~hero339

Having a tough time finding steady work. It's been almost a month and I still don't have a job. Ugh.

But there is good news. I just finished working on a cool book called Lost in the Wild. I've posted a couple of interior illustrations (there was 12 total) for you to see. Working with Mr. Jacobson was great and I hope to do another project with him soon.

As for the marathon training... it's hard. It's been about 9 weeks now and though my legs are in great shape, my lungs have taken a beating. I had asthma as a kid and I think that sort of thing lingers. It's also really hard to get motivated on a Saturday after running 16 miles. So the weekends are shot with training and recovery. By the end of the 16 week period Jeff and I will be able to run 26 miles, smiling. I hope.

I just redesigned my website today, so if you wanna take a look, feel free. Most of the work that is here is there too.

[link]

Okay, off to cheer up and run a few miles.

Still working on finding a job.

Doing some illustrations for a cool "choose your own adventure" type book too.

Training for the marathon is tiring me out. Eleven more weeks of running to go.

Loving my dog -- he is down to 91 pounds from 112 last year. He was fat and now he's awesome.

Keeping the house clean. I have two teenage boys in town visiting and they can be messy.

Trying to spend time with Jeff.



WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

On July 4th, 2008 I got my ass kicked.

Here's what happened. I was playing in the pool with Nephew Nick and Niece Amber. We were goofing around, swimming with Rudy (my sister's golden retriever pup) and I decided to get out and make Rudy chase me into the pool. I started up the pool stairs and that's the last I remember until Meta (sister) was bending over me, trying to help me up. From the eyewitnesses of the event, what had had had had happened was I got to the top step and slipped. I then fell face first into the house about 3 feet from the stairs and cracked my head on the window ledge, collapsing onto the deck. Apparently, I was talking to Nick and my Mom telling them I was fine but really not myself. Meta came running outside after hearing something hit the house and that's when I came to. I got my ass kicked by the house.

It is such a strange feeling to forget about 2 minutes of time. I don't remember falling, hitting my head, or talking to Nick. But I did. Who is this guy that was there when the real me was unconscious? Did I have the same personality lying there, wet on the deck and telling my family I was fine?

In the end I came out okay. My bruises and scrapes are healed and there are no lasting effects; though I did make smoothies with Nick later in the afternoon and forgot the details of how I made them. Any other knock out stories? I'd like to hear 'em. Misery loves company.

I'm one week into my vacation and I've been busy. I've worked hard on some illustrations for a children's book, searched for jobs, ran a few miles a day, and kept the house clean. So, unfortunately I've had no time to finish my own art stuff. Blah.

So, I've decided to upload some of my very favorite photos from years past. I've never considered myself a photographer -- I use a camera for getting reference for paintings and such -- but every now and again I see something that's worth shooting, just for the sake of capturing the moment.

Does anyone else branch out of their chosen medium? If so, do you post those works? I'd love to see them.

My two week vacation from my tuxedo job began 2 days ago and I arrived at my old house last night. Jeff has missed me and I've missed him. But I'm adjusting again to a familiar place that has taken on a new identity. I'm here looking for work so I can move back by the end of the month.

I'm sitting at my old desk in St. Cloud in an unfamiliar chair that makes me lean forward. It's slightly uncomfortable and a strain on my back. My computer has never been on this built-in desk and seems much too tall for the counter top. The desk was installed with a smaller computer in mind and this large screen Mac I purchased in Iowa dominates the space.

There is no coffee maker on the counter in the kitchen (Jeff doesn't drink coffee), the bed hurt my back last night as it's much harder than the one I've been sleeping on for the last 10 months, and there is no art on the walls of my old studio -- the walls echo everything including my key pressing. But I'm happy to be here.

Jake is content to be back home as well, finding his place on the love seat that bears the marks of his first 4 years spent here; holes in the cushions from his big claws and dog hair embedded in the fabric. He has adjusted almost immediately having been giving his usual walk down the street along the river. He's now sleeping in front of the open front door, occasionally looking up as people stroll by to give his one sharp, deep bark of block ownership.

I'll take my cue from Jake and snuggle into my "love seat."