And watch out for flop sweat from that crazy bassist…
I think she’s my new favorite alt-country-rock-punk performer. I just bought her album, Indestructible Machine. It’s full of hard-driving energetic tunes like the above, and some amazing singing (with twisty, bitch-slapping lyrics). It’s going to be on my playlist for some time, I think.
I see at least three good 15-30 second ads in this big pile-up for Gary Johnson, the Libertarian candidate for president. But taken all together, it drags a bit.
“Nobel winner tells students to keep dreaming” – Spokesman-Review headline.
To be honest, I don’t think our current problems are related to a lack of dreams. Just the opposite. Our problems lie in our stubborn reluctance to wake up and confront reality.
At precisely two hours past high tide, at Marrowstone Point (Ft. Flagler State Park), his ashes were added to the waters of Puget Sound. The outgoing tide immediately drew the ashes to the north, towards the larger Straits of Juan de Fuca, and (hopefully) ultimately to the Pacific Ocean.
It’s been a tough three months, ever since Dad told me he had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He went from a cranky old fart to a flesh-and-bones scarecrow in a matter of weeks.
The last two weeks were the worst. His pain was so bad he had to go to hospital for a week, until they finally released him to die in his own home. The pain medications kept him in a semi-permanent fog, at times he didn’t recognize his own family. We did our best to keep him comfortable. We watched. We waited.
That was all we could do.
He finally succumbed around 4:30 a.m. this morning.
His death is a cause for sadness and relief. We mourn his passing, but we are grateful he didn’t linger too long in agony and a chemical fog.
Now we can cherish the good memories without the anguish of seeing him suffer needlessly.
I may have more to say on this. Or not. I don’t know how much I want to lay out on the internet. I’d rather be my usual smart-ass self.
Back in the office for a day with a full plate of work to accomplish, but for obvious reasons, the part of my brain that’s supposed to give a shit, doesn’t.
Dad is out of the hospital. They finally came to the conclusion there simply was nothing they could do for him. We brought him home last Monday. My sister and niece are there tending him, and the hospice folks check in daily. He’s on morphine and Atavin. Not eating. Hardly drinking. I think he’s nearly done.
I know my work is important to my clients, so I’m here for a couple days doing what I can. But to be perfectly honest, in all the thirty-plus years I’ve been working in advertising and design, this is the first time I hate doing what I do.
Here’s a lesson for all you baby designers out there who want to someday work on your own: Life may kick your ass, but the deadlines never change.
What the hell am I doing sitting here blogging? I’ve got work to do.
Here’s a slightly tighter version of Reggie and Boris at Play. I like the shapes better, but I think it’s missing a little of the energy of the previous sketch.