Mildred

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I had great plans for Monday, none of which involved a debilitating migraine. I’m not sure what happened but i was throughly destroyed last night, so there was no comprehensive and well thought out site update as was planned in the former post. And before you question “is there anything that is well-thought-out on this site?” I say to you, “well, yes you have a very good point.”

But I digress. I think the cranial onslaught was brought on by a lack of sleep, champagne, Redbull, pickled salmon, driving in the D/FW area, the D/FW area in general and making a midnight run down I-35 to attend to our wee, defenseless dog. I’m not sure which is worse for your health, The Redbull or I-35 on memorial day weekend at 1 am.

Of course, I should have taken Mildred’s advice.

Mildred was seated across from Ali, Patti and I at the reception for the wedding we were attending in Arlington. She is silver-haired, 95 years young, the classic midwestern grandmother.

I drove in from Central Kansas,” she said picking at the fish course, a little unsure of the method of preparation that would leave salmon that particular color and consistency. “I drove in and met my daughter in Oklahoma city…it’s a long ways through Kansas, I just get sleepy so fast.”
“I had the problem on my last run through Kansas, too,” I said, trying to prop up the conversation a little longer. “Not a lot to see, you just kind of have to power through.”

“Well, now, one of my friends at the coffee shop gave me a tip for that,” she said. “Whenever i get tired now, I just pull over at a truck stop and get me some of that no-doze. Not only do i make into Oklahoma City alright, but I’m ready to go honky-tonk dancing when i get there.”

Clearly, i’ve got the wrong strategy. If Mildred can take half-a-lethal dose of caffeine at 95, I can as well. I bet she cuts a mean rug too.

Excuses

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There’s sadly been very little time lately to be doing extensive writing here or anywhere else. A plethora of graduations, weddings and other family type occurrences has left very little in the way of free time.

Also there’s been some issues with the mechanics of the site lately. As i move away from the “poke-at-it-till-it-works” theory of web design, to something a little more organized, I’m trying to keep this one as current as possible. unfortunately the site doesn’t always agree with me, and then we have issues. Like the navigation bar breaking and comments getting lost in space. To mention just a few.

However, enough with the bullshit excuses. I’m hoping to take advantage of my day of memorial and get all my outstanding hoo-ha squared away.

The Mighty Sword of Foliage Repression

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I’m not sure I understand this yard thing. Before we bought the house i was fine with grass. We could co-exist in peace but overall really saw no need for it. I even claimed, on several occasions, that if i ever had a house I’d probably xerascape the entire yard to get rid of all that water sucking St. Augustine and return my section of Texas to it’s natural splendor.

Then I got a mower. And a trimmer. And I got entirely obsessed.

To be fair, we’re still a bit hippie about it. We don’t put a lot of crap chemicals on the lawn. We let it grow a little taller than most folks in the ‘hood. We spray beneficial nematodes on it every spring.

But when it gets tall enough and dry enough, I love firing up the equipment and crafting a perfectly trimmed grass plane. I’d like to say it has something to do with pride in where you live, but for me it’s actually the act of yard care itself that i seem to enjoy. Wielding the destructive power of the weed-eater (also know as the-mighty-sword-of-foliage-repression). Mom, Dad ? You’re weekend-work-camps have successfully brainwashed me. I have become Hank Hill.

Here’s some numbers. At last mowing/trimming and clean up I burned off about 460 calories, in about an hour, with a peak-heart-rate of 129 (yup I’m a big old dork, who wore a hear rate monitor while mowing). That’s not huge but it’s something. That’s about what I do in half an hour on the stationary bikes at the “we want you to hate your body” Golds Gym that we pay to go to.

If I ever decide to get out this graphic design gig, I can start a personal-trainer/manual-labor service. Get all the folks normally at Golds on the tread mills and have them push mowers. I’d be rich in no time. No, seriously. That, or Gold’s should hook up all those treadmills and elliptical machines to generators, and we could power entire cities with fitness buffs with poor self image. They already have the “Don’t you feel ugly ?” propaganda campaign going, they just need a little bit of hardware. But I digress…

Faulty business plans aside, I really don’t think we’re made to sit and stare at computer screens as much as we do. Maybe we need to get out and walk around more, thus the obsession with my grass. There’s something very deeply satisfying about taking care of your land too. Maybe it goes back to my families farming roots. Or more likely I’ve just become fully and utterly suburbanized. Next thing you know I’ll be drinking Michelob Ultra and watching NASCAR, shouting “Go Fast, Turn left !!!!!”

*shudder*

The Idea Ninja

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I’m a designer. It’s taken me a while to get to the point where I’m willing to say that as I’ve always felt a bit under-qualified. It’s kind of like calling yourself a writer and only taking two English classes in college (which I do) or referring to yourself as a mountain biker and never riding anywhere outside of Texas (which I also do). But the thing with being is a designer is you can be as much of one or as little of one as you want too. The Language get’s funny here so bear with me… It’s a matter of how much you’re willing to put into it, how much you’re willing to push. The harder you push the more you earn that title. You can’t sit back and be the vacuous vehicle for putting a client’s/co-workere’s vision directly onto paper. It’s a disservice to both parties. You also can’t take their money and do exactly what your vision/the voices in your head demand, because that would be utter foolish chaos.

Like the Ninja, you must be quick, yet balanced.

There’s a reason I’m shpeiling on in a very non-linear fashion, with extended simile (a sign of a weak writer, I know) about this. Today I got a letter telling me I won a design award. Two of them actually. I’m not someone who wins things as a general rule, although this year seems to be the exception. I’ve certainly never won a design award before, so I’m having my existence validated a bit. Normally, I’m usually very content with a behind-the-scenes-general-praise. The ultimate backstage guy. The fans enjoyed the show because the sound guy did his job, but he/she expects little or no recognition for such a thing (unless they’re a chump). He does his job to plug someone else, to make them look good. To make sure their ideas get heard.

I think that’s what I do in a way. I take some one else’s thoughts and ideas and try to find the best possible delivery vehicle for them. It’s a big realization for me, and I think it’s why I feel ok about accepting a title that I didn’t train or study for. It’s just something I do. I think I get to keep the title as long as I keep pushing. I see and read about so many people falling/racing/stumbling into standards-compliant designs, that never seem to change. Everybody has three columns. Everybody has shiny buttons. Everybody has Apple-Tabs. We have to keep pushing, those who’ve been honored with this title and this odd profession.

For a society to be viable new ideas must be sought out. And a new idea, a new design, a new concept is so very rare and precious. The designers, the architects, the creatives, have a duty to strike a new chord in somebody’s head, to ply visual music that no one has ever heard before. We may not create that new idea, but we might push somebody else along. So I guess we’re backstage, but we’re still pushing the show.

We’re giving the ideas a mic to shout into. We are the Backstage-Idea-Ninja. We are happy to be here.