The OCD Alienhttp://www.forrestmaready.com/blog/en-US2009-07-05T03:49:57ZSquarespace Site Server v5.5.4 (http://www.squarespace.com/)The Love of Mel Crawfordhttp://www.forrestmaready.com/blog/2009/2/12/the-love-of-mel-crawford.htmlForrest Maready2009-02-12T16:27:09ZI'm in love with the painter/illustrator Mel Crawford and am attempting to learn his style. He did a bunch of Little Golden Books (Pokey Little Puppy) among many, many other things. Here's an acrylic rendering I did of one of his illustrations from a Yogi Bear book. This guy's the ranger, if you remember him.

I did it on Illustration board, rather than canvas. And I'm back to acrylics after giving gouache a real hard try. Anyhoos, my jaw is still hurting from the painting (seriously- that's how stressed out I am when I paint with real paints), but I'm getting a little more relaxed with the process.

]]>It's Pronounced Ah-Sweep...http://www.forrestmaready.com/blog/2009/1/29/its-pronounced-ah-sweep.htmlForrest Maready2009-01-29T14:57:20ZIllustration

Evidently the announcer got his name wrong. Lot's of sketches went into this one- trying to get the guys face right. I'm probably going to draw 2 or 3 more of him in various poses, but hopefully nothing that will take as long as this one, which was ridiculously long (probably about 30 hours). Started in pencil, shaped in Illustrator, and rendered in Photoshop with a bunch of watercolor and acrylic doodads laid in for dramatic effect.

Below, a bunch of the sketches I did trying to find this guy. Mostly done at the lunch counter at Goody-Goody in Wilmington. I always hate when I see a polished illustration and none of the pain and suffering that went into making it is apparent. So in the effort of full disclosure, here's a bunch of the crap I had to get out to get a decent illustration.

I take all these drawings into Photoshop and try to piece together a decent drawing. It would help if I could draw it right the first time, but I usually don't. So it's off to Photoshop to create this composite:

Then I take that into Illustrator to start "shaping" the elements of the illustration. The pen tools are just so handy-dandy in Illustrator for shaping things. After an hour or two, you'll come out with something like this:

That palette is from the Illustrator Color Guide- a really neat feature of CS3. Only problem is- you can't lock it down so I take a screen grab of it and paste it onto the art board so I can keep my palette under control. One day, I won't need to do this.

Then I export the Illustrator file, with it's 30 layers as a layered PSD file so that I can work with each element in a sane way.

Next up is painting a bunch of little doodads that I can use for texture in the illustration. Oh what I'd give to be able to just gouache this baby up without all this computer madness. For now, it's painting little pieces like such:

Became the background gradient

Old toothbrush flicks becomes the boxing ring mat.

Then a bunch of copying, pasting and Photoshop actions that make my life a little easier and you get something that would have looked much better completely analog had you enough patience to simply suck for a while and learn the proper way to do things but no you have to just have it look nice no matter how bastardized the process. Oh well, self. One day... one day.

]]>Ansel Yetihttp://www.forrestmaready.com/blog/2009/1/28/ansel-yeti.htmlForrest Maready2009-01-28T15:33:37ZUnexplained Silly Things

I don't normally put my drawrings up here but thought I'd go ahead and start putting them up. This one's called Ansel Yeti- you might can make out the large format camera strapped on his back. This was done with some watercolor, some gouache, and a bunch of Illustrator and Photoshop. Hope you likey!

]]>I have a sneaky feeling NASA doesn't use Space Pens anymorehttp://www.forrestmaready.com/blog/2009/1/26/i-have-a-sneaky-feeling-nasa-doesnt-use-space-pens-anymore.htmlForrest Maready2009-01-26T01:39:37ZThe Universe ExplainedThere were times in my life, long before the internet, and shortly before the Sharper Image catalog came to my house, when I would dream of owning something really cool. Something other than my dad's nylon Nike® windbreaker and pants (as seen in the movie "Breakin'" and "Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo Shrimp") that I would occasionally wear when break dancing (I was more of a Popper and a Locker, so backspins weren't a staple move of mine).

One of those things that I would occasionally pine for was a NASA Space pen. There was something irresistible about having the same pen that astronauts used while conducting space missions. It would write sideways, upside-down, any-which-way and would never stop writing. It had miraculous chrome-bullet styling and would need no introduction on the playground. Flash that baby, and the ooohs and aaahs would commence. Sure my signature would need to be refined, but there could be no end to the good fortune that was sure to fall on its lucky owner.

Recently, I saw an advertisement and for a Space Pen and several things occurred to me. Sharper Image died because of the internet, probs. It was the only place I could see a Barnett® Crossbow and kid-sized F1 race car from FAO Schwartz in the same catalog. It was Not a Crossbow5 times the magic of the Sears Christmas Catalog until they really started focusing on the Air Ionizers and golf accessories. I swear every issue of the last year or two of Sharper Image contained about 12 different kind of Air Purifiers and Ionizers. It had more putting aids than a Brookstone catalog. Once the intertube hit the scene, I could find the most outlandish, wild toys and inventions the world had to offer, and could skip the Ionizer and golf themed "Sharper" pages.

The other thing that occurred to me when I saw the Space Pen advertisement: NASA probably doesn't use space pens anymore. Call me a conspiracy theorist, but I just can't picture astronauts using pens in space for anything other than spinning it for some zero-gravity footage (even now I think they do things like squirt ketchup or throw popcorn). Most of my vision of NASA comes from "The Ghost and Mr. Chicken" (made back in the 60's, I suppose) and I don't remember seeing Space Pens being used.

It's a shame that even space, rockets and NASA don't carry the panache they once did. I suppose that even now, "Space Pen" has an associative mystique that "Upside-Down Pen" or "Gravity Defying Pen" just can't duplicate. Perhaps the boilerplate in the advertisement states that the pen is no longer used in space, but if not, maybe, just maybe, America's finest space men are still taking those ink-filled wonders up into the stratosphere for a engaging page of Sudoku.

]]>The Origins of my very secure password.http://www.forrestmaready.com/blog/2009/1/14/the-origins-of-my-very-secure-password.htmlForrest Maready2009-01-14T14:51:28ZUser ExperienceI have one password for everything, and it is very secure. It originates from a popular special we used to run at Domino's pizza while I worked there. Oh it's alphanumeric by the way- don't you worry. It was called the 2-2-2 special. 2 pizzas, 2 toppings and a 2 liter of Pespi. It was a phrase I said over 3,000 times during the summer of 1992 while I worked the phones at Domino’s Pizza in between delivering the pies. My earth father had, in a moment of absolute lunacy, told me and my band he would match whatever money we could save up for a P.A. System over the summer, and we did everything in our power to make him sorry.

128 bit Encryption (Illegal for Export)Back then, I had no passwords, no email, no bank account logins, nothing. I think logging in to the Domino’s payroll system involved hitting the F5 key and hitting the arrow down key until my name was highlighted. I got to college, got my first ATM card (more lunacy form the earth parents) and had to come up with a 4 digit pin card. I was instructed to make it very easy to remember, but something a criminal wouldn’t be likely to guess. Now if you saw some of the places I risked my life delivering pizza to, you would assume criminals would be very familiar with the 2-2-2 special. Some reason, I didn’t think it would be a problem and settled on a version of that particular special.

Nowadays, I have (at last count) over 38 logins and passwords, and all of them involve some version of that Domino’s 2-2-2 special. I have not once had a problem with identity theft (identity crisis- yes (witness the breakdancing years of 1985-1988), but I attribute its uncrackeable-ness to its humble source. My wife’s password usually involves “password” with a number at the beginning or end to meet the alphanumeric requirements. Curiously, she’s never had problems either.

]]>BC- AD- then there were mustacheshttp://www.forrestmaready.com/blog/2009/1/5/bc-ad-then-there-were-mustaches.htmlForrest Maready2009-01-05T02:24:56ZUnexplained Silly ThingsI'm not exactly sure of the year, and I'm sure some history professor could probably figure it out, but somewhere along the late 70's/early 80's, men stopped wearing mustaches. I feel like it is actually a distinct moment in time, and will probably later allow us to date historic events with more meaning, much like the A.D./B.C. convention allows us.

I don't know what it is, but I just can't wear a mustache. It makes me feel naked, or the same feeling as naked. As avid readers will recall, I once owned a 2001 Police Interceptor, the best coasting car known to man. My co-workers and I decided it would be fun to go eat lunch together in the "cruiser" sporting the most porn-star mustaches we could muster. But none of us, from whatever township or age group could grow a mustache normally. We all had to "beard up" for the two or three weeks leading up to the event, whereupon we shaved down to the mustache for the day.

Amazing! How does he do that?

There some who couldn't stand wearing the mustache past lunch and shaved it off afterwards with whatever they could find. I'm not sure what it is about mustaches, but there is a year or two somewhere around 1978/1979 where if you were wearing a mustache before then your fine, but if you try afterwards it just doesn't work. Just look at Tom Selleck- above. The penultimate in mustached perfection. I can't for the life of me figure out how he can pull that off an look so good. He really looks like the older version of "Shoeless Joe Graham" from the greatest movie of all time, "Field of Dreams" (besides 'Time Bandits' and 'On the Right Track' with Gary Coleman).

]]>M. Night Shyamalan directs/cameos in latest "Best Buy" commercialhttp://www.forrestmaready.com/blog/2008/6/23/m-night-shyamalan-directscameos-in-latest-best-buy-commercia.htmlForrest Maready2008-06-23T14:42:51ZAdvertising ClichesI don't really know where to begin on this one, it is just as wrong, if not wronger than the middle-aged women standing around in towels commercial that has been creeping me out lately. Best Buy has already commited the number 1 ad cliche of all time in the last 6 months, and now this... Apparently, they thought that hiring uber-prodigy-thriller director M. Night Shyamalan to do a spot about GPS would be a good idea. Take a look:

It just so creepy... The guy rolling into place at the stop sign, standing in the water. And then talking in the robotic women's voice towards the end. This is by far one of the creepiest commercials I have seen in a long time.

]]>Shooney doesn't love me.http://www.forrestmaready.com/blog/2008/6/16/shooney-doesnt-love-me.htmlForrest Maready2008-06-16T02:37:35ZHistoryWhen I was growing up, high school started in 10th grade, and instead of middle school, you went to Junior High School through 9th grade, except not in that order. My junior high school was called Sunset Park. I'm not familiar with any other towns where the term "Sunset Park" is considered upscale, and my hometown was no exception. Sunset Park was kind of rundown, smelly, moldy and downright scary. One of the more curious features of the school was its pitiful 8:10 scale gymnasium (meaning the basketball gym was about 80% the size of a normal gym). What made it downright comical was the 1-foot "buffer" between the edge of the court and the exterior brick wall of the building. There was absolutely no room outside of the court for coaches, benched players, benches for them to sit on, and most of all there was no room for stopping.

This tiny gym did make for some really fun indoor kickball games. I was fairly good at kickball (until the bouncy pitch was outlawed), and had no shame in "toeing" the ball. I played on the soccer team (goalie) where I was taught to kick the ball with the instep/top of your foot for more control. But the bone-crushing impact I could inflict upon those voluptuous red kick balls with the toe of my foot was just too much to resist.

Now add into the mix the miniature gymnasium we would play in during the hot months- there were no out of bounds, the ricochets were magic, and the junior high level attempts at kickball defense were absolute hilarity when the ball could come at you from any direction at Collegiate level velocity. Yes, it was absolute hilarity, except when the ricochet entered a 5-foot radius around a kid named Shooney.

At Sunset Park, we got what seemed to be all the troublesome kids who were too much for the other schools to handle. I’m not sure if Shooney was a transfer, or if he just happened into Sunset Park via good luck, but either way, he had a reputation of not turning his spelling contracts in on time, and also attempted murder. The attempted murder charge evidently escaped my mind one hot day in May when we had a spirited game of kickball going.

Shooney, like most of the other ne'er-do-wells at my school, ne'er “dressed out” for gym, opting to wear his street clothes in and out of the locker room, something which apparently cost you .25 points on your final grade. Not participating in class would cost you a whole point so he would just stand wherever, doing the least amount of movement or exercise possible. I can’t quite remember why, but Shooney and I had some bad blood between us. Everyone knew it, and I just tried to ignore it during that once-a-day gym class we had together. But for some reason during this particular kickball game, I decided to see if I could make him move. I decided I would kick the ball near him, or kind of sort of “at him”.

The pitch came to me, and rather than doing a controlled, traditional soccer instep kick toward an industrial fan in the upper ceiling, I lost my mind temporarily and toed a 90mph fastball. Now you normally have to grow your Afro out pretty good to get any kind of body or bounce to it, but the ball passed so close to his head that even his fairly short Afro temporarily either parted or undulated from the wind, I can’t quite remember which.

I’m not convinced I would have been better off had the ball not struck him, but either way, it had entered his sphere of inactivity and he was obviously very unhappy about it. The other classmates whooped and hollered and cajoled him to respond, but he stood his ground and said to me a few times, “Locker-room…. Locker-room….” Meaning of course, locker room is where I will attempted murder you in the next place we are together where there are no teachers around.

I was terrified and thought I would just skip the locker room and face the ridicule of wearing my gym clothes the rest of the day (not a hygiene issue by the way- my sweat is odorless, almost sweet). But then I remembered my trombone was in the locker room, as the class directly after gym was band and I had to have my trombone. Oh well, I thought… How bad could it be? I play the trombone. I’m obviously bad-ass.

It could be worse, I found at the next time I got up at bat and kicked the ball squarely away from Shooney. The magic ricochet had its way with me, however, and the ball clearly crossed his sphere of inactivity as it brushed across his shoulder, causing even more cajoling from the class.

When we finally got to the locker room, Shooney stormed in and took his shirt off, a symbolic gesture at Sunset Park Junior High School which meant “Let’s fight” (other related gestures included “Whoops I spilled ketchup on your Member’s Only jacket” and “Whoops I bumped into your chair as I was sitting down to eat lunch in the cafeteria”).

Now the only thing I was more scared of than Shooney was my dad, who besides being 5’7” (seemed tall at the time I guess) was a former cryptographer in the Air Force and could probably kill me in several ways I couldn’t understand. I was terrified of my dad… I had never gotten in trouble at school, and if I was caught fighting, I could get suspended, something I was sure my father would attempted murder me successfully for. So I stood there as the boys were yelling and Shooney hit me squarely in the face 4 or 5 times saying “Come on! Fight! Come on!” I just stood my ground, refusing to give in to the siren song of violence, knowing my dad would make me pay for it with death. The class change bell eventually rang and Shooney gave up on getting a good fight out of me. Editor’s Note: Maready’s dad later found out about this incident and chastised his son for not fighting, a fact which explains Maready’s current fascination with Ultimate Fighter, TapOut, and anything else Mixed Martial Arts related).

The whole point of this story: Whenever I am down, whenever I am feeling blue, my earth wife will try and console me by saying something like, come on Maready, everybody loves you. To which I will say, "Shooney doesn't love me." And then she’ll say, “Shooney loves you now”, knowing full well that it is a lie. Shooney at one time didn't love me, and I haven't seen him in a long, long time, but unless my survival instincts are wrong, Shooney still doesn't love me and I’ll save the kickball for the neighborhood kids.

]]>Mayonaise Jar declared Emptyhttp://www.forrestmaready.com/blog/2008/5/30/mayonaise-jar-declared-empty.htmlForrest Maready2008-05-30T15:08:38ZHistoryIt made a valiant run... the Hellman's 24oz. jar of mayonaise has served me well over the past year or so. Never complaining, never failing to deliver one of the crucial components of my beloved Mayonaise, Cheese and Bologna sandwich breakfast. The past month or two it was getting kind of lean. About 3 weeks ago I transitioned from knife to spoon as the crevices and nooks were getting difficult to access with the butter knife.

After a frustrating 10 minutes of canoodling and caressing to get enough mayo out to make a decent sandwich, I am declaring Jar #28 empty and available for recycling. I have enjoyed you #28 and can only hope that #29 will serve as dutifully as you have.

Good-bye.

]]>Journey to Manhood = Completehttp://www.forrestmaready.com/blog/2008/5/5/journey-to-manhood-complete.htmlForrest Maready2008-05-05T13:55:07ZHistoryI have finally crossed the threshold into manhood. It wasn't owning a former undercover police car that did it, as many may think. As of Sunday afternoon I am the proud owner of a Lincoln Weld-Pak 100 welder- like the kind of tool that you have to wear big leather gloves and those cool welding helmets with (never end a sentence with a preposition).

"Manliness"

I saw the listing on Craigslist for sale or trade- the trade part just happening to be for a Mac tower, something I just happened to have an extrie of (I was using the tremendous fan noise from my Dual-800 G4 as a Sleep Machine). The deal went down in the back of the P.F. Chang's parking lot and went very smoothly. We exchanged pleasantries and some idle chit-chat until the trunks were opened and gear was inspected.

On the ride home, I thought of all the cool things I could weld together. My toaster to something, or my golf club to something, or possibly my golf club to my toaster. I don't really have a lot to weld yet, but as my earth son and I are soon to be joining the WKA (World Karting Association), we will have plenty of opportunity to do some welding. The manual had a lot of warnings and scary pictures of death and injury but I'm sure I can get over that hump once I find some metal around the house.

]]>