Linocut Level: High, Crazy Level: Low Simmer

Tom Petty has been following me all day. I have never had a use for him, though growing up it seemed most of the local stations did (to a lesser extent than Led Zep or Bon Jovi, go TRI-STATE AREA!). I get that he has a sizable catalog, but really, why do people care anymore? It probably serves me right, I suppose, as at home, I'm lazy enough to set the radio dial to a halfway acceptable station to me in the morning, instead of descending to the basement to dig up CDs, or listen to Spotify, because I'm cheap and have held off from subscribing; and then here I am choosing to do my tasks in the least efficient manner possible.

I am, ostensibly, listing my new cards on Etsy, but this bar has dodgy internet connection, at best; and the downloading has been lamentable. The nail in the task coffin is that Photoshop has crashed on me three times. And in the meantime, the music has shifted from the lovely Temper Trap and Black Keys to an extended live version of Tom Petty's "Breakdown," which briefly morphs into "Hit the road jack, don't come back no more, no more, no more." Eh. I left the house because A.) I could, what with a sweet teenage babysitter who is great with the baby, even as she goes "Oooph!" most times she lifts our densely-packed girl and B.) my short streak of high productivity seemed to smack into a wall today, so C.) why not expose my sheltered self to some local color?

And local color I'm getting, as I set myself up at a table at the tail-end of a bartender story about having to deal with a female paranoid schizophrenic who had to be removed from the premises by police, after various threats. I didn't get any of the interesting details, only Bro's reaction from the audience table: "All women are batshit crazy, I go from that average and go down." Hahaha, crazy females! He is smugly provocative. Late twenties/early thirties, but still playing boyishly defiant, in super baggy, long shorts and baseball cap; his delicate eyes protected by iridescent, wraparound shades. He faces his table of (mostly older) five men, two women. One of the latter: "So where would I rate on the scale?" I don't listen closely enough for his assessment; clearly neither participant is worried about the answer. A gay male friend of mine years ago said, in defense of an especially egregious friend -- slavering over women + stupid gay jokes -- "I mean, everyone's gotta have the loveable asshole friend, right?" But do they really? Do we? My judgment is very comfortable, lacking knowledge of the entire table. But. He says, at one point, to the other guys at the table, "I take your silence as agreement"; he points his beer bottle at the remainder of the table: "They agree with me." Call me crazy, but it's dismaying to walk into a Feminism 101 lesson, simply by dropping by the nearest microbrew. 


At a certain point, between my slow-but-hopeful downloads and the Photoshop failures,  Bro loudly amends his position: “70% OF ALL WOMEN: BATSHIT CRAZY.” Was he still entertaining to his table, or were they simply waiting him out? Does any part of him get that women experience passing dismissals regularly, in public, whether professionally or not? At all? The idea that half of a population could still be treated as a minority, as an oddity, is astonishing, even given the current popularity of such a blatant misogynist as Trump.

***
Back home, Oyo's snug in her crib, and I'm lured into flipping between The Shining and The Usual Suspects. My grimness scale may soon be exceeded; and I'll take myself down for some basement printing. The goat I tested yesterday is on for tonight:

in search of decorative papers

...though I did carve him with a starry night background

*******

Thursday post script: didn't make it past the couch last night, but the super energized one napped well today, so I have 50 goats drying in the basement from this afternoon. Woohoo! Onward and upward. I have trouble believing I made 5 new card designs in under three weeks -- and this plus two larger card designs, which I may or may not pull. I usually sit on things for...quite awhile. Flurries of productivity!

Of course, I am in the final stages of the Cakeasaurus picture book...I can barely remember when I wasn't talking about this...so maybe I needed to create something unrelated to remind myself I could? Hmmmm. In any case, have some shots from the recent flurry:

Sweet bunny in brown

with my current favorite backing paper

now in Etsy shop

Also in shop

New new new! The bear came first, followed by chipmunk and goose.

Happy Moments Plentiful, Happy Hours Rare

Marissa didn't lie about the Kunde Zinfandel. Lov-er-ly.

Weheeeeelll, so I was going to post a flurry of photos, but I am on Vinology's dodgy internet connection, and was, perhaps, overambitious, and clogged it. So I'll start without visual aids... As of yesterday, we are ONE WEEK shy of Baby being 5 months old, which brings us close to almost half a year of Dumpling's existence, which is hard for me to fathom. Today is Baby's day at the office, which meant I woke her up a teensy bit early for her for a good nursing session and then waited for Javier to get his things together and be off. He couldn't help it -- at whatever stage, he kept wandering over. Him, in his bath towel, leaning in, "DADDY" pointing inward,"loves BABY" pointing to her. She gasped and gazed upward, starstruck, pistoned her legs. Her body struggled to convey how utterly exciting he was. "Come ON," I said, "Let's go~~" He harrumphed and eventually got himself and the baby gear good to go, and was off in time for Fresh Air.

Which left me a little time to finish up a new batch of cards before meeting a new artist friend for afternoon tea. Not bad! The past couple days have been a visit to my old existence: yesterday -- > hair cut, followed by a leisurely browse about Salvation Army (with new tweaks of looking for dresses that would A.) make me feel like a properly dressed person while also B.) easily allowing me to whip out my breasts at Baby's whim; plus a fabulous "update" text from babysitter letting me know they had a nice walk, looking at leaves and shadows, and such). Today, extended cafe socializing as if one didn't have many time constraints, followed by Hallelujah! a Happy Hour glass of wine and Thai chicken flatbread outside, because the almost-Fall weather was too beautiful to defy by going back to the house, and down into the basement for carving...

So heartening to be making new connections now in the midst of some new-Motherhood isolation, especially with fellow creative folk (new friend referred to us collectively as Makers, a term I have certainly heard before, but had not applied to myself. I guess I associated this with more technology/cool geekery/rebellious creativity. But I much prefer it to "Artist," which I sometimes cringe from, for my own neurotic reasons; and which reaction has brought flak. But do I, we, make things? Most definitely! And it also carries with it the practicality, too, doesn't it? It conveys a sense of proactive being in the world, which I most definitely appreciate. Ahem.)

***Back at the house. With count-down to Dumpling arrival, behold some card designs:

Favorite color schemes right now

Toss up between which decorative paper is better. Table rim a big change in feel

Hopeful and happy to me

My ever-apprehensive woman, from the online dating print

A side design for the Cakeasaurus Picture book, guest appearance as card

Bonus shot, with Fisher Price Chime Ball