31 July 2007
Like any girl my age, I am obsessed with bags.
While Im at work and mistakenly make eye contact with a customer I often get asked the question, "When are you guys going to get rid of plastic bags?" See, I work for a large chain of specialty grocery stores with a pseudo environmentalist image.
The public assumes the store will get rid of plastic bags because everyone knows they significantly damage the environment. But it dawned on me, while packing organic hormone-free cow flesh into double plastic, that WFM will never ban plastic unless laws require them to. They have no financial incentive to do so.
According to sources (a 21-year-old coworker), every paper bag costs WFM 14¢. I can imagine the plastic bags cost significantly less (I dont have actual numbers because Im not an investigative reporter. Im a wannabe illustrator who works at a grocery store).
This where it gets complicated and hypocritical. WFM pushes the "bring your own bag" motto. They even refund you 5¢ for each one of your own you use. Of course, if you elect to use your own bag, rather than the costly paper bag (with handles), you save the company 9¢. "Saving the earth" is just a bonus, I guess.
And it gets more complicated still when you realize that WFM sells reusable bags, too. And these bad boys are HUGE. No, I dont mean popular and expensive, I mean space-wize. Id say they fit what you could fit in two paper bags. They're shapeless and hard to pack, but if you buy one for a dollar you save the company 23¢ each time you use it (assuming I remember to give you your 5¢ bag refund, which I hardly ever do), and you spent a buck!
So WFM wont voluntarily get rid of plastic bags because there's no money in that. But they can still claim to be eco-friendly by selling reusable bags and you know, stuff like disposable biodegradable plates wrapped in plastic.
So this is what I think about when Im at work. I'll get back to drawing now.
28 July 2007
23 July 2007
21 July 2007
17 July 2007
Wu Wan King
One of six illustrations I did for Darryl Berger's short story, How to Read Cards. He's a damn good writer and Im constantly bugging him to send me his work. Im glad he suckered me into collaborating with him. The story was excellent and the drawings were a lot of fun.
14 July 2007
Click Image for Larger View
...and this is the comic Ive always wanted to make.
Check it out in the September issue of The Agenda, a Providence-based newspaper.
I cant believe I've been sitting in front of this glowing box for 365 days straight. On this occasion (and since it's my last post) Id like to show Im not completely selfish and give some thank-yous: First Id like to thank Liz, who has played a large roll in my post-college drawing career. She drags me out of the house and sticks markers in my hands. Also, she's taught me a quality piece need not take 20 hours to produce. And I'll swallow my pride and thank Illustration Friday, because Ive found some neat folk through it. But I wont thank God, because he didnt help at all.
And just kidding, it's not my last post.
Interesting discovery: My blog's one year anniversary falls on Friday the 13th. Excellent.
13 July 2007
11 July 2007
09 July 2007
07 July 2007
04 July 2007
I wet the bed. But I justified it because I knew Liz and I had talked about bed wetting the day before, and topics like that can seep into one's subconscious. I tried to get up but I was stiff and both my hands were numb. Owl Skunk took it upon herself to help me out of bed by pulling my left foot. This is the first useful thing she's ever done I thought.
And then explosions. My windows shook and all the life came back into my body, I opened my eyes and popped up. I felt between my legs; dry. It was a dream. But the banging continued.
In a situation like that your adrenaline gland kicks in. I stumbled out of my bedroom and went up and down the hall, looking for a soul as desperate as I was. Bang! I made my way downstairs in the dark expecting to see my family gathered around the television or maybe a radio, the way I imagine families in London spent their time this week, after the news of terrorist plots and multiple attempted car bombings. Nobody. Bang!
The basement? Had they sought refuge in the stone room under our house? I wondered if they brought supplies with them. Bang! Was Grandpa out right now fighting some lunatic for the last gallon of 2% milk at 7-11? More importantly, why didnt they come get me? Maybe when I moved in here seven years ago they forgot to write my name on the emergency checklist. Or perhaps with kindness they thought they'd let me sleep through it all, and spare me the trouble of trying to survive. This is what I get for announcing I dont believe in god at dinner last Thursday.
But the basement was empty. The whole house was. "I slept through a fucking mass evacuation!" I yelled. I went out to the driveway to find the cars still in their spots. There smell of fire was in the air. Maybe George W. Bush brought in buses? This is a white neighborhood so I could see him taking the extra trouble.
Just as I began to take out a cigarette and accept my fate as ash not-unlike that I was inhaling I heard a voice from down the street screaming, "Jen! Jen!" It was a little voice. Multiple little voices chimed in. "Jennnnnn!" All I could see was little glow sticks and and army of flashlights making their way down the the dead end road. Remy broke from the crowd and ran up to me. "Jen did you see the fireworks?"
02 July 2007
An artistic response to this.
I feel like I've been failing as far as updatage goes, but I have two great excuses. One: my scanner wasnt working (apparently it is supposed to be plugged in). Two: I'm working on a few (yes count em, few) long term projects that arent ready to be released to the masses just yet. And I dont want to bore you all with my daily scribble scrabbles of eyeballs and stick figure comics of me at my register screaming "SOMEBODY KILL ME!"
And I guess a few days ago I was really happy about moving to Japan, but now Im mostly overwhelmed and stressed and feel like puking and pooping myself all the time.
When did this become a diary? I apologize.
Just one more thing:
Grandpa makes us wear the hat.