Archive for January, 2009

January 31, 2009

kidnapping fish & dogs with the hardvard lampoon

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[“Mis­ta­kenly”, one of my all-time favo­rite car­toons, is appea­ring in my upco­ming book etc.]
A few days ago, during my “Ten Ques­tions With Mark O’Donnell”, we men­tio­ned briefly his stint back at college, wor­king at the great college humor paper, The Har­vard Lam­poon.
Soon after, my mother sent me the follo­wing email:

Don’t for­get that your grand­father was also a mem­ber of the Har­vard Lam­poon in the ‘30s.
Their humor was pro­bably a little dif­fe­rent– it was an inno­cent time.
One pro­ject which Grampa and his friends carried off with aplomb — in order to write about it later in the Lam­poon — was to ‘kid­nap’ the Sac­red Cod of Mas­sachu­setts- still there, by the way. They smug­gled it out of the Mass. State House in a cof­fin, well-covered in lilies. In the days of Mayor Cur­ley, no poli­ce­man would have done anything but bow his head with a reve­ren­tial mur­mur. It also tells you something about the reign of Mayor Cur­ley, that he set a ran­som of a pint of beer and paid up to get the fish back.
As I said, it still hangs there today.
2nd after din­ner story: To sell papers — it was the depres­sion, remem­ber — they kid­nap­ped (the “K” word again?) — the Yale Bull­dog — yes — a live dog — and took it home to Cam­bridge where they kept it (him) happy on a diet of ham­bur­ger and French fries. Before they gave it back in time for the 1933 Harvard-Yale game, they put his din­ner on the foot of John Harvard’s sta­tue– still there, in Har­vard Yard — and pho­to­graphed the good dog lic­king the foot of John Har­vard. Need­less to say, the pic­tu­res of the dog’s din­ner gree­ted the Yalies when they arri­ved for the game. Sold a fair few Lam­poons, too.
Love from your mother

Heh. I remem­ber hea­ring those sto­ries about Grandpa, gro­wing up. I’d for­got­ten he was was with The Lam­poon when he did it, though… Thanks, Mom! Rock on.

January 30, 2009

stormhoek tasting at harry’s tonight

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[The t-shirt design for tonight’s shin­dig etc.]
After a cou­ple of weeks of back-and-forth bet­ween Stormhoek, our US impor­ter and our local dis­tri­bu­tor, I am plea­sed to announce that Stormhoek is now avai­la­ble here in Alpine, Texas.
To cele­brate I’m thro­wing a party tonight at Harry’s Tinaja, my regu­lar local wate­ring hole, at 8pm. There will be Stormhoek wine for the tas­tin’, cheese and crac­kers, plus my friend Israel has smo­ked up some awe­some mango beef jerky for the occa­sion. I’ve also hired my favo­rite local band, The Dood­lin’ Hog­wa­llops to play live.
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[The Stormhoek bill­board, currently lea­ning against the outside wall of Harry’s, right by the main road in town, where every­body can see it etc. Click on image to enlarge.]
Besi­des that, my buddy Loren Feld­man is in town, wiel­ding his video camera, so there should be plenty of foo­tage uploa­ded online soon.
Re. the “Dream Big” t-shirt. Yes, that sen­ti­ment is prin­ted on the back label of the Stormhoek bottle. It’s also a line that seems to reso­nate with peo­ple round these parts [Few peo­ple move to the middle-of-nowhere West Texas desert without some sort of alternative-lifestyle-dream-action going on, so there was a tan­gi­ble align­ment there.] As I’ve been saying for a while, “We’re into the same kind of things you’re into” works bet­ter as a mar­ke­ting stra­tegy than, “Here’s why you should buy our pro­duct.”
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[Harry, with the first cases arri­ving etc.]
Secondly, Re. Wine mar­ke­ting: Usually, when an impor­ted wine launches in the Sta­tes, a fami­liar pat­tern emer­ges. Hire New York or SF res­tau­rant for the eve­ning. Orga­nize wine tas­ting. Try to get the usual free­loa­ders, PR wannabe’s, and ran­dom warm bodies to attend. If a C-List celeb somehow turns up by some Miracle of God, become ecs­ta­tic. Send Press Release out to the usual sus­pects in the media. Watch Press Release be utterly dis­re­gar­ded by All & Sundry. Watch abso­lu­tely nothing hap­pen after­wards. Wit­ness the entire story disap­pea­ring into the dust­bin of his­tory within nano­se­conds. And so on.
So we at Stormhoek deci­ded to go in the exact oppo­site direc­tion, as far away from the Usual Sus­pects as pos­si­ble. “Hey, let’s launch in Alpine, Texas! Let’s see if we can get real West Texan cow­boys to like South Afri­can wine! It’s totally insane! It’s totally futile! It’s totally wrong! Let’s do it any­way!”
Plus ca change…
[UPDATE: We’ll be strea­ming the party live. Check mine or Loren’s Twit­ter for updates.]

January 29, 2009

“ignore everybody” galleys arrived in the mail today…


[Video cour­tesy of Loren Feld­man.]
P.S. A “galley” is a rough edi­tion of the book, that the publisher gives out to the media a cou­ple of months before the publishing date, in order to spread the word. For exam­ple, a lot of the big maga­zi­nes and papers like to get their galleys at least four months in advance etc.

January 26, 2009

“ignore everybody” galleys for twitterers

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[Click on image to enlarge etc.]
[UPDATE– about 3 minu­tes later: Sorry, the twelve emails arri­ved quickly. Wow. No more galleys to give away, for now. Sorry.]
I’ve got twelve galley copies of my upco­ming book, “Ignore Every­body”, to give away. Here’s the deal:
1. You have to have been active on Twit­ter for at least three months.
2. You have to have been follo­wing me on Twit­ter for at least one month.
3. You need to send me an email with the word, “Galley” in the sub­ject hea­der. In your email I need your your name, your ship­ping address, and your Twit­ter ID.
4. The email you send needs to be, in some way, inte­res­ting, amu­sing, or both.
5. I’ll mail a galley to the first twelve folk whose email fits this cri­te­ria.
6. Thanks for everything!
[UPDATE @:] Even though I clo­sed down the com­pe­ti­tion after 3 minu­tes, I still got about 100 e-mails after from peo­ple, trying their luck. Rock on.

ten questions for mark o’donnell

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If you’ve spent a lot of time around the New York lite­rary party cir­cuit in the last cou­ple of deca­des, chan­ces are you would’ve run into a very old friend of mine, the author and playw­rite, Mark O'Donnell.
I met Mark at summer camp back when I was a kid. He was a camp councilor. Back then he was attending Harvard, where he and his twin brother, Steve, were heavily involved in the Harvard Lampoon, the great, old college humor magazine that spawned offshoots like National Lampoon, Spy Magazine and The Onion.
Mark's specialty at camp was writing skits, which he'd get the kids to perform around th campfire. And damn, they were good. Funny and smart as hell. I still remember how much fun they were to put on. I still remember how much people loved them, both old and young.
Fast forward ten years. I'm in college at UT Austin, though now I'm now back up East in Boston for a week, visiting family. I'm in the offices of the Harvard Lampoon, just hanging around the campus. The Lampoon was HQ'd in this really curious little building, that was donated to the college by William Randolph Hearst. Talking to the young president of the Lampoon and some other student staffers, I ask if they knew of Mark and Steve. Very much so, it turns out. Though they graduated a decade before, their names were still very much revered by folks there. I was told that Mark was off writing novels and plays, and Steve was now working as head writer for David Letterman. Both were living in New York.
So a few days later I phoned up the NBC Letterman office, asked for Steve, got put through, introduced myself, told him who I was and that I was looking for Mark etc. We talked for a bit, Steve gave me Mark's number, I called him up, we talked for a whie, the next time I was in New York we hooked up and hung out; we've been friends ever since.

Ten Questions For Mark O'Donnell
1. After years of struggling as a classic New York humorist, you finally landed your first really big hit: Co-writer of "Hairspray, The Musical", based on the John Waters film. The play won you a Tony Award, it now tours the world and has been made into a movie with John Travolta. I remember writing to congratulating you, and you wrote back, "And Hairspray is like only one per cent of what I'm proud of." Perhaps, but it's still pretty impressive stuff nonetheless. I also know you are still living in the same apartment you had when you first moved to New York in the late 1970s. Has your life really changed that much since Hairspray conquered the world?
It hasn’t chan­ged at all, except I now have some secu­rity for my free-lancer old age. I’m cer­tainly not famous, except to my friends. When I wal­ked the red car­pet at the Tony Awards, pho­to­graphers kept asking me to get out of the way. Except one Japa­nese papa­razzo, who said, “Over here, Mr. Den­nehy!” He thought I was Brian Den­nehy.
2. For the bene­fit of gaping­void rea­ders, let’s talk about the remai­ning 99% per­cent of your work. What else have you done that you’re proud of?
I joke that I’m obs­cure in many fields, but I am proud that I’ve published poetry, car­toons, plays, novels, essays and songs, even if I’m not well known as any one of those things. The diver­sity has been ful­fi­lling. That Knopf and The New Yor­ker and Playw­rights Hori­zons, the best in their res­pec­tive are­nas, have spon­so­red me — It makes me feel good, even if it’s our little sec­ret.
3. I remem­ber when your book, Ver­tigo Park came out. Basi­cally, it was a collec­tion of short humor pie­ces. One piece I remem­ber in par­ti­cu­lar, “Marred Bliss”, actually got me to laugh out loud, something that rarely hap­pens when I’m rea­ding. It’s perhaps one of the top ten fun­niest things I have ever read in my life. Once you told me “Marred Bliss” was your “Party Trick”. Care to ela­bo­rate?
Basi­cally, it’s cha­rac­ters tal­king in revea­ling Freu­dian slips: “I heard you were engor­ged, and I just slop­ped by to pave my regrets.” “Where is the strong, sta­bled man I’m taking to be alte­red?” It’s very funny, but only for ten minu­tes. It would get wear­ying after that.That’s why I call it a par­lor trick. Also, it’s pro­bably my most pro­du­ced play, brief as it is.
4. You were also one of the first con­tri­bu­tors to SPY, the famous sati­ri­cal maga­zine. What was that like to work for, back in the early days?
It was won­der­ful, because my old Lam­poon friend, Kurt Ander­sen, was the edi­tor, so there was no “fear of teacher.” It was like a sec­ret treehouse. He gene­rously published a lot of my car­toons when other pla­ces weren’t biting, and when SPY became the capi­tal of Hip, it was fun to go to its black-tie par­ties.
5. About a decade ago, I was living in New York when your novel, “Let Nothing You Dis­may” came out. I remem­ber hea­ring you being inter­vie­wed on New York Public Radio about it. One of those “Hey, I know that guy” moments. I really enjo­yed the book. Though I’m straight, I remem­ber really iden­tif­ying with the main cha­rac­ter, a gay, thirty­so­mething Manhat­tan guy whose life, shall we say, is going nowhere fast. The book chro­nic­les his adven­tu­res during New York Christ­mas Holi­days Party Sea­son. He’s a guy who wants the same warm-and-fuzzy stuff we all do, but all he seems to have to show for his years living in “The Grea­test City In The World” is unde­rem­ploy­ment, lone­li­ness and alie­na­tion. You’re gay your­self, and as I’ve known you for a while, I did see some auto­bio­graphy embed­ded in the story, howe­ver I didn’t see this book as “gay fic­tion”. There was something to it that cap­tu­red the quin­tes­sen­tial New York expe­rience that trans­cends sex or sexua­lity– the high emo­tio­nal price you pay for living there. You’ve lived in New York for over three deca­des, and I’m gues­sing, like all New Yor­kers, you will have had plenty of pain­ful, per­so­nal expe­rien­ces simi­lar to the main cha­rac­ter. Was wri­ting this book your way of wor­king through those expe­rien­ces?

GETTING OVER HOMER
was my per­so­nal working-through-heartbreak novel. LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY is sheer ima­gi­na­tive spe­cu­la­tion: the hero is five two, and I’m six two in height. I got the idea one Christ­mas sea­son, when I went to two radi­cally dif­fe­rent par­ties in one day — an off-Broadway theatre’s, which had potato chips and wine in a box, and FORBES Magazine’s party, which had a live orches­tra, tuxe­doed wai­ters with hot hors d’oeuvres, and a glit­te­ring buf­fet. I thought you could paint a pic­ture of all man­kind in just a few stro­kes if you did it right. Also, the main cha­rac­ter, because he’s short, aspi­res to higher things.
6. I remem­ber mee­ting your twin brother, Steve, when he came up to the sum­mer camp in New Hampshire to visit you for a few days. I remem­ber seeing him wea­ring a tweed jac­ket, tie and slacks, and thin­king, “Why is Mark all dres­sed up?” You guys were extre­mely iden­ti­cal in the twin depart­ment. And then yes, soon after you both gra­dua­ted from Har­vard and got jobs wri­ting funny stuff for a living. Steve had his first big break wri­ting for David Let­ter­man [before that he wrote funny lines for a gree­ting card com­pany]. Though you both have had nothing but love and mutual res­pect for each other over the years, your career took lon­ger than Steve’s to reach the big time. Was that dif­fi­cult for you, or did it not really mat­ter?
We’ve never been com­pe­ti­tors, we’re collea­gues. His suc­cess is mine and vice versa. Does one doc­tor resent it when another doc­tor saves a life? Actually, it’s been up and down for us both, so no one’s ever “ahead.” We each believe in the other’s fun­ni­ness, so the outside world’s res­ponse is beside the point.
7. Your humor, car­toons, and poetry have appea­red in The New Yor­ker, Spy, Atlan­tic Monthly, the New York Times Maga­zine, you’ve published books, and your plays have been pro­du­ced both on and off Broad­way. I know you had a brief stint wri­ting TV for Satur­day Night Live, but if I were to sum up your oeuvre in three words, it would be “The Prin­ted Page”. Your bother, howe­ver, opted for tele­vi­sion, not just with Let­ter­man, but also folk like Chris Rock and Sein­feld. I’m gues­sing you’re talen­ted enough to have also gone down that road, had it appea­led to you. But I’m gues­sing it didn’t. Thoughts?
I did write for SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE, and wrote assor­ted scripts that never got made. I’m a bit more boo­kish, I guess. Steve has thri­ved in TV, whe­reas I pre­fe­rred books and plays. I joke that he’s the world’s most artis­tic comic and I’m the world’s most comic artist.
8. Wen you first star­ted get­ting your name around New York, the world wide web didn’t exist. And now it does, very much so. Has the web affec­ted your career? Has it made it har­der? Easier? How has the world chan­ged, from the pers­pec­tive of the industry you’re in?
I’m techno-tarded, so the Web or wha­te­ver hardly affects me. The HAIRSPRAY screen­play had to be filed as an online attached docu­ment, that was, to me, a cha­llenge. I expect I’ll have to handle it even­tually.
9. This story really tic­kled me: After the suc­cess of Hairs­pray, you’re were wor­king on a new John Waters musi­cal, “Cry­Baby”, based on his film. A few months ago I sent you a note, telling you about how my “How To Be Crea­tive” mani­festo was going to be published as a book. I had no idea if you had yet come across it, at that point. And you wrote back, “One of our actors was brow­sing your web­site as we rehear­sed CRYBABY, and was impres­sed I knew you. Qui peut savoir?” It seems to me, that when something you make gets suc­cess­ful [My most con­ser­va­tive esti­mate of how many peo­ple have read HTBC so far: Two million], it really takes on a life of its own. The author pretty much cea­ses to mat­ter. You’ve got the author, you’ve got the piece of work, and sud­denly you’ve got his THIRD THING that the work beco­mes, after it’s been seen and diges­ted by enough peo­ple. Since Hairspray’s suc­cess, have you noti­ced this phe­no­me­non?
Well, there’s a lot of HAIRSPRAY merchan­dise — Bloomingdale’s even did a fashion line — and high school kids everywhhere sing the score, but it was a colla­bo­ra­tion bet­ween six peo­ple, and John Waters is the ulti­mate pro­ge­ni­tor. I don’t take it per­so­nally, as you can with your strip. It’s how peo­ple intro­duce me now, though.

10. As your long-time fan­boy, it’s really gra­tif­ying for me to see your work FINALLY get­ting the recog­ni­tion it deser­ves. But as we both lear­ned the hard way, “It don’t come easy”. Kno­wing what you know now, what advice would you have given your­self, years ago, when you first moved to New York as a young, aspi­ring wri­ter just out of college?

Basi­cally, don’t look down. I didn’t rea­lize that the odds are against the strug­gling artist, but I assume talent, patience and work will vin­di­cate those meant for wha­te­ver the dream may be.
And, as Yeats sug­gests, “Be sec­ret and exult.” Take joy in what you do, even if as yet it goes unseen.
[The “Ten Ques­tions” series archive is here.]

January 23, 2009

desertmanhattan update

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[Close-up of “Desert­Manhat­tan”. Click on image to enlarge etc.]
1. I star­ted Desert­Manhat­tan in Sep­tem­ber [See ini­tial post here]. I thought it would take me a cou­ple of weeks. Now I’m thin­king, if I get it done within six months, that’ll be pretty good going.
2. I don’t work on it that much. Maybe twice a week for a cou­ple of hours. Usually I enter the stu­dio when I’m fee­ling a bit overwhel­med by other stuff. It ser­ves as some sort of refuge for me, when I don’t want the other stuff to mat­ter, at least for a while.
3. I’m in no hurry to get it finished. Maybe I’ll work on it for a cou­ple of years. Maybe I’ll never finish it, but just keep on wor­king on it fore­ver– like a blog, a work in pro­gress, a never-ending story. Just an idea.
4. Desert­Ma­nahat­tan is not a work of art. It’s a car­toon. I’m not an artist. I’m a car­too­nist. To me, the dis­tinc­tion is impor­tant.
5. I might sell Desert­Ma­nahat­tan. I pro­bably won’t. At least, not yet.
6. I like the Build-it-slowly-but-obsessively approach. It’s not the only way I like to work, but it cer­tainly has its place.
7. Yes.

“bluetrain” print almost ready to ship


Like I said in my pre­vious post, last week I sig­ned off on the first “Blue­train” prints. Loren Feld­man was in Alpine at the time and fil­med it. He wri­tes about it and posts the video here. Thanks again to Loren for the kind words.
Since then, I am happy to report, all the prints have been pro­du­ced. Now it’s just a ques­tion of get­ting them down from the printer’s shop in New York City down here in Alpine, Texas for me to sign. Then ship­ping them off to the peo­ple who orde­red one.
We’re also get­ting the Pay­Pal thing set up as we speak. It’s all going accor­ding to plan.
I am com­ple­tely exhaus­ted and jet-lagged from my trip to Bra­zil. I had a whale of a time. This wee­kend I plan to do little else other than sleep and vege­tate, then get back on the ball, early Mon­day mor­ning.
Thanks Again for all the sup­port y’all have given me over the last cou­ple of months. This new phase in my life has been intense and exci­ting. I have no idea where it’s going. I just know it’s currently run­ning on all eight cylin­ders. Hope I can keep up the momen­tum. rock on. 

January 18, 2009

greetings from the road…

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[A car­toon I drew back in the mid-1990’s…]
1. January 18th. El Paso, Texas. 11am.
I’m hea­ded for Sao Paulo, Bra­zil.
Drove from Alpine, Texas to El Paso last night. Spent the night in the air­port Holi­day Inn. Ate din­ner at Rudy’s with Loren Feld­man, who was in Alpine doing some video work with me. Plane lea­ves mid-afternoon.
2. Update: January 19th, Sao Paulo, Bra­zil. 6.30pm. Just got done giving a talk on “Social Objects” to some groovy cats at Citi­corp Bra­zil.
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This is my first visit to South Ame­rica. Sao Paulo is the 4th lar­gest city in the world, I am told. 18 million peo­ple or so. Kinda reminds me of a cross bet­ween Paris, Miami and LA, if you can ima­gine that.
Jet­lag hasn’t been too bad. Slept a few hours ear­lier this after­noon. Giving a talk in front of 600 adver­ti­sing & media types tomo­rrow. I’ve never been so well loo­ked after on one of my foreign visits, before.
3. Update: January 19th.

Three days ago I sig­ned off on the first “Blue­train” prints. Loren Feld­man was in Alpine at the time and fil­med it. He wri­tes about it and posts the video here. Thanks for the kind words, Loren. right back at’cha.
4. Update: January 19th, 11.30 pm. Sao Paulo, Bra­zil.
I’m back at the hotel. There’s some big party going on, by I opted for an early night ins­tead.
Just got back from din­ner with @jeffpaiva and his collea­gues i.e the groovy cats who paid to fly me, business-class, out here.
We tal­ked about the usual “where-advertising-meets-social-media” sch­piel. To be honest, I don’t have any really huge insights you’ve not already heard before. As always, the hard part is not con­cep­tual; the hard part is exe­cu­tion. You can riff on about “social objects” all you want; but unless you have a real live one you can play with, it’s all just a lot of use­less theory.
The Bra­zi­lian advertising/marketing scene has the same pro­blem as a lot of coun­tries– a very out-there pro­gres­sive crea­tive com­mu­nity, jux­ta­po­sed against a very con­ser­va­tive busi­ness cul­ture. That being said, with the rate that the Bra­zi­lian eco­nomy is gro­wing, busi­ness will have to change, just in order to keep up.
The world has chan­ged, and every year it gets more expen­sive to keep pre­ten­ding that it hasn’t.
Update: Slightly Later.
One theme that kept on coming up over din­ner: One unseen result of elec­ting to take myself out of the marketing/social-media/consultant scene last year in order to con­cen­trate more on my dra­wing is– it actually seems to have made my advice on the for­mer far more valua­ble? Why? Because I’m not just ONE MORE con­sul­tant loo­king for a new cor­po­rate gig. I’m already busy doing other, unre­la­ted stuff. As I’m fond of saying, the best way to get appro­val is not to need it.
This got me thin­king about the “Ham­mer” post I wrote a few years ago.

Blogs are like ham­mers. They are tools for buil­ding stuff.
When you talk about buil­ding a house with a car­pen­ter, you don’t mind him tal­king about his ham­mer for a while. Nobody minds indul­ging a crafts­man, within rea­son.
“This ham­mer is great for this,” he’ll gush. “This ham­mer is great for that…”
So you think yes, ham­mers are good things, and indeed his ham­mer looks like a par­ti­cu­larly fine exam­ple.
But even­tually you’re going to inte­rrupt his joyous ode to ham­mers. After a cou­ple of minu­tes you’re going to abruptly change the sub­ject:
“Cool. Now let’s talk about the ACTUAL HOUSE you’re going to build for me…”
And if the car­pen­ter is any good, he won’t have any pro­blem with that.

We live in inte­res­ting times…
4. Update: January 20th, 10.15am. Sao Paulo, Bra­zil.
Weird bit of live blog­ging going on right now. I´m at some Bra­zi­lian maga­zine being inter­vie­wed. They´ve asked me to blog something, while they film me on video camera for some TV show. So as I write this, I´m in the maga­zine office being fil­med, with all these media and PR types stan­ding in a circle around me, watching. All kinda surreal, but in a good way…
5. Update: 12.30pm.
Just arri­ved at Cam­pus Party Bra­zil. 6,000 peo­ple, ave­rage age: 21. Vast seas of com­pu­ter tables everywhere. My talk is at 2pm. My talk is going to be mostly about “Crea­ti­vity”, with a bit of Social Object Theory and mar­ke­ting 2.0 sch­piel thrown in for good mea­sure.
6. Update: 23rd January. Alpine, Texas.
Got home yes­ter­day after a nine-hour flight Sao Paulo-DFW, then a con­nec­ting flight to El Paso. Great to be back in Texas again.
The talk at Party cam­pus went well. That day I also did a ton of inter­views for the Bra­zi­lian media. In the eve­ning I atten­ded a fabu­lous geek din­ner with some of the Bra­zi­lian 2.0 peeps, a regu­lar event they call “Nerds on Beer”.
I came away from Bra­zil thin­king, “Man, there’s a lot of oppor­tu­nity here.” One part of me is too tired and jet-lagged to think too hard about it. Another part of me sees a very dyna­mic country of a few hun­dred million peo­ple, with an eco­nomy gro­wing at 10% per year. And I have a few ideas about what to do about it.
Thanks, Jeff, for brin­ging me out there. Hope I can get back there soon. I had a hell of a time.

January 10, 2009

the future belongs…

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[Car­toon ins­pi­red by this 1997 Doc Searls blog post]

January 5, 2009

the final print: putting it up on ebay…

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[“Blue­train”- the new gaping­void print. Click on image to enlarge etc.]
So yeah, the Blue­train print sold out, two weeks before it even goes to press. No, I never saw that coming. Wow.
Since I announ­ced that it was sold out, I’ve got­ten a lot of emails from peo­ple asking me please, please, please, if a spare one turns up, could they buy it from me?
Well, like I said before, I kept a small num­ber aside for myself, but I really want to hang on to them. At the same time, I don’t like peo­ple being disap­poin­ted.
So I deci­ded I’d sell ONE MORE from my pri­vate stash. But who to give it to? The guy who asked first? The guy who knew me the lon­gest?
Not being able to make up my mind one way or the other about who to give it to, I just deci­ded I’ll put it on eBay, and let peo­ple bid for it. I’ve already done well enough from this won­der­fully insane adven­ture, so to keep the good karma coming, wha­te­ver it sells for, high or low, I’ll give the pro­ceeds to cha­rity.
I’ll let y’all know when it’s up. Thanks Again. Seriously.
[UPDATE:] As for the peo­ple who have already orde­red a print; we’re going to press hope­fully in the next few days. I’m really behind in my e-mail [I blame the Holi­day Sea­son, mostly], so I should be con­tac­ting y’all shortly. Thanks for your patience AND your sup­port. Rock on.

ok, back to work…

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Is it the 5th of January already?
Damn, I was enjo­ying goo­fing off…
I have so much crap to do, it’s off the scale…
Most days, I love my job. Today is not one of them. Arrgh…

January 4, 2009

the myth

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[A recent page from my sketchbook…]

hot action

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hipster

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california

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khaki power!

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theatre

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untitled 464

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desertmanhattan update


[You­Tube video…]
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[“Desert­Ma­nahat­tan”. 4 x 8″. Ink, Acry­lic and Pen­cil on Can­vas etc…]
Pro­gress on “Desert­Manhat­tan” has been slow these last few weeks– I’ve been busy with other pro­jects, mostly the prints.
That being said, I’ve still able to occa­sio­nally sneak into the stu­dio and work on it some more– usually late at night, when I’ve been having trou­ble slee­ping.
It’s loo­king good. If I can get it done by March, I’ll be happy. Rock on.

the mess you make

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paid my dues

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billionaire

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west texas mountains

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I drew this one from memory, sit­ting in a cof­fee shop… it cap­tu­res the vibe of living out here pretty well…

1997

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This is a car­toon about the year, 1997. I drew it yes­ter­day, sit­ting over at Harry’s Tinaja. More spe­ci­fi­cally, it’s about Decem­ber, 1997, when I star­ted dra­wing car­toons on the back of busi­ness cards– mostly in bars and cof­fee shops. You can read more of the backs­tory here.
What a crazy path it has been so far. Rock on.