Close Calls and Cold Cuts

I knew it was going to be a hectic morning before I went to sleep last night. I had left a lot on my plate which as any fat kid will tell you, wasn't a good idea. I had been working on illustrating a book cover for my Illustration class for over a week now. I decided just the other night that I hated the design I'd made and wanted to do a new one. This is again a terrible idea in regards to timing and proper pacing, but I felt that it would be the better decision in the end and my final product would be much improved and my grade would likewise follow. I started work and put in the time redoing the painting for the cover. It was long and painstaking work but in the end I loved the design and I think the painting turned out pretty well. It wasn't a masterpiece or anything, but it was definitely acceptable, especially under the circumstances. Having finished my painting I still had the task of going and getting a digital version printed in full color and then matting the original and digital together into a final presentation.

This was the task I left myself for this morning, both the printing and matting. I woke up early and got ready to finish up the assignment. I had until 11 to get everything done and make it to class. I set off to the printers first to get my digital copy printed out. I got there in good time even with the roads super icy, and to my surprise found that there was no wait. I was in luck! I stepped up to the counter handed the clerk my flash drive and ordered Color like it was a limited edition sandwich at McDonalds. The clerk smiled and informed me that unfortunately their printer was broken and it would be a few hours before a technician could come service it. Oddly, it appeared as though he expected me to wait around for those few hours possibly discussing french cinema or playing croquet. I declined that offer and ran to the school in hopes of finding a printer that could manage to spit out a 6x9 color copy of any quality.

I was in luck yet again as the conveniently located Copy Spot copying center was able to take my order and print out a gorgeous version of my book cover. I had to go to the Bookstore to get my black matte board anyway so it turned out perfectly. I took my copy and my newly acquired mat to the library and began hastily cutting away at it with 30 minutes left before class began. As I was finishing taping the back I glanced at the clock to see to my horror that I had 3 minutes until class began. I was on the 3rd floor of the library and I had class on the 3rd floor of a different building. I rushed to class as fast as I could, possibly setting a record for most stairs descended and ascended in 3 minutes time. I made it into class and tacked up my illustration just as my name was called for role. It was the closest of calls, following quite possibly one of the longest critiques I've ever sat through. I was starving by the time class finally got out, but I had to head to work.

There is a cafe right next door to work that always smells really great. I've never been yet and I'm not sure exactly what they serve but there is always a long line. I stopped by really quick just to check it out but all they had was Bagels. Why there is such a line always for bagels I cannot explain. I went into the student grocery place and grabbed a sandwich because I saw a girl carrying one out and it seemed like what a logical person would eat for lunch. I hate sandwiches. I have never liked them from the time I was little until the present day. I end up eating them from time to time and it always makes me think of when I was little and my mom would pack me sack lunches for elementary school and there would always be without fail, a sandwich. She always complains that I would just throw my sandwiches in the trash rather than eat them, and to be honest I don't remember that at all, but it's quite believable knowing me. It makes me feel slightly bad knowing the effort it takes to make someone a lunch, even a very basic one that I wouldn't just eat the sandwiches in appreciation for my mom making them, but what can I say, I hate sandwiches. So I ate a sandwich today, and I can honestly say that I still don't like them.

Escape Artists Never Die

There is a bridge near the county line that spans over the infamous Snake River, just between the forgettable town of Rigby (where the television was invented) and the strangely profitable Bear World resort. The bridge is hardly remarkable even with the vast river flowing beneath it, one could pass over the top of it without even realizing they had driven over a bridge much less a river named for its winding snake-like course. It was on a dark and unreasonably cold night that the forces of nature conspired against me to try and use this bridge to destroy me, my transportation, and Jessie's brand new guitar hero controllers. We had decided to be spontaneous and go somewhere fancy for dinner. Nothing says fancy like the Olive Garden so we headed out, even though neither one of us liked the Olive Garden at all. In fact I'd say no two people despised the place more than we did. Putting our preferences for fine dining to the wind we headed down to Idaho Falls to sit surrounded by the elite upper class of Eastern Idaho and stuffed our faces with breadsticks. Coming down to the city was no small affair so we had to stop in at Best Buy and see what kind of deals you can usually only find online. Jessie's love of guitar hero and making new friends by owning guitar hero convinced her that purchasing another controller was a genius move, although I wasn't so sure. We headed home at this point, leftover Olive Garden in our laps, guitar hero controller safely stowed away, and Funeral for a Friend CD in the player. It was a recipe for the perfect ride home, but dark forces were at work......

It had snowed a few days before but the roads were clear and the weather had been nice that day. There was still snow drifts off the sides of the road and in the median but there wasn't a flake to be seen on the roads themselves. We had just reached the bridge when all time seemed to slow to a crawl. There was some scientific miracle taking place that we were oblivious to until it was too late. The water under the bridge turned to condensation or something similar and caused the road above the bridge to be a pure sheet of black ice. We hit it and spun like a quarter on a lunchroom table. There was no time to do anything but prepare for the crash as it happened in front of our own eyes. We hit the guard rail and bounced into a ditch ripping the front and back of the car apart. The force of the impact shattered the rear view mirror into tiny shards and sent them flying directly into my face. The airbag exploded out just after the mirror and again smashed into my face. There was a thick, dark plume of smoke that erupted and a crunching thud. The sounds of "Escape Artists Never Die" blared over the car stereo as we sat in shock of what had just occurred. Fortunately neither of us was really hurt, and our wounds were easily tended to by the paramedics that came shortly after.

A few days ago I emailed my sculpture professor informing him that I had missed several sessions of his class due to a recent serious illness and that I had every intention of making up the work I had missed and also in attending the remainder of his class without fail. Today I was graced with his response. Unfortunately for me, he was unsympathetic to my plight and suggested I drop his course rather than give him the satisfaction of failing me for missing more than the allotted number of absences as clearly outlined in the carefully xeroxed syllabus provided each student on day one of the course. This news was even more unfortunate due to the giant red marking "REQUIRED TO GRADUATE" that appeared under the course title on my graduation plan. Needless to say it was a kick to the stomach to find myself in such a situation.

Today was a day of firsts. My roommate asked me to accompany him and several other friends to Buffalo Wild Wings (Which I'd never been to before) to see the UFC fight tonight. I'd never watched UFC and had no interest in it. I really don't understand the appeal, but then again I never understood the draw of watching a bunch of colorful cars drive around a circle for hours at a time either. After the internal injuries at the hands of my now-former sculpture teacher this morning, I felt like a night out on the town with the boys just might be the grandpa's cough syrup I needed. I followed another roommate down into town since I had no clue where this magical wing place was, and Dan said he would meet us there. We arrived and the place was packed, mostly with giant potato-shaped guys in MMA shirts and facial/neck hair. The wait was 30 minutes and I was immediately ready to throw in the towel. But rather than tap out like a wuss, I held strong and waited like a champ. (Yes I'm going to keep throwing out fighting terminology because I'm witty like that). Before we could be seated Dan texted and said he wasn't coming. I believe my blood literally boiled or at least simmered for a minute or two. Here I had come just because he asked me to, to a place I didn't care about, and to watch a fight I couldn't be less interested in, and it was now just I and a roommate I consider weird and disposable. Shortly after the fight started and the doors were closed. There was no more seating so we were basically out of luck. The manager took us aside and said "Hey, I got a spot for you. Follow me." We followed him down into the pit of drunken hooligans that call cage fighting a sport. There was a ramp that went down into the main eating area, and to the side of the ramp was a giant ledge. The manager pointed to the raised ledge and said "You can sit up there and watch the fight. I will send a waitress over to take your order." So we sat up on this ledge above the crowd. I'll admit it, it was awkward. But after the initial awkwardness wore off it was actually pretty awesome. All the staff seemed to love the peculiar arrangement, and everyone that walked by talked to us mostly remarking on how we had the best seats in the house. The guys immediately below us offered to toss us dirty dollar bills in exchange for a dance, which we of course graciously accepted. I stuffed my face with wings, watched grown men beat each other senseless, and had a great time. The final fight was between 2 women fighters, which I was surprised was even legally allowed to be broadcast. It was a great time, and a great fight too I must admit.

After the fight was over I headed out to Bowl-ero, which is one of the sketchiest bowling alleys I have had the good sense to walk into. The booming sounds of Bono and the boys laced with the sounds of ricocheting pins and rolling bowling balls is a sound that could heal the hearts of the broken masses. While waiting for my friend to bowl I was complaining about being stuck for another semester and the gall of my ever-aging sculpture assassin. My friend told me something I've heard again and again throughout my life. "Everything happens for a reason." Sitting on yet another ledge, at the Bowl-ero I recognized that I had spent a lot of time on ledges that day, but also that even when life comes crashing down around you, escape artists never die.

Disarmed With a Smile

It was going to be a long day. I knew that before it had ever even started. I went to bed the night before dreading the massive amount of "to do's" on my imagined list within my mind. It seems strange but my body must have somehow adapted to the few hours of sleep I manage to scrape from each night. I had only slept two hours when I woke from a strange dream. I couldn't go back to sleep so I just laid in bed irritated as the minutes until my alarm blared came closer and closer. I finally gave up waiting for my alarm to test my patience and just got up and ready for class. It was cold out which was no surprise, it's always disturbingly cold out here. I walked to class quickly but then stopped in the library. I was almost 20 minutes early so I decided to sit in one of the nice chairs they provide for people to gawk at others walking by.

There are only 2 kinds of people that walk by that early in the morning on their way to class. There are the dedicated, all-hands-on-deck students that would have a "Led Zepplin in a nice hotel on a Saturday night" style breakdown if they were late to class or missed an assignment... and then there are the stoic, zombie-faced kids that still can't define economics because they don't realize that's the name of their class they are attending so insanely early every morning. I don't like to categorize myself so I won't try to fit myself into either category, it would just be unfair.

It turns out that sculpture class is really quite boring when you don't have a sculpture to work on. I decided about midway through the class period to bail after filling approximately 3 pages worth of doodles. I made like the French hearing the sounds of conflict and ran out of there like a madman. After my retreat I headed to Illustration. I had only been in class a few minutes when my professor called me out and said... "I need to talk to you."

My heart sank. Captain, crew, ship, all of it.

He pulled me out into the hall to have a discussion. I tried to think of how many people I'd hit with my car lately or if I'd prank called anyone lately like in the 90's.... I couldn't think of any possible reason for this sidebar. Once in the hall he again said, " I've been meaning to talk to you." "Me?" I asked. He then asked, "You turned in the Dropkick Murphy's poster for your personal exploration assignment right?"
Oh yeah... I did do that. It was an assignment where we submitted illustrations we liked and were inspired by. I didn't think there was any problem with what I'd submitted, but then here I was.

It turns out my teacher used to be quite the fan of punk rock, and so he called me out into the hall to secretly discuss a former passion of his. We talked about different shows we'd been to and bands we liked, all while my fellow students were in class and having to read some random article. We talked for around 10 minutes before he decided it was probably time to really start class. I went from having a heart attack to having my heart warmed and finding a friend in my teacher who I would never had guessed had much of anything in common with me. Punk rock, bringing people together who can't stand other people.

It Takes One

Someone once said to me, "You don't suffer fools and the world is full of fools." 

I knew a man a while ago from the cold north, he was older and widely known and respected. He seemed to know everyone in town and was surely known by almost everyone around. He was talking to me one day about an old friend of his who he'd been friends with for over twenty years. He didn't know this good friend of his's name, nor did he know the name of many of his other good friends. He explained that when they had first met they had told each other their names but he had forgotten his friends shortly after. He was embarrassed to ask his friend his name again after that, so he just always greeted his friend without naming him. Every time he saw his friend he would just say "Hey, how's it going?" without ever mentioning his name. He carried on year after year not remembering several of his friends names until the present day. It was a funny story and it was easy to see how the same thing could happen to just about anyone.

There is a guy that has his stand next to me in painting class. Everyday we stand next to each other and paint. A lot of times we are partners on assignments or set up still life scenes together. He always asks me everyday how I'm doing and calls me by name. I don't remember his name and it has been several weeks now of classes. He is a really cool guy and I like talking to him in class but I don't have the slightest idea of his name. I'm going to find out before the semester ends though, perhaps through intrigue, perhaps by hiring a private investigator. Of course I could always just ask him... nope, that'll never happen.

I tricked my roommate into going to a Harry Potter party tonight. I told him it was just a party. He left almost immediately. 

People come into our lives and make life better and more interesting. When they leave they take something of us with them. It's good to have friends, even if you don't know their names.