I finally found Mandy's sweet spot!

Last Saturday local awesome rock band Two Gallants were playing at local awesome rock venue Bottom of the Hill in San Francisco and Mandy happened to have an extra ticket.  I'm not sure if she was planning to give me the extra ticket, but it's quite possible that I may have used my super-willpowers to give her a little extra convincing because I really wanted to see this show and I can be a selfish bastard at times.

After having been to this venue more than a few times in the past, Mandy delivers us there expertly.  She seems to know how to get everywhere, but if there is a problem there will be googling of the location so furiously that it seems like it might be a just a tiny bit of phone rape.

I don't know if you've ever been to a concert with her, but if you haven't I think you should know that Mandy is an excellent concert partner.  Some people of the vaginal persuasion...

ATTENTION!  If you are a woman THIS DOES NOT IN ANY WAY MEAN ANYONE THAT IS YOU or ANYONE THAT YOU KNOW or ANY WOMAN THAT HAS EVER EXISTED ANYWHERE. Do not get all worked up. There is no proof that any of these misogynistic generalizations have ever happened. I am probably just making all of this up.

...can be known to complain about not being able to see even though they wore their absolute tallest heels.  They have also been known to complain that their feet hurt.

This usually leads to me hearing something about how this is their favorite band EVER and how they're having a really really good time, but the band is playing soooo long and are they going to be done soon?  Next, after a look that questions whether I am a complete idiot for even asking, she usually sighs frustratedly "No, I don't want to leave already" followed by her looking at her phone every five fucking seconds until we leave.

Mandy did not do any of these complain-y things even though she was wearing fairly high heels. She goes to a lot of shows and is a champion.  She even has a favorite spot for the best combination of stage view, sound quality and people watching at the venues that she frequents. At Bottom of the Hill we both happen to have the same favorite place.  Yes, I know where Mandy's sweet spot is, but I'm certainly not going to tell YOU where to find it.

Other highly recommended concert going with Mandy positives...

She chatted-up the female bartender about the previous night's show so charmingly that as they talked I found my whiskey getting topped off half way through the conversation even though (or because) I barely said anything.  Smooth.

She takes cool photos that you can steal and use on your blog.

She does not need you to have a good time.  She brings her own friends and spends time with them... away from me.  I know this sounds harsh and is no way intended to imply anything about her friends who I'm sure are not entirely awful (this evening it was Laura & Kavon and they were both lovely) but the new Enlightened Andrew needs time by himself to judge and ridicule other people as a reminder of how far he's come and why he's so much better than everyone else.

Slouchy-skinny jeans I'm lookin' at you motherfucker. No one should go out of their way to look look they have a giant shitloaf resting comfortably in the seat of their pants. I Know how hard those tight jeans are to get off and I have sympathy for you, but I was 13 when I wore them and you are dry humping 30. Have some dignity.

Also, dressing and grooming yourself to look as much like a member of the cool outsider band as humanly possible does NOT make you look like a cool outsider. You look like (and most likely are) a pathetic, desperate retard that may possibly drink his own urine for fun.

She chose not to become a flower in the sunlight, but instead to remain a rock in a puddle.

Last night at the bar, it came to my attention that one of the two readers of this blog doesn't believe that I am now upbeat and positive about life.  Despite my pleas for understanding of my new sunny disposition, she would not listen.  I believe she may have even screeched "That is such bullshit!" at me.  Clearly not everyone has made the choice to be a nicer person.

I understand that niceness is not an easy path to choose.  A lesser person might elect to hide their own insecurities behind snarky remarks and elaborately messy hair.  That's what Regular Andrew would've done.  He was weak.  He would've told the person that doubted his sincerity to fuck off, most likely prefaced with a heartfelt "why don't you just" and finished with a convincing "then" because Regular Andrew was that much of a jerk.  He might've even made a comment about how her shoes made her look like Frankenwhore.

However, the new Enlightened Andrew calmly tried to explain to this overly judgemental person that if she would just stop being such an awful human being that people might actually like her. Probably not, but there was a chance.  She was NOT going to be having any of that and stomped out of the bar screeching terrible things at me like "Have fun tonight!" and "It was good seeing you!"  Pathetic.  I don't know how her surprisingly cool boyfriend puts up with that name calling bitch.

Oh wait, He's probably enlightened and positive!  That would explain why he's so cool.

There are also other good things that result from a more positive approach to life besides being so much better than everyone else.

I think have super-powers now!

Recently at the frame shop, I was attaching some artwork to a mat for a customer and when I picked up the mat to make sure that everything was on straight, the artwork fell off.  I thought I had ACTUALLY used some tape and evidently this was NOT the case.  Not wanting the customer to doubt my skills a veteran picture framer, I explained to her that the artwork should have stayed in place because I had been using my super willpower to keep them together.  The customer and Manager Mark, who was lurking nearby, seemed dubious and this conversation followed...

Enlightened Andrew:   Well, it would've worked but I've been using my willpowers on all the other pieces that I already completed before this one.  It's so late in the day that most of my willpower reserves are drained.

(in my head this statement continued with "It takes a lot out of me to do everyone else's goddamn job all day long around this dump, for fuck's sake.  I can't do every fucking thing ever and not ever make a fucking mistake.  Fuck." but a customer was standing right there AND this is the new Enlightened Andrew so in my head it stayed)

Manager Mark:   Yeah Right. I don't think she's going to believe you. (chuckles uncomfortably hoping the customer thinks I'm kidding about this whole expensive custom framing using my brain powers thing)

Customer:   (grinning) I don't know. I believe he could do it.

Enlightened Andrew:   (triumphantly) I KNOW!  Because I WILLED you to think that with my amazing Super-Willpowers!  Obviously, I cannot be defeated because I am the BEST!

Next time I will handle goddamn Sindeee with my brain powers instead of being so sweet.

The return of the practice cactus girl.

Recently I've been kind of busy with things not related to painting pictures of naked girls. I got as far as painting part of the tines on the cactus girl and then got distracted by the rest of my life. I get so into working on a piece that I often let major parts of my regular person life slide out of control and then inevitably they all come crashing back down on me at the same time. Money problems, goddamn car problems, Dad falling over problems, Stick Figure Andrew problems.

That's right. He's a problem. He was so awesome in the last post that I can't stop thinking about how terrific he is, often to the point that I stop being able to do even the simplest of things. Like get out of the shower. I was in there for an extra twenty minutes this morning thinking about him. It made me tingly. He's really the best.

Focus! Okay, the cactus tines look alright at best, but I'm incredibly bored with this piece. I got to see if there was any reason to do a full size painting on canvas so this practice piece did what it was supposed to do. The good news is that I think there is enough promise of something interesting here to warrant proceeding ahead with the real deal. I'm going to need a model so I don't end up with more problems than just not actually knowing what I'm doing with a paint brush most of the time.

I think I know the perfect person to be the model, with just right combination of cautionary glamour and sexual ferocity...

Don't act like you weren't hoping it was him, because it's obvious that you totally were.  Now you can have the tingly feeling in the shower too!

It seems possible that my brain does not actually like the rest of me. Well, that makes two of us then.

Some people who see my work like to tell me how great it must be to have my imagination and be able to create these ideas for paintings. I suppose for the average person, it could seem a little mysterious where these somewhat odd concepts might come from. Sometimes one of the people might say something about how they wish they could be inside my head to see how it works.  You DO NOT want this. Just take my word for it. I've been in there and it's ALL kinds of messed up. As an example, this a what I can remember of a dream I just recently had...

On a football field through grainy file footage, Joe Theismann is having his leg sawed off just above the knee. It seems that a ten inch spike has been driven through his knee cap and deep into the ground during one of the plays and there is no way to get it out. So as the medics grind through the last of the bone and tissue, Joe suddenly stops his horrible, agonized screaming. Joe is a professional. He knows he doesn't want to let his team down so as the two guys grab him under the arms and begin to drag his mangled body away, he raises his crooked, bloody arm and gives the 'thumbs-up' to the crowd.

It's at this time that we notice how bad his injuries are. He's covered in blood with huge gaping wounds across his abdomen. His intestines are spilling out and dragging behind him on the field. More of the spikes poke out from his back and from between his ribs. His left eye dangles out of it's socket from the optic nerve. His shoulder looks so crushed that his skin might be the only thing holding his arm on. It looks as if he's been attacked and fed on by a pack of wild animals.

Cut to modern day HD footage of Joe running out on to the field in a blazer. He jogs over and kneels down in the exact spot where the spike went through. As the footage of the old chopped up knee gets superimposed over the new current knee on the ground, we see Joe smiling wide and giving the goddamn 'thumbs-up' again.

Cut to a parade in Joe's honor. He's on a float with the waving crowds all around and turns directly to us (as if we were the camera) and smiles again while a voice over says how Joe never REALLY valued his Rabbit Phone until after the injury... He's holding a tiny live rabbit with an antenna sticking out of it's head, poking at this creature with his giant mangled football fingers, dialing I assume, because apparently he's going to make a fucking phone call with this rabbit!

So at this point in the dream I wake up all tense and sweating. It's too early to get up so I just lay there trying not to think about anything because  if my mind gets going it can be nearly impossible for me to get back to sleep.  Hopefully I'll drift off if I can think about something that is simple and pleasant so my brain will relax. Instead of that happening, this is the progression of thoughts that my oh so fantastic brain came up with as I rolled over and closed my eyes...

My bed is so great. So firm. I love my bed...

I remember I bought this bed at that place down the street from my old apartment...

I loved my bed so much that when Mom needed a bed I told her that she should go to the same place...

She hated her new bed.

That was the bed she died in.

She spent her last weeks on earth miserable in a bed she hated that I convinced her to buy.

So as you can imagine, there would be no going back to sleep this day. Instead, I decided to get up and write all this down so I could put it on the fucking internet. Good lord, what is wrong with me?

Now everyone knows my hidden shame.

Mandy has informed me that the bar that we went to on our way to the Josh Keyes show, the bar I believed that I loved with all my heart, was not actually called Zanzibar. Apparently I couldn't love it enough to even learn it's real name. Suddenly I feel like our love affair was not the special shared experience that I thought it was. Now instead of the warm glow that I had as I wrote the previous post, my selfishness has turned it seedy and dirty. I used her for my drunken needs and couldn't even be bothered to find out what she wants to be called when I brag to all my cheap friends about the good times we had!

With all my heart I am truly sorry, Zeitgeist. Maybe we could start over if you could see your way to giving me, giving US, another chance. We could talk this out TOGETHER. I know a good bar we could go to...

Zeitgeist
 

There is a link at the end of this post to several people's heartfelt Yelp reviews of a parking garage. Believe me, I feel your pain.

Last week I read on Arrested Motion that Josh Keyes was going to be having a show of some of his new work at Fecal Face Dot Gallery in San Francisco. Hooray! So I hustled up a plan and tricked Mandy into accompanying me to opening night of the show by telling her that it would be fun. Some would say that she is up for any adventure...some would say that she is easily tricked.

Things started off well in that Mandy's keen eye for good neighborhood bars led us to Zanzibar. I felt at home immediately with a trillion beers on tap, a giant smoking patio and a jukebox that seemed to only have Ramones and Willie Nelson songs in it. What more could you ask for? Needless to say we stayed much too long. My favorite beer was something called The Devastator. The Dominator? The Decapitator? Who can be expected to fucking remember with a name that's even close to any of those and what they imply.

Total Domination! That's what it's called. Get it now.

We got a bit lost on our walk to the gallery but it wasn't our fault (see one paragraph above). Eventually we made it there and took a look at what was doing. Josh's paintings were terrific and it was great to be able to get up close and see how he does some some of his amazing work. You wouldn't believe how simple his paintings appear to be when you stand right in front of them. It's like the guy never makes a mistake. No rough spots, no vague areas that he was fudging, no nothing. His paint surface is almost like glass. I had to search hard to even find some spots that looked like he MIGHT have corrected something. Bastard.

Afterwards, Mandy 'called bullshit' because that's what she likes to do. She didn't like that there were only four final paintings at the show with some pencil drawings to fill up the spaces in between and I tended to agree. It's true, I was hoping to see a larger number of finished paintings and was a bit disappointed, but I was glad to have seen those that I did. Luckily for our evening, this was the new positive Andrew that has an excellent outlook on life (see two paragraphs above) and does not get crabby anymore.

When did this become a goddamn Yelp review? Fucking Christ.

The point of this post was that after seeing it everyday for years when I enter my parking garage, I noticed that there was a ten foot wide Josh Keyes mural painted on the wall. Seriously, it's been there for five fucking years. I AM TRULY AN IDIOT. I've seen the mural almost everyday and almost always appreciate it as I pass by, but I'm so retarded that not only can I not put 2 and 2 together. Apparently I don't even know what a 2 is.

The Mural is in the entryway to the Locust Street Parking Garage in Walnut Creek if you're ever in the area.

No one gets the best of me except me.

Unfortunately, my sketches tend to be mostly line drawings with very little in the way of anything to actually show volume or turn the form. Sometimes they mislead me into thinking that the possibilities are greater than they are. The sketch is usually just vague enough that my eye tends to gloss over the problem areas and only focus on the parts that I like. That way I'm a genius!

For once I decided to try to make the smart choice, not just let my enthusiasm get the best of me. That's how I end up having an easel full of shit that I inevitably end up smashing to pieces. This time I decided to do some preliminary work so that I could figure some things out BEFORE I started the fucking painting. So I began a black and white figure study right on top of the sketch. Sure, if the study ends up sucking ass I'll have destroyed my nice little sketch, but I'll consider it a sacrifice to the Gods of Retardedness. I am nothing if not their humble servant.

Since this is a quick tonal study and I'm fairly lazy, I elected to make a bunch of crap up instead of finding any actual photo reference that might be useful. I'm sure that I've heard a saying that goes something like "Haste Makes....something" but I couldn't remember the rest of it because I was in too much of a rush to get to work. After some painting I realized my stupidity when the girl's hands I was working on looked like monster hands. And NOT in the good way. Luckily, my friend Milena stopped by and she's not even close to having monster hands.

Reference photo time! 

Before you get any ideas, that isn't her body. Just the hands! She's not that kind of girl. I might know those kinds of girls, but apparently she isn't one of them.