What the...?

YESTERDAY

A year ago yesterday, the FamDamily and I moved from California. Well, it wasn’t so much a move as it was an exodus. We had to cross the desert to do it, but I’m hoping it doesn’t take 40 years to find the land of milk and honey.

But in a way, I guess I have already found it. I mean hey, there is quite a lot of both milk and honey here in Minnesota.

I remember when we left how angry I was. I felt like I was chased out of paradise. I felt like a bad mother for having to move the kids again. I remember how horrible it was to have to leave two of my children behind.

But we had little choice but to make the journey to the Midwest. After losing our jobs, we had no money and certainly no resources to help us. Not my ex-husband, who could have taken us in, or at least paid his child support. Not the church, whose many wealthy members wouldn’t even come to our garage sale after a tearful plea from my husband for help.

I know that I am still bitter about it. That is clear in this writing. But more than anything, I am sad for my little girls, whose bio-Dad gave up on them. I am so thankful that Shawn came into my life, and to theirs. He is a great father to them. He heals their pain a little more with every hug.

A year later, I am happy to be living here, and glad for the move. My life is opening up in ways it couldn’t in California. I am getting quite connected in the theater world, and am finally chasing my own dreams. The girls seem happy. It was tough on them for a while, but they are doing better now. If only Shawn could find work that didn’t make him feel like a whore…But at least he’s willing to do it.

Re: Bubble Hockey Blues

After reading Shawn's last entry, the first thing I thought was, "Well if he's a whore, than I must be his pimp".
But after thinking about it some more, I realized that this isn't true. Yes, we have a traditional marriage in that he is the main breadwinner, and I manage the household and children. And we like it this way, although I would never refer to myself as a “stay at home Mom”.

Shawn defined a whore as a person who: “Is just selling the one thing (they) do best at a premium price.” However, I don’t think that sex is necessarily what every whore does best. Many whores have knowledge, talents and skills that have nothing to do with fucking. And drawing washing machines and toasters is definitely not what Shawn does best. In fact, I’ve seen his toasters. They aren’t all that.
The truth is that whores sell what people are willing to pay for. Most people are willing to pay for a CBT, not a piece of art. Which tells you something about the society we live in. I think "American Values" are the real pimps here.

Shawn’s peers at work are, for the most part, “normal” people, not artists. For them, the creation of a CBT is of great importance. Not because they dig the creative process, but because they are afraid of losing their livelihood. They hold on to their jobs for dear life because they live a life of debt for their Ford Explorers. So they make their deadlines by working 70 hours a week, and devoting everything to the product and the company. All the while they act like they are doing it because they are hard workers, and proud of it. But the truth is, they are afraid.

Shawn is just picking up on the group mentality and being sucked into it, no pun intended. He’s also looking for validation, which he is not getting at work, because they aren’t the kind of people who can give him the kind of validation he needs. He doesn’t respect his coworkers. He doesn’t care about the stupid CBT. The same holds true for whores and their Johns. When the only validation you get is from a guy saying “Wow you give great head” or “that’s an amazing toaster”, you start to believe that this is all you are good for.
Keep fighting it, baby. It’s not your reality. It’s theirs. All of this will pass, and soon.

Bubble Hockey Blues

I've been working a lot the past few weeks. Everybody that knows me thinks that my comments about being a "corporate whore" are typical sardonic Shawnisms. Unfortunately it's true. I have bags under my eyes, smoke in my voice, and a hollow view of life at the moment.

At the bottom of it all I couldn't explain in a descriptive sentence why I even do it? Furthermore, I couldn't explain why anybody cares. It's not like we're saving babies or even adding anything to the collective conscious. It's just selling the one thing I do best at a premium price. So, I think I'm using the term "whore" correctly.

I suppose one could say "I do it for the money". But even that seems a little incomprehensible. Is the biweekly paycheck worth kicking in my undiagnosed but very probable bipolar disorder? I don't have anything to show for it? I refuse to buy a house or even finance a car.

Yet there is some kind of satisfaction I get from completing projects that no one but my studio and the new hires at the multi national company we are doing the work for will even ever see.

Even during the last month where I've been working 12 -16 hour days I still managed to do a series of storyboards for road rage PSA and complete a cubist Picasso swipe. The boards and the oil gave me a much bigger point of satisfaction.

So here I am, up at in 5:00 am again. Wondering what happened? Why I buy into this whole “let’s do it for the Gipper” mentality?

I can sum up like this. As I was walking outside to smoke with two of the other three smokers in the office yesterday. I noticed three of the other non-smokers from a different studio were in the lunchroom playing bubble hockey. Two playing and one watching. I asked the smokers if they always had to have three? Is it still a game if they don’t have an audience?

One of the other programmers looked at me with that same incredulous look that I seem to get frequently. So I said. “Never mind, we can talk philosophy when the project is over”.

It's a bird, it's a plane...

My dad just called me from Metropolis, IL to see if I had any questions for Superman. He's on the road coming back from visting my sister in Virginia.

Star Performer

I was surprised at work today with an award. The funny thing is that I really didn't expect it. Mostly what I do at work is for the paycheck. That, and bitch. I'm a self-admitted whore. I know that's not the popular attitude -but there it is.

I was heading outside to smoke last Friday and one of the other media designers saw a washing machine I had drawn on an intern’s computer. He was busy doing quality assurance.

"Hey, Shawn did you draw that Milnor?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Nice job."

I must have had that look that my face because he said, “No, seriously. It looks great.”

"Thanks. I think I'm in what will be known as my toaster period."

This last remark was made because earlier in the day another one of the educational designers had commented that I drew a great toaster.

I braved the humidity as I stood smoking and looking at the graveyard twenty feet behind our company’s back door.

For some reason these two comments sort of stayed with me through the weekend. I started wondering if this is who I've become? The "toaster guy"? Seriously?

It's a strange place that artists dwell? Somewhere between reality and art? Or maybe this is it. Maybe it's just what I'm good at?

Or maybe I've just gotten comfortable. I don’t feel comfortable? I do think I could be doing something a little more interesting with my so-called gifts.

Otherwise…welcome to my toaster period.