It's been a couple of months since my last blog-o-update and frankly, it only seems to me like just the other day. That's just the way things are when your life gets (lovingly) turned on it's head.

Thanks to the miracle of modern incompetent taxpayer-run insurance companies, we still don't know what this is, other than it's 5 moths along, and absolutely precious:





We'll be finding out next week, come hell or broken water. Meanwhile, here's a hearty heartbeat:




As for Machinima related oddities, I've been a bit slack on my New Years resolution, but if I had even the slightest inclination of the events to come this year, I never would have made it. To counter-balance things, Mommy-to-be and I made a pact to pick our creative lives back up before the baby is due, and have something to show before we have to settle down again this fall. For me that means having something worth showing in NYC. For her, I think it means having an outline or very rough-draft for the next Great American Novel.

I just printed out 60 pages of storyboard blanks, and am currently modeling the main character for a yet to be announced project. I'm being very careful to keep this one very manageable, frankly I'm more than a bit fed-up with having unfinished projects.

Beards.

Beards are a symbol of haggard manliness, and both men and women admire them equally. Without a beard, a man can never achieve anything more than just being some guy, or worse, an upstanding citizen. Yikes! Some men grow beards at rates that rival the ebb and flow of passing seconds; (see my father) others like myself require many weeks to acquire proper coverage. As awesome as beards are, sometimes they just need to go, to make way for a better, stronger… a beard that you swear will be keep neat this next go at it (or when it’s time to visit grandmother).

That’s where razors come in. Razors are very sharp slabs of steel that us men scrape across our faces. Of course, this is neither safe nor sane (fashion and taste, not withstanding), and is therefore a perfect pastime for us men! Sometimes, we slice our faces open a tad, but that’s okay! A cut or scrape across the face is good practice for the inevitable slaps or punches we receive as part of the natural course of conversation with women or the police. Plus, they can leave scars, and everyone knows chicks dig scars! Sometimes though, you just want a clean smooth, and hassle free shave; especially if you’re one of those poor saps that has a suit and tie job.

For years, I’ve just used the pseudo-standard Mach 3. They sent it to me on my 18th birthday, a marketing ploy designed to engage my newfound legal manliness. They figured if I used their fancy and awesomely named razor that I would be apt to buy replacement blades for all time. They were pretty much correct in this scheme since it worked! At least until I was able to grow an even beard, discovered the electric beard trimmer, and could maintain a constant haggard for months at time. Sadly, I left this trimmer behind during my last move, and as each week went by, my beard grew more and more unwieldy. Soon, as alluring as it was, and as irresistible as it made me, the beard began to interfere. It had to go, one way or the another.

But alas, where is my Mach 3? I had gone haggard for so long, that I no longer kept up with it. It had slipped away, most likely in a duffle or back pack stuffed in a box… somewhere… Digging in the bathroom yielded a hot-pink item of curiosity. I knew that women needed to shave from time to time, but paid it no mind since they generally keep themselves in a timeless state of lovely that one forgets the hours the take to primp and prune themselves. But here was this tool for shaving, stashed and hidden away on my girlfriend’s side, that I had never seen the likes of. It had 3 blades much like my Mach 3, but the head was wider, and swiveled. It had “comfort” strips to keep the skin smooth and protected from blood-letting nicks. It may have been hot pink and named after a Roman goddess, but it was the only option I had!

And you know something? It was the best, closest, and smoothest shave I have ever had.

Behold, my new razor of choice:

Barry: back

me: how was class?

Barry: i got my ass handed to me in a drawing critique

me: That sounds like a painful class to begin with

Barry: yeah
luckily, since everyone did bad, we have another week to work on it

me: F'in A! Thank god for a generation of slackers, eh?

Barry: it's not that we're slackers, it that still lifes are really hard

me: In a class with a name like that, I would draw every subject with a big foot wedged right up their bums
Then, they would be forced to say, "this drawing kicks ass!"

Barry: ha ha ha

me: I had to copy paste this conversation
I think I'm going to blog about it

Barry: awesome

me: Now to put the internet in a loop: http://www.deadonque.com/blog/index.php ... 218-152858

A week ago, on a gusty and bright Friday afternoon my girl and I signed the lease to our new apartment. It’s a cozy little space in the middle of Mesquite, a mere 5 minutes from work. We weren’t even supposed to look at this unit; only a serendipitous gap in our touring schedule prompted us to think, “Well, lets see if they got any availabilities, maybe we could tour it later?” For what it is, it really couldn’t be more perfect. They even allowed us to paint the walls any color we wanted. Japanese Maple for the kitchen, Flat Gray for the TV wall, and Spartan Stone for the bedroom, while it’s not 100% finished, it looks amazing. As we finish un-boxing and moving in our stuff, it really is starting to feel like our home.

For the last month, something about her had been a little odd. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it at first, but evidence was subconsciously building. Trouble holding food, a disproportionate outburst over my shoddy craftsmanship (I really suck at painting trim), and when she came home last Monday night, with this glow and nervous look about her, I knew. When I couldn’t stand her nervous squirming any longer, I finally asked, “Okay, so when are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?” She tried to make me guess, but after an hour of stubbornness on my part (I insisted that if she was this worked up over it, that she had better tell me, that my guessing what I was ready to guess would be of poor taste if guess incorrectly) she finally whispered her news.

It may be too early for medical science to tell us for sure, but there is no doubt in our hearts that after 7~8 short months, it will be a girl. Perhaps a month after we started dating we stayed up late one night, talking about the future. She told me of her dream, a young mother and daughter in the loveliest white sundresses, tending a garden before a picture-perfect home. She told it well enough that when I closed my eyes, I could almost smell the flowers. Gwen would soon visit my own dreams, as if to validate of our love.

Elated might be an understatement. So jovial was my reaction to her whispered announcement, that she was nearly sickened to death. Her sister had built up an expectation that I would fly off the handle and become quite irate. I think I might have made her more comfortable if my reaction had even a hint of anger or anxiety. I’ve heard of fathers-to-be reacting so uncouthly, but it just seems unnatural to me. Maybe I’m just too addicted to life, but I truly can’t help but feel overwhelmed with… joy. She swore me to secrecy until she was ready to tell other people. I made it to Thursday and I told her, “you’re already starting to show (Not to a strangers eye, but parents would notice right away), and it would probably be better to give them warning before we showed up for dinner one night with a basketball under your blouse.” We made the rounds Saturday, and not a single member of either family had anything but smiles, tears, and well wishes. Guess I’m not the only one with a sweet tooth for life!

I still have some phone calls to make, and friends to tell, but this rare chance to blog (I am sans-internet for the time being) must be taken. When dreams come true, the literal betwixt the figurative, I feel it’s important to let the world know, that yes they can, will, and do come true.

I had exactly one day to play this month, when the tears dried I had this:


Hail. from Brian Mayberry on Vimeo.