Thank you.

SUNDAY'ed

All this homebuyin’ has got me thinking…thinking about the near future, the future, and the “really far down the line” future.

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Really far down the line: Someday, I want one of these on a little lake in Northern Michigan. I bought the book, due to fond memories of Torch Lake summer fun with John and Tom prote. Mr. Prote had an A-frame, not 50 feet from the water. I remember how “modern” it felt. We had some great times out there as critters. Four-wheeling, war games in the woods, sneaking around, etc. I had my first beer out there, floating in the water at midnight. It was warm, and was a Budweiser. I think some might call that a “double negative.” It didn’t taste that good at 12, and well, doesn’t really taste all that good at 30. So it goes.

This is an amazing book…thorough and well-designed.

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Matt and Nicole Kass were here for the weekend. Many adventures went down. Matt’s got a keen sense for the uncanny, and we sniffed out many a junk store in search of treasures. Heavy discussions have gone down all weekend long.

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Tonight is Tortoise night. Sherowski pulled some strings and got us on the list. Awesome gal. What’s nice about free tickets is it allows for a “get in/get out” scenario. Get in, check a couple songs, bob the head, then get out. Mean, lean, and refined.

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Still chipping away at the freelance. Progress, much to our disbelief, is being made. Closer and closer to “done.” Feels good to be getting ahead. Our hopes is that everyone wins. Good design for clients, good loot for us. Nice.

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We found him, and man, he is of the highest caliber of graphic royalty. We bring you, the King of Graphics.

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Cast Iron Stomachs, high in them Sierra hills.

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Glad those Timberwolves squeeked out the win. The remaining games of this series are a battles of “heart vs. talent.” Fuck the Lakers.

Payday, sweet payday. Daily grind, freelance, funlance...the loot rolls in and man, we're glowing with appreciation. Thank you thank you thank you for the gigantic outpouring of opportunity.

Wow. So it goes.

APPRECIATION IS FELT

I’d like to take this opportunity (I mean, how many times do I “pass up” an opportunity to yap a bunch of hot air on here?) to tell all the well-wishers who’ve stepped up, either publicly or through back door emails, “Thank You” for the nice comments, pointers, "fuck yeah's" and general radness from so many angles. I appreciate it so much.

This step has a been a big one for me, on so many levels. It's been messing with my head, in good ways.

01. It settles me down out here in this big West. Yes, much ado has been made about “moving home” back to Minneapolis or “somewhere in that big ol’ Midwest.” Each fact-finding mission back home has changed these plans, or added time out here. Things are good out here for me. Good job, friends with tools (already thinking, you shits.) and I know this corner of the state pretty well. Portland is good for me right now.

02. Makes me feel like some kind of “grown up” or something. This is the first step in recouping years and years of payin' the man. Real tired of the “rent” world. Real tired of payin’ someone else’s mortgage. No more. I’m typing this as the shittiest “house mix” blares above me through the ceiling. Real tired of apartments. To the people who live above me: Thanks for all the shitty beats.

03. New things to do. It’ll give me a reason to do stuff like, “Throw a mean BBQ,” and, “lay out in the grass under the stars” and other “outdoor living” adventures. The new yard is small, but has potential. Mini-ramp? Dirt bike track? Empty pool? Hmmm.

04. Makes my overall Oregon experience that much more amazing. I came here at a mere 19 years-of-age...green and mean. I remember the first time I came to Portland; Bry and Derek and I, downtown, looking up at the big buildings. After years of Detroit missions, this new city felt inviting and mellow. Still does.

We're doing a little bit of, "Oh fuck, was that the right decision?" internal wrastlin'. But that's normal, or so I'm told. We're staying strong.

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Speaking of well-wishers, one Jon Baugh of Hopkins, Minnesota sent this one in, with these words attached,

"I've actually been in town for a couple days and drove by your new crib...Holy Shit! I friggin' called 911 right away and snapped a quick shot with my Sprint PCS® camera phone... I am so sorry... Please let me know how I can help. Yer Pal, Jon Baugh"

Thanks Jon, for the warm wishes.

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The next step with the pad involves getting down and dirty and doing a home inspection. You bet yer ass I’ll be right there, alongside the guy with my maglite, digi-camera and wide eyes. With any luck, the homestead isn’t built on scorned tribal grounds, bottomless pits or old cemeteries.

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Until then, I chip away at the freelance duties and root those Timberwolves and Pistons on. Go KG, go Sheed.

Don't do it. Go Pistons.

Going for it.

(...More news to be posted, as it comes in.)

Got loaded last night while those Shins were playing.

...bashed, befuddled, boozed up, buzzed, canned, crocked, drinking, drunken, flushed, flying, fuddled, gassed, glazed, groggy, hammered, high, hosed, in orbit, inebriated, jolly, jugged, juiced, laced, liquored up, lit, lush, merry, muddled, oiled, on a bun, overcome, pie-eyed, plastered, plowed, potted, seeing double, sloshed, soaked, sotted, soused, stewed, stoned, tanked, tight, tipsy, totaled, wasted, zonked...

Loaded. Pickled. Tanked. Wasted. Wrecked. Blitzed. Fuckin' Wasted. Hammered. Tipsy. Howling At The Moon. Ryno'ed.

"On a Bun?" Hmmm. Sure.

I got home, managed to get a couple glasses of water in me (...the flushing out of the venom in the plumbing), fixed up a mean sandwich (...the soaking up of the venom inside), took a hot shower (...the washing off of the "big night out" smoke layer), then sat down and fought off the sleep demons for well over an hour (...letting the old body right things a bit before shut-eye.). All this bullshit, just to fight the hangover I was facing this morning. Considering the state I was in, I kept my cool...which was key in this situation.

This morning: Well bitches, I won! I feel like a million bucks. Maybe, 870,000 bucks, but still, feel victorious.

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C R E D I T S :

The painting featured in the enebriated post is by Angry Johnny, of basically no fame or recognition for his masterful, mid-'90s Dinosaur Jr album art paintings. This guys is fucked up, man. He's "zonked," if you know what I'm sayin'?

Special Thanks to Sherowski (writer, author) for getting me home in one piece. "I love you, man. No, I really love you, man."

Helping us get the freelance out the door: Hüsker Dü.

I remember walking to class with "Makes No Sense At All" fucking blaring on my headphones. A cassette player walkman. (Funny how "ancient" those feel nowadays...) Must've been in my 10th grade year or something. "Walking around with yer head in the clouds...it makes no sense at all."

Woke up early, did some cleaning, then tore right into the projects. Much progress has been made.

- - - -

Tonight is Shins night, with Sherowski. They are playing at the Roseland. Yay.

Go Timberwolves!

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Whole lotta Watt. Do some scrolling, and watch him grow up into the man he is today.

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Can't wait for this one. I hope his latest masterpiece tarnishes that fuck's already tarnished administration.

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All sorts of rad shit here. (Nice and vague, right? Just click the link, smart guy.)

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This link is for Matt "Mr.Roboto" Capozzi, down on the beach. Sonofabitch was up in Portland for a couple days discussing and discussing and discussing all things Nixon, and ended up wrapping the meeting up with a 3-2 win over the DDC in pong. 100 bucks was lost in this "100 dollar bet, quick game to 3" transaction. Shit.

The new Tortoise is on the player this morning, inside our ears.

"Trip out," or something, on their homepage starter image.

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I'd like to meet Kliph. Lucky little devil, to be drummin' for those Lips. He wails.

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Words of wisdom from Mr. Vonnegut. (Via Watt.)

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I wake up each morning and thank Portland for being a good home. Then I go to work and thank CINCO for being a good job. Then I make stuff and thank our clients for the loot. Then I go home and make more shit and thank my friends for all the extra loot.

This is the cycle. So it goes.

Worked a good, honest week. Good days on the clock for CINCO, good nights on the clock for the DDC. Those weeks just haul on by. Caught up in an ugly pursuit for hard-to-come-by greenbacks. Feels a little futile, at a glance.

Fighting hard to stay strong amidst the debilitating air of househunting woes, girl drama, parental longing, publishing riffs, international uncertainty and a particularly nasty Spurs loss to those goddamn Lakers. (Duncan, I thought you won the thing, I thought you won the thing. That shot made my night.)

Seems like so much shit just breaks yer fuckin' heart out there...be it interest rate hikes or soul-suckin' dames...man, what's next?

All alone out here in the Northwest Territories, we fight to stay strong.

- - - -

At least I got to see Tim Zimmerman last night. Sometimes, that's all a guy needs. We did a little dinner at LaBuca with Jen Sherowski, Gehry and Zimmerman's little lady. A good time was had by all.

- - - -

My House book finally showed up. Phew, a triumph. Very inspiring, on so many levels. Made me feel good about all sorts of stuff. Good for them. We are proud to own #17 of 1250, of the first printing.

- - - -

Bring on the weekend. Let's fire it up. Lots of freelance to tear into. No shit. Doing our best to pump out good work for good clients. Much appreciation is felt. Our bank account grows.

Big S the Passat, thanks to you, we get around town safely and comfortably.

Many thanks to the cool Portland night. We fall asleep each night with a bit of a chill, and well, that's just fine with us.

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And finally, in keeping with the overall negative tone of this post, we'd like to offer up a big ol' "No thanks." to a wide range of things not worth mentioning on here, goddammit.

LIVING ROOM FAN

I'm not one for sport, and chose a reckless set of "non sports" to guide my earlier days. I don't pretend to know the first thing about "taking it to the hole," nor do I give a shit about "Fantasy Teams" or any of that "D&D-meets-sports" shit.

I have been listening/watching the NBA finals the last couple weeks–guiding the freelance focus–and find myself rather partial to those Minnesota Timberwolves and those San Antonio Spurs. Kevin Garnett, wow...somethin' else. Graceful, powerful. Tim Duncan, what a class act. TNT has a "game a night" and man, while I'm pounding the keys and clicking the mouse, I find myself screaming out occasional "Oh yeah!" and "Fuck Yeah!" with clutch shots.

Last night's Timberwolves/Kings game was amazing. Overtime. And Minnesota won it. Heck yeah.

As long as those Lakers lose, I'm cool. Not down with them.

- - - -

And fuck, the new Ballpark Frank commercials are it. Watch all of them.

"By the way, I'm Frank. (Bite.) Nice to meetcha."

- - - -

In other news: They come, and they go.

AND WHEN IT COMES TO...

...barbeque, nobody fucks with Mr. Powdrell.

SHITS AND GIGGLES,
FOR SHITTERS AND GIGGLERS

Just wait until I get my own homestead. You bet yer ass my mailbox will get some "extra love." (This link was horked off the fabulistical Coudal Partners' Big, Hairy Links Resource, a standard practice around these parts.)

- - - -

This was pretty interesting, and pretty "spot on" in some respects, and way the fuck off in others. Give it a whirl, music man. Type yer favorite band in, and find out what other shitty bands sound like them. Lots of fun. Lots of crap. Somewhat interesting. Helped me very little. Made me think. Made me put some records on. (Completely via Veer's The Skinny.)

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We can never get enough of this stuff.

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"It's amazing what that program can do." –CINCO Draplin in reference to some illustration work by CINCO Josh. Let it be noted: CINCO Design will "kick yer fucking ass" in Illustrator CS, and well, that's just how it is.

MONDAY IS AN UPHILL BATTLE

Yeah, yeah, I know. You get caught up in the "preflight" insanity and forget all the goods to make the flight go by smooth. I do it all the time. Until now. (via Coudal, who sees all.)

- - - -

Got a lot of shit done this weekend. Worked on a multitude of clandestine projects. Beat the heat. Layed around with a Cooley. Had some good laughs. Wore out some pixels. Went into orbit. Ate on a frugal budget. Slept with the window open. Stayed up late and slept in late. Didn't give a flying fuck about a number of things.

- - - -

Now, on Friday night, when the sun went down and people might normally find themselves at some sportsbar or meat-market'd dance club, or in our pitiful case, "on the couch", we opted for a quick stop at Holocene. Gentleman of Portland, quit draggin' yer gals out to those shitholes and try this joint out. Clean, fresh air. Big, open spaces. Smart lookin' fucks ambling around that made me feel, "not so smart." Plus, Nakamoto has his design show up there, and man, the shit looks real good up on the wall. It was just refeshing to go to a watering hole and go, "Hey, I'd come back.

Ben Munson had nothing but good things to say about the place, and considering what a cynical sumbitch he is, that's saying a lot.

As he was sayin', you scum-bellied sonsabitches.