What the government won't tell you

Today, as part of my promise to prioritize my artistic endeavors, I impulsively signed up at the last minute for a class titled Creative Journaling. 


I've taught craft classes for Leisure Learning before, so you'd think I'd remember what kind of people actually take Leisure Learning classes. 


For starters, my conversation at the front of the building went something like this...
Some Dude: (Blocks my entry into the building) Hi there.
Me: (trying to walk around him) Hi. How are you?
Some Dude: I'm as fine as frog hair.
Me: Sorry?
Some Dude: Fine as FROG HAIR.
Me: Did you say fine as FROG HAIR?
Some Dude: Have you ever seen frog hair?
Me: No.
Some Dude: That's how fine it is.
Me: Oh. Okay.


And that essentially set the tone for the evening.


Coincidentally, I ran into a woman upstairs who physically resembled a toad. She hardly had any hair on her head (or was it just fine, as Some Dude had just told me), but had plenty of facial hair to make up for it. She also smelled bad (of course she did). She seemed to know where ALL the classrooms on the 6th floor were (i.e., SHE'S A REGULAR WHO'S PROBABLY TAKEN EVERY CLASS THEY OFFER).


Here's where it got weird. I accidentally found myself at room 9 instead of room 3. Room 9's lights were off. There was one woman wearing an intense expression standing in the dark in the middle of a circle of chairs. The sign on the door read something like "What the Government Won't Tell You." It was disturbing. 


Still, it gave me something to write about. 

The three different types of people, and the solar storms that govern them.

When writing with a crayon, it becomes apparent that there are three groups of people: 

The I'm-angry-at-your-crayon-people: 

They seem to believe I am going out of my way to single them out personally to issue them an unnecessary challenge. These people  typically seem to react apprehensively to change. The entire city of Dallas seems to fit in this category.

The I'm-really-happy-your-crayon-broke-up-the-monotony-of-my-job people:

This group appears really into the crayon concept--or at least welcome a change in their day. In fact, they absolutely INSIST I sign in crayon. These people are typically younger and come across as more easy-going. 

The it-wouldn't-phase-me-if-you-wrote-in-blood people:

THIS is the group of people I'm actually most interested in, mostly because I'm not exactly sure WHY they don't care, so I am completely amused and curious by their lack of interest. 

I do believe my crayon project is adversely affected by being started during a year lousy with sun storm activity. Is it so far-fetched to believe that such a huge jolt of magnetically charged energy barreling toward the earth at speeds of millions of miles per hour--that affect cellular transmission and GPS, and visually manifest itself with stunning auroras--can adversely affect our mood and psyche? 

  

Crayon signature reaction of the day

Co-worker, upon realizing I signed an official doc with a black crayon: "Oh look at that, you did it."

Sunday researchin': How crayons are made

Check out how crayons are made...and how Mister Rogers says "CRAYENS:"
http://video.pbs.org/video/1415190951 

Dallas: Crayon-intolerant

It should come as no surprise that Dallas, notorious for its conservative bent and compulsive desire to kill presidents, really didn't care for my crayons. 

Arturo, Buster, and I were there for the Jean Paul Gaultier exhibit at the Dallas Museum of Art. Two cashiers at two separate museum gift shops were noticeably apprehensive toward my crayon signature. 

The first woman did so without words by swishing a pen back and forth to block the crayon. I paused, smiled, and accepted the pen from her. then I calmly placed it on the counter and resumed my crayon signature. 

The second encounter went like this...

Guy in standard-issue museum black outfit (GSIMBO): You can't sign in crayon.

ME: Actually, it's perfectly legal.

GSIMBO: No, you have to sign this in pen.

ME: I can't.

GSIMBO: Yes, you have to.

ME: No, I cannot.

GSIMBO: Why?

(Finally!)

ME: I took an oath to only write in crayon.

GSIMBO: Peeved, gives up and writes the words "on file" under my signature. 

ME: ???

I guess it's my fault for expecting more creative tolerance from an actual museum. 

Oh! And in your face, snarky "NO PICTURES IN THE EXHIBIT" guy! 

Also, the exhibit was awesome.

Yet ANOTHER reason to Hate Bank of America...

And now a unicorn chaser...

check out the new Fluevog shoe coloring books!

'Turo

'Turo and his rabbit ears. He bought them at a Flaming Lips show at Red Rocks.
It seems I've yet to replicate Hispanic skin tone with crayons, so he looks a bit orange. Perhaps this is another color that needs to be called into existence. According to the 2010 U.S. census, Americans of Hispanic descent make up 16.3% of the U.S. population. I'd say this warrants a latino/a skin tone crayon color.

The crayon project continues. People continue to give me funny looks when I write in crayon or catch me coloring. I'm learning to embrace it. Also, I'm up to, like, a half-dozen boxes of crayons. When I just have the basic 24-crayon pack on me, it's akin to writing in a journal using only remedial vocabulary. A girl needs more than 24 crayons to express herself.

This week's been very busy. It's really thrown me off. Every day I want to run home, put on my new slippers I recently bought while intoxicated (I swear, I make my best purchases while under the influence), and watch Downtown Arby's (Downton Abbey) with Bustity (Buster).