327 Market

Happy Goat is Now

Fetched the Wobbly from the clutches of Big Shaft yesterday after work. After our repast of oatmeal drowned in peanut butter and Kahlua, we painted the town red with the Contessa in the Mid County (yeah, the Ugly Mug rocks!, especially the bench).

This morning we got up nice and early (yes, yes, he slept in the living room and I stayed in the Vault), cooked the last egg and started creating the visual landscape of Happy Goat. Eight hours and a couple tacos later, we had three poster sized paintings, a bigger painting and a totem. Happy Goat was very productive. We even took a long lunch and stopped by the max to get a HG stamp. I had so much fun pushing the paint around. It has been a long time since I have painted (I pretty much stopped when I started the comics), but it all eventually came back.

Happy goat went from being a vague idea to having a real/fake URL, a Font and a Logo all in one day. And next week, it will be responsible for paying taxes (assuming we sell anything). Its so beautiful, watching it grow up like this.

After the brushes were washed, and the Charlie Hong Kong stir fry consumed, the M*ster joined us at the kitchen table and we wailed on the geets over lots of 2 buck chuck. We played the four chord song and the two chord song. We sang about the amino acids, entries from the phone book, passages from Leonard Cohen's The Beautiful Losers, and whatever came to our heads. We seranaded the Dithster when she arrived (rather belatedly) in her VW bus. We got quite operatic. After they left, the M*ster and I wandered drunkenly to the Mall, talked to strange men in the Borders and we gate-crashed the Raggae/surf show at the Attic. Somehow we slipped in without paying. We danced to the music, waited in line at the bathroom (ran into a girl who was way more intoxicated than we were, who kept faking us out into thinking she was done with the bathroom), we talked to a patchouli-drenched hippy-knitting dude, listened to a boy play rachmaninoff under the piano (the dj music was so loud, it was the only place you could here it), tried to flirt with all manner of camp-counselors, math tutors and pretty little college boys. Fairly unsuccessfully (the the patchouli-dude did score the M*ster's number).

All in all, a typical evening in Flip Flop.