Hawaiian Vacation

Aloha!

Last week I went to Hawaii for a friend's wedding. The trip also turned out to be a bit of a research trip for a new film of mine. Anyway, I thought I'd share some of my tropical skullduggery.

The first step in any Hawaiian vacation is to find the proper attire. I elected the "Official Magnum PI" route.

My friends Kai and Ross pause for a moment to reflect on the importance of pyrotechnics at any wedding.

I also found time for some quality beach-front sketching.

You see a lot of "towel prepping" poses on the beach.

This chick was talking her boyfriend's ear off at a local Starbucks. I did my best to capture her manic bi-polarness.

The beach is a great place to study different body parts, because it's all out there in full view.

You also see a lot of unique poses due to the lack of chairs.

Remember, always wear sunscreen.

There are good beach views...

...and not-so-good beach views.

 

But you really can't complain when every day ends with one of these...

9 days...

TALES FROM LONDON
Chapter V: The Bones

An Allosaur, playing a game of freeze-tag with a nearby Iguanodon skeleton at the London Natural History Museum. Next to Shakespeare at the Globe (which I'll share tomorrow), this was my favorite stop of the trip.

Elevated catwalks gave us an interesting perspective, looking down on the skeletons.

The one thing that bugged me was some of the messed up dino anatomy. The shoulder bones (corocoids, specifically, for you real dino nerds out there) were spaced too far apart in everything from the theropods to ceratopsians.

That's almost forgiveable, though. We're always revising our opinions about dino anatomy. The one really blatant error was displayed at kid's-eye-view on a video screen. An animated walk-cycle portrayed a Diplodocus walking like two blokes in a horse costume. One glance at any modern quadruped would have shown them that the front two appendages are still arms, even if they're walked on, and bend backward, like an elbow, not forward like a knee.

C'mon, England, this sort of sloppy thinking is why we had to save you guys in the war.

TALES FROM LONDON
Chapter IV: The Tube

Drawings from the London Underground. Subway underground, not mafia underground, unfortunately.

Tomorrow: drawings from the Natural History Museum, and how the Brits have dinos all wrong.

TALES FROM LONDON

Chapter II: The Eye

This story was written on the London Eye, a massive Ferris Wheel that seats over a dozen people per cart and hoists passengers over 440 feet into the air over London. Vi gave me the opening title, ''James Gurney felt sick.'' And I took off from there. Enjoy.

James Gurney felt sick. The world-renowned author and artist had always been bothered by heights and, standing with his forehead resting against the cool glass pane of his compartment on the London Eye, looking over a hundred meters down to the River Thames below, he was definitely feeling bothered. And yet, the terrible distance to the water below was hardly the source of the knot in his stomach.

He had come up to relax, get a view of the city, and perhaps do a bit of drawing, but the scene unfolding on the river beneath him was nothing short of horrifying. The cries of the people scrambling across the deck of the ferry could scarcely be heard from inside the ferris wheel's enclosed capsule, but the artist's eye could pick out the flailing arms and manic gestures that were characteristic of a crowd in panic. One woman, who looked quite like a silver and lavender ant, had swung a leg over the side railing, thought better of it, and was now straddling the side of the ferry, unsure of whether to stay on the ill-fated vessel, or take her chances in the grey waters below. And yet, as terrified as the people seemed to be, James could hardly say that their plight was the source of his nausea, either.

What would have spun any man's stomach was the massive, leathery black creature that had thrust itself onto the ship's deck. Most laymen would describe the crane-necked leviathon as the creature from the Lock Ness. In fact, one towheaded boy of nine was pounding on the glass beside James crying, ''Nessy! Nessy! Look, mum, it's Nessy!''

But James was no layman. He was an artist, one who specialized in prehistoric art, as a matter of fact. He was quite well-read on all things dinosaur-related and had been commissioned several times by National Geographic and the Smithsonian. To him, this was no monster attacking innocent people, it was a wondrous creature of a bygone era defending itself against the modern age.

And yet, the sight of the seemingly impossible creature didn't bother James either. What really made James feel sick was his pocket. His empty, empty pocket. The pocket where his sketchpad and pen should have been. Of all of the days for a real, living dinosaur to show up, THIS was the one day James had no way to draw it.

James gave a sigh, fogging the glass, and the creature disappeared completely.

TALES FROM LONDON
Chapter I: The Trenches

Like I said in my last post, I'm tromping through London this week. The friends I'm with (Vi and Amalia) are fellow writers and filmmakers. We took a screenwriting course together at CalArts, and ever since, we've held eachother accountable to continue writing. So, on this vacation, I've made it a goal to write a short story every day, based on my experiences of the day. Today, we visited the Imperial War Museum. This story is based on the "in the trenches" exhibit, which simulated what life might have been like in the trenches of World War II.

Pender felt cold wetness seep into his britches and onto the back of his legs. The night air bit at his eyes and ears, but his sweat-stained scarf kept his nose and cheeks warm. He wasn't sure what was worse--the smell of the breath collected against his scarf (Pender couldn't remember the last time he brushed his teeth), or the stench of the urine and war that permeated the trench around him.

Pender was his nation's man, and their last hope, he reminded himself. This was no time to rest, the men were looking to him. Using one hand against the stack of munitions, he rose to his feet. His knees ached from crouching, it felt like the sting of cowardice infecting his joints.

The chill winter air was silent. Only moments ago, it was filled with the sounds of war, of rounds whizzing inches overhead. Miller had been hit. A shot to the left cheek. The red had spread across his cheek almost immediately, a stark violent contrast to the snow he writhed on top of.

is screams had long-since died away. He had gone home He was with his mother again. They would all be reunited with their loved ones soon enough.

Pender stood, but crouched, his head just under the battlements. He surveyed his weary warriors. Tully ("Bully Tully") was glowering up at the steel grey sky though the softly falling flakes of snow. Campbell was anxiously cracking his knuckles, though the sound was muffled by dyed-wool mittens. And Monroe...his trusted leftenant...whose eyes glistened with unfallen tears, looked up at Pender. It was a bitter glare, full of fear, anger, and accusation.

A shout broke the stillness. A shout from the enemy lines.

"Oi!" cried the voice, in broken english, "Oi! You 'ad enough yet?"

Pender locked eyes with Monroe. A desperate, uncomfortable moment passed. Blood-numbingly cold as it was, Pender has to whipe the sweat from his brow.

"I said: you! 'Ad! Enough?!"

Campbell shook his head and whispered with a voice thick with tears, "We ain't ever surrendered yet, mate. We can't give in now!"

"Yeah," Bully Tully replied--a little too loud, "Life ends eventually, might as well end it on yer feet!"

Pender looked to Monroe, "What do you say?"

At once, the resentment melted away and his old friend looked back at him, "They fight like girls anyway."

Pender smiled and thrust his hand into the wall of snow that formed the trench. He pulled out a wad of snow and used both hands to pack it hard. With his snowball complete, he looked to his men. Each had their arms full, cradling frosty ammunition. He smiled and cried, "Kill the girls!!"

"Kill the girls!" Monroe screamed.

"Kill the girls!!" joined Campbell and Bully Tully. And with that, the four eight year-olds ran out of their trench and charged across the fresh-fallen snow toward the girls' fort, hurling their snowballs into the crisp December air.

Aloha! Sorry for the grievous lack of posting, I just got back from vacation in Hawaii. I went with family, including my Grandpa Bill, who used to surf with the legendary Duke Kahanamoku.

I was inspired by my grandpa's stories of hot-dogging and hangin' ten with the Duke, and couldn't help but fire-up my imagination while surrounded by the tropical hillsides and rainforests of Jurassic Park. I'm definitely ready to plunge back into work, reinvigorated with my cup filled to the brim with creative juices.

There's a lot to be said about hard work, and that's certainly the only way to get better at animating. But as I heard Brad Bird himself once say, "You've got to have a life to create the illusion of life."

I've got some serious post-creating to do, but while you wait for the next Chades Challenge (I'm, what? Two behind?), here's some creative nourishment for you to chew on!

Symphony of Science

Coming Soon: Sly Orange: The O-dyssey

My apocryphal rock band, Sly Orange, went on tour through Portland and Seattle last Independence Day. Our hotel-thrashing drummer, Vi, started compiling the video that we shot for our bass-player, Ben, who unfortunately couldn't make the tour. Most of the conversations are out of context, and make little sense. You'll hear me talking about 'future surgeries' which is me talking to the camera as if it is my future-self watching the video like a time capsule. I'm not sure if that makes more or less sense. Anyway, Vi did a great job editing this little teaser, and it features my fantastic singing voice, so I thought I'd share it. Make sure to look for The O-dyssey in record stores and on iTunes this Christmas!




In other music news, President-Elect Obama has officially tapped John Williams to compose/conduct a piece of music for his inauguration. Talk about getting started on the right foot, I can't think of a better person to set the stage for a historical moment. I think there's only one piece suitable for such an occasion. It certainly wouldn't be the first Star Wars/Obama mash-up.



Everyone loves John Williams, but a much more polarizing figure appearing at the inauguration is Pastor Rick Warren. I've read his book, A Purpose Driven Life, twice, once with my late buddy, Justin Wright. Justin and I hardly agreed with each other on every issue, and we certainly didn't agree with everything Pastor Warren had to say in his book, but it definitely challenged us both to think about what it means to live a life of purpose. Before anyone gets angry about Pastor Warren giving the invocation at Obama's inauguration, I'd challenge them to watch his talk at the TED conference. You may not agree with everything the man has to say (if you don't, you may find Dan Dennett's TED talk more to your liking), but Pastor Warren's certainly not a "fear mongerer," and I'm personally not interested in hearing an invocation from anyone who agrees with everybody, anyway.

"Humility is not thinking less of yourself, it's thinking of yourself less."
--Rick Warren

Sly Orange: The O-dyssey
Just got back from the O-dyssey tour through Portland and Seattle. I highly recommend the Space Needle and Experience The Music Project in Seattle and Powell's in Portland. Unfortunately our gig in Olympia was canceled, I don't think the Olympians are interested in a Sly Orange without our bass player, Ben Michaels. Hopefully he comes back for the next album; I'm not sure if my new invention "bass-scatting" is quite as good as the real thing.

Pat feeling the blues backstage before the Seattle show

Oregon and Washington were absolutely beautiful. I'm pretty jealous of our drummer, Vi, who lives in Portland since it's basically Berkeley without the transients. We had a gig at PG&E park on the fourth to watch some baseball and fireworks--y'know, really soak in the America. I've got to say, any sport that needs audience clapping games, Top 40 sound bites, rehearsed mascot routines, raffles, or the wave every five minutes is just not entertaining enough. If they really want to keep the fans interested, they should but a basketball court in the outfield.

The fireworks were great, though, and the rest of the tour was a blast. Our keyboardist, Pat, designed a top-notch tattoo for me, and our lead guitarist, Amalia, really slayed during our cover of Purple Haze. The goal of the tour, aside from rocking our fans' collective socks off, was to get a cup of joe at the original Starbucks at the Seattle market. I did, and I must say, it was worth the trip! Is it just me, or is the quality of java directly proportional to the cuteness of the barista?

To sum up: Portland and Seattle are awesome, Sly Orange still knows how to rock, and someone should put baseball out of its misery.

Speaking of rock'n'roll legends...
The Rock'n'Poll has officially come to a close. I'm sure forty-six votes are enough to speak for the entire populous, so I am officially declaring Bohemian Rhapsody is the Greatest Rock'n'Roll Song of All-Time!! They are the champions, my friend.