By W. R. Jones
I don’t get what the fuss is about performance enhancing drugs. Those athletes are doomed to train-wreck bodies anyway. Do you really give a shit what drugs they take? If you do simply because they may influence your little Johnny or Mary to imitate their heroes, then you should start a parents against ball players chewing tobacco and scratching their nuts on TV group. I may join that one myself.
If they had painting enhancing drugs I would take them in a pair of seconds. I’ve Googled every possible combo looking for such a thing. If fact I’m surprised they don’t have at least a high cost placebo. Look at all the ads suggesting 98% of men have limp peckers. We must have an equally high of percentage of us that don’t paint all that well. We need a drug promising excellent painting results in 90 days; accompanied by TV promos showing suck work before and pieces of great beauty hanging in the Louvre with the painter speaking fluent French (when before the drug they spoke a lower form of Eubonics).
I’ve tried alcohol (more than a few times) all with the same result. It seems the painting is going swimmingly but the next thing I know I’m waking on the bed with paint loaded brush still in my hand now resting on the pillow next to me. So far I’ve been lucky in that the brush has always landed on my wife’s pillow. She will have to check her hair in the morning light for undesired highlights.
By W.R. Jones
This may be one of my last paintings with any green in it, we are moved to the desert now. The new house is still a mess of flooring and bath changes, painting, etc. I do have a prospective painting area with good north light which will expand the hours I can paint. Not that I expect to use the extra hours. I’m too attached to my habit of pissing away time of any value.
I’m operating at a estimated 1.7% efficiency. If it weren’t for my nanosecond attention span I expect I could get a lot of shit done.
Got milk from fridge for coffee. Pick up scrap of paper on floor on way to coffee cup. Start for garbage can in garage to toss scrap. Open garage door and see golf cart. This reminds me to connect it for a charge. Then I look out the door and see mail box across street. Reminds me to pick up mail. Go in house to get key. I get key then have to pee. Go to bathroom, leave both key and scrap. Did remember to pee so not all of my memory has been damaged. Walk across street to mailbox. Damn where is the key? Oh ya, left it by the coffee cup. Nope, DAMN IT, my wife has put the keys in some obscure spot AGAIN. I’ve told her a thousand times to put it in the drawer by the door but nooo she can’t remember that simple act. If she weren’t visiting the neighbor I’d kick the slats out of her. Now what was I doing? Oh ya I left that scrap of paper by the toilet. I will get that taken care of right now. Hmmn that’s strange what are the mail box keys doing here? Oh well, I’ll get the mail. Well nuts, there is too much mail for me to carry with this milk carton in my hand. I better return it to the frig before it goes bad……
Thirty minutes later … phooey my coffee’s cold, I’ll heat it in the microwave and while it’s heating I’ll get some milk from the frig. Don’t understand why my wife doesn’t think I can multitask.
By wr jones
We are in limbo in a move to AZ. Most of belongings and all furniture are gone. Only us left, sleeping on floor feeling age every time we creak up. I decided to do some small studies for future larger pieces. Most of my oil paints were packed and shipped so I would do watercolors. Christ!! I forgot how unforgiving watercolor is. You must think and plan for a successful watercolor; neither of which I do well. I don’t know where I’m going during a painting much less beforehand. And when I’m done I don’t know where I’ve been thus preventing me from learning for future work.
I had a new plastic palette which I didn’t prepare. The water would bead up so tightly I couldn’t get it to mix. The brush would soak up all the color at once and palette would be stark white. I remembered having this problem years ago but could not remember why. Screw it, I went back to oil. Painted directly over the watercolor. Paper is not my favorite painting surface but it was all I had not counting the walls of the sold house.
Ok, enough about painting let’s get to my real rant:
I called Shell to give them a change of address. Then I thought why not do paperless via email, where a change of address would not matter. A male service rep told me they did not have my full social security or my birth date. Note that I did give him the last 4 of social, address, and card number to verify identity at start of call. He took my new info and said he had to verify it. 15 minutes go by on hold, then phone call drops. I call back and get a female rep. Repeat the info and she say she has to verify and leaves me hanging for 10 minutes. When she came back I ask what the devil took so long. She said she was talking to her supervisor and they need for me to send a photocopy of my social security card and my driver’s license via land mail. I responded – Fuck you close the account! (on the inside) What came out was, “please close the account now, and do you realize I have had that card and used and paid it every month for 40 YEARS.” I’m astounded at the greed for information that is not relevant for a business agreement. I’ve never had any company ask for photocopy of social and driver’s license. What the hell is wrong with these people? I felt like I was on a phishing call.
By W.R. Jones
Whoa, I have not posted in a long time! I must paint faster in the future.
Thank you all for your supportive words. They are appreciated.
This country woman looks sort of lonely to me. She is waiting for rain, her lawn is a little scruffy and she has a radish patch out back that is dry. I probably would be lonely too. painting all by myself, but I have my companion, Mango.
While I paint Mango surfs the net – “Looking for fine bitches”, he tells me. When I told him to watch his language, he replied, “Get a dictionary grandpa. Oh, never mind, you are too old and I’m busy skyping this little beauty.”
I’ve got to get back to painting now. If I can finish another one this year that will be two, and in a row mind you.
By W.R. Jones
Given the infantile musings of my mind, I know exactly the thoughts racing through this toddler’s head. He is calculating the odds that he will have to let go his beloved doll to throttle that chicken.
On another note, did you ever try to back out of the garage without first opening the door? Doesn’t work well. Outside of perusing the Merck Manual to stoke my raging hypochondria, I don’t have any formal medical training, but my “man on the street” gut feel is this lapse does not speak well for my mental health.
The good news is the remaining brain cells are still capable of working as a team to scheme our way out of the expected coming spousal brow beating in the offering.
1. Vandals – most likely those kids I strong armed to get their Halloween candy bags last year.
2. A self healing gas line explosion from inside the garage that blew the door out.
3. An international ring of car thieves wanting my van with 260,000 miles to sell in Mexico. They forgot to open door first, panicked, and ran.
If you have any more plausible
explanations stories lies, we could perhaps discuss a fee structure agreeable to us both.
By WR Jones
I fondly remember the days of my youth when I could eat like a horse. I recall having a plate of pork fat fried potatoes, coffee, a donut, and a cigarette with my thoughts focused on the moment’s pleasure not the near future horrible death awaiting. The only knowledge we had of calories back then was how many it took to boil a cup of mayonnaise I think. Modern medical thinking has put a damper on any sort of oral enjoyment.
I got this iPhone GPS app to track pace, distance, calories burned, and the way back home. I was expecting it to make me feel better about my Sunday walk to get oatmeal. Expectation is the mother of disappointment my daughter tells me. She is right. I totally pissed away my $0.99 on that app.
What I found was that in 2.5 miles I burned 98 Cal. I had to walk my ass off to break even with a McDonald’s oatmeal and cup of coffee with Splenda. I’ve been craving some pork ribs and a 1/2 loaf of onion rings. I’ve got to end this post and get started walking. I figure I will have to walk across California and look for a ribs place in Tucson, AZ to break even on that calorie load.
By WR Jones
This scene is a Virgina farm my sister and I drove by while looking for something to paint. Ok, enough about painting. Here is my latest ongoing aggravation -
I’m watching TV and on comes this loudmouth salesman pushing plastic tape to fix stuff. Fix a leaky faucet, the garden hose, your spouse’s mouth, etc. If you want to sell stuff, fine. The part that pisses me off is the pitch, “3 Rolls of this miracle tape for the give away price of $10″ (leaving the poor sacrificing fools only $9.85 profit margin). Ok, if you want to screw your fellow man and he is willing to take the hit, fine by me. HOWEVER, don’t further my already rampant annoyance by telling me if I will only act now, in the next few seconds, before this chance of a lifetimes slips by me forever, you will throw in another 3 rolls for FREE!!! all I have to pay is for the extra shipping AND handling.
Here is my question, if you are dipping into the bin to get 3 rolls of tape and you have to get 3 more, how much extra handling is that exactly? Call me paranoid but, I’m thinking the payment for EXTRA handling actually pays for the tape + profit + shipping + taxes + lunch + screw the sucker fees.
Still, I like the sales concept. I will sell you this painting for the low low price of $500 + shipping and handling. If you call me in the next few minutes (no wait, make that the next few months) I will throw in another previously sold painting for FREE, just pay the shipping, repo, and fondling fees.