The Nighttime, Sniffling, Coughing, Aching, Stuffy Head So It'll Fuck Up Yer Regular Work Day Drama

The week was a rough one. Work was steady, but not as crazy as I usually make it out to be. Things were rough cuz I have a cold. Yeah, shed a tear with me on this one.

I never get sick. (Knockin' on my faux birch veneer Ikea desk) Well, once a year I come down with something...but I usually just sort of power through it, telling myself I'm okay and more-or-less psyching myself out. No big whup.

This goddamn bug has brought me down in a week of big developments.

Last night I met with Tommy Tucker and we talked through the basics of buying a house. I'm in good hands here, so don't fret. Tommy Tucker is good people.

This afternoon I sat down with one Carol Flanagan of Northwest Mortgage to get the ball rolling with the "Pre-Approval Process" in signing my life away. I left with a pile of options, a small education and have some thinking/reading to do concerning the numbers.

I'm horribly terrified, but completely excited to do this, and do it right. I feel like the whole decision to "go for it" is completely positive, and will resonate later on, investment-wise. How about that? Buying a house. Whoa.

I'd like to thank CINCO'S Chris, Dean and Goo for covering for me as the week wore down...I should be back for the attack–100 percent–on Monday morning.

Getting The Ball Rolling

I made a big call today, a call that could change a man's life.

I called one Tommy Tucker, a real estate agent from the greater Portland area. Tommy and I gonna meet for some brainstorming, y'know, "eyeball to eyeball."

As a "first time buyer," it's normal to have a lot of questions. This will be an education for me. I'm excited. I mean, hell, if I'm gonna spend a couple more good years here, I might as well do it with "practical investing" in mind.

Not to mention, I'm real tired of renting someone else's space. Floyd has a nice pad. The Hötz family has a nice pad. Goo is a homeowner. These folks are doing things right.

All you homeowners out there, feel free to leave any "first time buyer" feedback that might be relevant in the comments section below. Advice and tips are welcome–and appreciated–as I get the ball rolling.

Holy Bredemeier!

Any self-respecting tradesman who calls a "hard day in front of a monitor" a living should pay respect to the following master craftsmen featured in this here weblog. One of the true "commercial artists" out there who give our industry a good name; spend some time at the technically amazing Bob Bredemeier.com. And be sure to pay close attention, there is much to learn.

Man, what I'd give to be able to say, just once,

“This is a job for Bredemeier!”

The shoe sketch on the home page was used in one of our Finish Line projects. I was blown away by the finesse, craft and hyper-real likeness of the work.

I went through the whole site. My favorites are, "Lemon Iced Delight", "3D Expanded Shoe Parts" and "Plastic Cell Phone Retouch." Commercial. Art.

"Get Bredemeier on the line!"

TURN IT UP

Here’s a ramshackle collection of music-related links–through art, equipment or nostalgia–as well as some amazing sources for MP3’s.

The Flaming Lips won a Grammy. What is the world coming to? (Hopefully, something beautiful.) Well done. A good laugh. Oklahoma’s finest.

Nice collages, nice color, weathered and broke-in. The guy behind some of my favorite album cover designs. Talk about a dream gig.

Load up on MP3’s at Epitonic.com. My IPOD swells with so many goodies from this site.

The drummer from the greatest band of the ‘80s. Chris Marrs of the Replacements, is an accomplished painter. Flip through his site and dig the amazing detail.

You’ll find an amazing wealth of Replacements, Paul Westerberg, Uncle Tupelo and Wilco rarities MP3’s by clicking this link right here.

Take a tour of theReplacements hangouts and haunts.

I’m hot for my very own set of drums. And when I do finally lock down a set, and a space in which to pound the fuck out of them, I plan on outfitting the drumhead with a mark of my own.

My guitar is has held up well since the summer of ‘96. I’m currently saving for one of these.

Pick this.

Full Grain Wonder / Full Grain Horror

Ben Munson, Cinco designer and purveyor of some mean fuckin’ pong backhands, sent me an amazing link a couple days back. Ben is known for his info gathering, be it with photographic solutions or “I’m looking for a…” source hunts. Every now and again he’ll send me some fascinating link from the Interweb. One has got to wonder: Where does this guy find this stuff?

So here’s a link worth clicking. Upon arrival, start clicking away, and be prepard to be paralyzed with awe. >> Fuckin' amazing.

I’m bit of a carver myself. I like the idea of the “wood holding something inside it.” I remember hearing a little ditty about Michaelangelo and how he justified his talent as a “duty to God.” Something along the lines of, “Hell, the sculpture is inside. I’m just the guy who chips away the pieces that don’t belong.” Yeah buddy, go paint a ceiling or something.

Anyhoo, I’ve done a little carving in my day, with big hopes and even sharper knives. Here’s a piece from my Alaskan summer days, carving in between runs on the train.

You gotta pay to play: One time I was stayin’ over at my Gramma Josie’s apartment. I was back from Oregon for a spell and was on a bit of a carving kick. I had this chunk of a branch, neatly parted out into a carvable chunk. Well, like a dumbass, my blade of choice was a regular ol’ X-Acto knife. So dumb. I was really into it, carefully whittling my chain link creation, when, in a moment of fleeting terror, a certain tough corner gave way and snapped. With a flash of silver and an odd feeling in my ring finger, I noticed a gaping slash, blood streaming down my fingers, into my palm. I nearly lost it. Instinct took over and I made my way over to the sink, got the water going, then a compress. It was well past midnight, so I called mom and dad. A couple hours later I had a seven stitches another lesson learned: “Don’t carve with a fuckin’ X-Acto knife.”

So when this graphic design shit goes broke, maybe I’ll pursue the “woodchip arts” as a living. Y’know, chainsawin’ bears and shit out of tree stumps.

Girlstuff / Street Legal / Free Time

Melissa will be out here in a three weeks. So good. I miss the girl. I look forward to gettin’ her back out here. Big plans are in the works for this young lady involving the Redwoods, school plans and her executive position in the Girlstuff Dept. of the Draplindustries Design Co.

Rejoice. I’m street legal. I got my Oregon driver’s license today. Hell, it only took me three times to pass the damn test. Man, they whipped me into shape real good. These last couple days, I’ve been reading that book with a fervor unmatched by like-minded scholars. My driving has totally improved. Well, all that book knowledge has made me privy to how many infractions are made each day, by my own hand, and others. We’re a bunch of road hacks.

I sent the last official spread of Sean’s book. Phew. What a project. Now, the publishers start to the process the pages, and the beast comes together for our approval. Very excited to see those pages get printed. The freelance slate is clean. It feels good. Gonna take some time for myself and take things easy.

Get Over Here And Give Yer Big Brother A Hug

Ben and Matt Cooley stopped by late last week for a quick visit. They were in town on bereavement matters (which is always sad) but were down in Portland to see friends for the night. Their spirits seemed to be high, for the most part.

They came over to the pad and we did a little bit of catching up. Man, how they've grown.

We cruised over the Chris-n-Gretchen's pad to chat and check up on Gretchen's motherhood preliminaries. See, she's carrying a little one, and even though this type is small, this information is very big and that much more exciting. Best of luck to the Hötz family. Good people. Like the Draplindustries Design Co., Chris makes a living in the Graphic Arts at NEMO design. Gretchen cuts hair at a sassy little joint called the Sugar Lab, chock full of "easy-on-the-eye" stylists. Next time the hair gets real bad, I'm gonna look to her for a solution.

It was good to see my little brothers. See, we formed a cemented brotherly bond moons ago in Bend, Oregon. My group of rat-tailed, slack-jawed friends took these little rugrats under our wings, teaching them the ways of the world. Ben snowboarded a bunch. Matt mastered the 3D Super Mario Brothers apparatus.

Nowadays, Ben is in the big city New York being a model. Matt is finishing up his Interactive Design degree at the Minneapolis College of Art and Design. Good things on the horizon for both of these kids.

I miss ‘em. Thanks for stopping in, men. Be careful out there.

60!: Dad's Surprise Birthday Party

As promised, either for posterity or historical documentation’s sake, we here at the Draplindustries Design Co. are offering a detailed account of Dad’s 60th Surprise Birthday Party.

The decision to throw dad a party was made well before Christmas. The old man was turning 60, a milestone, a testament, a reason, if any, to get everyone together to pay tribute; and get loaded. Mom and Sarah got the ball rolling with calls to caterers, halls and hotels. Of course, all “under the breath,” as keeping this whole ménage a secret was of utmost importance. From my end out west, I got a postcard going, as well as the crowd pleaser 1” buttons. The family and friends were invited, and you bet, the RSVP calls started to pour in. From the get go, we knew this revelry would be a success.

Getting all the kids in one place is a challenge. Everyone has left the nest. Leah and Nate were coming up from college, Sarah was coming up from her Audiologist job in Detroit and I was flying in from Portland. Hell, even Melissa was coming in, from her Sioux Falls winter haunt. All the troops were needed.

I flew into Detroit, where Uncle Kevin picked me up. Always good to see him. We drove the 40 minutes north, intersecting the metro area up towards the Northeast suburbs. He dropped me off at Sarah’s, and I got the pleasure of getting reacquainted with my little sister and my better half. We drove up north the next day. On our way out of town, we stopped at Sarah’s office. She checked my hearing (passed with flying colors) and made a mold of my ear canal. Whoa, sonic! I’m still trying to figure out why she had me drop my drawers for a hearing test. Hmmm.

We were northbound soon after. Sarah drove like a banshee, passing cars and tailgating like any good Detoiter. I finally lost my shit and let out a barrage of threats and expletives begging for my life on the snowy northwoods roads. Me made it up north safely. Thank the heavens. We checked into “basecamp” (a string of Holiday Inn rooms reserved for people coming in for the party) and made our way out to mom and dad’s.

Saturday afternoon was prep time. All the Aunts, Uncles, Cousins and friends came together and got everything ready. Unca Terry, Unca Pat and Unca Mike stocked a wicked bar. Aunt Mary led a legion of cousins in the decorating. Sarah freaked out. Kelsey and Melissa caught up on all things pertinent. I got a keg. And a tap.

The party was perfect. The big moment went off without a hitch. We lured dad in with a whooped up story about a “benefit fish fry for a couple guys who fell through the ice.” A fish fry, for guys who feel through the ice? Right. Well, the old man bought it. We all walked in, dad paused for a second and sort of caught on. The flashbulbs started bursting and a scream rose, a thuderclap of voices, saying, “Surpriiiiiiise.” Dad walked into the hall, wide eyed and let out a spirited, “Holy Shit.”

And with that, the party began. The turnout was amazing. I saw cousins I didn’t even know I had. Lots of family and friends to chat with. We ate, we drank, we chatted. Dad opened a mountain of presents.

From my little niche, many good friends attended. Bry and Tracey brought Little Eva out into the cold for the big night. She slept through it all. That’s good, she needs the rest in her formative years. Always good to see Campbell. Miss him. Chad Smith made a late appearance and updated me with his new happenings. A brother.

Dad had a great time. He entertained the crowd, mingled and caught up with everyone. The whole debacle was a stellar success. I look forward to his 70th, 80th, 90th…. Etc.

The rest of my weekend was spent hanging out with mom and dad; eating amazing mealsm talking and watching tube. Lots of relaxing. It is always good to be home. Having Melissa, Leah, Nate and Sarah in for the event also made it all complete.

- - - - - - - -

SPORTING BONUS: Any event inlvolving a pool is an opportunity for Dad to unleash his famous “Moby Kowalski” dive. He’s been performing this family tradition for ages–impressing all onlookers and naysayers–and of course, clearing out the pool with his volume-counter-distributing leviathan mass. The sequence above shows the takeoff, and aftermath of such an incident. Special thanks to the East Bay Holiday Inn pool area for allowing this sporting anomaly to take place.

Love Letter / Big Announcement / Warm Wishes

Being Valentine's Day and all yesterday, with sentiments of love and affection in the air, and well, in other places; we thought we'd share a special note we found in our lonely travels around the city. Disbanded, the document in question was found on the ground, possibly dropped from a lover's coat pocket or maybe even thrown away...a casualty of a fiery relationship gone bad?

Blue ink, on pink cardstock:

"Something happened when I met you. There was no jury deliberation, no questioning of my answer; I had been waiting for you for long enough. I knew what to do. Let go. Allow the unexpected to surprise like resurrected hope. Trust my feelings. Accept your acceptance. Learn a new dance... shoes or shoeless, blind, fearless...moment to moment."

Man, love IS in the air. Or, on the ground. And hell, what about that "accept your acceptance" line? Man, that shit is so heavy, I don't even know what it means! Phew.

In other amore' news, I had a chat with Derek Denoyer tonight, just hours after a long friday designing page after page. D is getting married. Goddamn. Now, the last time we hung out–over the holidaze–he told me about the big engagement, and I'll be damned, had a pretty gal with a ring on her finger to prove it. Jaws dropped.

Turns out I'm on the list for the the guys who will stand up for Derek. An honor. I've been on his side since the early '90s. You bet.

This ceremony is slated for late August. I'm gonna book a ticket real soon, and get fitted for a tux, and all that. Well, I'll get a ticket for starters. The "having to dress up" part is gonna get ugly. Oh yeah, push back this event back to say, late September, cuz...well, I do a lot of sweating in August. Thanks.

Best wishes to Derek and Alexis.

Happy Valentine’s Day to the love-of-my-late-twenties: Melissa Okins.

With that said, I’d like to dedicate a song that is close to my cold, road-worn, haggard, barren heart:

- - - -

“Lady” by Kenny Rogers

Lady, I'm your knight in shining armor…

- - - -

Aw hell, I‘ll stop right there. Girl, you get what I’m sayin’, right?

Mid-February Factory Floor Rotations

01. Songs Ohia - Didn't It Rain
02. Hazeldine - Doubleback
03. Pete Krebs and the Gossamer Wings - Sweet Ona Rose
04. Ashtray Hearts - Old Numbers
05. Gastr Del Sol - Camofleur
06. The Sea and Cake - One Bedroom
07. Loose Fur - Loose Fur!
08. Kathleen Edwards - Failer
09. Shins - Oh, Inverted World
10. Pinebender - Too Good To Be True
11. Billy Joe Shaver - Freedom's Child
12. Oxes - Oxxxes
13. Calexico - Scraping
14. Archer Prewitt - Three
15. Free Range Pickin' - From The Other Side Of The Fence
16. Paul Westerberg - Stereo
17. Beatles - Rubber Soul
18. Califone - Sometimes Good Weather Follows Bad People
19. Dirtbombs - Ultraglide in Black
20. J Mascis - Free So Free
21. Metallica - Master of Puppets
22. Owen - No Good For No One
23. Wilco - Yankee Foxtrot Hotel
24. Sebadoh - Bakesale
25. Carole King - Greatest Hits

An outtake from the last couple month's travels.

(Image courtesy of the Berling Photo Archives.)

Headin’ Down To Bend

Pat “the eYe” Bridges and Mark Sullivan, partners in crime/intertwined alpine lovers, are in Central Oregon for the weekend, breaking ranks from their day jobs to announce the Grand Prix (Grands Pricks) Halfpipe Competition Series. Bridges sets up athlete rosters and big air deals, Mark announces the pipe event. In all honesty, all that jazz and bullshit aside, they do a pretty good job with it all.

So I’m gonna head down to do some poachin’ of their all-expense paid suites.

Bend Fuckers on my list for ass-kickings: Noah, Yamada, Fink, Leonard, Port-o-feel’d and whoever else wants a little piece.

Should be a good time. Take a breather from the city action. Lots of good terrain to cover on the way down there. You go right past Mt. Hood–through the snowy forests–and into the high desert, past rivers, gorges and ranches. Beautiful stuff. Familiar terrain from the old days of my youth.

The workweek was a good one. Mean Dean kept the joint on par with his dilligent account managing. Thanks for keeping everything on track so well.

Weathered: On this fine Friday, Portland was treated to clear skies and a very perfect 58 degrees. The best days going, in my book.

That Man Made My day

I made a new friend today, and may have picked up a new client in the process.

See, Big S has been acting up a bit in the last couple months, in the “exhaust department,” concerning some “burning of oil.” The smell was there, as was some conspicuously thick fumes when idling. He’s still a baby for Chrissake, weighing in at a healthy 37,000 miles. Well, maybe a “teenager” as far as a good rig’s life might go. I was concerned and made a pact with myself to get him into the service center as soon as possible. I got up real early, while the rest of the city slept in warm beds, and made my way out into the Eastern P-Town ‘burbs towards the car dealerships.

Everything was going as planned. I dropped him off and was instructed to wait in the “pickup area” for the shuttle van. The dealership offers complimentary rides to work and such while yer rig is getting tuned/patched up. Good.

I’m approached by a stout, older, smiling black man with a pile of keys in his hand, “You ready? Ha-ha. I sure am!”

Now, the world offers many jobs to a hard workin’ man. Some guys make a livin’ cooking. Some guys don't do a damn thing and live off the system. Some guys are in the graphic arts. Some guys drive complimentary shuttles. In my experience, those who partake in the latter usually come off as bothered, cold and inattentive.

I’m here to to tell you, that every now and again, a man comes along who breaks this mold.

This man is named Bill Sweeney.

Bill Sweeney is 62 years old. I’ve got a hankering he’s got another 62 in ‘em too. He was born in the South, growing up in Nashville where he “…swept the bar down the street each morning for 35 cents. And hey man, I remember wanting to buy just one cold beer in that place. Ha!” He joined the service in 1957 and it pulled him out West where he fell in love with Portland. “I’ve been here ever since.” he added. Bill worked for years out at Tektronix, but for the last eight years has held down the shuttle driver position at Rey Rees Volkswagen. Bill has a good sense of humor and loves to laugh.

Let’s just say this much. We got to be close friends in that stretch of some 120 blocks. He dropped me off at Cinco and we parted with a firm handshake.

A couple hours later I get a call from the dealer. Thumbs up, everything was cool with Big S. Good. Much relief. He said he’d track Bill down and let him know I needed a lift back out to the dealership. Not 20 minutes later I get a call and it’s Bill, “Heyyyyyyy Aaron! I’m on the corner of 11th and Market! Where you at boy?” I grabbed my jacket, ran outside and there he was.

I took him out to lunch, the least I could do for such amazing service. We talked about meals, family and his famous “ Mr. B’s Premium Barbeque Sauce.” I offered to design him up a label, complete with a exclusive photo shoot. He loved the idea. Collaborations are in the works.

- - - -

Wisdom, shared with me, and some sad-sapped patron in the back seat who needed a ride to Vancouver:

“I wake up each day and thank the big guy for my breath.”
“I don’t like these folks who are stuck up. I like the ones who will talk with me.”
“Look at that! A ’62 Comet! Like a spaceship! Ha!”
“Mmmm! A man has got to love good eatin’.”
“I don’t like these folks who drive all crazy. You can’t trust ‘em.”

Back in the Rose City.

Glad to be home. The lack of updates has been due to some top secret missions involving my dad and his recently-declassified surprise birthday party entrails.

Settle down, truckers.

It's His Party And He'll Cry If He Wants To, Cry If He Wants To: Dad was blown away.

Can't fight this feeling: It was real good to see Melissa.

Harvester of Sorrow: Real tired of flying. Not down with it. Turbulence= terror. Don't know what it is. Freaks the fuck out of me. I thought this lady next to me was gonna lose it. I took my cue from the pilots shoptalking ahead of us. They looked calmed. I took comfort in that.

Expect a full report once the post-trip laundry is done and the bills are paid in full.

SIA VEGA$ 2003.

Not too much to report.

Lots of the same: Dudes, drinkin’ and gamblin’.

The show was good for the most part. Sort of muted and lackluster as far as attendance goes. The whole beast used to be so much bigger. Sure, you see the same ‘ol bunch of Willie Lomans running around, pitching this, pitching that. Sure, you see a bunch of happy “Yes Men” shaking hands and raising eyebrows. Industry fucks. Makes it all fun.

I like seeing all the new graphics. New catalogs, images, gimmicks.

1. Ride was strong, as always.
2. Burton had some top dollar stuff worth getting a digi shot or two of.
3. J2 has a rad Doze Green graphic on Liquid snowboards or something.
4. Nitro was tough and mean and on course.
5. Capita had fun retro skiing images.
6. The Grenade fucks seem to be coming along fine. Good for them.
7. Transworld Snowboarding is stale as ever. SNOWBOARDER has a big opportunity in front of them, a chance to take their deflated competitors by storm. Good… full steam ahead.

Poker in the rear: This year our game of choice was “War.” Yeah, the ‘ol high-card-wins game. Easy-n-sleazy. At one point I was up a good hundred or so, and had a giant hand rolling with 85 bucks down. I was locked in a “war” with the dealer, which means we both had the same cards facing each other. Now, you can back down and call it a draw, or double up and go for it. I flicked another 80 bucks down and Rose threw in a five dollar chip. 170 big ones down…with a chance to win another 170. A 340 dollar hand. Retirement money. Then my big moment came. The dealer laid the card down… a “3 of hearts.” Fuck. The rest of the cards were dealt, to less-than-flattering results and then the dealer laid her card down… a “4 of clubs.” Fuck! Beat me by one. Real bad.

They got me that time.

The next morning, after a couple hours of shut-eye, the lure of the tables got me in another pickle. Over to the “war” table I went. I laid down 15 bucks…and won. Keep going. Then I bet the 30…and won again. Good and hot. Then I bet the 60 and won yet again! 120 big ones! Walk away. Damn straight. Retaliation.

You go to Vegas thinking you’ll make money. That’s a good plan. There’s a sick optimism to all of it, where every mark and his stepbrother thinks, “Hey, maybe I’m the one who’ll take them for a good chunk.” Not gonna happen.

Rose was in good form. Giant piece of shit. Bridges wore sunglasses inside the show. Nemo design was on the prowl. Goo and I were too. Guba smelled of Marlboros.

Many thanks to Chief for the fruitful accommodations. A big brother of mine.