old man.

sometimes we act a lot younger than we look, sometimes a lot older.

Fishing Stickman.

it's almost back.

i'm not really back yet because this is just the initial post. i'm pretending that i will continue to write posts when this might be the only one for months. however, with a little support, these posts might come back and, heck, i might post more than once a week!

i haven't posted because i've been busy drawing things like this . . . 

and also this . . . 

When indolence and motivation meet . . .

    . . . I stop writing medium style and start doing tons of other shit. Now, in attempt to do it all, I will once again try to breathe life into medium style. And review a homemade compilation CD.

   As in the past, I find myself with a CD titled 'Songs About Places' on hand delivered via e-mail (so technically speaking, it was a huge file) from my brother-in-law . It was delivered quite

 some time ago. However, he failed to review the CD I sent him (with custom cover and all). For this reason, I rejected his music. I did not play one song, unless it accidentally came up when my iTunes was on shuffle. We only have so much control in this life.

   In any case, he finally sent me a review via e-mail, which I was delighted to receive and in turn I've decided to finally give his 'CD' a listen and write my review here on medium style. 

   It all starts out with a band many people know and appreciate, The Flaming Lips. Good. I mean, they're good. Not my favorite, but I appreciate them.

   Song.

   Song.

   Then Tulsa Telephone Book and their amazing trumpets. Did Mark Ronson help them out

 with this one? Is or is Mr. Ronson not the king of the addition of the trumpets?

   Following this tune was Moxy Fruvous. 'Nough said. No go.

   Bracket. Excellent band name. Medium style song - which I'll let the reader contemplate - good thing or bad thing?

   Flying Around the Sun at Remarkable Speed was the stand out favorite (by Great Sand), I think due to the subtle snare drum, simple, repeating guitar riff and the vocals, that to me sound a bit like a modern day Greenpoint guy channeling Elvis. 

   Some bands just aren't on my boat. And for unexplainable reasons, NOFX is one of them. Maybe they're a boy band, like Oasis or Weezer. Ladies just can't stomach 'em. I do like the subject matter and appreciate a song based on, what I imagine to be, real life experience.

Song.

Song.

Can't go wrong with Broken Social Scene (7/4 (Shoreline)) on your stereo, iPod, laptop, or Guitar Hero.

(Fair to note that this is not my brother-in-law, nor do I even know this man.)

All in all, it was a good mix and I am value the time and energy that put it all together. Plus, if you put a decadent custard at the bottom of a sadly prepared trifle (see Friends' character Rachel on a Thanksgiving episode, I think), then I easily forget about the dry sponge cake or past due date cream. 

Bring on the box set.

Me on me. No photos necessary.

Imagine me, explaining my life, everyday, to everyone. To begin, I lived in the above trailer for a month. When I moved, I moved into an RV that was missing three wheels and my closest friend lived on a bus. 

Now, imagine me at your local Wegman's. With sawdust in my ears, steel in my nose, buttons missing from my clothes, my hair down to my ankles,  and mascara on my cheek. Definitely five espressos lined up for consumption, maybe five whiskeys. Maybe I no longer need the rocks with the whiskey.

Random Person: Oh man, it's been like, so long since I've seen you. Are you still in New York?

Me: Ya, ya, still there.

RP: What are you doing, like designing shit, like clothes or what?

M: No, not really. Just sort of doing random stuff.

RP: Like what?

M: Oh, like making stuff.

RP: Like what?

M: Paintings and things.

RP: Do you paint apartments and stuff?

M: No, not really.

RP: Then what do you paint?

M: Like apples or old RVs.

RP: Is that your job?

M: Sort of.

RP: ?

M: Well, ya, I paint, I'm working on my book, sketching, writing short stories, thinking about being another person that writes a screenplay, thinking about moving transatlantic style, thinking I think too much, thinking about discontinuing my consumption of bacon.

RP: Shit, sounds good to me.

M: Well, it's alright.

(At this point in the conversation it goes one of 3 ways and we both leave thinking how we can't possibly imagine living each other's life)

1. RP: Cool, well, I have to get home to my husband/kids/partner/dog/giant family including dog, cat, twins, triplets, and token older child/etc. Tell your parents I say hi.

2. RP: Sounds great. You were always a bit all over the place. I could never live like you, though I admire it. I'm in town on break from law school/med school/Phd program (in their head they are thinking they will make millions of dollars before I pay off a bad vacation.) I'm meeting so and so tonight. You should come (at which point we both know RP doesn't mean it).

3. RP: Shit. I gotta go get these mushrooms from this guy. Wanna meet later and do 'em?

Seriously. I turned down the mushroom offer.

Sometimes, I jog.

I'm upstate and it was gorgeous sunny day so I went for a jog this morning. I don't typically do this, but the fresh air was calling me. I did my thing and was walking for the last few minutes when another spotted me from across the street. Do I say hello? I have my iPod on, I won't hear her, she probably won't hear me. SHe has headphones on. SHould I wave? WIll she wave? Does she know me? Is it an old schoolmate's mother? I turned my head and noticed her wave out of the corner on my eye. I will forever be the bitch that didn't wave to her on Lake Road.