Your life, dreams, abilities and aspirations - reduced to pamphlet form.

I hate napping after 8 (PM)... It totally screws me up and leaves me wide awake long into the night. But yesterday, after a day spent stressing out over not finishing a job that should have been done days ago, handling day to day ‘stuff’, and getting the kids in bed - it happened (again) last night. I awoke on the couch with a jolt at a quarter to 10 pm and immediately knew I was screwed. For me, it’s the rough equivalent of downing a pot of coffee and an energy drink just when your night is supposed to be winding down.

To add a little insult to injury, I caught a pretty distinct waft of ’Old Man Ass Smell’ in the air as I peeled myself up off of the couch. For those of you who are not immediately familiar with the term/odor: Did you ever open your Grandpa’s (or Dad’s) car door on a hot summer afternoon in the glory days of vinyl seats and have all of those years of butt sweat, after shave and ‘seat bombs’ knock you back a good six feet??? Well - that is Old Man Ass Smell… And, in a pretty disturbing revelation, apparently I’ve come of age to put out some of my own OMAS into the world.

So, anyways… I’m lying wide awake in bed contemplating everything from crazy camaro mouse designs (you’ll see what I mean soon enough) to the proposal I’d submitted to the Edmonton’s ‘Public Art Committee’ last Friday. The mouse seems to be working itself out well enough but I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around my application…

Over the period of about 3 frustrating days I came up with and, last Friday, submitted an artist statement, artist biography, curriculum vitae (a.k.a. quasi-resume) and image files and descriptions to a committee. The hope being that they’ll see fit to include me on the pre-approved shortlist of public art projects that might arise around the city for the next few years. Oddly enough, it’s not my abilities to create ’art’ that I am questioning - but rather ability to put together a presentation. For the life of me, it’s hard for me to figure out what one has to do with the other. And it’s odd that I am not competing for a spot on the list on the basis of creativity or ability - but based upon politics and ‘pamphlet’.

So… I’ve since scrubbed thoroughly to combat the early onset of OMAS, got myself back to work on psychotic rodent paintings, and am waiting to hear back from the pompous Edmonton Arts Council. Guess we’ll just have to see how it goes… But I am hoping to sleep a little better tonight.

Hope you’ve had a good week - and thanks for reading!

Rod

Why Cherie's company car now smells like Fabreze and... well...

Well it’s Christmas season here… And Christmas party season. Unlike every other year, however, we were actually able to attend them this year after FINALLY securing a babysitter willing to tolerate our demonic spawn. A lot has changed apparently, though, since the good ol’ days of two buck an hour childcare… Nowadays when we run screaming away from the house like summer crazed kids on the last day of school - it comes at a cost of $10 an hour.

I’ll definitely admit to being a little reluctant to attend not one, but two Christmas parties held by a company of Engineers inside of a week… But I dutifully located the 4 pieces of clothing I own that 1) weren’t paint stained and 2) would pass for semi formal - and we headed for the affairs. I still tend to stand out like a paint stained sore thumb in a sea of plaid wearing, shop talking eggheads where the conversations always run the risk of being as dry as the red wine on the table. Ultimately, I was able to tolerate the forced interest and thinly veiled condescension that comes with introducing yourself as an ‘artist’ to people from the technical ilk and eventually located a few people that shared my passion for either creative ventures, sports, motorcycle related activities and/or even heavy drinking.

By the end of the second party (last night) I’ll admit to having achieving a certain level of comfort in my surroundings - and even found myself belly-up-to-the-bar alongside my wife’s 'big' boss doing shots… So I suppose I was beginning to think I had survived and even somewhat enjoyed my time being my wife’s ‘+1’ at her Christmas parties.

As the crowd started to thin and the night drew to a close, we were closing in on another $60 babysitting bill and figured it was time to head for home. I was thoroughly enjoying my conversation with a recently immigrated engineer from Ireland - who just happened to share all of my above mentioned passions. But it was time to step away from the table, finish my drink and head for home (btw - don’t worry - Cherie had agreed to drive)… So I did the obligatory final big gulp of my beer and immediately knew I was in trouble.

Do you know that swallow you make when you take in far more air than anything else - and it feels like a tennis ball slowly making it’s way down your esophagus?!?!? If so, then; yup… It was one of those.  I was able to do put on a brave face and make it through the last of my ‘thank you's and good-byes’ before heading out to the company car that Cherie had reserved for her client meetings today. All the while, I knew there was a balloon of stupidity inflating with a yeasty ferocity inside of my stomach that, at some point, was going to require the pressure release of a pretty monumental belch. And, about halfway home, it came. It was immediate relief in one quick gastric gesture - but, no, it was not, umm, unaccompanied. And, yes, though it was nowhere near an exorcist tribute moment, it was enough that complete containment was not possible.

So… I’m not sure if I can say I’ve actually survived Christmas party season or not… The food was first class, the drinks flowed freely, and, for the most part, the conversations were even enjoyable. But… yeah… I kinda puked a little in Cherie’s company car. So… I suppose we’ll have to try again next year!

Hope you’ve had a good week!

Rod