After the most recent Super Bowl, I read an article that estimated it cost employers $1 billion in lost productivity on the Monday afterward — a mix of people calling in sick, showing up late and spending time discussing the top commercials (46 percent), the halftime show (12 percent), and the game play and strategy…
Because we are a democracy. Muslims are using protest signs as prayer rugs.
Original Photo by Gage Skidmore, used under Creative Commons license. Click on the photo for original.Two weeks since election day. Let’s get to it. Again, in the format of a Q and A, as this piece will contain questions I have been asked by others. Ready? Let’s begin. Fucking Nazis, man! That’s not really a…
Fuckin’ Nazis, man.
I think I’m getting the hang of drawing stairs. I’ve been playing around with doors that are either open or closed, although at this point you can’t really tell which direction. Is the door open? Is it closed? Go upstairs if you dare and find out!
At this point I’m doing a combination of reading books, watching videos and then just winging it, as in “what will happen if I do this?” I am getting better, although I’m still a pretty miserable scrawler.
A woman at the art supply store asked me why I was trying to teach myself to draw and I told her that I write fiction, with fully developed characters and environments in my head. I want to see what those characters and places look like on paper. I want to see them, not just imagine them. I realize it’s also just something new and interesting, a skill that will take time to master, as did my writing and my musical instruments. And, my left brain really needs a break.
So, when I feel like it I color and, in the process, learn about wet and dry media, psychology and color pencil blending techniques. It’s fun, on one level and a difficult challenge on the other. I want to to draw the lines and then color them in. So, with graphite, charcoal, markers and lots of colored pencils I am venturing forth into the visual world.
“You look like you’re saving the world. Are you saving the world?”
I looked up from my notebook into the face of a tipsy, friendly woman, glammed up for her night out. We were in the narrow aisle of our local pizza joint. She’d shared a quick snack with her friend, and my sandwich and soda were half-finished. Writing here has become a Friday night tradition: When I wrap up my shift at the bookstore, I head here to eat, read and sketch out last-minute ideas for my reading lists.
If she knew what I was reading, she wouldn’t ask me that. “No!” I laughed. “I wish.”
“Well, good luck with it, whatever you’re doing,” she said. I thanked her. She left with her friend.
I was reading—am reading—about guns. About their magnetism, their effect, their handlers. About the people caught in the literal crossfire, the innocent and the marginalized.
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