My three gourds.

One old, one mean and one scared. All the elements of dysfunctional family. Happy Halloween.

Art imitates life.

Brilliant New Yorker magazine cover.

And a couple of great houses in our neighborhood.

Lost. And found.

About eight years ago I received a Christmas gift from my buddy Neil. I immediately felt bad. As usual, Cristi and I were broke and we hadn’t gotten anyone anything and we were hoping to skate through the holiday season without any guilt. If no one bought us anything, we wouldn’t feel bad for not buying them anything. Proceeding politely, knowing our plan was wrecked, I accepted the small box and over explained the details of our financial woes, making it clear that I couldn’t reciprocate.

“Just open it, man,” he replied, “Jesus.”

It was a Leatherman Squirt multi-tool, complete with a nail file, bottle opener and Philip’s head screwdriver. And while I didn’t know it at the time, the little knife would become a permanent accessory—even though the post 9/11 world would work so hard to separate us. Every time I had a plane trip on the agenda, I’d have to make special arrangements, writing myself sticky notes two days in advance, “leave your Leatherman at home.” Metal detectors at government buildings were always an issue too. One time I had to run outside, hide the tiny knife in a planter and retrieve it later. Changing pants. Doing laundry. Holes in pockets. All these trails and tribulations and still the multi-tool and I managed to stick together.

And suddenly this past Friday, I realized I didn’t have my Leatherman multi-tool. I told myself it would turn up, but it didn’t. Yesterday, I started digging around the furniture cushions and tearing through drawers. Still no luck. Last night I went to bed feeling a little defeated as I came to terms with the fact that the multi-tool is most likely, most definitely gone. With a sigh, I put my head on the pillow.

Soon a vivid dream began to unfold…

I was inside an old house in the woods. It was sunny outside. I walked around from room to room. Everything was white, but the bathroom needed of a fresh coat of paint. I decided I’d fix it and began rooting around the small two-story house for a can of paint and brush. In a small closet under the stairs, I found what I was looking for and headed back to the bathroom where I encountered a dilemma. I had everything I needed to paint the room, but I had no way to get the lid off the paint because—true to life—I didn’t have my handy multi-tool. Then my Grandma Rehmer showed up at the door. Having passed away a few years ago, I processed the fact that seeing her was a really big deal. I gave her a hug and announced that I was going to repaint her bathroom, but I needed something to pry the lid off the can. She opened a drawer in the bathroom vanity, sifted through hair pens and this big pink brush she always used, and pulled out my missing Leatherman.

“Here, this should work,” she said as she handed it over and left the room.

I woke up before I was finished painting. So far today, my multi-tool hasn’t turned up, but I suppose that’s OK. Assuming I put it back in the drawer, next to the pink brush, in the bathroom drawer of the old white house where my Grandma lives in my dream, I know it’s in a good place.

I crap, therefore I am subject to advertising.

I understand the logic behind (he, he) bathroom advertising in public, but this coupon tactic targeting me on my very own commode is something I’ve never seen before. Smart, I suppose. Although it seems like they could’ve had a little more fun with the language—considering their captive audience.

Like a falcon in the sky.

With rain drops dripping from my glasses and legs covered in road slime, I rode my hipster bike through the streets of downtown Chicago this morning. A pleasure cruise compared to the poor folks packed tight on buses or trains, my commute is one part of the day I actually look forward to. But the winter months can be brutal and this October has been a rough introduction to a seasonal shift marked by bad weather.

So, I’m thinking this crazy family out in Colorado with the silver balloon contraption might be on to something. I’ve never been an early adopter, but using a balloon to get around sounds stellar.  Obviously, we’d have to perfect the controls a bit and crash landing is probably not the most graceful way to show up at the office, but every innovation requires a little fine-tuning.

Happy Friday, you all. I’m riding a bike home tonight, but I see a balloon in my future.

A lovely piece of artwork (used without permission) by Peter Nidzgorski.

Black and white city photos.

I found this site posted on another site. I hope you like what you see.

Where the city ends.

Tasty Joy.

Stole this from the recycling bin last night. I didn’t really know what to do with it, so I figured I’d share it with you.

Afternoon entertainment.

As much as no one wants to admit it, stereotypes are generally based on some kind of truth. Here’s proof that every thought you ever had about Wal-Mart’s clientele  is completely accurate.

Happy Friday.

Pivot Boutique fashion statement event tonight.

Cool store. Custom fortune cookies. A couple of posters featuring lines written by me and art directed by Rei Young. What else can I say?

While tonight’s gathering has many layers—including the fact that the brick and mortar store is closing—this is the first time an advertising project I’ve worked on has been kicked off with a party.

Please stop in if you can.