Would You Like Fries With That?

The time has come. I am looking for a new job. I didn't quit, wasn't fired, it was a mutual time to move on type of thing.

And now I remember that jobhunting it is the worst thing ever. Worse than being sick. Worse than a breakup. Worse than getting a mullet. Worse than the new Transformers movie.

In my real world unfortunately there are some jobs with which in the past I tend to develop a nervous twitching sensation and risk wretching all over things in my path. I am a kind, loyal individual with a positive outlook on life and a sturdy work ethic. Have to keep telling myself that's what is going on the job application and the fake interview smile. I get hired and then I become the all consuming darkness that that will freeze you with one glint of my prostheitc hook.

Jobs such as being the top in any salesperson/customer relationship. Or strapped to my seat in my XYZ Inc. cubicle contemplating my red stapler. Anything involving "support"? A nightmare waiting to happen. Unless I find a place where they WANT me to throw up on them everyday. I haven't found that yet.

Don't get me wrong, I like having a job. I didn't always love it, but I truly enjoyed where I work now. I also think it was a fluke. I won't find anything really close to it again.

Maybe I've got a neurosis where I don't like dealing with other people's money in any capacity. In terms of dealing with it's exchange for goods and services. As weird as it sounds that includes getting a paycheck. I always feel like I'm getting away with something.

I have no college degree, no formal training in anything, no savings, and my work experience isn't something I can translate into a local AND well paying place of employment. Freelancing is right out for making any kind of stable income. I knew this would be happening soon. For some reason I'm still remarkably calm. In my previous life, most major change required that I shut my bedroom door and write my last will, instead of doing anything about it.

Hm, reading all this essentially makes me a spoiled brat. That kind of sucks too. My redemption for any bad attitude I hope comes in the fact that I'm at least hunting instead of lollygagging about. Amazing what having kids will do to one's motivation. I'm now in that mode of finding the kind of job you get because I have to.

I'm actually more tired than anything of advice, people asking me where I've applied, and how to go about "selling" myself. I get it, it's hard to find a job. I get it, really. I will never like selling things. You don't have to keep repeating yourself. Some people I just don't tell things to anymore because of this.

But I'm telling you since that's what's going on right now. Time to go see if Target is hiring the night shift.

Curses!

The Elder Monkey is reading so well now. It makes a papa proud.

What this means of course is that he can read anything when given enough time to sound it out. Also I've learned that most expletives are simple and not that difficult to figure out. Like F-U-C-K.

I'm not big on the whole swearing thing, but I don't merely out of lifelong repitition. Another one of those evil things that Good Christian Boys simply did not do and so I did not. In my own youth I only remember my Oma (German for grandma) letting her tongue loose, usually in reference to something Opa (German for grandpa) would do, in the form of a scowly "Jesus Christ!" (God-Fearing Methodist for "You idiotic twit!"). The one time I used the H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks in front of all the neighbors, a story involving a magical, rampaging peacock, I was brought to the side by dad and felt guilty for weeks afterward.

I apparently have carried this over to the adult version of me:

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words: bomb (1x)

So yesterday, I was "taking a break from work" and happened to see a blinking F-Bomb. And then I hear it dropped in a small but strong voice from behind me. At first I thought it only the child living in my head was finally rebelling but, no, the Elder Monkey was fine-tuning his stealth mode. And phonics. Thank you bloggers for keepin' it real.

Luckily, somewhere in all this parenting thing I learned that if you freak out, they will freak out. Or at least have whatever it was that was supposedly wrong etched in their brain. Not gonna lie, I had to stifle a laugh. Through a twitched face somewhere between panic and amusement, I simply told him that, like many other things it isn't something that he's old enough to use. This usually does the trick and he forgets about it and continues on his merry way. Although my real reasoning is that should he bring that word home to other choice relatives he would not soon forget the ensuing wrath.

I know they are just words, just words. Realistically, he'll hear it all soon enough at school I'm sure (if he hasn't already). But still I can't have a cursing monkey at home just yet. I am completely selfish and enjoying his linguistic innocence. I could just see it now, as he enters the second grade and his first assignment is to write about what he learned over the summer.

And then maybe I'll have a few choice words for myself.

Minor Distractions v.1

Or Things To Do Instead Of What You Should be Doing

First, I love people who don't make their art a mystery:

More importantly, because of this I have a new favorite song of the moment. If you squished all the band members together, I am certain that I am in this Hot Chip video somewhere. Or should be anyway. These guys are definitely from my home planet:

But instead of drawing I've been completely entranced by SoYouThinkYouCanDance. You have to say it all together like that in order to still have time for dinner. I have great respect for dancers mainly BecauseICan'tDanceAtAll. Clogging anyone?:

Sketch ~ Rotten Edgar

click to enlarge

When Edgar felt his entitlement to it's fullest potential he gave new meaning to the term "Scratch-N-Sniff".

Top Secret

By Request Only

Rather out of necessity, I've decided to start taking requests for commissioned artwork.

If you have an idea for a piece that you'd like to see gracing your walls, I'd be glad to give it a go. I'm also very reasonable and will usually work for crumbs so shoot me an email and let's talk:

signalite (at) gmail (dot) com

PS. I'm still not able (or ready) to sell the pieces that are already shown here but at least you know what you are in for.

in a state

When I do it, I do it 'til it's done.

Ongline Podcast Interview Part 1

The fabulous John Ong interviewed me a while back about my art. The first part of that conversation is now available on his Ongline Podcast. It was uber-fun, although there are several hundred ums and I totally don't remember half of what I said. Be gentle.

Since he wanted to show images of what we talked about, it's an enhanced podcast which means it has pictures that pop up along with the audio. It also means you need iTunes or Quicktime to listen/view.



For those that can't play the enhanced version, you can download the regular mp3 version and just follow along with the links in the shownotes.

Links:

• Electric Shoebox (9:57)
  
• Ringling School of Art and Design (15:00)
  
• deviantART Gallery (24:38)
  
• SeeKyleDraw.com (32:01)
  
• The Proclamation of Ashes (33:51)
  
• Hat Trick (40:54)
  
• Found (45:09)
  
• Astro Boy (46:48)
  

Security

I have gullible moments. I know this because I bought a security system today that I probably don't need. This happened before with the water softener guy. It's always once they talk about your kids...It's not so much about the money I think, more about, the giving in. Helping out a bro make his sale under the guise of priorities to my loved ones. Let's forget for the moment that I have gone back to drinking bottled water instead of the filtered from my tap, shall we.

But I was chosen you see. I am special. Only five houses in the area to get it for free, he said. "He" being rather amiable and the "free" being the equipment and installation, an 1800 dollar value dontchaknow! After I sign up for the monthly charges of course. And the three year contract. And when I put the little sign outside my house so the neighbors can easily know, upon their evening walks down the street, who to lynch for sending other solicitors to their door with a "recommendation from your neighbor." I didn't recommend anyone but now they have my name to bandy about.

I can see it now. The little black octagon is my new pink triangle. "There he is! It's always the flamer with the screaming monkeys! We'll just see how safe he is. Let's wait in the bushes so we can chastise him with insults and pooper scooper remnants!"

I'm not feeling too guilty about it. I was in fact randomly thinking about it the other day--how easy it is to break into my house. I've had my share of long nights when my wife would grip me when fear was gripping her that a stranger was among us. It's amazing how a blanket can turn from feathers to titanium when there may be something lurking on the other side.

I've also had first hand experience shoving various small people through windows I pried open with only my fingernails. Although it's more hinderance than heroism to The Elder Monkey. Also, while more compact and agile, you don't send in the Younger Monkey lest you wait for him to watch a movie before unlocking the door. And a snack. And prayed that I did not leave peanut butter in the open.

So while my options weren't easy, when I've given the break-in a try, if I substitute myself with a person more focused and desperate, it's not exactly a boost to peace of mind to see how easy it is. I know that no one is truly safe, even with a blaring alarm. We could all be toast tomorrow or fish food the next. Perhaps when the dinosaurs come back in their spaceship to restore order, we'll be put back in our place. We'll go back to helping each other survive instead of stealing trivialities.

But for now the deed is done, the keypad installed high from wandering monkey fingers, the secret codes in place. Now, should unsuspecting vagrants brave a forced entry, instead of the previous method of just breaking their neck/being impaled/putting an eye out on the obstacle course directly in front of entranceways, they'll have the added joy of going deaf when I can't figure out how to turn off the darn thing. As you can see, I am not so upset about paying for security but rather the impending sign language lessons for convicts. Followed immediately by the second lynching from neighbors, wherein perishable food and garden gnomes will be hurled from those awakened in the dead of night.

I'll try to take pictures.