IF: fleeting

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The challenge word on illustrationfriday.com this week is “fleeting”.  When I did this illustration, I had a totally different narrative planned. I have since changed direction but the illustration still fits, albeit a stretch.
madness takes its toll
In 1984, I graduated from the Hussian School of Art, a small but respected vocational art school in center city Philadelphia. Several hours ago, I returned from an informal Hussian class of ’84 reunion, reacquainting myself with many classmates, some of which I had not seen in twenty-five years.

In February of this year, I was contacted by John Errichetti (the first person I talked to on my first day at Hussian). John got my work number from LinkedIn.com. (Don’t try to find me. I’m not listed under “Josh Pincus”.) He left a voicemail on my office phone. I hadn’t spoken to John in a few years, so I called back. John told me he toyed with the idea of leaving a disguised voice message, identifying himself as the father of a twelve-year-old boy he claimed I was molesting and he needed to talk to me. He asked, “Would you have called me back?” “No.,” I answered, “I would have deleted the message.” He informed about the sketchy details of the reunion. The location — McGillin’s Olde Ale House, a frequent haunt during my art school days — was a place with which I was familiar, although I wasn’t sure if I would be able to find it sober.

This afternoon I hopped on the R1 train with apprehension in my gut. I was headed to see a group of people that I saw every day for four years, and then, suddenly, hadn’t seen in twenty-five. Twenty-five years is a big gap in one’s life. Many, many things happened in twenty-five years. I got married two months after my graduation. Both of my parents have passed away. I have a grown son that none of my classmates ever met. I’ve worked at twelve jobs in twenty-five years. I began to force my mind to think of people and incidents that hadn’t crossed my mind in years. This was going to be weird.

I hurried through the wet streets of Philadelphia and made my way to narrow Drury Lane and to McGillin’s front door. I took a deep breath, grabbed the door handle and entered. The darkened tavern was instantly familiar. I turned to the left was greeted by a chorus of “Oh my Gods!” from a small group of unfamiliar faces, some of whom extended welcoming hands to me. I thought, “Oh shit. I don’t know who these people are.” The group began to identify themselves. I knew them all, even if their visage didn’t strike a chord in my usually-flawless memory. Slowly, I matched the faces to those memories from a quarter-century ago. I ultimately remarked that I felt as though I arrived in a DeLoreon pumped with 1.21 gigawatts of electricity.

I spent an ephemeral afternoon of reminiscing about days long gone, events long past and friends long forgotten. As the day progressed, late arrivals added to the group. Former classmates drifted about, assembling into small groups, breaking apart and reassembling. Of course, there was the obligatory “what are you doing” conversation. But, the talk generally stuck around “remember this” and “remember that”. It was truly enjoyable to discuss and share a part of my life that had been stored in some dark recess of my brain with the people who were key players in those experiences. There were a couple of people, I am sad to say, I didn’t not recognize and even after an explanation, I did not remember. Time was kind to several of the lot, specifically the five female classmates that bravely mingled among the predominantly male gathering. I was disappointed that certain classmates were not able to make it. Conversely, I was happy that others were not able to make it.

During a conversation with classmates Tom Romano and Lorin Stein, Tom chuckled and reminded me of my affinity for The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Lorin laughed too, adding,”You saw that movie, like, 10-15 times, right?” I glanced at the floor. “More like a hundred and fifty times.”, I sheepishly corrected. It was funny that Tom brought up Rocky Horror, as just before I left my house, I had completed the illustration above. How fitting the words of Richard O’Brien from the song The Time Warp —

“Time is fleeting.”

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from my sketchbook: nick adenhart

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calling all angels
Three nights ago, the only thing on 22-year old rookie Nick Adenhart’s mind was not giving up any runs to the Oakland A’s starting lineup. Nick scattered seven hits and three walks across six innings, while ringing up five Oakland batters on strikes. Nick was looking great in his 2009 season debut as part of the pitching rotation of the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim. Reliever Jose Arredondo took over pitching duties in the seventh inning and gave up two runs. The Angels sent two more relief pitchers in. One blown save later, the Angels had lost and, although he threw six scoreless innings,  Nick finished the game with a “no-decision”. Nick and his teammates hit the showers. In two hours, a selfish, lowlife, drunk piece of shit named Andrew Gallo would take away Nick’s chance at a second start.

Nick was a passenger in a friend’s Mitsubishi Eclipse as it approached the intersection of Orangethorpe Avenue and Lemon Street in Fullerton, California, a short distance from Angels Stadium. Andrew Gallo, driving with a suspended license and a previous DUI conviction, ran a red light in his Toyota Sienna and smashed into the Eclipse, instantly killing two of the passengers. Gallo fled the scene on foot. Emergency workers arrived and pulled Nick and his friends from the wrecked vehicle. Nick was rushed to University of California-Irvine Medical Center, where he died from injuries sustained in the crash. Gallo was apprehended on an embankment on interstate 91, thirty minutes after the accident.

On Friday morning, April 10, Gallo was charged with three counts of murder, one count of fleeing the scene of a traffic collision involving death or permanent injury, one count of driving under the influence and one count of driving with a blood-alcohol level above the legal limit. Gallo’s blood-alcohol level was triple the legal limit. He faces a sentence of 55 years in prison.

The day before his first 2009 start, Nick called his dad in his native Baltimore and insisted he fly in for the game. “You’re gonna see something special.” he told his father.

This story was updated in the Orange County Register on June 11, 2009. The driver of the car in which Nick Adenhart was a passenger was legally drunk, according to autopsy reports. She was also under the legal age for the comsumption of alcohol.

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from my sketchbook: adrienne shelly

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baby, don'tcha cry/gonna bake a pie/gonna bake a pie with a heart in the middle
Adrienne Shelly began her career with starring roles in independent filmmaker Hal Hartley’s The Unbelievable Truth in 1989 and Trust in 1990. She followed those roles with parts in Law & Order, Oz, and Homicide: Life on the Street and two dozen off-Broadway plays. She stepped behind the camera as writer and director four times beginning in 1996. With four features under her belt, she wrote, directed and starred in the independent hit Waitress, which premiered at the prestigious 2007 Sundance Film Festival.

Adrienne had an office in an apartment building in Manhattan’s West Village. At 9:30 in the morning on November 1, 2006, her husband dropped her off at the office. He felt it was odd that he had not heard from Adrienne all day. He returned to the building around 5:45 p.m. He, along with the building’s doorman, entered the office and discovered Adrienne hanging from the shower curtain rod, a bedsheet knotted around her neck. Originally ruled a suicide, a police investigation revealed sneaker prints that did not match Adrienne’s, as she was found wearing socks, not shoes. Adrienne’s husband stated that money was missing from his wife’s purse. He also insisted that she would not have taken her own life.
Five days later, police arrested construction worker Diego Pillco, a 19-year-old Ecuadorian illegal immigrant who confessed to killing Adrienne after she complained about the noise he was making in the apartment below hers. Pillco said that he “was having a bad day.”

At his trial, Pillco entered his plea as guilty. He said that, contrary to his original story, Adrienne had not complained about noise. She had actually caught him stealing money from her purse after he slipped into the apartment. When she tried to call the police, he grabbed the phone and covered her mouth as she began to scream. He admitted to choking her with a sheet, tying it around her neck, and stringing her up to make it look like she committed suicide. Pillco received 25 years in prison without parole when he was sentenced in March 2008. At sentencing, Adrienne’s husband was given the opportunity to confront his wife’s killer. He looked Pillco in the face and called him “a coldblooded killer” and that he hoped he would “rot in jail.”

Adrienne’s daughter, Sophie (who was two years old at the time of Adrienne’s murder) is featured in Waitress as Keri Russell’s daughter.

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IF: talisman

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The illustrationfriday.com challenge word this week is “talisman.”
grace my hand
The Monkey’s Paw
A man, a woman and their grown son received a visit from the man’s friend – a sergeant in the military. The sergeant brought the family an artifact from his world travels — a monkey’s paw. He explained that the withered simian appendage possessed magical powers and that the owner would be granted three wishes. The family was intrigued. Suddenly, the sergeant tossed the paw into the fire raging in the hearth. The man quickly retrieved it, cradling the near-charred talisman in his lap. “Better to let it burn, cursed thing!” said the sergeant. “It will only cause you trouble.”

After a while, the sergeant bid farewell to the family and left their home. The man closed the door behind his friend and turned his attention to the monkey’s paw. His family gathered around him. They gazed in wonder at the paw. It was small, gray and wrinkled with bent and gnarled fingers. A dark nub of a bone protruded from the severed wrist. How could such an hideous object offer such cheerful promise. The sergeant’s story must have been just that — a story. The family stood silent, in deep reflection, until the man said, “Well, what have we to lose? I’m going to try a wish. What the heck!” He thought for a moment. “We could always use some money. I don’t want to be greedy. How about a thousand dollars!”, he said as looked to his family for approval. The woman and the son stared in terror as the man lightly the rubbed the paw and spoke. “I wish I had a thousand dollars”, he said. He dropped the paw to the floor. “It moved!”, he shrieked, “I felt the damn thing MOVE!” The family looked around their modest home. Nothing. No money.  Just as they had expected. Disappointed, they went off to bed.

The next morning, the family had forgotten about the events of previous evening. The son left for his job at a local factory. Several hours later, there was a knock at the front door. The woman answered it. On the doorstep was the son’s supervisor from the factory. He held his cap in his hands and his head was bowed. He looked up at the woman with tear-filled eyes. “There was an awful accident, ma’m.,” he began, “Your son has been killed. I’m so sorry.” The woman burst into tears. The man rushed to the door to comfort his wife.

The next day was the son’s funeral. Family, friends and co-workers gathered at the home and offered their condolences to the man and woman. The son’s supervisor approached the couple. He drew an envelope from his jacket pocket and presented it to the grieving parents. “We took up a collection at the factory,” he said, “We hope it helps. Your son was a great worker and a good guy.” The supervisor left with the other mourners. When the house had cleared, the man opened the envelope. He gasped. It contained exactly one thousand dollars. The man turned to his wife. “It worked!”, he proclaimed, “The paw worked.” His wife countered, brushing off the notion as  pure coincidence. “It isn’t coincidence! In its own twisted way, that paw grants wishes.,” the man said. The woman answered, “Sure, but at the expense of our son’s life!” The man thought for a moment then spoke. “Perhaps we should have been more specific in our wish.,” he said.

A few weeks went by, but the man and the woman were still distraught over their loss. The woman was half-heartedly cleaning the home to distract her thoughts. She came across the monkey’s paw in a drawer. She held up the primate appendage and turned to her husband. “I will wish our son back to us!”, she said gleefully, “This thing took him away. It can bring him back.” The man replied, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I think we should just get rid of that thing and never talk about it again.” The woman was adamant. She held the paw before her and uttered her request. “I wish my son would come back home!”, she said. Suddenly, from downstairs, they heard a loud knocking on the door. The man and the woman looked at each other in shock. “He’s back!,” cried the woman, “My son has come back!” The man grabbed her shoulders and shook her sharply. “It’s been weeks since he died! He has been decomposing in the grave! And it was a closed casket funeral! Remember the accident? His head was completely crushed!”, the man yelled at his wife. “No!,” she protested, “My son is out there! I must let him in!” “But, again, you weren’t specific in your wish! You just wished he would return home!,” the man clamored “Whatever horrible thing is knocking on our front door  — it isn’t our son!” The woman pushed him away, turned and rushed to the stairs, all the time calling out, “I’m coming, my son!” In her haste, she dropped the monkey’s paw.

The knocking continued – slow and methodical and relentless. She raced down the staircase and bounded towards the door. The man picked up the paw and followed, just steps behind his wife. Then, a thought entered his mind. He stopped and held the paw before him. He closed his eyes and wished. “Man, am I hungry. I’d like a half-rack of barbecued ribs and a side of cole slaw. Nah, better make it a full rack.”

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Monday Artday: bunny

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The Monday Artday challenge word this week is “bunny”.
run, rabbit, run/dig that hole/forget the sun title=
Elroy Bunny eyed his prey from a distance. From fifty feet away, he could see neat rows of emerald flora as they cascaded over the dirt mounds. A hint of thick auburn taproot poked out of the earth beneath each lacy green canopy. Elroy stood motionless, his back pressed flat against the whitewashed garden fence, his chest barely moving with shallow breaths. In the fading light of dusk, Elroy’s eyes were wide, straining to stay trained on his predetermined path of invasion. In his mind, he carefully played and replayed his maneuver. He would stay low to the ground, sticking stealthily close to the orderly succession of carrots. As he crept along, he would quickly scrutinize each rust-colored specimen and select the perfect one for tonight’s meal. Elroy closed his eyes and envisioned himself munching and savoring that sweet and wonderful root.

Back at his clan’s nest, food was scarce. Elroy’s mother dutifully rationed the meager provisions. The weekly allowance, usually filched from unattended gardens or nearby garbage receptacles, was stretched diaphanously thin and provided little sustenance. To make their situation worse, the family had to fend off foxes or rats who would steal their food right out of the nest. After all, Elroy and his brood were cottontails and they didn’t have the luxury of an intricate network of underground warrens in which to hide their food like other rabbits. Elroy didn’t like feeling helpless as much as he didn’t like the empty feeling in his belly.

As nighttime advanced, Elroy knew he had little time to make his move. He hunched down, prone against the slightly damp soil, shrouded by the overgrown leafy greens. To his left, the carrot’s stout, thumb-like heads peeped out of the terrain. He skulked silently alongside the queues, inspecting the bounty offered before him. Elroy spotted a glistening, orange-skinned beauty. He craned his little neck and wiggled his little pink nose at the vegetable. The aroma of clean vegetation and honeyed goodness overwhelmed his olfactory nerves. In one fluid motion, Elroy yanked the carrot out of its dirt trammel, aimed it at his salivating maw and sank his incisors into its firm but yielding flesh. It crunched. Elroy shivered with elation. Tears welled in his eyes as his mouth was filled with crisp, delicious morsels and his appetite was quenched. That carrot was pure jubilation for Elroy’s very existence. Suddenly, Elroy’s euphoria dispersed. The porch light at the distant farmhouse snapped on, illuminating the garden with a harsh, tungsten-filament beam. The bathrobe-clad farmer bounded out from the splintery wooden doorway. He gripped a shotgun in his withered and twisted hands, from which he blasted several warning shots into the evening sky. Elroy panicked. He leaped over the green herbage, wedged himself under the fence and scampered away.

This was what Elroy Bunny’s life had become. Years ago, his father disappeared. Unbeknown to the family, he, along with hundreds of other rabbits, had become part of a woman’s coat. Out of necessity, his mother became adept at gathering food. Early on, she brought home overflowing surpluses, but in recent years she had become too old and feeble to perform this task. The few crumbs that she was able to provide certainly didn’t last very long. If Elroy wanted to eat, he had to locate food for himself. He knew he couldn’t rely on anyone else especially his sloth-like brother. Elroy’s brother was treated like royalty by Mother. The general routine was Mother and Elroy maintained order in the nest, while he sat on his fluffy ass, scarfing down more than his share of the food. He exerted no energy, save for that one day a year. Elroy would periodically ask him to pitch in, but he protested, reminding Elroy of his importance and claiming the need to conserve his strength. And, of course, Mother would always come to his defense. Elroy fully understood his brother’s worldly responsibility, but he felt it was unfair. Elroy was kind, humble and considerate, but he knew his place and, although he felt slighted, he never complained. Though the reasons weren’t exactly clear, Elroy accepted the hand that life dealt him. When characters were chosen to represent each of the major holidays on the calendar, Jesus himself skipped Elroy and selected his brother to be The Easter Bunny.

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IMT: ghost

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The inspirational word this week on the Inspire Me Thursday illustration blog is “ghost”.
...and hanging from the rear-view mirror was a bloody hook!
Resurrection Mary is the Chicago area’s best-known ghost story. The story takes place outside Resurrection Cemetery in Justice, Illinois, a few miles southwest of Chicago.
Since the 1930s, several men driving northeast along Archer Avenue between the Willowbrook Ballroom and Resurrection Cemetery have reported picking up a young female hitchhiker. This young woman is dressed somewhat formally and said to have light blond hair, blue eyes, and wearing a white party dress. Some more attentive drivers would sometimes add that she wore a thin shawl, or dancing shoes, and that she had a small clutch purse, and is very quiet. When the driver nears the Resurrection Cemetery, the young woman asks to be let out, whereupon she disappears into the cemetery. Sometimes, the story ends there. Other times, the curious driver follows the girl into the cemetery and finds her shawl or purse on a grave marked “Mary”.
The origin of the legend tells of a young girl named Mary who had spent the evening dancing with a boyfriend at the Oh Henry Ballroom (now the Willowbrook Ballroom). At some point, they got into an argument and Mary stormed out. Even though it was a cold winter’s night, she thought she would rather face a cold walk home than spend another minute with her boyfriend.
She left the ballroom and started walking up Archer Avenue. She had not gotten very far when she was struck and killed by a hit-and-run driver, who fled the scene leaving Mary to die. Her parents found her and were grief-stricken at the sight of her dead body. They buried her in Resurrection Cemetery, wearing a beautiful white dress and matching shoes.

This post marks the two-year anniversary of the josh pincus is crying illustration blog.

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from my sketchbook: joe palma

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heep heep heep heep heep
On November 22, 1955, while returning home by taxi from attending a boxing match, Samuel “Shemp” Howard, of the Three Stooges, died of a massive heart attack. Shemp was lighting a cigar after telling a joke when he suddenly slumped over. The Stooges still had four more shorts to film in order to fulfill their contract with Columbia Pictures. Producer Jules White recruited longtime Stooge supporting actor Joe Palma to fill in for the late Shemp. Through editing, redubbing and strategic staging — that ranged from clever to horribly patchy — White made good on the studio’s contract.

The four final shorts, Rumpus in the Harem, Hot Stuff, Scheming Schemers and Commotion on the Ocean, were remakes of earlier Stooges one-reelers. White shot new scenes with surviving Stooges Larry Fine and Moe Howard, Shemp’s younger brother. Joe Palma appeared in these new scenes usually filmed from behind or with some prop blocking his face. One scene even had Moe, Larry and Joe Palma wearing beards as part of the storyline. Shemp’s limited dialogue was lifted from previous films and dubbed onto the soudtrack.

In Commotion on the Ocean, Moe and Larry slyly discuss the mysterious whereabouts of Shemp. Moe asks, “I wonder what became of that Shemp?” Larry answers, “You know he went on deck to scout out some food.” “Oh, yeah. That’s right.”, replies Moe.

Palma spent his last years in the entertainment industry as an assistant to Jack Lemmon. He appears as “Mr. Palma,” the mailman, in Lemmon’s 1964 Columbia comedy Good Neighbor Sam. His final film appearance was as a butcher in Lemmon’s 1968 Paramount film The Odd Couple. He died of natural causes on August 14, 1994.

The term “Fake Shemp” was adopted by director Sam Raimi and can be found in the credits of his Evil Dead films, as well as other movies.

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Monday Artday: the old west

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The current challenge on Monday Artday is “the old west”.  In addition to my finished illustration, I included my original pencil sketch. (I showed a pencil sketch once before on this post.) Coincidentally, almost two years ago, I did this drawing when another illustration blog posed the same challenge.
we got a right to pick a little fight
When I did an illustration for “the old west” in 2007, I presented a rather somber subject. This time, I’m taking a more light-hearted route. Well, it has a terrible ending, but there’s some fun before I get there.
Bonanza was one of television’s longest running series, entertaining loyal audiences for 14 seasons. As far as the show’s ratings, it finished in the top 10 for ten of those seasons.

My parents watched Bonanza, although they liked Gunsmoke better. (My brother is named after Marshal Dillon.) Recently, I’ve been watching episodes of Bonanza on TV Land in between episodes of The Andy Griffith Show. After watching the adventures of the Cartwright clan, I have come to a revelation. Every show was identical and it was a totally unrealistic portrayal of the old west. Bonanza presented the trials and tribulations of patriarch Ben Cartwright and his three sons from three different mothers. There was the eldest Adam, the gentle giant Eric (known as Hoss) and hot-headed Little Joe, the youngest. The stories were formulaic. Someone tries to do the Cartwrights wrong or tries to frame one of the four family members for murder. There’s a gunfight, a fistfight or one of the four gets wounded within inches of their life. But, approximately forty-seven minutes pass and everything is back to normal. Pernell Roberts, who played Adam, left the show in the sixth season. Lorne Greene and Michael Landon, who played Ben and Little Joe respectively and stayed with the series through its entire run, had continued success after Bonanza’s cancellation. Greene and Landon eventually ended up together here.

Dan Blocker, who played middle son Hoss, was as vastly different from his character as he could be. Hoss was written as “lovable but slow-witted,” however Blocker was the only cast member with an advanced college degree. Prior to embarking on an acting career, Blocker was a high school English teacher, a rodeo performer and a bouncer. He was actively persued by director Stanley Kubrick for a role in Dr. Strangelove. When Blocker declined, the part went to Slim Pickens. Blocker was a shrewd businessman and invested wisely. He received partial ownership in a successful chain of Ponderosa/Bonanza steakhouse restaurants in exchange for serving (in character as Hoss) as their commercial spokesman and making personal appearances at franchises. In 1972, Blocker died suddenly at age 43 of a pulmonary embolism following routine gall bladder surgery. The cast and crew of Bonanza were shaken by his death, and the writers took the then-unusual step of making Hoss’ death part of the show’s storyline that autumn.

Victor Sen Yung played Hop Sing, the Cartwright’s cartoonish houseboy and cook. It was one of the most poorly written, one-dimensional and racist characters in TV history. Hop Sing was constantly taunted by Hoss and their relationship was played for comic relief. Sen Yung, in real life was an excellent cook, and in 1974 authored The Great Wok Cookbook. Prior to his role in Bonanza, he was Charlie Chan’s number two son, Jimmy, to Keye Luke’s number one son, in eleven films in the 1940s. In 1972, a Pacific Southwest Airlines plane on which Sen Yung was a passenger was hjiacked. The FBI assaulted the hijackers, and in the ensuing gunfire Sen Yung was shot in the back. He and another wounded passenger survived, but a third passenger and the two hijackers died. A year after the well-publicized incident, he appeared on To Tell The Truth and related the events of the hijack. With Sen Yung dressed in a sport coat and flanked by two dissimilar impostors, none of the four panelist were able to choose him as the character actor, although he appeared on one of the most popular weekly TV shows of the last decade.

In the late 1970s, he did promotional cooking demonstrations in department stores across the country. In 1980, Sen Yung was creating clayware and curing the items via an oven in his home in North Hollywood, and died of carbon monoxide poisoning.

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