I’ve always admired people that can draw. Really.
When I was five I drew like I was one. Now that I’m twenty-three, I draw like a five year-old. At this rate, by seventy I should be pretty damn good. Well, good enough to win a prize at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo Art Contest. I remember kids entering pretty bitchin’ drawings of prairies and livestock. I was always jealous. I tried my hand at drawing stuff in middle school, mostly during class, namely Texas History. It always just turned into tracing. I’m fucking pro at tracing.
I can’t even cut straight. Seriously, to this day, when someone hands me something to cut at Barnes & Noble, like a series of tags or those new cards, I just freeze. I have meaty hands to begin with. Couple that with my pea-sized brain, and you have a recipe for disaster. I’m surprised I can even type as fast as I do or play guitar. I feel like I have Quasimodo hands. I don’t know what his hands looked like, but I assume they were as fucked up as his face. [BOOM! Roasted!]
Unlike guitar, I gave up on drawing anything after middle school. If someone asked me to draw something, I would decline. One time I was forced to draw something in American Government in class. I was supposed to draw the Congress, Supreme Court and the White House. It ended up looking like a bunch of Happy Meal boxes and a dildo somehow. The teacher asked me to stop fooling around. She thought I was doing it on purpose… Well, I wasn’t. Although, it didn’t help that I was laughing at how ass-backward everything looked.
As stated before in this bloggo, I admire anyone who can create. I don’t admire people who are assholes about it. Certain people come to mind, Kanye, Billy Corgan, anyone in Austin. I just don’t understand it.
Anyway, this is my second writer’s block post.
OK, that made it better.