A Christmas Noodle Doodle

Hey jerks.  Hope you guys all have a Merry Noodle Christmas.  After several requests for more drawings over the last few months, I'll make my new years resolution to get cripplingly hungover less, and to draw more.

The Long Way Home

So... sometimes I write stories.  I'm really weird and secretive about them because... I'm a really weird and secretive person.  But I like this one and think it's halfway decent and so I figured I'd share it with anyone who wants to read it.  It's one story from a larger collection about the life of HJ McAllister.  I've written a few others in the series but they're all unfinished.  Maybe someday they wont be unfinished.  We'll see.  Oh and if you see any typos or grammatical errors, please feel free to point them out.  Wouldn't mind some free proofreading :)

***

The McAllisters sat together on the upper deck of the ferry, Allison and Henry-Jay on the outside, the children - now twelve and seven - between them.  Henry-Jay turned to look at his wife and could not help but chuckle at her grimace and green hue as the boat rocked back and forth over the choppy lake.  He looked at his children one at a time for a moment before turning his concentration back to the grey blue water that seemed to stretch on forever.  He mused on the fact that the horizon of Lake Huron was in some places like the horizon on the Atlantic Ocean with sky touching water and no land in sight.  

Henry-Jay was now forty-two, and much softer than in his days as a Texas A&M football star, but he still carried himself tall and straight, giving off the aura of a certain strength still hidden beneath his finely tailored grey wool suit.  The truth was that twenty years of handling millions of dollars for many important clients had made him tense and wary of relaxation, but he had developed a certain way of sitting and walking and speaking that made others feel that his slight rigidity was nothing more than proper upbringing.  Though he was not quick with a smile, his smile was genuine and his blue eyes sparkled when such topics as his children, his racehorses, or the current success of his Alma Mater’s football team were brought up in conversation.  

The ferry touched in to the dock at Mackinac Island with a heavy thud, jolting Henry from his thoughts.  Allison gasped and grabbed Thompson by the shoulder as the boat groaned and rocked.  The ropes were thrown to men waiting on the docks, who pulled them taut around the piles, steadying the boat, before tying them off with loose half hitches.  The McAllister children peered over the side of the railing, watching as the dock-men unloaded the horses and bicycles from the cargo area.  When the people sitting in the lower deck began shuffling from the boat, Allison and the children stood.  Henry-Jay sighed and stood as well.

“Why don’t you and the children go catch the carriage?  I’ve got a few things to do before heading up to the hotel.”

Allison nodded sullenly and escorted the children down the narrow stairwell.  Henry watched them step off the boat and walk up to the dock towards the private carriage waiting for them at the road.  Two Jamaicans were already loading the family’s suitcases to the back of the carriage when Allison and the children climbed inside.  Henry-Jay walked down the starboard side of the steering compartment and knocked on the back door.  An old man in a faded green cap reading “Arnold Transit” opened the door grinning widely from under his bushy white mustache.

“Mr. McAllister, it’s wonderful to see you!”

“It’s Henry-Jay, Captain Morris.  I’ve told you a thousand times if I’ve told you once”

The old man clapped both hands around Henry’s as best he could, his right hand gnarled from arthritis and years of pulling rope.  

“Of course, Henry-Jay.  Wonderful, it’s wonderful that you’re here, always a pleasure” the old man shook Henry’s hand vigorously.  “How long will you be staying this time?”

“I’m not sure yet Captain.  I thought it best to remove Allison for a while from the temptations that New York presents to her”.

The old man nodded and dropped Henry-Jays hand, his sunburned and creased cheeks flushing imperceptibly at the earnest truthfulness of the man standing at his cabin door.  

“It was good to see you again Captain Morris.  Please don’t hesitate to call on me if you find yourself on this side of the lake.  I’d love to have a drink with you”

The old man nodded.  This was their yearly conversation.  Henry-Jay would extend an invitation of drink to the ferry captain, and the old man would nod.  He had never taken Henry up on the invitation for fear of damaging the young man’s reputation; men of his caste did not drink with ferry captains.

Henry-Jay clapped the old man on the shoulder and smiled.  “I mean it Captain…”

Henry stepped off the ferry on to the dock and nodded to the boarding man who, seeing that Henry had finally departed, unhooked the rope and began taking tickets for the return trip to St. Ignace.  He walked up the dock to the main road and stopped, looking up and down the busy street.  The smell of lilac and horses intoxicated him.  Henry-Jay closed his eyes, letting the sun warm his face and shoulders, listening to the clatter and jingle of passenger carriages pass him on the cobblestone street.  Henry crossed the street and turned left, following Main Street with a spring in his step that none of his associates in New York would have believed was possible.  He turned another left on French Lane, ducking in to the Pilot House Restaurant.

The term restaurant was attached to the establishment in the hopes of bringing in business, but in reality, the Pilot House had never been able to shake the boy’s club atmosphere that tended to be the main draw to its clientele.  The Pilot House was on the first floor of the Fort View Hotel, one of the smaller hotels on the island.  The hotel did not, in fact, have a view of the fort, as it was only three floors with the bottom two built in to the hill.  The walls of the Pilot house that were built in to the hill were bare stone.  Two dart boards which hung in the far right corner and a large oil painting of Twenty Grand and his Jockey Charley Kurtsinger, winners of the 1931 Kentucky Derby - both man and horse brimming with pride - were the extent of the décor in the Pilot House.  Several overstuffed leather chairs were nestled in the corner to the right of the door and a large standing ashtray overfull with cigar ash in the center of the area lived between them.  

Henry-Jay collapsed comfortably in to one of the chairs closest to the door, beside Benny Michaelson, an acquaintance he had known for many years in New York but a friend when they were on the Island.  Benny smiled at Henry and waved the bartender over.

“Another glass for Mr. McAllister, Joe.”  Benny smiled knowingly at Henry, lifting the open bottle of Scotch that sat on the well oiled wood table between the men.  He leaned forward, holding the bottle out towards Henry.

Henry-Jay took the bottle in his hands, looking the label over.  He did not know very much about Scotch, though men of his particular social class were supposed to, so he smiled knowingly as well as he set the bottle back on the table between them.

“1912… good year” he smiled again at Benny as he watched his old friend take the glass from the bartender, uncork the bottle and pour the caramel colored liquid in.

“Very good year” Benny replied as he handed the glass to Henry, corked the bottle and placed it back on the table between them.

‘Of course it was a good year’ Henry thought to himself.  ‘Had it not been a good year, Benny wouldn’t be caught dead drinking a bottle of it in a place like The Pilot… arrogant bastard…’

Henry-Jay knew that this was an offering from Benny to enjoy as much as he pleased, and knew that he would not be leaving that chair for quite some time.

Several hours later Henry-Jay pushed through the front door of the Pilot House and stumbled back against the door frame, surprised by the bright sun still shining on him.  He checked his watch through bleary vision and it read 9:15.  ‘Yes’ he thought, ‘it stays lighter here.  We are very far north’.  Henry climbed in to the livery coach waiting for him on the street.  Joe, the bartender, had tried to call for a carriage from The Grand Hotel, but Henry-Jay was not yet ready to go back to his wife.  

“It’s still daylight” he called through the open window separating him and the driver.

“Yes, sir”

“I want to go to the Bluffs”

“Yes, sir”

“Can I smoke?”

“No, Sir”

The coach pulled out and after a short while on the main roads, turned left towards the water and began to climb.  Henry-Jay leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, listening to the jingle of the harnesses and the snorting huffs of the two large draft horses as they pulled the coach up the incline.

“What kind are they?  Clydesdale?”

“No, Sir.  Irish Hackney”

“Irish Hackney” Henry repeated, making a note to look them over better when they reached the bluffs.  

Henry-Jay noticed the incline level and the road become worn and bumpy.  One of the wheels hit a deep divot and the whole coach bucked, sending Henry over on to his side in the back.

“Terribly sorry Sir” the coachman called. “Are you alright?”

“I’m just fine” Henry laughed as the coach pulled to a stop with a “Ho there” from the coachman.

Henry slid from the coach, pulling a cigar from the breast pocket of his suit before tossing the jacket in the carriage.

“You want one?” He held the cigar up towards the coachman.

“No thank you, Sir” The man shook his head, sliding a crushed pack of cigarettes from his own shirt pocket, raising one to his lips and lighting it. “I got my own vices” he smiled.

“You can go if you’ve got other fares waiting” Henry nodded towards the bluffs. “I might be a while”

The man looked Henry over.  His hair was rumpled out of place and his tie was askew.

“No, I don’t reckon I’m going to leave you up here Sir, on account that walking back down to town at dusk is dangerous… you might get trampled…”

Henry shrugged and walked towards the bluffs.  The man watched him from his seat at the front of the coach.  He sucked heavily on his cigarette, sighed, and hopped from the front seat, following Henry across the road.

“You’re not gonna jump are ya?  Because if you are, I’d like to know now.  If you’re not gonna need a ride back down, I’ll go back to work”

Henry laughed at the coachman’s frank manner.  “No, I’m not going to jump”.  Henry knew that the coachman was going quite far out of his comfort zone in pursuing a stranger.  People in these parts liked to stay out of one another’s business as much as possible.  Henry sat down fairly near the edge of the bluffs and pulled a silver lighter from his pocket, lighting the cigar before returning the lighter.  He stared out at the slow sinking sun over Lake Huron.  

    “Sit down man, have another smoke with me”
    The coachman sat about a foot to the left of Henry-Jay, removing another cigarette from his shirt pocket and lighting it.  The men sat in silence, smoking for a while.
    “I’m Henry” Henry-Jay finally interrupted the silence.
    “I’m Dennis”
    The men watched the sun sink past the far off Mackinaw Bridge and below the horizon of the lake.  
    “Well Henry, this was a fine way to end my day, I’ve got to admit” Dennis looked straight ahead as he spoke.  “And I’m glad you didn’t jump.  That would have put quite a damper on the effects” he laughed heartily.
    Henry- Jay laughed as well, but his laughter was sad.  “I wouldn’t ever jump Dennis.  I love my children.  Georgia and Tommy.  They’re my whole life”
    “Is your wife gone?”
    “No… she’s here”
    The men fell silent for another moment before Henry pushed himself off the ground.  
    “We should get going”
    The men headed back to the coach, Henry climbing inside, Dennis onto the driver’s bench.  Henry rolled down his shirtsleeves and pulled his suit coat back on as the coach began its route around and away from the bluffs.  
    “My wife cheats on me” Henry heard himself saying.  Something about the noisy clatter of the harnesses and the wheels on dirt road allowed Henry to divulge the painful secret that had been roiling inside him.  “She cheats on me with everyone.  That’s why we’re here.  I come here every summer to clear my head, to allow the children time to be children away from New York.  She hates it here, but I can’t leave her in that city alone.  I can’t leave her knowing that she will run all over town making a cuckold of me.  So I brought her.  And maybe I brought her to punish her, because I know she’s miserable here, but I don’t care.  I want her to suffer.  I have suffered for so long.  I suffer and I work and I smile and I love her but only for my children”
    Dennis heard everything, but did not respond.  He wound the coach carefully down the steady decline, handling the hand break with care so as to not pick up too much speed on their descent.  His heart ached for Henry and he wished that he had taken the long route.  He knew Henry would have happily delayed his return to the hotel and the pain of seeing his wife, sitting down to dinner across from her, holding her hand and pretending he was still in love. 

Big fat juicy ones, long thin slimy ones...

Sometimes this song gets stuck in my head out of nowhere. I figured a little art therapy might help me work through whatever deep seeded issues make me hate myself so completely.

Just kidding. That doodle was just better than putting away my laundry.

I do have this weird nearly compulsive need to save wormies who have "beached themselves" if you will on concrete after a rain storm. After I've thrown the fifth or sixth back onto the grass I convince myself that I need to stop. I don't know... It's a habit I've always practiced ever since I can remember. I guess I just really hope that if I was drying out to death on a giant awful hard piece of asphalt someone would throw me back on the grass.

Noodles hate butterflies

FACT!

A moment of clarity

A lot of things have been going on lately... some good, some depressing... whatever.  I've been feeling really overwhelmed.  On Tuesday I was driving home from seeing my family and had this moment of insane wonderful clarity when I realized all my problems were my own problems and I should stop feeling bad for myself and just fix them.  Boom... depression solved.  It was weird.  Anyways that somehow morphed into this weird little mantra "who said we can't be rockstar dinosaur astronauts?"  Well??  Who said that?  I have a LOT of friends who I would consider rockstar dinosaur astronauts.  They create art for a living, they live outside of societal norms, on the road, traveling, doing what they love.  I am the only one stifling me.

Anyways, to coincide with this epiphany, I was asked by a friend to put together a show flyer.  When I asked what he wanted he said "I don't know... something that has to do with space."

Space?  Music?  DINOSAURS?!?!  So a new bit of art was born.

So a quick little pencil sketch and about 5 hours of eye liquifying MSPainting got up all this adorable little bugger!

And since this was a super exciting "commissioned" piece... slap on some info and BLAMMO!  You got a pretty badass flyer, if I do say so myself!

So anyways I spent my Saturday afternoon at my place of employment because that's the only computer with a mouse I have access to but I'm glad to have put this all together and I guess what I'm trying to say is hopefully I, too, will become a rockstar dinosaur astronaut and you'll see more junk up here in the future.  Hopefully!

Oh did I mention that this flyer is going to be posted up in Iowa City??  That excites the shit out of me.  Bubbles Von Colorsaurus Rex is now nationwide!  Or... on the internet AND in Iowa City.  Still!  Woo!

Noodle doodles

I've been feeling kind of burnt out lately.  Work really is for suckers.  Someone should give me a big sack of money so I can not go to work and just draw pictures of dinosaurs all day and drink beers and heckle neighborhood kids.  I mean... those are the things I'm good at.  I don't understand why I can't just be paid for the things I'm good at? 

Anyways I went out to dinner with Melissa the other day and there were crayons on the table.  Normally that would make for 1) the best dinner ever (not the crayons, but the drawing while I wait impatiently for my food to come) and 2) a table full of dinosaurs and volcanoes and balloons and whatever else but on this night in particular, along with many other nights recently I just didn't feel like drawing anything.  Melissa, needless to say, was both shocked and VERY upset.  She suggested that perhaps she would draw a noodle in a top hat.  Once she had done so I decided that I, too, would draw a noodle in a top hat.  Drawing noodles or... noodle doodles is kind of great!  So... here's my fancy Noodles McAllister out on the town with his best gal Nancy. 

He's whistling... obviously...

So then... what do you call a noodle that likes to get stoned??

A PASTAFARIAN!!! (Thanks Quinton)

And since that got me in the mood for doodlin' I finally drew some dinos. 

They're wearing f*cking overalls!

When I write captions for my pictures I'm always shouting in my head.  I hope you read them that way... shouting with excitement.

So, I don't know.  I need to get back on the horse.  I'm hoping that with the weather warming up a bit I'll want to do more than just get in my bed as soon as I get home from work.  Maybe I'll buy some crayons??

A valentimes day surprise

We all know valentines day is a crock of shit. I mean... What's the point of a holiday that you don't get off from work? If I can't day drink, it isn't worth my time.

My roommates are a couple. As couples go they don't suck. I'd even go so far as to say as couples go they're great.

I have a tendency to stay away from home for days at a time and often get "are you ever coming home, we miss you" texts. The past four or five days I have been experiencing a bit of wanderlust and after several of those texts I decided I should show my face at my house for a while. Of course I forgot that today was valentines day and even the least obnoxious couples can be expected to make a special dinner, exchange heart shaped boxes of chocolates and do... Couple things... Like snuggling. As a single person I refuse to be bothered by coupleness of valentines day. My lovely roommates offered to let me join then but instead I opted for pizza, beer, and that amazing movie where Joaquin Pheonix grows a beard, gains 40 lbs, turns into the man of my dreams and decides to be a rapper.

Coming home very sleepy with a belly full of pizza I come whistling into my room, feeling very self satisfied to find the my old buddy Cliff waiting for me, in his nicest brown tie, homemade card in hand. Nothing reminds you that things could be a lot worse than finding a badly burned half man tucked under your covers.

In case you're wondering, the card reads: "Jenny... How I've longed for my chance to love you... Though I have neither beard nor skin, and my gnarled fingers have long since lost their dexterity, rendering me incapable of playing any instruments, I've never given up hope that one day you could learn to love me... <3 'C'"

Sorry Cliff... I'm dreaming about bloated, bearded, dreadlocked, drugged out Joaquin Pheonix tonight. Don't worry though, I'll make sure you're nice and comfy in the guest room.

Happy Made Up Holiday That You Don't Even Get Off From Work Day everyone!!!