Day 345: The Story of Omae

Jackson has some real gems, if you know where to go and look. Take Doug Jones for example. (sounds like a gangster name; trust me and try it in your best guttural, fake grill havin' thug voice). Doug Jones is quite a damn mind. He digs up a story, builds on it, creates a plan of action and paints it, on people no less. Body art is what's about, and he does a fine job.

Of course, he's not the sole artist in town. I happen to be intimately involved with one of Jackson's talents (her name is on one of the oranges). Additionally, I happen to be friends with a vast number of artistically creative people. Painters, sketch artists, tattoo artists, sculptors, and photographers. Hell, I'll even throw scrapbookers into the mix, just because I don't even have an eye for that kind of thing.

Some of the artistically inclined friends have been mild dabblers, nothing more. They enjoy their craft, but they don't build on it. Others have made it their profession as well as their passion. To those that have developed it into a trade, may you never come to regret that decision.

To both groups mentioned, I hate you. Not really "hate," but I'm very much jealous of you. There are so many ideas swirling around in my for visual ideas, but - forgive the cliché - I struggle drawing a stick figure. I enjoy drawing them, but I'm not good at that even, though I dare say my Annay would disagree.

Writing is something for which I display a certain proficiency. You might even say I have a flare for the written word. Not that my technical skill is the peak of perfection, but I do have a good foundation. Irreverent even, for I enjoy cursing. You might hear me say "fuck" a thousand times, but I've been told I say it with eloquence.

Maybe one day I'll write my own book of "how to talk dirty and influence people." Title change will be necessary and I'll most certainly give a healthy shout out to Lenny Bruce and Happy Harry Hard-On for making me aware of Lenny Bruce.