I sometimes think that if it weren’t for porn, I wouldn’t remember what a naked woman looks like. I mean, ya know, if I relied on Picasso or DuChamp … imagine what my expectations for the female body would be.
I heard a story in passing, the other day, about people lining up at banks in California for the release of their new state quarter. I’ve been trying all night to decide if that’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard. Checking your change as you empty your pockets? Fine. Even stopping when you travel to pick up something special coin from that state… fine. But to go and line up, waiting for the release of a new coin for your own state, of which only a few million will be imprinted… it just feels wrong. Wait a few weeks and visit a laundromat. You probably won’t have to wait in line at the change machine… and you may even get your clothes washed.
Went to an incredibly depressing comic convention the other day at the Metro Hilton. Maybe 7 or 8 local dealers with just boxes of old books. SPXpo has spoiled me. It’s filled with creators… writers and artists and publishers; not just a dealer with a bunch of crates who could care less what you buy so long as it’s something. That whole thing I mentioned before about Eastern Market applies here… not only do you get a piece of art, but you get to connect for brief time with the person who brought it to life.
People seem to be conspiring to keep me in business. Barely a day goes by lately that I don’t talk to someone about a new project.