I wanted to let you know that Studio41b is now on Instagram. You can find us under the name 'Studio41b'. It's a great place to see our most recent photos from the studio, the shop and the road. Not only will we be posting pictures of our finished products, but you'll get to see the process of how they're made, and you'll get to know the team that makes it all possible.
So please 'follow' us and join us on our journey to dream, inspire and create!
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
I'm on Instagram.
Hey guys. I think I fell asleep for a minute. Wanted to let you know that I'm on Instagram now. Search for me under 'mateo41b'.
I look forward to sharing pictures with you!
I look forward to sharing pictures with you!
Friday, April 15, 2011
My cartoon debut.
Hey readers. I made my cartoon debut. Check it out and see if you can pick me out:
The video is "For What Its Worth" from the Remastered album. The artist is J.R. Brinton & the experiment.
Thanks again Jjaybyrd42. It's neat to see myself as a cartoon.
The video is "For What Its Worth" from the Remastered album. The artist is J.R. Brinton & the experiment.
Thanks again Jjaybyrd42. It's neat to see myself as a cartoon.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Casanova's word of the day:
Casanova's word of the day is: coquette
Coquette: a woman who endeavors without sincere affection to gain the attention and admiration of men
- coquettish adjective
Gentlemen, they've been around since the time of Casanova and before, and you can still find them aplenty today. Ladies, you probably know one. The key word is endeavor. Women of outstanding external or internal beauty will no doubt garner the attention and admiration of many, to no fault of their own. The coquette, however, endeavors to garner this attention and admiration with no intention of returning it once it is obtained. She nurtures it and feeds it. She's a cold, emotional vampire, whose ego must feed off the affections of the living. Collecting her butterflies, she pins them through the heart to her board of trophies.
What are the signs?
1. In a circle of several guy friends, each one is under the impression that he shares a special connection with the coquette and that she is in some way interested in him.
2. Facebook. Notice the "wall" interactions. It's one thing to be hit up by tons of guys and to be kind about it. That's admirable. Nothing wrong with popularity and interaction/harmless flirting with the opposite sex. It's good to be alive. The coquette though will have lots of long drawn out and extensive dialogues with multiple guys who are clearly interested. They aren't hitting on her or flirting. They're relationship building, oblivious to one another due to - see sign 1.
3. The coquette absolutely cannot interact with the opposite sex without "baiting". This means going beyond flirting, to giving subtle indicators of interest. These are subtle clues that tell the male she's open to pursuit and receptive to potential mating. Males will pursue whether they've received these clues or not, but with them they let their emotional guard down and display their interest on a vulnerable and intimate level.
So keep your guard up gentlemen so you can spot a coquette when you come in contact with her. It can save you time, money and heartache. Don't become skeptical of all flirtations you receive. That would take the fun out of interaction. Just be aware.
If a girl does prove to be a coquette, drop the acquaintance and pay no heed to how "real" or "genuine" her interest or interaction seemed. Just get away from the drug. It might feel good in the moment, but you know it's not good for you and is slowly destroying you.
As we know from Casanova, there are far too many incredible women out there worth the courting. Avoid the coquette in pursuit of greater treasure.
Coquette: a woman who endeavors without sincere affection to gain the attention and admiration of men
- coquettish adjective
Gentlemen, they've been around since the time of Casanova and before, and you can still find them aplenty today. Ladies, you probably know one. The key word is endeavor. Women of outstanding external or internal beauty will no doubt garner the attention and admiration of many, to no fault of their own. The coquette, however, endeavors to garner this attention and admiration with no intention of returning it once it is obtained. She nurtures it and feeds it. She's a cold, emotional vampire, whose ego must feed off the affections of the living. Collecting her butterflies, she pins them through the heart to her board of trophies.
What are the signs?
1. In a circle of several guy friends, each one is under the impression that he shares a special connection with the coquette and that she is in some way interested in him.
2. Facebook. Notice the "wall" interactions. It's one thing to be hit up by tons of guys and to be kind about it. That's admirable. Nothing wrong with popularity and interaction/harmless flirting with the opposite sex. It's good to be alive. The coquette though will have lots of long drawn out and extensive dialogues with multiple guys who are clearly interested. They aren't hitting on her or flirting. They're relationship building, oblivious to one another due to - see sign 1.
3. The coquette absolutely cannot interact with the opposite sex without "baiting". This means going beyond flirting, to giving subtle indicators of interest. These are subtle clues that tell the male she's open to pursuit and receptive to potential mating. Males will pursue whether they've received these clues or not, but with them they let their emotional guard down and display their interest on a vulnerable and intimate level.
So keep your guard up gentlemen so you can spot a coquette when you come in contact with her. It can save you time, money and heartache. Don't become skeptical of all flirtations you receive. That would take the fun out of interaction. Just be aware.
If a girl does prove to be a coquette, drop the acquaintance and pay no heed to how "real" or "genuine" her interest or interaction seemed. Just get away from the drug. It might feel good in the moment, but you know it's not good for you and is slowly destroying you.
As we know from Casanova, there are far too many incredible women out there worth the courting. Avoid the coquette in pursuit of greater treasure.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
5 saved souls and Vonnegut
I recently read an article on Mitch Albom that focused on his career as a writer and his views on craft and storytelling. It mentioned the books he has written and among them was The Five People You Meet in Heaven.
Five people?
FIVE BLOODY PEOPLE!!!
I know the Bible says the gate is narrow that leads to salvation (or something like that), but five freakin' people?!? That's not even all the disciples!
"Welcome to Heaven. I'm Peter. This is Jack, Sarah, Diane and Bill. We're kind of a tight-knit bunch, but uh...don't let that intimidate ya. I suppose it's good to have a sixth around here."
Thanks Mitch Albom. Think I'll start panicking now.
People are willing to take these extraordinary chances to become writers, musicians or painters, and because of them, we have a culture. If this ever stops, our culture will die, because most of our culture, in fact, has been created by people that got paid nothing for it - people like Edgar Allan Poe, Vincent van Gogh or Mozart. -Kurt Vonnegut
Five people?
FIVE BLOODY PEOPLE!!!
I know the Bible says the gate is narrow that leads to salvation (or something like that), but five freakin' people?!? That's not even all the disciples!
"Welcome to Heaven. I'm Peter. This is Jack, Sarah, Diane and Bill. We're kind of a tight-knit bunch, but uh...don't let that intimidate ya. I suppose it's good to have a sixth around here."
Thanks Mitch Albom. Think I'll start panicking now.
People are willing to take these extraordinary chances to become writers, musicians or painters, and because of them, we have a culture. If this ever stops, our culture will die, because most of our culture, in fact, has been created by people that got paid nothing for it - people like Edgar Allan Poe, Vincent van Gogh or Mozart. -Kurt Vonnegut
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Southern Thunder Monster Truck Shootout
A few weeks ago, Cash and I went to the Southern Thunder Monster Truck Shootout in Fletcher at the Western North Carolina Agricultural Center. I'm just blogging about it now because I got wicked sick the following day and spent a week and a half wishing the pleasant peace of death would wash me over. It derailed me from the discipline I was establishing of posting fairly regular sub-par blog posts. I apologize to my faithful seven followers who trust me to produce my mediocrity with a slight hint of regularity. To those who read me in the shadows of anonymity I can only ask, can silence befall a voice crying out in the wilderness?
Well...let me attempt to reestablish the discipline...The monster truck shootout...It seems like a lifetime ago...
As Cash and I approached the arena they had two little booths off to the side where you could purchase tickets on the spot for $20. It was evening and it was already dark outside. One booth had lights on and two white people working inside it with a small line in front of it. The other booth was pitch black inside and appeared to be abandoned. I thought I saw some movement inside it though and noticed that there were two black women inside, waiting in the dark, to collect money and distribute tickets as well. I walked right up to the booth and avoided the line at the other station. Cash did the same. As I walked off I thought it was strange that they were straining to see and work in a pitch black booth. I then realized though that the flood of people flowing into the agricultural center were all Southern white folks with plenty of camouflage on. I was hit with a strange feeling. Did those women turn their light off to make their night easier...were they hiding...or were they put in a pitch black booth at an all white function out of some sort of "agenda"? I shook it off and joined the sea of Caucasians entering the building.
Seeing the dirt covered arena with several huge monster trucks parked around it and lines of cars waiting to be crushed was a bit of a thrill. This was my first monster truck event. The building was a bit smaller than I expected with a ceiling far lower than I imagined. It was definitely an agricultural center and not a sports complex or a civic center. The seating was quickly filling up as we gathered in this modern day Coliseum, ready to see rolling gladiators crush any poor sedan that came across their path. It was ancient Rome meets the modern day Confederate States of America. Cash and I found some decent seats and settled in for the action.
As we waited for the action to start I noticed vendors walking around with sticks of hanging earphones where one would normally see bales of cotton candy. I knew instinctually that I was too cool for this, but began looking around to see who was wearing them. It seemed that every child under seven was wearing a pair. I guess the parents just knew the protocol. Good idea, I thought. Protect the little ones' sensitive, developing eardrums. Moments later all the monster trucks began to turn on their vehicles and rev their engines in unison. I was hit with a wave of sound like I've never experienced before. It was like I had stuck my head in a jet engine. Everything in my head began to vibrate and I felt panicky like a mouse in a cage next to a radio that's been turned on to full blasts. I quickly scanned the arena to see if I could find any adults wearing the earphones. Not a one. Dare I take the plunge and be the only non-toddler wearing a pair? I love my hearing. Don't stick your fingers in your ears. Don't stick your fingers in your ears. Be cool. Be cool. You are cool. Hearing is overrated.
Throughout the course of the evening I never got use to decibels. I did my best to enjoy the show at hand, but I relished the moments when the trucks stopped. I felt like the panicked mouse for 75% of the proceedings. I couldn't stop thinking that this was meant for a larger arena like a civic center and that we were destroying ourselves by bringing something to town that was bigger than us. Why was I the only one bothered by this?
If the noise wasn't bad enough, the little arena began filling with car fumes and exhaust. We were leaving one hell of a carbon footprint. We were bathing in one hell of a carbon footprint. There were no vendors with sticks of gas masks or surgeon masks. I became equally worried about my health and future prospects of cancer as I was about my hearing loss.
If you have a chance to see a monster truck show in a large arena I would recommend it, but make sure it's a big venue. If it's not, bring earplugs from home for the sound and take two Klonopin before hand so that you're not worried about the fumes.
What did I learn?: If you spend two hours in a state of controlled panic, under heavy audible stress, while sucking an exhaust pipe, you will get very, very sick; your writing discipline will take a blow, and you will struggle to re-assume your online presence.
"Well ladies, the second booth doesn't have any lights so if you want you can carry around headphones during the event and sell them. We should be fine with just one ticket booth."
"Hell to the no, nigga. My black ass is selling tickets, light or no light. F*** that mess inside."
Well...let me attempt to reestablish the discipline...The monster truck shootout...It seems like a lifetime ago...
As Cash and I approached the arena they had two little booths off to the side where you could purchase tickets on the spot for $20. It was evening and it was already dark outside. One booth had lights on and two white people working inside it with a small line in front of it. The other booth was pitch black inside and appeared to be abandoned. I thought I saw some movement inside it though and noticed that there were two black women inside, waiting in the dark, to collect money and distribute tickets as well. I walked right up to the booth and avoided the line at the other station. Cash did the same. As I walked off I thought it was strange that they were straining to see and work in a pitch black booth. I then realized though that the flood of people flowing into the agricultural center were all Southern white folks with plenty of camouflage on. I was hit with a strange feeling. Did those women turn their light off to make their night easier...were they hiding...or were they put in a pitch black booth at an all white function out of some sort of "agenda"? I shook it off and joined the sea of Caucasians entering the building.
Seeing the dirt covered arena with several huge monster trucks parked around it and lines of cars waiting to be crushed was a bit of a thrill. This was my first monster truck event. The building was a bit smaller than I expected with a ceiling far lower than I imagined. It was definitely an agricultural center and not a sports complex or a civic center. The seating was quickly filling up as we gathered in this modern day Coliseum, ready to see rolling gladiators crush any poor sedan that came across their path. It was ancient Rome meets the modern day Confederate States of America. Cash and I found some decent seats and settled in for the action.
As we waited for the action to start I noticed vendors walking around with sticks of hanging earphones where one would normally see bales of cotton candy. I knew instinctually that I was too cool for this, but began looking around to see who was wearing them. It seemed that every child under seven was wearing a pair. I guess the parents just knew the protocol. Good idea, I thought. Protect the little ones' sensitive, developing eardrums. Moments later all the monster trucks began to turn on their vehicles and rev their engines in unison. I was hit with a wave of sound like I've never experienced before. It was like I had stuck my head in a jet engine. Everything in my head began to vibrate and I felt panicky like a mouse in a cage next to a radio that's been turned on to full blasts. I quickly scanned the arena to see if I could find any adults wearing the earphones. Not a one. Dare I take the plunge and be the only non-toddler wearing a pair? I love my hearing. Don't stick your fingers in your ears. Don't stick your fingers in your ears. Be cool. Be cool. You are cool. Hearing is overrated.
Throughout the course of the evening I never got use to decibels. I did my best to enjoy the show at hand, but I relished the moments when the trucks stopped. I felt like the panicked mouse for 75% of the proceedings. I couldn't stop thinking that this was meant for a larger arena like a civic center and that we were destroying ourselves by bringing something to town that was bigger than us. Why was I the only one bothered by this?
If the noise wasn't bad enough, the little arena began filling with car fumes and exhaust. We were leaving one hell of a carbon footprint. We were bathing in one hell of a carbon footprint. There were no vendors with sticks of gas masks or surgeon masks. I became equally worried about my health and future prospects of cancer as I was about my hearing loss.
If you have a chance to see a monster truck show in a large arena I would recommend it, but make sure it's a big venue. If it's not, bring earplugs from home for the sound and take two Klonopin before hand so that you're not worried about the fumes.
What did I learn?: If you spend two hours in a state of controlled panic, under heavy audible stress, while sucking an exhaust pipe, you will get very, very sick; your writing discipline will take a blow, and you will struggle to re-assume your online presence.
"Well ladies, the second booth doesn't have any lights so if you want you can carry around headphones during the event and sell them. We should be fine with just one ticket booth."
"Hell to the no, nigga. My black ass is selling tickets, light or no light. F*** that mess inside."
Monday, March 21, 2011
Song of the Open Road
"Allons! The road is before us!
It is safe -- I have tried it -- my own feet have tried it well -- be not detain'd!
Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen'd!
Let the tools remain in the workshop! Let the money remain unearn'd!
Let the school stand! Mind not the cry of the teacher!
Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! Let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law.
Comerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love more precious than money,
I give you myself before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? Will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?"
-Walt Whitman, "Song of the Open Road"
It is safe -- I have tried it -- my own feet have tried it well -- be not detain'd!
Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen'd!
Let the tools remain in the workshop! Let the money remain unearn'd!
Let the school stand! Mind not the cry of the teacher!
Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! Let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law.
Comerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love more precious than money,
I give you myself before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? Will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?"
-Walt Whitman, "Song of the Open Road"
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