Edify!

Photos of The Peabody Waldorf Boutique and Gallery

2009-11-28T10:29:00.000-08:00

These are "before" photos, taken shortly after we moved in in early August. It was a cavernous and overwhelming place, but we had/have a vision and have come a long way in a relatively short amount of time and on a ridiculously small budget. Those photos to follow...for now, enjoy the view that caused me daily panic attacks for about six weeks...

The view looking forward from our apartment

The view looking towards the apartment from the door

745 Broadway, in all its ghetto splendor

What would become our bedroom

The bathroom (obviously)

The main central area in the apartment, closet and mini office to the left, galley kitchen and strangely huge bathroom to the right, sleeping loft/death trap above and to the left

The galley kitchen

The galley kitchen looking across the central area into our closet

Mount Rainier

2009-09-21T09:23:00.000-07:00

So, this has been quite an eventful summer and I'm only just now getting enough of a handle on everything that has happened and is happening to be able to write about it.

This post is easy though:

Along with a group of badasses and led by the King of Tacoma himself, I trained for months for and completed a climb to the summit of Mount Rainier. It would be hard to put into words how much this means to me personally but suffice to say that all the cliches about self empowerment and positive thinking that you see on posters in gyms and offices and whatnot? There's a reason that there are mountains in the background of all of those...

Oh, and I took my cat...

Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds...

2009-08-24T21:32:00.000-07:00

So I think I've been able to distill what it is about dogs that I don't like at all...or actually, what it is about dogs that makes me seriously prefer cats.

What I don't like about dogs is rather more simple than preference: I don't like...nay, I abhor slobbering blind loyalty from any being of any size or shape and cats are generally way more autonomous by a wide margin.

What solidifies the preference for me is my belief that dogs, far more than cats, take on the personality of their owner. Not just take it on, really, but distill it down to the most vital elements. Its as though when you see somebody's dog, you are looking directly at their owner's essence, at their guts. More often than not, I am kind of annoyed, sort of disgusted.

(I will admit that there are notable exceptions...Bandit, for one, although the constant air humping proves my point with a bullet)

This scares me. What if I raise a dog and I end up hating its face right off? Or worse, what if other people can't stand it or tell me "Eric, your cocksmoker of a dog has a giant ego and is far too aggressive?" That would make me sad, and I don't have time for sad, really...

Anyway, in spite of and including all of my theories and preferences, I seem to have acquired a dog. She isn't really mine, but she has spent the majority of her life cohabiting with us and our darling cats and to be honest, I don't want her to go away any time soon. She's a communal pup, so perchance we will be able to sidestep that scary distillation process, and if she does acquire one person's essence I'm not the one in charge so...

Blah blah blah...she's cuter than shit and I love her.

Squee.

Fuck Trees...

2009-05-22T10:58:00.000-07:00

I climb buoys, motherfucker!

Don't know what I'm talking about?

You should. Check these guys out here:

The Lonely Island

Or go straight to their videos here:

"I'm On A Boat"

and

"Jizz In My Pants"

Change of plans...

2009-04-30T08:40:00.000-07:00

So I ended up not going to Texas/New Mexico after all, and I can't say I'm not glad of it.

Here's a little story from the last time I was there (be forewarned, it is not exciting):

There is nothing to do in Hobbs, New Mexico after 5pm. In truth, there is nothing to do in Hobbs, New Mexico before 5pm either, but we were working, and hard, and it was hottern shit so we didn't realize how little there is to do. I suppose the fact that a quarter of the town turned out to watch us fix a cooling tower may have clued us in to the fact...

Anyway, Friday evening, desperate for some sort of entertainment, we drove to a nearby town, also a god-forsaken shithole, and walked the single, dusty street end to end.

The end.

I mean, can you blame me for not being sad about not returning? However, I will be going there in October now. Yay!

Hi!

2009-04-20T09:56:00.000-07:00

Remember me?

I remember all of you too...

I've been a pretty shitty blog owner as of late, but accepting responsibility is the first step, right?
Well, I accept, and as soon as I take my blog out for a long walk, buy it a couple new rawhides, and fluff its doggie bed, I will get down to some serious blogging.

In fact, as I am going to be taking a trip to West Texas for some work and am kinda scared to go alone, I was thinking about taking you all along with me...you wanna go? Do you? Yeah?

Sweet.

Say It Better With Flowers...

2008-12-09T22:31:00.000-08:00

So, I haven't weighed in on politics much yet on this here blog, which is strange, especially considering what a dynamic year this was in that arena. I have reasons, which I will most likely get to some point sooner than later, possibly when I have a moment to think about anything but how fucking broke I am...anyway, some things are important enough to come out of semi-retirement, and commenting on Proposition 8 is one of them.

There are few things less productive for an individual or a society than judging others based on their personal choices and not the quality of their character. It, in fact, is a signifier of poor character to stoop that low. Further, changing laws in order to control a portion of the population while simultaneously withholding their rights goes against every democratic principle this country was founded on. The religious aspect of this issue is especially disgusting, criminal even...literally.

I can get you stickers of this if you promise to slap them on a homophobe.

Sometimes I'm Full of Shit...

2008-12-07T22:00:00.000-08:00

...and other times I'm not. The following is an example of me not being full of shit:

Once I was interrupted in the middle of a card game by a tap and squeeze on my shoulder. When I turned to see who it was, I was surprised to find an adult female elephant half a trunk's distance from me. I asked her what she needed and, without a word, she reached past me, grabbed my beer off of the table, downed it, casually replaced the empty bottle, and then walked away.

Needless to say, I was slightly stunned...

Interactive sweatering...its the wave of the fuckin future, baby!

2008-12-03T00:51:00.000-08:00

You may not be able to read the small print on this amazing flier, but we are holding a Christmas sweater party on December 20th. Wear an awesomely bad Christmas sweater and prepare to act simultaneously pompous and festive. Trust me on this...its the best time you've had in quite some time.

By "we are having a party" I mean to say that I will be hosting it at my house in Tacoma, my friend Fridley (the Sweater Godfather) will be hosting at his place in St. Louis, and somebody (looks like the Gillinghams have earned the nod this year) will host down Phoenix way. We will all be stopping by one another's locations via the interwebs for some interactive revelry (perhaps some caroling?).

If you live near one of those areas and are interested in joining the fun, ask me nicely and I'll get you the invite. If you don't live near one of those areas and are interested, have your own damn party and get ahold of me so that we can align the internet tubes so as to be able to interact...

...it will be sweet, I swear it

Where Dick Jokes and Contracting Meet...

2008-11-14T08:59:00.000-08:00

So, I'm pretty good with caulk. When I first started working with wood, learning how to finish, I was sloppy and got caulk all over me but now I have learned to control it and use caulk to my advantage. I don't like black caulk though, it is just too messy!

Hahahahahahahahaha!!!!

Now, on a completely different note, I found this guy Joel the other day while surfing the ol' interwebs and it turns out he's my soulmate...who knew?

(By "he's my soulmate" I mean to say that I love his blog and currently check it several times a day...I'm kinda easy)

Anyway, check him out

Happy Halloween, bitches...

2008-11-02T19:40:00.000-08:00

Stuff and Things, Bro...Stuff and Things

2008-10-09T17:49:00.000-07:00

So the other day we rented a video on VHS...can you even tell me when the last time you did that was? I remember the whole movies at home experience very differently back in the day. All of home entertainment was different. VHS, Atari, LPs and EPs and then cassette tapes...I had a friend whose parents had a laser disc thing...cutting fucking edge, they said. We had a rewinder so that all that being kind and rewinding wouldn't wear out the VCR. And also a clicker box for the cable. And also Nickelodeon and ESPN were brand new and two of very few channels available. Both used to actually sign off back then, back in the day...and MTV? I am forever proud to say that I was there when "Video Killed the Radio Star" kicked off a whole new era in not just music but all of popular culture, but then I also used to wear a rat tail and cutoffs and was the first kid to pierce my ear in the history of our junior high school.

Wow.

We are old, we 30-somethings, eh?

Nah, we're not old, its just that time moves much more quickly now, at least that's how it feels to me...

But I digress...

So we rented "The Legend of Billie Jean," which, along with "Iron Eagle" and "The Princess Bride" was one of my top three as a kid. We rented it partly because I had a jones to see it and partly because in some way I do believe that as long as I can force Sarah to experience every visceral memory I have from those days, we will somehow narrow the decade-wide gap between our ages.

Oh, but age is just a number, you say?

Yeah, well, no, not really. Any two individuals in a relationship are far enough apart on plenty of levels simply by having been born different people...add to the equation different backgrounds and a ten year time lag and you have chosen a slightly tougher route. Our payoff is that we have a collective memory sharpened by the wide-eyed innocence of youth and first experiences that spans a consecutive twenty year period...and that's pretty f-ing sweet...

Didn't follow? Don't worry, I was really kinda rambling. Just go watch "The Legend of Billie Jean" and enjoy not only a killer soundtrack (laden with 80s angst staples from Billy Idol and Pat Benetar, among many others) but an opportunity to get closer to what goes on in my head.

Fair is fair.

Speaking of Sarah, did you know she has a fuzzy cat? And did you want to meet her?

http://sarahlyons.blogspot.com/

She's a delightful young lady, as you can clearly see. She is also more than a little obsessed with her kitten, Albus (the name belying another obsession of hers). While this preoccupation occupies an inordinant amount of her time and energy, it is certainly healthier than others she could have and has had and we're glad to move forward thank you. To be honest though, I have met very few things more deserving of a fixation of this size and caliber than Albus...obviously I am biased, but all the same he too is a delightful creature despite his more than passing resemblance to the cat who broke my nose (with whom he shares other traits like drinking with his paw, an overwhelming urge to climb into boxes, and a penchant for causing trouble). I mean, he goes for hikes with us on a leash, and how rad is that?

Anyway, Albus is turning one next week and we are having a birthday party for him. You should come if you can. He has a new outfit for the party (seriously) and we will be playing pin the fuzzy tail on the Albus while drinking a cocktail (as yet to be) created specifically for him...ideas? (It must contain cinnamon)

The above is a bastardized version of the invitation to his party that I printed (in which he is thinking about a birthday candle...awww). This one-off is dedicated to the memory of a fine American and one of my personal heroes, Mr. Paul Newman. RIP, you handsome badass devil...

Oh and also, speaking of American heroes, John McCain died in 2004, just as Michael Jackson died right after he did that MTV special where he re-invented dance and Jordan only ever retired once (and never picked up a baseball bat)...you don't have to believe me, but in my head these men passed in quiet dignity at the peaks of their respective games and the deranged money-grubbing fuck-bot stand ins that they have been replaced with are the works of some very cruel evil genius. I am coming for you, you bastard, and I swear that I shall taste sweet revenge.

Tune in tomorrow for a scathing expose of fuck-bot Sarah Palin. Once a week she bathes in unicorn blood, people...says it helps relieve the itching of her scales...

TTFN

A Little Something to Help You Start Your Week...

2008-10-05T23:03:00.000-07:00

Dear Charles Mann,

2008-10-01T20:50:00.000-07:00

Please stop stalking me, sir. It is weird. So, things didn't work out between us...sometimes that is just the way of things. It doesn't mean you get to try and post absurdly rude comments on my blog. I mean, I thank you for taking the time to read what I have to write and it may actually be that you are one of my most devoted fans...however, there are far more positive ways to show your appreciation.

For those of you who are not Charles Mann or have never had the displeasure of meeting him, all you need to know is that he is an obsessive compulsive control freak with a penchant for masochism who I had the misfortune of working for briefly earlier this year...and now that we are no longer "associated," he has been lurking about the interwebs doing whatever possible to interrupt my flow (or whatever you call it).

It is called an IP address, Charles, look into it before you comment again (try a computer at the library...my personal fave when going incognito). Or better yet, take a deep breath and move forward...

I have posted the video below in order to show you people the importance of safety equipment:

Holy shit!

2008-09-24T20:33:00.000-07:00

Holy shit! does everybody feel that strange, buttery tension in the air? I mean, seriously, $700 billion dollars? Seven hundred BILLION dollars! $700,000,000,000. That's a bit of money right there. Oh, and really? Absolutely no oversight? Ho ho ho, what's this? That's a nice brave bit of big baller swindling genius, that...

Technically, that is $1200 that you are asking from each of the following people:

1.Me
2. My mom
3. My dad
4. All of my siblings
5. My siblings kids? (That one hurts, asshole)
6. All of my friends
7. And family
8. And all of the other Americans that I have ever met
9. And every single American I have never met

...and we're supposed to just let you do as you please with all of our money?

OK, maybe. If maybe I could trust you...

(Ironic chuckle turns into painfully self deprecating sob)

Oh yeah, I can't. I cannot. I cannot trust my government to be fiscally responsible. Hell, I cannot trust my government to be responsible with even the lives of its own service men and women and that is some seriously fucking serious bullshit if you ask me. I certainly goddamn well cannot, will not, trust you with even twenty of my dollars. Are you seriously squeezing every last goddamn cent out of us that you can before your sweet, massively lucrative, fucking seven deadly sins all of them nailed directly by you and/or your henchmen in some tragicomedy where we, the people, lost not only our sense of direction but our own self respect run ends? For real?

Maybe try not having gone to war (war being a very real place where innocent people [hundreds of thousands of them at a time] die horribly twisted godawful deaths and even many of those who live are immeasurably scarred for. ever. For like, the rest of their lives and shit) and spending oh, I don't know, five hundred and seventy billion dollars and counting on a losing effort. How about that?

Or what about not having given us back the money we gave you in the first place? Remember that? When you said "Hey - remember what happens April 15th? Yeah, that's right, give me some money or I will make it impossible for you to own a company or live in a house," and I, being a dutiful citizen, did just that? And then, you fucker, you...you gave back just enough of that for me not to keep hating you...twice. And now, now that it doesn't matter whether I hate you or not (you being the lamest of ducks and painfully, brutally disloyal to even those you pretend to be friends with [and here I am talking about John McCain, Valerie Plame, and that guy Dick Cheney shot in the motherfucking face, bitches!]) you are asking not only for that money back, but pretty please with a little extra sugar on top?

Oh that's right...sans sugar, right? This is a do or die thing. We are all going to die if you don't get your money, right? And be quick about it! Apparently the American economy is going to spiral completely out of control if we don't pony up the cash in the next seven days...what, is the straight terror angle not working on this one? You've found a new threat (that, ironically, again you created...) to hold over the heads of your fellow Americans? I'm sorry, I hadn't realized there was a red alert in the financial district...no wait, yeah I did. Something about some towers or something?

And the truth is, whether you believe conspiracy theorists or not, this same group of fuckers are the ones who sold weapons to the Saudis back in the day, the same ones who...Kissinger in Vietnam...Prescott and the Nazis...Ollie North...no, fuck it. I'm getting carried away and anyway, if you don't already know all this, then you're probably just amicably surprised by all the zeroes in this number

- 700,000,000,000 -

and there's no lyric in this tired old song that will raise your ire to anywhere near appropriate levels...

Basically, no. No, I will not give you my money. And if I catch you out by the playground after school I will not punch you in the face but I will call you all kinds of names and bring up some viciously awful shit about you, your family, and your friends that hopefully will make you feel so bad about yourself that you go home and play awkwardly with one of your dad's guns. You are a smirking chimpanzee fuck and the face to the reason I will never have children, at least not until things change.

Sorry about the rant, I'm just worried about some things these days...

If You Don't Know Already, You Probably Never Will...

2008-09-21T23:28:00.000-07:00

That's right, this is about the New York Yankees...

So, Steve's been giving me shit lately because while I claim to be a fan of football, I don't really claim any particular football team, despite the fact that I obviously have it in me to be fervently loyal to a team, a point in which he is referring to the New York (baseball) Yankees...

I mean, I sorta claim the Dallas Cowboys and the J-E-T-S Jets Jets Jets but that apparently is suspect because I am from New Jersey which therefore should mean I'm aware of:

1.the special filth-hatred Giants fans reserve for the Dallas Cowboys (and here I must remind you all that Giants Stadium is in North Jersey [aka where I happen to be from], and the Cowboys are from...well, somewhere else and fuck that) and

2.the specific reasons Jets fans are Jets fans (which run the gamut from "I am blue collar to the very core and believe the only team worth getting behind is a perennial underdog not because I am generally a loser but because I believe winning should be that much more delicious" to " I am from North Jersey and am just contrary in nature")

...which, obviously, I am. Not only am I aware of these things, I believe that they are completely valid reasons to back a professional football team, which is why I purport to be fans of each of those teams in particular. It turns out that I am contrary by nature, which means I automatically qualify for the Jets and also (because by certain league laws I am not allowed to be a fan of more than one team playing the same sport from the same area without forfeiting my right to be a fan of that sport or even sports in general) that I am forced by my exaggeratedly pronounced contrarian nature to be a Cowboys fan.

But no, according to Steve's reasoning, you are simply a fair weather fan. The Cowboys are on a winning streak and the Jets just hired the recently retired Brett Favre, inarguably the greatest quarterback in the history of the NFL (commence arguing), which should put them on a winning streak of their own...

All of which makes sense, I guess, but still, if backed into a corner I would gladly pledge sole allegiance to the Cowboys simply to be as froward as possible. Since I have been that way forever I do believe that entitles me to say I have been a Cowboys fan forever as well so yeah, go fuck yourself Steve...

That's a retarded point, continues Steve's incessant reasoning, and you're a retard. How do you account for the Yankees? Your blind allegiance to those assholes proves the fair weather angle, does it not?

To which I reply:

Dear Steve,

That was rude. I hope that being rude makes you happy.

Your friend, Eric

No, Steve, while being a Yankees fan does indeed accustom me to winning more often than any other franchise in the history of franchise sporting teams, it does not make me a fair weather fan. I might be prepared to admit that there are other Yankees fans who are as suspect of fair weatherdom as all Los Angeles Laker fans are automatically, but honestly, those people are beneath even mentioning in a blog entry about things like sports and decency and I am not one of them.

Truth is, I have always been and will always be a Yankees fan.

No, fuck that. Let me be completely honest here...the actual truth here is that I will always be a New York Yankee. Seriously. An actual Yankee. That's just how it is for Yankees fans. Its cool if you don't understand that, we're used to the haters...hating, in fact, just makes you seem that much sadder. There are different reasons behind the fandom for every Yankee but ultimately, those of us who are sincere are legends by association and you are just a fan of some other, shittier team. I actually played for the Yankees in my childhood imagination and have never once considered switching to another team. Never. Not even once.

That's not how its done by us Yankees...

Speaking of the Yankees and in case you didn't know it, the last. game. ever. was played in Yankee Stadium tonight. Yankee Stadium. Of course, that's not by any means the end of the Yankees, despite the tough season we've just been through. Still though that's kinda deep, no? Yankee Stadium is closed...

Have you heard that Dave Chapelle bit about the scope of Bill Clinton's fame? It refers to oral sex, of course, as any good Bill Clinton bit will and like most of Chapelle's shit is funny mostly because of its honesty. Well, that same sort of equation applies to Yankee Stadium. We're talking about a building. Its a building made of concrete and glass and whatever else but what makes it Yankee Stadium and not just some other shitty concrete building in the Bronx is the concept it has housed for the last century...the flavour, the fame. Yeah, the Yankees have won a lot of games there, but they've lost quite a few as well, believe me. It's not all about winning. What makes Yankee Stadium special is the comradery, the history, the feeling of being a Yankee...good shit, that. Yankee Stadium, I shall miss you...

Like I said, though, that's not the end of the Yankees. This season was tough, yes, but the only constant being change and history being what it is, we all know that the Yankees return to prominence will be sooner than later. I, for one, have already taken advantage of a rare post season off by printing the above. Yes, it is an editioned print. Ask me for one but only if you are a real Yankees fan. Five are reserved for specific people (Kirstin, Tim, Chuck, Jason, and I), but that means there are 10 others for the taking. If you ask, it shall be sent...

A road, not THE road, but a road

2008-09-20T14:25:00.000-07:00

A lake, not THE lake, but a lake

2008-09-20T14:20:00.000-07:00

An Icelandic Vignette, or, Tori Amos Tried To Kill Me

2008-09-20T10:00:00.000-07:00

Begin scene:

Wide angle shot of hilly, snow covered Icelandic landscape. Foreground and right are dominated by frozen lake with powdered snow blowing steadily and ferociously across and towards the viewer.
An embankment rising from the lake in a lazy 35 degree slope meets an icily treacherous two lane highway in the mid to foreground. This highway sweeps down and around from between two hills in the right back to midground. Where it first encounters the embankment on the right the road is 200 yards or more from the frozen lake but gradually comes to within 8 feet or so by the time it completes the downhill and straightens out to the left.
The hill on the left towers over the highway where it emerges from the pass, then drops abruptly in a clifflike fashion before finally tapering softly into the background. A set of imposing black lava and ice mountains complete the very far background to the left.
The whole scene looks cold...no...it looks frigid, and this is because it is in fact 17 degrees below zero (fahrenheit). The waxy yellowish light through the clouds is diffused and weak to the point of being eerie although it is high noon.
As we watch, a tiny red car squirts out of the pass and begins the descent. It is possible that the tiny car is going too fast.

Cut to interior of car:

The back seat of the car is packed with things. At first glance, the viewer sees two backpacks and a strange milk crate wih Icelandic writing on it. In the crate there is cheese, an odd looking fruit-like object, a loaf of bread, a few bottles of schnapps, and some beer. The beer has a Santa figure on the label. The Santa is obviously very intoxicated, which is funny. Scattered among the aforementioned items are various maps, headlamps, a discarded sweater, and a few sketchbooks.
Our driver is a handsome blonde Scandinavian looking man with a scruffy half beard and a wounded expression. He is wearing jeans and a tee shirt with some sort of flaming acorn symbol on the front. He is barefoot and his knitted earflap hat is ridiculous. He has one headphone in his left ear and is holding the other one in his right hand while driving with his left.
Our passenger is a young, buxom blonde, also in jeans, a long sleeved undershirt, and a fur (fake) lined white vest whose beauty is currently masked by a sincerely disgruntled look. Her booted (also fur lined, also fake) feet are on the dashboard and in her hands is a green paperback copy of Les Miserables, her finger holding the pages open. She too has one headphone in her ear and the other out. As we watch, she is replacing it in her earhole.

Her: ...rude. All I was saying is please drive safely, I wasn't saying you can't drive at all or that you drive like a retard. Jesus, Eric, you're such a sensitive little bitch sometimes...whatever

Him: No, actually that is what you said...that I drive like a retard. And whatever you whatever. You want to drive? This shit is fucking crazy (mumbles something more, possibly curses)

Her: (hand replacing headphone briefly pauses) What was that last bit?

Him: Nothing, whatever. Enjoy your book, rude.

Her: I thought so. And you're rude (completes the action, gives him an exasperated but loving look and settles into her book)

Him: (winks at her and then says to nobody in particular) At least the wind has died down a little bit...fuck (he too, replaces his headphone in his earhole, only to immediately remove it in a disgusted manner)

Him: (grumbling loudly) Tori Amos! What in the fuck are you doing on my ipod? What the shit...? (looks down at said ipod distractedly and scrolls through his artists looking for some James Brown)

Cut to wide angle:

At this moment, the car passes the cliff face on its right and the wind (which hadn't actually died down at all, the car was just on the lee side of the hill) hits the car from the right at full strength. When I say full strength I am talking about 75 miles an hour, at least. And bear in mind, the car is a tiny piece of shit and the highway has about 16 inches or so of ice on it. Ice, as many of you know, can be very slippery. This is a bad combination for our already distracted driver, who really hasn't actually been driving like a retard at all...up until this point. Ah, irony...
The car actually skips to the left, towards the guardrail and embankment, and ultimately the frozen lake. Driver overcorrects to compensate for the wind, and the wind fucks with him by suddenly stopping completely, causing the car to veer sharply towards the right. Driver corrects for this as well and, lightly punches the gas to power to the left and out of the spin. The wind is a complete douche and gusts again at full strength, forcing the car perpendicular to the road (facing the guardrail, et. al.) "Checkmate" laughs the wind, and scuttles merrily off, leaving our characters to their calamitous fate...

Cut briefly to interior of car:

Him: (calmly) Sarah...

Her: (not as calmly) Holy Shit!

Him: I know...

Her: FUUUUUUUUUUUU...

Cut to exterior:

Angle is from behind and slightly to the side of the car, facing out over the lake. From this view, the immensity of the lake becomes more apparent and dwarfs our characters and their drama.

Camera focuses in on scene:

The tiny red car punches through the guardrail as though it were paper, hangs midair for what seems like an eternity, then hurtles down the embankment, which may have looked like a 35 degree slope from afar but to the occupants of the car feels like, oh, I don't know, lets say about 82 degrees at least. And a half. And is covered in loose igneous shale like rocks and did I mention that ultimately there is a frozen lake to contend with and there it is, through the blowing snow there it fucking is flying right at us and wow, fuck Tori Amos for this...I mean, really...talk about rude...

And KERSPLIFF! the tiny red car blasts through a final snowbank in a crystalline explosion

And WHAM! slams into the frozen lake on its drivers side, slides to the right, then the left, completes a few slow spins

And THIZZUMP! thumps back down on all four wheels

There is silence outside of the car. The plume of snow and exhaust created by the car's mad plunge hangs around for a second or two and then sprints crazily off across the lake. There is something green leaking from the engine.

Cut to interior of car:

Our driver is oddly grinning like an idiot, staring out the window to his left at nothing in particular. His hands are gripping the steering wheel with an intensity strange to his character. As we watch, he opens his mouth and then closes it without saying anything.
Our passenger has her hands above her head for no particular reason, in one hand the green paperback copy of Les Miserables. Her face is flushed and her hood has come off, revealing her wild blonde locks. Her eyes are closed.

Her: (continuing)....UUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!! Holyshitholyshitholyshit!

Him: ...yeah. Well...yeah. Holy shit indeed. (begins to put on his boots)

Cut to exterior:

As the two of them step out of the car, the rear bumper falls to the ground in a spray of powdery snow. Leaving both doors open, they circle the car in opposite directions. He pats her affectionately on the rear as they pass each other the first time and when they meet again, they silently lock hands. They continue to simply stare at the car for a few moments and then suddenly and simultaneously begin to babble.

Him: Wow. Did you see that? I mean, I know you saw it but holy shit, I thought we were dead but we're totally not deadholyshitthatwasintenseandbythewayfuckToriAmos, huh? What? Yeah, I mean, I don't know what to do now. What? Slow down. What?

Her: Oh my god wealmostdiedjustthenwhatarewegoingtodonow? Theres not even anybody on the road to help us and we're stuck and whatdoesToriAmoshavetodowithanything? Wehavetogetthecaroffthisstupidlakenowthatswhatwehavetodo nicejobEricwaytogowowwetotallyalmostdiedjustthenbutyouactuallyhandleditreallywellwow.
Wow.

A pause. He looks unenthusiastically towards the road, hoping to see someone coming but they actually haven't seen another car all day and so he looks away. He gazes around slowly as if trying to determine something. She stands beside him absently contemplating the mountains, her free hand making small fluttery movements.

Him: I guess I'll have to walk back to that last town...

Her: What?

Him: Nobody is going to come help us and we can't stay here. I mean, I guess we could. We have cheese and beer. We could just wait. No, I'll walk back there. You wait here.

Her: Dude, its like, fucking freezing out here. If you try to walk, you'll freeze to death. That's what always happens. We should both wait. There's cheese. And beer. There's some fruit too.

Him: That's not fruit, and anyway that is not what always happens. Sometimes it happens, yes, but fuck it, I'm just gonna go.

Her: Dude, that's stupid. What we should do is...

At this moment their pointless argument is interrupted by loud creaking sounds coming from the lake around them. There is a loud POP! and a miniscule but very ominous shift in the ice directly underneath them.

Him: ...fuck

Her: What the...?

Him: Go! Go! Go! Get off the ice! Go! We've got to go!!!

He begins carefully and rapidly pulling her towards what he assumes is the shore although everything is under a blanket of snow and he could just as easily be pulling her to a deeper spot in the lake. She acquiesces demurely for a few faltering steps and then stops. He turns to her, a panicked expression on his face.

Cue music, hopeful violin swelling as she speaks into an inspiring orchestral piece.

Her: (looking squarely into his eyes) Eric, I know I said you were driving like a retard before... and you were, but that's not the point. The point is all our shit is in the car and we're going to freeze to death without it and seriously, didn't you grow up in New Jersey? Can't you just drive off of this godforsaken lake? I believe in you, sweetheart. I know you can do it. Come on, baby...

Him: (His face is at first offended and slightly confused, and then, at her mention of New Jersey, he tilts it up and what light there is glints off of his noble glasses [which are sitting slightly askew]. He begins to nod.) yes. YES. Let's fucking do it.

As they move back towards the car, the creaking noises stop. And then resume much louder. And closer. Also there is some very loud groaning going on. And the POP! Remember that? That is starting to happen a lot more too. Shit is getting serious. They jump into the car and he turns the key. Nothing. He tries again. Still nothing. On the third try he is able to start the car and slams it into gear, but the tires just spin. There is no traction. He shifts into reverse, hits the gas. Nope. Nothing doing. Tears are welling up in her eyes. He grits his teeth, and, looking into the rearview mirror, sees part of the lake behind them suddenly rise up and then settle back down. He wisely doesn't tell her this. Shifting from first to reverse and back again, he is able to rock the car into movement, slowly at first, but gradually building up momentum. Finally! They are moving at about 35 miles an hour when behind them, a huge fissure begins to open up in the lake. This crack, this rift of doom, this ungodly portend of their fragile mortality is snaking towards the little red car at approximately 50 miles an hour. They both see it. The whites of their eyes are showing.

Her: Um...

Him: I know...I'm trying...faster....(falls to mumbling)

Her: (quietly facing death) I just want you to know I love you

Him: (continues mumbling)

The little red car has picked up speed, to about 60 miles an hour. The sinister ice chasm has also, unfortunately, picked up speed as well, to about 65 miles an hour. They are racing along the embankment parallel to the highway but sadly, 8 feet below it and its a steep motherfucking 8 feet that the piece of shit car will not be able to ascend. The end is nigh. What to do?

Him: ...hold on, Slick

He steers the little red car out towards the center of the lake for a couple dozen yards to gain some room for the turn and then, with a little more sauce, whips it back so it is gunning for the embankment. They brace for impact. There is naught else to do.

Miraculously, and with painful crunching sounds from the undercarriage, the little red car makes the steep grade, plowing through the guardrail from the lake side this time. The demon rift realizes it has been vanquished and peters out into no more than a white line in the blue ice.

The little red car is unable to turn fully onto the highway and WHANGS! off of the guardrail on the other side. The passenger side mirror disintegrates into oblivion. There is some spinning. The car comes to a stop. Something falls off of it. And then there is silence. Snow suddenly, lightly, begins to fall.

Him: ...hmmm....ahhhhhh...well. Wow.

Her: Yeah...right...wow.

Staring blindly out the cracked windshield, his hand gropes around the crate, fishing for a bottle of schnapps. He cracks the lid and hands it to her. She accepts the bottle without a word, takes a mighty swig, hands it back. He looks at it, looks at her, takes an even mightier swig. They sit in silence for a while and then drive on.

End scene

Little Boy Blue and the Man In The Moon...

2008-09-15T22:44:00.000-07:00

...so I suck at writing consistently in this here blog. Or, to be more to the specific point, I suck at working 10 hours a day 6-7 days a week and then trying to write in this here blog. I have stuff to say, believe that, and during the day while I'm leaning on a jackhammer or scrabbling through crawlspaces and attics I write the most magnificent displays of internet journalism you have ever seen...we're talking crisp meets juicy, sour meets sweet, genius meets meretricious witty spot on thrilltastic as only the P-borg can deliver material, people...Sadly, it is only in my head and by the time I get home and showered up its all I can do to open a beer and check to see if the Yankees are done losing yet (more on that later) and I fear you, my loyal constituency, end up shorted and left alone in the dark yet again. I am sorry about this, I truly am...and I will make it right, I promise.

How's this for starters?

http://www.wherethehellismatt.com/videos.shtml

Don't just watch the video...you need to read all about this lucky mother and his good ideas...

See you in a week or two...

Thank you Liz for the link and I am truly sorry I missed your wedding...

A Very Short Treatise On Owning Not One But Two Fledgling Businesses In A Struggling Economy

2008-08-14T08:41:00.000-07:00

fuck

A Mind Blowing Alternative...

2008-08-02T10:41:00.000-07:00

So I'm busy, OK? This is my busy season and all I have time to do on the interwebs is check my email and make new friends on facebook. I will get back to writing more as soon as possible...maybe even tomorrow (a rare day off). In the meantime, please consider young Gabriel's meaty contributions to the blogosphere as a quality alternative.

http://thefstopfiles.com/

Quick news about me if you're interested: House fell through, instead moving into a ridiculously sick mansion with Steve and Sarah, who, like a karma chameleon, comes and goes. Building building building. New art soon. Crazy violent sex offender neighbor, 12 hour standoff with police, story forthcoming. Bought a trailer. Going to AZ soon, starting up commuting thing again after a couple years' hiatus. See you tomorrow...maybe.

Ashes To Ashes...

2008-07-14T19:56:00.000-07:00

So, I have been ruminating on the processes involved in the entire life cycle (by the way, drinking several pots of coffee after 10 pm lends itself to a no sleep/deep thought regimen, if thats what you're looking for), and here's what I have come up with:

So, you're born, right?

And you grow and learn and become, right?

And then, once you peak at about 23 or 24, you begin the long, slow, physical and mental slide into first obscurity and then death. By this I mean that long before you're dead, your spiritual and emotional capital has been spent, and often your mental acuity has regressed to the point where you're roughly back where you started.

Once you die, your physical self disintegrates back into its elemental particles and all that is left to carry on your legacy is the reputation you built while you were fighting off all the death...and losing. WTF, mate?

Here's the thing that superfucksmeup...for the most part, our reputations aren't all that stellar, especially right at the point of death. Not only have you probably spent the last few years (if you're lucky) if not at least the last few minutes of your life pissing and shitting and bleeding all over yourself, but your death is proof positive that you are fundamentally organic and human. You were, and yeah people loved you, but humans inherently make mistakes (especially you, and you know what I mean), and believe me, people tend to remember those as much as anything else. Its not until generations later that you are able to attain the sort of fame that makes you immortal, and even then that is a rare, rare, rarely rare thing. Most of us are stuck as scratchy time-bleached photos in somebody else's album, and then eventually as just a name on a family tree or a worn down rock.

People who do attain that sort of immortality are in for a worse fate, however. Take Jesus H. Christ as a prime example...the man was, he breathed and ate and pooped and made love to women and apparently was an incredible public speaker and something of a magician. He inspired, at the very least. Two generations after his death, a religion rose up in his name that challenged and eventually brought down the most potent political force in the history of humanity up until that point. Five generations later, the religion named for him had become the most potent political force in the history of humanity to date, complete with all the torture, despicable alliances, class divisions, boxed thinking, and loss of humility that makes politics so inherently suspect. Now, twenty or so generations later, we all know the sort of things, good and bad, done "in his name," but can any sect of Christianity really make a legitimate claim to his legacy? No, I would argue...no indeed...and so legacy itself is a sham in the long run anyway and so double WTF, my little cherubim?

What do we do it for? Why are we so grateful for even one more day in this grueling fight against death and anonymity? Can it be that each of the moments we are granted is worth it all? That being alive is, in itself, its own reward? That even pain, and instability, and insecurities, and all of the bleakness that besets each of us every motherflipping day are our blessed birthright as humans? We can feel, and that is a thing of beauty. We can feel happy, yes, and should know enough to appreciate those moments most...but we can feel scared too, and angry, and sad, and an infinite amount of emotional blends that aren't necessarily positive but shouldn't those moments be appreciated as well? I say yes. I say that the ultimate appreciation of the gift of humanity expresses itself not just as clearheadedness and strength through the abysmal trials, internal and external, that we all face relatively constantly, but as actual gratefulness for the right to stand trial in the first place. That sort of appreciation, my friends, is what defines true grace...

Women's Basketball...

2008-07-10T21:46:00.000-07:00

...this is roughly how I feel about the WNBA:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=3FGI7R0u3TQ

I Take It Back...

2008-07-04T11:03:00.000-07:00

10 Reasons Why I'm Angry and Sad?

That's a stupid idea, and I'm sorry to have suggested it. I guess that sometimes, as much as I detest the very idea, I have moments of emo...I blame the fact that I live in the Northwest. Anyway, not only is it rare for me to be simultaneously angry AND sad, I can't even come up with 10 reasons why I should get out of bed before 9 am. Scratch the whole idea, people...instead, let's get positive! Yeah! Happy 4th!

Can You Hear Me Now?

2008-06-28T23:46:00.001-07:00

Or shall I turn it up?

I hope and pray that the day will come when I just happen to be nearby when a Verizon Wireless store goes up in flames, and as long as I'm making wishes, I want a beam in the ceiling to fall and trap the twat behind th counter in all the flaming wreckage. That is when I will arrive, kneel by her frantic face head and ask, "How may I help you, miss?" And she will most likely squeal something along the lines of, "Dear god, get this thing off of me! The flames, they creep closer and closer! I don't want to die! Please! Get this off me!!!" To which I will calmly reply, "I'm sorry, but although it is most certainly within my power to help you, you have to have been paying for this service in advance. There's really nothing I can do. Have a super day though!" And then I will walk out, making snide remarks to myself about what a total retard she was...

In a related note, if you have my phone number, could you please call me so I can get yours?

Thanks.

Also, a word of advice: No matter how addicted you are to Space Invaders, don't take your phone into the bathroom for to play while you make a poopy. Accidents happen, friends, accidents happen...

The world is really just so goddamned small...

2008-06-22T03:25:00.000-07:00

...and that's a good thing.

Seriously though, think about it...even just a half century ago I would have absolutely no contact with the majority of the people I know, given the amount of moving about that I do. I'd be just another loner gunslinger rolling through instead of just another loner gunslinger rolling through with over 3000 myspace hits, 80 facebook friends, and a website that garners about 300 hits a week. God bless the internets.

No seriously, god (and Verizon) has blessed me with the interwebs right in my very own home (or whereverthefuckIfeellikeit) and I intend to use that shit to blog my f-ing brains out (among other things [like research {and porn}]). Look for a post probably tomorrow titled 10 Reasons I Am Sad and Angry. Sounds good, eh?

No?

Well, fuck you then

Smits Harley...

2008-06-09T20:25:00.000-07:00

So I've been thinking about it ever since I posted about the brothers Munson...is it right to use real names in a blog post? I refrained from including my PO Box in a post out of fear of recrimination (for what I'm not sure but...you know, better safe than dead with a bullet through my post office box?) but went ahead and used the real names of friends of mine (or, then again, maybe I didn't?). Anyway, where to draw the line?

That's a lot of ???? that I've already used in this here post...can you tell I am torn?

Anyway, my PO Box is 1371, Tacoma, WA, 98401. Please don't send me anthrax or anything that might get me into too much trouble. I can handle light trouble, maybe even troubling trouble, but serious trouble is out of my league at the moment (see previous posts about legitimacy and such)

PS: I'm not completely sober

PPS: My buddy Smits Harley is here visiting for a week. It's pretty fucking 733t...

Reef, Anyone?

2008-06-01T16:14:00.000-07:00

This is a reef. Cody wants you to look at it. We snorkeled on it and happened to have a camera that takes underwater video with us. This is the result. It's not very polished as far as the videography is concerned and the storyline is a bit choppy, but for those of you who have never seen a reef this is a pretty good representation.

Actually, that was a lie I just told. In real life, in person, reefs are far more dynamic and vibrant than a video taken on my shitty little camera could possibly show. And while this was beautiful (it is the second largest barrier reef in the world, off of the island of Roatan, Honduras, if you're wondering), I have dived at more pristine sites. Still, considering that this is one of the most heavily dived spots in the Caribbean and we really only saw a tiny fraction of the whole thing, I was highly impressed. It mostly has to do with the dedication of these guys:

http://www.roatanmarinepark.com/index.htm

A quick word on diving:

If you try it, it will become a lifelong passion.

It's true. You might think no, not me, if I ever tried it I probably wouldn't like it and definitely wouldn't spend huge amounts of energy and money on it, but you're either telling lies (for shame!) or you're skeered (it's natural). Trust me, I have seen many people take their first plunge and every single one of them has come up with a burning desire to get a license, do it again, can we go again like, now? what do you mean when do we fly? who cares? i want to go again and again and again...most of them did get licenses and now spend all their time on land looking at their photos in a daze and planning their next vacation/hit.

Many, many, people decide right then and there that fuck the bullshit, this is all I want for the rest of my life, this and only this, and I'm not just talking about the younger, granola fed types that you would think prone to these types of decisions but people of all ages and persuasions. Dive shops the world over are, in fact, staffed with these people. They are all tan, all in amazing physical shape, and all deleriously happy with themselves...and I mean dreamy-eyed partial trance happy. They also tend to party really fucking hard when they're above water... mindblowingly hard...like they don't like all the air and are trying to drown themselves in whatever's handy hard...

I like these people. I have been one of them for brief stretches a few times in my life. On Roatan it was a little different as we were the only sailors on an island of divers (which made us the last word in cool), but I still felt the comradery. In fact, y'all almost lost me to the combination of comradery, salt water, and sun but fortunately, I ultimately realized that it was my mission to bring you this video and make you jealous.

The upshot of this lil' rambler is that I heartily recommend the diving on Roatan. In fact, let's go together, hey?

Turn your volume up for maximum bubble effect and enjoy!

[Editor's note: The video was too large, I'll try to get another one in its place tomorrow. Right now I must pressure wash bird shit off of my deck...]

By the way, sooner than later I am going to buy land on the neighboring island of Guanaja and build a dive shop/retreat/bar/playground. You should all visit me there when I do...

Too Legit to Quit...

2008-05-31T09:41:00.000-07:00

Big week, much news, not enough words, will try...

Fully licensed, bonded, and insured commercial and residential contractor now...ouch but excited

Seven big jobs on the hook, no employees, never sleep...

Several jobs doing concrete countertops, never done one, will make it up as I go...

Moved into temporary apartment, 3rd floor, overlooking Commencement Bay and downtown Tacoma...kitties anxious, legs tired, excited

Sasquatch last weekend: REM fantastic as always, Michael Franti and Spearhead inspiring, Modest Mouse fuck yeah, Death Cab for Cutie surprisingly awesome live, The Cure disappointing

Will write more when words more easier...

Homeless Is As Homeless Does

2008-05-21T16:45:00.000-07:00

I often worry that when I go crazy it will be the flavor of crazy where I wake up in the night and really truly have no idea where I am or how I got there. I'm not talking about your run of the mill I haven't slept in this bed before lost, but seriously lightheadedly disconnected, ungrounded, unhinged...

I already have issues with my spatial placement...I mean, sometimes I am in Washington and I seriously think about just running up to my parents' house for dinner. I'll go so far as to pull my phone out to call my lady and see if she'll go with me to surprise them before I'm like, "holy fucking what the...? You're 2000 miles away, Waldmann..." Or I'll have a hankering for Casey Moore's or Monkeypants or JT's or to see this person or that or go on this hike or whatever-the -fuck-whatever. Vice versa, I'll be in Arizona and decide to take the next day off to go boating on the Puget Sound because fuck it, it's hot or I'll see a show in Seattle and actually buy tickets before I remember I'm nowhere near there...crazy

Its only getting worse, too. Lately I've been revisiting places (in my head) that I've only been to once...not just imagining it either, but seriously trying to remember how to get there by driving. The pauses between thought and realization are getting longer too, and the disappointment is growing more and more poignant as I continue to gather the white in my beard (which, by the way, is out of control these days). I guess it comes with the territory and although I'll admit I'm a little worried, I'm also thinking it might be just another fun adventure, only in my head this time. Either way, I can add teleportation to my list of skills and that's pretty sweet...

In my ongoing struggle to be legit (my ultimate goal is to be so legit as to be unable to quit), I have procured a post office box for myself. This way, no matter how randomly this old body rambles, my mail now has a real home. Did you know that having a PO Box means I have my own zipcode? Well, best believe, my people...and if you want to send everyone that lives in my zipcode (me) a PO Box warming postcard or widget or even a dillsnickity, call, text, or email me and I will supply the digits. Like, you can seriously just address your dillsnickity to my name followed by a series of numbers and it will find me. Maybe you don't find that as amazing as I do, but then, you've probably always had an address...

The above image is a photo of a painting I did of a homeless man in Glenelg, Australia. I painted it, photographed it, and then gave it to him. He was touched and a little confused...

Dance, Monkeys...Dance

2008-05-18T22:10:00.000-07:00

http://youtube.com/watch?v=a15KgyXBX24

Our Man BM

2008-05-15T19:38:00.000-07:00

This is BM.

OK, he's really not that bad of company (that's not proper grammer and I know it but couldn't care less), unless you are depending on him to get things done in a timely manner or at all, teach you something useful, learn something simple, do you a solid, be honest, or in most ways give two shits about something besides himself without being told to. You should definitely not depend on him not running off into the night while in port and disappearing for three days and when he does return, to not smell like a used condom, have the coke jitters and still not be the slightest bit productive. Just about all you could depend on him to do is massacre the proper pronunciation of Spanish (he actually has quite the Spanish vocab and is a confident conversationalist, but his accent made me cringe), and make this weird pouty face whenever a woman came within 50 yards of him. Woman, in this case, is loosely defined as anyone between the ages of 10 and 85 who might possibly have a vagina or at least one boob...I think he meant the look to be sexy but, at least as far as I could tell, it definitely was not.

Yes, he is wearing a fauxhawk, which we gave him...and when told that it made him look like the douche he is, he took it as a complement.

I was thinking that I would relate a few stories about the overall dillholiness by which his character may be said to be defined, but upon second thought, I shan't. T'would foul my otherwise upbeat reminiscences of this delightful trip, and besides, usually it was more annoying than funny. Suffice to say that if you took all of Shakespeare's pompously self centered and ultimately miserable characters (usually [and unfortunately, because it was a bullshit racist stereotype, which by the way I am in no way invoking here, simply mentioning it because it is true of the character] a swarthy foreigner or covetous "Jew"), mixed them up in a vat along with the addition of 200 years, a dash of sexism, and a pinch of religious intolerance, out would pop our man BM...

There is a story about the fish, but we won't get to that until tomorrow...or maybe the next day.

By the way and in no way in relation, it is fucking gorgeous up here these days...sunny, mid-high 70s...wow.

I Come With The Quickness...

2008-05-14T20:14:00.000-07:00

No time to write much...too much to do and whatnot.

Still, you should do as I say and check these sites out:

http://artofpolitics2008.com/gallery.cfm?poster=203&view=pop&r=28
Ha ha, gotcha! Now vote for me dammit!

http://www.videoart.suite.dk/mini-prrints/miniprint-udstilling-2008.htm
http://www.flickr.com/photos/printzerostudios
I am in shows all over the world all the time and I never tell you guys about them...until now. It's no big deal, but the pictures sure look cool. Is that the cultural minister of Denmark? Why yes, yes it is...maybe one of these days I'll actually make it to an opening.

puspa.net
This artist is pretty good, but that's not why you need to see this site. My man Gabe done gone and outdone hisself on this one. It's the shiznizzit, my damie...

And I'm out.

For now.

The Brothers Munson: Wherein I Ramble and Use Many, Many Parentheses

2008-05-12T21:37:00.000-07:00

At the top is Captain Destiny, AKA Cody Munson, AKA one half of the brothers Munson. He, technically, was he final authority aboard the Tranquilo on this trip, sometimes to the consternation of the elder half, Buck Munson, pictured below as Special Agent JT Taint, himself also a captain.

Curious about their differences in style? Perhaps not, but you are going to find out anyway. Cody is far quicker, flashier, more willing to put himself in possible harm's way in order to get a particular task completed. For example, rather than wait to be harnessed in order to climb the mast (30 or so feet above the wildly swaying deck), he would scamper up, fix whatever problem, and then scamper back. Yes, scamper. Wiry and tough, he drank far less than either myself or his brother, woke early, was constantly occupied with some sort of project or chart or engine, and ate at least double his own weight in a given day.

Buck is far more deliberate but no less effective, more rigorously safe, and far more able to put aside his responsibilities in order to enjoy fully the immediate moment (though this may be due to the fact that he, technically, had less responsibilities in general than Captain Kid[d]). Closer in age and temperament to myself (read; prone to grumpy sarcasm, slight overindulgence, and flashes of frustrated bursts of effectiveness [?]), Buck was, more often than the others, my date into town.

Both are genius sailors and artists, and as handy and innovative with the tools as any monkey I have ever worked alongside. Plus, there is a certain distinct charm about them both (Cody more boyish, Buck more gruff) that draws the ladies like flies to shit and makes the fellers just kinda want to hang out and stuff. I think, and told the both of them (when, from time to time, they had an inevitable brotherly scuffle), that I would have trusted either one of them to safely lead the crew but that I felt particularly lucky that both were there, as they complement one another incredibly well, and plus in order to get to know either one fully, you gots to sort of get to know the other (they have been brothers for at least as long as Cody has been alive and have shared way more rambunctious adventures than any other pair of brothers of the same mother I have ever met or heard of [except in myth and/or legend]).

I will introduce you to Doucious Mcgee (not his real name but I would rather not have him able to possibly search for himself online [something we all do but probably not nearly as often or with as much gusto as I would bet he does...with his pants off] and be forced to read some of the kinds of things I have to say about him. DM, or BM, as I will call him (because I have a childish sense of humor and therefore find it hilarious) was the fourth member of our party.

One last word about the Cody and Buck, whom most of those of you who may or may not read this have never met (along with other awesomely named adventure partners of mine like Beauvais Debonair, Buttonhole Clockwise, and He-Who-Has-No-Name), you should meet them and will someday. They are kicknards.

El Nino Cumpleano...

2008-05-09T10:59:00.000-07:00

Too bad you can't write a tilde, an ene, or an accent on an American keyboard...or those killer upside-down exclamation points that signify not only a point that needs to be made but the saucy fact that the writer has access to a more culturally diverse keyboard than you do, gringo! Verily unto American keyboards I say boo...anyway, I decided that rather than try to cohesively string together some stories from this most recent trip I would post things as they came up, and as I took a shiteload of photos and videos (some underwater...bet you can't even wait!) and as captioning is somewhat quicker than full stories (especially when you obsessively edit the way I do), we're going to be starting with those.

Here goes:

This young boy's mother approached me in a marketplace in Cartagena and shyly asked me to remove my hat. As I did, I naturally asked why, to which she replied that her son had never seen a grown man with blonde hair before and that for his birthday she wanted to give him something he would never forget. Flattered, I shoved her aside and put my hat on the child's head, stuck an edify sticker in his hand, and squeezed off several photos. Unfortunately, he dropped the stickers without me noticing so all I was left with was this shitty picture of him in my stupid hat with stupid balloons. No, you all know I'm kidding...it sort of happened like that but without any sort of ridiculosity or shoving. Isn't he darling? And isn't my hat badass? Too bad I left it on the Tranquilo...hopefully one of the brothers Munson will retrieve it for me...

As for the video below, it was shot near where I encountered the birthday boy. It is of Bolivar Square inside the old walled portion of the city. The square is named after Simon Bolivar, the famed Colombian leader of the South American rebellion against the Spanish. The large white building is the city's center of government. I took a couple of movies of other, possibly more interesting areas inside Cartagena, most notably the market (super vibrant, lots of color), we'll see if I get around to posting them.

I Started A Joke...

2008-05-05T15:02:00.000-07:00

...I think that song is by the BeeGees? Maybe not, but it was the number one song for the year of 1976, which is the year I was born. Appropriate? Methinks perchance...

I know I have been promising to write stories and whatnot, but seriously, this blogging thing can be a pain in the arse. Kudos to those who are able to post more often than I (which is just about everybody with a blog)...

Some news for those who care to know:

Sarah Jean just bought her first home. It is (purposefully) a piece of shit shaped like a box with soooooo much potential. We have been designing and redesigning how we're going to fix her up and it has come down to a temporary fix wherein we rip out the entire interior and rebuild it with quality materials to be a snazzy studio apartment with all the trimmings in which we will reside for a couple of years...long term we will refinance and use the scrilly to pull off the roof, add a couple of stories and another wing and make history with the finest completely sustainable urban home ever created. One of the best things about the house is its location (within 20 yards or so there are 4 kickass bars, 3 fine restaurants, 2 clubs, a tattoo parlor, a veterinarian, a palm reader, and, this being the Northwest, about 15 coffee shops). As always, I shall post photos as I take them and we will all keep track of our progress together...

I am a couple of short steps away from finally obtaining my contractor's license (commercial and residential). While this may sound like an accomplishment, it truly is not. The fine state of Washington requires no test and no proven experience for general contractors, only proof of insurance and a business license (we all know I would have blolwn the test apart anyway though...). What this means is that, although I will be a legitimate businessman and therefore able to charge more for my services, I also will be required to pay taxes...an even break so long as I stay busy enough to warrant the cost (which I will, at least for 5 months a year)...

I hate the San Antonio Spurs as much as anyone can hate a professional sports team. Not because they constantly dash the hopes of Suns fans (that is truly the Suns' own fault) but because they have the skills to win cleanly every time they hit the floor and yet rely so heavily on dirty defense and a petulant, self pitying rapport with the referees (who buy into it...what?). I personally blame it on soccer. Follow me now...the Spurs are the most international team in the NBA, and whereas in these United States soccer is all but irrelevant professionally, in the world at large it is the one true game...as anyone who has seen soccer played in Europe especially will testify, the floppingest prima donnas in all sports anywhere flourish there alongside some of the dirtiest players and for sure the most corrupt referees...the international players on the Spurs, having grown up in an atmosphere where petulance and unsportsmanlike conduct are winning strategies in sports, have applied these basic lessons to basketball and validated that approach by winning what, 4 championships in the last 6 years or something? Basically, I blame the French...

I recently entered 3 designs into an online political poster contest. The above piece is my favorite of my entries. To see my other 2 pieces and the rest of the competition and to vote for your favorites (don't feel obligated to vote for mine), visit artofpolitics2008.com...

My sister's cat just recently died, as did my brother's mom. Now, I know that it sounds strange to say, but I barely knew my brother's mother and was good friends with my sister's cat. Also, whereas my brother had nothing but disrespect and disgust for his old lady (fallout from ancient issues that I wish to god he'd been able to address before her death for the sake of his kids if not his own), my sister nothing but admiration for and a heartfelt partnership with her fallen feline companion. So I am left thinking that if the sum total of the human/non-love, animal/love equation determines that they will equally miss their lost loved ones, then that negates the third party requirements for me and I am free to mourn that entity who's passing most deeply affects me. I choose the cat. This, in turn, has sparked a philosophical debate in my own head where feelings of primordial motherguilt rage against an army of small, furry, loveable creatures...with claws.

That is all you need know for now...

Fear and Loathing...

2008-04-26T12:19:00.000-07:00

I found a copy of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson's Fear and Loathing: The Campaign Trail '72 aboard Tranquilo and was able to read much of it when not trying to barf...and then I stole it to take home and finish. Um...holy appropriate reading for right f-ing now. Even if you're not a gonzo fan, this insider look at the seamy side of campaigning for president in these United States during war time is as relevant now as it was in the waning months of 1972 when the good doctor laid it down. Much of what he has to say is a serious bummer but nothing surprising when you consider how disillusioned we have become since then (remember, this was just before Nixon's Watergate scandal, years before Reagan sold our pride, and decades before our current bastard president put the final torch to our national trust in presidents in general). Well, I would write more on this but I must be off to a barbeque in honor of yet another soldier heading off for Iraq... in the meantime please try to find a copy and give her a read.

So...I'm back

2008-04-24T17:02:00.000-07:00

Do I look a little smug in that top picture? Come on, admit it...of course I do, and here's why...I have the greatest tan known to man. No wait, that's not it (although it is kinda true). Its because on my birthday I swam a mile and a half back to the boat at three in the morning through a shark infested reef and lived to brag about it. No, still not quite right, though also quite true.

Its because I chose to do something rare, had a wonderful time, learned more about the world around me, made quality decisions (no broken hearts, no tropical diseases, very few illegal activities), and came back to Tacoma with a renewed sense of confidence and still about 50 dollars in my account. That spells success to me, my friends...and that's not even including 4 weeks worth of salty stories to scare my mother with, ridiculously stronger friendships with two of the baddest motherfuckers ever to waltz out of the Old World, and an inspired knowledge of every inch of the noble Tranquilo, the 48 foot pile of awesome we took to sea (when I say inspired, I mean it...inspiration born of near panic at times...but we'll get to that in due course).

Plus, I peppered the Caribbean with the Edify logo (as evidenced in the lower photo).

My single regret, and I must mention it because it has been worming its way upwards through the swagger, is having missed the wedding of a dear, dear friend. Hopefully though, I can make it up to him and his lovely bride sooner than later and we can all move forward...

As for now, I am returned to the arms of my sweetheart (on her birthday no less...beat that, my fellow P-I-M-P s[es]?) in cloudy, cold Tacoma, looking out of place with my spectacular tan and shell necklace, and getting on back to work in an immediate fashion. I shall review my notes and regale you all with tales of the P. on the sea in future posts, illustrations and pictures included. I shall also get back to work on swaying hearts and minds to the Edify cause with sharply written tracts on religion, politics, personal triumphs, bad decisions et.al. I know we've all missed that...

Here I Go Again...

2008-03-26T15:35:00.001-07:00

...um, so...ridiculously, I am headed to Cartagena, Colombia in order for to sail a yacht for a friend of a friend who happens to be a boat captain. Sound random? It is. Even to me, it is random. Mind you, I'm not arguing with the way of the universe and all that...I mean, who am I to blow against the wind? I'm just saying, it is random. I leave tonight, I'll be back (with stories and some well meaning rants, I'm sure) by the 10th of April as long as all goes well and I don't get hacked to pieces by pirates (just kidding Mom!) Anybody who wishes to do so should call my sweet Sarah Jean and get her to hang out with you as she's on her spring break and I'm abandoning her yet again. What a douchebag, you say? Yeah, but there's no denying I'm a lucky douchebag...

I am a god!

2008-03-16T15:45:00.000-07:00

So yesterday I posed for this local painter who is doing a series of "visionary realist" paintings based on mythological sources. In one painting I am going to be one of a couple of centaurs carrying the dead Christ and in another I am going to be Bacchus mid-debauch, surrounded by men I just turned into animals...or something. Kind of appropriate, I think. I'll post a link to his site when the paintings are done.

PS: Here's a painting that has nothing to do with anything mythological, but stands as proof that I am godlike...or maybe not, but I can make a pretty picture. Happy spring is almost here!

Fresh, sustainable fast food?

2008-03-09T18:22:00.000-07:00

Hell yes!

Burgerville is a Northwest institution that combines locally grown hormone free meat, locally harvested organic vegetables, sustainable wind power, and a killer special sauce and then serves it up fast food style right into your hungry face. The ice cream used in the shakes is locally produced...what? And the employees all have health care? In a fast food joint? Fuck yeah, Great Northwest, you truly are Great!

Check it out: http://burgerville.com

In related news, I spent Friday night in the best drinking city in these United States: Portland, Oregon. Hello again, Brian and Andrea, I have missed you both...

Care About The Environment? Eat Less Meat

2008-03-05T14:21:00.000-08:00

While the above image is part of my oeuvre, the following is copied almost in its entirety from a post in a blog written by Jordan Stratford; ordained Gnostic priest, author, and all-around badass. Check out other posts by clicking the link titled "Ecclesia Gnostica in Nova Albion."

Last week, Rajendra Pachauri, the head of the United Nation's Nobel Prize-winning scientific panel on climate change, asked the world to "please eat less meat." Speaking at a press conference in Paris, he said meat was a very carbon-intensive commodity, a fact established by UN research showing that livestock production creates more greenhouse gases than all forms of transport combined.

It's interesting to note that he followed his statement by saying: "This is something that the IPCC was afraid to say earlier, but now we have said it."

Then there are the dreaded V-words: vegetarian and vegan. Few politicians or environmentalists want to face the jokes, media backlash and libertarian "consumer freedom" zealots who will accuse them of forcing Canadians to eat only salad and lentils. The same sort of people who fought against mandatory seatbelts and restrictions on tobacco would shift their public relations and spin machines into high gear.

Global demand for meat is projected to double between 2001 and 2050, meaning billions more animals will be raised in intensive, inhumane conditions.

Encouraging the public to cut back on meat would also have major health benefits. The World Cancer Research Fund recently urged consumers to limit consumption of red meat to 500 grams per week and to avoid processed meats completely. (Vegetarians and vegans figured out the health advantages of a meatless diet long ago. That's why they have lower rates of obesity, heart disease, diabetes, colon cancer, hypertension and other diseases.)

Cutting down or cutting out meat is a win-win-win policy. Not only does it help the fight against global warming, but it saves countless animals from factory-farm suffering and it's good for you.

It's just too bad so many people are afraid to talk about it.

How long before the spin on this story is blamed on;

The Gay Agenda

Islamofascists

Zionists

"liberals"

Al Gore

Xenu

The Magnificence of Printmaking

2008-03-04T11:58:00.001-08:00

Yes, they are printing with a steamroller...and how awesome is that?

Hello From Tacoma, Washington

2008-02-28T15:02:00.001-08:00

So, one of the series I am working on these days is a group of little landscape woodcut things, each of which represents a memory of a time associated with a place...you follow? They're like little gems, these prints, and there will be at least a hundred or so before I am finished with the series (which might be never), ranging in size from 2"x3" to 12"x24" depending on the detail (it is all but impossible to carve miniscule details into a piece of wood and then transfer those details to paper using ink, though god knows, if anybody can do it, I can).

This image isn't part of that series, but it is an homage to a certain place nonetheless. There are drawing elements involved, and spraypaint as well, but much of this piece was completed on photoshop. I would love to do a series of these images, related to cities only, and including the Edify symbol...what do you think? This image (sans text) might end up being the logo for a dentist here in town (lucky bastard) with a little modification, but I can still sell it as an Edify postcard from the beautiful city of Tacoma, can't I?

The correct answer is yes. Yes, I can.

Ch-ch-ch-check it, ya'll...

2008-02-28T14:57:00.000-08:00

I promise you all that I am going to win this mother...

http://www.artofpolitics2008.com

Ha ha...get it?

2008-02-24T16:24:00.001-08:00

It's a tank!

I only thought it appropriate after my last post...

Suckers!

2008-02-20T12:28:00.001-08:00

...we are far more intelligent than we seem

NASCAR

2008-02-17T18:05:00.000-08:00

This morning, at breakfast, I was forced to watch the beginning of the Daytona 500. See, I was at a bar (my favorite Sunday morning breakfast type establishment) helping my lady work off her hangover. As this is a slow time of year for sports in general (especially being the NBA All Star Weekend [I mean, seriously, it's a dunk for chrissakes, I don't need to see it over and over ad infinitum]), and this being the gol dang U S of A, the management apparently felt compelled to show NASCAR on all twelve hundred of their televisions. That meant watching part of it was inescapable, as I am drawn to sports on television the way a moth is drawn to a light bulb...especially since said lady with said hangover was simply repeating "I'm cold," and "do you think she forgot us," until she fell asleep in my lap once she had eaten and therefore there wasn't much diversionary conversation to be had...

Anyway, I will repeat once again, for the record, my assertion that there couldn't be a much more despicable way to simultaneously prove to the world that, not only are we unable to dress ourselves or speak English, but we are intoxicated by the burning of fossil fuels to the point of
fuck-you-needlessly-dead-and-dying-soldiers-and-citizens-in-Iraq-and
-elsewhere-in-the-world-but-all-40-of-us-dipshit-"athletes"-is-going
-to-drive-in-a-circle-now...FIVE HUNDRED TIMES!

No wonder it's hard to get respect outside of our borders...

So I was already bothered a bit by NASCAR before being forced by circumstance to watch the opening ceremonies, which didn't make finding out that they ("they" being hundreds of thousands of rabid white people [aka fans], the drivers and crews of each team, and Trisha Yearwood) hold a fucking prayer meeting right before the singing of the Star Spangled Banner. Apparently afterwards, they each shotgun a Natty Ice and hold their lighters to an effigy of Al Gore with devil horns, holding a copy of the Koran and working an overhead projector (comes free in the program), but I was busy holding my breakfast down and didn't see it. What? Are you kidding me? A prayer meeting? And a fundamentalist prayer meeting to boot...could we possibly look less sensitive to what is happening in the world around us or more self involved? No, we must invoke Jesus' name at our hillbilly petroleum orgy in order to make it clear, thank you.

Later, I went home and googled prayer meetings and NASCAR in various combinations, and I tell you what, if you're ever in need of a nationalistically self-deprecating belly laugh, you should read what some of these people have to say about the illogical combination of NASCAR and Christ...

Meet Beppe Grillo

2008-02-17T17:06:00.000-08:00

This is he. In this picture he is actually shouting out the names of Italian Parliament members and Italian members of the European Parliament and then describing the crimes of which they have been convicted, ranging from "corruption, perjury and tax evasion to more inventive infractions, such as fabricating explosive ordnance and aiding and abetting murder." Once he explained each member's individual crime(s), he then exhorted the crowd to simultaneously raise one finger on each hand and shout out "Vaffanculo!" which, as anybody who speaks Italian or grew up in North Jersey knows, means, in English, please go right ahead and fuck yourself. This event, attended by over "two million people in two hundred and twenty cities across Italy" was actually staged by Grillo himself in an attempt to raise awareness of the nepotistic filth that is Italian politics .

The New Yorker describes Beppe Grillo as "a distinctly Italian combination of Michael Moore and Stephen Colbert," which, to me, means he is neither as fat as the one nor as subtle as the other and far more passionate than either. The story, Beppe's Inferno, The New Yorker, 02/04/08, explains how he got from jeans salesman to Italian television star to edgy political comedian to his current incarnation as a maverick policy maker staring down one of the most corrupt governments in the Western world.

He is a great man in my opinion, and, therefore, I have included his blog (yes, blog) in my list of blogs I appreciate. Don't worry, he writes in English as well as Italian...and actually Japanese as well (the Japanese comes from a blog entry wherein he "observed that in Japan politicians accused of corruption have been known to commit suicide" and then asked the people of Japan to accept Italian politicians in an international exchange program...sweet). Read it while you can, as recently, the Italian parliament has actually proposed a series of laws that will eventually silence not only Grillo's blog but all internet content in Italy with which the government has a problem. Be prepared, however, as, like I said, he is far less subtle or consistently "funny" than we Americans have come to expect from our politically themed comedians.

Stickerpation!

2008-02-16T15:14:00.000-08:00

What is stickerpation?

I know all none of you has been eagerly awaiting an explanation, and I consider myself a good king, a kind king, one who listens to his subjects desires and does his best to fulfill their wishes if it is within my powers. Answering this deepest of questions, it turns out, is easily within my powers, so, here goes...stickerpation is a word I made up to make it sound as though I am doing something important when I am out slapping propaganda stickers all over your town (I know it's sort of a childish word, but children are important too, don't be so rude, and also,why not keep the revolution light?).

See, a good chunk of the images I have been crafting these days find their way onto label paper and fed through a cutter...and then I stick them on things. Public things. Sometimes even private things. As an artist, I've just made the world my gallery, which is pretty sweet, and as a semi-permanently broke propagandist, I've discovered an inexpensive way to get my ideas out there with consistency and BAM! street urgency, baby! Well, when I say discovered, I am using the word loosely. As a matter of fact, I do believe street art, (including stickers, posters, etc.) has been around at least as long as there have been streets, and there are others out there today who have been doing it longer than I and who do it harder than I as well (making my BAM! more bam!, but it's my bam! so I'll go with BAM! thank you very much...again, you're being rude).

I find stickerpation exhilerating, personally. I mean, when I'm creeping up on an unsuspecting lamp post or parking meter, freshly peeled sticker in my sweaty palm, ready to drop some revolution on the next innocent passerby who might possibly, accidentally happen to look down and see my image...damn, brother, that's the front lines! And imagine if someone's maybe watching you...and what if it's a cop? Daredevil razor wire cutting edge front lines, that.

I have a couple different ways of going about my stickerpation too, depending on location and desired effect. For example, if I am in a very public place and want massive exposure, I'll go with what I like to call "saturation stickerpation." Usually done under the cover of night, it involves me placing stickers every few feet for entire city blocks. You can't get away from that shit, sweetheart, I'm all up in your brain now! The unfortunate side effect is that it can be annoying and you risk people losing sight of your message. Another method is "breadcrumb stickerpation," wherein you lead people from point A to point B by selectively interspersing your stickers in a manner that draws them ever onward. Curious, no? "The Tarzan" is a close relative of "the breadcrumb," only it's more choose your own adventure. With "the Tarzan" (also known as "the Spidey"), you make sure that when standing at any one point close to a visible sticker, you can view several others in all directions, but just far enough away to have to steel yourself for a bit of a walk. It's rather like a system of rope swings in the jungle...be careful now! "The Rascal" involves some viewer participation. Usually in a private space like a medicine cabinet, a glove compartment, or maybe your wife's underthings, I will leave you a sticker treat and you will think to be angry with me but then begin to chuckle a little bit, shake your head, and say to yourself "...that rascal."

It helps to be a little ballsy when making sticker choices. It also helps to do some postering, billboarding, some giving out of free merch. Of course, judging how effective it is really depends on comparing the reaction you get to the reaction you are going for, and when you're going for nothing less than a global paradigm shift (or at the very least some tee-shirt sales), it's going to take a while to gauge your impact.

Be patient...keep stickerpating...

Let's start a book club!!!

2008-02-14T17:09:00.000-08:00

Something feels slightly dirty about posting twice in the same day...it's like sleeping in too late or idly masturbating while drinking beer and watching sports while alone at home and bored (it happens, ladies).

Speaking of sports and slightly dirty things, let's talk about Barry Bonds. Now, I think the man is a complete douchebag. I don't understand his inability to give a decent interview and I can't wait for the day when A-rod (or whoever the fuck, really [though A-rod would be sweet]) topples his homerun record. Also, it is comical to listen to his vague denials while simultaneously comparing his trading cards from 1986 and say, any time since the early 90s. I mean, overnight the man gained about 50 pounds of muscle (in addition to 100 pounds of testosterone).

Still, I have always found something objectionable in the whining about how his steroid use alone is responsible for his prowess as a baseball player...the fact is, he really is very fucking talented despite the douchebaggery, people. The most disturbing thing of all, however, is the hypocrisy inherent in singling him out when we as a nation have basically consecrated "bigger is better" as our informal slogan and are so incredibly dependent on our own various pills to help us through the daily slog.

Writer Lee Klein can say it better than I, however. In fact, reading his essay "All Aboard The Bloated Boat: Arguments In Favor Of Barry Bonds" in The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2007 (edited by Dave Eggers) is what reminded me that this is a subject I am quietly passionate about. By quietly passionate I mean I don't really talk about it much in public, preferring to whisper my opinions into my pillow at night or discuss it with one of our cats.

You can also find the essay in Barrelhouse: Issue Two...and by the way, The Best...is truly fucking great this year. Seriously, I wholeheartedly recommend it.

Happy Valentine's Day: wherein I flip you some birds...

2008-02-14T13:38:00.001-08:00

I would like to apologize for blowing your minds. As a token of my atonement, please accept these three hummingbirds. They are just birds. They do not symbolize anything, especially not some strange I am you are we are all the same in some crazy beautiful cosmic way type maverick religious retardation insanity...Happy Valentine's Day

In this post I blather on and on but still manage to make sense, at least to myself...

2008-02-13T15:28:00.002-08:00

...which is what matters most.

This here image/sticker/whatever is my proposition to the masses as an alternative to the greedy and solicitous mainstream religions I was "calling out" in my last post...not the image itself, actually, but what it represents, namely, an understanding of spirituality that encompasses all things, even down to the most humble flower...although technically, a tiny flower is only a sort of midway point (however, it wouldn't serve the cause to have a rock, a cock-a-roach, or bacteria as the central image [one must consider these things when trying to sell one's own crazy to random strangers as religion])...using the self as a pivot point. For, it is only when you become the central figure in your own quest for spiritual contentment that you may truly invest your whole being into creating a personal system of sacred answers, traditions, and commitments that work for you as an individual...and it is only when you are able to include literally everything into that system that you can honestly begin to operate as an agent of the divine.

How is it possible to be holy when you are worried about being judged by vengeful ghosts or when your decisions come not from an earnest desire to be good and kind to all of creation but instead from a sincere fear of severe repercussions when you "fail" to succumb to the will of the congregation (especially when the congregation requires you to relinquish control of your money, your vote, or your sexual preference, or demands some other personal sacrifice sometimes as great as your very life)?

I digress...I am not arguing against anything here (though I will, often and loudly, and probably soon), I am simply attempting to invite you, dear reader, to incorporate a more fully realized vision of all creation into your daily life, and to celebrate the holy instead of cower or cringe.

If you like what you read here, or even if you absolutely detest it, or if you are bored by it but for some reason compelled by my hypnotic run on sentences to read more, please visit my other site, pericwaldmann.com, and stop by the 30x30x30 gallery...the write-up there is a constant work in progress, and whether it is more succinct is debatable, but I have spent an awful lot of time on it and would seriously appreciate your indulgence.

Plus, it is far more worthy of your time than 2 girls, 1 cup...

At least, dear god, I hope so...

Let's get down to it, then...

2008-02-12T17:41:00.000-08:00

So I'm back home from the Southwest...I wish I had pictures of the tournament for you, but alas, I do not. Suffice to say it was what I remembered it to be, basically an orgy of booze and silicon, fake jumblies all akimbo and drunk frat boys too sloppy to do much more than leer. I made some good money though, got back on top of my finances at least, saw some really good friends, hung out with my sweet old parents. Not that any of this has anything to do with the image above...this image is, in fact, a statement about how religion, especially the big three Abrahamic religions (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam) have become more about money than spirituality. I recently turned this into a sticker and began putting them up in conspicuous places. I will have to explain more about stickerpation in another post, however, as my computer is dying and I don't feel like walking the 30 feet or so it would take to retrieve my charger. Enjoy!

Phoenix Rising

2008-01-28T20:28:00.000-08:00

...my parents live in the Phoenix area, and I am currently staying with them for a week whilst I earn mad cash at a golf tournament where some friends of mine run the food and beverage service. Long story short, I just recently arrived back in the United States from a slightly disastrous trip abroad (disastrous only financially, really...otherwise awesome...perchance we'll talk about it soon) and despite some issues I had once in the past with these guys, I needed some serious funds quickly. I called them up, they were incredibly gracious and said "hell yeah come back and work for us," I said "word," and there you have it...here I am in Phoenix for a couple of weeks working my ass off as a glorified barback. This post has nothing to do with that, however. It is about the flood that recently washed out the road to my parents house. They live in the desert. Deserts don't see a lot of rain, that's what makes them deserts. When they do, they tend to not be able to absorb the water quickly, and when the topography has enough variation, the water collects, runs downhill, meets up with more water, runs further downhill, etc...and suddenly you have a riotous mass of muddy water roaring towards the lowest point that doesn't give the slightest damn what is in the way. You can actually hear gigantic boulders grinding grinding grinding underwater, see entire trees racing past, and nothing but nothing can stop the flood. When you check out this video, please understand that normally this creek is no more than 2 or 3 inches deep, dry in the summer, and that roughly in the center of this raging mass, the road that dips and crosses the normal creek exists an amazing 16 feet or more below... behold the indomitable power of nature, my friends

A little something about me #2

2008-01-22T19:33:00.000-08:00

So here's something else about me. In addition to the design company, I also own/operate a construction company. This is where I make the majority of my money. I have been in working in construction since I was 12...yes, 12, and by now, at the age of 31, I am pretty good at it...and I have a shitload of tools. Also, I'm honest, which is huge in this field...that's not to say other contractors aren't honest, in fact, I have surrounded myself with a whole fleet of them...it's just something worth mentioning. With my background as a designer and artist, I tend to be drawn to projects that allow me to flex my creative muscle, and, as I am slightly obsessive, I turn out quality work every time. I have experience in just about every facet of construction too, and at least one family member somewhere who I can consult in the occasion that I am stumped by any problem (there happen to be a large number of tradespeople in the Waldmann clan). In fact, most of what I have learned over the years (the honesty thing especially, though he has also taught me how to be a fucking badass...oh, and humility), I have learned from my father. Although my sad, empty wallet forces me to take on all sorts of jobs, commercial, residential, and otherwise, the focus of my work as a contractor happens to be sustainability and green energy solutions, which is why my logo, pictured above, is the green hammer, baby! I'll include photos of projects I think are worth sharing whenever they come up, and since construction takes up a lot of my time, you'll be hearing plenty about my daily life as a contractor. Sweet, huh? You know it...

A little something about me #1:

2008-01-21T11:41:00.000-08:00

Hi. In the interest of getting to know one another properly, here is a little something about me...together with an old friend, I own/operate a design company called Edify.

edify:

Pronunciation:: \ˈe-də-ˌfī\
Function:: transitive verb
Inflected Form(s):: ed·i·fied; ed·i·fy·ing

1archaic a: build b: establish2: to instruct and improve especially morally or intellectually : uplift; also : enlighten inform

That is what we intend to do with our products; to enlighten our customers and the general public, to help them free their minds, bodies, and souls from the often confining social constructs of modern (Western especially) society in order to commit fully to realizing a beautiful, sustainable future where all things are truly equal and free. Nothing less than the betterment of the planet through kickass design, my friends...At the moment, we offer a couple different tee shirts and fairly soon, we will be releasing a few hat designs. Currently, these products are available only through us, meaning, you need to contact one of us in order to obtain something delicious to wear, but soon, hopefully, we will be selling through appropriate boutique shops and clothiers all over the world. We also hope to expand our catalog to include at least a few more shirts and perchance more items with which one may drape one's body (PJ's? Boxers? Top hats? Who knows...). We also generate quality graphic design and illustration at the request of partners we feel are socially responsible and also interested in a globally sustainable future. I will update this young blog with images when they arise. By the way, the image above is our logo...learn to love it, my people...

For starters...

2008-01-20T11:52:00.000-08:00

So I've created this blog in order to share with the world at large. I will be posting mostly images; new artwork, new stickers, design work, tee shirt designs, etc...sort of an overflow for my website, pericwaldmann.com. I will include statements about each piece to add more clarity...I will also be more than happy to respond to criticism, to explain further to those needing more
definition, to defend my choices, what have you. Please enjoy...