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).

Today I fell off the wagon

Today the unthinkable happened. My boss innocently asked me to sign a document. Maybe it was the long day, or the fact I was storm-weary and dehydrated after a day of no running water in the building. And so, without really thinking, I took the pen and signed. It was right about then that I realized I broke my 25-day streak of inklessness. I nearly cried. 

I've been thinking it over, trying to figure out why I'm taking this so hard. I think I now know why: I feel like I've just discovered a major character flaw, that when I let my guard down, I easily betray a conviction. That's a tough pill to swallow. I'll have to work on this. 

I first thought all was lost. But then I realized this is my project. I set the rules. And so I have come up with a punishment for myself involving a written confession and letter of apology that requires three signatures in order to continue on with my crayon project...

     

If there is a silver lining, it is this: Writing with a pen now feels harsh and violent, and consequently causes a weird pang of anxiety. It literally feels like an X-Acto knife performing minor surgery on a piece of paper. The paper and the writing instrument feel as if they are in disharmony with one another. They are two opposing elements distrustful of one another. It seems to set an awful tone and inhospitable environment for writing. 

The thickness of a crayon provides a sense of safety and a nice, leisurely pace. The wax glides smoothly, affably, across a piece of paper. Also, since crayons require more real estate, my signature now appears different, spaced out and long.      

I would like to apologize for my slip. Thank you Pam, Rachel, and Robert, for allowing me to continue. I promise to try harder to stick  to my convictions. 

   

solar flares

What's up with people lately?? Arturo wintessed a crime today...but then couldn't report it because the police kept passing the buck about whose responsibility it was to take the call. 

Then there's what happened to Justin (see exhibit A above)...

The Romeros blame solar flares.

Saturday's training class

Or how two women cried and two men argued about copyright law. In the middle of a presentation on how to sell handmade and vintage items on Etsy. Unbelievable.

Saturday's presentation started out with so much promise. The Houston Chronicle ran a little blurb about my How to Sell on Etsy presentation at the Downtown public library. A little buzz was generated; inquiries were made.  

Everything was going great. Then a very strange argument broke out about copyright issues, and it all took an unexpedted detour into crazytown. The visual aid above chronicles the timeline for each incident, and how it turned into a real domino effect. 

I can't take it too personally. The public library is the modern depository for the homeless, the disenfranchised, and the type to cry or argue during a fun presentation on how to sell handmade goods on Etsy.    

   

drawings about loss

Today we discovered someone had broken into our garage and stole a few items. Items like my power sander, my circular saw, my socket wrenches, and my pretty pink bike. And our laundry detergent. What kind of a weirdo robber steals your laundry detergent? That's the last time I buy perfume-free, sensitive skin  formulated detergent.

Day 13: Friday the 13th

It's been 13 days since I started writing exclusively in crayon. I predicted more of a drastic change than it's turned out to be. It’s made me frightfully aware of how little writing I do by hand. Also, it’s forced me to work more with e-calendars, electronic notepads, etc. And you wouldn’t believe how far crayons have come since we were kids (reformulated, repackaged with hard plastic holders to prevent breakage, etc.).  


The rule is not to tell anyone why I'm writing in crayon…until they ask. So far, not very many people have asked. Part of me is hoping it’ll take a good six months for people to catch on. The other part of me is a bit surprised no one has really asked about it. Case in point: I pulled out my crayons today at a meeting. It got several strange looks, but no comments. Does this mean I’m seen as some crackpot normally capable of breaking out a crayon box? This is both flattering and insulting. 


All kidding aside, I’m concerned with the future of handwriting. I fear it will be nearly obsolete in another 10 or 20 years, only to be practiced by the rich in pursuit of esoteric ways to waste time. 

Think you might be stressed out but not sure? Pick up a crayon and find out. A stressed out adult hand exerts a little too much pressure, causing the crayon to break. 

Rachel's Cervix. In China.

I heard a funny story today about my friend Rachel's cervix. She said her doctor told her once not to clench her muscles during her pelvic exam because "Honey, you're gonna have to relax. When you tense up, your cervix goes to China."


I've never paid Rachel's cervix any mind before hearing this story. Now I can't stop picturing it...on vacation. In China. So here's an illustration of Rachel's cervix in Tianamen Square, taking in a bit of sightseeing. I don't know if it's covering Mao's portrait in symbolic political protest or not (Rachel's cervix is subtle like that). I am concerned, however, with the amount of exposure to direct sunlight Rachel's cervix is getting. It's gonna dry out and shrivel up!  Also, what's up with Rachel's cervix packing two bags for the trip? It's not wearing anything! 


I must say, I do like drawing Rachel's cervix in crayon. I may stretch this out into a series of pictures of her cervix on exotic locations; a sort of 'cervical seven wonders of the world.'


Oh, and Rachel, thanks for the amazing cervical imagery today. I had a super-crappy day, but you saved it. But now I fear your jet-setting cervix will haunt me in my sleep. I've created a cervical monster.

Tuesday

I think I'm now dipping a toe into crackpot waters. I picked up a prescription from the pharmacy today. I had to sign for it, so the pharmacist attempted to hand me a pen. I didn't refuse. Nor did I explain. I just kept fumbling in my purse for a black crayon, and he just kept waving the pen in front of me. When I finally signed in black crayon, three pharmacists were staring at me like I was a nutter. Twenty bucks says I've earned myself a nickname.

It's been my experience 50% of my energy goes into explaining why I only write in crayon. The other 50% goes into explaining why I'm doing it...and convincing people I'm not crazy. And that second half takes much more energy than the first half does. Energy I don't have after waiting 20 minutes for a prescription refill after a busy day at work, when I'm already tired and just wanna get home to spaghetti night. Plus sometimes it really is best to just let people think I'm a nutter and not stop me from using my crayon from fear of catching a whole mess of crazy.

Sometimes crazy is easier. Sanity requires too much energy. And that's what I should have told that pharmacist.

Monday: Rain, poop, and Active shooter texts.

As a creative primer, I've decided I'm going to create a drawing each day. This is Monday's...

Today it rained so hard it flooded all around campus, which made the library basement flood. 

Then the flood made the toillets back up, which contaminated the basement water with human waste.

Then the water was shut off so they could drain the basement and fix the toilets, which meant we couldn't use the bathroom. 

Then supposedly the auto text message system accidentally sent a few students and employees an Active Shooter text. oops.

Then I went to dinner and discovered they hand out free crayons to kids...and people who write with crayon for a year.

Frankencrayons and the importance of nostalgic Inconvenience

# of crayon boxes purchased so far: 3


Just one week, and I'm already up to three crayon packs. Of course, one pack was a cheapo product that crumbled when you so much as thought about a something hard or sharp. In Crayon's defense, I'm loading up on extra packs so I can always have them at the ready.


Just about the time I wondered if it were possible to buy just black and blue crayons, (they're the ones I use the most), I run into a modern product that helps me better define my project.  

Crayola® Twistables® Slick Stix™

"These super-smooth crayons are formulated to glide across the page for a fun new coloring experience. Includes 12 different rich, brilliant colors, in durable plastic barrels that kids can twist. No more crayons breaking or sharpening needed. Crayola Twistables Slick Stix come in a reusable storage pouch and each has a child-safe snap on cap to prevent drying."


Wait, these dry out?? How can a crayon dry out? This is like some genetically altered crayon that performs more like a marker. 


When I originally found this, I became very excited about how easy and convenient the Crayola people have made it for me to carry out my year-long project. Then I realized how horrible this would be, because it would be easy and convenient, which is exactly the opposite of what I want. 


I may not know exactly what I'm doing yet or why, but I now know this much: I need to be extremely inconvenienced. I need to loiter in the process and be made aware of everything I write, and to do it with a waxy crayon with its familiar texture, matted wrapper, and comforting smell that evokes nostalgic memories of a simpler, happier time.


The experience of the crayon is a big part of the project. This product seems to take the crayon-ness out of the crayon experience and, consequently, my crayon experiment.   

Crayon goes to Jury Duty

Crappy start to the day. Performed a nearly perfect face plant-style fall whilst exiting the car after returning home when I realized I forgot my jury duty paperwork. My knees and elbows were all dirty and I ended up reporting to the wrong building for jury duty. When I found the building, security confiscated my scissors. Then I broke two HEB crayons while filling out my jury questionnaire. F@#%&*g HEB crayons. I wrote an angry missive to HEB to let them know how badly their store brand crayons suck. In crayon. 

I felt compelled to use big words and curse to prove I am an adult and not a child. This begs the question: does the difference between an adult and a child boil down to writing with a pen, using big words, and cursing?? Anyone who deals with other adults in a workplace will know the answer is yes, absofuckinglutely. 

Some serious crayon lessons

Today I learned...
HEB crayons suck and break at the worst goddamn time.

Also, a black crayon on a timesheet looks much like a marker running out of ink:

Last, your insurance company really REALLY won't find your crayon experiment funny. In fact, they just might deny you medical coverage if you're not careful. Don't ask. 

Tomorrow: Jury duty crayon shenanigans.

Crayon's first day at work

A green crayon hides from ridicule and convention. Yo soy crayon de verde. 

I’m beginning to think in crayon. Today. at work, I wrote a strongly worded email to someone explaining I’m not in the business of mollycoddling people. Mostly I wrote the strongly-worded email to have an excuse to use the word mollycoddling. I love that word. What I really wanted to do was hand write the letter and color in the word mollycoddle with a red crayon for effect. The irony is that I seem to be mollycoddling myself with this whole crayon experiment.  

My crayon and my patience both wear down quickly with the repetition of my workday. I begin to compensate by using extreme brevity of language. Oddly enough, that doesn't seem to curb the compulsion to draw. 

Did you know HEB makes crayons?  I hope the crayons aren't as bad as their store brand string cheese. Time to sample the crayon market...and pick up some tampons. Sorry, I couldn't resist the combination of the two objects in my left hand.  

Today I fantasized about making crayon sleeves with foul language written on them instead of colors. I should pick swear words to replace the names of colors.   

bonus: crayons write out the color in three different languages. I just might color my way into some foreign language skills.