Live Blogging From Invesco….oh wait, nope.

No, seriously, fuck peace.

Everyone’s off to Invesco to watch the coronation, and I’m in the office listing to Xiu Xiu’s cover of Ceremony because it’s the only song I can find that’s fucking loud enough and fucking fast enough, and has the right kick drum and the correct fucking tom fill. The keyboard and vocals are piercing into my brain, which is welcome jolt because lately all it’s felt is mushy. Heaven knows it’s got to be this time.

I’m on my third cup of coffee today, which exactly matches the number of hours of sleep I got last night. But, on the upside of that I dreamed of three dimensional object that needed to fit together in certain ways, but wouldn’t so the dream played on a loop the entire time I was asleep. I must’ve seen it twenty times.

As I drifted off to sleep, I thought of a character for a book. His name is Ethan Mustard, and he’s in the military, but keeps refusing promotion because he doesn’t want to be saddles as Colonel Mustard. He retires and buys a dairy farm.

Fuck it. Enjoy.

Holy crow am I embarrassed

Man I am sorry. It’s been AGES since I actually posted anything. But, I’m done with work early today, and have no plans tonight, so I thought it was high time to get back to it. Yes, I’ll eventually get back to the R.E.M. reviews, but in the meantime I thought I’d share some scanned images from the upcoming ‘Dirt’s Funnies #0′, which will technically be a second print of a mini-comic I did back in 2005. Here’s the intro page:

This is a picture I did of myself while watching the election returns during the 2003 California gubernatorial recall election. Drawn in San Francisco:

And finally, this is self-portrait I did at Logan International Airport in Boston the day after Elliott Smith killed himself. The night before my friend and I had gone to see Superchunk with the Appleseed Cast at the Middle East in Cambridge. It was a great show, and a great time. When I got home, I checked Pitchforkmedia and learned that Elliott had stabbed himself in the chest. The next day I went to the airport to fly back to SF, but the flight got screwed up, so I spent eight hours or so bumming around, really sad.

On the flight home, I ordered – for the first time in my life – a cocktail on the flight. I’m not sure if the flight attendant knew something was wrong, but every time I ordered one, I ended up getting another four free, getting me sufficiently tight for the trip home.

I really miss the coat I drew in this picture. I had it for years. More to come, I promise.