A bad photo and an interesting thing daily
March 1, 2024, Fri.— A Gen X guy listening to 90s hip hop B-sides on Aisle 8 chatted with T—he can’t play certain video games because they require a block of time, and he’s always getting interrupted. Someone needs help doing something, or he has to go to the store, etc. He’s thinking of waking up at 2 am, to play two hours before work.
And I can’t write and draw?
Come on, now.
I also got an all-clear re: a mammogram, despite insanely skipping last year. For real, praz God.
Over here, not making my book for RICE #MarchofRobots
March 2, 2024, Sat.— Reactions to the invention of hot air ballooning were a delight (I’m listening to “The Age of Wonder” by Richard Holmes). Probably because it’s beautiful, terrifying and also pretty absurd.
“How posterity will laugh at us, one way or other! If half a dozen break their necks, and balloonism is exploded, we shall be called fools for having imagined it could be brought to use: if it should be turned to account, we shall be ridiculed for having doubted.”
—Horace Walpole, letter to Horace Mann, 24 June 1785 (more)
Apologizing in advance for making mistakes puts a target on me. #ADHD Busy not writing #marchofrobots
March 3, 2024, Sun.— We picked up spicy kimchi from Han’s, and tucked right into the tofu buns. Rachel set the foil wrapper on my lap since she “had her own” (a big reflective blanket across her goose-pimpled legs, post run). Doing life together.
Picking up my wife after her 15-mi. run like a one-woman hot air balloon chase crew. Also, every day I’m not hustlin’, not hustlin’ #marchofrobots
March 4, 2024, Mon.— Arduous day on the load line. Interesting how a few months ago this is where innocuous Tom told me to “watch my back” (because he saw a guy literally break a bone in his back here, but also … ugh. Drama.)
“One shows the faults of others like chaff winnowed in the wind, but one conceals one’s own faults as a cunning gambler conceals his dice.” —Buddah (for real, apparently, Dhammapada)
Cozi boi, photo by Rachel
March 5, 2024, Tues.— Walking date with Rachel in the 60° sunshine! It’s been a while.
I drank a Linus Loves Juicy, Prison City Brewing, New England IPA. A dad type overheard us weighing the potential $10K removal of our copse of dead trees, and suggested a dark horse company. He unwittingly convinced us to just go with the evil we know.
Ideas while kit picking
March 6, 2024, Wed.— Everyone who circled up to clock out wore jackets except for me.
Megyn: “Sara, did you bring a coat?” Me: “I think it’s warm outside.”
“NO, IT’S NOT WARM OUTSIDE,” Christy glared.
Ha ha ha. Folks chuckled. Her sardonic friend added, “You’ll go outside and then you’ll end up in the hospital.” Affix hoodies.
Mimicking the scream of the shirt cat. Aping the grimace of the exercise ball.
March 7, 2024, Thurs.— Tomorrow is S’s last day, retiring after 40 years at our warehouse. All her tales of working in cutoff shorts at 22 in 1984 before the chain took off. Sounded fun.
“Now, I get to do what I want!” (at 62), she proclaimed, flinging her arms out to bow, all 5’1″ of herself, in a nice sweater and slacks (her regular work clothes).
Tubthumping. Sneaky art by Tisha. Picking up speed in kit, gathering confidence. You’re never going to keep me down.
March 8, 2024, Fri.— A little girl lives across the street, and her school bus rolled up just as Rachel walked out in her white scrubs for clinicals. Aww, the “wow” on her face …
Swiftwater later with Heather, Rebecca and Tom. Best part—waiting at 9 pm for Rachel in the breezy 50°s listening to the bar’s residual Smiths.
Good morning, big round SUN. City of the Door 2.0 off to Comix Well Spring, colors less weird. Right?
March 9, 2024, Sat.— Keats gave a copy of Endymion to explorer Joseph Ritchie in 1818 to place in his travel pack, read on his journey, and then “throw into the heart of the Sahara Desert as a gesture of high romance.” I fancied myself a Romantic once, and executed many a gesture of high romance. It may have been beaten out of me, though, per my reaction to this anecdote in “Age of Wonder.”
Did I lose or find myself, somewhere out there?
Screens for cats, and #marchofrobots, you were a complete distraction
March 10, 2024, Sun.— In my defense, I saw blue sky 20 mins prior. Ugh, these mesh sneakers and my wet, burning, frozen feet.
Also, “Bono wakes up early these days. Six am, an hour he used to drag himself home from the pub. The morning offers his only real moments of peace. He prays, meditates and writes—catching the muse on her way home, as he puts it. ‘She’s bleary-eyed and draggin’ her high heels, and I’m sharp and ready to take advantage of her.'”
—March 19, 2009 Rolling Stone, FB memories (partly cool, also creepy, Bono)
March 11, 2024, Mon.— HOME, to eat Impossible hots* with Weber’s horseradish mustard, and watch hobbits quest. (For Rachel, the homework goes ever on/ and on from the door where it began.)
*”Hamburgs and hots,” definition, and a 900-second sketch.
March 12, 2024, Tues.— It’s spring break, but Rachel’s shadowing different wards for an idea on where to apply after graduation. Getting it!
Also, how can I not be a little successful, if I wake up every day and hustle during my art time? Even if some days I hate it, per David Goggins. It’s okay. Do it.
Downtown, from earlier this week, proof there was sun prior to the silver dollar-sized slush balls
March 13, 2024, Wed.— The legit structural engineer can confirm, our house has beautiful bones. Also, we’re keeping the butler staircase, the pantry should become the second bathroom, and we’ll switch out plaster everywhere for drywall. I can’t wait to see what’s hidden in the walls. (JK. Please, Lord.) We’re also replacing the 50-year-old furnace Friday. Rachel’s had a busy spring “break.”
Car protein bar at noon, 60°
March 14, 2024, Thurs.— Walking through the warehouse with dubstep on a portable speaker, Tisha is a shark.
Walking to Red Fern on Fri (truly terrible photos)
March 15, 2024, Fri.— Betlam replaced our 50-year-old, still-working furnace with bangs and clangs. “She didn’t want to go up the stairs,” one dude chuckled. Thank you for your long service, olive green lady.
Marooned on our island of a sofa, we joke-whispered, “Go away!” when the sun came out. Soon, though, a walk to Red Fern for our anniversary (seven years, copper, wool) vegan steak and potatoes.
Rachel whipped up pizza for lunch
March 16, 2024, Sat.— You don’t eat even a perfect piece of popcorn off the theater floor. RIP dusty salt lovely. We passed St. Patrick’s parade revelers downtown (the Bud Light was a flowin’) to see “Love Lies Bleeding.”
March 17, 2024, Sun.— Everything got on the trucks right the first time, and we left at 2 pm! A quick stop at AJ’s Beer Warehouse for an NA Guinness 0 for Rachel’s St. Patrick’s treat, and then we spontaneously combusted our butts back over to The Little again for Dune Part 2. Amazee.
Gummy worm Dune cups (we got more dusty salt popcorn instead)
March 18, 2024, Mon.— The guy I worked with on the load line is a welding apprentice. “Are these normal welding smells?” I asked, re work on the docks. “It’s toxic gas,” he said, fretful. Great!
At 7 pm, the little girl from next door rode her bike in a wet, white snowstorm, and jumped around with other small friends, including the ragamuffin shitzus that periodically zoom free.
Rachel and Fresno enjoying the view; plus, what the view is sometimes (be careful, lil Pepe!)
March 19, 2024, Tues.— A fire alarm glitch (maybe forklift vs. pole), and I ended up standing in 30° wet snow in a T-shirt for 30 minutes, along with a co-worker from DR Congo and two others, among the folks in hoodies.
The warehouse manager and a team leader let us take turns sitting in the warm Kubota grounds car. Nice folks, for real.
Cryptic kit pick up in aerosol
March 20, 2024, Wed.— A meeting (we’ll get out at 1:30 for the eclipse) followed by another fire alarm (sweatshirt on), followed by forced overtime, followed by a 6 pm snow squall that covered the backyard (and a beleaguered groundhog) in 20 minutes. It’s spring!
Also, a boil-water advisory after they found a body in the Highland Park Reservoir (after a month). Some poor dude had climbed in and not out.
This guy, mocking my tub
March 21, 2024, Thurs.— Tisha shared eight kit tickets, already numbered. I said her sevens looked like Batman (little points). She laughed.
“What are you trying to tell us? Are you—Batman?”
Pause. “I’m Batman.”
I drew her a Batman on a tag a la Lynda Barry, “Let’s Draw a Car, and Then Let’s Draw Batman.”
Where the magic (usually does not) happens, 3:30 am, w Kitty and Tim Horton
March 22, 2024, Fri.— The RIT Zine Fest! A really nice time. A student-aged woman in 80s-esque makeup, and a black and white jacket resplendent with punk, didn’t see the index card with my Venmo. “There’s a lot going on visually,” I apologized.
She took my blue button with yellow sun.
The actual jacket had much more patches
March 23, 2024, Sat.— I drew doomed New Yorker cartoons inside all day, and Instagram-followed fellow comics folks from RIT. Aw, the friendly soul in caramel corduroys and an acrylic sweater bold with geometric pastels.
I’m going to burn up on reentry to the warehouse.
Post-salmon sun bath, dark pic of Susurrate Press’s tapestry cat card
March 24, 2024, Sun.— What is this weird photo?? Rachel peers through a cylinder of dill at Heather’s seed swap party this afternoon. Tom looks on.
Bloobs, Cheerios and Greek yogurt
March 25, 2024, Mon.— Remnants of LPN stickers for the first pallet on the filing cabinet at the head of the load line.
Mike’s out after his surgery, so I may be here a while (though, maybe only Mondays and Tuesdays). Also, they’re welding the docks and I hate to whine, but I’m breathing billowing metallic smoke.
March 26, 2024, Tues.— Felix accidentally closed his Vocollect in a tub and sent it. He followed the conveyor belt overhead, though, staying where he still had connectivity with this headset. Then, he walked up to me on the load line, recognized the tub IN MY HANDS as his, opened it, and found his machine.
Sneaky selfie on the load line, and my jeans look a little crazy?
March 27, 2024, Wed.— I guess I gmailed myself a year ago, and scheduled it for yesterday? Subject: Snack Addict
Hey, It’s March 27, 2023, and I’m getting ready to do a “dopamine fast” for a month off various snacks. So they can become treats again, and not security blankets. Ideally, the “treats” become weekly, or even monthly. Just less.
Fast food (McMuffins)
Fast casual at random times (Chipotle)
Beverages, Red Bull, beer
Super sugary coffees
Processed (vegetarian) foods from the store (pizza)
How did you do?
I love you.
Sara
I don’t remember, but I’ve been off random restaurants, vending and 7-11 snacks since January 14 (two months), now. *Proud*
Workout buddy ❤️
March 28, 2024, Thurs.— Oh, wow. The seriousness of the warehouse. Did being happy to have a job I could probably do well somehow make me “not serious?” To what circle of seriousness must I aspire?
I must be The River.
On a lighter note, plus Rachel’s sauced tofu with steam
March 29, 2024, Fri.— Re: Emily Flake’s cool SAW class on gag cartooning, I’m amazed how she echoes Suerynn Lee’s comment (in my giant Feb. post), “You want your focus to be on the subject … I can tell you that I have produced, or tried to produce work with the end-game foremost (publication, money) in my mind, and it always turns out badly.” —E. Flake
Also an improv person, note to myself, is there still that thing the audience needs to see? Even a cartoon is a tossed Wiffle Ball to HITTTT … So, catharsis vs. looking in control, cool, etc.
A walk to the library to get Mamet, a terrible mud puddle. James Clear: every problem is either a mud puddle (let it settle on its own) or a leaky ceiling (fix that shit asap), sic
when the world is puddle-wonderful. the queer. –ee cummings
March 30, 2024, Sat.— Date day! Rachel took me to an estate sale at a Kodak CEO’s home (we bought a broom), then Chen Garden for tofu Tso, a walk to see the daffodils in Mt. Hope Cemetery, and the rest of Birdman. Amazing day with my amazing babe.
March 31, 2024, Sun.— Just like a lamb.