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Category Archives: Machines

Bored Boat Captain

12-Sep-07

You know how some days you get to work and there’s either a delay in getting started on your work or you simply have nothing to do for an hour or so? or maybe you’re early for a meeting? Thus, you’re bored.

I guess boat captains have those sort of starts to the day occasionally.

I was up at 7:15am looking out the hotel window upon the harbor in Portland, Maine and noticed this fine, large, red boat slowly passing through the scene in front of me. I thought “better take a pic since he’ll be gone before I can sketch it.” I did, then I sat down at the table and drew the sketch. I studied it a moment then looked back out the window.

The boat was passing by again headed in the other direction…nice and slow, just like before. It was like he was just out toodling around with no particular place to go.

Perhaps what I witnessed was a bored boat captain?

Also filed in Passing Time, Travel Sketches | | Comments (1) »

Happy Bike

27-Aug-07

I never had a basket on my bike when I was a kid.

I’m a guy.

I was a guy even when I was a boy. If I’d had a basket on my bike, you can safely assume there would never have been any hydrangea blooms in it.

I know what you’re thinking.
“Hmmmm…what has changed then Mr. Don? I mean you’re sketching a little purple bicycle with pretty little hydrangea blooms in the basket.”

Trust me. Nothing has changed. I’m still a guy. I sketched it to sell on eBay. People like little paintings of this sort of thing, flowers and stuff. Generally speaking, it sells well on eBay. I do like the picture, but that doesn’t make me “not a guy”. Understand?

Then a Story Came To Mind…

As I sketched the Happy Bike, a story from my past came to mind and I thought the sketch and the story would be ideal for Idle Minutes.

You see, from my early childhood I had a friend down the street who would’ve loved to go riding around the neighborhood on just such a bike…purple with hydrangea blooms and a little bell. The terminology back in the sixties was “sissy”. We had no clue as kids what “gay” was or what “queer” was. We were just a bunch of sixties suburban kids from Georgia; not very sophisticated and very naive.

I was pretty much the only kid in the neighborhood who would visit him. That was because he went to my church and none of the other kids did. So, aside from him living in my neighborhood, I also went to church with him and we became friends. We all went to the same schools but I was the only kid in my neighborhood who would consider him a friend. Everybody else just said “ahhh, he’s a sissy” whenever his name came up. I was convinced he just needed a friend to show him the ropes of how to be a kid.

I tried to get him to try out for little league. Nope.
“Come up the hill and play football with us.” Nope.
“Let’s go ride our bikes on the pipeline.” Nope.
And at recess…
“When you kick the kickball, put your whole leg into it and stretch out your stride when you run to first base. Run hard!” Nope.

As we grew up, at around age eleven or twelve, I thought it would be a fine idea if I invited him to go with us to Daytona Beach on vacation. Perhaps a lot of sunshine, a tan, and half naked women would snap him into shape. Besides, everybody else was headed off with their families and thus not available to tag along with me to Daytona. I was at that age where I wanted somebody to hang out with on vacation besides mom and dad. He was, I suppose, a last resort.

Mom said sure. He came along.

On the way to Daytona as we two kids sat in the back seat he warned me about something.

He said quietly, “I scream in my sleep.”
“Huh?”
“I scream in my sleep.”
“What kind a scream?”
“High, long and loud.”
“How come you scream in your sleep?”
“I don’t know I just do.”
“Well what are we supposed to do when you scream?”
“I’ll probably wake up but if I don’t just wake me up and I’ll stop.”
“OK.”

It never occurred to me that Mom or Dad might want to know this information. Hell, I still sucked my thumb. Screaming in your sleep didn’t seem too far out of line from my perspective.

Sure enough, on the first night, around three in the morning, in the Suez motel, in our ocean view room on the second floor, my family was awakened by something akin to what I imagine the screams would be like in Hell. It was a high, loud, primal, hurting, non-stop scream. A scare the hell out of you scream.

All three of us, Mom, Dad, and me, sat bolt upright in our beds and screamed too. We each screamed different things but all at the same precise moment.

Dad screamed: “Good god stop it! Hey! Stop that!”
Mom screamed: “What’s the matter! Whats the matter sweety?!”
I screamed: “He screams in his sleep! Wake up! Wake up!” And I shook him as hard as I could.

He snapped awake to all of us screaming, the neighboring guests thumping on the walls, and me shaking the hell out of him.
All in the dark.
From my parents viewpoint, we two kids in the next bed were but silhouettes sitting in the moonlight coming through the sliding balcony doors.

“I’m sorry!” he said. “I’m soooooo sorry!”
“Are you OK sweety?” my mom sighed.
“Yes ma’am. I scream in my sleep. I’m sorry.”
“Well you don’t need to scream sweety. You’re safe here with us.”
“You OK Don?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“OK, well then, let’s go back to sleep.”

He didn’t scream again the whole trip.

We hung around the pool and met a girl our age who had a little piglet sister. We walked the beach with them and lounged at the pool each day. I became smitten with the girl. Oddly (in my mind at the time), the girl liked him and snubbed me. They suggested I hang out with the piglet.

I was very miffed and confused by this. I wanted to say “Um, hello! He is a sissy. I am a Little League AllStar. Why are you finding yourself liking him and not me?” But of course I didn’t say that.

Instead I hung out by myself or with guess who at the pool…Mom and Dad.

Kind of defeated the reason for inviting him in the first place. After five days, it was a quiet eight hour ride home and I was not a happy little league allstar.

Through middle and high school I grew far, far away from all the kids in the neighborhood including him. I rarely spoke to them. It just worked out to be that way. I made other friends. After graduation I never saw the neighborhood kids again for several years.

Then at our first class reunion he was there. I felt inclined to ask everyone I recognized what they had been up to. When I worked my way over to his table his response was “I live in Dallas and I have my own hair salons and I’m doing really, reeeeally well.” Then, with a limp wrist, he snubbed me and flitted off to a conversation with the fellow sitting next to him.

At that moment, I came to the conclusion he was gay. Dunno what took me so long.

Also at that moment, I instantly understood everything I knew about him from age six onward. Why I could not convince him to try out for little league baseball. Why he was so timid. Why he didn’t kick the kickball very far at recess. Why he ran like a girl. Why he threw like a girl. Why he never went outside much after school. Why he liked to play “house” with his girl cousin. Why he never joined in the neighborhood shenanigans we kids were prone to get into. Why he dressed differently in high school. Why I never knew him to be interested in girls except as friends…giggly friends. Why the Daytona girl liked him and not me (he was harmless). And maybe, why he screamed in his sleep.

That was the first time in six or seven years I had spoken to him, and the last time I spoke to him.

Not long after that reunion, a year, maybe two, maybe less, I heard through church folk that he had AIDS. Then I heard he had died. Then I heard the funeral was at our old church and that they released a “zillion” balloons outside to symbolize that he had finally been set free.

I trust that he is. His life was certainly a riddle to me as a kid and young adult. It wouldn’t surprise me if it was a riddle to him as well.

Also filed in ACEO Art Cards, Stories | | Comments (2) »

Red Vespa

24-Aug-07

I like Design. Do you?
Design is that element of stuff that makes it stylish, useful, pretty, elegant, high quality, utilitarian, flashy, understated…and even ugly if the design begs for that.

So, not intentionally having anything to do with the Italy posts of late, I’ve sketched an item whose design I really like. It happens to be an Italian product called a Vespa. It’s made by a company called Piaggio, an old company that has been making scooters a long time.

I suppose we all get a bit infatuated with products, brands and such over the years. They make us feel good. That’s what these little Vespa scooters do for me. As far as Design goes, these hit the mark for me. They’re stylish, quick, efficient, and you don’t have to adopt a lifestyle if you decide to buy one and ride it. And the big plus, they are arguably the highest quality scooters made among all the many makers.

Simply said, they are fun. The essence of fun.

Note I said these hit the mark “for me”. I don’t expect everyone to like what I like. I just sketched it because I like the little things.

I actually own a larger scooter which I’ll sketch soon too. It’s a Piaggio but not a Vespa. I know you care…you do don’t you?

So enough…get a Vespa if you want to inject some fun into your life.

What kind of fun you say?

I go out at 8:00 in the evening and ride around my neighborhoods here in Southern suburbia for an hour. The air is cooler (only 90) and the traffic is close to nil. I can wind it out, lean it over on the curves, or just putt around and look at stuff. Once we get over our heat wave, I’ll go in the daytime and find stuff to sketch.

I know it seems strange to someone who has never ridden a scooter, but what I just described is great fun. Even if you do it regularly.

The most fun though is to do it maybe twice a week or once a week. Then it’s always like a new experience.

I’ve gone months without riding the scooter. When I finally jump on it and go, I always find myself saying “Gee I’ve got to ride this more often. I love this thing!”

I might note that I’ve owned a big ol’ cruiser bike and a BMW motorcycle as well. I sold the BMW to get the scooter. It’s way more fun.

Also filed in Design, Quick Sketches | | Comments (2) »

Johnny Rockets

18-Aug-07

We visited Johnny Rockets today for a lunch burger.

We were seated in a two person booth. These are itty-bitty booths. Once seated, there is room for a burger a drink and your elbows. Not much else. That is because of the assorted paraphernalia which joins you for your meal.

There is a nickel jukebox on each table which takes up a fair chunk of space. I started pumping nickels into it and choosing songs, my wife anxiously looking for nickels of her own so she could start pumping them in as well.

When our waitress finally showed up, we were informed that the “jukeboxes were out”. Not being entirely well versed in “waitress-ese”, I took that to mean they didn’t work. She confirmed my assumption and made no offer to reimburse my twenty-five cent contribution to their establishment.

Of course music was playing in the place, loudly, and oddly the same tunes listed in the jukebox as available for a nickel.

Sneaky, sneaky, sneaky. No signs stating the jukeboxes didn’t work. I lost twenty-five cents before they passed along the little tidbit of information and finally, by chance I reckon, I heard one of the songs I had selected.

Oh well. Live and learn eh? At the end of the day they probably empty the jukes and split the money. Or could be I’m the only boob in years that has ever put a nickel in the dang things anyway.

Along with the nickel stealer on the table were the ketchup and mustard bottles, a napkin holder, little stems with ads at the top plugging their most expensive burgers and milkshakes. Plus a little black thingy holding packets of those cancer causing sweeteners we all use. And a vase with red carnations…which was nice.

As we sat there, cramped and very close to all our table wear, I sketched the jukebox and a salt shaker. They were the only things far enough away for me to keep in focus.

Then the lights dimmed, a disco ball in the ceiling lit up and started slowly spinning, and all the staff marched into a line right beside us and started dancing to the BeeGees song which was just starting to play…even louder than normal. I stopped sketching and ate my french fries…the traditional appetizer of Johnny Rockets…as the Travolta wannabe’s strutted their stuff so close to me I could feel the swishes of air pass my face with every move.

The burger was excellent as usual but each time I eat at Johnny Rockets, I swear I shall not return. It’s the noise level and slow service and sneaky jukeboxes and other annoyances, which I forget about between visits. But, once a year or so, while running Saturday errands, I find myself saying to my wife “wanna go to Johnny Rockets?”

Upon exiting into the great outdoors I relished the lower volume of the parking lot and traffic noise. But sweat already forming on my brow, I missed the air conditioning inside the restaurant.

Life is a trade-off.

Also filed in Everyday Objects, Passing Time, Quick Sketches, Restaurants and Such, Stories | | Comments (4) »

The Nose

02-May-07

I, the vacation chauffeur, sat alone in the parking lot. My client was inside the drug store, buying toiletries.

My window was open. I was enjoying the breeze, eyes closed, head back upon the headrest, smelling the sweet, salt air of the Gulf shore and beaches. Listlessly daydreaming of scantily cla…uhhh…scratch that part…the “client” might read this.

The SUV slung in along side me, tires grinding the pavement, and came to a quick stop. Almost as fast, the driver door opened and closed. A semi-bald head, barely in view over the hood of the huge chariot, bolted into the store. (Obviously in urgent need of toiletries.)

There was an eerie silence. A quiet that only occurs when one is watching intently…or being watched. The only noise was the tic, tic, tic-tic of the catalytic converter as it cooled itself at rest from the heat of the 400hp engine.

I rolled my head left and studied the looming, blue behemoth. The huge, spotless SUV gleamed in the evening sun. It eclipsed my now tiny Budget-Rent-a-Car mid-size Pontiac. I felt inferior. I felt like poverty itself.

All the windows were black, impenetrable by the eye, and closed…except one which was partially open.

It was a vehicle of complete privacy and security. A family machine. One could see out, but not in. One could inflict great insult upon others from within its great, steel walls without fear. I felt as though I was being watched…mimicked…laughed at.

I imagined there were children in there, in the back, whispering, making fun of me.
I imagined there was a wife in there, in the front, buffing her French nails and snubbing her nose at me, three carat diamond swaying back and fourth as she buff, buff, buffed.
I imagined there was a teenager in there, on the far side, flipping me the bird while bragging about it to his friend on his hi-tech cell phone.
My self-conscious stress building rapidly, I wished I had a straw and spit wads so I could attack those elitist snobs!

Then, it appeared.

The nose.

sniff, sniff…whimper, sniff.

And I had to sketch it.

Also filed in Animals, Passing Time, Pets, Stories, Travel Sketches | | Comments (8) »

American Racing Fan

10-Apr-07

“Hey baby. S-s-sorry to bother ya-you at work but I just ha-had to tell ya how m-much I love my new NASCAR ri-ridin’ mower. I picked it up tuh-today. An this official NASCAR pit boss wuh-wireless h-headset you bought me to go with it is gr-great! I’m ta-talkin’ to ya wi-with it right na-now while I’m mo-mowin’! Ain’t that suh-somethin’!”

“Wha zat? Yeah yeah, I got on my NASCAR shirt! Course I do! Yeah I got on the ye-yeller one so I won’t get h-hit out by the road…and my Ch-Chevy hat ta-too. I ta-tell ya I ain’t never enjoyed mowin’ the ya-yard ’till na-now. I shore do la-luuuuvv you b-baby…”

“Wha zat? C-course I luv you m-more than NA-NASCAR!”

“Wha zat? Yeah…we’ll go luh-look at the nuh-new Camaros th-this weeke-end. Huh? Well…yeeeah…I guess we’ll git ya-you a new ‘un.”

“Li-listen, I g-gotta go now, I wanna cuh-call Earl wh-while I’m mowin’…he’ll be sooooo juh-jealous! Bye-bye. Ka-kissy kissy to ya-you too sha-sugar.”

Click.

“Duh-Dang!…I knew they was a re-reason she ba-bought me this huh-headset. She wants a new da-dang Camaro!! Man, it d-don’t EVER st-stop! Spend, sp-spend, spend…Gotta call Earl.”

Beep…rinnnnng…rinnnnng…

“Hey? E-Earl? Zat Choo? He heeeeee heee! Guh-guess what I’m a da-doin? Naaaaw! Guh-Guess agin…”