Does a Band-Aid use humans?

What do Band-Aids use when they get hurt?

Do you think THIS question is stupid? I should say not!

small update

This here is my first attempt at digital painting.

For my part I'd like to say I've never before used

a Wacom tablet, stylus, or the program in which I

worked, Corel Painter. It may stink, but its a stink

I've come to enjoy. (The design is by Joe Olson)

This handsome bugger is the subject of my

next painting.  With this one Sam (my digital painting 

instructor and God of the Stylus) has upped the ante.

Hopefully when this one is painted I'll show progress...hopefully.

(My design, and if you want to see what good digital

painting looks like, go to Sam's blog in my links section).

Tomorrow is The Dark Night for The Dark Knight

To commemorate the release of The Dark Knight tomorrow my wife, brother, and sister-in-law were going to dress up as different Batman characters.  As we were unable to do that we decided to make cheap t-shirts with villains on them.  The writing reads "Who's Next?" As in what villain will be in the next film.  

The images look grainy when enlarged because my camera flash keeps catching light off of the paint and Lindsey's shirt, (Harley Quinn) was the test shirt.  This was before I realized the stencil needs to be removed within 10 minutes of painting the shirt otherwise bits of the stencil will adhere to the paint.  I'm going to try washing it to see if the stencil will wash out.

 

This is Lindsey's, she likes Harley Quinn

This is for The Britt

This is Brett's.  It's supposed to be the 

Mad Hatter, I think it looks okay.

Here's mine, The Riddler.  All of these images will take on a more matte finish once I heat set them for a few minutes, I just need to be sure the images are dry enough not to bleed.  I'll probably heat set them tomorrow morning.  Happy Dark Knight everybody!

In the vein of Joe

This is a re-tooled design of Judas, yes the one from the Bible, 

for Kelly Loosli's redhead documentary.  Kelly is using character

designs done by the master of clean lines, Joe Olson (a link  to 

his blog is in my links section). So, after seeing the inconsistency

of my design to Joe's I re-did the character to look like something

he would have done.  Hopefully I didn't fall too flat on my face.

Confirmation of a long-held belief

Those who read this blog, and here I assume readers to be my wife, Lindsey, or the occasional passer-by looking for information on the Brandon, Iowa hockey team, may think I consider my wife to be insane.  I have, on multiple occasions, referenced her tendencies towards physical abuse, to gloat at the misfortune of others, and an inability to remain coherent for more than an hour at any given time.  I can no longer merely consider my wife insane for the evidences of this fact are now too blatant to continue to ignore.  Observe.

During the first year of our marriage while dead asleep, not a usual occurrence for me, I found myself being bodily shaken by Lindsey.  Assuming she needed some sort of assistance I woke up and sincerely asked "What is it?  What's the matter?"  To which she replied, "Scottish fashions."  I paused. "Scottish fashions?" I asked her.  "Scottish fashions?"  she mimicked, and then began to laugh like a hyena before falling back to sleep.  I, on the other hand, could not force myself to close my eyes for fear that sleeping would bring on another bout of her nocturnal lunacy.

While in the second year of our marriage I, now used to the frequent nighttime mutterings of my beloved, found myself awake as a loud thunder crash took place.  I thought nothing of it but Lindsey sat bolt upright.  I again inquired after her well-being to which she turned her head towards me and, eyes still closed, butted me with her near titanium strength forehead.  I believe I said something like "Ow! What the heck?" and pushed her away from me, sure another attack was soon to follow.  The next morning, my eye barely able to open from the force of her blow, she turned to me and asked "What's this goose egg on my forehead?"  I glared at her as best I could with only one usable eye and, though I felt myself fierce at that moment, I probably only looked drunk.

Then tonight, this very night, while trying to fall asleep she turned to me, eyes still closed, then elbowed my in the ribs and spoke, "I keep seeing your head and your face keeps saying 'Thanks, a lot' because I bought the wrong kind of soap."  I assured her I was perfectly fine with the soap she bought, she hasn't actually bought any but find it's safer to play along with her more rational nighttime hallucinations, and she went back to sleep.  I am now stuck awake and faced with the prospect that my face now apparently speaks independently of my head, a feat I've not yet managed in my waking hours.  

There you have it.  I consider the above to be my most glaring evidences, examples that stand beyond reproof, of my wife's mental instability.  These are offered in the hope that you not think unkindly on me for exposing the stress under which I live and, more importantly, take pity on my poor mostly incoherent wife.  She's really crazy.

Besides the Ghost of Cat Stevens, What Terrifies You?

Those who know me know that I have many, what have been termed, "irrational fears."  I cannot use the restroom, anywhere, unless the shower curtain is open or at least has been peeked behind first.  Needles or seeing needles go into someone, I actually broke out in a cold sweat once when I had to get an IV.  I cannot stand the sight, feel, or sound of metal on teeth.  I once bit a quarter because I saw a man bite a gold coin in an old movie and thought he did so because coins taste good.  They do not.  They taste like mineralized terror. 

What few realize is that my fears are not irrational.  There is a legitimate explanation for why I am afraid or averse to certain actions or objects.  For example: 

The most prominent of my "irrational fears" is my utter disgust with "dangly" things, or things that dangle.  This stems from doing yard work and other outdoor chores alongside my father when I was younger.  He would often, at random times and especially in autumn, shout either "Polish handkerchief!" or "Snot rocket!" and proceed to jam a finger or thumb up one of nostrils and expel the contents of his nose at me.  This usually led to the discovery of some sort of mucusy nastiness dangling from some part of my body accompanied by dry heaves and occasionally an emptying of my stomach.

Lindsey does not comprehend this fear and has tried to correct what she sees as a simple, albeit strange, aversion not realizing it is a byproduct of youthful torture.  Many times she has tried to show me the used portion of a Kleenex and, generally, when she sneezes she aims her face in my direction.  I have since developed a compulsive need to wipe clean every part of my body after she sneezes at me, regardless of whether or not the foulness in her sinuses has made contact with me. 

There remains one fear, which I admit is irrational, or at least improbable, that prior to now I have not exposed.  Reflections when it is dark.  Having a mother convinced that she is a) in the Matrix, b) has driven through a forcefield, and c) has legitimately lived in a haunted house, it is understandable that when the X-Files first began airing in 1993 she fell in love almost immediately.  It became a Sunday night tradition to watch the X-Files as a family together, Brett usually hid somewhere, Alex was a baby, through her social derangement may stem from early exposure to the show, and I watched, enthralled. 

One particular episode when I was 12 managed to do what no other episode to that time had done, terrify me.  There was a cult in the show and a substitute teacher who used dark magic, holding someone's personal item over a brightly burning flame chanting, muttering, to murder the person.  I had an early morning paper route that my father graciously performed over half of the work for and allowed me to take credit for as well.  I was convinced, for some reason, that if I were to look into the windows or glass doors on my route that I would see reflected behind me that substitute teacher, holding one of my papers over the candle, chanting and muttering at me.  

This complex was strengthened when, for some reason beyond comprehension, I twice saw the re-release of The Exorcist in the theater, late at night, coming home when the house was completely dark, quiet, and I had to walk by a full-length mirror to get to my room. 

Logically I know there will be no newspaper wielding occultist substitute or demonically possessed girl in the reflection but I cannot help but keep my eyes glued to the floor when passing a mirror when it is dark. It has reached a point that I cannot look into a mirror at night, early or morning, or during an eclipse without first turning on a light.  Though my electricity bill is high my deaths by dark magic or possession is low.  I consider it a win and will gladly continue to pay extra each month to preserve my life.

Figure Drawings

These are the figure drawings I submitted in my animation portfolio. I hope only to continue to improve.