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breeden
ursulav

Postcards from the Swamp, II

I thought I was free. I thought my two weeks of dogged painting had gotten my work load down to a manageable level, defined as "paying stuff to work on in the morning, afternoon free to paint on personal projects."

Then the logo design I was doing suddenly came back with "Sorry, we thought you had a month, but we need it by Wednesday," and Mongoose wants another painting done (They wanted five, I did six sketches so I'd have an alternate if one didn't get approved, and now it turns out they liked the alternate too, so I need to paint that, and pronto. Not that I mind, it was a fun sketch and they're good to work for.) and suddenly the reasonable workload has closed around me, like a small fly trapped in a Venus fly trap, trying valiantly to hack her way out with a paintbrush and a palette knife.

Also! If you are the gentleman who contacted me about an ascent-of-man type commission, and you're still interested, please e-mail me! I haven't forgotten you, but I did lose your e-mail during the last computer troubles, so...uh...if you're interested, let me know!

Darn, at this rate I'll never get to the penguin in cuttlefish hat...

breeden
ursulav

Postcards from the Swamp, II

I thought I was free. I thought my two weeks of dogged painting had gotten my work load down to a manageable level, defined as “paying stuff to work on in the morning, afternoon free to paint on personal projects.”

Then the logo design I was doing suddenly came back with “Sorry, we thought you had a month, but we need it by Wednesday,” and Mongoose wants another painting done (They wanted five, I did six sketches so I’d have an alternate if one didn’t get approved, and now it turns out they liked the alternate too, so I need to paint that, and pronto. Not that I mind, it was a fun sketch and they’re good to work for.) and suddenly the reasonable workload has closed around me, like a small fly trapped in a Venus fly trap, trying valiantly to hack her way out with a paintbrush and a palette knife.

Also! If you are the gentleman who contacted me about an ascent-of-man type commission, and you’re still interested, please e-mail me! I haven’t forgotten you, but I did lose your e-mail during the last computer troubles, so…uh…if you’re interested, let me know!

Darn, at this rate I’ll never get to the penguin in cuttlefish hat…

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.


breeden
ursulav

(no subject)

"The Highwayman" irritates me.

I'm listening to Loreena McKennit, and she does a lovely version of it. It's lovely. I'll admit that. I like listening to it.

The lyrics, however, by Alfred Noyes way back when, irritate the hell out of me.

http://www.cs.pdx.edu/~trent/ochs/lyrics/highwayman.html

I mean, if I spent five or six hours tied to a bed with a gun, and finally, at the critical moment, shot myself in the chest in order to warn the love of my life off--and then a few hours later he comes tearing back like a moron and gets shot by the very same people!--I'd be pretty damn pissed. I mean, if you're gonna act like that, why am I bothering to shoot myself? You're a bloody idjit, you're gonna die anyway, and I could've lived to a ripe old age, inherited the inn, and married some sexually inexhaustible plowboy from down the road.

My mother had this poem memorized and would recite it occasionally, along with about half of "Xanadu."

My father had one epic poem memorized, which was "The Iceworm Cocktail" and that probably tells you everything about my parents that you really need to know.

http://ak.water.usgs.gov/glaciology/ballad_of_the_ice-worm_cocktail.htm

breeden
ursulav

(no subject)

“The Highwayman” irritates me.

I’m listening to Loreena McKennit, and she does a lovely version of it. It’s lovely. I’ll admit that. I like listening to it.

The lyrics, however, by Alfred Noyes way back when, irritate the hell out of me.

http://www.cs.pdx.edu/~trent/ochs/lyrics/highwayman.html

I mean, if I spent five or six hours tied to a bed with a gun, and finally, at the critical moment, shot myself in the chest in order to warn the love of my life off–and then a few hours later he comes tearing back like a moron and gets shot by the very same people!–I’d be pretty damn pissed. I mean, if you’re gonna act like that, why am I bothering to shoot myself? You’re a bloody idjit, you’re gonna die anyway, and I could’ve lived to a ripe old age, inherited the inn, and married some sexually inexhaustible plowboy from down the road.

My mother had this poem memorized and would recite it occasionally, along with about half of “Xanadu.”

My father had one epic poem memorized, which was “The Iceworm Cocktail” and that probably tells you everything about my parents that you really need to know.

http://ak.water.usgs.gov/glaciology/ballad_of_the_ice-worm_cocktail.htm

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.


breeden
ursulav

(no subject)

Well, groovy. I won the Best Anthropomorphic Published Illustration Ursa Major award.

It may not be great fame and fortune, but since my father used to call me "Ursa Minor" when I was a kid, I'm thrilled just for the name alone.

breeden
ursulav

(no subject)

Well, groovy. I won the Best Anthropomorphic Published Illustration Ursa Major award.

It may not be great fame and fortune, but since my father used to call me “Ursa Minor” when I was a kid, I’m thrilled just for the name alone.

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.