Reader Advisory
Some of these stories may contain mild profanity, poo humor, sex talk, and general “TMI” (too much information).
The first television I ever saw was the decrepit black and white Zenith we kept in the middle of the combination living room/bedroom that my grandmother and I shared growing up. It was the only television in the house, if you don’t count the other larger, broken television it was precariously perched on. The stupid thing had a sixteen inch screen, weighed sixteen tons, and had no remote control. Instead of buttons, it had two knobs: volume and channel. Anytime I wanted to change the channel, I had to use all of my might to pinch the knob with one hand while wrenching it with the other hand because it was semi-broken.
Despite the frequent hand cramps, this television was my prized possession. I spent almost every waking moment watching one of the four channels that came in clear: ABC, PBS, WPIX (now the WB), and WWOR (now UPN/my9). In fact, I learned most of my English from watching
Sesame Street and
Perfect Strangers.
Around second or third grade, I discovered that there were cartoons on the other channels, namely FOX, which came in mostly as snow with the occasional flash...
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Although I create a fair amount of my own
independent art, I'm a producer at a
commercial company where we offer video, animation and design services for hire. Due to the nature of this business, I often spend more time educating the public about “how commissioned art works” than I spend actually creating art. Whenever I’m struggling with a client that wants the “trifecta” (fast, good, and free/cheap), I return to the lessons I learned from my first troublesome client in fourth grade. For fellow artists, writers, designers, and creative people in general, I have included hover-over footnotes that relate this fourth grade story to getting paid for commercial arts in the real world.
I was always good at drawing, but I didn’t realize until fourth grade that it was a very effective deterrent against bullies. People would find some reason to pick on me, but once I started drawing popular animated and comic book characters, everyone – including the bullies – gathered around to watch.
One day, Lance*
(name has been changed to protect the guilty), the prematurely humongous bully that got away with everything because his mom...
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I recently finished the rough draft of a manuscript for an "American Goulash" book. I mentioned it on Facebook because I was excited to be in the very beginning stages of the loooooong road of publishing, when I received a phone call.
Here is the transcription:
"Hello, my name in [Censored]. I've been reading your American Goulash story series online and I am impressed. [So & So] told me you were finished with a manuscript, and I am interested in potentially representing you."
Boy. Word travels fast on social media.
My heart started to race. "Well, I uh, ehhhh...I'm flattered. I am only in the first draft stages but-"
"Okay, good. Then I can talk to you about some of the topics. I LOVE the silly little things about your grandmama fighting robbers, but I cannot represent anything inappropriate like sex or getting your period."
"Uh-"
"I am very interested in your stories about Bible camp. Could you focus more on the spirituality aspect of going to Bible Camp and how it affected your relationship with God?"
"Uh, well...I'm not sure how much you read, but...
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I don’t lie to my mother – I omit the truth sometimes. This particular truth omission revolved around a little place called Seattle, where I was scheduled to attend a large gaming convention. Since my mother hates when I fly and does not understand what I do for a living, saying something like, “I’m going to
PAX to do
AVGN coverage and a
Mr. Bucket stunt,” would blow her mind.
After playing a delicate dancing game around my week’s plans, I set off for my Seattle trip without a hitch. I thought it was a bit odd that all of my friends’ planes were delayed due to “Hurricane Irene,” but I figured it was just an overly marketed thunderstorm and decided to hang out at a local brewery while I waited for them to land.
I turned on my phone for the first time that day – 12 missed called, 5 new voicemails. All from my mom. Ruh roh.
“Mom, is everything okay?”
“Vhy is it so loud? Are you at a bar?”
“Uh…”
“Vhat are you, a vacko? Dere’s trees flyink everyvhere...
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It's always bothered me how my mother and grandmother are treated in retail establishments because of their accents. As a result, I've always been the one to have to "take it up with the manager" or "write a letter" when injustice happens. Combine this with the fact that I'm a writer and sort of an ass, and it makes for interesting letters written on contact forms. So....enjoy.
Dear Dollar Tree, Inc.,
Let me tell you a story.
A story about $1 glowsticks.
Back in March, I was planning a non-profit event that required the purchase of large number of non-toxic glowsticks. As I stood in the middle of the isle, baffled by your sea of chemiluminescent of assorted plastic tubes, a kindly store clerk asked me if I needed assistance. What I needed help with was some simple mathematical forecasting. Probably not the best thing to ask from a retail clerk wearing a Spiderman band-aid to cover her eyebrow ring (thus drawing more attention to the eyebrow ring) but I give everyone a shot. And it really was a cool band-aid.
My equation was this:
My quarterly events with $0 cover charge...
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It's always bothered me how my mother and grandmother are treated in retail establishments because of their accents. As a result, I've always been the one to have to "take it up with the manager" or "write a letter" when injustice happens. Combine this with the fact that I'm a writer and sort of an ass, and it makes for interesting letters written on contact forms. So....enjoy. 
