Posts Tagged ‘George C. Hartman’

the inevitable

Friday, April 8th, 2016

If there is an empty space in my life I usually try to take a vitamin D or sit out in the sun for an hour and I usually feel better. I’ve practiced, sometimes successfully Transcontinental Meditation but found that I need the perfect space, time and silence for it to work. If that doesn’t help, then I need to do something creative. Ever since I was a little kid I loved and was fascinated with animation. I used to create them in books by drawing one thing at a time on the bottom of a page. Old school stop action animation. My first one was in one of my fathers old Hardy Boy books of a stick figure running and catching a football.

About ten years back before smart phones, I found out that the camera I was carrying around with me all the time had video. That was the beginning of the end for me. My kids were young and I tried to get stuff of them before they grew up. So I had all these little movies and decided to just mish-mash them together just to get them up on YouTube (for all eternity I was hoping) So there I was with my free time on top of a skyscraper in New York City, my job in pre-press, using my free time to put these little things together. They were ridiculous. But what I remembered most about putting them together was just how much fun I had doing it. I mean, I loved graphics but now add some movement and then music and sound effects, I was in heaven. No plot. No rhyme. No reason. Ridiculous.

"Eraser Head" left and "Where Do The Clouds Go" right.

“Eraser Head” left and “Where Do The Clouds Go” right.

The weird kid that I was, when Greg and I were in Westfield and we went to the Music Staff on Elm street to buy music, Greg would load up on Bob Dylan and classic rock and I was buying albums of sound effects. Sometimes I would make the sound effects myself if I couldn’t find them in the Music Staff. Once again, in today’s world, Internet to the rescue. Now I have an endless library of sound and music.

The two photo albums I received from our aunt Carol were in terrible shape. Something about the Florida humidity and weather just kills old photos. I had promised her long ago that I would do my best to save them. She thought it would take me a week but it is an endless job, the results of which have ended up somewhat archived here on Family web site at Photos That Make You Think.
Nobody makes real photo albums anymore.* That might be one of the saddest things to ever happen to this digital society we now live in.
A lot of the old photos on PTMYT needed quite a bit of restoration in Photoshop before I posted them. You’re welcome.
One of my favorite pieces was a great old photo I found of mom in front of 710 Austin street in Westfield. She can’t be more than 19 years old.
I enjoyed this image of my mother so much that she ended up in a movie. Snowball.
I incorporated Adobe Flash, Photoshop and constructed an entire apartment building in Adobe Illustrator with this movie. Getting the “camera” to pan in and out was a great revelation for me. The thing about this “art” as there is with any art is that there were many accidental explosions of brilliance! I was influenced greatly by the graphic novel Watchmen. The movie was brilliant. The recurring symbols and imagery, the smiley face, the doomsday clock were simply genius. The movie, even more so. In this two minute and twenty-five second YouTube video, “Where Do The Clouds Go?” I tried to make it all “cartoon” and that’s why it’s only 2:25. It was a lot of work but still a lot of fun.

The Radiator Woman and my mother in "Snowball"

The Radiator Woman and my mother in “Snowball”

This was a fairy tale land. So much better than Carteret. So much more elegant! This town was full of little nooks of culture and art. You could feel the energy in the air. Instead of traffic lights there were real policemen directing traffic and crossing people at the streets. The endless rows of shops and food. The old A&P. The clean back alley shortcuts. Grandma and grandpa Hartman lived on a third floor apartment right around the corner from Dads store. We went there often for lunch. These were the days, right? When everything seems so pure and innocent and carefree. Everybody is nice to you. Everywhere you go is magic. Everything has character and depth and the places even smell good. It is all burned into my memory. And then what happens? All the adults eventually die and things change. These were the good times and I thought they would last forever.
musicstaffWestfield was my second childhood. We knew the back alleys and mom and pop stores like the back of our hands. It still remains a charming town but has lost it’s innocence as everything does when you grow up. The smell of Woolworth’s during a busy noon time lunch. Tommies. Little Joes luncheonette. Even the smell of our own fabric store, Westfield Sewing Center. Greg sitting in the back room eating his hot dog lunch and reading the back covers of his newly purchased albums. Where is he now???

*another post for another time.

Fear and Mayonnaise

Thursday, November 12th, 2015

portrait of the poet at 55. (written Aug 25 2015) why else wouldn’t our country be depressed? the world doesn’t seem to be getting better. there is always a new terrorist group waiting in the wings. the shootings are getting closer together and louder. we all look around suspiciously even while waiting for our Starbucks®. Visions of Sandy Hook crime scene still haunt me. my imagination is a gore manufacturing machine influenced by the media and Hollywood CGI.

the tomato garden was exhausted so i reluctantly retired it early. our old neighborhood. they watched us carry our life in brown grocery boxes into waiting cars. the birds still chirp, the dogs barks echo and the ice cream truck still screams from down the street. no, sorry it wasn’t white flight. we loved you neighborhood, you are forever in our hearts.

I’m not selling any of my shoes at the garage sale like the women did. because I need all mine. I still have plenty of walking to do. In a micro-second at work, the server crashed and the back-up followed. So the horrible equivalent of my job’s building burning to the ground happened one hot Summer morning. the smart girl moved 288 miles north and my son waded into a diverse dormitory somewhere in middlesex county new jersey. my other boy stepped off a plane from United Arab Emirates with a red face blasted by sand and sun.

I was just getting into cooking when a grease fire wiped out my ambition and abilities. for me, cooking is all about timing. start the potatoes first and everything after that will be dandy. when the art students finally leave, the teacher takes off her pants to get comfortable. she slices the last of the tomatoes and cucumbers and makes a sandwich with her made-in-Passaic-ghetto-bread. she calls it “starter” bread because the dough is passed on from generations when it “started” . this is also called “poolish” (and old English word for Polish) or “mother bread”. Let it be known that there are some Mother Bread hundreds of years old. meanwhile in New Brunswick I heard my son say, “I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up” but if you are only now choosing classes in for your first semester in college you better find that out quick. actually I’m still searching for that what I wanna be when I grow up and I’m bald with a prostate that is giving me fits.

if i didn’t announce my birthday it would have rolled into oblivion because everybody was too busy packing. packing to move to Boston. packing to move to New Brunswick, packing to move to a new place. packing. packing. packing. we have to go. we have to move. we have to pack. there’s nothing more sobering then being told you have to move. you have to move because the landlords son has a severe gambling problem and he needs the money to play poker. if i didn’t insist on a birthday present I would have got another heartless shirt or hat.

so here I am at 55 finally learning some important lessons. number one: speak up for yourself! hey it’s my birthday and I don’t want another dumb hat or shirt. thank you very freaking much. sheeeesh, people just don’t know nor care. ahhh, George is ok. leave the old man alone, throw him a Giants shirt. so I said something. buy the old man a blue iPod nano you unimaginative fools so he could listen to his weirdo music.

and I wish someone would have taught me lesson one from the very beginning. instead i was walking around my awkward adolescence like a dumb ass Billy Pilgrim just taking shit and more shit and then even more shit. people figured me out right after the initial introduction, oh this dude is a door mat. walk all over that. waking up on a bunk bed and facing each day with incredible amounts of FEAR. afraid to smile. afraid to talk.

I was a bundle of fear because my father was standing tall on my hero pedestal when he decided to take a quick detour into the silent abyss and my mother decided to punish me for the rest of my life for not accepting her sexual advances when I was 12. some people could shake off not having parents and actually use it to catapult higher in life. But I jumped on the springy diving board and it snapped like a fresh pea pod in half.

also this past summer of 2015 we attempted a vacation somewhere by the ocean. but nobody was really there. everybody’s mind was somewhere else. did you actually taste the ocean? did a wave slap you in the face? did we ever make it to the top of the lighthouse? the much anticipated dolphin watch turned out to be mechanical dolphins spinning around on the oceans surface.
although we had a high room with a good view everyone was looking at the future and worrying. our landlord put the phone on hold for three days to and when we finally answered it we got kicked out on the street. a mysterious detective from our home town called while we were “on vacation” and was asking questions about a missing person. one day on the beach the wind was so strong our chairs and umbrellas were just about ready to launch into outer space until we gave up and went inside.

my ode to Alcoholics Anonymous begins every morning with waking up crisp and clear like a young child’s first pair of glasses…

like a patch of blue sky on a black stormy day

like a pond, still but deep

like a happy dog with two tails

like wet cloths left on a cloths line for three days

like a brain freeze on a hot summer day in front of Krauzers 1974 holding a Frozen Coke®

like Jim McSherry sarcasm during a serious conversation

like feeling the back of your head after a crew cut

like eating my mothers potato salad on a wooden bench in our backyard on Whitman street

like taking an ice cold shower on the hottest day of the year when you have no pool

like taking LSD for the first time

like putting mayonnaise on your french fries

...somewhere by the ocean. but nobody was really there...

…somewhere by the ocean. but nobody was really there…

Of graphics and junkyards

Wednesday, May 13th, 2015

In many ways on the internet the blog has seemed separate from the Family Web site but maybe this will (reluctantly) connect the two. So this is the The Family Web Site. I say reluctantly because in many ways I don’t want them to connect. I don’t want to feel obligated to always have to write about this family. Not that there’s lack of material but besides the sad deaths, happy weddings and births, life is pretty much a trivial journey through monotonous (not mountainous) highways. Boring with a capital B. I’m not calling everyone boring, I’m just saying everyday life is just that. Everyday. There is social media to blow your steam or toot your horn and we’re all pretty good at using it. I can’t even list how many of my writings, poetry, photography and digital artwork I would rather “publish” here but am frightened to do so. You see, I am a rather strange dude with weird taste. I have always had a huge appreciation of art, animation and creative writing. As a result of that keen appreciation I have tried (rather unsuccessfully) to actually BE a respected “artist” When I am surrounded by really intelligent writers, artists, teachers, graphic designers, voice over artists, and even ridiculously skilled puppet builders, I can’t even come close. It goes back to what I am. A really strange dude with weird taste and amateur skills. In art there are those that create it….and those that just appreciate it. I have surrendered to the latter.

I am a rather strange dude with weird taste.

I am a rather strange dude with weird taste.

But the news here is that the web site is back. Not that anyone noticed but it was down for quite awhile. I had come across many obstacles in the last year or so. Most devastating was a hard drive crash of my Mac book pro laptop. This was essentially the heart and guts of the web site and it held all the data and functions for Mightyten. Although, I was sensing something wrong with the computer and instinctively did an emergency back up on an external drive one week before the crash…I still lost key passwords and expensive software that I used. At the same time the ISP provider for themightyten dot com (Yahoo) decided to upgrade editing and uploading capabilities that left me out in the cold. Yahoo is a company that just ASSUMES everyone has the money to just go out and buy or update expensive software. They have also increased the annual fee that I pay to keep this name up and running on their server.
Forty-four years ago (a tiny history) the “Family Ties” was called “The Hartman News” and it was printed by hand on school loose leaf paper. There wasn’t a server, Adobe Dreamweaver, Photoshop, hard drives, corrupt fonts, blogs, and the closest thing to a hard drive crash for me was crumbling up a piece of paper and starting over. After that my sisters and brothers took over and released some absolutely beautiful paper editions of the now called “Family Ties” Some of these will be digitized and available for download I hope soon. Then nine years ago while working the night shift at a large format graphics company on 3oth street in New York City I became fascinated with the internet, web design, Adobe Flash and slowly self taught myself to put up a new “family news” site.
It was a lot of experiments, failures and fun and the main thing was that I was learning. The website I created was a bulky amateur mess that became outdated rather fast. I didnt have the time or resources to keep it updated.
Actually my main goal at that time was to discover any bit of information on our family heritage. I become totally intrigued by our great grandfather and his 12 children that lived on this earth around the same time the Titanic sunk 400 miles south of Newfoundland, Canada. I was also fascinated by the stories aunt Carol, uncle Brother and our mother had told us about the Gill and Westfield NJ. While I was creating this huge list of questions in my mind for them, but then they slowly and softly passed away and left all my questions unanswered.
blogForm_masterpiece I have had many inspirations, influences and teachers in my time. I’ve had some lucky breaks. I remember the first time I saw somebody doing Photoshop on a PC in the late 90’s. It was version 4.0 and I was floored by the use of layers which had been released a few years earlier. Even I knew at that time how absolutely ground breaking that was in digital art. I also knew right then and there that that was something I wanted to do. I wanted to learn. I asked a few people at my job at Lucent Technologies in Holmdel NJ to “please just sit down with me a few minuets and show me some things” and nobody ever helped me. I will never forget one guy looking at me right after I asked him for help and saying.. “why don’t you go to school like I did and learn it”.
So I went to Barnes and Noble all the time read and purchased books. I practiced at work. I practiced at home. Then I got into Adobe Illustrator and was completely baffled by that. I self-taught myself all that I could with books and YouTube didn’t come out until April 2005 and it was even a few years after that when it became the mother of all tutorials on the web.
And yeah I did, at age 40 went back to college and the small Brookdale Community college I went to had just built a brand new computer lab with 30 brand new Macs. I was in heaven and I was blessed with good teachers who insisted on me learning how to cut a perfect path. At the same time I buried myself in art magazines and tried to duplicate other peoples work as practice.
After the dot come bust from 2000 to 2002 and the collapse of Roman Empire Lucent Technologies (Many argue that the dotcom boom and bust was a case of too much too fast.) I ended up on the streets searching for anything to provide for my young family. I ended up in a auto graveyard in Carteret NJ. Far far away from anything creative, or digital or what I had inside of me pushing out.
I was driving a huge fork truck in an car auction crash “graveyard” Moving around automobiles that were in accidents. Some of the accidents were not so bad. Most of the accidents were totals with fatalities. There were detonated blood covered air bags. Shredded windshields and doors. Jaws of life claw marks on the hoods and roof. There is money in car parts. Sometimes a totaled car is worth more in parts then the car itself. We cleaned these cars out and lined them up for an auction every week. Big shots from all over the tri-state area would come with their tow trucks and car carriers and buy these wrecks for parts. It was a highly depressing job. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get along with anybody there.
I was never a “car guy” and they found that out quickly. I reported the unsafe working conditions to Occupational Safety and Health Administration and wasn’t afraid to put my name on the report (even though it could have went anonymous) because I wanted to get fired. They demoted me to the grungy job of cleaning out wrecks and took me off my fork truck. In many of these wrecks that I cleaned in the hot sun it was the last stop for many people. There were even stories of the accidents from the tow truck drivers that dropped these cars off. “Oh this was an old couple that got hit head on by a tractor trailer. They never had a chance.” or “This was a car load of teens with no seatbelts that rolled over three times.” I was too sensitive for this shit as I collected their loose change in the ashtrays and tried on some cool coats that would find in the back seats.
I was ready to surrender myself to a life of physical labor, warehouses, factories, bleach lines, blue collar punching in and out until one day, a newspaper ad. This was still web infancy days. There was no or Craigslist although emails were the thing at that time. There were still newspapers publishing wanted ads.
Every night the Summer that I worked here I would lock the huge barbed wire fences and watch the sky turn gold and purple then black. I had that newspaper ad and the next day I called it a man named John answered the phone. He was in a complete panic. “George…I need someone to come in here….get behind that Mac and get all this prepress work out the door. I need a quick mind. I need someone that knows graphics…knows prepress….understands printing..I need help.”
So a few days later I was hired. At this point in my digital career, I wasn’t very good. I was slow. I had a lot to learn. I was basically a poster and powerpoint designer with pussy footed deadlines.
This job threw me out of the pot and into the fire. I learned the incredible details and hectic world of large format prepress for huge companies like Barnes and Noble, Cigna Insurance, Morgan Stanly, The Holocaust Museum. I learned fast and I learned hard. John insisted on using software “shortcuts” and being quick and precise. He was a great tough teacher. At first I really didn’t know what I was doing. I had major panic attacks when they gave me job envelopes. I almost quit several times. It was very rough times for me and a few years before I was comfortable with ANY challenge.
I often wondered why I was hired. I know they had a quite a few people lined up for the job. Turns out, because of my “lack of” experience the CEO got me cheap and he liked the fact that I was…

Nice guys finish first

Sunday, October 24th, 2010

You can never be too rich or too thin, or so the saying goes, but can you be too nice? Absolutely!! It is possible to be nice to a fault and when you are it is usually you who gets hurt. Being too nice means not asserting yourself, not standing up for your wants and not expressing your needs. This just isn’t healthy. Nice is good, too nice is bad. Are you so nice it’s cruel… to yourself?
I don’t attack people, why do they attack me? If I like taking photos of strange things in my journey through life, why is that a problem to the people that are close to me. My two teen boys specifically.

I never claimed to be a graphic designer a professional photographer or even an artist. A prepress printer? Yes. And a very fucking good one too. It just so happens that in prepress (if you are a “fucking good one” you need to have a flair for design, a sense of what is the current trend and an all out appreciation for ALL arts) In New York I did a lot of design. It was good. Some wasn’t so good. It was actually so good that two years after I got laid off, clients still ask for me.
Of coarse there is certain amount of ego stroking involved, but what’s wrong with that? Isn’t it part of life to ENJOY WHAT YOU DO and have someone say once in a while, “Hey, that is really nice. Good job.”

The same day I was bashed by my children for my love of photography and art, I was accused of being a slave. A slave to my job and my ex wife. Not just once but several times over the course of the evening. Each time I never defended myself or earlier when I was accused as a “wanna-be” photographer, I kept my mouth shut. But inside I was deeply hurt. Maybe that is why I have fallen into my blog for the first time in months.
I am not a slave to anybody. Not the man in the UK. Not my job. Not my ex wife. Not anybody. “Have you ever tried to figure out how much you make an hour?” I was recently asked. Well, I have thought about that but right now, I AM DOING WHAT I HAVE TO DO. I truly believe there are better days ahead so IT IS ALL WORTH IT. God DAMN IT- it was only a little over a year ago I woke up in my fucking car because that was my FUCKING BED. I was homeless and jobless and my kids didn’t know who I was. The bills were stacking up and I owed THOUSANDS in child support. People hated me then, and people hate me now; I have a job, I spend QUALITY time with my kids, my bills are getting paid, so here’s somebody to hate.

Ten years after the divorce I am still a mother fucking scum bag son of a bitch and it was 100% all my fault. The kids were raised on that the past ten years. I have been swimming upstream the past ten years and keeping my mouth shut. In the back of my mind I struggled to BE MYSELF. A nice person. Help others. SHOW BY EXAMPLE. I wasn’t even close to being a perfect example to my kids, in fact, even in sobriety I failed greatly BUT that is part of being human. I am human. We are human. There is no such thing as PERFECTIONISM in humanness. My only hope was that the fucking no good bastard that everyone had agreed I was could only ever so slowly be erased by my actions and prayers.

The funny thing is, now that I think about it, as I was being ridiculed for being who I am by my teenage kids yesterday, what was I doing?? Buying them their favorite lunch, listening to them, and helping the eldest, Joshua, by driving him 0n a 80 mile round trip journey to help him get a car.

Nice guys don’t finish last (as the saying goes) not if they turn the other way when someone calls them a “loser” a “deadbeat” a “wannabe” or a “slave”. If I am a happy hardworking man in my mind, and the simple little things in life make me happy, then that is all I need to know to sooth the fears that I carry when I worry about what other people think of me.

the self refuses to appear

Saturday, May 22nd, 2010

then there were three....

Beverly was forever depressed. Even in her toddler photos you can see something is bothering her. I wonder if she was born with some sort of brain chemical disorder. Her obsession with death. Her rebellious lifestyle. Her fears. Her deep dark secretes. Her never-ending escapes from reality. Three marriages. No children. Several abortions. Relentless addictions. Diabetes. Anorexia. Her close relationship with the enabling side of her mother. The ultimate doom. This poor sister of ours. Such a short life (44) . Such a short time with us. Sadly her death overshadowed by the death of Brenda.
Who were you closer to, Brenda or Beverly or is that an even fair question? Brooke once asked me why I didn’t have a tribute to Brenda on this website. It would be so easy for me to say “I never have time.” After all we did have a special Family Ties edition for Beverly and Mom.
When you wake up everyday, to sunshine or rain
clouds or storm
do you ever stop to think it will be the last day you wake up on this planet?
Like the Bible says, it will come like a thief in the night
We are all killing ourselves slowly. This addictive death over and over and
over and over. The definition of insanity was our inheritance in this life
Generations of troubled souls seeking somehow
serenity from a racing mind
erase the pain of everyday strife
stop the cycle and lets live life
let’s show our children a different beach
sandy feet
soothing waves
cool refreshing shade

Do you notice cinematography on TV? Perhaps if you are a cinematographer. And yet if you have ever seen the show, “Breaking Bad” you can’t help but notice. I am not a big TV person and actually the ONLY TV that I have watched in the past year have been the NFL. I accidently stumbled on this show while visiting an old friend but all I could remember was being totally WOW’ed by this show. Based in beautiful New Mexico and shot with a wide lens, it is the story of a guy who loses all his money to a cancer diagnosis that wasn’t. He cooks and sells crystal meth to save his family. Interesting.
I think World War one was started by another country sinking another countries boat. Recently North Korea has for no reason torpedoed a South Korean ship and declared that if anyone has a problem with it, we are prepared for an all-out war.
Would you believe me if I said the world is ending and we are all hurling towards cosmic conflics that are hotter then the face of the sun?

HELP !!!!!

Right now I’m in a book store listening to this negative fuck next to me tell his wife (who never says a word) I don’t see democracy or capitalism working, I don’t see our culture working, I see no help for the unemployed, we watch too much TV, everybody is addicted to something, the cost of education, the crime in the streets…come on let’s get outta here!” They left their empty cups on the table, didn’t put back the magazines and books they were thumbing thru went out to the parking lot, crawled into their Cadillac SUV and drove home to their protected little shell of a home somewhere in the suburbs.
Perhaps the greediest, neediest and most self centered bastards on American soil today. They deserve their high insurance rates, they deserve a empty future of resources, they need a good fucking smack in the ass. A wake up call like never before seen. Maybe an angry country on the other side of the world called North Korea.
Is every person in the nation entitled to drive around in a ton of steel, air conditioning blasting, texting and music blaring?
HELP ME TO understand!
While millions upon millions of gallons of crude oil leak into the gulf of Mexico, the price of gasoline has gone down. It is at the lowest that I have ever seen in 2 years.
How are they going to stop this leak? It is already a bigger tragedy then the Exxon Valdez in Alaska. After they stop it, then what? Is anybody losing any sleep over this?
When you cut off the flow of blood to an human organ it dies. When you cut the flow of nature into peoples lives, their spirit dies. It’s as simple as that.
Blank Face Face Blank. About Face. How many hours a day do we spend looking at a screen rather then looking at the faces of real people? 500 Million Facebook users!! The company CEO a 26 year old has disabled his “Friend” button. Privacy issues? Who cares if Big Brother is watching, I have created a much better me on-line then the one I carry with me in real life!

I confess to being a lazy bastard. I don’t care. I don’t want to do nothing. I don’t want to be bothered. I especially hate painting rooms and moving furniture so if you need those things done and I do help you, consider me a hero. Waiting for my medal.

why the wicked witch is NOT dead

Thursday, July 16th, 2009

Because evil will always be seeking to hurt us. Temptation, greed, lust and wishing your life was as good or better than your neighbors.
I got fired today. Eight days after I got the job. I kind of saw it coming. The short spanish man just did not like me. I have faced the “short man dilemma” my entire life but this time it was a great thing. The Wicked Witch lives in all of us, especially in prejudice.
“George, I am going to have to let you go. Peter just can’t work with you.”
From my first meeting with this man, his karma was very destructive and strong. He had the upper hand and he knew it and he used it. I never talked back, actually got humbler, nicer, funnier, more cooperative, more understanding, overly helpful and this just got him angrier and more POWERful.
I believe that if I would have given him what he wanted, fights, arguments and negativity I would have retired there with a huge pension.
It was a great relief to walk out that air conditioned office into a blast of heat and the stench of the side alley garbage. I climbed into my car, rolled down all the windows, opened the roof and blasted my son Joshuas death metal music. Shaking, rocking and rolling down Spanish Harlem. Giving and getting the thumbs up from Senoritas with huge butts. Goodbye to another rather short and humbling chapter to the quest for materialism.

I haven’t seen TV in a month !! It is almost like “I haven’t had a cigarette in a month !”
I have heard that quitting smoking is a “spiritual experience” Really a tough one.
But really. No TV in a month is a great feat. I don’t miss it at all.
What a bunch of fucking bullshit. I would sell my left kidney for ONE freakin RERUN of Seinfeld.

Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, what if you found yourself transported not just over the rainbow but beyond — to other worlds and other peoples? What practical information, ideas, or gifts might you find there to bring back home?
In my journey now I have included Peter (the short spanish man with way too much power) in my mantras. As much as I would love to be angry with him and dump a gallon of fresh red paint over his he-man sports car, what happened in that Grand Format Print Shop was meant to be. As my brand new three doors slam shut, I am already anticipating the next door to open.
BUT NOW with Summer hotter than hell and the ocean waves cool salty and refreshing, I have no problem staying “In the hall” for awhile. I can wait with full unemployment benefits for the next heartbreak and or challenge. Have to go now.

Keeping Brother Glenn alive

Friday, July 10th, 2009

There once was a herd of ten sheep and they were all raised in the same pen.
They looked at each other and said, “Look at you, YOU are the BLACK sheep of the family.”
“No, I am NOT. Have you looked at yourself? YOU are indeed the black sheep of the family.”
In their minds they all thought that they were indeed, fluffy white on the outside. When they looked at their brothers and sisters, they saw negativity, difference and darkness.
ONE DAY a shiny chrome, newly washed, 18 wheel freight truck pulled up next to them to deliver their food. When they all looked at their reflection as one family, they realized that they were all the same color. They were all beautiful and they were even more beautiful when they saw how they looked together as ONE.
I got a text message from Ohio saying Glenn is in a nursing home.
From deep within your heart ask Jesus to be by his side.

Glenn we LOVE YOU

Glenn we LOVE YOU

Free WI-FI

Wednesday, July 8th, 2009

My bathroom is the next fast food restaurant and the YMCA. I always liked the Y. It is pampering of my body. Endless hot water in the shower. 103 degree hot tub in front of a picture window of woods. Sometimes the Jersey deer wander over and through. The Westfield YMCA is filled with alot of retired successful men. They have interesting stories and recollections. But it seems to me that they always end up talking about MONEY.
For the most part, in the locker room we are all naked. You are not supposed to look at each others penis’ but sometimes you can’t help it. There are alot of mirrors and asses and penis’ all over the place.
Some guys are driving compact cars and some guys have Hummers. Once I was shaving naked in front of the mirror when Frank came over almost right next to me. Frank is a very tall and wide black man. He is very outspoken and sometimes annoyingly friendly. So Frank is naked too and he starts talking to me about investments and divorce. I don’t even remember how it all started but his PRESENCE was very strong. He kept looking at me in the mirror as he talked. I just had to check out his penis. So I snuck a look and was like wow, dude, I don’t feel so bad. We are both driving Cadillacs only his is black. I can listen to him finally but can give two shits about investments and divorce at this point in my life.
The worse thing that can happen when sleeping in a car is have a mosquito in there with you. Because I park next to woods, they are there waiting for me. I got raped last night.

In New York all the women that walk past reflective windows will 98% of the time watch themselves as they go by. When women meet each other they are VERY quick. You might have to see it in slow motion but in the quickest up and down look (ALWAYS shoes first) can figure out everything you are wearing, your hair, your nails and can make an honest assumption on whether you are multi-orgasmic or not. Women are the most clever animals on the planet earth. They are emotion and intuition driven. They are much more intelligent, sensible and honest.

Food that takes a long time to go bad:
Peanut Butter
Milk has alot of vitamins but is extremely perishable. Just buy small amounts.
I will tell you this: Greg beat me to it. I would have been living in Florida right now, in the middle of fucking nowhere and I would have started a farm and a big garden. Perhaps I would sit on the porch all day and say “Fuck Graphics” Ha ha ha. I would absolutely have a dog.
I would name her Eddy.