Janauary 30, 2009 (30/365)

I've been noticing a disturbing personality trait lately. Having a friend or loved one be short or have attitude with me drags my mood right into the toilet. Sure, having something of a reaction like that is normal, but my emotional response has been greater than I think it should be. I get angry and aggressive. Not violent mind you, I'm too controlled to get anywhere near that. I don't enjoy being ill-tempered, and I don't like the idea that my mood can be so easily manipulated, unintentionally or no.

January 29, 2009 (29/365)

Studio tonight was a 6 hour frenzy. It's strange how sometimes I get so focused on the work that I don't really think about anything else. It's also a strange dance I do there. Because of the way my luck works, everything fights me... any little thing that can go wrong, will. It has to be accounted for in every step. But sometimes, when I'm in the groove, it just becomes part of the routine. When I stop to think about that, it kind of pisses me off. Imagine what I could accomplish if things went as smoothly for me as they do for the average artist.... how many more pieces I could get done... how many more I could get done successfully.

January 28, 2009 (28/365)

Hemingway apparently wrote the short story:

For sale: Baby shoes, never worn.

Brilliant and creative... everything I'm not tonight.

January 27, 2009 (27/365)

I often have difficulty looking people in the eyes. It's a failing, I know. I know what the general consensus is about that, the general negative connotation. I can fight and overcome the problem through force of will, but it isn't easy. As Sensitive as I am to people and their emotions, it's a hundred times stronger when looking at their eyes. Think of what it would be like to try to take a drink from a fire hose. That's what it feels like, the force I have to overcome. I can, and do when I need to. I suppose it's not a big deal. But I wish it wasn't so difficult.

January 26, 2009 (26/365)

I thought of something good to write about on my way back from the city tonight. Unfortunately, I left it somewhere between the 294 Tollway and the Barrington Rd exit. If anyone finds it alongside the road, please return it to me. I'll post-date it.

January 25, 2009 (25/365)

My poorly-suppressed anger at people in general continues. [lengthy, pointless whining deleted. Honestly. I don't even enjoy reading it.]

Almost posted something about the weather just to fill space, so I'm just going to cut this one off. 'Nite.

January 24, 2009 (24/365)

I've really been down on humanity lately. I'm not sure, but it probably has something to do with going out in public and being around people. Common sense has been replaced by irresponsibility. Courtesy has been replaced by entitlement. All within the space of a couple generations, and that's not good. This is the kind of evolution that will eventually lead to our self-destruction and, honestly, I'm not entirely sure humanity shouldn't just be put out of its misery. I'm not sure we, as a species, deserve to continue existing.

If I could just see some fairness in the world every day.... No, that's not accurate. If I could just see more fairness every day than I do injustice; if I could be surprised by someone's courtesy, honor, or selflessness more often than once every six months or so, I might change my mind and begin thinking perhaps we deserved to go on. But the odds of this are so mind-boggling, they verge on being simply impossible. And that's sad.

January 23, 2009 (23/365)

Ways in which British TV shows are better than US TV shows #45: In the US show, the priest would just mysteriously re-contract leprosy. ("Aaaw, how sad.") In the UK show, the priest gets his skin sliced off him and left in a bloody pile at his feet in a gay sauna.* ("Hold fucking shit!")

*http://www.tv.com/apparitions/episode-one/episode/1239366/summary.html?tag=ep_guide;ep_title;0

January 22, 2009 (22/365)

Work ran four and a half hours long tonight.

Is "cluster-fuck" one word or two?

January 21, 2009 (21/365)

The press and many of the politically-savvy aren't really aware, I don't think, of the depth of the effects the past 8 years have had on them. They've all been directed for so long to focus on the bottom line that that's all they can still see. Anything short of the "most effective" (ie, "most profitable") is scorned and poo-poo'ed. Hence today's media wringing of hands over Obama's.... make that President Obama's first-day decrees. They were:

-Strict new limitations on political lobbying.
-Salary caps on White House aides.
-Mandatory consultation with the US Attorney General and White House council before the president can withhold information from the public.
-The revocation of President Bush's Executive Privilege act.
-Restrengthening of the Freedom of Information Act.
-Planned closing of Guantanamo Bay prison camp.

None of the usual quagmire of the economy or the middle east... the "important" issues, according to the media. They've lost perspective of what "important" is.

Meanwhile, I couldn't be more pleased.

January 20, 2009 (20/365)

I had a leisurely lunch at Panera* today with a handful of art magazines. Today I did not have my eye on inspiration but was contemplative about "Art" and how it fits into my craft. Here are the two conclusions I came to which I actually thought were significant enough to jot down on the spot. Looking at them now, they seem like no big deal, but at the time they felt weightier. I suppose that recognizing these "true-isms" could make me a better artist.

1. There is a richness, randomness, and authenticity in "found" materials and objects that I cannot match by making something from scratch. I can only display, enhance, or incorporate it, hopefully to its greatest effect.

2. Nobody wants to look at a "single piece" unless they're in a museum. If you want to attract people who are interested in buying, you have to tantalize them with the promise of variety.

*Though I don't eat there often, I love Panera. That alone dooms them to commercial extinction, but it's probably the little bells and whistles, that set them above other similarly priced restaurants, that will probably also eventually lead to their financial ruin. While they're just a step above fast food, they make a nice sandwich. They bake their bread fresh daily (and have a respectable bakery), they provide free WiFi, and they keep a portion of the restaurant set up with comfortable couches and chairs around a fireplace. You can lounge about, eat your meal, read, and relax. I'm sure these frills aren't at all cost effective enough in this cut-throat day and age, but I really wish there were more places like this. I don't feel like I'm just supporting their bottom line when I eat there, and that feels good.

January 19, 2009 (19/365)

Somewhere a monster is hiding from me. It hides somewhere that I'm incapable of seeing ...like in an invisible backpack that I'm unsuspectingly wearing or by making itself a color that I'm blind to. But I can sense it. It never looks away.

It's waiting for me to do something that will cause it to strike. The problem is I don't know what that something is, so it could happen at any time. And that makes me paranoid and afraid to do anything. Even my brain shuts down. I'm petrified.

Somewhere a monster is hiding from me. It has something terrible waiting for me.

January 18, 2009 (18/365)

I'm in a bad place tonight. Everyone in my life is "off" today, and I don't have an eggshell-sympathetic personality. My head isn't compatible with complex thinking ...like tying my shoes, getting the cap squarely back on the milk, or assembling interesting sentences. I'm just in the mood to mindlessly focus on making something, but I don't know what and haven't really had the opportunity all day. (+Motivation. -Inspiration. -Opportunity.)

January 17, 2009 (17/365)

[begin]

A man charges wildly down the street with no care for those around him. He runs like a man on fire, a closeup of his face reveals panic inflamed by fear wrapped around a single thought: Get home. He reaches the steps of the inconspicuous brownstone, nearly wrenching out his shoulder when he grabs the handrail to spin him in a tumble up the stairs. If it weren't for the forward velocity you'd see him shaking visibly now as he crashes through the door, drawing a deep breath that sears his throat and lungs like acid.

The angle changes and we see, from the inside, from the end of the short hallway, the broken door behind him recoiling from the wall... bits of the window glass falling from it to the floor. But he's already past them, nearly leaping the last few feet to the kitchen doorway on the right of the hall. The breath released in a wail as he entered the house, "Dad? Dad??" He loses his balance trying to make the final turn at full speed, barely keeping his feet under him as he disappears from our view into the kitchen.

For a moment, all that can be seen of him is a shadow cast by the harsh kitchen light into the hallway displaying, in a macabre shadow-theatrical pantomime, his sudden, flailing stop. He recoils backwards from the kitchen as if he'd unexpectedly charged through a door into Hell. Finally losing his footing in the sudden retreat, he hits the hallway wall opposite the kitchen door hard and slides to the floor in one motion that is everything but smooth. In his tumble, his gaze never leaves the vision before him while his memory is written with it in fire; his body limp and jaw slack as if every once of energy left in him is spent, in that one moment, in preventing his life from draining from him.

"What have you done, dad?? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??"

[end]

January 16, 2009 (16/365)

As I mentioned on January 6, for me to be successfully creative requires these three aspects in large and equal parts: Inspiration, Motivation, and Opportunity. I have to have an idea to work on, the urge to work on it, and the time and place in which to work on it. I've almost always got one of these flowing wildly, like the blood in a porn star's penis (no, I have no idea where that came from); sometimes I have two of them. (Aspects, not penises.) On the rare occasions where I'm sporting all three, things get done. Otherwise, not so much. Tonight I've been turgid with inspiration and opportunity, but I'm lacking that certain something to extend me from "I should make this" to actually working on it. It's immensely frustrating... essentially creative blue balls. I go through some combination of aspects like this every single day. I should have graphics for this blog of little gauges to show where these aspects are from day to day.

With apologies for all the odd penis references....

January 15, 2009 (15/365)

Jeezus H. Tapdancing Christ, it's currently 47 degrees below zero and still heading down. I've been housebound for days and, as usual, it's starting to effect me. I hate feeling trapped inside. Ironically, it makes me feel less like doing things around here, not more.

I feel like this is a throw-away post. It's not interesting or even particularly thoughtful. I suppose some will be like this.

January 14, 2009 (14/365) #2

I suppose this could be considered a whine. Feel free to disregard it and just move on.

The past day or so I've been suffering from gluttony. The biblical definition, not just the popular one. I want everything, I want a lot of it, and I want everything to be big. And the part of this that I think makes it more of a sin than a mood or a weakness, is that I'm ok with it. I'm indulging it... even reveling in it. I feel almost crazy. It's probably a damn good thing that it's 30 fucking degrees below zero outside, or I'd have gone to the mall and spent myself broke. I'm also relatively frustrated as I'm not surrounded, ass-deep, in the harder to get things and the ethereal things that I can't just go out and buy. (Like I said, I want everything.) This will probably pass, though I don't yet care.

Don't that just sound shallow as hell.

January 14, 2009 (14/365)

I'm not an iPhone hater, quite the opposite, but there are a lot of them out there. Some of them are malicious. It occured to me today how such a person might wreak a little destruction. Ya'see, one of the attractions to the iPhone are all these little "apps," little software widgets and applications that do everything from show you a pretty picture slideshow to telling you what the weather is in Zimbabwe. Were one wishing to be destructive (and, strangely, I'm not), one could design a fake app. I give you.....

iScale
iScale is a virtual scale application for those watching their weight, which applies the iPhone's pressure sensitive screen technology to tell you your weight. Simply start the app, place your iPhone on a hard floor, and stand on it. The iPhone will display your current weight!

Yeah.... There's some stupid people who'd do it.

January 13, 2009 (13/365)

The time is approaching for me to choose a new cell phone. I'm a detail-obsessive, anal-retentive picky-ass. You can just imagine the hell this is going to be for me.

Yeah, this is earth-shattering stuff.

January 12, 2009 (12/365)

I'm usually fairly fixated on sexual topics. It's just the nature of who I am. Today I am more so than normal... momentum-killing distractingly so. Whatever I'm doing will come to a grinding halt at the first sign an attractive woman or anything else of a sexual nature. This post itself has taken nearly half an hour because the TV is playing in the background. Strangely, I'm ok with this. The latest catch phrase these days is "owning" it. No problem. I'll own this.

Those who wish to point and decry "shallow" need not comment.

....unless you have nice tits*.

*Oh, come on... it's humor.

January 11, 2009 (11/365)

Have you ever thought it would be nice to make someone a birthday present instead of just buying it? Sure... It'll be special and shouldn't take very long to make. I've spent two solid nights on this thing and probably won't be finished until tomorrow. It's become more of a personal art project than a present at this point, it's exploded all over my living room, and I just want it to be over. I hope the appreciation will be proportionate to the amount of effort put into it.

In other exciting news: Bacon!

January 10, 2009 (10/365)

Amanda was one of those people you meet online, make a connection with, and want to get to know better. I'm beginning to think that ship may have passed me in the night though, as I haven't heard from her in a couple months. My calls go to her voicemail and her email address has been closed. I feel offended and I feel like a stalker all at the same time. So.... a little offended, a little worried, but mostly puzzled.

I'll cut this short because I'm working on a project, and I don't want to lose the momentum. But a promise is a promise, so here I am, writing something every day.

January 9, 2009 (9/365)

This is one of the parts of the freelance job I hate most... The waiting to see if the weeks of work are going to explode at the printers, making the client furious, and setting me back to square one on the project, or if I'll be the hero. "Hero or goat," as they say. I uploaded the book to the printer today. I'd hold my breath, but all I'd do is turn blue and pass out.

In other news, I noticed at lunch yesterday that sometimes I read the art magazines for the inspiration and sometimes I read them to admire other people's work. Strangely they are, in fact, mutually exclusive. Good lord, I don't want to have to read through that pile* twice.

*Seriously, it's a pile. I spent much of 2004-2006 deep enough in depression and more interested in TV and movies that I tossed 90% of them in a pile for "later." That's 5 magazines every month or two. You do the math. To my credit, this year I've torn the pile down from about 4' tall to about 2'.

January 8, 2009 (8/365)

Dear eBay sellers,

The word "vintage" is no longer to be used to describe any item less than 25 years old. Last season's Nikes aren't "vintage." Those original Xbox games aren't "vintage." The brand new retro style sunglasses aren't "vintage." That new t-shirt with the simulated worn design on the front isn't "vintage." In fact, if you're using the words "new" and "vintage" in the same listing, your little brain should be able to tell you you're doing something wrong. I'd flag your listings, but somehow I doubt the minimum wage, work-at-home, button pushers at eBay would understand the atrocity.

Sincerely,
-The guy who's trying to find old junk to make jewelry out of

January 7, 2009 (7/365)

A dark mood has settled deep into me tonight. I'm angry about everything, and everyone makes me mad. I wish there was someone to calm this feeling when it happens.

That's all you get today. Fuck off.

January 6, 2009 (6/365)

Sometimes my creativity is like Bigfoot, hiding deep in the forest of my brain. Usually undetected, but you can just sense that it's hiding there, just behind the tree line. Yet once in a great while, when you're not expecting it, it comes into plain view. And it's spectacular.

Yes, it's a bizarre and possibly overly-dramatic analogy, but it's not inaccurate. I frequently feel the creative impulses and brainstorms bubbling beneath my regular routine... fragments of ideas, writing inspirations, brief glimpses of works of art yet to be created... but almost always at a time when I can't do a thing about it. Maybe 25% of the time I can jot down a quick note or crappy sketch. Maybe 25% of those make any sense at all when I return to them days or weeks later. You can get an idea of how many of these things see the light of day, and that makes me sad and unfulfilled.

If not exactly at the center of it, this situation is closely tied to my "Great Frustration." (Note the capitalization for emphasis. Again, the dramatist, me.) Inspiration, Motivation, Opportunity. These are the three heavenly bodies that must come into alignment in order for me to fulfill the creative life I crave. And for some reason, as is the wont of heavenly bodies, these things just don't align very often.

January 5, 2009 (5/365)

Investment prestidigitator Bernie Madoff was re-arrested for breaking the terms of his bail. He was caught trying to mail over a million dollars worth of jewelry to family members and friends. This, after this diamond-encrusted douchebag was given "house arrest" in his 7 million dollar apartment after posting 10 million dollars bail.

This guy flagrantly displays every quality that makes me want to beat the entitled in the face until my voice has screamed itself out of existence and I can no longer raise my hands above my head to bury my blood-soaked knuckles in his cranium.

Eat the rich.

January 4, 2009 (4/365)

It's an uncomfortable feeling to question the actions and motivations of your friends all the time. I think it comes from my constant examination of everyone's psychology in every action they take and decision they make. It leads to seeing those ugly sides of people we don't want to know about. It also makes you terribly paranoid.

January 3, 2009 (3/365)

I know I'm not perfect either, but I have very, very little tolerance for stupidity. Sadly, it doesn't matter who exhibits it, and it usually makes me angry.

January 2, 2009 (2/365)

I hate Christmas. Not so much hate it any more as it makes me uncomfortable, and it no longer fills me with warm holiday feelings (for old, old reasons that I won't burden you with here today as they're beside the point). So it's either ironic or desperate that I cling to the tradition of putting up and decorating a Christmas tree every year since the late '80s. In the same spirit of irony, desperation, and with an added touch of anal-retentiveness, I keep carefully collected ornaments, each wrapped in tissue and stored in a nice sturdy box. When the tree goes up, the ornaments go on, and the fallout of tissue sheets get tossed into the box, waiting to be reused when the tree comes down. Today was that day.

The whole point of this post is the inevitable pondering that I go through every time I trudge through the rewrapping ritual. I wonder, each time I pick up a piece of crumpled tissue and pluck a glass ornament off the tree, if this particular ornament has ever met this particular piece of tissue before. It's a weird psychological fixation that locks up my brain during the process like a bad bit of computer code. I end up feeling mentally exhausted afterwards.

Yeah, that boy ain't right.

January 1, 2009 (1/365)

On New Year's Day.

I truly think 2009 begins an era of change for the world. In the spirit of contributing to the momentum of that change, I begin this journal. This will be a personal experiment and challenge to test my personal discipline and creativity by logging one journal entry every day of 2009. I've wanted to get back to writing; friends have encouraged, sometimes begged, me to get back to writing. Hopefully this will help that process flow more easily from the post-apocalyptic landscape of my brain. If the world at large gets some knowledge or enlightenment from this, so much the better. Drop me a line and let me know what you think.

Rule #1: This journal will NOT be some insipid masterbatory play-by-play of my daily minutia. (Seriously people , nobody wants to read how "Bobbie stepped on my iPod" or "I've got nothing to wear to the party tonight.") There'll be no "it's cold outside today" or "work really sucked" that people obligatorily and half-heartedly hammer out just to have something written. Long or short, every entry will, at the very least, be something observational if not, hopefully, thoughtful. A lot of shit cycles through my head every day, and I think some of it deserves to hit a page instead of just evaporating into the cerebral aether.

Rule #2: I will log at least one entry every day* unless I am physically or situationally incapable of doing so. If I blow a day, I lose, and might very well dump this whole thing at that point and hang my head in shame. (Hence the testing of mental discipline.)

So, that's it. Go me!

*A "day" for me is defined by the boundaries of when I go to sleep and wake up. It'll almost always run past 12:01am of the next day as I'm usually up til 3:00 or 4:00am. Deal with it.