Friday, November 30, 2012

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Mr. Turtleneck

I have a turtleneck like that. I think it dates back to the 70s. It shows absolutely no signs of age. I think it's made of some sort of magic fabric. I wonder if his is magic too.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Thursday, November 22, 2012

Jimmy Stripes: Outlaw Country Singer

Wow! Whodathunk little Jimmy would grow up to be a long-haired hard-drinkin' hell-raisin' outlaw country singer?1 But there he is. And Big Jimmy wants to wish you a damn fine Turkey Day. Gobble Gobble!

1 As I said, in the absence of guidance, this game is subject to the whims of my psyche, and who the hell knows where that will lead.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Shadows 'N' Stuff

Ooh, look! Three of my photo fetishes all in one: utility meters, shadows, and peeling paint on dilapidated houses. A triple-whammy. Boom!

Monday, November 19, 2012

Utility Meters

Yeah, they're another of my weird photo fetishes. Your mileage may (and probably does) vary. Dunno, they just look sort of humanoid, like weird poorly maintained proto-robots stuck to the sides of all the houses. Something...

Sunday, November 18, 2012

My Morning Coffee: Pinkish Purple Flowers and Such

This is, as I recall, one of the few that I actually bought. And as I recall (in the less than noble tradition giving to another what one actually wants for oneself) I think I bought is as a gift for Sarah. Regardless, it's lovely. Definitely not a demitasse, a full on tasse. And it seems to me like it's intended more for tea than for coffee, though I have no factual basis for this assertion, and I quite clearly disregard it. (Tea is nice. Coffee is twice as nice.) It's Limoges, fancy French, and again plays that game of decorating the interior with a gradually emerging embellishment. (You can see the little bit peeking out from the other side.) Charmed, I'm sure.

Saturday, November 17, 2012

My Morning Coffee: Ol' Virginie

Another in the Souvenir of American Places sub-genre; illustrations of famous Virginian locales; sweet and charming in its own particular way.

Friday, November 16, 2012

Jimmy Stripes: a.k.a. "Malcolm Moon"

(Our game continues.) Meet Malcolm Moon, moon pie mogul. Malcolm has discovered that moon pies equal money.1 But do moon pies equal happiness? (Anonymous, I'm pretty sure your answer is "no".) Hmm, poor Malcolm.

Okay, what's next? In the absence of suggestions, I'll be left to my own devices, and Lord knows what will happen then.

1 Actually, I suspect the profit margin on moon pies is quite small, but this is fiction. Suspend your disbelief for a moment.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

Jimmy Stripes: "Unhappy Camper"

So the game: take our lil' Jimmy Stripes and revamp his illo into a future (or in this case alternate) persona. Anonymous observed that Jimmy is an "unhappy camper", and I've cheekily/over-literally1 taken this as a revamp-suggestion. So now, Jimmy Stripes the Unhappy Camper!2

Next up: Malcolm Moon! (I've got some notions, Bibi.)

1 I am, by nature, both cheeky and over-literal.

2 And who's the first "unhappy camper" who popped into my mind? Sam from Moonrise Kingdom. (If you haven't taken a gander, it's worth a check-out.) So, Jimmy à la Sam.

Monday, November 12, 2012

From the Doodle-Ma-Tron: Kid in Striped Shirt

I tend to draw older folks, folks with a full backstory, folks whose lives (and faces) are fully etched. (All those facial lines are fun to draw. Youngsters, in a way, require more restraint.) But Little Jimmy Stripes here1 is not the least bit etched and has accrued only a wee smitten of backstory.

One of the fun things, though, about digi-drawing is that it's never necessarily finished: one can endlessly layer and erase and embellish and revamp.2 And I'm wondering what Jimmy would look like if we revamped him into the future, gave him some backstory, etched some age into his open countenance, actualized his potential. Which is a complicated way of saying, I wonder what he'll he be when he grows up? A doctor? A cowboy? A carny barker? A power broker? A film theorist? All of the above? (What would that look like?) So many possibilities. And we (well, I) can make any or all of them come true! (Well, true in as much as a cartoonish rendering from a Doodle-Ma-Tron can be true.) What will he be? Let's draw it! I'm open to suggestions.

1 He reminds me a bit of Bobby from King of the Hill.

2 We've played this sort of "revamping" game before.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

My Morning Coffee: Flowers, Orange, and Purple and Such

(Oops, more radio silence. Gotta stop doing that...)

As the dust settles from our quadrennial red/blue rumble, let us take a moment to turn to quieter things, a moment perhaps to admire the delicate oranges and greens and and purples — and the the scalloped edged saucer — of this fine little cup. I like the little touch — a number of my cups have this — of decorating its inside, such that as one drinks down the wondrous caffeinated contents, the interior floral embellishments emerge. Nice, that.

Monday, November 05, 2012

The Times They Are A-Changin'

Ah, Daylight Saving Time (or the opposite — whichever way we just flip-flopped). Twice a year we have to re-remember how to reset all our clocks, a process which ranges from effortless to maddeningly complicated. The three categories:
  1. Our modern inter-wifi-cellular-magick phones and tablets and computers and such, which just change by their own selves and make it almost possible to forget we flip-flopped at all.
  2. Ye olde fashioned mechanical clocks and watches, which must be manually changed but which are generally pretty straightforward: twist or turn some knob until the hands are where you want them.
  3. Those infernal digi-clock creations spawned in the latter 20th century — the bedside alarm clocks, the microwave clocks, the DVD player clocks, the car dashboard clocks, the digital wristwatches — those wicked things whose time can only me changed by some maddeningly unintuitive combination of pushes and tweaks and fiddles, a process that we must painfully rediscover each fall and spring (or whenever the power goes out).1
I'm particularly tizzy-prone regarding lousy user-interfaces, and this time of year is quite stressful for me. One of these days, I'll probably lose it, tip over the edge, start repeatedly smashing all the buttons on some particularly egregious digital clock, thumping it with my fist, screaming There's your time! There's your goddamn time! until the console cracks and the little numbers dim and die. (Actually, I won't ever do this, but I find the idea cathartic.)

Weird rant over. Have a nice winter.

1 And there's that weird transitional period in which the Category 1 devices have made their effortless switch, and maybe we've changed any Category 2 tick-tockers we've still got floating around, but we haven't quite worked up the energy to mess with the Category 3s, and so glance at the stove clock or something, and the brain hits a little temporal-processing speed bump, and we have to parse it out, and we (or at least I) keep doing this until the cumulative psychic stress of these temporal speed bumps finally pushes us (or at least me) over the edge into actually mashing the randomized sequence of bleeps and blips to finally make the irksome little thing render the correct time (in that irksome all-right-angles late 20th century digital clock font). 

Sunday, November 04, 2012

Mama Bear

Mama Bear looks like she's had a rough day. And her outfit seems a little quirky to me — something about that vest.1 Dunno. 'Tis what 'tis.

1 My brain gets a little confused: she's wearing a vest with nothing underneath, which strikes some part of my brain as indecent, but then another part of my brain pipes up and says, yeah, but she's a bear, so she'd be decent even if she wasn't wearing anything at all; and then another part of my brain says, but the vest itself has an odd vibe — those stripes, almost a made-in-Guatemala hippie-ish kind of thing — that seems incongruous with the hat; but then another part of my brain says, but look at that hat, it's ridiculous, what would be congruous with it? and then another part of my brain says, would the rest of you brain parts please just shut up! it's a friggin' anthropomorphized bear in a goofy outfit, and can we just post the damn picture and move on with our lives and let this near-endless sentence die?

Saturday, November 03, 2012

Guste High Rise

Part of the old Melpomene Projects. Most (all?) of the other high-rise projects in New Orleans have been leveled, but Guste remains (though significantly remodeled a while-back), towering over the surrounding neighborhood. It's primarily senior housing, and though it looks crisp and shiny and modern, old-school practices emanate from and carry on around it: there's an eternal gaggle of old-timers gathered on the neutral ground (a.k.a. median) in the street out front, assembled in a rag tag collection of chairs, spending their days shooting the breeze and watching the traffic go by. (Medians as informal public living rooms — does that happen other places?)

Thursday, November 01, 2012


And of course I also have to post a picture of my own little critters, decked in the Trick-or-Treating finest: Louise as 80s gal (the side ponytail and neon headband really make it). And June as... well, some sort of character apparently inspired by the bijillions of hours of ye-olde-British movies and TV shows they've absorbed. (She later donned a fake mustache for the full 'ello-Guvnor effect.)