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He Said "Gigadick"
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4/27/2005
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I really have absolutely nothing to write about. The problem here seems to stem from my overworkedness as of late. I work at my "real job" for eight or ten hours, come home, and work at what I suppose could be termed my "fake job" for another six or seven. Then I collapse in exhaustion, wonder if I'll ever get to the finish line, and cry myself to sleep. Repeat daily.
This weekend I did take a small break. I showed a few pieces in an art show in Charlotte, handed out some cards, met some strange artsy-type people, listened to the skull-hammering douchebaggery that is a political rant between two artists, and came to the following conclusion: the difference between a starving artist and a non-starving artist is simply the ability to show up on time. Starving artists talk about how hard it is to make it in the industry, and non-starvers decide that starving sucks and don't want to starve anymore. I suppose I could say that talent helps (if I had any myself), but 90% of success lies in returning phone calls, not being late, following up, and finishing the job on time.
So now you know all of my secrets. My problem is that my hubris prevents me from saying "no" when someone wants me to do something for them (especially for money), so I find myself spread a bit thin. Hence the sporadic writing of late. Writing is both my favorite job and the lowest paying. We gotta' prioritize based on something, kids.
Since I had so much work to do, I went fishing on Saturday in the mountains of North Carolina at this really swanky mountain golf community. It's one of those places where everything is perfect and beautiful and they have divers in the river that actually put the fish on the hook for you. I caught about a billion fish (or maybe it was 9), but sadly none of them were the magical talking kind that grant wishes. If they had been, I'd be typing this from a monster truck made of beef jerky and my name would be Lord Gigadick. I also wouldn't be typing this just to avoid working on the media kit I have to design for Atlanta Illustrated or the two impossibly impossible-to-draw portraits I am doing for a friend for mother's day, because I would have had my magical trout conjure me up a huge sweatshop with thousands of midgets who would draw portraits and design shit for me in exchange for midget kibble and run-on sentences.
Sure, I could just wish to be insanely wealthy, but who doesn't want a bunch of midgets chained to drawing tables? That's right, no one.
For what it's worth, the work is getting done, and I'm building character or some such crap. Here are a couple of the latest drawrings. If you hate them, please don't make me cry. If you like them, rest assured that they like you too.
One of the impossible-to-draw pics. Try putting that much black on a sheet of paper with a pencil sometime when you have a few days and about twenty pencils you don't know what to do with. I actually got a not-so-hilarious blister from drawing a frigging picture.
This is a colored pencil drawing of Carter. I think he lives in Texas, and his mother assured me that he was the cutest kid alive. All parents tell me that when I draw their kids, and they are all absolutely right.
The late William Warren, namesake and father of the owner of my favorite bar, The Warren City Club in the Virginia Highlands, where the picture now hangs.
All of them would be better if they were drawn by midgets while I drove around in my monster truck, though.
 Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 5:57 AM |
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Porn in Spring
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4/12/2005
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Now that the temperature is in a tolerable range, I can open my windows and fall asleep to the soothing sounds of city buses, fire trucks, and drunk people stumbling and puking their way home from a night out. It all happens 10 yards from my bedroom.
In the morning it looks like someone spray painted my room yellow and I'd swear there is a pair of hiking boots in my nose, indicating the pollen count is somewhere around nine trillion. Small price to pay for perfect weather. A guy runs past my house with his dog, a plastic sack of warm feces swinging at his side, thumping his leg with every stride. The main reason I don't have a dog is that I would have to carry his shit around in a bag when I took him for a walk.
I set up my easel on my front porch and watched the birds while I worked. There is one bird that starts chirping loudly at about 6 am right outside my window. It's a little annoying, but it could be worse. I wonder if all of the other birds talk about him behind his back-
"Yeah, that's Tyrone. He's alright, but he talks way too much. Gets up all early and thinks we care what he has to say. I mean, I have four hungry mouths to regurgitate into and he's keeping me awake all night."
I also watched the small birds picking up sunflower seeds and flying up to the tree limbs to crack them open. They hold them in their tiny talons and peck away furiously at the shells. How often do you think they accidentally peck their foot? Is it like a human biting their lip?
"Almost *peckpeckpeck* there...one *peckity* more *peck* P-GODDAMNIT!! AAGH! My fucking foot! Ahhhhh...jeez..."
I'm also particularly looking forward to seeing some things hatch. I've had my eye on a couple of egg sacs all winter(haven't we all?). Last fall a praying mantis laid eggs on my ficus tree, so I figure the little bastards will come crawling out sometime soon. Unfortunately, the ficus tree is in the cage with my chameleon, so I have doubts about their life expectancy. There is also a collection of very strange cylindrical insect eggs of some kind on my window screen. Thankfully they are on the outside, because I don't need a bunch of centipedes burrowing into my ear while I sleep. Not again.
In spring everything is having sex. Everything except writer/illustrators; we actually migrate to equatorial regions in the early fall to spawn. By November you will see our lifeless bodies littering streambeds all over Brazil. It's quite the spectacle.
Once in a while you'll see a couple of birds pinning one another down and flapping weirdly for a few seconds, and then the male bird flies away and the female sits on the ground looking disappointed. No matter how much you want to, don't laugh at her. It's the only action she's getting all year. I saw a couple of ducks getting it on and thought the one on the bottom was going to drown, but didn't intervene. Ducks don't come into my house and give me sex lessons, so what right do I have?
Look around you. Everything is doing it. Cats, dogs, rodents, reptiles, fish, insects, trees, flowers... If you're into that kind of stuff (you sick monkey), you might as well unplug your computer, because the porn is free for a few weeks.
Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 5:40 AM |
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Proud Member of my Demographic
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4/05/2005
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On weekends during the day, I draw and write. The television is usually on in the room, and every time I see something (particularly a commercial) that sucks, I store it in a part of my brain that twists and violates it into something nature never intended...
*Camera pans across a really dumb looking compact car. Cue smoke machine and strobe lights. Badassedness increases by 10% with each guitar riff. Cue voiceover.*
"I'm Phillip, and this is my Scion PQ. It has big chrome rims, a coffee can exhaust and a picture of a Samurai on the door."
Cut to Phillip- white guy in his early 30's.
Phillip doesn't have time for things like "getting laid" and "having friends" because his world revolves around his car. People who know him think of him as the guy who you can make fun of while he's sitting right in front of you because it is the only social contact he gets and he'll put up with it. Phillip will go on in his career to become an ineffective member of middle management (where his employees will openly make fun of him in meetings) A'la David Brent from The Office.
Having done a little marketing myself, I am 1000% sure that the marketing firm that created that ad did not intend that to be the message of the commercial. They wanted to show a hip young guy who knows something that the rest of us don't- that continuing to put shiny crap on your car when you are a grown up is cool as hell. What they did is portray the exact person whom most young adults do not want to become.
Maybe I'm not their target market.
I also love how a company can appear to have two entirely separate marketing departments- one that is made up of marketing and advertising professionals who understand the difference between "good" and "bad", and another one that is some kind of government funded make-a-wish project for people who are dying of stupidity.
As I mentioned in last week's entry, the Burger King Bacon Cheddar jizzburger being pitched by a bunch of c-list celebrities will be judged by history as a crime against humanity. The fact that I had to look it up to find out that it wasn't a KFC commercial is a testament to its non-effectiveness. Everyone shudders when they see that commercial, which explains why Hootie writes a lot of songs about crying- if you made those kinds of career choices you'd spend a lot of time crying too. If their intent was to make a memorable ad, then bravo. They have given me a new most horrible memory to replace the one where I walked in on my grandmother while she was sitting on the toilet. Naked.
Their other bad commercial series is the one with the plastic "king" character.
I can't even begin to tell you how much this guy creeps me out. Some people are afraid of clowns, but I'd let John Wayne Gacey take me on a guided tour of the torture device factory in full makeup before I'd buy a burger from this freak.
On the other hand, their ad series that centered on co-workers discussing lunch/ordering lunch/engaging in breakroom banter was great. Sure, one could argue that I appreciated it because I identify with the situation, but it was well written and acted. At least I don't identify with a plastic child molester or Hootie wearing chaps and a cowboy hat.
*Fade to the guy typing this article. White guy in his early thirties. Burger king cup and half-eaten Tender Crisp Bacon Cheddar Ranch sandwich to the left of the keyboard...*
Post script- further investigation into the "Wake up With the King" ad campaign revealed that the target demo was "cynical men of the 18-to-35 crowd." Color me stupid.
Dusty
RELATED LINK: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4107150
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posted by Dusty at 11:53 AM |
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