The awards were for an opinion page illustration I did (shown here, 6th from the top) and another which I havn't uploaded yet, for a features page: sort of an annual thing the paper does highlighting stupid crooks.

In October there's a big press convention in Springfield Illinois, where, among other things, two press associations present their awards, one of which being the Illinois Press Association. It is at that awards ceremony that I'll find out what my position was (1st, 2nd, 3rd, or Honorable Mention). It's a big social hobnob event, and winners get to stand up and be clapped at, with their work shown on a big screen. Sounds fun. I'm actually going to have to dress up. How.. scary.

I imagine that I get a certificate for anything below first. First maybe gets a plaque or something. No idea.

Apparently, though I havn't had official word on this, the two awards are from different categories: editorial cartoon and features illustration. Last year, the same guy won both categories. He's at a much larger paper than mine. Papers like mine don't usually have someone like me.

That's where it stand right now. I'm going to see if there's a way I can get the pages those illustrations were on available for viewing here. Unlike photos, Illustrations are judged at these competitions as they look on the whole page (photos are shown by themselves, without the rest of the page). So essentially the whole design of the page comes into play. I'd like to show them that way here.

Update: I won third place and honorable mention in the illustration category. Not bad.

So, um, hooray!

I have no idea what place I won or what illustrations got the awards specifically. But I know I got the awards.

More as I learn it.

(very flatered and happy)

It's been causing problems ever since then, really, but they were ignorable for me, and invisible to you.. or so I thought.

I've done some mucking around and I got the comments to work right.. sorta. Okay you can leave comments now but it doesn't look like it works.. even though it does. Basically, you post the comment, and it looks like it boots you out to the entry you were posting the comment in.. to see your comment, scroll down to the bottom of that screen and click on comments again. You still wont see it what you just posted. Hit refresh. NOW it should appear.

No this is not an ideal situation. I'm going to back up my blog entries and comments tomorrow night, then KILL movable type and KILL the blacklist software (again) and start over. Then reimport and we should be back to normal.

Should be.

Four months in a new town in the mid west and Dwade still didn't know anybody he wasn't paid to be around. With all the deft cunning and enthusiasm of a sedated bull moose, he maneuvered his old clunker into a parking lot somewhere out on the horizon directly opposite Wal-Mart. The long walk past legions of tightly packed vehicles went by in a haze. He was elsewhere, thinking of better things.

This wasn't just Wal-Mart. This was The Other Wal-Mart. The one he hadn't been to yet. Dwade hated going to the first one. This one was just as bad. It didn't matter, they're all the same. And every time he walked through those all-the-same doors and faced the anonymous thief-pouncer who pretended to be there to greet him, he heard the pleas of the world's poor. People working without sleep in over-heated, cramped sweatshops for pennies a day so that overfed Americans can have cheap crap. Farmers whose families had provided food from the land for generations, left helpless as the world economy tells them what they do isn't good enough. The death of the mom and pop store. Mom and pop wear blue vests and forced smiles now. They stand behind cash registers and don't say much; just enough to find out of your card is credit or debit.

The handlebar of a shopping carriage hit the palms of his hand. He was then in the vegetable isle. It matched his state of mind.

The layout of the place was oddly familiar. Dwade had a theory that there are a limited number of configurations for a place like this. Each department is a block, each with its own size and shape, sort of like a jigsaw puzzle for idiots. There's only a few ways that these blocks can fit together into the sort of giant architectural monstrosity that makes the Lords of Wal-Mart smolder with demonic glee. But dammit, there were the green bell peppers, and Dwade needed some of those.

The shopping cart took on cargo: vegetables from space and meat grown in vats for all Dwade knew. There was a tall stack of gigantic frozen salmon flanks. The world is facing a salmon shortage, he thought, so where the hell did all of that come from, anyway?

Nearby at a stack of pork, Dwade recalled reading the story about how pigs-for-food were being genetically engineered with a snippet of human DNA to make them grow and mature faster. Half man, half pig.. and 100% delicious.

There, for an instant, he considered converting to Judaism. He decided against it, of course, judging that a genuine religious objection to consuming a swine-human hybrid probably wasn't worth the required surgery. Most of them spent their time in politics instead of the slaughterhouse anyway.

At the rear of the grocery block, another familiar turn brought him around to face towards the front of the store, looking straight down a corridor walled with plastic food holding devices and hundreds of variations om a theme spun sugar.

Dizziness set through him like water through a sieve, flowing upwards into the sky and then rained back down with the consistency of tar. Disorientation. He checked his pulse. It was normal. It was like the mass-produced, soulless architecture itself had reached out to bash and squeeze on his brain like one of those stress relief toys you see in the impulse-buy racks at the front.

Today's work is done. Trying to get a jump on next week's two illustrations.

Not working. Art brain not firing. Engine cranks over but does not ignite.

One sketchbook page ruined, filled with the blasted, ill-smelling detrius from what may be an exploded creativity copacitor in the forebrain. My nose is dripping carbonated maple syrup.

Send help.

-E

The solution:
I will take a page from Warren Ellis's book. I will write short fiction. And when I do, I will do everything I can not to hold back.

I am an artist. Profesionally and personally. But I long to tell stories that can't be conveyed with a single image. People tell me I'm multitalented.

So if my writing sucks, blame those fuckers for making me think I could do it.

...

Well... okay, everything behind the scenes is running smoothly. To make everything jive with the new software right, I reverted to one of the newer Movable Type default templates and styles. As such, stuff's looking different. And the category thing was something I didn't really use before, but the default templates display it.. so you have those choices to the side.. and because I never really used them, there isn't much in them and they don't display right. This will change when I have time. Hopefully soon.

The new spam-fighting software is active too. And you now need to have a typekey ID to post comments. Trust me, it's easy, it's free, it wont get you spammed or spied on, just do it. This isn't meant to keep you out unless you're a spammer, in which case I hope you develop a rare, painful chronic disease, the kind which does not kill, cannot be cured, and causes your genetalia to shrivel up and fall out. Live long and suffer.

Continuing rennovations. Stand By.

I'm rebuilding this thing. Been getting the itch to start updating again.

... the problem lies in me not feeling like saying anything for a little while.. then I kind of get into a groove of not saying anything and then, even when I do have something to say, I still don't say anything. And then the moment passes.

Anyhow, the art site is being rebuilt as I have the time. It will stay up as it is untill the new version is done. This bloggy thing will be overhauled. As it stands now, it's just a big bullseye for spambots. They pound it with a couple dozen spams daily. I let it build up over the last week.. ended up with about 400 instances of spam across the comments and trackback features.

New comments are being numbered as comment number 1200+ in the system.. but out of those, only 107 have been honest comments. And I get about twice as much trackback spam as I get comment spam. As such, I'm probably going to disallow all trackback in the future. Little benefit. Whole lotta spam. Comments stay, naturally. Communication should flow both ways, I think.

I'm upgrading my Movable Type software. The newer version is more resistant to spam, in addition to have more features, etc. The most immediate, stabbing change you'll notice is that you're going to have to log in with TypeKey to post comments. It's a free registration, and it's with the people who made Movable Type, and, well, they're good people. They're a good example of two smart, quirky, charming little geeks with an idea to make it really easy to create journals on the internet.. and created it. They realised how good it was and took a shot at doing it for a living by turning it into a small business. ... a couple years later, they're a major force in the online publishing industry. Two happy little geeks. Oh, and recently they hired on a guy with business sense to act as CEO, but the geeks, who are lovebirds I believe, are still in charge.

So, what I'm saying is, if you gotta trust what is ostensibly a media corporation with your email address so you can get a free login, it's them. They are you. They know what sucks and they don't do it.

... Incidently, I had the same damn idea. And I had it before they did. Back in late 1998 I bought a perl programming book and, as I endeavored to teach it to myself (with some success) I started thinking about how you could apply it, and perhaps turn it into the back end for a rapidly-updatable website for use as a journal, art gallery, etc. Granted, I'm not the only one with such ideas, but Movable Type is very close to what I had in mind. They just had the know-how and drive to make it happen. If I did.. well... maybe I never would've gone to Ringling and maybe I'd be rich. Oh well. Good for them. It wasn't my path. I just wish they'd get around to implementing the same kind of visual-formatting and image-posting-and-arrangement capabilities I was thinking of.. it's all possible with CSS and DHTML. It just needs a succinct, easy to use interface that follows the same themes as the current text publishing functionality.

Thing is, this kind of thing keeps happening. See, that's why I need to start writing this stuff down, so that after I'm dead, obsessive fans can point excitedly at gravitonic resonance technology and shout "IT WORKS JUST LIKE HE SAID IT WOULD! Eric Chapman was a GEEEEENIUS!!" to which I'll reply from the nearest computer bank (since I had myself uploaded upon stoppage of my heart) and say thank them.. and then upload myself to a server on the other side of the solar system so as to prevent an akward, raving fanboy moment.

See? I have stuff to say again!

Just to prove that I'm not out of my mind, or no more so than usual, gander at this:

Optimus Prime Dies of Prostate Cancer

See? It really happened!

... I need sleep. I have to art for the Man in the morning.

... and that friend is Optimus Prime.

And oh my god, the CLANK you heard when Ratchet forcefully crammed his metal hand up... okay, I'm stopping here.

if you didn't also see this momentous event, then you need to watch Robot Chicken next time it plays on adult swim this thursday. If you don't know what adult swim is, it's a block of programming aimed at a more adult audience with humor that's often too adult for kids. Some of it's great, some of it's lame. Some of it's utter genius. Robot Chicken had me laughing out more air than I was taking in. I seriously began to feel light-headed.

Other bits in the show included Captain Kirk walking on the bridge of the original Enterprise from thier turbolift (elevator thing), except that the elevator doors shut on him, catching exactly what every man dreads catching in an elevator door. It was like a scene from Something About Mary. I'm talking beans and franks, people. And as the doors proceeded to open and close on the cringing and crumpling Kirk, Spock staggared in front of the camera, laughing his vulcan ass off, slapping his knees and holding onto the walls for support.

Anyhow, I'm getting better. Yay. I'm generally fine now but I'm coughing constantly. Very annoying.

More later. And I promise it's not just gushing about TV shows where the toys of my childhood go to the doctor and get the rubber glove treatment. I promise.

Maybe They should move World AIDS Day to February 14th! That way we can celebrate the syndrome and the act of transmitting it to a loved one all at the same time!

What? No, I'm not bitter, what makes you say that?

It's F__ING VALENTINE'S DAY!

Figures. I'm not in a position to get my heart broken this year, so I get sick instead.

See? This is my life. On valentine's day, I get a virus.

... which could probably be said of a whole lot of people, but at least mine isn't as bad.

Psst. Meester Valentine? Here, I have a present for you! HHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaawk! Ptoo.

Happy noxious-phlegm day!

Okay, so it's the flu, but dammit I'm miserable and you're going to hear about it!

... normally I dodge the flu. I mean, viruses just aren't my thing, y'know? I'm more of a bacteria mensch. Bronchitis? Love it. Sinus infections? They're like a yearly celebration of winter! But the flu? Ugh.

I'm holding out hope, though. One of my symptoms is a sore throat, and that could mean that it's not the flu but really my on-again-off-again lover, strep throat.

... So I called in sick to work on Friday. I felt like (what's a four letter word for) poo. Turns out that it was sort of a false alarm. I felt better that night. I'd been feeling worse and worse every day when I got up that week and, well, I guess the flu hysteria going through Illinois right now kinda got to me. So I thought I had the flu, called work, spoke to them in a manner that sounded not unlike Darth Vader (totally genuine, I assure you, because I was kind of surprised by how bad I sounded) and that was that. By Saturday, I felt fine.

Sunday I'm wandering around the apartment, grumbling about how it's raining and I can't go shopping because my wipers don't work right, and suddenly I realize I'm freezing. Must've forgot to turn my heater up, right? Left it at unoccupied temperatures, right? Nope, it was where it should be. So I took my temperature. 99.5 Mind you, I usually run a little low, in the 97.5 range. And my throat hurts. And I'm coughing.

Bad sign, coughing. I don't cough much. Unless something went down the wrong way or a doctor has a firm grip on my gonads, I generally don't cough. I'll sneeze you out of the building, yes, but no coughing. If I'm coughing, Something Is Wrong.

Anyhow, no motivation to do anything, steadily feeling worse and worse.. temperature has climbed to 100.5 and rising. And I'm sitting here wondering whether I'm going to go to work tomorrow. If it weren't for the fact that I need to have an illustration done this week, I wouldn't even question it: I'd be staying home.

But I'm the only one in the building that does what I do. And I take pride in what I do, and in my professionalism in doing it. It must get done. It will get done.

And as I typed that last line, I had to fight off a rolling wave of fever-haze.

Maybe tomorrow the guy pushing the wagon for plague victim collection will come by and I can jump on it.

....... argh.