Five: Pardon, Shadow?

So since the first few pages of this (or more) are all full of "Going to San Diego" stuff, I think I can spare this post and focus on just the top left corner...my long lost cat. 
   Shadow. Shads. The Shadmeister. Ok so I never actually called him that but thinking back on it, I probably should have. Shadow was the most loyal of all the little furry creatures in the land that was my home, the kinda cat that ran to you every time you snapped your fingers and never pulled that sassy "too good to be pet" bullshit. Anyway, one fateful day my family packed up and moved out of our little outskirts abode and crossed town to los suburbs, Shadow packed quietly into a little cardboard cat carrier in the backseat. Now I'm not exaggerating, THE SECOND we pulled up into our spankin' new driveway, this all-of-a-sudden ravaging, satanic ball of fur somehow acquired the strength of 7,000 pissed-off cats on creatine and literally burst through the side of this cardboard box screaming and sprinted away. Never to be seen again. Though I have a vague suspicion he is still lurking around Marseille causing a ruckus, tearing through people's walls at high speeds no doubt.

Four: Kevin B. Garcia

Oh yes, my friends, this is it. Kevin B. Garcia's business card, taped safely and soundly onto a blue striped background, never to be lost. Just in case we ever find ourselves in a strange foreign city, Suburbanless and needing to get to the nearest bus station, we can always call this guy for a ride. But 50 bucks for a few gallons of gas? Come on, Kevin. Don't take advantage of kids stranded in Glendora freakin' California. And don't be a creep. Good thing you didn't try to pull some shit, wouldn't have expected a few innocent looking young chaps to be armed with brass knuckles and batons would you, Kevin?...didn't think so. Despite your creepiness and wanting to take pictures with us "for your website", we couldn't have made it without ya. I think we should give him a call one of these days...

Three: Life Lessons

Here's a little story about this page.
   So I'm on a Greyhound bus coming from Point B and heading back towards Point A, crammed in tightly next to my friend Dana (who happens to be jamming to TLC on the headphones and drawing "No scrubs" in block letters on Paint), when I decide "HEY! I should fill every page of this with drawings!". So I turn the page enthusiastically, and to my dismay discover, shitty markers bleed. Or shitty paper gets bled through. One of the two. Or both. Anyway, I stare at the paper. Then I crappily draw the tacky pattern on the headrest in front of me. Lesson learned. Thought there would be a good ending to this story? Too bad. Oh- can't ignore the baby photo of me lounging in what looks to be a floral sack with shoulder straps. Or Deezy, me and Victor huddling in the black abyss. Love.

New love

New favorite song of all time..so cute.

Two: Do Work, Son

This little blob of nonsense is something I drew a few years ago, sitting on a beach in Del Mar watching my friends try to paddle a raft into the waves and cursing the sea at the tops of their lungs. That really has no relevance to this drawing at all but the memory's attached quite nicely.

One: BOOK