School Daze

Today was the first day of the new school year here. Elder Monkey is in Second Grade and Younger Monkey in First Grade.

That last sentence makes my eyes cross every time look at it. Mainly about the Younger Monkey. It means my youngest offspring will be six years old next week. No more babies here! I suppose there haven't been for quite sometime but that's not the point.

I got up in time to see them off at the bus stop. The bus was twenty minutes late. Standard fare apparently for a first day, but a bit worrisome considering the Epic Battle of the Super Ex-Wife vs. the School Transportation Department that transpired the week before. I had to call yesterday to settle it since both sides now channel Vigo the Carpathian (In stereo!) when speaking with at each other. I have no intention of taking anyone to the hospital with a phone inserted in an inappropriate body part.

Anyways, all told I heard there was some writing and reading, lunch, P.E. and maybe a teacher or two. I know it's not a sparkly new experience for them anymore, but that was about all I could pry out of the Monkey Mind Meld so it'll have to do.

In other news, did you know that Second Graders do research papers? I will spare you the gory details about the joy that should bring around here.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Part of the plan for mom moving is so that she can watch the boys for us after school for about an hour each day until someone can get home. Yesterday evening was all around frightful. I got a really sinking feeling wondering if it will be okay.

Mom is doing better today. She is starting to adjust to the change at her own pace. It's going to take a while. Today went well once they figured out the PS2 is also a DVD player and Pandas ran amok on screen. For now there is going to be lots of after school movietime.

So far, monkeys don't react much about why Grandma is always feeling sick. They do know that the rule is to take it easy around her. One of the major causes of her depression is that she wants to feel useful, so it does give her a purpose if only for an hour each day. Boy, does it ever give her something to do. I'm thinking this will help her not be so lonely at least.

And I'm thinking all this easier access to Grandma's toy collection won't hurt either. She's always had cooler toys and movies than I.

The Problem With Mom

I now have a housemate. Mom moved in yesterday.

We get along better than most I think. There are no hardcore personality clashes or overbearing traits of which to write about. In fact I thought of selling my house once and moving in with her. So I find it funny when the first thing I get from others is a cringe and an apology as to my sanity. I imagine the first thought has to do with some Overbearing Mother Syndrome.

Mom is a beautiful person. People used to think she was my big sister sometimes when she came to pick me up from school. She has a tattoo of a vampire bite on her neck and a phoenix on her arm. She loves comic books and anime and Star Wars. She got me to breathe when I starting shaking at my wedding rehearsal. She does not tolerate brash stupidity or being lied to. She has wonderful handwriting. She always knew how to take care of me when I got my annual vomity sickness. She was a very strong person.

Oh, how I wish that her being an interfering busybody were the reason for condolences. I wish I could write about how it's going to be great that she's here. I wish I could tell you that.

Mom is not strong anymore. Doctors can't tell her what's wrong. She is in pain all of the time. She is slowly losing weight. She can only eat a few types of foods that don't make her sick. She can't take drugs that might help, because most the side effects make her even more sick. She can't move with speed or dexterity. She can't push or pull or drive. She doesn't have the physical well being to hold any kind of job anymore. She is exhausted to the point of tears but does not ever sleep.

So the problem with mom is that..we don't know what the problem actually is.

She is down to 100 pounds. When I hug her, she is only a fragile frame of what she once was. When I hug her I can feel the bones in her wearily protrude with hardly anything but a layer of skin to separate them from my touch. While only a mere unit of measure, only a fraction of a space between 100 and 99, I greatly fear for the depth at which her state of mind will plummet the next time she has to approach that scale and the nurse tells her "You need to eat more..." I kind of fear for the nurse as well. With every pound of flesh she loses along with it goes a portion of her hope and will to continue.

But it is not only her body that is a crumbling structure. What remains of her spirit is hanging from it, almost crucified, nearly suffocated. She doesn't care to see the living anymore. Her anger and jealousy tell her it's not fair to see people healthy and living their lives. It's not fair to be a mere witness. To just exist and nothing else.

The only time we go out is a weekly trip to take her grocery shopping. It takes her three times as long to walk, to think, to read, to try something new and decide whether it will make her even sicker. She's tired of eating. She's tired of trying, failing and weeping. She's tired of living.

And yet she can't ever fall sleep.

I don't try to tell her anymore that it will all be okay, when all my hand can feel when I hug her are the segments of her spine, no muscle or fat or substance that has now vanished. I don't tell her anymore not to be sorry for imposing on me when nothing can console. I don't think there are any words that can heal. I am not a doctor and the ones we've seen haven't done any good.

I don't say anything at all. I just breathe comfortably like she told me to once before. The air of my calm is all that I can pass onto her. But we are here together nonetheless.

Which Ancient Language Are You

Your Score: Linear B

You are Linear B. Even those who can follow you think you're all Greek to them. Which, after all, is true - Linear B being the first known text for written Greek. To most people, you're incomprehensible. But what do you care? You're tough, hard, long-enduring and have greater nobility than most. Naturally, you don't admit to borrowing extensively from your brother Linear A.

The Which Ancient Language Are You Test

All In Good Time

According to mom, she went into labor at 7:00 AM. However, much to her chagrin, I got all distracted, stopped to see the sights and maybe have a chat with the white rabbit along the way, and arrived at precisely 11:20 PM. This slow and steady pace has set the prescendent for everything I have ever done since. Which is why it just makes more sense to write about my birthday the day after.

For a few hours, I contemplated having a gathering of some sort. But then I came to my senses and remembered that I don't actually like organizing or socializing in groups of people for extended periods of time. Whew, that was close.

So being a man of simple pleasures, I got a haircut.


And my sweetie sent me flowers.


And because he knows I forget to eat lunch I promptly ate them.


Which may be why I have been thirty for exactly one day now and survived to tell about it.

Amazingly, it has all culminated thus far in learning something that I probably knew a long time ago but am just starting to heed: For this Tortoise it's far more satisfying and in fact essential to stop and ask Hare if he likes lemon and honey in his tea instead of winning that silly race. How about that.

Dear Merv Griffin

Seeing as I had neither respect nor disdain for you, my only memory of your name will be forever emblazoned with this classic piece of American artistry which I now present in tribute:

Merv Griffin! (Warning: Not really safe for the Lactose intolerant.)

UPDATE: On the author's blog.

Ten Random Facts About Yesterday

In order of appearance:

* Every morning should begin with a bang. Like a literal loud "BANG!" Wait, it shouldn't?

* In almost all Super Mario games where Peach and Yoshi are playable, the computer wants to make Peach a royal bitch and Yoshi a punk. And why exactly does Yoshi lay eggs when he is a boy?

* I used some of the Alpha Male Cooling Body Scrub in the shower. I hadn't used it in a while and I suddenly remembered now that it gives orifices of the nether regions a perky, minty-breath freshness.

* When I think I've got The Elder Monkey figured out, that's the moment he will change his mind about everything. The Elder Monkey now likes bagels and cream cheese after deciding to eat my breakfast, since it was obviously better than his.

* When I think I've got The Younger Monkey figured out, that's the moment he doesn't change his mind, but brings it to the next level. The Younger Monkey wants macaroni & cheese and/or cheeseburger and/or a block of cheese for every meal including breakfast.

* The Elder Monkey knows that "I'm not a plant!" as he explained to me he doesn't need the photosynthesis from sitting in the hot car. Also, whining about it helps.

* Even though I have to move my mom in with me by next weekend I decided to spend the day with the boyfriend relaxing and doing, um, almost nothing. Twice. For quite a few hours.

* Peanut butter and banana in a smoothie is apparently quite different from peanut butter and banana in a sandwich.

* I am contemplating a really, really short haircut. And sweetie, it's not a thinning bald spot. When you tuft it with gel it's a "no-hawk".

* Alcohol is generally expensive, tastes horrible and makes you lose all your balance. I fall over myself without being drunk I don't need help with that, thanks.

Was some of that TMI? Oh well. This is what makes my life worth living, people.

I still don't feel like doing much today but my house is a post-modernist art project that needs to come back down to earth. Otherwise, the holes in the walls are... supposed to be there. Yup.

Go Go Gomotaku!

I suppose I should mention that I do still podcast regularly. Once a week in fact on Thursday mornings.

So if for some odd reason you've been missing my voice here you can find me as one of the hosts at the AnimeNation News Podcast. I probably haven't mentioned it before since I'm quite sure upon listening some of you may not know what the hell we are going on about.

I actually wasn't keen on doing it at first as I do not claim to be anywhere near a full fledged otaku, but it's gotten to be fun. So if you are fellow anime fans, do give it a try!

Will The Real Thomas Welch Please Stand Up (And Give Me My Money)

I hope Thomas Welch is enjoying my paycheck.

If you are a twitterati* you've probably gathered that I worked at Target for a total of one day. Um, night. For whatever reason the highly advanced timecard system spit-up all over me and thought my name is Thomas Welch. You may also gather that because of this I've only been paid $23.96 for the few hours of humorous propaganda videos we had to watch but nary much else.

I'm sure Thomas is a very nice bloke and I hope he uses it to perhaps better himself. Perhaps numerous trips to IHOP, some fancy new bling for the lowrider, or taking your woman to the roller derby is in order. Until I can track him down and either threaten him with the boxcutter they foolishly thrust in my hands or offer him a bag of lollipops in return. Whichever works better.

Anywho, it's all way too complicated to condone explanation but I am employed by my old job again. The one that technically never was my old job because I never officially came off the payroll. The only change being after a year and a half of working for them from home I am back to the good ol' daily traffic jam and 40 hour week at the place that is said old job. It's all coming back to me now: The forgetting to eat lunch, the formations of dark matter that overflow from the rafters and the feeling that when I get home I don't really want to DO anything else aside from cauterize my legs at the ankles.

Unfortunately, there is lots going on after hours, in fact much more than usual and labor intensive. It involves drywall, terrazzo and inventing a raygun to vaporize a lifetime of stuff. Or at least the ducks who keep pooping on my front porch. Living life upside down is interesting if for nothing else that you get strong wrists and fingertips from walking on your hands all the time.

Before I forget, my humble thanks to the kind snarky bastard who sent me the colorful parachute. While it turns out I don't need it for the moment I've passed it on to my dad who is in much harsher dire straits regarding employment. Also to Jon and Mush for offering to help with my resume. What can I say I feel, loved.

Back to the grind.

*Not to be confused with a group of twits. This is of course up for debate.

Bring on the Rain

August has always been my favorite month. But in recent years August hasn't been itself.

I always used to remember summers in my youth still as a hot breath of fire, but was quickly quenched every afternoon without fail by a swift roaring storm. I could time my day to it, always in waiting with excitement for that rumble and drop that would wash all the heated dust and sweat away. For the past few weeks it seems summer has been behaving itself a little more and recapturing some of this which I used to love, instead of a recent history of split personality; a fidgety snap of drought for months and hurricanes the rest.

Aside from today when it rained elephants and rhinos. The dogs and cats were on vacation you see. And apparently not only here, but other unexpected locales.

My personal tempests have gotten into a similar kind of groove and show no sign of slowing. I won't let them beat me but I'm a bit exhausted tonight.

Ongline Podcast Interview Part 2

The still fabulous (and now skinny) John Ong continues his interview with me in the second part of that conversation, now available on his Ongline Podcast. We talk more about individual pieces and the ideas behind them. We rambled on so much that there will be a third part as well!

Again, 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 and view it.



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:

• As the Crow Flies (4:02)
  
• This Boy Elroy (5:26)
  
• Zephyr's Eve (12:24)
  
• Ragan Fox (16:20)
  
• Lost Boy No. 7 (20:27)
  
• Lost Boy No. 3 (20:27)
  
• Lost Boy No. 9 (20:27)
  
• Short Circuit (28:33)
  
• Blanket Ward (34:56)
  
• Weak (35:28)
  
• The Aquestrian (38:44)
  
• The Deal (40:18)
  
• Secret Ingredient (41:14)
  
• Solar Express (42:18)
  

Ugly Routine

I tried and failed once again to see if I could gain impossible approval to bring an important person along to the movies tonight, to meet my monkeys. It will apparently be a long time before they meet my boyfriend. He is to remain in my other life indefinitely. Because they are not old enough I am told. Or something like that.

There is only one person who can relegate me to such a state with only a few words and a moment. It is always when I must speak with her of things in relation to our children and my apparent stubbornness to stick with my lifestyle. The conversations don't end well lately when in regards to the company I keep and wanting to extend that company to my monkeys.

Even after all this time I am looking for her approval, for a redemption from her. The conversation is a jagged dance. We go through the steps and I am careful not to step on toes and when I do we start over. When I am brave enough to break through in a new move, it's never how I saw it in my head. It's weaker, it scratches and I feel my ankles collapse. It's when the rehearsed lines do not empower, when they slither down into the corner with another foolish hope of acceptance, that is my heel and my downfall.

My bumbling communication skills do not have their limits there either apparently. I'm still on the job hunt. It's not going well.

I know what I am good at, but convincing other people of that is really hard to do. I was on the verge of a new worker drone "art"-type job today. One of those that say artist in the job title but really don't require an iota of creative know how, simply the mechanics of a point and click. I guess anything using Photoshop is considered an artist job? But it didn't work out. So we look onward.

So before that, I went and got the Target job earlier this week. I probably start next week. Peed in a cup and everything. As it is the vampire shift, I am told they lock you in the building until daylight. Wa-hoo.

I do feel better now after taking my dad and his wife with us to the movies. At least I could cheer someone up this evening. I'll try again tomorrow, like always, and see if my routine has changed.

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.