Sometimes I think I tell these stories just to see if anyone will ask me if my job is real. I’m not sure if it’s reassuring or disturbing that no one has questioned it so far. If this is the first time the thought occurred to you, well, the stories really are all true.
Today, as I approached my building early in the morning, I noticed that my office window was completely fogged up. As in, it was opaque from accumulated moisture. I’m all for fogging up my office windows, but I prefer to be personally responsible when it happens.
As I walked further down the path towards the front door, I noticed that, sure enough, all of the windows in the entire administration area were similarly opaque. Quickly dismissing the possibility that I might be interrupting an all-hands orgy, I headed up the sidewalk.
Humming cheerfully as I opened the front door, I stepped into arctic tundra. The floors were slick with condensed water vapor. A thick chill hung in the air, oblivious to the summer heat outside.
I took a quick detour to my office and dropped off my things, then walked casually down the hall to the HVAC control room. (HVAC = Heating, Ventilation, Air Conditioning.) Pulling open a wall panel, I felt around for a strong breeze with my hands. Sure enough, the air-powered controls had blown several tubing connections, causing a pneumatic short in the controls. Taking a moment to use the whistling air jets to blow some accumulated dust out of the cabinet, then off my shirt, I reattached the blown connections, completing the circuits. The sounds of several control valves being thrown quickly followed as pressure gauges on the front of the panel crept from zero to 20 psi.
As I walked back to my desk, I announced to the office secretary that I had fixed the problem preemptively. Non-plussed, she asked if she could borrow my jacket again. I keep a jacket in my office year round, for the summer months. You know, the summer months when it gets cold in there. I said sure, made a hot drink, and sat down on my exercise ball, and began wiping the condensation off my computer monitor. (It was too foggy to read through.)
Not long after, I got a phone call telling me our 1980’s era systems control computer (which I am upgrading at present) had randomly forgotten its programming. Taking a stroll through the sweltering heat of the chemical staging area, back into the process bay control room, I discovered this to be a reasonably accurate summary of the problem. Reloading it quickly, I turned and headed back to the frigid arctic clime of my office to start the day.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
26 Pieces Of Flair
I got a mug warmer for my birthday. I think I am one of about 10 people on Earth for whom this is awesome. The first one is in my office, but I want another one for my desk at home.
Anyway, out of the box, it had a small clear sticker on it reading, “CAUTION! This surface gets HOT during use!” in red letters.
As I peeled off the sticker, I pondered what to do with it. I imagined myself buying a pair of white pants and sewing the sticker on the crotch area. You know, like “Office Space” flair.
HAHAHA. Lame joke. I’m done for today.
Anyway, out of the box, it had a small clear sticker on it reading, “CAUTION! This surface gets HOT during use!” in red letters.
As I peeled off the sticker, I pondered what to do with it. I imagined myself buying a pair of white pants and sewing the sticker on the crotch area. You know, like “Office Space” flair.
HAHAHA. Lame joke. I’m done for today.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Downward Salute
If this is how fads start, I have been correct all my life to be cynical. Warning: This story may not be suitable for all viewers. Viewer discretion is advised.
About three years ago, not long after I started my current job, I was having an emphatic conversation with myself about some topic or another. Yes, I was talking to myself, and having a really good time of it, though I can no longer remember what was so funny.
What I do remember was that I was gesticulating at key points. I was alone, so it did not seem terribly relevant. However, as I turned a corner, a coworker suddenly appeared in view, just as I was in the process of quickly swinging my right hand from the area near my left shoulder down towards my waist.
Amused at having been seen (from about 30 feet) waving my arms for no apparent reason, I smiled and shouted a cheerful hello.
Unexpectedly, the coworker brought his right hand up to his left shoulder and gave a formal downward salute – very similar to what I had done, but polished, like it would have looked like I did it on purpose. I smiled at this and didn’t think about it for days.
However, the memory resurfaced when the same coworker greeted me the same way a few days later. Gradually, more and more coworkers began using this gesture (imagine a Nazi salute, but pointed down, not up, and with smiling) to accompany whimsical greetings. At first it was limited to the shift I trained with in my building. Then it was limited to my building. Now, almost three years later, people from almost all shifts and buildings randomly do this, much more often to each other than to me.
I’m pretty sure I started this. I haven’t repeated it. I only did it once in that first moment of randomness. But to all appearances, it is now familiar and used by hundreds of people.
If this is indeed my fault, I have to assume it’s still localized to a small region of Wisconsin. But if I see this on network television ten years from now, I will take humanity a little less seriously. I will also be proud of myself to no end and have yet another reason to laugh myself to sleep at night.
This is why I love people, and yet avoid them most of the time.
About three years ago, not long after I started my current job, I was having an emphatic conversation with myself about some topic or another. Yes, I was talking to myself, and having a really good time of it, though I can no longer remember what was so funny.
What I do remember was that I was gesticulating at key points. I was alone, so it did not seem terribly relevant. However, as I turned a corner, a coworker suddenly appeared in view, just as I was in the process of quickly swinging my right hand from the area near my left shoulder down towards my waist.
Amused at having been seen (from about 30 feet) waving my arms for no apparent reason, I smiled and shouted a cheerful hello.
Unexpectedly, the coworker brought his right hand up to his left shoulder and gave a formal downward salute – very similar to what I had done, but polished, like it would have looked like I did it on purpose. I smiled at this and didn’t think about it for days.
However, the memory resurfaced when the same coworker greeted me the same way a few days later. Gradually, more and more coworkers began using this gesture (imagine a Nazi salute, but pointed down, not up, and with smiling) to accompany whimsical greetings. At first it was limited to the shift I trained with in my building. Then it was limited to my building. Now, almost three years later, people from almost all shifts and buildings randomly do this, much more often to each other than to me.
I’m pretty sure I started this. I haven’t repeated it. I only did it once in that first moment of randomness. But to all appearances, it is now familiar and used by hundreds of people.
If this is indeed my fault, I have to assume it’s still localized to a small region of Wisconsin. But if I see this on network television ten years from now, I will take humanity a little less seriously. I will also be proud of myself to no end and have yet another reason to laugh myself to sleep at night.
This is why I love people, and yet avoid them most of the time.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Me Dreaming
Some people (the unlucky ones) already know that I can remember most of my dreams. I don’t share them with people often, because telling stories like that puts people to sleep. That’s what this blog is for. Let’s get started.
Getting bogged down in the details of this story would not add much to the experience, so this is going to sound like a Cliff’s Notes summary. I’m not worried about that, however. I picked this dream to prattle on about because it highlights a few common (but not universal) themes of my dreams that I have come to realize are unusual. I’ll give a list of what I think they are at the end.
I began in the role of casual leader of a group of roughly one hundred frontier settlers. It was present time, but the frontier in question was far away from civilization, so many high tech items were irrelevant. (No internet, but plenty of hand and power tools.) For unstated reasons, the dream opened with the decision already made to begin a colony on the green plains at which the colony had just arrived. Construction on several small buildings began, and was completed quickly.
One of the settlers founds a lead plate in the countryside that clearly resembled a crude, yet ornate and symmetrical face. The face was shaped with the expression of a mild, but disapproving frown. The size of the plate was an oval roughly the size of a microwave oven. With my approval, the plate was taken to be of cultural significance and was bolted to the landing of my house/the town hall in a place of minor significance. (It was knee high, facing the countryside. In other words, it was treated as a novelty, not used as some sort of town crest.)
The colony continued to develop, but before long, the plate began to speak to people. It spoke to only a few people at first, and without saying much of importance. The plate was rumored by those who had heard it to have the personality of a bored, condemning old man. Before long, the plate spoke to me as well. The description seemed accurate. The face was mildly philosophical, but trended towards disapproving of minor decisions made by colonists without offering better options of its own.
As time passed, the plate became more vocal, and more disapproving. About the time when it had spoken to everyone in the colony, it began exercising an ability to appear to people in waking visions. Still, it did nothing but act as an increasingly vocal critic of minor choices.
Soon, however, its tone darkened. As it grew more and more disdainful of the colony and my leadership thereof, people who ignored it began to simply disappear. The plate took casual credit for the disappearances, but showed no remorse. It insisted that removing the people was, in fact, in the best interest of the colony. As people disappeared in increasing numbers, I ordered the plate be pried from the landing and destroyed.
Attempts to remove the plate failed. In fact, in response to the attempts, it grew and became a solid sheet of lead covering the entire face of the landing. Attempts to attack/destroy the plate resulted in nothing but bemused, contemptuous insults from the face itself. Curiously, it made no attempt to eliminate people attempting to attack or remove it, seemingly preferring to mock them instead.
Finally, only about twenty colonists, including myself remained. The plate was growing more and more critical of me in the role of leader, and appeared to me in visions often. Its tone was conversational, but the threat of my imminent disappearance was implied.
In the eleventh hour, an unusual solution occurred to me. In my spare time, I had been working on a lead sculpture, also in the form of a lead plate. It was not a face, but rather a type of ornate crest, whimsically, but not officially thought of as a possible town faceplate. I had only worked on it in exceptionally good moods, and the thing had become a sort of monument to happiness in my mind.
The condescending face appeared to me and declared that it was considering the colony to be a failure. I ordered two of my men to bring welding tools to the landing. I marched purposely to my back room, picked up my good-will town crest, and heaved it with me to the front landing. I descended and marched to the face. As it opened its mouth to taunt me, I slammed the flat back of my crest over its face. It completely obscured the persona beneath it. Soon, my men arrived with the welding tools. I carefully fused the lead of my sculpture with the lead of the face, melting my sculpture into it, in sections, from the top down. The process completely destroyed my work as I went, leaving only the random, mounded, twisted lead blotches cut by the hot tools.
When I was finished, no sound came from the pot-marked metal. The fields around us were calm and quiet. The visions had stopped. It seemed self-apparent that the good feelings I had imbued into the crest had, in fusing, destroyed the dark unhappiness of the heathen plate.
I then woke up before my alarm went off.
I think you can begin to see why I picked this dream to type up. But as promised, here’s that list of what I consider to be unusual.
List of highlighted traits that seem common only in my dreams:
--Sensical plot arc. Characters disappeared, but in fitting with the story. No new ones appeared without reason. “Mickey Mouse” did not have a cameo.
--A developed pragmatic sense of purpose. There was a problem, it was getting worse, so an unexpected solution was developed and executed. If we accept that this dream seems to fall solidly in the fantasy genre, the method of dealing with said problem was surprisingly similar to what would be done in real life (by me).
--A complete lack of people I know or have seen in the waking world. (Though I have to admit, I was tempted to pretend that I had a few concubines, just so I could annoy people by using the “Tag people in this Note!” feature on Facebook.)
--Vivid, bright, contrasting colors. People who think that the only pretty days are described as “sunny” will not follow this line of thought. But my dreams feature bright colors highlighted by equally dark shadows. That face had beautiful, dark black creases, even as it was lit outdoors on bright days.
--Helpful insight into my waking life. In this case, one belief I hold is that many people create their own unhappiness simply by insisting that they are unhappy in all ambiguous situations. My previous strategy was to avoid and/or attempt to cheer those people. Now I realize that soldering a “happy” lead plate to their faces would be much faster and more effective.
Getting bogged down in the details of this story would not add much to the experience, so this is going to sound like a Cliff’s Notes summary. I’m not worried about that, however. I picked this dream to prattle on about because it highlights a few common (but not universal) themes of my dreams that I have come to realize are unusual. I’ll give a list of what I think they are at the end.
I began in the role of casual leader of a group of roughly one hundred frontier settlers. It was present time, but the frontier in question was far away from civilization, so many high tech items were irrelevant. (No internet, but plenty of hand and power tools.) For unstated reasons, the dream opened with the decision already made to begin a colony on the green plains at which the colony had just arrived. Construction on several small buildings began, and was completed quickly.
One of the settlers founds a lead plate in the countryside that clearly resembled a crude, yet ornate and symmetrical face. The face was shaped with the expression of a mild, but disapproving frown. The size of the plate was an oval roughly the size of a microwave oven. With my approval, the plate was taken to be of cultural significance and was bolted to the landing of my house/the town hall in a place of minor significance. (It was knee high, facing the countryside. In other words, it was treated as a novelty, not used as some sort of town crest.)
The colony continued to develop, but before long, the plate began to speak to people. It spoke to only a few people at first, and without saying much of importance. The plate was rumored by those who had heard it to have the personality of a bored, condemning old man. Before long, the plate spoke to me as well. The description seemed accurate. The face was mildly philosophical, but trended towards disapproving of minor decisions made by colonists without offering better options of its own.
As time passed, the plate became more vocal, and more disapproving. About the time when it had spoken to everyone in the colony, it began exercising an ability to appear to people in waking visions. Still, it did nothing but act as an increasingly vocal critic of minor choices.
Soon, however, its tone darkened. As it grew more and more disdainful of the colony and my leadership thereof, people who ignored it began to simply disappear. The plate took casual credit for the disappearances, but showed no remorse. It insisted that removing the people was, in fact, in the best interest of the colony. As people disappeared in increasing numbers, I ordered the plate be pried from the landing and destroyed.
Attempts to remove the plate failed. In fact, in response to the attempts, it grew and became a solid sheet of lead covering the entire face of the landing. Attempts to attack/destroy the plate resulted in nothing but bemused, contemptuous insults from the face itself. Curiously, it made no attempt to eliminate people attempting to attack or remove it, seemingly preferring to mock them instead.
Finally, only about twenty colonists, including myself remained. The plate was growing more and more critical of me in the role of leader, and appeared to me in visions often. Its tone was conversational, but the threat of my imminent disappearance was implied.
In the eleventh hour, an unusual solution occurred to me. In my spare time, I had been working on a lead sculpture, also in the form of a lead plate. It was not a face, but rather a type of ornate crest, whimsically, but not officially thought of as a possible town faceplate. I had only worked on it in exceptionally good moods, and the thing had become a sort of monument to happiness in my mind.
The condescending face appeared to me and declared that it was considering the colony to be a failure. I ordered two of my men to bring welding tools to the landing. I marched purposely to my back room, picked up my good-will town crest, and heaved it with me to the front landing. I descended and marched to the face. As it opened its mouth to taunt me, I slammed the flat back of my crest over its face. It completely obscured the persona beneath it. Soon, my men arrived with the welding tools. I carefully fused the lead of my sculpture with the lead of the face, melting my sculpture into it, in sections, from the top down. The process completely destroyed my work as I went, leaving only the random, mounded, twisted lead blotches cut by the hot tools.
When I was finished, no sound came from the pot-marked metal. The fields around us were calm and quiet. The visions had stopped. It seemed self-apparent that the good feelings I had imbued into the crest had, in fusing, destroyed the dark unhappiness of the heathen plate.
I then woke up before my alarm went off.
I think you can begin to see why I picked this dream to type up. But as promised, here’s that list of what I consider to be unusual.
List of highlighted traits that seem common only in my dreams:
--Sensical plot arc. Characters disappeared, but in fitting with the story. No new ones appeared without reason. “Mickey Mouse” did not have a cameo.
--A developed pragmatic sense of purpose. There was a problem, it was getting worse, so an unexpected solution was developed and executed. If we accept that this dream seems to fall solidly in the fantasy genre, the method of dealing with said problem was surprisingly similar to what would be done in real life (by me).
--A complete lack of people I know or have seen in the waking world. (Though I have to admit, I was tempted to pretend that I had a few concubines, just so I could annoy people by using the “Tag people in this Note!” feature on Facebook.)
--Vivid, bright, contrasting colors. People who think that the only pretty days are described as “sunny” will not follow this line of thought. But my dreams feature bright colors highlighted by equally dark shadows. That face had beautiful, dark black creases, even as it was lit outdoors on bright days.
--Helpful insight into my waking life. In this case, one belief I hold is that many people create their own unhappiness simply by insisting that they are unhappy in all ambiguous situations. My previous strategy was to avoid and/or attempt to cheer those people. Now I realize that soldering a “happy” lead plate to their faces would be much faster and more effective.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Explosive Release
My boss is on vacation this week, so it frees me up to take full advantage of my breaks as personal time in my office. Today, I was reclining back on my exercise ball with the door closed savoring just such a moment.
It helps to realize that it can get really warm in here on hot summer days. We have A/C for the office areas, of course, but the system has a steam leak for now and can sometimes really mist up the room. Suffice it to say, that the warm, steamy atmosphere was helping to take the edge off.
If I lay back completely on the ball, I drop completely below the level of sight for my window. Having a private office is really nice. The seclusion can really help you focus, or just escape entirely from the work world as you roll back under your desk.
How could I not take advantage? I hadn’t indulged myself since the weekend. Seconds after I arched my back in a rushed, hearty roll through the last seconds of unrestrained abandon, I was shocked back into my senses by three loud noises. From three feet above my head and well beyond my left shoulder, items were falling over onto each other, impacting the metal surface of my file cabinet. They had been knocked over by the sheer force of the projectile, explosive rush. The release had blown the red plastic giraffe (see my pictures) completely off the edge, and it ricocheted between the wall and the cabinet walls all the way to the ground. Turning my attention to the cause of all the commotion, I was amazed to see an enormous glob still slowly settling its way down the side of my still-standing launcher.
Anyway, that’s why you have to keep “Pillsbury” Italian bread dough tubes in the refrigerator.
It helps to realize that it can get really warm in here on hot summer days. We have A/C for the office areas, of course, but the system has a steam leak for now and can sometimes really mist up the room. Suffice it to say, that the warm, steamy atmosphere was helping to take the edge off.
If I lay back completely on the ball, I drop completely below the level of sight for my window. Having a private office is really nice. The seclusion can really help you focus, or just escape entirely from the work world as you roll back under your desk.
How could I not take advantage? I hadn’t indulged myself since the weekend. Seconds after I arched my back in a rushed, hearty roll through the last seconds of unrestrained abandon, I was shocked back into my senses by three loud noises. From three feet above my head and well beyond my left shoulder, items were falling over onto each other, impacting the metal surface of my file cabinet. They had been knocked over by the sheer force of the projectile, explosive rush. The release had blown the red plastic giraffe (see my pictures) completely off the edge, and it ricocheted between the wall and the cabinet walls all the way to the ground. Turning my attention to the cause of all the commotion, I was amazed to see an enormous glob still slowly settling its way down the side of my still-standing launcher.
Anyway, that’s why you have to keep “Pillsbury” Italian bread dough tubes in the refrigerator.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Stained Glass II
Just in case you're curious, here's my working draft for the stained glass project I mentioned I was starting. (Note, this is my working draft. It's a watercolor painting, with a frame structure overlay superimposed to test the contrast and design grid balance.)
http://www.lakewaterontap.com/StainedGlass.jpg
As you can see, I really fly by the seat of my pants on these things. Yeah. Mmhmm.
http://www.lakewaterontap.com/StainedGlass.jpg
As you can see, I really fly by the seat of my pants on these things. Yeah. Mmhmm.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
My Sense of Humor... Bombing
Many of my coworkers think I have no sense of humor at all. The trouble is, many of them have no clue that I’m joking.
This is not my fault.
True story from recently. I was in the lunchroom, standing at the sink washing my soup bowl. (I usually eat at my desk.) The Principle Scientist for my building (Ph.D. Chemist) walks in. He had been complaining earlier about the heat and humidity of the clean room housing the GMP (pharmaceutical-grade) dryer. He’s right to do so. Product manufacturing specifications require that room to be about 72 F and 70% relative humidity. With one of the A/C units down, it was much warmer in there and completely humidified.
The problem had been reported to maintenance and was being repaired, but he still had to spend time in there while parts were on order. Just to play around, he was insisting that I, as the building engineer, should develop an immediate workaround to get the room back into range.
I laughed, looked up, and said, “You’re probably just hot because of all the gear you have to put on to go in there!” (GMP requires anyone entering the room to be wearing a lab coat, hairnet, and “booties” – which are like hairnets for over your shoes.)
He said loudly, “Well yeah!” At this point, half a dozen chemical operators at the lunch tables look up at the two of us. He and I get along great, much to the mystification of most of our coworkers. They think both of us are crazy.
I smiled and replied, “Well, you know, our procedure says you have to wear the lab coat, hairnet and booties to go in there. Skip the uniform next time. You’ll be much cooler.”
He grinned, laughed, and left. Meanwhile, several operators at the table were whispering to each other something along the lines of, “We can do that?” (No.)
I routinely have to stop people from actually performing other joking suggestions I’ve made. Now I have to worry that I accidentally set off a wave of August nudism.
The first person who tries to pin a chemical burn on their ass to me gets written up.
The second person gets a soda. I’ll be laughing for days if it happens twice.
This is not my fault.
True story from recently. I was in the lunchroom, standing at the sink washing my soup bowl. (I usually eat at my desk.) The Principle Scientist for my building (Ph.D. Chemist) walks in. He had been complaining earlier about the heat and humidity of the clean room housing the GMP (pharmaceutical-grade) dryer. He’s right to do so. Product manufacturing specifications require that room to be about 72 F and 70% relative humidity. With one of the A/C units down, it was much warmer in there and completely humidified.
The problem had been reported to maintenance and was being repaired, but he still had to spend time in there while parts were on order. Just to play around, he was insisting that I, as the building engineer, should develop an immediate workaround to get the room back into range.
I laughed, looked up, and said, “You’re probably just hot because of all the gear you have to put on to go in there!” (GMP requires anyone entering the room to be wearing a lab coat, hairnet, and “booties” – which are like hairnets for over your shoes.)
He said loudly, “Well yeah!” At this point, half a dozen chemical operators at the lunch tables look up at the two of us. He and I get along great, much to the mystification of most of our coworkers. They think both of us are crazy.
I smiled and replied, “Well, you know, our procedure says you have to wear the lab coat, hairnet and booties to go in there. Skip the uniform next time. You’ll be much cooler.”
He grinned, laughed, and left. Meanwhile, several operators at the table were whispering to each other something along the lines of, “We can do that?” (No.)
I routinely have to stop people from actually performing other joking suggestions I’ve made. Now I have to worry that I accidentally set off a wave of August nudism.
The first person who tries to pin a chemical burn on their ass to me gets written up.
The second person gets a soda. I’ll be laughing for days if it happens twice.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Stained Glass
[Originally posted 8/1/07]
I have intended to start a stained glass project now for about five years. The first three, I was already preoccupied with another large project. When that finished, however, I hit a snag. I knew the general technique I wanted to try, but then I hit the question of what I wanted to create.
On about ten separate occasions in the past two years I sat down, pondered that question, and got nowhere. In fact, the past two years have been remarkably (for me) free of art projects. Granted, I completed the website in that span, but I had done all the planning work for that about six years prior. (You think I’m joking, but I’m not. The sitemap is a large paper scroll I keep hidden away somewhere. Again, not joking.) Still, that’s not quite the same thing for me. In terms of the artistic project, all the work was done years ago. All that remained was about four hundred pages of coding. (Now you’re sure I’m joking. But I ask you, have you ever counted the number of pages in my website? And we’re talking just about the pages in there that I think it’s likely you could have managed to find. There are more.)
Anyway, today, I came upon my latest, “Figure out what you want to do to start that stained glass project” note to myself. In the process of reading it (two words), I knew exactly what I wanted to do, realized I had made the template already without being aware of what I was doing, and was ready to start. Elapsed time, one second.
That may sound unusual, but it’s how all of my interesting projects go. My thirty square foot painting concept hit me during and took about five seconds of the middle of a Chemical Engineering class. That statement will confuse anyone who knows the painting I’m talking about, but I’m not going to explain myself here because that’s a fun story to tell in person. (Feel free to ask.)
I’m delighted to be back! I haven’t felt an art rush in years. Bring it!
I have intended to start a stained glass project now for about five years. The first three, I was already preoccupied with another large project. When that finished, however, I hit a snag. I knew the general technique I wanted to try, but then I hit the question of what I wanted to create.
On about ten separate occasions in the past two years I sat down, pondered that question, and got nowhere. In fact, the past two years have been remarkably (for me) free of art projects. Granted, I completed the website in that span, but I had done all the planning work for that about six years prior. (You think I’m joking, but I’m not. The sitemap is a large paper scroll I keep hidden away somewhere. Again, not joking.) Still, that’s not quite the same thing for me. In terms of the artistic project, all the work was done years ago. All that remained was about four hundred pages of coding. (Now you’re sure I’m joking. But I ask you, have you ever counted the number of pages in my website? And we’re talking just about the pages in there that I think it’s likely you could have managed to find. There are more.)
Anyway, today, I came upon my latest, “Figure out what you want to do to start that stained glass project” note to myself. In the process of reading it (two words), I knew exactly what I wanted to do, realized I had made the template already without being aware of what I was doing, and was ready to start. Elapsed time, one second.
That may sound unusual, but it’s how all of my interesting projects go. My thirty square foot painting concept hit me during and took about five seconds of the middle of a Chemical Engineering class. That statement will confuse anyone who knows the painting I’m talking about, but I’m not going to explain myself here because that’s a fun story to tell in person. (Feel free to ask.)
I’m delighted to be back! I haven’t felt an art rush in years. Bring it!
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