50yearplan

Keg Security

I directed some very talented people.

2 comments | August 20th, 2010

Game Night: Pictionary

Sometimes good games go bad.

Starring Chris Masterson, Arielle Vandenberg, Ginger Gonzaga and me.

Shot by Adam Dubowsky. Written, directed and edited by me.

4 comments | August 16th, 2010

Life and Death and Wyoming Natives

When I feel like it I’ve been writing a series of essays on the years I lived and went to school in Wyoming. This is one of the essays.

Cowboys are not rednecks. I learned that from Shane. They seem like they should be in the same category: they both talk with a twang, both live out in the country, both drive enormous pickups. But there’s a major difference, and to me it signifies many more: Neckerchiefs.
If you ever see someone in a cowboy hat and boots and Wranglers and spurs and all that, but they don’t have neckerchief, you are looking at an imposter. A kid dressed up for Halloween. An ambitious redneck. A dandy.
What impressed this upon me was the only time I saw Shane without one. It felt almost disrespectful being in the same room, like seeing my mom without makeup. You feel like you should just bow your head and walk backwards out of the room, muttering, “I’ll let you be.” But it was spectacular. Here was a man who had never, and I’m going to go ahead and say ever, been in the sun without that thing wrapped around his neck. It was white underneath. White white. The line between the always-covered section of neck and the turned-leather swath was sharp, like the stripes on the American flag. Ever since, I’ve drawn the connection: Shane was a man, Shane was a man of the Earth, Shane was a cowboy. Hence, Shane wore a neckerchief.
* * * *
Shane walked up to me, I assume guided by the hand of fate, and asked if I wanted to join him trapping. OF COURSE I WOULD. That afternoon found me in Shane’s pickup, headed down the highway. We turned off onto a dirt path and onto another, crossing the cattle guards and stopping every so often to let ourselves through wire gates.
Although I had lived there for years, I didn’t recognize this part of the land. Fall was ending and snow was beginning to dust the hills we crested. The path would lead down into the slight valleys, where we would rev the engine and drive through the shallow creek and onto the next hill. I was smiling, but kept glancing over at Shane. I regretted my baggy city jeans and my stupid sneakers. So dumb. And my lame jacket. Man, Shane looked so cool in his Carhart. What was that stain there? Was that blood? Awesome. Awesome. My jacket had mustard on it. I reached up and felt my bare neck. Shameful.
We stopped next to a stream and got out. I followed Shane to a thicket of branches next to the water, not sure what to do with myself. He felt around for something, a chain that led to the water. He gave it a tough pull, and out came a metal trap. Inside of its rusted teeth was a lump of wet fur. “Muskrat,” he said.
“Muskrat,” I replied. What the hell is a muskrat, I wondered. He opened the trap, carefully reset it down in the water, then stood, gently holding and examining the animal. It looked like a big rat. A big wet dead rat.
“Is this all you trap?”
“You’ll see.”

*TO READ THE REST, CLICK ON THIS POST’S TITLE*

Continue Reading 1 comment | August 16th, 2010

Friend Like You

2 comments | August 8th, 2010

So Be It

2 comments | August 2nd, 2010

Layovers

1 comment | July 29th, 2010

Doodles

I went through some notebooks and sketchpads and cut out the idle doodles I really don’t know I’m making and assembled them together….

1 comment | July 29th, 2010

The Flyer Guy

5 comments | July 27th, 2010

Going down the rabbit hole

I’m sure this will be a huge internet meme in three days, but wow. Wow. Basil Marceaux.

First, I watched this video.

Yessir, that’s a man with vision. Then I did some research and found his site really backs it up, basilmarceaux.com. Yep, everything seems to be in order. Not a single crazy notion! Perfect website design!

BUT WAIT! What’s this? His SON is running for something too?! basilmarceauxjr.com! And he’s just as crazy? Outstanding! A father/son team cleaning up Washington. Or wherever.

But don’t let me sway you. Just watch Basil say what he means, not in tiny sound bites from the liberal news channel, but in his own words in lengthy 7-minute videos. By which I mean he doesn’t say a single word. ENJOY and I’ll see you at the polling booth!

www.youtube.com/basilmarceaux

6 comments | July 22nd, 2010

Tough Guys

1 comment | July 12th, 2010

Fairytail Romance

3 comments | July 9th, 2010

Photoshoppin’

Some before and after’s of some pics Joe and I took of each other. Pretty fun.

1 comment | July 6th, 2010

President #22 Do-Over

I’ve found myself occasionally wondering what my final words will be. It’s an important quote, letting history sum up your life and beliefs in one soundbite, and thus deserves a bit of forethought, lest you say something terribly ironic or crass. Most likely, though, we’ll have brief flash of insight into our personal doom and manage to only get out a useless “Oh geez”.

President William McKinley had six days.

Just before a disillusioned man wrapped a gun in his handkerchief and stood in line to enter the Temple of Music and murder the President, an aide had begged McKinley to be more careful with his security. “Why should I?” McKinley replied. “Who would want to hurt me?” See? If he would have died right away, that would have been just a totally funny and awesome last quote, showing his bravado and foolishness. Except he didn’t die.

After the assassin shot him twice in the gut, McKinley slumped down, his suit turning red. “Be careful how you tell my wife.” Now THAT’S a great quote. Caring about your wife’s emotions in your final breath? Romantic. Much better. But he didn’t die.

When the President saw his attacker being violently beaten by his guards, he begged, “Don’t let them hurt him!” Great call. Very Christ-like, loving your enemies like that. Except he wasn’t nearly dead.

The next day, after awakening from his surgery, McKinley felt much better. “How did they like my speech?,” he asked. Throw in a little humor into your last words. Well played. He was strong even through the end, they’d say. But it wasn’t the end. In fact, he kept getting better, which had to bring a mix of emotions to the vice-president.

Four days after the shooting, the President ate a little egg and toast, which didn’t sit well with the gangrene and infection nobody knew he had. I’m assuming he said something about his gross bodily functions. Luckily, no one wrote that down.

Six days after an anarchist shot him down in Buffalo, William McKinley was at last about to die. He gathered his doctors. “It is useless, gentlemen. I think we ought to have prayer.” Classy move, Will. A bit of a slam on your doctors, but hey, you’re about to die so I think you get that privilege. But he wasn’t done yapping.

As he slipped into his final sleep, the President pulled the old classic move and sang a hymn. Nearer My God to Thee. Very smooth, resting in your faith like that. Singing a song like that for your last words not only is soothing for yourself, but also gives hope and comfort to your loved ones standing nearby. Some would want a little more patriotism out of their president, like maybe Battle Hymn of the Republic. But I like it. All in all, not a bad one to land on.

The only thing that can go wrong at that point is someone nearby saying something even cooler. A Senator friend got all emotional and yelled out, ”Mr. President, can’t you hear me? William! Don’t you know me?” Geez. Way to say something powerful and really steal the thunder. Now people remember that instead. What a bitch.

Acrylic on oval canvas. 20″x16″

1 comment | July 5th, 2010

A Typical Walk With Joe

2 comments | June 30th, 2010

Helium Missionaries: A short story

I was staring out the window in the office I shared with Nate. He had covered the window on his side with cardboard. He said it was too distracting, but I had pushed my desk towards the window on my side. I liked the distraction. He wasn’t in that morning, so I closed the door and sat by myself and stared outside. This was back before they asked me to stop working there, back when I still wanted to.

Somewhere down below a funeral had just finished. There was a church crammed into the office complex, unable to build the building they really wanted off by the interstate. As I watched the mourners wandering the parking lot, attempting to grieve among the squat buildings and corporate logos, I wondered how I would feel about having my funeral in an office park. I hoped I’d get something grander, but dead beggars can’t be choosers.

I couldn’t see the people very well, but I saw their balloons. They rose past my window, red and yellow and blue and green, set against the grey sky. I yelled down my hallway and Aaron answered back: A man had died and as a final request asked each person to set a balloon loose to the wind, small envelopes attached to the ribbon, helium missionaries spreading their gospel. I was listening to a particular soundtrack which had the power of making any moment meaningful, but combined with the colors rising in front of me and the sudden thoughts of life and death, it made this moment especially wondrous.

(CLICK THE POST’S TITLE TO FINISH READING)

Continue Reading 12 comments | June 30th, 2010