In the immortal words of Soren Davis and the Family Haircut, who needs a haircut?

I am starting some experiments in order to complete a few paintings I have been wanting to do for awhile. Initially I had wanted these ideas to be for a mural but I needed to scale that down. One of the paintings that sold at the auction, called Vincent, was the product of an accident. I had spray painted a face onto a mini canvas about a year or two ago, red on black. This year I sprayed the whole thing with green and at first glance (far off) you could see nothing but closer you could see the face underneath, hidden almost. It turned out great and the person who bought it loved it for that reason and more.

So I wanted to try something similar. I've noticed that on wood or any smooth surface, layering like I did before - something underneath covered by a whole top coat - will not only show up but be slightly raised, so you can physically feel it.

So I want all these alien guy figures, silhouettes in the background, underneath then I want to cover it with black and put tiny flames over their head. It's only beginning and may end up really cheesy but everything starts as it starts. You just see where it goes.

I am also working on a design for Shirts Against.

And friend and fellow artist Lazlo hipped me to this site with the preface if this isn't hilesh, what is?

It's a weird thing. I went to court yesterday. Initially I was supposed to give back testimony in a case. A former coworker had called and asked me abut it. Considering that I had traffic court yesterday I coincided the dates. It fell through. That in itself is another story.

I have been to traffic court a number of times, mostly for expired plates or no city sticker or not having my insurance card with me. It almost always gets thrown out once I bring in the paperwork and I always feel a let down. Not that I want to pay or that I want to get in trouble but in the many times I have traveled down to the Richard J. Daley Center I end up having a tumble of insane daydreams and droughts. I keep imagining myself before the judge talking about my life. The judge asks me questions like "Are you always dressed up like that?" or "What seems to be the problem? Why didn't you have your sticker?" or "What is that you do, Mr. Patel?" or "What's with the yellow bracelet?" I imagine my time before him or her similar to having my heart weighed by Anubis or my life judged by God. And when it is over, when there is a time span of thirty seconds from the tine that they call my name and I say "here" to the time that I hand my papers to the prosecutor and she says "we do not wish to continue this further" I feel, well, gipped. What can I say? Such a process. Taking the el downtown. Standing in a long line. Taking off your belt, emptying your pockets and gong through the metal detector, I would have liked a little more judgement.

Wake up, Mr. Patel. You are bad with money. You worry too much. You fucked that one up, Patel. You can't keep doing this. That was so half-assed. Wake up. Wake up.

You get the point.

Chris Whitley died. He was only 45.

Atticus is sleeping. A little early tonight. I tried feeding him spaghetti, one of those baby spaghetti meals and he ended up wearing most of it on his face and in his hair. I switched to formula because he was getting crabby and he was just ready. It's just been him and me today. Irene was at work all day and she is out for the evening. Saturday's are usually just the two of us and if Gabrielle isn't with her grandma or dad (every other weekend) it's all three of us. Most people who read this blog know that I am a public radio junkie. Honestly, I have been a radio junkie since I was a kid. I love listening and I love the physical radios themselves. I have been trying to find a great old radio for years. I started off listening to WLS in the mornings and WBBM talk radio during the day because that's what my dad played all day. Anyway, my Saturday's involve a lot of public radio and playing with Atticus or, if she's up for it, talking with Gabrielle. Today was a long day, Atticus playing, running around in circles in his walker, crawling on the floor, turning the TV on and off. I promised myself as I was cleaning that once he went to sleep I would pick up my brushed and paint or at least spray paint some stencils I have been putting aside for awhile. And yet, I find it hard. There seems to be a wall in front of me. Maybe it's just excuses. I do know that everytime I pick something up I get this feeling like all the energy drains out of me. To be fair, and genuinely accepting of my physical body, I need to give myself my iron injection. I need to snap it out.

All in all, that same energy field or whatever you may want to call it that has affected my painting has affected my writing hence the large long gaps in this blog. Many things exist in life right now, things that are "news" rather than daily occurrences, things that are more than Atticus shit on my shirt, Stella ate a piece of paper, Matilda peed on the floor, etc. I know someone who is going through surgery sometime next week and getting an appendage amputated. The doctor called and let us know that Gabrielle's foot is indeed sprained according to the X-ray.

More. Yes there is more. The thing I remember the most from today is something that happened this morning. I felt energy off someone. I've felt it before off many different people but this is the first time I've been conscious of it. I saw two people talking and the person out of my view I could actually feel her distaste (I hope that's the right word) for the other person. I could feel it. It wasn't malicious nor was it intentional. It just was. I kept thinking that relationships, romantic or friendship, can at some point reach this point. Such is life. The other person in this morning's scenario was oblivious. I can't fully explain what I want to but the feeling of seeing that, realizing that, feeling it off another person, seeing from the e outside a relationship changed, it just struck me.

I also realized today, separately, that I am very protective of my wife. That's it.

So it's been awhile since I've written anything here. Such a bad man am I. Snow is falling and though it seems ages since my last words here it's probably only been weeks. A lot can happen in a few weeks. Gabrielle fell off a horse and hurt her ankle. She is recovering and getting better but the actual moment, for which I was not present, was painful and emotional and scary. We had a little tiff yesterday because she wanted to be pampered. She she said, "I thought I was going to be pampered more." And though at that moment I chided her it is true. She should be. More. Every kid deserves that.

My father had emergency surgery this past Saturday. He too is fine and probably in need of pampering too. It is a long story and one I don't want to get into here. My father's health problems are many and hearing he had to have surgery a day before he went in ended up making me sick and immediately after I found out he was ok I crashed and burned. That lasted until just this past Monday.

What is it about fathers? Or is it men? I've talked to my friend Arturo about this and my wife as well - maybe it is immigrant fathers....but I think not. It's just that these men keep everything inside and at some point it affects their body and from there things decline. And after this weekend I find that I am doing that too.

House suspends Alaska drilling push
Leaders drop Arctic oil proposal from budget bill

Thursday, November 10, 2005; Posted: 10:06 a.m. EST (15:06 GMT)

WASHINGTON (AP) -- House leaders late Wednesday abandoned an attempt to push through a hotly contested plan to open an Alaskan wildlife refuge to oil drilling, fearing it would jeopardize approval of a sweeping budget bill Thursday.

from CNN

Last year on October 4 I went in for surgery for my cancer. I was diagnosed about a month or two prior and was intensely tested for the months before that. All in all, I have spent the time from the first test until now in doctor's offices, hospitals, labs, wards. I've gotten to know the nurses, how many children they have, who they are dating, what shows they watch. I show them pictures of my kids. They show me pictures of theirs. We communicate like people outside of the situation.

I look at other patients and sometimes we nod at each other like relatives across a great big Thanksgiving table. Sometimes we deliberately journey inward and refuse to acknowledge each other as if to say this is not real. You are not real. I know both avenues, and their paths, intimately.

It's been a year since the surgery a little shorter since the chemo ended and still we are going, in one way or another albeit in a better way. I had lunch with my friend today and his experience with the medical world beats mine (though it's a race he wouldn't want to win) and together we chart our life according to these dates. He is still living with his. It lives with him as he lives with it. There is the potential to oprah-ize our moments together but I can't. They are not that simple. I cherish them because I can cut through a lot of daily bullshit and we can speak in shorthand. But I look at my friend before me I see him incomplete not because of his physicality but because his desire isn't satiated. And I am humbled.

Irene unsuccessfully tried to spike his hair up so we could make him a punk rocker for his daycare halloween party.

Atticus' original costume. Bought it a month ago. As you can see by the short sleeves he grew out of it already.