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Inoshishi is Japanese for boar. Like TakoButa-san, this picture was inspired by a competition, albeit with somewhat more stringent rules. For one thing, the subject was a boar - kind of a pig with anger-management problems. The image had to be one-color and fit inside a 15cm circle. I had been wanting to do a single color image for a while (and I plan on doing more in the near future), so I turned this into an experiment with positive and negative space. I also wanted to play around a bit with the decorative elements, the spirals and swirls shoved up against some perpendicular and parallel lines.

All in all, I like the image. It provides an interesting challenge for the viewer. Maybe more interesting to me than the piece itself is how the elements I was playing with here have found their way into my subsequent work. And who knows, this might make a cool t-shirt someday.

I love Japanese food. Pretty much all Japanese food. Okonomiyaki, yakitori, kushiage, sushi, sashimi, soba, udon, takoyaki (which, by the by, suffers from what may be the worst case of mis-translation in history, burdened with the unfortunate moniker “octopus balls”. They aren’t. I’m almost positive). Raw or cooked, grilled, breaded or fried, served in a broth or on a stick; no other cuisine can hope to match the sheer variety of subtle shades of flavor. There’s even a sake served with a grilled fish fin in it-and lit afire before drinking (note: please do not drink flame). Doesn’t sound all that special? It’s brain melting.

But there are some foods I just can’t get behind. Most of my friends think I’m talking about natto- I’m not. Nothing lurking in a damp, dark hole for a year or more still gets to call itself food. Not in my world, not while I’m still in charge.

Spam sushi. I’m pretty open-minded. I’ve gulped down some pretty questionable plants and critters in my time. Gone back for seconds too. But…spam. sushi. sushi with spam. It’s bizarre. It’s inconceivable. It’s available in Shinjuku at Tokyo Punch Kitchen. Advertising itself as a 「スパムむすびの店」- Tokyo Punch Kitchen is an entire shop dedicated to the idea that traditional sushi was neat, but sadly behind the times and missing that special something that only spam can provide. What blew my mind hardest was the menu. By which I mean the fact that there is a menu.

I almost regret not going in. True confession: I’ve never even tried spam. I know that it has a long and storied history in world culture. For now though, I think I’ll have my food on sticks.

Introducing “Momotaro”, 6 brand-new button-badges available through prickie. When I was a kid, maybe in those preteen years - just before you learn that some people think cool rocks and giant robots aren’t necessarily the most important things in life - I collected stuff. Keyrings, seashells, giant-robot models with tiny parts, coins, stamps, unidentifiable doodads and, of course, button-badges. They’re still sitting quietly in a plastic baggie tucked into the top lefthand drawer of my childhood dresser, waiting to confer tetanus on some poor groper.

Around the end of last year, I first heard of Prickie; probably through illustration mundo. Prickie makes buttons. Or badges, Or pins or button-badges or whatever they call these things in your part of the world. They have alot of cool buttons. My first batch consisted of Raven, OmniScience, and two variations on doombot bran. I thought they were pretty cool. Apparently a few other people did too. Thanks.

Momotaro is a Japanese otogibanashi (fable) about a boy born from a peach who befriends a dog, monkey, and pheasant on his way to beat the tar out of some Oni. Oni are, depending on the story, ogres, demons, or any of a wide variety of other unwholesome nastiness. The come in a few different colors, but I liked the classic red.

If there’s a piece of my artwork that you would like to wear on a pin, let me know. I’ll see what I can do.

‘Til then, a little monkey ought to hold you over.

Behold Fridgehemoth, shaker of worlds, freezer of cubes, preserver of all things dairy. Marvel that my wife and I managed to squeeze a life-sized refridgerator into our home. This was not done without sacrifice. Fridgehemoth, as I have dubbed him, easily takes up a full sixth, maybe even a fifth of the kitchen. We shimmy around his grand bulk.

He dwarfs our previous fridge…but that’s not too hard. Remember those dorm fridges we all rented back in college? The ones that were exactly the right size for a 5-pack and one leftover of choice purloined from the dining hall? Multiply that sad excuse for a cooler x1.5 and paint it blue. You now have an exact replica of the humming box that sat in the corner of our kitchen for 3 months, right down to the flimsy plastic flap that served as a freezer. I never could suss out the physics of it all, but while it never once kept anything inside it frozen, it did manage to ice over the veggies crammed onto the shelf below.

Huge thanks go to our good friend Mulele and his wife Takako who are moving to LA. It’s a bummer to see them go, but Fridgehemoth, as well as our new monster TV (not yet bequeathed a name), rice cooker, shelving units, microwave, dvd player and countless other household goods and items have chosen to stay behind as reminders for eternity (or until the warranties run out). In addition to being a pal and world traveler, Mulele is also a helluva talented illustrator and scribbler of comics. Be forewarned: they’re not for the faint of heart.

With the plumber coming by today to fix the eternal fountain that was our toilet (after 3 weeks of being mesmerized by the ever-changing patterns of melodic splash), it feels as if we live in a whole new apartment. Dare I say it: an abode for adults. Now there’s a frightening thought. If I turn the music up and throw some more clothes over the back of the chair, it should go away.