This is mostly brought on by my participation in Amazon’s Mechanical Turk service, but particularly one of the hits that asks users to write a description of a revolutionary cutting edge new blog technology that they think should exist. The description of the hit explains that (I believe Amazon) is working on a blog site, and they want user input as to the kinds of features people want to see on blogs. The top 70 ideas will be paid $5 each, and the best will get a reward of $100. $100 for an idea that will revolutionize the way people blog and probably result in Amazon becoming even richer just doesn’t seem like very good compensation, and the people who will put forth their thoughts on the matter are probably too inexperienced in the business world to know any better. Sure, the person with the idea only has to write it down and send it off, and a team of programmers will have to figure out how to actually make it happen. But when was the last time a screenwriter was willing to accept $100 for a script that grossed tens or hundreds of millions in the box office? It just seems to be somewhat unethical, although I’m sure whoever gets the hundred bucks will disagree. Because they’re stoopid.

I think this week’s sketch is ready for take off. Special thanks to Yakov Smirnoff.

Thus far I like the idea of the sketch of the week. I seem to be consistent with it to some extent, and I get to throw out whatever seems to be working for me at the time of the sketch’s conception. They’re loose, fun to do, and amusing. Just like my ex-girlfriend. ZING!

The last few days have been somewhat expensive for me, as I’ve been applying to school once again (all those forms have fees attached to them), as well as buying some things on my want list. Included among those is the Bedside Book of Bastards, which should be arriving in a week or so. Although I work at a book store, I have yet to purchase anything from said book store for myself, and this particular title was out of print so I had to go used. Although thanks to Pope and some other contributors I’m beginning to build a list of things I can use my gift cards on. These are very exciting times.

And going back to the mention of school, it leaves me a bit apprehensive as I’m still not entirely sure what path I want to take. Art seems to be the most obvious and quickest course, but I do have other interests that I might like to pursue. I only know that I was meant for greater things than working jobs that pay poorly and make me feel like a cog in the machine. I’m beginning to find that the more one performs mindless tasks the more mindless one becomes and 2+ years of job hopping have taken their toll on me intellectually. Still, I think I’d rather be shredded into meaty bits fighting the mechanisms I’ve become accustomed to rather than continue on the path of the automatic man.

At which point at look at my last post and realize that instead of going to that art show, I sat around with Steven and Hoj, played magic and watched some tv. While that’s not a bad thing, it does remind me that I’m very good at not doing the things I really want to.

So on the suggestion of Gabriel Perry I think I’m going to make an attempt to attend the Beware all Stylebiters art show on Saturday evening. If anyone else is up for attending they’d be more than welcome to join. I don’t typically do the art show thing but I’m starting to think that maybe I should. Besides, who can pass up an invite on something that looks like this:

Don’t know if there’s an admission fee or anything of that sort, but I’ll post it if I find out.

I keep allowing these week long lapses in my posting due to sundry distractions. I can’t say it’s all been bad as hanging out and arting aren’t wastes of time, but they certainly aren’t the areas where the bulk of my free time gets devoted. I made a painting on Monday night, the origin of which I’ve yet to pinpoint. Visual aids would be great for this sort of thing, but the best I can describe it as is a fish skeleton hanging in front of a floating, bleeding window, with a city ablaze off to one side and a postage stamp in the mix. I don’t think it’s done, as it’s lacking a certain detailed madness that I require for anything I do to be classified as “finished”. However it’s something.

I’ve also been sketching.

As I took a minimum hour and a half hiatus mid-post to actually color that image and upload it, I’ll have to cut this one short as I need to bed for the night.

Ok, I think we have last week’s Sketch. It may take some explaining.

The events of today have made me a new person. Not in the “turning over a new leaf going to get my act together” kind of way. More in the “a combination of peoples’ perspectives have slated me as a 500 ft tall Mexican Viking” kind of way.

Things were running like any other day. At work, shelving cds, realizing that Mandy Patinkin – in addition to being Inigo Montoya – apparently has a side gig as an easy listening singer.
Suddenly a plea for help broke my musings.

“Mister, I need your help!”, a tiny voice squeaked out. Sounded like it was serious. Need is a strong word. I looked up, and then down to find a tiny girl gazing at me woefully.

“What seems to be the problem little girl?” I boomed at her.

“I need you to reach…the top shelf.

The top shelf? I could handle this, right? I mean I’ve reached it before without incident. Despite a twinge of doubt I decided I’d assist. “Where to?” I asked. “The Manga!” Dear god, I thought, the Manga? This was more grave than I had anticipated. I dashed ahead; my tiny friend kept pace. I arrived at the Manga section looking about wildly, trying to figure out which top shelf…there were so many. “Inuyasha!!!” she shouted with a tremble in her voice. “11 and 15, please.” I reached up and plucked the named volumes from their precipitous place of rest. I confirmed that I had grabbed the correct books, turned, and looked down into those big dinner plate eyes of hers. I slowly handed them to her, “Everything will be all right” I assured her. One giant tear, swollen with joy, escaped her eye as she uttered:

“You’re soooooo tall”.

It was then I realized that she wasn’t tiny. Rather, I was gigantic. How I ever failed to notice until that moment I’ll never know.

But no time for resting on my laurels. The phone was ringing. Without so much as a goodbye I bounded off to answer it. The now normal-sized girl’s awe was reward enough, and she may have swooned if I had said anything else to her in her emotionally drained state. Another ring brought my head back to the task at hand. Answer the damn phone. I picked up and gave my typical greeting. “Hola senor, how may I assist you?” There was a moment of silence.

“How did you know I was a man?”

I got lucky this time.

“Anyway, I need you to find something for me. I’m calling from Indiana and I want to purchase a book for a friend. Can you help?

“Si.”

“Excellent, I need The Pill Book.”

“I’m on it like refried beans on a tortilla.” I put him on hold and was off to retrieve the much coveted tome. Unfortunately my newfound giantism got the better of me, and I wanged my head on a light fixture while running through the sports section. I awoke to something tugging on my neck. As my vision went from blurred to black to blurry again, I realized I was being spoken to. “Yon! Yon! Can you help me?” An old woman was examining my name tag, and then looking at me imploringly.

Funny, I could have sworn my name was Jon…then it all came rushing back. The bang on the head must have released the memories of a past life sealed deep inside my subconcious. I was Yon, viking war lord and scourge of Scandinavia.
“Can you tell me where Personal Finance is?”
“Over yonder, foul witch! I’ll have no more of your mind-reading devil games!” I gestured grandiously toward the back of the store.
“Thank you!” She ran off.
I’d expected a confrontation and was a little displeased at the lack thereof, but was nonetheless satisfied that the hex weaver was gone. My victorious revelry was broken by a shouting in the distance.
“Is there a Mexican Jon who works here?”
The man I had left on the phone…it had to be. But my mind was reeling. Mexican? Where would he have gotten that? Perhaps there’s a reason I like burritos so much. It could have been coincidence that I’d instinctively and uncontrollably hit small animals and funny looking people with sticks expecting candy to come out. I thought I had always cheered Rey Mysterio on more for his high-flying wrestling skills and less for our (unbeknownst to me until now) shared Latino heritage.

Holy frijole. I’m a Mexican.

I retrieved the pill book that I was questing after before I had been rudely awakened to my pillaging past life, and was trying to come to terms with my newfound nationality. A giant Mexican Viking? My parents will never understand.

Returning to the phone, I was chewed out for having left mi Indiana amigo on hold while he was calling long distance. I tried to apologize but came to the realization that I didn’t know how to say sorry in Spanish. Hanging up on him, I attempted to remedy what I saw as a disgrace to my south of the border brethren by kicking back in the language section and listening to some Spanish cds. The resultant siesta, while refreshing, got me fired. Sad as that was, I still felt pretty ok about the whole thing. You see, I may not have known as much Spanish as the rest of my people, but at least I excelled at being lazy. There was hope for me yet.

~Fin