A Tool For Tools With Lots Of Pages

Maybe I'm a tool, but I don't want to make money from a few of the personal projects I do – I just want to share. And while I have fun here on the blog, I can't post multiple page documents here, just single images. Until now if I have a book to share I've been forced to print, advertise, process orders, figure out postage, collect money and truck on down to the post office (barefoot and in five feet of snow) to ship. Worse of all, I've had to charge in order to recoup my costs. So I've been looking around this wonderful online world for a way to share for free.

Last week, bless him, a colleague in England mentioned a site called Issuu. It allows you to take a multiple page PDF, upload, publish and share it. Free. You get one of those flip books like you've probably seen featured for e-readers. And you can download the file. Free.

It's like a tool for tools who want to share lots of pages.

So to test I uploaded. It's called The Thing About Things, a book I published a few years ago. You're welcome to have a look. Just click on the name.

(Note: early feedback reports that these don't appear to work on phones and tablets.)

What do you think?

This Week's Recipe: Chien Chaud Avec Fromage

Wouldn't you just love to offer this remarkable French Canadian Chip Truck epicurean delight to your family tonight? Well you can! Such a treat and the whole family will love you for it! Perfect for the on-the-go playoff hockey lifestyle and full of roadside history – with a twist! And it's as easy as scoring on an empty net!

Ingredients:
2 Tube Steaks (all beef preferred)
2 Enriched White Long Buns (Top-Sliced)
2 Slices Medium-Aged Canadian Cheddar Cheese
2 Tbsp. Mustard
2 Tbsp. Ketchup

Remove all items from refrigerator in advance and open all packages. This will save you time in the process later and simplify things when things get hectic and there is a breakaway that you don't want to miss.

Place two tube steaks on a microwave-safe plate (roughly parallel and not touching each other because this will add to flavor and prevent them from sticking together). Place plate into microwave oven (1000 watts) and set timer for 35 seconds (on high). Press "start". You’ll notice that I did not oil the plate prior to cooking. When I first learned this style of preparation I was confused as it went against just about everything I had learned about cooking, but trust me it works (and your wieners won't slip off the plate).

While the plate goes round and round inside the oven, prepare long buns by taking out of the bag and gently separate where sliced. When the microwave beeps remove tube steaks carefully (they're HOT!) and place in gingerly in pre-separated buns, on top of where the tube steaks were originally on the plate. Allowing the juices to soak into the long buns will add to the flavor.

Here comes the cerise sur le gâteau! Place slices of cheddar carefully over the combination, breaking in half and arranging such that, when melted, the cheese will adhere to the meat and run down inside the bun. Replace in microwave and push button called "reheat". Press "start".

This step is crucial to the experience. It will melt the cheese and allow the buns to achieve the steamed bun softness experience that the better kitchens on wheels throughout Canada are so famous for. While this is happening pre-shake mustard and ketchup while still in their bottles (lids closed) to prepare for delivery and open a bag of chips. Check microwave through the window you can't really see through unless you squint. When the cheese is melted, press "cancel".

Remove from microwave and let sit for 3.3 seconds. Garnish with ketchup and mustard and add potato chips (we've substituted popcorn chips just to be a bit risqué). For a truly Canadian experience substitute poutine. M-m-m m-m-m-m!

Et voila! Authentic simulated Chien chaud de fromage just like you'd get from the finest chip trucks! New heights in haute cuisine right in your own kitchen! Gordon Ramsay eat your heart out! Move over Marco Pierre White!

Serves: 1
Time to prepare per serving: 80 seconds

Next week: How to cook eggs in chili just like early Canadian Voyageurs!

Ain't Life Grand?

A break in my regular drivel today.

My niece Manda is an Advanced Care Paramedic who volunteered to train first responders outside of San Marcos, Nicaragua last week. While there she snapped this shot of a young man named Benjamin.

If the value of a photo lies in the story it tells, I really don't have to say anything more.

Enjoy.

Hey, I'd Like To Be Outraged Too!

Inner Bag Lady on the march.

Sorry I'm late this week. Had to calm down my Inner Bag Lady. She's a feisty, grumpy and honest part of me who is always ripe for a scrap, especially in support of the marginalized. The incident followed lots of chatter regarding a celebrity who let speculative comments about whether she'd had work done on her face get under her skin (pun intended). The comments had appeared in March from several sources: the general public – i.e. social media, the entertainment chatterboxes and the legitimate news media; from men and women alike. Her article was extremely well written and talked how she felt about people sticking their noses in where her appearance was concerned. I was impressed she spoke out, I was impressed with her logic and her sense of self and I noticed my Inner Bag Lady simmering.

I applauded this celebrity's desire to have a discussion about how people are subject to malicious innuendo and how that made her feel. I could relate. We're all subject to behind-the-back, jealous and negative gossip. Where she lost me (coincidentally just when my Inner Bag Lady began to make up really cool protest signs) was when I noticed that she peppered the term misogynistic assault on women several times through her article, insisting that the issue is a feminist one. Was my Inner Bag Lady disappointed, deflated and suddenly depressed? You bet your sweet bippy. Not only did I have to look up what misogyny meant but her need to classify her personal experience as part of a bigger fight – an example of the systemic oppression of women by men in today's society made me one of the bad guys – a MAN! She managed to take what I would be ready to identify with and add my outrage to and reclassified the tongue-wagging, trailer park quality, gossipy attacks on her as examples of misogyny (a hatred of women) rather than something I could get my teeth into, like misanthropy (hatred of the human race) or better yet: simple ignorance.

I became frustrated, hurt and confused... and yes, victimized. I had to console Inner Bag Lady. I love her, she's sparky, emotional, full of zest and gusto and ready to shout out her outrage for a good cause at the drop of a hat. But she's very sensitive. Taking a perfectly good reason to protest away from her is a crime. Doing so by redefining a fairly clear personal affront as a societal issue seems unfair. I started out totally in the same room and was summarily shown the door. Because while I really wasn't one of the bad guys, I was judged so simply because I have a Y chromosome. Woe is Rand.

Oh wait, I just found something to be outraged about. "Help! Help! I'm being victimized by misandristic oppression!"

Inner Bag Lady, placards please. And flyers. And a big, big banner. And maybe some cool ribbons – they're hot these days. What color isn't taken?

The Ghost At The Top Of The Stairs (A Story)

Lots of news coverage from the past this week, including the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic and the 95th anniversary of taking of Vimy Ridge - ghosts of times past. Conveniently,  I was reminded of a story.

A friend of mine grew up in an old house in the country. Her mother, who I'll call Maddy, was of the hippy persuasion and she harbored a deference for both other schools of thought and clean laundry. So ingrained was her respect for other living, growing things that she would apologize to potatoes before peeling them. Hippies were like that.

When Maddy and her young family first moved in to the house, she told her daughter years later, she thought she felt there was something "different" about the house but she gave it no real thought.

The washing machine in this house was on the second floor, accessed by a back staircase from the kitchen. Every time Maddy went up the staircase with a full basket of laundry she would feel herself being gently pushed back. As it continued day after day she understood there must be a spirit in the house who was just trying to let its presence be known. Maddy was okay with that. She was quite willing to share the house with a spirit. After a while she got used to having to spend a bit of extra energy getting up the back stairs to the washing machine. And life carried on.

Then one day, Maddy was not feeling well. She had been up all night with a sick child and as she began going up the stairs with a load of laundry she felt an especially strong push back, one that threatened to knock her back down the steps. Perhaps it was her tiredness combined with a momentary fear of falling that caused her frustration to boil over and she quite uncharacteristically shouted, "Oh look, bugger off! I'm tired of your trying to push me back whenever I come up these steps, I'm not feeling well, I don't care who you are or what your reasons are but I just don't need this today. So, STOP IT!" (Actual wording changed to allow publication.) She then caught her breath, felt a bit guilty for yelling and continued up the stairs unencumbered, never to feel the push again.

No great moral here, but since I heard this story whenever I have felt something holding me back I remember Maddy's story. And my friends have gotten used to me yelling into thin air.

This Thing Called You And Me

You. You are a star in the world around you, defined by talents expressed uniquely. You are the beauty of potential, the grace of spring buds. You are youth regardless of age, art of any form, music of any tune and dance of any step. You are possibility: the reason for hope and optimism. You are what tomorrow holds dear.

Me. I am but a tiny, special part of that world around you. I may be one of several. I am lover. I am mentor. I am friend and cheerleader. I may be around for a moment or a lifetime. I am an ear, a word, a hug or a kick in the pants. I am there when you call. Sometimes I don't have to be there at all because you know what I'd say.

You and Me. I help make part of you shine a bit brighter. The part that points up.

In Praise Of Total Lunacy Voodoo

Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to celebrate the life of the crazy samurai hidden within us all. Warrior of the almighty food fight. Defender of the right to belt out the blues. Champion of the almighty grunt. Let us bow our heads and repeat after me: Little shiny objects. Little shiny objects. Amen. 

Coping with the especially deranged freaky people sometimes calls for guerrilla tactics. Because these especially deranged freaky people seem to be immune to logic and reason. Controlling them, like zombies I suppose, calls for the very thing they hate the most. Total lunacy. Anything especially deranged freaky people can't figure out turns the contents of their innards into chocolate pudding. And not the good kind.

To save the human race from collateral damage, most who employ the ancient art of total lunacy only allow their lunacy to appear subliminally, like a silent Ninja assassin, just close to the surface enough to pinch heads between thumb and forefinger from a distance. Or, if you're paying attention, you may find they will leer at especially deranged freaky people when they're not looking while allowing a bit of drool to drip from the mouth. Very effective. Like voodoo. Occasionally though, in extreme situations, you'll find very overt action techniques employed. One is whipping out a large polish sausage, whirling it over the head of the especially deranged freaky people three times, then slamming it on the table in front of them while shouting "Boogey, boogey, boogey!" We call this technique Instant Chocolate Pudding. Do not be afraid unless you think you may be the intended recipient of this curse.

"How much for the women? We want to buy the women." John Belushi. RIP. (30 years ago last month.)

Putting Words In Mouths

For those of you who know me, you'll know I exploit this blog as an outlet to keep my brain from exploding. Lots of stuff goes in during the week and some of it swells into other stuff and I need to let some of it leak out.

For instance, I heard this week that Shari Lewis, (the famous ventriloquist) as a kid fooled her father into thinking her sister was locked in the closet. And that sparked a full spectrum of thoughts. I thought about humor and ventriloquists I have known and I thought about people I know now (who I hate) who are so skilled with words they can shape personalities that have the power to change the world.

A ventriloquist was in a pub doing his act, which included a schtick that included a bunch of blond jokes. A few minutes later, a blonde woman thumped her drink on her table and charged up to the stage, shouting, "As a matter of fact, Blondes ARE NOT stupid!!" The ventriloquist felt a little embarrassed and began to apologize. "I am really sorry, Madam. It's just part of the act," he said. The blonde woman replied, "Keep out of it you, I'm talking to the idiot on your knee!

Edgar Bergen and sidekick Charlie McCarthy were perhaps the most famous of ventriloquist acts in the 20th Century. He began his career at a young age on the vaudeville stage, and made his name through radio and television, making fun of himself and countering jibes from his Charlie. His lips might have moved a bit but what endeared his act to the public was his ability to make the Charlie character believable. The impish Charlie could get away with comments that no adult would be allowed in that time. 

W.C. Fields: "Tell me, Charles, is it true that your father was a gate-leg table?"

Charlie: "If it is, your father was under it."

All has not been an easy ride between ventriloquist and dummy. Comedian Bill Cosby tells the story of the drunk ventriloquist who lived above the Greenwich Village coffeehouse where Cosby got his first comedy job, who had gotten so jealous of his dummy “that he beat it up in front of an audience. People thought it was an act. This guy actually quit the business to keep this thing from getting the laughs.” The art of putting words into people's mouths is a tough row to hoe, indeed. It can get messy. We've all heard of writers who have thrown their typewriters and computers out windows. But when it works, it can be magic.

A ventriloquist walks into a small village and sees a local man sitting on a porch with his dog. He stops and says to the man, "Hello, mind if I talk to your dog?" 
"The dog don't talk," the man responds.
The ventriloquist asks the dog, "Hello Mr. Dog, how's it going?"
"Going okay, thanks," says the dog. The local man jumps in his chair.
"Is this man your owner?" the ventriloquist asks.
"Yep. He sure is," the dog answers. The local man's eyes become the size of saucers.
"How does this man treat you?" the ventriloquist asks the dog.
"Real good. He walks me twice a day, feeds me great food and takes me to the dog park once a week to play."
"And do you mind if I talk to your horse?" says the ventriloquist to the man.
"The horse don't talk," the local man said, shaken.
"How's it going Mr. Horse?" the ventriloquist asks.
"Cool," replies the horse. The local man is now visibly shocked.
"How does he treat you?"
"Pretty good thanks, he rides me regularly, brushes me down often and gives me oats every day."
The local man is now totally beside himself and the ventriloquist turns to him and asks, "Can I speak to your sheep?"
"The sheep's a liar!" the man shouted in a panic.

The art of ventriloquism is one that has been fairly lost to time, church basements and the ghosts of kiddie parties. But the art of writing for other lips is far from dead. Every writer who has ever put pen to paper to build a character is familiar with the challenges. Storytellers, speechwriters, voice actors, brand builders, scriptwriters and animators the world over know that if you can create a character, worlds will follow. It's how you connect with your audience that counts. 

Have a great week everyone! Keep writing, have fun and don't worry about people seeing your lips move a bit.

The Three Factors Behind Great Creative Work

It used to be easy to distinguish between professional and amateur work. I'm talking design, writing, art, photography, film – heck, anything that you sell that you create for clients. The advent of digital cameras, fairly intuitive design programs and online publishing sites means the line between pros and wannabees has become blurred, especially for clients. Technologies allow for many more smaller at-home businesses and entrepreneurs, some of whom are truly excellent. But where everyone appears to be a Creative Director or worse, a Creative Guru, it becomes très confusing. What is professional work these days? In fact, it's quite easy to tell by the work itself.

To my mind there are three factors at play for top creative work: Skill, Play and Passion. The levels of each are set by the demands of the work at hand. Here is a brief explanation of what I mean by the graphic above:

Skill. Knowledge of how to get things done in a professional, time-efficient manner that will work effortlessly in all media is essential. Should the work be predictable, the client ends up with a boring piece. Is the individual just concerned with churning out the words or the logos or web pages and sending out an invoice? Or do they come back with what you asked to see but with a few more suggestions that they think may work better? If the artist is working totally under a stringent direction such as bosses, productivity and billings, we call that a lost opportunity, or slave labor. Great Creative Directors look to their artists and writers to use their brains.

Play. Having the nimbleness to consider different creative avenues of attack, all of which are plausible ideas, is the mark of an artist or writer who loves to explore, experiment and find new and innovative approaches. Seasoned professionals may not enjoy brainstorming with others but they certainly go through this process in their own brains. Without the benefit of experience, play without sophistication becomes simple and childish and therefore dumb. Gone wild, an overly playful artist enters the world of mindless drivel. Think rude noises and blowing Silly String out of your nose.

Passion. Often misunderstood, a passionate practitioner is one who gets goose pimples when they see a concept that sings. They spend their spare moments gaining insight about as many different things as they can. They look at bad work not to mock, but to figure out how it went so wrong. And they live and breathe the world of competition, breakthrough strategy and searching that one novel solution that will work harder to build the client's brand equity over all others. Passion without context allows for a prima donna look and feel, which is off-base and creates irrelevant results. There is nothing wrong with being a purist, passionate creative. Live your dreams but without an understanding of the science behind strategy you might want to keep your interests as a hobby.

Those without all three factors in their work needn't go beating themselves up. It's rare and takes many years of devotion to arrive at a stage where they begin overlapping. Finding clients who "get it" is key. Working with others and learning every day, finding mentors, refining your expertise and soaking in what else is happening in the industry is essential. Together, Skill and Play come together to create work that is just plain fun, sticks out from the crowd and provides a friendly image. Play and Passion leads to very interesting work with a remarkable energy that acts as a motivator to target audiences and Passion and Skill combine to evoke dynamic concept work that is smooth, functional and well-executed.

Combine all three and you've got that magic moment of genius.

The Cyclops Factor

Cyclopes as a race have always had a bad name. In fact, they are probably the first race in history used to embody evil. Monsters. Cannibals. Freaks. Fiends. In ancient times there wasn't a more terrible figure to scare and delight children than the legendary Cyclops, Polyphemus (meaning "famous"). Polyphemus, or Poly to his friends, was son of Poseidon (god of the sea and brother of Zeus and Hades) and Thoosa (a Nereid, or sea nymph). Not sure how that worked with gods and nymphs exactly, but how cool is that? He has been painted by Poussin, sculpted by Rodin, battled Wonder Woman and Homer Simpson, was portrayed in the movie O Brother, Where Art Thou? and honored as the name of the planet which the moon Pandora orbits in James Cameron's Avatar.

But were these monsters really all that bad? Or were they branded as deranged brutes and misunderstood? Surely there was more to them than that. Let's give the story a shake.

We all know Cyclopes as giants with one large eye in the center of their foreheads. They lived on the mythological Island of Cyclops which made their address both easy to remember and, being mythological, difficult to find. And Polyphemus, the most famous of all, lead a tranquil life living in his cave condo on the coast, strutting about with his stylish, custom-made pine tree walking staff and flock of prize sheep. We know he lived alone (with his sheep; which was perfectly acceptable in those days) and harbored affections for a sea nymph named Galatea, who I suppose reminded him of his mother. I can't see him as a partier but the "famous" thing says to me that he was quite in demand at Cyclopes social events. In short: so suave and debonair that when he entered a room everyone's eye was on him.

It was a pretty cool life and their existence probably would have gone down as a curious, but harmless anecdote until, as recorded in Homer's Odyssey, Odysseus and 12 of his men, returning from the Trojan War with the spoils of war, inflated egos and pockets full of condoms (this becomes important later), stumble across the island and pull a home invasion on Polyphemus' place while he was at work.

When he returns home with his flock to find all these strangers poking through his stash, Polyphemus gets pissed. Feeling personally violated, he goes a bit Rambo and traps Odysseus and his men in his man cave with a big boulder. Several soldiers are caught by the boulder and crushed in the melee. Outrage dizzies the giant and he sits to straighten out his head, absentmindedly eating two of the crushed soldiers. Having never eaten a man before, he finds they taste a bit like chicken. Breakfast the next morning consists of two more leftover crushed Odysseus' men, one of which tasted a bit more Feta than the other, and he then locks up and goes out to work. When he returns that evening he eats two more soldiers. Finally, Odysseus, alarmed by the meal plan and finding his troop alarmingly reduced in number, tricks Polyphemus by acting all friendly and brings out the Ouzo cocktails. After a Greek Matter Scatter or two Polyphemus asks the soldier his name and, thinking himself very clever, Odysseus lies and tells the giant his name is "μή τις," which literally means "nobody." I've tried that pseudonym myself and it doesn't work but Polyphemus, half drunk, believes him.

One more cocktail and Polyphemus conks out. While the giant is passed out the floor, Odysseus pokes him in the eye with a sharpened pole and the giant wakes up screaming that "nobody" has hurt him. You can well imagine this cry doesn't exactly elicit an immediate call-to-arms from his fellow Cyclopes. In fact, they grunt and go "Yeah, right" and fall back asleep. While Polyphemus is down at the sea bathing his eye, Odysseus and his remaining men tie themselves to the underside of the sheep with prophylactics so when Polyphemus, blind and hung over the next morning, lets his flock out and checks their backs with his hands as they pass by, the giant doesn't realize they are escaping.

Too late, blind Polyphemus finally understands the soldiers are gone and runs down to the shore. Odysseus taunts him from the safety of his ship as he sails away, boasting that "I am not nobody; I am Odysseus, Son of Laertes, King of Ithaca," which was a pretty stupid thing to do because immediately Polyphemus texts his dad Poseidon for revenge, who curses Odysseus, sending enough bad winds and storms for a tumultuous and perilous return home.

Four things I get from this story: 1) The phrase, "Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick," is made even more poignant when one only has one eye, 2) If you're going to mess around with the son of a powerful god, don't be ruining a perfectly good alias by boasting, 3) The next time you see a blind Cyclops groping sheep, you'll know he's just looking for Greek soldiers, and 4) Maybe those subject to the Cyclops Factor, or judged automatically bad because of race, presentation and persona, (like kids in hoodies carrying bags of Skittles) shouldn't summarily be condemned.

Have a great week everyone!

(With apologies to Homer, Theocritus, Virgil and Ovid.)

Bologna, Baloney and the New iPad

My post is early today. My mission is too important to wait. It is a gray day in Paradise for I must pass along dire news of storm clouds on the horizon. As a preface, please understand I try to stay away from a number of situations for the sake of my general well being: 1) flea markets where ladies hum along to canned show tunes while they consider buying stuff that should be in a land fill, 2) gathering with people that eat the indigestible while making rude noises, and, 3) standing in line for more than a few minutes for anything. Any one of the above three can be detrimental to your health but I draw your attention today to number three.

Let me assure you that I'm neither expressing a sense of entitlement nor prima donna-ish-ness. I figure that all of us have to make up our minds about what constitutes acceptable (bologna) and where that turns into intolerable (baloney). But queuing (which is rich-speak for lining up) ranks up there with hopping on one foot on a diving board over a tank of sharks while singing God Save The Queen. It might be a hoot for a few minutes but after that it gets life-threatening. Standing upright in one place for prolonged periods of time can not only cause one's brain to slide dangerously closer to one's butt, but it can also be fatal. 

According to the OHS in Australia (where they are quite civilized about these things) research has linked prolonged standing to an increased risk of carotid atherosclerosis, which in turn can cause an increased risk of heart attack and stroke. No one expects us to avoid all situations where we find ourselves spontaneously exclaiming, "Why in the hell am I here?" In today's society we find ourselves in these places innocently enough. Therefore, I consider it a public service and my civic duty to issue the following advisories regarding potentially dangerous line-ups:

1) The Dastardly Deli Dally
While I love my fried bologna and eggs, as most down-easterners do, if I have to stand in line at the deli counter to get it, it just isn't worth it and you should do your best to avoid it as well. A person isn't meant to sacrifice so much for the humble sausage. Save yourself. Bologna will always be there but baloney can be avoided.

2) The Harmful Hardware Hangout
Did I find myself standing in line for 12 hours for the new iPad just to say I hung out with the cool Apple crowd and shared PC jokes? Did I consider putting my life at risk for the bragging rights of being the first to own the latest and greatest? No. While I love Apple and all its products, I firmly believe one is not supposed to put their life at risk in order to have one hot off the production line.

So be warned, fair reader. There are dangers out there for those who would be asked to wait in a line-up; whether it be for the fair sausage, or the latest in high tech hardware. As appealing as both are, subjecting yourself to the possibility of an early demise is pure baloney.

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

About the above photo-illustration: 

I don't really do a lot of this and am certainly not an expert. This is the combination of two photos taken with an iPhone.

The deli counter photo was a spur-of-the-moment thing. On impulse I also kept the ticket I had and photographed it on a piece of paper on my kitchen counter when I got home. (Very unprofessional.) Once both were imported from the phone onto my computer, the ticket was brightened in levels, close-cropped, an extra number was added and it was copied and pasted onto the deli image which was cropped to size and levels were set. Placing the ticket on a layer above the background allowed playing with the combination of the two in order to get the effect of the ticket being tossed into the air. Fun and trial and error (thank God for "command z"). Airbrushing a glow to the serving number, adding some color and blurring the lower background separated the ticket from the background sufficiently. The result allows the viewer an idea of the concept behind the words and sets the tone for the article. It's playtime, really. Hope you enjoy. - R

The Secret About Creative Life

Above, we see the creative process as perceived by folks that aren't part of the trade. Admittedly, creatives have a great life, love their work and give the impression from their laid-back attitude that from the moment of getting a job to the moment of presentation, they spend very little time actually doing the work.

Because, after all, how hard can it be?

Well, if you think along those lines, I'm here to let you in on a little secret.

In reality, the creative process is quite different from the common perception. While there never seems to be enough time for anything, it works out there is just enough time for everything.

There are elements in the above process that I couldn't find a way to include in the graphic. Like all super heroes they constantly dodge bullets. They spend a lot of time selflessly answering cries of help from distressed creditors. And I can't tell you how many orphaned pizza slices have been saved from a life of loneliness.

The creative process allows for a lot of heroics: between fixing software crashes, finding lost puppies, jumping from one tall building to another, and finding bodily functions inordinately funny. You would think that these individuals would live for fame and glory but in reality they shy away from the public spotlight. Their only reward is the act of saving humanity from drudgery on a daily basis.

Creatives are great, hard-working people who you should love and cuddle. All creative people are enormously attractive, intelligent, and good with pets. In fact, I'd highly recommend creative people and you should immediately knit one a beret (complete with cool tassel) if you haven't already.

Ode To The Long-Suffering Chair

“I went to the park and saw this kid flying a kite. The kid was really excited. I don't know why, that's what they're supposed to do. Now if he had had a chair on the other end of that string, I would have been impressed.” Mitch Hedberg

All hail the chair. The art of subservience has never been demonstrated so eloquently, so simply nor so dramatically. Since its invention it has helped humanity take a load off weary feet and kept even the lowest cad out of dirt and muck; all the while making no preference between the most luscious and the most flatulent of posteriors.

They've been thrown through the saloon windows of Hollywood, balanced on by performers, smashed over heads of criminals, offered to enemies of state, sat in by animals and provided a convenient perch everywhere from royal palaces to the seediest of bawdy houses. Friend to everyone, save the hemorrhoid sufferer, the chair in all its formations and permutations has never asked for anything but to serve.

Oh what a sad state that no one will speak up for our friend the chair. One that functions properly is never remarked upon. If injured, though, it is not even shot to be put out of its misery, as one would with the most flea-bitten creature, but is thrown unceremoniously in the junk heap of society with nary a thought nor a moment of testimony as to its lifelong service.

Let us bow our heads in a moment of silent remembrance for those that have supported asses throughout time when many others would have not.

Let's get interactive

Why Some Things Float

Ice cubes float in fruit juice as evidence that cool things float to the surface. Being nothing but frozen water they coolify all things that surround them. The magnanimous nature of ice cubes keeps them light hearted and this buoyancy raises them to the surface.

Of course, that doesn't explain Fruit Loops.

Fruit Loops float in milk simply because they are shaped like lifesavers with a hole in the middle. The force of gravity pushes down in the hole thereby elevating the cereal surrounding it. It's a pressure thing.

Unless you're a bubble. Then things are different...

Bubbles float in water for a very good reason. They aren't water. They hate water. And while both are made up of oxygen, the two are more like distant cousins that don't like each other. Bubbles can hang out with water but they make sure they're on top.

So if you float it's for one of three reasons: 1) You're cool, 2) You have a hole in the middle, or 3) You like it on top.

Hope this helps.

The Importance of a Lopsided Noodle

"Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most." Mark Twain

Dear ___________;

Oh my! After dreaming of you last night I got up and thought to get dressed in something special so I changed in a Mercedes-Benz (and put my socks on backwards). I did this not for you but just to reflect that indescribable (not uncrampish) feeling that you left in my mind.

I believe I gave you a claim ticket so you can pick it up again where you left off. If you forget I'll leave it hanging on the tree I took the branch off of when I promised a logo but forgot the second 'o' so I had to find a log.

"Let's eat peppermint nuts," I suggested in my dream – wondering at the same time if the mints would actually miss them at all, "and sing bad baritone impersonations of a Leonard Cohen melody."

On the way home we put corn flakes into the beds of people who couldn't seem to dance when they'd forgotten they had legs but found horned gurus for hire to jitterbug on lumpy brains. And then we found ourselves on vacation and forgot about being punctual about punctuation                   (.)

In the light of day, I've come to a realization we don't need lamps in this room at all. And the fridge should really be moved over just a tad to allow the plug to reach the socket. By the way, I think that dress looked much better on you than on that woman who stood screaming in her underwear.

So let's invent a sugar that doesn't dissolve in water so when you ask me how many spoonfuls I've put in your Orange Pekoe I can just hold the glass up to the light and say, "One and a half, would you like a bit more?"

Except... you knew there was going to be an except, didn't you? My, my, you're wonderful.

Love you to bits,

Rand

Next week: back to something serious. And it won't be about how to get spaghetti to stand up straight in your fingers without it flopping over. (Hint: It's much easier if you do it before you boil it.)

..."Spaghetti... I can't eat spaghetti, there's too many of them. No matter how hungry I am, 1000 of something is too many." Mitch Hedberg

Character from Characters

Emoticons are in use all over the computer world. They're a fun use of type, used to indicate meaning and temper the sometimes stark written word. Everyone by now knows what a simple :), or the more traditional :-), or my clown version :o) says about the words that precede them. In effect, rather than making words from letters, we're making pictures from them – ready for interpretation. Here are a few I've done. They're sort of like a secret code from childhood days that everyone is not supposed to know but everyone does. What fun!

The use of type symbols in written communications is not new. This from Wikipedia:

"Typographical emoticons were published in 1881 by the U.S. satirical magazine Puck. In 1912 Ambrose Bierce proposed "an improvement in punctuation — the snigger point, or note of cachinnation: it is written thus \___/! and presents a smiling mouth."

Emoticons are the common man's art. They're friendly, unassuming and feeling-based. When used as a casual logosymbol, they lend meaning to company and event names. And as is often the case with wonderful design projects, if someone has fun coming up with something, the viewer might have fun looking at it.

That just doesn't seem right, really.

After all, we're supposed to be serious professionals with total commitment to the exclusive, artistic purity, integrity and complex meanings associated with the design rationale and graphic interpretation.

Oh my, the guilt! ;op

Asking For A Sign

The Sign In My Backyard. 

"This sign I give unto you: every people speaketh its language of good and evil: this its neighbour understandeth not." Thus Spake Zarathustra: A Book For All And None by Nietzsche, Friedrich

Time for another blog post. It has been a weird last couple of months and I say that without remorse. But I had been asking for someone to send me a sign that I was on the right path. So, in the last few days I've found myself thinking about Nietzche's book Thus Spoke Zarathustra. This act itself seems to have lead to my sign. It's amazing that Nietzche predicted my becoming a Übermensch so long ago. It's a sign from the past. Something like the one in my backyard that I stole but not quite.

Let me explain. For those of you who haven't read the book, or tried but couldn't get through it, I'll give you a bit of a background (and I won't give away the ending). Suffice to say a it's a dense and esoteric treatise on philosophy and morality. The book stars a character coincidentally called Zarathustra, who in real life was an ancient Persian prophet who was the first to preach that the universe is engaged in a fundamental struggle between good and evil (which had a profound effect on the moral set up of both the Christian and Jewish faiths). This concept of good versus evil thing, of course, lead to all sorts of messes in today's modern world. So, Nietzsche names his character Zarathustra because as he puts it, “Zarathustra created this most calamitous error, morality; consequently, he must also be the first to recognize it.” In short, Nietzsche reinvents Zarathustra in order to correct the philosophical mistakes he felt the prophet made. It's like the first "what if" scenario in literary history.

He creates the concept of the Übermensch (roughly translated as "overman"– sometimes “superman” but should really be referred to without the male connotation) as his ideal of a creative, independent, spiritual genius. It's the final step in an evolution of humanity from the ape (I've met a few) through to man (meaning that not as a male thing) to overman. An overman is very sexy, highly intelligent (like readers of this blog) and he or she has his own morality, self directed and suited only to him or her.

In order for one to become a full overman one has to create their own values. You cannot subscribe to those thousands of peoples with their thousand different conceptions of good and evil: a conception of good that expresses the goals they hope to achieve. So, I looked, and voila, I have unknowingly been doing this for very many years. Alas, THE SIGN.

But I'm not totally 'there' yet. I must still remind myself to suffer. Suffering is evidently as essential to becoming an overman as ketchup is to french fries. And change is essential. The new Zarathustra asserts that life and wisdom are like dancing women: constantly changing, always seductive. Those who have a healthy attitude toward life and truth enjoy their constantly changing nature. People who see truth as fixed, which is what religion and politics would have us believe, have sadly grown tired of life. I'm okay with change, and have the laundry to prove it. And if I must I can put up with the dancing women thing.

The best part, and the one that convinced me I'm on the verge of overman status, is that Nietzsche states that only the most original in society can rise above the masses and shine. Therefore, an artist has a better chance to hit overman status than a political or religious leader.

So move over: I am about to arrive. I have seen the sign. Now leave me alone. I have a mountain cave to disappear to for quite a while and there is a dance floor to be installed.

With Friendship Comes Rewards

All colors are the friends of their neighbors and the lovers of their opposites.  Marc Chagall

This started out as a story about the fickle aspects of friendship, about how it comes and goes, about sometimes we kick friendship around like a tin can for a while and sometimes once we have it, it gets lost in a snow pile and then you find it later on when the snow melts and it's as good as ever; but I got sidetracked into thinking about how there are people that figure they can buy friends, or rent them depending on what is on their calendar that day or about how about when one person falls in love with another person's significant other or that sale of the '07 lemon of a car wrecked the friendship and what a mess that made out of my mind. (Was that a run-on sentence?) 

We need to clean this up. Maybe we could all have a huddle and come to a clear cut agreement amongst ourselves that we should hand out points that can add up to true friendship, because I'm totally confused. It could be just like large business awards loyalty points for return customers. We're all our own brands these days, after all. Why shouldn't we build on that? We could all carry around little cards that would track our traits and build brand friendship loyalty. Handshakes would be worth so many points. Personal references more. Picking up the tab for pizza lunches – definitely more. Holding one's head over the toilet when you're barking at the ants? Bonus points. And then whenever we wanted to we'd all get together for a tally-up and figure out who our friends really are.

We could all have cards with our names on them and a cool graphic of a bridge like the one above (available at a cut rate for the next 30 days but I retain the rights to the image and trademark) depicting the linking of souls or some such and come up with brand strategies complete with, instead of a CRM (customer relationship management) program, a FRM (friendship relationship management) program using technology to organize, automate, and synchronize friendship processes. Based on metrics. We have the software. Yes Virginia, there is an app for that.

Until recently this approach would have gone against my grain because personally I'd rather entertain gaining loyalty from my prospective friends by offering quality of experience, the occasional payoff or giving a better price than my competition for my company right off the bat. But that's so old school. We can do things much more efficiently now. 

The overall goals would be to find, attract, and win new friends, nurture and retain those you already have, entice former friends back into the fold, and reduce the costs of marketing and friend maintenance services. If you don't have to buy the guy a Ferrari, why do it?

Loyalty born out of need, habit, coercion, convenience, downright greed or silly faddishness is the new reality. True loyalty may have come from an ancient place called the land of Integrity but now friendship is based on what I have that you can use to further your means to an end. It's you relating to me because I carry a brand image that you would like other people to associate with your own personal brand. Think of it as ugly people who normally wouldn't be allowed to do so, hanging out with beautiful people singing songs about world love on a hilltop in Switzerland. For a price, you could wear my name and logo on your shirt because my brand identity gives you personal qualities I have that you might never attain on your own.

We're building bridges here. Eliminating personal silos. And if I can't track your friendly habits today, how am I seriously supposed to maximize your experience tomorrow?

I ask you.

So let us build some bridges; bridges born of the greatest marketing minds the world has ever know. Bridges that never rust, never waver and never, ever give way.

Sign up now and reap the benefits of membership! (Reward points expire after 30 days if not used.)

This has been a Tongue-In-Cheek production.

Life In The Fast Lane

Doing dishes in bathrobe, looking out window

In my spare time (when I can get away from waiting for the paparazzi, mocking up schedules for the hectic pace of public appearances that I'll need when I become rich and famous) I like to do the things that normal people do. I like to hang around the house in my bathrobe, do dishes and look out windows. For evidence, I offer this non-posed, candid pic entitled "Doing dishes in bathrobe, looking out window". When I'm not doing that sometimes I take out the garbage, write naughty limericks, make sure all the clocks in my house are set to the same time and do laundry (not at the same time, I like to pace myself). It's difficult to lead such an exciting life. Every second is a wonder.

Every second, indeed. As serene your life may seem on the surface, there's a lot going on. On average 100,000 different chemical reactions are occurring in your brain every second, and 400,000 radioactive atoms are disintegrating into other atoms in your body. In that same second your body will lose about 3 million red blood cells, and your bone marrow will produce the same number of new ones.

As you can tell, I've done some research. The interweb is a wonderful place. Taken at face value, according to various unnamed and unconfirmed sources, it's estimated that every second 750,000 gallons of water flow over Niagara Falls, 602 Lego pieces are produced, 115 cell phones are shipped for sale and lightning strikes the earth 60 times. Bet you couldn't have lived without knowing that. But wait, there's more!

The sun is flinging a million tons of matter out into space every second. Four babies are born, 200 celestial stars are born, more than 2.8 million emails, 200,000 text messages, 3,282 tweets and 7.9 new Facebook users are born, and 28,258 people are viewing pornography on the internet every second. And it's reported that David Beckam makes $1.05 while Stephen Spielberg makes $3.49. One hour of video is uploaded to YouTube every second. Every summer Americans consume 818 hot dogs and 350 slices of pizza per second. It is indeed a busy world. 

I don't know if all the above statistics are real, timely or accurate. I assume they were posted because there is a possibility of accuracy. There were more but I decided to leave out the grizzly, downer ones about world poverty, infant mortality and stats that list dietary dangers for commercial gain. Still – as much as I tried, there were some stats that I couldn't find that I would have liked to. So I decided to make up a few to fill in...

Every second:
1) 12,056 people fall in love, (with each other, as opposed to inanimate objects, movie and rock stars)
2) 321 folks recognize chocolate as a food group
3) 3.2 political leaders shake their heads and begin to serve their constituents Baskin and Robbins. As a result "brain freeze" becomes popular again
4) 6 former do-gooders get civic awards by allowing other individuals the dignity to make their own decisions about their lives. As a result the sales of those sucky thank you cards goes through the roof
5) 1.5 substance abusers switch out recreational drugs for those tiny carrots and are allowed to grow their own
6) 3.75 households realize they don't need those new, improved plastic household gadgets sold on television, resulting in .003 percent reduction of China's GNP
7) 5.6 people choose to facilitate resolutions to issues rather than exasperate them for their own gain. Self-styled gurus/consultants find their future prospects bleak
8) 7 self-centered people take the "pass it on" pledge and as a result reality television dies
9) 3 people trade real guns for the nerf variety, causing future deaths during wartime to be punctuated by cries of "Got ya!" and "Did not!" and
10) 261 people recognize Barney Rubble as the greatest actor of all time.

I know, I know. Pie in the sky. All we can do is wait and hope, (although I'm not sure how long Barney is going to put up without that lifetime Academy Award) in the meantime I'll be doing dishes in my bathrobe, looking out the window. Until the rich and famous thing kicks in, of course.

The Ugly Demise of Television

Okay, now you've done it. You network executives have sunk so low in your money pinching, profit maximizing, lowest common denominator programming, bottom line wrangling and board of directors assuaging that you've wrecked the whole thing. And now, not only has over-the-air, free, quality programming gone the way of the dodo bird, television in general is headed toward extinction.

Paid programming fills valuable airtime with 1/2 hour commercials that preach the health benefits of electric blenders and takes up space that could have been used for innovation. Thanks to your profit-centered commercial motivation the general public is subjected to 1) hairy-armed, brawny men yelling at us to buy their cleaning products, 2) once overweight ladies trying to convince us that their nutritional supplements should be a part of a daily healthy lifestyle, 3) unbelievable demonstrations of little plastic cups that should be employed in place of nature's shells to hard boil eggs, 4) mean-faced, spitting owners of gold buying services shaking hundred dollar bills in our face, and 5) some guy named Vince jumping around with a clothes brush telling us to get rid of our pussy hairs (he actually uses that term, I'm not trying to be stupid). This is not advertising. These are acts of ugliness and a personification of the phrase attributed to P.T. Barnum – "there is a sucker born every minute".

You, television industry leaders, have taken what could have been a positive element in the lives of millions of viewers and done nothing but try to prove H.L. Mencken's “No one in this world, so far as I know has ever lost money by underestimating the intelligence of the great masses of the plain people” with a preponderance of senseless reality shows, idiotic game shows where every contestant appears to have "a beautiful wife and three lovely children", mindless pseudo-celebrity-ridden talk shows and three hour so-called newscasts complete with opinionated news readers, self-professed pundits of every persuasion and weathermen who presume to tell me what I'm eating is wrong. Why? Simply because these shows cost little to produce. And the associated profits resonate with shareholders. And after all, bonuses are given for slick frugality, not quality.

Well your three hundred dollar haircuts have caught up with you – television's days are numbered. You have given new technology, with its interactive, personal experience, a reason to be.

Parents would much rather have their children using their free time playing video games or surfing the web for age-appropriate sites rather than watching an "arts" channel showing poor, disturbed people who pack their houses to the ceiling with crap or confrontations with hapless addicts in hotel rooms. Young people, instead of purchasing a cable television package and having their intelligence insulted with freaky bounty hunters, embarrassing talent shows judged by so-called stars (sipping their sponsored soft drinks), and "entertainment" programs that do nothing but follow the antics of celebrities of no particular redeeming social value, are now getting their news from the web and downloading the programming they want to see when they want to see it. Quality dramas, educational programs, sporting events, and movies. Older folks are flicking off the tube and discovering YouTube, watching a video, taking walks in nature, reading books on tablets, getting together with friends on Skype or rediscovering actual in-person visits and even playing (shudder) board games. Even 1080 HD, 3D, gazillion-inch flat screens and PBS can't save you now.

Now, people have options. And instead of spending the last 40 years building reasons why they don't need these options and need not switch to them, you have done nothing but give people every reason to do so.

As Gomer Pyle once said, "Shame, shame, shame!"

The Banishment Of Angst And Chicken Teeth

So if there is something I can definitely do without in the New Year, (next to reality television, half-hour advertorials on the splendors of blenders and hair removal product commercials) I'd have to say it would be angst.

To imagine what inward angst would sound like, I offer the Wilhelm scream, a sound effect that has been replicated in over 225 movies, television shows and video games since it's creation in 1951:
Angst (literally German, Dutch, Danish and Norwegian for "fear") has been around since before Christ was a cowboy but Danish philosopher Søren Kirkegaard (1813-1855) put a name to it and French writers, Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus brought it to the mainstream consciousness in the early Twentieth Century. Then, James Dean demonstrated teen angst brilliantly in the fifties. Since then, with the emergence of individualism and the "me generation" it's been a right of passage for people to look inside themselves for something of worth in relation to the world around them. When they don't find it, it's their right to claim they suffer from angst.

Philosophically speaking, angst is an existential (ie: "why am I here?") condition which can be defined as "the crisis of human existence." It's the individual trying to reconcile their place in relation to society.

If you're an artist it has become quite expected that you suffer from this affliction, lest you and your work be seen as shallow. The idea that being an artist automatically means suffering for your art is so ingrained in our society's norms that if you are a happy, joyous artist it means you must be overcompensating for a deep gash in your psyche... or you're just faking being an artist.

So we do angst. Or most of us do. Some, who are true masters in the angst craft, don't just suffer proper philosophical angst in silence. They take it to the second level, to something called "wangst", which is either "whiny angst" or "wanky angst" (depending on what side of the pond you're from). In order to perform this advanced degree of angst properly it must be as evident as false teeth on a chicken.

Suffering from philosophical angst, need not only be self centered, but it must be a pain in society's collective butt. It must be something that those from my father's generation (who were pretty cut and dried about emotional stuff) would not think twice about a good swift kick in the nether regions and demands to get out and find a real job.

So, in 2012, angst is gone from my repertoire of suffering techniques. It shouldn't be that hard to do because a number of years ago while going through a "Keep It Simple" thing I put the angst thing aside. This year, after being through some sh*t that makes Bambi Meets Godzilla look tame in comparison and not taking angst down from the shelf once, I decided I simply don't need it around anymore. So this coming year it's toast. It just complicates things when I figure I should be concentrating on the things that cause angst in the first place.

To me angst is like fixating over the big hole in the ground after the bomb has gone off.

And I figure on being the bomb.

The Almighty Human Struggle

"The more I see the less I know for sure." John Lennon 
 
Anyone who knows me knows that my mind does not exactly work in a normal way. (It's okay, I planned it that way.) Recently, due to circumstances beyond my control, I've had a lot of time to think. So, you'll forgive me if this post is abnormally long (and rambles on a bit).

I never really sit down to think about things of any real import but sometimes my mind goes where it wants to go. So, today I'd like to leave you with some thoughts based on the heady topics of peace, mankind and the almighty human struggle. Brace yourself:

1) Peace is an empty space.
If you can, think of peace as a space void of discord, pain and unhappiness. Oh, and there's no harmony, relief or joy either. No yin and yang, good or evil, just or unjust. This is the natural state of all things. The baseline. We come from this space before we're born and after we die we return to it. The moment we take over this organic brain of ours, our space is not empty anymore. We belong to this world. And all that comes with it.

2) Life is a wonderful, messy thing. 
At the instant we're born we're all equal. In the next instant, we're not. As much as we may be sheltered, we are subjected to expectations, conditions and prejudices. Our birth, and the education process that instantly follows, begins a process of discord (because we all have our own independent thoughts... and nothing is perfect), pain (because we have these pesky things called emotions and nerves... and nothing is perfect), and unhappiness (because we all suffer indignities and have unfulfillable wants... and nothing is perfect). Our growing up years subject us to things like test scores, competing in sports, and meeting expectations. Things like that. It's all normal. Since human beings roamed this planet we've had to provide food for ourselves, fight the savage beast for survival and compete with others of our kind for creature comforts. It's in our collective nature.

3) We can't beat ourselves up about it.
Fellow Canadian John Ralston Saul once wrote, "Everyone has an equal right to inequality." The mere fact that we have to have a bill of human rights, (and by the way laws to protect the innocent and pleas from aid organizations to feel the hungry, cure illness and help the disadvantaged) underscore the fact that we live with inequality. It surrounds us. It is us.

No matter how tall, good looking and smart we are there is always someone taller, better looking, more intelligent. No matter how proficient we are we live with the possibility there is someone just a bit faster, more exact, better equipped. And mostly that's okay. It's part of this thing called life. You can attempt to lead, choose to follow a passion, fart away your life, be a cheerleader or hide under the guise of mediocrity all you want but sooner or later, if you're a person of conscience like I am, you're going to ask or be asked, "So, what have you done with your life?" This is the final scorecard of a worthwhile life as we take our last physical breath and let it out.

4) Fighting the good fight means sometimes getting angry along the way.
Francesco Petrarca (July 20, 1304 – July 19, 1374), known in English as Petrarch, an Italian scholar, poet and one of the earliest humanists once said, "Five great enemies to peace inhabit with us: avarice, ambition, envy, anger and pride. If these enemies were to be banished, we should infallibly enjoy perpetual peace." It's a nice thought that sort of hit me like a platitude because where one thing is bad, it cannot exist without it's opposite. We'd also have to banish the other side of the human yin yang coin: charity, satisfaction, happiness and the contentment of achievement on some level. And that's not life.

Stuff like anger is going to exist. Especially with some of the idiots we have out there shooting their mouths off, doing really stupid things and who evidently only want to add to the discord. I don't have to name them. We all know who they are. Any righteous person would want to get angry.

There are those who would preach and those who would lecture. And that's okay if they have something intelligent to say or something positive to add. But if there's one thing I've learned it's that not every mouthpiece who figures they have the answers has answers of value.

Everyone develops their own agenda, system of beliefs and methods of practical morality over time. We're all individuals and our make up is generally composed of life's lessons. Trial and error. In fact, some think the period of our time on this earth is meant to be a time of trial bookended by times of solitude – the times before we're born and after we die. And while we're here, our attitude will help determine whether it is a wholesome, thoughtful, mostly positive experience or a life fraught with negativity, ignorance and discord.

Along the way we can take time to look out a window, notice small things of beauty like the sun rising, or drift away to a favorite piece of music and try to remember that empty space of peace that we all came from and will go back to. But in the meantime, it's my thought that we're all meant to fill up our lives here on earth with some kind of fight.

Hopefully, ours is the good fight.

All the best of the holiday season and a happy New Year to you all.

Peace.

Prompting Creativity - Update

Whoa, sorry for my long absence. Lots has been happening, but nothing worth mentioning except for a small book I've been working on in my spare time over the past few months. The cool thing about this project has been the involvement of people whom I've never met. Not in person anyway.

I was fortunate enough to receive the kindness, feedback, guidance and patience of professionals from places like England, the U.S., Scotland, Asia and France who I have met and gotten to both know and respect through online discussion groups. I am forever in their debt. The experience has proven there are good people all over this planet.

So, about the book. Sample inside spreads follow:

"There is no quantifiable thing called creativity in repose. There only exists evidence of things left behind after the act, testifying that creativity has actually taken place... ...there are things that predispose us toward being creative. Thoughts and actions that enable us to explore, to question, to open up that part of our mind that allows that jolt of inspiration and magic to happen." (from the introduction)

I believe it's a fun, fresh view of interest to everyone that searches for that creative spark in their lives, regardless of profession, interests, talents or abilities.

The book is listed at $20.00 plus shipping. It's 8.5" X 8.5", 76 pages (it grew!) on quality stock, perfect bound, and all art, design and writing you can blame on me. AND after like sixty thousand revisions, it's just gone to press (phew). If you're interested in pre-ordering, let me know.

I've never sold anything online before (antique dish towels on eBay don't count). Exciting, eh?

Trouble is Temporary...

Hey all. A few days off generally means several things. There is laundry to be done, I discover the butter on the counter has gone bad, I forget to shave, the weather turns bitter and it rains, and I get a cold. Or the flu. Not sure which this is yet, but it's early in the day.

October marks the third year of the routine torture of the sensibilities that Rand's Place provides, I become another year closer to overall decrepitude and there's also a new personal project in the works that I'll be sharing with you. Hang out. Just don't eat the butter.

Stay tuned!