Christoph3r

Landon Donovan (regarding openly gay soccer player Robbie Rogers) ~ source: LA Galaxy Insider

So, yesterday, for the fourth or fifth time in the past couple of months, I almost got in a fight on the public transit.

Seems to usually happen when some crazy person is threatening a woman. One time, though it was some guy yelling at a little old man.

Yesterday, a weird (possibly drunk) man started yelling at the lady bus driver. He was all up in her face, with spit flying out of his mouth. I sat in the back and thought to myself, “Stay out of it… but if he touches her, I’m getting up”.

Suddenly he grabbed her shoulder and started to pull her.

I stood up,
put my backpack on
and started to rush forward.

She was apparently a trainee, because in a seat right near her, another bus driver guy got out of his seat and got between her and the crazy guy. The crazy dude finally sat down after yelling expletives at the both of them.

My stop came, and feeling the supervisor had it under control, I felt okay stepping off.

I’m not a violent person. I feel violence should always be a last resort. But when that happened, I kept thinking of the Doctor Who episode the other night, and something he said pretty much summed up my feelings in situations like that…

Listen, there is one thing you need to know about traveling with me.
Well, one thing apart from the blue box and the two hearts.
We don’t walk away.

themeatkitchen:

This is unbelievable. 

tothisdayproject:

To This Day Project

When I was young I was invincible.
I found myself not thinking twice.
I never thought about no future,
It’s just a roll of the dice.
But the day may come when you’ve got something to lose
And just when you think you’re done paying dues
You say to yourself, ‘Dear God, What Have I done?’
And hope it’s not too late ‘cause tomorrow may never come

Reach for the sky…
‘cause tomorrow may never come.

(Source: Spotify)

(via andrewvachss)

(Source: vachss.com, via andrewvachss)

My grandpa passed away in his sleep last night. He was 91 years old.

My mom called at 4am to let me know. After I got off the phone with my mom, I went back to bed and began to think back on my memories of him. I immediately recalled a few times when my grandma and I would go visit him during his lunch breaks at work. I remembered a particular day when, for some reason, my grandma dropped me off and just he and I had lunch together alone.

We sat in the cab of his truck, outside some large factories in an industrial area of town. We ate baloney sandwiches together, and he pointed out to the railroad tracks in front of us. “I remember a Popeye episode where Bluto tied Olive Oil up to some train tracks like those and Popeye had to rescue her. Have you seen that one?” He asked. “I think so,” I said. He then told me about the cartoon and how Popeye saved the day by eating his spinach. I asked him to tell me another Popeye story.

Grandma was a bit late picking me up, so he obliged and told me another Popeye story. I asked him to tell me another, but then he said it was my turn. I should tell him a Popeye story. So I thought back to some episodes I’d seen and told him all about what happened in one.

We took turns and then even started making up our own Popeye stories.

That’s always been one of my favorite memories of him. Just the two of us. Eating sandwiches in his truck on his lunch hour, making up stories together.

Thinking back on that, I smiled as I was laying in bed last night. Then I closed my eyes and whispered:

“Tell me another story, Papa.”

(Source: pyropitseleh, via celtx)

We’ve lost another legend. Joe Kubert was one of those artists whose work I always keep within arms reach of my drawing table. A constant source of reference and inspiration. When drawing, I often find myself asking, “What would Joe do?”

I have a few tutorials he put out that I read like gospel. He was more than just a great creator, he was “the teacher”. He has inspired generations of artists through his work and his legacy. And through his art school, actually taught and guided so many artists directly. He gave so much to this industry.

We owe him such a great debt of gratitude.

Thank you for everything, sir.

Dark Horse Comics has put a free comic of his online, in honor of his passing.
Check it out.

I am not Moebius. I learned that very early in my art career.

No matter how much I wanted to be, I was not and never will be him. To call him an artistic hero of mine would diminish his greatness. He is more than a hero…

Moebius is the north star.
Something I will forever gaze upward to,
a guiding light,
a beacon,
a dream,
a mystery.

Bright and brilliant and strange and beautiful,
forever beyond my reach, but always in my sights.

I first discovered his work through his Spaghetti Western comic series “Blueberry”. I studied every stray line, no matter how randomly they seemed to be put there, each seemed to have it’s place. I copied his art, trying to unlock it’s secrets.

Then I saw his sci-fi/fantasy work and my mind exploded. Moebius was my gateway drug. Before I ever regarded anything be Will Eisner or Bill Sienkewicz, it was Jean Giraud a.k.a. Moebius who showed me that comic book art could be elevated to something greater. Something more than commercial art, something that could truly be considered fine art.

He mentioned in an interview once that as a youth he had the idea of using different pen names for his different styles of art. Sometimes he’d go by his full name, Jean Giraud. Other times he’d go by Gir. And for the truly outrageous stuff, he’d go by “Moebius”.

He was like a rock star. Just going by one name like Sting, Bono, Cher or Madonna.

I loved that idea. I decided that in my career I would use different pen names for my different styles of work. Using my full name only for the most “serious” of work. Going by only “Christopher” for all-ages/whimsical work. Maybe even mixing up my initials and making my first name last, “H.A. Christopher” for poetry and prose. I got as far as just using my first name. It kinda stuck.

As a teenager I developed my own western comic idea, another one of the dozen graphic novels that still swirl about my head, haunting my dreams and my waking hours, begging me to make them real if not for pesky real life getting in my way. But when I was young and 19, I was all ambition. I knew what I wanted to do and I’d be damned if anything was going to stop me.

I took my art to a comic book convention and wanted to find someone who’d take a look at it. Someone who would take one look at my magnificant ideas and say, “I want to publish this!” or “My stars! You are amazing, let me take you under my wing as my apprentice!”. So I stood in the Jim Lee autograph line. I decided that I would impress Jim Lee. He would see my talents and help me become the breakout star I was destined to be.

Jim Lee took one look at my pencils and, I could tell, struggled to find something nice to say. I don’t recall his first words. Probably something about my art being too “loose”. Working on anatomy. Figure drawing. The usual. But then he pointed out my line work. “I don’t like how thin these lines are here…”

I was infuriated! I broke the number one rule of asking for an art review. I argued with the reviewer!!!!

“That’s what Moebius does!” I yelled at Jim Lee.

He was shocked. Then, he leaned forward and very sternly told me, “You’re not Moebius.”

And he was right.

I was not Moebius. I never will be. Moebius was a rare one-of-a-kind talent that graced this world, and now he is gone. There will never be another Moebius.

But I will always gaze up
and look to the stars
in awe and wonder.

And there will be one star
shining brighter and more
radiant than all the others.

And he will forever be a guide
across artistic and creative waters.