Hair Me Roar

My extremely dated eighties illustration appeared in W or maybe DNR magazine, I dunno, I was out every night at the time until the sun came up. I am however certain that the bottom illustration appeared in DNR as I still have the faded issue.
I do not have a wistful longing for my misspent youth but was recently sent reeling back in time by La Roux, a UK duo made up of singer Elly Jackson and Ben Langmaid. They are heavily influenced by 1980s British synthpop, that's club music to you and me. I wore the same hairstyle featured in this video at Les Bains Douches in Paris as a young man, it is also the same hairdo worn by the dentist in the classic claymation Christmas special Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.
It is sweltering here in NYC and I am sick of the air conditioning so I have opted to open the windows and play Bulletproof, loud. I have not annoyed the neighbors in years. Thank you La Roux.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn...

...but nothing grows on my Manhattan windowsill.
I have had an ongoing feud with the pigeons and squirrels who sit on, dig up, and in general destroy the flowers I foolishly buy from the Farmer's Market on Fourteenth Street.
I have in the past armed myself with a water bottle sprayer with which I shoot to no avail at obnoxious city creatures. I have yelled at them like a crazed maniac at the top of my lungs only to be gazed back upon as if I were a crazed maniac, yesterday I gave up. I was not defeated, I was charmed.
The white Impatiens I planted were uprooted and lay dead beside the clay pot, in it's stead slept the culprit, a baby squirrel. The little creature languished in the heat, it's body conformed to the pot.
I did not squirt it with water, I did not yell at it, I observed it's fat little belly rise and fall with each breath it took. I envied the peace of mind it obviously enjoyed.
I see squirrels everyday but never gave a thought to where they slept.
NYC is a tough town, it is every man for himself, or in this case, squirrel. Sarah Jessica Parker said "A squirrel is just a rat with a cuter outfit".
Perhaps, but I know beauty when I see it and I will not be planting any more flowers in that pot. If I can offer a bed to a baby, I will do so.
I do not want to get too attached, I am not going to name it. I have been down this road before with mourning doves.
This illustration was drawn for an off Broadway theater magazine concerning some Dali inspired play. The squirrel in my story is far cuter than the one I drew here.

An Irish Raisin in the Sun

Literature professors always whine on ad nauseam " Write about what you know" and I apply the same logic to my drawings.
I have not, and probably will never visit a nudist colony. Ping pong, tennis and calisthenics require support lest they become ridiculous. Breakfast, lunch and dinner should whet your palette, not induce gag reflexes.
Clothes are important.
I am however completely comfortable with nudity on beaches. The sun blinds me to my Catholic shame of original sin, the surf washes away any impure thoughts and gentle breezes shroud my physical flaws.
I wish Americans could deal with nudity on a mature level but it will never happen in my lifetime.
I am sorry I dropped the C word bomb in my last post so cavalierly, I had no idea that some of you people out there cared enough to actually take the time to email me.
The fact is the Pope read my blog and gave me skin cancer, stage three. Surgeons dug in deep and removed all of it, it had not yet spread to my lymph nodes. I am fine. I am however flooded with bills that my lame insurance company refuses to pay without a fight.
I will not be sunbathing ever again without wearing a burka but will gladly accept all invitations to a midnight skinny dip in your pool.
I once foolishly swam alone during a thunderstorm in something called a black swimming pool in South Hampton. I stripped off my dinner clothes and dove to the bottom where I turned and looked up to admire all the enormous beads of rain dancing in the lightening on the water's surface and knew at that moment I could die happy.
The moral of this story is that nudity is OK if you are not Catholic and that you should always use sunscreen or swim only at night, especially if you are a pasty white Irish/Scottish underinsured person such as myself.
This drawing was not commissioned by any publication, it was scanned from my sketch book, I used sea water to dilute my watercolors.

Bugger Off you Gits

It is Independence Day here in the States, more commonly referred to as the Fourth of July.
On this date in 1776 we declared independence from the evil Kingdom of Great Britain. Fireworks are set off in celebration, barbecues are lit and picnic blankets spread.
While it is fun to listen to each state butcher the English language in their own unique way, I suspect we all envy the fact that England has NHS, a national health care system. Perhaps we should have paid that tea tax, far cheaper than my cancer surgery.
I love America, I just cannot afford to get sick here.
This illustration appeared in Child Magazine.