The day after Easter Sunday my computer stopped working. I would turn it on, it would sing a few bars of its merry wakeup tune, then it would turn itself off. Not good. After about the forth or fifth time it did that, I decided something was really wrong, and called the MAC Genius. I was told to bring the machine in, as it sounded like it was the power board that had gone out. So, I unplugged everything and off to the MAC Genius I went.
After a week and a half of trial and error he finally figured out what was wrong, but it took the following process for that to happen: Power board = nope, hard drive = nope, memory board = nope, and finally, RAM board = shazzam! Apparently it took so long to figure it out, because if one of the RAM boards (I had three) goes out, a little beep sounds when you turn on the machine. Mine didn't beep, hence that was the last place he looked for a problem. So, he pulled out the bad board and everything was good to go. He also did an upgrade, so I am now running the current MAC program, called Yosemite, since they have moved away from naming the programs after big cats, and have now moved to Scenic Places in California.
While the computer was gone I discover something important. But it took me three or four days to realize it. At day one, I was in withdrawals. At day two, I was getting used to the idea that it was gone. By day three, I was actually glad it was gone. Strange, I know! I told my husband I felt free. I no longer felt compelled to fire it up first thing in the morning, troll through FB to see what everyone else was doing, get lost for hours on Pinterest, or check blog sites—my own included. I compare it to a drug addict going through withdrawals. Once past the worst of it, I realized I didn't need it. I didn't have the angst of making sure I stayed "in the loop" on FB, or felt hurt if no one commented on something I posted. By day four, I almost wished it would go away permanently.
Don't get me wrong. I enjoy social media as much as the next girl, but it was refreshing to realize that I could get along without it. Instead of looking at kewl stuff on Pinterest, I was busy making kewl stuff instead. Rather than trolling FB, which is mostly people ranting about politics, religion, or posting dumb memes, or pictures of their pets, I was out working in my garden. Out in the real world!
Granted, I am not, nor was I ever, a "sit in front of the computer all day" kind of person, but I came to realize that I could spend even less time on it than I was, and get WAY more things done. Since I got the computer back, yes, I check FB, blogs, and keep informed about the clubs I belong to which have FB pages. I check in with the friends I really care about, who post things I am interested in. But all that has been cut back to a minimum.
Would I ever give up the computer completely? No. I love the fact that I can google search anything and get an answer. If I need resource material or pictures, I can find them. There are two blog sites that I follow, both by artists, that I would not want to be without. And even though it can be a grossly addicting time warp, I do like to troll Pinterest, and would not want to be without my own board on that site. I guess it all boils down to dosage. Less time spent, make it quality time, and then bail out.
So, there really is life WC—or at least LC = Less Computer.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Monday, April 20, 2015
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Spring Flip-Flops
I bet you thought I meant those funny, must have flip-flops that I personally love, and live in all summer. Nope. This is how I grudgingly deal with bi-polar Spring weather.
As Mother Nature flip-flops between Winter and Spring—one day it's dark, pouring rain and only 44 degrees, the next it's bright, sunny and 72 degrees—my schedule flip-flops in tandem with Hers.
When it's nice, I'm outside working in the yard and garden, clearing out all the dead winter wood and brush. That's when I discover just how many gophers have taken up residence since last summer. In this year's case there are so many holes it looks like someone did several strafing runs over my garden firing 27 mm rounds. I also had to take an inventory of how many plants I lost due to the mini ice age we had back in December. So far it looks like the succulents on the front walkway suffered the most attrition, and I may have lost the star jasmine in the big pot by the terrace steps, but the verdict is still out on that one. Robert and I also decided to eliminate the whole back side of the fenced garden, as it is slowing collapsing into the creek, and it would be way too expensive and labor intensive to shore it back up. Since that section also is in the shade most of the day, then in the afternoon is subjected to direct sunlight and intense heat during the summer, it's a pain in the butt to find something that can grow in those two extremes. The last thing I attempted was hydrangeas, and they have struggled. I may pot them up and put them in the shade on the deck. When I attempted to grow them anywhere else in the yard, the deer ate them to a nub. Yes, anything planted outside the fenced garden has to be deer proof.
The other thing I do when the weather is nice is work my horses. We just got a new one for my husband, who had to retire his old gelding, Apollo, who is now around 25 and looking his age. He just didn't have the stamina for the kinds of horse activities we do. The fact that the vet told us he has arthritis in all four legs, but especially in the hind, just sealed his retirement fate. So, now we have Strider, a seven-and-a-half-year-old Fox Trotter, who needs a lot of work, since his previous owner didn't ride him much. And just last Sunday we learned that he doesn't like going into a trailer. He loaded fine at his previous home, with his first mom leading him in. When we tried at our place he balked, pulled back and broke the tie-in, and we spent two hours working with him to finally get him back in and to stand quietly, then back out nicely. It's going to take many more sessions like that before we go anywhere, since I won't travel with a horse who won't load and unload easily.
Here is a photo of Robert on one of his first rides on Strider. My mare, Delight, is giving Strider the stink-eye as they go by. I think Delight is still secretly hoping Strider will go back where he came from, and she and Apollo can have their privacy back.
With the weather flipping back and forth, the biggest issue we have with working the horses is the bad footing. We have forest clay soil, and despite the varied ways we have tried to augment the ground to make it more workable, it eventually gets too slippery and sloggy to do anything faster than a walk. That's where things are now, which is pretty danged frustrating when the sun is shining and you really want to get some riding work in, and the most you can do is putz around. Not that there aren't a lot of things you can teach or perfect at the walk, but it does get tiresome after about a month. But I battle on, do what I can, and grit my teeth every time it rains and makes the ground even more slippery.
On days where it's dark and rainy, I work on projects inside, or, as I did the other morning, I go into town. Sometimes to run errands and visit the library to replenish my stash, or in this case, I trolled the Goodwill then went next door to JoAnn's Fabrics. It turned out to be fortuitous timing, since I found a few nice things at the Goodwill, and JoAnn's had all their jewelry supplies on sale for 40-75 percent off. I came home with two T-shirts to make another bolero, and a denim short-sleeved jacket for another project I have in mind, which I will go into more on my next post.
Here is a very dark photo (remember, I said it was a gloomy, rainy day) showing the treasures I came home with, all piled on the coffee table in the living room, which at the time was the brightest place in the house. I bought the patterned shirt because the color and leaf design reminded me of William Morris wallpaper. It was the first piece I found, and I figured the chances of finding a color to match it would be slim to zero, so I went poking around looking for a good contrasting color when I found the other T-shirt, which matched the color of the patterned one exactly. That was a lucky find, indeed.
This lovely little hoard of goodies, shirts and findings, cost me under $20. The only thing I didn't think to get (my mind was in jewelry nirvana at all the things on sale) was some embroidery floss to match the dark green in the patterned shirt, since the binding on the bolero will be out of the solid aqua.
Oh gosh darn, I will have to go back to JoAnn's again. Life can be such a trial.
As Mother Nature flip-flops between Winter and Spring—one day it's dark, pouring rain and only 44 degrees, the next it's bright, sunny and 72 degrees—my schedule flip-flops in tandem with Hers.
When it's nice, I'm outside working in the yard and garden, clearing out all the dead winter wood and brush. That's when I discover just how many gophers have taken up residence since last summer. In this year's case there are so many holes it looks like someone did several strafing runs over my garden firing 27 mm rounds. I also had to take an inventory of how many plants I lost due to the mini ice age we had back in December. So far it looks like the succulents on the front walkway suffered the most attrition, and I may have lost the star jasmine in the big pot by the terrace steps, but the verdict is still out on that one. Robert and I also decided to eliminate the whole back side of the fenced garden, as it is slowing collapsing into the creek, and it would be way too expensive and labor intensive to shore it back up. Since that section also is in the shade most of the day, then in the afternoon is subjected to direct sunlight and intense heat during the summer, it's a pain in the butt to find something that can grow in those two extremes. The last thing I attempted was hydrangeas, and they have struggled. I may pot them up and put them in the shade on the deck. When I attempted to grow them anywhere else in the yard, the deer ate them to a nub. Yes, anything planted outside the fenced garden has to be deer proof.
The other thing I do when the weather is nice is work my horses. We just got a new one for my husband, who had to retire his old gelding, Apollo, who is now around 25 and looking his age. He just didn't have the stamina for the kinds of horse activities we do. The fact that the vet told us he has arthritis in all four legs, but especially in the hind, just sealed his retirement fate. So, now we have Strider, a seven-and-a-half-year-old Fox Trotter, who needs a lot of work, since his previous owner didn't ride him much. And just last Sunday we learned that he doesn't like going into a trailer. He loaded fine at his previous home, with his first mom leading him in. When we tried at our place he balked, pulled back and broke the tie-in, and we spent two hours working with him to finally get him back in and to stand quietly, then back out nicely. It's going to take many more sessions like that before we go anywhere, since I won't travel with a horse who won't load and unload easily.
Here is a photo of Robert on one of his first rides on Strider. My mare, Delight, is giving Strider the stink-eye as they go by. I think Delight is still secretly hoping Strider will go back where he came from, and she and Apollo can have their privacy back.
With the weather flipping back and forth, the biggest issue we have with working the horses is the bad footing. We have forest clay soil, and despite the varied ways we have tried to augment the ground to make it more workable, it eventually gets too slippery and sloggy to do anything faster than a walk. That's where things are now, which is pretty danged frustrating when the sun is shining and you really want to get some riding work in, and the most you can do is putz around. Not that there aren't a lot of things you can teach or perfect at the walk, but it does get tiresome after about a month. But I battle on, do what I can, and grit my teeth every time it rains and makes the ground even more slippery.
On days where it's dark and rainy, I work on projects inside, or, as I did the other morning, I go into town. Sometimes to run errands and visit the library to replenish my stash, or in this case, I trolled the Goodwill then went next door to JoAnn's Fabrics. It turned out to be fortuitous timing, since I found a few nice things at the Goodwill, and JoAnn's had all their jewelry supplies on sale for 40-75 percent off. I came home with two T-shirts to make another bolero, and a denim short-sleeved jacket for another project I have in mind, which I will go into more on my next post.
Here is a very dark photo (remember, I said it was a gloomy, rainy day) showing the treasures I came home with, all piled on the coffee table in the living room, which at the time was the brightest place in the house. I bought the patterned shirt because the color and leaf design reminded me of William Morris wallpaper. It was the first piece I found, and I figured the chances of finding a color to match it would be slim to zero, so I went poking around looking for a good contrasting color when I found the other T-shirt, which matched the color of the patterned one exactly. That was a lucky find, indeed.
This lovely little hoard of goodies, shirts and findings, cost me under $20. The only thing I didn't think to get (my mind was in jewelry nirvana at all the things on sale) was some embroidery floss to match the dark green in the patterned shirt, since the binding on the bolero will be out of the solid aqua.
Oh gosh darn, I will have to go back to JoAnn's again. Life can be such a trial.
Monday, January 20, 2014
Deconstruction
It seems I have been on a path of deconstruction for a long time. It started with clothing, like taking things from the Goodwill, cutting them up (deconstruction), and making them into something else. Over time, it has applied to a lot of other things, although the other things might be defined better as downsizing. But it's all of a piece...the effort to start over, clean up, organize, and rethink.
The deconstruction of clothing has been a lot of fun, and a wonderful learning experience which is still ongoing. I have lots of ideas for things and techniques I want to try. The Goodwill has become my favorite shopping place, despite the rather creepy atmosphere, and the transients that haunt the place—to keep warm in the winter, and to cool off during the summer. There is also a part of me that feels a bit guilty for shopping there, when I see people who obviously can't afford to shop anyplace else, when for me it is just to troll for future projects. But I still go, and I still find things I can take apart and put back together as something new.
The deconstruction of my life is a bit different, and in some cases hard on the emotions. For almost a year I have been in the process of getting rid of stuff that I don't really need, or use. This involves giving family heirlooms to other members of my family to pass on, since Robert and I have no children. Mostly it means going through drawers, closets, and the (gasp) garage, and cleaning out stuff that hasn't seen the light of day in years. It's a little appalling how much clutter and "stuff" can accumulate over the years without us being aware of it, until a drawer is so crammed with junk you can't open it, or there is a wall of boxes in the garage that prevents you from getting to the washing machine. The revelation in all this, is that once you start getting rid of all that extraineous stuff, you start to feel lighter, freer, unburdened. I still have a long way to go in this process, but I keep working at it, one drawer, box, or cupboard at a time. I have taken carloads of stuff to the Goodwill, which I sorta think of as paying it forward. They will be getting lots more, and it doesn't hurt that it's a nice little tax write-off.
This emotional deconstruction can also apply to people. There comes a time when you realize some people don't make your life easy, and in fact, can make you a crazy person. To decide to eliminate these people from my life is a hard thing to do, especially if it is someone I have known for a long time. The question I asked myself, "Is being around this person hard work, or do they make being friends easy?" This is not to imply that I abandon friendships just because things get a little rough sometimes. All relationships go through those kinds of stages. What I mean is the type of person who just constantly becomes more of an irritant, someone I have to walk on eggshells around in order not to tick them off, and whose negative attitude toward other people starts to rub off on me without my being aware of it, until suddenly I think, "Wait a minute, that's not how I think about so-and-so, who has never done anything to me." It is then that I decide, enough is enough. It's sad, since these same people can be generous and giving, but not enough to make up for the other half of their personality. Fortunately, I have not had to make that decision often, and it is always painful when I do, but the relief afterwards, knowing that I will no longer have to be constantly on my guard around this type of person, is the reward.
My current act of deconstruction is with my jewelry. I have pieces that have been around for years and never sold. Some are ones I made when I first started learning how to work with beads and wire, others are pieces that for whatever reason just didn't sell. So the other day I decided to go through all the things I had and take apart the ones that had been hanging around way too long. Some were pieces that I really liked, and I was a little sad that no one else liked them as much as I did, but ah well. After about two hours, I ended up with a great pile of components all ready to be made into something new, which is exciting. I also went through my stash of beads and findings and got pretty mercenary about tossing things I'd had for eons and never used. I am also upgrading my stock, so pitched anything that looked a bit too shoddy or worn. All of those bits and pieces went into a big plastic bag, which will also be donated to the Goodwill. I still have a few storage boxes to go through, but the bag is filling up nicely, and my work area is getting a lot more organized. I like that!
During this whole deconstruction process, I have had this picture in my head of a woman walking down a long road, carrying a huge, bulging knapsack on her back. As she walks along, things keep falling out of the knapsack. Behind her, for miles and miles, is a trail of "stuff" that she doesn't know is gone. But without realizing it, she is walking straighter, standing taller, and moving easier. Soon, there won't be anything left in that heavy knapsack, and then she'll be free.
The deconstruction of clothing has been a lot of fun, and a wonderful learning experience which is still ongoing. I have lots of ideas for things and techniques I want to try. The Goodwill has become my favorite shopping place, despite the rather creepy atmosphere, and the transients that haunt the place—to keep warm in the winter, and to cool off during the summer. There is also a part of me that feels a bit guilty for shopping there, when I see people who obviously can't afford to shop anyplace else, when for me it is just to troll for future projects. But I still go, and I still find things I can take apart and put back together as something new.
The deconstruction of my life is a bit different, and in some cases hard on the emotions. For almost a year I have been in the process of getting rid of stuff that I don't really need, or use. This involves giving family heirlooms to other members of my family to pass on, since Robert and I have no children. Mostly it means going through drawers, closets, and the (gasp) garage, and cleaning out stuff that hasn't seen the light of day in years. It's a little appalling how much clutter and "stuff" can accumulate over the years without us being aware of it, until a drawer is so crammed with junk you can't open it, or there is a wall of boxes in the garage that prevents you from getting to the washing machine. The revelation in all this, is that once you start getting rid of all that extraineous stuff, you start to feel lighter, freer, unburdened. I still have a long way to go in this process, but I keep working at it, one drawer, box, or cupboard at a time. I have taken carloads of stuff to the Goodwill, which I sorta think of as paying it forward. They will be getting lots more, and it doesn't hurt that it's a nice little tax write-off.
This emotional deconstruction can also apply to people. There comes a time when you realize some people don't make your life easy, and in fact, can make you a crazy person. To decide to eliminate these people from my life is a hard thing to do, especially if it is someone I have known for a long time. The question I asked myself, "Is being around this person hard work, or do they make being friends easy?" This is not to imply that I abandon friendships just because things get a little rough sometimes. All relationships go through those kinds of stages. What I mean is the type of person who just constantly becomes more of an irritant, someone I have to walk on eggshells around in order not to tick them off, and whose negative attitude toward other people starts to rub off on me without my being aware of it, until suddenly I think, "Wait a minute, that's not how I think about so-and-so, who has never done anything to me." It is then that I decide, enough is enough. It's sad, since these same people can be generous and giving, but not enough to make up for the other half of their personality. Fortunately, I have not had to make that decision often, and it is always painful when I do, but the relief afterwards, knowing that I will no longer have to be constantly on my guard around this type of person, is the reward.
My current act of deconstruction is with my jewelry. I have pieces that have been around for years and never sold. Some are ones I made when I first started learning how to work with beads and wire, others are pieces that for whatever reason just didn't sell. So the other day I decided to go through all the things I had and take apart the ones that had been hanging around way too long. Some were pieces that I really liked, and I was a little sad that no one else liked them as much as I did, but ah well. After about two hours, I ended up with a great pile of components all ready to be made into something new, which is exciting. I also went through my stash of beads and findings and got pretty mercenary about tossing things I'd had for eons and never used. I am also upgrading my stock, so pitched anything that looked a bit too shoddy or worn. All of those bits and pieces went into a big plastic bag, which will also be donated to the Goodwill. I still have a few storage boxes to go through, but the bag is filling up nicely, and my work area is getting a lot more organized. I like that!
During this whole deconstruction process, I have had this picture in my head of a woman walking down a long road, carrying a huge, bulging knapsack on her back. As she walks along, things keep falling out of the knapsack. Behind her, for miles and miles, is a trail of "stuff" that she doesn't know is gone. But without realizing it, she is walking straighter, standing taller, and moving easier. Soon, there won't be anything left in that heavy knapsack, and then she'll be free.
Friday, June 14, 2013
Just Get It Done
"Don't think about making art, just get it done.
Let everyone else decide if it's good or bad, whether they love it or hate it.
While they are deciding,
make more art."
Andy Warhol
Monday, April 9, 2012
I Won!
I'm very excited about winning Seth Apter's book "The Pulse of Mixed Media." Thank you, Rice, and the Voodoo Cafe for promoting the book, and the blog hop. I saw three new artists sites, and it was fun to notice the different way each artist presented their work. Blogs are such a personal window into how another person views their world, and shares that view with others.
Because I have an ancient computer (it's ten years old, and very slow, even on DSL), posting links to all the places I went, and to Seth's site, would take me FOREVER. There is a link to Rice's Voodoo Cafe on my side bar. My apologies, since I would love to post links to all the blogs I visited. However, come next Wednesday, I am finally getting a new computer. I will be at full speed again, and posting links will take mere seconds, instead of half an hour...each.
I also see, thanks again to Rice, who posted links to this site, that I have acquired a few new followers. That is very kewl! Welcome to all of you. Found in the Ruins is nothing fancy, but it's mine. I will try to post more often, so that you don't get bored, or give up on me. LOL
This is just another example of how the internet connects us all in wonderful new ways, and lets us share our hopes, dreams, and artwork with others.
Because I have an ancient computer (it's ten years old, and very slow, even on DSL), posting links to all the places I went, and to Seth's site, would take me FOREVER. There is a link to Rice's Voodoo Cafe on my side bar. My apologies, since I would love to post links to all the blogs I visited. However, come next Wednesday, I am finally getting a new computer. I will be at full speed again, and posting links will take mere seconds, instead of half an hour...each.
I also see, thanks again to Rice, who posted links to this site, that I have acquired a few new followers. That is very kewl! Welcome to all of you. Found in the Ruins is nothing fancy, but it's mine. I will try to post more often, so that you don't get bored, or give up on me. LOL
This is just another example of how the internet connects us all in wonderful new ways, and lets us share our hopes, dreams, and artwork with others.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Waiting Room Zombies
I see them everywhere...at the doctor’s, the dentist, the DMV. I saw them when I served jury duty. They scare me!
If I know I’m going to be trapped in a waiting room, anywhere, I take a book. Sometimes I take more than one. If by some fluke, I forget to bring one, I shuffle through the magazines, looking for something like National Geographic or Audubon. I avoid garbage rags like People, or boring housewiffy stuff like Better Homes & Gardens. But usually, I always have a book. The thought of sitting there with nothing to do, makes me break out in a cold sweat.
Most people are like me. They either bring a book, or, like a friend of mine, cross-stitch to work on. I’ve seen people writing in notebooks, working crossword puzzles, doing knitting or crochet, or more often these days, playing games or trolling the internet on their cell phones. But at least they are doing SOMETHING.
Then there are the zombies. The plop their butts in a chair, put their hands in their laps, and....switch off. Literally. Eyes fixed, they stare into space doing...nothing. So, I can’t help but wonder, what are they thinking about? Are they thinking at all? Or, like C3P0 in Star Wars, do they have an internal “kill” switch, and their brain turns off?
The whole time I’m reading my book, I’m aware of them. I see them in my peripheral vision. It starts to creep me out. How can they just SIT there? Are they really human, or are they aliens, with transmitters in their brains, beaming up info on the waiting room habits of earthlings. Although, why they would want to know that is beyond me. Pretty boring stuff. Are they automatons, set up to make it look like your doctor or dentist is busier than he really is? Are they test dummies...some new, super-lifelike robot model, with little cameras behind those staring eyes, to see how well they fool the rest of us? Maybe, but if so, they need to at least make them blink.
Personally, I think they’re zombies. And sometimes they come in pairs...to make you think they are husband and wife.
Recently I had to serve on Jury Duty. There I am, trapped again, this time in a small room with about twenty other people, waiting to see if we will actually be called to serve that day. Behind me is a woman who sounds like she has the plague, and who was apparently never taught how to use a tissue. Every two minutes, for three hours, I heard “snuuuggggluuggth” right behind my head, as she sucked snot back up her nose. And there were zombies here, too.
They have to be zombies. No one can sit, without moving, without talking, without even using the restroom, for three hours! I’d feel less paranoid if they just went to sleep. Snoring and drooling would at least prove they were human. But no, they just sit...and stare...at nothing. No one is home.
Then, when it is their turn to see said doctor or dentist, or the bailiff calls us to attention, SHAZAM!...they switch back on. They blink, stand up, and follow either the nurse or the rest of the jurors into whatever place they are meant to go.
What I wonder is, what do they do when they get home? Do they sit back on the couch and switch off again? Do they plug themselves in to a battery charger, ready for their next sojourn into the real world? Do they report to Zaphod Beeblebrox at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe? Which head do they report to? Do they send data to a Death Star? It’s probably better that I don’t know.
Like I said, waiting room zombies creep me out.
If I know I’m going to be trapped in a waiting room, anywhere, I take a book. Sometimes I take more than one. If by some fluke, I forget to bring one, I shuffle through the magazines, looking for something like National Geographic or Audubon. I avoid garbage rags like People, or boring housewiffy stuff like Better Homes & Gardens. But usually, I always have a book. The thought of sitting there with nothing to do, makes me break out in a cold sweat.
Most people are like me. They either bring a book, or, like a friend of mine, cross-stitch to work on. I’ve seen people writing in notebooks, working crossword puzzles, doing knitting or crochet, or more often these days, playing games or trolling the internet on their cell phones. But at least they are doing SOMETHING.
Then there are the zombies. The plop their butts in a chair, put their hands in their laps, and....switch off. Literally. Eyes fixed, they stare into space doing...nothing. So, I can’t help but wonder, what are they thinking about? Are they thinking at all? Or, like C3P0 in Star Wars, do they have an internal “kill” switch, and their brain turns off?
The whole time I’m reading my book, I’m aware of them. I see them in my peripheral vision. It starts to creep me out. How can they just SIT there? Are they really human, or are they aliens, with transmitters in their brains, beaming up info on the waiting room habits of earthlings. Although, why they would want to know that is beyond me. Pretty boring stuff. Are they automatons, set up to make it look like your doctor or dentist is busier than he really is? Are they test dummies...some new, super-lifelike robot model, with little cameras behind those staring eyes, to see how well they fool the rest of us? Maybe, but if so, they need to at least make them blink.
Personally, I think they’re zombies. And sometimes they come in pairs...to make you think they are husband and wife.
Recently I had to serve on Jury Duty. There I am, trapped again, this time in a small room with about twenty other people, waiting to see if we will actually be called to serve that day. Behind me is a woman who sounds like she has the plague, and who was apparently never taught how to use a tissue. Every two minutes, for three hours, I heard “snuuuggggluuggth” right behind my head, as she sucked snot back up her nose. And there were zombies here, too.
They have to be zombies. No one can sit, without moving, without talking, without even using the restroom, for three hours! I’d feel less paranoid if they just went to sleep. Snoring and drooling would at least prove they were human. But no, they just sit...and stare...at nothing. No one is home.
Then, when it is their turn to see said doctor or dentist, or the bailiff calls us to attention, SHAZAM!...they switch back on. They blink, stand up, and follow either the nurse or the rest of the jurors into whatever place they are meant to go.
What I wonder is, what do they do when they get home? Do they sit back on the couch and switch off again? Do they plug themselves in to a battery charger, ready for their next sojourn into the real world? Do they report to Zaphod Beeblebrox at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe? Which head do they report to? Do they send data to a Death Star? It’s probably better that I don’t know.
Like I said, waiting room zombies creep me out.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Who Dusts?
Sorry, it’s been a while, I know. Summer was a busy one, but, I’m back now, and I have a question.
From my personal library I am re-reading a very excellent art book called Art Making & Studio Spaces by Lynne Perrella. It is a showcase of 31 artists and the places they work their individual styles of magic. Eye-candy to the max. Loads of ideas. But...
Each of these studios is crammed with stuff—supplies, books, baskets of fabric or paint tubes, collections of figurines, seed pods, chunks of wood, toys, personal shrines, artwork of their own and by other artists, ephemera...just about anything an artist needs for work or inspiration. In almost all of them there is not one inch of table, shelf, or cupboard space that is not covered with something. And in every studio there was not one speck of dust. Nary one spider web clinging to a corner of the ceiling...nadda.
Now, I realize that in a photo shoot for a book you would clean your studio to within an inch of its life, and they probably had a set decorator or stylist to help arrange things in more photogenic ways...but what about the rest of the time? These places would be dust magnets. Who is going to go around and dust bits of dried grasses, tiny Simpson figurines, or shelves full of Day of the Dead statues? Really. It’s a duster’s nightmare.
And no spider webs? Come on. Not one? Spiders would love these places. Hideouts galore. Maybe they were there and camera shy...but the webs should have shown up somewhere. An artist studio without one spider seems a bit too sterile for me somehow.
And don’t get me started on flooring. Carpet...in a studio? Seriously? Even if your art form is sewing or quilting, I know from experience that pins love to hide in carpet, and are only found by me stepping on them. In one studio it looked like, under a table with drips of paint dried to its edge, was what looked like pristine beige carpet. So, where did all those paint drips go? Does this person go to all the trouble of putting a big drop cloth under the table when she works, and then pulls it away the rest of the time? Seems like a lot of work. Why not just have a paint-friendly floor in the first place? It’s a studio, after all. The floor is meant to get grubby and paint-spattered.
So, that’s my question. When the camera crew is gone, and life goes back to normal for these artists....who dusts?
From my personal library I am re-reading a very excellent art book called Art Making & Studio Spaces by Lynne Perrella. It is a showcase of 31 artists and the places they work their individual styles of magic. Eye-candy to the max. Loads of ideas. But...
Each of these studios is crammed with stuff—supplies, books, baskets of fabric or paint tubes, collections of figurines, seed pods, chunks of wood, toys, personal shrines, artwork of their own and by other artists, ephemera...just about anything an artist needs for work or inspiration. In almost all of them there is not one inch of table, shelf, or cupboard space that is not covered with something. And in every studio there was not one speck of dust. Nary one spider web clinging to a corner of the ceiling...nadda.
Now, I realize that in a photo shoot for a book you would clean your studio to within an inch of its life, and they probably had a set decorator or stylist to help arrange things in more photogenic ways...but what about the rest of the time? These places would be dust magnets. Who is going to go around and dust bits of dried grasses, tiny Simpson figurines, or shelves full of Day of the Dead statues? Really. It’s a duster’s nightmare.
And no spider webs? Come on. Not one? Spiders would love these places. Hideouts galore. Maybe they were there and camera shy...but the webs should have shown up somewhere. An artist studio without one spider seems a bit too sterile for me somehow.
And don’t get me started on flooring. Carpet...in a studio? Seriously? Even if your art form is sewing or quilting, I know from experience that pins love to hide in carpet, and are only found by me stepping on them. In one studio it looked like, under a table with drips of paint dried to its edge, was what looked like pristine beige carpet. So, where did all those paint drips go? Does this person go to all the trouble of putting a big drop cloth under the table when she works, and then pulls it away the rest of the time? Seems like a lot of work. Why not just have a paint-friendly floor in the first place? It’s a studio, after all. The floor is meant to get grubby and paint-spattered.
So, that’s my question. When the camera crew is gone, and life goes back to normal for these artists....who dusts?
Thursday, August 18, 2011
You Don't Work, You're Retired.
Someone said that to me recently. It sounded as if I had been consigned to an old farts home...pushed out of life’s loop. That I spend my days sitting in a rocker knitting socks for charity. It implied that once you retire, you cease to work...at anything. You’re just waiting around for the “big one” to hit and take you out. The junk mail from hearing aid companies, assisted living facilities, long term health insurance, and funeral/cremation plans, doesn’t help.
Or, maybe it implies that I now spend my days either sitting in a club house after a round of golf, cruising the country in an enormous, gas-gussling motorcoach, becoming a “Snowbird” and heading to Arizona for the winter, or taking long cruises on luxury liners—okay, so I’ve done that once, because I wanted to go through the Panama Canal, which was awesome.
I don’t work? Right, I don’t work 9-5 at a desk with a little brass placard that reads, “Sharon Robb-Chism, Escrow Assistant” I had one that read just that, once. Among other titles, in other years: Office Manager, Shipping/Receiving Clerk, Sales Assistant, etc. And yeah, I don’t have to deal with insane escrow deadlines, loudmouthed construction workers, rude delivery men, and bitchy teenagers whining about how they hate the clothes being picked out for them and paid for by their mothers, for the new school term.
So, if I had a desk, what titles would that placard have on it now? Gosh, let me think.
Housekeeper (I admit, not my most dedicated work, but I don’t live in a pig pen either), cook (I am good at this), laundry lady, home accountant, yard & BIG garden maintenance lady, landscape manual laborer, home nurse—human and animal, animal feeder, spa maintenance lady, stable hand, stall mucker, horse groomer and trainer (of our own horses), jewelry designer, personal jewelry web-site updater, artist—published, writer—published, photographer—published, reenactor—pirate and medieval, equestrian gamer, costumer—for human and horse, internet forum moderator (not too arduous, this, but still), and last but most importantly, loving and supportive wife.
I don’t need a placard, I need a billboard.
Yeah, I’m retired, but not work? Get real. I work my ass off every single day at one or more of the above. Mostly more, especially during the summer. Would I give all that up for a nice 9-5 desk job? Not on your life. I’d still have to do half the stuff on that list and hold down a day job. Which is what I was doing before I retired, and had all this time to sit around in my rocker and read junk mail implying that my body already has one foot in the grave. NOT! However, I am ready for another cruise on a luxury liner. Maybe the Med this time, or Australia?
Or, maybe it implies that I now spend my days either sitting in a club house after a round of golf, cruising the country in an enormous, gas-gussling motorcoach, becoming a “Snowbird” and heading to Arizona for the winter, or taking long cruises on luxury liners—okay, so I’ve done that once, because I wanted to go through the Panama Canal, which was awesome.
I don’t work? Right, I don’t work 9-5 at a desk with a little brass placard that reads, “Sharon Robb-Chism, Escrow Assistant” I had one that read just that, once. Among other titles, in other years: Office Manager, Shipping/Receiving Clerk, Sales Assistant, etc. And yeah, I don’t have to deal with insane escrow deadlines, loudmouthed construction workers, rude delivery men, and bitchy teenagers whining about how they hate the clothes being picked out for them and paid for by their mothers, for the new school term.
So, if I had a desk, what titles would that placard have on it now? Gosh, let me think.
Housekeeper (I admit, not my most dedicated work, but I don’t live in a pig pen either), cook (I am good at this), laundry lady, home accountant, yard & BIG garden maintenance lady, landscape manual laborer, home nurse—human and animal, animal feeder, spa maintenance lady, stable hand, stall mucker, horse groomer and trainer (of our own horses), jewelry designer, personal jewelry web-site updater, artist—published, writer—published, photographer—published, reenactor—pirate and medieval, equestrian gamer, costumer—for human and horse, internet forum moderator (not too arduous, this, but still), and last but most importantly, loving and supportive wife.
I don’t need a placard, I need a billboard.
Yeah, I’m retired, but not work? Get real. I work my ass off every single day at one or more of the above. Mostly more, especially during the summer. Would I give all that up for a nice 9-5 desk job? Not on your life. I’d still have to do half the stuff on that list and hold down a day job. Which is what I was doing before I retired, and had all this time to sit around in my rocker and read junk mail implying that my body already has one foot in the grave. NOT! However, I am ready for another cruise on a luxury liner. Maybe the Med this time, or Australia?
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