I'd like to think that throughout this semester, I've progressed as an artist (though as a cartoonist, I use that term lightly). And while I've established a certain style of my own, one that is recognizable by most of campus as mine, I still feel like I'm not as good as I could be. It might sound melodramatic, but I have a hard time shaking the idea that there are so many out there that are better than me. Sometimes, I accept that they are different but not necessarily better. I tell myself that I can do things they can't, and that I can contribute to the art community. Other times, I look at all the established and professional artists on DeviantArt, and just feel depressed. Don't get me wrong, I'm not fishing for pity compliments. I just wonder if I have what it takes to make my drawings a passion, or a living. Because if I can't do that, then I have no idea what I'll do next.

For the first time in a long while, I took an actual art class: Drawing I. I did this with the idea that I needed some professional guidance and that maybe I would gain an edge in my drawings. I was also playing around with the idea that I might minor in art, but the Asia trip quickly put that notion to bed. And now, from the view of the end of the semester, I can safely say that I have learned nothing of value. I realize that the course is an intro class, meant to cover the basics, but I still feel like I should have gotten something out of it. But, unfortunately, all I'm left with is the feeling that I've wasted a class slot and a bunch of drawings of naked ladies...

...I'll let you take whatever meaning you'd like from that last line.

At this point, I've developed a fairly sturdy style for myself and, as such, feel the need for something new. It's not that I don't particularly like what I draw now, but it feels like it needs more. I don't know.

It's my hope that my trip to Thailand next semester might put things in perspective. I've heard that studying abroad changes your insight on almost everything. So who knows? Maybe I'll be able to develop into the artist I think I want to be.

On the plus side, I've been able to draw some weird comics that no one seems to like but make me laugh.

For example:

TeeHee: Nazis

So remember when I said I was going to make the insinuation that the Dean of Student Affairs might fund Nazi activities? Remember how I was going to try and piss people off?

Well, it sort of worked... sort of.

A few days after it was published, my friend Grant, who is one of the lead editors/managers/ guy who does everything for the paper, was called in for a little chat with the Dean. Yeah sure it was about something else (probably more important, too...damn), but as Grant was getting ready to leave, the Dean stopped him and asked him to explain it to him.

So not only did I get away with making the insinuation, I also made one of my best friends have to explain to the person being made fun of that he might potentially fund European genocide.

Does laughing at that make me a bad person? Probably not.

Also, here is the comic:

fuck it. I'm going to Asia.

It's been far too long since I last wrote here. And believe me that I have been reminded of this fact several times by the one or two people that read this. But that's in the past and I'm bored, so here goes:

I've taken on the role of "cartoon guy" on Coe's campus, rushing in to fill the void left by my recently (and by that I mean several months ago) graduated friend. It's been my goal to get a cartoon published in every week of the paper, and so far it's been working out. When I first started, I had it in my head that I should avoid pissing anyone off (ie. Student Senate, Republicans, etc.). I thought that it would be better if I could provide laughs for everyone, not just people capable of coherent thought (hiyo!). But as time went on (I lasted all of a week), I found that I wanted more and more to strike a nerve. Thus, things like this came about:

For the Republicans
and taking a shot at Senate.

And while I haven't gotten the outrage that a certain other cartoonist felt last year, I like to tell myself that I've rocked my readers to the core. And as no one has given me too muck flak, the idea for my comic is to insinuate that members of the Third Reich (that is, Nazis) could acquire funds from Coe's Dean of Student Affairs. Needless to say, this isn't true and I'm excited to see what the response will be.

Oh, and in reference to the title: I'm probably going to Asia next semester. To study swordplay. Suck on that.

-TinMan

because there are times i question my brightness

I went shopping today. It started off as only looking for a book and maybe a refreshing coffee beverage of some sort, but it became something a little more expensive in a manner or minutes. Whilst enjoying my frozen mocha-espresso-banana drink, I wandered about the mall and a shirt caught my eye. It was a simple gray shirt, but for some reason it spoke to me and I decided that i wanted it. Then came the first problem: it was in an Abercrombie store. One should know that back in my angsty high school days i swore i would never shop in such a preppy, expensive, and otherwise inaccessible-to-people-like-me store. So when I realized that my intended purchase was inside a store that I had once considered evil, I was a bit torn. But after a few more sips of frosty coffee drink, I had decided that I was stupid in high school and proceeded inside.

Upon finding the rack that contained my sought-after shirt I grabbed a size small. I figured that this was the size i normally wear, so it should fit right? Wrong.

In the dressing room, I attempted to don the shirt and promptly became stuck. My head trapped between my elbows, I struggled to find a method of escape. This resulted in me hooking the collar of shirt on the provided clothing rack and pulling. After almost doubling over from a quick release, I had decided that perhaps i should try the next size up.

I returned again to the fitting room with a medium and a large (just in case). When trying on the Medium, I had essentially the same experience as with the small, only now I felt that the situation was getting a bit ridiculous. I wore smalls! Not mediums and most certainly not larges. But the shirt was pretty so I tried on the biggest shirt they had available, feeling defeated. And it looked good. I shrugged and decided that the shirt was worth the trouble and went on to purchase it.

Having gotten home with my new prize, I thought it fun to share the news with my better half. After telling her of my story, she stopped me and asked:

"Wait. Which store did you go to?"
"Abercrombie"
"Abercrombie or Abercrombie & Fitch?"
"The first one."
"You do realize that Abercrombie is meant for little kids, right?"
"...that would explain a lot."

So after being laughed at for a good couple minutes, I have learned that adult models on the walls of the store do not necessarily mean that the clothes are meant for people of that age bracket. Apparently, I should pay more attention to things of that nature. But then again, the shirt looks good, so you wont hear me complaining.

Oh, and here's a random drawing I did for you:

Yeah, I have no idea either...

-TinMan

New possibilities

I realize that my devotion to anything online such as, oh say, this blog can easily be questioned, but I had an idea:

I'm thinking about starting a webcomic.

In all likelihood, it would be updated sporadically and possibly very generic, college-y, or just not that funny.

But that being the case, would anyone consider reading it?

-TinMan

Just so I can piss off all three people that read this thing:

a short post.

one of my oldest best friends got married last weekend.

holy shit.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------
p.s. i'll try to be a bit better about actually doing something with this.

For Shits and Giggles

This is what happens when the newspaper has nothing to publish...

I get to be stupid

It's times like these that I identify with the tin man...

So my heart's broken.

Not in the sense that I'm romantically destroyed or completely and utterly lonely, but in the fact that my heart is physically broken.

Don't worry it's nothing serious.

You see, the way a normal heart works is that it shoots electricity (which I thought was kick-ass by the way) down a path way to the lower chambers of the heart. You should know that this is all coming from memory of what a cardiologist told me yesterday, so the specifics might be a bit off. But around the middle of our ticker, the pathway splits, going off the the right and the left leading to the muscles contracting and pumping blood. That's how it normally works. But the thing is, my heart doesn't work that way. When the path splits, there's a blockage on the right side, meaning that my heart isn't doing the proper contractions. This sounds a lot worse than it actually is. The great thing about being me (or human, in all actuality) is that we adapt. My heart compensates for this and keeps me from keeling over. Fun stuff.

But that isn't to say that there weren't scary times surrounding this discovery. For those of you who don't know, my father died of a heart attack. So, when I started having chest pains and shortness of breath, you could probably understand why I might have been a bit frightened. I'm not going to say that I thought I was going to die or anything like that, because it never seemed that serious. But It did put things in a new light. I started thinking about things I'd like to do before I go and people I'd like to spend more time with. You know, cliched stuff like that.

But I was talking to a good friend of mine recently and came to the realization that despite the fact that I had faced mortality I:
still like girls
still like drawing
still like music
still like writing
still hate shrimp
still have no clue what I'm doing with my life.

So for the most part, all I did was get out of a little class and scare the hell out of my family.

Let's get out of here.

About a week ago, I was in San Francisco, CA. I was in the sunshine state (that's California, right?) at the end of February, which is notorious for being the time of the year with some of the shittiest weather. It was amazing.

You see, I've grown up my entire life in the Midwest. With the exception of one or two small incursions out west, I've always been in the smack-dab middle of the US. So I've never had the chance to experience things like warm weather and hospitable strangers. It was refreshing. Everywhere I went, there was at least some semblance of a smile or at the very least a warm greeting. I sometimes felt that I was the butt of some joke, where everyone was just pretending to be nice to me. But there was not climactic reveal at the end of the trip nor was there any sort of fakeness to what I saw, so I'll choose to believe that CA just kicks serious ass.

It was 65 degrees and sunny the first day we went exploring. There was grass in a park: lush, living, green grass. I rolled around in it and put a flower in my hair.

Goddammit Grandma!

I got a package from home yesterday. I wasn't expecting it and was pleasantly surprised to find a goldenrod slip of paper in my mailbox that signified its arrival. So I wandered gleefully back from Gage and made tracks for my room wherein I could open my parcel in quiet excitement. Upon ripping open the packing tape with my room key, I was pleasantly surprised by a heart-shaped rice crispy treat with a Snoopy valentine atop it. It stated: "Be My Valentine -granjan"

My grandma sent me a valentine. And more importantly: treats to go along with said valentine. Along with the marshmallow and crisped rice treat, there was a bag of those little confectionery hearts with sappy love sayings on it and some cinnamon jelly hearts. On top of that, there was a box of Triscuts infused with olive oil and fake tomato flavoring (a personal favorite of mine). But there was one thing left, at the bottom of the box, just waiting to be discovered: Easy Cheese.

I hate Easy Cheese.

Apparently my grandma has decided that it's funny to send me a food product which she knows I will refuse to eat. She's a peach.

So I handed my hyper-processed cheese product to my neighbor who, to my horror, took a swig straight from the can. So at least the stuff is being put to use, but I can't imagine why anyone would want to eat it.

In reference to the previous post:
there was mass hysteria
snow flew all willy-nilly
it was cold
I destroyed my challenger.

huzzah

Walking in a what?

So there is a lot of snow on the ground. I've been yelled at by certain woman of small stature to update this thing, but I find the draw to outside to be nigh irresistible. Thus, I will be returning to finish this post once I have had my fill of flinging snow balls at my comrades. A challenge had been issued and the gauntlet has hit the floor. Game on.

-to be continued-

Early Morning Coffee

As I've stated before, I have an eight o'clock class. While I realize that most adults have to rise and be at their designated work work before this hours, I still find it difficult to remain awake and/or civil without some form of drug-induced awakeness. This is usually brought about by me making coffee in the morning before running out the door.

But there's one thing you should know: I make fucking terrible coffee.

It's not that it's weak or unflavored, rather quite the opposite. You see, the coffee that's made in the morning fills only two cups, mine and my friend's. So, when I get everything ready the evening before, it should be obvious and prudent to only put around two scoops of Foldgers in the filter. Sounds reasonable, right? Well the thing is, I usually put four to five scoops in, just to make sure that the coffee will have the kick that early morning requires. This results in an overly-strong brew that has caused me to wince and nearly gag on more than one occasion. We (as in myself and my coffee buddy, Andy) sought to remedy this situation by buying some milk to cut the intensity. Today was our trial run. Even today, despite the milk, Andy did not finish his mug and I barely did mine. By the end, the coffee was not only disgustingly strong, but also cold, due to the milk and the long, cold walk to class. Why I finished it is still beyond me, as by then I had attained an acceptable level of alertness, and that it just tasted terrible.

So now I'm writing this post, regretting my coffee. There is a bad taste in my mouth and my stomach is just a wee bit upset with me. This is a common ending for any experience with my coffee, which should lead to some sort of reform in my drink creating process.

The operative word is "should", seeing as I doubt anything will change in the near future. Old, two week habits are hard to break.

So I find that NERF guns are a college students best friend. Now this isn't anything new to my mind, I just realized it again today. These foam-spewing plastic wonder guns are perhaps one of the best ways to relieve boredom. More active and social than video games, having less required time than sports, and containing more fun than you can shake a substantial stick at, yep, these are fantastic little devices. By making a ten dollar investment in a NERF six-shooter, I have allotted myself more fun than thought possible by leading experts. Sure it's immature and yes some people will probably in all likelihood get pissed at you for shooting the fifth dart into their eye in the past twenty seconds, but consider all the sorts of good times that can be had.

It's amazing. Go. Buy (NERF) gun. Shoot friends. Have a blast.

Welcome to the New Year...now let's work on keeping up this resolution.

So it turns out that I am truly living up to my previous post. It's been a few weeks since I started this thing and I've been informed by certain individuals that I am not living up to the obligations and responsibilities that I signed up for. For this, I apologize and hope to be more of a better person in the future. Moving on...

So I find myself back on campus already being thrown into the hectic swing of classes and whatnot. And despite all my recent fears and dread concerning an eight in the morning science class, I find that early morning is not as terrible as it used to be. A few years ago, or perhaps months/days, I would have bitched and complained that eight is far too early to be doing much of anything much less advanced thinking concerning physics, lights, and holograms. While this stance of thinking may become a part of my life again in the near future, I find that right now my "plight" isn't so bad.

It's odd being back on campus again after having a month-long break. Being surrounded by my peers instead of family is a welcome change, though I hold no grudge nor ill-will towards my kin. Having people my own age to talk to and spend time with is substantially more entertaining. Last night, instead of sitting alone on my couch watching "SuperBad" or "Shoot 'Em Up" (which are movies I recommend for stupid humor or id-satisfying mindless violence respectively) I sat in my dorm and sang musical hits from the 90's with my pal Andy. I found that partaking in epic renditions of "Hit Me Baby One More Time" or "Waterfalls" in the company of fellow human beings to be far more fulfilling. Fancy that.

I realize that I'm rambling and that this entry is made up of less-than-stellar writing. However, I figure that as I haven't really written anything in a while, I should start getting the proverbial lead out. So hear I am, having started this entry at sometime around nine in the morning, when my mental capacity is limited at best, now finishing up. So Andy, I hope you're happy. Now I'm tired and think I might go take a nap.