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.