Wednesday, January 28, 2009
No, I am not Joshua Bell. Gawd, why does everyone think I look like him? It's so annoying. Even more annoying is my sister Peggy. She thinks she's so cute and clever by referring to me as second fiddle of the family (hardy har, Pegleg) and saying stuff like "fiddle-dee-dee" when I ask her to please get her goddamn humongo accordion case off the goddamn table, it's blocking the goddamn TV, jeez! She's just sore because mom and dad make her take those dorky accordion lessons and I got to pick a cool instrument. So now she's always dissin' on my strings. Yeah, Pegasuck, like playing polka is all that! Well I'm not embarrassed to look you right in the eye and tell you that violin players are the hippest cats in the whole friggin world and universe. So there, Square Peg!
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Poor Peggy Pressungkasten! She's trying desperately hard to envision herself playing a cello or a tenor sax or just about anything else with a higher coolness quotient than an accordion. She will not make eye contact with you. It would crush her. Instead, she'll gather up whatever inner strength she has left and look heavenward whilst constructing a fantasy of her musical savior The King, accompanying her in a polka duet. If only she could time travel forward to 2009, she would not feel so alone in her dorkitude. She would rule!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
This is the most perfectly rendered chain link fence I have ever seen. The twists and turns of every link have been masterfully and lovingly painted to truly capture the form and function of this quotidian barrier. It's so damn beautiful, I feel compelled to write a lyric poem about it, or at least climb it! It's too bad all of the artist's anal retentive efforts went into it because when he got to the girl he FORGOT TO GIVE HER A HAND!! He gave her a stump. Poor girl. I know this dude she can get in touch with. He helped another tennis chick who had a lot more missing than a hand.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Yes, it will be quite difficult to survive your life with a head that resembles something you'd use to scrape day-old pasta off a dinner plate. If only the young lady in question had been a better communicator. Her unfortunate predicament (which I'm sure will be tearfully transcribed in her precious diary) began with her love of a popular daytime soap opera. She told her hairstylist that she wanted to look exactly like the star. She should have been more specific, no?
Hey, get a looksee at the artist's signature - I knew I had seen his work before!
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Someone's been sleeping *coughguardcough* on the job. Yeah, loser, we all see the empty expanse in the Dutch Masters room, but who exactly are you shouting at? You're the night guard, bozo! No one else is there to hear your urgent shouts or witness your manic gesturing. Even Jan Van Jauntyhatten is sneering at your pathetic display. So turn your incredibly boxy flashlight off, calm the hell down and call the real authorities.
Edited three hours ago to add:
Um, I'm a bit embarrassed right now and wouldn't blame my readers if they left me at this point. You see, it was just
revealed to me that the night guard was not freaking out over stolen art. Yes, a painting was there, but it's out on loan to a museum in Springfield. What led to our hero's apoplectic fit was the aesthetically discordant font floating above his head. Damn right it's awful - I say give this man a raise!
Monday, January 12, 2009
Lew and Ed had counted the days leading up to their weekend getaway on the Cahulawassee River. They needed a break from their stifling suburban lives, a chance to just be guys messing around in the wilderness - no girl drama, no homework, no mom telling them to eat with a fork. With the money they had tucked away from their paper routes they were able to rent the most awesome canoe ever - looked like the friggin' jawbone of a giant sea predator! They were having the time of their lives navigating the rapids, tracking wildlife and cooking on an open fire. That is until they heard the unmistakable strum of a banjo in the distance. Hope they brought a crossbow with them - they may need it.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
I'm the first to say that redheaded women are gorgeous creatures. Redheaded boys, eh, not so much. They're generally buffoons or just elfish and creepy, like the little guy here sporting the boxing gloves (I like how he's ready to give a quick jab to the author's name). I'm curious about the wee action figure striking that manly pose in the background. Is it supposed to be a representation of the little boy's future self? If so... see what I mean about creepy male redheads.
Okay, I am SO sorry about that last image. I really am. It should only be used as a secret weapon in the war against terror or overdue library books. As an apology, you can cleanse your senses with one helluva great song about a redhead.
I'm going to give all of those sad YA covergirls a break and focus on their male counterparts during the next few posts. Although not as woeful, they have their problems too, mostly concerning sports, cars and ingenious ways to get sad, woeful girls into the backseats of cars.
This is a really fine example of 1970's book jacket design. Overall it's pleasing to the eye and the font works, but I have to conclude that the illustrator:
Saturday, January 3, 2009
This was a night to remember - history in the making! In a classic battle of the sexes, Brynwood Prep was vying for the All County Championship Title against those badasses from St. Mary's School for Wayward Girls. Bud Jenkins wasn't gonna let some girl get in the way of his glory. Sure, the purple uniform was distracting. So was the perfectly feathered hair carrying with it a heady floral scent. No, what he hadn't counted on, didn't see coming until he went for the dunk in the last second of play, was the freakishly long right arms these mutant chicks possessed!
(Image found especially for the Alfieri's!)