Sunday, April 13, 2008

Kili-Kili Power 2008

More on hiking. I've been considering taking up this year's Trail Challenge hosted by the East Bay Parks. I'm usually in my best overall shape at this time of year, down 10-15 pounds from the winter and ready to start putting in serious miles on the bike or running shoes. But not this year.

While on vacation the last week, it never really struck me to go on an epic bike ride or run. Not like my current conditioning would allow it. But still.

So hiking seems to be the pace lately. These are from Mt. Wanda in Martinez. (The other day's were from the northeast side of Mt. Diablo.)

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Day Six

Rest day from hunching over the drafting table. So, we make fresh beats instead. This one is quick and simple - part of a larger project I'm working on. Working title is, of course, "Day Six". Funny thing is, the riff I had in mind at the start sounded no where near what this wound up being. Interesting how the process uncovers other ideas. Anyhow, I'll figure out how to embed an mp3 player eventually, but you can listen to the track here.

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

Day Five

Also in progress:

Also works as a two-panel with the Day Four painting, but makes the perspective a little funny.

Sunday, April 6, 2008

Day Two

"Happy birthday," my mom surprises me.

"Happy birthday to you, too!" Our birthdays are two weeks apart. Her's is today. "What are you doing today?"

"We're having a party."

"Are you having cake?"

"Diere," she says, slipping into Waray for "no." She does this sometimes. Maybe it's her age. Maybe it's the stroke. Maybe she's out of practice since English is rarely used in the house nowadays. "I'm taking a bath now."

"Okay." It's easy to imagine her dropping the phone into the tub. She lost facility with her dominant hand after the stroke. I'm sure her nurse would rather have this conversation take place later.

"I love you," my mom tells me.

"I love you, too."

As we say this, I'm three years old again, squeezing myself into a ball between her right arm and hip, my head on her lap. We're sitting at church and I'm holding her left hand to my face, examining her wedding ring with my left eye, fixated on the the kaleidoscope, the colors under stained glass windows.

Saturday, April 5, 2008

Day One

Between afternoon naps and learning how to make text animations in Adobe Flash, I finished Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Twisted, yes, but beautifully crafted. Upon finishing, I immediately returned to the beginning and started a second reading.

I had originally set out to read his One Hundred Years of Solitude, as it's been on my reading list since forever. Although, while at the bookstore I started thinking, if Memories is to Nabokov's Lolita, then maybe One Hundred is to Ada, or Ador, psyching myself out.

Friday, April 4, 2008

The Pre-Party

The night before, we start with a little Gabriel Garcia Marquez:

I have never done anything except write, but I don't possess the vocation or talents of a narrator, have no knowledge at all of the laws of dramatic composition, and if I have embarked upon this enterprise it is because I trust in the light shed by how much I have read in my life. In plain language I am the end of a line, without merit or brilliance, who would have nothing to leave his descendants if not for the events I am prepared to recount, to the best of my ability, in these memories of my great love.