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Do not grimace, dear friend, nor frown, nor sigh with disgust! What can one say when there is nothing to be said? Then again, even nothing is something, sometimes, isn’t it?

Therein lie the beauty and horror of words, at least those of which our preferred language is comprised. One may freely link them together, without purpose or intent, and should one see fit to read those words, however mystified we may be at his choice, well, who are we to judge?

One year ago Tron: Legacy premiered, resurrecting a franchise and a mythology. Childhood fondness for the original provided an instant connection, and the way Legacy incorporated the delay between films into its storyline amplified that connection. Compelling previews fueled our excitement. At the premiere, the atmosphere was electric. Once “The Grid” boomed out over the IMAX speakers we were hooked. By the end credits, we were again imprinted with the Tron mythos.

On December 17th, 2010, we got in.

When we invade your territory you adapt. We flatten your home and you relocate. We unleash our depraved felines but you elude them. You shrug off our overbearing presence. You dazzle us with your spiral mating dance. You win our hearts with your handsome countenance, distinguishing yourself from the fanged sewer dwellers and black beaked dumpster divers. So smitten are we that we’ll feed you, and gladly pet you if we could.

You alone walk among us, your wild pride intact.

I raise my glass to you, noble squirrel.

Whenever I drink Belgian Pale Ale it’s as though I’m sipping divine ambrosia from a magical goblet. Its luminous appearance and endless froth belong in some other fantastical place, certainly not here in this humble dwelling. A beer true to this style offers a flavor and aroma so heavenly as to deliver on the golden promise of all beer. This is what you’ve always hoped beer could be but never thought possible. A brew such as this has clearly earned its title as Nectar of the Gods.

For a good example of the style, check out Troubadour Blond Ale, Orval Trappist Ale, or Malheur 6°, or see BeerAdvocate’s comprehensive list with ratings and reviews.

View Mediaworkshop BPA.

We lived as one in the sea’s black depths, our hive a sprawling web of metal and silicon, far from the jungle above and the beasts within it.

For millennia we cultivated our seed and scanned the heavens. At last we discovered fertile ground on which to sow.

When it was time our seed loosed from its moorings and shot upward, leaving the hive to crumble in a boiling sea.

Upward we went, breaking the water’s surface, through a crimson sky, toward the heavens, toward our new home. There we would take root, grow a new seed, and begin again.

Science fiction is replete with stories questioning what it means to be human. If it looks like a human and acts like a human, is it human? Artificial lifeforms are perfect vehicles for exploring the human condition. Look no further than Asimov’s The Bicentennial Man or the Star Trek episode, The Measure of a Man, for a thorough examination of the subject.

In the stories, androids struggle to be recognized as people, but in reality it will be humans struggling to withhold that recognition. We already show compassion for machines of every sort, from automobiles to space shuttles. Heck I get sentimental about old computers and clock radios.

Won’t I thank the android that hands me a beer?

What I love about personal design work is you can take as much time as you need. I’ve been working on Man at Machine since 1997. I think it’s done.

Imagine an art exhibit comprised of video game consoles from different eras, paused mid-game, powered on for all time. What if you could resume that game of Mega Man you started playing when you were 12, still active and waiting for you to face Wily for the first time?

It’s in our nature to be fascinated by old things, but old electronics are particularly magical, especially when they still work. They come alive in a way that an antique vase never can. Their screens and glowing digits open a unique window into the past.

Perhaps the appeal of nostalgia is growing because I’m getting older, but the idea of playing a game of Mega Man or Super Mario Bros., paused since the 80s, kinda blows my mind.

I sometimes bemoan the proliferation of technology and how it has affected human interaction. Perhaps I long for some mythical, simpler way of life, or fantasize about “good old days” that I never knew, when you did honest work with your bare hands. I frequently decry our disposable consumer electronics and pre-fab architecture, shaking my head and thinking perhaps the old-timers are right, maybe they really don’t “make ‘em like they used to.” I bristle at being tethered to the hive by a cellular phone, unable to enjoy a moment’s peace, knowing my attention and energy could be demanded at any time.

In a world saturated with electricity, media, ringing phones and glowing screens, we must actively remind ourselves that we choose to use these technologies. We can just as easily choose not to use them.

I turned off my cell phone this evening. Maybe tomorrow I’ll throw it in the river.

You have the power.

I’ve begun a series of illustrations celebrating a beverage so uniquely satisfying that its genesis must surely be divine in origin. Beer, of course! It is only natural that this holiest of libations should be regarded by myself and so many others as Nectar of the Gods.

For the first image I wanted to start with my personal favorite style, American IPA. There’s nothing quite so heavenly as sipping a strong, hoppy, frothing IPA.

This image was inspired by my very favorite IPA, Sierra Nevada Celebration Ale. I love everything about this beer, from its amber tint to the complex bite of hops and spices. It’s a seasonal brew typically available from November to February, so get it when you can!

View Mediaworkshop IPA