Rest in peace, me.
I apologize for my absence last week. I pissed off to Portland without so much as a goodbye, and then had to write what minimal content I did while in the grips of a white hot fried food and Rainier fueled catastrophe.
So, for those not playing along, I’ll back up a tick.
Artist to the stars, and the man with the more perfect hairline between the two of us, Chris McNally and I have for the last several years (or century, collectively if you want an exploded view) have labored over our craft of drawing. More specifically however, on a book we just released called ‘Nowhere Fast‘;
Essentially it’s a printed sketchbook.
All the little notes, smudges, and stream of conscious visual fodder is left intact for maximum voyeuristic impact.
So Two weeks ago we had the first of three signings at Mission Workshop’s San Francisco store;
Then, after monkeying around in the Bay Area for a couple of days I came back to HQ, before flipping it to a Seattle dates at Peloton, and a Portland date at Golden Pliers.
If I’m honest, the wheels on the first leg of the journey fell off as soon as I came into Sally’s orbit.
The morning of the first date, Sally, Drew and I met at the Hudson for breakfast where I enjoyed one of their delicious bloody mary and beer back combos. After a stout brisket omelet, the server came by and asked if we needed anything else, and Sally, Drew and I all ordered beers, but when she returned, she brought sally a beer, and Drew and me both bloody marys.
Sometimes the universe wants what the universe wants.
The rest of the day was spent running errands and being goofs.
Eventually we ended up at the spot, and did what we were supposed to do, but in the interim, what little I documented looked like;
The next thing I knew, Chris and I were white-knuckling it to PDX, where we arrived to the next stop exactly one minute late, and the chaos started all over again that day, and for the next several;
Finally, Hurl and Cheever tried talking me into going to a couple of shows my last night in town, but I knew the upcoming g drive home, coupled with a boatload of work, followed but two consecutive closing shifts at the bar was gonna leave me taxed, and as it turns out, I was right.
So let that be a lesson to you young children and older friends alike. When you’re driving 100 miles an hour for two weeks straight, mind the brake pedal a little bit before you get to the garage.
Speaking of which, I guess own a gigantic Olympia beer can costume now;
I can finally live the dream I first illustrated for that Pabst campaign back in 2015;
Anyway, this is most of the news that’s fit to print. As I said perviously I have signed and numbered copies of Chris’ and my book for sale here.
Unless we get the book picked up by Chronicle, or Rizzoli or some shit, when these are done, they’ll be done.
Now, with all of this in the rearview mirror as I do on a weekly basis, I would like to direct your attention to the very latest episode of Revolting;
In the time it took me to begin writing this post I’ve succumbed to the return of the lingering cold I’ve been battling since Amanda K Bryan left town.
I think laying blame on burning the candle on both ends is appropriate. Or hanging out with smokers. Or being within 120 feet of Cheever. Perhaps all three things, but the one thing that’s for sure at least until next week is that is here lies me.
So many good, friendly faces in this here post. Sorry I missed all of these activities. Godspeed to that Olympia costume!
I came back here wanting to shit on you for your old take on Budweiser’s patriotic cans vs today’s equally pandering trans cans, and realized that I don’t really give a shit about Budweiser.
I can’t remember when that was, or even that it was worth discussion beyond a simple observation, but good on you for your steel trap mind, and nor do I.