All right ladies and womens and sir-ma'ams and ze's and she's and those who prefer to remain labelless.
This just in from a webiste off-shoot of my former East Coast daily:
Gay marriage now legal in California. Arnie says he'll uphold the ruling.
Step up.
Bride me. I'm ready. I won't propose via text. I will shower you with chocolate or flowers or kisses or bus tickets or fish eggs or vegan fish eggs or whatever you prefer.
Buy me an opal ring. Let's do this thing.
And some food for thought:As previously noted I dabble in magic. When I started this blog, Gay Marriage *was not* legal in California, though hardly anyone could quite believe it.
Less than 6 months later gay marriage *becomes legal*. Now I'm not saying there's a direct causative correlation, but I'm not not saying that either.
Think about it.
Showing posts with label chocolate. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chocolate. Show all posts
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Happy Valentine's Day
I have been totally swamped with a project for the last couple of weeks, and though I am a master procrastinator, it got to the point I knew taking the time and energy to blog would just make me feel more guilty. So that's why I've been M.I.A.
I mostly was just dropping in to announce that despite my lack of Catholic faith, I have given up Craigs List W4W for Lent.
But since I'm here, I would also love to wish you all a Happy Valentine's Day.
I just wrote this about the good ol' VD, which historically has done me mostly wrong:
Hello fine folks. I know you all are very cool and forward minded and are completely impervious to the throes and passions and consumerism of the manipulative construction known as Valentine's Day, but me, I'm susceptible as shit. I love an excuse for an occasion, a date with a ritual,(hell when I'm dating I celebrate monthiverssaries), and plus, I'm a sucker for all of these things: chocolate, flowers, the color red, and love.
But whether you have a care about Valentine's Day or not, I want to thank you for your unique love: for making your love the way you envision it; with and for the people who speak to your individual heart, regardless if they do or do not look like the deserveds or beloveds on TV; which you make on any or every day that may be best for the inimitable recipe of love that you formulate; to be cooked in just the right way; with courage and sweetness and vulnerability, even (or especially!) when everything else is going absolutely batshit and loving seems like the silliest and most impossible thing to do. Thank you for doing it anyway, your way.
So go out and love some today, if you can in the way that works for you. I suggest starting with yourself and working outwards. I'll be spinning that spiral myself. Good luck and good love to us.
I mostly was just dropping in to announce that despite my lack of Catholic faith, I have given up Craigs List W4W for Lent.
But since I'm here, I would also love to wish you all a Happy Valentine's Day.
I just wrote this about the good ol' VD, which historically has done me mostly wrong:
Hello fine folks. I know you all are very cool and forward minded and are completely impervious to the throes and passions and consumerism of the manipulative construction known as Valentine's Day, but me, I'm susceptible as shit. I love an excuse for an occasion, a date with a ritual,(hell when I'm dating I celebrate monthiverssaries), and plus, I'm a sucker for all of these things: chocolate, flowers, the color red, and love.
But whether you have a care about Valentine's Day or not, I want to thank you for your unique love: for making your love the way you envision it; with and for the people who speak to your individual heart, regardless if they do or do not look like the deserveds or beloveds on TV; which you make on any or every day that may be best for the inimitable recipe of love that you formulate; to be cooked in just the right way; with courage and sweetness and vulnerability, even (or especially!) when everything else is going absolutely batshit and loving seems like the silliest and most impossible thing to do. Thank you for doing it anyway, your way.
So go out and love some today, if you can in the way that works for you. I suggest starting with yourself and working outwards. I'll be spinning that spiral myself. Good luck and good love to us.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Comic Art Zeal and my Slowly Slipping Face
Could You Love This Person?
This weekend I have turned into the crazy reclusive artist fiend I hopefully prophesied in the wake of my breakup a few months ago. It kind of always happens at crunch time, the deadline (which generally means second or third deadline) for my comic which is published in the quarterly $pread magazine.
This time was especially fun though, and it felt really good to get into the place I had seen as the best-case scenario in the depths of my heartbreak: I would retreat from society, and finally spend tons of time locked away in my house doing art. I have a hard time focusing on any one thing, and I'm sure I've mentioned that finishings and endings are not my strong point. Additionally I have a hell of a lot of guilt and blockages around art. I won't even start with my feelings about my relationship to the word "artist", that is rain-soaked paperback of its own. So it feels like a real accomplishment to get into that zone, and really enjoy being there (starting every comic takes at least a month of procrastination and then a couple of days of making the template and the initial pencil drawings which always feels like I'm trying to gnaw off one of my own feet and pass it off as my prom dress.) This time, once I started it was easier to get in the happy place, I think because the comic came mentally to me organically almost fully formed a couple of weeks ago, and I had new style ideas I was excited about. I think slacking around, reading a bunch of other people's comics, aka "research", is finally paying off.
Generally, if there is any chance I can wile away the hours talking or engaging with other humies, I have a really hard time helping myself from doing that. This is possibly one of the reasons my therapist thinks I might make a good therapist. I hope that "switch" of being able to focus on and practice art is finally getting flipped.
The circumstances that really helped this time were: a big storm made leaving the house even less appealing than usual, as well as completely unnecessary (I actually did make sure to leave the house with a friend for greens or chocolate, but after nightfall, once every day), all of my current dates, hook-ups, and mojo subscribers are either out of town or sick, many of my close friends are out of town or very busy, and one of my copious new years resolutions is to try to get better at making deadlines. Also the previously mentioned excitement about this particular idea, part of which was that it seemed like it would be easier to draw than usual. Every time I draw a comic I think "I need to develop a simpler style, something recognizable, but really easy to draw" (which always comes in the voice of one of my comic mentors and companions, Dr. Hal), but every time I am totally stressed out and kind of just spit out whatever comes because that's all I got and every time it seems more complicated and time-consuming and difficult and crazier than the last. Except this time. Let this be the first movement of a trend for me.
Anyway, I wasn't really trying to write about me and art and comics. I was trying to just set the scene for this horrible picture: me, up at 4:30 a.m., eyes twisted and strained, alone and half-crazy and covered in ink stains, talking about Marcel Duchamp's idea, infrathin, my intense love/hate of David Byrne, and the genius of Rev. Dr. Splashy-Pants over g-chat with Aundi in England. Aundi left to get some coffee, and in my desperation for stimulation I took these super-unflattering photos of myself with my personal archival mirror; photobooth. They confirmed the recent realization that I am starting to look my age. As I described it to her:
me: i am starting to "look my age" especially when tired, which is most of the time
me: my face gets simultaneously puffy and saggy, like its been out in the rain and is sodden and is slipping from its moorings
I will talk all about my revised position on vanity in the future. And no need to tell me I'm good-looking, I mostly know that, but I'm also noticing the changes with interest. Recent ex used to tease me with prognostications of my eventual Bea Arthur-dom; I'm still hoping for a chance at a mix between Blanche and Dorothy.
So for Aundi, I post the above picture. He described me as "an angry old Russian woman who shopped at Trader Joe's in West Hollywood."
May I never turn into that woman.
Worry not-spousettes, I look much, much better today. Much better. I'm going to go take some vitamins and drink a big glass of water.
Much, much, much, much better.
This weekend I have turned into the crazy reclusive artist fiend I hopefully prophesied in the wake of my breakup a few months ago. It kind of always happens at crunch time, the deadline (which generally means second or third deadline) for my comic which is published in the quarterly $pread magazine.
This time was especially fun though, and it felt really good to get into the place I had seen as the best-case scenario in the depths of my heartbreak: I would retreat from society, and finally spend tons of time locked away in my house doing art. I have a hard time focusing on any one thing, and I'm sure I've mentioned that finishings and endings are not my strong point. Additionally I have a hell of a lot of guilt and blockages around art. I won't even start with my feelings about my relationship to the word "artist", that is rain-soaked paperback of its own. So it feels like a real accomplishment to get into that zone, and really enjoy being there (starting every comic takes at least a month of procrastination and then a couple of days of making the template and the initial pencil drawings which always feels like I'm trying to gnaw off one of my own feet and pass it off as my prom dress.) This time, once I started it was easier to get in the happy place, I think because the comic came mentally to me organically almost fully formed a couple of weeks ago, and I had new style ideas I was excited about. I think slacking around, reading a bunch of other people's comics, aka "research", is finally paying off.
Generally, if there is any chance I can wile away the hours talking or engaging with other humies, I have a really hard time helping myself from doing that. This is possibly one of the reasons my therapist thinks I might make a good therapist. I hope that "switch" of being able to focus on and practice art is finally getting flipped.
The circumstances that really helped this time were: a big storm made leaving the house even less appealing than usual, as well as completely unnecessary (I actually did make sure to leave the house with a friend for greens or chocolate, but after nightfall, once every day), all of my current dates, hook-ups, and mojo subscribers are either out of town or sick, many of my close friends are out of town or very busy, and one of my copious new years resolutions is to try to get better at making deadlines. Also the previously mentioned excitement about this particular idea, part of which was that it seemed like it would be easier to draw than usual. Every time I draw a comic I think "I need to develop a simpler style, something recognizable, but really easy to draw" (which always comes in the voice of one of my comic mentors and companions, Dr. Hal), but every time I am totally stressed out and kind of just spit out whatever comes because that's all I got and every time it seems more complicated and time-consuming and difficult and crazier than the last. Except this time. Let this be the first movement of a trend for me.
Anyway, I wasn't really trying to write about me and art and comics. I was trying to just set the scene for this horrible picture: me, up at 4:30 a.m., eyes twisted and strained, alone and half-crazy and covered in ink stains, talking about Marcel Duchamp's idea, infrathin, my intense love/hate of David Byrne, and the genius of Rev. Dr. Splashy-Pants over g-chat with Aundi in England. Aundi left to get some coffee, and in my desperation for stimulation I took these super-unflattering photos of myself with my personal archival mirror; photobooth. They confirmed the recent realization that I am starting to look my age. As I described it to her:
me: i am starting to "look my age" especially when tired, which is most of the time
me: my face gets simultaneously puffy and saggy, like its been out in the rain and is sodden and is slipping from its moorings
I will talk all about my revised position on vanity in the future. And no need to tell me I'm good-looking, I mostly know that, but I'm also noticing the changes with interest. Recent ex used to tease me with prognostications of my eventual Bea Arthur-dom; I'm still hoping for a chance at a mix between Blanche and Dorothy.
So for Aundi, I post the above picture. He described me as "an angry old Russian woman who shopped at Trader Joe's in West Hollywood."
May I never turn into that woman.
Worry not-spousettes, I look much, much better today. Much better. I'm going to go take some vitamins and drink a big glass of water.
Much, much, much, much better.
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