I guess if you're looking at this page, you're interested in knowing more about me . . . or you meant to hit the "Links" button and came here by mistake. Well, for the sake of the opportunity to blather about myself, I'll assume the former.
I'm a college student in the western United States.
No, wait, I lie. That's just my cover story. In reality, I'm an evil megalomaniacal super-genius, deliberately ripping the tags off mattresses, intentionally filling out opinion polls incorrectly, and subtly steering the course of world events to achieve my ultimate goal . . . TOTAL CONTROL OF THE WORLD'S SUPPLY OF BEANIE BABIES(tm)! AHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHAHA! MUWAHAHAHAHAHA! I SHALL RULE THE WORLD!
I see you don't believe me. "You're only kidding," you say to yourself. Good. That's exactly what I want you to think.
How I Got This Way:
I can pinpoint precisely where my artistic inclinations diverged from the standard "log cabin with stick figures" scribbles that all kids make. It was in first grade, when we as a class were all given sheets of dinosaur drawings to color. Now, I was very enthusiastic about the project, as I was into dinosaurs in a big way back then. I was obsessed in the way only little kids can obsess. I took Struthiomimus and colored him pink and yellow, adding a splendid scarlet heron-crest. Allosaurus was blue and green and red, with a brilliant orange leonine mane and tail-tuft. Proud of their bright colors, geometric patterns, and their fur, feathers, and scale adornments, I handed in my colorations and was astonished--nay, aghast!--to get them back with "DO OVER" scrawled over them in the handwriting of my bitter first-grade teacher. "Why?" I demanded. "You used the wrong colors," she said. Dinosaur buff that I was at the knowing age of six, I pointed out that no one knew what colors dinosaurs really were, since all we had were their fossilized skeletons. She granted me that, but added, with withering scorn, "You didn't color inside the lines."
I still don't.
A New Weekend Sport
I don't just draw fantasy creatures.
On the weekends, I enjoy taking a sketchpad down to Jacobs Island, the local leashfree dog park and do portraits and quick sketches of the local canines. I'm a dog person to the bone (pun intended), but regrettably, I'm not allowed to keep pets in my dorm room. However, dog owners are wonderfully delighted at any opportunity to talk about their pets, and I need the practice. It's a win-win situation.
Sometimes I give the sketches away, sometimes I don't. It amuses me to think that someday I might become famous--or die under mysterious circumstances--and these little doodles will be worth something. Here and here are two pages of 3-6 minute sketches of the local canines.
I need to learn to fake Tourette's syndrome over the phone. Perhaps solicitors will finally leave me alone.