The preferred way to draw Fuzzy is in half-profile or profile. Facing head-on is discouraged, unless a doofy look is desired.
Sunday, November 29, 2015
Dude Do's & Don'ts
A style guide for drawing your favorite Dude, I’m An Aspie characters!
The preferred way to draw Fuzzy is in half-profile or profile. Facing head-on is discouraged, unless a doofy look is desired.
In half-profile, the eyes overlap, with the front eye in full view and the other behind it. The nose never overlaps the eyes. In profile, only one eye is visible. In either position, first draw three hair tufts facing forward, then the rest in the other direction.
Make Fuzzy’s nose big, but don’t go overboard. Think of his face blowing a balloon.
Pupil size and placement is the key to Fuzzy’s expression. All the specificity of emotion is in the pupils and eyelids. Use pinpoint dots in general, and exaggerated pupil shapes when called for.
Fuzzy’s arms can disappear. Give him arms only when action dictates.
Also, his mouth often disappears. Give him a minimal mouth only when needed for expression, and place it over top of his body. For outrageous expressions, you can give him a wide open mouth by adding a lower jaw.
Fuzzy has no neck or torso, so sometimes his head functions as his entire upper body.
Other characters start with similar eyes, and a snout. Unlike Fuzzy’s nose, center the snout under the eyes.
Dinky is a “floor dog.” Head-on, you can see only his head, tail, and top of his butt. In profile, his front and rear paws are both in the back – think of him having an extra-long neck, rather than a long torso. BUT – when walking (on all fours), his front legs go under his head. Physics!
Dinky’s ears flop down unless conveying a strong emotion. (And then, you can see his paws.)
Squishy Bird is plump, with a head shaped like an egg, and body like a larger egg. Always give him a mischievous glint in the eyes, and avoid drawing his beak open.
Scentsor’s head is a series of curves for his helmet, then sharp points for his ears and snout. Give his body a forward lean, and then a tail as large as the rest of him. Keep his snout separate from the rest of his body.
Now you are ready to draw like a boss. Have fun!
The preferred way to draw Fuzzy is in half-profile or profile. Facing head-on is discouraged, unless a doofy look is desired.
Sunday, November 1, 2015
Sunday, October 18, 2015
Mad Lib Madness
Hi Fuzzy,
Thanks for bubbling on LinkedIn recently - always keen to send a Meposian follow up.
I have no doubt you're accustomed to being bombarded by stink bugs, so definitely not my intention to deflate to that scrapple.
Mainly wanted to milk a moo the lines of communication since SplutCorp is an antler rat-backed sardoodledom porridge firm focused exclusively on representing flavored-level YoiksForce professionals exploring the Cookiepuss on an active or passive basis.
We take a far more snotty approach to boogalooing individuals, mostly powering up with them at the start of their jelly (or before they're flooping) in order to educate them wherever we wanted on what kinds of YoiksForce opportunities are out there for their skill set.
Do let me know if you'd have a few minutes for an ermahgerd next week - we are seeing a fairly headless doofus for your press-on nails but I'd be interested in bouncing in touch for the future, regardless.Available, that I KNOW of…
Best,
Monie Love
Sunday, August 9, 2015
Sunday, July 5, 2015
All Awesome Mixtapes Go to Heaven
My first mixtape was made of 100% cheese. The low-hanging, gummish bubble stuff of the pop airwaves, some 25 years ago. School bus soundtrack, first cassettes I ever owned. Best enjoyed in countdown form, namely Jay Beau Jones’ Top 9 Tonight. (TNT!)
The Sony SoundRider Cassette-Corder had two decks, and two buttons highlighted in red: REC, and DUBBING. What else for, but to collect, and reassemble? And so I trained my trigger finger to fire at first sign of a target. Vigilantly listening, willing the DJ to telegraph what was coming, but not run his mouth over the intro, I filled hours of ribbon with tune trophies. A near-regurgitation of the hits of the day, though I did pluck some obscure gems from Katrina & the Waves, and Jive Bunny & The Mastermixers. And at year’s end, I crafted it into a glorious Top 100 set. Glorious for a short time, anyway.
Of all the things I’ve made and destroyed, and later wished I could have back, my first awesome mix is right up there. But my tastes had to evolve, and I took victims with me.
My earliest compilation first revealed itself as cringe-worthy schlock upon my entry through the secret door to “modern rock” with its harder edge, Shrieks of the Week, and world-weary detachment.
… Which I in turn jettisoned for roots rock: Earnest, homegrown, soul nourishment, served up by freeform programmers who segued from song to song to create a greater whole, the true artists of the mix, but ultimately doomed to banishment by the wheels of corporate radio.
… Which led me to seek solace in the advent of MP3’s and music blogs, the musical world at my cherry-picking fingertips. Expunging radio from the equation, I found my favorite artists and digested their whole catalogs. Personalization reached its height, even as the choices grew exponentially and bred decision fatigue.
… Which induced me to flee the modern soundscape, in favor of music of the ancients, museum pieces, revered and academic. Pure escape, gone was the need to collect, to differentiate one piece from another, or even to learn titles or composers. The momentary in and out flow sufficed, afterward it was disposable.
Somewhere along this musical evolution, my first awesome mix became a drag on my claim to musical integrity, most of its content long banished to the cultural trash heap. If I couldn’t wipe my memory, at least I could destroy the evidence. I pared down those 100 cheesy tracks to one cassette. Excised it of all punch lines. Neutered it of all cheese. But that was a phony retcon.
From time to time, those 80's relics reared their heads, and they cut through clear and true, lyrics still imprinted on my memory, the first notes begging the question, “Where’ve ya been?” A guilty pleasure. But why feel guilty?
Nostalgia lends a feel-good factor like none other. Of all the things music can make you feel, isn’t fist-pumpin’ joy the best? I know I’m not alone in that, because those exiled tunes turn up more and more, in “stunt programming” like a “Worst Of” weekend, or stations devoted to an “old school” format. Whitney, Paula, Def Leppard, it’s good to hear you again. Batdance – now there’s some cheese that can’t be denied! At the end of the day, I don’t want to enjoy my music ironically, or assert my hipster cred with it, or spout historical trivia about it. I want it to launch me into orbit. “Across the nation, around the world, everybody have fun tonight!” in the immortal words of Wang Chung.
My musical tastes have a split personality, and I’m content to keep them locked in perpetual battle for supremacy. There’s a time and a place for everything in that fight, even watered-down pop confections. To those musical elitists who would look down their noses in disparagement, I say, get over yourself. A once-awesome tune never dies, it just waits to be rediscovered. As for my long-lost first mixtape, I’ve taken up the challenge of reconstructing it from memory.
Star-Lord had it right. Hold on to your awesome mix and carry it with you. You might just find, someday, it’s your secret weapon.
Of all the things I’ve made and destroyed, and later wished I could have back, my first awesome mix is right up there. But my tastes had to evolve, and I took victims with me.
My earliest compilation first revealed itself as cringe-worthy schlock upon my entry through the secret door to “modern rock” with its harder edge, Shrieks of the Week, and world-weary detachment.
… Which led me to seek solace in the advent of MP3’s and music blogs, the musical world at my cherry-picking fingertips. Expunging radio from the equation, I found my favorite artists and digested their whole catalogs. Personalization reached its height, even as the choices grew exponentially and bred decision fatigue.
… Which induced me to flee the modern soundscape, in favor of music of the ancients, museum pieces, revered and academic. Pure escape, gone was the need to collect, to differentiate one piece from another, or even to learn titles or composers. The momentary in and out flow sufficed, afterward it was disposable.
From time to time, those 80's relics reared their heads, and they cut through clear and true, lyrics still imprinted on my memory, the first notes begging the question, “Where’ve ya been?” A guilty pleasure. But why feel guilty?
Nostalgia lends a feel-good factor like none other. Of all the things music can make you feel, isn’t fist-pumpin’ joy the best? I know I’m not alone in that, because those exiled tunes turn up more and more, in “stunt programming” like a “Worst Of” weekend, or stations devoted to an “old school” format. Whitney, Paula, Def Leppard, it’s good to hear you again. Batdance – now there’s some cheese that can’t be denied! At the end of the day, I don’t want to enjoy my music ironically, or assert my hipster cred with it, or spout historical trivia about it. I want it to launch me into orbit. “Across the nation, around the world, everybody have fun tonight!” in the immortal words of Wang Chung.
My musical tastes have a split personality, and I’m content to keep them locked in perpetual battle for supremacy. There’s a time and a place for everything in that fight, even watered-down pop confections. To those musical elitists who would look down their noses in disparagement, I say, get over yourself. A once-awesome tune never dies, it just waits to be rediscovered. As for my long-lost first mixtape, I’ve taken up the challenge of reconstructing it from memory.
Sunday, June 28, 2015
Sunday, June 21, 2015
Sunday, May 10, 2015
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