So, it’s been a while since I’ve updated this site with any actual news or explanation as to why I’ve been choosing to produce the junk I’ve been producing. All in good time, angry reader.

Firstly, I don’t mean to air my filthy, fluid-stained laundry on this, ostensibly a humor site, but my recent romantic breakup has impacted me greatly, resulting in a complete lack of desire to do anything artistic other than drink copious amounts of alcohol. But I think I’m about through with the intoxication stage of this and am ready to re-dedicate myself to failing to make people laugh. ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than to have completely given up and kept my crappy day job. No, my friends, this is where my talent lies, and this is where I’ll be.

Secondly, ironically, I seem to be getting a fair amount of drive to produce more, if my motivation hasn’t entirely kept up with me. I’ve broken ground on a Graphic Novel (or Novella, to get technical) that I intend to have ready for sale during this winter’s Alternative Press Expo in San Francisco in November. To cover all my bases, I’ll also have it for sale on this site at some point, along with other common fare such as t-shirts,buttons, and other things everyone else has done before me.

The cool thing about the graphic novel form is I can already feel my artistic brain reacting to it, and reveling in the large amounts of space I have to work, as well as the leisurely pace I can work it. The space constraints are much smaller, and the pressure is much lower, so this may actually result in some of my better work. We shall see.

In addition to increased drive during my temporary hiatus, I’ve also been gaining more exposure. To those who have found their way here and resent my lack of updates, please accept my apology. To those who have found there way here and resent my insistence on updating at all, please accept my scorn. Anyhow, one such opportunity that’s arisen is my participation in the Guest Strip Project, a comic by a different artist each day. You have the opportunity to donate money to it and it goes to the Make-a-Wish-Foundation, so this definitely seems like something good to be a part of. I don’t know when the comic will be up, but I’ll probably mention it here when it posts.

I think I’m going to start reviewing junk on this site. If nothing else it’ll give me an opportunity to do more writing, which is a skill I’m losing (and one I had a pretty nebulous grasp on in the first place). It’s all about staying true to my interests here, and I’m interested in forcing music and obscure movies down people’s throats.

That’s about if for updates. Every time I update it always seems like there’s much more to relay, but there never is. Brevity is the soul of wit, and that never sits well with me.

Real life for me has always been averaged out not by living a bland life, but by extremes.  My lows are painfully low, and my highs are painfully high.  The last couple months has been one of the unusually eventful periods, and it came right on the heels of a large chunk of routine, which has been good for my life experience and bad for my productivity.  Luckily I have been getting more ideas for things than I have in a long while, and I actually had the damn fool sense to record much of it down in a notebook, so at least I’ll have something to feed off during those lean imagination periods.

As of this posting I am on a little needed but much accepted vacation in Las Vegas.  If the hedonism goes as planned, I will have died of alcohol poisoning already and this will be a posthumous blog post.  If this has failed to take place I can only turn my back on my prudishness in revulsion.  If I don’t die, I will return back to San Francisco and instantly have to start looking for a new apartment.  I have moved in with my friend Rick, a fellow cartoonist.  The brain trust I had predicted hasn’t been formed yet due to cramped living quarters, but at least we have succeeded in bringing out the substance abusers in one another.  And my parents said I wasn’t capable of anything…

I have yet to ink anything for my graphic novel, and the presentation date is quickly approaching.  Luckily, I’ve come up with a fitting title for my tale of young love.  So, dear reader, keep your peepers peeled for “Boobs on a Calculator.”  Trust me, it fits in.  And if I get disgusted by my immaturity I’ll change it to something pretentious like “Punctuated Equilibrium.”  My art, like my life, averages out by extremes.

I’ve been wondering whether or not I should actually think of myself as an artist.  I don’t yet feel like I have the chops to do so, especially in a place like San Francisco where even the janitors have had pieces published in literary journals.  But as time goes on I feel more like an artist and less like a person who could live a realistic life.  And I came across a quote by someone I forget recently that advised me to “define yourself before others get a chance to do so.”  Or something like that.  But it helped me remain true to my guiding principles of chaos, and for that I am indebted to you, nameless dead armchair philosopher.

Holler if you hear me.

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