Banal Hemorrhage

Mediocrity in comics is my safe zone. I’m pretty used to the space I’ve come to conquer in this medium. Right there with the guy who draws horny dolphins and the girl making fan fiction about Ted, the guy who dumped her right before prom... 20 years ago. I like the small amount of followers through the diverse mediums I’ve gathered after this year of comic drawing. It allows me to keep practicing new techniques and styles (this is my first potty humor post) without repercussions. It allows me to put things out here that are, well, less than refined. I love you and thank you for letting me experiment! It’s easy to do so, I have no brand to protect. Speaking of brands, this is the first comic that was bought by a brand! Yes, SLOOF, found me in instagram and paid me a few bucks for this comic! Thankfully they made a related product to what I was thinking! Extra panel: SLOOF Before last week, I had barely heard of SLOOF. But they are all over the place, with hundreds of affordabl

I am not a fan of  “Fake it till you make it.” It implies a lot of things that are against my credo. It is inauthentic, it creates an unsafe environment and it hides gaps in knowledge. By this point in my blog post, I know I come off as a total party pooper so I am going to do what I do best: double down. It is inauthentic to act like you know something you don’t. I am certain that being a faker mcfakerson will wear down your soul. The true way to learn how to do something is to fail, and fail a lot. And to ask lots of questions. I have a feeling that focusing on “Fake it till you make it” ends with  people getting the imposter syndrome. Think about it, con-men and employees use the same phrase. Do you really want to have the same philosophy as Bernie Madoff? If you are prompted to “Fake it till you make it” in your workplace, your workplace may have an unsafe environment. A safe environment is one in which you can admit you know nothing and get the help you need to gain skills

Generations before us had widespread worldly wars, warm and cold.  Today feels like the anxious times we were told we were fortunate not to have. And there is some beauty to it. My friends and family are losing their jobs. My job has become incredibly stressful and demanding (I work in healthcare).  Our parents and grandparents are at risk. This is some scary stuff. So it feels bad to make light of this situation. I am going to, but only because I am an idiot who doesn’t know how to cope with things. There is something about this current ambiance that I am responding well to. There’s something to knowing everyone is going through anxiety together that I find comfortable. I always feel guilty for feeling anxious with such a privileged life. I have met the love of my life, I’ve achieved some economic success, and I get to do the things I enjoy. Guilt about anxiety, begets anxiety, begets guilt, begets anxiety. Today, though, I can feel that we are all vibing similarly. And we are h

Isn’t it weird how there’s always someone waiting at the bottom of the pit?  I know this is a snarky, cynical look at recovery but... I  don’t actually have a but, I’m just an a-hole sometimes. I don’t really care that people need culty things to help them get out of rock bottom, it’s that they become super annoying about it. Every person’s path is so completely different, what one person is lacking is not comparable to what most other fellow humans are lacking. And yet, you always get that guy that “Bro, do you even lift”’s you. Or that person that assures you, their church is different, their church is the true path. Or that guy with the five o’clock shadow that swears that focusing solely on work took him out of his despair. No Chad, I don’t think going to the gym 6 times a week is going to solve this ennui that I feel right now. This transitory feeling that life is just an experiment conducted by an AI simulation and I am in the control group, yeah I don’t think I can jus

It’s very easy to blame an employee for not knowing what to do. If you think about it though, isn’t it kind of the leader’s job to make sure that employees know what to do?  Clarity is one of the best gifts a manager can give to an employee, absolute certainty about what “good” looks like. For some reason, it’s rare to find a leader who has internalized this.   More often than not, I see leaders that fail to see their role in the confusion of an employee. Saying things like “They should know better” or “It’s common sense” does nothing to grow and develop employees. Many times, leaders create a culture in which people are afraid to speak up. I’ve seen this, and it’s not pretty.   When there is a “Policy”, it is frequently  an overlong document that hides in file folders. If a manager is lucky, employees read it once when they get hired. Often, it is written by what looks like english lit majors. You don’t need a plethora of multisyllabic words (like plethora) to sh

People leave. People stay. People come back. I respect their decision. Well, not every decision. There’s a few who seem to want to get away from themselves. Like a 90’s movie hacker they want to change their location rapidly so they are not traced. But they’re their own FBI.  The thing is, as many axioms proclaim, you can’t outrun your own dumb ass. If you are not happy where you currently have a social network, what makes you think you will find happiness in a new place? I only truly have faith in people who are content with themselves when making the choice to leave. Then it is about an adventure, not about placing your salvation into the not-within-you. In my life, of the people I know who said they wanted to leave: 3 out of 5 never left, but kept complaining. 1 out of 5 left and come back, with lessons learned. 1 out of 5 succeeded in finding a better life elsewhere. Unless you are a Venezuelan, in which case 4 out of 5 of us successfully left that decaying soil;

My job is hard to explain. Some days I am a leadership coach. Some days I am a project manager. Some days I am a business analyst. And all of those things require additional explanation and modulation. I often cherish the simplicity of people who can say they are dentists, janitors, or cops. A few syllables is all it takes for them! Additionally, I don’t like talking about work when I am not at work.  What’s the point of my meticulously separated buckets if I allow people to pierce through them with the World’s most popular small talk question? We are what we do, but sometimes our work isn’t even a third of what we do, contrary to what the clock may say. So I am particularly dodgy about that question. I like to think it adds a sense of mystery, but it also gives me space. Extra Panel: Another point of view Also, I’ve made some magnets so you can make your own crazy scene in the fridge! Get them here! 

It’s not that I don’t care, it’s that my ear bones constrict systematically during a conversation. Medical experts have often been baffled by this phenomena, a first in its kind. They may call this condition Banal Ear in my honor. It’s true, trust me, I’m a guy on the internet. My lack of attention is arguably a more famous aspect of my personality than my penchant for providing impromptu and improper sound effects to mundane things. Arguably. Every teacher I had gave me the spiel about how much better I’d do if… by that time my attention had ran its course so I never got to hear the “if”.  It’s probably no picnic to my chosen one, Roxanne. It likely comes off as selfish. It likely IS selfish.  Material possessions are not my goal, it has been replaced by becoming a better me until the day I die. I have oceans to cross, but this is one of my most important journeys. How do I become a better listener to my wife and loved ones? That’s the question I will answer as the

Roxanne and I have two cats rooming with us. They are both females and they both eat though their mouths and defecate through their butts. That’s were the similarities end.  When we use a laser pointer on them, our muted, brown tortoiseshell cat looks straight at the pointer and then straight at our souls. She knows what’s up. The white fluffy cat, she is still waiting for the laser dot to come back in the place she saw it last. 2 weeks ago.  I am certain she will start a new religion around the phantom dot. The brown cat, or Khaleesi, as she likes to be addressed, is a shrieking nightmare, all gnawing and all knowing.  She inspires comics like these . The white cat, or Eris, she is a needy nightmare. She is all wanting and all demanding. She inspires comics like these. And yet, Roxanne and I are all about them. They're the best non-humans we know.  Extra Panel:  Eris would make a very cute Sikh, if it wasn't for her selfishness, neediness and lack of

I like fake violence. I can't stand real violence. To me it's Fake Violence >>> Dr. Pimple Popper >>>>>> Real Violence. In fact, when fake violence looks too real, it loses it's appeal. There's something to the artistry of fake blood and guts that has always appealed to me, probably since my dad traumatized me by showing me Carrie at 6 years of age. That desensitized me to gallons of movie blood real quick. Thanks, dad. As I see it, I'm living proof that video games don't cause violence. My brain, and I expect most others, can flip the switch of 'real' vs. 'not real'. Mortal Kombat on the Genesis was my babysitter for a while and never have I ever wanted to rip someone's spine from their body. Or see it happen in real life. My wife was switching channels and landed on Dr. Pimple Popper once, and it was one of those times when I can spot a huge rift between us. While it definitely grossed her out, I cou

I am squalor blind. Last week I was on kitchen duty. We had just etched out our 3.2 version of the kitchen checklist. I had to load the dishes, clean the counter, make smoothies and clear the traps on the sink. I would have rated myself a 10/10. In the morning, I got to see how wrong I was. There were entire kernels of corn in the traps. Somehow they are invisible to me, like oh so many vegetables and stop signs. This makes me really think about the reality of the space that we are occupying and co-occupying. My physical reality is different than the physical reality of the person closest to me. Can you imagine how different it is from that of a Trump aficionado?  If positivism in sociology and the sciences was based on believing in one truth, an objective truth, palpable by our ever increasing utilization of the scientific method; today seems to be marked by the realization that there is not one truth to be experienced but as many as there are people around. And I am becoming

Uncertainty is a way of life for me. At work, I don’t assume I know the right way to proceed. Because I don’t. All I know is what  has worked in the past, under different circumstances, with different people. That’s not enough for me to be like, “yeah, this is what needs to be done.”  And yet, many leaders I have met exude certainty. And for some of them, it works. They sell me on their vision and their tactics and I gladly serve that higher purpose. The true test for me is when they screw up, which will happen to everyone. This will be the mark of a true leader. Will they respond to data and change course? Or will they produce a Friends spinoff feauturing Joey? That’s why I can’t stand President Trump. He is not one to show uncertainty. He has never admitted to being wrong. He never changes course. I have no faith in his ability to learn and adapt. From the very beginning, I would not follow this guy to an open bourbon bar.  Sometimes I envy the simplicity of knowing

These are a collection of the colorful, and often savage, sayings of my people. For all I criticize my people sometimes , I have a lot of respect for their wordplay and creativity. Growing up in Venezuela was, for the most part, a great experience. The weather was nice, people were very hedonistic, and I had a very comfortable life. Perhaps a bit too comfortable, if I do say so myself. Which I just did. The first one is "Camaron que se duerme, se lo lleva la corriente. [Shrimp that sleeps, the current takes.]" It is a cautionary tale about not being on top of things. Lest you be taken by the current. Thing is, a little bit of current hopping is not bad. What else is life, just constantly fighting against the tide? Nah, can't subscribe to that magazine. By the way, "Can't subscribe to that magazine" is copyrighted by Banal Hemorrhage productions. The second one is dark as hell. "Cria cuervos y te sacaran los ojos. [Raise crows and they'

A lot of the people I grew up with say that there's no racism in Venezuela. Somehow, they reached adulthood and failed to notice the lack of representation of non-light-skinned people. The paler the pigment the more you'd be seen in a leadership position (admittedly anecdotal observation on my part). The beauty queens, our second most famous export, didn't fit the mold of the majority of Venezuelans. They tended to be lighter in complexion. Incredibly racist jokes abounded in my private school, spread with gleeful ignorance (and the security of not having many people of color around us to hear them). Chavez rallied the poor, and the poor were dark skinned. Chavez supporters were called "ugly", "monkeys", and many more names. I am not a supporter of Chavez, but I can see how he coalesced his army. The study referenced in this article , puts Venezuela smack dab as the most racist country in the Americas. The question in this survey was someth

Roxanne and I joined the Salvation Army once. We thought it would be fun to be ringing that bell and  get money for charity. And it was fun, initially. We didn’t know anything about the organization, so we started googling the organization. One of the most salient characteristics of this organization was their religious based tenets. This is how they feel about homosexuality, and this is AFTER finding themselves in hot water about the issue:    “The Bible teaches that God's intention for humankind is that society should be ordered on the basis of lifelong, legally sanctioned heterosexual unions. ... A disposition towards homosexuality is not in itself blameworthy nor is the disposition seen as rectifiable at will. ... Homosexual practice however, is, in the light of Scripture, clearly unacceptable. Such activity is chosen behaviour and is thus a matter of the will. It is therefore able to be directed or restrained in the same way heterosexual urges are controlled. Homosexua

I don’t believe my mom set to destroy the patriarchy, I think the patriarchy was just an inconvenient hurdle on the way to her goals. But destroy the patriarchy she did. Over and over again. One of the first women petroleum engineers, the first to work on oil rigs, one of the first to not change her last name, the first to many, many things. I imagine the amount of paperwork that had to be changed because of her mere existence and it always makes me flash a wicked smile. The most amazing thing about her is how humble she is about all of this. Throngs of women have looked up to her for generations and all she’ll ever admit to is being a hard worker. There’s more to her, though. She’s always a steady snowball that simply knows how to move forward. I wish that certitude of hers had splashed down to me through her DNA strands. Alas, the only thing I’m certain of is that she has always and will always be my hero. My she-ro. Most people that meet her, remember her. And not just bec

Nobody tells you about the skeletons. In a first date, how often did you divulge your deepest secrets? Not often, I’m going to wager. You didn’t tell them about your childhood crush on Gadget from Chip And Dale Rescue Rangers;  and you definitely didn’t mention your psychological issues in crushing detail. Those come later. Finding someone who you can eventually open up to is great. Having someone who can dance with your defects is divine. I’m a lucky bastard, as I’ve mentioned before. More and more, the weirdos are those who never fall down. The ones who make a career or get their jollies by showing you a constant image of perfection. Those are the ones that I don’t get. They’d be more believable and more approachable if they’d at the very least tell you their fart story. We have all let a fart go in the most awkward moment. It’s just that some of us are broken enough to write a blog post about it. My runaway gas was in my office just before a performance review in m

I never said I was a mature person. Sometime in the middle of this anxiety around a new job and new responsibilities, this moment came and brought me more joy than you can imagine. Yes, dear readers, the name of my city has a phallic acronym. The good old City of Kalamazoo is the COK. I know, my fortune knows no bounds. I absolutely have not stopped thinking about this since it happened. Here are a few of my favorite usages: "The COK shrinks in size during the winter months." "The COK has grown in the past few years." "The COK was erected in 1829, thanks to Titus Bronson." "The COK is full of pharmaceuticals." "The COK is no stranger to humidity." "When you think of the COK, think of beer." Please feel free to indulge me with your ideas in the comments! I even made a shirt to commemorate this righteous moment in our history. Extra Panel: It looks like this

Anxiety comes at me in waves. Sometimes I am perfectly satisfied with this hard wrought life I’ve made for myself, complete with a wife, home and community. The next second I am obsessing about having to meet people and how am I going to find and wear the proper pants for said meeting (and I only have like two pairs of pants).  One time, I had so much anxiety about my choices in the board game Pandemic Legacy that I ruined that game forever. I still think about all those diseased millions we left uncured in Shanghai. There’s objective reasons for my current bout with anxiety. I have a new job, a new commute, a new culture to shape and change. Anxiety is attacking me routinely. The self talk is obsessive and the feeling in my chest is pervasive. Some days are better than others, but last week it was off the charts. I daydream of an incompetent personified anxiety. The best I've been feeling lately is when I volunteer after work. I feel like I’ve contributed, I f

Trigger Warning for Some: Contains references to hugging.  I am an introvert, and I am a hugger. I don’t know why these things coexist in me, but they are not the only cacophonic elements of my psyche. Is it from my cultural upbringing in Venezuela? Is it in my genes? I don’t know, but  I love hugging the few people I can call friends in these strange times. I don’t hug everyone. I gauge the situation very carefully, often saying things like : “are you a hugger?” or watching for open armedness. Sometimes I am wrong (mostly with people bearing the XY chromosome). I can tell when I screw up, it feels like hugging a dead tree. Many times I never see the huggee ever again. I imagine that they decided to avoid me for the rest of their lives, lest they be held in in my (very arguably) comforting arms ever again. Sometimes, I turn non-huggers into huggers. Sometimes. Extra Panel: Leaving a wake of petrified people behind. 

I used to have epic dreams. Metallic sharks following me in an infinite pool of geometric impossibilities. Multi-night adventures that had a cohesive plot. I even had a dream diary to document my recollections from the world's best cinema, my giant head. Then came college. My dreams started to be taken over by earthly worries. Dreams of being unprepared for exams persist until this day. Dreams of  rejection and ridicule proliferated. Every once in a while I'd dream about high adventures on the seas of Orpheus, but less and less. Cut to adulthood. I dream of going to the DMV. I dream about forgetting to pay my license registration fee on time (and I still forget). I dream about buying necessary things, not even exotic things like a domesticated snow leopard or an ebony moog machine. This dream about buying razors was the last straw. My brain wants to be boring and I need to fight it. I'm going to read fantasy, watch adventure movies and play video games until bed t

Nobody tells you about the awkwardness. When your messy personal life collides with your orderly adult life, sparks can be generated that ripple through your existence. Like the time nudity escaped the censors at YouTube in the video playlist I was displaying in my wedding. Or when kids swear like a sailor after perhaps 2 minutes with my wife and me.   Having condo meetings, being in a board, having a trust, paying off my student loans. These are incredibly adulty things that feel alien to me. And yet, we are doing these things. The me from 5 years ago would be like “what? no, stop!”  I couldn’t be more proud of us though. We are doing the things. We are continuously confused, but we are doing the things.   Is privilege a big (huge) part of where I am right now? You betcha. And I do feel guilt. Only by giving back, my time and money, do I feel a little bit less guilt. In a perfect world, everybody should be allowed the freedom of choice and the support I had throughout my

I wouldn’t give anyone a bj in an alley for access to a smartphone. Using this slim, utilitarian and utterly disrespectful definition of addiction, I am not addicted to my smartphone. In almost all other definitions, I probably am (scratches neck). These days I’m frequently using twitter for political news, instagram for art and facebook for friends and family. For my wife’s birthday I left my smartphone delights behind as we travelled up to Michigan’s north (not north north, but north enough for a weekend trip). We had a great time consuming and sight-seeing all this beautiful state has to offer. We touched alpacas, drank some wine, got soaked in a pier and I was able to show her the part where Johnny Depp gets sucked by a bed in Nightmare on Elm Street. A win in every conceivable way. I am definitely a technofile and a techno-apologist, I believe my life in particular has been enhanced and improved exponentially due to consumer electronics. I enjoy nature somewhat, but