I am so intrigued!

Anyway, just wanted to let you all know.
 

You are the brute squad.
~Quixotic~

Saturday is the big day!

Graduation.

I wonder if the ceremony will make the actuality of my situation more tangible; for now it escapes my grasp like so much sand. I simply don't comprehend that I'm not a "student" anymore. Maybe I can get all pretentious-like and call myself a "Student of Life". Pretentiousness aside, it's fun to think I'll be able to continue learning without a professor to act as a knowledge-dispenser and a GPA to act as an anti-failure motivator.

There's always books!

Pitching a story for Northern Woodlands on what insects do in winter is going well so far. Just sent a revised, fleshed-out pitch to the editor. We'll see how he likes it. If they run it, it'll be another of the "knots" -- brief, around 700-word stories. I'm trying to brainstorm ideas for the handful of short story spaces still available in the upcoming autumn issue, and the editor has promised to try to come up with some himself.

Every positive email correspondence with Northern Woodlands bolsters my spirits.

Alas, I need to find some sort of real job soon. Can anybody list nature- or science-minded organizations around Lowell off the top of their head? Maybe they can make use of somebody with a B.A. in Zoology and a flair for communications.

And before us grew the angry jaws of a giant whale.
~Quixotic~

I'm done.

I've been done, actually. Since Tuesday. Around 1:00 p.m. on Tuesday, I dropped off a portfolio for my Journalism Internship class, and that was it. I chatted with my professor about my plans for the future, she gave me some contacts in Vermont area for science-related writing, and I shook her hand. So I finished my undergraduate career.

Not quite the fanfare I was expecting,  but that's what graduation is for, I suppose.

Yet there's an entire week between now and then, and it's going to be a surreal experience. Campus will be deserted after tomorrow, and a large proportion of my friends will have gone home. Thankfully, Jae's going to live in my room instead of moving back home.

Without courses, or even the promise of courses, I've been struggling with a lack of purpose. Instead of wasting this week, though, I should begin trying to find work as a writer ... and just work in general. In this vein, I've come here to beg your assistance. So far I've brainstormed two ideas, and sent out corresponding letters to my professors asking them for some background information. (God I'm going to miss easy access to scientists.)

My two ideas are:

1. A story discussing how various insects (and other arthropods) survive winter. I know some freeze solid, but I'm sure there are a variety of ways in which they hunker down. I assume most people know insects "go away" in winter, but most people probably don't know "where" they go or why.

2. A story about how it is that mockingbirds and other mimics develop their song repertoires, with two main angles. One: are there brains any different than other birds with more conventional song-learning? Two: does the rate at which they learn vary with age (I suspect they'd pick up new sounds faster when younger, with a gradual decrease over time, but this is conjecture.)

Now, I'm here to ask you guys for your ideas. What are some questions you've all had with regards to the natural world? Or science in general. Seriously. Anything. What are some of the idle wonderings you've had without ever bothering to look up the answers? Those will probably make great ideas for stories.

Your help will be both much appreciated, and quite possibly instrumental to my ability to feed myself in the coming months of my life a fresh-faced college graduate.

This song is called "Last Song Kills Audience", and it'll be our last song tonight ...
~Quixotic~

The biggest caveat to that statement is a presentation I need to give tomorrow morning in Developmental Neurobiology. I don't know if you've ever taken this class at UVM, but unless you enjoy being metaphorically punched in the brain by a man spouting heavily-accented jargon into your face for over an hour twice a week ... don't.

And now, a review!

Scott Pilgrim's Precious Little Life (vol. 1)
by Brian Lee O'Malley

My new favorite comic. Absolutely eclectic. The art is an odd blend of intentionally-simplified, highly-stylized, America- bred manga, which I find more intriguing by the moment. The writing is hilariously oddball -- the whole thing is pastiche of twenty-something life, video games, indie music, ridiculous fights, and oddball romance. Scott Pilgrim must defeat the seven evil ex-boyfriends of one Ramona V. Flowers, a rollerblading delivery girl for Amazon's Canadian website. When Scott knocked the first evil ex-boyfriend into the air and his friend yelled "He's going for the air juggle," and they proceeded to count off the number of hits a la Street Fighter ... I was hooked.

I feel that this comic was written just for me, by some strange Canadian man who I feel must in some way be connected to fellow strange Canadian, Ryan North.
 
If you enjoy talking to me, I doubt you could hate this comic.

Short post today. Just trying to loosen up my blogging muscles.

WE ARE SEX BOB-OMB!
~Quixotic~

timid__timbuktu

I'm actually using this post as an oh-so-clever excuse to avoid doing real work at my work-study position. I'm actually expected to start training my replacement later this afternoon -- what a surreal experience. I've been working here for around three years now. My boss gives me books on birdwatching and helps edit my stories on nature writing. For all my joking about how meaningless and dull this job is, I've really enjoyed it.

Giving up my cushy tech job is not an appealing concept. Saying goodbye to my bird-loving boss and other friends in the Learning Cooperative is less appealing.

Graduation looms. And loom it does, like a great gray cloud of uncertainty, with strong winds of imbalance, and a stiff rain of real-world concerns. Will I find a job? Will I starve? Will I live at home forever? Can I find a way to live with my girlfriend in Burlington? Do I want to go to graduate school? If so, will I pursue science or writing? Both? Is that even possible? What's the quickest and least-deadly way to sell a kidney?

These questions haunt my every waking moment.

When I sleep, however ... that's when shit goes crazy!

I have been having singularly strange dreams lately. Poor Jae has to deal with me waking up, panting in fear, telling her that Allan Strong (my ornithology and conservation biology professor) just drowned while we were exploring some cave together. Even better, there were two strange girls with us, and Prof. Strong drowned in water up to his neck which, when I jumped into, was only 2 inches deep. Allan Strong is at least a foot taller than me.

Seriously, dreams, what the hell?

Oh, and sometimes I just have really mundane but absolutely horrifying nightmares about my parents being really upset with me for not having a "real" job yet, and yelling at me in the car.

You don't need to be Freud to interpret that one.

To wrap up today's entry, I think I'll post the finalized, edited, completely official copy of my story for Northern Woodlands. This should be, word-for-word, what you'll find in their next issue. I hope you enjoy reading it, and I recommend you all purchase a copy of the magazine to experience it in the proper, glossy-papered context. 

Do not presume to lecture me!
~Quixotic~

Hole E. Crap! (Terrible name to have.)

Here's the draft of my freelance story on animal life-spans for Northern Woodlands magazine. Please check it out and let me know what you think!

Hole E. Crap, I might actually get published!

(!!!)

***

Do Not Go Quietly:
Life-spans in Wildlife
by: Kenrick Vezina

          Death is an omnipresent fact of existence as we know it.

          It’s common sense (and bleak to boot), but bear with me.

           Said death will occur no matter how perfect a given organism’s circumstances. Even a person being fed a perfectly balanced diet devoid of soda and cheeseburgers, kept on a rigorous exercise regiment, and with flawless genetic makeup would shuffle off eventually around their hundredth year.

          Now that we’re on the same page: why does this happen?

          Ageing.

          Known in biologist-speak as “senescence”, it’s the systemic degradation of an organism’s bodily functions until, at long last, something vital (a liver, a lung) gives, and the whole system goes toes-up.

          But this isn’t news to you. Ageing is as fundamental to our understanding of the world as the death it inevitably leads to.

          At the risk of sounding like a precocious two-year old: why does it happen?

          Basic evolutionary theory dictates that natural selection favor individual fitness (read: reproductive success). As a result, evolution should be driving organisms to have ever-increasing life-spans. The longer you live, the longer you can crank out babies.

          Again, why? Why haven’t any species reached the lofty goal of immortality?

          Some have suggested that natural selection produced intrinsic life-spans to regulate populations. It’s like a safeguard against overpopulation. If all of the individuals in a population drop off by age 5, then there won’t be a slew of crotchety 10 year olds hanging around, competing for resources.

          Excepting that selection cannot act with a dead animal. To be specific, selection ceases to have any effect as soon as a given organism ceases reproduction.

          No babies: no input.

           If a white-tailed deer dies from a lethal allele that kicks in at age 10, then it’s impossible for selection to exert positive pressure on that allele because the animal is dead; it’s out-of-bounds in the evolutionary game.

          Another vital fact: animals in the wild almost never die from old age. If it’s a negligible phenomenon in nature, how could selection act upon it? When was the last time you saw an elderly raccoon hobbling around your garbage can, gumming at your refuse and cursing the young whippersnapper raccoons?

          Fact is, raccoons seldom make it past five years in the wild. Which, in comparison to an ermine (short-tailed weasel), is impressive—they’re lucky to see the first half of their second year.

          If you’re a wild animal, you’re almost always killed by something other than the slow, peaceful death-in-sleep we all hope for. Be it bus or bear, weather or wolf, rabies or red-tailed hawk—something comes along and picks you off (or flattens you to the pavement) before you’ve got the chance to live out your golden years in a cozy den. Odds are, you don’t even get to see the first grey hairs in your pelt before the Grim Reaper swoops in and sweeps you away.

          Nevertheless, all of these animals, despite the infrequency of senescence in the wild, maintain the capacity for it. All of these animals, made safe from buses, bears, et al., will still wither and die. Raccoons subject to the comforts of captivity (all the crawfish you can eat) can survive to the ripe old age of 17 years; more than triple the wild life expectancy.

          The difference is even more pronounced in the common raven. These largest of North American Corvids (the family of crows and jays) have a maximum recorded wild life-span of just over 13 years, yet there are reports of individuals at the Tower of London having persisted in excess of 44 years. There’s even an unsubstantiated report of one individual hanging on to the perch of life for 80 years.

          There are trends in longevity as well. The clearest is this—the larger an organism is, the longer it tends to live. Take this familiar suite of Canid predators, for example: red foxes, coyotes, and gray wolves.

          Red foxes, weighing in around 4.5 kg (males), rarely live past 6 years of age in the wild. Coyotes, coming in at around 13 kg, last a little longer with the average life-span about 7 years. Gray wolves, far heavier at an average of 55 kg, die off within 10 years.

          For comparison, black bears, a whopping 120 kg on average, can live past 21 years of age. Furthermore, look at the ermine: it weighs less than a shoe (approx. 80 g) and has about as long a life-span.

          The most fascinating theory on the mystery of senescence hinges on the very fact that, after most of the individuals in a given population have died off from other sources of mortality, selection no longer has an effect. This means that selection can no longer purge deleterious genetic materials. Populations accumulate harmful materials that don’t kick in until after the average life-span. The longer an animal lives, the more of these genetic defects crop up; slowly but surely the battle against old age is lost.

          Eyesight weakens; tendons slacken; reaction times slow.

          You miss a few more rabbits; it’s harder to make the dash for cover.

          Fur loses its luster, talons their edge, scales their sheen—every organism lurches over the hill of life and begins the ignoble, tumbling descent down the other side.

          But hey, there’s always a hungry bear or a hurtling bus, and it’s liable to get you first.

“Of Beetles and Bears”
by Kenrick Vezina

          It’s all a matter of scale.

          Joshua Brown, 41-year-old science journalist for the University of Vermont’s public relations department, has the difficult task of dancing between microscopic and macroscopic levels of detail. For him, writing a single article can involve taking the reader from miniscule beetles to massive bears and back again.

          When asked to share his most difficult-to-write article, he responds with a sighing laugh, “They’re all hard.” No wonder.

          His career didn’t really take shape until graduate school, where he was studying American nature writers. In the course of his studies, he realized that each and every one of them drew upon the groundwork of scientists. In an effort to get back to the source material, he began to study the history of science itself, exploring the notion of “science as a form of discourse.” At long last, this led him to conservation biology. According to Brown, conservation biology combines a positive social agenda with scientific rigor.

          Brown has been in the writing business for at least 11 years. He started off at Wild Earth, a conservation-themed magazine, where he stayed for five years. Afterward, he freelanced for three years. For the last three years, he has acted as a journalist and PR person for UVM.

          Typically, Brown deals with three broad types of tasks in a given nine-to-five day at UVM: (1) breaking news and press releases; (2) magazine pieces for Vermont Quarterly, UVM’s alumni magazine; and (3) acting as a liaison for the university.

          Faced with omnipresent deadlines and his fair share of late nights racing to meet them, Brown reveals that sometimes he feels like “a permanent student.”

          When asked what the most important skills are for a science journalist, Brown takes a moment to sift through his many thoughts on the subject. His slight delay made it apparent that this is a man who has put a lot of thought into his career; he is not, as it were, phoning it in.

          Specifically for science writing, Brown emphasizes that one must “combine a mastery of material with sympathy for the reader.” When scientists write about science, he observes, they usually do so to “demonstrate their mastery.” They want to prove to other scientists that they have a better grasp of the material (read: jargon). Science journalists, however, should show appropriate empathy with laypeople – they should take these difficult topics and present them in a more readily-digestible form.

          Furthermore, Brown urges that one must “be a zoom lens.” Just as the scientists must synthesize information from the cellular (micro) level and scale it up for theories on a global (macro) level, a good science writer needs to be able to switch between scopes with ease. It’s all about providing context and meaning to what otherwise would be dry scientific fact floating in a context-free vacuum.

          This leads us to one of Brown’s most challenging projects: covering biologist Stephen Trombulak for Middlebury Magazine. Trombulak is a professor of Biology and Environmental Studies at Middlebury College in Vermont.

          He became interested when Trombulak was working with wolves and other large carnivores. These highly visible, well-known, and popular species are known to scientists as “charismatic megafauna”.

Examples of charismatic megafauna abound: the giant panda, universal symbol of cuteness and bamboo-eating machine; the Komodo dragon, repulsive reptilian overlord of remote Indonesian islands; the bald eagle, majestic American mascot and conservation poster-child. These are animals that get noticed.

Brown felt the same fascination with these species as many of us, and was eager to work with Trombulak. Unfortunately, by the time a meeting was arranged in 2005, the biologist’s research had shifted to beetles.

Brown had his doubts about the appeal of beetles: they are quite emphatically not charismatic megafauna. Would they hold his readers’ interest? Would they even hold his interest? This wasn’t what he bargained for.

All the same, Brown shadowed Trombulak. The two spent a few days working in both field and lab, and the result was a paradigm shift in Brown’s priorities.

It’s all a matter of scale.

Beetles were just as interesting, brown realized, as mountain lions (beloved icons of UVM) or grizzly bears (shaggy, salmon-snagging beasts). His experience revealed a deep-seated bias in both public opinion and within the biological community toward research on the “impressive” species.

Whether small, drab, common, repulsive, or wholly unremarkable, no given species is less deserving of study than heavy-hitters like the panda. Flies, sparrows, squirrels, lampreys, and lichen all have something to offer.

Trombulak, in working with both beetles and bears, is dancing across the same lines of scale as Brown. This scale-shifting is mirrored everywhere in science. Ecologists study metapopulations of paramecia to better understand population dynamics in frogs. Geologists look at the history of the planet to predict its future. Physicists manipulate subatomic particles in an attempt to uncover a “unified theory of everything”.

Science journalists like Brown must pull double-duty. They must be able to follow scientists wherever their research takes them: from minute motes of space-dust to the bombastic births of stars, and they must bring their readers along for the ride.

As we all know, "Take on Me" is one of the greatest thing to come out of that gigantic cavern in which they recorded all 80's music (hence the echo-laden vocals). I then present to you, via Queen of the Internetstimid__timbuktu , a literal interpretation of the 80's classic.

I really love the dialogue break in the middle.

</div>

So here's us, on the raggedy edge.
~Quixotic~

1. Jae was away in some crappy little place called England which I'm pretty sure isn't a real country.
2. Kenrick and UVM's Excellent Thesis Adventure
3. It's Always Sunny mini-marathon comic-connection.
5. Something I most certainly meant to mention but forgot.
6. The Green Ball of Fun +12.
7. Disinterest in coursework.
8. Uncertainty.
9. Simultaneously skipping most of my glasses but earning $250+ over my work-study limit.
10. Monday-night super-powered shark-jumping.
11. Making Pushing Daisies with Laura a ritual ... and having it canceled on us a few weeks later.
12. Serious consideration of writing popular science as a possible career.
13. Man-dates to Wendy's.
14. Kate's ineffable ineffability. 

These woods are old; very old. Full of memory ... and anger.
~Quixotic~
 

Everybody remembers my awesome abysmal mediocre performances in Lowell High's drama club.

Well, here, from auteur and friend Drew, is a link to my breakthrough role.

Alright, I'm lying. My part in the film is entirely inconsequential. Still, it's a good excuse to show off what Drew's working on. Also, wait for the Director's Cut where I escape into a junkyard and use my fantastical engineering skills to throw together a hulking steampunk robot to fight Dracula and The Skeleton.

Furthermore, I feel the need to recount a small story from the filming process:

We all snuck into UVM's library during finals week to film. The place was crawling with people the way an anthill crawls with ants (perhaps termite mounds would be a better analogy). We spent a solid ten minutes just looking for a place that seemed quiet enough to shoot a few scenes. We found a gigantic, seemingly abandoned staircase -- seemingly is the opperative word.

Well, our murderers (Zach and Ben) don their masks and head into the stairwell to wait for me. We're trying to get a shot of me stumbling upon them as I walk out of the library. Drew and I leave them in the stairwell and retreat around the corner to get ready for the shot. It's dead silent in the library.

A scream!

A shared look of surprise and alarm!

We walk around the corner and sure enough, Zach and Ben look guilty as sin.  "People do walk through here."

Well, at least we made somebody's final exam week a hell of a lot  more interesting.

There's nothing in the rules that says a giraffe can't play football!
~Quixotic~
 

I am, for once, going to attempt to be serious in this journal. I resisted the urge to get political in here for the entire campaign, but the maelstrom of emotions tonight is too strong to resist.

I was watching Stewart/Colbert live election special when they announced Barack the winner. My immediate reaction was disbelief: this is a news-parody, so I shouldn’t take their decision seriously. It quickly became apparent that all of the “real” news sources agreed. Still, I couldn’t react; I couldn’t believe that something wouldn’t go wrong and some esoteric technicality would appear in the eleventh hour to grant McCain victory.

Around 11:20 PM, it became real for me: Barack Obama had won the election. Barrack Obama would be the next President of the United States. Had not simply won; had in fact slaughtered McCain.

My pulse quickened, I felt light-headed and giddy, and that pure idiot grin I only get in the rarest of situations was plastered on my face. I am not exaggerating: this is exactly how I reacted. It was as true and genuine an emotional reaction as I have ever had with regards to politics (that detached mess of silver-tongued snakes that runs our country).

By 11:30 PM, people were crowding the streets of UVM campus. Obama supporters were streaming out of buildings, letting out their joy in that most primal of ways: the fan-scream. A scream usually reserved for the major sporting events or rock concerts.

Suddenly I felt detached. Another voice spoke in my head, shoving down the enthusiasm. The Scientist began to fire hard-nosed bullets of skepticism into the delicate hide of The Romantic. The more riotous the Obama-supporters became, the greater the drive of The Scientist.

The duality of my reaction to this election is staggering. But I feel it’s a necessary, vital reaction. Perhaps it’s out of some misguided desire to “be the voice of reason”, but here I am. Any of you who are even vaguely acquainted with me know I have an ideological streak wider than the Democratic/Republican divide. Needless to say, Obama’s pitch is endlessly appealing to me.

But take a step back. Look at the expectations we have heaped on this man. He is not, in fact, the Second Coming. There is this general feeling that somehow, simply by electing him, we’ve instantaneously obliterated social injustice, repaired foreign relations, and caused a paradigm shift in the way U.S. government works.

We have not, in fact, fixed any of those problems. Not yet. Nor is it in any way guaranteed that we will. I have absolutely no doubt that Obama was the better presidential choice than McCain. I am inexpressibly happy to see my country vote for a man who strayed, even slightly, from the “good ol’ boy” routine of George W. Bush.

There’s so much yet to be seen or done. Maybe I’ve become a cynical bastard, but I can’t set off fireworks simply because he was elected. I just can’t do it. Not in good conscience. It’s jumping the gun and I’m in no mood to be shot.

I don’t think Obama was false; I don’t think he has conned the American youth. I’m not sure the American youth know what they’re in for, though. I wonder how many Obama fanatics there will be several months from now, after he’s forced to deal with the harsh realities of being president. After he makes some moderate decisions that piss of his hope-and-change base.

And he will need to make moderate decisions. He will need to compromise. He will need to work with the system. To make change, he’ll need to work with the rest of the government. It’s just not how the U.S. works. We’ve got checks-and-balances. He can’t do anything by his lonesome (and he shouldn’t, really).

The last thing in my rant is this: “an historic election.” Grammar quibbles aside (that’s for you, Steph), it’s overblown and distracting. It puts an undue emphasis on his race, I think. Hopefully, most of us realize that this office transcends race. It’s so much bigger than that. And here’s the hitch – that all-important hitch – the history books could end up saying some very awful things.

If Obama blows it -- if he slips up in any way – that same passionate America that has propelled into the White House could turn on him like 301,139,947 ravenous wolves. He’s going to be under unimaginable pressure to live up to all kinds of unfair expectations. He may have revitalized interest in politics for millions of Americans, but he could also leave the entire country even more embittered than the universally-reviled Bush. And nobody – nobody – wants that.

So here’s what I want. I want Obama to make some steps (steps – not massive leaps) forward in social reform (gay rights all the way). I want Obama to stabilize the economy. I want Obama to improve foreign relations and begin the process of undoing our xenophobic, isolationist tendencies. He doesn’t need to be a great president; he doesn’t need to blow my mind. If he simply takes a few solid steps forward, then this will be one of the greatest success stories in American history. And quite possibly the beginning of the paradigm shift we all so desperately want.

"No man who ever held the office of president would congratulate a friend on obtaining it."

-- John Adams --

Election day.

Everybody psyched? Great.

I thought now would be as good as ever to show you what would happen ...
 

... if Sarah Palin were to end up as president.


I think my favorite part is her Top Gun poster.

Are we not doing the talent portion?
~Quixotic~
 

Halloween was laid-back this year (unlike all of the other Halloweens I've had at college, which have been very laid-back). Didn't actually end up doing anything that specifically related to Halloween. Ate pizza and played board games with friends. Some might say I'm a party-pooper. I might agree. That's not to say my Halloween was not enjoyable! Nor did it lack great moments in costuming!

The high point of the evening was probably when a chorus line of Men in Tights kicked their way past my window, singing their hearts out. Second place goes to my dear friend Catherine, who had just about the most spot-on Rainbow Bright costume I have ever seen. Can we just take a moment to appreciate how creepy and deformed Rainbow Bright actually looked? (Catherine thankfully wasn't faithful to this aspect of the character.) For that matter, I always thought Strawberry Shortcake looked a little deformed. Funny how they blur the line between "adorable" and "congenital birth defects".

It's almost Monday again. Wish I had a freeze ray so I could -- stop -- the world.

Cheeseburger first.
~Quixotic~

If anybody is concerned that I may be out-of-sorts for not graduating with honors: don't be. I already proved to myself that I can get a 3.90+ GPA two semesters in a row. I don't need further academic self-affirmation in the form of honors, and it won't make a very big difference after I graduate.

Election is coming up. I support Obama, but more than that I hate the McCain/Palin campaign (more like circus). So ends the political section of this entry.

More excited for Quantum of Solace than I am for a new president (that's probably a bad thing).

Thanksgiving is coming up, which means I'll have a chance to reconnect with my friends back home AND eat a lot of delicious food. The very definition of win/win. Oh, and there will be much wearing of silly hats.

Speaking of intimidating animals (that's right, I wasn't -- I'm keeping you on your toes), I've got quite a bit of zoological horror ot share with you all. First off is this article about the largest documented sake. I would just like to point out that this animal was estimated to weigh in at 1.27 metric tons (i.e. slightly-more-badass tons), making it about 2,800 pounds. For reference, anacondas (world's heaviest snake) weigh about as much as four grown-ups. I don't think Jennifer Lopez and Ice Cube could handle it. (Anaconda IV: The Ancient Abomination?)

Also, spiders, in their continuous march up the food chain to hobbits (then humans), have graduated from bird-like insects to honest-to-goodness birds. I mean ... damn. I'm not even angry, I'm just impressed.

I don't watch Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles ... but I love that it supplies ridiculous on-set pictures of Summer Glau covered in blood and smirking like a fool. It's ridiculous. The disconnect between her face and her battle-scarred appearance is almost as great as the disconnect between the 16th and 17th seconds of this video.

Alright you crazy kids, stay out of trouble.
 

Well I'll just leave you two alone, because it looks like your about to DO IT anyway!
~Quixotic~

My Anam Cara,timid__timbuktu, is here for the weekend!

While I am away speaking in a ridiculously fake Russian accent with her, you should all watch these fun videos!

It's not enough to bash in heads -- you've got to bash in minds.
~Quixotic~

Kate -- centaurfirenze  -- lent me a ton of markers and as a result, I've been working very hard to color my artwork. Here are my latest pieces.

 

Quick-fire movie review!

Burn After Reading: Everything happens and nothing happens; the ultimate nothing-is-at-stake comedy. A nice chance to unwind with the Coen brothers after their unrelentingly taught No Country for Old Men. Brad Pitt steals his scenes with his absurd body language and awful hair.

Other news: 

... I meant Ghandi.

~Quixotic~

grumpybear354

And, as I depart, I'm going to shamelessly plug Dinosaur Comics. There, done. Make sure you mouse over the second comic, because that text is what really sells it.