March 2008 Archives

Otger was the only one drawing today. I was fighting a war of my own, getting my numbers ready for the accountant to do my taxes. I earned way more than I thought last year, ouch. So I really have to get all my deductibles right, or I'll pay myself silly. And then of course I got myself so nervous that I messed up my spread sheet. I just copied last year's spread sheet, but I hadn't noticed a scroll bar at the bottom of the document, and then when I did, I noticed there were still five or so rows hidden, with expenses from last year. And then when I deleted those, a whole bunch of my new rows became illegible. So stupid me decides to just close the document and reopen it, to get it back the way it was. Minus a full hour of work. If only I had thought about a "save as", but I didn't, because paperwork makes me nervous. Especially paperwork on spread sheets. Do you think I should have his grandfather talk to Otger about this weaponry? Grandfather slit his wrists to get out of the army.

I've been wanting to blog this photo for the longest time. There's a lot I could tell you about this picture. Like that it could be Otger in a dress. But Otger would never wear a dress. No, this picture is about embarrassment. The picture was obviously taken around christmas, but that wasn't the occasion it was made for. My stepmother sewed the dress for a school dance. I had asked for permission to go to the school dance, and received a no. And then my stepmother changed her mind, I don't know why. But she sewed the dress, and her condition for me to be allowed to go was that I would wear the dress. Whereupon I of course didn't want to go anymore, all the others were going to be in jeans, I would stand out like a light house would I wear that nylon floral monster. But then of course she made me go, there was nothing I could do. And yes, I remember the embarrassment. "Eliane is wearing a nightgown!" Who ever dared to ask me for a slow dance had the rest of the class choking with laughter. So what did I learn from this. I guess maybe I learned to be embarrassed. I am still embarrassed lots of times, like when I have to show my work to art directors. But it only takes one single thought of this dress for me to not mind anymore.

And another batch of lovely postcards. I still can't believe how easy and cheap printing postcards has become. I made sure to send the first one to an art director I'd love to work for. That was for good luck. Now does anyone else have any ideas to whom I should send some? You guys read magazines. In which publication would you like to see my stuff? I promise I'll try, just give me some ideas. I'm serious. And I'll keep you posted too.

Every once in a while a person should Google his or herself. Because you never know what might turn up, and who doesn't like a surprise? 1590 hits, not bad. I feel very popular, striding along toward artistic immortality, I am almost able to find my complete portfolio out there. Especially the Chinese seem to like me, I didn't even open all of the Chinese websites. Some come with Google warnings that they may hurt my computer. Wow. And what is it with this librarything? Who on earth has the time to put all their books online, and why? Not that I don't enjoy seeing my authors in their natural habitat, because I do.

I love to sell prints, and it's happened again. I've been wishing for someone to order this drawing. I have a more than excellent printer, his only downside being his location. In the middle of a residential neighbourhood somewhere in Eglinton. Which means I have to take the streetcar, then the subway, then a bus, and then walk five blocks. I could jack up my price and use a courier, but I don't always mind the trip, it's kind of meditational. I have noticed there is a bus service between Eglinton and Broadview, but I haven't tried that. I often wish I was more adventurous.

We are watching the Godfather with Otger. We are halfway the second film. I feel like a real Mama with a real Son, and a real Husband. But sort of glad we are not Italian. Still, I think it is all very informative for Otger. To see the immigration to the New World, and what these neighbourhoods and these houses used to look like. And the people. Toronto isn't New York, but it's similar enough. We have the odd shoot out. With a little imagination I can hear the music in our streets.

The resurrection of Michiel, he is going to be a new man. We have tried to understand these photo's. A handsome guy with the Starck frame. A beautiful woman wearing the same frame. And an odd looking older guy. Why the picture of the odd looking older guy? To assure us that if he can get away with it, we could too? Well, it certainly looks very good on Michiel. And as for his grade of handsomeness, the optometrist payed him the compliment of the century. He took a long and close look at Michiel's face, and asked: "Did you have an accident when you were young?"

So learn something.

Just two days ago I was telling you about the shootings all around us in our hood. And what the flying fuck. The ladies Merrison had had dinner (very good lasagna, thanks) at our house, we let them out, and what do we see. The street at the corner cordoned off with a police line. And an officer standing there. So the ladies Merrison went over and asked what was going on, and reported back to me. I was on my flip flops and it's freaking cold out, so I stayed in. And what do you know, a stabbing. At the house next to the garden centre. Garden centre is a very big word for the business that sells soil in Summer and ploughs snow in Winter. The house next to it is inhabited by somewhat shady figures, I've seen some shouting matches going on there before. So I'm not that surprised. But it sort of makes me wish for the gentrification to speed up. Or is it the gentrification of the neighbourhood that brings out this violence? Are the poor people that us rich people are chasing out of town getting edgy? It's like living a film script with an open end...

And what did I do to fight off that thaw depression? I am so glad you ask , thank you. Why of course, I went clothes shopping with my daughter! To the one & only Value Village, we are so cheap. I scored two perfect velvet jackets, one was brand-new, brown, with all the labels and the little bag of extra buttons still attached. I am wearing it now. It has very beautiful lining. The other one is a lovely shade of insane blue. And a blouse, I also found a blouse. And Piffin bought a crazy pair of pajama pants (did I tell you her new girlfriend looks like a young Isabelle Huppert?) a crazy T-shirt, a lovely green sweater, a lengthwise striped T-shirt-sweatery thing, a floral tank top, and a black patent leather raincoat. And seven big cups & saucers, perfect for our morning lattes. One hundred and two dollars. I call that a good deal.

I guess thaw is the first sign of spring, but it's very hard not to feel depressed. I'd much rather see crocuses. Even the park was shut down. Ice plains with water on them, lethally dangerous. Like the rest of our neighbourhood. Yet another shooting, the shootings circle around us, it is almost not amusing anymore. In January it was Mr.Mao on Gerrard, there was one on Simpson, one in Riverdale Park, and today there was one on Carlaw. None of them more than a five minute walk away from our house. This time I was walking Orbit, only one street west of where it happened, and at the exact moment. There suddenly were so many emergency vehicles flying around my ears, I certainly noticed there was some serious shit going on. But I didn't go near it, I safely waited for the news. Happy days.

We watched the documentary Crazy Love. It is everything the title promises. Even Michiel and Piffin were mesmerized. Both of them tend to walk out on love stories, but this one was just too weird, I can't recommend it enough. The artwork above was done by the girl, after she was almost completely blinded with acid by her husband to be. To be, but not until after he spent fourteen years in prison. And it is much crazier than that. And for our own boring crazy loving family, Otger is home, jet lagged. Or very tired, at least. Fell asleep straight after dinner, did some gaming with his friend for an hour, and fell asleep again. Science test tomorrow, on everything he had to study over March break. Oh, well...

I think this clip pretty well sums up Otger's week. He's coming home tomorrow, but let's bare with him. Two transfers. Two airline carriers. Which means getting his luggage at Heathrow, changing terminals, and a new check in. On his own. Chicago will be a joke compared to that. And it can't possibly be as hard as taking the train in Holland. But he won't want me to write that up. I bet he learned more in one week than otherwise in a year. He'll have grown. And I hope he enjoyed the Heathrow first class lounge. I told him to get rid of those pounds I found in my ancient foreign money stash. They didn't change English money in the last few decades, did they?

The strangest mother & daughter picture so far, I think. And then I come home, sit down at the kitchen table with the newspaper and read about a mother with a transsexual kid. I can't read these things anymore without crying, I am on my way to become a sentimental little old lady, it gets worse and worse. I am pretty sure Piffin isn't transsexual though. The assignment was to build something to transform your body. Piffin built a pair of stilts, and crocheted a big giant dildo. Makes sense. And yes, you can imagine the dildo, it's not in the picture. Today was the presentation of all these transformations. I saw a guy dressed up as an angel, but other than that, I think she did the only sex change. And she won the best of class award! Twenty-Five dollars! (We never got money in the our day, huh) Honesty requires me to add that there also were 100 dollar awards, but she didn't win those. Still, there were far more students who didn't get any award, so I think she did pretty well. I know she did, her teacher came up to us, introduced herself, and told us she loved her. (I never had art school teachers tell my parents they loved me, huh)

Very wrong, but kind of funny. She looks totally drunk. I like it when these model drawings turn out funny. I usually don't aim for that to happen, maybe I should. The floor turned out wonderful, Michiel rented a monster sander. Otger had a fine day in Holland, he went to a funeral. Those things happen when one goes to stay at one's grandfather. I remember when conversations between grown ups always seemed to contain wittewieterdoatis (y'know who died)? Glad to say I'm not there yet.

I promised Otger to take a picture of how the living room looks. Up until yesterday the back half was empty, with a shining clean newly finished floor, and tadaa, now the front room is empty, with a dull and dirty old floor. Can anyone guess what we are going to do? Emptying my shelving cabinet full of art supplies and stuff pretending to be art supplies and stuff that just ended up in there like diving goggles was a lot of work. But Michiel did the most work, breaking away the ugly tiles in front of the fire place. He could have paved a street with all the concrete that came out with them. Six large buckets.

I have closed the comments for now. I was under massive comment spam attack, the bastards. I'll open up again, don't worry. But if you really want to comment, send it to me privately, and I will upload it.

This is Paul Steenhuis, one of my newspaper editors. He was on Dutch TV last night, and Willem noticed one of my drawings on the wall behind him. I feel very honoured. I feel honoured twice! Once because the drawing is up on his wall, and twice for it being on tv. And if you look closer, there is even a second drawing, both Voltaire and the Dutch Woman are there. So what was the item about, you might ask. Well, Paul drew a naughty cartoon in the newspaper, shame on him. He had god give a TV mast a blow job, and some christians felt hurt by that. So why did god give the TV mast a blow job, you might ask. Well, a few weeks ago, Deep Throat was aired by the Dutch TV, and some christians didn't agree with that. They held a vigil at the TV mast, praying for god to intervene. And Paul had god intervene. That was all.

Otger is here right now.

Can you read the sign? No line up, that's for sure. I hope he takes full advantage. He sounded relieved when he called us from Chicago, or maybe I just felt relieved myself. He said there had only been eight first class chairs in the plane, and he was on one of them. But I don't know if he enjoyed it much, they had a lot of turbulence. He said he thought the pilot desperately needed some more practice. Rough landing too. Another winter storm, a biggie. But I guess he's out of reach of that one, he should be more or less halfway to Amsterdam by now. Arriving earlier than we thought, maybe I should try to get hold of our friend who is going to pick him up. Oh my god, what an experience. My nerves.

My buddies in the dog park. And Orbit's buddies, let's not forget them. They all know each other very well, they're a pack. Orbit is a well respected old man, despite not being super dominant anymore since his hernia. Many of the owners work from home, like me. We all need a little social life before we start in the morning. You should hear us chatter. They are my official advice committee. Whatever I don't know, or worry about, they have the answers. When I have to go on the radio -Friday next week, make a note- I have them dissect the subjects. From Lord Black to poverty, and from education to elections, they make me understand. They are very knowledgeable, we have doctors and lawyers, artists and actors. And everything in between with flexible work hours.

Wasn't great tonight, but I kind of like these two little sketches. They were beautifully tight hips, as if she was wearing a corset. Pure jealousy of course, I myself have hips made to bear twelve children. My brother used to blame my never having been allowed tight jeans. He probably doesn't even remember ever having said that. I remember so many totally weird things people have said on occasion. I could compile a book full of strange quotations. My father used to say that fat women always wear florals. In the end that will be all that is left of us, a strange quote or two.

And a special treat for all English speaking Dutchophiles!

A girl needs a perfect smile. It doesn't come cheap, but if you're dead certain you won't ever want rattling dentures, you'll have to pay up at a certain age. I was in the chair for two hours straight, good thing I really like my dentist. I love it when he keeps telling me I'm doing great, proud of myself like a little girl. I had told him I was afraid, and that I didn't know if I wanted both teeth done today. But halfway grinding down the first one, I spluttered out that it wasn't so bad, and it really wasn't. So he froze the second one. And after he put in the temporary crowns, he told me I had done really great. And I was proud like a little girl. What ever happened to those butchers that kept shouting I had to open my mouth wider? You know, I think maybe people in general have become nicer. Take school teachers. No comparison to the ones three or four decades ago. Parents, my god. Ignoring bad behaviour and rewarding good behaviour. When did we learn all this? There is hope for mankind after all. Or for the girls with perfect smiles.

I fell asleep watching, sorry. Not for girls. Joris, rest assure, he's got one. Thank you for caring. I had been meaning to ask you guys something. What typical Canadian presents could Otger take with him to Holland on Friday? I was thinking sponge toffee. Or fudge. What do we have here that they don't have there, except maybe Kraft dinner. Not maple syrup, please. Marsh mellow fluff in a jar? Spray can of cheese?

Who cares about curtains, when one's dear husband makes one a cutting board? This is taking recycling to the next level. He made the board out of a front door we found around the corner. We took it because it had an original mechanical doorbell. The door itself was collateral damage really. Bijvangst, what is bijvangst in English? Side capture? The bell is on another preloved restored door now, and it works fine. For who can find it. Because we trick people into pushing three lovely ancient bakelite electrical buttons that aren't attached to anything anymore, unattached but too lovely to take down. From the time our house was three appartments. I am going to make signs at those buzzers one of these days. One for Jehovah's witnesses, one for campaigning politicians, and one for flat rate gas bill sellers. And now for pancakes. Pity we don't need a cutting board for pancakes.