Well I'm at the countdown of days until I start my new job on the coast. I'll have a much more consistent schedule than I do at my current place of employment, and it will be full-time. I only understand these sorts of 9 to 5 lives in theory, and through what customers tell me at Starbucks. People are always super aware of what day it is, and it's proximity to Friday. There is always small talk to be made about the day of the week if it's early in the week (aka, "how was your weekend?" or "I've got a case of the Mondays!") or towards the end of the week ("It's almost Friday!" or "Got any big weekend plans?"). The middle of the week, however, is a little tougher. Last Wednesday at least five people coming through the drive-thru made the observation that "It's hump day" with lack of anything better to say as I stood by the window and we both anxiously awaited the arrival of their absurdly expensive beverages. The first person to comment "well...it's humpday..." threw me off, because, for one thing, I didn't know what day it was, and also, I still have the sense of humor of a pre-pubsecent kid who knows much more about sex than they should without actually understanding it.This, as well as my new position on the Outer Banks, inspired me to draw these humpback whales:
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
I don't generally pay a great deal of attention to my wife, but several weeks ago I made note that she wears the same pair of pedal-pushers just about everyday. The only thing that changes is the color. Then I slowly started to realize that the color corresponds with the day of the week and that the pattern never changes; violet on Monday, lime green on Tuesday, etc. Well on a recent evening at supper after I'd had my fill of sports, Middle-Eastern gore and the childcare center that we call the U.S. Senate, I continued to thumb through the paper while peering over at my wife. She was already over at the sink washing the dishes. It was a Thursday. I knew this because she was wearing orange pedal-pushers, and I'd learned the pattern by that point. I thought to myself "what happened to all of those sundresses you used to wear?"
She looked over at me with big, curious, hurt eyes which I hadn't evoked or seen in ages. I quickly realized that I'd actually asked the question aloud and she replied:
"I'd look ridiculous in those now, honey."
She was right. She's grown quite fat. Boy is she large now. I hadn't entered her in years, but not because I was repulsed by her, I just never really thought to. All of the sudden I felt like I despised her. Whereas before that moment she'd always been a benign, constant sort of nagging thing in my life that I mostly disregarded, but didn't really mind either.
I was paying attention to her for the first time in ages and it struck me that I hated her deeply. Yet I was able to actually feel something towards her for once. I was suddenly struck with emotion and erratically got up, went over to her and said: "You're a good wife, Delores. Tomorrow is Friday, when I think of Friday I think of the color baby blue for some reason. Maybe I will wear that baby blue tie to work tomorrow that you bought for me a while back...Anyway, I'm going to head to bed early I think." I kissed her on the forehead and she said with a bewildered and slightly trembling voice, "Thank you Doug, sleep well."
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Sometimes I fear that there is nothing absurd left in this world. All that was once seen as ridiculous has been normalized and re"created" over and over again, to the point that absurdity is trite (this observation is itself prosaic). But fuck it guys! Let's still strive for eccentricity! (Or maybe the striving is the inauthentic part...Let's just be strange.)
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Friday, June 15, 2012
Monday, June 11, 2012
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
A Pictorial Metaphor for the Boredom Epidemic that is Pervading the Underemployed Twenty-Something Demographic in America and Elsewhere....jk.
|The hippopotamus found playing with a slinky to be incredibly frustrating, for the poor soul had no fingers.|