old-skool portable phone

yeh, it was portable if you were a weightlifter. Notice the guy in the back changing the batteries. Need I say its sales weren't much to write home about. But ya gotta start somewhere.

seriously, though, yesterday I made what may be my last trip to the Dallas house and was glad I brought my camera when I spotted this box. It looks like something by Calculator, but there was no tag visible. In the olden days I used to hear that this many drips was a sign of sloppy artwork but now that Dallas has a "Graffiti Czar" the cops are more busy looking for spray-paint artists than drug dealers so lightning-fast throwups are the norm.

Dallas graffiti is one thing I do miss.

thru the looking glass

(better viewed large)

Which side of the glass do YOU prefer? Me? I don't know.

It's been weird this week. Great weather - finally sunshine and 70 degrees and flowers blooming but the buyers' inspection of the Dallas house turned up numerous deficiencies which sent my stress levels soaring. Never knew what a firetrap I was living in. And I don't know who has contrived to make buying or selling a house one of the worst experiences of your life.

The worst thing is that the showerpan leaks and has left rotted subfloor underneath so part of shower must be demolished and replaced. Other than that, the process seems to be moving forward and the house is to be appraised today. Maybe I will be making my last trip to the house this week.

almost spring

I couldn't stand it. There wasn't much to do at work today so I stayed home and played at gardening. I raked up about 6 bags of leaves and cut back a bunch of English Ivy that's dragging down our 100-year-old cypress fence. Along the way I found these very tiny violet flowers that appear each spring. They're called corn speedwell and are part of the Veronica and Snapdragon families. I had to literally place the camera on the ground to get level with the little wildflowers.

ghost rider

I almost didn't go to work yesterday. The sun was shining, the temp was 65 degrees and I stopped at a traffic signal and saw the ghost of my youth pedaling furiously across the intersection. Of course we didn't have helmets or knee pads or elbow pads in those days. We didn't even have child-size bicycles. How is this kid ever going to learn about pain if she's not allowed to fall down and scrape the skin off her legs?

towing enforced

Where was this Tow Truck during the last two elections when we really needed it?

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

A neighbor down the bock is a "Road Avenger." He drives a huge dark blue flatbed truck that roars up and down the street at 40 miles per hour. You do NOT want to be out walking the dog when this guy heads for work in the morning. It makes for a nice alarm clock at 7:15 a.m.

Except That's NOT what time I want to wake up.

Vivian Refused to Check Her Fish at the Door

I've started following the collage themes posted at Scrapiteria, a Collage Collaboration. I thought it might get me out of my rut to try to follow along, as I really don't know what I'm doing, and these folks are pretty much masters at their craft. Besides, it's still cold outside and you know how much I don't like that!

herminio

I had a wisdom tooth pulled on Tuesday and stayed home from work that day. I stayed home Wednesday as well because there wasn't much to do at work and it was cold outside and I just didn't want to get out. I played indoors.

I found many of this collage's elements on walks around my Dallas neighborhood. A coffee-stained photo of a young lady dated Feb 14, 2005; Texas Lotto tickets (no winners); Camel Cigarettes poker chip; a torn check; a crushed beer bottle cap. The objects just seemed to capture what life is like for many people in the area.

I'm very much out of practice with all of my arts. Our "new" house isn't very warm and my office is still in a state of confusion from the move so I haven't puttered much this winter. I'm trying to get back in the habit, though.

heart apparatus

I have valentine issues.

I had some leftover bits from the postcard I made for a valentine's day swap and this is what came out of it.

secret admirers

A couple of years ago I developed a crush on a co-worker who had recently divorced. Knowing that office romance can be difficult my head was hesitant to explore the situation but my heart was dying to proclaim my attraction. The attraction seemed to be reciprocated but I waffled. As Valentine's Day approached I thought I would explode if I didn't say something to my co-worker. I can't remember if it was Valentine's Day or the eve before, but I remember it was cold and it was raining a little as I left work that night. It was about 9 pm or so and I was the last person to leave. My car was the only one in the parking lot. As I approached it I noticed something on the windshield. It was a large cellophane bag full of potpourri. And not cheap potpourri either. It turned out to be the best-smelling longest-lasting potpourri I've ever had. There was no card, no note, no indication of who had left it on my car. I got very excited, thinking it was from my latest crush. But no, when I asked, he didn't seem to know anything about it. I was crestfallen but I asked my other co-workers, first my male friends, then my female friends, then a few other people. No one knew anything. I never found out where it came from. Still, it made for a really nice Valentine's Day.

Maybe it was payback for something I had done years before. In college I developed a crush on a guy who habituated the class ahead of mine. I would see him each Tuesday-Thursday as my class filtered into the classroom and his class departed. Several women in my class also had crushes on him and I learned his name. No one seemed to know for certain if he was single or married. Again, Valentine's Day approached. I had the guy's address and I thought it would be clever to send him an anonymous valentine just to make his day. I found a lovely romantic card with a single rose on it. I wanted to disguise my handwriting so I addressed the envelope using newspaper clippings. It looked like the proverbial "kidnap note" from old gangser movies, but I didn't think about that at the time. I had done collaged lettering for small art projects and it just seemed like a natural contrast - the pretty card concealed by the rough-hewn lettering on the envelope. At the last minute I printed a short message on an anonymous dot-matrix printer (I told you it was years ago!) with my phone number and paper-clipped it to the card, just in case the guy was available and mailed it. I had the satisfaction of then seeing him twice a week knowing he had had a wonderful valentine arrive in the mail. A year or more went by and I forgot about it until out of the blue I got the phone call I'd hoped for at the time. We talked and I found out what had happened to my card. I guess the guy was unusually paranoid because when he saw that collaged address (the kidnap note) and felt something solid inside the envelope (the paper clip) he thought it was a letter bomb. He put it in the trunk of his car and drove to the police station where he reported it to the bomb squad. They gingerly removed the thing and x-rayed it. The officer told him, "it's a paper clip." So he opened the letter there in the presence of the (probably highly amused) officers and sure enough, it was a pink paper clip with a phone number attached to a card of hearts and flowers. I don't remember what his reaction was but he did save the card and eventually called the phone number. Things didn't work out, by the way.

is that a real sky or is that a Sears sky?

It's raining today. No sun. Snow predicted for Wednesday. I'm impatient for spring.

I guess if I really need to look at a blue sky I could head over to the Studio at Las Colinas across the street from where I work and stare at this wall. This is where they shot the Chuck Norton TV series "Walker, Texas Ranger". I often wonder now how many skies on tv are just painted on the sides of buildings. Life mimics "The Truman Show".

cabin fever

My mom is going to drive me crazy if winter doesn't end soon. She's been poring over all these seed catalogs for the last few weeks, making lists, and ordering seeds and plants. It wouldn't be so bad but she has to tell me every single item she wants to order and ask me where she should plant it. I just want to rest my brain; I don't want to think about designing a garden that she won't plant. It won't really matter much where I want things planted. She will plant them where she wants. She's also got dozens of pots and tin cans in the sitting area with little seedlings growing out of some of them and mold or rust growing in others. I can barely move around to get to a chair so I can read the newspaper in the morning.

We're suppposed to get another "winter blast" this week, possibly with a bit of snow, and I'm hoping winter will just blow itself out this time around. I'm longing for sunshine that lasts more than a day or a few hours.

finding a needle in a haystack

Here is part of my very messy office. It isn't so bad unless I am trying to find something I really need. Like today. I got a call from my realtor in Dallas who said someone has made an offer to buy my old house there. But I needed to find the old survey of the property or I might have to pay to have another one made. Not exactly small change. So I started with the grey filing cabinet back there in the left corner and went through every file folder and then started sifting through all the books, magazines and papers on my shelves looking for just one particular sheet of paper. I had been looking for this paper for two weeks so I wasn't sure I would find anything but I tried to stay positive. The little bit of sun we had this morning faded and it was getting a little chilly so I made a coffee cake and some strong coffee and my mom and I had a cheerful "tea time" about 2 pm. We are so happy someone wants to buy the house. I was rejuvenated by these thoughts as well as from sugar and caffeine and whaddaya know? I found that little piece of paper! Now it's safely tucked into a brown envelope so I can take it to my realtor tomorrow.

opportunity

I started carrying my camera with me again. I've been missing a lot of photo ops by not doing so. I drove by an electrical box off LBJ Freeway with some great graffiti & stickerart that I meant to photograph. I couldn't quite figure out how to get to it and I was always too tired to stop and investigate and last week someone covered the art over with black paint. Sunday there was a fire at some apartments that backed up to the freeway and I kept thinking I could exit and photograph all the firefighters that were still hosing down the ashes. Probably I would not have been able to get that close, but I didn't have my camera anyway. So a few days later I decided my camera would be my traveling companion.

Yesterday I stopped in Plano on my way to work to shoot this '57 Chevy that's in front of Hooters. There was a lot of fog and mist in the air but it seemed appropriate for the orange. I may have to tweak the exposure a little in photoshop but it turned out pretty well without any editing.

tired

We're finally back to eight-hour days at work after about 6 weeks of nonstop overtime. Plus there were the weekly drives to Dallas to work on the other house. I thought I'd be less tired this week but I'm not. So I've done the logical thing and increased my caffeine intake. On top of the pot of chai tea I drink every morning I've added a shot of instant coffee courtesy of my mom. It's not "real" coffee but it does the trick. It's probably a good thing I don't have any decent coffee beans lying around or I'd be drinking pots of that instead of the tea.

I've continued listening to "Drugs and Behavior", the Psch 119 class from Berkeley, and one of the ideas that's been emphasized is that the only difference between a poison and a medicine is the dosage. Any plant stimulant (like tea or coffee) that you ingest is "poison". Part of the class centers on the metabolic effects of poisons and how we build tolerances to them. All I can say is I'm going to have a whopping headache when I disengage from my excessive use of caffeine.

rodrigo y gabriela

Last week I kept switching from an old Supersuckers' CD to this more recent one by the Mexico City duo Rodrigo and Gabriela. They got their start in music by playing thrash metal in Mexico City in the mode of Megadeath and Slayer. When that didn't work out they buskered around Europe for a few years, just the two of them and their guitars, Rodrigo on lead and Gabriela on percussion, often creating new songs by ad libbing old metal songs with most folks none the wiser. They finally settled in Ireland where this album went to that country's Top Ten almost immediately on its release.

This album has no lyrics to get in the way of the wonderful instrumentals. I found it in the jazz section but don't let that classification put you off; it's a passion-filled collection of enlivening pieces. My favorite is "El Diablo Rojo" and their unique rendition of Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" is a wonderful homage to their metal roots.

You can find out more about Rodrigo & Gabriela at My Old Kentucky Blog (Scroll down to January 17) or at the duo's homepage, RODGAB.COM. You can also hear an interview with the duo as well some of their music at World Cafe at NPR.

car chase

I watched two vehicles play a dangerous game on the freeway last night. As I drove north on US 75 a Scion entered the freeway from George Bush Turnpike. The road veers right & left due to ongoing construction and creates unusual blind spots for drivers, especially at night. The Scion didn't see the big Ford pickup traveling in the right lane and the truck had to quickly swerve into the next lane to avoid hitting the Scion.

The driver of the Ford pickup is pissed. "You sonofabitch!" He immediately speeds up, passes the Scion on the left, and cuts to the right directly in the path of the Scion. He then slows down so the Scion is riding his bumper. The driver of the Scion says, "What the hell??" and eases over one lane to the left. The Ford cuts quickly to the left in front of the Scion and slows down again. The Scion again attempts to move over and speeds up to try to get around the Ford. The Ford also accelerates and again cuts off the Scion. The Ford outweighs the Scion by at least 3000 pounds but it has enough power to more than compensate for any agility the smaller vehicle might have. I am going 65 mph and their speed is gradually increasing as they get farther and farther ahead of me. It's not yet 10 p.m. so there is still enough traffic that these two vehicles must also dodge several vehicles as they dodge one another. From Plano to McKinney is an almost straight 20-mile stretch of freeway so there is no telling how long they will play this game of russian roulette. Before I reach the city of Allen about ten minutes later the players are lost from sight.

As I watched this scene unfold I felt it could only end when one or another of the drivers was dead. It was scary. It's why I hate driving in Dallas. Some locals say there are two reasons they call LBJ Freeway a death-trap: 1) death 2) trap

Back in the 1980's the state of Texas promoted a "Drive Friendly" campaign by placing happy yellow signs along the highways and byways. You can still see a few of those old signs but they seem to be relics of a bygone era. Texas has become notorious for having worse drivers than California. It's odd how people can be so friendly in person and then turn into vicious sociopaths once they get in their car.

While the state's Drive Friendly campaign seems to have mostly given up the ghost, it still maintains a website to help people fight road rage. Go to DriveFriendly.org for tips on what you can do about aggressive driving.

sincerest form of flattery

I hear Microsoft's recent release of its Vista operating software was met with less than enthusiastic reviews. One local mega-electronics store stayed open all night waiting for the invasion of loyal hordes and had about 15 customers who braved the night to examine the new packages. Some of these did not buy anything, saying Microsoft always had bugs and they planned to wait several months for them to be fixed. Folks, if Vista is anything like Internet Explorer, which is pretty much just patches held together with baling wire and spit, you'd be better off taking Consumer Reports' advice and buying a Mac.

"If dealing with a Vista upgrade is more than you want to tackle, there are other options....you can go with Apple.....Buying a Mac will get you a brand that offers & excels in technical support and reliability."

Yes, PC's are cheaper, but this is a case of getting what you pay for. I've owned both PC's and Macs and I believe if you "use a Mac, you'll never go back." And I love my iPod.

Speaking of MP3 players, Bill Gates once dissed the iPod, saying he didn't know why anyone would carry both a phone and a music player. So I'm wondering why the Zune (which was supposed to make us forget about the iPod) doesn't include a phone in its package. Recently Advertising Age published its annual glossary of media technology and the Zune made the Top 10 for 2007. It says that Microsoft’s Zune brand now means something besides a digital audioplayer.

“ZUNE: Microsoft’s new music player. Also [slang]: a poseur; a wannabe. Usage: ‘Dude, you look like such a Zune in that shirt.' "

Which brings up the point that Vista is so Zune. It mimics what Apple has been doing for years. There's finally something resembling Mac's oh-so-cool Dock. There's a search window in the upper left corner instead of the upper right as Mac's is. You can add "gadgets" to your desktop, which seem to be very similar to Mac's "widgets." Not very original. Of course these items will SEEM original to people who have never had the pleasure to operate a Mac.

poor Microsoft. I'd feel sorry for them if they weren't making so much money by being so pervasive. In the meantime here's food for thought: What if Bill Gates had designed the iPod?

ps: No, I don't work for Apple. I'm just a fan.

fat sunday

Today the masses collect in one another's homes to worship, huzzah and bow down to the Holy Pigskin that is National Football in the USA. They have been stretching their credit limits to the max and substantially boosting the National Economy in order to purchase food & party favors for their worship services and Wide Screen HiDef Digital Plasma HDTV's on which to view the Great Event. Inordinate amounts of cash have been illicitly changing hands in $5 or $10 increments as Football Squares are filled with initials, aliases and dreams that will most likely be unfulfilled. His majesty, the artist formerly and currently known as Prince will serve as royal entertainer. Spectacular advertisements are being readied for broadcast and Pepsi has created a silver jewel-encrusted can in an effort to best Coke's sales. Excited conversation wafts through hallways, break rooms and cubicles as fans joust with their team's strengths and weaknesses.

My friend at work wryly observed one such conversation: "If people would discuss the things that really matter with half as much passion, maybe they could get some real changes done."
(when was the last time you were invited to an election-watching party?)

My reply: "how 'bout that Obama?!"

kill your television

I'm sitting in my living room staring at a toilet. Yes, a toilet. It's a Kohler "Cimarron" "comfort height" with elongated bowl in white. We bought it for the bathroom remodel and there's nowhere else to put it. It occurred to me that it was appropriately stationed next to the television.

I've been without decent tv reception since November when we moved to McKinney. Reception wasn't all that good in our Dallas neighborhood but we moved 40 miles farther from the main broadcasting antennas in Cedar Hill so now it's almost nil. There's a 15-foot tall antenna attached to the to the roof of the house but it's not connected to anything and I haven't found a bonded handyman yet who wants to go up there to deal with the problem. So I bought a set of powered rabbit ears to use in the meantime. They help but I still find that the most useless channels are the ones that come in the clearest. I'm not willing to PAY for tv so I'm learning to live without it. I've found I can watch my few favorite shows on my computer through the broadcast tv websites. It used to be that when I would come home late at night I would turn on the tv to unwind before I went to bed. When I was tired on the weekend I might channel surf for an hour just wasting time trying to get interested in something. Now I'm much more likely to do something creative or constructive.

There used to be some graffiti sprayed onto the bike trail near the southeast bridge at White Rock Lake that you couldn't miss if you walked, biked or skated the trail.

K I L L

Y O U R

T E L E V I S I O N

happy pills

I've been a chronic depressive since I was a teenager. No amount of counseling, exercising or socializing ever gave me the relief I got from smoking pot....until I got prescriptions for strange chemicals to swallow each day. Over the years I've taken Prozac, Paxil, Wellbutrin, Effexor, and I don't know what else. I hate taking them. I have side effects. They erode my creativity. I've quit more than once and each time I spiral into dark depression. I truly believe my brain's chemistry is out of whack but I don't know what's happening to it when it absorbs all these pharmaceutical-created concoctions. So I'm elated to have found a college course in podcast format from UC Berkeley called "Drugs and Behavior." David Presti, the professor who lectures, is an interesting and knowledgeable speaker. He delves into the social and political implications of drug use/abuse as well as the physical ones. He weaves history, religion, mythology and poetry into what I can only describe at this time as an epic story. Check out this series at: Webcast.Berkeley or find it on iTunes.

Before I forget, I want to suggest you check out the wonderful drawings and short stories at Tommy Kane's Blog.


I thought this bug-eyed mickey-mouse of his was an appropriate accompaniment to my drug story of the day. You can find it in Tommy's collection of his journals and art at: TommyKane.com

spring's a'comin'

yes, according to the Great Groundhog of Pennsylvania, spring will be here in less than six weeks; i.e. he did not see his shadow. Now, here in Texas we generally depend on the predictions of Nonc Nutria from Lafayette, Louisiana since his latitude is nearer ours, but there has been no official posting from Acadiana today except to say the weather was predicted to be cloudy so it was expected Nonc would not see his shadow.

Phil's Prediction

Here in McKinney, we got a bit of snow overnight but it's already melting.

look fast, it's gone

It snowed for about five minutes yesterday. The local tv weathercasters busted out their "Arctic Blast" banners again. That probably explains why there was so little traffic on the road last night. If I had turned on the tv I could have found some slim excuse to stay home from work. Pathetic, isn't it? I'm a kid hoping for a snow day. Common sense prevailed. I did not turn on the tv. The snow went away. I went to work. All that remains is the memory and this photo.

I've been thinking a lot about the human urge to "have the last word" in an argument. Every so often, usually in winter, I will surf the web looking for people I used to know. Usually I don't find them but about a month ago I found someone whom I once respected and on whom I had tremendous crush. We were friends for a time but it ended after an argument over something trivial. I apologized (even though I thought he was wrong) but met with a wall of obstinance. He would not answer my calls or respond to email. End of story. I felt bad until I found his blog recently and learned I was just one of many who met this response. I should be happy but I have this unrelenting fantasy of getting in the last word. I think about sending an email to the blog. Should it be anonymous or not? Should it be really evil or really nice? Should it be anonymous but hint at who I am? As long as I do nothing I can fantasize about "winning". If I do anything I will most likely "lose". I think as long as I think in those terms, I won't be satisfied.

thought compost

I received my list of names today of people to whom I'm to send my Valentine postcards. This sketch was what I came up with after doing my six preliminary drawings. I did this sketch actual size of the postcard. I originally envisioned a vertical format but it turned into a horizontal one after I added more elements.

I hope they will enjoy my final creation but they may find my interpretation of a "valentine" to be a little bizarre if not downright dark. I was talking to my friend L. about it and he asked me if it was satirical. First I said, "no" but then, "I don't know"; then I said, "yes". Then I got to thinking about the rock band R.E.M. and how people often asked them to interpret their enigmatic lyrics. I think it was Peter Buck who spoke for the band, saying, "They're just songs."

I often don't know where my art comes from or why it comes out the way it does. My experiences in life cause me to look at things a certain way and when I sift through scraps of paper some images take hold of my fingers and before I know it they're essential elements of a composition.

While thinking about why my valentine came out the way it did I've had to start thinking about what valentine's day really means to me and that turning-over process is generating some good ideas, just as turning dead leaves and garbage in an enclosed bin produces rich black compost that helps plants grow.

ethics give me a hotfoot

One of the hardest things about working on Sunday is that I'm usually the only person at a work station on this side of the building and the heat is usually not on. I have a blanket in my file drawer that I cover my legs with and I have a fuzzy jacket hanging on the wall that I use to cover my arms. I haven't been able to find a way to keep my fingers warm. It only takes 5 or 10 minutes before I have popsicle extremities. I sometimes get a cup of hot water or tea and keep it near me so that I can wrap my fingers around the warm china. It keeps my fingers from being truly frozen but doesn't help keep them limber. Someone up here has a portable heater hidden away and has given me permission to use it. Shhhh! no one's supposed to know. We're not supposed to plug these things in as they may blow out the server.

So is it ethical for me to use it? If I don't use it my health and my work suffer. There's a small likelihood it could blow the circuit but it's unlikely since I'm the only one with an appliance plugged in. Yet we've been told not to use heaters. I think the burden of ethical behavior is on the employer to give the employees a proper warm place to work. Don't tell anybody, ok?

early thoughts

ok, I committed to making some kind of postcard for the Valentine's swap. I don't think I'll have time to make ten different designs so I'll start with just one and see how things develop. I was too tired to think when I got home last night but I awoke a few hours later in the wee hours of morning and picked up my sketchbook and a pen. I was surprised that a few ideas came through my fingers and established themselves on the page. Surely this is a vote for the Zen No-Thought method. Think without Thinking. Draw without Drawing.

squirrel girl

Here's "Rufina" the squirrel stealing the bird food again. One of my first pics with the new lens I got yesterday. It's sharp!

The smallest things can really turn your attitude around. Last night on that 40-mile drive home I noticed 4 or 5 times I was paying more attention to the neon lights that line the freeway than I was to traffic around me. I realized I had probably come to the point of tiredness that I usually come to after days of working overtime that my brain and body are fried. As if to prove me right brain & body slept an extra hour this morning. Yep, I'm Fried.

Then I got an invite to a Valentine's Day postcard swap which would require some creative thought. I hesitated. I don't have time. My eyes are bloodshot. My brain is a turnip. Then I remembered that a deadline can sometimes wring blood from a turnip. So I signed up.

surprise

After many months of waiting I had almost given up on ever getting this lens. I wondered if every Nikon owner in the world was trying to buy the 18-200 VR lens. I had been on at least 3, maybe 4 waiting lists since last June. Many fellow photographers yielded to their desire to possess the thing and forked over several hundred dollars more than the retail price to dealers on eBay. I couldn't afford that luxury so I kept waiting. About 3 weeks ago I found another dealer who was accepting backorders. They told me delivery was averaging about 4 weeks but I hardly believed them as I added my name to another waiting list. Imagine my surprise when just 3 weeks later UPS delivered a very welcome package to my door.

Of course a few platitudes came to mind: "Patience is a virtue", "When you least expect it, expect it!" and "the meek shall inherit the earth" which I translate as "the patient shall inherit the bargain-priced lens."

Thanks, Samy's!

The Trucks

These four women from Bellingham, Washington are at once raunchy and ethereal. Their "I ain't takin' no crap from some jerk" attitude makes me wish I'd had role models like them when I was growing up. Most if not all of these tunes will never be played on the radio as there is profanity and/or sexual innuendo in abundance. The vocals range from punk-style screams to sweet rapping against electronic-pop backgrounds. Not for everyone, but I enjoyed almost every track.

My favorite rap from "3 a.m.": 3 am, drivin' my Mack, revved my engine when I saw him: boy in a dress, in distress, that's the kinda boy makes me arrest.....!" Do-wop vocals backed by pulsing bass.

or the sweetly nostalgic little-girl voices of "Bike" wafting from the jump-rope circle or hopscotch squares: "pedal, pedal, chain and metal, we went riding with the devil"

Rock on, Ladies!

icicle chimes

The sun came out for a little while yesterday and here is one result of the melting and re-freezing of yesterday's ice. The chime's pipes are temporarily stuck together so I cannot tell how their tones would change with their icy coats.

For BEATLES fans: A two-hour program that originally aired in March 2003 playing an discussing some lost tapes (since recovered) made during the filming of "Let It Be". I what I said about the world not needing another Beatles' remix. These tapes are mostly PRE-mixed, raw energy. Enjoy!
The Lost Tapes
Mac users (I am one) won't be able to view the accompanying video but you can listen to the audio portion by clicking on the "windows media" button. I know, ugh!

icy

I spotted a new visitor to the bird feeders. I think this is a yellow- rumped warbler. It definitely has a big yellow spot on its rump! There are several differently-named birds with similar markings but now I have this photo to help me identify it. It's noisy but I think the grain evokes the feeling of cold.

It's 23 degrees outside which is pretty cold to me. I listen to weather reports about Denver being -1 or Minneapolis being -14 and am so glad I don't live in a cold place. I'm like a bear when the temperature dips near the freezing zone. My blood turns to sludge and all I want to do is hibernate. I didn't go to work yesterday but the predicted disastrous weather conditions never materialized. The roads are worse today but I have to drive those 40 miles. I called my boss and everyone else got to work okay. I'll have to alllow myself 2 hours for the drive in case the HighFive overpass/mixmaster is frozen over.

wintry weather

Today we're in the initial throes of the Arctic Blast that's pushing through North Texas. This is a view of the condensation on my 1890's window.

There was a time when these masses of cold air were called "Northers" by the local newscasters. Now it's "Arctic" air that gets pushed into the region. I wonder if this is a result of the media's efforts to avoid offending the many people who have moved to Texas from other parts of the United States. There was a time when, if you lived further north than Oklahoma or Arkansas, you were a Northerner or "Yankee" as most Texans called them. The word was almost spat from the lips and there was always that impression that the War Between the States was neither forgotten nor forgiven when you heard the term. I know, because I myself was one of those poor pathetic Northerners who moved to Texas before the great migrations of the 80's had begun and regularly had the term applied to my being. Now that the non-native Texans outnumber the natives you don't hear the term much, but when the invasion by legal U.S. citizens began the word "Yankee" was even subdivided into 3 separate terms: a "Yankee" was someone from up north; a "damn Yankee" was someone from up north who moved to Texas, and a "god damn Yankee" was one who moved here and brought a family with them.

Love by The Beatles

I've been briefly reviewing some of the music I listen to over in the "on my iPod" section, but the length of my critiques has been getting longer and I hate deleting all that mental exercise. (ha, ha!) I've decided to keep the iPod section as a teaser and let the longer critiques run as posts. I may change my mind but it's MY blog, after all.

Do we really need another Re-Mix of Beatles material? Maybe it's because I grew up listening to the "original" mixes of these songs, but I don't understand the popularity of this album. Aside from the a capella version of "Because" interspersed with the bird twitters of "Across the Universe" and a reverse-rendition of "Sun King" I felt this album was nothing more than an exercise in cleverness. It is indeed, very clever, and I'm sure Giles Martin may have as successful a career as his dad after working with him on this piece, but cleverness alone wears mighty thin mighty quickly. These pieces are meant to accompany Cirque Soleil's latest Las Vegas production and they're probably ideal as a backdrop to graceful acrobatics, but the album as a whole comes across as mere muzak. I prefer the energetic life of the originals.

the past? what past?

excuse me, I am brain dead today. The 10-hour shifts are catching up with me and I have had to resort to a thesaurus to find the words my memory won't share with me.

This news item exemplifies one of the reasons I had wanted to leave Dallas for so long. The caption reads, "Preservation officials say the Haskell Avenue YWCA is one of East Dallas' few institutional buildings left standing from the early 20th century." There are many wonderful houses from the 1920's, 30's and 40's that I wouldn't have minded living in but the land is more valuable than the housing as people can buy a city lot, tear down the old house and build themselves a 3 or 4,000 square foot McMansion in its place. My friend M renovated a 1921 Craftsman house that had been set for teardown but in the meantime the house next door to her was demolished and a two-story duplex erected, and two houses across the street from her have been razed to make way for condos. Her house is so nice, but the neighborhood is being destroyed.

Dallas is one of those odd places which seems to have no history, and anything that seems to point to a hazy past is slated for destruction, unless there's a chance it might attract a major professional sports team to the city. I lived more than 30 years in the city of Dallas in Dallas County and I can't tell you from who or what or where the name originated. What attracted me most to McKinney was its celebration of its past. And I know that the city of McKinney in Collin County was named for Collin McKinney, who established the city in 1849.

the sofa syndrome

I couldn't resist ignoring my paperwork on Saturday to take a short walk in the sunshine. There's an old skateboard park nearby that I'd been wanting to shoot and I thought I'd best get over there asap as the bulldozers arrived last week and are busy demolishing the parking lot. I guessed the building would be next. I parked where they hadn't bulldozed yet and what did I find but a perfectly good, well in need of repair, but still what looked like a fairly good oversized chair. Of course I have no place for it in my house and it may have been out in the all-day rainstorm we had last week, but still I think of the potential. People will dump anything. Someone once told me they'd never seen so many mattresses on the side of the road as they'd seen in Texas. I think though that it's not so much a case of people deliberately dumping their mattresses as it is mattresses falling off poorly packed pickup trucks or the tops of cars as people try to move their belongings from one place to another. I've seen many a subcompact car driving on the freeway with mattresses perched precariously atop the roof and someone's arm reaching out the passenger window attempting to balance the thing. I realize it's very expensive to have someone move your stuff in a proper truck but these DIY attempts at moving just put the rest of us on the freeway in grave danger. Once I came around a curve on Stemmons Freeway and there was a huge sofa setting in the middle of the road. I was able to avoid it but the vehicle behind me was not so lucky and hit it head-on, sending sofa parts flying everywhere. Yesterday on LBJ Freeway I saw a bright red something up ahead on the freeway and on approaching it I saw a man apparently dragging a body across 3 lanes of 65mph traffic. It turned out to be a headless Santa Claus that had fallen from the back of his pickup truck. Wish I could've taken a picture of it.

paper pusher

My neighbor in Dallas has been picking up the mail the postal carrier keeps stuffing into our mailbox there. Even though it's been almost two months since we submitted our change of address information to the Postal Service we still get at least several pounds of mail at the old address every week. I understand their policy of not forwarding junk mail but I was surprised and a little shocked to find that my federal income tax package had not been considered important enough to forward to my new address.

Looking through the bag of letters I found they also do not forward letters from medical facilities or the monthly water bill; yet we recceive all duplicate offers for satellite tv service and the LL Bean clothing catalogs. I have to wonder if there's a "forwarding dictator" in each post office who arbitrarily designates which items are to be forwarded and which will languish at the old address to eventually become part of the landfill when the new tenants deposit the letters in the trash bin. I can see the tyrannical tsar, now, leaning back in his cushy office chair with his loafer-clad feet propped on his desk (I say "he" because I don't see the postal service assigning such a position to a woman). He's got a stack of stuff on his desk and he sifts through it a handful at a time, sailing letters to the left or to the right side of the office depending on his mood. Later, his minions gather the discordant piles and place yellow forwarding stickers on the paper from one corner, while simply tossing the rest back into the stream of usps confusion.

lucky me, I have my tax forms even sans yellow sticker. Today I begin my calculations.

unexpected art

Today we drove down to Dallas to work on the vacant house. It was disheartening to see how much work apparently needs to be done. I had to run an errand to a local store and passed by this Jiffy Lube station that has been closed for several years. I'd always wondered how the taggers missed it, as the blank white walls and plywood-covered windows would seem to be an ideal spot for artists out there on the edge. A few small tags appeared every now and then and once a piece of stickerart, but today the cinder blocks were adorned in glorious colors and crazy characters. It seemed to have been the site of a "Creature Party" apparently brought on by a vehicle with a flat tire. At least that's my conjecture from the note I found scrawled on one of the bricks. See more: Party at the Jiffy Lube

I'm an Addict...

and Sugar is my Drug. I'm turning this blog temporarily into my own private meeting of S.A. (Sugarholics Anonymous). Probably will not do much good as I'll be stumbling on one of the 12 steps before you know it. Sometimes I think I can justify my addiction by consuming those lovely dark chocolates with the creamy centers, but then I find one of these ugly tasteless (and stale) honeybuns from Wal-Mart lying about the kitchen and I can't seem to stop myself popping it in the microwave for 12 seconds to get that gooey sickly icing all melty and then stuffing the damn thing in my mouth.

This has got to stop.

Sadly, my mom is an enabler and my main connection to sugar. She knows I have little willpower regarding sugar yet she buys these things and leaves them out where I can see them. I've repeatedly asked her to hide them when she buys them but I've become convinced she wants me to eat them. I don't know why. Is it possibly a nurturing thing? a regression to the times when Mommy provided sweets for her little darlings? Is it conscious or subconscious? I tend to think the worse, that she has some perverse reason for wanting me to fail. It's going to be a lot harder to kick this habit than it was when I lived alone and just refused to have the stuff in the house. Maybe I should ------- oh, that would be evil. Bwa, ha, ha.

make a fuss over me

Yesterday I discovered Michael's blog of interesting records that he finds at boot sales (See "Boot Sale Sounds" link at right) and thought I'd post some pics of the few old items I still have in my collection. I have tended to collect all kinds of old objects, some found, some bought cheaply, but have had to part with many of them as I downsized my living quarters over the years.

This is probably the oldest record I own. It's not a wax cylinder but I don't know what it's made of except it's a black brittle shellac-like substance about 3/16" thick. The title of the selection is "Make a Fuss Over Me" from the Columbia company. In parentheses is the word (Baritone). I haven't done any research but maybe the title is familiar to someone (Michael?). Unfortunately I have no device on which to play this record and it would do me little good if I had as the cylinder is broken. But I treasure it just the same.

the Chi of Pipes

I was asking myself why I've been having so many problems with my plumbing lately when it occurred to me that the flow of Chi is sometimes equated with the flow of water. When you design or decorate a house using the principles of Feng Shui you must take into account the flow of Chi through the house. You don't want it to be blocked yet it mustn't rush through like a torrent. So I got to thinking maybe I can learn about my own Chi by thinking about my home's drainage problems. However, as "Mr. Ekko" from "LOST" warned, "Don't confuse coincidence with fate."

There are two things that my pipes may be telling me. First, the warning that my creativeness is being blocked and I must work to unblock the obstructions so it can flow better. Second, that the obstruction to the flow is a lot of old crap in my psyche that I need to let go of. So maybe I should be thanking my pipes instead of cursing them.

Day One

January 1st, the arbitrary day set by most of western cultures to begin the new year. It will be a first Monday and my first day of work this year, unlike the majority of folks who will have their first holiday of the year and probably their first major hangover to go with it. To those who read my blog, I thank you, and wish you and yours a happy and prosperous Year to Come.

More than that, I hope you can make each step and each moment new, that you may see with new eyes the everyday things that make your life special, that you may live in the Eternal Now with as much joy as you can muster.

historical marker

Yesterday I finished installing most of the concrete backerboard around the bathtub. Just a few places left where I have to cut some small pieces to fit and after I seal all the joints the wall will be ready for the tile installation. I was really tired and stiff after hoisting those panels into place; I hope that was the hardest part of the job. The damaged discs in my back don't like that kind of work.

I asked the plumber about insulating between the two cast-iron walls of the tub with fiberglass and he said it would be ok, so I was trying to figure out how to do that when I found this 12" flexible flat metal ruler under the tub. It was quite rusted on the back but when I turned it over I found this 1951 schedule for the McKinney High School football team. I guess that's when the bathtub was originally installed. I checked the local phone books and the company whose name was printed on the ruler doesn't appear to be in business any more. I consider this a small treasure to add to my collection of relics acquired from this house.

fish sticks

A rainy day at home. I had time to play with my food before I ate it! I have a lot to learn about shooting still life in artificial light.

The plumber worked on the sewer line for more than 3 hours and finally cleared it. It may be only a temporary solution, though, as he and his helper thought there was at least 100 years worth of sludge in the pipe and they thought the pipe was sagging underground. There is no real cleanout valve, only a small pipe someone inserted into the main pipe once upon a time long ago and so no way to insert the sewer-cam to see what's happening underground. Right now we can't afford to have that problem fixed because now we have to pay for fixing the plumbing for the bathtub. I haven't had the time or energy to finish installing the cement backerboard in the tub so we have been making do with taking sink baths and have never really used the tub. Today when the plumbers filled the tub to check that the sewer was indeed draining properly they found the tub itself wouldn't drain. Pressure from a manual plunger did no good and when the plumber inserted the plumbing snake it wouldn't extend more than a foot or two.

We are a little pissed at our realtor and at the inspector who examined this house before we bought it. We were assured in writing the house had "new plumbing" and the inspector didn't even bother to check the drainage in the tub. The plumber today told me "new plumbing" just means you have copper pipes. Bah, humbug. I think selling real estate is a racket. I've participated in six transactions over the last ten years and they have mostly left a bitter and unsavory taste in my mouth. It seems so many people want a piece of what is essentially a simple transaction that it has become a stressful nightmare for the two principal parties involved. The best deal I ever got on a house didn't require a rubber stamped ok by a "certified" home inspector. Common sense prevailed. I lived in that house for 20 years and never had a problem with the 5 steps that led from the kitchen to the back yard but when I sold the house I was required by a "government institution" to install safety bars next to the steps. It seemed unnecessary to me and the prospective buyers weren't asked their opinion but I had to do it. The bars were quite annoying for the several weeks I lived with them. The new owners tore them out in less than a month.

bah, humbug, I say again.

life is a gig with a jazz band...

If you want to jam, you've got to be able to ad lib. So every new problem is an opportunity to stretch your musical muscles, figuratively speaking. Latest roadblock is the waste water seeping into the driveway from the sewer pipe. I'm hoping it's only a blockage but the way things have gone with this house so far, it will be an old clay pipe broken beyond repair. The plumber will be here tomorrow morning to see how bad the damage is. I dread trying to balance my budget this week. This is the weekend when I usually try to get my receipts in order to make paying my taxes go easier but I may find myself drawing up a new budget for the coming months. About as much fun as going on a diet.

goodbye, james brown

I feel I've been somewhat remiss by allowing almost two days to pass without mentioning the passing of "The Godfather of Soul."

This short film, part of a series called "The Hire" produced by BMW, is a fitting sendoff, I think. This online version is probably a copy of a copy, as the quality isn't nearly as good as watching these films on DVD. These mini-movies are really extended commercials, with notable stars and directors, but were only available for viewing on the web. If you can find a real version cheap, it's worth having, as Clive Owen, the newest "man with no name" goes about his business as chauffeur for some unlikely employers. Especially memorable on one disc is Ang Lee's exquisitely choreographed moonlit car chase/duel atop a many-storied building. And hey, give me Clive Owen in a Beamer over James Bond & his Aston Martin any day!

the trouble with neighbors....

Rufous Red-Squirrel eyes me from the birdbath. He looks cute clambering along the bare branches of the trees as he plays tag with some of his compadres but up close he's just another rodent.

I don't mind this particular type of rodent, as long as they stay out of my attic. They're fun to watch and they provide much entertainment for the ever-prey-seeking Phoebe, a Carolina Dog who lives with us. Unfortunately, Senor Rufous has inadvertently created a rift between us and our neighbor. The morning was sunny and crisp a few days ago, when the woman across the street, clad in slippers & pajamas, pounded on the front door about 8:30. I had worked late the night before and woke wondering what was happening. I don't know why she didn't ring the door bell. I didn't hear the conversation that ensued between her and my mom but the gist of it was that our dog was barking "since 6:30" "every day" and she couldn't sleep. Phoebe doesn't usually go outside until 7:30 most days and she is mostly quiet - it's the dog next door who barks at HER. This day, though was a perfect for squirrel games of "chase me" and there were so many squirrels running in so many directions both dogs were barking in frustration because the rodents would NOT come close enough for a chance to catch one.

My mom thought the woman was hung over. She told her to wear ear plugs. The woman was pissed. She left in her van about an hour later and hasn't been back since. I fear there's little chance for world peace when people get so upset over squirrels being squirrels and dogs being dogs.

for humbugs everywhere...

"It's a Wonderful Life" has been done to death for me. Maybe in 5 or 6 years I'll watch it again with new eyes and feel for George Bailey, the man who thinks the world would be better if he had never been born.

Meanwhile, the movie I'm looking forward to seeing (I missed it this year - we have no cable or broadcast tv at our house yet) is "A Christmas Carol". Mary Jacobs wrote a lighthearted piece about why Dickens' short tale still captures our imaginations and our hearts more than 150 years after its publication.

Read her story here.


My favorite version of the classic tale is the 1984 movie starring George C. Scott as Ebenezer Scrooge. My younger brother prefers the 1951 version in black & white starring Alistair Sims.

"x" marks the spot

something about the box with the X on it combined with the pale yellow trim of my neighbor's shed prompted me to shoot this photo. To my surprise a cardinal was perched in the bare branches of the shrub next to the tree. If you click on the photo and scroll right you may see him (of course it's a "him", the females lack the flashy red suit). One of the cool things about photos is they show us how we look but do not see. I was so busy looking in one direction I didn't see the whole picture. Then again, my eyes aren't what they used to be.

christmas gets the boot

For much of the western world it's Christmas Eve. For me it's a rainy afternoon. Not being Christian I don't celebrate Christmas and not having a "regular" Monday through Firday work schedule I'm often unsure about what day of the week it is. Sometimes it's troubling, sometimes it's confusing, sometimes it's convenient. Over the years Sunday has become just another day. Holidays, too, are just days, although they may mean an extra day off for me. While I don't celebrate Christmas I do enjoy the trappings of the season. I like to see the houses decorated with lights when I come home from work at night. I like holiday cards, and holiday goodies, and holiday gifts. I like that people seem to be more generous to strangers than at other times of the year. I try to avoid grocery stores on the weekends and the malls at all times from the day before Thanksgiving until January 2.

We put up a Christmas tree because it's fun to dig the decorations out of storage and decide which ones to put on display. This year, too, it was a celebration of getting settled into our new house. This ornament, a wooden cowboy boot got some really pretty light one sunny day.

Santa or Satan....

Yesterday I listened to two co-workers talking about the lengths they go to just to keep their young children believing in Santa Claus. I'm standing on the sidelines regarding Mr. Claus. I have no children and have no recollection of my niece & nephew's transition from believers to non-believers. I was seven when I gave up on Santa. For now I'm simply watching the show.

B.D. has two daughters; the eldest is six years old. I presume it's a fairly easy task for him to keep the illusion going, but he does his best to fuel it further. He's the proud owner of an authentic Santa-Suit he keeps hidden in the attic and for the last 2 years a close and very large friend has donned that suit and prowled about B.D.'s house as his young daughters watch in awe. He has some lovely photos, almost Victorian in essence, of wonder-filled little girls. I think the illusion benefits him more than it does his little girls.

B.E.'s eldest is nine years old and still believes. I find this amazing. She must be in the 4th grade at school and I can't imagine that teachers or students haven't somehow poked holes in her belief. When I figured out Santa wasn't real I could hardly wait to tell my school chums. But maybe I was born to pop other peoples' balloons. B.E. and spouse find it much more difficult than B.D. to maintain the illusion. For some time they were able to spell out things in conversation that the kids were unable to understand, but the nine-year-old is a whiz in school and spelling is no longer an option for the parents. They now use single letters as a code to reference what they're talking about, but they fear this will be the last year they can do that.

To me, the saddest part of the charade is that the parents expend such an effort to further a myth of acquisition without attaching it to some form of giving (other than "being good", which amounts to bribery).