Those !!#@%^! Dolls.

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

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

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

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

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!"

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

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.

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...!

"Auf Wiedersehen"

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)