Qwitch Ur Bloggin

Without Sound

2006-02-02T10:59:00.000-08:00

For anyone who may have stumbled upon this site looking for short music postings or other miscellaneous shtuff, we've moved all that fun over to our new site WithoutSound. The new site will play host to a (roughly) daily filtering of the best music and web ephemera out there. We'd like to use the new site to trade with you ideas for things to listen to, watch, read, or generally waste time with. So head over to WithoutSound.com, check out our musings and please offer up any ideas you have for wasting time. Word.

Leeroy Stagger

2006-01-30T10:24:00.000-08:00

How queer is it that the day before I was planning to post a couple of tracks from Leeroy Stagger, the ABC show Grey's Anatomy plays his song Just in Case over the closing minutes of the show? This show has definitely gone up a notch in my interest. Not that it's a bad show. It's a much more interesting primetime soap than ER ever was, if only because it deals with emotions more significantly than your average young doctors in love melodrama. Including good independent music in the score is quite the bonus. Well, good onya Grey's Anatomy. Go forth and become ABC's Gilmore Girls. Please?

Anyhoo, back to Leeroy. My notes from last week, coincidentally enough, suggest that Just in Case would be a great theme song for a TV show, like if Ed was back on the air and still changing the opening theme each season. It's a warm and welcoming song. A great opening for his most recent album Beautiful House. My wife and I were listening to the title track over the weekend while we ran errands. While walking around Target, Keleigh kept singing It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine) and I could see how she had connected Beautiful House to the REM song. I particularly like the mistake at the end of the song. Leeroy's harmonizing with himself singing the chorus This is our house, beautiful house when one of his voices accidentally begins to repeat the chorus before remembering that the song is over. By leaving the mistake in the recording, the song comes across as even more endearing. It's a wink, like it's a private joke that you and I get to share with Lee (which is what I imagine he'd let us call him). Thanks, Lee. ;)

Leeroy Stagger -- Just in Case Leeroy Stagger -- Beautiful House

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Onitsuka Tiger National Choir

2006-01-27T10:42:00.000-08:00

Could this be the Japanese Polyphonic Spree? Robes? Check. Effervescent glee? Check. Hippie idealism? Um... I pause because the Onitsuka Tiger National Choir is really just an advertising gimmick to sell Onitsuka Tiger Injector DX soccer shoes. But still, the choir is made up of Onitsuka Tiger employees and that's gotta stand for something. Plus, if you want, you can sing along with "Lovely Football" and win yerself some new kicks. See Performance. See, see performance. S-E-E-P-E-R-F-O-R-M-A-N-C-E. Download the mp3.

Flotation Toy Warning

2006-01-26T14:31:00.000-08:00

Flotation Toy Warning's debut album Bluffer's Guide to the Flight Deck came out in September of last year. (Yeah, so I’m a little slow; I’ll probably post older songs to this site at some point; anyway...) The British quintet seems like yet another indie band waving their freak flag high. On their website bio, they eschew any connection with the real world claiming to have no influences and an esoteric desire to impact the world. But who really reads these things for the truth. It’s rather common for bands to make up shit for their bios. But, wait. Don’t write these guys off. Their music sounds really cool. Popstar Reaching Oblivion incorporates organ and outer-space muppet voices in such a way that it sounds like the church organist has her sheet music turned upside-down. And Happy 13 sounds like Beck and Pink Floyd together. At last. So whip your geek out of your pants and have a little fun. Flotation Toy Warning - Popstar Reaching Oblivion Flotation Toy Warning - Happy 13

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The Southland

2006-01-18T11:09:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure where I find out about most music. Okay, it's usually from blogs, KCRW, links from other artist's websites, labels, etc., but I don't ever remember where I hear about particular bands. Typically I write down a list of bands to research, I look for MP3s that the bands are willing to share for free, and I make a mix of enough songs to fit on a CD (I don't yet have an MP3 player). Then I listen to the mix at work noting which songs appeal to me enough that I want to hear more. Anyway, recently I downloaded a couple of tracks from a Los Angeles band appropriately called the Southland. After a few listens, the two tracks I had downloaded (Debris and Shadow) had wiggled their way far enough into my brain that I had to have the full CD. I found a copy of their debut Influence of Geography at Amoeba this weekend and have listened to it over the past few days with rather mixed results. At first, the tracks I had originally enjoyed were still enjoyable, but the rest of the album made me cringe. It reminded me of Phil Collins or Sting: sincere rock. Indie rock shouldn't be sincere. Should it? After a couple more listens, though, I've realized that the album deserves more credit. Most of the album is sincere, it's true, but it's the kind of rock from the 80s that you turn up when the Jack plays it. However, a quarter of the album sounds like the kind of dreck your favorite 80s band put out when they changed formats. Like Elton John when he came out of the closet, or Billy Joel when he wasn't depressed or angry anymore, or Hall & Oates when they tried to make disco music. I like most of the album. It occasionally reminds me of Neil Finn, and there's a fantastic cover of the old standard I Only Have Eyes For You that makes me wish they did more covers. But I'm torn, since I hate the tracks Radio, Good Grief, and Shining Sun, a track which reminds me of the soul-deadening Jack Johnson. Ah well, judge for yourself and let me know what you think: The Southland - Debris The Southland - Radio

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Trivia note: the lead singer Jed Whedon is (Buffy and Felicity creator) Joss's brother

Bus Stop

2006-01-18T08:19:00.000-08:00

Bus Stop, originally uploaded by biehlanphear.

Lamp at my bus stop 8:18am

Night Light

2006-01-17T18:36:00.000-08:00

Night Light, originally uploaded by biehlanphear.

On Los Feliz Boulevard at 6:33pm

Swedish Delight

2006-01-16T13:29:00.000-08:00

Sweden has put out some great, reliable, and, yes, often twee, pop music. And for some reason (accessibility?), most bands sing in English better than even the Dutch. Over the past 5 years, some of my favorite artists have come out of the land of the frozen bikini: David & the Citizens, Lasse Lindh, and Edson. I guess Edson, which was named for Pele's birth name, is no longer a band? But Pelle Carlberg, the lead singer of Edson, is still recording. Everything. Now! was released in November on Swedish label Labrador and the single Riverbank is worth plugging into your dap if only to help you wake up. Pelle Carlberg - Riverbank Fellow labelmates Suburban Kids with Biblical Names (a moniker so dorky how could you not love them) are more often pop-oriented than Pelle, and as their name suggests, they're more interested in finding music from artier sources. The duo claims to record in the hallways of their parents' homes. They remind me of a lisping fusion of Talking Heads and Erasure. You can't really go wrong there, can you? Decide for yourself: Suburban Kids with Biblical Names - Funeral Face

Thank you note

2006-01-14T17:21:00.000-08:00

Thank you note
Originally uploaded by biehlanphear.

I saw this sign on Colorado Boulevard in Eagle Rock, across from the post office. This is actually the best way to tell a cop he's doing a great job.

What Happened to All The Ming Vases?

2005-03-30T12:51:00.000-08:00

There used to be so many of them, at least on TV. Arnold Jackson couldn't go anywhere without knocking ancient pottery to the ground. Tom would inevitably get stuck in one while chasing Jerry and he'd be vase-shaped for at least the length of a good double-take. All of the Stooges used Ming vases as weapons at some point in their careers. There was a time when you knew that if a rich old lady came on the screen, she would soon get hysterical and scream "MY PRICELESS MING VASE!" before withering to the floor. So what happened? There was a period of my life when I got real nervous if I saw a cartoon character juggling a Ming vase. Those are way too expensive for that anthropomorphized animal to be handling so recklessly, I thought while chewing my nails to the quick. I figured that Ming vases must be extremely rare. But eventually, I came to believe that these vases aren't as priceless as the rich old ladies had me believing. How could they be? Everyone owns one. My own parents probably had one in the attic. There must have been a factory churning out these fragile ceramics. I don't see Ming vases anywhere anymore. Did all those clumsy characters break the entire publicly known collection? Am I just watching the wrong cartoons? Did the factory close? Did Ming have to close up shop when Flash and Dale came a-knockin'? Ming vases? If you can hear me, I miss your delicate, constantly underfoot ways.

The 20-Minute Man

2005-03-29T12:10:00.000-08:00

I have found it quite difficult to focus on any discussion topic for more than 20 minutes. This isn’t a new thing; however this is a new discovery. A couple of weekends ago, I was talking with my good friend Korbot and another friend at a coffee shop. This other friend is quite taken with discussions of superficial media theory – so taken that he may have been kidnapped as far as I can tell. A few of his favorite topics include How Comedy Works and When Comedy Fails and he can wax pseudo-philosophical about them for hours on end. Feeling bold that lazy afternoon, Korbot and I launched into one of these discussions. I fared well for the opening stages. My interest was mildly attuned to why Arrested Development is so damned funny. But after twenty minutes, I faded. My attention turned more toward the frigidity of my coffee and the itchiness of my eyeball. Korbot stayed in there, even listening to a better-than-Novocaine recap of a not-so-recent South Park episode. For a full hour longer, I swirled my old coffee round in round to see how high I could get it without spilling any, I clenched and unclenched my butt cheeks to find a comfortable position on the couch, and I even practiced staring straight through this other friend while trying to convince him of my attention, but I never absorbed another portion of the conversation. Korbot and I finally left and I expressed to him a disinterest in ever having another dialogue about TV shows. Later, I reflected on this disinterest and realized it just wasn’t true. I like talking about TV shows, and movies, and comedy, and I like discussing different theories as to why some work and some don’t. So what was my problem? The next day I worked on a children’s story that I’ve been trying to finish for a few weeks. I thought about how I could end the story and what kind of structure would best suit the narrative, and then I thought about cartoons. And I thought about my fiancée. And then I remembered that I needed to finish my children’s story. I tried to focus more intently on the last act of the story, but then I thought about what I’d have for dinner. And I thought about Star Wars. And I tried to focus harder on how to finish my children’s story. That was when I realized that I can’t focus on a particular topic for very long. It wasn’t that I couldn’t talk about media theory; I couldn’t talk about anything for a continuous period of time. I lack sustained focus. Oh, man, this was a relief. I’m not as negative as I worried I was. I’m just easily distracted. Whew. Though this poses many problems, I can’t focus too intently on what any of them might be. How lucky. However, I’m trying to be a better writer, or at least a more prolific one, and I realize now why I have so much trouble writing for longer than 20 minutes and I could use some advice for training this lack of attention out of me. I feel like I should acknowledge my weakness by focusing on a different piece of writing every 20 minutes or so. While writing this particular piece, I interrupted on a few occasions to answer a few emails, so this method worked today. Can it work again? Am I a merely 20-minute man? Do I need to separate everything else I do into 20-minute increments to maximize my concentration and get more done? Is it even necessary for me to get more done? Will Saturday morning cartoons ever be good again? Sorry, I just got caught up in a riveting game of FreeCell.

Call Me Ishmael (or Sam or Dude or That Guy)

2004-09-14T13:45:00.000-07:00

Names are curious attachments. I haven't seen THX 1138, yet, but from what I understand, the film takes place in the future when to be more efficient, people are coded with number and letter combinations instead of the strictly lettered names we're currently accustomed to (I believe Robert Duvall's character is named THX 1138). I don't know if it's because of my recent sighting of the movie re-release poster, or if it's because of my engagement to sweet Keleigh, but lately I've been thinking about the strictly lettered names we're currently accustomed to. Everyone takes their first name so personally. I think I have the best first name: Drew. It feels fun to say. To get it out, you have to purse your lips and hoot like an owl. Sure, it starts off hard but the rest of the pronunciation is soft and comforting. You could use my name to quiet young creatures. My life would have been so different up until now if I had been named Hank. I would definitely be more brusque and forceful if I had been so christened. And a good point is raised by such a distinction: first names give us character. The toughest aspect of naming a child must be choosing a name that will characterize a child that you'd want to live with. Obviously, my parents couldn't have lived with a Hank. I'm not sure I could either (sorry, Keleigh, if you had your heart set on that name). The sound that a name makes and the way it contorts your face when uttered can affect your life forever. Consider British novelist Evelyn Waugh. He wrote quite a few bitter yet funny satires. Surprised? Is it really all that surprising that a young Englishman who possesses a name that sounds very feminine and begins with a pretentious pronunciation of evil should become a master of caustic humor? Or how about Brigitte Bardot? Her pneumatic name with the pronounced peak in the middle is really not all that different from the buxom blond bombshell from ...And God Created Woman. But the sound is not the only consideration important to a first name. Spelling, too, can have an impact. (to be continued)

Appreciation Day

2004-09-12T15:16:00.000-07:00

Occasionally I think about when Dad used to drive me and my brother Sean to school. As he dropped us off, we’d squirm away as quick as we could to avoid the inevitable kiss to the cheek that could prove embarrassing if witnessed by any of our classmates. Now it breaks my heart to think about how our reactions must have made Dad feel. It must have been wonderful for my parents to have 4 little children that adored them so much. And then it must have been hard for my parents to be so disregarded when me and my siblings got older and learned about that useless shame that is so characteristic in teenagers. I can only imagine that they made it through that difficult period depending on their memories of those wee loving kids and perhaps guilt for the way they treated their parents. I don’t know. But it must have been humbling for my parents to have made sacrifices without getting any appreciation. I feel a lot of guilt now for that period of my life. Thinking about it reminds me of the scene in the Bible in which Peter denied his buddy Jesus 3 times. I don't know how long Peter lived after that, but I understand why he did what he did following his denial; I'd start a church to my parents now as recompense for the way I denied them as a kid. Perhaps, this is all a little too dramatic, but I think about parenthood more and more and I enjoy imagining what it will be like. I love you, Mom and Dad. I hope I never make it as difficult as I have for you to know how much I appreciate and love you.

I got a jahb!

2004-07-26T13:10:00.000-07:00

Within maybe the last hour, I got a call from Diagnostic Research asking me if I’d like the job that I interviewed for two weeks ago. The job is data processing and analysis for the market research firm located in Eagle Rock, a single bus ride from home. I will earn only $13 an hour to start, but the company provides benefits, overtime, and opportunities to earn more. At the beginning of July, Keleigh and I went to see the musical Thoroughly Modern Millie. Millie works for a generic company in New York typing memos. I thought, “Hey, I can do boring work.” So I decided to expand my job search to include data analysis. The next day I applied for the Data Processing/Analysis position at Diagnostic Research International. Late that Friday, I was invited to come in for an “interview” to take place the next Tuesday. The “interview” was really a 90-minute test of reading comprehension, proofreading, math, and logic. It was actually kind of fun, as I told Dad. Sure it’s nerdy that I thought so, but it was fun to be tested on things that I feel I know pretty well. My test was graded while I made my way home. Not long after changing out of my interview clothes, Diagnostic Research called me back for a face-to-face interview. So the next day, I returned to the Eagle Rock office to meet with Alan and his boss, Carmen. Luckily for me, I had prepared ahead of time and had correctly anticipated most of the questions I was asked. They told me more about the job: the company does market research on advertisements for clients such as Nissan, Pfizer, SBC, and Coca-Cola; their department receives the results of the research, quantifies it, and compares the numbers to determine the efficacy of advertisements. This sounded like the kind of left brain work I would really enjoy, like reading the “By the Numbers” section of The Atlantic Monthly. The office seems really laid back. Most of the employees are roughly the same age as me. Many were wearing shorts or jeans when I visited. Though there were cubicles, they had windows or looked lower than most I’ve struggled with and the environment seemed rather open. I probed Alan and Carmen about the company and discovered that there are departments within the company that create graphics for the research results and that write up the questionnaires and results. All in all, Diagnostic Research looks like a place I could enjoy working and last for a while. Carmen told me that most people have been there for around 5 or 6 years and the only turnover they get is from employees who look for something different to do after about 6 years. Anyway, I start Monday (make that Friday; Carmen just called to invite me in a day earlier so I can be around for a company party; I'm likin' it, I'm likin' it) and I’m pretty thrilled. It’s been a long hard job search, without even a bite from places such as Barnes & Noble or Best Buy.

4th poster of 4 for Goldberg's Casino

2004-07-08T16:45:00.000-07:00

Any comments?
Posted by Hello

Picassohead

2004-06-22T17:10:00.000-07:00

If you haven't tried this yet, quit your dawdling. The good folk at Ruder Finn Interactive have created a website that allows you to create your very own Picasso-esque painting using certain figures and tools. Here's a link to a special painting I did just for you.

Poster #3 Without Shadow

2004-06-22T16:33:00.000-07:00

Posted by Hello

... and With Shadow

2004-06-22T16:31:00.000-07:00

For Goldberg's Casino, Deadwood, South Dakota. Which do you prefer: with shadow or without? Any other comments?
Posted by Hello

Painting of two dudes

2004-06-09T16:41:00.000-07:00

I'm learning how to paint with watercolors. The process continues... but I learned some valuable things from this painting of two random dudes. I almost turned the dude on the left into an old lady after I painted his lips so slutty.
Posted by Hello

Why Am I Still Awake? - thoughts on jobs, career

2004-06-08T00:26:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I have an interview for a job. As is usual for me, I am pretty nervous about the whole experience from interview through the first few months of a job. Not that I'm necessarily going to get the job, but I think I'm more worried that I will. I've had a horrible attitude about working ever since I joined the ranks of the unemployed back in 2001. When I finally secured a full-time job last spring, after months of volunteering followed by more months of interning, I began an uncomfortable bout of anxiety. I developed a creaking gut that I constantly had to apologize for or leave the room to hide. Somehow the creaking and accompanying IBS would disappear when I got home and wouldn't appear at all on weekends. I would cry to Keleigh when I came home from work because I was far too worried that I was doing a terrible job. I don't know if I was even afraid that I'd get fired. I just felt like I wasn't performing as well as I should. Well, I never got over it and after a year, I turned in my resignation. That was probably the easiest thing I did while I was there and coordinating my leave was probably the best work I did there, too. However, the worst thing I did while still employed was I made personal promises that hindsight always laughs at: Sure, we'll keep in touch; I'll come by more often than you can stand; I'll volunteer all my extra time here; etc. But I was very excited to leave that job and I haven't yet wanted to go back. I worked for some people that consistently gave me cause for my anxiety and those people have left an indelible stain on the face of the whole company. That's a sad fact, but what's even sadder to me is that I made a good friend at that job and his connection to that place has kept me from returning his phone calls. I don't want to repeat the experience I had at my last job. I hope that when I go in for my interview I will remember that the job is right for me if it allows me to use my strengths. And if the job doesn't use my strengths or I don't get the job, I hope I remember that I have found something that I enjoy doing. The children's book writing may take years to actually happen, but I'm actually confident in my talents. That's been a difficult thing for me to say about anything, so there must be something really worthwhile in this endeavor.

A page from my picture book

2004-05-29T10:48:00.000-07:00

Most good advice I've read has said that I have a better chance of getting my picture book published if I don't send to the publishers illustrations or an offer to illustrate with my manuscript. Okay, so though I probably won't get the chance to illustrate it, here is a painting I did that would go near the beginning of the book. There are a few things that I would change, but overall I think it came out looking pretty good. What do you think? If you're interested, I used watercolors and ink.
Posted by Hello

Have you heard the aujourd'hui birds? (poem)

2004-05-29T10:36:00.000-07:00

Many mornings I wake up and fiddle around my apartment shifting trash from table to table emptying the sink of last night's dishes opening the patio door to let in the morning air. I wonder if anyone could be shocked by my nakedness and an unseen bird questions back Aujourd'hui? Aujourd'hui?

Poster idea for Goldberg's

2004-05-25T08:34:00.000-07:00

How does this poster idea sit with you? Leroy asked for a poster with horses and run-down cowboys with their elbows on the bar accompanied by a possible title "No horses allowed in the bar."
Posted by Hello

Now I can do photobloggin'. Thank You, Hello!

2004-05-22T11:46:00.000-07:00

From the Sunset Junction Street Fair 2003. Clearly, bears are my buds.

Sorry about the delay (w/ poem)

2004-05-22T11:20:00.000-07:00

..that is if you are one of the few who have stumbled upon this page and looked for new content recently. I will publish some more poetry soon and with the new photo feature of Blogger I will try to post some images. And back to our show. Today's post is a short poem I wrote the other night before falling asleep. It's called "The Best Foods to Say"

The Best Foods to Say Pomegranates Cream Cheese Mayonnaise and Juice

The Late Afternoon Wind (poem)

2004-04-19T11:14:00.000-07:00

While walking to the bus stop down a curving suburban lane, I see the wind get caught by the branches of a roadside bush. The sun is going down but it hasn't yet caught up with daylight savings time So everything is still bathed in pre-summer light. Nothing on the landscape defines urgency as I wait for the bus, but all the same, I wish you were here to sit on the cooling grass with me and wait for the sun to go down and wait for my guilt to recede.

Sam Houston's Speech to His Troops at San Jacinto

2004-04-10T10:08:00.000-07:00

We stand here upon the cusp of engagement--an engagement we have been ready to meet for far too long. General Santa Anna and his army are camped just beyond the shrubbery yonder. His forces are splintered and we have the opportunity to deal them such a defeat sufficient enough to win back the great land of Texas! We will surely prevail--and when we do, you will remember every second of the battle for the rest of your lives. But during the course of the battle I want you to remember something else. I want you to remember the Alamo! Two months ago, General Santa Anna's troops massacred the brave men who strove to protect the Alamo and so protect Texas. These brave men were militia and volunteers much like yourselves with all the accoutrements that make up fine fighters. They wore hats very much like the ones perched upon your knobby heads: tri-cornered trilbies; ostentatious top hats; settler's hats with flat, wide brims; I even heard tale that there were hats that looked very much like that a mad Hatter might wear--tall with curved sides, made of green felt, and wrapped with a narrow silky ribbon. Juan Seguin here, who was there at the Alamo, claims to have seen a different style of hat for each different face underneath. He claims to have seen round hats, square hats, even triangular hats; hats made of straw, hats made of oilskin, hats made of wool; slouches, derbies, panamas, and pork pies. As many of you know, Davy Crockett was there defending the Alamo with a hollowed out raccoon set smartly upon his head! Gentlemen, these were hat-wearing heroes. Heroes who were formed by their own preference for protecting their heads from the sun. The courageous defenders of the Alamo were not only proud to don their own hats, they were also proud to adhere to the follicular style of San Antonio: broad and brash sideburns. These were men whose cheeks resembled the sea-faring mulletchops of their forebears. Their long whiskers stretched from the tops of their ears to the sides of their chins--a rebellious look that promoted the singularity of thirty plus men. Nary a face that fell protecting that once holy mission was unblessed by an overabundance of sidebar fur. The cleanly shaved chins and untamed fuzzy cheeks described the controlled unpredictability of a Texas we will soon call home. Before we step up to battle, I want to remind you of one more example of the gallantry witnessed at the Alamo. There was a fellow there who so loved his spotted doggie that he held it close to his bosom to protect it. Each night that those bold militiamen and volunteers withstood the cannon fodder of the Mexican army, this man would gather that scared doggie into his arms and hug it closer than you might hug a woman. I can't help but imagine that that little spotted doggie represented the great nation of Texas and that lonely animal-loving man was trying to calm its fears and brand it with hot, comforting welfare. And so, I would like to ensure that each of you remembers those stouthearted defenders of the Alamo in this way: cover your heads with a unique lid, shave only the chin hairs from your faces, and I need at least one man to hug a doggie close whilst we trounce the armies of Santa Anna. You will remember this battle for the rest of your lives, but for now, live to remember the Alamo!

Two More Days Left

2004-03-31T23:52:00.000-08:00

It's been a strange day. Regular in much of its execution, but strange in its emotional content. Much of my day was spent receiving undue attention from my coworkers for my impending release back into the wild. There were cakes, photos, a card, and even a li'l singing. All very flattering, but I couldn't help feeling uncomfortable. The discomfort is a product of my feeling like I'm being feted for leaving. This isn't quite the noble accomplishment or star-touched fortune that deserves such attention. I'm abandoning ship, skipping town, chasing the dragon. Okay those were horrible metaphors, but I think my point is clear: I'm quitting--without even a job to move on to. My father said, "it's not smart" what I'm doing. And he's right. What idiot leaves a job just because he's dissatisfied? I guess this idiot does. But that wasn't just it. I was doing a terrible job because I was dissatisfied. I've had no motivation for this job for about 7 months. I've grown bitter about working for my co-workers and for performing almost every aspect of my job. The only aspect I've enjoyed has come from designing display boards for the organization's recent open house. They were fun to conceive and I think they came out pretty well. The displays also furthered my belief that I need to do the same sort of work on a more regular basis. I just finished a design for Keleigh's parents casino in Deadwood, SD. The casino recently changed names and Leroy announced that he'd scrap the current t-shirt design. While daydreaming my way through a meeting at work, an idea popped into my head for a logo incorporating the new casino name. It seemed cool enough to me in my head that I sketched it out when the meeting ended and looked for appropriate fonts online. I've tweaked the design occasionally over the past week and I think I've finally got a presentable version. Keleigh said that she'd like a t-shirt with this new logo and that I'd "captured the spirit of Deadwood". That's a good enough review as any, as far as this cat's concerned. I plan on showing it to Leroy and the rest of the clan when he and Janet arrive on Monday. Yes, these were mere snapshots of my day, but the ol' shoulders are feeling very heavy and I need to shut this computer off. Perhaps I'll go into further details at a later date. G'night, moon.

Happy morn

2004-03-30T11:05:00.000-08:00

I saw something really cool on my way to work this morning. Stopped at a light was a brown van that was beat up enough that it looked like a half-sucked Gobstopper. It was one of those family vans from the days when vans challenged station wagons for the status of most popular family car. It had a roof rack, faux wood trim, probably a pair of captains chairs in the back, and a solid cover on the back door to encase the spare tire. Attached to the face of the spare tire cover was a collection of round reflectors and two rectangular reflectors. The round ones were all the same size and scattered across the tire cover in the shape of a smiley face, and the rectangular ones served as eyebrows. When the light changed, the van drove off, but the smile was reflected in my own face.

Upon the cockshut (poem)

2004-03-29T22:14:00.000-08:00

Her sparkling eyes have closed but still look for the darkest place to hide under the tired duvet. Her little fists grip the pillow tighter bunching it into a grumpy oversized ear plug. Though soft and low the light from the monitor is too bright for this kid And why must he keep pecking at that keyboard as if his fingers are leaping down from great heights. Great heights indeed. In the other room push a silent pencil over recyled paper-- draw write compose unload your mind, decompress And when you've filled up a page or two drop your shoulders brush your teeth and come lie next to me, Blue.

quick thought

2004-03-29T15:05:00.000-08:00

Radar Bros. need more attention

2004-03-29T14:31:00.000-08:00

And a hearty how-do to you, too. First day of this wonder-filled gadgetry and already feeling a wee bit tingly. Are there any studies that suggest a blogger's skin settles after a few days? If not, I shall commision one post-haste. I have 5 days remaining in my present employment. Am I frightened? Definitely. Relieved? Quite. I don't yet have a job to graduate to and I'm afraid that I will not be able to contribute to the lifestyle Keleigh and I have created. We have begun to lessen our expenses and found success: most of our meals have been made at home; we've sought out more free or inexpensive entertainment; and we've tightened our budgets, cutting out many things we enjoy. It hasn't been easy. Keleigh has found herself feeling guilty even for thinking about dining out; and I've been jonesing so hard to buy some CDs that I'm starting to get the shakes. Even so, I stand behind my decision to leave this job. I've dreaded coming to work for nigh on a year. Shortly after my employment began, I developed a performance anxiety that hasn't gone away. I suck at this job. Seriously. I couldn't coordinate trainings or organize files to save my life. Granted, I have no interest in such banausic occupations. My mind wanders freely and I need to pursue employment that allows for diversions. Back to work. Until later...