Tales of the Graybeard Prospector X

April 20th, 2006

•   I had a prospect call me to ask our hourly rate. It’s not the type of question you like to hear up front. The person is already caught up in a comparison of apples to lemons. It becomes complicated to explain our schedule of fees, which primarily serves as a basis for estimating a total project. I had a follow-up question for him:

“If you find someone who charges $30 per hour, and it takes them an hour to come up with an idea, but it takes me 15 minutes to develop a concept based on a track record of effectiveness, which is the better deal?”

I didn’t get to ask it. He’d already hung up as soon as I said our top charge for creative consultation is $100 per hour. As much as I hear about how design conscious our society has become, I rarely find evidence that people understand more about my profession than they did when I started out 30 years ago, but I’ll shut up now, because you didn’t visit this site to hear me whine and complain…

graybeard prospector

Have you been aware, You got brothers and sisters who care

April 19th, 2006

Dana just left to drive Bruce back to his home in Indianapolis. He seems very weak, but in reasonably good spirits.

I could accept that few members of my extended family were able to make the same trip while Bruce was in the hospital for the better part of a year. It’s much harder for me to understand how only three of them—Joan, Brendan, and Caitlan—could manage a visit while he was in the hospital for more than a week, right here in Danville. Mombo stopped by today, but just missed them. I think she feels very sorry about it.

Nobody likes hospitals, except perhaps for some of the people who work there… perhaps… However, there’s got to be more to it than that.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m part of a wonderful Clan, but life can be strange, and certain things happen that just don’t make any sense, and probably never will.

My new name is impossible to pronounce

April 18th, 2006

Now I shall be forever known as—

Farcus Farklehumperdinck

Unless I start with “Uncle John,” which seems entirely appropriate for this site, and instead become—

Goober Pottyshorts

. . . I’d better go back to the first one quick, before that gets around.

Anyone can visit the Scholastic Website and use the evil “Name Change-o-Chart 2000,” or just follow the chain-email instructions currently circulating.

This whole bit of nonsense sidetracked me when Snickle Pottybrains sent her silly email, reproduced below.

I’d best get back to work before Sloopy Farklehumperdinck catches me.

— — —

We all need a little stress-reliever! This only takes a minute. Please don’t be a bore and ruin it.

Send it on and include the person that sent it to you. Sometimes when you have a stressful day or week, you need some silliness to break up the day.

Here is your dose of humor…

A. Follow the instructions to find your new name.
B. Once you have your new name, put it in the subject box and forward
it to friends and family and co-workers.

Don’t forget to forward it back to the person who sent it to you, so they know you participated. And don’t go all adult — a senior manager is now known far and wide as Dorky Gizzardsniffer.

The following is excerpted from a children’s book
Captain Underpants And the Perilous Plot of Professor Poopypants
by Dave Pilkey,
in which the evil Professor forces everyone to assume new name.

1. Use the third letter of your first name to determine your new first name:

a = snickle
b = doombah
c = goober
d = cheesey
e = crusty
f = greasy
g = dumbo
h = farcus
i = dorky
j = doofus
k = funky
l = boobie
m = sleezy
n = sloopy
o = fluffy
p = stinky
q = slimy
r = dorfus
s = snooty
t = tootsie
u = dipsy
v = sneezy
w = liver
x = skippy
y = dinky
z = zippy

2. Use the second letter of your last name to determine the first half of your new last name:

a = dippin
b = feather
c = batty
d = burger
e = chicken
f = barfy
g = lizard
h = waffle
i = farkle
j = monkey
k = flippin
l = fricken
m = bubble
n = rhino
o = potty
p = hamster
q = buckle
r = gizzard
s = lickin
t = snickle
u = chuckle
v = pickle
w = hubble
x = dingle
y = gorilla
z = girdle

3. Use the third letter of your last name to determine the second half of your new last name:

a = butt
b = boob
c = face
d = nose
e = hump
f = breath
g = pants
h = shorts
i = lips
j = honker
k = head
l = tush
m = chunks
n = dunkin
o = brains
p = biscuits
q = toes
r = doodle
s = fanny
t = sniffer
u = sprinkles
v = frack
w = squirt
x = humperdinck
y = hiney
z = juice

Thus, for example, George W. Bush’s new name is: Fluffy Chucklefanny.

Now when you SEND THIS ON… use your new name as the subject.

Put more laughter in your day.

Remember that children laugh an average of 146 times a day; adults laugh an average of 4 times a day.

Two spirits, one heart

April 17th, 2006

• A first son, he was named for his father, so he also named his first son after himself. The world can always use another John.

• He would have been 83 today. His birthday didn’t fall on Easter this time, but Resurrection was always in the air as he turned a year older. He was blessed, like me, to have his favorite season at birthday time. He loved the spring—preparing the garden soil, and sharing his awe at the rebirth of each living thing. Although winter never kept him indoors, his mood always brightened perceptibly when the woods and river bottom came back to life.

• He often hid his sorrows, but never his affection. He could be fierce when setting strict standards of excellence, but his strong regard for personal initiative and the special destiny of the individual was always clear.

• He battled his demons, like most men—did the saints not engage, spar with, and confound them; did the Savior himself not find it necessary to cast them out? He silently carried the secrets of others, but held out his mistakes as lessons to those he loved, in the generous spirit for which he was known.

• A magnanimous man who put others at ease, it was never easy to see him as the lifelong warrior he proved to be. His dedication to country was intertwined with his love for his kin. He didn’t need to look upward to cathedral heights or forest canopy to connect to his Lord, but he would be at peace equally in both sacred places.

• We were very different types of individuals in many respects, but shared a similar temperament, for better or worse. While he was alive, I really had no other mentor. There are sides of myself I wouldn’t or couldn’t discover until he was gone. I would have liked for him to have seen some of those aspects.

• He is my namesake, and among those who are dearly missed, he was the great catalyst in my life. His legacy is strong. His influence will endure. His Clan will live long.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my “Dadbo.” I love you, forever…

Easter with Clan

April 16th, 2006

During Easter Mass I was noticing how much little Connor looks like his grandfather did at about that age, especially when my brother Jeffrey was soothing him. I was reminded of the old 8mm silent film that Mombo shot on another Easter, 45 years or more in the past. Little Jeffrey was so disappointed he didn’t find the biggest basket he cried and ran out of the picture. The technology used to document family images has come a long way over the years, to the point where Rita can now produce and present for holiday viewing an audio-visual DVD which archives a Clan event that took place just last month.

The torch has been passed in many ways…

Damn the statistics; full speed ahead

April 15th, 2006

Gruntled Center tells us there’s more to the commonly understood 50-50 failure rate for marriages than a simple coin toss. Most first marriages survive, but the divorce rate for second marriages is closer to 60%. Also interesting is the finding that second marriages which make it through the first two years successfully have the same divorce rate as first marriages.

My question is this— Is ours a first or second marriage?

I’m no social scientist, but I would think that it has to be classified as both, and the success or failure of the union would be applied to both first- and second-marriage statistics.

Nevertheless, on an individual level—just like your state of health—statistics and probabilities are virtually meaningless. Whether Bruce ends his marriage or whether my buddy Mike’s
impending third marriage is a success has to do with who they are and the type of partner they’ve chosen. And, in terms of health, no matter how dire the probabilities associated with any particular prognosis, there’s somebody out there who licked just about every disease or malady ever known to strike the human organism. There are even stories of people surviving falls from airplanes, skyscrapers, and mountains.

Perfect. Now I’ve fully prepared myself to go buy my first Powerball ticket.

Incurably me

April 14th, 2006

Didn’t I say that I was going to avoid trivial distractions? I should be ashamed of myself, and it’s Good Friday, too.

Ah, but this is too funky to resist. Now anybody, even Uncle John, can be a Webcomic artist with Strip Generator!

As luck would have it

April 13th, 2006

I requested the newest book by Paul Watkins from the library, and they bought it for the collection. It looks like I’m about to complete The Ice Soldier in one week. It’s clear that this author has developed a following, which has scant meaning to any particular reader, and that he’s also earned heaps of critical praise, but so have writers I find unreadable. All I care to know is that I’ve found a novelist who consistently delivers the goods for me. That’s enormously satisfying, although I’m sure I’d require his remarkable verbal skills to adequately put my appreciation into words.

There seems to be two main reasons to own a copy of a novel. First of all, it provides the opportunity to reach out and connect at one’s own volition, like telephoning a good friend. And, of course, the other reason is to loan it to those same friends. I want to own this book, but it occurs to me that a measure of my fondness for my friends will be whether I convince myself to buy two copies…

cranking onward

April 12th, 2006

My love of April pulses through the senses… the perceptions of life reborn, and the resurrection flame in every emerald shoot.

My respect for March is a sober weight on my heart… the power of the experiment wanes, like a staggering man who clutches someone’s sleeve to steady himself. The currents of life swirl at my newly found stability, threatening to undermine the uncured foundation.

I feel the low gravitational energy of 2005 pulling at my center.

And so I mount the two-wheeled steed with my cohorts, and defy the hills until my lungs want to explode.

To fly with the redwing blackbirds, as the wind drinks my tears…

My soul mate

April 11th, 2006

• She deserved to have a calm birthday, but “the wheels fell off” last night. Bruce started to run a fever and his blood pressure dropped so low he couldn’t even sit up without passing out. Dehydration was setting in. He ended up at the ER. Dana spent most of the night at the hospital with him. These recurrent spells are part of the recovery process, I guess, but it doesn’t make it any less worrisome.

• If you’ve been reading this log, you know what she’s been through for over a year. There’s not much that can be done to mitigate the emotional upheaval. That’s just the way it is when you’re a mother, isn’t it?

• Many, many moons ago she was minding her own business when they stuck me in the same office with her. Who would have thought that a couple years later we’d be starting our own business together in the studio her father built? Who would have thought that we’d be wed in the yard of Dixonwood three years after that? We’ve done our best to guide this boat we share, and managed to steer it to Kentucky, but the current seems to have a strong life of its own.

• She is my dearest friend. Hers is the hand I reach for in the squall, the person I trust to tell me the truth about myself, the one who saw the real me, and whose laughter feels the best.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my “partner in all things.” I love you, forever…

ps, I’m getting married

April 10th, 2006

Almost as an afterthought, my Best Buddy Mike has informed us he’s getting hitched in May.

By gum, I feel a jumpin’ jig comin’ on!

Lying Fallow—a story of survival

April 9th, 2006

After the Shared Silence at Mack’s cabin, Bruce was the featured provider of words. I can’t remember ever having heard a more awesome extemporaneous commentary (and I’m even taking into consideration some of Uncle Bob’s and Uncle Clarence’s memorable remarks at family gatherings over the years). I actually started to tremble, and at least one person noticed that it probably wasn’t due to the morning air’s unseasonable chill. Dana prepared blueberry-walnut muffins, pecan coffee cake, and a variety of fresh fruit. Lee and David came for the first time, and it was standing room only. Without a doubt, it was one of those powerfully unique, you-had-to-be-there moments, and Bruce left everyone with the profound message that NOW is the time to make your mark as a creative being.

We’re about to go out the door now, to take Bruce for his first trip to see Kelley Ridge, and what a spectacular day to do it!

The flame of life eternal

April 8th, 2006

Joan was sweet enough to bring Bruce to our home, on her way back from Indiana.

Bruce in our home for a visit. Today, tomorrow, and through Easter.

Father, I AM grateful to Thee,

From every shadow I AM free…

Way to go, Big Joe

April 7th, 2006

I’m happy to learn my Uncle Joe is home from the hospital. I also read that 95-year-old, legendary coach John Wooden made it home from a recent stay in the hospital, too. Hospitals aren’t very good places to be, unless you have no other choice. I hope I always have another choice.

I took note of the Wooden announcement because I’ve been thinking about something he said. Not sure if I remember it correctly, but his point was that you haven’t failed until you start finding something or someone to blame. I think his message is that you remain on a success track as long as you continue to strive by looking within yourself to correct your own mistakes and deficiencies.

I haven’t gotten to know Uncle Joe as well as some of my other uncles, but he’s always been a great example to me as an innovator, by the way in which he set his goals high, and by never being afraid to learn something he didn’t know how to do. When I think about how he lifted the roof of his bungalow with truck jacks to enlarge his house by adding another story, it nearly blows my mind. All my life I’ve admired how he relied on himself and finished what he started.

Mombo and I were talking about that kind of stick-to-it-and-get-it-done capacity the other night, and how I was still trying to learn it. She said, “You must get that from me.” I disagreed and told her I couldn’t blame anyone else for my own history with unfinished projects, but that I was determined to put the habit behind me one way or another.

I told David today that I have no thought of giving up the goal of finding a niche market for the style I’m currently calling “Legacy Artworks.” Coming up with a name that isn’t already taken has been difficult, and it’s possible I haven’t even begun to solve the equation of how to market this type of illustration. Like most things, I’ll just need to chip away at the challenge. Goodness knows it’s not the only iron I have in the fire this year…

Walkin’ heavy

April 6th, 2006

Two incidents contributed to a higher level of perceived insecurity here on West Broadway.

The other night, somebody broke into the public library just to steal the loose-change jug at the circulation desk. It had been a well-known, symbolic part of the fundraising drive to build the major expansion toward our home. It was the second time the jug was stolen. After the first time, it was attached to a drawer with cable. The burglars took the drawer, too. The result: library managers have said they won’t put out a third jug.

Yesterday, while Marty was helping me trim back the heavy bushes between the Town House and the CPAs’ building next door, we found a discarded purse. The driver’s license was still in the wallet, but no money. It was hard to tell how long it had been there. It was immediately taken over to the police department. Marty shared a few insights into the behavior of crack addicts that I wished he didn’t have at his age. The result: when Dana had to walk over to the ATM last night after dark, I tagged along and packed heat in downtown Danville for the first time in recent memory.

Five splendid words

April 5th, 2006

Bruce mowed his lawn today.

Various & Sundry, part thirty-five

April 4th, 2006

— Dana and I had an impromptu dinner with Mombo last night and I took the opportunity to show her my example of “Legacy Art.” I’m starting to wonder if that’s the best terminology for it, but I haven’t come up with anything better. I like the non-specificity, and the wide range of niche markets it could cover. When Seth saw it, he thought the style might appeal to high-end extreme sports devotees. The first example does have an “Indy Jones” visual flavor to it, and that could be appealing to any number of different target audiences—pilots, speed-boaters, racers, sailors, deep-sea anglers, climbers, divers, skiers, eco-trekkers, equestrians—I don’t know, as long as they have some dough and are fascinated enough with the significance of their own exploits to document themselves with an uncommon work of art. I need to define my ideal, well-heeled “mark.” How does “Raiders of the Flossed Mark” sound? Ooh, that was bad. See yesterday’s entry…

— I haven’t mentioned it, but after the events of the weekend, I was stunned when my pal David decided to present me with two unbelievably nice gifts—a pair of early 20th-century British Enfield military firearms, an officer’s revolver and a bolt-action rifle. I still don’t know what to say to him. He must appreciate the portrait that much, so I really shouldn’t joke about it. On my part, it’s a genuine attempt to find an unmet need in the art world, and I’m not going to put the venture aside just because I didn’t set the room on fire with my initial foray into the marketplace. It gave me pleasure to complete my first in the series with my friend as the subject. Now, the next step is to execute the second under the supervision of my great white huntress. That sounds much more provocative than it’ll play out, I’m sure…

— Yes, I really shouldn’t joke about my effort to reposition myself as a commemorative illustrator. Beside the fact that it wouldn’t amount to funny, the objective tends to epitomize everything that’s held me fixated for over a month, which actually turned out to be a rather serious project of self-study and introspective behavior modification. If poking fun at the pursuit would help my evaluation, than I’m all for it, but I’m more inclined to start looking at the lessons learned and assign myself some new action items to preserve my momentum. One of the primary things that came to light was how much doubt and fear I’d allowed to penetrate into my outlook, workstyle, and personal ambitions… mild, perhaps, but insidious nevertheless. That just has to go, and there are still pockets to root out, but at least I’ve developed the sensitivity to identify and counteract such an undesirable emotional undercurrent. It’s been a major source of wasted energy, as was my habit of distracting myself. It’s amazing how many typical trains of thought and everyday diversions seem trivial to me now, or at least unfocused. I’ve known for awhile that the pattern was there, but it took a diligent effort to unwind the nature of the chain reactions and recognize the old ruts for what they are. Once again, I come back happily to Emerson:

“Profligacy consists not in spending years of time or chests of money,—but in spending them off the line of your career. The crime which bankrupts men and states, is, job-work — declining from your main design, to serve a turn here or there. Nothing is beneath you, if it is in the direction of your life: nothing is great or desirable, if it is off from that…”

V & S

A regular dose of jocular hilarity

April 3rd, 2006

Leave it to Brendan to turn me on to another droll Webcomic. More power to Wondermark. It makes good on an idea I had a while back about recycling the huge archive of copyright-free, nineteenth-century wood engravings as humorous art. The main reason I never did it? The answer is obvious to me when I read David Malki’s amusing strip.

– sob – I have absolutely NO sense of humor. – blubber – Never did. Never will. – sob –

Tales of the Graybeard Prospector IX

April 2nd, 2006

•   I attended the SCI fundraising banquet with David and Al. It was held at the U of L University Club. There could not have been a way for me to have anticipated the rare atmosphere, nor to have imagined what the unusual niche group of world-traveling hunters and big game enthusiasts would be like. I must say that I was a bit nervous by the time I set up my small display for the silent auction and my prototype commemorative illustration came under continuous scrutiny. I could also feel the observant eyes of my two friends—watchful, but always supportive. I’ve been to a few high-potency political and charitable fundraisers, but I’ve never been to one that so relentlessly milked dollars from the ticket-holders—with separate silent and live auctions, plus raffles of every sort. After a long cocktail lead-in to an impressive gourmet dinner, the expert monetary squeeze of the high-rollers lasted well into the late evening. Participants stuck around as numerous donations of custom firearms, art, jewelry, exotic hunting excursions to New Zealand, and full-blown safaris in Africa went for a fraction of their value. There were times when it seemed as though my offering was about to completely fade into the periphery, but before the evening was over, it drew a flurry of bids. The winner was an avid African hunter, female, gregarious, and rather attractive (at least she seemed to be attracting the attention of more than one distinguished-looking gentleman). My donation went for about a fifth of its declared value, which wasn’t out of character for the event. The final result reinforced Al’s opinion that my concept might have more appeal to women or to the wives of hunters—that it might be positioned best as personalized art appropriate for a gift or tribute. The entire experience gave me much to ponder…

graybeard prospector

Various & Sundry, part thirty-four

April 1st, 2006

— Month of March workout totals: Swim-5; Bike-5; Run-5; Lift-9; Yoga-9

— Word arrives from Greystone that Nicholas received his letter of acceptance from Auburn University’s College of Veterinary Medicine—news that makes his uncle and Godfather very proud. This is clearly an extraordinary year for graduates in our Clan. In addition, Caitlan is finishing up at Georgetown, and then she’ll be heading back to Oxford University to begin working on a second degree. Congratulations to both of them!

— Although it rained most of the afternoon yesterday, David, Rick, and I were able to have an enjoyable shooting practice under the range shelter since there was no wind. We alternated with four different antique rifles—the London-made Martini-Henry sporter (to which I’ve completely bonded), a Martini full-military “Long Lever,” a Winchester Model 94 in .30-30, and a Winchester Model 95 in .30-06. For the first time ever, I was able to hit targets at 300 yards with iron sites, despite the difficulty of contrasting recoil, trigger pull, and site configuration for each firearm. By Jove, I think these friends have made me into a long-range marksman! It was an ideal prelude to a meeting of the Wood Duck Society. When I showed it to him before dinner, Rick had a positive response to my artwork commemorating David’s South African safari. So far so good. Tonight we’ll see what the people in Louisville think of my “Legacy Art” concept.

Still capturing sight bites — An energetic pair of fowl, landing on a surface that mirrors dawn’s first hues—c-l-i-c-k—joined moments later by a second couple… The wood ducks have returned to Simpson Knob for another season, on the weekend that pays tribute to their modest splendor.

V & S

v i c t o r y

March 31st, 2006

March experiment—day thirty— As the announcer used to say on the program called “Iron Chef,” the battle is oh-vah!

Because the competition was with myself, I won—that means I also lost, but only the counterproductive habit patterns that were due to permanently go. The transformation feels vast, but I’m still too close to all I’ve been through to judge the full effects. Everything has culminated with the creation of my prototype for a personalized commemorative illustration. Tonight it will be unveiled before members of The Wood Duck Society, and then tomorrow it will be presented for target-market evaluation at a fundraising dinner—the Kentuckiana Chapter of Safari Club International in Louisville. By Sunday I’ll be in a better position to begin reflecting on these past few weeks.

Goin’ a little crazy ain’t too bad

March 30th, 2006

This is how day twenty-nine has gone…

5:30 am — Is this what it feels like to go mad?

6:47 am — Am I on solid ground here, or am I out of my mind?

9:20 am — This will work. I’m a genius!

2:43 pm — This is absurd. What am I doing to myself?

4:02 pm — God, it would be so cool to do this every day.

7:58 pm — Wow. Maybe I’m really going to pull this off.