June 15, 2008

Done Right

When I was born in 1968, my mother thought she was getting a nice, docile Shirley Temple child. A daughter she could bond with, could dress up, teach to dance and sew and sing and be a delicate flower of baby-woman-hood.

Instead, she got a wild li'l red monkey baby, whose first words were practically, "I can do it myself."

In short, we were at odds from day one.

We fought about the length of my hair - my scalp is sensitive and I had very fine, very straight, very fly-away hair. My mom insisted on combing my hair with a very very fine tooth plastic comb. This meant screaming, crying rebellion every day.

We fought about appropriate toys. I wanted airplanes and cars and trucks and six-shooters and drums. And a banjo, but that's something of a digression.
Mom wanted me to have pretty dollies and Barbies and play dress-up princess.

We fought about clothes. I preferred to live in jeans and t-shirts. Mom wanted me in if not frilly dresses, at least cute li'l jumpers. I came home in tears on more than one occasion in kindergarten because some little boy tried to look up my jumper whilst we were on the jungle gym or slide or swings or what have you. Mom's solution was to not do those things in a jumper - my solution was not to wear jumpers.

The problem was more in the time period than anything else. Parents at that time had been led to believe that children could be told this is how things will be, and so mote it be. At the same time, however, it was the time of "Free to Be You and Me" - where kids were encouraged to be themselves.

I also grew up with two very creative parents. My father played honky tonk piano for hours, completely losing himself in the music he generated. I never heard him play anything other than "his" song, but it was an endlessly mutating and developing creation.

Mom also played piano, although she played less frequently and always played from sheet music - not because of any lack of skill or desire, but, I think, because she feared doing it "wrong." And, in addition to her piano playing, my first memories of her are of her painting and drawing and sketching. Whether it was Toll painting some wooden box or serving tray or actually doing a pastel portrait or acrylics on canvas, Mom was always creating something new.

But like with her piano playing, Mom seemed scared of somehow "doing it wrong." She laboured over every detail, often stressing herself beyond belief to get every detail exactly "right." And, she was far too hard on herself when a shadow wasn't perfect or some tiny detail was out of alignment just the slightest bit. I would watch her scrape paint off, in tears, sure that this was another example of her failure as a human being. And I would watch her, once she was finally done - put herself and her work down. I didn't get it. Her stuff looked easily as good as things I saw in the stores.

I think it was sixth grade when I took a serious interest in drawing myself. I was interested in cartooning, in comic strips, and in technical drawing. I enjoyed drawing fictional maps and would spend days creating new lands. In social studies, we had an assignment which included drawing - and I discovered a latent talent for drawing flintlock rifles ... and then more modern rifles ... swords ... and airplanes. (I have no recollection where that jump came in except I loved F-15 and F-16 planes.)

So that summer, when told I needed to take a summer enrichment class, I picked a class on drawing. I had a blast with it - it was mostly just a scheduled time to draw with the teacher critiquing us gently and there was little actual teaching of technique or theories of perspective or something along those lines. The class went along swimmingly for quite some time.

And then we had to do a still life.

I set up an apple on the kitchen table and scrawled something. Erased, re-drew. I hated it and I couldn't get the chiaroscuro to make the apple look 3d instead of flat. I finally got it "done enough."

Mom looked over my shoulder. I don't remember our exchange, but the gist was "You'll sit here and re-do it until you get it 'right.'" I sat there for what felt like weeks, and I think I switched from pencils to pastels or pastels to pencils. Eventually after much temper tantruming and fussing, I had something that did resemble a decent still life of an apple.

But the shine had gone off of it. I didn't see it as an exercise in improving my drawing eye. I didn't see it as a learning experience in shading or use of colour. Drawing had become just another thing that I didn't do well enough to please my mom ... and so I stopped sharing that with her ... and eventually decided that I simply could not draw since it didn't come easily and perfect the first time I attempted something ....

Instead, I turned to writing stories and novels - and simply didn't share most of those with my mother. The bulk of them involved children in peril from kidnappers or evil parents - not things Mom would actually approve of.

I doodled now and again ... I reveled in Chaim Potok's My Name Is Asher Lev - kind of the Jewish Portrait of the Artist as He Develops. But I had stopped drawing "seriously."

Then, in the mid-90s, I discovered this nifty thing called the world wide web. For ten years, I learned digital art in the form of creating website designs with Fireworks and then Photoshop. And I re-gained my interest in art and creating imagery.

But I still insisted that I couldn't draw.

Then, I took a job as a copy writer who was to also help with web design at a large e-commerce company. I worked with a gentleman who'd had his own design company at one point ... and another with a degree in graphic design. And as I observed them working, I realized something. The skills I had honed over the last ten years were comparable to theirs. I didn't have all the techniques nor all the same knowledge and theory - but I had the skills and the instincts. I started reading theory and observing more - asking more questions, learning more programs, growing more confident.

And then I picked up pencils again.

I'm still more confident with my digital art than my sketching, but both have improved dramatically over the years. There is no doubt that web design is more forte, at least for now, but my ability to create brochures, flyers, layout manuals, create signage, all of that has suddenly exploded - because I stopped being afraid about how to do it "right" and began studying theory, studying good design and began trusting my self.

I'm tickled to be in the process of designing a tattoo for a friend over at Cre8Buzz. I started out sketching it by hand until I had the design the way I liked it - and then I transferred the design to the computer to clean it up. I'm beyond flattered that she likes the design so far.

Tomorrow, I'll take a copy or two of the design to the hospital with me so I can continue to tinker with it whilst I wait three freaking hours for them to prep me for surgery on my leg. (Will someone explain to me WHY I need to be at the hospital at 6:30 a.m. for a 9:30 a.m. procedure???) Over the last couple of years, I've taken artwork to the hospital to keep me busy whilst my other half had surgery ... it's a wonderful way for me to focus on something other than the stress at hand.

Like my mother, I do still worry about doing my art "right" ... but I think of that a lot less nowadays than I used to. Instead, I'm spending time looking at what other artists do "wrong" which actually gives them their own distinct style - and then working on my own style.

Today, if I sit down to draw a still life, I'm still not going to enjoy it. It's not the type of art that I really enjoy. But today if I sit down to draw an apple, it's because I know that really concentrating on capturing the form and essence of an apple will help hone my eye and my hands and that I'll apply those skills to my own way of doing things.

Meanwhile, I have to laugh at all the times I told my students who were afraid they were not writers simply because the first draft of their essays were not perfect ... no one is perfect on the first draft. There isn't a writer today who completes a short story or novel or academic essay or even speech writing in a single draft. What makes you a writer - or an artist - is a passion for what you do so that you are willing and wanting to do it over until you get it as close to that picture in your mind as you possibly can.

I get that now. There's no way to do it "right." There's just the way you enjoy doing it.

Posted by Red Monkey at 6:06 PM | Comments (7) | Design | People Say I Have ADHD, But I Think - Hey Look, A Chicken | Sketches | Stumble

June 12, 2008

Stubborn? Who, Me?

As many of you know, I have my own set of priorities. I mean, that's kind of a stupid statement, because we all have our own priorities - but mine are often something of a mystery to other people.

Literally the first thing I thought of when I fell and "sprained" my ankle last week was, "I better be able to go on this trip with a sprained ankle. It better be healed by then." And when I found out it was broken, I hoped I wouldn't need surgery - not because it's expensive to have surgery and I have no health insurance and no job (although those things also crossed my mind), but because I didn't want to miss this trip.

So, Monday I had a CT scan done of my leg/ankle and today I went back to see the orthopaedic specialist to see if surgery was definitely in the cards as well as when that might be.

Frankly, I assumed we'd have to do surgery. If I just think of the way I broke my bones in terms of wood, I can't imagine any way to put that particular kind of diagonal and spiral brokedness back together short of something like plates and pins. Well, assuming that wood would, you know, grow back together. But you get my point. Mechanically speaking, I don't see how you could fix something like that strongly enough without a reinforcement of some sort.

So, Doc pours over the CT images - and for once in my life, I was not intensely curious. When I broke my arm as a kid, my little toe in college, all the little surgeries for my Hodgkin's and then the bone marrow transplant, I wanted to watch, to see, to know every gory detail.

Apparently, I have found my limit.

I really don't wanna know much of anything about this leg except how to take care of it and make it better. I don't want to see how the bone spiraled in its break. I got one look of a diagonal-looking shear, and that's all I wanna know.

So, Doc pours over the images, I stare at the ceiling and he walks up to me and says, "I wanted to find a way to do this without surgery for you, but ... I just don't see a way." He then proceeded to "talk me into" getting surgery. Pfft, I'd already decided that was the best course of action. No persuasion necessary.

"We wanna fix this right," he said, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"Yes, I really do. I assumed we'd do surgery. I don't want to mess around with this; I'm too active to take a chance."

And then he sat down on his little stool and hammered out details, like he will be using Smith & Nephew. I don't know what he's going to be using from Smith & Nephew other than parts, but that's okay. I don't really need to know.

He walked up to explain there'd be two incisions ... and then I told him that I had a really important question to ask him. I told him I was pretty sure he'd say no (so he said no right then - I love this guy - damn smartass lol ), but that this was really important to me and I would feel better if I could just ask/explain the whole thing.

"We've been planning a mission trip to the Navajo reservation in New Mexico for over a year now and I was wondering if there's any way I can still go - if there's room in the van for me to keep my leg elevated the whole time. We leave next Thursday and that day will be a short ride, but Friday and Saturday will be all day drives."

This tumbled out in a rush. I was somewhat surprised to hear my voice thicken, as I don't cry, but then, this trip means the world to me.

I expected him to tell me that I was crazy. That my priorities were all screwed up. Three days in a car just a couple of days after surgery? Freaking lunatic!

He just blinked and said, "I don't see any reason why not, as long as you keep it elevated."

I about fell over.

"Let's see, we'll do surgery Monday or Tuesday, you'll probably be in overnight. Maybe not, but probably. Yeah, I don't see why you can't leave on Thursday."

WAAAAAAAAAAAA HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Now the only "if" left is to make sure that the swelling in my ankle goes down enough that they can do the surgery. If it's too swollen Monday morning, they won't be able to close the skin back up after they operate. So I'm continuing the 45 degree angle constant elevation and adding additional sessions with ice.

I can't wait!

Of course, almost everyone else going on the trip is just floored. You just broke your leg so badly you need surgery and all you can think about is going on this trip???

You betcha, dude. You betcha.

Posted by Red Monkey at 6:43 PM | Comments (3) | People Say I Have ADHD, But I Think - Hey Look, A Chicken | Stumble

June 7, 2008

Bored Already

First, thank goodness for the wireless keyboard, cuz otherwise I'm not sure I'd be on the laptop much as a 17" laptop just doesn't balance super-well when trying to keep one leg elevated by 45 degrees.

Secondly? This is gonna be a LONG freaking four month recovery. I'm already bored out of my mind and wanting to rearrange the furniture so I can watch TV and be on the computer. Right now, if the laptop is open, the TV screen is blocked.

*sigh*

My attention span is back to normal now - well, normal for me anyway. This is good because it means I can read - but it's bad because I already finished all the books on the ground floor. My poor other half is going to have to go downstairs and pick up a couple of my monsterously thick books to keep me busy for a little while.

I've got crutches to get from the futon to the bathroom. And to get to the kitchen - plus I had the other half grab a small camping stuff bag that I can loop my hand through and carry an unopened pop can from the kitchen to the futon again.

Yes, the leg is elevated at as close to the doctor mandated 45 degrees as we can get it with a nice stack of pillows. Yes, I'm staying on the futon 90% of the day, resting. I feel bad for the fact that my other half now has to do absolutely everything herself for most of the next four months.

The dogs are beside themselves trying to take care of me - it's funny to watch them.

Honestly, though, this entire episode is just about as surreal as they come. I periodically look down and just marvel - I broke my leg. It's just ... beyond fathoming. Maybe if I'd been screwing around on my skateboard, I'd believe it more easily. But to do this on the way to feeding the animals? Just ... wow.

All right, apparently it's time for a little nap.

Posted by Red Monkey at 12:01 PM | Comments (7) | People Say I Have ADHD, But I Think - Hey Look, A Chicken | Stumble

June 6, 2008

Red Monkey Special

I rarely do things by halves. In junior high and high school, I didn't get a normal eczema or crazy zit issues. Nope, I got some weird-arse rash that split the side of my hand open every time I lifted something with my left hand. And my fingertips? No fingerprints as they were solid rash.

Never did find out what that was. Just another Red Monkey special.

I don't usually get a heat rash. Nope, I get a cold rash. Yes, that's right, I am allergic to the cold. And "cold" is a relative term. It might be 65 degrees and I'll get a cold rash (hives - it looks like hives).

Back in the late 90s, I kept going to the doctor with a rash and these weird little infections, fevers. Doctor kept "pooh-poohing" me. At that time, I had a low-paying adjunct job and no health insurance. The doctor wanted to run, get this, an AIDS test just because I'm gay. Never mind I'm in one of the lowest risk groups. I finally told him he could, but that wasn't the issue. He never did even draw blood for a CBC.

Turns out I had Hodgkin's - a lymphoma cancer. Only about 7500 new cases a year. Another Red Monkey special.

So, Wednesday night around 6 p.m., I went out to the garage to get the animal food for the dogs and the cats. Apparently, I missed a step. There's only two steps there. But when my partner came to ask me what the heck was the hold-up because the cats were starting to riot - I was sitting on the top step, rocking back and forth.

I thought I'd sprained the heck out of my right ankle, so we didn't go to the doctor until nearly noon the next day.

Nope. I pulled another Red Monkey special.

I spiral-fractured both freaking bones down near the ankle.

CT scan is on Monday. Surgery consult is on Thursday. Surgery sometime the week after that, I guess.

No job. No health insurance. I knew I should have immigrated to Canada.

And the kicker? I was going to go on a mission trip to one of my favourite places in the world - the trip is due to start June 19. Out to my beloved Navajo lands. Won't be making that trip now.

Oh, and the recovery time after surgery is about 4 months.

Yep, a Red Monkey special all right.

Posted by Red Monkey at 10:47 AM | Comments (12) | People Say I Have ADHD, But I Think - Hey Look, A Chicken | Stumble

June 4, 2008

People Are Really Really Insane

Los Interwebz is a great invention. I love it. You find all sorts of cool information.

But you also are exposed to the sheer insanity of humanity.

Seriously.

So in the town in which I sadly live (and you can diagram that section of the sentence to make sadly refer to me or to the town, take your pick) - there was an accident on Monday. Apparently two cars collided - pretty much right in front of a cop. The "offending" car (for lack of a better word), suddenly accelerated into the parking lot of the apartment complex near where the wreck took place, down a hill and into the St. Joseph River (which has a NASTY undertow and crazy currents - it's not a river you want to be in). The article, should you be interested in such things (or, should you wish to verify the veracity of the story I'm about to impart below) is here.

That in and of itself is a news story, no doubt. And I hope everyone who was in the car - and the other car that was hit - is okay.

But the story I want to share is just beginning ...

Our local online news affiliates allow comments on their news stories. Sometimes this is a good thing as you get some details from friends and family that you might not have otherwise known.

But the rest of the time, you get to see the sheer insanity of the people who live near you. What I'm about to repeat are the real comments from this story. I've left out some of the comments which don't apply to this "subplot" of comments, but I've not edited any of the following in any way.

Monday, Jun 2 at 4:19 PM Fledge wrote ... This person must have been going at quite a speed to have gone that far after a collision. Probably another drugged up lowlife looking for a cheap thrill. Well, I sure hope he finds one in the County lockup! Of course, if it turns out it's another person who was sadly taken ill while driving then, well ...my bad, glad they're ok. But probably, its gonna be another DUI...Drivin Uh Idiot! As a practicing demoncologist, I hope this person gets the help they need to fight their inner torment.

Monday, Jun 2 at 5:11 PM Sue wrote ... Fledge, as an active proctowiccan, I'm not entirely clear how this applies to demoncology. Could you clarify?

Monday, Jun 2 at 5:46 PM Joe wrote ...Wow Fledge...Just Wow. you might consider changing your dosage.

Monday, Jun 2 at 7:19 PM Steve wrote ... There's no such thing as proctowicca! I know, I looked it up on wikipedia, and i am a bit of a wikipediphile!

Monday, Jun 2 at 8:10 PM Susse wrote ... What Dr. Fledge is saying is that the person in question is a consumate victim, almost to the point of being masochistic. My ex-wife was like that.

9:12 AM Hey Fledge wrote ... I hope you get the help you need too. Look in the Bible....

9:49 AM Fledge wrote ... Haters, all of you. I just said what I thought. I'm glad this guy is ok and the police did a great job. As for those knocking my faith, you are entitled to your own beliefs, no matter how wrong they may be, as long as you are happy. But, the day you feel your soul being ousted from your body by a seething entity of vile black hatred, you'll wish you had listened. Have a great day!

11:47 AM Marcus wrote ... Do not make light of the principalities. You probably feel quite witty, but it's just a tool of Lucifer to weaken your resistance to his vile manipulations. You, Fledge, are at the greatest risk of losing your soul to the fires of hades. Bode well. Bode often.

6:58 PM Clarification needed here lol but seriously people wrote ... Demoncologist is that a OB DR for demons? eww hate to deliver those ugly babies...and what is a proctowiccian anything like proctologist? a wiccian specializing in proctology? hum kinda yucky

Yeah. This is the town in which I live. Chock full of demoncologists, proctowiccans, proctowiccians and people who make light of the principalities.

The one-liners in this exchange simply boggle the mind. "My ex-wife was like that." ... "I know, I looked it up on wikipedia, and i am a bit of a wikipediphile!"

No wonder I can't find a job here ....

Posted by Red Monkey at 4:18 AM | Comments (5) | Never Underestimate the Power of Human Stupidity | People Say I Have ADHD, But I Think - Hey Look, A Chicken | Stumble

May 30, 2008

The Triumvirate

As a kid, I rarely paid much attention to what time or channel my favourite shows were on. The local paper's TV guide was often useless for afternoon shows because the little independent stations which played the best stuff often changed their line-ups on the fly.

But the first choice was always, always, always The Carol Burnett show, whatever the incarnation. To be perfectly honest, most of my role models as a kid happened to be male. I think Carol Burnett was perhaps the only female role model I had and I adored her even more for that. She was so genuine when she walked out on the stage and started taking questions from the audience. How I longed to be in the audience and get a few moments of attention from her. Maybe she'd adopt me; maybe she'd mentor me to be just like her; maybe she'd hire me to be on her show. (This was well before I knew how badly I suck at improv comedy - not suck so much as absolutely, positively can NOT stay in character once the audience starts laughing.)

I adored watching my triumvirate of Burnett, Conway and Korman act silly with such panache, with such seriousness - and not taking themselves too seriously. I could watch the same episodes over and over again and laugh my head off every time. It didn't matter that I knew half the lines and all of the gags. Watching their faces, the interplay of personality ... and either Tim or Harvey or Carol starting to crack up as one of the others said or did something the others hadn't quite expected.

The first time I saw one of them start to crack up, I was confused and almost alarmed. My whole life had been very, very structured around The Rules. And everyone knows, you are supposed to stay IN character and not crack up when you are doing a TV show. I was afraid they were going to get in trouble with the network. But as I watched the show and saw how they tried to crack each other up, I could feel my fervent belief in Adhering To The Rules beginning to crack and fade. They were having fun. Sure, they wanted to do a professional job - but they were also genuinely friends and genuinely enjoying cracking each other up.

They were having fun.

Years later, I discovered the TV show Fame - never did see the movie. I adored that show as well. I sympathized with Danny the most, probably. He wanted to be more than he had the talent for and he always seemed a little bit jealous of all of the mega-talents around him. (At least, that's how I remember it.) I loved Doris as well. Just wonderful characters.

I can't remember why I stopped watching it for a while. Maybe the main cast had graduated ... but when I caught an episode later on, I utterly fell in love with the character of Reggie. Thought she was just awesome - someone so herself and fun.

Turns out, that was Carrie Hamilton, Carol Burnett's daughter. I should have guessed.

I was looking forward to following her career ... but cancer took her far, far too early.

And now, of course, the Don of comedy has passed as well. I never wanted to imagine a world without any one of my triumvirate ... but the tall, gentle soul who could don a dress in one skit and a tux in the next and make Carol and Tim both lose it, has gone on without us.

I didn't think it would hit me this hard, losing someone I've never even actually met.

Requiescat in pace.

Posted by Red Monkey at 1:04 PM | Comments (3) | People Say I Have ADHD, But I Think - Hey Look, A Chicken | Stumble