Scribbles Of Now

I thought today I’d set aside the rigors of daily life, and take solace in my secret diary by sharing some amusing drawings. These are from my most recent sketchbook, Sketchbook 45, which I started on September 1, 2023 and then ignored for about several months until social services forced me to start feeding it again. So all these are pretty recent scribblings, and thus reflect my most recent adventures. Here’s a sample spread. It’s one of my favorites. Particularly the smokey-cycle:

I’m embarrassed to confess the comic was sparked by a pack of CBD cigarettes I purchased the other day.¹ I buy some every few years or so, when the bees get so bad in Philadelphia they can only be calmed with smoke. If you’re a child reading this, please do not take this as an endorsement of smoking. It’s a terrible, filthy, shameful habit, and it leads to embarrassing outcomes. For instance, the day I got them, I spilled coffee on my lap while trying to light a cigarette, and so (1) I had to sit in boiling hot coffee, and (2) I also stained my shorts brown, thus making it look like I had soiled myself.

Luckily I took the subway home, and no one noticed.

Anyway, I have lots more comics to share, so let’s not dwell on the cleanliness of Philadelphia’s transit system. Here’s a moving little drama I call… “The Mirror”.

It’s been nearly ten years since I had hair, and I barely remember the feeling of a comb running through my wavy locks. Sometimes Kim puts her hair over my head, so I can pretend I have hair, but it’s not quite the same. One feels the pleasure of combing not so much in the hair, but in the follicles, and Kim is quite uncooperative about transplanting her scalp.

This next one I call “The Ladder Man”…

Half-credit to this comic must go to Greg Pizzoli, who told me about a video where some guys sneak into all these high-security places and no one stops them because they’re carrying a ladder. And I told him about some study where a guy in a construction vest did the same thing. I wish I could share the original sources, but I get all my pop culture knowledge through word of mouth. Watching youtube is absolute torture to me. I get bored VERY quickly, and start thinking about all the things I could be doing instead of standing there watching a person not get to the point quick enough.

If you’re a fan of Mojo The Sockmonkey, I’ve got great news, because our next scribbling is a Mojo comic:

Kim and I have one wall clock, that we bought from IKEA sometime in 2001. It requires two AAA batteries, and we lost the cover so they’re taped in with electrical tape. Also, it fell off the wall several years ago and the glass face shattered, which wouldn’t be a problem except that every month when the cleaners come they wipe down the clock face, not realizing that there’s no glass there, and set the clock back four or five hours. It’s aggravating, but not aggravating enough for us to do anything about it².

Let’s see… what do we have left here. OH! Here’s one on history:

After finishing this comic, I remembered that Alfred Nobel was actually famous for making dynamite, so the cynical reader could claim that the project he’s working on shouldn’t actually be medals. But I like the comic better this way, so I say screw you, cynical readers! This is my secret diary, after all, and I should be allowed a little wiggle room when it comes to choosing what aspects of Alfred Nobel’s life to celebrate and what not! When YOU have your own secret diary, you can write YOUR OWN Alfred Nobel comics.

Bup, bup, bup… let’s see here. Okay… I thought I’d finish up with some color scribblings, but I don’t have any color stuff from this sketchbook, so I thought I’d sub in some digital sketching I did the other day. These are from Philadelphia’s Reading Terminal Market:

I went there to kill time while my car was at the mechanic’s shop for its yearly inspection. The car passed with flying colors, except the rear left wheel, which needed to be replaced. Those of you familiar with my secret diary will realize the significance of that. This is like the fifth time I’ve had to replace a tire on my car, practically proving my theory that someone is out there purposely slashing my tires. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s either Kim or the aforementioned cynical reader, both of whom do not come off well in this entry. My other theory is that when a little too much time passes between entries, someone slashes my tire to get me back to the diary a-ranting and a-raving. Either way, whoever is doing it STOP IT. MY CAR IS AN INNOCENT BYSTANDER. IF YOU MUST SLASH SOMETHING, SLASH PRICES. GET A MANAGEMENT POSITION AT A FAILING BRICK-AND-MORTAR STORE, AND—

I thought I’d finish up with a bit of concept art I did for a kid’s book. I worked in gouache paint, which was my medium of choice for many years, until I was seduced by the amazing power of the undo. Anyways, enjoy this final scribbling. It may very well be my last, as I intend to replace my car tires with tank treads.

1. These cigarettes do not contain tobacco, and thus I avoid the terrible specter of nicotine addiction, and probably some of the luxury-model carcinogens. But nevertheless, it’s still bad to suck anything into your lungs except 78% Nitrogen, 20% Oxygen, and 0.934% Argon. And every now and then, the corn chip smell you get from dog paws.

2. Sadie LOVES it, because sometimes she accidentally gets fed dinner several hours early.