Click-wop!...click-wop!...(repeat 120 times then read on Reader. You read this read.)
There are these moments for me of special clarity in my recollections of past events. Contrary to prejudice, they are not necessarily: amazing physical achievements defined by extraordinary passion and courage, visually stunning scenery from the rarefied air above tree line, visceral and primordial responses to physical harm/fear, etc. Nope, that's the stuff of movies and books on Oprah's list of must reads.
I am speaking of a seemingly random collection of colored snippets. Significant? Well sure but to the owner of them - me. Marketable? Naw, I can't kid myself that these ruminations from a white-bread, middle class, college educated man would be anything but readings for a #2 sitting on a Sunday porcelain moment: movement?!
So, click-wop! A sound here on paper but a visual echo in my memory. It's a sweaty palm on a rubber stamp device, the flesh of the hand pancakes a little and the hairs matted as the stamp stamps. Click-wop! This is one of those really cool stampers that rotates in on itself and can be adjusted on little rubber rollers to account for different dates. It even inks itself and makes strong solid contact with the paper like your heel squashing a roach - without the resounding crunch of the shell splitting open.
Tim, the master of click-wop!, is an odd duck. His business card says he's an accredited architect in the Permitting Division of the City of Saint Louis. His demeanor says he hates the world and wasn't loved by his parents. After many rounds of draft, review, and update, Tim has approved and stamped my drawings for this project. It's an oddly detached end to a passionate, personal matter for me. Tim, stone-faced and extremely bored; me, stoned-faced and extremely wanting to pee.
I won't remember the details of this exchange and maybe not the feelings wrapped up in the moment. But if I do remember something of this time, it will be: click-wop!
There are these moments for me of special clarity in my recollections of past events. Contrary to prejudice, they are not necessarily: amazing physical achievements defined by extraordinary passion and courage, visually stunning scenery from the rarefied air above tree line, visceral and primordial responses to physical harm/fear, etc. Nope, that's the stuff of movies and books on Oprah's list of must reads.
I am speaking of a seemingly random collection of colored snippets. Significant? Well sure but to the owner of them - me. Marketable? Naw, I can't kid myself that these ruminations from a white-bread, middle class, college educated man would be anything but readings for a #2 sitting on a Sunday porcelain moment: movement?!
So, click-wop! A sound here on paper but a visual echo in my memory. It's a sweaty palm on a rubber stamp device, the flesh of the hand pancakes a little and the hairs matted as the stamp stamps. Click-wop! This is one of those really cool stampers that rotates in on itself and can be adjusted on little rubber rollers to account for different dates. It even inks itself and makes strong solid contact with the paper like your heel squashing a roach - without the resounding crunch of the shell splitting open.
Tim, the master of click-wop!, is an odd duck. His business card says he's an accredited architect in the Permitting Division of the City of Saint Louis. His demeanor says he hates the world and wasn't loved by his parents. After many rounds of draft, review, and update, Tim has approved and stamped my drawings for this project. It's an oddly detached end to a passionate, personal matter for me. Tim, stone-faced and extremely bored; me, stoned-faced and extremely wanting to pee.
I won't remember the details of this exchange and maybe not the feelings wrapped up in the moment. But if I do remember something of this time, it will be: click-wop!
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