Here’s some stuff you may have missed on the Internet:
In entertainment, Betty White is launching a clothing line; M. Night Shyamalan tries to defend his artistic integrity; former Backstreet Boys give Bieber advice; and there might be an Asian Jersey Shore-type show.
In pretty, here are some photos compiled by Smashing Magazine.
In creepy, check out the Sedlec Ossuary. (It’s a big collection of bones, many of which are made into huge sculptures.
In somewhere between pretty and creepy, check out Dan Hiller’s work, my favorite of which is here.
In gifts, I want the new David Mitchell book, this book about fashion, pretty much any of these books, an environmentally-friendly self-filtering water bottle, a Domo dress, this faux fox, and pretty much everything from this geeky product design list.
And in overall cool, I give you this picture from the Smithsonian bird collection:
It looks like something a serial killer would keep in his basement. But it’s so… pretty.
Today’s first topic is: Tourist Style.
I’m not sure how to say this without it being a race/stereotype issue, but I’m going to go ahead and say it:
White Americans don’t know how to travel.
We can’t do it. As a people. We can get from here to there, but we’re incapable of doing it with anything resembling pinache.
Put us on a cruise, and the hair grows out, the socks with sandals emerge, and nothing matches. Suddenly, acid-wash makes a comeback and fanny-packs seem like a suitable idea. People promote their previous vacation locations (usually Disney-related) with gusto. (To be fair, I don’t usually see suspenders in action. I just felt like drawing them.)
In comparison, our black friends (see above) wear a style like what they wear every day, perhaps with the addition of a pop of color, a flash of whimsical style, a fun hat, or a pair of sandals. White people, on the other hand, must ferret away ugly garments specifically for vacation.
I can’t say that I’m above this. My personal style rules, such as “don’t wear shorts anywhere but the gym or while sleeping,” suddenly fly out the window and I’m flashing my Poppin’ Fresh legs at everyone in sight. My carefully “color-coordinated” suitcase winds up yielding stranger and stranger combinations as the vacation wears on. I wear sneakers with even my nice garments, and everything is wrinkled, especially my frizzed-out hair.
I’m also a terrible tourist in other ways. I have to go to the bathroom every five minutes. I am never the right temperature. I think that things smell funny. I cannot find suitable milk to drink. I don’t like standing in line.
I also demand a stuffed animal everywhere I go. I don’t always get one, but my bedroom is a tribute to how many times my husband has given in. I have a Stitch and a T-Rex plush from Disney World trips; a Scuba-diving sea turtle from Gatlinburg; an orange dragon he shipped to me while I was living in New York City; a purple fish from a window display that made me lose my shit from glee; a purple hippo from a similar window display; an orange seal from a crane game; and a Target Bullseye dog. And that’s just the ones I can think of off the top of my head. Various people, including an ex-boyfriend and one of my bridesmaids, have also given me plushes, with a focus on dogs, because every time I see one, I make an uncontrollable noise.
Speaking of dogs:
One of my friends got bit in the ass by one.
This actually happened a few weeks ago, but I only got around to ‘shopping and posting my “artistic rendering” of the event right now.
I’m not even entirely sure how it happened. She bent down to pet it or something and suddenly it was flying through the air and connecting its teeth with her ass. She didn’t go to the dog park expecting to be gnawed on by a chihuahua mix that day, but then, no one does. We had to go to the corner of the fencing so she could expose her rear to make sure the bite didn’t break the skin (it didn’t).
Even so, we’re still dog lovers.
I, for example, cannot win an argument with a dog nearby. My husband and I will be having one of our usual arguments* and I will literally forget what I am saying in order to squeal over a dog. He wins every single time.
*Note: our usual arguments aren’t really arguments so much as feisty, inconsequential debates about:
- Whether or not something is a “dollar theater movie.” Most big-name movies wind up at our crappy, sort of smelly and uncomfortable old dollar theater. It’s always a risk on a smaller film: do you wait for it to go to the dollar theater, even though it may never get there? What if the dollar theater doesn’t pick it up, and you have to wait until DVD? My husband typically wants to wait and see things at the dollar theaters; I’m more impatient and also more paranoid that the films I want to be will be skipped, so I tend to argue for the full-price theaters. (This happened with the 75% on Rotten Tomatoes movie Splice, which I really, really wanted to see and we missed completely. Now I must wait.)
- Whether or not the Beatles are “good.” My husband hates the Beatles. He argues that though we must credit them as important influence on music that we hear today, we don’t have to listen to them anymore because they have been surpassed. I argue that I love the Beatles — they’re still cute, catchy, and fun to listen to. This is a personal taste issue that comes up more frequently than you’d think. (You’d think, what, once a year? Maybe? No. We discuss the Beatles at least every other month.)
- Whether or not I can have a Rottweiler in the future. I think they’re cute and friendly and I want one. My husband pulls the Theoretical Future Children card here: the Potentially Big and Clumsy/Mean Beast will knock over or eat or whatever our future kids. I agree that 100-pound dogs and 20-pound babies do not mix. However, I also argue that, at age 25, I have another good 40 years of dog owning ahead of me, and we can’t just strike Rotties from the board yet. (I give myself until I’m 65 in “regular dog ownership.” Then I’m going to go back on my “no prissy small dogs” rule and become one of those tottering Red Hat bitches with a Maltese or some shit on a retractable pink leash. There are going to be rhinestones involved.)
- Whether or not it’s a cupcake day. I believe that most days warrant thousand-calorie cupcakes from the new place downtown. Was it rainy? Was it hot? Was it cold? Was it a rough day at work? Did I exercise? Did I eat a vegetable earlier in the day? Am I experiencing lady-time? Do I need to make up for a bad hair day? Am I celebrating something? Is someone new in town who needs to try a cupcake? Am I tipsy? Did I just watch a movie downtown? Am I hungry? Am I not hungry? Is it a day that ends in Y? Whatever. I deserve a cupcake. My husband feels that cupcakes are a special treat for those times when you’re hungry and the occasion warrants it. Disagreement!
- Whether or not working a 40-hour workweek exempts me from housework. My argument: “I’m tired.” His argument: “You sit in front of a computer all day. How are you tired?” My argument: “Maybe I’m not — but I can live in my own filth much longer than you can.” His argument: defeated expression. Then I do the dishes or whatever because he’s right (damn it). Then I go back to playing solitaire on my computer and watching Jillian Michaels yell at people, or whatever trash is on TV at the time.
- Whether or not I’m spoiling the dog by giving him affection even when he does dumb shit. Just kidding. This isn’t an argument. We both acknowledge that I’m spoiling the dog by giving him affection even when he does dumb shit. He’s a bit of a douche and also a bit of a retard and it’s mostly my fault.
All of this slides to the side when a puppy comes into view. I don’t even care if I’m about to get booty-bit. I start gleefully running toward that little animal, hoping to pet it.
Greetings! In between marrying, honeymooning, and hanging out with the gargantuan family clan in Tennessee, I’ve been pretty busy working on some new wedding invitations. Here are a few of my favorite most recent ones:
I’m also working on one right now that has a girl’s dog illustrated into it:
Getting to work with these couples has been great. I try to reflect each couple’s relationship and spirit in each. I think that their invitations should be as colorful and fun as they are. 
Here are a few things I’ve been thinking/doing these past few days.
People like to state their opinions proudly around here. Today’s bug-eyed winner was a shirt that said “Nothing runs like a Deere… except an illegal immigrant.” For the life of me, I couldn’t tell if this was a Deere-sanctioned shirt. It probably wasn’t — or was it?
I love children on vacation. Yesterday, we were on a sky tram (or whatever those things are called) over the Smokey Mountains. There was an epic view as we slowly climbed up the side of the mountain to the tourist trap at the top. Instead of commenting on the mountain, or the wildlife, or the beautiful houses precariously dangling off the edges of the mountain, the kid yells, “LOOK, MOM! A POTHOLE!” and points at one of the streets below. I wanted to snark, “What, kid? You miss New Jersey already?” but I didn’t.
This just furthers my hypothesis that kids don’t really like vacations all that much. The kids think it’s too hot/cold, or there aren’t enough bathrooms, or the lines are too long. The entertainment available, even in a theme park, can’t hold a candle to their Wii at home.
I look around at kids around me on my vacation travels and they typically look miserable. The times I see kids happiest are doing physical things: climbing on rocks, splashing through water, playing on little playgrounds — all things the typical kids can do at their playgrounds/parks/back yards at home. Plus the fact that the really little ones won’t ever remember it anyway. If your kid misses potholes, just take him home and put him in front of one. It’s cheaper.
After we got out of Dollywood, I found a white Town & Country in the parking lot that looked like my husband’s stepmother’s and jumped up on it. I sprawled myself out luxuriously on the hood, waiting for my in-laws to return. I was in being-a-hood-ornament bliss when my husband said suddenly, after 15 minutes of my self-entitled draping, “Honey, this isn’t our car.”
“What?”
“It’s not. Look inside. There are coloring books and toy guns.”
Embarrassing but true! I never know what’s going on! The family has declared me “today’s village idiot.”
I’m scared of the black toilet in one of the bathrooms in our cottage.
Partially because it looks like a black hole. I don’t know when the lid is up without careful scrutiny, and I’m afraid I’m going to fall in.
But I’m scared mostly for germ reasons.
Think of it like this: When do you clean your toilet?
Honestly?
Because the answer in my house is, “When the color becomes pretty gross. Not because we care, but because we guess maybe guests do.”
Imagine, if you will, owning a black toilet.
You’d never clean the thing. Hell, even if you tried, you’d never know if you succeeded. So, over time, you’d cease bothering. Which is human, but not something I want anywhere near.
I live in mortal fear of this toilet, which is hard when you have a small bladder.
In order to avoid ending this entry on the toilet/bladder conundrum, I will conclude on:
SOMETHING SEASONALLY INAPPROPRIATE.
I drew this a while ago, but there’s really no need to wait until Christmas to post it. Please enjoy it on an empty bladder on my behalf.
After driving a combined 13 hours, most of which with my in-laws, I’ve noticed a few things:
1) People really like taking up residence in my blind spot. They settle in there, kick off their shoes, and write a Stephen-King-length novel while peacefully puffing on a tobacco/bubble pipe. They install a couch, decide they don’t like it, send it back to the furniture store, decide the replacement is okay, and then, only then, crack open a catalogue to begin ottoman shopping.
2) Life was a little easier when I had only one gas chain to avoid. Now that BP has entered my Sphere of Rage, I have even fewer choices. Sadder still, I really loved BP: it had a cute logo and was, in State College, attached to a place called “Snappy’s.” I mean come on. SNAPPY’S. They had an enticing jingle that went “Snaaaaappy’s got it, easy in easy out — Snaaaaappy’s got it, what it’s all about!” Needlessly long story short, Snappy’s was a thing I lost in the divorce. I am still allowed to go to Sheetz, however, which I think only lives in the American Northeast. I haven’t yet learned of their evil. I imagine that they’re charming people who love, love, love to clean. As the image truthfully states, Sheetz is a god among clean bathrooms. In an ideal world, I would pee in no other gas station.
3) Just as a side note, truck nuts exist. My in-laws saw their first pair today. When my husband and I simultaneously went, “Oh, yeah, those are truck nuts,” they lost their composure. Perhaps you’re from a city. Perhaps you’re from Europe. Whatever. When you’re in the USA in farm country, be prepared: Truck nuts are out there, swinging in the breeze, waiting for you to notice them.
I hate to roll out of this entry on the “truck nuts” note, but there she sits. Wishing everyone love, and hope to have something a little more charming to say next time I check in.
I’m finally back and ready to start posting again. I was off getting married and honeymooning and such. Since this blog is primarily about (hopefully) pretty pictures, here are a few, captured by my awesome photographer The Redheaded Ninja:
Her full blog post about it is here. We had a quick, goofy secular ceremony, which started off with some “Mawwage, mawwage” speech from Princess Bride and just went downhill from there. There was laughter, tears, and, most importantly, high-fives. We then went under a tent and got our groove on. There was challah, brunch, early 90s rap music, a hora dance, and some in-the-rain antics, seen below:
Then I went on my honeymoon, where I met a sea lion; held living starfish, conch, and sea cucumbers; shopped at a straw market; wore a funny hat; and did improv comedy workshops. The whole thing was wackadoodle and so very much us. It was awesome.
Which leads me to re-visit my bucket list, and see that some more stuff is done (in italics, in the beginning, in chronological order):
Go parasailing
Go to top of Eiffel Tower
Complete a novel, even if it sucks
Climb Mount Nittany
Adopt a shelter pet
Go to Andy Warhol Museum
Meet a dolphin
Find & marry someone awesome
Meet a sea lion
Eat at Herwigs
Visit the UK
Visit India
Visit Japan
Train dog to be charity volunteer
Go to Natural History Museum in NYC
Go to the Guggenheim
Go to the Cloisters
Skydive
Hang-glide
Meet a whale (a little more scary after recent events)
Go to San Diego Zoo
Complete a screenplay, even if it sucks (in progress)
Go to Dollywood (should be happening this summer)
Take an improv class
Get featured on Drawn!
Run a 5K
Go to that new Harry Potter theme park
Go to Comicon
Take a salsa dance class with Walter Emmanuel Jones (Black Ranger/Harlan Band from Space Cases) (I’m not actually sure he’s offering it anymore)
Meet anyone from SC, creator or actor
Get a tattoo
Dye my hair a fun color
Have a child
See Spamalot
Learn to cook
Read something by Ayn Rand (it’s daunting, okay?)
Rock-climb something not sissy
See some of Dave McKean‘s work in person
There’s other stuff, too, but I can’t think offhand of what it is. I used to have it written down in my phone, and add things to it now and again, but for some reason, that entry is deleted. This is a good start. I’ll be back with an illustration post in a bit. Wishing everyone well.
It’s probably blasphemy to say this in art circles, but I lost my Moleskine for a while. It was in a backpack pocket I rarely entered, and when it turned up, I was pleased to find illustrations I’d forgotten about. I don’t usually draw from life at all, so these are pretty rare. I scanned them and added some color in Illustrator. Enjoy!
They were from the Christmas season. The first was from a bright red Buddha in a Chinese restaurant; the second is my fiancé playing video games in his low grey leather chair. He had long hair then. Drawing from life is kind of fun sometimes; now that I’ve temporarily found my Moleskine, I might do it more.
“Circus Lovers”
“Fanboys”
These illustrations were drawn in ink, scanned, then run through Photoshop and Illustrator.
In suburban news, I applied for my marriage license yesterday, which is pretty exciting.
Speaking of which, I had a brief near-death moment in which I worried that I hadn’t lost enough weight to fit into my wedding dress, so when the white flowers-and-dragons Asian-style dress fell onto me perfectly, I feel epic relief. My mother had threatened to attack the dress with a seam-ripper, and I’d been seeing my life flash before my eyes. The walking and running and killing myself with Jillian Michaels fitness videos worked. Thank goodness, because, well, OUCH.
I laugh every time I see that photograph of myself. I don’t know why on earth I was making that hilarious and supremely unflattering expression. Anyway, I ♥ Jillian. She’s my hero. I secretly hope that there’s a parallel dimension à la Fringe in which she and I are besties, because I’m not quite sure it’s going to happen in this one. (“Stop snarking on the Internet and get on the treadmill, maggot!” “But there are pictures of kittens I haven’t giggled at yet!”)
Anyway… hope everyone’s having a good week.
KANYE WESTIE! Of COURSE!
I have a simple, easily amused mind.
I’ve expanded the minimalist superhero series into plenty of comic characters, including a few baddies. I know most about Batman and the X-Men, so those are the bottom two rows. Here’s widescreen desktop I made of them. Click for full-size:
Happy weekend! ♥
