Distance/endurance running came naturally to me as a kid and into high school. I even competed with some success before discovering cigarettes, girls, cars and beer… But I can still remember the ‘runners high’ you can get from a good paced run. Feeling the blood pumping through your limbs and your heart pumping so fast you can almost hear it - it was invigorating!
When the race day came, however, it was a different animal altogether. The pace was inevitably quicker than you had anticipated and it was hard to stick to any sort of game plan you may have had in your mind. For the first little while, the focus was keeping up with the pack and/or not letting yourself fall too far behind. But about half way through, a shift begins and your focus becomes the finish line. You stop concerning yourself as much with the people around you and start thinking about what you need to do to get to where you need to be. With any luck, you manage to make it across the finish line in respectable form, in a decent position and without vomiting and/or passing out. And more often than not, you have skipped clearly passed ‘runners high’ and landed firmly on ‘my lungs are on fire and it is entirely possible my bowels are about to release’.
That is the best comparison I can come up with now that both of our kids will be starting school this fall… Please know that I love my children dearly but the last 6 years have had their fair share of ups and downs. It hasn’t been easy balancing my ambitions with an attempt at the responsibilities of good parenting - and I just hope my successes outnumber my failures.
But I am only a week away from a pretty significant finish line and/or transition now; and I just hope I can cross it with some semblance of dignity. I am sooo looking forward to my bittersweet 'parenting high' and just hope I can enjoy my victory dance on the front lawn of the school without getting arrested.
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On the work front: it has been a difficult week. I am balancing the kids last few weeks of summer with a bike job where the masking tape has over-adhered to the parts. It has been an exhausting combination of rambunctious behavior, Chef-Boyardee and bent back fingernails from trying to remove the tape in tiny little pieces.
I was going to use my free time to color my ’Mad Hatter’ pin-up but decided to put it on hold and do a test-piece first. I will be using the same process on this Chief skull as I will on the pin-up and I figure it will give me a better idea of how the paint will act over the pencil lines.
Thanks for reading! I hope you’ve had a good week.
There is an international theatre festival going on in town this week called ‘The Fringe’ that runs complete with a mini-fair and street performers from all over the world. We took the kids and dropped nearly two hundred dollars in a matter of a few hours - but did enjoy the time we had. The majority of the plays were extremely ‘adult’ in nature and we weren’t able to bring the kids in with us (ex. One was called: ‘Pretending Things Are A Cock’.) So, needless to say, it was mostly the outdoor 'G' rated performances and Ferris wheels for us.
I suppose that, if I was to truly commit to writing an informed and impartial weekly blog, I should have gone into the tent were the dude was exposing his genitalia in the name of “Foreskin Awareness”… I’m sure the war on circumcision needs all the little soldiers it can get and it may even be a worthwhile battle - but I’m not sure it’s a fight I want to involve myself in. It’s still my blog, however, and in this case especially; it will remain uninformed, biased, and within the appropriate confines of my fruit of the looms.
One guy that caught my eye and immediately made me think of a 90 minute formula comedy for a Hollywood movie was the dreadlocked and walking hemp store commercial that was the Didgeridoo player. He had a three piece band and was blasting away his gastric sounding noises to the up-tempo beat his drummer and base player were providing. I could just imagine, remembering how uncomfortable it was when Cherie introduced her ‘Artist’ boyfriend to her parents, what it must be like for him when he meets his father in-law for the first time. I still face my share of snap judgment and rampant condescension from my in-laws to this day but even I had to really had to feel for this guy. As artists, we can walk a lonely and hard road when it comes to acceptance in this world… But I couldn’t help but think that he must be walking the equivalent of a mountain goat path. Oh well, I tried to remember the ‘Happy Crackhead’ lesson from a few weeks ago, put my pretentious, two-cent diagnosis of his life on a shelf, and moved to watch on to the next performer.
All in all, it was a nice night out with the family. And there is just something about being out at a fair on a summer night with a beautiful woman that warms the soul. Don’t get me wrong, the kids kinda leech it back outta you… but my soul was warmed for a little while all the same.
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The work front has been a little slow and unproductive. I flamed out the front of a truck on Monday and haven’t accomplished much since. We put the kids in a day camp again this week and the silence around the house/studio has been HEAVENLY. I have found myself just absolutely reveling in it for the last three days. Time to get my ass in gear, though…
My Mad Hatter project has taken up the majority of my nights. It has been A LOT of fun and I think I’ve got her ready for color now.
Another week… Hope yours was a good one! Thanks for reading,
Rod
P.S.
In case you thought I was making it up (they even have t-shirts available if you are wanting to put your little soldier in the fight): www.can-fap.net
When I was 11, I won a trip to summer camp for a week. I was just old enough to be grouped with the oldest boys (the 12 and 13 year olds) and did my best to try and ease into what was widely considered to be the ‘cool’ cabin. A year or two isn’t typically even an afterthought in our daily interactions these days but, to an eleven year old, someone who has thirteen years under their belt has undoubtedly already achieved vast wisdom, armpit hair, muscles and earned the coveted title of ‘teen‘. I did fit in well enough and, for the most part, even enjoyed my occasionally awkward time away from home. It was a week full of tipping canoes, listening to AC DC, bumming cigarettes from counselors, and desperately trying to impress girls. (Sorry Mom! It definitely wasn’t a week of fireside kumbaya’s and smores!)
It was just common knowledge by the time Friday rolled around that it was the one night you could get into trouble without worrying about your parents getting called in to get you. After all, they were coming to pick you up the next morning anyways. Me and another boy (the second youngest in the cabin) just assumed we would be included in the planned trek to the far side of camp (a.k.a. where the girls were.) But the two oldest boys had their own agenda - which didn’t include us. I remember it vividly and can still quote him directly to this day: “You're not coming. You guys will just rat us out.”
I was stunned. I mean, I had heard the term before and was definitely aware of its indelible, blacklisting effect but didn’t expect it to be slung so hastily in my direction. I had no intentions of ratting anyone out - I just wanted to go bother 12 year old girls at midnight too! But we were excluded all the same and I was confused and shocked. I never did find out exactly what those two other boys ended up doing that night though I would bet it was pretty 'G rated'. We did ultimately sneak out too but met up with the counselors and sat around a campfire and smoked cigarettes for a few hours… (which was fine by us because one of them was HOT!)
Anyways… That was what immediately popped into my head last Saturday night when I ratted out some guy. We had swung by a liquor store to get me some Grolsch beer (Grolsch beer is awesome, by the way, and the funky bottle tops are super cool) and I walked in behind a guy who had to have been marinating in something bourbon-esque. It was such a cloud that it stopped being funny and was just plain unpleasant to be enveloped in. Then, after purchasing my imported bottles of Dutch awesomeness, I saw him in the parking lot trying to get his truck started. It had to have been a standard transmission as, unbeknownst to the drunk dude, it was rolling backwards before he got it into gear. And after he then proceeded to make three unsuccessful attempts at finding the exit to the parking lot - I decided it was time to call the cops.
So, I guess those boys were right all along and I do deserve a ‘Scarlet R’ after all. Oddly enough I don’t regret calling 911 (though they did require A PILE of personal info for some reason?!) and, given the same circumstance, would be a rat again. Funny how perspectives can change when you have a little more wisdom, muscles, armpit hair, and have triumphed/endured through the period known as ‘teen’.
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On the work front, it has been a little slow since completing the Bel Air dragster last weekend. The customer was thrilled and that’s always nice (and so is getting a paycheck reminiscent of the days when business was booming a few years ago!) I’ve also made some headway on my personal projects and will be shipping one out in the next day or two here.
My Mad Hatter panel is progressing slowly - but that’s okay. I want to take it slow and try a more ’Michael Calandra’ approach to this one. (If you haven’t heard of him, I definitely recommend looking him up.) I’m working on a way to include the stoner caterpillar and Cheshire cat… Fun and challenging.
Thanks for listening!!! Hope you’ve had a good week.
Along the way across town to pick up the kids from their week long summer day camp, I hit my share of red lights. It was a long, hot and exhausting end to my day - and I was ready to be home. At one light in particular, I found myself watching a shirtless man in headphones start rythmically tapping his feet. Before long he had crescendoed into a full-on, uncoordinated yet blissful routine of swaying arms and gyrations.
Being a little road-grumpy anyways, I was quick to hurl judgement… It was pretty plain to see that it was either some sort of illness, intoxicant, or both fueling his own personal dance party. He was completely oblivious to the world around him - and pretty damn happy about it in his child-like, euphoric trance.
The light was long enough for me to get over the typical and immediate condemnations (crackhead, criminal, bum etc.) and drift into a little bit of jealousy. Don’t get me wrong, I think I’ll take a pass on the crack pipe… But it sure has me wondering how I could sit there in my traffic induced misery and pass judgment on someone who, for whatever actual reason, was a hell of a lot happier than I was at that moment.
So, thanks for the perspective, Mr. Crackhead… I think I’m gonna go look for my headphones and find myself a street corner to go dancing on.
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On the work front: it has been a loooong week. I’ve been painting a Bel Air dragster body at a local shop and it has taken the better part of a week now - and also taken a toll on my feet and back. It’s nice to have such a big project to work on, though, but it has made me into a bit of a zombie after work. I’ve managed some time on a personal project for a good friend of mine (a griffon/lion theme) - as well as draw out a concept for a ‘Mad Hatter’ pin-up that I’m developing (below.) I’m looking forward to working on both but they’ll probably have to wait until the weekend before they see any paint.
