This Should be a Comic...
Aug. 2nd, 2007
01:56 am - SDCC 2007
I flew back from SDCC on Monday, arriving in Wichita via plane around midnight. SDCC was, as always, an interesting experience. There were good things that happened and bad things that happened. On second thought, scratch that. Almost everything that happened was good.
I guess I've been to enough conventions that people are starting to recognize me- a few by name. There's one guy, Tony Salvagio, who write a series for TokyoPop. I've seen him at about four or five conventions in the past year or two. He's a pretty cool fellow. It probably helps that I look distinctive and have such a unique name.
I met up with a friend of the family- the daughter of the boss of the wife of Matt, who was one of my mother's employees. I'd do almost anything for Matt, which resulted in me feeling like a de facto gaurdian for the daughter of his wife's boss. She was at SDCC on a whim, her first convention. Alone, sleep deprived teenage girls carrying hundred dollar bills bring out my paternal side. She met a cute boy at the con who had good vibes, so the three of us went to dinner several nights.
I got through this con without an emotional breakdown. It might be that I had several breakdowns before leaving, but it might also be that I explicitly decided that I wasn't going to network. I wasn't going to be professional. I took my sketchbook and some year-old business cards and just hung out. When I needed a break from the convention floor, I'd go outside and spend an hour reading a graphic novel or making fant art- no stress to not waste networking time. I left my most powerful demon, Ambition, at home with my mom.
Now I'm at home again, getting ready for school and for Gen Con. The Ashcan Front booth has been super busy this past week (they waited for the week when I didn't have internet access... silly them). I had a twelve hour work day yesterday and still have a lot of yardwork to catch up on.
I'm feeling slightly paniced- not about anything in particular, I just have panicked energy. I think it's because my body is tired. I still haven't unpacked.
Jul. 23rd, 2007
Oof. We meet again, mr. LJ. There's a certain amount of discipline required in maintaining a blog. I think it's fair to say that discipline has not been the strong suit of my past few years, albeit with good reason.
So it's looking like I won't have the miniportfolios for comic-con like I was wanting. I'll have to settle for revising my website and making some neato business cards. There's a part of me that wants to catch some attention or find a way to break into the industry proper- instead of living in the fringes- but there's also a part of me that doesn't feel prepared.
"But Ram, no one is ever prepared for a rite of initiation. If they were, they'd already have gone through it. Getting paid to do this kind of stuff would be like a rite of initiation. Go for it and learn!"
But, seriously, there are people with much more talent, much more skill, and with much more passion. The first two are hardly an obstacle for going out and shaking hands- and I know there're people who would count me in the 'more talent, more skill' category- but the last one is a killer. And I have a regular gig at the newspaper that I should stop taking for granted:
I should stop raping English grammar with my sentence structures and go get some stuffs packed. Since I work all day tomorrow, today is basically my last prep day before I leave.
"The reward of turmoil is Rest."
Nov. 11th, 2006
All right. Dante is in a three way tie with Charles Manson and Stephen Hawking for describing me, followed shortly by Hugh Hefner. I think that this is an interesting commentary on my personality...
| You scored as Dante Alighieri. According to you most of humanity will spend at least some of their afterlife in hell. You have a high likelihood of being exiled, but anyone as bloody fucking romantic as you deserves what they get. You have an exceptional moral code, overshadowed by the fact that you yourself cannot uphold it. Your existence bears a definite irony, although of fairly Christian morality, many pagans, satanists, communists, and intellectuals admire you and your works for all the wrong reasons. Also, the brighest star in your sky is never going to be your lover... It takes a lot of grief to be the cartographer of hell.|
What Pseudo Historical Figure Best Suits You?
created with QuizFarm.com
Sep. 28th, 2006
Click this link: http://visualsnow.com/examples/pictures/i
Seriously. Click it.
That's what the world looks like to me. Except my snow dances and makes shapes. My vision has always been like that. I just assumed that everyone saw the snow. Didn't start really thinking about it until the past week.
Sep. 26th, 2006
What do you know? The quality of the vodka does make a difference. Same 80 proof stock as the first bottle, but thrice distilled and with a few less years to it's name. The vodka is almost as smooth as Sprite or Sierra Mist. A little cough, and a grin to mask a reflex grimace, and I can almost chug the stuff. I think that I'm still more fond of the spiced rum, but the vodka is almost easier to drink. It's actually decent as a beverage, and I think I could get drunk off of it without going through half of the bottle like I did with the rum.
Yay for hard liqour. Now if only I could stand the flavor of beer or wine.
In other news, I've discovered that it's possible I've been having visual hallucinations my entire life and never noticed because I took them for granted. How fun is that?
Sep. 17th, 2006
10:50 pm - A Bastard's Lament
My father was afraid
of all the things that could be.
And in his fear it was plain
that nothing ever would be.
Of all the things that he made,
I'm the only one still around.
I'm the only one he never claimed,
the only one he never found.
He asked if the children knew about the pain
that was coming soon in life;
All I know is that it's here today-
I'll carry this pain for the rest of my life.
I'll carry the things he tried to set down,
all the grief that he couldn't bear,
carry on with the things he couldn't do,
in spite of my own fear.
His fatal mistress was cocain.
Mine comes from a bottle.
But I do my best to pray to whatever
gods might listen,
that his death was no more planned
than my birth, life, or conception.
Instead that it was the same
orgasmic lack of apprehension
that brought me into this place
and acted as his execution.
After long hours at the end of the day
when I lay me down to rest,
when I'm alone and my mind begins to fray,
I think of him
Sep. 10th, 2006
03:36 pm - Prayer of the Inspired Hopeless
Forgive me for my failures.
Take mercy on my successes.
By your grace I am limited
in the things that I can ahieve,
but the things that remain to be done
are never diminished.
Acknowledge the things that I've accomplished,
but give salute to the things left undone.
These are the achievements left
the dreams that I've aborted,
my unborn children and stillborn aspiractions.
If I fail in my responsibilities to my fellows,
let them embrace me and nurture me.
If I fail to reach for my fellows,
let them embrace me and nurture me.
Let me never fail to embrace them
or fail in the lessons
that they provide.
Shine upon my fears
and rebuke my ego.
Show me the harsh path
that I must follow.
And give me the strength
to see each pain.
No matter how treacherous the ground,
let my feet always walk
in the shadows of grace.
At the end of the day,
let me see my story
for what it has become
and what it can be
for others. Let me see
the heroes and villians
that I have nurtured
and the acts that they perform
on the stage that is my soul.
And if a list is made of all things
that I have done with my life,
let it be said that my failures
have been rendered with the greatest
degree of success.
Sep. 8th, 2006
So, the other day I watched one of the most genuinely patriotic movies ever made- Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.
Today, I'm watching one of the most genuinely romantic movies ever made- Harold and Maude.
Because writing poetry a required in my Creative Writing class:
I've bought a bottle
of spiced rum. It's dense
and black, exquisitely flavored.
Looking into it,
I can't see the bottom.
Passing the bottle from hand
to hand. It's full
Her name is Blair. Her name is Eiman.
Her name is Clarkson. Her name is Rausch.
I start with a cautious sip.
The more I drink
the better the taste.
Before long, I'm a conneseur,
but I still can't see
the bottom of the bottle.
So pass the bottle. We won't run out,
so long as we keep drinking.
Sep. 3rd, 2006
09:21 pm - I'm special
There are approximately 6.6 billion people in the world.
Approximately 49% of people are males- 3,234,000,000 people.
Approximately 25% of males have herpes- 808,500,000 people.
Approximately .3% of males can autofellatiate- 2,425,500 people.
World-wide, there are about 2.4 million men with herpes who can autofellatiate.
I can't find any numbers on how often antibodies fail to form in response to herpes family viruses- in thoery, once you have the viruses, you can't contract them again. It's currently debated whether this is absolute, with a trememndous amount of anecdotal evidence saying that it isn't. Since I can't find any specific numbers, let's pretend it's 1 in 1000.
By these extremely crude and largely incorrect calculations, I'm one of 2,425.5 men in this world who are capable of giving themselves herpes; about .000036% of the human population.
There are about 300 million people in the USA, which means that there are about 110.25 of my fellow self-administering herpes males. Given 50 states, that leaves a little over 2 per state. Which means that somewhere in Kansas, there's 1 other person like me.
None of these calculations are actually accurate- I might not even have herpes to begin with (damn those inconclusive tests). This post was made for pure entertainment value and statistical narcissim
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