Justice

On my drive home from work today I saw a douche-nozzle get T-boned at an intersection in Alexandria while pulling the "I'll use the right-turn-only lane to cut ahead of everybody at the light" move. I laughed. In fact I'm still laughing. The asshole who T-boned the douche-nozzle was pulling the "I'll turn left in that few seconds before the oncoming traffic can start to move" trick. Two people pulling two of my pet traffic peeves got punished today and they both totally deserved it and nobody else was involved or even inconvenienced.


Having the privilege of witnessing this event was the highlight of my fucking week.

My child helping me recall my childhood

My daughter has taken possession of my iPhone to watch Sesame Street videos and one had a clip of this 'Mad Painter' character in it. It reminded me that this guy was my absolute favorite Sesame Street character when I was a kid. I suspect it's because of the subversive nature of the character. I looked the actor up on the Internets and was saddened to learn he died in 2008.

Watching my daughter grow and develop her personality I find myself recalling memories from my own childhood that I have not thought of in years and years.  I see her engaging in behaviors that tickle memories of my younger self doing the same when I was tiny. 

Ow

 I made four more arrowheads today and yesterday.  My hands are raw with micro cuts from the glass and my fingers are sore to the bone from the immense pressure required to do the fine flaking. I need to give myself a rest now.

Once I started it was like I was starved from not engaging in creative pursuits for the past few years.  I still want to go back out there and make some more.  I can't, I simply don't have the strength left in my fingers.

Still got it

I apparently still have my flintknapping skills.  I made a 1.5” arrowhead from scratch (i.e. a raw chip) this afternoon for the first time in almost four years.  My grandfather had a stash of them I made for him and my grandmother when I was in high school but apparently he has been giving them away or selling them to gullible tourists.  He asked if I had any more last time we talked on the phone.  I finally got around to digging out my toolbox where I keep my collection of authentic stone age style tools and the points I have in various stages of completion.  I mailed him the finished and near finished points I had at the start of the week.

Looking through my tools got me thinking about why I had stopped flintknapping.  I traced it back to my sister’s death.  The last point I made was in Canehill in the weeks before her suicide.  It was a pink glass point as well.  I made it and left it on the kitchen table and I had thought I had lost it for a while.  I found it on my sister’s knickknack shelf in her bedroom after.  I just haven’t been able to talk myself in to picking up my hammer stone and my antler tines since.  I convinced myself it was because I had warn out my leather hand protector used to keep from driving shards into my palm while pressure flaking the edge of a point.  In reality it was just an excuse. 

After I mailed my grandfather the points from my tool box I went online and found a Tandy’s Leather Goods and ordered a bag of leather scraps.  They arrived this afternoon and I spent an hour on the back deck flaking away at a piece of glass.  It was real satisfying to see that familiar shape taking over that piece of glass.  It brought back a lot of memories.

Photographs

I have been working my way through my archive of photographs from the past nine years and appending metadata with locations and keywords.  My goal is to make my collection more easily searchable and to encode some kind of information with the photos for anyone who looks at them without me.  So far I have only gotten to 2006.  I have tens of thousands of photographs.  At least when I get up past 2009 it will speed up as I haven’t been taking photos in recent years.  I’ve been too busy making a living.  It’s kind of sad I have to give up something I love doing but could never make a dime from to do something I hate but that pays my mortgage.  Life is fucked up.

In going through the 2006 photos I found myself having mild anxiety attacks.  I didn’t realize what was causing it until I got to the end of June 2006 and started seeing photographs of my baby sister Miriam.  We took a trip to Seattle Washington that year to visit our sister Rachael and her husband.  It was really a trip for Miriam to visit Rachael but I was asked to tag along ( I suspect mostly because I was Miriam’s ride to and from the airport).  We went to the Japanese gardens and to a state park while we were there.  Seeing her ghost in those photos brought all the emotions back up to the surface, still as strong as they were in February of 2007 when she killed herself.

My anxiety was caused by the shallow subconscious knowledge that I was going to start seeing her in photographs and with each month I worked through I was coming closer to the end.  To this day I do not understand her actions and I know I never will.  I wrote all my thoughts and feeling down at the time in a black book that hasn’t been opened since.  I poured out all the sorrow and confusion and asked all my questions over and over on the pages of that book.  I know I’ll never get any answers but putting the questions on paper allowed me to stop tormenting myself with them.

Every once in a while in moments of weakness or darkness I find myself imagining I can talk to her.  If I allow this self-indulgence  in my imaginings I will try to talk her out of killing herself.  Sometimes I imagine I rushed out to Canehill after I spoke with her that night and in my imagination I arrive in time to talk her out of her final act.  Or I play “what if” games where I didn’t go to that damned super bowl party and stayed in Canehill that night instead of leaving her alone in that cabin, in the dark Arkansas woods, with that loaded gun.  Other times I have a conversation with the phantom she left in my memory trying in vain to wheedle out some glimmer of understanding of her motives.  All this serves no purpose and I try to avoid such activity when I catch myself at it.

In the end I will never understand.

Leave your shoes at the door please.

The urinals in a typical public toilet for men are a nice little example of a positive feedback phenomenon.  Let’s take the toilet in the morning fresh from the janitor’s grudging mop strokes.  The first patron of the facility will walk boldly up the porcelain receptacle hanging on the tiled wall proceed to relieve himself.  In the process he will drip a single drop of urine on the floor under the urinal.  The next man to use the facilities will see that single drop of piss on the floor and stand a full step back from the urinal to ensure he doesn’t step in another man’s pee.  The result of this precautionary measure on the part of the second man will be more urine on the floor under and around the urinal.

This process will repeat itself throughout the day until patrons of the toilet will be found with their backs against the wall opposite the urinals attempting to reach the target via indirect fire arced over the glistening Urine Sea that now separates them from the equipment on the wall of the facility. 

So, please, take your shoes off at the door.

The deep-red lettuce growing in my garden.