art and design.

modular origami fortress of excitement and neurosis

this is so nerdy that you may not be able to look directly at it.

basically, the indifferent weather during family vacation on block island resulted in me making several hundred tsu units, as various family members looked on in horror. then i wove them together to make this thing. it provides an excellent home for teenage mutant ninja turtles.

here’s another view:

infinitely extended, the pattern would be a sort of honeycomb of spherical cavities, each adjoining 12 others; the unit, designed by charles esseltine, is being used here exclusively to create pyramids with square bases, except where OH NO HELP JOCKS HAVE ENTERED THE ROOM AND ARE PUMMELING ME

block party

i am writing this from megabus.

dad: so what you’re saying is, now it’s not just greyhound, it’s monster-bus.
me: well, megabus, but yes.
dad: mega.
me: yeah. and before megabus there were these really cheap chinatown buses that were like five dollars, or ten dollars. i forget.
dad: mega-bopper.
me:
dad: mega-… mega-butt.
me: please stop pretending to be senile.
dad: ha ha! not pretending.
mom: can you guys just get a little closer so i can get a picture
eve: OH MY GOD MOM WHAT THE HELL
dad: so these are chinese buses?
me: i don’t know about megabus. it’s a bit nicer than fung wah, but
dad: fung what?
me: fung wah. it’s a chinese name. f-u-n-g, w-a-h.
dad:
dad: funga wunga.
me: you are a tenured professor of history. you travel to non-anglophone countries on a regular basis.
mom: eve can you just scootch over a little
eve: MOM JESUS CHRIIIIIIIIIST
mom: it’s just nice to have photos.

family vacation, block island, may 2009. eve is 20, i am 26. we picked the week before tourist season, and sure enough, we saw no tourists. that was because visibility was between ten and fifteen feet for most of our stay. the island may actually have been teeming with tourists, who like us were either stumbling through the foggy undergrowth, accumulating parasites, or lying stuporously on furniture back at home, where there was directv. here are the movies that we ended up watching:

legally blonde
bridget jones’s diary
the notebook
pride & prejudice (2005; the keira knightley version)

i am not kidding. we watched all of those. the problem is, dad has been living in an estrogen-intensive household for nine years, and he’s been conditioned not only to watch exclusively movies for women, but to loudly enjoy them in ways that women find relatable. example: yelling advice to colin firth. “she’s not going to be interested in you if you don’t listen to her needs,” dad blurted, visibly frustrated. second example: attention to costume design. “will you look at that dress,” marvelled dad. “that’s what i’m talking about! dress.” so movies for women were the only category of movie we were allowed to watch while on vacation. when i tried to switch to basketball at a commercial, he became more agitated than i have ever seen him. “WE’RE GONNA MISS THE BALL,” he bellowed at me, eyeballs bulging. “JESSE. FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, IT’S THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BALL IN ALL THE LAND.”

he’s in rough shape. it was definitely good for him to log some quality guy-hours, which we periodically did: belching at each other in lieu of conversation, say, or pretending to be apes. every morning we drank a bunch of coffee and then strode around the living room yelling about politics or sports or whatever. i would say that we were wearing clothing with food stains about 80% of the time.

other than that: we read, we ate. we biked around when it was nice, which it was for a couple of days. i made a modular origami thing. i drew the lighthouse, inexpertly scanned in above. i did some casual research for a book on what i’m calling “calamity tourism,” and got an email from pakistan: “This is with reference to your visit request to Swat Serena; we regret to inform you that due to bad law and order situation in that region our Swat Serena hotel is closed till further notice.” that’s fine. i can wait. the next family vacation isn’t for a year or so.

whqodjpsf header image

this is the header image for “we have quit our day jobs; please send food,” my previous blog. it’s based on a photo of vietnamese limestone karsts by malgorzata kurjanska. what was she doing in vietnam?, you ask. i sent her there, that’s what she was doing. let’s go vietnam first edition. better recognize.

about your blog header image

this is a header image i designed for a blog robbie mitchell and i were going to start, entitled “about your blog.” it was intended to be a review of other blogs; hence, the blog-oriented design. if i had to sum up this enterprise in one word, it would be “blog.”

teen plant logo

a logo i designed for my band, teen plant, using brushtip pen drawings and letters designed in illustrator.

haarlemmer kerk

this church was in haarlem, a town west of amsterdam. haarlem is apparently the source of the Most Powerful Easterly-Blowing Wind In The Entire World, and biking from amsterdam to haarlem with one’s slightly-less-powerful-thighed-than-one girlfriend is a superb way to put great strain on an already fragile relationship.

12:30pm. “this wind is incredible!” “i know! i can barely hear myself laughing gaily over it! ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!” “WHEEEEEE.” “yes, wheeeee.”

12:50pm. “babe, is there any chance you could… um.” “could what.” “could maybe go a bit faster.” “no.”

1:01pm. “it’s actually harder for me to go at this pace, rather than faster, because—” “HUH. PERHAPS YOU WILL JUST HAVE TO DEAL WITH IT.”

1:07pm. “take your time then. take… your… time. just moseyin’ along. yessir.” “WHAT I CAN’T HEAR YOU OVER THE WIND.” “just… moseyin’… ohjesuschristgofasterjesus.”

1:18pm. “HOW ON EARTH ARE YOU SO SLOW AND WEAK. HOW ON EARTH. HOW.”

1:37pm. “you know what? you can just go on ahead. just go. just fucking go.” “maybe i—oh, so we’re walking. we’re walking bikes now.” “YOUR IDEAS ARE TERRIBLE. THEY ARE ALWAYS TERRIBLE.” “it’s good, that we’re walking bikes. i was hoping we’d get to do that.” “THEY ARE SO CONSISTENTLY TERRIBLE THAT YOU SHOULD WORK FOR FEMA.”

1:39pm. crying.

2:04pm. “is that haarlem? i think that’s haarlem! we’re done.” “that is a fucking cow, you fuck.” “fuck you.” “fuck.”

2:05pm. icy silence.

2:31pm. “it occured to me that early, when you were laughing gaily, it should have been gale-ly. because—” “EVERY WORD YOU UTTER IS A THUMBTACK IN MY BUTTOCK.”

2:45pm. “what—” “THUMBTACK.”

3:22pm. “if—” “BUTTOCK.”

drawing of red light district

this drawing of amsterdam was completed in the red light district, a sort of las vegas for male britons aged 18-49. many nationalities visit the red light district, but the british have laid claim to it with a firmness that warms my heart. not once have i biked through the red light district without coming across at least eight british men linking arms, swaying, and bellowing a football anthem at a prostitute sitting in a window, who is trying her darnedest to undulate lasciviously but is mostly just cowering. often they are also smashing glass over each other’s heads, and if a bike comes within ten feet of them, they are electromagnetically compelled to lurch suddenly into it, like sweating crewcutted iron filings.

in conclusion, i feel that this drawing is pretty.

st