Helicopters Were Cool Once, and Young

Helicopters

There was a time, sometimes referred to as “The Nineteen Eighties”, when nothing was cooler than a helicopter. Hot cars? Sure. But the most extreme, the most awesomely radical heroes, all rode or piloted helicopters. They had ridiculous names like “Stringfellow Hawke”, and it didn’t even matter, because they were pilots, and had experimental stealth attack helicopters hiding inside mountains.

And the actual pilots, the stunt pilots that pushed these machines in between buildings, or into car chases under bridges and power lines? Pretty much all of them were Vietnam veterans. Probably no coincidence most of the show characters were ex-Vietnam vets turned private eyes. That was cool, too.

Unfortunately a couple of high profile on-set accidents (Twilight Zone: The Movie was the most tragic) led to significant safety reform, and that was pretty much the end of helicopters in tv or film as anything other than transportation. Now whenever you see an actor near a running helicopter, the rotors are CG, and if the budget is low they don’t even spring for the wind machine to blow their hair around.

But I’ll never forget that special time, the era when cars chased helicopters chasing cars.

It’s About Survival

vintage_boats.jpg

I noticed a trend on completing the third entry in what’s quickly becoming a series on fictional vehicles. It turns out each vehicle type has a sort of narrative personality.

Cars, for example, are used mostly to either escape or chase. They’re almost always in some way representing freedom; freedom to run away and freedom to pursue. They basically replaced the horse in pop culture storytelling. Marshals and gunmen became cops, robbers and detectives.

Spaceships, with similar roots in classic westerns, tend to focus on exploration. It’s seldom about reaching a destination, and more often about the adventure that happens while on the journey. They represent the frontier, the unknown, and our curiosity to see what’s out there. Star Trek as Lewis and Clark, Battlestar Galactica as Wagon Train.

And ships? Well, unfortunately with ships the narrative seems to focus on getting lost, claustrophobic imprisonment, and watery graves. The “drama” with ships is apparently most potent when everything goes wrong. It makes some sense narratively, as ships and boats are often majestic to be sure, but kind of slow-moving and dull when trying to tell an exciting story. So it’s mostly when ships are attacked, or sinking, or sunk, that they drive an exciting narrative.

I’m thinking of doing fictional helicopters next. I’m curious to see how their narrative roots fit into the series.

Jumping is Just Falling With Style

Jumping_Cars

I did not fall with style. I went down in that hard awkward way when physics and gravity conspire. All it took was a deep hole in the sidewalk, some leaves, darkness and shadow to keep it a surprise, and I was on the ground before I knew I was falling. I dislocated the ulna (elbow) on my right arm, and snapped the radius in two. I dislocated the ulna on my left arm as well, because why not.

Three weeks, two surgeries, and a shiny new titanium plate later and I’m finally on the mend. Naturally I’m right-handed, so I’ve had to do everything wrong/left-handed, while also recovering from a dislocation. So today’s illustration is the first thing I have attempted to draw since the break. It was actually what I had planned to draw the day I fell, except more complex (a dozen cars instead of just five). It took three times as long to draw less than half the planned sketch, and it’s excruciating, but at least I can still put pen to paper.

Xray with new titanium plate for those interested.

Morning Doom

Morning_Doom

Doom’s Journal
August 29

The castle was cold this morning. If I hadn’t already executed the facilities manager I would go execute him right now. I contemplated using the Time Platform to go back and execute the facilities manager yet again, but decided the consequences would be a distraction.

Susan arrives today.

I still have to go through my notes, memorize my lines, and get the new “lair” set decorated and prepped. I really think this World Conquest Plan could be the one, it pushes all the right romantic buttons. It will make Reed look witless and controlling (not difficult), force the brother and the brute to act overprotective, and show Susan she can be empowered and fully equal to any man. In fact the entire scenario can only be defeated by Susan. Not fire, nor intellect, nor brute strength will have any effect. Only the thoughtfully applied abilities of Susan can save the world today, and “defeat” Doom.

It will be difficult of course. There’s little point in just handing her a victory, not when I’m trying to show her how strong and independent she can be. If during the day’s events her brother, or her damnable boyfriend were to be maimed (oh darn), or even killed (hee hee!), then so be it.

I changed my mind. I am going to pop into the Time Platform and execute that idiot facilities manager after all. I think it will be just the thing to relax me.

The Meeting

godzilla batman

His spine tingled, a mix of excitement and fear he rarely felt anymore. He had heard the rumors, but never believed them. An urban legend, mass hysteria, a story to scare children. But there he was, standing right in front of him. He shouldn’t get this close, but he wanted to really see, really know. Frozen in this moment, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, only one thing went through his mind.

“Oh shit, Batman is real.”

Nerd Porn

stormtrooper girl

Roald: No, I’m serious. I think there’s money to be made with nerd porn. You name it. Star Wars, Star Trek, Galactica, Space:1999, UFO, Thunderbirds, Lord of the Rings, and on and on. Just dress some cute girls up in Boba Fett and Starbuck costumes, throw them on a bed-

Wyatt: Would it be a bed? Maybe it should be a holding cell, or brig or something-

Roald: -Throw them in a brig, spritz them down, add a link to Paypal and watch the money roll in. I’m telling you this could be my internet bubble.

Wyatt: I don’t think that means what you think it means. Are you seriously considering becoming a pornographer?

Roald: Nerd pornographer, and yes. And thanks for reminding me to add Princess Bride to the list. So, do you want to know what I’m going to call the site?

Wyatt: No, not particularly.

Roald: Oh come on. Please?

Wyatt: Ok fine, don’t whine. What are you going to call it?

Roald: Han Shot First.

Wyatt: ….

 

Casual Murder

crow korea

What’s happening in North Korea is insane. So few people seem to understand the truly dystopian nightmare its people have endured for decades. They don’t need high-tech NSA type surveillance, through old fashioned fear and paranoia they have instead created a massive self-policing state that far exceeds anything Orwell could have imagined. If someone speaks ill of anything, even something simple like low food rations, they could be reported by a neighbor or friend. It is illegal to even sing songs from South Korea, and doing so can brand them as an enemy of the state. There is a constant fear that if anyone see someone else violating any rule, it is a loyalty test and if you fail to report it then you will be the one arrested. Thus the perfect self-police state.

Read more

It was supposed to be dark

batman adam west

They had playwrights. They had playwrights and novelists lined up to write the scripts. They planned to reveal a hopeless gotham dystopia awash in the throes of a never-ending crime wave. Villains so terrible, so exceptional, that only an exceptional and terrible anti-hero could fight them. It was going to be like nothing ever seen on television, challenging, groundbreaking.
 
They found an actor, suave and handsome, had a real edge. His voice was an engine at full rev, power barely held in check. He was a playboy and a cad, and rumors swirled he would be the next 007. He was the embodiment of their vision, a bored socialite forced by circumstance to fight for the life and soul of a city. They were set to make drama, to make history.
 
And then he put on the suit.
 
 

Double Feature: The Omen vs Jaws

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“You’re going to need a bigger kid,” the Amity sheriff said, watching Damien play with the deputy’s german shepherd.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” the Pentagon suit replied. “You may want to keep him away from the dog, though.”

“So what are you going to do,” the sheriff asked. “We don’t even know how to find this shark.”

“We just drop him in the water,” the suit replied. “He takes care of it.”

“Just like that?”

“Yep. Worked for Syria, “ the suit said, a tremble catching in his voice. “Ok Damien, you’re up. Get your water wings on, you’re going swimming.” The suit guided him to the helicopter, noticeably staying out of reach. Damien smiled.

Back on the dock, the deputy searched for his dog.

Anger Managed

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They stole our children, took our babies in the night, and laughed at us. These animals, these pigs, they all deserve to die. For taking our children they will be crushed and dismembered and beaten until dead. No one will help us, we seek revenge alone. We are destruction and rage, we are death. This game rated E for Everyone.

An Indifference of Crows

crows surprise

Young Crow: HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY
 
Old Crow: WHAT?! What is it?
 
Young Crow: That kid, the kid threw a rock at me yesterday, that kid, KID KID KID THAT KID HEY KID HEY HEY HEY
 
Old Crow: So what, he's not doing anything now. Just shut up and he'll leave you be.
 
Young Crow: Let's kill him! Let's get a murder together and murder him. MURDER MURDER MURDER KID HEY HEY HEY
 
Old Crow: No, what? No, we don't murder people. We're called a "murder" of crows because back before modern sanitation and law enforcement we would get together and scavenge on the corpses they'd leave lying around. The term came from people knowing a murder had happened when they'd see a bunch of us hanging around, not from us killing anyone.
 
Young Crow: Oh.
 
Young Crow: Can I poo on him?
 
Old Crow: … Knock yourself out.
 
Young Crow: POO POO POO POO POO POO POO

 

Flower Girl

flower girl

 

Since I moved to Bordeaux, my routine has been disrupted, to say the least. I started out trying to find a pub to sketch in, just like I would do back home. Couple of problems cropped up pretty quickly.
 
One, art draws a lot of attention in France. a lot. And I'm in a city with the largest population of college students in Europe; smart inquisitive young people, many of them studying art. So it's one awkward exchange after another, where I can't understand them.
 
For another, I miss my pub. I miss my friends and the people I love that revolved around that place. So when I go into another place and grab a beer and start to sketch, a deep sadness seeps in. Like I'm cheating on a lover that I still love.
 
I'm sure it will get better. But for now, the drawings are fewer. And harder.

Bordeaux Postcards

street sketches

 

My first day in Bordeaux, twenty hours of travel (without sleep), trying to shake being a whole day ahead. The hotel was drab and small, and my home for the next month until I found an apartment. I had to go kill a few hours so I could sleep through the jet lag in one go. The first building I found was once a wine storehouse, back when horses hauled casks around on carts. Now it was home to a variety of shops, including a massive art supply store.
 
The entire back half was dedicated to paper. Endless stacks and reams and books of paper of every size and type and press. I immediately found a small book of blank postcards, made from local pulp.
 
That's when I knew I was going to be ok here.

And then, Bordeaux

Bordeaux skyline

Then at the consulate, terror. Everything had led up to this, months of preparation and expectation, all came down to this one appointment. I had already quit my job, sold my car, gave notice at my apartment, bought tickets, had a new job waiting for me. But without that visa stamp in my passport, it would all crumble.
 
There were six people ahead of me, and one by one, each failed to secure their visa. Each were declined over some small document missing, or forgotten signature. One girl was supposed to start a job in a week, instead she left in tears. A man had tickets for his wife and kids to fly this weekend, and he was summarily refused visas over a faxed document instead of an original. It was a bloodbath.
 
Then it was my turn. My circumstances were no more dire than any of the others. As prepared as I was, that damnable man would frown at every thing, tap his pen, furrow his brow, ask if I had an original for something that would have been impossible to get, then nod and move on.
 
And then I heard him say, as if from underwater, thank you and it should be in the mail by week's end.
 
One more week, and then Bordeaux.

Runt of the Litter

runt

I remember my first. Mr Wiggles. He was a runt, probably would have been eaten by his siblings if his mother hadn't eaten his siblings. Little guy hid under a rock, I thought it showed good survival instincts. He turned out to be the toughest I ever had, even tougher than Bixby. And Bixby ate half of North Carolina before they put him down.
 
Wiggles had a gentle way about him, or maybe we just bonded after I ate his mother. Probably pheromones or something. He would do this little purr snuffle thing, like those, what did they call them, dogs? Like dogs and something that purrs. It was adorable, even with the mucus.
 
Anyway, I just wanted you to know that it isn't how big she is, it's the heart. And I can already tell that your little cutie has tons of heart.
 
So, what are you going to name her?

Samurai Monkey Shakespeare

Samurai Rain special

You know that story about how if you leave a monkey alone with a typewriter given infinity he'll eventually bang out Shakespeare? That was me and this drawing. Most people just see a nice sketch, but I know. One in a hundred, one in a thousand maybe, comes out like this. I had no time, no prep, no planning. I grabbed a still from Akira Kurosawa's 'Seven Samurai', blurry, dark, not a lot of info. I only had a couple of hours to draw Friday night, so I wanted to just do a quick ink hatch thing, and I expected to make most of it black.

 
Then I found the line. I mean I found it. You can see all I was doing was the one angle, trying to match the angle of the rain. But it just started making all sorts of interesting shapes, especially in the areas that were supposed to just be black. I started to see things in it, things I've seen come from Frazetta, Wrightson, Kubert. Now let me be clear, when it comes to line art, those guys? Actually Shakespeare. Me: monkey. Them: Shakespeare.
 
But I found something. I don't know exactly how to do it again, but I'm going to try to figure it out.
 
I'm still a monkey, but now I'm a monkey with ambition.