February Review

Okay, so as you may or may not remember, February was the month where I decided it would be a really good idea not to look at myself in the mirror. I also avoided photos of myself.

The goal was to jolt myself out of all the superficial evaluation I put myself through on a daily basis. I didn't think it was such a big part of my life until I had to consciously think about just how often I checked myself out on reflective surfaces.

It'd be one thing if I was like...

That's a problem, too, but it's not the problem I struggle with. It was more like...

So yeah, overall that state of affairs was pretty bullshit.

The first week or so, I kept messing up. It was hard, breaking a habit that had been instilled in me since before puberty. It's the end of February and I'm still messing up, but I've gotten better. Now, I don't seek out my reflection, and if I do accidentally get a look at myself, I make sure not to dwell on the image.

Has this had a positive effect on  me? Oh, maybe. It HAS helped me be more mindful about self-judgement, which is a big problem for me and pretty much every person I know. And I've also gotten the pleasant surprise of accidentally seeing myself in a photo and being weirdly non-critical of my appearance.

Normally, I would have thought, "Oh, gawd. Look at the size of me!"

Instead, I actually wondered, "Who's that girl who looks like a slow loris?"

Which I guess is kind of a good thing, more or less.

I'm kind of weirdly excited about getting to look in the mirror again. Not because I want to go back to judging myself all the time, but because... I mean, I haven't seen myself in a month. When Kjerstin Gruys didn't look at herself for a year, she said that seeing her reflection was like reuniting with an old friend. I guess that's how I feel right now.

Process Stuff - Lumberjack Watercolor

So, yeah. I did this thing...

...which I'm pretty much in love with.

I heart this guy, from his giant ax to his tiny, T-Rex arms. But did I always love him? Oh, no. The process from start to finish was a little rougher.

The Black (or Rose) Swan

by Rose David

Is it normal to just freak the fuck out about watercolors? Or like, colors in general?

Lately, I've found myself getting really worried about this kind of thing. I've spent hours fussing with my watercolors, doing tests on the effects of mixing versus layering, and coming away from it all still wondering whether I like the color green.

(Which I like in theory, but whenever I use it, everything just looks sort of vegetal.)

I used to think that this kind of single-minded preoccupation meant I was a dedicated artist, but I know enough about my stress triggers to realize that this isn't healthy behavior.

If I don't force myself to take a step back, I'll only end up BLACK SWAN-ing myself.

That's a real thing.

It's from that Natalie Portman movie, where she's a ballerina and she just wants to be PERFECT, so she works so hard and so long that she loses her grip on reality and fucks up her brain and, oh yeah, starts dream-banging Mila Kunis.

(That's a deliberately obtuse description of a really great movie. Seriously, everyone. Go see BLACK SWAN.)

I watched it the first time a few years ago and it was ridiculous how scared I was. It's an intense movie, sure, but I was probably so freaked out because it hit me on a really deep level. Like the way I get super-scared at ghost movies or possession movies, because deep down, I really think that I'm extra-susceptible to hauntings and/or demon possession.

In the case of me Black Swanning myself, I need to remember that spending hours nit-picking every line I draw and color I paint will not lead me to Perfection.

In fact, I'm fairly certain that Perfection doesn't even exist, which means we're all basically stuck on a Hedonic Treadmill that's never going to stop until we just collapse in a heap of sweat and old paint-jar water.

So, uh, yeah.

There's that.

Free Wallpaper Thing

I just like... Really love Isaac from Children of the Corn, you guys.

So much so that I made him into my desktop background.

click for full-sized image, outlander!

Do you love Isaac, too? Maybe? If you do, feel free to snag this little dude and set him as your background. I, for one, find it very inspiring when he glowers at me.

Diary Ghosts

Last night, I was writing in my journal and--

Okay, no. "Journal" has a patina of factuality and intellect. What I keep is a "diary"--it's personal, emotional, and usually shows off the worst parts of my character.

Which is a good thing no one is going to read it, ever.

I'm pretty sure.

But then, I don't think Teddy Roosevelt imagined anyone was going to read his diaries, either. But you can just hop over to Amazon and buy them for like, a buck.

Which makes me wonder... like, why aren't there more pissed-off dead people just HAUNTING bookstores?

Teddy Roosevelt, maybe, could come to terms with this. He was a president--he probably figured, at some point, that people were going to look through his shit after he died.

But don't you think, at the very least, that Anne Frank would be royally pissed off about this? She was a teenage girl, for fuck's sake. I'm not trying to downplay the historical significance of her diary, but there's a lot of personal crap in there, too.

Some Thoughts on CHILDREN OF THE CORN

This movie still kicks ass on so many levels. And while I'm still coming to terms with whether or not I love it in that Ultra Ironic, I'm-So-Cool-Because-I-Know-This-Sucks kind of way, I do have a few observations I'd like to share about the first Children of the Corn film.

First of all, this movie has Linda Hamilton in her pre-Sarah Connor days, playing the ditzy girlfriend. She spends a decent amount of the first twenty minutes asking Peter Horton why he's not marrying her. When they get to the creepy, kid-infested town of Gatlin, she immediately gets kidnapped. For the next 3/4 of the movie, Linda Hamilton is used as a prop to compel Peter Horton to kick some ass.

Because Peter Horton is our action hero in this movie.

Peter. Horton.

Remember that Baby-Sitters Club movie they made in the 90's, where we meet Kristy's shitty dad and he stands her up at a carnival and she waits, crying, in the rain for hours?

THAT GUY.

It's super weird watching Sarah Connor get overwhelmed by a bunch of children, even if they are carrying scythes. But that brings me to this movie's next bit of awesomeness...

There just aren't enough movies where adults are earnestly fighting children. Because honestly, that's the only way that most of us would be able to kick any kind of ass. We all want to be Ellen Ripley or the Terminator, but most people I know would probably start crying during a fight.

But against a bunch of nine-year-olds? I might stand a chance.

And for anybody who's ever had to endure a plane trip beside an unruly twelve-year-old who will NOT stop causing a ruckus, Children of the Corn should come free with your in-flight meal.

That said, the kids in Gatlin aren't actually all that scary. I did end up loving Isaac, the leader kid with the weird, old-man face. He's like twelve or something, but he sort of looks forty?

Anwyway, I was really into how authoritative he was, especially when he was bossing around that homicidal ginger kid, Malachi.

I wish I could be that assertive every day. There are so many things that annoy me that I should speak up about. Like... When someone asks me how I'm doing, and I say I'm okay, and then they just go...

"Are you sure?"

What in the natural fuck is that? Of course I'm sure. And even if I weren't sure, I certainly don't want to talk to YOU about it, now do I?

Cheese and rice.

If I've learned anything from Children of the Corn, the best way to make sure that never happens again is to just practice my crazy eye and reply...

Let's Party!

My nephew had a birthday party recently. It was pretty okay, I guess.

Being a youngish, childless adult puts you in an interesting position during children's birthday parties.

You don't have much to say to the other grown-ups, but you're too old to join the children without someone calling the police. Or, worse, asking you to babysit.

Testicles, Complaints

by Rose David


I do this thing where I get really mad about something, but not at first.

Like when Colin was saying how annoying work-themed blogs are, specifically those written by baristas.

Which was pretty funny coming from a guy who was so shit in the cafe we worked at that he was pretty much almost fired a couple of times.

I was too polite to point that out, though. Instead, I told him, in the middle of the dinner hour at a busy-ish restaurant:

Which was kind of a shitty thing to say, even if it got a laugh.

But now it's been like, a week since then, and I find myself randomly annoyed about the whole situation.

You'd think I would just feel vindicated. I got a zinger in and everything, so shouldn't I just be reveling in my stupid, little victory?

Sometimes I wonder what the hell is wrong with my brain.

This Guy

Another weird drawing of my weird friend, Colin. Which you kind of saw a little while ago, but this was me experimenting with a brushy line-style, versus the dip pen I used on the final piece. I kinda like it better this way, come to think of it...

At some point, I'm going to do a whole comic about this kid, such is his Harvey Pekar-isma.

(See what I did there? Harvey Pekar + Charisma? Eh?)

February's Experiment: No Mirrors, No Problem!

As part of My Big, Weird Year, I'm testing out a new, daily habit every month. It's part self-improvement, part social-experiment, part girl-you're-crazy.

So, this month, I'm ramping things up a notch. My challenge for February is inspired by Kjerstin Gruys' incredible year of ditching the mirror.

I'm going to try and copy Gruys' routine as closely as I can, which means also avoiding reflective surfaces and not looking at photos of myself, either.

As I'm writing this, I've been at it for a few days and I have to be honest and tell you that I'm fucking up with alarming regularity. But that's another post.

I don't spend a ton of time looking at myself, but even so, this is proving to be interesting. For a month, I'm not going to be able to look in a mirror and evaluate whether my stomach is flat enough, as if anybody besides me ever gave half a fuck about that, anyway.

I'm not going to be able to stare at my reflection in a glass door and wonder whether or not my shape has changed for the worse after last night's salty dinner.

Nor will I occasionally feel like I've dodged a bullet when, after a particularly stressful week, I haven't gained 1.2 pounds from stress-eating half a plate of nachos.

In a way, this will simplify my life, but not at first. Because this is going to be tough. I'm so used to looking up every time I enter the bathroom, not to make sure I'm still there, but to grade myself. I'm wondering how much time I really do spend, every day, rating myself against a scale that may or may not be imaginary and probably isn't relevant.

So... Here we go.

My Life In Coffee

by Rose David

Just a little two-pager for now. Not sure if I want to turn it into a full-fledged thingy.

January Wrap-Up

by Rose David

Yeah, okay. So...

This went pretty well. Admittedly, I gave myself a real softball challenge this month.

But look at me, doing that thing where I minimize my successes just because I didn't put myself through hell to accomplish them.

I know that's a Thing I Do because this month's challenge has really been good for increasing my self-awareness. And I'm grateful about that.

Know what else I'm grateful for?

A lot of teeny, tiny things that sound kind of stupid when you list them out publicly. Like firewood and shovels and streaming Netflix. Also cocoa and fresh oranges--the latter is best consumed during winter, while sitting by a drafty window and staring at the ice rink that is your driveway.

I guess this whole gratitude journaling thing HAS changed my perspective on life. Not in any crazy, earth-shattering, total-paradigm-shift kind of way. It's not like I went to a Tony Robbins seminar and I'm riding an endorphin high of forced extroversion and fire-walking.

Going through my day, I don't feel soaked in the warmth of my new gratitude and awareness. If I'm significantly wiser, it doesn't color everything that I SAY, DO, and SEE. I wish it did, but I kind of don't care that it does.

Because I'm just, you know, grateful for the little changes.



Oh, God, that's really sweet and happy, isn't it? I feel self-conscious now. Yeesh.