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| 06302003 | |
| Shit, I've been at this for a year. |
| Rested and recovered, spent the day jet-setting and gadabouting with a to-do list as long as my arm, then met Mr. Henderson for some going-away drinks before I spun down to Midwood to spend the night with the fantabulous E, twin fans focused on her bed as we kicked down the doors of summer. That was one long sentence but that's just how I'm talkin' these days - words rushing out of my mouth like kids escaping school for summer, trying to beat the bell home. |
| Spent the evening in an incapacitating meat-coma brought on by me and Townleybomb's trip to a Brazilian restauraunt in my neighborhood that I'd been eyeing for a while. One early dinner of pork, beef, ribs, bacon, salt pork, dried beef, sausage and additional other things later - they call it feijoada - I was incapable of even walking, let alone going out to crash parties (the original plan for the evening). So instead I lay, comatose, on my bed, roiling stomach full of the souls of dead barnyard animals appeased by no number of Tums and apologies. |
| The week of pretty much total slackulation is over, and I'm pretty happy with it. The bossman was gone and I had nobody breathin' down my sexy neck and so managed to churn out quite a sizable hunk of drawing at my desktop. If you haven't heard, this week's Red Eye, Black Eye hits 100 pages, which is some kind of new record for me. I'm pretty proud, all told, although I'm going through the backlog searching for glaring errors and I've found more than a few. But that's what redrafting's for, and when I'm done I'll sleep happy. |
| Blazin' hot summer week goes on and on - went home last night to find the apartment seething and the air conditioners valiantly trying to keep up with the heat. I'm off to buy a few fans to keep the air at least circulating in my room overnight, a seven-pound block of ice to tie to my forehead and some kind of freon injector to jam right into my neck when things get really bad for me. Anybody know any Eskimos who are renting out their summer igloo? |
| Spent the night at E's watching the latest guilty pleasure - America's Next Top Model. If you hate the pretty and the petty as much as I do, this is a no-brainer. Watch as the bobbleheaded Christian model-trainee crushes out on some prettyboy magazine hunk because "his favorite book is the Bible!" Wince at the mushmoulthed heroin-chic girl getting felt up by French perverts on the street! Cringe at Kimora Lee Simmons, the half-Chink rap mogul wife with two grapefruits in her cheekbones. It's hot bad TV and for a night in with some beer I can't think of much better. Also E. and me started a new SECRET PROJECT that looks like it's gonna make us (in)famous. More soon! |
| Lots of stuff to get done today, but I think I've got just enough time to do it all in. There's two new Amber chats for those of you who have been missing her. Hopefully more soon, as I am getting back into the groove. Lots of drawing to do (but isn't there always) - getting back on the Red Eye, Black Eye bus and finally ending the epic Columbus chapter, trying to put the final nails in th' Unholy III, a few more anthologies waiting for my business, et cetera. It's a pretty full life, all told, but I think I have a little more squeezin' room still. |
| I'm in a bit of a financial pinch at the moment so I thought I'd take a minute to hype some commissions - I've been doing drawings on demand for a while now and I really enjoy it. It's a fun way to make myself draw stuff I wouldn't normally and make a little extra change (my rates are abysmally cheap, like less than you'll pay for the new Harry Potter book). If you need some examples of recent ones I've done, here: Bizarro Superman (watercolor and silver ink on paper), portrait (ink on paper), Lowell Mason the Gospel Midget (ink and gouache on paper). You like? Drop me a line. My brush is at your service. |
| I can't stop laughing. |
| Spent the day at Tomas's office hijacking the copy machine in a frenzy, running off over 1600 Xeroxes before finally draining the last reserves of toner, then off to my office for a four-man stapleparty and collate-fest. I had forgotten how many hands make light work, usually holding a pretty solitary production line, but we managed to churn out 40 books in little to no time, leaving plenty of evening left for E. and me to go see the Hulk (sucked), sneak into fifteen minutes worth of To Justin From Kelly (fantastically retarded) and collapse back to Brooklyn beds. |
| E's birthday party, supposed to hold it outside but the rain had other plans. That's all right - there were plenty of chairs inside and plenty of beers. I'm always thanking my lucky stars that I snared such a good catch in the dame department - not just any girl could rock on the side of evil with me as thoroughly as she does and still wake up looking good in the morning. I had to bail after eight Hoegaardens as my system was still a little sickly but Lord what a woman. |
| I scraped myself into the office because there was a hot-button issue that demanded my attention but as soon as I got it done and out the door I bailed back to bed and Sudafed, trying in vain to beat down the bacterium living the high life in my sinus cavity. All the cold medicine is making me a little loopy, though, and I've got to resist the more absurd urges that come whizzing through my brain - no, a bike ride does not sound great right now, thanks. No, I don't need to order tempura. No, I should not call a doctor. |
| Feverish to an insane degree - burning up in a T-shirt and jeans, renting my skull out to the diner on the corner to fry eggs upon. Spent the majority of the day in bed, clutchin my extremities and pouring water down my holes, only to have it sweated instantly out again, turning my room into a sort of biological sauna. I'm in utter and complete misery, and it's only Wednesday. This doesn't look good. This doesn't look good at all. |
| Good God my corpus has entered into a period of full-on revolt. The long hours may be okay with the brain but the little meatmobile that it rides around in is hatin' it a lot these days. Sinus pressure, headaches and a very upset stomach have been pretty much the ord'r of the day, and no amounts of Beano and Excedrin and cool, cool water seem to help. So I'm leaned back in my chair, working as fast as my poor arms will move while trying to avoid anything that'll piss off my unknowable guts any more than they already are. I have tomorrow "off," which basically means I'll be drawing all day, but hopefully at least in my pajamas. |
| Sunburnt, overworked and ink-stained - we're in severe crunch time this week as I struggle against the Gods themselves to finish up all my shit before the sun rises on Sunday. Will I do it? I'm not going to actively predict my own failure in these pages but it's not looking too great for the home team. Ah, well - back to the tank for another three hours of brushwork and salty tears. |
| My teeth are rotten, my spine is shattered and my adrenal glands are dry as a bone. A day at Six Flags is enough to kill any well-heeled urbanite, and me and mine are the walking dead after six, seven hours of waiting in lines for two-minute near-death experiences. By the time we started the drive home we were all too destroyed to even speak much, and the only think that kept me alive asides from the comforting glow of my sweetie besides me was the roll of film nestled snugly in the camera and engraved with people-watching photographs that'll make your day ere I get 'em developed. |
| Well, that was primarily a disappointment - crammed us like sardines into a room so overcrowded with hipsters that it threatened to implode into a white hole of distressed denim and ironic meshback hats, but Ol' Dirty never showed - we eventually got some inside information that he was hiding out in a car across the street afraid of his parole officer, as his curfew is apparently midnight and he doesn't want to go back to jail playing for a shitclub full of cool kids. And who can blame him? |
| Who's going to go see the Ol' Dirty Bastard tonight? I'm pretty sure it's not-you. There's some under-the-radar Vice party going down with big Baby Jesus providing the ents and we've managed to RSVP, but that's no guarantee that we'll be able to sneak in the door, as I'm pretty much a walking DON'T and won't get the chance to make out with Chloe Sevigny or whoever. Ah well - it's the effort that counts. Reports as events warrant. |
| Rummaging frantically through the cabinets for that one package of Korean ramen I bought three months ago, thirty-six cents in the bank account and too lazy to roll up the change jar and head down the corner for a penny-paid slice of pizza. So even though it's sweltering hot in the apartment I set the water to boil and ladle in the stupidly hot soup, chasing each mouthful with a half-glass of water until I'm bloated, damp and no good for anything but a shower and bed. |
| At work on a hump day, not a typical event for me but I'm giving them some special dispensation in exchange for some special ca$h money in my pay packet on Sunday, which I need as I'm running pretty short on ducats lately. Cashing in the change jar will only carry me so far and until my ship comes in I'm going to be sleeping on the docks, to extend a metaphor. But on Sunday with a fat wallet I'm a-going to Six Flags to ride a rollercoaster ALL THE WAY TO HELL and no man can ever be poor in that situation. |
| I've whipped out the drawing supplies and am merrily inking away at my desk, hoping my bossman won't catch wind of the amount of time I'm wasting. I've got a week and change left to kick two major projects out the doorway and into a world that will fear and despise them. Oh, my little monsters - you're all composed of corpses, reanimated by greased lightning and pancake batter, and the havok you'll wreak (especially one of the two, he's the mean one in more ways than one) will be incalcuable. |
| It seems to me that there's two simple bathroom rules in an office situation: don't open the door if it's closed and don't close the door if there's nobody in there. Oh, and of course, don't flush paper towels down the toilet, but that's obvious. So why is it that one person from the company that we sublease to just can't figure this out and is always busting in on me when I'm doing my business. Does he do it to everybody or is he on some kind of mission to ogle an eyeful of my radical junk? I'm afraid to ask him because the answer could be real bad. |
| I'm realizing that these interior weekends aren't making for very captivating reading, but it's the way it is - for the next two weeks my adventure quotient's going to be remarkably low and my Q-rating's dropping like a stone. It'll all be worth it, I guarantee you, as soon enough I'll be able to regale you with more sordid stories of stabbings and stealing, but for the next few you'll have to suffer through an interminable montage of painting, strumming and doing sit-ups, Rocky-style. |
| Today sped by - the constant deluge of rain outside made it very feasible to hermit up and hack away at the brutal piles of work I need to throw down before this year's MoCCA convention (the 22nd of this month, if you're keeping track.) It looks as if the rock and roll band might be making our public debut the day afterwars, which mandates a lot more guitar practice in the interim as well. I guess there's worse times to live in then busy ones, but I'm writing a "miss you" letter to my mattress anyways. |
| Okay, the sun's out and I'm feeling a swatch better - a night's rest and a plateful of garlic seems to have temporarily battered the germ infestation into remission. Trying to suck down as much vitamins as possible to further bolster my immunities, awesomeness, but who knows if that'll work out. Planning on spending as much of the weekend as possible exposed to sun and minimally stressing - a little light exercise, a little heavy rock and roll, a few beers in between and I'll be set survivin' until next we meet. |
| Feelin' a little feverish and loathing - getting caught like a cake out in the rain with nothing but a T-shirt really didn't do me any good, not to mention heavy drinking and long drives and fights and such. To sum up, I've got a head like a radiator and a nose like a faucet, and this old house is falling apart fast. I'm gonna pound down a Nyquil nail and hammer it home with the cool side of the pillow and hopefully by tomorrow AM I'll be temperate and sassy again. |
 If this is your car we're sorry. |
| It looks like summer's finally cut the fuckin' around and is ready to deliver the uninterrupted solid sunshine I need to get my photosynthetic groove fully on. Things are tickling up for the next few weeks - the rock band's #1 first show ever looks to be very nearly a go, so I suppose I'd better lubricate my hot licks and speed up my slow hand. Comics are progressing at an equally solid rate - I'm almost successful! Let's see how much closer I can inch it as the days get longer. |
| Back to the week-day lifestyle that I abhor so dear - simulating the lifestyle of a dedicated receptionist while simultaneously doing all my real work under the radar has become something I'm pretty accustomed to, but when the sun's out and the weather's warm it gets real hard to front like I'm actually interested in buying White-Out and writing checks. Ah well - the sun's still out when the closing bell rings and I get mine, either way. |
| The drive back to civilization from cheese-slathered 'Delphi went uneventfully for the most part, all of us so wrecked from no-sleep-never that conversation was kept to a minimum, whizzing by shore-returning guidos on the turnpike as we all made appointments with our respective mattresses. Crashed out after some cheap sushi to a solid 11 hours of pulling the sheets off the bed, waking up mummified as the birds and dogs duet me awake. |
MAY
all content (c) 2003 k. thor jensen