fuck it.

I was going to not blog this drawing, 'coz it's gonna be published in the next issue of Kiss Machine, and 'coz it's from my next book and I don't wanna give it all away, and 'coz i already blogged the unfinished drawing a while back so really, is there a point?
But, as per the title of this post, Fuck It. I'm sure the droves of people reading this blog will survive, and I am SMITTEN with this little piece. Check out the before version as well. Together both versions give valuable credence (to me) to the notions of seeing things through, of being excessively neurotic with a pencil, and of cross-hatching cross-hatching cross-hatching. Which is helpful when one sits at one's lonely little drafting table for seven hours straight for the last three or four days. Today I tallied my hours on this book so far and i'm at 85.5 in the last two and a half weeks.
I'm kind of amazed.
And I kind of think I'm certifiable too.

I LOVE this drawing. I Love Love Love it.
Unlike many things in the world at this particular moment.
LOVE. it.

I don't know if it was

that I started watching at 11.30pm after 7 hours straight of drawing, but when I found out at the end of last night's episode that Libby was in the same insane asylum as Hurley, I Frickin' LOST it. HarHar. "Lost" it. I may well have to start attending a support group.

This found when googling 1920 catalog tea service

Go figure.
I'd just like to say that there is NO way that the people who named this toy did it guilelessly. Imagine how much fun it would have been putting this through the marketing department. Sometimes I wonder at the people who were creating entertainment for children from the 70s on back. A special breed, seems like, and a rare and lost treasure at that.

Snarks and Bandersnatches and bureaucracy, oh my!

Myself and a fellow employee have been in cahoots trying to figure out a more accurate (if not amusing) definition(?) for the Castle-esque workplace we frequent, well, him with much frequency, me with a great deal less. Anyhow. Today I was exceedingly please to come up with the following: the Cranium Bandersnatches* Corporation .

The word Bandersnatch is in the OED. (Or my OED, at least). I am Amazed by this and consider it a sizeable (if not personally meritorious) victory for the english language.

:;"#^*) emoticons.

I hate using these fuckers. (I don't have a problem with other people using them, but I reserve the right to be "old-school", and we all have our foibles. I mean some of you out there still believe PCs are better than Macs, ferChrissakes.)
While I do see the need to occasionally clarify a message by adding some indication of one's emotional state whilst emailing, there's something weird and diminutive about trying to relay it through punctuation.
I held out forever, i'll have you all know. Of course, ever surrounded by a world where emoticons and text messaging are becoming more and more the norm, i have recently, as ever, begun being sucked into it. This morning I looked at a thread of emails to noticed i had used a bloody smiley face TWICE in a row. Gross. (BIG SAD FACE WRITTEN OUT IN FULL WORDS FOR PEOPLE TO UNDERSTAND 'COZ COMPUTERS ARE WRITING MEDIUMS)

Well NO MORE, I tell you. That's quite enough of that. I am declaring an official moratorium on my own use of emoticons.

Feye-a

A fellow circus person sent me these, taken at Tuesday's jam. All the other photos i have of me spinning of from the dreadlock-and-significantly-less-tattooed age, which makes me practically a different person. So. These for the sake of posterity if nothing else.
(The last one is particularly cool. I've been trying to learn how to spin off (that is, toss and spin yer stick high enough to shake off excess fuel before actually spinning). It looks to me like I'm standing in between two angels shooting at each other with machine guns.)
(Oh thanks to Ben and his girlfriend for sending these along!)

Monsieur le JP's response to my asking why I should have to wear my helmet inside the theatre.