I call it "surprisey."

Grazie, Paolo. He had great taste in cars....

Sunday morning special. I'm hard at work on a new storyboard sequence of my own devising, so my brush pens have been idle. This'll have to tide you over for a day or two.

You see, Miles Davis was selfish, cheating, lying, drug-addicted, entitled, woman-abusing and unhesitatingly cruel. But he was a musical genius who created great beauty and on balance gave much more than he took. He was ruthlessly committed to music, and within that framework he behaved very morally, kicking a heroin habit when it threatened his career and creativity, always judging his fellow musicians fairly, resisting the easy appeal of nostalgia or repeating himself, instead challenging himself and others to constantly move forward. It was always about the music. The man didn't even masturbate.

Chet Baker on the other hand festers with all the vices of Miles Davis, but without the moral center or redeeming devotion to his art. He values his art primarily as a tool for getting his way. Musical ability becomes interchangeable with celebrity. He liked playing music--sure, who wouldn't if they could?--but his commitment was shallow, and purely utilitarian--"How can it get me to my next score?" The art he achieved was minor and passing and without much intention.

Chet Baker's narcissism drove his life, whereas Miles' narcissism drove his commitment to music.

So my question is, do we have a financial system that's a Miles Davis system, or a Chet Baker system?

Sadly, we do not have a Louis Armstrong system....

I love a big head.

Here's that belle soeur I was talking about yesterday. She needs some meat on those bones.

Re: the Wall St. Bailout: the question is, do we have a Miles Davis sort of financial market, or a Chet Baker sort of financial market?

Do you see what I'm driving at?

Hey! Today's our sixth wedding anniversary. Yay us.

These Hippos were the result of a challenge laid down by my 8 year old belle soeur. "Whaddya want me to draw?" I asked.

"A hippo...."

"Hippo? Hippos are hard."

"--A hippo--in a tuxedo!"

"OK."

"No--no--a hippo in her underwear!"

"I'll do 'em both."

Happy anniversary, darling!

Hey! A real brush pen drawing! Alright!

This one is so spot-on. Done while waiting for Ellis and Ranjo to join me for dinner and a screening of "Tropic Thunder." Lots of laughs, and not just the movie.

"Life Imitating Art, part 496"

Or, "My Fantagraphic Moment."

Spotted this guy at our local Rubio's. I noticed him and thought damn, he looks like that weird character (Dr. Wilde?) in Daniel Clowes' "Like A Velvet Glove Cast In Iron" (the man with glasses who works with the dwarf girl writing the pornography--you can see a scan of said Dr. hovering over our friend's shoulder) ( disclaimer--this is a poor drawing done the day after in a rushed hand--my drawing looks more like the "Ice Haven" character Wilder-something (ah ha, a trend!)). (Sorry for the double parenthetical without proper bracing.)

This guy was reading--fully engrossed--and I looked to see what he's got. And it's Clowes' book, "Like A Velvet Glove Cast In Iron." I kid you not. The mathematics of the situation stupefy.

And he absolutely looked like a man inspecting his own biography.

Uncanny freaky. How many people do you see reading that book (ten years old now??) in public? I'm still reeling....

p.s. A funny domestic note: as I was marveling at all this (the face, the book), Dear Wife and I were talking about VIetnam. Her Uncle Charlie was in the Navy at the time. We discussed that, then got more in-depth about the war and the specifics of a moment in time that's almost impossible to imagine for us. I wrapped it all up by saying, "Charlie don't surf."

Blank stare. "Charlie...?" Did I mean her Uncle? She didn't know what I was talking about.

I love when she shows her innocence like that!! To be treasured!!

Well, it's SOMETHING.

p.s. Skinny guy is in no way meant to represent anyone with the initials R.S.

I don't think anyone would think that--I just want to cover my bases.

Not in brush pen, sadly. And not spotted at Starbucks. But dedicated to disaffected teen cats everywhere.

I hope the color goes a little way toward making up for my blog laziness.

What the heck happened? I've been slackin' here...gotta post something.

I find it funny when the most innocuous of bodies dress themselves in 'gangsta' style. The askew, flat-billed cap. The droopy drawers. The gold chain. And then the grannie glasses and pre-pubescent face. And ubiquitous waistline bulge that comes from an excessively indulgent and slothful youth.

OK, there are more aggressive examples of "HipHop" style out there, but it was the very banality of the get-up that got my attention. One thing to be a young man trying to convince everybody you're "bad." Another to throw on this ensemble absentmindedly for a trip to Starbucks with the girlfriend. There's an unthinkingness here that hurts all of us.

I am the old man version of this.

Spotted in Victorville.

I should have posted this on the last day of August. An end of summer image.

Did you think you'd live to see jeans skirts coming back into fashion? I know Ralph Lauren is always trying to foist the long denim skirts on his old-lady customers, but the mini? And it's everywhere.

I shouldn't crab. At this rate the dreaded full-length denim skirt makes a full-frontal comeback by next fall.

For a friend. Everyone loves Sally.

p.s. Saw this movie in the 3D rerelease of a year ago and it really impressed me--and much more than my first viewing when it was new. The whole thing seems so much more original and authentic and downright risky than any of the countless CG, Stop-Motion and traditional anim features that have lumbered out of the various studios since then. Made the era of discovery and originality feel very long ago and far away indeed.

And look at the following the film still has! Partly it's just the Goth thing, but I believe a lot of it comes from the movie's honesty. It was honestly just telling its own story its own way. It singlehandedly redeems the word "quirky."