February 20, 2006
A Man From Dogs
Nine Februaries ago I was a college freshman, living in the dorms. Life was cramped, boring, and smelly. (That last mainly my doing. I know, W2B, I know.)
For some reason, on a day much like this one, it possessed me to begin drawing a cartoon. I had no idea where the cartoon was going, who the characters were, or nothin'. I just picked a nonsensical name and drew from there. It made it to 10 parts and petered out, and I quit cartooning and went back to being a journalism major history major pre-law student wanker without a cartoon.
This is that cartoon. It's bad. Bad enough that it ought to be online. I present the first 5 of 10 parts:
Parts 6 through 10 will come soon. They are not there now, so when you reach Part 5, just click back to here, 'cause it's a dead end.
UPDATE: Oh yeah, click on the cartoon to advance to the next part.
February 18, 2006
Culinary Reviews
Well, first I suppose I need to say that I am sorry to be posting on what is, technically, Saturday. 'Twas a lovely day of flit and frolic and the notion of posting did not strike me till just before midnight. It's been ever so cold, nights, of late, and so my days have been filled with the delectations of crunchy grass, sharp cold sunshine, and the leafy frozen treat that is the bird bath. Against these joys, blogging strikes one as trifling.
But I've a few things to say. Precisely, I aim to critique the proffered cuisine of late here in Dan's household. You ask, dear reader, What dainties, Zuma, do come your way? How do they stand in the auspices of your favor? I can hear you now. And so comes the answer. Herewith, a review of the leading culinary bonuses each day brought this week.
Monday: Garlic paper tossed with shredded pepper jack cheese
Rather thin gruel here, and maddening. Brushed off the counter with little fanfare, it enticed, siren-esque, with a bold bouquet of milkfat. But what it had in olfactory promise it lacked in presentation: each elusive shred of cheese was lost in a nest of crinkly, flavorless garlic paper, and even after wheat was separated from chaff, so to say, the determined gourmand's ministrations were rewarded with a jarring burn on the tongue. All in all, a stunning failure.
Tuesday: Chocolate chips, offered and then recanted
This went on for hours. Brown and white chunks would rain down from the counter, throwing off a heady, nay, hypnotic scent -- sweet, nutty, rich, deep, promising unspeakable flavor. Then, just as these chunks were in reach, the shouts would come: "No, Zuma! Fuck off!" Sending this writer cowering. When next I looked, the dainties would be swept unceremoniously into the food bin. What gives?
Wednesday: Bread crumbs
Good, but dusty.
Thursday: One tablespoon of butter
A triumph. Soft, chewy, pure milkfat with just a pinch of salt to bring it all together. In this writer's humble opinion, they ought to fix this dish daily. It is . . . unsurpassed. Unsurpassable.
Friday: A half-inch section of frozen chicken sausage
Flavorful and innovative; good presentation. This seemed, however, unsuited to a chill day. I can envision myself nursing this dish for an hour or so on one of those green dusty days when my fur burns on my skin. But today? It seemed out of place. That aside, a thoroughgoing success.
Other news
I've been trying my hand at photography a tad more of late. What do you think of this? Do please be honest.
I heartily invite your commentry. Good day.
February 12, 2006
February 11, 2006
Sketch swap!
Been messing around on Sketch Swap. Thought I might as well share my "work." Critique away:
So hard some are ducks.
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I sketched this on the toilet, gazing at the opposite wall.
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There you have it. How you use it is up to you.
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He's like Plastic Man for hors d'oeuvres.
February 10, 2006
Pandering
Apologies for the long absence, dear readers. Dan has been "working" his ass off of late -- though why he assigns the term "work" to sitting on the couch staring at papers I won't deign to speculate. And he's been working my ass off every Friday. "Keep going, Zuma!" "Move along, Zuma!" Up some dreary, ceaseless hill and back down another. Moron.
Plus I've been despondent. Yes, still, Moose.
But I had to check in and direct your scorn, and mine, at this bit of brainless pandering: (Do please click.) Now, many people object to the way the President "talks down" to the public. This is not how I apprehend it. I fully understand old George speaking to the nation as though we are children; 'tis the only way he knows how to speak, being one.
But I'd expect better of a terrier. A terrier knows better. Tsk-tsk.
Tsk-tsk.
Today, I invite your commentry.