Author Archives: Eric_Tolladay

About Eric_Tolladay

Writer with a bad retouching habit, Husband, Father, Personal attendant to two cats, Some guy you probably don't know. He/Him

The Disposessed

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We had a few days of light rain early this week. Perfect for the garden which is just starting to take off. Then after that we had three days of cooler Santa Ana’s blowing through. The Santa Ana winds blow of the deserts north of us, and are terribly drying. They also profoundly effect the mood of the people around here. On the bus, people are less courteous, and more hunkered down, drawn inward. At night this is doubly so. I don’t know why, it is something about the really dry conditions, mixed with the huge gusts of wind. Wherever the cause, it makes public transportation less fun a people are less likely to talk with strangers (one of my favorite reason to ride the bus), and more likely to be sullen or angry.

For the mentally ill, however, the Santa Ana’s are almost like a punishment from God.  They not only have to deal with everyone else being far less understanding, they also have to deal with their own issues, which are exacerbated by the mood of others. Think of them as the canary in the coal mine when it comes to the mood of a group; they cannot help by be drastically effected by it, like a radio stuck with the volume on high, and can only be tuned to one station. For them it is literally maddening.

So on Thursday night, rolling home somewhat later (8:00-9:00), I met a charming lady from Miami who was here to take a single class on psychiatry to fulfill all her requirements for her MD. She was talking about being a Pediatric Doc, a job see seemed suited for.

Alas for her, she was staying in a hotel in downtown Hollywood, a part of town full of the mentally ill, drawn as they can be to the tourist areas. She had already had one experience when a gentleman had made untoward advances, and didn’t understand polite rebuffs, which had scared her some. Rightfully so as it is very difficult to deal with someone who projects their sexuality onto you, and does not understand they are actually acting like an ass. The mentally ill usually have just as much hormones as you or I, so when they see a person they think is sexy, they will react, only their reactions will often be totally inappropriate, because they view sex through the smashed up lens of mental illness. So a man night think he os being appropriately “sexy” towards a woman be offering to take off his shirt to show off his muscles, and ignore the fact that he is an absolute stranger, and the woman he is afflicted with has a look of horror on her face. And believe me when I say this, his was a mild reaction.

So as we were traveling on the bus, and she was telling me this story, I related to her how I used to teach special ed, and had spent several years surrounded by the mentally ill with what I like to call a hair trigger temper. I had run into mentally ill people on the bus, in fact quite often, but they never really bothered me.

I need to take a side track here, for just a moment, to describe for most of you some of the realities of this town. LA is a wonderful place. The weather is so nice that I often call it paradise; a term not without some tongue-in- cheek, mind you, but it’s not a bad term all in all. This means, among other things, that a lot of people drift here. They come because the weather is nice, or they come because they have a dream (usually to be an actor or musician) or maybe they come just to get away from the small town where they grew up and everyone knows them. Regardless of why they come, lots of people come here. Lots. Now if you couple this with the fact that a certain percentage of the population will always have mental illness, you understand that LA gets its share of the mentally ill, and then some. For instance, if you are mentally ill, and the people in your home town know (often is it all but impossible to hide mental illness), then you will have twice as many reasons to leave where you are, and try to make a “fresh start” somewhere else. That somewhere else is very often LA, the town that practically built itself as a fresh start.

One other thing. At night, living on the streets, a place many people who run out of money end up, is not all that safe. There are some who prey upon the street people, and take pleasure in hurting them. In fact we just had a case where a man was sentenced to death for pouring gasoline on a bumm, and lighting him on fire, killing him. So if you are mentally ill, and cannot hold down a job, guess where you end up at night? Well very often, the bus. You see some of the Metro lines (Metro is the name of our city wide transportation service) are 24 hour lines, meaning they run a constant 24 hours. If you can afford a bus pass, or have one as a part of a county mental health program, then the bus is a great place to be. It is warm, dry, reasonably safe, and if you can deal with the bumping, rolling, and sterile lighting, a place to rest, maybe even sleep. Most bus riders don’t know this because the crazies are smart enough to not get on until after the normal riders, commuters, students and such, have gone home, say 8:00 o’clock or so. I discovered this little trick by accident. I have a client which I get to by bus, and I often work late at that office. If just so happens, one of the two lines (the 217) that make up a significant portion of my route, is a 24 hours bus. This is how I discovered where the mentally ill often spend their evenings, because they would ride alnog with me on my way home from work.

So back to my story. This nice MD student and I were talking, and I was telling her how to deal with the mentally ill, while rolling on a late night bus, during a Santa Ana. In the midst of this, and elderly gentleman sits down next to me. By this time the topic had switched to something else, and the lady and I were conversing in opposite seats in the back of the bus. The bus was quite crowded, so having someone sit next to me was a given. Suddenly this man seated next to me stared yelling at another rider, also, we discovered, someone with mental illness. The two exchanged rants, and the man next to me got more and more agitated. I realized what was going on, having spent some time around the mentally ill, and having a slight mental illness myself. Since the bus is considered a “safe” place for someone thus afflicted, they will often “act out” or get more upset on it then they will out in the open Very much like the may most mentally ill will not act out until they are home, or around people they trust. (which is not so fun if you are in the later category, let me tell you). So these two guys were in a bizarre way, protecting their territory.

So this guy seated next to me, turns to me, and starts in on a rant, and it was pure stream of consciousness stuff; raw, unfiltered junk poured through his mouth, straight from his Id, literally without a thought at all. I don’t remember all of what he said, but this will give you an idea, “Those guys want to turn our shoes into jello, and all for a cup of donuts. That’s why the doctors are trying to close the hospital.” He went on like that for 2-3 paragraphs, each equally senseless. A classic example of a psychotic. As he talked he grew more and more agitated, until he was standing and yelling loudly to the entire bus. Chaotic ramblings and violent mood swings do not make for good company, let me tell you.

Fortunately, the man got off at the next stop, yelling at the driver to open the back door as he belatedly realized he was too agitated for the bus, and needed to get off.The sad thing is, I know he was trying to tell me, or us, something. Something terribly important to him. Alas, the lens of mental illness was so distorted for him that his very thoughts were a mangled heap of chaotic jumps and starts. He was clinically incoherent.

Imagine, of you will, that you had no one to look after you, lived with no money on the streets, AND could not communicate a coherent sentence to save your soul. What most people don’t realize is that crazy people usually know they are crazy, and desperately try to not act so. They get embarrassed when they act up in public, and try very hard not to. Alas, time and tides conspire against them. And when they do, man it must really suck to be them. Suck hard.

So after this man left, I did my best to cheer up this poor Med. student. But I have to admit, I was pretty rattled by the experience. So much so that I spent the past few nights, after Trevor had gone to bed, curled up in a book, waiting for the Santa Ana’s to pass so my ego can come out of it’s shell, and I can feel normal again.

Now son…

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I had a dream last night about my father. He and I were doing a late spring hike to the top of a peak in the High Sierra’s. Not all that safe a proposition as there was a lot of snow, and avalanches were a concern. As we went along, he counseled me with his “worried” voice. I know that tone, I use it all the time with my son when I think he’s about do to something stupid, and I want to help him make a good decision.

The dream left me with the distinct impression that he was even now looking after me, trying to keep me from doing stupid stuff (good luck with that). Even now, it is his voice I hear in my head when I’m about to do something dangerous, like ride a skateboard. “Now son…” he would say, and nothing else was necessary. The tone alone was sufficient to carry the message.

It’s been 8 months since he passed away, and I am now at the point where I am starting to miss him. Near Easter we realized we needed to cut down one of the trees in the back yard. I found myself wishing I could call him, and ask him to come down and help with the tree. Had he been alive, I’m sure he would have turned down such a request (his health was not all that great near the end), but I still felt the inclination.  Funny how after someone dies we try and fit them in our world anyway.

iPod awesomeness

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The other day, I showed up at a client’s office in the morning, and several of us got to talking about art and such. As this kind of conversation often does, something was said that reminded me of a song, in this case, “I’m Big in Japan.” Not the version you probably know, but the Tom Waits song from the CD, Mule Variations. Well I thought it would be fun to play the song on my iPod, so I set the songs order to alphabetical by title, and searched for it that way. I was busy, and didn’t want to mess with the iPod anymore, so I just kept listening in alphabetical order when the song was over. Sort of a fun way to do random songs.

Several days, and 490 songs later, I’m still in the B’s. In fact, I’m up to the Chemical Brothers “Block Rockin’ Beats.

490 songs just to get from BIG to BLO.

Awesomeness!

Vacation

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We’re on vacation in another town, have been since Sunday. The vacation started out sucking big time, Trevor came down with a cold, and then Teri and I both got sick after he recovered. We spent the first three days at a nice vacation rental hating life. Finally we got well, and my parents arrived soon after. Since then we’ve been having a good time.

Tonight my parents went out to visit with some friends out here, and invited me along, Their friend is, among other things, a novelist, and a pretty good one; someone an aspiring writer like myself would like to meet. Well I turned it down because I was feeling still a bit tired, and wanted some more happy family time.

So we decided to go out to the pool and play some. When we got there we jumped into the jacuzzi to warm up before going into the pool. Not a bad idea when the outside temp is pretty low. There were a couple of guys sitting in there, so I said hi. We talked back and forth for a bit, and then the next thing I knew we were having a great conversation. Hank, his son Dan, and myself talked for a long time. Far too long as it turned out. As I write this they are likely being chewed out by Hank’s wonderful wife (he was quite specific how great she was), and I know Teri is rather pissed at me. Why? Well because I pretty much ignored my son, ignored his need to play, ignored anything and everything about being a dad, all so I could continue to talk.

By the time I got home, they had both gone to bad.

Well this is not all that new. I am gregarious by nature, not always, but sometimes. When I am in the mood, call it manic if you will, I can be quite charming. This is not to brag, it is not something I am able to always turn on or off. It is more like something I can do, if given the right circumstances. The funny thing is, I didn’t think I was in the mood to be gregarious, or I would have gone out with my parents. Teri would not have minded because she knows I sometimes go out with friends to do the same thing. But because I stayed, she was left assuming I would be around to help, and I didn’t.

No two ways about it, I blew it. Big time. Since she is asleep I can’t go in there and grovel on my knees which is something I rightfully should do, without waking her up, and making it ever worse. So tomorrow I’ll be doing a whole lot of apologizing to her and to Trevor.

Since I have the time to write about it now, it made me start to think about the process. What is it about talking with an adult that is so alluring to me that I can sometimes forget my son, completely ignore him, in order to talk to a complete stranger? I mean that is pretty bizarre, isn’t it? The guys I talked to were very nice, and our conversation was great, but they were not family, and it is not particularity “sane” to put talking with a stranger over the needs of being with your child. Yet I have done exactly that twice in the past two months, one time tonight, and the other time with a neighbor I hadn’t seen in a while.

In the proper context, this behavior, at least the socializing aspects, are normal and healthy. I remember living in an apartment in my single days, and meeting people all the time in the jacuzzi, and having fun talking until all hours. However, it is not cool to disappoint your family in the process, and I do not think it is, even though I just did exactly that.

What can I say? Sometimes I blow it. Fortunately, Teri loves me regardless, or in spite of, my mania. I am a lucky man for that.

Also, I hope Hank and Dan didn’t suffer too much for their sins. They were great men, and we had a good time talking.

Don’t know. Create

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I’ve been thinking a lot about the Tree of Knowledge, you know, the one from the bible. The fruit tree that if you plucked one, and ate it, it gave you knowledge, and a free trip out of paradise.

You know what I think? I think that is all horse shit. You see I’m pretty damn sharp at times, and I know a thing or two. I don’t know everything mind you, and sometimes the lack (not knowing everything) drives me crazy, but I do know some things, and you know what? Knowing ain’t worth shit. Really.

Think about it. What do you know? If your average, then I’ll bet you know a little bit about a lot of things, and a lot about a few things. Maybe even a whole funking lot about one or two things. So what has that knowledge gotten you? Did you ever get laid because you knew about Socrates? Did you ever earn a good meal at a restaurant from knowing romantic neo-classicists? Ever got a broken car to work because you could conjugate French verbs? Yeh, me neither.

See I don’t think that tree in the garden was about knowledge. I think it was the Tree of Creativity. Think about that for a moment. Creativity is the thing God starts out doing. His first job in the bible. It is his main gig, his bona fides. If you ask, “are you qualified to be my God?” He’ll respond, “Well, ah hum, I did creates the universe,” all while buffing his nails on his shirt.

Creating is right there on God’s turf, his main thing. When you create, you are actually being a little God like. Remember Man was created in his image. I think that means, we could create like he does. Not on anything like his scale, mind you, but we sure as hell can create.

And man, is creation the coolest thing or what? It is the best drug, the only cool high, and there is never any hang-over. Making cool shit up is just the bomb! With nothing but a computer, and a little bit of time, I can make up people out of thin air. Try that, mofo. I’ll bet you can too. I can put scars on people who are flawless, or remove their flaws and make them sexy. I can make them look like anything I want. Hows that for power?

Creation is the only thing that could get poor Lucifer to give up his cushy day-job, and move on down to hell with a third of the angels. You think they gave up Heaven for knowledge? Dream on brother. They gave it up to create. No wonder God gets jealous. No wonder he kicked out Adam and Eve. He couldn’t hang with the competition.

So I may not know shit any more, but watch out, because I sure as hell can create. I am a fire-breathing, book reading, mind bending cre-a-tor. I can make up cool shit at the drop of a hat, for a deadline, and pull it off on time, and under budget. Beat that bitch. And you know what, that is the power of the gods.

Here’s an apple kid, Wanna bite?

Neglected…

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I’ve been neglecting my blog because I’ve been spending more time on Face Book, and writing at home. It would be nice to be able to do everything all at the same time, but sometimes life doesn’t work out that way. The good news is my novel is really starting to shape up, and I have been having the time of my life writing it. The bad news is I haven’t made a whole lot of money yet this year. We’re not hurting, at least not yet, as we’re (meaning Teri) are good at saving our excess money for the times when we’re slow.

I tend to write on days when I don’t have work, or when I have work at home I can schedule around. I do this largely because my day job, pushing pixels, is pretty demanding, and is usually done in long stretches. A typical day for me would be to drop off Trevor at his school at 8:00, catch the bus to work, and then not come home until 10:00 at night. The bus ride to and from adds to this time, but since I read on my commute instead of yelling at the cars around me, I usually come home more relaxed and happy. Alas, this doesn’t leave a lot of room for being creative and throwing down another thousand words or so. Since the novel is getting more complete, and I am learning how to write more consistently every day, maybe I’ll be able to write late into the night in the future, but for right now, that is almost impossible.

I plan on putting up the parts of my novel which are complete before the end of this month. Since the novel is more than halfway written, this should add up to a lot of words. Those of you who have professed an interest, feel free to check back, or write me to find out when and where.

Kill Yer TV

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A response to a post in political talk forum on the value of cable vs satellite television.

We Americans have gone from a country of people who do things, to a country of people who need to be entertained. The change has not suited us well. Even worse, we act like it is our God given right to have 24/7 entertainment provided to us on a silver platter. Big brash shows, big brash food, big brash tvs. We, as a country, are getting more and more fat and lazy. More and more passive rather than active. And our entertainment is getting more and more tawdry, while our disdain for educated or cultured refinement grows.

Join me brothers in our fight against the norm. Rise up against the tyranny of the ordinary. Trod the road less traveled. I would rather see 100 disgruntled tea partiers, than 100 couch potatoes.

Sk8ers convention

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On the last segment of my commute home today, I met up with two other guys with longboards. We started talking shop; rolling on the beach, sidewalks viewed as an endless concrete wave, cleaning your bearings, things like that. I was having so much fun it made me mad I had to get off to go home. There was probably 25 years or more between our ages, and we seemed to hit all the major color lines, yet the only thing that mattered was the way of the board.

Dude!

More adventures on the bus

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Yesterday was a twofer.

The first wacky encounter was in the morning. A bus was running late, so a bunch of us got n the next bus going the same direction. An elderly gentlemen, looking to be in his mid to late 60s, a regular, sat across from me. However, he was not the only one. The entire bus was packed. About half way through my ride, I noticed that he leaned back kind of funny, and put one hand in his pocket. This while I have a book up to my face, which is a pretty good disguise for people watching. So the guy reaches pretty deep into his pocket, and across the front. Really deep. Uh, oh. He’s not looking for any spare change, this is pocket pool.

Pretty soon his actions became a bit more animated. He was playing first string for all it was worth, and all the while staring off at another passenger.  I looked to where he was staring, and realized he was looking at someone I know. I use the word “know” rather liberally here, as there are perhaps 20 people I come in contact with on a regular basis on the bus or train, and talk to on the odd occasion. This particular lady is Russian (or so I guess based on her accent), near my age or older (guessing from her wrinkles), maroon haired (because there is apparently no ending to maroon hair color), dresses well, and works at the Farmer’s Market which is next to one of my larger clients. She was wearing a yellow tank top, and she has a rather nice figure, so I guess the old guy was getting a little side boob action.  So now I have a dilemma, do I tell her? Do I stop him?

This went on for a few stops, and then the man actually stood up, probably to get a better grip, and proceeded to stare at her, and touch himself.  At this point he had that focused stance one uses when really looking at something intently. You could tell his higher brain functions were gone. He had not a care for the rest of us, or what we thought.

So then the bus stopped at my stop, and I got off after Russian lady.  Only the man got off too (no, not that got off, sheesh). I couldn’t let him follow her, but I also didn’t want to say anything to her. So what I did was drop my plank, and roll up next to the old man. He was looking at Russian lady, but seemed to notice my stare, because he turned to look at me as she crossed the street. Maybe he turned to look because I yelled, “hey”. When I had his attention, I said, “Dude. That is very uncool.” Then I pushed hard, and crossed the street. Now I had caught up with Russian lady, and while the old man was crossing the street, I started talking to her. He had no idea what I was saying, but hopefully he figured it was about him (it wasn’t). This had the desired effect as the man walked past us, and after I was sure he was aways away, I said my goodbyes, and crossed on the next green.

The second event was a little less creepy. On my way home, while waiting for the Orange Line (a fancy name for an articulated bus), a man was walking along and talking very loud.  “Jesus Christ, I am so drunk,” he was saying. That and he went on and on about how great he was. When he noticed me looking at him, he walked over and introduced himself. He was a great guitar player, he assured me, played with every body, and was so famous, if he showed up, any band was glad to let him sit in. Alas, I forgot his name, but I can tell you that he has his own radio show on 88.9 fm, and that he is about 6 foot 3 (I say this because he got very close, as drunks are wont to do, and I was staring straight into his mouth). He had long brown hair, and a cropped beard/mustache, which was long enough to remind me of ZZ Top.

I have no idea if he was a famous guitar player or not. The name didn’t ring any bells (which doesn’t mean much), but I have had experience with someone like him. There is a person I know, a distant relation, who when off his meds, would tell everyone he was the drummer for a famous band. I suspect this man had a similar mental illness. Regardless, for all his size he was relatively harmless, at least to me. I said my good byes, while he sprayed my face with spittle, as drunks are known to do, and left him at the bus station.

Some days, it just doesn’t pay to take the bus.

Wow! Even more crap!

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I just got an exciting email today, breathlessly telling me how I can learn all kinds of Down and Dirty Tricks with Photoshop CS4. And this lecture, one of the most successful seminars tours in history, is being presented by two of the best graphic designers on the planet. Wow!, I mean wow!!!!!

Oh pa-lease. What horse shit.  I mean common. Do the people at Kelby Training really think I’m going to buy this shit?

Let me back up a bit, and explain my position. For those who don’t know, I have a fair bit of knowledge about Photoshop, and it’s use as a designer (hello, look around the portfolio, if you don’t believe me). Also, I have a fair bit of knowledge about pedagogy (look it up, I’m not your dad) both in general (I am a former teacher with a degree for such things from an actual college), and specifically with Photoshop (I’ve taught PS classes on and off for about 15 years). It is fair to say I have stood in front of lots of blank faces and tried my best to explain things like what resolution means, the importance of naming your layers, and how to use a layer mask. Granted, I am not nearly as well known as Corey Barker and Dave Cross, but I do have some chops.

So here’s the thing. When you get in front of a group of people to teach them photoshop, inevitably one of them will have the latest photoshop tricks book, and ask you to show them how to do tricks. Mind you, I don’t blame them for this; I too want to have a million dollars worth of knowledge, but pay only $16.95 for it. At some level, we are all lazy and would like to find the easy path. I am just as guilty of this as anyone else. But here is the truth. Photoshop is a complex tool for doing an incredible array of interesting tasks. However, none of these tasks are easy. None. That’s right, its work. Most of it quite hard. Not just hard work, but sometimes, ass-kicking, tears in the eyes, pulling your hair out, hard work. Yep. In case you didn’t quite get it, no matter what you do, who you are, or how great a designer you are, at one point Photoshop will kick your miserable ass. And I mean HARD. Dude, you think I’m fucking with you? Look at my ass (on second thought…maybe not). Let me tell you. Photoshop will kick your ass, and I have the boot prints to prove it.

I know this is not a popular message, most of us would like to have the equivalent of gourmet knowledge at fast food prices. However, the real world is not like that. The real world is messy, difficult, and complex. It often takes knowledge, and hard won, sometimes painfully paid for, experience to tell the difference between a slight mistake, and a certain catastrophe. That’s why they call it a profession. It takes professionals to do professional grade work. That’s also why I charge and arm and a leg for my work, Because I have had my ass kicked so many times it practically has a calluses back there. I’m professional enough (or just plain weary enough) to not try and repeat those mistakes again. And when I’m working for you, I do my damnedest to keep you from suffering the same fate.

So when I see someone trying to sell an easy route to a complex task, it pisses me off.  Not that I have anything against Corey Barker and Dave Cross, hell I wish them luck and wealth. Making money is always hard work, and I respect anyone’s hard work. However, I deeply resent that they are selling out our common profession, our birthright, for a mess of porridge.

Worse still, photoshop trickery has created the single largest group of crappy designs on the planet.  One cannot open a magazine, or drive their car in a large city, without being bombarded with designs that rely more on tricks than concept. Hey guess what guys, good concepts are hard to find, tricks are easy. Mind you, I too have turned in my fair share of tricky solutions to complex problems, so I am guilty of this same crime. But good god, if you cannot even out a background image so your type will read (after all, you are designing an ad, not the fucking Mona Lisa) why do you think adding a drop shadow to the type will make it better? And if a drop show does not improve readability, why the fuck do you think making the type 3D chrome will be any better?

So what Kelby Training, with all their success, will not tell you, is that there is no trick to being a professional in graphic design All the photoshop tricks in the world will not make you a good designer.  That only comes from hard work, and a few ass kickings. Sorry. I know it’s not a pleasant message, but it is the truth.

Oh, and one more thing. If you work in advertising, then for fuck’s sake, DO NOT FALL FOR IT. It’s bad enough that we have to sell crap to make our cash. For God’s sake don’t believe your own lies.