22 January 2011

Like Flies

There is an unspoken ediquette that no one is to speak ill of the dead...but...Craig just might be one of the most miserable bastards I have ever known.
But then, I have never been one to discard broken people.  Life is hard.  For everyone.  And despite his faults, his enduring bitterness, his constant dissatisfaction with his personal choices and/or his destiny, I still considered him a friend.  And I am sad to hear that he lost his battle with brain cancer...and regret that our last conversation was an arguement over whether it could have been cured with antibiotics.

So today, Kevin and I raise a toast to him and randomly draw on the best of times, such as they were...

On the way to Baja, the antenna of his Bronco miraculously gutted a pigeon, careening it into a bloody spiral that streamed across the windshield of our truck and splattered the front of our 5th wheel trailer.  I appreciate, that to most normal people, that might seem a wretched event, but to my own warped mind, it was an amazing confluence of physiscs and biology.  Be grateful I do not have pictures.

Later that night, Kevin chased Craig down the beach with a splitting maul...oh what laughs we had!  Especially when He and Kevin and Robert narrowly escaped self combustion by diving behind a stray sofa lounge after lighting off bottle rockets capable of dismantling small midle-eastern villages.

In the interest of decorum, and because I do not have photgraphic evidence, I should probably not describe the image of his freshly shaven member smashed upon the rear window of our truck as we drove from San Felipe to Puertocitos...but it is a captured moment that, to this day, makes me split my sides laughing, and I wouldn't hesitate to rush into a burning building to retrieve that picture! (though it is eternally etched upon my retinas)

Curiously, Craig planted the first seed that grew into our current adventures.  Late nights spent drinking cases (and cases) of Bud Light in our garage, Craig described to Kevin the wonders of Australia.  Like a weed, those visions took root and refused to wilt, and here we are...

So I choose to treasure the meories:

And this one:

And to treasure the people he left behind, who I still love very much:

But mostly, I will think of him like this:

RIP Craig.  I hope you find the joy in the next world you never quite found in this one.

03 January 2011

The Commission

My sister is an artist who works in yarn.  In a moment of alcohol fueled inspiration, I asked her to knit me an octopus hat.  She asked me to send some pictures for modeling purposes.  Today, I had a great time scouring the web for octopus images.  Here are my results:

When I put it on, I want it to make me feel like this:

Or possibly like this, except I don't want it to be picking my nose:

Or possibly like this (only without the bong):

I am rather fond of the sailor hat:

This is a little too aggressive:

If it looked like this, I might run into problems from seagulls flying overhead:

As far as overall shape, this is getting closer and I like the tentacles, although this picture causes me great consternation:

It should definitely have a big floppy back part, like a rastafarian cap:

How odd, this octopus looks like SHE is wearing a rastafarian hat:

This is a little too dainty and sits too high on her forehead - or maybe she just has a gigantic forehead.  The tentacles should be a little twistier, almost like spirals:

If you opt for a whimsical look, I love the expression on this guy's face:

If you lean towards something less cartoonish. I like colors suggestive of this handsome bloke:


I hope that helps to illustrate my drunken vision. 

And not to confuse you - I really don't want it to look anything, and I mean ANYTHING even remotely suggestive of this, but I just couldn't resist including a picture of Octopus Man: