fifi’s grafitti

“Nothing good in the world has ever been done by well-rounded people. The good work is done by people with jagged broken edges because those edges cut things and leave an imprint…” - Harry Crews

a small tribute to an old friend, Larry Killingsworth. I just learned that he died last month. The last time I talked to Larry was about six years ago, but I still carry his words of encouragement with me. I hope, like Shemp Howard, that he died laughing.

When you work for a big corporation and the national economy is in a downturn you don’t want to hear the word “consultant”. You know it’s a euphemism for a headhunter, and I don’t mean they’re looking to hire someone to oversee production, but rather some heads are going to be served up on a plate, probably those of us on the low end of the totem pole.

Several years ago the corp hired consultants to allegedly streamline production. What we got at the end of a long hot summer was a five-foot high mural depicting a train. It extended 200 yards along a row of cubicles and through the “windows” of the train could be seen caricatures of all the department heads, vice-presidents, etc., smiling and waving. We never did figure out what the “train” represented. Was it a Train to Glory? the Orient Express? the Love Train? Production methods were unaffected, so it must have been a Train in Vain.

This time around I think we’re going to have the Freight Train Blues. Someone in upper management needs to justify their existence, and when the layoffs come the blame can be attributed to the consultants.

Time to dust off the old resume.

Here are some more songs about trains.

It was dreadfully hot, the middle of Moodling Season. Everyone trudged rather than walked, dragging sopping wet armpits in their wake. The two brothers, Weaves and Juicester, decided a trip to Planet Earth for some fishing was exactly in order. They donned their fishing togs, swept up their violins, and planted themselves in the Sprint Crasher. They arrived at Lake Lovis at 4 a.m. just as the perch settled in for breakfast.

“By Jove!” exclaimed Juicester. The other fishermen on the pier looked up quizzically.

“These Mishygators don’t know Jove,” whispered Weaves. “Alternate your Expletives.”

Juicester did so, and everyone laughed.

The two brothers settled in with their violins for an hour or so, until the horizon beyond the scrub juniper glowed pink with impending sunrise. The sun leapt into the sky and the heat shortly became intense.

“By Jove!” said Juicester again, forgetting his expletives. “I didn’t know they had Moodling here.”

“Yes,” replied Weaves, who was grumpy because he had caught no fish, and had forgotten to bring a snack. “Here, I’ll hold your violin. Perch with your perch, and let’s go home.”

———————————————–

After whining away the morning yesterday, I had to do something, anything creative. I had clipped a newspaper article in which a local writer, Karen Thomas, interviewed author N. Scott Momaday, and included some lovely practical advice from him about writing, which I’m sure can be applied to other creative efforts.

“Practice,” is Mr. Momaday’s simple advice. “It is crucial to put words down on paper. Make a beginning, start writing something and see how it develops. It’s like longing to play at Carnegie Hall. Practice, practice, practice.”

Read the rest of Karen’s article.

I take medication to lower my cholesterol, and I’m nauseated.
I take medication to help me sleep, and I get a hangover.
I take medication to alleviate severe depression, and I lose my creativity.

It’s a tough choice sometimes, especially that last one. I felt miserable from my teenagehood until well into my thirties when I was diagnosed with chronic depression; I’ve been on medication off and on ever since. I like feeling “ok”. I like feeling that obstacles in life are not directed personally at ME. I hate the extra burden of padding through the thick extra stuff to get creative. I’ve tried going off my medication for several months or more so I can enjoy the creative juices that seem to flow, but I’m unable to judge when it’s time to start popping pills again so I end up in a pit of despair that’s harder to climb out of than the time before.

I dug this collage out of the archives: one of my first ATC efforts and still one of my favorites. I’ve been thinking of adding something at the bottom, “demand thorough testing” or maybe “stop mental health discrimination”, and then leaving little cards in places they’ll be picked up. That wouldn’t be vandalism, would it?

I’ve been doing a lot of interior painting the last few months. Two rooms may not sound like a lot, but when you have raw drywall on ten-foot-high walls and on the ceiling, and unprimed doors and moldings it takes a lot more work than just slapping some white paint over an existing coat of white paint. You have to caulk the places where two different materials meet, and you have to lay on a lot of primer so your surface will be even and allow good adhesion for your top coat of paint. I’ve been doing the best I can to do the job right, and I’m always looking at tools that can make my work easier and more efficient.

When I saw the air glide roller frame by Zibra I thought I’d give it a try. The blurb on the packaging said, “Zibra products are designed by teams of women around the country - known as Designing Women groups.” Sounded like the ideal tool for me. The roller frame is made of lightweight aluminum to make it lighter, and is supposedly center balanced to help reduce fatigue and increase control. There is a lever on the handle which engages and releases the paint roller quite easily so you can just eject the used roller into the trash without making a mess.

Turns out the roller ejects just a bit TOO easily. I regret to say I ejected the roller frame itself into the trash after just one use. I have several problems with this tool, the chief one being the lever that ejects the roller. If you look at the photo of the roller frame on the web site, you can clearly see the lever adjacent to the thumb of the hand that holds the handle. If you accidentally touch that lever with your thumb, the paint roller ejects right off the wall and onto the floor. After the first time, I tried to pay close attention to the position of my hand on the roller, but I was more focused on getting the paint evenly distributed on the wall, so it wasn’t long before I hit the lever again, and the roller, saturated in paint, ended up on the floor again. This problem could be alleviated by reversing the “closed” and “open” position of the switch or affixing a ridge to prevent the thumb from hitting the lever.

There is another problem with this roller frame; the size of the paint roller. My local DIY stores carry a variety of standard 9″ rollers by at least 3 different manufacturers for different surfaces and paint types, but no 6″ rollers, which is the size this frame uses. I was stuck with using the Zibra-brand roller, which did a poor job of distributing the paint on the wall. It also took many more back-and-forth arm movements to cover the wall with the smaller size roller. I didn’t find the handle to be better than that of my old roller frame, which has a depression in it that better fits my hand. I spent about $9 on this roller frame, plus a few more bucks on the rollers. This was kind of an impulse purchase. I had just intended to purchase some roller covers, but I was tired from painting all morning and this seemed like a great innovation. Next time I’ll search for reviews before buying the next new thing.

My recommendation is to stick with the traditional 9″ roller frame. Be sure to get one that is sturdy and has sealed bearings, and then take care of it. It’ll give you good service for quite a while, and you’ll have your pick of roller covers. Messiness just goes with painting; live with it.

(verb, intransitive) To sparkle malevolently or coldly. To be brilliantly, often misleadingly attractive.

What is it about sparkling material things that attracts humans? The natives who occupied the island of Manhattan lost their home over a bundle of shiny baubles; mirrors, beads and the like. Now Manhattan IS a bundle of shiny baubles.

spark, sperk, spirk, spork, spurk, spyrk - what a weird word. what a weird world. a wired world. a wide world. a wide word. wordwide wide words. say that 5 times fast.

Finally got my scanner connected again although the office is still a mess. Most of my paint lately goes on the walls of the house, but I do have time every now and then to throw some at a piece of paper.

The tallest sunflower we’ve ever had in our garden: it grew from seeds dropped by the birds at the feeder. It’s taller than the six-foot high wooden fence in the background. You can also see where our thoughtless neighbors poisoned the lovely honeysuckle along the back fence, forcing us to look at their yard full of scavenged lumber and other trash. They don’t live in the house, but are “fixing” it so they can rent it out. It seems to look worse every time they work on it. I’m conflicted about whether or not I should call the city’s inspection department. But that’s another story.

I watched Into the Wild over the weekend. It’s the story of a bright college graduate who walked away from his life to become a “leather tramper”, a hitchhiker roaming around the United States whose only goal was to get to the wilds of Alaska. He was gone for more than two years before his family found out what happened to him. The movie was particularly disturbing to me because my 16-year-old niece left home over two months ago and no one’s heard from her. We don’t know why she broke away from her life or why she didn’t want anyone to look for her. What is she doing? What kind of identity has she made for herself?

If anyone in the family should understand, I feel it should be me. About a year after I graduated from high school I joined a Jesus Cult. I got a new life, a new name, and planned to break all ties with my family. I ended up not making a complete break, though. My parents knew where I was (sort of) and we exchanged letters and an occasional phone call. I’ve never been able to completely come to terms with the havoc that journey wreaked on my life, which may be why I worry so about my niece and puzzle frenetically over “Chris”, the character in the movie. It’s not to say I didn’t have good times during my sojourn, and of course I would not be the person I am had I not taken that path, but I still ponder the dark side of the trip, and wonder why I did it, and I wonder how smart people can do such stupid things. When I try to analyze what happened or try to put it into writing it usually takes me to a very dark place. I think if only I could finally get it all out and onto paper I could exorcise those demons that still haunt me. The trouble with that is that so much time has passed, and so much effort put into blocking things out, that the events of that trip are a hazy dream I can’t quite grasp. I’ve ordered a copy of Jon Krakauer’s book to see what he has to say about Chris’s journey. I’ve found Krakauer to be a compelling storyteller in the past, so I’m hoping for more of the same.

There are a lot of nice front porches in my neighborhood decked out with red, white, and blue bunting. The colors usually blossom in the spring and last until the leaves fall in autumn. It doesn’t feel like the “patriotism” that gets tossed around the political pulpits over the wearing of a flag lapel pin. There are more Texas flags (which share the same colors) than U.S. flags, so I tend to think it’s more of the peculiar mindset Texans have about their own “country”.

Hope everyone has a safe and happy Independence Day.

I’m thinking about how I can be less dependent on the electrical grid.

Pardon the debris.

I was enamored of the colors and style of the theme I’ve been using for the last year or so, but lately I’ve felt it’s too “busy” and hard to read. I will be experimenting so the layout may suffer, but the blog should still be accessible.

I also need to find my thesaurus.