Grabbing For Moths

There was a moth in my living room last night. Not one of those big wooly ones, one of the tiny guys. For a seemingly awkward, fluttering creature it was extremely elusive and it took my attention for a time. It was like good design the way it changed direction the very instant I grabbed for it. It was fun for a time and then it got tedious. In the end I chose to ignore it because I am bigger than a moth.

I compare the moth to creativity because, well, that's my area of interest. If I were a lawyer I'd probably be relating the moth to other things like what crims have come up with lately to make their lives interesting, or what other litigators are doing with their lives. If my culinary skills extended beyond anything other than a bowl of Fruit Loops or cheese dogs I'd be looking at what chefs are creating to challenge themselves. So I look at a broad range of art that people find interesting because I suppose I'm interested in being interesting occasionally as well. And some stuff makes you wonder if some people grabbed for the moth and missed. Or maybe they don't even know about the moth. Or maybe they do have the moth cupped in their hand and I'm just not noticing. It's a quagmire wrapped up in a conundrum.

This morning the moth has gone to wherever moths go when they're not being grabbed at. I should check the closet but I know I won't. It'll be back on its own. And I'll be grabbing for it.

I hate design.

The Taking Of Nature: One, Two, Three

Oh hell. Here we go again with the warm weather. Along with the onslaught of pesky stinging-flying creatures, dire messages advising us to slather on an inch of some skin concoction so we don't expose ourselves to (horror) the sun's rays and the predatory nature of hardware stores to make us all feel our decks and patios don't have sufficiently stylish weatherproof furniture to constitute an outdoor "living space" worthy of company, comes a warning: There are strange things growing out of the soil beneath our feet.

For those unaware of this menace, here are the basics: 1) Early in the spring these strange growths give off these pretty flowers to fool us. The shots above and below (from my own yard) show the blossoms and their devious nature, 2) Then, the flowers disappear after gaining our admiration and, after centuries of man conquering nature, they relentlessly proceed to take the world back, and 3) We need to get out the flame throwers and cement mixers before it's too late.

There are both traitors and the naively misinformed amongst us. Every year at this time, relentless romantics pop out of the woodwork and, in their dubious wisdom, remind us of a few things: 1) The cycle of creation continues to go on around us (like we haven't heard that particular nugget a couple million times), 2) Sometimes we have to take the time to smell the roses (forget it – the 350 lb. woman behind me in line at Walmart, who bathed in Chanel #5 killed my sense of smell), and 3) One person's weed is another person's flower (oh geez, just shoot me now).

If, for some odd reason, we should happen to like the nasty little flowers that grow out of nowhere (without our asking) and the deviously pretty colors they add to our lives, self-flagellation is an option. Let our appreciation be a dirty little secret. We should all just give our heads a collective shake and remember: 1) Nature is simply an inconvenient byproduct of life on earth, 2) To sane people "nature" means cutting grass and trimming back the jungle so the neighbors don't complain, and 3) There are spotters out there just waiting to see us bending over and admiring a flower. Know that these occurrences will be documented and there is a good chance our competency, if not sanity, will be questioned.

My job is done. I'm off to picket a rooftop garden.

The Hoping Pie

Why should only fancy-pant scientists, academics and theorists get pie charts? Big shots. Why can't ordinary people like you and I get one?

So here. Our own pie chart. It's about what ordinary people do when we do stuff. And, because everything important needs a name and "Figure 3.1(b)" didn't do it for me, it's called The Hoping Pie. It's not just about making pies but it could be. It could also be about building a tree fort, designing something cool, or putting together a video of bad impressions for YouTube. Whatever project we want to do, no matter how small or large; this is the pie chart for us.

Each portion represents a slice of what normal folks do to make things happen. The size of each can change depending on how weird your project is. While I added arrows (at extra cost) for direction, it being our pie chart, we can return to a previous slice at any time without occurring penalty minutes.

HOPING: When you hope it's like saying you're hungry. Hope says "I want pie" and takes our engines out of neutral. Our minds then secrete a special pie endorphin (I just made that up but it may be true) that says "go". We can't start without hope. It can't be added in the middle or at the end. Got hungry? Let's make a pie.

LOOKING: The great thing about waking up hope is the first thing we have to do is something that we normally do anyway – we look. In this case we focus our eyeballs and look at everything we possibly can about what we want to do. It's the cookbook of life. Hoity-toity people call it researching but really it's just looking.

SEEING: So we've been looking at all this stuff and the inside of our brain is full, but messy. Now we have to really see. Seeing is about organizing how certain things belong together (spicy, sweet, tart, yucky stuff). It makes scheming and getting it later a lot easier. Looking without seeing is like eating without tasting. What's the point?

SCHEMING: So what did all our looking and seeing get us? (No, not a slap in the face.) Put on your Dastardly Dan hat and scheme. If we're doing it right, possibilities should show up for the party: in all combinations, shapes and forms. Things that have worked before, things that are just plain silly, and things that haven't been considered yet but could work. So scheme and don't run the risk of overlooking a winning ingredient.

GETTING: It's finalist time. Everything we've done so far leads to deciding the direction to take. Taste, test and play. Our dream is defined, and redefined, tweaked and massaged. Here, we see the most likely solutions born from our looking, seeing and scheming. The winning recipe takes the spotlight. Finally, we get it. Time to do it.

DOING: Time to turn our plan into something tasty. Our mixing bowl is no longer a Cheezie dish, ingredients are measured and the oven is preheated. Skills kick in and we boldly go where no man has gone before using both old techniques and new technologies. The aroma of success is in the air. The cat becomes very friendly.

THE RESULT: Our project is complete. The votes are in. It's okay if it's not a total success. Less than perfect is actually good because it gives us a kick in the pants to do better the next time. We're back to a new start; looking harder and seeing better, interpreting our discoveries and testing our understandings. Even total success is not an end. It leads to new hopes. New wishes and finer dreams.

Make one. There is no failure in The Hoping Pie.

Lord save us all from a hope tree that has lost the faculty of putting out blossoms.
Mark Twain

Six Steps to Successfully Getting Out Of Bed

While growing up, my mother had this quaint habit of storming into my room in the morning, whipping off the covers and throwing open the drapes, all the while gleefully exclaiming in her high pitched shrill, "Ge-e-e-e-et u-u-u-u-up!" The delightful nature of this routine would shake books off shelves, strip wallpaper and leaves me even today with fond memories reminiscent of the scratch of fingernails on a blackboard combined with the whine of a dentist drill.

Waking up is hard to do. There is, of course, a scientific explanation. Something about testing fruit flies and the “twenty-four” gene—one of the core genes of the circadian clock. It's all so... academic.

“The function of a clock is to tell your system to be prepared, that the sun is rising, and it’s time to get up,” says Ravi Allada, professor of neurobiology and physiology at Northwestern University.

“The flies without the twenty-four gene did not become much more active before dawn. The equivalent in humans would be someone who has trouble getting out of bed in the morning.”

But regardless of how difficult or easy it is for you to wake up, getting up is another matter and one full of personal perils. Fear not. You've got this old fart with decades of experience on your side. Try these handy steps:

1) Do not open eyes. No sudden moves. Put one foot on the floor. This tricks your mind into believing your body is halfway up. Never hop out with both feet at once as this will make all your blood rush to your feet, causing a massive shock to your brain and can lead to discordant maladies later in life.
2) Sit up slowly. Put other foot on the floor. Place elbows on knees and rest face in hands. This allows your equilibrium to gently orientate itself to the upright position. Rubbing eyes while still closed is optional.
3) Groan loudly, even when alone. This warms the vocal chords and aligns the molecules in the air around you. People entering your molecule field for the remainder of the day will be less inclined to give you grief.
4) Open eyes. Do not stretch. When opening eyes do not focus immediately. Focusing the eyes too soon may cause eye fatigue later in the day and stretching muscles that have been dormant for six to eight hours can cause over stimulation and may lead to unorthodox activities such as jogging and yoga. You have the rest of the day to focus and stretch out gradually.
5) Scratch something. This is important and is linked back to the beginning of civilization when we had fewer skin moisturizers and more personal itches. The act sends a message to your nerve center that it is about to be subjected to its daily job of letting you know when you hurt. Not doing so and waiting until you actually hurt to ignite your nerve center can cause a delayed reaction. And finally,
6) Transfer weight to your feet by leaning forward carefully. Use your arms to push, and shout something uplifting as you do so. Incomprehensible yelp-growls are an art form here. A Tarzan yell is good. Or something like, "Oh gawd, not another one" is effective as well. Be careful not to lean forward too much. That's how heads put holes into walls. Raise your head slowly. This will cause your back to follow and you should find yourself standing up straight. You have now successfully "gotten up". If you feel dizzy, lie back down and repeat from step number one.

By following these simple steps, staying away from cold showers and early morning exercising, you will be adding seconds, possibly minutes to your life and will ease your way into your day with grace and harmony.

Next week: How to brush your teeth and not look like you have rabies.

The Line

The grace of the single line. The power of a stroke's direction. Straight is the epitome of no-nonsense seriousness, while curved is the loveliest distance between two points. Exploring space, a line can be so unassuming. When combined with others, mysteriously representative of energy, conflict, tension and flow. 

Lines converge to define a story. Space between lines reveals shape and form. Singular lines express collectively; each and every stroke working to tell the story as perfectly as it can be told.

Every contribution adds to the logic and reason of the composition. Every gesture is crucial.

And while this particular work-in-progress isn't perfect, I'm working on it. (rand)

"Line is a rich metaphor for the artist. It denotes not only boundary, edge or contour, but is an agent for location, energy, and growth. It is literally movement and change - life itself." ~ Lance Esplund 

Life, The Interweb and The Toad

"Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve,
Assaying by his devilish art to reach
The organs of her fancy, and with them forge
Illusions, as he list, phantasms and dreams;
Or if, inspiring venom, he might taint
The animal spirits, that from pure blood arise
Like gentle breaths from rivers pure, thence raise
At least distempered, discontented thoughts,
Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires,
Blown up with high conceits ingendering pride."
John Milton (excerpt: Paradise Lost: Book 04)

(Translation: Satan has turned himself into a toad and whispers into Eve's ear, as she sleeps, tempting her to eat the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge.)

Let me begin today with an apology for rambling a bit (and for mixing my metaphors). I've had some time lately so I've been doing a lot of looking around here in the Interweb. You might say I am an official looker. It's a difficult thing to do, because an official looker has to look at things one likes and things that one would rather not be looking at. It's amazing where some people's heads are at, or where they want you to think they are at. Far from me to judge but if I were to guess motivations I'd say some folks have Mr. Milton's toad whispering in their ear at night. Not a lot, but just a phrase or two each night, every night. Like one of those serial stories where you have to tune in everyday only to find out too late that the ending either sucks or worse, it never ends because it's limitless, like a bad soap opera. One thing exists to prompt another. So this post is dedicated to that as seen on tv site that prompted this post. Just when you think that someone couldn't know you well enough to know that you need something called "Bust UP Cups", there you go. Temptation is in the wind... (and the cheque is in the mail).

This electronic world is not only like eating the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, it's bigger than that. It's like a distorted reflection of life itself, isn't it? And just when you think you're done looking around, bang, they pu-u-u-ull you back in. It gets rather disconcerting sometimes when you sit down at your computer and three days later look up going "Gee, I'm hungry." There should be a twelve-step program. Oh wait. There is.

I don't mean to sound critical because I'm not. Denying the online experience is a good thing would be like saying life itself isn't wonderful. We live with the worthless to enjoy the worthy. Sometimes we just have to look hard to find the latter. John Milton must have known all about that. Blind since 1652, he wrote Paradise Lost by dictating it out loud, while he was often sick and after his second wife, Katherine Woodcock, passed away in 1658.

It may suspiciously sound like the next thing you're going to hear is not to complain about things like how your socks are too tight, that complaining is bad – but it's not. Actually, bitching is not only fun it's extremely necessary (plus, it's the one time in your day that you can be assured no one is listening).

Giving in to temptation often provides sufficient reason to bitch. And the Interweb has lots of temptation for everyone.

Give yourself bonus points if you blame everything on the little toad.

“For we were little Christian children and early learned the value of forbidden fruit” Mark Twain

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

Paradise Lost, published in 1667, is considered one of the greatest literary works in the English language. It is the Biblical story of the Fall of Man. In Book 04, Satan, having escaped from hell returns to Earth, is tormented by the beauty of Creation, and discovers Adam and Eve living in perfect harmony in Eden. Hearing them talk about the forbidden Tree of Knowledge, he turns himself into a toad and whispers temptation into the ear of Eve as she sleeps, but he is discovered by guardian angels and, threatened by Gabriel, flees from Eden.

The Low Down On Raspberry Blowing

It happens to everyone once in a while, for some more often than others. Something or someone gets you all wound up and you think nothing will ever relieve the pressure. There are no pharmaceuticals, no years of professional therapy, no distances you can run or number of jumping jacks you can hop that will effectively provide relief. Enter the ancient art of blowing a raspberry, sometimes called a strawberry or Bronx Cheer (US). This simple act, secretly passed down through the ages, is now being heralded throughout the therapeutic world as a miracle cure for brain cramps.

You can do one too! (Demonstration here.) Place your tongue between your lips and blow. Relaxing both tongue and lips so they vibrate is best. It may take some practice to perfect but what you should end up with is a sound similar to flatulence.

Wikipedia reports that blowing a raspberry comes from the Cockney rhyming slang "raspberry tart," fart. Rhyming slang was particularly used in British comedy to refer to things which would be unacceptable to a polite audience, particularly on television.

"The term "Bronx cheer" is used sarcastically because it is not a cheer; it is used to show disapproval. The term originated as a reference to the sound used by some spectators in Yankee Stadium, located in Bronx, New York City, New York."

The act of blowing the raspberry is thought (by some very smart people) to lower blood pressure, reduce stress levels, raise moods and lessen the number of facial twitches one may experience. But as healing as this act can be, it is something that one should use with a measure of self-control. There are times when one shouldn't blow a raspberry. I have assembled my top four don'ts for your consideration.

Blowing Raspberry Don'ts:
1) Close encounters. When one is a microsecond away from kissing your significant other. Big, big mistake. Not only do you end up spraying your lover from close range, but the ramifications (especially if you are in a... ahem, intimate situation) can lead to bodily harm and to denial of conjugal sharing for many days, weeks or even months.
2) Social gatherings. At a poshy wine and cheese event, when one's mouth is full of chewed up cheese mixed with wine (a fine Vacherin Fribourgeois cheese and a dry, red Cabernet sauvignon, for example). Trust me on this one. Not a pretty sight, especially when standing on a white carpet and/or shaking hands with one's host.
3) Board rooms. If you are in a meeting there are bound to be those in attendance who will not appreciate the healing nature of the act. Reactions can range from a simple snicker to outright guffaws and it's bound to be misinterpreted by the leader of the meeting as a rebut. No matter how much office cred you have, making up for a boardroom tph-h-h-h-h-h-htphffft could take some time.
4) Receiving praise. It almost goes without saying. When someone is giving you an award, telling you how much they want to spend the rest of their life with you or thanking you in some way. Letting loose with a fat, juicy one may not be recognized as the therapy it is. Try to save it for a private place after.

So, put away those pills, cancel your shrink appointments, retire that gaudy spandex outfit and put away those exercise shoes. Blowing the raspberry (with some discretion) will revolutionize your lifestyle, exercise your lower facial muscles and give you a new reason why the front of your shirt is damp. Enjoy!

How To Survive Social Media (and be a flower)

Unless you're twelve and/or don't give a sweet patootie, you're probably trying to find your way through this new social media stuff. It can be quite scary but getting involved online can be a rewarding and enriching experience. More and more relationships, contacts, business dealings and daily interactions occur online. But how do we tell if our interactions are as effective as we'd like them to be? How do we maximize our experience?

Relax, I have done a study. After vast seconds of concentrated thought I've broken down four distinct areas that will ensure your online experience will be a rewarding one. I call it "Find your social media flower":

Language. Believe it or not, a full quarter (that's roughly 25%) of online success, and 100% of online failures happen because of the written word. Brush up on your spelling and grammar (for instance, know the difference between we're, were, where and wear). And, you may swear a blue streak with your buds over pints but this type of behavior, where the impressionable amongst us can access our posts, is a definite no-no (and I'm not talking about hair removal). Keep potty talk for your significant other, best friends or unsuspecting colleagues. 

Attitude. Words can be easily misinterpreted; especially the written kind. Things we say in real life can be tempered with a sly smile but there is no such redemption online (BTW: smiley faces don't cut it). The dividing line between being seen as smart and smart alecky is a fine one. Oh, and personal animosities with politics, religion, members of the opposite sex, and/or hamsters with hockey tape fetishes are best kept offline, where people can cover their ears and sing "Lalalalala" loudly so they don't have to listen.

Appeal. Droning on about something that people lost interest in in 1965, making rude or disparaging remarks, writing off-color comments, or constantly quoting famous dead people (including but not exclusive to Mr. Rogers) out of context are major online faux pas. There may not be an ability to smell online (although I have been experimenting with "smell-o-media") but a remembered stink is often worse than the real thing. And besides, no one really wants to know how many times you puked on your shoes last night... except maybe your next date or a future employer.

Focus. Forgetting to wear pants in your daily life or acting dumb on television can be funny and entertaining. But online is a different kettle of fish. People just won't put up with someone who makes no sense, or replies constantly with responses like "LOL, awesome, that's just tooooooo funny". Doing so will undoubtedly affect your online credibility in a see-through manner (and not the good kind). All this accomplishes is to inspire thousands of people to shout "Busted!" out loud in their offices, living rooms and internet cafés around the world.

So now you know. Your online experience is what you make of it. By following the above suggestions and sending me a dollar in small bills, you too can blossom and be a social media flower. (Where's my pants?)

Your New Official Job Review Options

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players..."
William Shakespeare

So let's say one day the world went really wonky and some jerk like me got a day pass from the "home" and came around to your workplace with an official looking clipboard to ask you to rate your work performance like you would a film review. Of course, it's a given your employment history is a masterpiece. But what kind? Let's see. There are several options to pick from...

A) Suave and Debonair. Your job is a wonderful romantic mystery adventure. You accomplish your goals with charm and a glint in the eye. Plans are hatched with panache and only the best in wardrobe fashion and exotic locales will do. It's not what you say while you dine at a table next to Bond, James Bond, it's how you say it – with polish and that disarming smile. When you do find yourself in a tight spot, you're prepared and cool, with just the right gadget, slick move or surprise up your sleeve. And as your caper comes together it might not work out exactly as planned but what the hell, there's always the next one. Or the one after that. You are a cool, sexy caper.

B) Action Hero. Every day at work is a non-stop, seat-of-the-pants adventure of epic proportions, where one thing leads to another seemingly without any plan. Excitement is your middle name and you don't care about what happens along the way, because it all works out in the end. Michelle Rodriguez and Jason Statham have nothing on you. Your stylists have a heyday and out you walk from the firestorm at the end of the workday with torn t-shirt, a few well-earned scars, a messed up hairstyle that your boss would have a conniption fit over and a big, big smile. You are a heart-stopper.

C) Leave 'em Laughing. Perhaps a comedic tour de force is more your managerial style. Madcap and zany with a tinge of insanity thrown in just for fun. Your quirky is simply full of a better quality of quirk. One-liners flow like an old puppy after a eating a bag of prunes. The wardrobe department supplies pants that fall down on their own and the guy from props ensures every gizmo you pick up works a bit differently than it is supposed to. Add a bit of slapstick, a dash of Monty Python and you're such a the hit with clientele that they line up around the block to see you. For hours. With no porta-potty. Yours is a wild and funny ride.

D) Vivaciously Versatile. Maybe you're a person of many hats. Your position is a hybrid, a combination of all genres, a veritable smörgåsbord of workplace contributions. Because something's just not right when things are predictable. What was high drama one day is laughable the next. You dress according to the scenes you need to play that day and at times you'd rather blend in with the extras on the set. You're another Johnny Depp or Meryl Streep and regardless of what role you play, you do so to perfection. People never know what to expect from you next. But one thing's for sure, there's never a dull moment and a quick review of your job performance would reveal it to be totally, outrageously entertaining.

Whatever role you play at whatever work you do, and whatever genre you fit into – you're a star. Give yourself two big'uns (and a raise).

Deeper Meanings: There Should Be A Law

"Nature's first green is gold, 

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay."

Robert Frost, 1923, Yale Review (earned Frost the 1924 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry)

I admit there have been times I believed I was immortal like Highlander Connor Macleod of the Clan Macleod. Then along comes a voice from the past that irritatingly reminds me I'm part of the natural order of things, like Frost's Nothing Gold Can Stay. 

Just how it does this I'm not quite sure, as I'm not one much for analyzing. (I'm more of the superficial sort.) The analytical process itself reminds me of a story of the time a famous poet was visiting a class and the professor took one of his works and spent the better part of an hour dissecting its deeper meanings, interpretations of specific phrases relating to man's inhumanity to man and hidden messages on the value of moral turpitude (and such). At the end of his presentation, in a total sweat, the triumphant professor turns to the writer sweeps his hands out dramatically and asks, "So, what do you think of that?" Whereupon the writer says, "Geez man, I thought it was just a poem." 

But this work causes me great conflict. There's just so much in there in so few words. I find myself finding (shudder) deeper meaning. Almost effortlessly. Why did Frost insist on showing that a compressed work could weave a wealth of imagery and meaning when the majority of his contemporaries were publishing long, detailed explorations in verse? Does it have to do with his own definition of poetry as a "momentary stay against confusion?" Perhaps. But I think he did it just to bother me almost a century later.

Paradoxes (green is gold, leaf's a flower) – reality versus paradise. Gold – both a color and a instrument of wealth. Dawn – the beginning of a new day and metaphor of birth. The beauty of the moment of sunrise, the potential and transitory nature of awareness and change are all nestled in this special time. The presence of change as a constant in life and the ability to see it not as a loss but as part of the natural process. Seeing moments as special. Gifts. 

There should be a law.

Enough With The Surprises Already

Okay, put the shovel down. It's an expression. Like "Knock me down and call me Suzie." And it's used to express surprise.

The post today is dedicated to addressing this phenomena called surprise and to move that we strike the word from the English language forever. Furthermore, the act of surprising another individual should be outlawed under penalty of a life sentence with constant noogies while under physical restraint. You can tell I'm serious about this.

Surprises are stupid. It's sneaking up behind someone and making them shriek. It's secretly putting cayenne powder in a person's coffee. It's mixing real chicken in amongst the meatless chicken (that wasn't me, Pat). Or it's some jerk telling a false story to someone, getting them worked up, almost to the point of apoplexy, and then exclaiming, "Surprise! It was a joke and I got you! Haha! Don't you look stoopid!"

You've heard the expression, "Oh forgive Mildred, she's had quite the nasty surprise." That was first said after the first surprise was pulled back in 331 A.D. Poor Mildred. She was never quite the same after.

Striking the word from the language would also help reduce sensationalism in the media. Gone would be the surprising news that researchers have discovered that snacking on peanut butter five days a week can nearly halve the risk of a heart attack. That's not surprising, for a guy like me who grew up on the stuff, it's simply reassuring. Eradicated forever would be hype announcing the surprising results of a study that reveals the manufacturing a single pair of leather shoes uses a gazillion gallons of water. Ho hum. Nixed would be announcements of surprising research findings that lemmings are not really suicidal and don't jump off cliffs together. Unless you happen to be a lemming, that's just board game trivia. Come on, whatever these reports are they're definitely not surprising. 

Unleash your Inner Bag Lady! Write your editors and representatives. Demand that we remove surprise from our lives forever! 

“The husband who decides to surprise his wife is often very much surprised himself." ~ Voltaire

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.

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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.

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