Too Much Yard Work

I've been doing too much yard work this week to draw anything new, so here's something I drew a few weeks ago that I wasn't even going to post. It's true... this poor little guy would have remained in the skecth stack forever if our bushes hadn't grown tall enough in the last month to completely eclipse our house. Some worse-than-usual traffic has also wasted a bunch of my time, but I'll save my road rage rant for another day... or a series of days. That's one of my longer rants. It's actually more of a seminar.

The Last Unicorn

If all unicorns were this inconsiderate and careless, it's no surprise that they didn't last. Realistically, I can't imagine that a "one-anything band" has survival in its future. When was the last time you saw a one-man band? Aside from Bert in Mary Poppins, I've never seen one. I assume they were killed off before I was born by tigers, multi-man bands, and natural selection. The traditional one-man band is most likely extinct because it only performed one song... and that song had no title, no melody, and was as soothing on the ears as a train wreck. A solo bander doesn't make music... it makes noise.

My feelings about "noise" make me realize how old I'm getting. When I was a kid, adults were always telling me to quiet down. I couldn't figure out why old people were so objected to sound, but somewhere in the last thirty years... I got old. Last week someone cruised by our house on a motorcycle, and I thought, "What, are you trying to wake up the whole neighborhood?" I was also upset that the motorcyclist was visiting our street from a world without speed limits. What? I'm way too young to be this old. Fortunately I didn't confront him or I'd have probably ended up offering him sixpence to get a haircut. Crazy hooligan!

Wait, was this about unicorns? They were hooligans too.

Dog Sketches

I was just organizing the stack of sketches that consistently manages to overtake my desk, and I found some dogs that weren't too bad. I drew these after watching a dog-drawing seminar with my good bud and co-story-guy, Bryan Lefler. Now that I know all I could ever want to know about canine skeletal structure, I'm even more ashamed than I was before at how little I incorporate actual anatomy into my drawings. But, hey - it's all about the gesture... and some poses don't work when you have bones.

Truck Driver

Okay, no - not all truck drivers look like this... because some of them are women. That wasn't very nice, and I only say it because I'm tired of sitting behind truck drivers who pass each other going uphill on the freeway at half the speed limit. Just so you truckers know, though 32 miles an hour is wrecklessly fast in a school zone, it's probably not fast enough to require you to block the freeway's passing lane for ten minutes while you gently sneak by the guy who's going 30.

Driving a truck would be one of the worst jobs I can imagine. I experience plenty of road rage just driving to work... if driving was work, the rage would never subside. That giant mug is based on my own 64-ouncer that I used to fill with Cherry Coke at least once a day. I switched to water when I realized I was beginning to look like this gentleman.

Flying Wounded Seals

It's Fantasy Football time again, and that means the return of the Flying Wounded Seals. Every fantasy team I've ever had in any sport has had that same name. I joined my first fantasy football league one night in August of 2001 right after watching the Discovery Channel's world premier of "Air Jaws." When I was asked to provide a team name, the images from that nightmare-inducing show were still fresh in my mind. I guess I could have gone with "Super Sharks" or something more intimidating, but I had been cheering for the seals who flew through the air with gashes in their sides that night... not for the sharks whose momentum and teeth had caused the seals to be flying and wounded in the first place. And because I'm too lazy to come up with a new team name, I've been the Flying Wounded Seals ever since.

Week One was a pretty good week for my three Flying Wounded Seals teams... two wins and one loss. I decided to finally draw a logo for my six-year-old fantasy team last night while I was watching Monday Night Football. You're probably wondering why the wounded seal is so happy. Just because you're injured doesn't mean you have to be sad. We could all learn a lot from flying, wounded seals... like how to lose a game even when your defense scores 52 points.

A Horse With No Name

On Monday night we went to see America (the band, not the country). I've always liked them, which I guess means I'm a fan of nonsensical lyrics that are loaded with "la la la's" and set to guitar music. You may remember my confusion about Ventura Highway's "alligator lizards in the air." Well, here's part of another one of their songs that I really like but don't quite get:

"I've been through the desert on a horse with no name.
It felt good to be out of the rain.
In the desert you can remember your name,
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain."

Is that a triple negative in the last line?! Glorious! I'm also impressed that they managed to rhyme a seemingly unrhymable word like "name" with the equally complex word "name." Genius! But the most incredible thing about this song is the attitude of the guy who sings it. Finding himself lost in the desert on a horse he can't even converse with because he hasn't the means to address it, instead of focusing on his inevitable thirst-related death, what he thinks is, "How nice that it's not raining." Good for him.

One time I sprained my ankle and forgot my name for a couple weeks... pain will do that. If only we could all live in the carefree desert.