Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Graffiti Blunder

When you practice something regularly, you improve. However, it's just as true that the more you do something, the more likely you are to slip up at some point or another. Lately I've been working a lot with the graffiti application for Facebook. I've really enjoyed discovering the nuances of the tools and figuring out it's strengths and weaknesses. It's a unique medium - like a digital mesh between acrylics and watercolors.

Tonight, however, as I was merrily drawing some delicious cookies, I happened to miss the top part of the drawing entirely. I must have scrolled down on the browser, or perhaps in the actual graffiti application. For some reason I didn't even notice that I had left the top portion of the drawing unfinished. Well, upon completing the task, I clicked on the "done" button and waited patiently for the final product to appear on the page. When I saw it pop up, with it's obvious scar, I didn't get mad... I just sighed with disappointment at the error I had made.

It's always really hard to see a blatant error like that when you think the finished product is so well made. There was a moment, before I realized my blunder, when that sense of deep satisfaction set in. Such satisfaction felt as warm and delicious as the cookies I had drawn looked. But then, in a small moment, that satisfaction was torn from my heart like a cookie from the small, eager hands of a child. I felt much as if I had just sculpted the Venus di Milo and then realized that her arms were missing. "Aye mama mia!!! Mi Venus di Milo hassa no armsos!" Yes. That's real Italian. Don't even reach for that translator.

Anyway, it's not a real big deal. It's just disappointing. I'll draw more graffiti and life will go on. After all, there are worse mistakes to be made, and if some messed up graffiti is the worse part of my day, I'd say I had a pretty good day.

And who knows... maybe there's some art dealer out there looking for an incomplete drawing of a cookie :)


Friday, January 25, 2008

The dreaded late night man....

He comes around every once in awhile and insists on playing Guitar Hero III till the wee hours of the morning, and then ignores all pleas for sleep to write a note. Can you believe the nerve? He cooks a sandwich at midnight, knowing full well that it wont bode well with his stomache, and laughs in the face of indigestion.

Nobody really knows where he comes from nor where he goes after making an appearance. He mostly shows up on weekends, but on occasion he'll barge in on a weekday, disrupting the balance between work, sleep, eat, and play. The ramifications of said disruption aren't usually anything more serious than sleep deprivation, but still - late night man should know better.

There was this one time, when he decided it would be a good idea to stay up all night, just for the heck of it, to see what pulling an "all-nighter" would be like. Yeah, it was a dumb idea, and only resulted in an anvil-in-your-face caliber crash at approximately 3:00pm the next day. Instantaneously. No energy. And to top it all off, the next time late night man came around he didn't seem to care about that. He didn't give it a second thought! He wanted to play.

Another thing I've noticed about late night man - for some strange reason his creative faculties seem to be at an unusually high level when his brain is starved for rest. I assume that this is why he insists on writing notes when most people are counting sheep. Maybe it makes for better writing. Maybe late night man is on to something that I haven't picked up on. I need to credit him for that.

But wait...! He's leaving now! Ha! He's gone! And I must go to bed.



Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Utility Scare

As I sauntered into the apartment today from a long and arduous day of flash developing, I noticed my roommates huddled together on the couch, examining a small slip of paper. "What's that?" I asked nonchalantly. Scott smiled quietly and handed over the cream colored token, which bore the awful black words, "Provo City Utility." They were written, fittingly, in a foreboding black font reminiscent of the lettering you might see on a cemetery sign.

I turned the paper over to see what this was all about, and read something along the lines of this: "Due to your failure to pay the utilities, we have shut off your water and electricity. We thus invite you to enjoy the quality of life endured by renaissance peasants throughout the (dark) ages. May the Gods smile upon you and your stinky clothes as you refrain from showering, brushing your teeth, cooking, using the bathroom, using your computer, reading, watching tv, and being warm. Said conveniences of modern civilization may be returned to you upon full payment* of your most heinous debt to Provo City. We, in the meantime, will be busy counting our piles of dirty cash.

(*When money is not available for payment, we extend the gracious opportunity to pay with an arm and/or a leg.)

My roommates and I immediately, and in unison, instinctively drew in our hands and legs to assume the fetal position, reflecting on our horrible fate. In a moment of quiet rage, I mumbled, "Those pigs can take my arms when they pry them from my cold, dead hands" I soon realized the error in my logic and began to weep uncontrollably.

The problem here, folks, is that our utilities are included in our rent. Every month we fork over our hard earned cash, with the hope that management will comply with their end of the contract and provide us with the basic necessities for life - electricity, water, shelter, internet and satellite tv. Love - also a basic necessity - is included only in the premium package, which I could not afford.

We called many, many times and left a plethora of angry messages on the voice mail of our property managers. Hours passed, and the temperature of our apartment dropped considerably. The sun sank below the bleak winter horizon and we were left to die (practically) in a fog of pitch black winter cold. Soon, though, our cries for mercy were heard and our utilities were once again restored. Our arms and legs would be spared, and the warm, peaceful hum of our laptop and desktop computers would once again fill the otherwise cold, empty rooms of our residence. Hooray.