I know, it’s been ages since I’ve written here…but I guess since I list this site on both my FB and Instagram, I may as well make use of it. Perhaps I can use the blog to elaborate on my Iggy posts, as I kinda did earlier this year.
The image above is a detail from my latest random doodle venture, Krud, an assortment of kreative klumps emerging from the dank and dark recesses of my mind. I’ll be releasing them into the wild as sticker packs, and those who adopt them will be highly encouraged to photograph their new pals in their new homes or adhered to their new habitats, using the hashtag #krudlife.
Oooo…social media. Hmm. Now even that’s a term that already sounds outdated. What would be the word for it, then?
Nevertheless, stick around, they’ll be available soon. =)
Aren’t carved pumpkins supposed to last at least a few weeks before morphing into a mushy pulp of mash-o-lantern? Mine didn’t even last hardly a few days. Did I do something wrong? Pics to follow.
It’s hardly ever that I tap into the mainstream media, but after seeing this post dealing with the scandal over the apparent exposure of Spain’s prime minister Zapatero’s “goth” daughters, I just had to look into it.
I guess there was this big ol’ deal over their drab, “monstrous” appearance, sparking a media wildfire across the world. In desperation, the government tried to eradicate any existing photographs of the daughters, but I was able to get my hands on one of the only remaining ones.
Ugh…I almost lost my lunch when I took a look…it’s terrible that these grotesque monstrosities of nature revealed themselves shamelessly to the innocent eyes of the world. They should keep them locked in the basement. I remember seeing these same “goth” types in high school, and I avoided them like the plague. To see these horrifying images again conjures up truly frightening times.
It’s been a long time since I’ve made a t-shirt. But since the rise of Manny “Pac-Man” Pacquiao, I just had to make something to honor my new hero. And what better way than to do it in true “pinoy pasyon,” complete with the thick, garlic-and-soy-sauce laden accent so familiar to 2nd-gen “Flams” (Filipino-Americans) like myself and millions of others, who may not know hardly a word of Tagalog but can mimic that accent in an instant, simply because they were raised with it.
And in this case, that particular accent is what one must have genuine mastery of in order to truly understand the message which so proudly adorns the front of the shirt.
Nevertheless, limited quantities are available. Order one in time for the Pacquiao/Cotto fight in November.
I sat with my kid at his abuelos’ dining table, in front of his large sketching pad. I picked up a blue marker and drew a bunny rabbit. I typically draw rapidly, rarely lifting the pen off the paper unless I’m adding texture…in this case, perhaps the stripes in his turtle neck.
He looked at it and smiled. “Bunny rabbit,” he said. He took a green jumbo crayon and traced the character in the same swift, fluid motion, lifting the crayon only once.