Tuesday, March 29, 2011

In Regards to Diplomacy



  The Childrenkids collective heart still beats!

  Questions asked.  Beards stroked. Decisions made. Wigs worn.

  Tell me that doesn't sound like progress.



Thursday, March 10, 2011

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Tangible Woes

It's lunch time in the real world. Before me is a caesar salad and a bottled water. Sitting all around me are men and women reciting familiar jargon. "Streamline this" and "Synergy that". My reflex is to set aside my package of croutons and embrace the jargon speakers warmly, draw their heads into my chest, gently pat the back of their heads, and express my sorrow for their loss. But I'm not sure what's missing.

I wonder how many are painters, or poets. I wonder how many have a secret romance with classical music but hide the fact from their Jock Rock co-workers. I wonder if the drop-dead gorgeous woman next to me is a ballerina. I bet she is. She moves like a dancer.

There's a giant of a man-more giant than man-staring out of the long cafeteria window and up into the mountains. Is he thinking of adventure or worrying about bills? Missing his family or the links? He looks uncomfortable without a beard and axe. I should offer him a dead animal to skin. Perhaps I'm wrong. Could HE be a ballerina. It's possible. He stands like one; toes pointed out and such.

Brothers and Sisters eating all around me and I don't know a single one. Compatriots in the fight of life and I don't know any of their names. There are too many 60 dollar ties and loud newspapers to feel peaceful enough to offer out free hugs and head pats. Cell phone rings equal the human population and every person is wearing shoes. I wonder how I would react to the ballerina sitting next to me, had she worn her pointe shoes today. I hope well.

I've not touched my salad or broken the seal on my water. As I type, a guy around my age is pacing behind me, talking on his asshole-blue-tooth-earpiece, and spouting out more of the same language I've grown to despise.

And I wonder, if he were to glance over my shoulder and glimpse a bit of this writing, would he understand my jargon? And would there be a hug that follows?





















Thursday, April 9, 2009

Body Issues

Men are men are men are men and I am one. A man that is. And so is Berk Dammit. And so is Rosie. But men are also human. Rosie isn't. But humans are people. And somewhere out there amongst the people is a person. And that person makes skinny jeans popular. 
Today Berk and I spent the majority of the day editing scenes for the cartoon that none of you believe we are working on. After an extremely productive 45 minutes we decided that we deserved a delicious meal so we treated ourselves to Arctic Circle (downtown SLC on 9th south, they give you free chocolate dipped mini-cones). After supping on our tasty burgers and golden fries, conversation turned from how poor people disgust us, to running, and how best to train for a triathlon. All very normal topics to discuss when you are two guys who rarely get much deeper than the sort of shallow conversation mentioned. However, today was different. Today we bonded.
Berk mentioned to me that he was thinking of the evolution of the "Sweet Bro". How he has gone from popped collar and upside down visor to super skinny jeans and 80 dollar shirts, torn in just the right way to make him look brooding and artistic. We laughed, mocked, and stood firmly on our soap box speaking to one another of how stupid they look in their skinny jeans. An awkward silence followed until broken by both of us confessing simultaneously that we would both really like to fit into skinny jeans. "You too!" was the follow up.
The only thing staying of embarrassment was the comfort that the other felt the same way. You see, Berk and I, along with Devon share a similar fate. We are all men who eat food and run. This dangerous combination has resulted in normal thighs. Normal thighs that when forced into a pair of skinny jeans splits junk in twain making us feel extremely self-conscious. "Could I possibly be this fat?" is the questions that nags. "Could I really have let myself turn into a meaty Olsen Twin?"
The answer is no. I'm not fat. I've just figured out that I don't have to be malnourished.
Most of the people who read this blog live in the states, and here in the U.S. we have food that we can eat. We have food that we can throw away. We have pies made specifically for throwing at clowns. Africa, I know that you don't believe what I'm saying, but I'm not telling lies out of school. Delicious key lime pies are splattered on the mugs of clowns every waking hour of the American day. We call it "Getting pied" so suck on it Africa, you condescending pricks.
Rarely do I have a point in these posts and this one is no exception. However, I do want to ask you all a question. When you judge a persons thighs by what they may or may not fit into, I want you to ask yourself, honestly, who would you rather have at your side when faced with imminent starvation? I'm looking at you Africa. After all, you started all of this "emaciated thigh" business.










Monday, March 9, 2009

Sunday, March 8, 2009

Overdue and Unexpected

This is my Care Bear Stare. I am setting my heart a blaze and placing it in the window for all the Childrenkids to see.  A cry out in the dark to any remnants of those who loved us once. But that was a long time ago, and you've probably moved on to other cartoons.

We used to draw eyes like flies to this blog from all you Childrenkids from around the globe, eager to eat up the latest progress and face plants of squattersStudio. A love affair fueled by tales both small and tall.....but then we did you wrong baby. Five months with no progress posted. We can change.

We don't even know if you're still out there. If you are, you need to know that we still love you baby. All of those other side projects we've been working on have meant nothing to us. They were just floozies and scallywags. Sirens tempting us away from our true love with their sexy insurance benefits and paychecks. Sluts.

If you are there, let us know. We want you back and this time it'll be different. No more broken promises. No more otter pops. That shit messes us up and we aren't ourselves when we're on it. No more racist jokes from Cole. No more falling asleep so soon after we make love at each other. We'll spoon and talk feelings at one another for as long as you like. What's that? You had a long day? Well lay down baby, place your feet upon our lap, we'll rub your dogs and you can tell us all about it......if only you'll take us back?


Friday, October 10, 2008

Thursday, October 9, 2008

Here's the delicate flower in full bloom...she's a charmer!

video

Joseph, my friend. I can't believe anything else needs to be said, but to drive my point home even further, allow me to paint a picture for you to more fully grasp the gravity of the situation. Jillian's androgyny should be the least of your concerns. I hate to do this in such a public forum but...

Setting: Joseph's parents' house. It's a beautiful spring day and Joe has finally decided it is time for his parents to meet the new "girl" he's been dating. The couple pulls up on a motorcycle, and the driver helps Joe off the rear seat. "She" takes a passing glance in the rearview mirror for bugs in her teeth and after a careful tousle of the hair, makes a quick motion with her head to Joe as if to say, "Let's do this."

Walking into the house, Joseph announces their arrival to his parents- "Mom, Dad?"
"This place ain't bad." Jillian says as she surveys the home from the entry way. Overhearing Jillian's comment from the other room, Joe's sweet mother responds as she comes out to greet them, "Oh! Is that Devon's voice I hear? I didn't think he was comi..." she stops short as she notices that Devon in fact did not come which means the booming voice she heard could have only come from the "woman" standing next to Joseph. Right at this moment, Joe's burly and brawny father comes in from working on a project in the basement-shaping rebar into Disney characters with his bare hands for the grandkids or something like that. He stands next to his wife as Joe introduces the mannish parody of womanhood at his side, "Dad, Mom, this is Jillian."
"Pleased to meet you Jillian," his father says extending a hand as a warm gesture, "welcome to our home." Jillian reaches out and grasps the outstretched hand and gives it a firm squeeze as she shakes it. "Thanks. Whatcha bench?" is her response.
"I-I'm sorry?" he replies perplexedly-his right eye twitching slightly as he focuses on not passing out from the pain.
"Forget it." she releases her grip and walks past everyone into the kitchen. "What's for dinner?"

The evening continues, but a propensity to become longwinded in narration combined with the sheer lack of ambition prevent me from providing a full play by play.
Let me just briefly summarize the remainder of the night's events: Jillian complains her meat is overcooked (it's chicken),excuses herself to remedy her five o'clock shadow in the bathroom, and marks her territory on a houseplant. After dinner at Joe's folks' place, she invites him to come back to her place where she lights some candles, puts on some soft music and forces him to shave her back and administer testosterone and anabolic injections. So romantic.

Delicate little flower....

This post has little to do with Children Kids, however, I am appealing to the fans of the cartoon to settle a debate between myself and the "Hate King" known to be Devon.

Some of you may recognize the vicious little angel above from "The Biggest Loser", a television show that gathers girthy people up in to a gym, where they bottle their sweat for natural cures and aphrodisiacs. Her name is Jillian Michaels, and she is one of the trainers on the show responsible for shouting and hitting the living bean bags until they feel enough shame to stop eating.

The debate: Man or Woman

I say woman, Devon says man. I say woman because I'm extremely attracted to her, Devon says man because of her Adam's apple. I say woman because I think the features on her face defined and unique, Devon says man because she looks like a silver back.

I believe that most of Devon's motives come from his hope that I might never achieve happiness and he will do anything he sees fit to keep me from falling in love, like calling my new found fancy a lumberjack, Yettie, or pre-op transvestite. Because he doesn't want me to be happy, I cannot trust his opinion on the subject of her gender. So what if she can beat most men to a pulp? That's adorable. Who cares if she pees standing up? Who doesn't? And is it really that big of a deal that I would let her strangle me until I almost pass out? Exactly.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

i think you may have met before… ZAK!

As the star of Episode 1—Happy, Sad, Mad, Happy, Full—we’ve introduced Zak a few times before, but don’t stop reading just yet—there’s more!


Zak is a highly imaginative child, who keeps to himself… and he’s perfectly fine with that. With genuine sincerity and childish exuberance, he plays out elaborate scenarios during recess. Retreating to the private world in his head, Zak is chums with the Sun, friend to the birds, and a champion leaf diver. Innocent, and slightly awkward when forced into social settings, his alcoholic father is convinced that his boy is a coward and a wimp—beliefs that he is not afraid to share with his son. Zak does his best to keep his emotions bottled up and buried beneath a happy facade. However, suffering many years of mental abuse from his sad-making father is beginning to take its toll on poor Zakary, causing the lines between reality and fantasy to slowly blur.


+ + + + +


zak

check out Camille’s how-to post on making Zak.

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Carla Winslow!



Lover of rules and socially awkward, Carla Winslow has all of the ingredients necessary to realize her dream of one day becoming a police officer. Stern little Carla is unable—and unwilling—to resist a good healthy tattle. With milk carton in hand, and milk mustache under nose, Carla can usually be seen roaming the playground and halls looking for purveyors of injustice. Highly competitive, she will try to out-do any of her classmates, though always within the rules of play.


+ + + + +



Carla Winslow

Damzel & Darling Plushies


Damzel


Darling

We introduced you to Damzel and Darling yesterday and mentioned that images of their plushies would be up soon. well, here they are. We’ll have links to purchase via Etsy.com soon. In the meantime, if you really can’t wait another minute to have your very own Children Kid, comment below and we’ll figure something out, I’m sure.

Monday, September 29, 2008

some links, some explanations, and… some Children Kids: “Damzel & Darling”

Back in early-to-mid June, we started introducing the world to Children Kids. We told about some of our early art, design, and character explorations. We shared the fortunate fable of finding our first voice actor. We sang songs, we made plushies, we even gave you a sneak peak behind the scenes of our magical, Room of Requirements-esque squatterStudios. We introduced ourselves, introduced the show (twice: 1, 2), confessed some sins, told some stories, and then—to some degree—ran out of things to say.

To those of you who have stuck with us these months: Thank you!
To those of you who we may have lost along the way: Apologies!
We unveiled a little prematurely, we’ll give you that. Our small team perhaps underestimated the behemoth that is producing a short-length cartoon on the side of life, jobs, ailments, travels, bills, and brawls. And I’m not promising a finished piece tomorrow—a little more patience we ask of you—but Children Kids is coming along. Please keep coming back, tell your friends, tell your neighbors.
And, in the meantime…

enjoy the stories as we start to introduce you to the Children Kids:




Lovely one, and blessed, delicate, and kind, a light radiates from the one named Damzel. Whether it be scraped knee or bruised ego, Damzel will be the first at your side, dear friend, to hold your hand and cry with you when life appears to be heading south. Her blissful unawareness to her perfection is her only imperfection. All the girls of Middleton wish to be her, and all of the boys wish to be with her—much to the dismay of Damzel’s identical twin, Darling. She’ll break your heart with her eyes, only to mend it with her smile.


+ + + + +




Born first, remembered last, our depressed little Darling lives on, only to seek out a way to snuff out the light and life of her twin, Damzel. Identical in appearance to her sister, Darling has a warped perception of beauty and is confused as to why all her classmates flock to dear Damzel, raving of her breathtaking features, though never her own. Alas, friend, do not shed tears for Darling as she is anything but her namesake. This wicked little girl fosters a crooked soul and faded light. Darling hides away to the dark places of the mind, dreaming up mischievousness and murder, aimed toward placing her sweet sister in distress.


+ + + + +


Each day we’ll try to bring you another character’s story, a drawing of the character, and—as of yet missing on this post—a picture of a plushie inspired by each character, as well as a link to purchase said plushie. They’re great! Come back for more.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Ferocious Ferociousness

A manic pace has taken place at squatterStudio, and all the beauty that is Children Kids is beginning to manifest itself before our veriest eyes. All the colours are churning out colourfully, the movement so very, very moving, and there is an electric sense in the air that Micah's musical mind is swirling like unto a mighty maelstrom, ready to be gathered up and sing life into the world that we have been creating for nigh on a year-two months.

Promises have been promised to our fans, that our progress is progressing along, and so it does my heart well to deliver the happy tidings of our recent sprint to the finish. This fight to the hall of Valhalla has not come without casualties, as Berk just got over a recent bout of food poisoning and I got a sliver in June. And though the battle is not yet done, we face the rest of it, fearing not spoiled Subway Sandwiches, nor the evil splinter in the thumb. Soon, the very all of us, will join together for the unveiling, where there will be tears of joy, and delicious chips and dip, I imagine.

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

Children Kids Scientific Study

Here at Children Kids, we take pride in our stories, knowing that we have exhausted all means of research to pin down the mannerisms of today’s children, so that we may carry their interactions with one another honestly into our tales. Right when we think that we’ve witnessed just about all that human little ones can offer, they turn us on our ear, surprising us with their sticktoitivness. The following is a study that took course over a recent weekend. I was invited to eat dinner with my brother and his family, (who happen to house two of our Children Kids voices) and during dessert I was presented with yet another opportunity to study the characteristics of the young ones. While chewing on a deliciously heavy brownie, my nephew, Hayden, asked me if I knew of a way he could earn some money. Being the homeless, and horrible uncle that I am, I spit my brownie out onto my plate, and flattened it with a fork. My first thought was to have him eat it for the spending cash he desired, but that appeared a touch too predictable. Instead I craftily carved a smiley face into the slobber covered brownie, and told him that I would give him ten dollars if he took care of his pre-chewed brownie baby for the entire day. That meant that if I told him it needed to be fed and burped, he had the honors, if it needed to be changed, he was the responsible party, and if it threw a rock at a neighborhood child, he had to explain to the parents why their kid was missing a tooth.
I made this deal, believing that at the end of the day I would still have my ten dollars, and my nephew would have nothing but the stink of failure on him, knowing that he can never best me (A win-win situation for me, as I have grown suspicious as of late, that he wants to kill me and claim my women as his own).
As the day progressed, I randomly assigned tasks of parenthood to him, such as filling out head-start papers for the brownie baby, and scolding it because it left the refrigerator door open. Malcontent took me, and I became ever more and more flustered to see him take such good care of his new found child. He completed each task as a responsible parent should. It was time to really test him. I framed the brownie baby by smearing a little of him on a rock and hurling it towards a buck-toothed girl on a big wheel, smashing her right on the eye. Hilarious. As I hid behind a bush and watched my nephew handle her parents like a champ, even asking to have the doctor’s bill sent to him, a change took place in me. Seeing him interact with and even stick up for his brownie, as well as witnessing all of the love it began to return to him, planted a jealous seed in my heart. After all, it was me, not my nephew who had carried it in my mouth. I was the one who had birthed it into this world onto a plate. It even had my eyes. I wanted my baby back, but I had to wait for the right time to act.
A few hours later, Hayden set his brownie baby down for a nap, but unknown to him, I had disguised myself as a crib, and he had set the brownie right onto my chest. As soon as the door was closed I sat up, victorious, with my brownie in my arms. My joy vanished as I looked into its eyes, and realized that it had no idea who I was. Though it was smiling, I could sense a little fear. The simple truth was my baby didn’t know me. Hayden was its father now. I choked the truth down, said my farewells, and left the room.
Hayden won his ten dollars, and he promised me that he would set the money aside for the brownie’s education. Also, the little girl on the big wheel died. So that was good.

Sunday, August 31, 2008

An Update for you, yes you! Hooray!

A man recently approached me and said “Yo Joseph, why no posts in the last month?”, and without giving me a chance to reply, he promptly kicked me in the crotch, dropping me like a sack-full of dead mice. As I sat there, pondering the pain, the question he asked began to take root. Guilt seized me, as I knowingly had shirked my duty to keep the Children Kids fans up to date on our progress, thus, making the crotch in my heart hurt more than the crotch that was kicked. But I needed to chase that guilt away with more important matters, like, "Who could I kick in the crotch?" After a couple of sleepless nights trying to remember all who have wronged me, and ranking them in order from who deserves the hardest kick to the crotch, down to those who just needed to be threatened with one, the crotch in my brain started to ache so I consulted with a dear friend on how to remedy my problems. Our walk and talk began badly as we both stepped in dog crap, but we walked and talked on. He told me that I needed to stop wasting time and energy on revenge lists. He told me that I was a negative person, and needed to focus on more positive things. This made the crotch in my pride hurt. A distraction was needed, so I swung my leg upwards ever upwards, in an attempt to kick him in the crotch, but he was expecting it, and had already made his move. His foot was well on its way to making contact with my crotch. My fear was realized, as the pain from the solid boot to the groin somehow made a blood vessel burst in my eye. This attack made the crotch in my crotch hurt. My friend slash crotch assassin helped me to my feet, but the pain was too much and I passed out. I awoke, sitting across from my friend in a booth at Denny’s with blueberry pancakes in front of me. As I sat there, grateful for pancakes, I looked out the window and could only see one set of dog crap footprints on the sidewalk. I turned to my friend and asked why there was only one set of dog crap foot prints, to which he replied, “It was then that I carried you...and you threw up blood all over my back.”

Also, Children Kids is coming along. More updates to follow.



Thursday, August 21, 2008

something to see!


about a month ago we were working on a proposal and came up with a relatively concise and appealing description of what children kids is. and then a couple weeks later, BERK left us for ComicCon. So while he was gone, the rest of us decided to throw the above-mentioned description with some music and art. It was supposed to be a weekend activity. It took us a few weeks. That's the speed we work at here in squatterStudios. We don't do nothin if we don't do it right and take 5x longer doing it than originally expected.
At any rate…

THE CHILDREN KIDS!

go on, check it out!! i don't just use exclamation points and all-caps all willy-nilly like this for no reason. enjoy~!

thanks to dane for programming the page and analisa for the AE work.

Friday, August 15, 2008

Postum






From the early days of my impressionable youth (like seven) I have held a special love in my heart for postum. A very popular alternative for coffee for LDS homes (which I grew up in) in the early days of the church wide practice of the word of wisdom (1902-ish). As the years went by a substitute for coffee was ever less and less in demand since people gradually left the culture (cafes, tea parties, poetry slams) alone all together, save a few of us stalwarts. Sadly, after one hundred and twelve years the company, Kraft Foods, stopped making Postum last fall because "the demand for it was so low that manufacturing it no longer made sense". Sucks for me. Any way, the only way for me to get the precious stuff is to buy it off eBay which is too expensive, or switch to its wanting imitator Pero. A sad thought for a purist like me. Resigned to my woeful state one morning I was surprised by the second most kind and charitable act of my summer. Sienna and Tony Dittmer had overheard my many laments over the tragic discontinuance and decided to give me their last two unopened jars of the rich blessed goodness! I felt like someone had just given me a panda. Sienna, who frequents the squatterStudio, walked in a few mornings ago, and casually pulled two albino rhinoceroses from her bag and set them on my desk. I was flabbergasted. Suddenly we started doing the Coffee Shop dialog from Pulp Fiction.

JULES
It's all yours, Ringo.

PUMPKIN
Open it.

Jules flips the locks and opens the case, revealing it to
Pumpkin but not to us. The same light SHINES from the case.
Pumpkin's expression goes to amazement. Honey Bunny, across
the room, can't see.

HONEY BUNNY
What is it? What is it?

PUMPKIN
(softly)
Is that what I think it is?

Jules nods his head: "yes."

PUMPKIN
It's beautiful.

Jules nods his head: "yes."

Thanks Tony and Sienna. You guys rule. Please don't move to Brazil!

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Children Kids at Sego

The title says it all, but cannot express just how happy we are to be a part of Sego this year. Children Kids has been invited to help promote the festival through our own personalized Sego ads, as well as show up in full force with a booth to showcase the splendid splendids we have been working so very, very hard on. The dates are Friday September 26th and Saturday September 27th at the castle on the mountain behind the State Hospital, Provo, Utah, U.S.A., Earth, Milky Way Galaxy, Universe, Flying Spaghetti Monster's Eye. More information on this joyous event is sure to follow.

Saturday, August 9, 2008

it’s about time, isn’t it?!

A few days ago I took a couple hours off from the grueling work here at sqatterStudios to go have lunch with my lady-girlfriend-wife, Suzie (third from the left). We went to this super sketchy Asian Buffet on Center Street in Provo that maybe I will refrain from naming—save to say that it’s name is super cliché Asian. I had never seen a soul enter that restaurant before, but we were feeling brave and so we ventured in.
We were greeted coolly: “Buffet or menu?”—though it was really more like a statement than a question. Following the adventurous vein, we chose the former. And ate quickly and spoke in uncomfortable whispers in the empty room while the staff waited with tired, yet piercing eyes for us to finish our plates.
The highlight of the meal—aside from the banging Mongolian chicken and the heavy as rock jell-o, was the prize awaiting me in my fortune cookie dessert:

Hooray!

and then, wait for it…

the numbers:

even has my lucky three…
no one take them, they’re mine.