Category Archives: Visual Aid

Skull Crusher

I was part of an art exhibit that involved a plastic resin skull being a blank canvas on which I had full artistic reign. Here is what I came up with!


Hoot Do You Love?

Seems pretty obvious, right? I have a few other owl things I’ve seemed to have misplaced. Perhaps they’ve flown the coop.

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Must Kill TV

I try not to watch a lot of television because if I do my brain will rot to low-grade compost. People look down on those who have a constant puddle of drool in their lap and an uncontrollable left-eyelid twitch.

Here are four commercials I would love to pummel with a stinky Gefilte fish if that were at all possible.

Febreze Breathe Happy

This has all the makings of a fantastically C-rated snuff film, and I am very sure I saw a Dateline special with the same story line as this stupid commercial. Can someone make a parody of this, please?

Domino’s Idiot Focus Group

How the [bleep] did these focus group members not [bleep]ing see the [bleep]ing cows munching on the [bleep]ing grass outside of the [bleep]ing building in which their [bleep]ing focus group took place? Unless these were the kidnap victims from the Febreze commercials, and Domino’s used chloroform-soaked rags, a windowless white van, miles of rope and burlap blindfolds to transport them from that death basement to the focus group room, I don’t understand how these people weren’t more aware of their surroundings coming into this Domino’s focus group.

Nasty-Ass Community Bed

Ok, I can see this commercial actually happening, except for the part where everyone reacts positively to the disgusting news and continues to lay on this fluffy, communal germ-fest. Hearing the sheets were washed a week ago and realizing the buffet of skin cells penetrating the very fibers of this bed I was pushing my face into would make me an unhappy individual, and someone would surely be getting punched in the spleen. Camera man, the bearer of bad news, the person who went before me, whoever.

Charmin Basic Cheap-ass Bears

Alright, if you are too broke to afford toilet paper – they even sell individual rolls in case a multi-pack breaks your pursestrings – you need to stop watching TV, get up off your punk ass and get a job. You might enjoy your go more realizing affording life’s basics are no longer a concern in your wonderful adult life.

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Label Whore

This is the face and attitude I’m required to have when I’m donning branded clothing during promotions.

Here are some* photos of the branded clothing I had to don.

Nike - Boston Marathon '09

New Balance - Boston Marathon '10

Entourage (for RCN Cable) - booze not included

Bobbi Brown (makeup, not Mr. Whitney Houston)

*I have done over 100 promotions. I have done over 100 different promos. Be afraid, be very afraid.

Fresh Fruit Bouquet Company, Murray’s Sugar-Free Cookies, Hills Science Diet, Hood Simply Smart, Mentos, Back to Nature, Guinness, TD Banknorth, TFAL, Gnarls Barkley, Zagat, Boost Mobile, Nabisco, Metro, Hills Science Diet – PetFit, Nature’s Best, Miller Lite, Cinnabon, Function Drinks, Puma, RCN, Quizno’s, Polaroid Pogo,, Sparks, Dentyne Ice, TJ Maxx, Stride Gum, Coraline, Lazybones Laundry, Dunkin Donuts, Virgin America, Columbia Land of Flowers, Glamour Magazine, Culinary Creations, MCAT, The Wall Street Journal – Fidelity, Disney’s UP, Rooftop Comedy, Lottery, Power Bar, Nintendo, Redux, Speed Tick, The Last International Playboy, Comcast, Red Sox, Metro and TD Garden, Disney’s Princess and the Frog, Beth Israel Deaconess Hospital, GI Joe, GoGo InFlight, Arkham Asylum, Samsung Jack, My E-Pets, Versus, Direct TV, Kia Soul Collective Tour, Caritas Hospital, Walgreens, Nescafe, Slammin’ Salmon, Capitalism A Love Story, The Company Store, Quaker Oats Cereal, Deftones, Smirnoff, Swedish Fish, Client Y, Wells Fargo, Capital One Bank, Best Buy, Coupon Cabin, Oreo,, Beats by Dre, Seamless Web, EMC, AirBnB, Ghirardelli, Pump Up the Pressure, Grey Goose, Bicardi, etc…
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Art & Literary Hankerings

Art, to me, is this erratic release of self-expression that I’ve always let rampantly course through my veins whenever an internal fit of inspiration insisted on tangibility. Like wild fire, the artist in me has never been predictable or tame. Writing, for me, has been a temperately crafted skill, and in my college years it became more of a labor and less a love. The substance of my intellect is made up of art and writing, and while the quantitative relation between the two has always fluctuated, I was an artist well before I ever considered myself to be a writer. Will I ever consider myself to be either, and equally?

I found an artist, Brian Dettmer, that has created the perfect metaphor and physical representation of my – sometimes conflicting and usually overlapping – passions. Check these babies out.

Photos Brian Dettmer’s work accredited to Eugene’s blog post: “The Book Surgeon.” Eugene also provides an explanation of Dettmer’s process.

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PAX East

Over one past weekend I worked at PAX East. If you aren’t familiar with what it is, don’t worry because I wasn’t either. But I now know it stands for “Penny Arcade Expo.” Before March 11th, I would have asked myself, “What is this ‘Penny Arcade’ you speak of?” Thanks to this up and coming service called the “inter-net” I also know it is a popular and longest running “webcomic focused on video games and video game culture, written by Jerry Holkins and illustrated by Mike Kr[-something or rather].” Shit. The last video game I defeated was Donkey Kong. On Super Nintendo. When I was, like, eleven. And with the help of my mom ’cause she’s cool like that.

I relied on public transportation to get me to & fro. The green-line to the red-line, the red-line to the silver-line, the silver-line to the Boston Convention and Exposition Center. There were lots of Spring Break-bound kids with rolling luggage clogging up the train, antsy for out-of-state sunburns and boozy socialization. I could sense their eagerness for youthful debauchery, this collegiate so-called rite of passage. Once I hopped off at Park Street and waited for the red-line, there was something noticeably different about the air. Something was less arrogant, less assertive, less Alpha-Tau-Omega-SB-2011-4EVR-y, and far less shots-shots-shots-shotsshots-shots-y. It was more maladroit, pale-skinned-y, floor-length-leather-trench-coat-y and MMORPG-y. Once I arrived at my destination, I realized the source of the electrostatic shift – gamers. And there were thousands of them. For a second I was worried they’d smell a faker in their midst, turn on me and beat me with their handheld gaming devices. Luckily for me, they were too involved with their portable video games.

The magnitude of the booths impressed the heck out of me. Actually, no, they weren’t just booths. A booth makes me think of a branded 10 x10′ tent with siding and banners that click, velcro or zip-tie together, and can be assembled in 10 minutes by two people. Sometimes there is a wobbly folding table involved. At PAX East, it felt like I stepped into a gamer amusement park, where two-dimensional video game worlds were realized on the most grand scale mobile trade shows can allow. Have you ever seen a soon-to-close KB Toys in a dingy strip mall, flickering fluorescent bulbs shedding its ugly light on uninviting parched shelving, revealing dustballs and shitty looking toys not even a blind kid would play with? That, to me, is the New England Home Show. Remember FAO Schwarz in it’s heyday, especially the multilevel flagship stores, where every square inch of space was interactively magical and it took all your adult effort to not to climb all over the oversized stuffed safari animals, or stomp the crap out of that floor piano in a hectic childish rapture? That, to me, was PAX East 2011.

A prominent PAX booth became my home base for three days. My job was to get people to take a quick survey, fetch prizes and take photos. I won’t go into specifics, as I would like my food to go down smoothly, but due to my small stature, the exponential growth rate of stagnant (and often smelly) body heat, and the rare opportunity for prudish males to gain physical contact with the opposite gender, my left shoulder was soaked. These next photographs might show you how my uselessly over-Purell’d shoulder came to be so.

You see my point.

I met some very interesting characters, er, make that caricatures. There were a couple dudes that didn’t want to make eye contact with me and a few that held this weird non-blinking eye contact, as if they were challenging me to a staring contest or preforming Jedi mind tricks. To change things up with our photos, the other “booth babe” and I suggested doing a stereotypical promo pose with a pair of guy friends. One of them said they didn’t know what that was, and since he looked young I asked him his age and if he had even been to prom yet. He simply said, “I’m home-schooled and lack socialization skills.” You don’t say? Here’s a tip, if you find yourself an outsider at one of these conventions: never ask costumed people of they bought their costume. More likely than not, they spent countless hours making their costume from scratch. Speaking of which:

I could spend the rest of this post trying to sum up everything I saw and felt at PAX East 2011, but I’ve got stuff to do and there ain’t no way I could begin to wrap my head around the psychology of gaming and the gamer. I will simply observe from a far, detached and dry shouldered and leave you with pictures of some highlights from my weekend.

Game Over


Photos are from the Turtle Beach Facebook page.
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Here’s the finished painting, the one in the ‘It’s A Process’ post. Looks nothing like it did from the start, obviously, but my slow & steady method is a big reason why I don’t do live painting. I’d need to provide my audience sleeping bags, rations and a few epic trilogies on DVD.


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Jeffrey Campfail

I never do posts about fashion because PonderPants isn’t and won’t ever be a fashion blog. I appreciate the religious cult that the fashion industry is and fall into it from time-to-time, but I never went to school to understand it, create it, merchandise it or perpetuate it. That’s not to say I don’t admire the artistry of profound fashion design and photography. Sometimes I need to pry myself off the computer whenever I have Twisted Lamb open in my browser.


But let me get to the point I was going to make. I love Jeffrey Campbell shoes and have a few pairs of them. The hidden platform wedge thing he’s got going on has me hooked. So what the hell was he thinking with these design mutations?!


Lita Shag – Furry boots can be bad enough but it looks like someone hammered a chunky wooden heel into a guinea pig. An unfortunate and filthy guinea pig.


Kasa Woven Sandal – The basket cankle says boot but the open-toes and basket cankle say, “The meteorologist that lives in my head is bipolar.”


Smudge Fab – No amount of mushrooms or opium will make me want to chase the magic dragon in these babies.


Pingpong – Pingallsoveryverywrong. Is it just me or do the little squiggly straps sort of look like bacon strips?


Lancelot – More like Frankenboot or schizophrenia in a shoe.


All Ruffle – It’s like dressing up a butch lesbian in a tutu or something. Leather ruffles send me the wrong signals. It’s like gender identity and sexual orientation crisis in a shoe and enclosed with a buckle. Maybe you’re a female that likes other females or a male that likes females but was once a female or some confusing mishmash of something else? If you are, here’s your shoe.


Demeter – This design might flourish better as some architectural creation, like a building or not at all.


Wildchild – Now your feet can whip their hair back and forth.


Pixie Hair – Good god, what do I do with these? Feed it? Groom it? Is there a rabid animal trapped in there? Should I stomp it out and kill it? Is a homeless man missing a gnarly patch of his beard?


*All shoes’ feelings were not harmed in the making of this post as they are inanimate objects. If you think otherwise, I’d advise against chasing the dragon so much.

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It’s A Process

As I was riding the T to work before sunrise, I was listening to my iPod and struck with inspiration. As soon as I got home I turned some floor space into art space and attacked an old canvas with my thoughts and paintbrush.



Still a work in progress which I shall post when I’m finished.



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Guten Tag, Theo

I can’t stop looking, staring, gawking and admiring this Berlin artist’s paintings. Theo Altenberg, my God, man. Your paintings are these fabric lookin’ dreamscapes, sort of Rorschach ink blot test-y, watery, flowing, drape-y, mind-trippy, flag waving in the wind, cleverly ruched, kind of abstract-ish dashed with a bit of still-life dissolving before my very eyes, something somewhat sand dune-ish, calculated yet spontaneous pieces of art that make me do a wiggle dance of happiness with the paint brush of my heart. These paintings look so edible and so toxic, I don’t know what to do with them. Is this the visual equivalent of a writer’s stream of consciousness? If so, then keep on talking, sir.




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