True Story

Cooking has slowed down quite a bit, and I have no idea where I'm eating dinners, but apparently it's not at home. Opened up the fridge today and got a big whiff of evil. For some reason I have two pints of whole milk, both of which have gotten tremendously ripe, and now the odor of milky doom has permeated my apartment. This teaches me a lesson about something, but I sure as hell haven't learned it.

The spirit had a point, but Hal couldn't bring himself to throw out his collection of vintage milk cartons (each purchased on a special day: his twenty-first birthday, the second woodstock, the lunar landing, the conclusion of Who Shot JR, etc).

And come on ladies, I know no one reads this blog, but if my lazy ass can spend a few minutes sketching pointless crap then surely your prolific energies can put forth some tasty treats!

Jeepers!

Saw Food Inc. with joe, which basically reiterated the message of The Omnivore's Dilemma and reminded me why I spend way too much money on food: because food inherently comes from disgusting places, and at least this way it's somewhat less vile.

And oh hey! I've got a sketch and a poem for you today! (That's supposed to be good news...)

I walk the street at night
savoring the knowledge that
i will look upon these days
with the longing of old age.

I must take all I can.

The trees, vibrant in the light of day,
are held still and silent
in the amber light of lamps,
elms and sycamore casting deep pools
of shade on the walk below.

In the distance the rise and fall
of rushing traffic
as if a midnight ocean lapped
at hidden shores.

I close my eyes and take in deep
the night pollen and evening bloom
of the cool, slow breezes
that wander here and there
but never quite stir
the branches above.

And now, as a reward for reading my crap, something stupid! Huzzah!

Although they only solved one case during their entire career, Blossom and G.T. succeeded in imprisoning thirty-seven falsely accused men on ill-gotten, extremely shaky evidence.

23-Squidoo

Trophy Cupcakes. They were awesome.

The only thing evil cephalopods want are ice cream cones.

I really don't know why it's 23-squidoo, except that twenty-three seems like the only number that really goes with the word "squidoo". Four-squidoo? Five-squidoo? HOW DARE YOU SUGGEST SUCH NUMBERS!

Well, five-squidoo isn't that bad, actually...

Bone & Marrow

Big project at work is finished. Less stressed? No. New big project now beginning.

Finished District and Circle. Poetry is kind of like wine, which in turn is like every other easily elitist affection: you can dismiss it as above you, inane, or requiring great amounts of effort on your part. But when you stumble upon the one book or wine that you like, you immediately acquire the ability to appreciate the broader category of experiences it belongs to, and when someone tells you what you should appreciate, very often a bad experience will foul the entire thing (high school english classes). I never got poetry, but I get Seamus Heaney. His poems tap into a feeling of nostalgia for things that you've never experienced and his words rush through your mind in an almost song-like cadence. He's about quiet moments and appreciation of the present, childhood memories and the breath of the seasons.

Next on the list: Spiderman Noir.

[Just wanted to remind you that this blog isn't about me making sense nor me not making an ass of myself. It's to get all this crap out of my head, so I apologize if the last paragraph was too self-indulgent. But this entire blog is self-indulgent, so I guess we're even.]

Sketch!

I don't know, something about outward refinement and inward savagery? No, probably not. Meh.

Quick!

Not much time today, influx of books (in the process of reading 4 simultaneously), so here's today's sketch (with a poem too!):

All the spaces they push you in, full of piss and full of sin. Ain't no love like a bottle of gin; you can't lose but you can't win.

I don't know why i've been drawing so many old guys...the Walter project with fazulak has tainted my mind with wrinkles. I think I just love the idea of aged things/people, the familiarity and personality gained with each blemish and feature.

Or maybe my wrist keeps slipping and causing crow's feet.

PyraCats!

Long day at work, but as I hopped off the bus I thought, "Hey guy, why not order up some indian and get a new book?" My retort was, "Hey why not? High-five!" At which point I made an odd clapping gesture and made things weird for everyone around me.

Regardless I phoned in a curry pick up order and checked out the local bookstore. Evaluation: awesome. It's a small place, but they've gone through all the trouble of making sure each and every book is worth it, as all my favorites were right there and others, wishlisted cravings from Amazon, winked at me, "Do it do it do it!". And of all the sweet crap they had, I ended up walking home with Seamus Heaney's District and Circle, a book of poems. Why the hell did I pick up a book of poems? As a self-proclaimed philistine, I hate poetry. And yet maybe my brain stuffs are evolving, because if I take the time to process what is actually on the page, it's awesome.

Anywho, Kim launched her blog and made an outright, completely honest attack on my person. But instead of pointing out that those kids ought to thank me for teaching them in the school of hard knocks, I drew a pirate with a box companion and an odd obsession with cats. I don't know why...

Although Carlson was not created with the ability to speak, his advanced CardSpeak technology allows him to say three phrases: "Avast", "Yargh", and "What is its Zagat review?"

Helmsman Tashima

I wasn't happy with my Kevin Smith sketch, so I tried again and this time I looked in a mirror.

In the future, man will journey through space. Because I am asian, I will be the next Sulu. However, because I'm no George Takei (despite my attempts), I will be the crotchety old man that hates being in space. My catchphrase: Because we're in space, dammit! Weird crap will keep happening to our ship but I just won't give a damn, because being in space is hard enough as it is. And no one will care that I don't do my job well because I'm old and that's hard enough as it is. Oh the future! I can't wait!

In the future I will be angry. In space.

Day 2

Now that I have a blog I have a place to put all my inane stories. This one occurred this last Saturday, a fateful conjunction of my uncle's birthday party and the Fremont Summer Solstice [NSFW, seriously!], a little shindig in my part of the city where people bike around covered only in body paint and a weird little parade treads whimsically down the street. I happened to catch a glimpse of man-zebras on parade while slurping a bowl of pho, their erratic drumming followed by a quaint horn trio on a white pavilion. All this was great – who doesn't like a parade and naked people? I was also working on some awesome Mini Chocolate Tarts, a new recipe and practice for my horrible pie crust technique:

fig. 1 Mini Chocolate Tarts

The crusts were a tad undercooked and chewy, but my piping skills are awesome and the presentation was not that bad. So I was super eager to drive down to Fall City and have a blast with the family. And then i noticed my car was gone. And then I noticed signs telling me that my car would be towed if it had been there. I paused: yes, it had probably been there and had therefore probably gotten towed.

Wow, this is getting long and wordy. Short ending: I almost couldn't make it to the party but I sucked it up, got on the bus, and slowly made my way to the impound lot to pick up my car. The result was a fun night and some tasty food, and in the end, isn't that all that matters? No, because a damned hippie parade cost me $115 and a ride on the 358 bus.

100 Years of Paul

I would normally take this opportunity to ramble on and on about why I'm starting a blog, what I intend to accomplish with a blog, and throw in a few humorous anecdotes about how I came up with the name "Paul Eats Cake" (hint: i pulled it out of my ass!), but instead let's just say I was talking to a good friend and she mentioned she was starting a blog to force herself to sketch. I hijacked the idea and made it a competition, much in the same way I approach eating with a group of people. But instead of sandwiches, it's a blog, which isn't as delicious but, well, damnit, now all this talk about sandwiches is making me hungry. So here's my first post!

The Drawn.ca blog posted about a little competition where you draw what you would look like at 100. Hey, why not! Well, laziness for one, but I got over that because I'm starting a blog, dammit!

Blammo! Apparently as I age I look more and more like Kevin Smith (just imagine old me with facial hair that i can't grow). Who knew?

[PS: I would code my own site and make it all pretty, but I just wanted to get this out the door. Maybe later I'll redo this so I don't cringe looking at this page, but that's really assuming a lot about my work ethic to caring about things ratio.]