OMG PUPPY!!!!!!!11

I've very lucky to live next to a beautiful natural area boardering the Colorado River. About a week ago I was hiking back there with my dog, Brutus, when we found a little puppy all by his lonesome. He was scared and angry at first (it probably thought Brutus was going to eat him!), but soon calmed down. After I began to pet the pup, he dropped the werewolf fascade and warmed up to us immediately. I searched the area for its mother or sibblings, but found none; I can only assume he was abandoned out there.

I brought the half-starved guy home where he scarfed down his first meal. He was weak and still frightened and would find safe little nooks in my backyard to crawl up in and sleep. He was filthy though, so I gave him a bath, and let him recover in style, wrapped up in a warm towel on my bed. He peed on my bed in appreciation.

Since then he's been examined by the vet, given his shots and house-trained. His attitude has become considerably happier and more playful. He's very friendly and intelligent. He's a Black Labrador.

Although it will break my heart to give him away, I simply cannot keep him. It shouldn't be hard to find this awesome guy a good home though. If you know one, stake your claim now!

5 Signs SXSW Has Arrived

1. It took me twice as long to get to work last night
Nuff' said.

2. I almost saw a fight last night
Positioned at my valet booth, I have a unobstructed view through the window of a bar. Listen: Big, ape-like man is apparently acting surly and misogynistic. Female bartender interjects on female customers behalf, tries to take Apeman's beer away. Apeman refuses. Female bartender sticks her fist in his beer, and tells him to "drink it now". Apeman becomes enraged. Apeman is thrown out of bar by 4 smaller men. Words are had. Apeman kicks a guy in the balls. More threats. Apeman finally comprehends that he's not wanted. Apeman reluctantly sulks away.

3. I was almost in a fight last night
Two women and a man approach me and ask if I would call them a cab. This is generally bad etiquette since valets only have their personal cell phones, so why not use your own? I skirt the issue by telling them I don't have a cell phone, which is the absolute truth. The woman gives me a scowl. "Really?", she says, not as in "Really, you don't have a cell phone?", but more as in "Really, you're going to lie to my face? You ought to to come up with a better excuse because everybody has a cell phone. And you look ridiculous in that day-glow yellow vest with reflective stripes." I try to convince her. I say, "No, REALLY I don't have a cell phone." But really I'm saying "No REALLY I don't have a cell phone, and I know I look ridiculous in this vest but you don't have to be a bitch about it." At this point she makes a sound with her mouth which is hard to describe, but everyone is familiar with. It kinda sounds like "uuhh!". Imagine a trust-fund baby with entitlement issues learning that Starbucks has run out of their chosen coffee. That's the sound she made. They proceed to push rudely past me without even saying farewell. They've essentially called me a no good liar.

Now, I'm pretty laid back guy who generally avoids conflict, so I'm going to blame my next move on Apeman's testosterone laced pheromone which still clung to the air. As they walked away I said, "With an attitude like that, why would we?" (call them a cab). Admittedly, it was bratty thing to say, but at least it was reasoned and somewhat intelligent; moreso than calling them "bitches" or "assholes" or something. The man took a few more steps before deciding that he should probably stand up for his girlfriends. He turns around in the middle of the street and starts doing the whole "You got a problem?!" routine. I can't remember what I said to him next, but it must've been pretty good, because it turned him into an Apeman and caused him to come nearer. Now for the uninitiated: when Man A aggressively approches Man B, Man B cannot back down if he hopes to maintain a shred of pride. I almost said "shred of dignity", but it's mostly about pride, stupid male pride. So although the guy was bigger than me, I didn't back down. It helped having my co-worker, Greg, there. And then: "Comeon! I'll take both of you!!!" I'm starting to like these odds, but trying to resist being transformed into an Apeman. We're also giving him the opportunity to throw the first blow, lest this goes to court. It's probably good nothing happened, though he did call us pussies as he walked away. 

Human behavior is so fascinating.

4. I socialized with other human beings over alcohol last night
Perhaps our confrontation with Apeman Jr. was a bonding experience of sorts; after work Greg offered to introduce me to some good bars and people. At one point found myself walking down east 6th singing harmony for a rousing rendition of "I Want It That Way" by the Backstreet Boys.

5. It's stunningly beautiful today
The SXSW people really couldn't pick a better time, the weather is spectacular right now. Warm days, cool nights, and a wonderful breeze blowing through the freshly sprouted leaves.

Hey, they can't all be winners

Possible new year's resolution: Blog more?

Learning to Live Again

It's been over 2 years since I've convened with my notebook in a meaningful way. I had forgot what a powerful tool it is; a place for self-examination, personal therapy, random thoughts, random-er doodles, incubating ideas, creative freedom, and non-judgement. It feels good to resume this relationship, notebook and I. Who knows what will come of it?

University of Life

Tomorrow, after nearly 5 months on the farm, I'm finally headed home. Yet as my departure nears, I find myself doubting: is Austin really home? After all, it's no accident I've spent almost half a year in rural Oregon. To me, popular culture has never seemed so foreign, and I suspect I'm in for a shock and something resembling depression upon returning to the city. We all learn to acclimate to the situations we find ourselves in, and it probably won't be long until I'm once again comfortable in the concrete jungle; content with movie theaters, art museums, and rock shows. But there's no denying: the farm beckons me. It's in my heart and it won't let go.

This summer, Farmer Steve was laid up with gout for a month, completely out of commission. The other day he apologized that he was unable to teach me skills during this time, to which I replied, "Don't worry about it. I've learned more here than in a hundred classrooms." And it's absolutely true. Perhaps unbeknownst to him, the farm skills I've learned are the least of it. The things I've learned most are less tangible, but perhaps more important. Things like: generosity, how to get along with others, patience, work ethic. When I see Steve pick up someone's slack without complaint, or offer to clean dishes that aren't his - I greatly admire him, and find myself emulating that behavior. Here, at a little farm in southern Oregon, I feel like I'm becoming the man I want to be, and that is very satisfying.

I find myself loving Deb and Steve like family, and the feeling must be mutual, because they've offered to contribute resources and expertise to help me build my very own cabin down by the goat barn. Fifty yard walk to the river. Spectacular view of Hope Mountain. The opportunity to become a self-sufficient human with a variety of skills, immersed in an amazing community of like-minded individuals. Hard to say no.

The other night, I camped down with the goats, in a golden grassy field adjacent their pen. Under the stars, warmed by fire, I made a long list of reasons to stay. Tomorrow they will become reasons to return.

The Goat Barn

The Late Harvest

Been working like a dog lately... 12 hour days are becoming the norm. I'm probably too tired to write a coherent blog post, but I'll give it a shot.

Work has been coming in two forms: unpaid community volunteer work and very well paid medical marijuana work. I guess the two achieve some kind of taoist, universal balance? The karma of selfless good deeds has wrought personal abundance? Beats me... all I know is I'm too exausted to draw comparisons, make decent metaphors, or spell.

Yeah. So on Sunday (the big 10-10-10), a woman in the community organized a very successful event (in collaboration with 350.org) in which people came out and helped clear the hike & bike trail along Takilma Road. My day was spent reclaiming swaths of the trail from overgrown blackberry and ceanothus, throwing the cuttings into a large trailer, and taking it to the goats. Imagine if a big dumb baboon brought you your favorite food on a silver platter all day long. That's what it was like being a goat on Sunday.

On Monday, a bunch of us volunteers went gleaning at a local farm. We combed through a gigantic mono-cultured corn field, and left with a few truck-beds of very nice corn which we distributed to food banks, charities, and schools. It was neat driving around delivering corn we harvested. I felt like Santa Clause.

Gleaning: Hard on the back!

Then today (and for the forseeable future), I did extremely boring and monotonus work for ridiculous sums of money. Actually, it's not so ridiculous if you think about it... nobody is gonna do this type of work for less than $20/hr, really. Unless you live in another country or came here from another country. It's soul sucking work and no self respectin' American should have to do it! It's work that transforms you from a living, breathing, possibly interesting human being ---> into an automoton.

Yes, but most of us learn that survival is toil sooner or later. I keep reminding myself that I'm putting in my toil now, rather than later. If I work enough in the next few weeks, I'll have my rent covered in Austin for a long time. I may not even have to get a job when I get back. I keep thinking about how nice that'll be. Keep thinking how much time it'll allow me to work on my art. It's what keeps me going.

But man! I need a friend who's into massage! My neck and shoulders are like rocks! I would give anything for a 30 minute massage: cash, cooking, cleaning, foot rubs, sexual favors, whatever you want!

Man Carrying Sofa

By Tony Hoagland

Whatever happened to Cindy Morrison, that nice young lesbian?
I heard she moved to the city and got serious.
Traded in her work boots for high heels and a power suit.
Got a healthcare plan and an attorney girlfriend.

Myself, I don’t want to change.
It’s October and I’m still dating my checks July.
I don’t want to step through the doorway of the year.
I’m afraid of something falling off behind me.
I’m afraid my own past will start forgetting me.

Now the sunsets are like cranberry sauce
poured over the yellow hills, and yes,
that beauty is so strong it hurts –
it hurts because it isn’t personal.

But we look anyway, we sit upon our stoops
and stare, — fierce,
like we were tossing down a shot of vodka, straight,
and afterwards, we feel purified and sad and rather Russian.

When David was in town last week,
I made a big show to him of how unhappy I was
because I wanted him to go back and tell Susan
that I was suffering without her –

but then he left and I discovered
I really was miserable
– which made me feel better about myself –
because, after all, I don’t want to go through time untouched.

What a great journey this is,
this ordinary life of ants and sandwich wrappers,
of x-rated sunsets and drive-through funerals.

And this particular complex pain inside your chest;
this damaged longing
like a heavy piece of furniture inside you;
you carry it, it burdens you, it drags you down –
then you stop, and rest on top of it.

Happy trails to you, until... we meet... again.

I arrived at Frog Farm a week ago, and it kinda felt like coming home. Returning to the farm is like returning to simplicity. Gone is the hectic routine of city life. Gone is it's complex obligations and varied pleasures. Instead it's straightforward work (taking care of animals, shoveling dirt, plastering walls) and simple pleasures (a homemade meal, fresh fruit, sitting around the campfire).

New interests replace old habits. Where once I spent upwards of 4 hours a day on the computer, now 1 hour seems indulgent. Farm-work is hard, and free time feels too precious to spend online. Wouldn't you rather go swim in the river? Or enjoy a hefeweizen and orange, while drawing in the shade?

This is a long-winded way of saying that I'm discontinuing the blog for a while. This doesn't mean that I'm putting illustration on the back-burner. It just means I'd rather spend time actually doing art, or reading a book, or making homemade ice-cream with farm-grown strawberries. Besides, I don't have a scanner to show y'all what I'm doodling anyway.

If the mood strikes, I may upload some farm photos or do a little creative writing over at my old blog. To my illustration buddies: keep doing what you do, and I'll return (with a lot more material and a few more chops) in Autumn!

On the Road, Day 1

I write this from a McDonald's, how exotic! (hey, YOU try finding a cafe, or anyplace with free internet in bumf*ck Texas!) Even worse, I just finished eating dinner here. Funny thing is I knew it would make me sick, but I did it anyway. Ugh.

Been driving all day, and I'm almost to outta Texas. A quick little jaunt through the panhandle of Oklahoma and I'll be in Colorado. A storm looks to be moving in from the west. Could hit rain. This photo taken minutes ago shows the scenic situation.

Rain sure would put a damper on things (sorry, couldn't help it :). I'm planning to sleep in the back of my truck which is protected by a camper shell. Unfortunately the truck bed is only 6 feet long, and I'm 6'3", so often I'll sleep with the tailgate down to accommodate my height. Not recommended if it's raining.

Today I got pulled over in Podunk, Texas for going 46 in a 35. If you know me you know I dislike authority and when confronted my first inclination is to rebel (or at least be rude), but luckily I've mastered these impulses and learned feign respect. Naturally, being where we were, the cop had a slow country drawl and macho swagger about him, but luckily since I'm white, relatively clean-cut, said "sir" and had all my papers in order, the cop let me off with a warning. Perhaps I'm stereotyping the officer, but as I drove away, I wondered if I would have been given the same leniency had I been black or hispanic.

Do you know that many gas stations don't offer water from the soda machines anymore? They make you buy the bottled stuff! Isn't that messed up!?

Ok, I'm rambling now. But consider how my only traveling companion is a dog and maybe you'll understand! The forced boredom does has its benefits though. Today I found myself daydreaming, visually journeying through a picture book I've been working on. It's fun. Kinda like working on a word & picture puzzle in your brain.

Til next time! (hopefully from a fancy french bakery!)
Dallion

On the Road Again

Tomorrow morning, bright and early, my dog Brutus and I hit the road. We bid Texas farewell for the summer and head toward the cooler climes of Oregon, where we'll be earning our room and board on an organic farm. As I packed today and prepared my room to sublet, I snapped two photos I wanted to share. First, my collection of books.

And these are just the keepers -- the other half of my collection were sold to Half-Price Books for a mere $60. As I comb through my collection trying to anticipate which books I might want to have this summer (I can only take a few, after all), it makes me reconsider my aversion to ebooks. I like the feel of a real book in my hands, but wouldn't it be nice to have an entire library at my fingertips? And digital books sure are more environmentally friendly -- not only from conserving trees, but fuel from moving these heavy things around!

The next picture is the stack of sketchbooks I've gone through in the last 3 years (actually this isn't all of them... I found 5 or 6 more after I took this shot). My sparse style may lead some to believe that I just fell off the truck, but as this photo shows, my drawing technique has been hard won.

98% of the drawings on these pages are an embarrassment, but I think that's a good thing. It means progress, often rapid. While today I may be pleased with the images in my sketchbook, a year from now I might grimace at their amateurish quality. I sincerely hope so.

Well goodnight all! I'll try to do some blogging from the road. If not, certainly from the farm!

Thoughtful Children's Books in the Internet Era

In a fascinating article for The Atlantic entitled, "Is Google Making Us Stupid?", author Nicholas Carr, using anecdotes and neurobiology, argues that the Internet is remapping our brains, making us adept at skimming through vast quantities of information, but making it difficult to delve deeply into subjects and allow space for true insight. As he puts it:

"My mind now expects to take in information the way the Net distributes it: in a swiftly moving stream of particles. Once I was a scuba diver in the sea of words. Now I zip along the surface like a guy on a Jet Ski."

The premise of Carr's article (and recently released book) is compelling, and I find myself wanting to agree with him. When I was a (only)child I spent much time alone, climbing trees, daydreaming, and thinking a lot. I attribute these activities to making me the thoughtful (if not slightly neurotic) person I am today. But what about today's children? Is it possible to become a person of depth while being bedazzled by Tweets from such an early age? Is there any room for contemplation in the modern child's stimulus inundated life?

Since I first picked it up at 6 years old, The Giving Tree has been my favorite picture book. Among other things, The Giving Tree asks you to consider abstract ideas like time. It's a quiet book, yet beneath its subtly lay many complex issues and unanswered questions. Would a book like this sell anymore?

At the Austin SCBWI conference I attended this winter, a Bloomsbury editor came on stage and told us they're looking for "Funny, energetic picture books." Certainly The Giving Tree would not fit this category, not even perennial classics like Goodnight Moon, The Runaway Bunny, or Where the Wild Things Are. A large part of me is offended that nowadays books like these could be passed by publishers in favor of a loud, obnoxious pigeon -- but perhaps I'm just a grumpy old man, wrapped up in nostalgia and afraid of change. One thing for certain though: Our technology is affecting the way we see and relate to the world, and it's changing all fields, children's books included.

Dear Mr. Landlord,

For us, a 12 month lease is preferable - but I'm not sure how much we're willing to move on rent.

You must remember that the exact reason we stay here and tolerate the poor condition of the house is because of the affordable rent. The house is full of struggling artists and musicians who would prefer to pay less rent than live in nicer conditions. I think you'd have a hard time renting it to anyone else without doing some major renovations.

For one, not only is the foundation uneven (giving the floors a slight slant), but also there are literal holes in the floor (especially in the bathroom and kitchen) and cracks around the baseboards which allow all types of insects access to the house - especially cockroaches, which kinda freak me out. We're also visited from above by some kind of rodents living in the attic. It could be rats or even squirrels or possums that have found a hole in the roof. I don't know, but they sound big as they scurry around up there.

Also, the house is not energy efficient, and with 5 rooms needing 5 air conditioners and 5 furnaces, our utility bills are ridiculously high in the summer and winter.

Finally, I'd ask you to consider how despite the condition of the house, as long as I've lived here we haven't asked you for a single thing. We battle the pests as well as we can and we even do our own repairs, going as far as calling our own plumber and replacing a broken fridge.

All this said, I also understand that housing prices have risen in Austin, and don't expect that we should immune. If it means you'll sign another 12 month lease, I'll offer $1375/mo, up from $1250. If not, I'd prefer to rent on a month-to-month basis.

Sincerely,
Dallion

Harlem: a success story

A little over two years ago, the band Harlem moved from their home in Tuscon and landed in our little house on Clara Street. One of their first shows in Austin was at the Broken Neck - an underground venue which has been home to local punk bands since the 80's. Calling the Broken Neck a venue is being generous. It's a warehouse in east Austin (far away from the glamor and popularity of 6th street), it's main attraction a large wooden skateboard ramp. The bands are treated like shit and aren't even given a stage -- they play on the concrete floor. Their function, I think, is to provide a soundtrack for the skaters.

I was at that show and watched the young and unknown Harlem play, wedged in between two other unknown bands. At the time I was strange and anti-social and hid behind my sketchbook. I still have naive drawings of that show somewhere.

Not long after that, a room opened up in our house and Harlem singer/guitarist/drummer Curtis O'Mara became our roommate. If our house wasn't a punk rock anarchist house before, it certainly became one. Every morning I'd wake up to find fresh wreckage:

Living with Curtis was an experience I'll never forget, but not for the wild parties. I valued the boring, languished nights: the Tuesdays where I would listen to Curtis tinker around on his electric guitar while I sat copying Van Goghs'. I felt a camaraderie with him; two young, determined artists working on their craft through the thick of Texas night. Sometimes I would join Curtis on the tambourine as he played, other times he would come to my room to watch me draw.

Soon Harlem decided to film their first music video in our kitchen - and they did. I wasn't in the video; perpetual observer I am, I was busy hiding in the hallway photographing the mayhem.

After a while Curtis moved out to live with band mate, Coomers, in a nicer part of town. After that, I saw less and less of Harlem, though I would still hear about them once in a while. Over the following two years they really honed their craft, and it didn't surprise me when I heard they had been signed by Matador Records, record label of big acts like Sonic Youth, Pavement, and Yo La Tengo.

Recently Harlem released their sophomore album Hippies, which is one of my favorite albums in a long, long time. It's catchy, energetic, and compliments warm summer weather wonderfully. By the second listen I had "the hits" hopelessly repeating themselves in my brain, and by the fourth listen, I loved just about every song (especially the less poppy back half of the album, which includes great songs like Cloud Pleaser, Prairie My Heart, Stripper Sunset, and Pissed). Of course, Harlem is heavily influenced by grunge, so I may be biased in their favor, but I can't be the only one: Pitchfork gave Hippies an awesome review.

Despite their aesthetic, Harlem has been called "one of the hardest working bands in rock." They have been on tour for 2 months now, playing shows almost every night. Currently they are touring Europe and will be back in North America playing the west coast soon. If you get a chance to see them, do it!

For me, Harlem is an inspiring story. Right in front of my eyes, in a very short period of time, they reached out from the masses of unknowns and became very successful. It wasn't easy, but goes to show how a little talent and a lot of hard work can go a long way. Dreams do come true.

Goodbye Dolphins!

These are the wonderful children I've been reading stories to for the past 4 months. They are an amazing bunch, and I've felt privileged to be able to join their imaginative ranks every week.

Even though we spend only a half hour together per week, it didn't take long before a bond had been created. Without even intending it we had somehow snuck into each others hearts. I was particularly enamored with Ruby, the little girl in the blue shirt.

Her intellect, as young as it is (4 years old!), would constantly amaze me. Ruby would often chime in with astute observations, frequently displaying a very sophisticated sense of humor. For example, once I was reading a book about the different kinds of boats - sail boats, fishing boats, freighters, etc... When I got to the ferry boat, I asked the children if they knew what a ferry boat carried. Of course I was looking for the correct and boring answer: people & cars. But Ruby shouted, "Fairies!", then broke out laughing, as if she knew she was being funny. Of course it was funny... and brilliant.

Another time I was reading a simple book repeating a simple pattern. First the seed, then the flower. First the caterpillar, then the butterfly. First the egg, then the chicken. "No!" interrupted Ruby, thoughtful frustration all over her face, "First the chicken!"

I've been presenting storytimes for almost two years, and I've learned an important lesson about writing books for children. You can't talk down or slip anything past them. Their minds are active and observant. Far more than their adult counterparts.

Today was my last day presenting storytime to the Dolphins. It was hard to say goodbye. They gave me a handmade "Thank You" card and I brought my camera. I'll miss you guys!

Cartoonist Attacked

Lars Vilks, creator of the infamous cartoons depicting Muhammad as a dog, was head-butted today as he gave a lecture about free speech at a University in Sweden. The full story is here.

After Lars was attacked, "Allah Ackbar" meaning God is Great was chanted from the largely approving crowd.

Pretty intense video, huh? It's strange seeing Muslims who've adopted the latest fashion trends, who embrace the medicine and technology for which science is responsible, who attend a university of knowledge and reason, who live in a country with a strong secular humanistic tradition, who enjoy the freedoms and protections western civilization has helped cultivate ... it's strange seeing them behave so irrationally based on such primitive beliefs. What an interesting time we live, a time in which we're able to watch the modern and ancient worlds colide... on YouTube.

Doodle of the Day

FYI

If you're looking for pizza-by-the-slice in downtown Austin, you're looking for a place called The Onion, which has recently MOVED from it's location on W. 5th, to a new place on Brazos, 1.5 blocks south of 6th street. They are the BEST pizza in Austin (except for maybe Homeslice, but Homeslice is more a sit down meal thing), and way better than any of that overpriced crap on 6th.

The Onion was forced to move from their old location because their landlord wouldn't renew the lease. Now they're kinda "off the beaten path" and business hasn't picked up yet. I'm sure it will once people re-discover them.

As a bonus, they always have copies of The Onion newspaper layin' around too.

Doodle of the Day

Flash in a Pan

Improvised Jazz makes you itch. It makes your fingers tap and your limbs spasm. It makes you want to come unglued from your skin and fly around the ceiling. It makes you uncomfortable where you sit.

Other times you want to shout out. Emote some loud crystalline sound which isn't yet a word but should be. It makes you want to melt into a pool of quivering jelly. To return to an amoeba. In the nurturing, chaotic oceans where our multi-celled brethren evolved, I'm sure jazz was playing. Desperate, frenzied, improv jazz.

I guess what I'm trying to say is: last night my friend Thomas took me to see Hamid Drake, Kidd Jordan, and Ingebrigt Haker Flaten perform as the Drake Trio. Here's a Hamid Drake Solo. Now throw in a legendary sax player and a virtuoso upright bassist and you have last night's show.

It wasn't even the music itself which made last night's experience extraordinary. It was how the musicians disappeared into the music. It's like the music poured through them, and they, as individual human beings, ceased to exist. Even the audience seemed to disappear. A spell was cast, a trance, where nothing existed except mad, furious sound. Sound which spoke everything and nothing at once. If this seems like nonsense, go see a show like this. It's hard to understand until you've experienced it yourself.

Drawing and improv jazz are similar. When I look at the drawings I'm most proud of, I see a common thread. I didn't draw any of it. Meaning: I wasn't self-aware or thinking at all. I didn't even have a concept beforehand or even desire for a final product. I was simply there, allowing it to come. For me, this is a difficult and fleeting state to be in. I found it inspiring how these musicians could remain in this state for two hours. If I can learn to do that, "Oh, the Places I'll Go!"

Last night's performance also made me realize how there's something rare and immensely beautiful about art created with no commercial consideration. It exists for it's own purpose, and what better purpose is there?

Wisdom

This morning's passage from the Tao read in part:

The mark of a moderate man
is freedom from his own ideas.

I like that.