dabbler

Vulture: Ball-headed Carcass Craver

Seagull:                 Squawkmouthed Dumpster Diver

Turkey:                 Pin-Headed Pending Poultry Product

Hawk:    Rust-Feathered Rodent Reaper

That being said, I wonder if he had something to do with naming the Blue Footed Booby...

Soul Scan

2010-07-29T20:04:00.000-07:00

(this is fictional but I could see it happening...)

It was a cartoony machine- a large screen perched on a wavy stand with two eye like scanners that bobbed like day old helium balloons. "See your soul for a nickel!" the sign said. A poster showed the possibilities - a a dumpy woman looked at the screen and saw Venus rising from the sea.. A scrawny kid with a bad haircut became a god shooting lightning bolts from a mountaintop. "What strength and beauty lies within YOU?" it asked.
I inserted a nickel.
"Hold still, please" the machine said. The "eyes" floated over to me and looked carefully, as if searching for concealed contraband. On the monitor, a fuzzy picture emerged.
I wasn't expecting a goddess or a glistening, ethereal form. Even a angel or fairy figurine- the plastic glittery kind sold in drugstores- would be a stretch. Still, I thought a cute bobblehead doll or a windup toy were real possibilities.
Then my result appeared.
"A rubber chicken?" I said. "That's my soul?"
"Yep," said the machine. "That's you.. Funny, but neither useful or original."
"I want my nickel back!"
"A cheap rubber chicken," it continued. "The plastic kind where the eyes and wattles are crudely painted."
"Stupid machine,": I said.
"A rubber chicken is thin skinned." the machine said. "A shallow, empty headed prop. A novelty that wears off quickly and becomes annoying.. Self centered and self absorbed, yet oblivious to-"
"I'm not self centered!" I said.
"If you're not self centered, maybe you'd have noticed there's now three other people waiting to for their reading, while you're holding up the line." it said.
I stormed away, avoiding eye contact with the others.
In retrospect, I probably should have asked if there were any constructive steps I might take to upgrade my soul to a rubber duck or a lawn flamingo.
I still want my nickel back.

Digital Drawing Board II

2010-07-26T20:10:00.000-07:00

Here's an update of the picture I posted earlier. Dialog (and some details) have been toggled off so I don't spoil the story in advance.

Pow!

2010-07-25T09:14:00.000-07:00

Another Dueling Banjo Pig offering.

Digital Drawing Board

2010-07-21T19:51:00.000-07:00

(click picture for larger view)
Even my digital desktop gets cluttered sometimes.

Bad Dreams

2010-07-18T08:09:00.000-07:00

What's up with these nightmares? My life is easy. I've never been traumatized. Never done mind altering drugs. Yet every night, when the dreams roll in, they're bad.
This week I was chased by a swarm of batlike things. Batbugs or Mothbats. There was a switch in the room to turn them off but I couldn't find it because they were biting my arms, shoulders ears and cheeks.
Then I found myself wandering up a sidewalk, after dark. Rain fell. I could taste the drops. Gloomy jazz music played and a narrator chimed in "abandoned by her friends and family, she was never seen alive again. Her savagely beaten and strangled body was found in a ditch..."
Where does this stuff come from?

The next night I dreamed that I hadn't slept for three days. Then I looked out the window and saw flames and smoke topping a nearby hill. I went outside and discovered distant flames in each direction, miles away but getting closer.
Stupid fire season! I thought.It gets worse every year!
I tried to comfort myself that I'd "only" die from smoke inhalation before the flames reached me. Then I figured a blaze this big was hot enough to roast me from a distance, the way a campfire gloop-afies a marshmallow without touching it. Was I doomed?
Wait! There was a way out, to the southeast. I scampered up the road to safety.
BOOM!
A fifty foot plume of flire rose ahead of me, blocking my escape.
"Someone's doing this on purpose!" I yelled.

Crazy dreams!

Hot Tub Banjo Pig

2010-07-13T20:33:00.000-07:00

(Click picture for larger image.)
My latest submission for Dueling Banjo Pigs.

Koala Chicken

2010-07-12T19:09:00.000-07:00

Here's something I did for an acquaintance who needed a picture of a "Koala Chicken" and didn't have one handy.
The double thumb isn't a mistake- koalas really do have two on each hand!
I drew and colored this in ArtRage. I wasn't too familiar with the brush I used to color it, so it turned out a bit flatter than what I had in mind.

Bacon Banjo Hula!

2010-07-10T15:40:00.000-07:00

High Note off the Hog

2010-07-07T21:34:00.000-07:00

Created for Dueling Banjo Pigs.

Nightmare at Fifty Feet

2010-07-06T20:40:00.000-07:00

Years ago my friend Frank* went to a street fair with his pal, Jack. They hopped on a ride called "The Zipper." It's something like an oblong Ferris Wheel with cars that swing and flip (you can see one in action here).
"It started out great," Frank recalls. "Music was playing, the car was rocking and there was this incredible view as we rose higher and higher."
Suddenly, their car leaned backwards, right in the path of "a fire hose of vomit" from the car above. It kept coming! The safety wires offered little protection.
Frank and his Jack hollered for the operator to stop the ride. He didn't. Instead he kept it going for the full two minutes, perhaps throwing in a bonus minute. A little something extra.

Finally the ride stopped. When sprung from their trap, Jack slugged the carny, and Frank fled for a place to wash up.
"Ever have a moment go from perfect to pure hell in seconds?" Frank says.

*names have been changed

Tail o' the Hack

2010-07-04T16:06:00.000-07:00

I was proud of this blog for a long time. I didn't think it was the best one out there, but I thought it was amusing. Funny pictures! Smartass observations!   Look how clever I am!
Then this occurred to me: If the blog was really that special, it'd have way more visitors, way more returning visitors, and a Technorati authority higher than one. Ha! I scolded myself. You're a self-absorbed hack.   You can't draw, you can't write, and you can't draw a crowd. Nice work.
Then I got a surprise.
My visitor counter recorded a sudden influx of visitors, all from a network of people I know. What was this about?   Was I being rediscovered? Maybe my blog wasn't so bad?
Then learned this. Minutes earlier, someone had shared an app which lets you deface (a snapshot of) any website you choose.   They were picking this site so they could blow holes in it and splatter it with blood!
Well, I'd always wanted to entertain a larger group, right?

Another Preview Pic

2010-07-03T10:27:00.000-07:00

Another picture from my mini comic, drawn with ArtRage. I'm having fun drawing it but it's taking longer than I planned!

A Bear for Punishment

2010-07-02T13:02:00.000-07:00

My home computer has been mangled by a spyware and my laptop won't connect to the internet, so I haven't posted anything new.
In the meantime, here's a Warner Brothers cartoon I like.
When I was little, I couldn't understand why Paw was so cranky. As an adult, I think he's the most sympathetic character.

Those !!#@%^! Dolls.

2010-06-27T15:21:00.000-07:00

Troll dolls are supposed to be cute, but I think they're ugly: The headlamp eyes, the matted hair, the orangeish skin... ...and that cloying "pwease be my fwiend" expression! Yecch!
I've seen cuter stuff floating in formaldehyde.
Who the heck buys these things?
Obviously, lots of people do. They've been a big hit since the 1960s.
Then this occurred to me:
Troll dolls = hideous things
Troll dolls = loved worldwide, iconic.
This blog = not loved worldwide (only a small percentage of visitors return), no iconic status.
Therefore his blog is more awful than those !!#@%^! dolls.

The troll dolls have something I don't.
Bastards!

More Work in Progress

2010-06-24T19:59:00.000-07:00

Click image to see a larger version.
Here's a near-finished version of the comic panel I posted earlier. It won't make much sense out of context.
Looks like I need to fix some spelling too. Where's my left brain when I need it?

Oranges and Lemons

2010-06-22T20:40:00.000-07:00

Just a quick 'n' silly illo I did to try out my new painting software.
It's me vs. marauding citrus fruit.
This didn't turn out as dynamic as I'd hoped. Then again, if this were a "real" project I'd posed for reference photos.

Stuff I'm Bad At

2010-06-18T08:52:00.000-07:00

I'm not bad at everything. I can draw (depending on whom you you ask).. I can rotoscope hair, throw my voice, and solve 3d puzzles. I can usually coax a toy out of the crane machine. But what fun is boasting?
I'm bad at stuff too.   I can't really catch a ball or throw a Frisbee. If my age were my bowling average I'd be dead. My handwriting is a mess and I can't grip the pen properly.
A lot of things on my "bad at" list are stuff I don't like to do anyway. I can always blame lack of interest or practice on these things.   Not so with the Big Three. The things I've always liked doing, yet do oh so badly:
Singing:
I love music. Folk songs, jazz, rock, even opera. I can read music.   I can identify instruments and tell you that a vuvuzela squawks a b-flat.   Might I add that it squawks a b-flat way better than I can.   I first heard a recording of my singing voice in fifth grade. Listening to it was like being slapped. That off-key dolt was me!

Dancing:
Nothing's like dancing to a fun song. The problem is what I think I'm doing and what I'm really doing are laughably different.. I'm uncoordinated, miss the beats, and am about as graceful as a rhino falling down steps. I display "doesn't she realize how stupid she looks!?" moves.
Acting:
This is a real shame because I have a strong imagination. and can keenly picture myself anywhere. As a kid I adored pretend games. Acting enchanted me and I tried to weasel my way into any play I could.    I vividly imagined I was a naughty kid, a member of the royal court, a fairy etc.., yet stomped through each role like Godzilla, sounding as sincere as an automated "overdue materials" message from the library.   Never good get the volume right either- I was always too loud or too quiet*

But "didn't you see the bumper sticker?" Some may ask. "You gotta sing like nobody's listening and dance like nobody's watching!"   Yeah, right.    Whomever came up with that glurge would quickly change the "like" to "when" if they saw me in action. Some things are best done alone.

*A problem I have in real life too. Both the volume thing and the stomping like Godzilla.

Works in Progress

2010-06-15T21:02:00.000-07:00

Here's some panels I've been working on.
Painter 8 isn't perspective friendly. This floors me because it's supposed to be a drawing program. Where's the diagonal guides?* Where's the precision? And don't get me started on that klunky "perspective grid" it offers. I'm getting nostalgic for my T square and triangles.
I found an inexpensive drawing program that offered way better tools, but there were graphic card problems (a first for both of my machines).
If you know any drawing programs that let you make guides are diagonal and vector based, or anything that's perspective smart let me know, please.

*I made diagonal lines for reference, but I can't snap anything to them.

"I Take the Stairs!"

2010-06-12T11:07:00.000-07:00

When I learned my new office was on the sixth floor I thought I'll take the stairs! I'll get a workout! I'll get in shape!
Then I learned that "getting into shape" involved discovering how out of shape you were.
Some people sprang up the flights like gazelles. Not me.
The first flight or two weren't bad, but by the sixth floor I'd be staggering and gasping like I'd been mustard gassed. Hopefully I'll get better at this.
My shame at being such a wimp was tempered with pride.
No elevator for me I thought. I take the stairs!
Soon I caught my self wedging this boast into every conversation.
"Beautiful weather, today" someone says.
"Yes," I'd say. "I saw the view in the stairwell windows on the way to the top!"
"There's donuts in room 1313!" someone says.
"Oh boy!" I say. "I think I'm entitled to one, since I make myself take the stairs each time."
"A meteor the size of a bus struck my office! Help!" someone texts.
"Hope there's a good fire escape. If I a meteor the size of a bus hits my building I'll have a chance 'cause I know where the emergency exit is, being that I take the stairs every day."
Okay, I made up the last one.
Say, did I tell you I took the stairs today?

Love and Loathing

2010-06-09T20:31:00.000-07:00

The box held four chicks: two yellow ones, one buff one, and one the color of crackerjacks. I got permission to handle the latter.
I scooped him up and cupped him securely in my hand. It snuggled down without fear.

I'm not sentimental, but the chick had powers. Suddenly it was the most adorable creature: So sweet. So innocent. How could I put it down? Could I smuggle it home?

The thought of explaining the "live chicken running loose in my apartment" situation to my landlord gave me second thoughts. Then there was the threat of having "chicken trafficker" on my permanent record. I put it back in the box.

I thought about the chick all afternoon. The soft down, the unconditional trust....

Then this occurred to me:

The Fortune Teller.

2010-06-08T08:58:00.000-07:00

Guest blogger- Pico

I should have never gone to that party. The food was stale It smelled of mildew and dragonclaw glue.. The music kept breaking, and there was this weird lumpy thing floating in the punch bowl.
And there was a fortune teller.

Madama Farfalla was the fakest thing I ever saw. Her head feathers were fake, her eyelashes false. The heart-shaped beauty mark had come loose and hung like a shingle from her cheek. But everyone else was at the party was lined up to get their fortune so I got in line too.
As each guy came up, she'd look them in the eye, than down at her foggy mirror, and give a cornball prediction:
"By this weeks end/ meet a lost friend"
or
"When spring rain falls/good fortune calls"
or
"First sunset in May/love comes your way"

Then it was my turn. She looked at me, than into the mirror,
"On future's track/Your ..." she stopped as if splashed with water. Her mouth fell open and her eyes grew large. It was like she saw the most gruesome, horrific fortune ever.   Something nasty.    She held still, transfixed, perhaps, or frightened that moving would somehow suck her into the vision.
"What!?" I said. "What happens?"
No answer.
"On future's track, what?" I said, trying to hide how freaked I was. "My skull will crack?   A bear attack? The torture rack? Machete whack...!?" My friends behind me cracked up laughing. They couldn't see her expression.
She looked up at me as if pulled from a bad day dream. "On the future you'll get... ...along just great"
"That's not what you saw!" I said.
"Get away from my mirror," she said, as if my presence was contaminating it. "Other people are waiting."
"What did you see?"
"You'll be just incredibly fine and good" she said,   It was the only answer I could get out of her.

Oh boy, what fun's in store for me!. Except she was fake, right?

Oh my...!

2010-06-06T15:01:00.000-07:00

"Auf Wiedersehen"

2010-06-05T11:29:00.000-07:00

Ever heard the song "Auf Wiedersehen" by Cheap Trick? It's three minutes of caustic bitterness, screamed to a catchy beat. "There are many here among us, who feel their life is a joke," we're told "So for you we sing this final song for you, there is no hope!" The song is further peppered with morbid references "So long! Sayanara! Hari Kari! Kamakaze! etc..."
I can't figure out if the song is serious or a parody. It is rather catchy, considering all the complaining that's going on.

Lampshade (Sorta)

2010-06-03T19:53:00.000-07:00