Fully Psyched

A conglomeration of things

A conglomeration of things

  • Original Content
    • Art / writing / everything
    • Postcards and letters
    • Collages and drawings
    • Writing
    • Sketchbook
    • Project index
  • Projects
    • Project index
    • Greetings from the Back of My Van
    • Star Wars Camping Adventures
    • Great Big Letter
    • Public comments on NPS DO-21
    • Interviews at the Charles M. Schulz Museum
    • Iowa Field Recordings, June 2010
    • View all projects
  • View all posts
  • Request a postcard
  • About

Tony Hawk’s 10 Rules for Novelists

January 14, 2019 by campbell Leave a Comment

  1. Too many skateboard novels have been set at Burnside Skatepark. Choose a different venue.
  2. Make sure your characters wear pads and protection at all times, except for the bad guys (this shows that they are bad).
  3. Michiko Kakutani once admitted at an X-Games panel discussion that she would give a glowing review to any book where the main character does a 720 Christ Air on page 720. Do this.
  4. Grip it (your writing utensil) and rip it (all subsequent steps of the writing process).
  5. A cool place for a fight scene would be on a moving train where one of the train cars is a half pipe.
  6. DBAFS: Don’t Be Afraid to Shred
  7. A cool idea for a character would be a jaded old detective who looks like me and skateboards everywhere he goes.
  8. The detective could work for the Major Skateboard Crimes Unit and his “deck” (police slang for a skateboard) would have a siren and flashing lights.
  9. The detective could be named Anthony Hawkins.
  10. Don’t forget about National Skateboard Novel Dictation Month (NaSkNoDiMo).

Photo credits: “Bob tony hawk” by Tinou Bao, CC-BY-2.0 license; public domain beach photo by Martin Péchy.

Learn, learn, learn

December 17, 2018 by campbell Leave a Comment

Postcard collage of the buddha on an Oregon beach, with words that say "Learn, learn, learn"

I made this postcard in 2013. It took a while for it to reach its intended recipient.

Safety third: Correspondence between expectant fathers (2017)

October 22, 2018 by campbell Leave a Comment

A "Marvin the Martian" USB stick sits between a letter and an advent calendar.

In 2017, my friend Matt and I were both expectant fathers. We exchanged correspondence on the subject, and on other related (and unrelated) matters.

Matt’s letter to me took the form of a single page with a “Springtime 2017” advent calendar made out of balsa wood and an airplane-safety handout. The doors in the advent calendar hid a number of small gifts, mainly with alcohol, but also weird random knick-knacks. Matt also included a mixtape on a Marvin the Martian USB stick.

My response to Matt was a long letter. It had no clever advent calendar.

Letter from Matt to Me

27 April 2017

Time · Highway · Space
*Safety third

Mr. Campbell,

A letter, a USB stick, and an advent calendar.Please enjoy the following multimedia experience. Before listening to the playlist on Marvin, clear your schedule for the evening and have a few beers handy. The doors on this advent calendar needn’t be opened in any particular order but I’d suggest one per song.

Last summer I crashed my motorcycle. If I had died my last words would have been, “Whoa whoa whoa!” Nobody would have known that but it would have been true.

I didn’t die though. Didn’t really even get hurt. A few months later and I’m going to be a father. You are too. Nothing has killed us yet. Over the past few years, I’ve come to believe that it’s a bit ungrateful not to procreate. All the suffering and joy from your folks back to the cave and the savannah … it all ends with you unless you pass it on. The world needs more of your kind and I think my kind too.

01 May 2017

⨁ So Miranda’s dad is old and was born in Canada. I needed to find her parents’ birth certificate to get a Canadian passport for Miranda and then … my son. I never thought I’d make a Canadian but there you go. Anyways. Her grandparents were born in 1895 and 1893 respectively. That just seems so long ago.

02 May 2017

⨁ Yesterday evening I had my second-to-last appointment for a tattoo I’ve been working on. It covers my right arm and involves a couple of mammoths and some hummingbirds and vegetation. Why are there hummingbirds only in the Americas? What is the shared ancestor between a Rhodopis vesper and a T-rex? What does mammoth taste like? I’ve been following developments with CRISPR and I’m looking forward to the chaos I believe that technology will create. The future is going to be fun.

Matt

An advent calendar that's also somehow a letter from a friend.

Letter from Me to Matt

25 June 2017

A cartoon drawing of an amphibian sitting on a stool, with text that says "25 June 2017" and the time (12:34 am) below

Oh fuck Matt — It’s good to be writing to you. Hello from Arizona!

Your wedding is impending, both our life partners are swole with babby,1 and I am drunk. Yes — it’s true — reports to the contrary are sketchy and unreliable — I am drunk.

About a month ago I met some struggling hikers on Grand Canyon’s Bright Angel Trail on a hot day. I loaned one of them a spare set of hiking poles. They delivered them back to my house that night. Later, a six-pack of assorted beers appeared on my front porch as if by magic.

Per your instructions, before opening the doors on your springtime advent calendar, I drank some of this beer. I read the letter itself last month as soon as it arrived. “Have time and beers ready” it advised … and so I waited until I did. Tonight was the first night I opened the doors on the rest of the advent calendar. I expected more pages of written word, but instead found the mini-bottles of Jameson and Jim Beam contained within.

Now I’m listening to your mix, thinking of visiting wrecked aircraft in eastern Oregon, marveling at how we both turned out to be fairly well-adjusted, in-love fathers-to-be.

panoramic image of wrecked jet in the desert
A trip with Matt in 2013, visiting wrecked aircraft in the desert.

This weekend, Mandy is down in Sedona with some friends for a pre-baby getaway weekend. She has planned several such weekends. We did one back in March that was intended to be our last pre-baby camping trip. Instead we wound up staying with friends who live near Lake Powell, because the campsite we selected was surrounded by drunk noisy dudes who drove jacked-up full-size trucks with expensive-looking rims, low-profile tires, and lots of bolt-on chromed accessories. Just big dumb pointless trucks.

Right after I moved to Arizona, our first Christmas here, we went to Joshua Tree. There I saw a full-size Ford van with a 4×4 conversion and a dually conversion. It’s like, “Bro, what is the point of this van? Is it an off-road adventure fun-time vessel, or is this a highway-centric tow rig … thing?”

And the van had no good answer, because in trying to be all things, it was nothing.

A photo of a weird dually 4x4 full-size van that serves no clear purpose, parked between a Prius and a small dog, with a lowrider S-10 in the background
What the hell is this van for

Image of the Great Basin region and Grand Canyon as photographed from the ISSWhoa, there is ska-type stuff on the mix that reminds me of junior year of high school. Ever listen to Operation Ivy?

Oh man, this mix just got heavy again.

I have an app on my phone that tells me what’s in the sky. It tells me when the space station will fly over Grand Canyon. This is the coolest: Men and women living in a sky house flying over a canyon hundreds of miles long, thousands of square miles of one huge canyon. Well, it’s a complex of canyons, really. I’m the only one who says: “Let’s call it Grand Canyons National Park.” Five trillion cubic yards of rock obviously missing, not counting Mesozoic strata stripped from the plateaus entirely. Dudes and ladies flying in a sky house over a place so big it scares people. That’s cool.

An image of spinal injury management practices updated in September 2014

This stuff on spine injury management reminds me: Be safe on that motorcycle, man! You know, if I had died in that pig attack, my last words would have been, well, I guess “help” is the only thing I remember saying, loudly and alone. Maybe I also said, “This is not good” … But on the flip side, maybe I only thought that while looking at my leg bones.

But let’s say that the tusk had been another 1.5 inches toward my femoral artery — well then probably I would have died in the woods. But suppose I had bled to death in the ambulance. “Am I going to keep my legs?” would have been perhaps my last words. Or maybe just an F-bomb would have been my last words; I don’t know, really. The dude in Portland who — you know, maybe I should focus on positive stuff.

Handwritten text in a box that says "We are both alive"

We are both alive.

Yeah, man. We did it. It’s the year 2017 and neither of us screwed up so badly that we can’t write letters to one another.

Gene editing is going to be awesome. My hope is that when the Greenland ice sheet melts we go all Pleistocene Park on the island, just seed some tundra plants and drop in mastodons, cave bear, you name it. Let’s have the scientists make some monsters.

I was talking to a biologist about re-introducing wolves, and we were both like, “Yeah, deadly creatures make nature better.” I should write more when I’m sober and can better articulate my thoughts.

A wooly mammoth attacks a caveman, while his bros express disbelief and fear, and a king informs them to "Believe it my bros, nature is deadly."

19 July 2017

We’re both married now and we both have babies on the way. That’s pretty cool. So now we have to be good dads. I’ve been thinking a lot about that … how do I raise a son who’s better at living in the world than I am?

Obviously the answer is to draft a list of all humankind’s major accomplishments and provide experiential education in each one.

Mastering fire is our first huge accomplishment as a species, but this skill will not be taught until my son is at least 25 years old, because I’m extremely overprotective.

Image of a bonfire with text that says "Danger: Fire not intended for children under 25 years old"

And then there’s toolmaking. I guess I can make custom Play-Doh extruders with him early on, and then teach stone knife-making when I teach fire stuff.

Agriculture is a big one — easy enough, let’s plant carrots, etc — but probably that was preceded by the development of art and music. “Here are some crayons; go to town. Sing along to my collection of They Might Be Giants albums.”

Animal domestication: He gets to feed the dog, but while he’s doing that I’ll explain how Romulus and Remus were suckled by a she-wolf before Romulus killed Remus and founded Rome. Tales of fratricide are another majour — oops, I used the British spelling — another major human, you know, thing, and this is where we begin to learn the difference between stories and reality and also the fact that internecine violence is strictly forbidden in this household.

An old drawing of the Capitolene Wolf; Romulus and Remus suckle from the she-wolf, with text bubbles from the wolf that say "Do you realize we're floating in space?"
Wayne Coyne’s mom (old family song)
An old drawing of Hammurabi
Hammurabi prepares to karate-chop a dude for violating his code (moving vehicle infraction)

And boom, there’s our lead-in to Hammurabi and the development of codified law. “You see son, before Hammurabi they could just chop your head off for no reason. After Hammurabi, they could still chop your head off, but there was a mutual understanding that it would specifically be for one of the reasons Hammurabi had written down ahead of time. By the way, capitas is latin for ‘head’; remember that for no reason.”

I don’t know what next; I guess maybe we spend the next ten years building a printing press or something.

23 July 2017
Sunday · 8:41 am

Hey man, I just had a thought. How awesome would it be if [our estranged former friend from Vermont who I will here call Billy] totally got his shit together over the last ten years?

Like what if we were in a parking lot, and you were like, whoa, who’s that guy parking that mint condition 1980s Audi sport coupé? It looks like — could it be — “Why hello, gentlemen,” says a surprisingly well-groomed man with excellent diction. It is! It’s [Billy]! Where has he been? “While you idiots were busy getting divorces, I moved in with my parents, and, after a period of turmoil and struggle, fully devoted myself to my personal well-being and financial stability. I documented this process in my best-selling book, The Green Mountain Method of Self-Improvement. You may not have heard of it, because many of the sales were to francophone Canadians who purchased the French-language translation, Methodique L’Monte de Gruyere por la Bién du Personnelle.”

And we would both be like, “Whaaaat,” and then he’d speed away.

A crashed Audi quattro sport coupe
Here you go, an Audio Quattro sport coupé in its natural state
Sunflower about to bloom
Garden, 2017. Sunflower about to bloom.

Confused, you would turn to me and ask, “Why did he speed away immediately after parking his car and announcing his success? Also, I don’t think that was an accurate translation.”

“Look,” I would patiently explain, “if you can think of a more realistic scenario where [Billy] reappears in our lives, I’m all ears.”

Anyway, this morning I took a lamp apart and was like, “Ah ha! Here’s the problem.” It was just one more chore to do before the baby arrives: Fix the baby lamp. I have a to-do list that’s a mile long, but it’s important to take time doing stuff like this, writing letters, hypothesizing about people you haven’t seen in over a decade.

It’s summer. It’s monsoon season. The garden is going bananas except squirrels and voles keep eating all our food. Happy woodland creatures who just want to mess our garden up. Mandy and I drive a station wagon now. Mercedes parts are expensive and German engineering is overrated. You have to remove a crossmember and disconnect the driveshaft to change the fluid in the transfer case.

31 July 2017
Monday · 11:54 am

Hey, so here it is almost August. My baby is born next month. Man, I’m not ready to be a father yet — I still gotta clean the garage!

1:20 pm

If I made a reference to Airwolf, you would get that reference, right? I suspect a lot of people would. But how many of those reference-getters could describe anything about the plot of Airwolf? Could you? I know I couldn’t. What a shitty TV show; everyone remembers it, but no one remembers anything about it. Like, nothing. Except it had a helicopter. Presumably it is the titular helicopter, but even that’s uncertain.

Can you imagine the pitch meeting for Airwolf? “You already know Knight Rider. Well do you like helicopters?”

Even with Knight Rider we remember things about it. Talking car. Funny steering wheel. The car frequently addressed its driver, Michael, by name. And because of these memorable elements, even today nerds on the Internet waste perfectly good Pontiac Trans Ams turning them into Knight Rider cars.

These nerd-built cars are lame. They can’t really talk. Siri is closer to being an authentic Knight Industries Two Thousand (K.I.T.T.) than the knock-off Internet hoopties.

A cartoon drawing of a crazed-looking wolf suspended in midair by a helium balloon, with the phrase "Airwolf" written below in a 1980s heavy-metal font

10 August 2017
Thursday · 8:10 am

What’s up man? How are you doing? You must be doing great, because you’re reading this.

“Ha ha,” you chuckle, thinking to yourself as you read this, “I am great; I am alive and well; mean old Death can’t catch me, and I know his shameful secret: He only carries that great big scythe2 because he’s so insecure about his manhood.”

The figure of Death, depicted as a skeleton man with a scythe, says "Hey bro," but big text says, "Sorry, Death. Not today, man."

You chuckle to yourself again: His genitals are probably a brittle little chicken bone, because death is a skeleton man.

From the next room, Miranda, swole large with baby, hears you laughing. “My darling, my dear, my sweet life partner — what has amused you so? You titanic honey bucket, you.”

“Death has a chicken bone dick,” you announce, and Miranda laughs so hard the baby is instantly born. Thank goodness she was standing on those extra-soft pillows designed especially for surprise births.

“Looks like our investment in the Turbo-Labor Feathersoft Delivery Pillows really paid off!” she exclaims, cradling your newborn son.

You are proud; you have bested Death extra big-time today.

“What shall we name our son?” Miranda asks.

You think for a moment. In fact, you are a little surprised that the subject of what to name him was never even discussed until now. Oh well. No regrets, ever. It is time to bestow upon your son a name laden with meaning and honor.

“His name,” you say, “shall be Michael Campbell3 Lucky4 Onca5 Green Mountain6 Land Cruiser7 the First.”

A beatific smile spreads across Miranda’s face: “We’ll call him Motorcycle8 for short.”

USA
About a month ago
08.15.17

Newspaper headline saying "Massive iceberg nearly the size of Delaware breaks off Antarctica," and handwritten text that says "page nine" and the current date
Headline that says "No penguins harmed in making of trillion-ton iceberg"

Headline that says "But Antarctic shelf hits close to home"

Dateline: Planet Earth! A great big iceberg fell into the ocean! That’s totally normal right? Good news! All the penguins are okay!

King of the Penguins Poppy Fishguts issued a statement from his Antarctic Ice Fortress: “A great species has been moved to defend a great continent. Iceberg calvings can shake our biggest ice sheets, but they cannot touch the foundation of Penguinland, a landmass better known to outsiders as Antarctica. These acts shatter ice, but they cannot melt the ice of penguin resolve.”

Text that says "USA Today" and "07.13.17"King Poppy Fishguts then vomited a massive amount of semi-digested herrings into the mouths of all his nation’s young.

Economic effects of the iceberg calving are unclear, as the McMurdo International Stock Exchange was shut down shortly after the giant ice block broke free. Real estate markets, however, may be in turmoil.

Jake “Big Beak” Gooser, president of the National Penguin Realtor Association, framed the issue as one of reduced supply, uncertain demand, and limited stock of new housing-ready ice coming online in the next six to sixty-thousand months.

Image of full page of headlines and text about iceberg and penguins“On the one hand, there’s less ice now, so all existing ice should be more valuable,” said Mr. Gooser. “On the other hand, will it too fall into the sea? Might such concerns suppress demand? One things is for sure: Buy ice, they’re not making any more of it.”

16 Aug ’17

Well, it’s probably time to wrap up this here letter. We’ve had a good time, shared a lot of laughs, and now it’s time to ride.

What does the future hold for us? Time will tell. Poopy diapers, the amazing miracle of life, and more poopy diapers. Are you psyched man? I don’t know, I’m like more psyched/terrified-of-failure than just straight-up pure psyched. Tell you what though, we’re gonna do this good, I know.

Babies are weird, man, they spend all this time living in a uterus, never realizing that their home is a literally a giant muscle, and then one day … bam! Their home is like, “Goodbye! I’m squeezing you out.”

And they’re like, “Wait, that thing there is a door?” And then they’re like, “Ohhhhh nooooooooo,” and their first words are just crying and crying, the baby equivalent of “whoa whoa whoa” because they don’t know how to talk.

But they do okay. They’re like, “What’s this … air? I’m breathing, man!”

kriss kross album cover with backwards clothingAnd then they grow up, get friends who are assholes, drift away from their asshole friends (much to our relief), and make new friends. And if they ever get too interested in stupid stuff it’s our job to be like, “Are you serious? Put those pants on the right way. Jesus. Do you even know what ‘Totally Krossed Out’ means? You’re gonna jump-jump your way right to a grounding if you don’t straighten up young man. Again, I repeat myself, Jesus.”

And then they’re like, “I bet you wore backwards pants all the time when you were a kid,” and we’re like, “No, never, not even with a backwards shirt and backwards sunglasses and a depiction of a goateed face shaved into the back of my head.”

Oh god, I’m going to be a total ogre of a father, aren’t I? I’ve got to be cool. “Son, this is Led Zeppelin. Listen to them, but never be like them; they were sexist self-absorbed asshole idiots.”

“Got it, Pop,” he’ll say, and I’ll know my work is complete.

Anyway. It’s always good to hear from you, my man, and always good to write to you. Come visit soon. Be safe and have fun. Drive defensively.

—Mike.

Handwritten text that says "We got htis fatherhood thing, dude, we'll figure it out, get psyched"

Footnotes:

1. Yes, I meant to write “babby”; it is pronounced just as it is spelled.↩
2. Once I had a roommate who worked for the county coroner, and they went to retrieve the body of a man who lived (and died) alone in his house, and right next to his bed was a huge scythe, and they were like, “DAMN.”↩
3. My name.↩
4. The name of Matt’s first dog.↩
5. The name of Matt’s second dog.↩
6. A reference to Matt’s home state of Vermont.↩
7. A popular and versatile 4-wheel-drive vehicle manufactured by Toyota that Matt once owned.↩
8. Motorcycle = motorcycle.↩

Conclusion to a very long letter

January 3, 2018 by campbell Leave a Comment

What follows is excerpted from pages 150 to 152 of a very long letter to an extremely patient friend.

Hey, you know what else? Man, sometimes it’s fun just to write stuff. Here I am getting all up in my own head about the what and the why, when there are also lots of good reasons for writing that don’t require a lot of reflection. Forget reflection! Forget self-knowledge! ALL POWER TO THE PEOPLE AND BAN THE BOMB! Simple as that.

“Oh, I know, let’s all spend a bunch of time pretending we’re serious people.” Nay. A thousand times, nay! Ghostride the whip and fuck the status quo always and forever! All whips should always be ghostrode all the time. I defy you to find a counterexample. An example of a whip that should be corporeally ridden.

But here’s the thing: Ghosts — not real. Such is the paradox of our being. We must ride our whips corporeally. Also, I don’t even know what a whip is.

One time, there was this whip up in Canada, and everyone thought a ghost was riding it. But then some scientists came in and found the truth. “You guys, no ghost is riding this whip; the whip is old and squeaky and these high Canadian winds merely create the appearance of a ghost rider.” All minds were blown and Canada was finally able to join the United Nations.

For you see, the United Nations’ articles of organization contained a very specific and powerful clause prohibiting the admission of ghost nations. Ghost nations, unlike ghost people, are real, and the League of Nations had been undone by its inclusion of Genghis Khan’s empire. So there was a natural concern that if Canada was harboring a ghostridden whip, the ghost rider could have been e.g. an ancient Greek city-state, a druid confederacy, or even an unrecognized ghost micronation located on an offshore drilling platform or defense structure claimed by insane gold-hoarding libertarians.

“Welcome to the United Nations,” Boutros Boutros-Ghali told Canada.

Canada was like, “Our whips are pure and our membership is legit.”

Now here’s another thing. A lot of of people these days are talking like they know what whips are, but really they don’t. My basis for this assertion is that life is better when the very nature of the whip remains ambiguous. Is the whip our darkest fear? Or our wildest desire? Well good luck finding out. What if you were the whip? How would you feel about ghostriding then? Because this is the other thing. You can never know. And not knowing explains so much. “What’s a whip?” Nobody knows. Billions of people — this is how we get along, united, friendly.

Now here’s a thought experiment. What would happen if the whip was a thing we all agreed upon? If ghosts were real and we could ride it. Well, for one thing, you would know how this thought experiment concludes. Because right now: impossible to say.

Set all this aside. Take a moment to look inside your own mind. Clear your mind of ghosts, whips, and the clouding influence of ambition and resourcefulness. These things are the enemy. The truth is real, and it is set before you. Oh shit, wait, there’s a ghost nation. Clear that too. Ghost nations aren’t even an actual thing, I gotta confess, I made those up. Boom. Focus. The letter is over.

The letter is over. And yet life goes on. The world turns and daily new ghosts are imagined to be riding even newer whips. Welcome to the secret cabal. To the inner circle. The secret, my friend, is this: Mankind is both ghost and whip. This is our burden. This is our burden forever. Carry it well.

Sincerely,

Mike

Cowboy poet’s schedule

July 25, 2016 by campbell Leave a Comment

Newspaper clipping that says "Cowboy Poets Schedule"

5:15 am: Wake up with the sun.

5:16 am: Begin drinking.

5:20 am: Brew cowboy coffee, extra strong. Joke to hired man that “I’ve got a case of the zactlies.” Even though you’ve told this joke every morning since he started working here, he’ll still ask, “What’s that?” Reply: “It’s when you wake up, and your mouth tastes ‘zactly like your ass.”

5:25 am: Bowel movement.

Text: "At some point every day, I have to put on some music that I love."

5:30 am: Eggs.

5:45 am: Some kind of cowhand work.

11:00 am: Corn whiskey, neat.

11:06 am: Throw empty bottle at Cookie’s head; cuss him out for falling asleep before making lunch.

11:07 am: Write first poem of the day, “Cookie is a good-for-nothing layabout.” His sloth is emblematic of America’s long-term decline from greatness, for which this poem is the obvious antidote.

Newspaper clipping that says "Cowboy Poets Schedule Continued..."

11:45 am: Take call from lawyer re: next week’s custody hearing.

11:52 am: Send embittered text messages to estranged wife using busted-ass, circa-2006 Nokia T9 phone.

12:35 pm: Finish texting.

12:36 pm: Write second poem of the day, “Cookie, I deserve better.”

12:53 pm: Truck.

1:05 pm: Eat the lunch that Cookie finally finished preparing. Constantly refer to it as “dinner,” not as an insult to Cookie’s tardiness, but rather because “dinner” is a regionalism that means “lunch.”

1:30 pm: Third poem of day, “Cookie, you done good.”

1:45 pm: Lament lost way of life, drink to excess.

2:35 pm: Drunk drive to post office.

3:15 pm: Black out in McDonald’s parking lot.

5:00 pm: Don’t know.

7:00 pm: Don’t know.

10:00 pm: Don’t know.

Bonus cowboy poem!

“Windmills”

I remember Dad’s windmills.
And Grand-dad’s windmills.
They looked like windmills should.
Standing proud, like oil wells
with oscillating fan hats.
Not like today.
The windmills are too damn tall!
Global warming is a myth!
What ever happened to our way of life?

Man covered in pigeons observing that he lost his hat and is covered in birds.

  • 1
  • 2
  • Next Page »

Project updates!

Want to get updates on new projects posted here? Sign up below. I won't share your email address, and I won't spam your inbox with junk.

Make your mailbox fabulous

Be the envy of your friends. Request a postcard.

Latest sketchbook

A postcard collage of an old woman wearing sunglasses and saying "lentils lentils lentils lentils lentils"

Lentils lentils lentils lentils lentils lentils

Latest photo

A photo of the Grand Canon on a sunny day, with a tilt-shift effect applied in post-processing.

Some desktop-wallpaper-sized photos from my last trip to Grand Canyon.

Recent projects

Illustration of Jar Jar sitting in front of a gas station.

Star Wars Camping Adventures: Episode One

photo of Grand Canyon

Public comments on proposed revisions to NPS Director’s Order 21

Photograph of blue VW Vanagon in the desert, with the phrase Greetings from the Back of My Van overlaid above it

Greetings from the Back of My Van

Categories

  • Everything except sketchbook and photography
  • Art
    • Collage
    • Drawing
  • Correspondence
    • Letters
    • Postcards
  • Great Big Letter
  • Greetings from the Back of My Van
  • Projects
  • Technical
  • Writing
  • Sketchbook
  • Photography
  • Projects

    • Project index
    • Star Wars Camping Adventures
    • Public comments on NPS DO-21
    • Greetings from the Back of My Van
    • Great big letter
    • Interviews at the Charles M. Schulz Museum
    • Iowa Field Recordings, June 2010

    Absolute basics

    • About
    • Contact
    • Request a postcard

    Elsewhere

    • Someday I'll be on Instagram
    • Right now I'm on Facebook
    • In 2006 I was on Flickr

    Copyright © 2021 · Magazine Pro Theme on Genesis Framework · WordPress · Log in