The following are my rejected (but nonetheless terrifying) Halloween costumes for 2014, written in a half-hour and fueled by two hastily consumed vodka cranberries, before being spoken aloud at Undead Beat Night at the Press Room in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Here are my rejected costumes:

1. Sexy Abe Vigoda.
2. Gloria Frankensteinem.
3. Tuna casserole.
4. Werewolf running away from Sarah Palin in a helicopter.
5. Man suffering from both hiccups and halitosis.
6. A broken clock, because it’s “fright” twice a day. (That one was by Crystal Paradis. I refuse ownership.)
7. Collections call from Fannie Mae.
8. The results of a colonoscopy.
9. Vuvuzela bagpipe player.
10. A gluten-free cheese danish.
11. Dracubola.
12. Any character from the Super Mario Bros. movie starring Bob Hoskins and John Leguizamo.
13. A self-actualized version of myself.
14. Adolf Hitler on a unicycle.
15. A mummy wrapped in turkey bacon.
16. Trevor Bartlett‘s failed cloning experiment.
17. The kid who fucked you up in middle school dodgeball.
18. A papercut dipped in lemon juice.
19. The Ferguson Police Department.

“I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel…” #sketch #ink #frankenstein #halloween

A photo posted by Stephen Bobbett (@stephenbobbett) on Oct 10, 2014 at 10:42pm PDT

I started drafting a blog post about Robin Williams right after I learned that he died. Looking back on that draft, it feels overwrought and selfish. I never knew him personally, and it doesn’t feel right to deliver a eulogy for a man you’ve only known through movies and comedy albums.

It feels equally selfish to talk about my own anxiety and depression in this context, which is what I had originally intended to do. But that can wait. For now, I just want to honor a man whose struggle I comprehend and whose talent brought waves of pure joy into my life.

Even if we didn’t know him well, Robin was a pervasive influence on all of us, and that’s reason enough to mourn him. From the Genie to Mr. Keating to Dr. Maguire, Robin was the avuncular voice that accompanied every stage of our growing up. No wonder it feels so personal.

Thanks, Robin, for bringing laughter and tenderness to a harsh world. You are missed.

The 80’s called. I’m not giving them their logo back.

This is my first digital painting. I was scared shitless to do it, but I did it anyway, and when it was finished, I literally jumped around my apartment chanting “fuck all the haters.”

Here’s the lesson, kids: self-loathing is stupid. Afraid you’re not good enough to do something? Do it anyway. The worst you can do is fail, and sometimes that’s the best possible thing that could happen to you. Art is trial and error, and it’s the best kind of trial and error, because nothing’s going to effervesce and burn your face off. (Unless your a glassblower, in which case, try to succeed more than you fail.) The more you fail, the more you figure out what doesn’t work and do it differently next time.

Damn, I could leap through the ceiling right now.