Pictures of Doom – 2.0

Where Everybody Knows Your Name (3/2008)

I’ve tried and tried and tried to draw a new header for months but could never settle on one. But today I was determined to draw one if it killed me. So I did. Mostly inspired by yesterday’s entry about my literary masterpiece, Rabbit and Future, this new header exemplifies friendship and hope.

Wait, what did I just say?

I really wanted to include a picture of the old header, for archival purposes, but I guess I forgot to save it. I automatically assumed it was in the upload folder, like ALL my other drawings, but I guess header images are saved in the unknown. So now it’s lost, forever. Which saddens me to no end. If anyone can help me find my missing header, it would be greatly appreciated.

Edit: Thanks to my man Todd, his mastery of internet caches brought back to life my old header. So here it is, for one last enjoyment:

You also can’t see the “About the Author/Illustrator” tap on the top unless your mouse is over that area, so there is that to deal with. But no one ever reads about me anyway, so whatever.

What do you think of the new 2.0?

When bloggers disappear…

One thing we can thank the internet for is the ultimate destruction of writing and journalism as actual paying professions. That’s right. I said it. The internet, with it’s oh so easy to use spread-ability, killed any hope we up-and-coming writers had at getting a paycheck. I know this because I used to be one of those who dreamed of making it big someday (and collecting a check). And while I have collected checks for writing in the past, those days are long gone.

With that said, it makes it hard to get attached to a particular blogger because they can bounce at any second without notice or warning. The word ‘blogger’ even seems venomous when mentioning it in the wrong circles – especially around so-called ‘professionals’. We are here out of boredom, failure, frustration, and overall, we’re here to entertain our few readers. We don’t care about having an audience of millions. But every once in a while, it brings about its own sense of frustration, failure, and sometimes, the dreaded boredom. So comes the point of this rant.

I’ve come to know many fine bloggers in the WordPress community that I find myself reading daily, before I hit real money-making blogs like Cinematical and such. Hell, I even come here before I hit CNN in the morning. That’s just how I roll. Click on any link in my blogroll and you’ll know what’s up. And you fine people know who you are too.

But one of the preciouses has gone missing – vanished without a trace. That Pessimist was a man of few words and much anger. He makes fun of stuff; something I do on a daily basis. He even drew pictures with Microsoft Paint, the program I learned my skills on. And his skills were getting better and better.

It’s been about 3 months since he last updated his site or commented somewhere. This is something that happens often though. So here is to you, TP, may your anger continue onward long past this wacky binary world we’re living in.

The Juggling Cowboy (3/2008)

Rabbit and Future

Back in late 2001/early 2002, I wrote and illustrated a fine children’s tale, entitled Rabbit and Future. It was about a Rabbit and his robot friend Future. They were the best of friends. But one day, Future malfunctioned. And he was an out-of-date robot, so Rabbit had to travel the lands to find the one person/thing with the part he needed to fix his good friend Future.

But the only person he could find with said part was a shady character named Fat Grady. Grady agreed to fix Future but only if he could eat Rabbit as payment. Rabbit didn’t want to be eaten but he wanted his friend Future to live onward. He loved his friend that much.

So Grady fixed Future and when he awoke, Rabbit told him about his impending doom. “What?” said Future, “You can’t do this.” But Rabbit had to, as he was a man of his word. So Grady ate him, against Future’s protest.

Don’t get sad yet though, because the story had a happy ending. Future got pissed and shot lasers out of his eyes at Grady, and Rabbit came back to him and they were friends till the end.

The sad thing happened a few months later, when a film by Curtis Hanson called 8 Mile came out. In that film, Marshall “Eminem” Mathers plays an upcoming rapper named B-Rabbit. His friend and mentor? Well, his name was Future. Rabbit and Future. How could this be? A big Hollywood film, starring one of the world’s biggest rappers and directed by an Academy Award winning filmmaker, has an odd similarity to my little story.

Regardless, the story never saw the light of day. I tried and tried and tried to come up with new names for my characters but these two names were simply perfect. Just look at them.

Rabbit and Future (3/2008, based on works created in 2001/2002)

What else could I have named them? I’m not quite sure. Maybe when I am 75 and compile an anthology of my works, Rabbit and Future will present itself. Until then, this is all I can show.

I keep looking down the road…

I haven’t had much to say lately that hasn’t already been said. But I guess it’s been too long since I drew something for you. So here you go.

“I keep waiting for change” (3/2008)

Thou Shall Burn in Hell

Thou Shall Not Sin! (3/2008)

It’s safe to assume that anyone of any faith living here in the States has some idea what the Ten Commandments are. Even if you aren’t a Catholic, like me, you’ve probably heard them on television or in the motion pictures. They are simple (and obvious) guidelines to help keep your life in check. Shit like “Thou shall not steal” and what not. Believe it or not, but some people actually need something like a book to tell them this.

Regardless, I once saw a bumper sticker that read, “What part of ‘thou shall not kill’ did you not understand?” I read it as a statement towards our pointless war situation. Maybe they were talking about abortion. I don’t know.

It appears now that our newly-elected/selected pope, Crazy Ancient German Guy, has set forth some newly selected sins to fit our current lifestyles. And believe you me, there are some beauties in here. Check these out (as well as my comments):

The New Mortal Sins

1.) Genetic Modification – Cloning shit? Burn in Hell.

2.) Carrying Out Experiments on Humans – Kill animals instead? Sweet. Burn in Hell.

3.) Polluting the Environment – All garbage pollutes the environment. Burn in Hell.

4.) Causing Social Injustice – Holy shit. Everyone burns in Hell for this one.

5.) Causing Poverty – Does this count if you’re in poverty? Burn in Hell.

6.) Becoming Obscenely Wealthy - You’re either rich or poor, so either way, burn in Hell.

7.) Taking Drugs – Headache? Burn in Hell. Cough due to cold? Burn in Hell. Want some heroin? Burn in Hell.

So what did we learn from this fine tale? We are all, according to Catholic faith, are burning in Hell. And that has to include the Pope himself. But who am I to judge. Oh wait, there is more. Check out the sins of driving (courtesy of NPR):

The “Drivers’ Ten Commandments”

1.) You shall not kill.

2.) The road shall be for you a means of communion between people and not of mortal harm.

3.) Courtesy, uprightness and prudence will help you deal with unforeseen events.

4.) Be charitable and help your neighbor in need, especially victims of accidents.

5.) Cars shall not be for you an expression of power and domination, and an occasion of sin.

6.) Charitably convince the young and not so young not to drive when they are not in a fitting condition to do so.

7.) Support the families of accident victims.

8.) Bring guilty motorists and their victims together, at the appropriate time, so that they can undergo the liberating experience of forgiveness.

9.) On the road, protect the more vulnerable party.

10.) Feel responsible toward others.

“But I ain’t gonna argue with you no more.”

Firstly, I would like to inform you that the general miserable nature of said post isn’t something that is going to last around here. Tomorrow I’ll be back with dinosaurs and turtles. Today is a bit different though. So sorry about that.

I write to you today with a great deal of dread and disappointment. Readers of mine may recall my recent struggles with preparing myself for admissions into graduate school. Or, should I say, the “graduate admissions process” rather. It’s a rocky road and these past many months have been just as rocky. I took the GRE that said schools beg you to take when you apply, and bombed it worse than Hiroshima.

But I applied for all of these graduate programs, in English, Film Studies (which is basically for film journalism), and actual Journalism. I thought these would be good stepping stones for my continued educational success, as I have 4 years of writing experience with Film Threat, some freelance work with the Orlando Weekly (and other publications), and the fact that I have enough festival experience to drown a space shuttle. All of this worthless, unfortunate, miserable, and basically pay-less experience resides on the lonely pages of my resume. It’s like a document of pointlessness.

People tell you your whole life that “working hard, pays off.” I want to find out who invented that slogan and slit their throat, kill their unborn babies, and stomp on their eyeballs. “Wait dude, why so bitter at your age?” My friend Frank co-runs a website dedicated to a new phenomenon called the ‘quarter life crisis’. It’s like a midlife crisis for we fine young adults, in our mid-20s, searching for a purpose. You can check it out here.

I’m mere inches away from turning 27. I know, that shit isn’t old at all. It’s still quite young actually, to some. But I am going balder than my 86 year-old grandfather, I have no set career path, debt up to my balls (like most people I guess), no real skills worth anything outside of poverty wages, and now, I’ve been denied admissions into more than half of the programs I’ve applied to so far, including the one I wanted to get into most. “Dude, you’re so young. Calm down. Something will come.” Shut the fuck up you.

I don’t give a fuck about age. Age isn’t paying the bills, is it? Age isn’t really bringing me anything, now is it? Is there a point for me to write another word in my life? Sure, I love it – especially the words here – but everything I write outside of here is basically worthless. No one gives a shit about film criticism anymore. And if they did, my words aren’t worthy of a paycheck.

“Doing what you’re passionate about is all that matters.” Fuck that philosophy too. Passion doesn’t write a rent check these days. At least in my world anyway. But this isn’t me being negative or anything like that. So don’t think I’m looking for pity. Instead, think of this as a way to describe the picture I accidentally drew today.

Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head (3/2008)

The Dinosaur and the Butterfly

No story today. Just a picture.

I’m Not There (3/2008)

My adventure with paper mache…

A comment on yesterday’s blog, left by a fellow blogger and friend, reminded me of something. When I was in 10th grade, I took an art class with this wacky lady. Her name escapes me right now, as that was about 10 years ago now, but her mannerisms stay etched my brain like a brand on a cow. On the first day of class that year, she told us about how she drew this picture of an ape and it was printed on a shirt to be sold at Wal-Mart. She showed us this picture. I remember thinking, “This lady is an art teacher? How can this be?” This so-called “ape” looked like a pen exploded on a piece of paper. It was awful.

Anyway, I don’t remember too much of what she taught us that year but I do remember one project that made me smile. We were to make something out of paper mache. I had no experience with this format back then (and haven’t used it since), so I was unsure of what I would create, or how I would even do so.

Needless to say, when I was done working with the newspaper-covered-in-a-cum-like-material, it appeared that I had designed a man-looking figure. It looked like this, in this exact position:

Before (3/2008)

I showed the teacher my masterwork when it dried and she looked at me puzzled. “Hey Mike, this is good and all, but don’t you think you should paint it? You know, give the piece a characteristic of its own, so it can become its own being?” I didn’t understand anything she said other than “paint”. But what the hell could I paint this thing? Who could it become?

I thought long and hard. Back in these days, I was obsessed with kung-fu cinema. I loved all that cheesy Wu-Tang shit. But there was this movie I absolutely loved. Actually, it wasn’t the whole movie, but a 10-minute sequence involving a fight between Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Bruce Lee. You see, there are only 10 good minutes of this film because Lee died before it was finished. So Game of Death (1978) is only good when the real Bruce Lee is in it. And most of that footage is this fight.

The most notable thing about it is the two sizes of these guys. Kareem is HUGE. His feet are probably the size of my entire body, while Bruce Lee was a little guy. At one point, Kareem kicks Lee in the chest with his bare feet and they are so fucking dirty, that they leave a mark right on his chest.

This sequence popped into mind the second I realized I had to paint my masterpiece. So this is what it looked like after a few coats of paint and some glued-on yarn pieces for hair:

After (3/2008)

This amazing piece of sculpture currently resides at my Grandfather’s house in Zephyrhills, Florida. He displays it proudly next to his infinite amount of Shuffleboard trophies he has won over the years. I can’t tell you how honored I am to have my work included in such an achieving display.

The Helicopter of Doom…

When I was a kid, I was obsessed with drawing things blowing up other things. I would always draw these huge elaborate war sequences with tanks, trucks, lasers, guns, fire, and above all things, fucking helicopters. I loved helicopters. Something about their crazy blades and their tiny bodies that mesmerized me. I especially loved when, in films, they spun out of control after someone or something shot their blades. How awesome is that? And it always appeared that helicopters, upon blowing up anyway, had the best explosions. They always blew up properly.

When I was about 6 or 7 years-old, I would always run to my room after school and start drawing. Back then, all I had to express my creativeness was some construction paper and crayons. Those were the tools of my trade. At some point, and I don’t remember when exactly, I drew nothing other than helicopters shooting lasers at some various monster destroying a city. Basically, I was drawing Cloverfield decades before it stunk up our theaters. And my camera work was way more steady.

Sometime later, the drawings stopped. I guess I became interested in other things (thanks to the Nintendo Entertainment System). My construction paper became lonely, as I was downstairs playing The Legend of Zelda instead of drawing monsters and helicopters. The construction paper died a lonely death while the crayons collected dust and were eventually sold off in a garage sale hosted by my mom.

I hope those crayons had a good life after me. I let them down, just like I have let down so many others in my life throughout the years. This picture is dedicated to them. May they have lived a much better life than the shitty one I provided them with.

Helicopter of Doom (3/2008; based on works from 1987)

An attempt towards abstraction…

Inspired by the words/imagery of a fellow blogger’s post (click), I’ve decided to hang up the kindergarten style today for something more meaningful and abstract. I hope you enjoy…

My Mind At All Times (3/2008)

I agree. I’ll go back to the juvenile pictures tomorrow…