Across the world

I have recently, through this blog, had some lovely correspondence from all sorts of faceless strangers from around the globe.
Imagine I got all this mail in my actual letterbox every day.
Would I respond to it all?
Probably not.
I enjoy writing letters very much but I think I'd get lazy.
At the moment I regularly write to the unborn child of a friend of mine - proper letters written with a pen.
This may seem like a strange thing to do, but I think if I grew up with written evidence that nice people with good intentions were thinking about me before I squigggled into this world then I might be a happier person.
Which is not to say I'm not happy.
I'm just a sap when it comes to these things.
Today we're all ording pizza for lunch.
I don't really want to be a part of it but it's a new workplace and I feel I may be oestracised if I don't participate.
Hopefully I wont be asked to join the touch football team.
I don't even know what touch football is!
What do you touch?!!!
If it involved a team of girls in bikinis I'd certainly be a little more interested.
I'd be quite prepared to touch anything I was asked to.

Their names are called, they raise a paw

For those even remotely still interested in the Australian echidna, I realised I had this extremely flattering picture of me with one of the creatures.
This was taken 2 years ago on the east coast of Tasmania.
Echidnas are not fearsome animals (unless you are an ant).
Despite our best encourangement to get the critter to say hello all it did was dig itself into the sand to protect its soft pink bits.
Perhaps if you didn't know it was an animal you may think, "That fat tit seems to have dropped his wig".

Vomiting phelgm

Lovely!
My cold has pretty much left me, but I am still left with this very attractive cough that has me vomiting in the shower each morning (I have a pretty major gag reflex).
It's all very attractive let me tell you, as I'm sure you can imagine.
I'm looking forward to popping home to lunch where I will be having one of my favorites - chicken breast fillet on fresh white bread.
White on white.
With mustard and mayo.
Gosh it's making me hungry.

Tasting Natives

When the punters first fleet arrived on the shores of this wide brown land they were faced with one very distinct problem.
What to eat.
The largest (land) animal in Australia is the kangaroo and the Europeans found them a little hard to catch and kill (all that jumping about perhaps, who knows).
I found an old cookbook recently that had some recipies for roo and wallaby, but also many for some of Australias slower and less agile animals.
They were apparently very fod of wombat.
This is hard to imagine and the wombat is basically a lump of muscle.
Ask anyone who's run over one on the highway and they will tell you that the wombat could never be described as "tender".
They are basically oval, and I've always had an image of a butcher slicing one up on one of those meat slicers in the deli.
Like a big leg of ham.
I read a small passage where they were waxing lyrical on the taste and delights of the echidna.
If you don't know what an echidna is, imagine a hedgehog with a beak.
I can't really imagine there's a whole stack of meat on one, once you remove the spines and the big claws (poisonous!) and all that.
They have a nice pink belly so perhaps they cut a fillet out of that.
They ate quite a bit of possum too.
I've read that possum is revolting but I've had it in a stew with couscous and I thought it was nice enough.
I've never eaten wombat or echidna.
The echidna is my favourite Australian beast and I'll always stop and watch when I spot one.
I had a friend who had an elderly one living on his block.
It had a big bald patch around it's back where it had no spines.
Cute!

Meeting peeps

I always find it amazing how perfect strangers in movies just end up as special friends.
From my experience most folks are not at all interested in being pals unless you are attractive to them.
I often meet people and think, "Oh, well, she seems nice enough, perhaps we could do something sometime".
But I never do ask because I always end up feeling foolish.
I think it's easier if you're a woman.
If a guy asks someone to do something it's taken as given that he's after a shag (which would be nice but not really the ultimate goal).
So who knows what you're supposed to do.
I have a small group of intimate friends (intimate emotionally, not intimate in a pink bits kind of a way), and the fact is that I rarely meet anyone I'm that fussed to spend time with anyway.
So ultimately I'm whining about nothing because I have dear friends.
But it would be nice to have a shag occasionally too.

Hooray for snot!

I spent Saturday arvo/evening babysitting the lovely Ashleigh (2 and half) and Logan (7 months).
It's always a pleasure.
They are both a little ill at the moment.
All snotty and a little grizzly.
As a consequence they spent most of the asleep.
Not in their beds, but on me.
As a result I am also snotty and a little grizzly.
I am particuarly annoyed not because I'm sick so much as I have to spend the day on the coast making car ads.
I hate making car ads.
I don't know anything about them (in fact only this weekend it occured to me that my car was making a funny noise. I discovered after visiting the petrol station that you apparently need to keep the water and oil topped up.... well I did know that I'd just forgotten...).
I may be at home in bed tomorrow so unless I see you there I'll catch you all soon.

The client is number one

This is the triple headed client monster; the beast, the clown and way, way up the back the nice head that you don't meet very often.
I'm not going to go on some endless rant about how much I hate clients, because I don't, I have a handful that I in fact love dealing with, but they really are the thing that wears you down.
In my new job I've got only a small client base - I'm making 2 or three commercials a week.
In my last role I was hammering out, on average, 10 jobs a week, sometimes more.
I was very happy to exit that role (I was asked to exit, it wasn't voluntary) and this new gig, with half the drama and half the aggrevation is suiting me nicely thank you very much.
I would however like to be doing something else...

Running, run, run

I very rarely plan any of the images I do.
I just let them arrive on their own.
This one however I think I will end up creating as a painting.
When I have finished it I will no doubt take a look at it and think, "Hmmm. Well it's ok but that original scribble I did on the blog was a million times better".
It's always the nature of these things.
Scrawled notes on serviettes and on the backs of envelopes are always a delight.
Not that I would ever be so vain to compare myself to him, but I wonder if Rembrant or Picasso or whoever ever say back and thought, "Geez, I didn't really nail that expression like I did in the margins of Saturdays paper".

Tired

In the film (and I assume the book) Fight Club, Edward Norton describes the symptoms of insomia as feeling like a photocopy of a photocopy of a photocopy.
A terrific description.
Although I don't really suffer from insomnia I know the feeling.
I hate those days where even though you've had a great nights sleep and been eating plenty of vegies and fruit, you still wake up exhausted.
You eat your lunch and SPLAT - you're knackered and need a sleep, like some sort of 3 year old.
Acting like a 3 year old isn't really a big problem for me (I do work in advertising after all) but for some reason there are those who think popping home at 2 in the afternoon for a sleep is a little wrong.
Some people have no compassion.
I've not yet done this with my current job (and don't intend to) but my last role was so busy and exhausting that towards the end of my run there I would often bugger off home for a sleep.
And there's something really nice about having a sleep in the middle of the day.
It's really the only opportunity I have for sleeping in the sun (but not my head - I hate leaving my head in the sun. My hair is very black and I heat up awfully).
Turning up slightly bleary back at the office smelling like toothpaste and fresh deoderant.
People say "Oh, where have you been?" and you tell them you've been visiting clients or popped off for a shag or whatever.
There was an episode of Seinfeld where George build a small bunk under his desk in the office.
I thought there was a great deal of merit in that.

Me and the mutt

Anyone single with a dog will know the difference the animal will bring to your life.
Instead of being pathetic with no-one, you can be pathetic with another living creature.
You can take your sad, hollow existence and plug it up with a canine (and I don't care what anyone says, a dog is much better than a stinky cat).
I have had cats.
Kate and Dustin.
Dustin was run over at a young age, and I have no idea what became of Kate after the partner I shared him with and I broke up.
He was a pretty hopless kitty.
Couldn't climb.
Was scared of everything except me, who fed him.
And he was stupid.
Give me my manic, crazy woofhound any day.

Cloud of Unknowing

I know of a fellow here in Tasmania who changed his name by deadpoll to "Cloud of Unknowing".
I think he should have changed his name to "Dickhead".
It's easier to hear over the phone and doesn't take as long to sign official documents.
I have another very dear friend who was in hardcore thrash bands throughout the 80's.
His name was Nick Harris and he changed it to Nick Fear.
What a evil drummer he was!
He even had a scary mohawk to match his tough guy name.
The name was very fitting (not very).
He's a lovely fellow and especially amusing once he's had a bevvy or 10.
Nick Fear was recently married and is expecting his first child in September.
He's gone back to Nick Harris, which while not so cool and rugged, is still a nice name.

For Charmaine

Todays post is for the benefit of a very dear friend of mine - Charmaine.
It's a visual representation of what is known as the "Elliot Is Right Dance".
Although there's no strict method of performance, it is important to include lots of arm waving and toochus wiggling.
It's important to smile when doing the "Elliot Is Right Dance" and extra points are awarded for singing the "Elliot Is Right Song" simultaneously.
Again, there are no right or wrong way of singing this song.
The lyrics are very simple - "Elliot is right" over and over again to any tune of your choice is the accepted norm.
If you can't think of a tune, here are some that others have had success with.
*Happy Birthday.
*Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
*The Hokey Pokey.
*Mac the Knife.
*Baa Baa Black Sheep.
*Any show tune, Fiddler on the Roof being very popular among my friends.

Gilliam

My favorite film maker by a long way is a feller called Terry Gilliam.
I'm not going to waffle on endlessly about him - if you follow the link you'll find his bio.
It's a pretty good fan site.
The picture I've included today is from one of Terrys most wonderful films, The Adventures of Baron Munchausen.
In this particular scene, The Baron and Polly have made a hot ait balloon out of hundreds of pairs of ladies knickers so they can escape from the attacking Turks.
The film was plauged with absolutely awful production problems, common in Terry's career.
One of his recent projects, The Man Who Killed Don Quixote was canned after only a week of filming - documented in the film Lost in La Mancha, a depressing but very good film.
I'm posting about Terry today because I'm re-reading a book called Losing the Light, about the ghastly production Baron Munchausen was.
It's a good read in general, but for anyone interested in film and film production it's a must.
A must I say!

Ith Thith Thith?

I would normally not post anything this geeky and internety, but I thought as long as it was accompanied by a silly drawing I would get away with it.
Star Wars was pretty important to me as a kid.
My brief version of the new films is that they are all crap (but with lots of pretty pictures that animation types like me love).
Film maker Kevin Smith reviews the new film, Revenge of the Sith, here.
He's very positive about it.
Now, the only reason I'm going on about Star Wars is because someone lent me a game for my PC - a Star Wars strategey type blowing things up game.
I've been playing it on cheat mode - I've mentioned before I'm not very competetive.
Last night I was enjoying the mayhem created by tanks and soldiers and all that crap and when I realised I was finished it was nearly 2 in the morning.
I like to get up at 6 and walk the dog.
So I'm a little weary now thanks to that stupid game.
I blame the media.
Incidentally, the silly childlike drawing is from a series I did that included Planet of the Apes, Braveheart and Free Willy.
I will post the others someday.

It's the Elliot Show

I've always wanted to animate a series based on my lifes adventures.
It would mostly involve a young and talented cartoonist moving to the tiny island state of Tasmania and rotting away while the world passes him by...
Well maybe not.
One thing's for certain though, it would involve very little sex, lots of terrific women and too much beer (although not that often anymore really - when your pals are all growed up with kiddies and partners and whatnot it's hard to spend to much time on the piss. I'm much more likely to babysit and change nappies than sink a six...or a twelve).
Which isn't to say I'm complaining.
I can spend an awful lot of money while I'm at the pub, especially on a big night, so I'm actually saving myself a fortune.
Sigh...

Again

You may all recall me whining about having dislocated my leg about a month ago.
Well, just when it was beginning to heal, I slipped on the boardwalk while walking the dog and tore a whole new set of newly healed tendons.
Very happy indeed.
So I'm bandaged up and full of iburopfen (excellent for hangovers also).
It hurt like fuck and made that same dreadful rending noise again.
Monday was a public holiday here in Australia and I took Tuesday off to rest my leg (ahem).
One good thing however is that my good friend Charmaine found the David Byrne article "Why I hate world music" .
It's a great read for all you intellectual types and those interested in the world in general.

The hills are alive

Music and images go hand in hand.
People love musical archetypes - the jazz dude in a beret, the drug ridden rock star blah blah blah.
Now then - I've started this blog with the intention of directing readers to an online article by David Byrne called "Why I Hate World Music".
Of course now that I'd like everyone to read this extremely interesting article (he doesn't hate world music as such, just what the name has come to mean) I cannot find it online anymore.
There used to be a link from his site but the blasted thing has been taken down.
So, what I'm figuring you can do, is pretend to have read the article and then if anyone ever asks if you know of it you can pretend and say, "Oh yes, fascinating, very postmodern" or whatever other mindless response you'd like to give.
Helpful as ever, I am.

It's ALIVE!!!

For 9 months, apart from my own little hound, I had another dog living with me , big Monty.
Monty is a delightful dog (apart from his constant shedding).
My dog, Ella, treated him pretty badly.
Bossing him around and generally being a bully.
The top picture is Ella and Monty hanging out in my back yard, and the bottom picture is Ellas head photoshopped onto Montys body.
The result I think is pretty disturbing.
More like an insect than a dog.

Cough, cough

Isn't it charming the way young children are devoid of a certain amount of manners.
On the whole they learn please and thank you pretty early, but there are other things that take a while to sink it.
Wandering around with snot pouring out of their noses.
Wiping spittle all over you when they want a hug.
Coughing phlegm into your face.
As it happens, I'm not that squeamish when it comes to these things (from kids anyway - not that fussed being covered in adult mucus).
I'm not thrilled changing ploppy nappies, but if the child is familiar to me I'll go there with only a little trepidation.
I'm mentioning all this because I thought I may have picked up Baby Ashleighs cough, but since the day's warmed up it's obvious I haven't.
I have a very dear pregnant friend who won't come within 50 metres of anyone with a cold at the moment so I'm pleased it's gone off me.
(sniff, cough, spit).

Look into my eyes...

I think it takes quite an effort - both creative and mental - to caricature yourself.
You have to be prepared to discard all vanity and plunge in.
I think the ability and willingness to draw yourself leads to a certain amount of self awareness.
I know for example that while I am hardly a good looking fellow - I'm not an ugly pig either.
I tend to describe my look as "inoffensive and non distracting".
That doesn't mean to say I don't have some high points - I look bloody good in a suit thank you very much.
I've not been caricatured by many others - a fellow called Simon who lived with me for 9 or so months was a wonderful illustrator and he drew me often, and a dear friend called Renee S did one of me and her dancing and it's one of my favorite pictures ever - I'll post it sometime and you'll all see.