01 October 2010
25 September 2010
on Dumpster Diving
There comes a time in everyone's life--I'm pretty sure--that, when driving by a dumpster, they think to themselves: "I just have to have that _______."
Today, that ______ for me was a beautiful, turquoise-stained wooden pallet. I've been craving a pallet for quite a while now, and it just so happened that the perfect pallet was waiting for me on top of the dumpster at the Toys-R-Us at Blanco and 410. There was no question in my mind: I had to have that pallet.
After climbing on top of my car (sorry, car), lifting the pallet out of the dumpster, almost dropping it and falling off the car instead (with the pallet landing on top of me, of course), I managed to scoot it over to my back seat. This thing has to weigh at least 50 pounds, but there is no way I'm leaving it here... I've gotten this far.
Lucky for me, a nice guy pulled over to help me load it up, and the awesome manager at my apartment complex helped me get it out of the car and into the house.
So, now I have a pallet. A perfect, beautiful, heavy-as-hell pallet ...that I have NO idea what I'm going to do with.
Just look at it! Look at the details, the colors, the little dents and etchings...
this is going to be a project of epic proportions!
Today, that ______ for me was a beautiful, turquoise-stained wooden pallet. I've been craving a pallet for quite a while now, and it just so happened that the perfect pallet was waiting for me on top of the dumpster at the Toys-R-Us at Blanco and 410. There was no question in my mind: I had to have that pallet.
After climbing on top of my car (sorry, car), lifting the pallet out of the dumpster, almost dropping it and falling off the car instead (with the pallet landing on top of me, of course), I managed to scoot it over to my back seat. This thing has to weigh at least 50 pounds, but there is no way I'm leaving it here... I've gotten this far.
Lucky for me, a nice guy pulled over to help me load it up, and the awesome manager at my apartment complex helped me get it out of the car and into the house.
So, now I have a pallet. A perfect, beautiful, heavy-as-hell pallet ...that I have NO idea what I'm going to do with.
Just look at it! Look at the details, the colors, the little dents and etchings...
this is going to be a project of epic proportions!
19 September 2010
on Weekends
It's been a while since I had a "Weekend," but in the past couple of weekends, I've had some amazing ones.
Three weekends ago, I took a semi-spontaneous trip to Chicago. Train rides, day drunk, Michigan Avenue, art school, Chinatown, downtown, and about 40 miles of walking later, I realized what'd I'd been missing out on: genuine, non-stop fun. Then again, it was one of my first real "Weekend"s since college, and I suppose I'd just been missing it more than I realized.
But this past weekend was no match for that Illinois city... who knew that so much else could happen right here at home. On Friday I got stuck in a flood, had someone run into my car in a parking lot, dressed in a Dirndl, chugged beer with the German club, bought shots for some European guys in a sketchy smokey bar, built an amazing art project, drove three hours through a hurricane, took Julie out for her 21st birthday in Houston, got pulled over and sobriety-tested while wearing boxers and a hoodie, lost my ID, found my ID, went to Buc-ees!!!, got home at 4 in the morning, went to church, cooked homemade biscuits, and got 1/4 through building a website.
Next weekend is La Grange and maybe Mexico; two weekends after that it's back to Chicago again. All with 6 bucks in my bank account and two massive blisters on my heels.
David was right. It's a pretty exhilarating feeling, to start conquering the world again.
Three weekends ago, I took a semi-spontaneous trip to Chicago. Train rides, day drunk, Michigan Avenue, art school, Chinatown, downtown, and about 40 miles of walking later, I realized what'd I'd been missing out on: genuine, non-stop fun. Then again, it was one of my first real "Weekend"s since college, and I suppose I'd just been missing it more than I realized.
But this past weekend was no match for that Illinois city... who knew that so much else could happen right here at home. On Friday I got stuck in a flood, had someone run into my car in a parking lot, dressed in a Dirndl, chugged beer with the German club, bought shots for some European guys in a sketchy smokey bar, built an amazing art project, drove three hours through a hurricane, took Julie out for her 21st birthday in Houston, got pulled over and sobriety-tested while wearing boxers and a hoodie, lost my ID, found my ID, went to Buc-ees!!!, got home at 4 in the morning, went to church, cooked homemade biscuits, and got 1/4 through building a website.
Next weekend is La Grange and maybe Mexico; two weekends after that it's back to Chicago again. All with 6 bucks in my bank account and two massive blisters on my heels.
David was right. It's a pretty exhilarating feeling, to start conquering the world again.
17 August 2010
on Projects
It had been a while since I worked on a project. A REAL project. Not just putting new wall hangers on the back of old pictures or buying organization at Target to try to make myself seem tidier.
Then, a gangsta-ass artist (ok not really) dropped a set of truly amazing paintings in my lap, and I felt inspired:
I thought to myself, I can't let this kid go to Chicago without making him something in return. Hours of sweating over a hot iron (no joke) I finally came up with this: a photograph printed on multiple pieces of fabric, sewn together with thick thread and stretched over a frame.
It feels good to do projects again.
Then, a gangsta-ass artist (ok not really) dropped a set of truly amazing paintings in my lap, and I felt inspired:
I thought to myself, I can't let this kid go to Chicago without making him something in return. Hours of sweating over a hot iron (no joke) I finally came up with this: a photograph printed on multiple pieces of fabric, sewn together with thick thread and stretched over a frame.
It feels good to do projects again.
06 July 2010
on 238,000 Good Memories
I wrote this letter to Chevy today:
Dear Chevy,
This past weekend, my mother was involved in an accident which left her 2001 Tahoe totaled. I cannot tell you enough how much Mom loved this Tahoe (or the Taco, as we called it, though I have no idea why).
I grew up with Chevy. My family had Suburbans for as long as I can remember, until my mom "switched" to a Tahoe in 2001. My Grandaddy had a 'Burban with over 300,000 miles on it, and it was still running when we gave it away. My first car was even a Suburban, from the year I was born (1986)... ah, the good ol' days.
Anyway, I digress: Mom's Tahoe is now kaputt. She was pretty upset when it the accident happened, but even more upset when she found out there was nothing she could do to save the poor soul. And as she was unpacking the back--"for the last time," she said sadly--she made a comment that I will never forget. She said, "There are 238,000 good memories in this thing."
238,000 good memories. 238,000 miles of mission trips to Mexico (she'd always volunteer to drive us crazy kids there and back); 238,000 miles of school trips and football games (she was always the loudest in the stands); 238,000 miles of spontaneous road trips to the beach or the mountains... yes, I'd say she was quite right. 238,000 good memories.
It touched me enough to write you a letter about it, as I just wanted to let you know... as corny as it may seem, I don't know that those 238,000 miles could have ever been put on anything else. And, I do hope Mom gets a new Chevy soon... because she's got a lot more memories to go!
Dear Chevy,
This past weekend, my mother was involved in an accident which left her 2001 Tahoe totaled. I cannot tell you enough how much Mom loved this Tahoe (or the Taco, as we called it, though I have no idea why).
I grew up with Chevy. My family had Suburbans for as long as I can remember, until my mom "switched" to a Tahoe in 2001. My Grandaddy had a 'Burban with over 300,000 miles on it, and it was still running when we gave it away. My first car was even a Suburban, from the year I was born (1986)... ah, the good ol' days.
Anyway, I digress: Mom's Tahoe is now kaputt. She was pretty upset when it the accident happened, but even more upset when she found out there was nothing she could do to save the poor soul. And as she was unpacking the back--"for the last time," she said sadly--she made a comment that I will never forget. She said, "There are 238,000 good memories in this thing."
238,000 good memories. 238,000 miles of mission trips to Mexico (she'd always volunteer to drive us crazy kids there and back); 238,000 miles of school trips and football games (she was always the loudest in the stands); 238,000 miles of spontaneous road trips to the beach or the mountains... yes, I'd say she was quite right. 238,000 good memories.
It touched me enough to write you a letter about it, as I just wanted to let you know... as corny as it may seem, I don't know that those 238,000 miles could have ever been put on anything else. And, I do hope Mom gets a new Chevy soon... because she's got a lot more memories to go!
21 June 2010
A Logo For Otto
I made a logo for the one and only Otto von Schnitzelpusskrankengescheitmeyer:
Ok, so it's kind of a knock-off. I don't think he'll mind ;)
Ok, so it's kind of a knock-off. I don't think he'll mind ;)
11 May 2010
on Shopping and Driving
I noticed yesterday that people drive their shopping carts the same way they drive their cars.
Instance 1: Man on Cell Phone
Scenario: I'm driving along in the right lane of a four-lane isle in target. A man takes a right into the isle, merging nicely in behind me, when he decides to step on it and pass me in the left lane. I'm ok with this--I'm going slower, he has the right to pass. As said man begins to speed up beside me, he gets a call on his cell phone. This, of course, causes him to slow down drastically, making the other fast-paced woman behind him come to a halting stop. Now, he's interchangeably increasing and decreasing his speed, not only making it impossible to pass him, but making it impossible for the other cart drivers to maintain a consistent rate of speed until their next isle exits. This man--I hate him. And he doesn't care, because he's on his cell phone and NOTHING ELSE is as important as that.
Instance 2: Soccer Mom in Mini Van
Scenario: The isles are bustling with traffic, each cart driver keeping to his or her own respective space. Some are reaching for pasta sauce, some for cookies, all anxious to go home and cook dinner. But then comes Mad Mom. She's got her two kids strapped into the front of the cart, and they're wailing about not getting toys. She's on a mission. She's gotta get home. She's gotta get the first load in the laundry. She's the only one with rights on the road right now, so get out of her way--and this is all completely logical to her. She's risking her kid's LIVES going 1/4 miles an hour through the isles, weaving in and out of traffic in a real-life Mario (Shopping) Kart. And she's winning.
Instance 3: Guy Who Doesn't Use His Blinker
Scenario: Ok, Ok, I know. Shopping carts don't have blinkers. BUT, there is a common courtesy when shopping that, if one is turning down the isle, he or she looks left, looks right, and looks left again, then heads visibly in the direction of the isle with a smile and a nod. It's a non-verbal communication that is essential to the shopping-with-a-shopping-cart experience, even more necessary when you're at the only grocery store in a 20-mile radius at 5:30 pm on a workday afternoon. But then there's that guy, who rams his cart into the center isle, or jerks into another lane, or cuts you off in the check-out line... all without the slightest signal of intention or direction. But why not? I mean, he's the only person in the store that really matters anyway.
Result: An Open Letter to Shoppers around the World
Dear Shoppers: Please be nice. Please be courteous. Please remember that there are other people who have to get places, too. Stay alive--don't text and drive.
Instance 1: Man on Cell Phone
Scenario: I'm driving along in the right lane of a four-lane isle in target. A man takes a right into the isle, merging nicely in behind me, when he decides to step on it and pass me in the left lane. I'm ok with this--I'm going slower, he has the right to pass. As said man begins to speed up beside me, he gets a call on his cell phone. This, of course, causes him to slow down drastically, making the other fast-paced woman behind him come to a halting stop. Now, he's interchangeably increasing and decreasing his speed, not only making it impossible to pass him, but making it impossible for the other cart drivers to maintain a consistent rate of speed until their next isle exits. This man--I hate him. And he doesn't care, because he's on his cell phone and NOTHING ELSE is as important as that.
Instance 2: Soccer Mom in Mini Van
Scenario: The isles are bustling with traffic, each cart driver keeping to his or her own respective space. Some are reaching for pasta sauce, some for cookies, all anxious to go home and cook dinner. But then comes Mad Mom. She's got her two kids strapped into the front of the cart, and they're wailing about not getting toys. She's on a mission. She's gotta get home. She's gotta get the first load in the laundry. She's the only one with rights on the road right now, so get out of her way--and this is all completely logical to her. She's risking her kid's LIVES going 1/4 miles an hour through the isles, weaving in and out of traffic in a real-life Mario (Shopping) Kart. And she's winning.
Instance 3: Guy Who Doesn't Use His Blinker
Scenario: Ok, Ok, I know. Shopping carts don't have blinkers. BUT, there is a common courtesy when shopping that, if one is turning down the isle, he or she looks left, looks right, and looks left again, then heads visibly in the direction of the isle with a smile and a nod. It's a non-verbal communication that is essential to the shopping-with-a-shopping-cart experience, even more necessary when you're at the only grocery store in a 20-mile radius at 5:30 pm on a workday afternoon. But then there's that guy, who rams his cart into the center isle, or jerks into another lane, or cuts you off in the check-out line... all without the slightest signal of intention or direction. But why not? I mean, he's the only person in the store that really matters anyway.
Result: An Open Letter to Shoppers around the World
Dear Shoppers: Please be nice. Please be courteous. Please remember that there are other people who have to get places, too. Stay alive--don't text and drive.
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