Disgruntled at the Grocery Store

I hate the fridge pack.

Seriously. That long skinny thing that they sell twelve cans of coke in now. I hate it. It’s a pain to carry, as the weight is not well distributed. It was introduced some years ago, ostenibly to be easier to go in the fridge. It isn’t. My fridge has plenty of space, but since things like old bottles of salad dressing tend to congregate in the back, wedging that pesky fridge pack in requires wiggling, and when you are wiggling a large rectangle full of metal and liquid in an enclosed space, “wiggling” becomes “wildly whanging and cursing and knocking over bottles of salad dressing.” And I CANNOT get the end open in the correct fashion to save my life.

Now, none of this would bother me IF they still offered the traditional sized container. Then I could get the size I like, the size I grew up with, and I would begrudge no one their fridgepack. But no, they phased out everything in favor of the oh-so-convenient fridgepack. Bastards.

Also, while I’m complaining, are there no Red Vines in the South? I mean, I am used to Red Vines as one of the dietary staples of the candy aisle. I LIKE Red Vines. Nobody has ’em. Even the office supply stores that usually have a Mass Candy Section for the bribing of employees which, in other states, carry the Mondo Mega Red Vine Monolith, have neither hide nor hair of a Red Vine.

Instead, they have Twizzler, which is basically strawberry flavored wax. The two are not remotely similiar. Friends! Southern friends! Are there Red Vines ANYWHERE? I’ve got a year worth of jonesing on.

And that concludes this week’s quota of complaining about stuff.

State of the Swamp (Again)

The swamp is…actually pretty well drained.

Yeah, I don’t know how to act either.

There’s a few personal commissions still floating that I need to talk to people about, and of course there are various art directors who will undoubtedly pop up with a gotta-have-it-right-now cover at some point, but for the most part, my schedule’s down to the good stuff. Like the mini-comic for the Digger collection, and once that’s done, getting some serious work time in on Black Dogs. And naturally, there’s always Digger. (By the way, if you checked Digger today, and got in, go back and check again. There was a date issue, and you may have accidentally read Thursday’s comic rather than Tuesday’s. You don’t lose much continuity, but the question of “What is up with that acolyte?” will be on the test. ‘Pologies.)

And of course, once James works out the last coupla bugs, I’ll want to transfer over the website, a Herculean task in its own right.

Having consulted the numbers, in the last three months, commissioned work has formed…err…carry the one…less than 10% of my income. Print sales and original sales continue to roar along. The LE Naked Mole Rat print was a roaring success–I just took the last order for on-line sales (I wanted to hold two or three for conventions/auction/etc.) So obviously the jumbo LE thing worked for that particular image, and I’ll definitely try it again in the future. It’s not the money I’d make from an original, but it’s enough to make the relatively lesser time investment on a digital piece worthwhile.

So, here I am. Can paint more or less whatever I want. Starting to think about a show again. Gearworld, alas, is still pissed at me for trying to force things and has a restraining order on my brain. (Sorry, muse. I was wrong. I promise it won’t happen again.) So that’s out. Anything really ruthlessly mentally structured is probably out because my brain is a perverse sort and once I decide “I will do THIS and only this!” I immediately start wanting to do a lot of other stuff. I rail against this, but it’s the basic reason that I generally like doing my own work much more than commissions, and if that hasn’t changed after all these years, I should probably just resign myself. So we’ll see what I come up with. If I get some pieces done that I think might be a good foundation for a show, I just won’t list ’em as for sale, and see what response is like, I suppose, and perhaps things will snowball in my brain from there.

And that’s where I’m at…

I hate Daylight Savings time.

This is because I like sleep. Sleep is an old, old friend. Sleep’s my buddy. I do not like being deprived of sleep’s muzzy gray presence. James occasionally refers to trying to wake me up as “poking the bear.” However, Daylight Savings time threw me off kilter, so that I laid awake for about two hours, my brain racing through mortality, high school, the afterlife, why you can’t remember pain, etc, until finally falling asleep, whereupon I am woken by the cat (who has no trouble with Daylight Savings Time at all) chewing on my scalp at 8:30. Which is really 7:30.

I like Fall Back, but Spring Forward sucks donkeys.

Yet More Defective Wildlife

We may have a new squirrel, a female? (I think) featuring a broad band of scar tissue across the muzzle, who, if she returns regularly, will get the moniker “Scarface.” I think she might be one of the ones who had botflies last year, as there’s a dark blot in one armpit. I’ve spotted her a few times, mostly thinking “Is there something on that squirrel’s face?” but having actually seen her fairly close now, I can see that it’s some sort of scar.

We’ll see if she comes back regularly enough to join the ranks of named squirrels…

Sin City was excellent. I’ll avoid spoilering, and just say that I’d definitely call it the most successfully comicky adapation of a comic book I’ve seen yet. Not having READ “Sin City” I can’t say how close to the source material it ran, but it looked comic booky, and the dialogue had that slightly absurd, hard-boiled detective novel flavor,* and it was, of course, a splatterfest.

They tried twice, with intensive makeup, to make people really LOOK like a comic book character. It’s a hit or miss thing–this time, one hit, one miss. The first time was great. The profile had this clean sweeping line to it that really LOOKED like a drawing. The second one, alas, just looked somewhat silly and bright yellow, but that was the only major flaw in what was otherwise a really visually daring style. I was impressed.

And just about the point that I was thinking “Okay, all these stories so far have involved women getting killed by psychopaths, and if a chick doesn’t start kicking ass soon, I’m gonna get a little pissy–” they introduced a whole bunch of hookers with guns and swords, and all is right with the cosmos.

However, I am left with one burning question…

When did Rutger Hauer get so old?

I realize that you see an actor in a movie, then you don’t see ’em for awhile, and you’re always a little shocked. Since I hadn’t seen him in anything since…oh, probably Ladyhawk or Blade Runner, (I’m told I haven’t missed much) my mental image went from “The android with the sword and the giant black horse, right?” to “DEAR GOD, IT’S THE CRYPT-KEEPER!” That threw me a tad. But other than that, good flick.

Now I wanna play Shadowrun again. *sob*

*As opposed to the Star Wars trailer they ran, which dialogue had that “I have no idea how people actually talk” flavor…

Man, you go out for coffee, and you miss the pope dying. Then not dying. Then maybe being dead. Then backpedalling on the reports of death. So effectively, the pope is the same as when I went to coffee–doin’ bad, but not dead yet. I keep track with the interest of anyone else on a relatively slow news day. Being far too young to recall any previous papal demises, I’m vaguely intrigued by the amount of news coverage.

In other news, I don’t have a good April Fool’s Joke. I’d claim that due to lack of readership, I am turning Digger into an X-rated furry comic, but nobody’d believe that for a second. (Digger: “Right, then. I’m outta here. Call when you get the plot back….”) I never have good April Fool’s jokes. Oh, well.