ghostly

manipulated out of some pictures I took today, and some stuff from the google. Creepy, ne?

A Day With Gumby

Let me preface this post by saying: I'm sick. Not like that, you twisted bastards. I've had a cold all week and I think the combination of being unable to breathe, running a temperature, and confining myself to bed is starting to erode my sanity.

That being said, today I took the Gumby doll I made Scott buy me last summer in Lawrence on an outing. I even photo documented Gumby's morning, just for you!

Gumby wakes up to a fine Autumn morning

Gumby checks facebook

Gumby helps me brush my teeth

Gumby riding a terrified Penny

Posing nicely for the camera

Penny forgave me

At least until Gumby decided he wanted to ride Penny some
more

At this point I had to go out and pretend to be a normal person, so I (very normally, I thought) stuck Gumby in my pocket where he would have a view on my world, and went to school. Gumby had a delightful time giving hugs to all of the sick people in the program (not that kind of sick, you twisted individual), and even earned a couple of smiles. Gumby also got to make some new friends, in the My Little Pony figurines carried by Veronica , who is a self-confessed Brony (but NOT, she assures me, a Pegasister). Gumby was also *thrilled* by our metadata lecture, which was great, because I was busy doodling and not really paying attention, so at least one of us absorbed something. 

But down to business. . .Today would have been much MUCH more depressing if I hadn't brought along this silly bendy toy with me. Why is this? What is it in objects, toys in particular (not THAT kind of toy, you dirty person, you) that is so comforting to us when we're feeling under the weather? Why is it that Gumby's goofy plastic smile could put a smile on my face and make six hours of class whilst hacking up a lung seem halfway bearable?

For me, I'm going to say it goes back to sick days as a child, when you got to cuddle up in bed, being delivered soup and hot drinks, with a pile of your favorite toys on hand. You could momentarily forget about your misery as you had Barbie get married to Michelangelo of the TMNT ( I was little, k!) and all would be right in the world in that moment, while you separated yourself from your body and got lost in make believe. 

Or maybe I'm just weird.

Gumby says goodnight, guys.

Just So Stories

Oddly, this mildly offensive little piece by Rudyard Kipling, one of his "Just So Stories" ,was one of my favorites as a child. I know we had a version of it in an old children's book, belonging to someone around my dad's age, on my dad's side of the family, but I have no idea which book that was, or what happened to it.

As to it being mildly offensive. I can't even quite put my finger on *why* its offensive, apart from a general sort of racial insensitivity. However, I feel like this is somewhat forgivable, given that it was originally published in 1902, and Kipling was very much a product of his time.

Anyway, should you want some children's stories to brighten your dreary Wednesday (and it is dreary, in Montreal, at least), here are some more:

Just So Stories

Flywheel

So, every so often, I enjoy watching a REALLY BAD Christian movie. I think part of the reason I enjoy this is because I spent four months too many working at Western Canada's largest distributor of Christian books' warehouse. Anyway, Christian movies (with the exception of veggie tales, which can actually be delightfully witty, and stfu if you think otherwise) have a penchant for being terribly written, and even more poorly acted.

Flywheel, the enthralling tale of a crooked used car salesman turned straight, is no exception.

The movie begins with some epic piano music in the opening credits. It should be noted that this epic piano music DOES NOT STOP AT ALL anywhere throughout the movie. The main character, Jay, has trouble taking his morning shit? You can be damn sure that has its own musical score in soaring piano notes. This is funny enough in itself. What makes the movie even more funny is the fact that it's set in Arkansas, and the actors are all definitely untrained, and most certainly from the south.

Its like if the cast of the Honey Boo Boo show were sort of able to read and sort of act off of a script that had been written by a man who had watched nothing but television preachers and eaten nothing but Chik-fil-a for his entire adult life. Realism abounds as these bible belt idiots fumble through their lines, laugh like wheeeeweeee, make constipated faces and resort to psalms when at a loss for better words (which is frequently). One part did have me laughing out loud, though, and that's when our used car salesman gets his ASS CHEWED by some sassy old black lady and her even older, even blacker mother. That was totally worth it. (Magical African American Friend, anyone?)

The funniest part of this movie, however, is that it was made in 2003, and yet manages to pull itself together with all of the low-budget graininess, bad musical scores, and value-village wardrobe of a B-movie in the 1980's. Now, I don't know how many of my readers have been down south, but the big bible belters do seem to be stuck in the 80's, so , I suppose, realism strikes again. 

Somehow, Flywheel manages to go on in this manner for TWO hours. Don't worry, I was multitasking heavily, so it wasn't two hours of my life wasted. Anyway, its always nice to have the reminder of why I never want to ever get back in the business of selling christian shit again in my life. 

Doodles

some sketches done in class today.

Mark: Stevie, are you really a fourteen year old boy?
Me: Yes Mark, in my heart, I am.

Let the boobies commence!

 

Re-art-ing

               

playing around with GIMP, cartoonifying Theodoric the Great. awww. yeah. 

blaaargh

there are so many things wrong with this . . . or maybe
its just me

love these flowers

"art"