For my new book Frankenstein, I've completed two versions of the same illustration using two different techniques. Comparing the two side by side, you can see the positive and negative aspects of each. I deconstruct the styles and explain why I've chosen to go with the one and not the other. Read about it on my Frankenstein blog:
GRIS GRIMLY'S FRANKENSTEIN BLOG
Be Grim!
Gris Grimly
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
MILE HIGH ETIQUETTE
The man's naked foot rubbed against my leg. The frost came early this year and spread an icy blanket across my spine. What the hell is wrong with people today that they can't uphold some etiquette for the short span of time they are subjected to public transportation?
I saw an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm where Larry David finds his plane seat to be next to a man wearing shorts. Larry, being the confrontational person he is, reprimands his elbow-knocking neighbor for being so inconsiderate to wear shorts on a plane. I think this is an overreaction to the circumstance. Granted, the artifact of clothing was short enough to be called briefs and with the lack of elasticity around the thighs, there is a risk of junk spillage. But a situation like this really depends on the individual wearing the shorts. Do you think Larry would mind if the individual sitting next to him was a slender 25-year-old vixen with velvet-soft thighs? Of course not. But it made for a great uncomfortably humorous scene that the show is known for.
In all my travels, there is a growing lack of respect for human subjection. Surprisingly, the majority of these occurrences happen on one of the most expensive forms of travel; the aeroplane. And it seems that out of the entire class system, individuals in Business class are the worse. No more than 60 years ago, it was common courtesy for a man to wear a suit and tie for most occasions. Even a ball game would draw the poorest individual to the game wearing his Sunday best and a fedora. Today, you're lucky enough if some of these Neanderthals have enough body paint to cover their birthday suit.
Why do people feel it's okay to get undressed on plane? I don't care how much a ticket costs; you are still on public transportation. You don't see people removing their shoes and socks while traveling on the great steel Greyhound bus. Yet when traveling the mile high expressway, you're in danger of a flight neighbor stripping naked short of removing his capris and wife-beater. There are a few points of etiquette that if every individual could uphold, it would make traveling a little more bearable for the rest.
The first of these is REFRAIN FROM WEARING PAJAMAS. This rule should apply anytime/anywhere you are out of the house or in the presence of anyone other than family members. Whether you are on a plane, going for brunch or having guests over to watch a movie, put some freakin' cloths on! This also applies to sweats, workout cloths and swimwear. These items were made for athletic activities and despite what you think, plopping into a jet seat is NOT exercise. Just because your stretchy pants have a word printed across the ass doesn't make it appropriate designer clothing to get on a plane.
The second rule is KEEP YOUR SHOES AND SOCKS ON. Seriously, you're not at home and no one on the plane wants to smell or look at your feet. It's true, the plane gets cleaned between flights, but no little old Brazilian woman comes in and scrubs everything with disinfectant. I cringe when thinking of the possible organisms that are left behind from feet sweat wiped across the back of seats, against the footrest and across the floor carpet.
The third rule is WASH YOUR HANDS AFTER USING THE BATHROOM. Due to energy and water conservative attempts, the mechanics in the bathroom of a plane are more complicated than other bathrooms. The water faucet releases short bursts of water for each time you press the spring-loaded handle. I know this is a bit of a pain having to press this handle over and over just to get your hands properly cleaned. But this is no excuse for avoiding the process all together. I don't have the ability to monitor everybody’s bathroom hygienic, but it's safe to say that there is a large majority that are transferring germs with their fecal fingers on the door, door handle and back to their seat. This makes it really difficult for me to exit the restroom without touching anything.
The fourth rule is BE HYGIENICALLY CONSCIOUS AT YOUR SEAT. This is a simple rule and means be considerate of the individual sitting next to you. Don't pick your nose, remove scabs, scratch your dandruff, chew your nails, file your nails, pick at hangnails, suck on blisters, lick your palms, finger your bellybutton or massage your naked feet (which shouldn't be naked in the first place). Refrain from attending to these callings until you get home or at least take care of it in the restroom. But you should also not attend to your hygiene in public. Do not apply deodorant, clean your ears, brush your teeth or shave in your seat. That's what they make bathrooms for.
The fifth rule is DO NOT GET WASTED ON THE PLANE OR BOARD A PLANE WASTED. For alcohol drinkers out there, I know it is fun to get drunk. But leave this activity to areas equipped to handle drunks. As funny as you think you are when you're pile-drived, no one except your drunken friends think you are anything but loud and annoying. At least in bars, people can move away from you or leave the establishment. But on a plane we are stuck with you...for hours. On a plane 99% of the passengers are not in the same headspace as you. You are loud and obnoxious; you stink to high-heaven and consistently knock over drinks or into people. If you reach a state of intoxication that you vomit, you will most likely initiate a barf brigade. Then as you pass out for the remaining hours of the flight, you've left all the other passengers to endure the stench of your ass-rank insides.
If we can all follow these rules, it would make a long flight easier to endure for everyone. After all, the plane is just another form of public transportation like a bus, train or boat. No matter where you are seated or how long the flight is, it is not your personal living space. Show your neighbor a little respect.
Be Grim!
Gris Grimly
Copyright 2009 Gris Grimly
I saw an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm where Larry David finds his plane seat to be next to a man wearing shorts. Larry, being the confrontational person he is, reprimands his elbow-knocking neighbor for being so inconsiderate to wear shorts on a plane. I think this is an overreaction to the circumstance. Granted, the artifact of clothing was short enough to be called briefs and with the lack of elasticity around the thighs, there is a risk of junk spillage. But a situation like this really depends on the individual wearing the shorts. Do you think Larry would mind if the individual sitting next to him was a slender 25-year-old vixen with velvet-soft thighs? Of course not. But it made for a great uncomfortably humorous scene that the show is known for.
In all my travels, there is a growing lack of respect for human subjection. Surprisingly, the majority of these occurrences happen on one of the most expensive forms of travel; the aeroplane. And it seems that out of the entire class system, individuals in Business class are the worse. No more than 60 years ago, it was common courtesy for a man to wear a suit and tie for most occasions. Even a ball game would draw the poorest individual to the game wearing his Sunday best and a fedora. Today, you're lucky enough if some of these Neanderthals have enough body paint to cover their birthday suit.
Why do people feel it's okay to get undressed on plane? I don't care how much a ticket costs; you are still on public transportation. You don't see people removing their shoes and socks while traveling on the great steel Greyhound bus. Yet when traveling the mile high expressway, you're in danger of a flight neighbor stripping naked short of removing his capris and wife-beater. There are a few points of etiquette that if every individual could uphold, it would make traveling a little more bearable for the rest.
The first of these is REFRAIN FROM WEARING PAJAMAS. This rule should apply anytime/anywhere you are out of the house or in the presence of anyone other than family members. Whether you are on a plane, going for brunch or having guests over to watch a movie, put some freakin' cloths on! This also applies to sweats, workout cloths and swimwear. These items were made for athletic activities and despite what you think, plopping into a jet seat is NOT exercise. Just because your stretchy pants have a word printed across the ass doesn't make it appropriate designer clothing to get on a plane.
The second rule is KEEP YOUR SHOES AND SOCKS ON. Seriously, you're not at home and no one on the plane wants to smell or look at your feet. It's true, the plane gets cleaned between flights, but no little old Brazilian woman comes in and scrubs everything with disinfectant. I cringe when thinking of the possible organisms that are left behind from feet sweat wiped across the back of seats, against the footrest and across the floor carpet.
The third rule is WASH YOUR HANDS AFTER USING THE BATHROOM. Due to energy and water conservative attempts, the mechanics in the bathroom of a plane are more complicated than other bathrooms. The water faucet releases short bursts of water for each time you press the spring-loaded handle. I know this is a bit of a pain having to press this handle over and over just to get your hands properly cleaned. But this is no excuse for avoiding the process all together. I don't have the ability to monitor everybody’s bathroom hygienic, but it's safe to say that there is a large majority that are transferring germs with their fecal fingers on the door, door handle and back to their seat. This makes it really difficult for me to exit the restroom without touching anything.
The fourth rule is BE HYGIENICALLY CONSCIOUS AT YOUR SEAT. This is a simple rule and means be considerate of the individual sitting next to you. Don't pick your nose, remove scabs, scratch your dandruff, chew your nails, file your nails, pick at hangnails, suck on blisters, lick your palms, finger your bellybutton or massage your naked feet (which shouldn't be naked in the first place). Refrain from attending to these callings until you get home or at least take care of it in the restroom. But you should also not attend to your hygiene in public. Do not apply deodorant, clean your ears, brush your teeth or shave in your seat. That's what they make bathrooms for.
The fifth rule is DO NOT GET WASTED ON THE PLANE OR BOARD A PLANE WASTED. For alcohol drinkers out there, I know it is fun to get drunk. But leave this activity to areas equipped to handle drunks. As funny as you think you are when you're pile-drived, no one except your drunken friends think you are anything but loud and annoying. At least in bars, people can move away from you or leave the establishment. But on a plane we are stuck with you...for hours. On a plane 99% of the passengers are not in the same headspace as you. You are loud and obnoxious; you stink to high-heaven and consistently knock over drinks or into people. If you reach a state of intoxication that you vomit, you will most likely initiate a barf brigade. Then as you pass out for the remaining hours of the flight, you've left all the other passengers to endure the stench of your ass-rank insides.
If we can all follow these rules, it would make a long flight easier to endure for everyone. After all, the plane is just another form of public transportation like a bus, train or boat. No matter where you are seated or how long the flight is, it is not your personal living space. Show your neighbor a little respect.
Be Grim!
Gris Grimly
Copyright 2009 Gris Grimly
Thursday, November 12, 2009
LEAVE THOSE SNAKES ALONE!
Hedley retracted his arm from the burrowed hole with a yowl. His red face bit down on his lip to cease the quivering. He tried not to cry, but the tear in his eye got pushed out. It glistened a slow race down his red cheek.
Hedley’s mother ran up to the rock pile where he was playing. “What is it?” she asked.
Hedley had his arm chicken winged and his hand tucked into his shirt. His mother extended this awkward position for inspection. “Let me see it”.
The meaty part of the hand was swollen red with two small puncture wounds. This was no midget vampire bite though.
“I told you to leave those snakes alone!”
Hedley looked at his mother with a sorrowful expression, yet statuesque. He could have been in shock. Or, like the hundreds of times he’s heard his mother say LEAVE THOSE SNAKES ALONE, his brain did not absorb it.
“Come on,” She consoled, “Let’s get you cleaned up for dinner”.
Hedley and his mother walked back to the house. She put her hand on his shoulder and pulled him to her, barely reaching the protruding part of her hip.
Dinner was the usual fare; Meat, potatoes and greens decorated the plate. “Come on Hedley. Eat your meat,” his mother commanded.
Hedley looked at his plate with disgust. The meat and potato stared back at him saying, “Yeah Hedley. Come eat us. It will be fun!”
He has no problems eating his greens. Hedley loved vegetables. Brussel sprouts. Green beans. Broccoli. Peas. Spinach. You name it and he would eat it up. He loved vegetables, especially if they were green.
“You know,” his father said, while potato skins did suicide jumps from his lip, “You keep chasing those snakes, one of these days you're goin' to piss off the wrong type of snake. Your mother and I may not be around to save you. What do you think about that?”
Hedley picked his meat apart. At this point, it looked more like road kill.
The next day Hedley was in the backyard swinging a stick around. There are many things in the backyard that need a good beating. Tree trunks. Dirt. Metal pipes. Air. They all ask for it and when a kid runs outside to play, you can see the exhilarating rage in his eyes; I MUST BEAT THINGS WITH A STICK! Even pansy bushes are not safe from a child’s need to beat things with a stick.
After giving the juniper bush a good 2-3 whops, Hedley caught a glimpse of bright color rush from under the bush. Startled at first, he was quickly overcome with awe. This slinky friend was different than the usual green and brown encounters. This one was striped with colors of gold, ebony and rust.
The panicked reptile blundered in the moment and found a trapping within the nook of a tree trunk. Hedley’s eyes swelled beyond the sheaths of his eyelids. He waved his stick in the air and galloped over to the woody plant remains.
The cowering creature wound herself into a pile of soft-served chicken shit. Hedley knew what he could beat with a stick and what he couldn’t. Trees are okay. The swing set is okay. The house is not okay. The ground is okay. But you never…never never ever…beat a living thing with a stick. But it IS okay to poke it.
Hedley slowly pushed his wooden weapon into the mound of quivering scales. Poke.
Curious. The snake moved a bit, but she seemed docile. Maybe this is a friendly snake.
Hedley reached in slowly. In a quick-swift motion, he caught the snake around the neck. He stood up, rotating the snake's head towards his sternum. For a moment, Hedley stared at the snake and the snake stared at him. No words needed to be said as they communicated on a higher plane.
The snake slipped Hedley the tongue a few times, tasting the smell of her intruder. Hedley could see his reflection in the black beady eyes that were sizing him up.
“We’re friends, right?” Hedley asked.
The snake felt the clasp around her neck loosen. She lunged and latched onto Hedley’s heart.
As quickly as it happened, Hedley ripped the snake off and threw her to the ground. The snake hurried back to her juniper bush. Hedley stood there shocked. He looked about the world around him. Everything seemed calm. The wind blew. Birds flew above him, tweeting as they kissed the sun. Besides, it didn’t even hurt much.
This time, Hedley knew better than to cry and bring his mother running. He pulled down his shirt for inspection. The bite marks weren’t even that big and it wasn’t any more red than usual. This was reassuring.
Hedley decided it best to continue to play. He picked up his stick and continued to wallop unsuspecting dirt piles.
The sun crept behind the tree line. Although it was still many more stick swings away from dinner, Hedley was exhausted. He must have really been relentless in his beatings because he has never been this breathless.
He sat against the withered tree trunk to catch his breath. Taking himself away from all the action and excitement of object abuse, he listened to his heart. It was beating hard and fast within his confined and swollen chest. His mouth started to water and his eyes felt like nighttime.
I don’t feel good.
Hedley couldn’t muster the energy to run back to the house, so he resorted to crawling on his hands and knees. But even that took effort.
One hand in front of the other, he slowly made it as far as the juniper bush before collapsing to the ground. He rolled over on his back and stared up at the sky. Everything was calm. There were no more birds and no more sun. The sky swirled with purples, reds and oranges. It was a good day to die.
When Hedley didn’t come when called for dinner, his mother went out looking for him. She found him lying next to the juniper bush with a smile of blue lips. A dozen baby snakes with gold, ebony and rust stripes played among his body.
The End.
Copyright 2009 Gris Grimly
Hedley’s mother ran up to the rock pile where he was playing. “What is it?” she asked.
Hedley had his arm chicken winged and his hand tucked into his shirt. His mother extended this awkward position for inspection. “Let me see it”.
The meaty part of the hand was swollen red with two small puncture wounds. This was no midget vampire bite though.
“I told you to leave those snakes alone!”
Hedley looked at his mother with a sorrowful expression, yet statuesque. He could have been in shock. Or, like the hundreds of times he’s heard his mother say LEAVE THOSE SNAKES ALONE, his brain did not absorb it.
“Come on,” She consoled, “Let’s get you cleaned up for dinner”.
Hedley and his mother walked back to the house. She put her hand on his shoulder and pulled him to her, barely reaching the protruding part of her hip.
Dinner was the usual fare; Meat, potatoes and greens decorated the plate. “Come on Hedley. Eat your meat,” his mother commanded.
Hedley looked at his plate with disgust. The meat and potato stared back at him saying, “Yeah Hedley. Come eat us. It will be fun!”
He has no problems eating his greens. Hedley loved vegetables. Brussel sprouts. Green beans. Broccoli. Peas. Spinach. You name it and he would eat it up. He loved vegetables, especially if they were green.
“You know,” his father said, while potato skins did suicide jumps from his lip, “You keep chasing those snakes, one of these days you're goin' to piss off the wrong type of snake. Your mother and I may not be around to save you. What do you think about that?”
Hedley picked his meat apart. At this point, it looked more like road kill.
The next day Hedley was in the backyard swinging a stick around. There are many things in the backyard that need a good beating. Tree trunks. Dirt. Metal pipes. Air. They all ask for it and when a kid runs outside to play, you can see the exhilarating rage in his eyes; I MUST BEAT THINGS WITH A STICK! Even pansy bushes are not safe from a child’s need to beat things with a stick.
After giving the juniper bush a good 2-3 whops, Hedley caught a glimpse of bright color rush from under the bush. Startled at first, he was quickly overcome with awe. This slinky friend was different than the usual green and brown encounters. This one was striped with colors of gold, ebony and rust.
The panicked reptile blundered in the moment and found a trapping within the nook of a tree trunk. Hedley’s eyes swelled beyond the sheaths of his eyelids. He waved his stick in the air and galloped over to the woody plant remains.
The cowering creature wound herself into a pile of soft-served chicken shit. Hedley knew what he could beat with a stick and what he couldn’t. Trees are okay. The swing set is okay. The house is not okay. The ground is okay. But you never…never never ever…beat a living thing with a stick. But it IS okay to poke it.
Hedley slowly pushed his wooden weapon into the mound of quivering scales. Poke.
Curious. The snake moved a bit, but she seemed docile. Maybe this is a friendly snake.
Hedley reached in slowly. In a quick-swift motion, he caught the snake around the neck. He stood up, rotating the snake's head towards his sternum. For a moment, Hedley stared at the snake and the snake stared at him. No words needed to be said as they communicated on a higher plane.
The snake slipped Hedley the tongue a few times, tasting the smell of her intruder. Hedley could see his reflection in the black beady eyes that were sizing him up.
“We’re friends, right?” Hedley asked.
The snake felt the clasp around her neck loosen. She lunged and latched onto Hedley’s heart.
As quickly as it happened, Hedley ripped the snake off and threw her to the ground. The snake hurried back to her juniper bush. Hedley stood there shocked. He looked about the world around him. Everything seemed calm. The wind blew. Birds flew above him, tweeting as they kissed the sun. Besides, it didn’t even hurt much.
This time, Hedley knew better than to cry and bring his mother running. He pulled down his shirt for inspection. The bite marks weren’t even that big and it wasn’t any more red than usual. This was reassuring.
Hedley decided it best to continue to play. He picked up his stick and continued to wallop unsuspecting dirt piles.
The sun crept behind the tree line. Although it was still many more stick swings away from dinner, Hedley was exhausted. He must have really been relentless in his beatings because he has never been this breathless.
He sat against the withered tree trunk to catch his breath. Taking himself away from all the action and excitement of object abuse, he listened to his heart. It was beating hard and fast within his confined and swollen chest. His mouth started to water and his eyes felt like nighttime.
I don’t feel good.
Hedley couldn’t muster the energy to run back to the house, so he resorted to crawling on his hands and knees. But even that took effort.
One hand in front of the other, he slowly made it as far as the juniper bush before collapsing to the ground. He rolled over on his back and stared up at the sky. Everything was calm. There were no more birds and no more sun. The sky swirled with purples, reds and oranges. It was a good day to die.
When Hedley didn’t come when called for dinner, his mother went out looking for him. She found him lying next to the juniper bush with a smile of blue lips. A dozen baby snakes with gold, ebony and rust stripes played among his body.
The End.
Copyright 2009 Gris Grimly
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
FIRST SIGNS OF LIFE
I feel so accomplished. I finished my first painting for my new book, Frankenstein and posted it for everyone to enjoy. Let us all celebrate the beginning of a long journey ahead.
Gris Grimly's Frankenstein Blog
Be Grim!
Gris Grimly
Gris Grimly's Frankenstein Blog
Be Grim!
Gris Grimly
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
