Notice anything funny? Do most chairs have a handle that flushes? No. Indeed, that is my third floor bathroom. This, is how we diehard painters will go the distance to capture that beautiful scene outside even if it means standing on your knees on the toilet for hours. I personally will climb any indoor mountain, to avoid the bugs, the critters, the bird poop, the honking cars, the people who come to observe and tell you they know where a good painting class is being offered (and you happen to be the teacher of that class), and in my case now here in Iowa, the COLD.
I was spoiled in California with the weather year round. It is a different playing field here in ol’ Dubuque, Iowa, for sure, where the wind off that mighty river down yonder, will freeze you up faster than you can say, “Bill, stop stealing that ladies flowers.” We, as diehards, have to find other means in the winter, even if it involves a toilet.
Bill, if no one buys that sweet little painting you are auctioning below this post, will you give it to me? (tip to all: that is one of Bill’s most beautiful paintings, and you are all nuts not to buy it. I would buy it, but I am hoping none of you bid on it, and he will just give it to me.)
By WR Jones
Plein Air – 8″ x 10″ – Oil on Linen Panel
This little girl is getting a head start on a life of frustration. Good luck kid.
I’m going to talk about some general handy man stuff today.
The first issue:
Keeping track of your glue. Last week I needed some super glue. I needed it to glue my broken guitar playing thumbnail. The nail broke when I fell with my bike (again). Guess the pain from the first fall didn’t register to the extent I would learn something. Now I’ve got a note taped to my handlebars reminding me to un-clip feet when stopping. Had to use tape instead of glue as I didn’t have any glue. It just occurred to me that if I’m going to stick with those biking shoes (and my wife is insisting that I do so having spent all that money on them) I ought to put those training wheels back on. Well, I take the car to Walmart to get a $7 big bottle of super glue for the thumbnail. Would have ridden the bike but now I get the shakes every time I go near it. I get home and open desk drawer to put my car keys away and notice I did have a big bottle of super glue. Ok, let’s not get started on the memory issue. I open the new glue and apply to thumbnail. All is good. The next day I need to glue the trim on my pickleball paddle. Can’t find the new bottle of glue. Fine, I have another in my desk. I use that bottle to fix paddle. Two days later my thumbnail is splitting again. I look for the glue that was in my desk. Not there. In fact not ANYWHERE. It has gone to glue heaven with the first bottle. Now I have lost $14 worth of glue in a few days. Could this sort of thing have led to that saying, “a fool and his money?” I bought a third bottle of glue. This time paying only $5 so
if when I lose it my total glue expense will be less than $20. Brilliance comes in spurts they say – after fixing my nail I glued the bottle down. Good idea eh. Well the concept was ok but not so much the execution. I glued it to my desk. If I rip it off it will leave a noticeable spot on the expensively refinished top. I’ll just dust around it. If I need it for my thumb again I will have to turn the desk over to get glue to drip out. This feels like a future disaster.
The second issue:
Plumbing – don’t do it, pay someone.
I changed to a fancy shower head this morning. The first attempt failed as the water shot out the connection onto the shower head wall and ceiling instead of coming out the expected holes. Not sure exactly what happened. I tried again. This time I planned on tightening the connection so the water could not possibly escape backwards. Well really, how was I to know a wrench could slip off like that? Gouged a small hole in wall. Not that big of deal and I didn’t spill all that much paint while touching up the wall repair. Now it sort of works. At least the back spurt doesn’t reach all the way to the ceiling. This shit is some sort of black magic, pay your local warlock to do it.
By WR Jones
DOTS - 4″ x 4″ - Oil on Gessoboard
They are helpful about taking my money. On the cover of the issue I received yesterday was a tear out postcard to subscribe. It had a year’s subscription as $23.96. Standing by the mailbox I started to remove it from the cover to put into the outgoing mail slot. Before I could finish another postcard fell out of the magazine. Picked it up – another subscription postcard – this time for $21.96. Being somewhat of a financial wizard I went with the fall out postcard. I looked in my checkbook at last year’s price – $14.95. Everyone at the magazine must have received a nice raise this year.
The candy painting goes well with my Halloween sweet tooth. If I hadn’t spent so much money on that magazine I could have more candy. Still, all is not lost. This makes for a rational reason not to share my shortened supply of sweets with a hoard of scruffy children.
By WR Jones
I saw a young black man at a grocery store today with his pants barely hanging on below the hips and 50% of his underwear showing. He made a small tug on his trousers to hike them up a bit. It did help keep him from tripping over his pant legs I suppose but that was about all. The fact that he was black doesn’t really enter into my observation except as a paragraph filler. This makes it seem I work harder at this writing business.
I looked at him wondering how he chose this particular dress style. He must have seen someone else with his ass hanging out and said to himself, “Wow, that looks cool. I want that look.” This is probably how most of us pick our dress style. I went to a western hat store last week to have my Stetson “Open Road” hat shaped to fit my head better. I bought the hat because I saw an old gentleman with the same hat and thought he looked elegant. I told the woman in the store the reason I had purchased this particular hat and could not understand how I looked like such a buffoon with it on my head. After all, I and the old gentleman were about the same age. How could he look elegant and I look like a common shithead? After reshaping the hat the woman said it looked better. I asked her if I looked elegant now. Damn I hate blunt women. As a business woman you would think she could finesse a little lie.
This painting started out as a still life of a slice of apple pie. I can’t seem to gain control of my compositions; they run amok. At one point I had a dump truck and a miniature giraffe in the foreground when my wife suggested flowers. I followed her suggestion as gospel (a little play on words and illustration) as I was hungry and wanted some dinner. Are there any drugs that will:
1. make me feel very good
2. make it so I don’t have to pee quite so often
3. clamp down on this ADD that jerks me from one subject to another before I get my paints laid out.
By wr jones
You can tell by the expression of this young lady, unless you are an idiot, that she is fed up with plastic packaging. I am too.
She is missing her left arm which was lopped off in a chain saw accident while trying to open her new toaster.
All this talk about “Green” is a huge pile of whiffledust. We keep pouring more and more plastic into the environment. I don’t really care about the coming ecological disaster, I will be gone. But someone, say around the age of 3, should be near panic. If they were smart they would write their congress person to complain. Assuming, of course, the 3 year old could remove the thick damn plastic from the new pen.
I bought some batteries the other day. Spent 30 minutes trying to get them out of the pack. Missed the show I was needing the batteries to watch. I looked high and low thru the house for an implement to cut through the very hard thick plastic package. Finally used those chicken scissors that are part of a cutlery set. Even then it was a struggle. I expect the next step in the package industry vs consumer war they will move toward a steel box welded shut to hold those paper clips you need for the office.
I can understand this vault type packaging would cut down on the shoplifting of small items. Hard to hide that watch battery entombed in a body size package you can barely get to the counter with a large cart.
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.