Talking to Strangers

Standing up in preperation for the exiting of the transit bus I over heard fragments of a statement spoken by a fellow passenger standing with his two friends. Putting these fragments in context and with a simple understanding and knowledge of the imediate surroundings (the bus) I figured out what he had said. Paraphrasing here he said "...there are two seats".
I (a stranger) verbaly butted in saying quote: "He saw the reach". They laughed and I exited the bus.

Let me explain.

As mentioned above the fellow passenger and two friends are standing. This means all the seats are being sat in and therefore they must stand. Due to the bus taking 90 degree turns and abruptly stoping and accelerating the standing position is not prefered as strugle for balance and composure can be chalanging. That and standing for a long time makes your feet hurt.
When in the standing situation it is in ones best intrest to keep an eye out for the departing of seated passengers as this results in an empty seat.
I was a seated passenger. My act of standing up made my intentions of departing/exiting clear to all the standing.
Here's where it gets interesting. . .

I was the only one that stood up.

I am only one person, I occupied only one seat.
Why and why again did this fellow passenger say "...there are TWO seats"? suggesting that two seats are now availabe for two of them to sit in.
His two friends only seeing me stand up just as everyone else did also questioned their friends bold statement. "two seats?" they asked.
The man seated infront of me also was to exit the bus but how did Mr. fellow passenger know when after all this man did not stand up?
. . .
I'm draging this out to long
why am I blogging about this?

anyway, it was because he, the man seated infront of me, was the one who pulled the cord that rings the bell and lights the lamp notifying the bus drive to stop as the next marked bus stop.
So that's how fellow passenger knew because I stood up and Man pulled the cord and you never pull the cord if your not getting off, so he knew Man was getting off, even though he didn't stand up right away. In the world of transit the act of the pulling of the cord (or in some buses the pushing of the button or pressing of the yellow strip) makes you a marked one.
If you're caught pulling the cord its game over. Everyone knows your getting off at the next stop. All eyes are on you from that point on. It's the life of the transit people.

One last thing. The only reason the fellow passenger laughed when I said "He saw the reach" was because I refered to it as "the reach". Which is down right hilarious.

Learning More

A tutor.
Who needs a tutor? Tutors are for rich people, right?
Me? I'm not even sure how to spell tutor.
Get a tutor she suggests. Really.

So I got a tutor.

We have yet to meet each others aquantinsies-sis. I imagine his head/skull will be of an unusual size. Bulging with brains. You have to be smart to be a tutor. Teaching people how to do things they don't know how to do. I'm telling you, it takes brains.

It's more than likly that within a month my 'B's will be 'A's. My skills as an artist will have. . . um. . . increased. To a point of I don't know. Hey,
Check it Out:


I think this hole in my jeans is getting bigger.

Life after Art

Do I have plans for life after art school?

Yes.
Yes I do.


This abstract composition is suposed to show motion, movement, and that my friends is what I'll do. I'll move. Where? To BC, the British of Columbia. That's where. To the mountians of BC!

There is good lumber up north but my spot will be Canmore... I'm pretty sure Canmore is in BC... so I'll get my lumber from up north and bring it down to Canmore. The town scene is no good though, so I go east of Canmore a few miles, or kilometers.
I build a house.

Good. I like my house.
Lots of days go by. The wood stove keeps me warm in the winter and during the summer I read books down by the waterfall.

I found the books in my house one day. Not sure how they got there but the fact of the matter is that I was reading them. Why was I reading books? There was something wrong. I was on the mountian for three years. . . that much time goes by, you start reading books.

So I gather up my things and leave.

I walk a long ways. Just following the river. I travel through many nights.

I built a lot of camp fires.

I eventually make it to New York City.
Now I design torpedos for the US Navy.

A class 7: Google 5 Torpedo.



NOTE: This entry may contain traces of peanuts.

Big Black Bag

my first day of art school

The sign read. . ."Past Room A117"

So I went in search for Room A117 and eventually. . . found it. Room A118. Thats where the transaction took place. I didn't enter the room for in the doorway sat a desk and behind the desk, a man. We exchange a few words, I showed my ID, a few more words then he says "just sign here" and points with his pen to a blank line.

I sign the line.

A quick look at the signature and he stands up and walks away. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and played it cool. I knew he'd be back. It was just a matter of time. Second after second passed by and sure enough he was back. Back with a big black bag. He set it on the desk between us, handed me some papers and the deal was done.

What was in this bag?

Carrying the weight of its contents I walked down to the end of the hallway. I took a left turn, through a door to my right and into a stairwell which led me upwards to yet another hallway. My hallway. Now it was safe, away from the watching eyes of others. I knelt down on the white tiled floor and unzipped the big black bag.

It was like opening one hundred Christmas presents all at once. From corner to corner, front to back it was jam-packed,loaded with all kinds of brand new art supplies.


Wow. I'm showing so much improvement already.

A Short Story

While traveling the face of the earth I once wrote a story. This story will now be retold.

Many big moons ago there lived a duck.
His name was Henry. Henry Duck. Or Mr. Duck as most called him. His name is not important to the story but I mentioned it anyway.
I presume you have already made some assumptions of Mr. Duck. For instance you probably think, for whatever reason, that he was a special duck. You may have gone as far as to think he was capable of speech? Yes?
But no.
Henry was probably the most normal and fantastically boring duck this planet has ever seen. Now, being the most normal duck this planet has ever seen, there really isn't much else to say about Henry.
He lived a very normal duck life.

THEEND


This is a sketch of a man who claims he saw a duck that looked like Henry.