the bad things I've done:

A la My Name is Earl, I have decided to write a list of the bad things I have done. Or more accurately - the entertaining bad things that I can remember and am willing to admit. I'll think about the whole apologizing thing later. Here goes:

1. In 1st grade, I wrote on a little slip of paper "Bill eats shit." I don't know why I did it - I don't think Bill really did eat shit. His breath smelled fine. Then I folded the paper and threw it on the floor. The teacher found it and was totally irate. She demanded to know who wrote it. I kept quiet. She picked on the only black girl in the class, who had a reputation for being 'bad'. Her name was Treva Mims. I will never forget Treva. She got a spanking for the 'shit' comment - which was my fault. This was in the South in the late 70's. I'm sorry Treva. Sorry for the spanking, and sorry for my contribution to the racial oppression of those times.

2. Also in first grade. We had 'reading group' which consisted of a circle of chairs and everyone reading the same book. My best friend in 1st grade was Gene. He was a black guy (I only point this out to dispel the appearance in post #1 that I am a racist). We liked to prank one another. One game was to sit down first, and when the other sat down, hold a pencil pointing up in their chair so that the person would get poked in the butt. We always got each other, and the victim would get a little poke and jump and it was really funny. One day I held out the pencil for Gene to sit on, but this time he sat down really hard. The sharp pencil went right into his ass cheek, and the tip broke off in his ass. He had to go to the hospital and have the pencil tip removed from his ass in what could not have been a fun experience. I'm sorry Gene, for once again promoting racial violence, and for harming your butt cheek.

3. Making fun of Randy. My Dad's best friend had a son my age (I was one day older). We of course, got set up as friends. We were always sent to play together. It was ok, Randy had some cool Lego's, but he was kinda weird. I remember one night we spent the night at my house, and were talking from bunk bed to bunk bed. He wanted to play a game. That game was "ding-a-ling sword fight," where we would duel it out with our whackers. He said the loser would get his "ding-a-ling" bitten by the winner. Then he said, maybe we should reverse that - the loser does the biting. I said maybe we should play a different game. He had a lot of that kind of stuff going on in his head. Another time he wanted us to shit on the floor of the public bathroom because somehow that would be funny. I don't think Randy's brain was a pleasant place.
I put up with it all through my childhood. I learned to deflect his strangeness and we had some good times. But by the time we got to high school, who you hung out with was of ultimate importance. I no longer wanted to be associated with the 'weird kid.' One day, when all the cool guys started making fun of Randy in gym class, I had to pick a side - defend my pal or go with the crowd. I think it was my comments that made him cry the most.
Randy ended up in private school because of stuff like that. I'm sorry Randy, for hurting you and failing to withstand the peer pressure. But, in reality you deserved some of it - you were fucking weird and needed to learn how to repress that shit.

4. Out doing my roommates: I've had a lot of roommates. Most of them were my best friend when we moved in together, and after we moved out I never spoke to them again. I used to be really hard on roommates - I expected them to be kind of perfect. I didn't put up with their shit, and I always had to feel superior. So a few of my roommates I one-upped a little too much. I got Jerome fired from our cooking job because I ratted him out for being a fuck-off (but hey - so was I!). I rubbed it in Manny's face that I did better in school than him. Looking back, both of those guys were selfish pricks who tried to either terrorize or fuck my girlfriend. I'm not sorry at all!

5. Stealing money from my mom. Just sad. She was horrible at keeping up with money, so my sister and I would routinely help ourselves to a fiver from her purse. Made up for all of that psychological torture she put us through to some extent, though.

6. Stealing liquor from my parents. They had a whole cabinet of liquor that they had received as gifts. They don't drink, so the cabinet just sat there stock full. Throughout high school, we slowly replaced all that liquor with water. That was just funny.

7. Made out with my neighbor's girlfriend. I had these great neighbors who were punk kids. The guy Jake was a really cool guy and he had a smokin' hot 18 year old girlfriend. We made out one day. She was so fucking hot - a very pretty punk rock girl. She let me know that I could have sex with her - even made an excuse to crash over at my side of the duplex one night - but I resisted. I think that makes it all right. I could have boned her and I didn't, solely because I didn't want to hurt Jake. I think that makes up for the other stuff. Damn she was hot though - I kinda wish I had...

8. Fucking my buddy's mom. That was a big mistake. We used to come visit Smoke in the town he lived in. Him, a roommate, and his mom lived in a big house. We would go visit for a weekend and it would be a 72 hour party. We had parties that became legends. One weekend at about 4am, we were all starting to drop out one by one. Russ had claimed the couch, and I wanted to go to sleep, too - so I called the EZ chair. Smoke's mom was a little bit of a MILF, and always partied with us. We all knew someone was going to do the deed some day. When I called the EZ chair that night she said 'no, you can sleep in my room.' I was actually hammered enough to think that I was just going to sleep. That didn't happen. Apparently the whole house heard us going at it. The next morning was the worst I have ever felt. It took 2 years to work up the courage to talk to Smoke again. He, being the coolest guy in the universe, forgave me. I let him punch me, and he didn't even hit me that hard. We were never the same though. Smoke, I am truly sorry for that. No one should have to hear their pal banging their mom. Thanks for not killing me with a chainsaw or something.

9. Being a pussy with my girlfriend: I had a really cool, really hot girlfriend when I was 19. She was 20, and had a really strong personality. I became very whipped, and let her dominate me. I was in "wuv" with her big time. When she finally dumped me for being such a girly-man, I cried and begged for her to take me back for hours. No man should ever act like that. After that, she started dating my boss, and I slept with her roommate. That's how we got over each other I think. Sorry, Victoria - you deserved a really alpha guy to be a stud for you. Thanks for emotionally beating the shit out of me for being a pussy, though. I needed it. You would be proud of how much I evolved. These days I do the dumping.

10. Dissing my Dad when he was sick: My Dad had a couple of heart attacks. After the second one, he had a triple bypass. He was homebound for six months or so. A lot of times I told him I would come over and hang out with him, but slept in and didn't make it there. I was doing a lot of drugs and drinking a lot back then. He really got hurt the times I didn't show up. I still feel rotten about that. I wish I could make it up to him. I just try to be there for him now, and let him know that I do love and appreciate him. I really love my Dad. I hope you know that, Dad. I hope it comes through despite my fuckhead nature.

That's all for tonight. These weren't as funny as I had hoped. It was cathartic, though.

Election '00

Me and my all time best buddy Boo were sitting around my place watching tv and drinking beer, like we usually do. We had terrible hangovers, like we usually do. We didn't have any girls to call, like usual. It was election night and we were watching the returns.

I was a pizza delivery guy, and had been in almost every house and building in the city at some point to deliver a pie. The news coverage was showing the Democratic's return party and I instantly recognized it as the ballroom at a swank downtown hotel.

Me and Boo are so close we don't have to talk a lot to know what's going on, so the following conversation is understandably short:

Me: "Let's go."

Him: "OK."

And so we did.

Turns out it was free, and there was no one checking that you were legit Dems or anything.

Oh, and there was an open bar.

Not many phrases will actually give me a full erection. One of the few that will, however, is "open bar." Free alcohol and me and Boo is a dangerous combination.

From what I remember, we took over the front center table, had the local celebrity "Bubba", a news crew, the entire under-30 crowd, and a giant pyramid of empties at our table. We took over the joint. Boo ends up on the local news talking politics, I'm hitting on a cute young photographer, and Bubba's piss drunk.

Around 10pm, they announce that the governor is there. Everyone gets up to welcome him in, and your heroes - Boo and I - find our way to the front entrance. We had so taken over the room that everyone thought we were some kind of big shot political players. So the governor of South Carolina walks in the entryway and gets greeted by two hammered guys who voted for someone else.

Turns out that many scientists believe that people can sense emotional events in the future. This reminds me of another story from my days at DoDo Bird's sports bar and grill.

I was dating a girl who was much older than me. When you are 17 and your girlfriend is 21, it kinda makes you the man amongst your buddies. I, however, was very inexperienced in relationships. Inexperienced meaning that I had never had one before, which means I was head over heels in 'wuv' with her.

She worked at the steakhouse I had just left for the new job. When you work in restaurants, you don't get off work until 2am because you have to clean up all night. Usually there is a party after that, too. Restaurant staff become night owls real quick.

But this night, I had off. I was still a senior in high school and was asleep at home when I got a phone call. It was my girlfriend's sister, worried that she hadn't made it home. It was about 4am and they lived a half hour out of town. She was really freaked out and got me freaked out with all of her freaking out. I decided to drive around and look for my girlfriend. I went to her work - no one there. I went to my work since she was a friend of my friends there - nobody. I drove to the hospital and they didn't have her. I was getting worried. I just started driving around.

Well, as it happened, I was driving down the frontage road along side the interstate in our part of town. As I approached a barren little turn off, suddenly I knew she was down that road. I had never driven down that particular road (it was a dead end, a place people went to make out in their cars sometimes). I didn't even know where the road went. I just suddenly knew she was there. It was an unquestionable fact in my mind. I've never had a premonition like that before, or since. I just knew.

So, I turned down the road. I'm really freaked about her being gone without calling - she never forgot to call her family if she was going to be late. I'm halfway expecting to find her dead. As I get to the end of the little road, my headlights pick up her little red car. The lights are off and the windows are all steamed up. I park, and get out with my headlights fully illuminating the car. I look in to see her in the passenger seat and my best friend at the wheel. I knew he always had a crush on her. She looks like she is getting dressed really fast. I yell at them to open the door. They don't. I yell again. They look totally freaked out. I'm yelling my head off at them because I just found my girl cheating on me with my best friend after spending all night worrying about where she was. They still won't open the door, and are yelling back at me to leave. I'm getting madder and madder, and in a final redneck fit of rage -

I start beating the fuck out of the windshield. Pounding it. Glass shattering everywhere. Wailing away at it until my hand is a bloody mess. I was just so pissed that they wouldn't even open the door when I busted them.

Finally, my friend Jarome opens the door and gets out.

"Craig? Holy fuck! It's Craig!" he says. "What are you doing?"

I stop. "You didn't know it was me?"

"No. We couldn't see anything with your damn headlights on. Just a silhouette. What's wrong with you?"

She gets out and is crying and wants to hug me.

"What's wrong?" I say, "I just busted you fucking my girlfriend and you want to know why I'm mad?"

"Dude - we were just talking."

I turn to her - "But you were getting dressed when I pulled up."

"I was just putting my socks on. My feet were aching after a long night at work. We saw you and thought some maniac was coming to harass us. We wanted to leave, but you parked in the way."

Me: "Oh. What the hell are you doing out here then?"

Her: "Talking about you. I've been feeling bad about us and I wanted to get Jarome's opinion about what's going on since he is your best friend. We've been talking for two hours."

Me: "Oh. Uh, sorry about the windshield."

I guess they were telling the truth. It sure sounded legit in the conversations that followed. They were both really concerned about me. I had to call my Dad to come get me after I took her home and let her have my car since I broke hers. A half hour drive with your dad after beating the shit out of a car is a strange scene. He was really cool about it though. Didn't really even ask me about it. Just talked about how he sees deer on this part of the highway all the time, etc. That was a relief - I was so drained. Oh, and bringing her home to her parents was not too fun either. But they were cool too. Her mom is a nurse and she bandaged up my hand. I guess everybody sympathized with me after I told them how it all happened.

portrait

self portrait

Going for creative lighting is hard when you can't see your subject. I like this self portrait, because I think it describes me well - the messy kitchen, my indifferent look, and how half of me is hidden in shadow.

your lucky day

Here I am reading some guy's stories about being a midnight street sweeper and all the crap he runs into, when I realize that: I too have a blog, and I too have had a shitty job. Alarm bells start going off in my head as a flood of memories from my sometimes retarded, sometimes scary life overwhelms me.

So I'm thinking I gotta get this stuff out there. Living the life of a kinda open-minded, very reckless, often stupid southern boy can be pure torture - or pure entertainment. We'll see which is which as I've found a something new to add to this blog: life stories.

Since I'm on the topic of work, I'll start with this little gem from my days as a line cook at a sport bar and grille in Columbia, SC:

When I was 16, I got a job with my sister's boyfriend at a steakhouse. I learned how to cook there - work the fryers, bake potatoes, and the holy grail of the kitchen - work the grill. Cooking 40 steaks to temp at once is a science up there with spinal surgery in difficulty. Anyway, I took my skills to a sports bar and grill when I was 18.

Being a cook at a place that serves alcohol is a special thing. Special in the fact that when the kitchen closes, the beer starts flowing. Special in the fact that almost all of the staff is made up of alcoholics, drug addicts, and lots of people whose parents had boundary issues.

The beginning of the afternoon is comprised of doing 'prep work' before the evening rush. This means making salad, cutting meat, cooking big pots of rice, cleaning the fryers, etc. Part of the ritual of all those doing prep work is to first go out back by the dumpster and get high. It's mind numbing work and a numb mind is necessary. So one day, like every day, we went out back to get high. This day we got really high. My first job as we got back in was to clean the fry vats.

Fry vats are those big stainless steel deep fryers that you can see over the counter at fast food joints. All restaurants have them. They are filled with vegetable oil, and heated to 350 degrees. They are gas powered and run all day long. When you have to clean them, you have to empty out the oil from a gasket in the bottom, and run it through a filter, or dump it and put in new oil. This day I was putting in new oil.

The first step is to turn off the gas heat. Then you have to drain the oil. I know a lot of guys who have spilled super heated oil on themselves and lost serious amounts of skin. It's a really dangerous job. Hot oil vaporizes human skin on contact. I constantly had little red blisters on my arms from getting splattered by hot grease. So, I give the fryers the respect they deserve while I am draining the oil.

This day, something was wrong. The gas didn't turn off when I cut it, or the whole thing was overheated, or something. When the oil drained out, the bottom of the tanks started drying out and popping, obviously getting too hot. A little bit of residual oil caught on fire. I double checked the gas gage, and it was set to 'off', but still something was going bad here. I'm still freshly cooked off the weed and I run get Brent, one of my coworkers, to help.

"You're too high," he says. "You're over reacting." He gets some water and dumps it in the vat, thinking that will cool things off. It vaporizes instantly with a hiss, sending hot steam up at our stoned faces.

"Holy Fuck," one of us says, as we jump back. We're both really baked, and wondering what we've done wrong, knowing that our present state of mind must be to blame. We're also afraid to go get the boss, since he'll know we screwed it up being stoned.

"Let's pour oil in it," I suggest - thinking that the oil can take the high temperature and it will just go back to being a full oil vat at cooking temperature. Not so.

By this time, the vat is smoking, popping and crackling. I'm really getting scared, but thinking it's just the weed getting to me, and try to act cool. I grab a 5 gallon box of vegetable oil and prop it up on the edge to pour it in the vat. I start pouring, but at the temperature this bare metal has cooked up to, oil is just fuel.

I'm reminded of the song American Pie, the part that goes "flames climbed high into the night, to light the sacrificial rite." Satan may have laughed with delight, but we sure ran out of the kitchen screaming. I can only imagine what those few customers in the dining room thought.

The boss came back, looked at the flaming fry vat and turned off the gas line behind it. "Lines must be stuck on. Don't use that one tonight," he says, and just walks out nonchalantly. Brent and I stare at one another as the flames burn themselves out. After that, it was work as usual - but I sure was rattled the rest of the night.

July preview

An image from the upcoming group exhibition at Gallery 8 in July.

must... eat... BRAINS...

The roomie and I saw 28 weeks later this afternoon. It was great. There's nothing like watching a zombie movie in the theater (consider my screen name). The 28 movies are some of the best, too. I can't think of a better way to get your adrenaline flowing, other than to actually be chased by zombies.

It looks like the Circular Exhibition that I posted about in my last entry will be showing at the Hun Gallery in NY (two blocks from Madison Square Garden) the first two weeks of July, then at the Ho Gallery in Seoul the last two weeks of July. Considering the group exhibit at Gallery 8 in July, my 2-person show there in August, and the Million Little Pictures show that is up in Atlanta right now, I'm in 4 shows this summer. Not bad for being out sick.

image for Seoul exhibition

I have the honor of being featured in a "circular exhibition" where a NY gallery is sending up and coming artists' work to a gallery in Seoul, South Korea. The image I am going to send them is an abstract nude - this is the work the NY gallery is familiar with. Here it is:

initial post

Well, I've taken the plunge. I am backing away from LJ, Myspace, and all those photography sites to (hopefully) consolidate everything in this one blog. I will still keep up with all those sites, but this is going to be my main focus.

I'm just learning about blogging, but here are my goals:

1. To update every day, if possible.
2. To showcase my creative writing, analytical writing, and art
3. To link to other websites that I find interesting and useful
4. To build a 'web identity' - to plant my flag in this new world of internet 2.0
5. To create a record, a documentation of my life
6. To provide interesting enough content to build a following. Someday I would like this to become a source for advertising income.

Welcome to my new blog. The title is 'post modern wasteland'. My screen name will be zombie_attack. The URL is http://pmwasteland.blogspot.com