my brother won’t hook me up with prescription drugs

It all began, as so many drug odysseys do, with an article in the New Yorker. College kids and white collar deadline freaks are turning to prescription drugs like Provigil and Adderall to boost their concentration in 12-hour bursts. Provigil does not explicitly state on the packaging that it is a good drug to take when you’ve been partying for the last three days but still need to finish your essay on The Tale of Genji. As it turns out, though, Provigil works just fine for that purpose.

These drugs are not illegal, which means they are perfectly safe for everyone, all the time. I should be writing this blog on Adderall right now. If I was on Adderall, this post would have been completed four hours ago and by now I’d be compulsively dusting all the bookshelves in my apartment. That’s the kind of fantasy life I would be living, if only I had access to a perfectly legal drug with absolutely no long-term side effects (that we know of).

My brother works in the health care industry. That word there - industry - connotes commercial production and sale of goods. You’d think my brother would be thrilled to provide his services to one of the closest people in his life. You’d think that, but you would be wrong. You see, he has ignored my pleading requests for prescription drugs that would improve my hectic, fast-paced lifestyle.

I am not a drug addict. This is the face of a hardcore drug user:
This is a guy who just wants a little Provigil to improve his writing output:
As you can see, there is a huge difference. The Provigil guy doesn’t have weird scars all over his face or heroin track marks up and down his arms. The Provigil guy lives in a clean (but not obsessively so) apartment, not an abandoned shack in Baltimore. The Provigil guy would totally not get addicted to Provigil even though it has been proven to have strong addictive properties. That’s the kind of stand-up guy the Provigil guy is.

Since my brother works at a hospital, it would be easy for him to grab me a handful of these pills. I assume there are storage closets filled with bins of every pill imaginable, kind of like the bulk foods section in Whole Foods. All he’d have to do is dip into the Provigil or Adderall bin and ship a box my way. It isn’t like anyone keeps a count of how many pills there are in the whole hospital. No one would miss them.

I would appreciate anyone reading this blog to mention this small favor to my brother. It isn’t like I’m asking for a kilo of cocaine. I don’t think they even keep that drug in the storage closet. What I’m asking for requires almost zero effort for him and almost infinite reward for me.

Oh, and if you could ask him to grab a couple unused syringes as well, I have a buddy who's into heroin. He could use a few new needles.

Friday Robots: They Belong in a Museum! Edition

Finally saw Up. I was afraid, after the magnificence that is WALL-E, Pixar wouldn't have it in them to make one more masterpiece. Happily, I was wrong.

Up is, in my mind, the final chapter in the life of Indiana Jones. They even brought Short Round back, except this time they made him a three-dimensional character who wasn't annoying. The only thing that was out of character, if we're talking about Indy, was the wanton destruction of priceless skeletons of extinct or endangered animals. They belong in a museum!

In homage of Up, here are this week's Friday Robots:

bring back the bustle

This post can now be found on my website.

the better transformers

It's worth noting that every movie Michael Bay has directed really sucks. Big time. You can't even call what he does "directing." He cuts each shot down its smallest possible essence, then cuts it again. Someday there will be a huge explosion from a Hollywood editing studio; Michael Bay will have just split an atom while editing his next film. What I'm saying is, I'm not a fan.

When it was announced Michael Bay was to direct a live-action adaptation of one of my favorite childhood cartoons, my reaction was: meh. The Transformers are basically the best idea anyone has ever had. Robots turn into cars and things and fight each other. A cartoon was the best possible format for such an idea. Plus you had the toys, so you could play along with the episodes. Plus I'm not six anymore.

I did watch Transformers, and I was even more let-down than I expected. If the premise of Transformers is: robots transform into cars and things and fight, then the premise of the movie could be summed up as: Shia LeBeouf wants to buy a car to woo an anorexic chick, the car happens to be a robot and then at the very end some robots fight. And of course since this is a Michael Bay joint you can't watch the robots fight because he cuts away from them too much. Apparently it is too much to ask to SEE these fantastic robots fighting.

Fear not, dear readers. There is another Transformers story out there, and it is good.
Comic artist Jeffrey Brown drew Incredible Change-Bots. Part homage, part parody, all robot, Incredible Change-Bots is everything the live-action Transformers movie is not. Not only do robots fight THE ENTIRE WAY THROUGH, you can gaze at each lovingly-rendered panel for as long as you want.
Not only is the story more action packed than the "official" movie, it is hilarious. Incredible Change-Bots was written by a guy who gets Transformers. Unlike Michael Bay, who treats the Transformers like his personal litter box, Jeffrey Brown raises them up to heroic levels. This book contains all the reasons I love the Transformers.

So instead of giving your money to the sissified slap-fest that is Transformers 2, walk down to your local comics shop (or Powells online) and behold the glory that is Incredible Change-Bots.

Incredible Change!

Obama '36

Thanks for voting America! This blog, along with approximately 69,492,376 Americans, buoyed Barack Obama onto the throne of democracy. Are we done? Heck no. We need to begin to plan for that sad day when President Barack will no longer be constitutionally able to serve as Commander-in-Chief. We must turn our thoughts to the future. Not the near future, but a date more distant: the year 2036.

Malia Obama, whose interests include soccer, dance and drama, will be 35 in time for the Presidential Election of 2036. What we need in 2036 is someone who will lead us toward an even better future.

The years 2008-2016 were very good for this country. Then there was the historic election of 2016, in which elder statesman Jimmy Carter was finally allowed to serve his second term of office. After four years President Carter stepped into a time machine and sent himself 30,000 years into the past, where he helped nomadic tribes in what is now the Middle East prevent the warfare that would mark that region for all of human history.

In 2020-2028 Chelsea Clinton became the first woman President, making our country the first to manufacture and export hover cars. As the daughter of a former President, she would be compared to another child of a former President who was also President himself. She was thankfully superior in all respects. It is said birds alighted upon her shoulders and sang their sweet melodies as she prepared to sign the historic worldwide energy treaty that would, in essence, eliminate all pollutants from the air, sea, and land.

2028-2036 would provide an interesting twist to Presidential politics, as the first non-American-born citizen became Commander-in-Chief.
Arnold Schwarzenegger.
A name begging to be in large, bold type. With an impressive resume including Terminator 2, Kindergarten Cop, Total Recall, Twins, Junior, Predator, Conan the Barbarian, Pumping Iron, and Jingle All the Way, the Prezenegger brought a new brand of justice to the executive branch of government. He may have played by his own rules, but you can't deny his effectiveness. When an evil alien brain sent an army of oversize spiders to control the planet, the Prezenegger was there with a hand-held nuclear bomb. He tossed it at just the right moment to blow that alien brain right back to hell. And when the Supreme Court was about to criminalize all methods of birth control, the Prezenegger blew them up too. Take that, John Roberts! You evil bastard.

President Arnold paved the way for a different kind of President. By the time 2036 rolled around, the country was ready for peace again.

Malia Obama was born on July 4, an apt date of birth for Commander-in-Chief. Although some would question her relative inexperience, she would soon prove all the naysayers to be nothing more than whiny little nobodies.

It's true, her allergy to animal dander, which almost resulted in her and her sister to be dogless back in 2009, was a worry for foreign policy wonks. What if she were to meet a camel in Cairo and sneeze all over it? Or a cow in Dehli? These worries were soon put to rest after a successful visit to the Middle East and Europe in Spring 2037.

Furthermore, her training in soccer, dance and drama proved exactly what was needed for domestic affairs of the day. It may not have seemed obvious in the hazy days of 2009, but in 2036 soccer, dance and drama were just what is needed for Leader of the Free World.

This blog is a proud supporter of Obama in 2036.

josh does goya

Francisco Goya was a mighty fine illustrator (among his many artistic talents). This image, from the series of prints called Los Caprichos, was so bizarre I felt it was my duty to try my own version.

I used watercolor for the backgrounds, micron pen for the figures.

Friday Robots

Today's Robots are dedicated to a very brave cat who had to visit the Kitty ER Wednesday night. The robot carrying the cat is based on a strange-looking litter box that you can really buy. I don't know a single cat who would want to use this litter box, but it at least makes for a good robot, proving that nothing in this world is completely useless.

Detail:

more information on Biff Elliot, film star

In an ongoing effort to bring you the most comprehensive information about film star Biff Elliot, I present to you these photos. Not only do they chronicle a long career in acting, but they offer us a glimpse into the life of the man behind so many roles.

Not only was Biff the very first Mike Hammer, but he was featured in such excellent TV shows as Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Star Trek, and Planet of the Apes (as an orangutan).

For those of you familiar with Facebook, Biff now has his own profile page. You can even become a fan.

The next three pictures were taken to promote the Harry Essex-directed I, the Jury.

I, the Jury was a detective story, a true film noir. However, the filmmakers believed it would be even more popular in 3D. Here we have Biff posing (in 3D!) for a group of onlookers.

Years later, Biff was devoured by a rock monster in the Star Trek episode Devil in the Dark. Before being eaten, he graciously agreed to sign this limited edition trading card.
Biff can now be found spending time with his lovely wife Connie. The following picture could easily grant Biff entry into the exclusive Moustache Hall of Fame:
The age-old question remains: could Mike Hammer beat Batman in a fistfight? The world may never know.

Many thanks to Connie for supplying these pictures. The internet is all the richer for them.

sunblock

This is the color of my skin:
Sunblock is a necessity for me. Not just during the summer, but every day for the rest of my life.

Since I use sunblock so often, I've become something of an expert on its varieties. There are so many kinds of sunblock you really have to try them all before you find one (or two) that are right for you. These are what I use now, one for my face and neck and one for arms and legs.

The one on the left is something new I'm trying. I used to use Neutrogena, but when I grew out my beard it never seemed to rub in. I always had sunblock in my beard. Annoying. This one seems to be working out all right. It rubs in well and the SPF 70 keeps me good for about 20 minutes instead of the usual 4. The only drawback is lack of sweatproofing. What I need is something that won't rub off during a run. The search will go on.

The one on the right is an old standby. I discovered this in Tucson, still the only place I've found where you can buy this in stores. The gigantic bottle you see here was purchased online. The dinosaur on the label means it's especially good. Even though it clocks in at a paltry SPF 44, it is water- and sweatproof and virtually indestructible. They claim it was tested on surfers in Hawaii, and I believe them. Put this on in the morning and it will be with you all day. That's what I call hardcore sunblock. The makers of this sunblock also make sun lotion for people undergoing chemotherapy, so they know a thing or two about skin types and sunblock and how the two work together to ward off the evil sun.

I'm not exactly anti-sun. You have to give it credit for creating the proper set-up for the beginning of life on this planet. Why, then, would the thing that brought forth life also be the thing that destroys it? Why can't I step outside without worrying about bursting into flame? These are questions for someone smarter than me. In the meantime, enjoy your summer and don't mess with anything under SPF 30.

our gentle neighbor to the north

Washington state is a great place to go if you get tired of Oregon's oppressive natural beauty and lack of sales tax. In Washington, you get to pump your own gas. For all those people who freak out when they have to remain in their vehicles during the refueling process, Washington allows you to get outside, inhale the toxic fumes of the gas station, stretch your weary legs, and handle the dirty, oily pump yourself.

Washington is exactly like Oregon, except a little worse in every way.

Mount St. Helens, unlike our own peaceful Mount Hood, blew its top two decades ago, covering the region in black ash. The last time a volcano blew in Oregon it created pristine Crater Lake. So far, there is no lake in St. Helens, but I hear you can see the devils dancing if you peer deep inside this still-active volcano.


Seattle, the biggest city in Washington, is like Portland, only dirtier. Kurt Cobain killed himself in Seattle and Jimi Hendrix is buried there, so you know this is a good place to be if you are a rock star with a death wish.

While Portland has a minor league baseball team with a good record (the Beavers), Seattle has a full-blown major league club with a so-so record (the Mariners). The Mariners do have Ken Griffey, Jr. playing for them again. I'll concede that point to Washington: they have Ken Griffey, Jr. and Oregon doesn't.

While Seattle has the undoubtedly cool monorail, it only travels a fraction of the distance of Portland's own light rail system, the MAX. Plus Portland now has a gondola, which you can ride from the river to the hospital. If we can only convince Portland to remove one of the MAX's tracks, we'd have both monorail AND gondola.

Washington is like Oregon's kid brother. Not quite as able, a little slow on the uptake, always running behind, whining about "not being included." It doesn't bother us Oregonians; we see it as a nice amusement. After all, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

Thanks, Washington, for tagging along. We pat your little head.

Friday Robots: Salvation

Oh, Terminator. You destroy whatever is in your way. Humans, robots, fluffy bunnies. Do Friday Robots even stand a chance against you?
I'm not a betting man, but I bet you should run if you ever see this confrontation. It is likely to be R-rated.

Bill Watterson returns from sabbatical

This post can now be found on my website.

a note to the spiders in my house

Spiders, you and I are on the same side. I hate bugs; you kill and devour bugs. We should be teaming up, but instead I had to murder two of your number the other day. One of you was hiding (although "hiding" is not really what it was, was it?) next to my cat's food bowl. The other was spinning a web in my bathroom. Have you no shame?

I am glad you guys eat bugs. Nobody wants to see more bugs in this world. But here's the thing: I don't ever want to see you in my home. Ever. I don't want to see you scurrying across my living room, I don't want to see you hanging out on the ceiling directly above my bed. I can understand the webs in the corners of my windows. Bugs can enter the apartment through minuscule cracks in the windowsill and you have to be where the action is. But what I don't want is spiders near my living space. That includes the spider I found near the dish rack by the sink. Yeah, I murdered him too.

Summer is here and that means you spiders have a field day with all the bugs emerging from their winter's slumber. That doesn't mean you get free reign over my living space. You don't get to spend time with me just because we have a loose alliance. We agree on one thing and one thing only - the mass elimination of bugs. Beyond that, we're not going to have drinks together after work, we're not going to play a little pick-up game of basketball this weekend. I'm not going to give you high-fives. Sorry, but this is a fact of life.

Here's the deal, spiders: you go on living your life and I'll do the same. You remain unseen by me and I will never go out of my way to harm you. If I awake one night to find one of you laying eggs in my ear, you will all feel the pain. I will make existence for all spiders so hard you'll wish you had never opened your thousand-million eyes in the morning. But if you can do your bug-eating thing without being seen by me, we're totally good. I wish you all the best.

I hope this little talk has not been for nothing, spiders. Let's try to work together and I think life will be better for everyone (except bugs, of course).

together at last

While at Madame Tussauds in London many years ago, I took the opportunity to photograph Mr. T and the Dalai Lama together. I am afraid this Team-Up of the Century will never happen in real life, but a blogger can dream.This is what M. Toussauds is all about: making dreams come true.

Friday Robots at the Beach

Ian Wilson at Martyrs'

I bet you thought today was going to suck. Get ready to be proven wrong.

Faithful readers of this here blog know that Ian Wilson is the greatest folktronic piano pop musician not only in the Chicagoland area, but the world. Sadly for the world but happily for Chicago, he will be playing at Martyrs' on June 8 at 8pm.

Ian, in his infinite wisdom, enlisted me to design the poster for this gig. You can see this very design all over Chicago, and now thanks to the internet you can see it wherever you are now.

Go see Ian play! You won't be sorry. He's already got an awesome CD (with half decent cover art) which you can purchase online or in person right after you see him play at Martyrs'. If you see him in person, he may even give you a kiss.

What? You want more? Well, head over to Ian's blog and check out a brand-new MP3 for your listening pleasure.

Christmas just came early.



NOTE: Friday Robots have been delayed to make room for this important announcement, but fear not! They will appear before the stroke of midnight. Have a great weekend everybody!

photoshop experiment gone right

After much experimentation in my home la-BOR-atory, I've come up with a reasonable replication of color newsprint. It's always kind of fun to fake analog processes in the digital world.

These are all from photos I've taken:

Newspapers print in four-color separation and if they don't line up all four colors exactly during printing, they get variations of this fascinating effect:
Most people would call this a mistake or an error in production, but I always find it more interesting than a crisp focused picture. Sometimes it happens on the Sunday comics pages and can work to some comics' advantage. Tell me, would you rather see Garfield against a monochrome background or something like the above? I'd take accidental detail any day.

Apparently Patrick McDonnell loves the look of newsprint too, because in his book The Best of Mutts he reproduces his comics from the pages of newspapers. Rather than going for perfect digital cleanness, McDonnell chooses "imperfect" newsprint to display his best work. While at first his choice may seem illogical, it quickly becomes apparent how fitting the newsprint reproductions are for Mutts. A little randomness works in his drawing style's favor.

exciting portfolio news

My portfolio page now contains these two new watercolors. Both were made with watercolor then india ink for the outlines.

Unlike most of the watercolors I've done, these were not made specifically for website backgrounds, hence the lack of empty space in the paintings. I was so happy with how they turned out I had to share them with you. Enjoy!

mountain lions

Mountain lions, like Rashida Jones, are best admired from a distance. Both are beautiful elegant creatures, yet both become deadly when approached. Get too close and something (claws and teeth, a huge bodyguard named Big Bip) turns a magical encounter into a trip to the local ER. Today I want to talk about mountain lions, especially as they relate to my character Melissa in Welcome to Falling Rock National Park.

Melissa is, as hawk-eyed readers have pointed out, a mountain lion. She is interested in abstract sculpture, sleeping, devouring small desert creatures, and the short stories of Richard Yates and Lorrie Moore. Like real mountain lions, Melissa can often be found napping on a warm rock in the morning or in the shade during the hot afternoons. Also like mountain lions, she can only be found when she wants to be.

There is an exhibit at the Denver Zoo (in Denver!) featuring a snapshot of a family on vacation in Colorado's foothills. The picture seems innocuous at first. However, it has been enlarged and a certain area highlighted to the left of the family. In that spot, not twenty feet from where the oblivious parent and children stand, a mountain lion lurks in the tall grass. The family hadn't noticed anything amiss until they got home and developed the photograph.

That's just how mountain lions roll. If they need something, they take it. If they don't want to be seen, they won't be. I have been told a mountain lion's roar sounds like a woman shrieking. Though I've never heard it myself, I can imagine it would be mighty unsettling to hear that sound outside my tent, many miles from civilization.

When I was in Boulder, I often went running along the mountain trails just outside of town. These trails could not have been safer. They were used constantly, sun or rain or snow. I never walked a snow-covered trail that didn't have multiple footprints already, no matter when the most recent snowfall occurred. This did not mean they were mountain-lion-free, however.
I was helping a customer at the store where I worked. When I was looking up a book for him, he told me he'd seen me running the other day. "Oh really?" I said, somewhat surprised to be recognized. "Yeah," he said, then he really surprised me. "I've also seen mountain lions on that trail, so be careful." I did my best to look strong and healthy the next time I ran that particular trail; mountain lions are opportunists like the rest of us and won't work harder than necessary for a meal.

If you have the luxury of seeing a mountain lion before it rips out your throat, you should make yourself look as big and frightening as possible. If you're with another person, stand together arm-in-arm and wave your free hands like crazy. Make lots of noise too. The mountain lion won't go after a big scary creature with two heads.

If I ever have a hard time getting a handle on what Melissa would say in a particular situation, it is only because mountain lions are so inscrutable. Sure, they have to eat, and they sleep a lot like all cats. But there is something more to them. A mysterious core knowledge that may only be known by the mountain lions themselves. It is compelling yet utterly unknowable by the likes of me. I do my best to approximate.

Babe of the Month: June 2009

Summertime...when the sleeves get shorter and the pants get capri. The time of the year a young Paul Newman strolls into town with nothing but the sweaty shirt on this muscular back. Yes, we know what you're after and we at Falling Rock National Blog aim to give it to you. It is time to announce Falling Rock's Babe of the Month.

The Babe of the Month for June 2009 is: Pam the javelina.

Pam, no longer the young idealistic teacher, still has much to offer the discerning gentleman. She is retired, which means she won't have any excuses to leave the house (unless it is to get the groceries to make your dinner). She is down to two packs a day, much sexier than the four-packs-plus-a-pint-of-Jameson she was a few years back. She loves to read murder mysteries, so you know she's got a dark side. Pam is the whole package.

Better yet fellas, Pam is currently unattached. Could you be her Mr. Oh, All Right? Get in line!