recently i have i missed designing for the tactile senses (some times the wysiwyg 72 dpi world seem a little constrictive). i decided to make some hand made books for fun. click the thumbnail images for larger images.

i found some cool black wire mesh that conceptually related to the content of the book (retro robot illustrations). I bound the book with contrasting yellow wire at the top.

i found some silvery semi transparent vellum to contrast the black wire, i used it as an inside cover. the book title is 5 bots. using a graphical treatment of abstracted text, i created a grungy backround for each page.

the book contains 5 illustrations of retro robots and science fiction elements in comic book like frames. the view of some elements is abstracted to the point of being open to interpretation. i originally did the drawings for my son, purposely abstract encouraging him to invent a story to fit the image as he saw them.

i will be creating 20 hand made editions of this book, if you would like one, a minimum donation of $17 will get you one (this is real art folks! that's cheap!)! i will sign and number the last page of each. if you donate a little more, i will doodle a little bot on the last page!

the money will support the costs of this site and also the costs of a new community/collaborative project (details to follow soon). lesser donations would never be declined and will in turn recieve butt loads of good karma!

maybe you want a book but don't gots the scratch. hmmm, i wonder what you do have! art for art swaps are always entertained!

the fewer you purchase, the more my mother will recieve for christmas. any left over money will fund my internet porn addiction.

i love my wife for the occasional and somewhat rare appearances of adriana. adriana is what i named one of the wife's alter egos. adriana is similar to the wife, but with a slightly more exotic name.

the wife makes love, adriana gets busy. the wife tops her deserts with whipped cream, adriana tops me with whipped cream. the wife lovingly raises my boys, adriana punishes me for being a naughty boy. i think you get the idea.

so, you will believe me when i tell you, my jaw dropped and i experienced a stirring in the most manly of regions when I saw the above photo in the latest victoria’s secret mail order catalog.

it looks like i am not the only one with a dirty little ariana.

ultranote – why is it cool to have uncomfortable hard plastic beads that spell out your name threaded across a see through thong but it is totally uncool when i scrawl my name in magic marker across the elastic waistband of my fruit of the looms.

ok kids, do I need to put a "do not try this at home disclaimer" on this blog?

it has come to my attention that one of you has an entire blog dedicated to this activity.

i am flattered, but really, do you want the sum total of you existence used to wipe a strangers ass only to end up swirling the bowl.

um, but while you are at it here are a few very important messages I need you to deliver:

- perhaps you need triple ply
- i once was a great tree, now look at me
- wiping 4 or more times is considered ass play
- sars free toilet paper for your peace of mind
- you’re a winner, redeem me for valuable prizes

pictured above is the wife's most recently purchased accoutrement to adorn the new casa.

i call it the tinkle machine.

if you listen very closely, slightly audible above the whiring of a cheap water pump, you might hear the sounds of trickling water. the wife says many people find this sound soothing and peacefull.

who? certainly not survivors of the titanic, prisoners of war in china, that dutch boy, the wicked witch, and myself.

to me it is a constant reminder that i have to pee. these are not pleasent sounds to the guinness record holder for the world's smallest bladder (nearly ultramicroscopic in size).

airports are not high on my "acceptable places to poo" list. unfortunately, airplanes are lower on the list resulting in the following experience.

this particular airport bathroom had only 8 stalls, all occupied and stenchified. two factors that are usually enough to make me reconsider and accept the risk of a fecal impaction. instead, i waited.

the distinctive sound of a stall door latch opening, filled me with optimism. i glanced up and made eye contact with a man who looked much thinner than when he entered. we said nothing, but gave each other a nod of acknowledgement. i started to move towards the stall, but he just stood there. he was waiting.

he stood waiting like a chauffeur, holding open the stall door. waiting for me to sit so he could close the door behind me. unacceptable bathroom behavior.

i froze. my panicked mind raced. maybe this a common custom in this strange land (atlanta). maybe he left a monster poo in the bowl and wanted to see my reaction. maybe he wants to join me in the stall for a synchronized pooping event. maybe he is just a poo collector. maybe this is good, I don’t have to touch the germ infested door. maybe I need to tip him. is 15% adequate?

i was extremely wigged out by this odd behavior. time stopped, milliseconds seemed like hours

to my left and slightly behind me, i hear that distinctive latch sound again. another stall was freeing up. i did a 180 an nearly pushed the exiting man out of the way as i entered the new stall. i locked the latch behind me and wondered how long the toilet chauffeur continued to wait.

son one told me he met a new friend, his name is luka.

i asked him if he lived on the second floor.

he gave me the standard "whatever, dad" look.

researchers at the humor research center in hoboken recently discovered that much in the way a female is born with a finite number of eggs that are released over time, each of us is born with a finite number of witty quips, and jocular retorts.

The researchers warn these funnies should not be wasted on a six year old.

But I could better myself if I could only find some new kind of kick
something I ain't had
some new kind of buzz
I wanna go hog mad lookin' and lookin' and lookin'
for someting I ain't had before
I'm lookin' and lookin'
To find some new kind of kick
gimme a kick
like baby needs mom
like Susie needs dick
this baby needs som new kind of kick

Lux Interior, the Cramps

help me. i am in a rut. i read the same few blogs every day, i listen to the same songs every day, i draw the same little kreepy kids every day.

i trust you have poked around here enough to know what i do and don't like.

PLEASE, leave a comment exposing me to kewl new blogs, music and illustrators!

i told the officer it wasn't me, it's the damn key chain.

since installing my keys on it, i drive much more evil in a mickey mouse sort of way.

it's all rebecky's fault and i shall forward her all speeding tickets incurred.

the fascination and experimentation with the interaction of positive and negative space continues. it is interesting when defined rules used to draw the image naturally extend themselves to color application, even though the rules were not intended to dictate color application.

hmmm, re-reading that last paragraph, i sound like a pompous ass. bottom line, it's just 2 of many doodles from a sketchbook.

ink drawings, scanned from a sketchbook and colorized in photoshop.

a local eye doctor's radio advertising claims he has done nearly 38,000 laser procedures. yes, 38,000.

so, i have been doing some math. if he was one of the first laser surgeons, he probably started about 10 years ago. 38,000/10 = 3,800 procedures a year. 3,800/260 (work days with no vacation or holidays) = roughly 15 procedures a day (with forgiving assumptions made).

do you really want a sleep deprived, laser weilding, speed freak messing with your precious eyeballs?

ultranote - i checked out his website. on the home page, near the primary navigation, is a phone number (in bold) for "post operative appointments". for this information to appear where it does, leads me to believe finding that number must be what we call a "key user task" in the web biz. if the key user task of your users is to call after the surgery, that scares me.

the wife will hold up some but ugly picture or wall hanging and ask me where we should hang it. my standard response has become, "in the closet" or if it is double ugly, the garage.

the other day i gathered several or our ugliest and hung them in the walk in closet.

she didn't think it was funny.

in the mind of a gold pinky ring wearing sales guy, this (pictured above) is a fully comprehensive, highly detailed blueprint for an internet portal containing in-depth content and multiple killer applets that will send the client over the moon.

so planned and detailed this is, it eliminates the need for any type of discovery or design phase. this is the key that allows us to "just build the fucker".

in my mind, this is a piece of shit scribbled on a bedside hotel scratch pad devoid of any ties to reality at 3am after a 14 martini, ass kissing bender with a client representative nick-named "the human sponge" that has absolutely no authority to make any spending decision over $50.

some how unbeknownst to me, within the next 48 hours, i will turn this piece of shit into a visually stunning highly usable and accessible internet portal containing fascinating in-depth content and multiple killer applets that load over a 28.8 in less than 2 second and will send the client over mars.

once when i was much younger, my mother told me a story about cats. i don't think the story was for entertainment purposes, but rather because she felt it a necessary story. the story moved slowly and had many extended pauses as she searched for exactly the right words.

it was a story about cats in love. she told me, when cats love each other, the male cat puts his penis in the vagina of the female cat. this freaked me out. i remember my exact response to be "eeeeewwwww, gross! humans don't do that, ... do they?!?"

for weeks i was tormented with thoughts of chubby and smudge (our house cats) making my world an evil place.

i thought mothers day would be a good day to thank her for imparting this knowledge. to this day i refuse to pet those disgusting, perverted little critters. i am still confused on the human issue. perhaps i will call her today.

being a big dumb mac guy, i was wondering, ...wouldn't it just be easier to have one big button that says control - alt - delete?

i think my wife has grown weary of her appearances in this blog, or more specifically the "why i love my wife" category. i have learned she now calls her younger sister to ask questions that would end up as ultramicroscopic content if they were asked of me.

sister told me the wife rang her at work last week (from a fabric store) to inquire how many inches are in a foot, and how many feet are in a yard.

it is good to have informants.

ultranote - some readers have asked if the "why i love my wife" catagory is true and several dfw blogers doubt her existance. i can assure all, she does exist and it is all true, and that is why i love her.

ultraultranote - i was too lazy to create an image today so i borrowed the above image from the risk management division. i am unable to explain how the image relates to my text or why it makes me giggle.

well, it has been a while since i have posted any doodles. i am finally getting around to unpacking my sketchbooks from moving boxes and a newly bought scanner replaces the ancient one that must have been dropped by the movers.

so, the doodles resume with the balloon boy.

as i wrapped things up in stall three, i glanced into the bowl (always important to quality check your work before forwarding it on).

hold the phone.

immediate thoughts were that i had just crapped something very, very bad. perhaps a symptom of SARS or some strange pooping virus that would kill me within days. i was fairly certain it was the last poo i would ever make.

thin wispy strands of black danced in the water and intermingled forming complex but sharply defined forms somewhat resembling long thin black strands of hair, but much more delicate and sheer.

i stood staring into the bowl confused and desperate for 37 seconds before i realized it was black ink from toilet paper i had used to clean my leaking sharpie pen.

whew.

today flowers smell little sweeter, colors are a little more vivid and food tastes a little better, life is good.

who the fuck hums?
a drop of sweat landed on my shoulder and soaked into my cotton shirt.
who the fuck hums on an airplane?
another droplet trickled down my shin pachinko style and into my sock.
who the fuck hums on an airplane that's been grounded for three hours?
eleven minutes ago the pilot lied for the sixth time telling us we would be flying in ten minutes.
can rhythmically challenged random notes be called humming?
planes don't fly and air conditioning doesn't work when the engines are off.
does she think i find her humming to be relaxing?

my only recourse is to begin farting.