The Seven Deadly Sinners

Summertime Rock Time

And more rock time here!

Goatse Unicorn

Goatse Unicorn. That's right, I went there.

So I'm sitting here doodling ideas to submit to Threadless, a most excellent online teeshirt emporium, and this image appeared on the paper before me. When I'm not drawing horrible things I do enjoy a spot of embroidery, so this is a design for a lovely patch or pillowcase; I'd send a much slicker Photoshop drawing to the tee shirt guys. I'm trying to figure out how to draw the Lindsay Lookoutbelowhan bald beaver that way as well. I seem to be on a roll with the gross-out stuff this week.

PS. To the other Sinners: THIS is what happens when you guys don't send in something to post. Just sayin'.

Snakes on York Beach, Maine

Photo taken yesterday; note dilapidated building at the end of the block. The York Beach Cinema has been a going concern for years. This is the last summer it will exist...snakes on a memory.

Shakes on a plane

Yep. I'm going to hell for this.

Snakes on a Bane!

I couldn't resist...Snakes on a Plane opens August 18, so just a few more snakes, people. Just a few more snakes.

Here is "Snakes on a Bane".

Bane of My Existence is a category on Sinner Rod Filbrandt's blog Chowderhead Bazoo. I'm still waiting for him to do one about Stupid Low Rise Pants (SLRPs for short), but maybe I'm the only one here freaking out about SLRPs, muffin tops and whale tails. Ok, I can own that.

In the meantime, here are snakes Bubble and Squeak on my favorite bane.

Snakes on a [pull] chain

Another snake, for your Monday morning enjoyment.

More snakes...and even more snakes!

Goatse Cyclops Kitten

Tom had a dream about a goatse cyclops kitten.
Sometimes dreams come true.

Medium: sharpie on fat wife

Four Neat Things About My Hometown

It took me a while, but I thought of a puny handful... Regina hasn't changed much since I was but a tow-headed nipper, but the changes I did note were for the worse; the giant money and time-sucking casino that used to be a fairly attractive Deco train station, the obvious signs of a municipal government with ties to the concrete industry - they have way too many parking lots and parkades - anything that doesn't move has been paved. As well, the time-honored Yippersville malaise has been distinctly super-sized somewhere in the intervening years between dreaded visits. The grey-brown dusty armpit of my youth has lost its deodorant forever. These memories are fossils now:

The Crescent Tea Room - This was a joint just around the corner from my grandparents' house, half convenience store and half cafe. There was no "tea room" in sight, the name surviving from some earlier incarnation, I gather. The cafe was a childhood joy though, all googie-patterned naughahyde and boomerang pink formica with cheap Chinese touches like the tasseled paper lanterns and red wallpaper with dragons. I remember being fascinated by the dumbwaiter behind the diner counter that lead to the steamy depths of the mysterious kitchen. My grandfather used to haul me over for a milkshake now and then, and if he was not as savagely grumpy as usual we might also get some fries and gravy. But sitting over his strawberry milkshake in its frosty metal container, the years seemed to peel off of him as he would become almost giddy with his enjoyment of the treat. Me and my bratty friends used to steal pop bottles from behind the store and then casually march around up front to cash them in for candy money - until we finally got caught by an outraged and stick-wielding Mr. Chu. Lesson learned. The last time I saw the place it was a soulless, antiseptic coffee-can of a pseudo 7-11.

Buffalo Days - Your typical third-rate Summer Fair and Exhibition, but by Regina standards a whirlwind of high-octane thrills and nerve-jangling excitement. Again, memory and the displacement of time have turned it into something else, something cinematic, something sticky with romance - the deep-fried smells, the muggy summer nights all lit up with carnival lights, the chaotic din of the little Midway, and of course the clunky, rusty old rides that have all slowly disappeared over the years, replaced with shorter, more intense, and charmless "experiences" like the "Chevron Rip Your Face Off-A-Whirl" or the "Panasonic Volcano Sky-Blast Explodo-roller."

Royal Saskatchewan Museum - I'm not sure what makes it so regal, but this tiny little marble wonder enthralled me no end as a kid; every summer I'd have to take another tour. Plus, on a sizzling prairie day, they had the strongest air-conditioning in town. But it was the Natural History/Life Sciences wing that captivated me, not so much for its elky and pelicany content, but more for the big life-size dioramas that contained them. I suppose to a budding creative noodle it was a "how did they do that?" kind of fascination, and it's weird to go back years later and see the same pumas and badgers forever frozen in their little half 3-d, half 2-d worlds.

Leslie Nielsen was born in Regina in 1926. There are 143 public monuments to him scattered tastefully throughout the city, all made of concrete. Don't call him Shirley.

Four neat things about my home town

A current internet meme is “Four Neat Things about my Home Town”.
This is great for people from big cities and cool places, but my home town is a tiny speck on the tiny coastline of a tiny state, and I haven’t been back there in about 2 decades. These days I think it’s a bedroom community for people who work in Boston; in the 70’s it was a small, pretty New Hampshire town which grew exponentially between the 4th of July and Labor Day, with most of the local economy based on tourism. It was a bizarrely black and white existence, with the beach pretty much deserted overnight after the end of the season. All I could find to write about was murder, ghosts, and demolished buildings…you really can’t go home again.

Famous Bad Girl: The Pamela Smart case began at Winnacunnet High School in Hampton where Pamela met her 15 year old boyfriend, who later killed her husband at her request. Their sordid story was the basis for the movie “To Die For”. I saw this movie in Seattle and was the only person in the audience who laughed at the opening shot of the town sign reading “Welcome to Little Hope, New Hampshire". I guess you had to have lived there.

Awesome Motel Name: “Pinky Villa”. Ok, it didn’t stay “Pinky Villa” after my parents bought it in the early ‘70’s, and it didn’t stay pink either, but it’s still my all time favorite motel name. And yes, I have heard all the “Motel New Hampshire” jokes, thanks.

Hampton Playhouse: next door to our motel, a summer stock theater overrun by crazy New York actors. I grew up watching dress rehearsals for “farces” and classic plays, with practice sometimes happening on the lawn under my bedroom window. Lots of soap opera and minor movie stars summered there, and it was quite a contrast from the staid New England neighbors most of my friends had. I learned what “shrimping” was at the age of 10.

Official Witch/Ghost: New England is lousy with horrible stories of people (mostly women) jailed, tortured and/or killed as “witches”. Hampton’s version was Goody Cole.

Your turn.

Snakes on Gold Chains

Here are some snakes on Gold Chains!

I know of Gold Chains because my old friend Jibz was part of the band for a while. It's not the type of thing I normally listen to but I was glad I got turned on to them. It's kind of dumb but totally smart, loud, obnoxious, fun to listen to. Amazon describes Gold Chains thusly:  "Gold Chains music is an almost indescribable circus of sounds, bridging the gap between electro and punk, techno and glam-rock, and all the sounds within. A cult hero in the making, offering up a whole new game altogether, Gold Chains just might save us all."

Here's their myspace.  Word.

More snakes