Posts from — February 2008

I Like Alice, Part 2

Dee arrived at Yak’s a little late, and more than a little flustered. “Mr. Dickless,” she said, “walked in to my office at noon and said that he wanted to get together this afternoon to go over my progress on a report due next week. Its one of those things that involves printing out a spreadsheet and saying the three most obvious things. I can do this in my sleep. He has never asked to review these reports in the past. Somehow, he figured out that I was taking the afternoon off and wanted to give me shit.”

“You do you work with flair and personality. I bet he’d ignore you more if you didn’t get so much attention.”

“Exactly. I think he’s scared of me. His boss likes my work, is collegial and has never suggested that we go to Friday happy hour together. Dickless would like to sleep with me. He’s a creep.”

“I don’t work for creeps, just assholes.”

“How goes your project?” she asked.

Would she let me get away with complaining about my clients?

I said, “OK, I guess. Each person has a different, and generally vague idea of what they want included in the presentation.”

Three yahoos with five different, usually idiotic points of view, and collectively, the writing skills of a third grade class. One kid like conjunctions and another liked adverbs. They didn’t so much write as stew words with a robust collection of malapropisms, grammatical errors, and juvenile spelling mistakes.

I just couldn’t write something persuasive enough to get them to go wreck someone else’s work. They bickered with each other until they started to criticize my failing attempts on their behalf. If I fail, I still get paid. They might lose their jobs.

I continued, “The person with the clearest ideas is the one who no one agrees with. Given this adversity, he argues well and that only makes it worse. Of course, I’m stuck in the middle. They now all complain about me. I make things up wholesale, and try to figure out who’s approval matters most. It would be funny if it was someone else’s problem.”

They would rather set aside their arguments, bond against the common enemy - me, and dance around the damn May Pole. I spent the better part of the morning reminding them of the timeline, and pointing out the internal conflicts that had made my work very difficult. They were snarky and indignant in return. I might fire this client.

… continued

——

I Like Alice

Part 2: Dance Around The Damn May Pole
Part 1: Good Just Isn’t Good Enough

Visiting The Doctor, Part 5 of 5

I was happy the meeting with Dr. Marty had ended. I stood up, put on my coat and walked across the room.

Dee stalled. She said, “I really liked the music that’s playing, that was a nice touch to go with the pictures.”

Dr. Marty smiled, giggled again, and added, “I picked those songs myself. I thought it would be a subtle way to set the mood and express some of my thoughts about life coaching.”

I didn’t notice any subtly.

“The first song we heard was Dance or something like that,” Dee said.

“Yes. That would be Jimmy Cliff. Next would be Smile by Wil Powers which is a really fun song about a homeless woman. Very uplifting, kind of about the inside game that I will spend more time talking about. Then there is Maybe by Janis Joplin because you just never know and there is always hope. The guitar and horns in the beginning just kill me.”

Janis Joplin?

I love the cover of her Greatest Hits album. A long haired, frizzy haired women dressed in 60s style with paisley, and large, bug-eye-round sunglasses to hide her superpowers. And a motorcycle between her legs. I love that picture. I might have to get the album in spite of Dr. Marty’s affection for her.

He continued, “And the last song on this loop is Spirit by Van Morrison, which is about how our outside world simply reflects the qualities of our spirit. Would you like a copy?”

I was tempted to look at my iPhone suspiciously. Damn Ghost in my machine.

“Just write down the names,” Dee said, even more pleased than Dr. Marty. “I’m sure I can buy them on iTunes. Do you know Astral Weeks by Van Morrison? That song saved the life of one of my best friends.”

“I love Van Morrison. Astral Weeks is probably his most well reviewed album although I like several others more. How did it save your friend?”

I started tugging at his preserved Joshua tree. It matched the set of bonsai and topiary in his waiting room.

“Tom! Stop that.” Dee glared at me, then continued with Dr. Marty, “She was very depressed, and that song just ended up melting the depression.”

“How’d that happen?”

“It was about the return of an old boyfriend and having lots and lots of sex.”

“Well that sure can help depression.”

——

Visiting The Doctor

Part 5: Sex Helps Depression
Part 4: Dr. Marty, Car Salesman
Part 3: Dr. 70s-Porno-Mustache
Part 2: I’d Like To Sleep With Your Wife
Part 1: Faux Monet

I Like Alice, Part 1

Yak’s is a 20 minute walk from home. For me, it’s often longer because I stop to take notes. On the bottom pages of my note pad, I write out thoughts and sentences that relate to work or projects. On the top, I keep notes for my lists and also the occasional observation about Dee’s behavior or Buddy’s art projects, or something that my friend Duke said that could be smart, or could be ironic.

If Duke were female, he might even say, “Are you calling me fatuous?” as if I had denigrated his image.

A note pad and a pen are such simple tools. The clients that cannot write always have elaborate organizational systems with huge binders, and computer programs, and systematized behaviors which are never simply internalized as basic habits. Bad thinking and elaborate systems go hand in hand, like certain 15 year-old girls and a large tool box full of messy cosmetics and clacky grooming tools.

If you cannot think clearly, you cannot write clearly. If you cannot organize your ideas, you cannot organize your life. On my walks, I often try to do both.

The product of clear thinking and organized ideas is tangible. It can be written down.

As Dee walked out this morning, she said, “Let’s have lunch.”

“Lunch? Today?”

“Don’t give me the I-like-to-plan-ahead speech. You looked great in bed this morning, asleep and peaceful. Can I help it if I love my husband and want to have a meal with him?”

“Hold on. Let me check my schedule.”

My schedule is in my head, not just for the day but typically for the week. Still, I went to my computer to scan for e-mail bombs and other things that might prevent an abrupt change in plans.

She waited, head cocked. I said, “I have a conference call tomorrow morning that I have already prepared for. Lunch will work fine. Is there any chance that you’ll have to change plans?”

“Today, I’ll blow off work if I have too. It doesn’t concern me.”

“Let’s meet at 11:45 so we’ll get there before the lunch crowd.”

“How about 12:45. That way we can hang out after the crowd and take our time?”

I left the duplex at 12:10, and arrived at Yak’s five minutes early. I had a few thoughts for my upcoming conference call that I could work on later. I think finishing projects well before the deadline is best. There is plenty of time for improvement that elevates good work to something meritorious. As they say, “Good just isn’t good enough anymore.”

… continued

Visiting The Doctor, Part 4

Dr. Marty was addressing Dee, “…and the reason is because I need to adapt my coaching style and the work we will do to match who you are and what you want to accomplish. So if you want to focus on very specific things we’ll do that, but I think the big picture is the better place to work.”

He paused. Dee would have asked a bunch of questions if I wasn’t there. Instead, we were quiet.

He straightened up and looked at me. He mistook my expression for a genuine smile and smiled back. He continued, “So let me tell you how I see working with both of you. Tom, you’re a traditional guy. We’re going to go easy on the ‘life-coaching’ stuff. It’s simply doing things.”

If Dr. Marty could stay focused, and if ‘it’s simply doing things,’ then we might be able to actually work together. Even so, he sounded a lot like clients that need me to do their thinking for them.

“And we’ll do those things by the numbers. We’ll make things manageable. We’ll then manage those things.”

Another pause. No response. He continued, “You’re good at managing things. We’ll leverage that strength. My approach with you will be practical, and will involve practice. But if I set up the same approach with Dee, I’ll bore her out of her mind. She’d be sleeping in no time.”

He then looked to Dee, breathed deep, dropped his shoulders, and greeted her with a grin. Dee popped awake and said, “I have a bunch of questions.”

He said, “Yes, yes I bet you do. But first let me tell you that you and I are going to do this stuff a lot differently than Tom and me, and what we’ll be doing will be exciting, it will be new and different.”

Dr. Marty wasn’t hard of thinking. He was a car salesman.

I could see Dee’s enthusiasm as he continued, “Different from any training program you might have had, and more like experimental life coaching. We’ll kind of make it up as we go along, and really use our brain as a tool to help us get to where we want to go, a lot of big picture stuff.”

Dr. Marty continued on about brains and big pictures. Whenever he said the word ‘brains’ it sounded more like he was saying, ‘breasts’. Some people just give that kind of impression.

He answered Dee’s run of questions. Dee’s neck grew slightly pink the more her enthusiasm flowed. I tuned them out after more giggling.

… continued

——

Visiting The Doctor

Part 3: Dr. Marty, Car Salesman
Part 3: Dr. 70s-Porno-Mustache
Part 2: I’d Like To Sleep With Your Wife
Part 1: Faux Monet

Thank you, Steven Wright. I’m not willing to thank Dr. Marty, yet.

After our first meeting, Dr. Marty gave me (and Dee) three assignments. The first was to laugh more.

He was talking at Dee about using the brain as a tool. About the first assignment, he said, “There is science to laughing that is important. You know, laughing is being studied by lots of people with Ph.Ds and what they’re finding is that the simple act of laughing is profound, and those keys are important to the way you feel and act as you live. I love to find the simple essentials, and I have my clients work on them over and over, practicing until they are vital habits, so I would like you to laugh more. This week, I want both of you to buy a new comedy album, maybe George Carlin or something so that you’re having kind of a laughing meditation as you focus on the voice of the comedian.”

His sloppy speaking picked at me all meeting long. And damn the porno mustache.

Also, I get the laughing bit. “Lighten up.” I tell myself that all the time.

——
I took my iPhone, went to the iTunes WiFi Store, and browsed over to comedy. Steven Wright came up as a recommendation, put there for my benefit, no doubt. Would my iPhone be able to arrange that, too?

My older brother liked to quote him. Steven Wright is brilliant. I think I’ll use quotes from him for some of the blog titles, like the title to this post. I’ll also let Steven Wright respond to Dr. Marty. From Quote, the first track on I Still Have A Pony:

In school they taught that practice makes perfect. Then they taught that nobody’s perfect. So then I stopped practicing.

Visiting The Doctor, Part 3

Introductions can be so messy and awkward. By the middle of the first meeting with Dr. Marty “Life Coach” everything was worse.

He wore a nice shirt, perhaps silk, the kind that wasn’t supposed to wrinkle even if you slept in it. His was wrinkled. It was periwinkle, too. Wrinkled periwinkle, that was Dr. Marty’s look.

He also had a bushy, 70s porno mustache. It lived an animated life. He relished talking, and trying to use fancy words, and things that made him giggle for no apparent reason.

Dee was his friend now. She’d even giggle back. I needed to point that out so it would stop.

Dr. Marty’s shifted gears after his disastrous start when he talked about beginnings, and emotions, and sleeping with Dee. He said, “I’m really excited to be working with a married couple - a team - because I think a lot of this stuff - my life coaching stuff - works much, much better when shared between two people.” He looked back and forth between me and Dee.

I stayed quiet.

He continued, “Even much better than when it’s shared by a group or a department at work. The support of one person who really understands is so valuable. That’s one of the roles of a life coach, but the two of you have each other.”

If Dee was my life coach, I’d have a string of unfinished projects, and half-honored promises to clients.

“In a group, people are too self conscious or too skeptical or too attention seeking. Also, there is always someone who undermines the process just out of defensiveness. They don’t want to do something about their challenges. They want to be stuck, frozen.”

I stewed as his monologue continued.

“So we will meet together but also I plan to meet with you one on one. And the reason is because…”

He was no better than my clients who need their work redone. Anyone who studied English past the fourth grade knows that the proper grammar is “the reason is that.” Better still is avoiding either expression altogether. I smirked at his inanity.

… continued

——

Visiting The Doctor

Part 4: Dr. 70s-Porno-Mustache
Part 2: I’d Like To Sleep With Your Wife
Part 1: Faux Monet

Visiting The Doctor, Part 2

Dr. Marty - “Life Coach” - said, “Firstly, the point is to start with the end.”

I was sitting there, looking at my wife, smirking with the thought:

Yes honey, that outfit looks great, and it’d look even better on the floor. That’s the ending I’d like. A happy ending.

Instead, he said, “So when you first saw Dee you probably thought I’d like to sleep with her.”

“What?” I said.

He had disturbed my nice fantasy.

He continued, oblivious to my reaction, “That outcome was a powerful one - you know? - an emotional one because you started with the end when you thought about sleeping with a girl you hardly knew.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I’d like to sleep with Dee. That’s how it started. Don’t you get it?” Then he quickly added, “I’m talking about how things get started.”

My iPhone suddenly rang. Everyone jumped. I have a loud ring tone.

I looked at the phone, didn’t recognize the number and sent the call to voice mail. “Sorry,” I said.

“Why don’t you turn off the phone during the meeting?” Dee asked.

“I don’t want to miss an important call.”

The phone rang again before I could explain myself. Why do people who dial wrong numbers always call twice? I could sense my face flush with embarrassment caused by the random act of strangers. I hoped that no one noticed. “Sorry. I don’t think they’ll call again.”

I was wrong. I answered the third call, “What!?”

… continued

——

Visiting The Doctor

Part 2: I’d Like To Sleep With Your Wife
Part 1: Faux Monet

Binocular Buddy, Part 5 of 5

Buddy wasn’t concerned about either his spill or mine. He ignored that I wiped beer on my pants.

He stood up and said, “Beer and women, men bang from the bottom.” He clanked my bottle. Drank. I did too.

“I drank too much,” he said. “Doing a scorpion bowl at your wedding would have been awesome.”

“I had to stop that.”

“I had the straws.”

“It wasn’t a frat party.”

Buddy was drinking his beer as if it were.

“We were going to wheel the punch bowl onto the dance floor. Past the straws out. And one, two, three. Go!”

“It was my damn wedding.” It was my turn for a chug of beer. I forgot it was stout and coughed some back.

“Lot of good that did.”

“What.” I coughed more stout.

“Instead of having lots of people drink the punch, it was me and a few others.” He frat drank his beer again.

“That went well.”

“Penelope was a bitch. She tried to flay me alive.”

“That went well, too.”

“Expectations get out of hand at weddings. Christ.” Buddy chugged the last third of his beer. He knocked is bottle down on the table and said, “You avoided my question.”

“Not much is going to change anytime soon,” I said. I paused to drink, slowly this time.

“So?”

“My work is erratic.” A taste of stout. “She hates her job.”

Buddy was easier to talk with when he was drinking.

“Everybody hates their job. That’s why we freelance.”

“She might quit. Won’t look for a new job. Complains. Wants to get a dog.”

I was almost done.

“So what about kids?” he asked.

I finished my beer and held on to the bottle. “Kids?”

“Isn’t the dog thing a hint?” he asked.

“Right now, the list of negatives for having kids is too long.”

“More beer.” Buddy walked toward the kitchen.

“That’s not going to happen any time soon,” I said.

We both wanted to hear that answer. An empty stout bottle always smells like a fraternity the day after a party, or Buddy, the night after a wedding.

“When you and Dee have a gaggle of kids, will you at least call me Uncle Buddy and invite me over for Sunday dinner?” He handed me a pale ale.

I’ve known Buddy since we were fourteen, half my life. Somehow the idea of ‘Uncle Buddy’ was both comforting and disturbing.

“Sunday dinner?” I asked.

“Let’s go out.”

“You just gave me a beer.”

I opened it to make my point.

He smiled, then laughed. It was good to see Buddy in better spirits. The pale ale tasted like Coors Light after the stout. This I could savor.

“Dee and I plan to meet up. Let me talk to her, but maybe you could join us. In fact, why don’t you plan to meet us at Yak’s later.”

“OK. Maybe I will.”

Maybe you won’t.

——

Looking Through Binoculars

Part 5: Bang From The Bottom
Part 4: Stout Foam Ran
Part 3: I Was Scarce?
Part 2: Binocular Buddy
Part 1: Show Me Buddy Lee

Visiting The Doctor, Part 1

The first things I noticed: a conference table, leather chairs, strong lighting. It was a waiting room of an expensive lawyer or prestigious banker, not the neighborhood doctor or dentist. Those rooms are styled for the slice of life crowd, sick with unruly kids.

I didn’t like the blue leather.

I pulled on the tough slender limbs of his collection of bonsai trees - a double monterey juniper, a cyprus. The triple ball topiary looked absurd. They were preserved.

Dee said, “Stop that.”

The artwork was overly emotional sap with the obligatory Monet, the one that was featured prominently in The Thomas Crowne Affair. I would have preferred the movie poster of a redheaded Rene Russo.

The Monet was an imitation painted by geriatric artists in China who work together on an assembly line for masterpiece forgeries. These fakes are sold in places like the Museum Store.

I ran my fingers over the bumpy globs of paint. I even pushed on the board to see what happened.

Dee said, “Stop that.”

“It’s a crappy imitation.”

The hack Monet clashed with the hack Richard Estes. The room was cluttered with other museum collectables, Native American totems, and Asian furnishing. His waiting room was an indulgent place to keep nice crap that wasn’t worth keeping.

“I like this bronze of the man carrying a yoke for water,” Dee said. “Maybe we should have more of this stuff at home. I think that painting of the photo looks more surreal than the Monet on the banks of the Seine. That’s wild, impressions making more sense than reality.”

“All this fake arty stuff is as bad as a pop song. At first, it’s catchy, then it becomes an overblown nuisance that people forget to tune out. Or throw out in this case.”

If I had a waiting room, I’d meet my clients there. My office would remain my office, a place to work and write.

Dee and I waited to the moment when I got annoyed that we had to wait. Then Dr. Marty - “Life Coach” - invited us in.

… continued

Binocular Buddy, Part 4

Buddy had me follow him back into the kitchen for another round of beer. Usually, he confined me to a clean nook, and he would get the beer.

“How much are you going to write about Dee and all?”

“I don’t like to embarrass myself.”

“What?” he said as he opened the fridge. I usually bring beer with me. It has a short shelf-life when left in Buddy’s fridge.

“Nothing stupid.” I looked over his shoulder.

“So?” He surveyed the remaining beers. I was surprised that he had 6 left. An assorted lot, like strays at the pound begging for attention.

“I don’t want to make her angry either.”

Buddy handed me an oatmeal stout.

I had drank three beers before dinner. I never drink that frivolously the night before a client meeting.

Buddy said, “Dee’s playful when she’s angry. And the make-up sex.”

I was following him back through the apartment. I think he just wanted to roam. “She encourages me. That’s kind of funny.”

“Funny make up sex?”

“No. Funny that she encourages me.”

“Actually, that’s not funny.”

“You were just laughing.”

“You’re my friend from forever,” he said. “So believe me when I tell you that you have no talent whatsoever.”

“No talent?”

“And that Dee is just being charitable.”

“Charitable?”

“You should quit while your behind.”

“You dick.” I opened my beer. “You’re provoking me. You’re back to drawing.”

“You make it sound like I use crayons.”

“Whatever. I’m now writing.” Stout foam ran down the bottle and over my hand.

“You should use crayons.”

“What? Misery loves company?” I sunk into his couch. For a second, it smelled of dried sweat.

“The two of you,” he began again, “have been together for more than three years, you’ve been married for almost half that time.” He screw off the bottle top, flicked it across the room, plopped into the couch, and splashed beer. My beer foamed again.

“This couch smells.”

“Whatever.” He waved me off. “So when are you going to settle down?”

“We have settled down. That’s what that whole wedding thing was about?” I stood up for a second and looked for a rag or something.

“You were my best man. Remember?” I finally wiped my hand on my pants. “You kind of pissed in the punchbowl, too.” I held up my beer as a toast.

You have to be ready for stout.

… continued

——

Looking Through Binocluars

Part 4: Stout Foam Ran
Part 3: I Was Scarce?
Part 2: Binocular Buddy
Part 1: Show Me Buddy Lee

Some readers have expressed grave concern about the fact that I have usurped long paragraphs of introspection with short descriptions and quotes. They demand explanation. They also want me, and the others, to behave as they would.

Of course, I could have said the same long thought with a prized quote from a friend:

“You’re a jerk.”

Which part of the text do you prefer - the long first paragraph or the part where I write ‘you’re a jerk’?

——
Other ‘How To Blog’ Posts:

My Words, Your Story
“Drivel, yes. But with dialog.
Everybody Funny. Now You Funny Too.

Binocular Buddy, Part 3

Next, he showed me an image of a baseball screaming and flying through the air and a syringe. Then he showed me an image of a large, over-muscled football player standing next to a scrawny nerd wearing only a football helmet and a jock strap. He had obviously photoshopped two people together.

He asked, “Which do you think would be better matched with the syringe, the baseball or the football players?”

“Both are too cliched for you.”

“The client is sports related.”

“Why would they want to advertise the corruption of sports?”

“I don’t know.”

“The syringe and even the steroids thing skeeves me. It’s disgusting, polluting your body with chemicals like that.”

“Athletes do that to make more money. Others do that to feel better or happier or whatever. It’s not such a big deal.”

“It’s disgusting. Just a cheap way to avoid work.”

To distract me, he showed me a small kitten and a large ball of yarn, much bigger than the person he had leaning against it. He was good enough with Photoshop to make the ball of yarn image look like something you’d find driving across Kansas - “The World’s Largest Ball Of Yarn.”

“Maybe I’ll do a rubber band ball instead. But what does a kitten care about rubber bands. But mysterious works sometimes, even if the final thing just doesn’t make any sense.”

Next was an image of a traffic jam and a person riding a motorcycle into the sunset.

“This is obvious. I always wanted something bad to happen to the guy on the motorcycle who rides through a traffic jam. Maybe I’ll make a second set along those lines.”

Grocery shelves with dozens of varieties of jelly and a simple yes/no checkbox.

“Do you remember the old generic labeled stuff? Just black and white labels. The anti-brand. Maybe I could do a grocery store just stocked with those. I guess Walmart is that way already.”

His ideas streamed forth.

A fighter taking off from an aircraft carrier, and the famous orphan picture from the Vietnam war. Then he held up a picture of Sylvester Stallone as Rambo, just for fun.

“The last Rambo movie sucked. You know, characters are supposed to speak during movies. That’s what I don’t like about the Bourne movies, not enough dialog.”

He continued to flip through image after image with none seeming related to any other. I interrupted, “Why the tiger and shotgun?”

“That wasn’t my idea. It was the client’s. Apparently, he collects antique guns. I’m supposed to have more of gun images. So the clown one was my idea, but not much in the way of an antique gun.”

“You could do an eye of the tiger one if it’s supposed to be sports related.” That idea was stupid enough that some of my clients would think it was ‘an awesome idea’. I don’t think Buddy completely understood the power of stupid ideas when working with clients.

“How would I do that?”

“I don’t know.” He was silent for a moment. I asked, “Are you doing OK?”

“What? Oh. Lately yeah, really great. I guess everyone noticed I was scarce?”

“Just me, Buddy.”

“You’re a dick.”

continued..
Binocular Buddy - Looking Through Binoculars, Part 2
Show Me Buddy Lee - Looking Through Binoculars, Part 1

Looking Through Binoculars, Part 2

Buddy’s project was to pair two images in binocular lenses. The first pair that he showed me was a stalking tiger, and a hunter holding an ancient shotgun. He paused to let me look.

The tiger was an illustration, and the shotgun was a photo. The tiger stalked forward, toward the viewer. Buddy drew the cat taut, menacing and foreshortened.

The ancient gun pointed in the direction of the tiger, away from the viewer. The detail work on the gun grew more elaborate moving down the barrel, like the image of a flower working from the stem up toward the bloom.

Each picture was encircled and set to a background that included the logo of the client. It looked like a completed proof.

Usually, he would interrupt and explain as I reviewed his work, talking about what more he wanted to do or what other pieces went with the one he’s showing me. He just brainstorms at me.

“Did you draw the Tiger?” I asked.

“Yes. I’m not going to get paid well enough for that effort. But I really wanted to draw it rather than find some stock photo or something.”

“What else is there?”

“I’d like to do something like the giant Staypuff Marshmellow Man and the three Ghostbusters covered in marshmellow goo. Iconic and comic. God, I loved that movie. How about this one?”

The next sequence started with the pairing of a moth fluttering around and a lit candle with carvings in gold and red. The next pairing was of a simple tapered candle, unlit, and a glowing bug zapper.

Iconic, yes; comic, I don’t think so.

I said, “What’s with the bug zapper?”

“No one says ‘like a moth to the bug zapper.’ Right? But there is the idea of getting burned and the idea of getting fried. Maybe I should have one of those comic images of someone getting electrocuted. I’ll do that, someone with frizzy hair and so on, and I’ll match that to the elephant that Edison electrocuted. That’d be good.”

“No one would get the image of Edison’s elephant. If you have to do guns, how about Elmer Fudd saying, ‘Quiet, we’re hunting rabbits.’”

“I have a better one than that.” Then Buddy showed me an illustration of a comic gun with a Bang! flag hanging from it’s plastic-green barrel, and a clown, shot dead, a look of terror frozen on his face, blood everywhere, with crime scene chalk outlining the body. These were just pictures, not cropped to the lens yet. And the clown image looked only loosely sketched. He then showed an image of a clown fish.

“Instead of the toy guy, I could show this clown fish. That might work.”

It was a nice picture of a clown fish.

continued..
Show Me Buddy Lee, Looking Through Binoculars Part 1

Looking Through Binoculars, Part 1

Yesterday, work was hard to get started. My client had left me with little specific direction. He simply said, “See what you can do.”

I decided to visit Buddy. I had been surprised by my last visit to Buddy’s place. It was so clean and so unlike Buddy.

I opened his door and yelled, “Buddy Lee?” Silence.

The place was more familiar this time. Art stuff all over the place. Bottles, food, and other sundries cluttered the flat surfaces. The playstation screen saver haunted his TV. Dust reflected late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows.

I was surprised that he wasn’t home.

Buddy usually worked in the afternoons, doing design work for web sites and advertising firms. I always felt free to drop by during this time, especially if I brought coffee.

I was about to flop on Buddy’s couch when he walked in.

“Shit! Hey Tom. Man, I thought you were my old man. He’s been dropping by lately too. Your voice is like his, deep. I never hear my old man smile. What’s up?”

“Nothing. I hadn’t see you much lately. So I thought I’d just drop by.”

“Having trouble writing?”

“A little maybe. Nothing big. How’s your work?”

“I’m going to get us beer.” As he rummaged in his refrigerator, he said, “Actually, I’ve been very busy, a new gig with an ad shop.” He handed me a Fat Tire.

Buddy maintained a wide variety of micro brews in his fridge. He also collected the packaging, too. Sometimes, there were more empty six pack containers than actual beers.

I followed Buddy back into the living area of his loft. He continued, “More creative stuff than usual. Look here.” He picked up a pile of poster board. “For one of the projects, I supposed to set up two images associated with each other when looked at through binoculars.”

“How so?”

“Well, here’s a gag one that shows the idea.” He showed me a picture of a someone kind of dressed like Superman, pants down, sitting on a toilet, and an empty roll of toilet paper. He said, “I also have a ballerina and a hockey player. Umbrella and tornado. I wanted to use someone on a bike with a basket on front, but the partner thought that idea was too obscure. What do you think, I have about two dozen ideas, and get more by simply walking around.”

“Show me.”

continued..

E-mail from client:

ASAP. Send versions and copies of the investor presentations [sic] project. My hard drive crashed, and all the work it [sic] gone. I’m fucked.

My reply:

You never copied me on your edit or rework of my material. It was extensive. Also, you never sent me the data or charts as I asked. I don’t have copies of that material either.

My client is hosed.

I carefully save my work. First, I write it long hand so I always have a physical copy. It’s also just a better way to write.

I edit on a MacBookPro. That work is synced locally using a Mac Mini and also copied remotely.

I found one thing with this set up that is mesmerizing. When I screen share to my Mac Mini, I can then screen share back to my MacBookPro. This screen share of a screen share is like nested mirrors reflecting to infinity.

Changes in the foreground slowly tumble back down each reflection eventually lost in the distance.