tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7511578053581621282024-03-13T23:53:52.066-07:00A journey.Seeping into the soft part of yer' skull one day at a time.Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.comBlogger334125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-83771860348879557242010-03-29T14:19:00.001-07:002010-03-29T20:02:45.794-07:00Sweet Home ManhattanThe trip back home was marvelous, I didn't get to see everyone because I was only there for a two days so if we had plans and I disappeared forgive me. Somehow I filled up my 2 gigabyte SD card to the brim in 48 hours, which is odd because I'm not much of a photographer. Well, <a href="http://kevingannon.blogspot.com/2009/12/dusty.html">sometimes</a> <a href="http://kevingannon.blogspot.com/2009/11/vanitas-check.html">I</a> <a href="http://kevingannon.blogspot.com/2009/11/falling-in-shower.html">am</a>.<div><br /></div><div>After my camera took a big steaming dump of New York on my laptop, I thought I'd share a few of the high and low moments with you all.</div><div><br /></div><div>Seeing my favorite dog Bella was wonderful, we played like the old days and I could tell she was happy to see me.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S7EaKpnrAYI/AAAAAAAAA2Q/emt82HuApr0/s1600/100_0866.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S7EaKpnrAYI/AAAAAAAAA2Q/emt82HuApr0/s400/100_0866.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454169393995645314" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Equally great was seeing my favorite view from Manhattan. </div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S7Eb1XaPDCI/AAAAAAAAA2Y/_U88QTJhomg/s1600/100_0871.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S7Eb1XaPDCI/AAAAAAAAA2Y/_U88QTJhomg/s400/100_0871.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454171227353451554" /></a><div><br /></div><div>No, stupido, not anything from the high line. I'm talking about <i>this</i> view, baby:</div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S7EcOKLNuII/AAAAAAAAA2g/JncUYwJnoPM/s1600/100_0858.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 108px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S7EcOKLNuII/AAAAAAAAA2g/JncUYwJnoPM/s400/100_0858.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454171653297518722" /></a><div><br /></div><div>Another great moment was going over to Daniel's house. For some reason I haven't set foot in his abode for years. We joke about it all the time, that I had become a rumor in his household, that Daniel's parents get suspicious when he says "I'm going to chill with Kevin" thinking he is actually saying "I'm going to go do drugs with bad people"</div><div><br /></div><div>Needless to say, nothing had changed. Just like the old days. </div><div><br /><object width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/EIUrYF_BWwg&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/EIUrYF_BWwg&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The real highlight was spending some time trying to record an awesome episode of Friday Night with K-Dog. It was the dopest night to do it, energy was high and my boy-o's Chris, Ludwig, Carlos and Daniel all hit up the microphones and had our shot at greatness. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S7EdxuAh0oI/AAAAAAAAA2o/rtwH6JuXkys/s1600/100_0884.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S7EdxuAh0oI/AAAAAAAAA2o/rtwH6JuXkys/s400/100_0884.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454173363723424386" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Well...things didn't turn out that great. After tanking for at least an hour, we all started laying around in defeat. The place looked and smelt like an opium den.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S7EebHo4vXI/AAAAAAAAA2w/ZipJvE0DLSI/s1600/100_0919.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S7EebHo4vXI/AAAAAAAAA2w/ZipJvE0DLSI/s400/100_0919.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454174074978221426" /></a><br /></div><div>Essentially, this photo of Chris can summarize how much fun we were having. </div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S7EenNQucuI/AAAAAAAAA24/YD8vAKCb_P4/s1600/100_0914.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S7EenNQucuI/AAAAAAAAA24/YD8vAKCb_P4/s400/100_0914.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454174282645926626" /></a><div><br /></div><div>Still, even after failing miserably and having nothing to do but revel in our own incompetency, we all had fun. That's what I love about these buckos.</div><div><br /></div><div>All of that is long gone now. I'm tucked away in my living room, back in Chicago, chilling with Spuds Mackenzie, thinking about some prints I have to do tonight. It's a totally different pace from things back home but in some ways I enjoy it just as much. </div><div><br /></div><div>I do look forward to going home, though.</div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-60775127455588959472010-03-28T19:20:00.000-07:002010-03-28T19:23:11.514-07:00Episode Three, Baby<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S7APCZk8c-I/AAAAAAAAA2I/KdC8vkKp9Wk/s1600/fridaynight.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S7APCZk8c-I/AAAAAAAAA2I/KdC8vkKp9Wk/s400/fridaynight.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453875682645668834" /></a><br />The vacation induced hiatus ends today and what a better way to celebrate that than uploading the third installation of the Friday Night with Kevin Gannon poopcast?<div><br /></div><div>If you missed it last week don't fret, you missed nothing. Literally. </div><br /><object classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=9,0,0,0" width="300" height="132px" id="pcm_player_4125" style="height: 132px; "><br /><param name="movie" value="http://podcastmachine.com/swf/player.swf"><br /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><br /><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><br /><param name="quality" value="high"><br /><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><br /><param name="flashvars" value="&file=http://podcastmachine.com/podcasts/4125/episodes/19840.json&width=300&height=133&skin=http://podcastmachine.com/swf/skin_pcm1.swf&fullscreen=true&bgcolor=#000000&playlist=bottom&playlistrows=1&playlistcolumns=2&autostart=false&subscribebutton=true&downloadbutton=true"><br /><embed src="http://podcastmachine.com/swf/player.swf" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" quality="high" width="300" height="132px" wmode="transparent" name="pcm_player_4125" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" flashvars="&file=http://podcastmachine.com/podcasts/4125/episodes/19840.json&width=300&height=133&skin=http://podcastmachine.com/swf/skin_pcm1.swf&fullscreen=true&bgcolor=#000000&playlist=bottom&playlistrows=1&playlistcolumns=2&autostart=false&subscribebutton=true&downloadbutton=true" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" style="height: 132px; "></embed><br /></object><div><br /></div><div>Enjoy, baby. Don't forget who's back in town. </div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-46234333955273291602010-03-21T08:35:00.000-07:002010-03-21T08:42:35.040-07:00Stay Tuned...Sorry folks, I guess I should have put this up a few days ago.<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S6Y99e-wIzI/AAAAAAAAA2A/7BA32Wg7s68/s1600-h/please_stand_by.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S6Y99e-wIzI/AAAAAAAAA2A/7BA32Wg7s68/s400/please_stand_by.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451112525476143922" /></a><br /></div><div>Why are there no posts? No poopcasts? I'm on my two day vacation, baby!</div><div><br /></div><div>That's right, my school gave me two days off for spring break and I'm trying to live it up while I still can. It might be hard to believe but even K-Dogs gotta' rest sometimes, too.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'll be flying back to Chicago tonight. See you then. </div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-5634554814594540972010-03-19T08:02:00.001-07:002010-03-19T08:30:14.981-07:00Robbie and ChicagoRobbie spent some time here and I decided to take a few days off and update you about things later. I guess now is later. <div><br /></div><div>We had a pretty wonderful time. Robbie seemed to have brought the nice weather with him and Chicago was a completely different city. Don't believe me? I have photographic proof:</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S6OSpOMqmiI/AAAAAAAAA1o/anxDVN7DthY/s1600-h/100_0819.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S6OSpOMqmiI/AAAAAAAAA1o/anxDVN7DthY/s400/100_0819.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450361210931943970" /></a></div><br />I swear to god, that's Chicago.<br /><br />We didn't do much but lounge around the crib and occasionally take a nice stroll somewhere. Something I never thought I'd see what Preston <b><i>and</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> Robbie lounging in the Gene Siskel Theatre. Talk about synergy. </span></b><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"></span></b><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S6OVnPV3ycI/AAAAAAAAA1w/cLaYRaWe0PQ/s1600-h/reCLINE.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 108px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S6OVnPV3ycI/AAAAAAAAA1w/cLaYRaWe0PQ/s400/reCLINE.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450364475414137282" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>It felt like the scene in <i>Heat</i> when Pacino and DeNiro finally met over a tense meal only the meal was a movie with Janet Gaynor and no one was tense at all. </div><div><br /></div><div>I think the only low moment of the entire trip was when a telescope stole a quarter from Robbie. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S6OXJ1nE7rI/AAAAAAAAA14/ogLBkXdzgVU/s1600-h/100_0818.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S6OXJ1nE7rI/AAAAAAAAA14/ogLBkXdzgVU/s400/100_0818.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450366169314029234" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>It was his last one. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sadly, all this fun had to come to an end. Robbie is back down south and I'm back in the Big Apple. Tonight I record the third episode of Friday Night with Kevin Gannon and let me tell you:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>This one's a doosey.</i></div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-70196881220608071912010-03-14T03:54:00.000-07:002010-03-14T04:06:32.781-07:00Litho With My BroRobbie Cline is in Chicago for a week and I'm having a blast kicking it with him just like the old days in very new day surroundings. <div><br /></div><div>Today I had a shitload of litho prints that needed to get done which meant, unfortunately, Robbie had to tag along with Steph and I as we panicked to get as much work done as humanly possible. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5zCanDH2tI/AAAAAAAAA1I/TR8a1L5b9aw/s1600-h/photo+(3).jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5zCanDH2tI/AAAAAAAAA1I/TR8a1L5b9aw/s400/photo+(3).jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448443411625925330" /></a><br /></div><div>After a few hours, Robbie became a crucial element of the artistic process. He timed each print, forcing Steph and I to work like athletes during the most important game of our lives. Our record? Two minutes and 30 seconds. That's from plate treating to sitting the print down to dry. That's beautiful. </div><div><br /></div><div>One thing that blew was that we didn't have an extra pair of gloves for my precious little hands. The professors insisted that we use gloves but I had no choice but to do this barehanded. What a mistake. </div><div><br /></div><div>There is a stage in the process where you coat the plate with asphaltum liquid. This stuff looks like asphalt, smells like asphalt and feels like asphalt. Essentially, it's road in a bottle. </div><div><br /></div><div>I found out the hard way that getting street all over your hands is nearly impossible to tolerate and even harder to clean off. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5zC16BILOI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/TN5UTq2EmRY/s1600-h/photo+(5).jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5zC16BILOI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/TN5UTq2EmRY/s400/photo+(5).jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448443880574299362" /></a><br /></div><div>Still, six hours later the prints came out nicely.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5zDAo1d4uI/AAAAAAAAA1g/zyxUhG4IkaM/s1600-h/photo+(1).jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5zDAo1d4uI/AAAAAAAAA1g/zyxUhG4IkaM/s400/photo+(1).jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448444064940548834" /></a><br /></div><div>My hands still smell like Delancey street on a hot day. Blech.</div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-55592184876889021942010-03-12T07:18:00.001-08:002010-03-12T07:27:04.069-08:00Second Episode<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5pdQikk6EI/AAAAAAAAA1A/XwcQI0gnD0k/s1600-h/episode2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5pdQikk6EI/AAAAAAAAA1A/XwcQI0gnD0k/s400/episode2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447769237997545538" /></a><br />It looks like this poopcast business is official. iTunes is not giving me a tough time with anything and updating episodes is easy and smooth. Like a baby's butt. Uh...why'd that come out dirty this time?<div><br /></div><div>How do I know this? Today I put up the second episode! <b><i>Yay!</i></b></div><br /><object classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=9,0,0,0" width="350" height="132px" id="pcm_player_4125" style="height: 132px; "><br /><param name="movie" value="http://podcastmachine.com/swf/player.swf"><br /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><br /><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><br /><param name="quality" value="high"><br /><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><br /><param name="flashvars" value="&file=http://podcastmachine.com/podcasts/4125/episodes/18790.json&width=350&height=133&skin=http://podcastmachine.com/swf/skin_pcm1.swf&fullscreen=true&bgcolor=#000000&playlist=bottom&playlistrows=1&playlistcolumns=2&autostart=false&subscribebutton=true&downloadbutton=true"><br /><embed src="http://podcastmachine.com/swf/player.swf" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" quality="high" width="350" height="132px" wmode="transparent" name="pcm_player_4125" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" flashvars="&file=http://podcastmachine.com/podcasts/4125/episodes/18790.json&width=350&height=133&skin=http://podcastmachine.com/swf/skin_pcm1.swf&fullscreen=true&bgcolor=#000000&playlist=bottom&playlistrows=1&playlistcolumns=2&autostart=false&subscribebutton=true&downloadbutton=true" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" style="height: 132px; "></embed><br /></object><div><br /></div><div>For those of you who have subscribed you probably already know this (congratulations: you are the cool kids). Those of you who haven't, now you do. You can listen from up above or you can download the files from iTunes. </div><div><br /></div><div>Your call. I'm all about autonomy. </div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, do me the favor and rate this sucker on iTunes. I'd suggest fives stars but you know what? You can rate it whatever you want. Seriously, though, five stars would be best. </div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-32600634400477072262010-03-11T19:56:00.001-08:002010-03-11T19:59:00.142-08:00FrogsSorry folks, nothing special today. Got a lot of work and I'm thinking of hitting the sack ASAP. Who knows what I'm doing, maybe I'm prepping the next podcast or <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">something</span>? <div><br /></div><div><i>Nah.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Here, this should hold you off. It's not much but it's pretty beautiful.</div><div><br /></div><div><object width="320" height="265"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/iROwslbmhcg&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/iROwslbmhcg&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="320" height="265"></embed></object></div><div><br /></div><div>Later.</div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-90084108030573626352010-03-10T03:26:00.000-08:002010-03-10T04:23:50.889-08:00iTunes? How pretty<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5eB8c4tEiI/AAAAAAAAA04/AcELWgcTNzk/s1600-h/pretty.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 211px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5eB8c4tEiI/AAAAAAAAA04/AcELWgcTNzk/s400/pretty.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446965149874065954" /></a><br /><div>iTunes approved my poopcast. I didn't realize that the name of the account I have at a hosting site would be the name of the show so there is a discrepancy in the title and the image. That sort of drives me crazy but I'll figure something out. </div><div><br /></div><div>Go subscribe!</div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-80016419952785654192010-03-09T02:00:00.000-08:002010-03-09T02:09:26.097-08:00Dark Side of the Internet...I can't sleep and have a class in three hours. Usually during these times of stress and panic I try to do something productive so I don't feel like a complete waste tomorrow. Tonight I decided to use my time wisely and check out the blogs recent traffic report. <div><br /></div><div>Things were decent but not ideal. The hiatus seems to have fucked things up. Hopefully word will hit the interwebs that K-Dog is back in business and things will be like they used to.</div><div><br /></div><div>After perusing for a few minutes I noticed something very peculiar. The <a href="http://kevingannon.blogspot.com/2009/10/track-marks.html">post on my track marks</a> that weren't actually track marks has gotten me a <i>lot</i> of traffic. </div><div><br /></div><div>Strange. </div><div><br /></div><div>I decided to do a google image search. On the second page of results, I saw a fine example of the Internets wonderful talent of taking things out of context and making people look like asses. </div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5Ydfx5UvUI/AAAAAAAAA0w/gifYAeH-EUE/s1600-h/uhoh.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5Ydfx5UvUI/AAAAAAAAA0w/gifYAeH-EUE/s400/uhoh.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446573231158115650" /></a><br /></div><div>Great. A photograph that comes up after searching "Track Marks" with my name underneath a photograph of my forearm. </div><div><br /></div><div>What could go wrong with that?</div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-37700778638224796382010-03-08T13:34:00.001-08:002010-03-08T13:40:23.510-08:00Top FansThis might be the funniest thing <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Facebook</span> has ever churned out. <div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5VtjaxuPrI/AAAAAAAAA0o/FMCRUeRmGFU/s1600-h/15312_10150102638080389_896880388_11373418_2859976_n.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5VtjaxuPrI/AAAAAAAAA0o/FMCRUeRmGFU/s400/15312_10150102638080389_896880388_11373418_2859976_n.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446379779625205426" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>It's good to know that if my close friends got into a massive brawl I could hide behind Carlos as he whoops ass. Daniel seems to have done well for himself but he has a stick, which I think is cheap.</div><div><br /></div><div>The real climax of the battle is the final round. As the dust settles from the small skirmishes, Carlos and Ludwig face off, each covered in the blood of fallen foe. Each with their mind on one thing: friendship.</div><div><br /></div><div>I congratulate Carlos, but I tip my hats to all of you fighters. Well done.</div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-48854128497958137342010-03-07T17:35:00.000-08:002010-03-07T17:46:49.918-08:00First Episode!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5RVD4i6FnI/AAAAAAAAA0g/Do3SM3j4qIQ/s1600-h/fridaynight.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5RVD4i6FnI/AAAAAAAAA0g/Do3SM3j4qIQ/s400/fridaynight.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446071374604539506" /></a><br />Yay! The first episode of Friday Night with Kevin Gannon is online. Please enjoy and shoot me any advice because lord knows I need it.<div><br /><object classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=9,0,0,0" width="350" height="132px" id="pcm_player_4125" style="height: 132px; "><br /> <param name="movie" value="http://podcastmachine.com/swf/player.swf"><br /> <param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><br /> <param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><br /> <param name="quality" value="high"><br /> <param name="wmode" value="transparent"><br /> <param name="flashvars" value="&file=http://podcastmachine.com/podcasts/4125.json&width=350&height=133&skin=http://podcastmachine.com/swf/skin_pcm1.swf&fullscreen=true&bgcolor=#000000&playlist=bottom&playlistrows=1&playlistcolumns=2&autostart=false&subscribebutton=true&downloadbutton=true"><br /> <embed src="http://podcastmachine.com/swf/player.swf" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" quality="high" width="350" height="132px" wmode="transparent" name="pcm_player_4125" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" flashvars="&file=http://podcastmachine.com/podcasts/4125.json&width=350&height=133&skin=http://podcastmachine.com/swf/skin_pcm1.swf&fullscreen=true&bgcolor=#000000&playlist=bottom&playlistrows=1&playlistcolumns=2&autostart=false&subscribebutton=true&downloadbutton=true" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" style="height: 132px; "></embed><br /></object><br /><br /><div>I submitted the podcast to iTunes and they are reviewing it, probably checking to make sure I don't talk shit about Steve Jobs or the itampon. I read online that the process could take up to a week so I figured I'd post the above to hold everyone off. </div><div><br /></div><div>I pray you enjoy and I can't wait to really get this ball rolling and have this shit live in the world of itunes. </div></div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-29504504673445229542010-03-07T01:27:00.001-08:002010-03-07T02:35:55.785-08:00PoopcastRemember the special package I mentioned yesterday? Well, it came today and I am ready to reveal what it means. <div><br /></div><div>Essentially, I invested in a wittle baby mixer so my recordings can sound super sweet. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5N1BxTyDRI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/dI4wW7rRQ8c/s1600-h/podcaster.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5N1BxTyDRI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/dI4wW7rRQ8c/s400/podcaster.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445825047697689874" /></a><br /></div><div>What recordings, you ask? Well, I am proud to announce that I am going to try and start up a podcast. Thing is, it's not anything like Kevin Gannon Radio. In fact, it's something completely different. The biggest format change in my mind is that each episode will be a lot shorter than an hour. I think that investing time like that should be reserved for something special. It will have pre-planned bits (which, tonight I recorded the intros to) and will not have the musical element to it. </div><div><br /></div><div>At the same time, even though the podcasts are going to be much shorter, they will come much more often. It's difficult to gauge how it will work until I start doing it. Still, right now in my head I'm thinking once every week or every other week. Not sure yet. </div><div><br /></div><div>Either way, it's an exciting new thing to look forward to. I'm hoping that it will help me get a little bit of a release every week (lord knows I need it) and I hope it does the same for you too. </div><div><br /></div><div>The ultimate plan is to get an RSS feed, a space to host it and get it on the podcast section of iTunes. Just like the bigwigs!</div><div><br /></div><div>So folks, it's official. Kevy wevy has a podcast.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't have any names yet. Could you help me and suggest some?</div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-17153918785035538552010-03-03T22:39:00.000-08:002010-03-06T05:39:33.932-08:00Dog-Tired, Lingerie and DiphenhydramineI write about sleep a lot. As far as this blog is concerned, the <a href="http://kevingannon.blogspot.com/search?q=sleep">topic is about as tired as I am</a>. Still, it seems that catching Z's is a pretty significant part of my life. A lot of my work revolves around snoozing and without the right amount of hours under my belt I'm a cranky asshole. <div><br /></div><div>That being said, in the past few days I have been a very cranky asshole. I went three days straight without any shut eye and the days after that I couldn't sleep at night. Instead, I would sit in my room, stare at the ceiling and wait for the sun to rise. If i didn't have class, I would pass out around 9 in the morning and wake up when it was dark again. </div><div><br /></div><div>Needless to say, that is a very, very depressing way to live. So depressing in fact, that I started to get very blue. </div><div><br /></div><div>There isn't much to do in those hours, especially when most of the projects I'm working on these days necessitate properly equipped studios for me work in. I can solemnly swear that if it weren't for Opie and Anthony I would have gone completely insane by now. It's nice to know that at least at my lowest I can laugh a little bit. </div><div><br /></div><div>Basically, my nights go as follows. I sit on the toilet and read some Seinfeld scripts because it's a lot quieter than watching them on TV. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5IqpTGYgeI/AAAAAAAAAz4/BFFxMP10fZ0/s1600-h/duck.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5IqpTGYgeI/AAAAAAAAAz4/BFFxMP10fZ0/s400/duck.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445461788434399714" /></a><br /></div><div>Once that gets old, I switch over to whatever other bathroom literature we have kicking around the bano. Long story short, let's just say that Victoria's only secret is that most of her models are composed of more airbrush paint than flesh and blood. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5ItXsn3tiI/AAAAAAAAA0A/fHYBF07UqTs/s1600-h/secret.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5ItXsn3tiI/AAAAAAAAA0A/fHYBF07UqTs/s400/secret.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445464784582981154" /></a><br /></div><div>Actually, it's funny. One of the most annoying things in the world is getting junk mail intended for the people who lived here before us. I can't tell you how many times I have been excited to see mail only to find out that the old tenants are due for their annual tooth cleaning. I have systematically been calling and cancelling most of the subscriptions but Preston and I both agreed that Victoria's Secret still has a small demographic in this house and them mailing magazines here is not a nuisance. </div><div><br /></div><div>If it's close enough to daylight that I know I'm not going to sleep, I get dressed as slowly as humanly possible. This moment is when salt gets rubbed in my sleepy wounds. Staring at yourself, fully clad at 5 in the morning, knowing you will be on a train to school in only a few hours is the worst feeling imaginable. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5Iubax5t_I/AAAAAAAAA0I/2_viOZGQDCE/s1600-h/tired.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5Iubax5t_I/AAAAAAAAA0I/2_viOZGQDCE/s400/tired.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445465948024322034" /></a><br /></div><div>Finally, I leave you with a warning. One of the ways I combated this sleep deprivation is by taking over the counter medications. They contain an active ingredient called Diphenhydramine which is, essentially, a big fat anti-histamine. I found out through my Mom that this stuff seriously fucks with your mental health. A few google search results verified this. I can tell you personally, as someone who took twice as much of these things as instructed to every night for a month, it does start to make someone very, <i>very </i>depressed.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5IvZyHdF1I/AAAAAAAAA0Q/nLhJLb4h72w/s1600-h/meds.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S5IvZyHdF1I/AAAAAAAAA0Q/nLhJLb4h72w/s400/meds.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445467019440625490" /></a><br /></div><div>So, please readers, if you are tempted to take such measures to get a good night's sleep do what I'm doing. Go get some help from a head doctor, not a generic miracle pill. </div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, things should get better as I sort my shit out. I have a very special package coming in the mail tomorrow from Amazon. It effects this blog and all I can say is stay tuned: something awesome is in the works. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-45607681826852390002010-02-28T21:04:00.000-08:002010-02-28T21:31:43.193-08:00Best Director Ever<div>Today I was feeling bored and blue so I started editing the long lost Broke Toe hit, Spirit Guide. We <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">admittedly</span> dropped the ball on this shoot which was crushing because a few of you people helped us out financially. Still, I gotta' say, it might not look great but it's pretty fucking funny. I'm looking forward to maybe sharing it with the world. Things like that need to be discussed with the others. </div><div><br /></div><div>Either way, when I first booted up my dusty drive I opened Final Cut and the first thing I saw was this piece of footage. </div><div><br /></div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw0e7yy-soSU4_RS3g6r1TUlDPTpgbsQLEmcEKttELght8h5TxpmuOG5GNUk8YD5TZUl7i2pxUGrMwC4nw9IQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><div><br /></div><div>Sort of summarizes the tone of how we were all feeling about this movie.</div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-62112139449896476492010-02-26T20:20:00.001-08:002010-02-26T22:10:07.323-08:00Old Skool<div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S4idqw_mb_I/AAAAAAAAAzo/By8_ZwJXMOg/s1600-h/2010-02-25+12.32.44.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S4idqw_mb_I/AAAAAAAAAzo/By8_ZwJXMOg/s400/2010-02-25+12.32.44.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442773507708973042" /></a><br /></div><div>Whenever I'm in my intro to sound class looking at the 4 track recorders I think to myself "I wish <a href="http://www.thepeachprince.com/">Ludwig</a> was here so he could do this shit for me"</div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S4igh0vSFOI/AAAAAAAAAzw/_e3hqb7T5LU/s1600-h/2010-02-25+12.32.51.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S4igh0vSFOI/AAAAAAAAAzw/_e3hqb7T5LU/s400/2010-02-25+12.32.51.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442776652630332642" /></a><div></div><div><br /></div><div>I gotta' say, things are a little intimidating in this new world. Still, I'm shocked at how similar this whole process is to film editing. Threading the tape felt like loading a 16mm projector, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">cross fading</span> cuts in final cut make more sense and isolating audio through channels on the mixing console is just like isolating layers in any non-linear editing program. </div><div><br /></div><div>I can't wait to post some sick audio on here. Still, I can't imagine the damage Ludwig could do in this place. </div><div><br /></div><div>Is it possible the next Kevin Gannon Radio will be recorded on quarter inch tape? We shall see.</div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-4371464604358011062010-02-25T10:50:00.000-08:002010-02-25T14:04:28.778-08:00Why China is Deaded<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S4bpW-Ciq9I/AAAAAAAAAzg/9U1NHG9v2DU/s1600-h/china.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 321px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S4bpW-Ciq9I/AAAAAAAAAzg/9U1NHG9v2DU/s400/china.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442293780543876050" /></a><br />I'm not a huge fan of the Chinese government. I admit, my often fanatical American pride plays a role in that, but even if propagandist Frank Capra films didn't make me tear up I think I'd still feel negatively by the big wigs who control our eastern friends. <div><br /></div><div>Recently I was talking to Preston about my theories on communism (I know, what a college cliche). I think that, much sooner than later, Communism is going to get deaded and fizzle out. It's a bold statement considering the CPC has one of the largest bodies of supporters than any other party in the world, but I see it as something totally unavoidable. </div><div><br /></div><div>I can't say I'm an expert on the topic but I can say I'm an expert on something else. The Internet. </div><div><br /></div><div>Technology is changing everything. It's unifying our knowledge into one collective mass, easily accessible and alterable. It's making us all notice how many things we have in common, and at the same time, it's reminding us of how different we are. </div><div><br /></div><div>Iran? Deaded. Once kids see how other kids live, wearing blue jeans, owning cool shit and having a good time they decide to take action. </div><div><br /></div><div>China? Soon to be deaded. Everyone knows that the Internet in China is a joke. Good idea, too, because I'm pretty sure that if some Chinese kid could surf through Blogger he'd get the next ticket out of there and party hard in cooler countries. Still, the government over there is about to make one big, big mistake. </div><div><br /></div><div>Google. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's one thing to keep the wonders of the interwebs from compliant civilians, but now <a href="http://gizmodo.com/5480120/another-potential-casualty-in-the-google+china-wars-science">Chinese researchers and developers might lose access to Google</a>. I give it ten years before China starts lagging behind on major advances in science and medicine as the rest of the world pushes forward. Once that happens, China becomes the world's bitch. That, my friends, will be the first nail in the coffin. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mark my words. </div><div><br /></div><div>Google.</div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-28251245652852824032010-02-24T13:09:00.001-08:002010-02-24T13:44:21.502-08:00Key to the KingdomI know I have mentioned how much I hate public bathrooms and then said "<i>but that is for another post</i>" at least five times. I'm gonna' compile my woes into one big post eventually but today however, I want to talk about a specific element that I hate. <div><br /></div><div>The bathroom key. </div><div><br /></div><div>I like privacy. In fact, if it's not a single stall bathroom I'll usually awkwardly wait for everyone to finish up and get out. Every so often you come across a private shitter and it's magical, feels <i>almost</i> like home. These bathrooms are my saving grace and I'm never upset to see that I'm going to be taking care of business in solitude. That is, of course, until I see the worst three words in the world of bathroom etiquette:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>"Ask For Key"</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">I hate this. Sometimes I'll just walk out and take my business to another fine institution who appreciates and respects my urine. Whenever I open a bathroom with a key, I feel like I'm walking into some one's home and pissing on the welcome mat. I feel like I'm starting a car and shitting on the leather. It's just unnatural. <b>Empty bathrooms should never lock. </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Why is the door locked? Junkies? Shut up, invest in a broom and get them out the old way. How am I supposed to casually walk up to someone in front of a crowd of people and ask for a key to the bathroom without looking, sounding or feeling like a 2nd grader? Worst, and most disturbing: <b><i>how many people have touched their genitals and then immediately touched this gigantic, unwashed object attached to the key?</i></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">That's the one that gets me. There is always something tied to the key so it does not get lost. I can feel the filth when I touch it. I'm not an asshole like Howie Mandel by any means but it really makes me feel gross. That's why what was handed to me at a Subway's really fucked me up:</div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S4WbXbFHwdI/AAAAAAAAAzY/H_F4RWyXIvs/s1600-h/2010-02-22+21.32.50.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S4WbXbFHwdI/AAAAAAAAAzY/H_F4RWyXIvs/s400/2010-02-22+21.32.50.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441926551455646162" /></a><div><br /></div><div><i>Oh, wow, a spoon. That's so cute!</i> I get it! It's because you stir the food that I am eating with the same sort of spoon....yeah...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>BLEGH </div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-29937292477490430062010-02-23T10:47:00.000-08:002010-02-23T11:27:52.900-08:00This is How it StartsI have been trying to get back on the wagon but things are making that a little bit difficult for me. There's a buttload of stuff going on these days that I don't want to get into here but I can admit that due to said things, blogging has been the absolute last thing on my mind. I have been doing a little growing up and thinking some seriously heavy (and seriously consuming) thoughts. Maybe I might get into things later.<div><br /></div><div>Till' then, let's see if I can get the pendulum swinging like the old days.</div><div><br /></div><div>Since I'm sure all of you are sick of seeing the last post over and over again I thought I would give you an update. Ta da! The prints are done. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S4QsDiuu6NI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/Ftyj99nXLIQ/s1600-h/2010-02-22+20.38.46.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S4QsDiuu6NI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/Ftyj99nXLIQ/s400/2010-02-22+20.38.46.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441522689144449234" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>It's a series of four. I'm a total schmuck and can't get a solid print as easily as everyone else. In other words, for every dude you see on that table there were about four or five fuck ups. My batting average isn't too hot but I still find a way to win the game. That's all that matters, I think (<i>note: </i>if any of you sports fans can think of a good real life comparison, help me out in the comments. I'm drawing a blank).</div><div><br /></div><div>Now that those etchings are done we have moved onto more serious, big boy things. I started a lithograph yesterday and of course, started drawing an idiot.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S4QmhjJfrPI/AAAAAAAAAzI/BtnKvUOQvxE/s1600-h/2010-02-22+20.51.43.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S4QmhjJfrPI/AAAAAAAAAzI/BtnKvUOQvxE/s400/2010-02-22+20.51.43.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441516607583005938" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I gotta' get over those things. I wanted to play it safe while I learn the medium but I'm getting bored with those fools. Hopefully I can spice it up a bit with this gal. </div><div><br /></div><div>Lithography is pretty crazy, in fact, check <a href="http://www.moma.org/interactives/projects/2001/whatisaprint/flash.html">this shit out for yourself</a>. There are some pretty ridiculous things involved, like the fact that at no point can any of your skin touch the surface you are drawing on. Try that right now. Hard, eh?</div><div><br /></div><div>We aren't using stones which sort of sucks but in the long run is better as it gives me one less thing to fuck up consistently.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks for checking even when K-Dog Zillionaire is AWOL. I hope to get back on all of your bookmark bars soon.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-41870398273463458342010-02-08T21:03:00.000-08:002010-02-08T21:23:57.506-08:00There is Hope...I signed up for an intro to printmaking class this semester and almost immediately couldn't help but wonder if it was a wise decision. I thought it would mostly take place on photoshop and a silkscreen (like my <a href="http://kevingannon.blogspot.com/2009/09/first-print.html">last print media class</a>) but found out that it's much more artsy than that. Woodblocks? Lithography? I can't make an image with a pointy object and a piece of plywood! After fiddling around for a little while I realized that I did indeed have a difficult task ahead of me.<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S3DtgaB98EI/AAAAAAAAAyw/pK2TWIriQvY/s1600-h/2010-02-08+20.03.13.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S3DtgaB98EI/AAAAAAAAAyw/pK2TWIriQvY/s400/2010-02-08+20.03.13.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436105891235360834" /></a><br /></div><div>Can you say fail? I could. </div><div><br /></div><div>Today I was getting more and more worried and as my woodblock stared back at me, equally uncomfortable with the prospect of me holding a v-gouge, I felt bad for the idiot.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S3DuMMyQe0I/AAAAAAAAAy4/fhI0ThGUfnI/s1600-h/2010-02-08+20.10.43.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S3DuMMyQe0I/AAAAAAAAAy4/fhI0ThGUfnI/s400/2010-02-08+20.10.43.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436106643594050370" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Then something magical happened. I tossed some ink on him and rubbed out a few tests on doo-doo brown paper. Even in his most shitty form I couldn't believe how cool this guy looked.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S3Du6Rk7reI/AAAAAAAAAzA/AX-hBzJND8o/s1600-h/2010-02-08+20.33.53.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S3Du6Rk7reI/AAAAAAAAAzA/AX-hBzJND8o/s400/2010-02-08+20.33.53.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436107435154320866" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div> Was this coming together? Is it possible? Maybe I <i>can</i> get this shit done. Can an idiot possibly live a life on a piece of wood? Well, I think the answer is yes. What do I want to do now? Make more. </div><div><br /></div><div>I got bit by the print bug, baby.</div><div><br /></div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-55237714100397696722010-02-08T14:17:00.000-08:002010-02-08T14:22:08.449-08:00Air Force Bugbots<div>I know in this day and age five minutes is a lot to ask of people (unless of course it's a video I uploaded) but I really suggest watching this if you have the time.</div><div><br /></div><object width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/bSS29-THbyY&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/bSS29-THbyY&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object><div><br /></div><div>I will enlist if I get to control one of these puppies while I sit comfortably in a bunker eating Funions.</div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-84689225367419248202010-02-07T22:19:00.000-08:002010-02-07T22:57:06.078-08:00What Happens When I'm Gone...Starlets, you don't need me to point out the obvious but I'm going to anyway: things in this part of the interwebs have been <i>slow.</i><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Why? Well, I don't know, really. I started my new semester and I guess got preoccupied with all my new classes and routines. I also got hooked on <b>The Wire</b> which has been sucking up most of my free time and keeping me on the futon and away from the keyboard.</div><div><br /></div><div>Excuses aside, I realized two very important life lessons. Sometimes I can't help but wonder <i>"What will happen to me when I die?" </i>Will I leave a footprint on this earth (I'm not talking about my carbon footprint, that things through the roof. Win!)? Will people remember me? What will become of my things? </div><div><br /></div><div>In the past few weeks I have gotten closer to getting an answer to those questions. Leaving this blog for so long shed some light on what will happen when I leave this great earth. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>1. People will talk about me. A lot more</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>than they did when I was alive.</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S2-zVPSLjJI/AAAAAAAAAyY/bfNhW__ujOM/s1600-h/talkabout.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S2-zVPSLjJI/AAAAAAAAAyY/bfNhW__ujOM/s400/talkabout.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435760452720888978" /></a></b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">The comments on my last post went through the motherfucking roof! I used to use how many people left comments as an indicator of how many people read my blog. After doing some research and looking at Sitemeter, I realized that the two don't really correspond. People just don't seem to want to talk that much (except for a select few of you sly dogs). That all changed when I went AWOL. I never knew that the key to being a successful blogger was by not blogging. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Huh. Guess that says something about blogs...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>2. Salvia and Viagra salesmen will</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>replace me.</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's good to know that when I'm gone the people who loved me will be comforted by a group of such noble men and women. I sure as shit don't smoke Salvia and Viagra isn't on my grocery list as of now so I'm somewhat puzzled as to how these people thought this space would be a good venue for their plugs. I'm sort of flattered that a spammer thought I got enough hits to make a profit but in the long run, I worry. I hope we don't have a war on our hands.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S2-zyI7mohI/AAAAAAAAAyo/WkzAhai-s8o/s1600-h/goodidea.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 215px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S2-zyI7mohI/AAAAAAAAAyo/WkzAhai-s8o/s400/goodidea.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435760949231788562" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Wait, fuck that. I would <i>love</i> a war. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm glad I got a little closure on this subject. I'm not checking out anytime soon (unless a piano falls on my head) but it takes a little load of my back. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Feels good to post again.</div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-49726296941394871892010-01-30T18:19:00.000-08:002010-01-31T01:47:52.132-08:00Leaning Tower of PizzaLast semester things hit Preston and I pretty hard. Needless to say, slugging over to Jewel Osco and buying groceries was not on our list of priorities. <div><br /></div><div>That being said, we made many phone calls to our friends at Domino's pizza during the final days of intense work. They never failed to fill or stomachs without slimming our wallets and always gave us the nourishment needed to keep churning out quality work. Problem is Preston and I are very<i>, very</i> bad at taking out the recycling. </div><div><br /></div><div>That is why we have this new interesting piece of furniture in our kitchen.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S2TpRkamzYI/AAAAAAAAAyQ/d0lz3Gr9-4A/s1600-h/2010-01-30+21.01.03.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S2TpRkamzYI/AAAAAAAAAyQ/d0lz3Gr9-4A/s400/2010-01-30+21.01.03.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432723538557980034" /></a><br /></div><div>Scary part? That's only about half of what we ordered. In fact, for some reason that doesn't even include the Cinastix or wings we gorged ourselves with bi-nightly. </div><div><br /></div><div>I cannot wait to do it all over again with the new Dominos recipe. In case you are wondering: it's delicious. </div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-68173479416172904752010-01-28T06:15:00.000-08:002010-01-28T11:24:59.215-08:00Off to a Good Start. Not.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S2GgiV7JfKI/AAAAAAAAAyA/ZVFmg4SZ2UE/s1600-h/deaded.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 345px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S2GgiV7JfKI/AAAAAAAAAyA/ZVFmg4SZ2UE/s400/deaded.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431799137446755490" /></a><br />I'm finally back in Chicago and it feels good. I am ready to hit this semester hard and make some dope work. Somewhere in the equation to yield success at SAIC is a little known (and to those who do know it, often ignored) necessity: a good nights sleep and promptness.<div><br /></div><div>Anyone who has ever made an appointment with me for anything knows that I'm an early bird. This means that usually I arrive a half hour before I need to for every class so I can enjoy the commute over at a comfortable pace all while leaving enough time aside for Murphy and his stupid law to gobble up if he's feeling in the mood to shut down the Blue Line. </div><div><br /></div><div>Today is my first class so I wanted an <i>extra</i> early start. No problem. Well, there's one problem. Last night I ignored the little known secret that promotes a healthy, happy day. In other words, I stayed up very late and got two hours of sleep. </div><div><br /></div><div>Not a huge dilemma, I'm a big boy and have the next three days to rest. I crawl out of bed feeling incredibly shitty. Shittier than usual, actually. I look outside and it's dark as night. I toss on the long johns, get dressed and bundle up for the cold, unforgiving Chicago commute. </div><div><br /></div><div>I arrive to class. It's early and no one is there. <i>Nice. </i>Hang out for a bit, drink some free Coffee and surf the web.</div><div><br /></div><div>Time goes by. It's 9:00 AM and no one is in sight. Was class cancelled? No way. </div><div><br /></div><div>9:15. Do I have the right room? Panic sets in. I bite the bullet and wait it out and surf the web. That's when I notice something on Gizmodo. The most recent post (one I had not read earlier in the morning) was at 8:00 AM. Had I gone through a time warp? My phone said it was just after 9. My laptop said it was 9, too. What's going on? Where is everybody? Am I being watched?</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm scared. </div><div><br /></div><div>I go downstairs to the empty lobby and ask the security guard a silly question. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">"Is it eight or nine?"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">She looks at me and says the most saddening news I could hear.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">"It's eight. I'm so sorry."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">She laughs, I sort of laugh and I crawl back into the elevator to sit like a schmuck in an empty student lounge. My head hurts.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Thanks a lot Eastern Time. You really know how to show a fella' a good morning.</div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-70743100032554671692010-01-21T14:48:00.000-08:002010-01-21T15:14:26.476-08:00Forkless in FlushingToday I found myself strolling around Flushing, Queens with no planned destination and a rumbling stomach. <div><br /></div><div>All of the restaurants seemed a little too authentic for me so it took a longer while than usual to find the right place and enjoy some dumplings. Finally, I found a restaurant that seemed legit without killing the budget (or the bowels) and I went in. </div><div><br /></div><div>Food looked dope. Still, there was one small problem. Chopsticks.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S1jerf_iTrI/AAAAAAAAAx4/SEAfYiBzvpo/s1600-h/2010-01-21+14.07.42.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S1jerf_iTrI/AAAAAAAAAx4/SEAfYiBzvpo/s400/2010-01-21+14.07.42.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429334189698862770" /></a><br /></div><div>Can't use the things. These one's didn't even come with the over simplified three panels of instructions printed on the wrapper.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dumplings can indeed be eaten with the hands but everyone was watching me and I didn't want to be the savage Guilo who walked in off the street and ate like a monkey. </div><div><br /></div><div>I, ashamed, signaled to the waiter and quietly asked him if he had any knives or forks. </div><div><br /></div><div>He said no.</div><div><br /></div><div>I ate with my hands. </div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-751157805358162128.post-55791929273385430762010-01-20T09:34:00.001-08:002010-01-20T09:56:25.720-08:00Mad Po<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S1dCtEY5wNI/AAAAAAAAAxo/YmGgZMJFD7w/s1600-h/2010-01-19+16.17.09.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S1dCtEY5wNI/AAAAAAAAAxo/YmGgZMJFD7w/s400/2010-01-19+16.17.09.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428881217858158802" /></a><br />I'm back from Washington and being home has already been very eventful. <div><br /></div><div>Yesterday I had plans to meet my buddy Daniel. We planned on greeting each other with a high-five at sixth avenue and ninth street and then go to a nearby bookstore. I rarely head over there but always enjoyed the neighborhood so I was looking forward to a nice stroll in the warm(ish) weather. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was in a cab on 14th street when a platoon of at least fifteen cop cars zoomed past us at breakneck speeds. They were going in the same direction as us so traffic was screwed up. Once they passed, the street was closed and fifteen more cars zoomed by. The cab driver turned back and asked me:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">"<i>You sure you still wanna' go west?"</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">I thought about it. Was I about to enter a war zone? Probably. The answer?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">"<i>Hell yes."</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">We finally managed to get there and I got a call from Daniel. He said something crazy was happening at ninth and sixth. We had just arrived when an unmarked cop car swerved in front of the cab, blocking us off halfway through the street. I looked at the windows and realized that I was engulfed in chaos. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S1dCeSe1jyI/AAAAAAAAAxg/w7gwN_9uYvc/s1600-h/2010-01-19+16.16.46.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S1dCeSe1jyI/AAAAAAAAAxg/w7gwN_9uYvc/s400/2010-01-19+16.16.46.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428880963943108386" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I paid the cabbie and apologized for getting him stuck in the life threatening situation and felt bad that I got to run for cover while he sat like a duck in the middle of the shit storm. The moment I got out I saw more cops in one concentrated area than I have in a long while, most armed with large assault rifles and angry German Shepherds. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A out of breath cop ran up to me and asked if I had seen an "African American man on foot." On my way over I had seen at least thirty African American men standing on feet. I hate this cop mentality that aggressively screaming a race and gender will narrow results when, in actuality, it just puts innocent people of the same race in gender in danger. The officer himself was black and I wanted to teach him a lesson and say "Yes I have, I'm talking to him right now" and teach him about other ways of describing people like, say, clothing. I didn't feel like getting shot in the face so I just said "no" and found Daniel.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I spoke to a man who had followed the scene on his bike. He said there was an intense car chase that at points went up on the sidewalk. The officers smashed his car a few feet away from my can and the man escaped. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Now hundreds of cops were walking around with dogs. Every so often the gigantic German Shepard would bark at someone in the crowd and I would get as far away from the imminent riot as possible.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Eventually the crowd dispersed and Daniel and I left. We couldn't find anything out about it then and can't now. Strange. All I do know is that it was fucking crazy. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After leaving the scene I saw Bill Hader of SNL fame. That was cool, too.</div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S1dCz16g-uI/AAAAAAAAAxw/nl4yu7XGsgI/s1600-h/e.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 292px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_abXuWhq-blg/S1dCz16g-uI/AAAAAAAAAxw/nl4yu7XGsgI/s400/e.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428881334231694050" /></a><div><br /></div><div><i>So handsome.</i></div>Kevin Patrick Gannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12522593363614935695noreply@blogger.com6