Cardboard Rhino

Notecard Comics

2012-01-31T23:45:00.001-05:00

1st = Barry 2nd = Tom 3rd = Tom

Hippomus Pottomus Story Book

2012-01-29T18:36:00.012-05:00

Munchy Dude

2012-01-15T20:07:00.002-05:00

Here's my second entry into the animation galaxy, Munchy Dude.

Wally Man

2012-01-14T19:45:00.003-05:00

I present to you a short animated film called Wally Man.

I made it on my phone. The sounds are me, too.

It's called Wally Man because I tried to call it Walky Man, but my phone changed it automatically to Wally Man.

The Best Christmas Poem of All Times

2011-12-21T20:43:00.004-05:00

December, when the weather chills,
and leaves depart their mother trees
the land dissolves its yearlong ills
and cheery dispositions fill
all space that's now made free.

And all the trees in all the woods
and forests growing silently
bereft of their once verdant hoods
like old men where once children stood
they bow to snow compliantly.

Yet here in clean sepulchral white
undaunted grow the fir and pine
a green that shows as though in spite
of cold and brutal lengthy nights
that numb the hands and chill the spine.

And, too, the holly still abides
through icy winds and clouds of gray
it's berries, red and sanctified
impervious to sharp collide
of winter winds from far away.

Secret Santa

2011-12-21T20:01:00.002-05:00

In the darkest hour
Of your bleakest day
Somewhere out of sight
Someone's on the way

You can't see him come
You won't hear his sleigh
Don't know where he's from
But it's near the day

To your secret hope
To your whispered prayer
He brings strength to cope
He sends gifts to share

Cause his gentle hand
Reaches out for you
You will feel its touch
In a day or two

And outside of view
And without a noise
You’ll awaken to
A day filled with joys

A Poem for Decorating the Tree

2011-12-17T00:33:00.002-05:00

When one decorates a tree,

He or she can see,

That the tree is a fine pine,

Sublime in it's prime-time,

For Giftmas joy, a key.

Now, see here what I have to say,

On this most lovely occasion,

Oh, and what a day it is,

A day that I like a bunch, A whole lot, a ton,

Genrally, a ton-of-a-lot-of-fun,

Very nice, on the whole,

In short,

I like it pretty good.

What is a birthday, anyway?

Why, it's a celebration of a person's birth,

The essential role that they play,

In the general course of say,

What ever happened,

What will... what may.

Now see here fool!

I'll tell you what's up!

I'll suck up your brains from a straw in my cup!

I'll eat you right up, if you don't understand!

I'll eat all your body: minced, cured, and canned!

I'll smack you right down if you dare reprimand,

The meticulous christmulous joy that I've planned!

Haha! Haha! And a fat HA, I state!

Your stupidity is all to much fun to berate!

You clearly have hate for the rhyme which I spake!

For your spirit is now on the brink of a break!

You cannot match my Giftmassy Joy!

Not one of my presents,

Not one of my Toys!

Go now and perish!

Flee from this Land!

Don't you see what this is,

Upon which I stand?

This is Christmas Isthmus,

The bridge on the sea,

The bridge to the spirit,

Of all that is in any way at all Christmassy.

Prezzy popo

2011-12-14T21:15:00.001-05:00

I highly anticipate the presence
of Christmas presents
And of what the presence of presents represents at present.
When the season presents
The opportunity to present presents
I presently pre-sense the need to have presents pre-sent
So that the none can resent unprecedented present non-presence.

Skeenk

2011-12-06T19:51:00.002-05:00

More Giftmas Poetry: der Adventskalendar

2011-12-03T11:26:00.006-05:00

So, I read this poem on one of my new favorite websites (Futility Closet).

JANet was quite ill one day. 
FEBrile troubles came her way. 
MARtyr-like she lay in bed; 
APRoned nurses softly sped. 
“MAYbe,” said the leech judicial, 
“JUNket would be beneficial.
” JULeps, too, though freely tried, 
AUGured ill, for Janet died. 
SEPulcher was sadly made;
 OCTaves pealed and prayers were said. 
NOVices with many a tear
DECorated Janet’s bier.
– Carolyn Wells, Folly for the Wise, 1904

It inspired me to write my own Giftmas-flavored version.

JANtle breezes wafted by,
FEB or six small flakes aloft,
MARry Christmas songs abound,
APRicots in stockings soft.
MAYking cookies, cakes, and pies,
JULs of shining candy bright,
AUGht to get some sleep I know,
'SEPt I can't sleep a wink tonight.
OCTual reindeer hooves I hear,
NOVer before have I heard so clear,
DECidedly St. Nick is here...

Christmas Drawings

2011-12-03T02:38:00.001-05:00

Christmas Kitty by Barry and Christmas Explosion by Diana.

XMAS POEM

2011-11-28T23:59:00.002-05:00

ROBOTS CHRISTMAS
COGS FOR CANDY
SPROCKETS FOR STOCKINGS
TECHNO-COOKIES FOR SANTY

ROBOTS CHRISTMAS
CYBORG ELVES MAKING PRESENTS
CURVED CABLES FOR CANDY CANES
A PHASER COOKS A PHEASANT

ROBOTS CHRISTMAS
BABY ROBOTS CAN'T SLEEP
THEIR HARD DRIVES ARE SPINNING
TRYING TO HEAR SANTA BEEP

ROBOTS CHRISTMAS
FINALLY THE DAY
LOOK HOW MANY GIGA-PRESENTS
CAME FROM SANTA'S CYBER-SLEIGH

ROBOTS CHRISTMAS
NOTHING LEFT TO UNWRAP
TIME FOR ROBOTS TO REBOOT
WITH A ROBO-CHRISTMAS NAP.

Friday F L O

2011-11-25T13:18:00.002-05:00

For those not in the know (ftnitn) this is the friday FLO (titflo). Make a guess - it's not a test - and post it down below.

M C B!

T i o. N i i C T!

I l C.

I a m a d o s f d, a d o S f H, a I m a b a h-p f D.

T i a.

-B

Thanks Given

2011-11-24T17:28:00.000-05:00

I give thanks for the wine and the food

I give thanks for the holiday mood

I give thanks for the laughter and fun

I give thanks for each daughter and son

And if this were my last earthly day

I'd give thanks that it ended this way

Angry/ Funny Comics

2011-11-18T20:07:00.004-05:00

Well, Here are some little ditties I tossed up at Ilaria's request after three lunches a month ago.

Haints!!!

2011-11-17T18:57:00.005-05:00

Today I was going about my business of making pictures, as usual. What do you think happened? One of my colors dried on the palette! I wouldn't post this on the blog- but here's what: the paint dried in the form of a clear image of our cat that recently got hit by a car!!! He is trying to contact and/ or haunt us, it seems, and we should all be aware and keep our eyes out. This weekend a cat crossed right in front of our car as we drove, which looked identical to 'hit- by- a- car', (identical also therefore to 'not-hit-by-a-car', by the way), but we thought nothing of it. BEWARE! TAKE CARE! BEWARE!!!!!!

Marker Bored

2011-11-17T11:34:00.001-05:00

When the boys were younger, they would occasionally come to the office and write on marker boards in ways that approximated real business diagraming, but were much more humorous. This inspired me to occasionally decorate the marker boards of places of business that I visit.

My intent is to make something that makes no sense, but looks like it does and to always add the "DO NOT ERASE!!!" statement that has become a common theme of corporate marker boards. (It almost always has multiple exclamation points and the content tends to stay up for months.)

Das Poem

2011-11-11T20:55:00.000-05:00

strawberry meat parade
capsized sandwich
stupefying caterpillar
cannibal candy dish
flagrant pancreas
faithful wristwatch
chainsaw pathogen
ampersand pit stop
blazing polenta
magenta banana
damascus begonia
alone in havana
principal fitness
mincemeat witness
strapping young musketeer's
popular business

Pumpkin Boys

2011-11-06T05:29:00.004-05:00

2011-07-26T14:44:00.002-04:00

Come one, come all!

Don't miss this once in a lifetime opportunity! You've never seen a CALENDAR like this before! Now every month can be a whole new opportunity to live the life you've always dreamed of-- and especially to pay a visit to your all- time best friend, the 'Lovey- Dovey' Monster!!! You'll flip your lid at these extraordinarily low prices! You'll go for a loop at the guaranteed top of the line quality! You'll think you died and went to the eternal pleasant resting place preferred by the religious denomination of your choosing! Don't miss this unbelievably fabulous offer! Wait!- you thought that was all? If you call in the next 24 hours, you'll also receive a stupendous surprise gift!

What are you waiting for!!!!!!

Nikala

2011-07-03T05:43:00.003-04:00

Another sign. Pro-bono.

S I S T E R S

2011-06-25T08:00:00.000-04:00

On our way back to mother's house from the art fair in Flint, Michigan, we saw two ten-speed bicycle wheels in the neighbor's trash. "Oooh," said Deborah, eyeing the wheels.

"Do you want to take a look at those wheels," I asked, hoping not. We had already kept my sisters waiting for dinner.

"Maybe, if they're still there later," Deborah said, adding, "I don't want to pack one more thing right now."

~ ~ ~

My four sisters had, more or less independently, decided to meet up for dinner in Flint while Deborah and I were in town for the Flint Art Fair. Janet, the youngest sister, and Diane, the eldest, both live in the area and work together at the Flint Library, on whose grounds the art fair was being hosted. Our mother, RoseAnn, lives in nearby Grand Blanc. My younger sister, Sharon, drove in from Plymouth and my older sister, Maureen, drop up from Harrison Township.

My mother ran communications. Maureen was supposed to come to dinner the night before, but couldn't make it. Sharon's availability was in doubt until the last moment. Janet helped us tear down the booth and pack the van. She got to Mother's house just ahead of Deborah and me.

Finding dinner was a sad commentary on the state of the economy in Flint, Michigan. We had planned to go to a chain fine-dining restaurant known for great ribs. Diane got there first, with my nephew, Brian, in the passenger seat. Diane was on the phone with my mother, who was riding with Sharon (Brian's mother), and Janet. Deborah and I were in Maureen's car. We were all soon together in the vacant parking lot at the defunct restaurant talking to each other on cell phones.

Most of Flint was like this now: hit or miss if the store you want to go to is still in business. The locals just took it in stride. They decided on a nearby barbeque joint. We could get take-out and head back to Mom's house to eat.

The barbeque joint was closed on Sunday. The parking lot was chaotic with cars pulling in and out of the strip mall with four closed retail outlets. Across the street loomed Halo Burger, a bastion of indigestion, open, willing and able to serve our gastronomical needs. The sisters opted for Sophia's, a diner in Grand Blanc they were sure was open.

But not for long. We got to Sophia's at almost 8:00 p.m. and they were closing at 9:00. We had to eat it and beat it. We ordered appetizers and entrees at the same time, ordered drinks, and when the fruit smoothies came, things started to get interesting.

A peach smoothie and a chocolate shake were passed around, resulting in a couple more orders for peach smoothies, which were likewise passed around. In fact, it seemed that virtually every dish was shared with all comers until everything was gone.

Eating with my siblings can get interesting immediately. Even with just my four sisters (and none of my four brothers), the conversation can get hot in a hurry. They will gang up to take you down a peg or two if the opportunity presents itself. Which it always does. Being around my family can be intimidating for newcomers like Deborah, especially if they are not used to siblings. There are always four conversations going on at any given time, and it is customary for people to suddenly drop out of one and into another without pause or parting words.

My sister, Janet, has a booming voice and can sound off negatively on almost any topic. But lately she's been "New Janet," genuinely smiling and happy to see people, and much more civil and radiant than she used to be.

Sharon, the next youngest, is an attorney and makes her living being clever with words. She knows interrogation techniques and torture: using your own words agains you. You have to watch out for Sharon.

Maureen is my nearest older sibling. We look alike -- both dark -- and we used to be able to convince stranger we were twins. We behaved like twins growing up, except I got caught for most of my misdeeds and she did not. She enjoys nothing better than putting a younger sibling in his place, except maybe sticking it to an older sibling, especially her sister, Diane.

Diane is a librarian and know-it-all. A two-time Jeopardy contestant, she is also family genealogist chronicling the photos, news clippings, history and doings of two clans -- one Irish, one Itlaian -- from whom we have all descended. Diane is not only the authority on who did what in our childhoods, she also keeps the memories of past generations and all the kings and queens of England and the capitol cities of all 50 states and the formula for converting Celsius to Fahrenheit tucked inside her head and available for instant recall, especially if the purpose is to put a sibling in his place.

That's a tough room! Presiding over all of it is the mother hen, RoseAnn, who, at age 82, was vying with pre-teen Brian for the status of youngest in the room. She likes to sit back, listen to all the chaos she has created, and laugh. She lets us do the heavy lifting of putting siblings into place. Her job is to keep things from getting out of hand -- and also taking advantage of any openings anyone leaves in the conversation for her to get a few licks in of her own.

I did not think Deborah stood a chance with this crew.

Boy, was I wrong. Deborah not only didn't object to having someone else's hand in her plate every few minutes, she was grabbing from the others with gusto while relaying tidbits about me to my sisters which they would then use against me. When I said the peach smoothie gave me a brain freeze in my throat, Deborah was kind enough to relay my sister Sharon's comment that my brain must have moved up. She reminded me of it again the next morning, and has probably shared the comment in emails to friends.

I was lucky to get out of that dinner alive. Thanks to Deborah's presence, my sisters didn't tear me to pieces and pass me around like a plate. At the end of the meal, one of my sisters called Deborah a "fifth sister." She's not a family member yet, but one day, the pack of sisters will turn on her. That's when you really know you're in the clan.

~ ~ ~

When we left town the next morning, we passed the neighbor's house and the bicycle wheels were gone. "I knew someone would take those wheels," Deborah said. I smiled. In Toledo, she discovered the wheels in the rear luggage compartment. A week later, after lunch at the Staunton Grocery, I asked her to marry me. She said yes.

Anyone who can thrive -- let alone survive -- in a meal with my four sisters is woman enough for me.

# # #

2011-06-10T21:29:00.002-04:00

Here is a little assignment I gave myself- I 'copied' this Krazy Kat, but with my own characters, and I changed the story. I also made things a bit too big, and I wish I had made it seem more like the box of coal was precious to Paddy, ah, and many other problems. However, I consider this post to be my payment to dad for something on behalf of Barry for something I agreed to, I think it was dad loaning Barry money for Village Harmony.

yern,

cog the clog

More Avant Garde Cooking

2011-06-01T11:11:00.002-04:00

1
You're sitting at a nice table with a white table cloth. A waiter comes out with a cart. He pulls the top off of an enormous pan and places a watermelon in front of you. You are left alone. There is no silverware, you notice. You wait for the waiter to return. After several minutes you yell for assistance, but receive no response. You thump the watermelon. It's hard shell is perfectly intact, round, infinite. This food is not cooked. It has not been splayed open before you. It is not a mess of soft delicious food that you can easily crush with your teeth. You have been provided with no sharp metal tools to cut it to pieces and rip apart its flesh. You are alone with the watermelon. It is massive, bigger than food. Food is small and contained in little cups or arranged in small lumps on plates. You consider walking out. Do you dare? You place both hands on the watermelon. Why should you be afraid? It's just a stupid piece of fruit. Do it!

You lift the watermelon and throw it to the floor. It bounces and rolls. You hesitate for a moment then chase it and kick it. It spins. You stomp on it and loose your footing and fall on your back. You are seething. You take the watermelon in your arms and beat it against the corner of your table. It cracks, then breaks in two pieces but you aren't satisfied and you continue beating it until its juices have soaked your shirt and you lie exhausted under the table, panting. With each breath you breathe in the scent of victory and breathe out your hatred for the watermelon. You relax. Your heartbeat slows. You reach blindly into the puddle of juice around you and bring a small piece of watermelon to your lips. Why does it have to be this way?

2

You are sitting at a beautiful table with a white tablecloth and nice silverware. There are 15 waiters assigned to your table. One brings out a cart with a large and complicated heating system. One valve releases a billowing cloud of steam. As you speculate on what could be inside, one of the waiters stands on a chair and begins to speak.

"Here we break our chains of bondage to the food of the past. We do not declare the revolution to come, but the revolution that began, in this moment. The food of the past is dead. The bondage to a glamourous food has ended. The chain that tethers us to that veil of elegance has been cut, and we see with eyes of a newborn, still unaccustomed to the cold air. We see the food as it is - or food as it was -"

Your stomach is growling loudly and you try not to appear impatient. The remaining fourteen waiters are standing in a crowd around you listening attentively to the fifteenth waiter. He continues, passionately.

" Food as it is to the wildcat, sprinting after its prey - to the eagle, falling through the heavens to pull a fish from the sea. Not food as it is to the fat man in nice clothes who sits and eats-"

You look down.

" sweat dripping from his nose. Not food as it is to the stupid fat man who buys expensive food. No! We renounce this food. We strip this food of its power. No longer will we endure the filth that is the food of the past - the stench of cows and pigs, roots and twigs covered in dirt! We press on unrelenting to a future of food, pure, crystalline in its perfection."

As the waiter continues with his speech, you stare drowsily at your plate. A few minutes later the group of waiters marches back to the kitchen. As you wait for them to return, you think back to all of the other good meals you've had, to the birthday dinners you used ask for. Barbecued ribs and ice tea and green beans and homemade ice cream for desert.

In the Vernacular of the O'Keefe Motif...

2011-05-29T08:20:00.001-04:00

..has been updated. Plus I invited everyone to be contributors.

http://okeefemotif.wordpress.com/

Avant Garde Cooking

2011-05-26T09:21:00.003-04:00

You are at a beautiful table with a white table cloth and expensive silverware. There are four waiters assigned to your table.

the First Course is placed in front of you:

It is a popcorn bucket. It's waxed cardboard. The corner has a bite mark on it from a child's mouth. There is orange soy based butter in the seam at the bottom and a dusting of orange cheese on the sides. In the bottom is a crumpled raisinettes bag. There are still six raisinettes inside. As you eat them you look at the bucket. It says "Movie Time = Snack Time" on a film strip that is printed diagonally across the bucket. The smell of the butter bothers you so you scoot the bucket away from you and hear a strange scraping noise. Pictures from a photobooth have been taped to the bottom of the bucket. There is a weary looking mother and a little boy. In each picture the mother has the same tired face. You are wondering about her past when a waiter brings out the

Second Course:

It is a jumbo-sized movie theater drink. You take a sip. It tastes weird. You open it. There are grass clippings floating at the top of some water. You ask a waiter, "What is this?" He tells you, "That is water collected during Hurricane Katrina on Bourbon Street in New Orleans. It has been tested for contaminants and is perfectly safe." "Where is this grass from?" "It was clipped from the front yard of the Old Westham house this morning by one of our chefs." "So that's why they needed my parents address," you think for the benefit of the readers.

The Third Course

appears to be a large roll of glossy white paper. It has been taped closed with spiderman bandaids. You pick it up to look inside and something warm and wet falls into your eyesocket. You tilt your head forward and it falls onto the white tablecloth, staining it with a deep, red juice. It is a small satchel made of thin cotton. After you have untied the top it falls open and presents a baby chick, plucked, with its throat cut. It's heart is still pumping blood out of the open arteries. As you bite into it you notice some writing on the cloth where it had been lying. At first it is difficult to see through the blood, but eventually you can make it out: "Fruit of the Loom."
Having finished the bird, you peel the bandaids from the glossy paper and it unrolls on your table. It is a movie poster for ''Feathered Friend" depicting a young boy holding a chicken in his arms. A dark, circular stain repeats down the length of the image blocking out certain letters in the text. The title, from a distance appears to read: " eat end "

The Fourth Course arrives.

It is a shallow bowl of milk. You drink to the bottom. There are two tickets there, one child and one adult to a 7:30 showing of feathered friend. You check the time. It's 7:25. The restaurant falls silent. The other tables all stand up and leave and the lights go out. You hear a click and a whirring noise and suddenly there is a film being projected on the wall in front of you. Midway through the film a customer enters the restaurant and sits with their back to you at another empty table. Plates are brought out to them and they eat. As the credits begin to roll, black on a white background, the customer comes and sits across from you at your table. Backlit, in the dark you can not see their face. Suddenly the credits cut and you see a film of yourself. You are biting into the chick. You wince. The lights come up. There, across the table is the woman from the photobooth pictures. She is smiling. You hear applause. The other customers pour out of the kitchen and stand in a circle around you, clapping.

Xoxbis Stremlebi

2011-05-11T13:21:00.000-04:00

This is a sign I made for J Wurd's wine bar, art studio, carpet studio, hang out all the time place.

Stupid Comic

2011-05-11T13:10:00.000-04:00

Dunununununununuh CAT PAN!

2011-05-11T13:01:00.000-04:00

Diana improvised this little potholder.

Comics about knights.

2011-05-10T00:02:00.004-04:00

Stomachs

2011-05-07T07:34:00.003-04:00

A comparison of the contents of Ilaria and Diana's "stomachs."

Panoramic Telephone Pictionary

2011-05-07T06:55:00.003-04:00

When Sarah Wolfe was visiting us here she was assigned the job of tearing the paper for a game of Telephone pictionary. She tore it short ways, and that's how Panoramic TPP was invented.

Easter conceptual art piece

2011-04-25T00:03:00.002-04:00

I took flowers from the bushes and stuffed them in the tree to make a tree!

Hypothetical Easter Eggs

2011-04-24T23:23:00.002-04:00

Because we are not together to make eggs this easter I generated what would have happened had we been together.

A short story...

2011-04-19T20:35:00.006-04:00

Once upon a time there was a humongous python. There was also a brilliant scientist name Dr. Amadi. All of this was happening in Africa and not long ago. Dr. Amadi was professor of Hyperadvanced Robotics at the Botswana Institute of Technology and was out in the jungle testing his newest invention, the Slow Loris Bot. A slow loris is a sort of a little monkey lookin guy, sorta like a marmoset or a lemur, just a wee monkey fella.

A Slow Loris Bot is a robot made roughly in the shape of a slow loris and designed to emulate the remarkably sophisticated functionality that a slow loris exhibits on a regular basis while swinging through then jungle canopy on its hunt for delicious juicy bugs and nasty little fruits. If you want to, feel free to call the Slow Loris Bot "Slowlobo" for short. Robots have no emotions and so there's no chance that such a nickname will bother it.

Anyway, like I was saying, there was this python and it was slithering on a baobab tre saying, "Ssssssssssssss", which is snakese for "Ohhhhhh, I'm hungry." Well, no sooner had the words passed his non-existent lips than he spotted our little friend Slolobo scampering across some branches, without a care in the world. What the mighty python did not know was that very nearby at that moment Dr. Amadi was controlling Slolobo remotely and observing his surroundings via camera. Mr. Python felt that it was lunchtime and proceeded to slither at top slitherspeed over to the silver-gray monkey.

In his nearby scientific tent Dr. Amadi watched this unfold. Make no mistake, Mr. Python was well skilled st sneaking, and there can be little doubt that under normal circumsances a slow loris would never have seen the sly snake dripping down amongst the crooked bows of the baobab, but lil Slolobo was equipped with nothing less than state-of-the-art infra-red optics and stuff like that.

Intrigued by the possibility of scientific observation Dr. Amadi elected not to interfere. He reckoned that his small monkey robot would be invulnerable to the piles of crushing snakebody that would soon be heaped about it.

Dr. Amadi knew much of the natural world. What The doc did not know, however, was that this python, Mr. Python, was born on the oldest, sharpest, most craggy and dangerous rocken spur of the Tsodilo Hills or northwestern Botswana, where long ago earliest San shamans chanted rituals over images of the sacred python. He could not have known that this particular python was of an ancient and noble lineage of serpent kings, strong in body and keen of thought. Mr. Python, greatest of pythons, wisest and wiliest and cruelest of pythons.

Anyway, Mr. Python encircled his prey... He was ready to strike at a moments notice, but the monkey didn't move. Why not? Surely it knew of the danger it was in? Could the monkey be sick? Why was the monkey silver? He decided to constrict regardless, and so he did. He leapt into action, wrapping up Slolobo and tightening his coils into his customary death grip. Mr. Python now realized tha truly this was no ordinary monkey. It was hard and cold like a stone, and didn't fight back. Annoyed at this discrepancy, he tightened harder. The more he tightened the more angry he got and the more angry he got, the more he tightened. Soon Dr. Amadi saw that Slolobo's pressure sensors were now almost at their maximum breaking point! "Impossible!", he thought, but there was the data. Some quick calculations told him that this python was thrice as strong as any recorded before! No! Four times as strong! Now five! Six!

Suddenly, Dr. Amadi was blinded by a white flash.

To be continued.

Sitting

2011-04-16T09:31:00.000-04:00

Sometimes i just sit all day
my feet are walking
my mouth is talking
my fingers flicking
my keyboard clicking
but all I'm doing
is self ungluing
just sitting, sitting all day

U Bend

2011-04-09T02:15:00.001-04:00

A poem by C, recorded by B:

I bend

U bend

We all bend

for U bend.

2011-03-17T05:48:00.002-04:00

This is my first intentional Cardboard Rhino post, but now that I know how, I will do more. I hope this card will be useful to those of you who like "birdwatching". I will try to draw a better "Cardinal" in the future, although I find that some of its aspects are fine as it is. The seagull is added as a note of humor.

Tortle

2011-02-25T15:59:00.000-05:00

CBA's

2011-02-23T09:07:00.003-05:00

Santa Frantic

2010-12-20T10:59:00.004-05:00

I’m so distracted that I’m begging on my knees
I’m praying Santa, Santa, Santa, Santa Please
Don’t pass by my place I can tell you’re getting near
I hear those sleigh bells ring, ring, ringing in my ear

The kids are singing, singing, singing in the choir
The logs are burning, burning, burning on the fire
I’m feeling frantic like I’m dancing on the ceiling
Twelve months since last time that I had this crazy feeling

I feel so dancey, prancey, chancey in my soul
I want to party, party, party, rock and roll
The corn’s a pop, pop, pop, pop, popping in the pot
There’s jambalaya, and a pie a little hot

And soon the nifty, thrifty, gifties will be here
We’ll all be loving, gently shoving to get near
And then we’ll take, take, take our goodies from the tree
So we can rip, rip, rip, rip, rip the paper free

So let’s all give, give, give, give, give some gratitude
Have a delightful, mighty-rightful attitude
Cause it’s a wondrous, purely fundrous kind of day
So don’t stop shiv’ring, quiv’ring when it comes your way

A lil poem

2010-12-18T13:42:00.002-05:00

Snowy day
Christmas lights.
Will it snow
Christmas night?
Sledding down
with my bro.
Will there be
Christmas snow?
Got a cold;
sniffy sniff.
Will it snow
the twenty-fifth?
Nighty night,
hushing sound.
Will the snow
come rushing down?
Chistmas morning
open lids.
Did it snow...?

The end.

Stupid Old Santa

2010-12-18T11:28:00.002-05:00

Stupid old Santa
Stupid Christmas tree
Stupid red stocking
Prob’ly not for me

Make believe reindeer
Phony flying sleigh
Irritating carols
Hate it when they play

This time of year
I live in fear
Of holiday expressions

Yes I’m sorry to say
That Christmas day
Fills me with such depression

Those annoying tunes
Where some loser croons
“Santa’s oh so great”
They fill me with hate

Buying all those toys
That don’t spread no joy
Just a bunch of junk
For some little punk

There’ll be no elves
Filling up my shelves
With goodies of all description

No naughty list
No mistletoe-friend kissed
Just Valium by prescription

Keep your gift-wrapped garbage
Keep your tinseled tree
Keep your stupid Christmas
Far away from me

Just because it’s offered
I don’t have to take
On the other hand
I do love fruit cake

And as I reflect
Why should I reject
A gift or well-phrased greeting

Warming by the log
A little cup of nog
A candy cane for eating

Maybe this year
With a little cheer
I won’t find it so depressing

So my dear friend
My poetry will end
With a stupid-old Christmas blessing

Little Baby Fingers

2010-12-08T14:46:00.002-05:00

Oh, yes.
I remember.
Your first Christmas presents were wrapped in tissue paper.
So your little baby fingers could tear it aside.
Surprise!
Something you have never seen before !

Christmas Poem

2010-12-06T14:28:00.002-05:00

Fires give off glowing light,

Snow falls softy through the night,

Home and hearth are on my mind,

For Christmas is the finest time.

It all begins on thursday fourth,

When, usually, we head up north,

Dreaming, waiting, till we dine,

For one can’t wait for Christmas time.

The season long, and filled with merry,

With Mom-Dad-Conor, Tom and Barry,

Giftmas gifts run through my mind,

For it’s getting close to Christmas time.

Christmas eve can be quite tense,

We must converse with little sense,

With company we would decline,

If it were not for Christmas time.

Tomorrow morn, when first light breaks,

What joyful shouts and calls we make!

And after that, we soon align,

To see who’s first to Christmas time.

And greater are the joyous cries,

When Christmas hits our weary eyes,

Gifts removed from under pine,

With all caught up in Christmas time.

How grand it is to nap in paper,

Exchanging candies with one’s neighbor,

Yes, the pile has declined,

But still there’s joy in Christmas time.

We celebrate with all due mirth,

Both children’s story and their birth,

One for us and one divine,

This is why there’s Christmas time.

Now, to all, I mean to speak,

If you see this as something bleak,

Then take our joy and make it thine,

There’s room for all at Christmas time.

2010-12-06T08:44:00.001-05:00

Barry & Diana

2010-12-06T08:43:00.000-05:00

Conor & Ilaria

Shell Spelling for Love

2010-12-06T08:39:00.001-05:00

Tom & Laura

Wormy Shell Spelling Project

2010-12-01T19:00:00.001-05:00

It's never a good time not to be watching Barbie TV.

2010-11-23T19:35:00.002-05:00

My holiday rap ya'll

2010-11-22T22:33:00.002-05:00

Giftmasological
scientific chronicle
puttin it in focus for ya
like I was a monocle

i foresee snow,
some under tree prez
hi-res photos chouldn't show
all the happinezz

picture us
loungin on the couch
you can see up through the christmas tree
if ya crouch

my mad skills of rhymin
and mega timing
still cant define the divine kind
of fine dining we'll be finding
in our stockings
after santa comes knocking
block each other in the hall
as we go rocking
rocketing in slick socks super duper fast
last one there is still happy cuz its criss-mas

a blast of chieftans
some charlie brown and roches
what a tragedy
when its finally buenos noches...

Bad Holiday Poem

2010-11-22T19:14:00.000-05:00

Startin it up

Good, it's not dead

Slide that defog

to the red

Purp Jug's rollin like

Santa's sled

pickin up Gifts for

Christmas

Barry's out in Rabbadabton

Rappin it up

getting things done

Tom's North West In Teaberburg

Workin' on seconds

Done with his third's

Conor's still in Serphimgrad

not quite sure about

Mom and Dad's

and Donald's up in Dinoland

Getting stoked for

Christmas

Black is in the big white chair

Blue is napping under there

Mum is raking in the back

Dad is sitting with the cat

Grump is haunting traffic lanes

Sonja's chasing aeroplanes

Gabby's still a bit too loud

Rosie's nappin in a cirrus cloud

Now

it's

night

time.

Pwom is stealin a big cookie

Cog is passed out on a book

Bowser's fighting with a wookie

Don wakes up to take a look

Snow is everywhere out there

Noone's driving anywhere

He don't remember when it is

Until he's up to do his biz

Remembers he can't cross the line

Until it's really christmastime

Now

It's

Chris

Mis!

- Show quoted text -

i smell santee

2010-11-20T21:52:00.002-05:00

snoz is comin' early round this time of year
getting kinda chilly, air is crisp and clear
shouldn't be too long before ol' winter's here

flannely pajammies covrin' twitchy toes
fragrances of nutmeg waftin' up my nose
reachin' in the closets for the warmer clothes

whatcha think you're doin' sitting there alone
texting anna talking on a cheap cell phone
pack your bags, you're leavin' and your headin' home

good stuff'll be waiting so you betta fly
turkey an potatees and some apple pie
snuggied by a fireplace that is warm an dry

pappa's gotta a story and it don't make sense
fables 'bout a princess and some british gents
slime boys are in trouble, they ain't paid their rents

"X" it on your calendar it won't be long
santa says you been good and he can't be wrong
just to getya started you can sing this song

Bear & Crow Visit the Wise Man Comic

2010-11-19T15:44:00.006-05:00

My Pumpkin

2010-11-18T14:44:00.002-05:00

TOM

2010-11-13T14:25:00.002-05:00

I picked an old spiral notebook that looked blank from the cabinet under where "the gerbil used to be" to take with me to Russia last summer. Somewhere midway through the trip I found a few doodles by Tom in a blue ballpoint pen on one of the last pages. Here they are. In case you can't tell, that card says "TOM" on it.

Sorrowful Halva

2010-11-13T13:36:00.006-05:00

Wrote this in Russia during comics and tea. In picture see a pitiful reenactment with me and Lee.

(It's supposed to be funny yall)

Today I bought a piece of peanut halva at the market. We had it with dinner. Tonight conor is upstairs already for some reason, and I went into the fridge and took, as if from some long forgotten corner of the refrigerator of my memory, our old sesame halva, and as I did I imagined myself eating it and sobbing.

"Why are you crying?"

"It's just so good."

Bu then I thought - I think now that it was weeping for my memories of yesterday - when we didn't know today, when we didn't know the other halva. We only had sesame and were content, but today sesame has become one of two halvas, and in a way, we can never return to it again - not as it was, not as our only - not without knowing what's outside. And so now sesame halva - the same piece - is both itself and the pain of its memory.

Just as when we leave Vishny Volochok I will miss the flavor of these days - the way it feels to be stuck with nothing to do but sit around the table with a hot pot of tea carving a piece of halva, and drawing together until late. Today our life here comes closer to a sorrowful memory. Just as my memories of my brother change with each added year - each new separation from that first state - one of only one I knew, at home together as children.

Ballad of An Entwife

2010-08-21T16:37:00.004-04:00

I hide in shadows
'neath withered limbs
the sky grows darker
the forest dims
I left the entmen
so far away
and now in sorrow
I'll soon decay

As a young entwife
I longed to run
through verdant pastures
so free and fun
but now uprooted
I'm doomed to fade
and die in autumn
no more to shade

So tell the entmen
I'll miss their might
their massive branches
their tow'ring height
their leaves so gentle
their roots so strong
their joyous voices
raised in entmen song

Condensation Drawin

2010-08-21T14:44:00.002-04:00

Double Foldy

2010-08-06T13:10:00.002-04:00

Fold-over Drawings

2010-08-06T12:39:00.003-04:00

Birthday Telephone Pictionary

2010-08-06T12:16:00.003-04:00

To play Telephone Pictionary:
Each player needs a long piece of paper. Sit in a circle. Start by writing a sentence at the top, then pass to one side. Illustrate the sentence you received, and then fold the paper so only your illustration is visible, then pass again. Write a sentence about the illustration you received, then fold the paper so only the sentence is visible, and repeat until you're out of room, or you've got your original sentence back.

At the end it can be funny to match up the original sentence with the final illustration.

Drawing Contest

2010-05-23T12:54:00.009-04:00

Three dragons, three goblins and three ghosts - by Tom, Barry, and Laura (in that order). Click to make it big.

.

.

.

Fighting

2009-12-19T10:51:00.003-05:00

I'm fighting

fighting
fighting
fighting
fighting
fighting
fighting
fighting

every attack
every attack
fighting back
fighting back

fighting
fighting
fighting
fighting

fighting back

Happy Snakesgiving!

2009-12-10T07:33:00.004-05:00

Some years ago, I tired of the seemingly vacuous sentiment of Thanksgiving -- a holiday celebrated in much of the United States by demonstrations of excess. Excessive gorging, drinking, feasting on fattening foods and then, when the coma wears off, stampeding the malls to spend what little you don't have.

So I started to celebrate "Snakesgiving," a more irreverent holiday, and to greet people with a cheery "Happy Snakesgiving" and, if possible, a snake of some sort: rubber, wood, flesh....

HAPPY SNAKESGIVING!

This got me in a little hot water at airport security a couple Snakesgivings ago. I often travel with a thumb piano. It's an anti-stress device that helps melt away airport delays. Inside luggage, however, the metal tines look like Freddy Kruger fingerwraps, resulting in baggage examination. Fortunately, many security clerks are African Americans who recognize the cultural significance of this musical instrument and let me bypass the body cavity search.

So, anyway, it was Thanksgiving day and the thumb piano resulted in a search. When the officer opened my luggage, there was a three foot serpent on top. Wooden, of course -- I would never treat a live animal like that -- but realistic. The officer took a quick step back, looked up at me, and I smiled and said, "Happy Snakesgiving!"

Fortunately, this year I was traveling by fuel-efficient Ford Econoline van, and not generating any of those dropping-polar-bear-size carbon bombs like all you airplane travelers, or slowing down our nation's economic recovery, like those who walked this Snakesgiving and missed opportunities for productive work. The snakes were loaded in the back of the van.

SNAKES A LOT!

The snake is an interesting, egg-laying, skin-shedding, cold-blooded vertebrate with spooky eyes and a forked tongue. In religious lore, the snake is associated with temptation. He's right there with Adam and Eve at the beginning of everything and is pretty much associated with the end of all good things, the bliss of Eden, the joy of ignorance.

Bam, just like that, humanity is now doomed to suffer because a snake whispered in someone's ear, "You know, you could do better." The snake is associated with truth, with opening your spooky eyes to the difference between good and evil, waking up to reality.

The snake says, "take a cold, hard look around." The snake is one chill dude -- cooler than cool -- loose, slippery, hard to pin down: he speaks with forked tongue. He is associated with transformation because he sheds his old skin and gets a new suit any time he needs one.

Voodous worship the loa Damballah, the snake god, who is associated with the creation of the universe (the egg) and whose cycles can be used to divine fortune. When the Africans who originated voodou were forced to hide their religion in the new world, they used likenesses of St. Patrick for altars to the snake god, Damballah.

St. Patrick was the Catholic slave-turned-priest who is patron of Ireland. He is credited with driving the snakes out of Ireland. Therefore, it was not sacrilegious to Catholics to place snakes around icons of St. Patrick. In fact, the snakes are often built-into statues of St. Patrick and many other religious deities.

The shimmy of the snake is the definition of duality -- yin and yang, back and forth, side to side, rock and roll. The instrument of the snake is the rattle. The rattle is the egg. The egg has the seeds. The seeds are the origin of all life. Simple theosophy.

BACK TO SNAKESGIVING

So I'm driving this van full of snakes across America headed for my brother's house in Frederick, Maryland, via my daughter's house in Nashville, Tennessee.

Along the way, I notice that about half the cars have a glowing blue device on the dash somewhere. This is strange. I've been driving these roads twice a year forever and this is the year of dashboard navigation.

In fact, once I got hip to the trend, I found a way to prop my iPhone onto my dash for stylish no-hands GPS updates. It's like watching the airplane tracking channel when they first put screens in seats. For the most part, though, I steered clear of any bluescreen drivers.

The other thing I noticed was about one fourth of all passenger vehicles had a rack of clothes in the back seat. I don't know if more Americans are living out of their cars or not, but they certainly are prepared to do so at a moment's notice.

By the time I got to my brother's house, I forgot I had a snake tucked inside my hoodie, and it just sort of popped out when I hit the front door. "Ooops. Happy Snakesgiving!" He was startled because I was startled because I'd forgotten about the snake. But the snake was plastic and my brother has hosted Snakesgiving before and is wise to my foolishness. He didn't even smack me.

TWO FOX

The next morning I did what I've done every Snakesgiving for a very long time. I went for a walk in the woods and picked enough "flowers" to make a respectable wildflower arrangement. This is easier at my brother's place; a brisk 20-minute walk through the neighborhood park and you are in farmland a.k.a. condos-in-waiting, where you are not likely to be arrested for snipping some solidago or liatrice or oak leaves.

My brother's dog, Alice, adores me. She's a border collie and a bit dainty but can be coaxed to investigate the manhole-sized boroughs we find dotting the creek. One of these years, we will run into Mr. Skunk and I will no longer be allowed to take Alice for walks at Snakesgiving. We rarely run into snakes.

This year, my oversize Bed, Bath, and Beyond Bag was stuffed with autumnal foliage and we were about ready to turn back for home when there was a great rustling in the woods along the creek.

The crashing and snapping was too heavy for squirrels. I thought deer maybe and realized Alice was off leash. Just then, a red-and-white fox jumped out of the brush and after him, another. Then then both stopped and looked us over and I laughed and said, "Happy Snakesgiving!"

Just then the two fox ran toward us, getting just a few feet away before darting on a rampage across plowed-over corn. Alice was tempted to follow (me, too) but she held her ground and we watched them zig and zag for acres as a vulture flew above.

My brother, Kelly, often tests me about how animal spirits can be used to divine advice. He only made fun of me once this Snakesgiving, when he accused me of "talking to animals" and I reminded him I also talk to trees. He wisely didn't take the bait.

FOX ONE

My brother, Barry, who hosts Thanksgiving with his wife, Donna, stays out of these discussions. His job is to talk to plants, more or less, for the National Cancer Institute. His recent work with red algae has led to promising results for sufferers of HIV, ebola, and other illnesses.

Barry's Ph.D. is in "psychopharmacognacy." That sounds exactly like what I studied in college, but it's completely different. It involves isolating medicinal uses from natural compounds, as opposed to synthetically manufacturing drugs in a lab. He does the sort of far-reaching research that sometimes hits gold, as opposed to what the drug companies specialize in, which is narrow modifications that steadily sell and steadily improve.

Barry teases secrets out of plants and his wife, Donna, is a plain, old-fashioned pharmacist who works at the hospital monitoring patient drug regimens. They are both scientists, but there is a crucifix in the entranceway and beneath it are the folded leaves of palms brought home, one suspects, from church the Sunday before Easter.

The origins of Voudoo are also in pharmacy. Voudou priests and priestesses were first and foremost root doctors. They understood, through apprenticeship, the medicinal uses of plants as handed down through generations. First came the healing, then came the religion.

Plants were described as being invested with spirits. In some ways, these ghost stories are shorthand formularies for treating illnesses, along with legends of their use. When you hear cooks speak lovingly of the way ginger dances with garlic, you are on the slippery slope of Voodou.

My brother, Barry, is a bit of a gourmand. One Snakesgiving, from which I was absent, turned into an Iron Chef competition. He will appreciate the analogy between cooking and gene splicing and backwoods catholicism.

FOX TWO

My brother, Kelly, is, in fact, red and white and has a good, bushy head of hair. He looks volpine in his publicity shots (that means "foxlike," Kelly). And he has a reputation for cleverness.

Kelly and his foxy wife, Cristy, trumped all the other gossip at Snakesgiving with news of their purchase of "a big spread with a creek in it." Fox habitat. At squirrel prices. In the outback of Virginia. A place we can all use, with notice, to rest our weary bones.

I've tried to explain to Kelly several times how to talk to animals. The secret is in listening, not talking. He doesn't have the patience to hear the animals, let alone talk to them. But he is a bird lover, so there is hope.

The day after Snakesgiving, Alice and I went even further in the early morning chill until we scared up a family of deer that were sheltered in a stand of woods between two cornfields. We watched them leap off, half with white tails raised high, the others smaller or immature. About a dozen in all. I hoped we didn't send them in the direction of hunters.

So this is how it works, Kelly. Animals represent archetypes, some of which is a result of collective knowledge about their behavior. A robin is often a harbinger of spring. Robin's egg blue is a shade that is widely understood and requested. The word "robin" itself is a collective archetype of color, sound, and behavior. What is interesting is not so much what I think seeing a robin "means" as the fact that you think the smudge that just passed you by is a robin. The fact that I saw a fox and not a field of corn means something.

And the fact that I saw two foxes playing on Snakesgiving Day means this: I can feel free to enjoy my time with my brothers without fearing the wolf or the vulture. As long as I am with my brother, neither are likely to strike.

And the herd of deer, the fragile food staple of the wild, said much the same: Your family protects you. Stay together as much as possible. And the fact that I "divine" this wisdom from these animal friends says something about me. And that's voodoo.

Happy Snakesgiving!

I'll Always Have Paris

2009-08-17T20:26:00.002-04:00

DIPLOMACY

I learned a new game at my brothers' beach retreat this summer. It's called "Diplomacy." I think you'll like it. Here's how it goes.

My nephew, Tom, brought a crate of games with him, but was most keen to play one called "Diplomacy." The game had won a Nobel Prize, to hear him tell it. It was "Kennedy's favorite." There were "dozens of online discussion groups devoted to it." Books. Web sites. Entire universities, it seemed like. Students battling students for World Domination.

Well, (partial) World Domination, anyway. After the first turn, when I tried to move my troops, Risk-like, around the edge to the other side, Tom laughed. "You can't attack across the edge of the board."

"Why not," I asked. "They're next to each other."

"No they're not. North America is in between them," he said.

"But North America is not on the board," I protested.

"Precisely. It's not the whole world."

So onward we proceeded in our game of (partial) World Domination, in which, as is the case in the real world, none of us knew or understood the rules.

Tom had *read* the rules. He waved around a clutch of papers in 10-point type printed off the Internet -- sixty four pages, or something like that. We were all free to read them, too, which we declined. We preferred to squeeze the rules out of Tom as we needed them, and then berate him when we failed to ask the right questions or even understand what he said.

Playing the game, as in real life, is a lot different than reading the rules. So Tom didn't really understand the rules either until he saw them in motion, played out in a series of troop movements followed by resolution sessions.

Tom announced that it was okay if it took several days to play the game. We all groaned. Then we set aside a table that had been my dressing table and it became the Diplomacy Table around which our vacation would revolve.

RISK

Diplomacy is a lot like Risk. I don't know if you have ever played Risk. It is not like Monopoly. In Risk, the entire Earth is in play, you start with troops and territory, and you slowly add troops and territory or you die. When everyone is dead except one player, the game is over.

Risk can take hours to play. It would take days to play, except the game's inventors realized this pacing problem and added a trigger mechanism: cards that are exchanged for increasingly large sums of armies. In Risk, the world has a built-in destabilization plan. One player reaps a sudden, disproportionate windfall, then wipes out the others. Come to think of it, that is very similar to the real world of late. Risk is a study in globalization leading to destabilization.

Diplomacy has no such trigger. So impossible is it to accumulate enough strength to take over the world that they left two-thirds of the world off the board. The game was still too long, so they made it so you only have to hold eighteen "supply centers" and you win. There are 60-some countries in Diplomacy but only 30-some supply centers.

In Risk, the wheeling and dealing, bargaining, alliance-building, and double-crossing usually happens right in front of you. With a wink and a nod, two players agree not to attack each other, and to wipe you off the face of the Earth instead. Risk can lead to sore feelings.

The best Risk player I ever saw was Leo Drolshagen. Of course, he's German, as were the makers of Risk, most likely, and certainly the makers of Diplomacy. My nephew, Tom, who is a game aficionado, says that "all the best games are designed by Germans."

Drolshagen never lost. My brother, Mike, who was one of the best Risk players I ever saw, could not beat Leo. I had four brothers, and four sisters, and Drolshagen had a younger brother who played with us, too, and none of us could beat him.

That's frustrating, because it means first of all that Risk is not a game of chance -- it's a game of skill, like chess. Secondly, Leo Drolshagen has more skill than any of us. Period. That turned out to be true. He got some ungodly SAT scores, went to Vanderbilt (I think) and went on to become an M.D. and no doubt a nuclear physicist as well. He probably designed the European Economic Union.

Anyway, the worst Risk player I ever saw was my good friend, James Scranton. His stock in trade was unpredictability. No one could ever predict his moves because they were always stupid, and we knew he wasn't stupid, but he played like a complete moron. That was his strategy. Randomness. He would attack for no reason, without goal or strategy, and it irritated the hell out of whomever he attacked. He was the wild card in the game. I never saw him win. He never even lasted very long. But he always managed to put a monkey wrench into the game that left everyone else sore.

My ex-wife, Storme, was an excellent Risk player, which is not necessarily a good thing. Her strategy was to build slowly. She preferred to attack the least amount possible to get her card and gradually build strength. In my family, you do not let someone hold a continent in Risk. Ever. Period. To your dying last troop. You are socially obligated to break continents. Not so, Storme. She would let others hold their continents and took offense if you tried to break hers.

I am an attack player. I like David and Goliath odds, and the dice always give the edge to the attacker. I will go for as much territory as I can, as fast as I can, even at the expense of wearing myself thin. It's all conquer, conquer, conquer with me (and many of my eight siblings). Except that I will hew to the creed of self-sacrifice to break a continent.

Let's just say that if you play Risk, and your wife has a hold & build strategy and you have a lay-waste strategy, you are going to go to bed mad some nights, and that's just not healthy for the relationship. When Storme and I played with James Scranton, I was surprised there wasn't blood shed. We both wanted to kill him, whereas Storme and I were just furious with each other.

It was much the same with my siblings. I hated the way all of them played. I particularly hated games where I got rubbed out early, sacrificed to some scumbag alliance between siblings who were a little quicker than me. My nephew, Tom, says Risk has too much luck in it. I guess that means he doesn't win every time. But Diplomacy supposedly has all the luck taken out of it. There are no dice, no cards, no sudden windfalls. A better way to say it is that Diplomacy is all talk and very little action.

MORE DIPLOMACY

After a couple of rounds of all of us knocking up against the rules and trying to figure this game out, I could see my situation was hopeless. My nephew, Tom, who held most of Asia, had made an alliance with his fiance, Laura, who held Northern Europe. Under their mutual non-aggression pact -- sealed with a kiss, no doubt -- they agreed to leave their flanks open and take their troops forward to the front lines.

Tom and Laura have played enough games to know that it's best to align with your girlfriend or boyfriend or spouse -- for diplomatic reasons -- when playing any sort of game. What was he going to do, attack his future wife in front of his assembled family? Not a chance.

So Laura took me on in Europe and Tom took on Uncle Barry in the Middle East and my brother Kelly was rubbed out pretty fast in Turkey. That left my niece, Olivia, who was on my flank with nowhere to go except to attack me or her Dad. I cut a deal with Olivia.

MONOPOLY

When I was about Tom's age and in college, I had the pleasure of teaching Monopoly to an Israeli who had never played the game. That he was a Socialist at the time, and I a Libertarian, made the experience even more delightful. We started this lesson one night in a pub in East Lansing.

As the other players were explaining the game, the Israeli asked, "How do you win?"

And my friends said you won by getting all the property. And I said that's not true. And they said getting all the money. And I said, "No."

"You win by being the last player in the game," I said.

And they looked at me very oddly and huffed, "And you do that by getting all the property or all the money."

And I said, "We'll see."

And so we went on explaining the rules and then playing the game and no one thought anymore of it -- except me. I decided then and there to try to win Monopoly without having the most money or the most property. I made deals to exchange the property I bought for free rent on other players' properties, or for a percentage of the take, such as 15%, for a color-coded set-maker.

After about two hours of play, I was out of property. I looked for every opportunity to go to jail and hang there, because that was the safest place for me. Between GO money, free rent, and my cut of other players' rents, I could handle any Chance or Community Chest setback. I proceeded around the board, loop after loop, just scraping enough money to pay rents due.

Houses went up, hotels went up, players lost everything, but no one could get me out of the game. We had been playing for five hours. I was safely in jail, when finally my Israeli friend said, "I give up. I cannot play any longer. You have won."

Then everyone agreed I had won. They also agreed that I had ruined Monopoly for them forever and that what I had done was contrary to the whole spirit of the game. That was maybe my happiest moment on planet Earth.

FINAL DIPLOMACY

So here we were on Tomahawk Island, on the outer banks of North Carolina, indoors, playing a game of (partial) World Domination that did not even include North Carolina, and everyone is mouthing off about not knowing the rules and hating this game, and no one is mouthing off more than me.

But I calmed down when I finally saw what a sweet little setup the fates handed me. I made an alliance with my niece, Olivia, that she could rummage through my flank and take countries at will while I held off the female half of the Tom & Laura lovebirds up in Europe. That was okay with Olivia.

Laura was not too happy with my strategy, since it meant battling her to a standstill while giving Olivia a free pass but, hey, by that time I had zero interest in the game. I could see I was between a fiance and a niece and I had no chance, so I fell on my sword. That's diplomacy.

As my pieces left the board, however, a new reality settled in. I held one country: Paris. It is a supply center. I can stay alive as long as I can hold Paris. I would lose to any attack from two armies. However, I had a pact with Olivia. She agreed to never attack Paris. She further agreed to support me against attacks on Paris from Laura. Since Laura could only attack with two armies, she would never be able to take Paris as long as Olivia supported me.

And so it came to pass, my friends, that in the game Diplomacy I outlasted everyone. Once Olivia had consumed the territory around Paris, I was safe from attack. I was in the game, but I never attacked nor was attacked. I neither had to move or defend myself. I stood, motionless, in Paris, while around me great battles were fought and won and lost.

Because someone can win in Diplomacy by taking only 18 supply centers, the game could come to an end without me ever having to relinquish Paris. In fact, the game ended when everyone got tired of playing. I wonder if that is how the real world will come to an end one day -- everyone decides to stop fighting?

While some will say Tom won Diplomacy, because he was the most likely to capture 18 supply centers -- or because he achieved his victories without having to attack his fiance -- I feel as though I won. Any game for (partial) World Domination where I can spend the entire time peacefully in Paris is my kind of game.

# # #

iam

2009-07-03T15:57:00.009-04:00

i am the deertalker
the napsnagger
the toetwitcher
the pupchucker
the mental noggin
the monkey monger
the social hider
the cardboard riner

seer of sepia
slicer of earthworms
speaker of stories
doctor of nocturn

fever slapper
party napper
giftmas wrapper
snowcone mapper

corndog
redbeard
crawdad
scootslide

smell the power
ice the lightning
steer the bob-lo
fear the shagha

know me and be loved, be smacked, be healed

Comic about temperature.

2008-11-07T21:39:00.003-05:00

Here's a comic I wrote about temperature. I wrote the first panel first, and everything else bloated outwards like a disgusting fungus.

Comic about acting.

2008-11-07T21:22:00.003-05:00

So, this comic started with just the first three panels, but then I decided I had to take it to the limit.

Hack the Planet!

2008-08-22T20:09:00.004-04:00

Man... it's been a long time since this website has been updated. Well, time to change all that.

I've just developed a new game which has been play-tested with varying numbers of players a couple of times with a surprising degree of success. It's called Hack the Planet, named from a catchphrase in a movie I enjoy to a ridiculous degree, Hackers.

In brief, the game is about breaking into various servers and stealing specific data, which requires you to crack passwords and set up a chain of hacked computers across the internet to safely get your data back in one piece. Conflict arises when other players hijack your routes for their own nefarious purposes.

The game is going well, but it needs a bit more player interaction, and maybe another way to score points. Hopefully I'll update in the future about the progress here.

Robot Factor "E"

2008-04-15T16:59:00.003-04:00

Robot Factor "E" is a new game by me. It may be my best effort yet on the board game front... it is about little robots in a futuristic outer space warehouse exterminating space bugs (the "E" in the title is for "extermination"). Two players compete to zap the most space bugs and return to the loading recharge center before they run out of batteries.

The idea is that the numbered tiles represent amounts of space bugs. Each time you collect a tile (by moving onto it) you gain that number of points, and lose that amount of power (you start with 10 power). Batteries can be collected to recharge, and different colors of bugs give extra points.

Anyway, the game seems OK so far. I'm working on it. Here's a picture from a little play-test.

Babe Owl

2008-04-02T00:42:00.004-04:00

I made this for Diana's roommate who's (none intended) into owls. There have been some new "Boyds" recently, but I ain't got a camera. Oh well.

Number Sandwich

2008-03-28T19:07:00.006-04:00

OK, here's a little game I'm working on. It needs some tweaking, but it's sort of fun to play already. You can make it at home as long as you have paper, pencil, and three six-sided dice. It's called Number Sandwich.

Make two grids as shown in the picture at the bottom of this post. The goal is to fill up the grid first. Each turn, you have the opportunity to fill up one row of the grid. Here's how: first, you roll 2 dice. Then you decide where you want to put those two numbers; the first box of the row must be the lowest number of the three boxes. The last box of the row must be the highest number of the three boxes. The middle box of the row must contain a number between those two.

Then, you roll the third die, and if it fits the spot you left open, that row is filled. If not, the row is left empty and your opponent takes their turn.

FOR EXAMPLE: You roll a 1 and a 3 you would probably put the 1 in the first box and the 3 in the second box. Then you roll the third die and get a 6. Since it fits in the remaining spot, you have filled the row!

There are other little things, too. If your third die doesn't fit in the space and you fail to fill the row, your opponent may re-roll on of their dice on their next turn. However, if you decide to give up after rolling your first two dice (if you roll doubles for instance) you can forgo rolling your third die, leave the row blank, and your opponent doesn't get the usual re-roll.

I'm toying with some other rules, too. Anyway, try it out. It's not very strategically deep, but it is a bit entertaining. I want to give it some more angles, so we'll see where it goes.

Hunter and Hunted

2008-02-27T19:57:00.004-05:00

So, here is a little game a thought up the other day. It's for two players, it's called Hunter and Hunted,and the theme is "Inuit vs. Polar Bear."

The catch is, the polar bear is invisible to the Inuit unless he is facing him directly. Otherwise, the Inuit player only can guess the polar bears location. The polar bear player moves his bear using the coordinates on the sides of the grid (they correspond to the red and black cards in a standard deck from A-6). He shows the Inuit one of the coordinates, but not the other. The inuit must use his eyesight and his dog's sense of smell to do the rest.

Anyway, we played it, and it wasn't very much fun... oh, well. I may try to fix it later.

Hat Poem

2008-02-21T19:14:00.005-05:00

One of my roomates has taken up knitting. A few weeks ago, I found a tiny hat, just big enough for an orange beside the sink, and so:

A fitten mitten for a fist,
but little else is it.
It looks so warm and comfy though,
I wish at I could knit.

Demeter

2008-02-18T16:20:00.003-05:00

Greetings again, Rhino watchers.

So, my previous post regarded a boardgame I invented called "Food of the Gods." Well, I play-tested the game last night, and as it turns out, it isn't fun. While not being fun is OK for upper level college courses and dental procedures, it is somewhat unforgivable in a boardgame. So, I'll probably have to go back to the drawing board and totally revamp the whole thing. C'est la vie.

However, I will show you another little something from the game. I was planning on giving it a Greek mythology theme, and the god in charge of the harvest therefore would be Demeter. So, I drew a picture of Demeter when I thought the game might be good, and I like the picture still.

New Board Game!

2008-02-16T20:56:00.003-05:00

So, if you read this blog, you may remember a simple auction game I invented called "Meals for the Gods." Well, I have been marinating with that idea for a while, and I recently expanded the concept and a simple mechanic from that game into a full-on board game called "Food of the Gods."

The idea here is to grow crops and then sacrifice those crops to the gods to achieve certain advantages. The catch is that you will probably have to neglect other gods in order to do this, and since each god is responsible for certain elements of the game, you sometimes have to do without some favors in order to secure others.

The gods are: Time (responsible with actions per turn), Life (responsible for number of villagers), Harvest (responsible for crop yield) and finally a god of trade (responsible for price of temples/seeds/etc.)

Laura and I played through it once, and it was basically fun. Some changes were necessary, though, so I was glad I made the game on my handy dry-erase board! Here is a picture of the current, improved game board.

Giftmas Ornaments

2008-01-08T13:16:00.000-05:00

Every year at the O'Keefe household we whip up our own homemade ornaments for Giftmas. Subjects vary, with this years crop including robots, pancakes, and of course the obligatory Christmas Narwhal.

Here are about half of this year's products, hanging to dry.

And here are three of my own recent creations. My main theme this year was "Flat."

Another Cardboard Rhino

2008-01-05T15:19:00.000-05:00

I made this rhino a few years ago - around the time of the first cardboard rhino story. I like the exposed ridges above the legs and on the tail.

On the Meat Trail

2007-12-20T16:03:00.000-05:00

So, here's a little preview of a new board game I'm working on. It's called On the Meat Trail, and it's largely inspired by Jack London's novel White Fang.

2 players control wolves, trying to survive a cold northern winter. They must forage in the forest for ptarmigans, sneak up on deer, take cover in forests or caves, and avoid the wrath of other predators like bears and lynxes. It should be fun.

There is more work to be done, but here's a peek at the game board.

My Rhino

2007-12-03T21:14:00.000-05:00

So, here's a picture of my rendition of the fabled Cardboard Rhino. The cardboard it is made out of was not harvested from rhinos, but from the somewhat less elusive Cardboard Box.

You can catch a glimpse of our family art bulletin board. It's sort of the IRL version of this blog...

Uncle Barry's Sidewalk

2007-12-02T17:37:00.000-05:00

So, every year at Thanksgiving, we travel to Uncle Barry's(not to be confused with my brother, Little Barry who comes on here every so often) house in Maryland. When we leave, we are certain to leave an echo of our brain-stimulating presence by drawing in chalk all over the walkway. Typically, there is a winter theme. I photographed our work this year for the Rhino.

Dad's

Conor's

Mine (Tom's)

Barry's

Donald's

There you have it.

2007-12-01T23:31:00.000-05:00

This is my world premiere Blog entry. Party up. Let us always remember the laffy taffy joke, it always laughs me; When was the meat so high? When the cow jumped over the moon.

Another Cardboard Rhino

2007-12-01T13:51:00.000-05:00

I was wandering around on the web when I encountered an expertly crafted cardboard rhino and a t-shirt based on it. You can find the site here and the t-shirt here. They are made by the artist known as Kritch. Look around on the website and you won't be disappointed. The hand-made robots are magnificent works of simple, clever craftsmanship.

To: Santa

2007-11-30T23:43:00.000-05:00

A little something for the X mas season. "Many gifts."

Nectar Collector

2007-11-14T22:27:00.000-05:00

I invented a new board game about bees collecting different colored nectar. The object of the game is to collect one drop of each color of nectar first. Hazards along the way include thorny brambles, sticky dew drops, and spiders.

The key mechanic of the game is the wind. At the beginning of each turn, the wind blows each bee one square. On the next turn, the direction changes (moving around the compass rose clockwise). For this reason, you need to not only move your bee towards the nectar you want, but also keep in mind where the wind will blow your bee. For instance, if you see that the wind is going to blow east next, you don't want to move your bee so that there is a spider just east of it.

There are a couple of other rules, but those are the basics. Here's a picture of the board.

I playtested the game tonight. It went OK... it definitey needs some work... but I think there's some good stuff in it.

Boyds #1 and 2

2007-11-14T00:12:00.000-05:00

In the summer of 2K6 I took the bus up to Alexandria to visit Tim. We were talking about funny tag names.
"Ok, ok, how about one with a b, an o and a y?"
"Boydz"

So I had some paper there and I drew a little grumpy bird with a cigar and some scraggly feathers. Wouldn't it be funny, I thought, if he had a bunch of little baby birds following him around? Wouldn't it be funny if he was a tough single father bird, learning up his little chicks in the ways of city life? Now you can decide for yourself!:
(To Tom: The 'one panel' format is necessary because of Boydz' graffiti roots.)

Bonus: Can you spot Conor's favorite joke?

Comic: The Origin of Electro Man

2007-11-11T21:02:00.001-05:00

A new comic by me (Tom O'Keefe) for you (?).

The Official Halloween Post

2007-10-31T18:53:00.000-04:00

Boo!

The Jack o' Lantern is one simple and fun creative act that almost everyone has participated in at some point. Unfortunately, it seems like these days everbody and their sister is using stencils, instead of their natural brain energy. I think stencils are for the birds, personally.

The left, cyclopean pumpkin is mine. On the right is Laura's, inspired by Jack Pumpkinhead from Frank L. Baum's "Oz" books.

Spankin' New Comic

2007-10-30T16:57:00.000-04:00

Here, hot off the proverbial presses, is a comic for you. It is extremely deep and thought provoking, so be sure to read it 20 or 30 times in order to be certain you understand it fully.

More Furniture Stuff...

2007-10-30T14:21:00.000-04:00

So, we bought a dresser for cheap at the Salvation Army. It was in decent shape, but had an ugly, scuffed up off white paint job... so since we were in the hope improvement zone, we augmented it with some paint and stencils we printed out... since our walls are white and our carpet is tan, it's nice to have some color in the place.

Chair Surgery

2007-10-21T22:03:00.000-04:00

So, I'm in a new apartment now. Of course, that means I require furniture. My girlfriend Laura and I were well pleased to find out that a local Salvation Army store was having a 50% off everything sale, and we found a couple of wicked chairs for only 10 bucks (for both, not each!). Here is one of the chairs.

The only problem was, the upholstery on these bad boys was straight out of Graceland's"Jungle Room," and while that's an excellent look for Elvis, he and I have always had our little disagreements. This was one of them.

We still loved the chairs themselves, and felt we could give them a second chance at a normal life after some extensive rehabilitation (if only Elvis had been given this opportunity). In pursuit of this new beginning, we purchased one yard of some cool fabric (on sale, thick enough to upholster a chair with).

The next step was to remove the seats of the chairs, and seal away their shameful past lives with a handy staple gun.

Finally, we reattached the seats, and lo and behold, we had some very nice places to sit.

It just goes to show, if you see a glimmer of hope in something, there's often a way to release it's potential with a little effort. Or better yet, a little effort from your girlfriend while you take some pictures.

Unexplained Circumstances Comics, Episode 1

2007-10-07T19:11:00.001-04:00

So, here's a little comic I made.

Surprisingly, it is partially based on true events from my life. Case in point, I did receive 10 dollars and did not get hit by lightning shortly afterwards. They say art imitates life, after all.

Fresh, Homemade Boardgame

2007-10-06T14:11:00.000-04:00

Well everyone, somehow it feels like the right time for posting on Carboard Rhino. This time, I'll be displaying my latest most favorite venue for personal expression: the board game. The continuing success of strongly themed, elegant, and thoughtful German Style boardgames (or "eurogames") has fueled the argument that games are an art form. For more information in this arena, see this blog.

My latest foray into the world of game design is Meals for the Gods. It is a simple game of bidding. Here is a piture of it:

Basically, each player is serving a god. Each turn, your god desires a food from the "Menu of the Gods," determined by rolling a die. You then bid on that food. If two players both roll the same, a bidding war begins! Satisfy your god's desires 10 times and you win! Displease them 3 times in a row and you are eaten! There are other rules, too, so if you want those feel free to ask. Best of all, a few dinosaurs and jungle animals from the dollar store for gods, some six-sided dice and a 50-60 tokens of some kind (I have used plastic jewels) and you are ready to play... MEALS FOR THE GODS!

The Tribe of the Tomahawk Toot-Toot

2007-08-31T09:33:00.000-04:00

Tribe
of the
Tomahawk Toot-Toot
(from a scroll found in a bottle on Cape Fear, North Carolina)

Along the shores of the barrier islands of North Carolina, in the scrub and swamps of the backwaters of Cape Fear, there dwelled a small band of aboriginals known as

The Tribe of the Tomahawk Toot-Toot

The tribe was named after a set of magical power sticks, passed down through the generations, invoked in battles, used to bestow blessings, and honored in ceremonies.

Only Seven Are Known to Have Survived

The seven remaining sticks are treasured relics and bear the ceremonial names the Toot-Toots have given them.

The Four Sons

The North
The South
The East
The West

The North and South are tied with Red.
The East and West are blond.
A marking near the toot action airsplitter
indicates the direction of the magic stick.

The Ancestors

The Mother
The Father

These magic sticks retain the wider Axe Blade of the Toot-Toot Tomahawk. Tied in golden thread, they represent the male & female faces of energy flows -- the ying & yang, salt'n'peppa, you know.

You can tell the Father apart because his finger holes point away from the Axe Blade.

There is one more Tomahawk Toot-Toot, prized above all others and long missing:

The Sorcerer's Stick

It is said the Blade is tied with fire. It makes a sound so beautiful the Pelicans fly mandalas when they hear it.

In the old days, the remaining members of The Tribe of the Tomahawk Toot-Toot would gather on the shores of Tomahawk Island and celebrate their ancestors by reenacting the feared nightly parade of the Toot-Toots, hoot-tootin' it and hot-footin' it down the shores of the Atlantic Ocean and resonatin' down Cape Fear with their doo-woppin' scattinany hijinx, taking the stars out of the sky, kicking them all over the beach, telling stories, walking backwards, and conjurin' up mermaids and other mayhem from them

Majik Tomahawk Toot-Toots

Lying in Bed by Samir Bakhshi

2007-06-24T23:50:00.001-04:00

Lying in Bed by Samir Bakhshi

My eyes are shut
My ears are open
My nose is blocked
My mouth has spoken

* During finals week this spring my roomate Samir was sick. Early in the morning he rattled this off from under the covers.

B for Beekeeper Poster

2007-05-25T01:17:00.000-04:00

I'm working on the revised Cardboard Rhino logo, but I'm not yet finished due to my continued work on the press materials for my senior thesis film here at the North Carolina School of the Arts.

The film is a documentary about a local beekeeper, and I thought that to tide everyone over until I get the new rhino done I would show you the poster design I just finished up.

The smoker, the veil, the field, the smoke, the clouds, and the individual bees are all from seperate photos that I patched together. I like minimalist movie posters, especially the poster for Downhill Racer and for Rosemary's Baby, so that's what I decided to go for, and I thought that style would make it more clear that the movie is more than just a nature documentary.

Faith Healing for Cars

2007-05-17T20:00:00.000-04:00

Holy Hands On Mechanic
"By Your Faith, you bring your car to us"
"By Our Works, your car will be repaired"

(click to enlarge)

Found taped to the door of "The Love of Jesus" Thrift Store.

Rhino Wear

2007-05-16T00:05:00.000-04:00

I was given the task of converting this little sketch of the magnificent Cardboard Rhino into a t-shirt design. Here's the original source material.

Using that as the basis I did some sketches of my own. I felt I needed to give it a little more movement, and simplify it. Here are four of my sketches (I did about 8 or 10). The one with the arrow is the one I eventually picked.

From the sketches I did a few large drawings based on both the design I ended up picking, and a few of the others. I used a black Sharpie for most, but did a couple in brush and ink. Here is the original photo of the drawing I decided to use.

I liked this drawing best, but I also wanted to use the foot impact element from one of the brush and ink drawings I did. Here's a photo of that element.

I took both the above element and my favorite drawing into Photoshop and tooled around with them. I made the lines darker and thicker and put the two together. Here's the basic design, all cleaned up.

I thought color was a good idea, so I did a colored version, too.

I also did versions that would work on black t-shirts. Here they are:

Overall, I'm happy with the results. Dad will be seeing them for the first time on here, too, so if he gives me some suggestions I'll tweak it and post that, too.

Mother's Day

2007-05-13T13:15:00.000-04:00

A mother's art takes many forms.

My Sicilian mother saves her creativity for the kitchen. Even after raising 9 children to somewhat-successful adulthood, she takes pleasure in making anything from simple Italian treats to full-scale feasts. (In this photo she is making Sfingi, sometimes referred to as Sicilian Donuts.)

Happy Mother's Day to you Mom. What's for dinner?