Discount Degas

I sat in on a web seminar (a "webinar" for those of you down with the system) the other day. It was about team building, and honestly it was just something I needed to be able to say I did when it came time to talk about such things with my new boss. It was an hour of pain. The woman leading the course was out of Jersey and talked in anecdotes and illustrations in a practiced way that let me know she was on autopilot.

Overly chipper, she was the kind of girl who constantly reminds the people around her that she's "crazy" in a way that only the truly boring have mastered. Margaret Thatcher once said something like "Being powerful is like being a lady: If you have to say you are, you aren't." It's the same for people who try to cultivate eccentricity. If you're working hard at it, you're just not that weird.

Anyway, the entire presentation derailed the moment she dropped William Golding's name. In the midst of a Q&A about "difficult" work situations, the presenter is suddenly talking about Lord of the Flies.

"This is a book wasted on children. It's not until you're an adult that you can really see how it is the best book ever written about leadership and the mechanics of a team. It's the perfect team building novel."

The snob in me refuses to accept the reference. Here's this amazing piece of high school required reading that is a blueprint for human nature and the creepy corners of our souls, and yet what she walks away with is how the story can be turned into an illustration of getting along with difficult coworkers.

It's like a Matisse print in the conference room. It's hearing "I've Been Loving You Too Long" at a Monster Truck Rally. It's opening a Faberge egg to uncover a peanut crusted turd. It's...Well, you get the idea.

Keep art away from Corporate America. Sneak it in, keep it hidden for yourself, but don't let them see it and don't let them appropriate for their own use. I'm just sayin' is all.

Winter's Return & Spring's Training

The rain from last week had brought the earthworms out of the soil, and they lay stretched across my parking pad and sidewalk, bloated, drowning, and stinking. Today, the local news said we're expecting snow, and I imagine I'll get home tonight to find white crusted earthworms scattered across the pavement.


The cold weather is supposed to stay a few days just to make room for more rain by the end of the week, so immediately my hopes of bike commuting are gone. Ah well...it's early. The actuality of Spring will finally catch up with the calendar, and when it does, I'll be ready.

Spring was in effect this weekend at least, and we milked it. Saturday we had to go do SAT testing in the morning. I managed to finish reading No Country For Old Men before the first half of the test was over and had to run out to the car for my backup book (another stupid vampire book in the series I can't stop reading). After the testing, we headed to my brother's house to hang out for the afternoon. We wound up taking a hike through their local park that afternoon (that's my brother in the first pic, looking like he's ready to strangle mother nature and curse the sun) and heading out for lunch afterward. It's painfully obvious to me how much worse of shape I'm in than I was just last fall. This fact was demonstrated yet again when we went hiking the next morning down in Hocking Hills (second pic). Still, I survived.

After the hike I went over to The North Market to do some meat shopping and loaded up on some dead cow at Blue's Creek Farm. They were really cool, taking lots of time to answer my questions (animals are free range, free fed, are taken to slaughter weekly and put down using a .22 or stun gun) even though the market was packed. I hit up The Fish Guys for some salmon to grill that night, and then stopped to grab a piece of baklava on my way out. Then it was more shopping before making dinner (the aforementioned salmon along with steamed broccoli and a small spinach salad) and watching The Fresh Prince of Bel Air in Seven Pounds (not bad).

This morning I had the idea of hiring Kevin Smith to come in and play me for a week since I really can't afford to take a week off right now. If he put on a bald wig, muttered sarcastically and just clicked away at his keyboard and mouse all day, I don't think anyone would notice he's not me. Wonder how much that would set me back?

Winter of Our Discontent

Like the places you are all most likely from, it's cold here. I don't know the exact temperature, but I can generally judge what it's like outside by the reaction of our two dogs. I sent them both out before putting them to bed. Immediately they run to the yard, squeeze out just enough pee to ensure I'll concede they have "done their duty", and let them back in with a quickness. If I'm not fast enough with my duties as doorman, they'll lean against the glass with their front paws making small scraping sounds, and stare into the kitchen like a fat man stares at the last piece of pizza.

Mmmmmmm....pizza.

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I've started reading "Dead After Dark" by Charlaine Harris. Actually, I ordered the box set of her books because they were used as the basis of "True Blood" on HBO which was one of my favorite shows of last year. I'm two-thirds of my way through the first book in the series, and I still don't know what I think about it. I do get the feeling that if I hadn't loved the show so much I would have given up on the book awhile ago. I'm just so ready to be blown away by something, and it's not happening yet.

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I think it's something I've been hinting at, but I'm getting cubicle fever. It's a restlessness and it's growing right now. I've been in office environments long enough to know that the feeling comes and goes. Some times are just harder than others.

I think it goes back to my statement above about being ready to be blown away by something. I'm ready to plug into some new experiences, or new art, or something. I'm wondering if Jen's feeling the same way. I'm getting some hints that she's ready to get out there into the big bad world a bit more. I haven't really talked to her about it, so when she reads this I guess she'll let me know if I'm talking out of my ass or not.

I think the winter has a lot to do with it, now that I think of it. This last year was really our first active year being outside through the seasons and doing stuff. It seemed we were always hiking or biking or off to see something or another. Now that winter has settled in with its cigarette smoke colored skies and damp cold, we're holing up in Merryman Manor a lot more. I think we'd feel better if we just got out and did something.

Vetern's Day Cancerectomy

Yesterday I took headed out of the office around noon. Technically, I wasn't even supposed to go in yesterday, but the company I am hoping to work for soon asked if I could hang out for a bit to start work on a project, so I did. (I know that it doesn't seem to make sense that I would go in to work my job to do work for a company I don't yet work for, but in my world, it makes a certain sort of sense. Just go with it.)

So, I went to buy a coat. All of my old jackets and winter coats are three or four sizes too big, so I headed out and scored not one, but two, coats. I threw a new knit hat into the mix, so now I"m ready for winter's worst. Bring it.

After two stores, I still had some time to kill so I headed to Half Price Books over near campus. HPB isn't a place where you go in looking for a certain book because more often than not, you won't find it. It IS a place to go in and wander around for a couple of hours and get a bunch of shit you didn't realize you needed until you saw it on the shelf. That's what I did. I looked at old vinyl (the records always smell like mildew...it's comforting somehow), flipped through graphic novels, drooled over their locked collection of First Editions, and wound up spending $20 on four new books. I love that place.

Then, I picked Jen up from her office, and headed over to her doctor's office. We had been waiting for this day for almost a full month since getting the call that the mole on her chin was cancerous, and the wait was taking its toll on her. She was just ready to have the damn thing cut out, so that's exactly what they did. It took about twenty-five minutes and I got to watch them do it. Well, I watched part of it anyway. Normally, I would have been fascinated by the whole process, but it's different when it's your wife being cut. I sat at the end of the table near her feet, rubbing her ankle every once in a while, but avoiding the actual action.

I did see many blood soaked gauze squares being piled on a surgical tray. I saw the rose tattoo on the back of the assistant's neck. I saw a little half inch bleeding squiggle of cancer and skin get held to the light before being lowered into a little cup that will be shipped off to a lab for testing.

Jen was quiet for the most part, and was a trooper through the whole thing. Like I said, she was just ready for them to be done. And now they are. In two weeks the stitches come out and then we can get on with everything else. I'm not sure yet what "everything else" consists of, but I'm ready for it.

Other Voices, Other Rooms

I can't believe I actually got to sleep in on both days of this weekend. That's practically unheard of these days, so it was big news to be in bed past 8:00. In addition to all the sleeping, we managed to do a few things too.

A year or two ago, Jen and I were sitting around drinking beers with her mom and going through old pictures. In the pile was a shot of Jen when she was about three years old. She is standing behind a car that sits with its door open still. Her hair is a tangled and blowing in the wind and she has on this little jean jacket thing that just cracks me up when I look at it. Her face is what's perfect though. It's not the cheesy good natured smile of a kid who loves to have her picture taken, but rather this solemn insecurity that comes through. It's heartbreakingly beautiful and I had it blown up, and printed in black and white to put on the wall downstairs.

Jen felt a bit odd having a pic of her on the wall by itself, so yesterday I went through some Merryman family photos and found one of me. It's a close up of me around the same age as Jen, and I have my goofy smile on. On the plus side, it's a sincere smile not the forced "I'm having my picture taken" variety. Tonight, I got both shots framed and will get them hung tomorrow. I was going to do it tonight, but didn't have the right wall anchors. We'll fix that tomorrow.

Today, we went to see the Andy Warhol exhibit
that's here in town. Columbus is actually the only US stop for Andy Warhol: Other Voices, Other Rooms, and we felt fortunate to have the chance to see it. Click on the link if you'd like the full breakdown of what was displayed, but the short list is an amazing collection of his print work, photographs, and a massive amount of film displayed on dozens of screens. While I like some of his work, I never claimed to be a massive follower, but it really was amazing to see the sheer volume of the man's output.

Jen and I roamed the halls of the Wexner Center, checking out old 16mm film of a man inserting a paintbrush into his rectum and then paint a portrait of Andy while Andy looked on, snapping the occasional photograph. We played in the area they had set aside for a miniature "Clouds" display. (The clouds in question being large foil pillows filled with a light helium mixture floating around one corner of the gallery.) I stood with rapt attention at every mention or performance by The Velvet Underground. We read excerpts of Truman Capote's Marilyn Monroe interview for Andy's magazine. We sat mesmerized by some of the screen tests that he shot as the subject would go from campy, to bored, to finally being upset that the process wasn't over.

Whatever your feelings about Campbell's Soup Cans, Multiple Marilyns, or Pop Art in general, it was a great way to spend the afternoon and it was good to just get out and spend some time looking at art again. We haven't done that for awhile, and just being out and about wakes you up a bit and gets you thinking. Some of it we loved, some of it we were indifferent to, but we were happy just roaming around. Plus, did I mention that a guy had a paint brush in his ass? How awesome is that? The only way that could be better is if he were a caricature artist at Cedar Pointe. "Oh, OK. You like horses? How bout if I draw you sitting on a horse? Great! Here, let me just bend over..."

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After absorbing all things Andy we headed over to Panera for a late lunch. After rounding up half a sandwich and a bowl of soup each, we found a table near the fireplace and settled in. I was watching a guy who was sitting outside drinking from a Panera branded cup and smoking a cigarette like there was no tomorrow. He would take a hit, exhale in this lazy way where he would just open his mouth in an "O" and the smoke would just pour out of his lungs, and then immediately take another hit. There were no quick breaths of pure air in between, just this crazy sucking followed by letting his mouth hang open to let the flood of smoke rise up and sting his eyes. I was enthralled. When he lit another cigarette immediately, I thought it odd but remember thinking "Whatever it takes to get through it, buddy".

When he took three drags and then threw the butt on the ground ten feet to his right, lit a new cigarette, then walked over picked up the one he threw to the ground to take one more hit before putting it in the ashtray and then turn his attention to the new cigarette, I started giving Jen, who had her back to the entertainment, the play by play.

After a few minutes of me explaining that the guy was taking three or four quick drags and then throwing the still lit cigarettes on the ground, lighting a new one, and then going back for the grounded butts, she picked up her chair and came around to my side of the table. To the others in the restaurant we might have looked like thirtysomethings in love, but we were just both enthralled by this strange bit of madness in the middle of Upper Arlington.

He waved at kids, he smoked, he littered, he smoked his litter, he took sips of water from his cup with shaking hands, he smoked, he coughed, and then he did it all again. Sadly, just like my bowl of Chicken Noodle Soup, the craziness came to an end. Before I could get into my shortbread cookie, he had rounded the corner. We left shortly after and kept an eye out for him as we drove out of the neighborhood, but he was not to be seen.

And that's that. We came home and watched "True Blood" and I'm about to wrap up the night with a graphic novel by Joe Hill. Jen's been in bed for over an hour already and should be out cold. I probably won't be much further behind her.

Snooze

Ahhh, the quiet life.

Jen, still trying to get over a cold and failing miserably, spent the weekend on the couch, leaving me to my own devices. I failed to get creative and spent most of the time hanging around her, fetching soup and Diet 7Up with liberal doses of cranberry juice added.

Saturday morning we had to go do ACT testing. This is something we each do for some extra spending money, and it's easy work. The supervisors are set up in individual classrooms, and I just roam around my assigned rooms, giving them breaks if they want them. Basically, I get paid to read my book in the company of teenagers. (Speaking of books, I'm reading "Heart Shaped Box" by Joe Hill. Good stuff. It wasn't until someone saw me reading it that they mentioned Joe is Stephen King's son. I hadn't realized, but now looking at his picture I don't know how I didn't see it. I'm about half through the book though, and it is really good. I've been striking out with my reading lately, so it's been fun to get into something again.) Not a bad gig. Plus, it's paying for my Kim Jong iLL frames and will finance a new creative endeavor I've got in the works.

It's strange to go back to a school though. Like the hospital, it's one of those worlds that are so easy to forget, but feel so familiar once you're forced to step back into it.


My view while patrolling the halls.

After testing, we had plans to go run around and do some shopping and then head over to my brother's place to see my sister-in-law (home from the hospital and doing well) and watch a football game that neither Jen nor I had much interest ing. She was feeling worse than ever though, so we cut our errands short and headed home. That's where she stayed the rest of the weekend.

I watched some slasher (Hatchet, Mr. Brooks) movies, played Dr. Mario with the infected one, did what cleaning I felt like and headed out on Sunday for our weekly supplies of frozen whole wheat waffles and Coke Zero. Jen slept on the couch both Saturday and Sunday, so I fell asleep each night watching reruns of the US version of The Office.

Big times, kids. Big. Times.

Zombies? For Me? You Shouldn't Have!

32 years ago today my mother looked into my eyes for the first time and made the choice not to smother me to death with a pillow. When she finally decided she had made a mistake in letting me live I was sixteen, and strong enough to throw her and her over-sized Serta pillow out of my room. Her initial failure was my success and is what has made it possible for me to be the undereducated, overly sarcastic cubicle dweller I am today. Thanks, mom.

It's been a decent day so far. I came back from getting my first glass of water for the day to find printed photos of zombies all over my desk along with birthday wishes on them. I'm sure the two of you reading this know already, but I love me some zombies. Slow, fast, clever, stupid...they all have a place in my heart. My favorite shot hanging on my desk is from 28 Weeks Later. It's a still of a field full of zombies right before they get mowed down by a helicopter blade. Quality. Straight up quality.

Everyone here in the office also chipped in on a Best Buy gift card (my usual bottle of whiskey for my birthday wasn't an option because of the stupid diet) and so I have enough to run out and grab a new Blu Ray or maybe put it toward a new game. Tough choices, but fortunately I am equipped to make such decisions. That'll probably be it on the present front though. Jen made it clear that our new home theater should suffice as a present, a point I'm not sure I agree with but am hesitant to argue since the whole thing was my idea. I'll let it go. For now.

I plan on spending my evening huddled over the 8 1/2" X 11' pages of friends recently completed manuscript making notes here and there. My heart is really in it, but I suck at being a critical reader. When it comes to theme, tone, etc. it all just washes over me. I find myself just reading for the story. If the story is engaging and the characters are good, I like the book. I'm not complicated. It makes me a good reader, but a terrible critique partner. Fortunately, the author knows who he's dealing with. Oh, did I mention the book is chock full of zombies? How could I not love it? He's just playing to his audience at this point.

Last thing I've been thinking about is "I Am Legend". Jen and I saw the movie and I thought it was ok. I didn't get super excited about it, but didn't think it was bad. I read some reviews in a horror publication (Rue Morgue) where they just trashed it. They hated everything about the movie. They hated the fact that it was Will Smith. They hated that he said the best album recorded of all time was "Legend" by Bob Marley (this is a greatest hits package, not a stand alone album), and on and on and on. I didn't get it. Why hate this movie? Again, not great, but not worthy of six paragraphs trashing it either.

Then I started reading the book. Now that I get to see the original character and story-line, I have to say that I fucking hate the movie. Instead of working within the limitations that a novel set in the past creates, they loosely used the idea from the novel and then just made up a story. A story that is not half as interesting as the original. Give me a character that is starting to get turned on by the bodies of female vampires because it's been so long since he's seen a real person...not Will Smith talking to a dummy.

If I wanted to see Will Smith talk to a dummy I'd watch Wild Wild West.

Strange Days Have Found Us

Busy busy. For the most part, it's all boring day to day stuff. We go to work to make money to buy books and movies that we don't have time to watch lately because we're too busy exercising or running around. Seriously, I have a copy of "There Will Be Blood" that I bought the day it came out that I still haven't seen.

I haven't finished a book in weeks, and the pile of stuff I have to be read is starting to overflow. Recently I picked up a handful of Jack Ketchum's paperbacks (haven't read anything yet, but appears to be pretty intense horror), some healthy grilling cookbooks, and "The Raw Shark Texts" by Steven Hall. Imaginary monsters feeding on your memories? Yes, please.

I think by far the most interesting thing in our little lives came in the form of a threat posted by a sophomore high school student against the school my wife works at. Tuesday was her birthday, and I had flowers and balloons delivered to her, but found it odd by mid-afternoon when she hadn't called to say that she had received them. I called under the guise of wanting to talk about something else and I get:

"Hey. Got the flowers. They're nice. Gotta run. Love you, bye." She didn't take a breath nor did she give me a chance to say anything. Click. She hung up.

Thirty minutes later I call home to check messages and hear the Superintendent's automated message saying that students had been sent home, all evening activities had been cancelled and the following day's classes were cancelled as well due to a threat made against the school. Immediately you think it's some fucking knucklehead calling in a bomb threat or otherwise being douche, but part of you wonders. I immediately thought of the grainy black and white surveillance video from Columbine I saw, and wished she'd call to tell me what's going on.

So, it turns out (per another automated call received from the school tonight) that the kid had made the "threat" in an online forum, saying he needed grenades, but had guns already. He posted that he thought he could kill 60 people before he was taken out and that this was set to go down Thursday. The FBI tracked his IP address back to Columbus, and had a heart to heart with the boy to see exactly what the deal was.

He was just a kid being stupid. There were no guns. There was no real threat.

When things like this happen though, my imagination always gets carried away. I spend some time at the school to proctor ACT and SAT tests for extra cash, and to be honest, the place can be a bit creepy. I think maybe it's high schools in general that can be creepy when you aren't used to them. I pictured kids running down the institutional-green hallways, and the front office where my wife works under siege. I know Jen did too.

We tried not to get too carried away with the whole ordeal, but when she called me from the office to catch me up on what was going on, I could hear that she was upset. To have a place you consider yours, a safe place, be threatened and suddenly not be a place of comfort is unsettling. Even knowing the kid was just a bored punk online won't set things back to the way they were right away. This will probably be with her for a while, and I hate that for her. Hopefully it won't be too long before it's at least at the back of her mind though.

Enough of that.

This weekend I get to partake in the first adult beverage I've had in almost four months. I will be with some professional drinkers, so I will have to take my time and really pace myself, but I can't wait. More than anything it'll just be good to get away from here for a few days and hang with some good folks. Somewhere along the way I'm going to finish the fifth (sixth?) draft of a short story that I did about a man and his dog. Aw. Sounds wholesome, huh? It's not.