i am not a number

6, i don't remember my own cellphone number

6 of 30, or half a dozen of the other. Mankind’s relationship with the mobile has been well documented. Some people appear to have the phone attached permanently to their ear. How they can find so much to talk about is beyond me. Others have those little bluetooth headsets and walk about the street appearing as though they are talking to themselves, which is perfectly acceptable these days. I often think about donating some of those earpieces to the street crazies who do walk about mumbling (well, yelling) to invisible companions, so that people will not think they are mental. What people don’t talk about however is that since the advent of cellphones and other such gadgets is that we are losing our memories. Not forgetting stuff per se, rather just not needing to memorize stuff. We have the capacity to memorize incredible amounts of information, but if we don’t need to, then those parts of our brain don’t just start working on other things, like wallpapering the skull or writing operettas; they lay dormant. We have the internet instantly accessible so that we can look things up whenever we want, negating the need to actually learn and retain things. Are iphones banned from pub quizzes? I bet it’s hard to enforce. Not long ago, people would remember and recount whole stories, now we look up the words to Humpty Dumpty. Years before, and I’m talking in early to mid medieval times (before general literacy) memory played an incredibly important role in law and government – what was said and remembered was every bit as credible as what was written down (these days we feel we need constitutions and statute books and so on – we see things differently in the modern age, where the written word is king). What ultimately will be the cost of us not needing to use those parts of the brain which were previously used for memory?

One of the things behind this series is for me to remember where I am right now, and to remember who I am as well, because one day I might forget. Save the world while you can, folks.

pool your thoughts

pool at alder ridge

This is the pool at our apartment complex here in Davis. I never go there. My mum however is visiting from England, and was sat out there catching some of the unending sunshine that we get here in California, so I joined her and sketched some of the pool area (after watching the FA Cup final played out in BBC website updates). This is what where I live looks like.

the good mixer

5, making mixtapes

#5 of 30. This series is a bit like a mixtape. What goes before and after what is of utter importance. Each mixtape I made was like a story, a soundtrack to my bus journey. I had to get it just right. I still have some of my favourite mixes, and they are perfect to this day. I still half expect some songs, when listening to them on CD or wherever, to cut off just at that point in the riff, just like they do on the tape. Getting the song to begin on the right part of the cassette too, that was a trick. Don’t start recording when it’s that little plastic strip before the tape starts. I used to record from old vinyl at first, big headphones on, the scratchy sound really coming through. From time to time it would be tape to tape, with one of those twin tape decks nobody has any more (I never owned albums on cassette, though – how uncool and against the point! – but I would often tape songs from mixtapes people gave me, oh such quality). Then of course my mixtapes were recorded from CD, sat around a little portable CD player, piles of CD cases around me, notebook in hand, calculating song run-times and moods. On a mixtape, I tended to listen to it all, not just skip through to the songs I knew (like on a mix-CD), so it would have to be done right. Even the decoration of the cassette itself, right down to the writing on the case, had to be just so. Sometimes I would make sure there were just as many songs on each side as would fit on those little lined covers, so you wouldn’t have to look inside the case for the last song. I was a perfectionist.

It seems incredible that the mixtape is now a nostalgia item.

eight arms to hold you

4, scared of spiders

Number 4 in a series. I’ve never liked spiders. Back in junior school this was commonly known, and hilarious people would come up to me with enclosed hands pretending they had spiders to throw at me, claiming to be black widows (really common in north London schools), but their hands were empty, and I would flinch. Of course I’m fascinated by them. There are always the patronising comments, ‘oh leave them alone and they’ll leave you alone’ (I do leave them alone, but they go and build big webs around my back door), ‘they’re more scared of you etc’ (ditto), and those that say ‘oh you should do this or that to cure you of your fear’, but the thing is, fear is nature’s way of saying ‘stay away from the little multi-legged multi-eyed elusive poisonous bugger in the corner’, so I’m glad I have it. I have a toddler, I don’t need black widows crawling about. I do very well to deny their existence, but like Mad-Eye Moody I’m constantly vigilant. And that ‘spider killer’ spray doesn’t work, not at all. They just stand there laughing at me going, oh this smells nice, got any more? Rolled up newspaper on standby. That and a stiff drink (preferably a cup of tea).

you may take our trees

E street from sophia's kitchen

Memorial Day. Got out on the bicycle tonight after a trying day, and rode about enjoying the evening warmth. Stopped for a cold beer in downtown Davis, where I sat outside and drew the scene opposite me. And actually included cars! This is important. A couple of years ago I sat in this very spot and drew this very same scene, and purposely left a big space where the carwas, because I don’t really like drawing cars (unless it’s a really cool car, and that is the main thing I’m drawing). And then I went and spilled my little water jar all over my sketchbook. You’ve never seen my hand move so fast. Thankfully nothing was damaged – all is well. Thankfully I live in a dry part of the planet and so didn’t have soggy book syndrome.  

Anyway the previous drawing is below. Note how there’s a big tree whose trunk begins bottom right. That tree is sadly gone now. It was enormous, but they chopped it down because it was threatening to fall over and crush you puny humans.

E st (minus the car)

i’m only happy when it rains

3, hot weather not my thing

Part 3, of 30. I do actually wear my jumpers in the winter, and my scarves. No, I’ve never been a hot weather person. I do like it when it’s sunny, everything looks more lovely, and you get great shadows on paths and buildings which are too irresistable not to draw. But I don’t like actually being in the sun. I could never lie on the beach waiting for a sun-tan. I’m too pale and freckly, and my eyes too sensitive. When I was a kid, we would holiday in Spain; I would dash from shadow to shadow, and still somehow end up in agonising pain with skin the colour of a lobster.

See, the irony is now that I live in California I don’t actually have to worry about it. In England, you always felt guilty if it was sunny, felt like you had to go outside because tomorrow it might rain, and it might not be sunny again – this one day might just be our summer. Here, if it’s sunny in May it’ll be sunny until November. You can stay inside and out of the heat (very wise), and enjoy the sunshine in your own way (I watch it on the internet, personally). When I lived in Aix, in the South of France, you could always tell where the English lived because their window-shutters would be open. The Provencals on the other hand, they knew to keep them closed, lest the sun get in and turn their apartment into an oven. I made that mistake, and learnt fast. I recall spending several nights sleeping out on the balcony (and fending off pigeons) because it was too hot inside.

The other irony is that nowadays I feel guilty when it rains. I feel like I should be outside getting drenched, like in the old days. Things really are messed up.

rush hour

frat boards and bikes

Another lunchtime sketch (with purple micron), very quiet on campus right now, and I sat outside the Silo drawing bicycles and fart-boards. Oops, mis-spelling there, I mean frat-boards of course (are they even called that?). They look like a gang. I imagine the frat boards marching animated across campus, independently, gathering to harass bikes. A lot of them seem to be advertising Rush, presumably not a celebration of Ian Rush, though it would be more interesting. Ian Rush, he was great, he drank milk so that he’d be good enough not to play for Accrington Stanley. Funny fact, my A-level history teacher, a Welsh guy, left his teaching job to go and tour with his band who were called, of all things, Ian Rush. They sang in Welsh, and presumably scored a lot too.

get me to the church on time

davis community church

I remember drawing this building, Davis Community Church, three years ago, and thinking, I don’t like this drawing much. Its the colours. I finally got round to drawing it again, and while i prefer this I still don’t like the colours much. So I’ve decided it’s not me, it’s the building, it’s the wrong colour. I might write to them and ask them to paint it something else, pink or white or something. I edited out the homeless person who was ambling about the entrance with a trolley, mainly because she wouldn’t stand still but kept wandering off yelling something like ‘get out of my head’. I also edited out the big SUVs parked outside. While I was drawing another one pulled right up and parked in front of me, and out stepped JR Ewing, or his double.  I’m surprised I saw any of the church. I actually made most of it up.

but it’s still mightier than the sword

1, hold pen funny

I started a new series. It’s like the Save the World project, even in the same type of book, but semi-autobiographical. That doesn’t mean part-fiction, it means it’s not going to be the whole story, just some, y’know, miscellaneous details. Semi-attached. Remember those ’25 things about me’ memes that were flying about bloggiverse and facebookville a couple of months ago? Gave me an idea for a new sketchbook-long series. It might be entirely in cobalt copic, until I change my mind after three drawings and use olive green. Expect to see more little things from around the flat. I hope I didn’t draw them all last time round…

Anyway, yes, I hold my pen funny.

if you can’t take the heat

The weather over the weekend was a whopping 104 degrees. Stay inside sort of weather. People from Burnt Oak aren’t cut out for hundred degree heat. G and 2nd

Davisites are used to it though. Californians in general love the sunshine and the heat (I have to laugh when my wife complains that it is cold when it is 65 degrees at 8am), though Central Valley heat is not so loveable, and the heat has come early this year. So I was pleased today that the weather plummeted to a brisk 90 degrees. I braved the chilly weather and poked about downtown during my lunch hour, huddling up for long enough to draw the corner of G and 2nd Streets, in purple micron and wine copic muliliner, before cycling back.