This was originally posted December 9th, 2006. Part Two, completely new, will be posted tomorrow.
What the hell?
Fast food in general is a totally awful concept to begin with, but I was astonished to recall by watching these following commercials from the 1970s at how easily persuaded we and the pseudo-public sector are by capitalistic empires such as McDonald’s.
Please watch the following clips before continuing with this blog:

(Sadly this link is dead)

Yes, ladies and gentleman that WAS a young Jodie Foster in the second commercial with the line “No Coke.”
Now, by watching a few commercials like that in the waning days of the year 2006 my reactions are as follows:
Number One: Roll over and laugh my guts out
Number Two: Pee myself, because I’m still laughing that hard.
Number Three: Become highly skeptical about what I had just viewed, because the laughing fit is starting to subside.
Number Four: Cynically blog about it.
Back in my formative years, following a barrage of colorful and happy commercials such as those I would have probably wanted to go to McDonaldLand so I could enjoy a Triple Thick Milkshake or a hamburger that is harvested off of some strange bush.
Now folks, bear with me here, this is where the cynicism begins.
Upon watching these commercials I recalled that my publicly funded elementary school had invited Ronald McDonald and a few of his friends to our gymnasium to stage a peculiar public service announcement about the importance of a balanced diet and the necessity of the four basic food groups. At the time I was in either kindergarten or first grade, can you imagine what this would be like for a five or six year old kid? I had no idea at the time that I was being blindsided by the horrible one-two punch of hypocrisy. I had no fucking clue what was coming out of Ronald’s mouth, nor did I care. I was just an ignorant kid that now had a hankering for some goddamned french fries and you can probably guess that my mom was going to take me to McDonald’s that day to satisfy my itch, because I had a fucking living, breathing commercial come to a safe place, my publicly funded elementary school, and confuse the hell out of me about proper nutrition.
Another thought that crossed my mind was that my dentist, not publicly funded, but still an authority figure who children should have a trusting relationship with, had always handed out coupons for free McDonald’s cheeseburgers after I had my teeth cleaned when I was younger. What the fuck? What kind of scam is this? That fucking dentist knew that I would beg my mom for a triple thick milkshake or that Coca-Cola fix that all the kids, including a young Jodie Foster had wanted! Fuck him! Next thing you know, in a few months I arrive at Cavity City!
What a scam!
Folks, that is where the cynicsm ended and here on out, I introduce to you the awful fifth reaction that I seemed to have left out before:
RAGE!
No wonder we have an obesity epidemic in this country! We, as a nation, were tricked into believing proper eating habits included a fucking four piece Chicken McNugget, small french fry, orange drink, and the newest transforming food toy that was made by malnurioushed child laborers in a foriegn country!
Fuck you Independent Minnesota School District Number Sixteen circa 1984-1985.
Fuck you dentist, whose name escapes me, but I still hate you anyway!
Lastly, fuck you McDonalds! You make it look all so great, but we just keep getting fatter and sicker and you reap the profits.
I am not lovin’ it McDonald’s.
Not at all.

Yesterday my wife of nearly four years turned thirty years old. I made certain that her birthday was a memorable one. She began celebrating it earlier this month when my in-laws came into town to visit. She then proceeded to celebrate her birthday by flying down to Phoenix to celebrate with her former graduate school classmates. Finally, the culmination of the celebrating came last night as we hit the town with a handful of friends to say goodbye to her twenties. After a long night of celebration she took a small nap on the couch, so I took the liberty of sketching her.

A couple days ago I posted something that I wrote a while ago about everybody’s favorite crap-food joint. I confess, I occasionally indulge on this sludge. Every time I do so, I feel very guilty and angry afterwards. The anger comes from my time working at McDonalds, which produced many memories and emotions. During high school, in order to have some spending money, a majority of which went to my car - a 1978 Buick Regal with a functional, factory installed 8-track player, I worked at McDs.
As stated before, I have many memories of the place. Many fond, many strange, and many hilarious. One such hilarious incident occurred when I had decided, as a seventeen year old shift manager, that it would be a good idea to attempt to unionize our restaurant. I created pamphlets and left them in the break room. However, I was struck down by the general manager, who scolded me, stating that unionization of a McDonalds was a bad idea for a shift manager to attempt and that it was nearly impossible anyhow. Surprisingly, I was not fired or even written up for the incident - mostly because I defended my case by stating that it was a parody and nobody had took it seriously. It was then that I discovered that many of the elderly ladies who worked the morning shift at the restaurant had found the material I left the previous night and thought that terrorists, or the equivalent of terrorists, since the word had a very different connotation at the time, had placed these brochures for the viewing of the McDs crew. Good times.
This weekend, I recreated the logo that I used for the pamphlet in Adobe Illustrator. Maybe the reference to Soviet Russia was too much? The U.S.S.R. had dissolved at the time, maybe it was still too close to the fall of Eastern European Communism? Who knows?

Yesterday was not a good day. So to celebrate, I posted more trees! Yay!

Borrowing the title from a great limited series comic book, Local, I wanted to do a post about two points of interest. The first point of interest, is being able to somehow mention Local (the comic book), while simultaneously praise the writer Brian Wood and artist Ryan Kelly on their tremendous work. Secondly, I wanted to come up with a clever way of incorporating my own local, which is done at the end of every issue by various people from all over the world, whom send in pictures and descriptions about places that hold resonance to them. Well, I tried to figure out for myself where my single local is and I just couldn’t do it. Seriously, I cannot come up with one single location, because I have so many different locals that I can’t just call upon one in particular.
The character of Local, Megan, began her journey in Portland, Oregon and thus far has travelled throughout the United States and Canada. Although I can assume what the character is feeling based on her actions, like most modern art, I take away from the piece what I get from the piece. What “I get” is that the character, much like myself, is not satisfied with her station in life and is looking to somehow rectify that. She travels from city to city to find something that keeps her grounded. Unlike the character in this series, I have something that keeps me grounded - that being my wife. However, I am not satisfied with my station in life and until I am, I will continue to search for that place. My search has not and will not be limited to what many generalize as a “local scope.” Instead, I have broadened my locality by moving to different places throughout the country - although not nearly as many places as the character of Megan.
In all fairness, whoever reads this, do yourself a favor and begin reading this book. You can still find copies at your local comic book shop, or khepri.com. Once the twelve issues are complete, you can buy the inevitable graphic novel. Wood (The Couriers, Demo, and DMZ) and Kelly (Lucifer, Books of Magic, Giant Robot Warriors) have done some amazing work in the past and will continue to do so in the future, but currently, this collaboration cannot be limited to the word great - it is truly whatever is better than great times infinity.

Since The Price is Right is going off the air for good this year, sadly there is only one remaining game-show that I can actually stand - Jeopardy. All the rest of the game shows out there are crap. This is my homage to the concept prime-time game show. Enjoy.

Yesterday I went to the Cartoonist Conspiracy Jam Session. They happen every first Thursday of the month at Diamond’s Coffee Shoppe in northeast Minneapolis. I had heard of the Conspiracy a while ago, but finally made a contact through Bud Burgy during MicroCon. I finally made it to my first jam, collaborated with about twelve other artists on a sixteen page mini-comic, had a vanilla French soda, practiced my lettering, and sat in awe of the great talent that was assembled in that small room. I also ran into Steven Stwalley, a former classmate from the Art Institutes International and, I believe, one of the founding members of the Conspiracy. Anyhow, I was invited to a party later this month at Diamond’s on June 29th. There will be live art, drinks, and food. I was told to invite anyone interested, so if you read this, you are invited! I’m definitely going to be there, unless I am completely bed-ridden. Check out the website at cartoonistconspiracy.com. I’ll have more details on the party later on as well as some of the panels I drew for the mini-comic when I get access to them.

I decided that character profiles might be a good thing to do, since I had questions about Mr. Head, ya know the giant penis character in a few of my strips. Anyway, this character profile highlights Dunk. Shown here in linework only, which makes him seem somewhat naked, Dunk, is an alter-ego of sorts for myself. Growing up in the northern suburbs of the Twin Cities I had a small, close-knit group of friends. I was dubbed with the nickname Dunk, because I flat out sucked at basketball. In fact, I still do to this day. For example, this weekend I played some hoops with a friend of mine and he is still giving me pointers on my jump-shot and I’m twenty-eight years old. Anyway, Dunk is just a guy trying to be a guy. Dunk is a laid back, scruffy as hell sasquatch with some strong political beliefs and an absolute undying passion for hockey, basketball, and baseball. So, there you go.

I did mention that I love drawing trees right? Well, here is an attempt at using brush and ink instead of pen and ink, or a marker.
Not as bad as I thought it would turn out.

I can be an impatient person at times, which is not the best, especially for someone with a nervous disorder.
I am trying, desparately, to figure out exactly how to reach my goal of becoming a creator of comics and art faster than I currently am. I would like to be at my goal today rather than later, but then again, I only started showing my work on this blog in May. I look at many of the creators that I respect and they have massive volumes of work when compared to the few sketches I post here and the four mini-comics posted on this site.
I don’t mean to be emotional, I’m merely impatient and for my own benefit I need to think this over, however dramatic it may seem to be. My impatience, as I understand it, could potentially lead me into two different directions. The first is giving up. However, I don’t intend to do that. I have a need to succeed. I have a drive to reach a certain plateau. I cannot, will not, be satisfied with a few mini-comics on a blog and calling it a day. This leads me to the second direction I can take, which is continuing on the path that I have paved.
Like the tortoise and the hare, slow and steady will win the race. However, in this example, slow and steady will build a volume of work and contacts within the industry, which will lead to my goal.