August 1- I am An Art Lover

beatles-jazzI really enjoy looking at artwork.  I can look at beautiful statues, paintings, and architecture for hours on end.  It stimulates and inspires me.   When it comes to artwork, I know what I do and don’t like.  Some of my favorite artists are Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Thomas Kinkade, and Roy Lichtenstein.

I think my love of artwork came from a college course I took, “Understanding The Arts.”  It was a “throwaway, easy A” course.  Although I did get an “A” in the course, it opened up a new world for me.  I started going to art exhibits, museums, and even art stores.  Today, I’ll even stop and look at photography exhibits in malls, if I have the time.

There is one artists whose work I really love (and I can afford), Peter Max.  I’ve even bought a few of his pieces.

While looking at a piece of artwork a while back, it got me thinking about purchasing a piece as a gift.  I had a particular person in mind and know the artists that I wanted to get, Peter Max.  When I decided to make this purchase, I wanted to put a lot of thought and “myself” into the decision.

This gift of artwork would have to be special, but not so expensive that the gift would be refused.  So, I set out to find the perfect piece for the perfect recipient.  She is such a free spirit and she started her rebelious years young as a little girl in the 1960′s.  This piece of art would have to have a 1960′s flavor to it.  It would have to be bright, bold, wild, refined, and full of excitement – just like Christine.  Now I ask you, what’s more 1960′s then the fab four?

This woman, Christine, would be impossible to be put into one single category, like the Beatles and rock music.  No way! She’s a pistol, a cannon, and a bazooka at any one given time.  For the sake of argument, let’s just say you’d likely find her in the rock section, listening to jazz, with a stack of Grateful Dead albums under her arm.  This really is a woman that can not be confined to one or two neat categories.

This artwork, like God’s creations would need to bear the maker’s unique stamp.  It must have the artist’s signature on it.  This would tell the art lover that the artists was proud enough of his creation to affix his unique signature to it.

Since there may be many copies of this masterpiece, there can be only one original with this unique genetic code.  The “genetic code” would come in the form of a unique number in a series.  This artwork wouldn’t have just any random number assigned to it.  The number would have to be “fit for a queen,” significant, and relevant.  Since Christine would be the first to tell you that she’s not perfect, the number “100″ would be out of the question.  In my eyes, she’s close.  Let’s say a “97,” “98,” or, maybe even “99.”

Now, for the frame.  It can’t be constructed of wood.  Wood would never be strong enough to contain this!  Since she is a rare gem a frame of polished silver or gold would be acceptable.  It would shine and glisten, but wouldn’t take away from the beauty of the recipient.

This is one gift that I’m looking forward to be around to see her reaction.  No such luck.  She decides to open it some other time. It sure would have been nice to see her reaction, though.

I bet when she looked at it she probably thought “it’s nice.”  Then either put it in the back of the closet or gave it away.  It was hers to do with what she wanted.  Hopefully, she enjoys, or enjoyed it. 

The beauty of art is truly in the beholder.  Christine is a truly piece of art.

See what fascinating and historical events happened on August 1.




Posted in August 2014

July 31 – No Problem

I’m a fairly easy going guy.  I have my moments where I can be a little bucky at times.  Overall, I think there aren’t a lot of things that really bother me. 

waiterOne thing that really does gets my blood boiling is when I hear someone say “no problem.”  If I’m in a restaurant and I ask for something, I thank the wait staff.  If the response is “no problem,” it leaves an extremely sour taste in my mouth.  My reasoning for asking for something is not to be a problem to anyone, but to enjoy my meal.  All this time I thought the function of waiters and waitresses was that you asked for something and they brought it to you.  I guess I’ve been living a life of delusion for all these years.

If you don’t want to say; “you’re welcome,” don’t say anything.  Don’t be a fool and insinuate that I am causing you a great hardship because I asked for a clean piece of silverware, a glass of water, or another napkin. 

I’ve noticed that this “no problem” nonsense has reached worldwide proportions.  Have you ever noticed that when you are talking to technical support about some difficulty you are having with your cable television, internet, cellphone, etc you are promptly transferred overseas?  After you get done explaining the situation, the foreign technical support representative says “no worries.”  Seriously, “no worries!”  Why am I worried?  If you don’t fix whatever I called about, there are 25 other companies that will be just as happy to take my money and give me the same rotten service I am getting from your company!  You, Ms. Technical Support Rep should be worried.  Your paycheck and job are on the line.

When I am texting and I thank someone and get a “no problem,” the conversation is pretty much is over.  It gets worse.  Now, texting has  reduced it to “no prob” or the dreaded and problemunpopular “np.”  I must really be taking up a lot of your precious time if you can’t text 9 characters, 10 characters if you include a space.  How much time are you saving?  Maybe 4 seconds.  If you’re going to annoy me with “no problem,” aren’t I entitled to the full effect?

Now, don’t get me started on people that go on about “my peeps!’

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it!  Have a great day all.

See what fascinating and historical events happened on July 31.

Posted in July 2014

July 30 – That Defining Moment With My Son, Michael

bikeThere are certain times in my life when I am proud of the people around me and I see what these individuals are capable of. I like to call these instances defining moments. That is that one brief juncture in time where I see a person’s actions stop me in my tracks.

When my son was starting kindergarten one of his favorite phrases was “that’s all part of growing up.” If he’d do something silly, mischievous, or just plain wrong, we would ask him why he would do that and he would just smile and look at us and say “that’s all part of growing up.” Of course it was tough to stay mad at a little boy that had gained so much wisdom in such a short amount of time.

One thing my son and I enjoyed doing was competing. I worked second shift and we lived on a cul de sac. The bus would drop my son off at the entrance and we would race each other home. To make things fair, when he got off the bus he would drop his book bag and I would have to carry it as we raced home. Somehow, or another, the race was decided by less than a foot every single day. We would throw rocks at a tree to see who could hit it first, play video games, race to see who could get the garbage cans in the garage, all kinds of competitions. There were only two rules; 1.) no cheating and 2.) no crying when you lose. I told my son I put the second rule in so that he wouldn’t see his father cry and he agreed.

Because I was on second shift, before I went to work I would drop him off at his great grandmother’s where his mom would pick him up after she finished up working. My son would frequently take his bike over to her home so that he could ride with the other neighbor kids.

He asked me if he could ride his bike to the end of the cul de sac and I would be in my truck. We decided to race and I got a 20 foot head start (so I could make sure that no cars were on the street). Well, the race started out like every other one, he was riding as fast as he could. Actually, I was surprised how fast he was going. I picked up speed so I could keep an eye on him and the road as he made the last turn, disaster happened. In my rear view mirror, I saw him hit a pothole catapulting himself over the handlebars and launching himself from his bike. Good thing he was wearing a helme! I could see he was hurt, but nothing serious. Mostly dazed. I stopped the truck jumped out and walked back to him. He looked up at me, picked up his bike, and was ready to finish the race. I could see that his knees and elbows were scraped up a bit. I could also see that he was fighting back tears, so I just grabbed his bike and put it in the back of the truck. Neither of us said a word.

We got in the truck and drove for a little bit. He was looking out the window as I drove. I could see his reflection off the glass. I finally broke the silence when I said “Michael, you know this is all part of growing up.” He said; “Then why does it have to hurt so much?” I didn’t answer. I looked at his reflection in the window and saw the only tear of the day coming from his eye.

From that moment on, I knew my son, Michael, was as tough as they come and he wouldn’t let the risk of injury stop him from competing. That, and he would always follow the two rules we set up.

See what fascinating and historical events happened on July 30.


Posted in July 2014