The Best Description of a Buffalo’s Temperament is Unpredictable.

Wouldn't it just be easier to say that I've been on a two-month drunk? That I ran off to Chicago, lodged a bottle of bourbon in my face and in turn lodged myself in some Great Lake collection pipe a mile off-shore where I learned to breathe underwater and speak with the fishes?

I feel like that would be easiest.

Sadly, it would be only partly true. It would also leave out the most exciting stuff. So here begins the painstaking process of reacquainting you with my life, as I have been reacquainted with it over the last month or so.

For starters, my new 'hood in the 312. It's a nice place. It has all your standard conveniences, such as girlfriend, cable TV, internet, ineffective climate control, indoor plumbing, grown men to hit on you when you're not feeling so special, easy access to lakefront parks/running, easy access to public transportation, easy access to food and drink, and easy access to US 41 (keep in mind that it somehow simultaneously renders anything outside a square mile or so virtually inaccessible...). It's called 543 Roscoe Street, and it is my generously donated chi-shelter.

The upside-down tree marks the buried treasure.

With a closer view, one can see that my proximity to "The Great Water" is somewhat enviable.


The view is dorky, with a 100% chance of nerd.


This is a shot from a little ways down my block. The buildings get bigger as you near the lake. Presumably to shield the rest of us from tsunamis when Benton Harbor attacks with seismological weapons...


Still, despite all this photographic and satellite evidence to the contrary, reports of my body odor relocation have been greatly exaggerated, considering that I have made the 250 mile journey 'tween The Deuce and The Chi about 3 times already (I've made good friends with the "Michiana" NPR), including one trip that lasted a week. So far I've been able to make a good deal of gas money by mowing lawns in Saline, which means that on the spring, passable motor function applied to rural manual labor has thus-far out-earned a four year degree and residence in a global capitalist mecca, which is bragable.

It also brings us to a much anticipated update, that being my employment status. As you have probably heard or guessed, my employment status remains null. I had a very promising interview with Scott Foresman a while back for an in-house illustration position, but thus far nothing has come of it. My cousin Kelly, who works there as a designer, was kind enough to snag it for me, and was very optimistic about my chances, and I thought the interview itself went well, but I guess that's how it goes. Aside from that I have had virtually zero luck in cornering a job. Around here even the lowliest freelance jobs are fought for tooth and nail, and apparently I just don't have the skills to land them, let alone the ones that might equate gainful employment.

None the less, I have enjoyed an unprecedented spurt of productivity in other areas, specifically the marginally fruitful yet largely rewarding t-shirt racket. Given my persistently rampant unemployment I've had a decent amount of time to dump into making new designs and expanding the operation to include a spreadshirt section. The spreadshirt portion allows me to do fun things like compromise my designs and make less money per shirt, but it does so in such a way that actually makes me smile, which is by allowing me to offer an ever-expanding line of questionably promising products with no increased financial risk. It's kind of like when your friend sleeps with your sister, but you don't really mind 'cause you're doing his mom...

er, something like that.

Needless to say, consumer excitement is at an all time high.

Here are a few examples from the exponentially expanding spreadshop-shirt line:





Ok, that about does it for now... Just enough to convince you that I'm not dead; not enough to convince you that I'm not actually in Canada making love to life-size cuttouts of Winona Ryder in a Mountie outfit. Many of the past month's adventures will be posted soon. 'Till then I'm going to go enjoy some 25 cent burritos, a 39 cent beer, and some World Cup Football (No commercials! Totally meg brag!) Cheers.


Oh yeah, the fishes, they say that they enjoy eating our garbage just as much as any other animal, if not more, and that gummi-worms make their doodoo purple, regardless of the color of the worm.

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