Blog

It Was Meant To Be

“It was meant to be.”   I overheard a co-worker say this.  She was talking about how she landed a job at the company where I pretend to be Clark Kent.  She was unemployed looking for work. Things were really about to hit the fan when out of the blue she receives a phone call from an old associate of hers that inquired if she needed work.  That’s was how everything fell into place for her.   It’s a well-played story line.  I’ve overheard it many times over. Like:   “Everything happens for a reason.”   “It was destiny.”  

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Pg 176-177: My Doppelganger

Besides having a double life- I also have a doppelgänger.   He’s actually my twin and he lives in South Korea.  No, he’s not evil but he chooses to live very close to it (if you consider North Korea evil, or NoKo as my brother calls it).   This week he visited with his wife and daughter, Da Won.   To celebrate, New York City decided to climb to one hundred degrees for four days in a row… and it’s killing me.  My Midwest blood wasn’t made to stand this temp.  I grew up where winter could start in October,

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Busted Steam Pipe

I live a double life.   By day I am a mild-mannered financial operations analyst, by night a guy fiercely drawing school shootings and girls with rabbit ears speaking gibberish.   It’s a struggle to keep both separate.  In the comics they always make it seem like the superhero is pulling off this tightrope act to keep their true identity concealed but it’s a bunch of crap.  Clark Kent wears his superman outfit under his clothes.  Which means he brings his other life to the office! Come on- He’s asking for everyone to find out!   “Oops! Sorry Clark.  I

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P165-166, July 4th 2013

It’s a good thing that I draw.  At times I feel I have an addictive personality and if drawing didn’t cut it and I moved on to something more hardcore, like heroin, well I would have OD’ed ages ago.   I just went on a four week bender of crapping out pages (8 pages to be specific) and at the end of last week I fell to the ground burnt out with a pencil sticking out of my arm (figuratively, obviously). My attempt to take it easy over the weekend failed.  Especially since my manager at my day job started his

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P17, Year 2009 (in the beginning)

In the year 2000 I was in my senior year of art school just south of downtown Milwaukee in a place they call the Third Ward.  I was a fine-arts drawing major, I listened to Radiohead, and I wanted to create illustrations for magazines such as Rolling Stone once I graduated.  I wasn’t breaking any molds here. I was naive like any other twenty-one year old about to step into the real world.  But something one of my drawing teachers said stuck with me.  He said that certain projects we would attempt in the future would take more than one

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