Everything happening at once

I was not feeling it this Halloween. We didn't have time to carve the pumpkin. Leif went to a sleepover. Gavin and cousin Chris took Zenny trick-or-treating. Mom and aunt handed out candy. I sat on the couch drinking a Guinness and trying not to be a grumpy asshole. The neighborhood was struggling this year; more porch lights off, fewer inflatable decorations, hardly any chocolate in the buckets. My mother handed out cold sodas, and the kids (and parents) were screaming with excitement because they were dying of thirst after walking so much longer in hot costumes to get treats.

So I kind of dropped the ball on this holiday, but the kids didn't really notice. Now there is a giant pumpkin sitting on my dining room table that I have to break down into pies. I wish I had a cute talking porcupine to feed it to. Or a trebuchet.

Other things are happening.

The art show opened (another honorable mention for me - “your art is so old-fashioned!”), and I took my turn sitting at the gallery for a couple afternoons while tourists and influencers hustled through without really looking at any of the paintings. Most of them just visit Ho'omaluhia to pose on top of rented Jeeps or jump up and down in fancy outfits. We are weird little animals.

This is the painting that won Best in Show, by the way:

On Saturday I presented my Scotland grant project to the Caledonia Society for their annual banquet. It went really well, except that Mike told me it was informal and then everyone showed up in dresses and kilts while I was standing there in jeans and gold sneakers. Most of the audience was not interested in art history and how pigments are made, but they laughed when I showed them Pug Dogs Through History as an example of how art is documentation; we would never know pugs had faces up until the 1900s without paintings to prove it. 

They liked my finished paintings, and I blew the opportunity to scoop up commissions because I forgot to bring my new business cards. I need a manager.

Burying the lede - one of the jobs I interviewed for has advanced me to reference checks/criminal history clearance, and I finally had to tell my boss what I'm up to. They haven’t made an offer yet, but it is feeling very real now. This might actually happen.

 

First thoughts: SCARY

Second thoughts: lots of things are scary: being accepted into university is scary; moving is scary; getting a new job is scary; having babies is scary. You did all those things before you had a fully cooked prefrontal cortex; you can do this now.

Third thoughts: you needed an undeveloped brain to do those things. NOW when you end up frozen and destitute it’ll just be because you’re dumb.

Third thoughts, as I have mentioned, are assholes.

Anyway, I have a realtor scheduled to do video walkthroughs for potential houses in case they actually offer me the job. “It’s really rural,” the realtor warned. I laughed in Trailer Trash. My dude, they have a Walmart.

My mother is supportive, but in a pragmatically negative kind of way. “Oh, yuck, cold. They get polar bears, you know.” WHAT. I did not see any polar bears growing up in St John’s. I checked, and yes, Newfoundland does get polar bears. But they don’t live there. They ride down on icebergs, hop off, eat a bunch of puffins, and then go home. How? Nobody knows. They just “migrate”. Unless they’re chasing people around or getting into trash - then they get tranquilized and relocated to Labrador. There are fewer than 100 that are too lazy to leave, so the odds of getting mauled by a polar bear are way less than getting trampled by a moose. No problem.

I’m getting complacent, though. It’s hard to maintain anger for years, and you’re not as desperate to escape when the door finally cracks opens. Stay angry, Braffet.