Papa November

I remember in college a proffesor asked us all why we wanted to become artists and among the usual answers of “it’s my passion” and “it’s the only thing I’m good at” a girl dared to say “because I have always pictured myself painting in a cute art studio with a view of a meadow.” I remember rolling my eyes and thinking that she should be kicked out of the program or at least out of the room. I mean, that is like becoming a proffesor for the office and the books.

My studios have always been what you might call crappy. My first studio was in college and was a portion of a large room in what was once a rundown home. It was so beyond run down at the point that I was using it that my industrial hygenist brother in law suggested removing anything from the building that I didn’t want to have destroyed in a paint thinner and trash fueled blaze.

My second studio was in a very nice building but was so small that a friend was convinced that they had rented me the bathroom. I had to put my paintings on the far wall and step outside to get a good look at them. I left when I noticed an escort service operating down the hall.

My third studio was in a building on the verge of collapse right behind the Denver capital dome. It turns out that it really was once the bathroom. Michelle refused to visit me there after having to cross a police line to get to the door one time. It did have a skylight and a great view of downtown though.

My present studio is in my house and I’m not painting much at all. I’ve found the studio has very little to do with the end product. It might make it more pleasant to paint in a really cool place with great views but I would be just as likely to sit there and read a book or admire the view. This is the biggest, most convenient studio I’ve had and the most I’ve done is walk in, look around and think about painting before leaving. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe if I hired some crackheads to smoke outside the window and blasted a police siren from the stereo I would be painting like crazy again. Or maybe if I had this place http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/pacificnw/2005/0522/cover_nseattle.html I would never care if I painted again. It has a firepole! Maybe she had a valid reason for wanting to become an artist, I would dream of becoming a taxidermist if I could have “the Brain” as a workplace.

Posted by joe at 12:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

Josh posted an Instant Messenger conversation I had with him. I was afraid he wasn’t taking my desire to start a side business with him seriously so I turned my sales pitch up a notch. I might try this with a customer some time.

http://www.amishrobot.com/2006/01/childrenwillfindourfaces_i.html

that’s why you want to do business with me josh

the people will love us

we may inadvertently end up running a small country

and not even know it

we’ll just check our tax status and find out we are exempt due to the religious following we have acquired

kittens will follow us through the streets and hobos will pour a bit of their 40’s out for us around their flaming trash barrels

children will find our faces in the stars at night

and migrant laborers will sing songs of our exploits in their native tongues as they pick strawberries

drinks will be named after us

as will aircraft carriers

birds will practice new songs to sing as we walk by

and squirrels will bring us their stores of nuts and leave them at our doorstep

can you not see that you need to go into business with me?

can you not see that we will rock the world?

“the Penrod twins are tall and thin. I caught a glimpse of them the other day. I wept as they passed and tipped my glass and sang please, please don’t walk away!”

that was an Irish drinking song that will be written about us

are you unconscious? Sometimes that happens if I don’t keep my skills on “low”

sorry about that

when you wake up you will feel rested and have a pleasant taste in your mouth.

That is also a side effect of my sales pitch

it will pass in a few minutes (as much as you might hope it won’t)

Posted by joe at 11:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

If I want your opinion I’ll Google it!

Posted by joe at 01:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I had my first chance to be the cool headed one in an emergency the other day. So far, I’ve been the cause of most of our family emergencies and Michelle has been the calm everything-will-be-fine handler of said emergency. While I yell things like “Screw the tollbooth! Keep driving! Aaaargh! Isn’t there a closer hospital? Faster! AAAHHHH!” Michelle calmly pays the tollbooth operator and takes us straight to the hospital in an amazing zen-like state that makes me look like I’m possibly rabid and also a total sissy.

Michelle is also the master of the slow burn crisis. In the 30 days between being told that I needed heart surgery and the actual surgery I never saw her lose her cool once. She constantly reassured me that everything would be fine, that open heart surgery and dual valve replacement were no big deal, and wasn’t this so much better than having surgery when I was old and couldn’t recover as quickly and completely as I was about to? She almost made it feel like a treat or at least a priveledge to be slowly dying. I meanwhile gave her instructions on which of my belongings went to which friend or family member and requested mariachis at my funeral. (it didn’t help my attitude that the hospital sent pre-surgery instructions that included updating my will) So this past weekend came as a big shock to all of us when I found myself in the position of comforting my hurt son and calming my about to pass out wife all while not swearing or screaming “aaarg!” even once.

We were given a kitten last week and Grant was engaged in his new favorite game called “chase the kitten for 6 hours straight” when he slipped at the base of the stairs and smacked his lip on a wooden step . He bit into the inside of his lower lip and gashed the outside pretty badly. Michelle was fine until he opened his mouth to cry and blood came out. Then she turned white, got dizzy, and was commanded by her newly calm and in command husband to sit down before I had two people to take to the hospital. She sat on the floor next to the stove while I assesed the damage and pressed a clean rag to his lip.

After about 4 hours in the ER Grant was brought in to get stitches. He fought the doctor like a tiny lion. I found myself oddly proud and annoyed at the same time. They actually had to sedate him. As he was waking up he just kept repeating nonsense sounds and staring at the lights. Then he told me “Papa….this room sure is wobbly”. As we left the hospital he told me the hall was wobbly. In the car on the way home he said “this car is wobbly too. This is a wobbly day!” and fell asleep. When he was getting the stitches out a few days later Michelle overheard him telling a little girl that they had to remove his kitty whiskers.

I’ve found the secret to remaining calm in an emergency; have no other options. If I had had the option of running from the bloody scene, hiding in a drainage ditch covered in leaves and moaning until the situation was over and Michelle brought back my patched up son I just might have. Maybe zen is just another way of saying “what else am I going to do?”

Posted by joe at 09:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)