take heed! an army of intelligent yetis are coming!

i've been into drawing/painting yetis lately. found this piece of cardboard at work and hit it up this morning. i wish i drew a little more variety like sunglasses or suits or something, but it was a quick drop between in-box delays with limited supplies (a sharpie and a bic). fyi, i hate drawing eyes.

btw, the top left "50-1" is exactly what it means. maopopo?

Fessin' yup...

seconds after coach belichick made his hastily premature exit from the field despite one second left on the clock for super bowl 42, i sent a mass text message to my football flubbin' brethren that read "Montana wouldnt lose a super bowl!." this was in response to the fortnight of constant media blabber comparing tom brady to golden boy joe. in actuality, the text was inputted immediately after plax's fade td, but, cautiously, it sat in my drafts until the last failed bomb to moss. despite 35 seconds left on the clock, i remained hesitant to claim victory for the giants. maybe the montana comparisons really did get to me.

it's funny, i just can't behind brady. i've followed michigan football for years, but once brady graduated i became pretty ambivalent to how i feel about him. and as the patriots started to get better and the comparisons started pouring out of the spigot, i've grown to hate the guy. actually, i don't care for the majority of michigan guys once they turn pro: amani toomer, ian gold, braylon edwards, etc. same thing with duke basketball. aside from grant hill, once they graduate, who cares?

note: what's funnier is i enjoy the "where are they now?" stories. robert brickey, aala abdelnaby, phil henderson, thomas hill... wea dey stay?

"12 galaxies, christmas in every one."

sometime in december, i realized my face needed to be covered a la the elephant man. so, in this fascination of finding the perfect paper bag, i stumbled across fitted caps worn low across the brow. the brim provided enough darkness and mystery to shield the real world from my exterior hideousness. as i began my collection, i put to use advances in cellular phone technolgy, and started a pseudo-text messaging blog complete with photo to a handful of individuals. each photo carefully focused on the cap and protected the viewer from the grotesque deformations of my face. hand in hand with the photo, a one-line quip, typical of the current generation, which proved, once and for all, that, though my face was fucked, my mind wasn't.

(un)fortunately, the makeshift blog came at a cost: 10 cents per message per individual! so with the oncoming penny pinch due to the evil santa clara county property tax rip-off, i begin a shift to free-ware and a return to the blog.

"12 galaxies, christmas in every one."

skinning the squirrels...

we, by human nature, are nosy motherfuckers. so, to answer the previous post's concluding question: nothing, really, is on tap. but, from no foundation born is structure. makes no sense huh? that's what is so therapeutic about this blog experience: i create my cyber-representation. how it mirrors the actual physical me is to be seen, because, frankly, on this forum i have a delete button.


but, really, what is on tap? seriously, it's a question I ask even myself. truth be told, i figure, some dominant themes will make themselves known, two in particular: Em & Oombs and Hawai`i.

la rinascita...

it's definitely been a moment in time since i've had an inkling of actual thought worth typing. not really. i've just been to lazy to revisit work in which, initially, was the reason i birthed this blog. truthfully, it's hard to solidify thoughts. i'm a daydreamer, so my train of thought is continuously on random. but any efforts to make something tangible of those dreams were trumped by that sense of wishy-washiness of a person who's searching for nothing in particular. i'm a walking-talking sienfeld episode -- no real plot line, no real theme, just a series of lines connecting a to b.

so what's the point to all of this then? nothing much, i suppose. rather than work, i want to re-create this blog into something more cryptic and therapeutic. this blog's rebirth is a forensic investigation of my vomit: what i'm eating and what i'm actually digesting. chunks and chunks. it's never pretty.

so what the fuck is on tap then?