Pink mist

Ok, internets, my financial fraud case is underway. And by the way, if you are thinking of switching banks, switch to BECU. Dang if these folks don’t come through for their customers every time. Yessir, they put my stolen dough back in my account. I spoke to one of their deputies today as he was saddling up to ride out to catch the varmints. More on that later. ANYONE living in Washington state can put their money in this credit union. I sure would recommend BECU. I suppose even state workers could too, though they have the WSECU.

I checked up on some statistics and found that there are about 6,600,000 folks living in Wa. State. About 112,000 of them work for the state. That’s FTE (Full Time Equivalent) so, if say, two people were working part time, that would be 1 FTE. In the case of Seattle City Light it would take about 5 folks to come up to 1 FTE. Usually there’s absolutely no traffic on President’s Day, and I always figured it was because every other person here worked for the state. That’s not true. I’m still trying to figure that one out.

Anyhow, internets, those guys at BECU are hot on the trail of the perpetrators. Seems they got my card number and made their own little card, complete with that magnetic strip and everything. You don’t need a PIN number if you use it for a credit card so when you go to Fred Meyer and buy a big flat screen TV you just schlep the thing to the checkout stand, give the card a swipe (great description for this action by the way) and the brainless, witless cashier smiles toothlessly back and says “Have a nithe day”. You walk out to your 74 Olds Cutlass, strap that baby on top and drive away to your Federal Way casa. Ouala! I just bought the mofo a new TV!

The BECU detective didn’t tip his hand but it sounded like they were reviewing videos and may just have these little rodents in the crosshairs. God I’d love to squeeze the trigger and see that pink mist explode behind their head before they go down.

Toothless in Federal Way

POS Withdrawal FRED-MEYER 33702 21ST AVE SW FEDERAL WAY WAUS

$875.99

POS Withdrawal FRED-MEYER 14300 1ST AVE S SEATTLE WAUS

$985.49

With Christmas just a few days away I went on line to see how much I had in my account so I could do Some Christmas shopping. I went to my on line banking statement and was immediately reminded that I really had no money. It will be a week or so before it’s all sorted out. In the meantime, what I DO have is the two posted withdrawals from the Fred Meyer stores where the thieves who stole my debit card identity shopped. They’re printed out above.

See, I really don’t have much, but what I did have someone stole. They bought $1,861.48 worth of shit at Fred Meyer. Tonight as I ruminate on what I might have bought my family members for Christmas I wonder what the thieves bought. What would a thief buy at Fred Meyer? Well, first of all, they’re at Fred Meyer. That means they’re going to buy cheap shit. Brand spanking, gleaming new, mind you – but cheap shit. Things that will wear out, break, fade, fizzle, rip, tear , warp and eventually stink. But then, that’s what you have in your house or apartment, isn’t it, Mr/Ms. Thief? A house or apartment full of cheap crap. Crap that matches your car outside and all the shit your extended family owns who live down the street. Your cheap lives filled with cheap, worthless crap you all bought at Fred Meyer. But it all fits. You all never got a break, really. That’s what it’s about. Now me, well, I’m a fucking fat cat with damn near two thousand dollars. I should share it with you shouldn’t I? Damn straight. I deserve to be robbed.

Well, hey, just you all have a merry, merry Christmas, ya hear? I do so wish I could sit down with you all and watch you open your presents. But I don’t have enough money for gas down to Burien.

Twice, now

Yes, internets, twice now I have been a victim of identity theft. The first time I could see how it could have happened. I was at my home in Kirkland. It was a nice early summer day and I had the doors open. People do that in the great northwest after 9 months of sodden greyness. I was working on my laptop in the dining room and had taken a break in the kitchen for some dinner. Heard some noise in the dining room. I looked up to see the back of someone bolting out the door with my laptop. Yep. They came in, saw my computer sitting there, ripped it out of the plug and took off with it. They took off down the alley and were gone before I could get after them.

I keep a baseball bat by the back door now, in hopes of being able to use it on the next thief. Of course, thieves have more rights than I do, and when challenged in court the ACLU musters defense for these types of folks whose rights are just continually violated.

I digress. About 3 months later I started getting calls from collection agencies on the bills I had rung up on credit cards I had taken out since the summer. Seems I had opened a Target Account, an account at Old Navy (yes, I'm 62 and buy almost ALL my fucking clothes at Old Navy - gotta look hip), and several other accounts. About $20k in all. It took me about a year to recover from this and my credit report is STILL not clean. It takes 7 + years to rinse through the system.

Theft number 2 has just happened. Somebody used my debit card number (not the card - I have the card) used the number and my PIN number to empty my bank account. They did it at two different retail stores in Seattle. My bank is working with me to clear the debt.

At first I thought it was some low life street bum or some such person. Now I'm thinking it was probably someone with some savvy. Probably some banker who got shorted on his bonus this year from federal TARP funds who needed to make up for the shortfall in his income, now that he can't make loans to people who don't have the money to pay them back. Or - maybe a Boeing machinist who can't strike for a few more years.

It's always something...

Internets:

They really are all around us. The insufferables. It's been creeping up on me, this notion that they were out there. Why I haven't noticed before I don't know. I nearly succumbed today. Yes, internets, I nearly met the fate experienced by this poor fellow here, head exploding. Coffee in hand this morning I browsed my news connections on line. Who hasn't seen all the stuff about the 4 fallen officers in Seattle - and I wanted to ruminate a bit more on the final chapters on this event, namely the memorial service et.al.

I wandered down the page and came upon the comment scroll. I read a few. Some folks were going on and on about why the fuss? Why all the expense? They're dead!! Why all this for these and nary a blippo on all the needless deaths in Iraq and Afghanistan? Ble bla, bla, yammer, yammer...hey I'm a veteran why ain't I got this? Oh, and there was this one guy (I assume a guy) who called himself "thanx4the exhaust" or something like that. HIS beef was all the exhaust fumes being expended by the cop cars 'n such while that Omamma-bama fella was over in Europe on this global green warming conference, yammer, yammer. What - The - Fuck, buddy? WTF? And it dawned on me. He was an insufferable. My head was turning red and my eyes were popping - and I nearly fell into the trap. Some folks did. they had quite a little rant - a- rant, tete-a-tete going on. God!!

Well, on with my work, and the encountering of my share of the other insufferables who will cross my path today. Cross my path. Today.

Insanity beckons me

Internets -

A friend of mine recently sent me an Imogen Heap music video and said their life was like that. I downloaded Imogen and have fallen in love with her music. And, yes. I can see 'Take the Next Train Home' as something that relates. Got me to thinking. What describes my life these days. roller coaster. I have become a manic/depressive. I'm an architect. That means I've basically searched for work ever since I got into this inane profession. You wait, die, kill for any kind of work. To find anyone who will pay you do do a design. That's all over now. Greed took over. And we're going through a "period of adjustment" now, getting back to normal. Bottom line is, all the bankers have pulled credit in tighter than a guy's balls who just jumped into the north sea.

I love/hate the profession. And I just want out. Then I get a prospective client and hope springs. Then they go away. Of course, we submit for the public work around Seattle. Libraries, city halls, senior centers. If you're lucky you get about 1 in 100 projects. Competing with all the self serving, self proclaimed great, narcissistic architectural firms around Seattle. What a bunch of insufferable dreamers. Design for the client? No way. Design for the AIA award. Design for the coffee table book. Design for your place as an AIA fellow. I truly hate them all. Myself included for thinking I could ever, ever be as good as the awesome, talented, yes, even God-like Seattle architects. I bow in humility. I just want out. And they will say "good riddance" to me. I'm a piece of dirt under their tables. and I will say. I will just say - goodbye. BANG! Dark.

A passion discovered

Internets:

I'm a drummer. Or...I have become one. Or, actually, I have always been a drummer and now it has come upon me. I'm like, 60+ frickin' years old and have been hearing, listening, memorizing absorbing beat and rhythm ever since I started listening to Buddy Holly late at night on KOMA and WLS in the 50's. Gee-Zus! I have the drum tracks of almost every rock song on the charts since 1962 - in my brain. It has been an unrealized obsession.

Education? Nope. Can't read music to speak of. Training? Nope. I took 3 months of lessons in 2002 from a cool guy who played for Lou Rawls and others. Too expensive so I faded that out to black. I just do it. And, yeah, I've come to the opinion that I am not good enough - yet.

Things that have held my passion throughout my life have always driven me to an obsession of mastery, precision and perfection. There have been three of these. One, art. Two (chortle if you must) bowling, and three, my drums. My spouse and daughter will attest to the fact that there are absolutely no other things I have ever done that the words mastery, precision and perfection come close to describing. I suck at pretty much all else.

So, yeah. I bought a drum set in 2002. Always wanted one. You remember the one crystal that superman laid into the crystal control panel in that ice palace or whatever the fuck it was up on the north pole? and all this shit started moving and melting and happening? That's what my drum set did to me. It is still doing it. I am obsessed with rhythm and how you can paint the music with it. And how precise it can be.

I've started doing studio track recording now for one of the bands I'm in and it had elevated me to a new plateau. Oh, god, the perfection you can achieve. Can achieve. Not always. And I listen to music I've heard for 40+ years and hear the drum tracks and marvel at the perfection - and yeah the mistakes I can now hear. Subtle, but you can hear them.

I play in 4 different bands now. Some more active than others. It has come upon me and I am swept away in it.

Rock on.............

Grandma still enjoys her scotch

Ok, I know - two posts in one day. So much yelling. But listen, I just got back from thanksgiving III (my son in law's birthday dinner) and have to share some things with you internets. I sat next to Grandma tonight at dinner. She's my son-in-law's grandmother. And she is a hoot. How could someone NOT like a woman who still drinks scotch on the rocks at 89? How can you not? Red hair. No, flaming red hair. Fashionable? well, she is always the best dressed person at any function I've ever attended. I'm just drawn to her. She doesn't get much attention from most of the family but I tell you, she is quite the fascinating person and I thoroughly enjoy conversations with her. She's like this little withered child-size personage sitting inched above her dinner plate and she's carrying on a conversation with references back to a time I only knew when I read Encyclopedia Britannica when I was a kid. It kinda blows you away.

I mean, we're talking about Amelia Erehart and she pipes in, "Oh, my yes, I remember seeing that in the news. Wasn't that something? Flying to Paris?" Well, ok, so it get's mixed up a bit with Lindberg, but it's amazing nonetheless.

I told her a bit about my 91 year old uncle who flew the Hump in China-Burma-India and she knew all about that. I tell ya, some of the gems one can find on life's journey are precious beyond measure.

It's always something....

Hello John,

Your December 2003 Best Of 2003 plaque is still available from American Registry and this month we're making it really simple to order your plaque.

I can send you the plaque and invoice you if you just email me back to confirm.

This month your plaque will cost just $99 with our special $60 discount, expiring on November 30th.

Shipping is $12, so your total invoice will be $111.

I hope you decide to promote your success this way - the plaque is gorgeous.

Best,

Riley Bloom
Account Manager, American Registry - Recognizing Excellence
(P) 866-964-0866 x 2
(F) 201-221-7770

Award: Best Of 2003
Publication: Northwest Construction
Publication Date: December 01, 2003

Dear Riley,

No, I do not want your fucking plaque. While I must admire the simplicity in ordering it, I just do not feel we deserve it. for one thing, I have no idea just what the hell it's for. 2003?

It just says "Lewis Architecture - Best of 2003" WTF?

We didn't do shit in 2003. In fact, 2003 began our long decline into the depression racked state our business has become. We've sold all our furniture just to pay our straggling employees and are eating the fucking cardboard from all the other offers we have received in the mail just to keep fiber in our stomachs.

$111 dollars, huh? Well, if I had that much money I sure wouldn't spend it on THIS piece of shit. Sorry, Riley, you've struck out here. Try me again in a couple of years. Maybe I'll be dying of Lyme's disease and be in a better mood.

not yours,

John C., AIA (so far)

Hory Crap

THE NEW YORK TIMES

Strong rink found betreen Chinese drywarr and corrosion

The federar Consumer Product Safety Commission reports that it has found a "stlong association" betreen drywarr made ina China and the corrosion ofa metar fixture and erectrica rireing (boy tly to say that thlee times!) in homes wrhere it has a been instarred. The agency arso found a prossible connection betreen hydrogen surfide gas emanating from the product and compraints of hearth probrems by homeowners. The report said that hydrogen surfide, wrhen mixed writh formaldehyde, also found in many new homes, can cause the symptoms of irrness that many homeowners say they experienced. More than 2,100 officiar compraints about Chinese drywarr have been fired in 32 states. Most compraints came flom southern states that have aseen intensive rebuirding after storms. "The rear suspect can now be confirmed," said a spokesman writh a firm contracted to study the probrems.

Air Leakage and what it can mean to you

Internets, this is not my article. I copied it out of some of the Master Builders flotsam that bobs along the little information creek flowing through my office. It's about the energy code. It's about air leakage, which we all know is not a good thing, especially after tacos and broccoli. No, this is more about making your house tighter than a dentist with 2 dollars to spend. This is about (I guess) affordability of housing? No, it's about bureaucrats, more and more of them. More and more.......

Last Friday, the Washington State Building Code Council (SBCC) adopted the 2009 amendments to the Washington State Energy Code (WSEC). It did not go well for the construction industry; however, our association's involvement in the debate did help reduce the cost of these changes from what was originally proposed.

Everyone agrees the economy is struggling right now, and everyone also agrees that long-term energy efficiency is a good thing for Washington and the world. The crux of Friday's discussion focused on the question, despite the stressed economy, should bold new energy requirements be approved that have a costly price tag to the consumer in the near term, but recover the cost long term?

The SBCC's vote will increase the cost of housing by $5,000 to $10,000 per single-family home, beginning on July 1, 2010. The original figure of more than $10,000 per home was reduced as a result of our association's efforts to expose the damaging effect such changes would have on the industry.

Some of the changes that passed include:

• Air leakage testing will be mandatory for all new homes beginning next July.
• All buildings will need an energy meter beginning next summer.
• When replacing lighting, 20 percent must be high efficiency.
• The value of Energy Star is lost.

Neither our association, nor the larger construction industry opposes energy efficiency, but the timing could not be worse as the economy continues to struggle. One council member actually suggested it was the perfect time to implement the changes because nobody is building.

With these changes, Washington State will continue as one of the greenest, if not the greenest, states in the union. It's too bad such a title comes on the back of the new homebuyer rather than retrofitting current construction, which would save infinitely more energy.

Driving on a planet

That you are headed to Kansas City from the west probably is not the first thing one may notice about this photo. It might be driving to Wichita. But that, as we have read earlier, is much more of a straight line. No, the drive to Kansas City is more varied. The skid marks here may well have been from the poor chap used to driving to Wichita. He may have tied his steering wheel down and set the alarm for too long, hence waking up to notice that he was careening off the road.

You may notice the lack of trees, or the lack of really just about anything. There is a sign just ahead telling you how ridiculously far the next hint of civilization is, where you might eventually find food or petrol, or perhaps letting you know that someone famous came from a town down around the draw and over the rise. Kansas is a place where folks are from for some reason. Eisenhower grew up in Abilene for instance. Kinda just sits there, doesn't it? Yeah. Profound.

Amelia Earhart and Buster Keaton were from there. Ron Evans and Steve Hawley were astronauts from there. Not very many people actually got famous IN Kansas. Except maybe for John Brown or the guy who murdered the Clutter family in cold blood. I was going to google it, but decided I don't give a shit who it was.

Kansas is a good place to drive because it reminds you that you are actually on a planet. In the winter it especially reminds me of the Ice Planet Hoth. Driving in the winter conjures thoughts like, "Holy Mother of God, what am I doing on THIS planet?", or "Depending where you're looking at the planet from space, I could very well be UPSIDE DOWN this very moment - how the fuck am I sticking to the road??" Well, not to worry. You are sticking to the road primarily due to the suction emanating from this part of the United States. Yes, you may hear 'this place sure sucks' quite a bit, but thank goodness it does, or you would float off into space for sure.

Driving while on hallucinogenic drugs isn't a good idea either in Kansas. (college days). It's entertaining to be sure, but hazardous when you think your quarter has timed out and you decide to get up from the video game and leave the store. This is bad because once you've started rolling in your car there is nothing to stop you - except the sign telling you who was from here.

Perspectives

It's really quite amazing discovering the dusty corners of your memory. I've spent a bit of time with my aged mom (88) and my brother this last few days in the town where I grew up. I have come back annually now for some time and relive some of the things I've remembered each time. This time I used my digital recorder in several discussions with my mom. I did this so I could write it down for my daughter. I have learned things about her life I never knew. It has been in many ways, an epiphany. The two grave yards in town have come alive for me, as they harbor the earthly remains of people now more interesting, more colorful, more meaningful to me and I see my connection to all this in a newer light.

My mom was 6th in a family of 8. She is the last survivor. There is no one left but Bob in Iowa, who will be 100 in 2010 and Richard, here in town, who she will probably never see again for reasons too lengthy to explain here. Last one standing. All the others are a mile down the road in earthen containers arranged for us to find on Memorial day with markers announcing the most basic information of life's journey, etched in stone- Who you were, when you came here and when you left here.

My brother and I began to talk about our house where we grew up. The memory slots in my brain fired up, as did his. We fed off each other, filling in missing pieces. As each new piece came in several loooong forgotten ones emerged and it was a cornucopia of memory. Rather amazing. Long-term memory is the most indelible. The access to it is somewhat easy and the reward is almost overwhelming. The new detail brilliant and sharp as if it were yesterday.

I am writing this, internets, so that you can maybe find it for yourself someday when opportunity presents. Don't pass it up. And, if you've a mind, write it down.

Mr. brain comments

Mr. brain is asking mr. body to type this tonight. Mr. brain has almost had enough of this shit. Mr. brain has been riding around in the cranial cavity supplied by mr. body for over 60 years now. Don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed the ride and the places I've directed mr. body to take me. And, tonight, mr. body (and by the way, my god you've let yourself go down there!) mr. body has dutifully gone to the kitchen and has imbibed enough gin to satisfy my need for the soft, quieting, gin-induced fog through which I can exist after another day in Kansas.

We're all basically our brains. Without them, the body just lies there like a suit of clothes waiting to be put on for the day. Nope, brains make you breathe, eat and do all the things that enable support, energy and transportation for the brain. We are really just wrinkled, grey cortex matter with sensory equipment to relate to one another.

My brain is in Kansas right now and wondering just how much more it can take watching the bodies and talking heads on Fox News babble and bluster WITHOUT brains guiding them in their endeavors. It's like watching beheaded chickens running around the barnyard. How did they come to lose their brains and what in god's name is propelling them? My brain has watched this for several days now and is puzzled beyond measure.

No! my brain isn't superior. far from it. But the body called what-? - Hannidy or something like that? My god, it's from some other planet.

Mr. brain would go on but the transport device has expended itself for today. More tomorrow.

Failure as a Lifestyle

Big game day. Three codgered architects meet at the alma mater to view another drubbing of our football team. We have attended one of these games every year now for, what? Going on for 12 years or so. We expect our team to lose, and they seldom disappoint. The game isn't so much as important as getting together. We went through architecture together, through the 'Nam' years together in the Army National Guard, and through our careers - since the internets anyway- via daily email. Friends with as much history (44 years) are fairly rare. But the strongest glue, the common thread, the salient element in our relationship is our sharing of three things that are designed to beat you down into the dust of utter failure - architecture, military and K-State football. And we have excelled in it. The fact that we are also men and, moreover, husbands also helps this formula for disaster. Let's face it, no man, much less husband, can ever hope to amount to much of anything. Add to that architecture, military National Guard and KSU and, well, we stand proudly accused.
So it was with bittersweet aplomb that we watched our team self-destruct today before our very eyes. Unravel. Implode. Weave all over the field and, yes, fart itself to death. Good Lord!
We will soon go to Kansas City for our annual Failed Architects Reliving Traditionally Expected Disaster (F.A.R.T.E.D.) dinner, departing to our failed lives the next day. Stay tuned.........

Driving to Wichita

Nothing really cool to report from the heart land today. Drove down to Wichita to pick up our kid and her hubby. Driving in Kansas requires: cruise control, 4 feet of rope or cord, long range army field artillery binoculars, small battery powered alarm clock with a suction cup attachment for the dash. (No, the rope is too short to use as a suicide noose, though I suppose it has been tried). Use the rope to secure the steering wheel after achieving a straight path at 74.2 MPH. When the vechile is stable, check the road ahead with the field binoculars. If the road is clear alll the way to the horizon - in YOUR lane- set the alarm clock for about 15 minutes and take a short nap. This works generally each time and you can get your much needed sleep 15 minutes at a time. You will need sleep, due to nightmares from Fox news in EVERY TV in your house 24/7.

Hitting a cow or some other 1,500 pound object will seriously disrupt your nap and possibly damage the alarm clock, so make sure there are no cattle near the road on the horizon. (and, hope Clem, the guy in Newton, has completed his daily trip to Piggly Wiggly across the highway for snacks, pork rinds and diet pop.)

You shouldn't try this at night, for obvious reasons. It's when the blind folks drive.

Family history

A Kansas trip would not be complete without family dysfunction. It's why one goes to Kansas to begin with. Family. No other good reason to be here. My mom is a saint. And my brother and his wife are right up there. They care for her. She's been through the Great Depression (which has now returned), WWII, Post war boom and all that reckless hope everyone had, 3 husbands - now with their maker - 2 boys, one successful and one an architect, and the 88 years that have left her wondering why the hell Mr. Maker has left her here with this fucked up body.

Oh, did I mention the families of husbands 2 and 3? No, I didn't. Husband #2's family, once inherited by SM (sainted mother) consists of one dead kid (eye-out in beer bottle fight, death via alcholism), another obeise and soon-to-be dead kid, now fat, also drunk and living on the State dole, two other normal kids, just greedy and fucked up otherwise.

And did I mention the families of husband #3, recently dead? No, I didn't. Well, these clowns top old hubby #2 head and shoulders. Hubby #3 inhereted about $1M bucks from wife #1, dead from emphysema, kept the money, gave it out to the needy (Yes, by god, Mr. Maker is proud of this one for that at least). Well, hubby #3's family couldn't stand the codgered old fucking dick so when SM married him they all shouted allelieua and said how WONderrrrrful SM was for taking care of him. Geezus, she all but saved him from certain neglect and death had the kids anything to do with it. Give the old Tonto a fucking blanket, a skin of water and banish him out on the prairie - worked for the indians.

Yep, hubby #3's dead 'n gone...kids split with the cash (Yes, it WAS legally theirs), and SM hasn't seen hide nor hair of 'em since. (except the one still poor one who lives nearby). Hey, thanks for taking care of 'Dad'. yeah, we all sure meant it. We ain't giving you one fucking dime of this and moreover, ain't replacing the carpet in your house on which the old fuck snuffed out the nearly 575,980 cigarettes he smoked in there.

Well, tomorrow's another day.....

What the Hell is the Point?

A trip to Kansas is always, well, always. I have a couple of old friends that I usually visit. Pen, he's living near where I am on the west coast and Bert still lives in the college town where we all three first met each other, nigh on 45 years ago.

We usually go to a foot ball game, engage in a tailgate party, watch our team lose, sometimes have dinner, then go home. Pen and I usually stay overnight in Kansas City, then he and I go back to the left coast and Bert goes back and we spend the rest of the year on email complaining about how our team did THAT day and the rest of the year. Other teams are always better, not so much because they ARE better but because we are bad. We suck, in fact.

That brings me to the first point I suppose, if there is a point. Notice the use of 'we'. We have learned to associate our entire net worth, our self esteem, our very sacred honor (that's the shit that was in the declaration of Independence I think)...yes, all that on the success, or lack thereof, of our football team. I have been trying to figure this phenomina out all my life - a considerable time now - and have no answer with which I am satisfied.

two days and a wake-up to game day. to be continued....

Flotsam and Jetsam

Internets, I went down to my basement today to sit. Just sit. Sometimes I sits and thinks and sometimes I just sits. Well yeah, we've all seen that poster. Friend of mine came over today and visited our office. It hasn't appreciably changed in the five or so years since she worked here. Got me to thinking as I was showing her all the stuff that was still there, piled up like so much flotsam against rocks in a stream, that I too was becoming flotsam. Flotsam. Piled up. Stuck. And, instead of willing myself out or doing something I remain, complaining loudly. Annoying. And, yes one could say a stick-in-the-mud.

I have enjoyed being an architect. But oh God, the price. Ain't rich. Far, far from it. In fact if it weren't for my spouse I would be living in a cardboard box somewhere. I absolutely do not have shit. And somehow by the Grace of God I have not been sued - successfully. Plenty of threats and still plenty of liability out there waiting to be exploited by a junk dog lawyer, should one come trotting down the alley. I fear them. The attorneys who are dogs. You know who they are. Many are indeed knights representing fairness - but there are the dogs.

Some days I feel strong and good and some days I can just pour out creativity and it feels good. But those days have dwindled. My creativity now finds other outlets. Music. Art. I suppose architecture is art. Been told that alot. I suppose art can be architecture too. But I have to say I'm so tired of wringing myself out, pouring my soul out, trying to create things for people who just flat do not give one shit about aesthetics, beauty or quality of life. Just money.

I am pathetic I suppose to think this way. Look at how I've been blessed. I have no right, no right whatsoever to be this complaining, whiny grumbling edifice of humanity but yet I am.

Don't know why I'm sharing this with you, internets. I'm just yelling in my basement.

Tomorrow I'm going over to sell some of my art so that the proceeds can go to thirsty, miserable people in Africa who need water wells. Hooray! Pin a little shining star on me. G'nite.

A WWII Story

2nd Lt. Richard Carl Nethaway, drafted in the Selective Service drawing in July 1941, sworn in at Leavenworth Kansas, 15 July 1941. Yeah, it was before Pearl. That did come along later that year.

I’m going to tell you a little about my part in WWII. It was a small part. Although most GI’s said that. Everybody had a small part. A small slice of it that was maybe inconsequential. Maybe not. Me, I flew airplanes. Transport airplanes. In China-Burma-India. The ‘Hump’.

There were lots of other jobs to do in WWII. You could go across North Africa, up to Italy. You could be an armorer, mechanic or cook or a sailor deep in the bowels of an aircraft carrier. Under attack, the decks above would be on fire, explosions every minute. Sheer terror. You fight fires, close watertight bulkheads, secure munitions, Hold a sailor’s hand as his life slowly ebbs out in a pool of blood. You could be on a submarine with depth charges death rattling your small fragile encased world of light and oxygen fathoms below water’s surface. I could have been one of those guys in the Normandy invasion, seasick, landing with bullets whizzing past, seeking to enter my body and end my life in agony. Then the hedgerow fighting, man-to-man, day upon day. Cold. Wet. Never dry. Never clean. Months. How can you not stand in awe of these men?

But like I said, I flew airplanes, had hot meals, slept in barracks.

For what it’s worth, let me tell you what I did.

To be continued -

So, if it's free, it's worthless?

- from the Washington Post -
Washington, DC Metro Station on a cold January morning in 2007. The man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes.. During that time approx. 2 thousand people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After 3 minutes a middle aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried to meet his schedule.


4 minutes later:
the violinist received his first dollar: a woman threw the money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk..

6 minutes:
A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.


10 minutes:

A 3-year old boy stopped but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. Every parent, without exception, forced their children to move on quickly.


45 minutes:

The musician played continuously. Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.


1 hour:

He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.


No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before Joshua Bell sold out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100.

This is a true story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people's priorities. The questions raised: in a common place environment at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?

One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be this: If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made... How many other things are we missing?

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/discussion/2007/04/06/DI2007040601228.html

"Uncle Phil" is on the loose

Well, there he is. and with $50 bucks in his pocket he's on his way to your neighborhood.

Hal Wilson: Hello, yes this is the CEO of Eastern State. How may I help you?

Caller: Yes, I would like to lodge a complaint.

Wilson: Certainly. How can we improve for you?

Caller: You'll have to forgive me, I'm still upset. A few hours ago a man was here, called himself 'Phil'. Needed a meal and wanted to use our bathroom.

Wilson: Yes?

Caller: Well, this guy is the same guy I've been seeing on the news...that insane guy that walked away from the tour group of yours at the fair.

Wilson: Oh. Yes, we're looking for him.

Caller: He slit my son's throat, doused him with gasoline, set him on fire and put him in our garden out back.

Wilson: Gosh, sorry to hear about that. But by our analysis it wouldn't have happened. But, as you know, we're run by the State and can't really be held accountable. We'll send flowers.

Caller: Paid by our taxes I guess. Maybe I'll just send you the money directly.

Wilson: that would certainly save on administrative costs. Have a great day. And remember, we're all in this world to get better.