Birthdays and Monsters

Birthdays are strange, lumbering creatures. They come slowly, inexorably. You hear them dragging along, they do not sneak. No amount of preparation or planning keeps them at bay, each of us has our own version of the birthday monster. Mine always brings with it loneliness, and self-doubt. Two of my frequent visitors, yet I'm always convinced I can avoid them if I just try a different strategy. But here they come again, loneliness, a tall spindly fellow, all sharp edges and hollow in the middle, self-doubt trailing behind short and hunched as he shuffles along. No mouth, for he has no voice to speak for himself, his big sad eyes say all he could ever need to.
Some very quick character studies for said monsters:

Ok, that sounded way more depressing than it needed to. Really it's not that bad. I had lunch with my Grandma (Chinese food, while hardly thrilling, is aways delicious) and made some art. Nothing else that's finished, so no more pics.
And lots of people called or posted on my wall to say happy birthday. Interestingly, those people consist of my immediate family, and people I was either never close with or haven't spoken to in years (for the most part), while the people I see all the time have been strangely silent.
Matt Wise said to do a shot with someone in his name. Alas, I lack anyone to do shots with, in his name or otherwise, so that birthday wish will not get fulfilled.

Old and sketchy

The mirrors and the unacknowledged nods.
Dial tones and license plates.
The words you didn't choose.
Everything the day's too small to hold spills on to the dusk,
and shorts the evening's fuse.
So you fumble for a voice and sing "Happy Birthday."
Read it to yourself again.
The stories always end the same.
He can't stay and she won't run,
and fear is where they're calling from.
Staunch the blood from countless tiny cuts.
We're all out of bandages.
The heaters rattle taunt.
Sifting through translucent shards of glass,
looking for a filament that lit the life you want.
So you stumble for the phone, grasp the cord and pull.
Will your readership complain the stories always end the same?
She can't stay and he won't run, and fear is where they're calling from.
Afraid is where you're calling from.


Weakerthans- Uncorrected Proofs


Another birthday. 23 years old. Nothing exciting to report. Sore from snowboarding. Black diamonds? My 6th snowboarding experience? What was I thinking? Trying to quit my job, making art, distension about party plans. The usual. 
As Vainglory said "Nobody likes me when I'm 23".... I never wanna act my age. What's my age again? What's my age again? 

There is no way to avoid feeling shitty on Valentine's Day. Let's be honest, I could list 50 real reasons why I'm opposed to Valentine's day, and I do. But those are not the cause of my hatred. They are rationalizations, designed to hide this fundamental truth: Valentine's Day sucks. It makes me miserable. No amount of productivity, shitty romance movies and hagen das can even begin to compare with how bad this day makes me feel, even when I pretend it isn't happening. I hate Valentines Day, I hate being single, and I hate the fact that it comes right before my birthday so all the progress of months of telling myself that I'm awesome and everything will work itself out gets stomped on today, so when we get to my birthday there is no chance of me feeling anything but awful. Writing cards to my friends to tell them how much I love them and doing thumbnails for my stroke comic hasn't exactly helped either. This is one of those depressing posts I should just delete. It's only going to make me feel worse when no one responds. I wish I were the sort of girl who could just go out and pick up some random stranger for sex. At least then I'd be pathetic and getting laid, rather than just pathetic. Stupid standards. Stupid self respect. FML.
At least my teddy bear is good for cuddles. I need a hug.

Ha. No.

The world is a fucked up place, but it has been and could be much worse.
Skiping all the other shit in this article, imagine if you were having sex and the only response you got from your partner was one "small moan". I think all of us, men and women, would have stopped long before the "moment of fulfillment" because that's just not sexy or a good sign at all.
http://i.imgur.com/A1BuB.jpg

Tim Burton!

So, today, I went to the Tim Burton exhibit at MoMA. Oh. My. God. And I do not say that lightly. Holy shit, it was amazing. Seriously, if you're in the NYC area, get your butt over there before it closes (April 26). Even my non-artsy friends really enjoyed it. It is epicly fabulous, as Tim Burton is wont to be.
Edit for brief art talk on why Tim Burton's work is fabulous:  It seems simple and almost child like, and is highly imaginative. But it's rich with layers of meaning, way more than you can take in in a couple of hours of an exhibit. Plus he's technically brilliant, using a wide variety of mediums with complete control, without sacrificing fluidity. His painting style is very different from his pencil work, with brush stroke movement similar to Van Gogh, while his pastel work is heavy, but still feels spontaneous. Really, his ink/watercolor work is my favorite. His line quality is superb, and his pieces looks very unplanned, like everything is a doodle that just came out perfectly, and nothing is overworked. He uses touches of color to liven up the work further, while retaining the freshness that keeps his pieces, which are often creepy as hell, from becoming moody. Now that I feel like I've written a gallery report on why Tim Burton is excellent, I'll stfu and go to sleep.
At first, I was kinda depressed because it was all holy shit awesome, and I will never be that awesome. But then I remembered that pretty much everything in the exhibit was done when Tim Burton was substantially older and more trained than I am, and one day, I too shall be awesome. Perhaps even awesome enough for my own exhibit at MoMA, but expecting that would be ludicrous.
And now that I have a connection cable for my camera I give you: Tim Burton Style Monsters, which I just created this evening:

And Valentine's Cards, which I must write in and send off. They will be late, but not because I don't love the recipients. I'm just slow. These are being sent because I failed new year's cards epicly.

And a journal page from a few days ago that I really love, unfortunately the camera failed a bit as I was working (really it was user error- the bits I was working on were not in the shot etc), so there is no video, well, not one I'm willing to post.

The quote is from Weakerthan's Reunion Tour. Lyrics here. Such an excellent song.
In the morning, I have to color page 2 of my 8 panel exercise, plot and thumbnail the first 3-5 pages of my stroke comic, and write the messages into my valentines. Plus I want to work on some more whimsical Tim Burton type art. Now that I have a camera cable, I'll try to update with pics more often.

Win

Every so often, the internet is win.
http://digg.com/comedy/That_s_a_Bingoooo_PIC?OTC-ig
check the links in the comments, some of them are excellent, but nothing as epic as the main one.