Corey Barba Illustration

Okay, so-- meetings are often a neccessary evil. If you can't avoid them by ducking into the restroom, then you should entertain yourself in whichever way you deem least noticable. I've written whole operas during meetings. My theory is that once trapped in a god-forsaken situation like a long meeting, your brain deperately begins to manufacture entertainment. It's a defense mechanism to fight the death-like grip of boredom that overtakes you as soon as your brain realizes you've been forced into yet another meeting. You can't imagine the hundreds of pounds of material I created while waiting around on jury duty.

   When you're just kind of staring out the window absent-mindedly, can you catch the near-invisible floaters going across the skyscape? I know they're actually microscopic cells sailing the seas of fluid on the surface of your eye, but it's nice to zip your focus sharply to the left, and wait for the floaters to meet you in that corner. Then to the right- here they come! You're controlling floaters! Have fun and amaze your friends!

"The Complete Series of 4"

"What is Your Power?"

"Turns Out the Legend Was True"

"KittenPlug: Electric Angel"

"I Ate a Whole Bag of This"

I spent a little time scanning things in today. Some new doodles, but also small drawings from as far back as 2002. It's hard for me to look at the stuff from back then and not think about what I was doing, which was working on kid's educational stuff, and hanging out with the amazing Jose Garibaldi. I'll provide titles for the drawings that have 'em, and where they don't- well, I'll just make something up.

Berry Picker

Pass the Mic (sketch)

All This Can Be Yours

Caped Avenger Study No.2

Caped Avenger Study No.1

Snoopectomy

   So, I've been staying pretty busy and all, with the holiday season upon us, there is plenty of this and that to do. Drawing every chance I get, but mostly writing stuff at the moment. My wife made some tasty cookies tonight, and if I don't stop eating them, I'm going to make a yule log in my pants.  

   Speaking of food and the wife, we were enjoying an impromptu lunch the other day, and it was a sort of free-for-all, you know... what I like to call a "hard-luck supper" where you grab some leftovers and I open a can of ravioli or whatever floats my boat. I like chili as much as the next guy, and saw that we had a can of chili with no beans, and thought- "That's for me." I know Amanda only likes chili on her hot dogs, so it's just me and the chili doing a one-on-one. Here's the thing- she cringes with every spoonful I take. She never actually refers to this product as "chili", and come to think of it, I'm not sure if anyone in her immediate fam do... they call it "hot dog sauce". Anywho, in her eyes, I'm eating a big bowl of something that is supposed to sit in a small quantity upon another food item. A condiment. As far as she's concerned, I may as well be eating a bowl of mustard. Granted, not all chili is created equal, and I have not enjoyed every bowl I have sat and feasted upon, but hey, it's good old American cowboy food. Not liking chili is like not liking horses or puppies. Or only liking puppies in small quantities in the yard, but not a big bowl of them in the house. Or something like that. You get what I'm saying. She hates hamburger helper as well, but admits it's just a matter of preference. With the chili thing, she just says I'm wrong. Mr. Barba has gotten into the hot dog sauce.

"Clover the Overcomer"  Because magic and sweetness trumps snakey no-goodness dang near everytime. In popular fiction.

   At the end of the year here, it will be my birthday. Seems like I just had one, and now another one is trying to bust down my door with proverbial balloons and cake in hand. I've come to grips with the thinning of my hair and how my gut makes a good resting place for my dinner plate when a favorite TV show is on. The passage of time has ceased to be sad or tragic, and now just seems hilarious. I will say however, that my 13-year-old daughter and I are closing the gap of musical taste between us. I always hate when dads try to be "cool", but I'm not going to dumb down my taste in music to be boring for her sake. Besides, it's not like I'm wearing leather pants.

Here's a sketch I'm fixin' to take to final pretty soon.. I play a bit of bass guitar myself, you know. Yep. Not too bad, neither. I wanted to capture the essence of rocking out in crappy practice space here... and I have the experience to draw upon, believe me- I've practiced in some pretty crappy places. From dank basements and garages, to one of those self-storage spaces. That was crazy, because you had to crank this timer to get electricty inside the storage unit, and we'd all plug our amps in and start jamming. Then the timer would BING! and the everything would go dark and quiet. Then someone had to go outside the unit and crank the timer again. The funny part is that we were only one of several bands in that block of units. Rock has no pride.

Or was it two drawings? I forget. Well- at any rate, take a look at these, and see if you can retrace my train of thought, because personally, I think I was derailed.

The sea captain has gone on a quest for his stolen set of shrunken heads. First he must deal with oh, so many interesting city folks!

Pet Food. We were fresh out today, and it made me think of cat pizza and such.

Yep- aphids are the cows of the insect world, but this guy is more of a friendly dog.

Doing the end-of-the-week wrap up like I am? I find this to be the ideal sound to ease into weekend mode. Let it wash warmly over you in waves...

And I thought you might want a little handy-man project, so I'm including this:

Schematic For A Holy People