Sketch O' The Day ~ Too Many Wishes

1:10 | 1:15 | 1:20 | 1:40 | 1:45 | 1:55 | 2:00

How Not To Eat Lunch

I sit looking straight ahead.

His mouth was moving and the expressions on his face meander about to remind me where I got them from. Those somewhat overly pronounced gestures with my hands when I speak about something in detail? That's him. The resigned lines around my eyes that try to produce a smile when there is no reason to? Him again. The way I speak in glee one moment only to have it betray me because of foolish indecision later? Strike three. I'm out.

The topic is about sound. The anatomy of noise. The waveforms and the levels that are assembled midair and translated through the mechanisms of our auditory receptors. For him, a musician of thirty years in the making yet still desperately trying to crack the eggshell, this is good meat. And I provide my attention as well as can be expected. Ironically, those particular thoughts flow through my one ear and out the other. It's normal par for the course whenever I meet with him one on one.

I try to pay attention, with all my might I try. He would say something about how his computer isn't working properly, I would drift off to the coke machine to my left. He would talk about his inability to work with what he has because everything goes out of date so quickly and a delicious fellow walks by with my gaze in tow to take his place in my peripheral vision to the right.

And then a pause. And another. With each pause the distance eats and grows. I'm at the next table, out the door, down the street, in a field far away, in a city on the West Coast, in Milan, in Osaka, at the bottom of the deep blue Trench. If I wait long enough you can come join me on the moon where I hear they've got a wonderfully sharp cheddar.

I wish I could say I'm happy to be around him. I wish I could say that his exhausted face and failing body are something that I will overcome and in turn will help him overcome. But, I am so similar to him its like a hypnosis of fate. Sorrow is a stain that is hard to wash out. I sink into his eyes even more, trying to discern if there is much left to be hopeful for.

We do not speak of decisions that have been made, point fingers on how things are different and how it makes him sad. We travel around the conversation to points of where things are happening and at what time we should make sure to arrive and what in order they will happen... We speak only of details.

My father makes me extremely tired. I have the fewest words to say to him than anyone else that shares my blood. It feels as though each word is a hundred times heavier than what any nonchalant phrase might be.

I sit there and decide it's time to get back to work since lunch has been eaten and disposed of.


Peace,
Simon

Secret Simon Says No. 4

Listen up.

How many licks does it take to get to the center of the bottle of cheese-wiz?

UPDATE:
Regarding what was said before...

Peace,
Simon

Sketch o' the Day ~ Scratchwork

As a kid I always used to pretend I had a pen that could paint with light and make gigantic creations out of thin air. Who knew I'd actually do it someday.

*Update
Here's the progression for those interested:


(Click on each to make bigger.)

Peace,
Simon

Your Presence Is Required, But Not Your Presents.

Today my mom and sis gave me my birthday present. My birthday isn't until next month sometime, as is my wife's. But mom thought it only fitting for me to unwrap it now, since my wife got hers today in the form of that new book that people waited until the witching hour yesterday to get a hold of. Crazy muggles.

Today, however, is my sister's actual birthday (and I'm gettin' the present, how does that work?). She live's in the far away land of north Georgia, going to college, so I don't get to see her all that often. She's got a boyfriend and a three legged kitty and a wacky aunt in residence now so she seems happy and I'm always happy to see her happy. Go read her blog. She rocks.

Anyways, I received two wonderful anthology graphic novels called Flight. It's beautiful and marvelous! I haven't gotten comics in ages. Thus I haven't read them in ages either. I'm going to force myself to sit down and get lost for awhile reading this during the nightly thunderstorm. I enjoy well crafted and unexpected things like this.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Birthdays and Christmas used to excite me immensely. I loved getting presents. I was all about the "Next Big Commercial Franchise Aimed At My Young American Peer Group". But even, then only one thing at a time, as I was still picky. I left Peter Pan in the dust somewhere along the line because whenever these times roll around now, I get intensely annoyed instead. "I don't need anything." "Please don't get me anything." "No, REALLY, I don't want more stuff in my overabundant house of crap!" Where some are just being polite, I actually mean it. It's simple. there are better things to be thinking about than frivloities. Unless it's integral to my survival, it causes some strife with some unnamed parties.

People, as they should, just ignore me and give me stuff all the same. Because of this, it's frustrating to buy me presents since I don't have a geek lust for much anymore. And by much I mean absolutely nothing. When I was young it was so easy. I was pretty exclusively into Transformers. Then later it was all about Disney movies. Then give me anything about Japanese culture. When I was really young and broke, I even had a rubber ball collection somewhere in there just to be collecting something. I'm sure many of you have been there but the names and dates are just different. These days I'm lucky if I qualify merely as an NPR geek since I listen to it on the way to work.

The San Diego ComicCon is taking place this weekend. At one point I would have rearranged my life to get to go to something like that. I had the potential to be a comic book geek in a BIG way. I had a good chance at being a pop music geek when I began working in a music store. I was on the verge of being an anime geek. I could still qualify as Nintendo geek but I don't think I care enough anymore about it. I might be a Mac geek, but in the end it's really just a computer that works well for me and I could easily change if something better were presented to me. All of these things have sadly fallen by the wayside or became mundane force of habit. I know about things but I don't really KNOW about them like I used to.

Besides, how many devout geeks of that sort does the world really need anyway? I'd like to be the unknowing geek in the shadows that strikes without warning...

Don't get me wrong, even though it can eat away your funds and time, being a geek is a great thing. My mom is such a comic book geek and she loves it. I work with a guru among otaku, he would be a hermit otherwise. So as much as I don't understand the massive attachment to Star Wars or Desperate Housewives or Harry Potter or whatever, I see the zeal with which some wait in long lines the night before a new installment or have something to root for if an award is being offered. Or drone on endlessly if only for the hope of gaining some new recruits. And it's because they genuinely enjoy it. Maybe unlike them, I just don't like to share my mass media. At least with fellow know-it-alls. What doesn't make me a snob is that I realize there are indeed others who enjoy these things more than I. It is their life.

Perhaps when something gets the word "icon" slapped onto it, it becomes more...impersonal. Come to think of it, even some things that are more of a niche instead of a phenomenon fall victim. Like when you know of this local band that, "Oh my god, I so relate to what they are singing about and the music is so original and inspiring and the lead singer is so cute!" Get two or more of these people together in the same room and watch the war ensue over who is the bigger fan. Of course, I've been to maybe three concerts in my lifetime, but I think you get the idea.

I apologize, this post was pretty upbeat to start with, but now I'm realizing that I have nothing that I get remotely excited about. Being a geek should be fun! I don't have cable so I don't watch any TV at home, it's very rare that I'll intentionally watch a movie unless it's just on. I don't do books or music or video games or clothes or religion or boys...you name it. Nothing seems to have impact or mystery. And going out to do anything? Please. I'd need to be bound and forced at gunpoint.

I suppose it's fair to lump blogging in as being geekish. But just like my computer, blogs are more like a method or means. I could easily just write all this down in a paper journal. Surely though, it's effective as a tool to aid in promoting the geeky qualities in the right hands instead of being the sole end product to consume. Maybe I'd rather be onstage performing rather than merely an audience member. I'd rather be the giver than the receiver, not so much for praise but just for the sake of doing it. But then maybe I'm just some sad bloke who wants so badly for the world to recognize him but doesn't really want to do anything about it. Who knows.

I always thought I'd have some kind of fantastical, colorful things surrounding my life, but it seems the lights have gone out. I miss being a geek about something. I know I have the capability, I do get sucked into the spectacle if it's presence is bold enough. I'll readily admit to watching American Idol last season; knowing who was who and wondering which neophyte was the next the be booted off by the show producers, oops I mean, voted off by the public. I would love to be social again (Er...or would that be, "for once"). To have that giddy glee when talking to friends about what's hot or not, however banal it is. Those with opinions are certainly unwarranted sometimes. But it must be nice to have a genuine knowledge about something to actually articulate an opinion instead of just giving notice that "Well, I heard it was..."

This is partially why I offered my latest proposition. To try and get talking again. Maybe that is why I blog these days. You notice I don't talk about politics or post reviews of movies, etc. The fact is I simply don't play well with others face to face these days. I don't have anything to talk about without feeling like I'll step on your toes and you'll run away. It gets rather stilted and awkwardly silent in person. Chatting online, sending emails, even on the phone is easier than that paralyzing notion of meeting in person. I could do it once before and now it's almost evaporated.

I believe I said before the blog was as close to "out" as I would get. Sadly, it's now become as close to "social" as I am.

Peace,
Simon

Pay No Attention To That Man Behind The Curtain

Yes, I'm posting another audio post, but hear me out, it involves some audience participation.

Secret Simon Says... No. 3

So, in an attempt to make this blog a bit less...uh..self indulgent, I'd like to hear from all you fellow bloggers out there. If you feel so inclined and would like to be interviewed for a quick (but not necessarily painless) 10-15 minutes for a future audio post here by yours truly, let me know.

email: darksymon {at} yahoo {dot} com
AIM: Signalite
yahoo: darksymon

Peace,
Simon

No Jumping On The Bed without A Parachute

Audio Post No. 2

Peace,
Simon

I'm Coming For You Next Noxema Girl

Facial hair has never been something to brag about among the men in my clan. It's very slow to come in and at when it does, it's quite pathetic and scraggly. With the exception of some not so impressive sideburns, I try to keep it squeaky clean, otherwise I just look (and feel) like a beast who should be in hibernation. The amount of hair on my chin seems to be porportional to my energy level, the more that's there the lazier I am. Recently though, maybe just because I'm getting older, my stubble has gone into overdrive and I have to shave almost every day.

I don't know why but I've been getting these major pimples lately. I'm not talking about a rash of random red bumps. It's like the ones in high school that emerged after I ate an entire TripleXL pizza. Or something called the Chocolate Bandito from Chi-Chi's Mexican restaurant. They are of the blaringly-obvious, couldn't-hide-it-with-makeup-even-if-the-light-was-dim, nerve-altering, hurt-filled ilk. If I hooked my face up to a seismograph I think they'd have to alert FEMA and issue an evacuation.

For me they've always been connected to food. Since I don't eat junk food anymore I'm not sure what's causing them. Maybe it's stress? Or perhaps I just drink too many smoothies to make things less stressful.

Because of this recent insurgence of increased stubble production and unruly activity under my skin, it's been a bit...tricky shaving as of late.

They (being the newly formed mountains of pain) seem to keep only to the areas on my face where I shave. When they emerge I don't shave for a few days hoping they'll just subside like they usually do. It hurts like hell to shave when they are around and I don't want to accidentally entice any fresh wounds. Or would that be flesh wounds? Pardon my Engrish.

However, thanks to the new and improved Faster-Harder-More! attitude my follicles have adopted, a hair or two will inevitably start burrowing up through the core of each dermal anomaly. I had a couple yesterday that were driving me close to certifiable. Piercing and gyrating from the inside out, the hairs irritate these invaders that have made their home where a fine goatee should be instead, to the point I want to take my face to the nearest electric cheese grater and let it have it's way with me.

I couldn't take it anymore. Since it being desperate times and all, I switched out my razor fitting it with a shiny new blade and with the skill of a faux-samurai I began to attack. They never stood a chance. There was bloodshed. There was pus. You could hear something akin to violins screeching in the bathroom. In the end, I slightly resembled an extra in a student-grade vampire film until I could get enough toilet paper to patch it up. Then it was more like a zombie flick. It did take while for it to stop leaking.

Yeah, it's a bit gross, but I find if I'm going to be a whiny bitch I may as well revel in it. I could go on about my earwax debacle but I think maybe you've probably had enough of my bodily functions for one post.

On to the next ailment!

Peace,
Simon

Would Ya Like To Take Survey?

Introspective thoughts or pretentious babble?

You decide.

If you get gobbledygook when you click on the link, try right-clicking to download the file.
Peace,
Simon

Sketch O' The Day (A Real Time Experiment)

2:00

1:00 | 1:10 | 1:20 | 1:30 | 1:40 | 1:50

Father's Be Good To Your Daughters...and Sons

Of all the things I wish to be proud of this month, there is no doubt I am proud to be a papa. I often wonder if my own dad is proud of me.

I hadn't planned on really getting anything for my dad. Not because I don't love him, but simply because I often don't even give things like Christmas or birthday presents. Besides, being extremely broke, it's hard to get something for someone who may not appreciate it...

Consider this: We gave him the movie Finding Forrester for a present one year on DVD. He did watch it, decided it had too much bad language or didn't really mesh with his beliefs or maybe he just plain didn't like it. Which I didn't really understand, but it's fine, whatever. However, in his true neurotic fashion, he thought it best that he should just...give it back to get it out of his house. My wife has always had a hard time dealing with him because of things like this. To me it was unsurprising and I've tried to explain his behavior. But to some souls, to return a present that you just don't like to the giver, seems more the sure-fire method of being intentionally insulting. He didn't quite get that. Way to boost my wife's self esteem there, dad. A lot of retail stores won't even take it back because someone "didn't like it."

So, I wasn't going to push myself into getting a gift. I did plan long ago on making a mix CD for him. The trick with him, is that I can't give him things raucous, experimental, angsty or with anything remotely resembling distortion, since he's an old dog now and simply wouldn't dig all that noise. I know that's awful to say. It's also sad because he's the one who instilled in me the diverse musical catalogue that existed outside of pop radio. Symphonies, jazz, folk, odd vocal music, and exotic instruments from far off lands. Since then, I've been on an ongoing quest to please that harshest of music critics. Eternally jotting mental notes about juxtapositions regarding rhythms and harmonies and sonic curiosities that are intriguing but not out of his own audible spectrum.

This comes from his college endeavor to become a band director. With more than enough credits and a semester to go under his belt, he become overwhelmed and never finished. (Proof that history does indeed repeat itself.) He's way too talented in music theory as well, he'd often break the curve in the class. I remember my attempted piano lessons with him were often given up when I really didn't care what a major fifth was and I just wanted to play Gershwin and Shostakovich pieces with all those notes that made the score seem like it had the severe chicken pox. He plays the piano, guitar, trumpet and those things he didn't know he could pick up and figure out. He once made a poster advertising musician for hire "anything but the bagpipes." He even wrote a song for me and my sister. If I can find the words someday I'll post the lyrics.

Back to the task at hand, at least this way there's no reason for giving me a mix CD back since, I already own all the music in order to make the mix. But then I never got around to putting it together. The problem (read excuse) is, just about every bit of music I own is at work right now. Work is 45 minutes away, it's Sunday morning, I only have dialup at home so I don't have enough time to download mp3s of things I already had in mind, etc. But lying in bed this morning, feeling lethargic, lonely and particularly drained from the heat, I got a bug in my ear that started dragging me out of the bed, whipped me onto the floor and body checked me into the CD rack. Lo and behold, there was a stack that I brought home and forgot about until now.

I don't believe in signs. But alright, fine then, I took the challenge. And somehow, even though my selections were thoroughly limited and not close to what was on my mental list, I came up with an intersection of our musical tastes that was exactly what I was looking for. It seems that all the best things I come up with are at the last minute. Like down-to-the-wire, gun-in-my-back, do-it-or-I-breaka-you-face, last minute. So with it, I made a tray card that doubled as a Father's Day card, complete with a few original sketches and the following note:

Dear Dad,

Of all the things
I have learned from you,
I appreciate your instilling the power of music
on this planet,
and in my life.

Here are some songs that I hope you will enjoy as much as I do.

Happy Dad's Day

Love, Me

The Playlist:
Sunrise - Norah Jones
Man In The Long Black Coat - Joan Osborne
Weather Channel - Sheryl Crow
Time and Good Fortune - Duncan Sheik
Emaline - Ben Folds
No Surprises - Radiohead
Beauty Mark - Rufus Wainwright
Cry Me A River - Diana Krall
Humble Me - Norah Jones
Truth - Neil Finn
Angel Standing By - Jewel
Tiny Dancer - Ben Folds
Requiescat - Duncan Sheik
Dinner At Eight - Rufus Wainwright

True it's not really upbeat or all that obscure but I'm satisfied with it. So who knows, if he doesn't give it back, perhaps I'll make him another, we'll see how it goes. He did light up when he found out the doodles I was making at breakfast this morning were for him and not the waitress.

---------------------------------------------------

As for me and my monkeys?

It was a good time today. My wife and boys got me a mini George Foreman grill (probably the most dad-like gift I've ever gotten). And homemade cards attached to some odd monuments consisting of a mirror set in plaster that wasn't quite dry yet and a photo of each monkey in the center. Monkey No. 2 gave his to me via training for the Olympic discus throw but somehow it didn't break. And my elder Monkey ordered that I remain with him the rest of the day instead of going to work. I so desperately needed to go to work this weekend. But I didn't. Which I'll be paying for soon I imagine. But at this moment I'm not caring all that much.

We ended up all going to a karaoke party at a British pub later in the evening, with my wife's family. I'm still sick and both my ears are blocked so I wasn't going to sing fearing I'd end up mumbling incoherently. But afterwards I got compliments about sounding like John Mayer, who indeed still mumbles but in a positive way. Strangely, I think I like karaoke.

Oh, the lives we lead and their many strange treasures.

Peace,
Simon

Stand Tall, Stand Proud..But Not In Public

This is apparently how we celebrate diversity and gay pride in my neighborhood.

Commission Bans County From Recognizing Gay Pride
Library's gay pride display taken down

Somebody get out the duct tape before I say something I'll regret later...

Peace,
Simon

Three Days...

...of rain that doesn't cool you down, wind that doesn't make you feel free, no exercise, no sketches, no high school reunion, two sickly monkeys on your back and a massive, mindbending headache equals one Super-Indecisive Sorry-Ass Sloth-like Simon. I think it's my natural state.

I really have no inspiration or inclination to wake up and go to work tomorrow. Or I guess that's now technically later this morning.

But it will not beat me. I won't let it this time.

Peace,
Simon

Sketch o' the Day ~ Lost Boy No. 9

The monkeys are sick tonight. I wish I could be there with them...

Peace,
Simon

Sketch o' the Day ~ Lost Boy No. 8

Since yesterday was a bust, I'm doubling up today. Hope you don't mind.

Peace,
Simon

Superfluous Notions

The last two days I've been served up, bowled over and sent down the roller coaster without a restraining device by every single emotion that I think exists.

"How are ya today? Can I get you a little humor to start your day? You take it dark and bitter I assume? Today's special is anxiety marinated in fear and sickness. You can have them make it with irony but it costs extra. Would you like a little spit with that anger? Yes, we have unlimited refills of determination. If this table has too many people I can move you to a table for one. Some sugar in your sweet embarrassed smile? Did you save room for that instance of melancholy? It's got just the right amount of unbridled joy to spice it up. Shall I get your jacket and those couple of tears for you... Sir, you forgot your satisfaction on the way out the door! Guess I'll keep it since he didn't leave a tip. Cheap ass."

I accidentally left the light on in the living room last night. It was a night of dreams and trying hard to breathe. Dreams about conversations with this boy and that girl and that other boy, attending school, old lives, dead lives, places I've yet to be, catching gigantic insects flying far away, giving a kiss to my own scraped knee.

My dreams of men don't ever include sex. In fact, I rarely dream about sex or men for that matter. I did for the first time recently but I don't think I should let on who that was with. Last night, however, included dreams of making love to my wife. I kept waking up every half hour thinking I was late for something. Or wondering if she had come home yet. Then I remembered, I always left the light on for my wife when she worked 'til the early morning. And so she could sleep. Otherwise she'd wake up with terrified fits that someone was in the house.

The only way I can sleep now is in complete darkness.

I didn't take a shower this morning. I just wanted to get out of the house. I kinda stink since I sweat so much last night. If that doesn't drive off the inquisitive minds, today shall be a day of blaring loud, fast, and high music that will hopefully make my throat raw by the time I'm done. Then at least I'll have an excuse to not physically talk to anyone.

---------------------------------------------

Yesterday, I spent the day with my wife. She took the day off so we could straighten out things with the house. It was a day alone without monkeys, without grandparents, without friends, without unwanted opinions thrown our way. Our cell phones didn't seem to ring all day. We didn't get anything accomplished in regards to the house, but it still seemed like a well spent day. It was as though time had stood still all day. Our dynamic has changed. We want to be around each other more now than ever before. I wonder if it must be possible to care for someone too intently.

People don't know or see the wonderfully vivid side of her that is a wild child in disguise. My secret side is boring compared to the complexities that keep me drawn to her. We still finish each others sentences. Old habits take their time to die, and some linger for an eternity. I have a flurry of visions that living like this the rest of my days would bring contentment.

The notions of coupling and relationships come crashing into my perplexities of what a family should be. Does marraige have to be there to define a family? For certain, I believe there are times when blood and law is nothing and proximity is everything. Being able to create an environment can have everything to do with the people that exist in it. In the last few years, I was not part of the bright house that it could have been. My wife told me that there were times that she wished I wouldn't come home. I would sit, stare and rot. She was living with a carcass. After my confessions, those last few weeks we all lived together before they moved out were more enjoyable than difficult. My spark had returned and I could return more than a yes or no response. I wanted to be there. I still work more than I should but now I make the effort to kick myself out more often than not, just for that hour with the monkeys before their bedtime.

I can't speak for her. I can only know what she expresses. She's going to have trust issues for ever after with anyone she gets close to. She's also still very attached to me.

Is it out of place, these ideas of wanting only to be comfortable with the people you live with and a desire to provide that comfort in return? Is it unwarranted that it supersede the mutual survival game or sexual prerogative. It may sound defeatist, it may sound illogical, but I'd give up my sex drive in an instant in order to put us all under the same roof again. Of all the complications in my world, sex seems to be the single most disruptive factor.

Being an average human male near the end of his third decade, it's not going to disappear. And I am undoubtedly gay. The erupting desire to kiss and touch and embrace and hump the living daylights out of some surly piece of masculinity is far to big for it's box and is scratching down the door to get out. With no girls in sight. Which I'd say that makes me completely normal.

I long to be abnormal. I'm homesick in my own house. I severely miss my family. All of them. Whoever they may be.

Peace,
Simon

Sketch o' the Day ~ Lost Boy No. 7

And then there are times when anything I want to actually say in words would just piss off the rest of the world or get me in deep dookie with people I love. I want to be everyone's friend. I'm delusional like that.

Peace,
Simon

Sketch o' the Day ~ Lost Boy No. 6

You know when the best time to go to the gym is? About 5 in the morning. For some reason I got up at that time this morning and ran a few miles on the treadmill. I contemplated jogging around the neighborhood except I'm not sure which neighbors have dogs and shotguns before sunrise.

Peace,
Simon

Sketch o' the Day ~ Lost Boy No. 5

Tonight we took the monkeys to go see Madagascar. I really, really tried to like it, since I want to like most things animated. I kind of wretched when the giraffe ate a urinal cake out of a New York City bathroom. Somehow, I was only slightly amused and a little disturbed at the American Beauty parody, where the lion wallowed in a bed of steaks and they were falling from the sky on top of him. I also kept waiting for it to get to...something, make some kind of point. When it came to I wanted to go back to the brainless movie it started out as. It seemed like a very expensive and much too long TV special. For all it's rather extensive slapstick, even Monkey No. 2 was bored with it.

This at least, gets the Elder Monkey off our case to go see Star Wars so I won't have to explain to him why it's not OK to chop off your brothers limbs and such. He came up to me the other day, waving his fists wildly, making "fzshooom fzzzsheerm" noises and proclaimed "I'm Darth Vader." (Keep in mind this child has never seen any of the Star Wars films.) I ask him why he wants to be Darth Vader. "Because he's eeeeeeevil." Yes, I see. I have created demon spawn. Must be from my side of the family. Fzshoom. A few minutes later Monkey No. 2 goes running by the door with a pool noodle desperately trying to defend himself. I'm not sure who won that one...Now Monkey No. 1 has moved on to droids and R2-D2 is his hero. Which certainly makes more sense since he's always liked robots better than humans anyways.

Going to the movie today, I recalled a time that I wanted to make those pictures on the screen for the world to view. My dream job when I was in the seventh grade, was to be an animator. I went to college for a short while, to learn the ropes of computer animation. I even aspired to maybe someday get a useless master's degree in animation history (or you could call it being a professional student). But it wasn't meant to be I think. Since then, however, it has been a requirement for me to see any animated film, no matter how horrid, to try and assess it's place in the history of the art form. This probably categorizes me as a nerd.

I would love to make a film for my kids. I'm not talking about something as contemptible as a "children's film", but something for my kids. I thought of this , partly because I heard an interview with Maurice Sendak this weekend. He emphasized that he doesn't write books for children because he doesn't know how and that once you let go of that stigma the best stuff comes to fruition. He's also 76 and he still has the gumption to write and express and create. Which told the nagging impresario in me that I need to get my butt in gear otherwise it maybe for my grandkids. I was also thrilled and amused that he called the modern day Mickey Mouse a whore on national radio. Whew, now I don't have to.

I am, of course, trying to raise next generation nerds, asking the monkey's WHY they liked what they saw. I told them I'll be expecting their 2-page, double spaced, critical analysis by bedtime. Somehow they snuck by wihout handing it in. Must have been a Jedi mind trick...

Peace,
Simon

Sketch o' the Day ~ Lost Boy No. 4

Oof. Made it by two minutes. :P

It's raining and I keep getting these flashes of hot and cold bursting through my house. I wonder if this is what my mom goes through all the time.

I will have more interesting things to write in the future I promise it won't turn into all sketches! I'm just tryin' to find my groove...

Peace,
Simon