Tuesday, October 31, 2006
The hazards of installing a new printer
Several months ago, our good old loyal HP printer started to show signs of retirement, combined with serious drinking problems. That's the only explanation I have to the fact that the ink cartridges were lasting less and less time, and that the recent new cartridge started producing some lame striped prints after a month or so. And, with all due respect, those cartridges have some very distinguished price tags on them!
John consulted his ultimate oracle, the Consumer Reports website, researched it lengthily, and victoriously came up with the Canon PIXMA MP600 All-in-One Photo Printer, which has a printer, scanner and copier.
Not quite All-in-One, though, as it doesn't have a fax, nor does it do the dishes - but neither did some of our recent house guests, so we're used to it...
We ordered it last week, and kept probing the Amazon website to see if it's been shipped yet.
We also ordered extra cartridges, as well a highly esteemed USB 2.0 with gold connectors (don't ask...), and - as the guys at Amazon like to do when they feels especially sarcastic, they shipped those items right away, while the printer was not showing any signs whatsoever of leaving its cozy home, wherever that may be.
And so, the cartridges and golden connectored USB were adorning our desk for several days, being eyed with curiosity by our old printer, which did not quite comprehend what they are for, but started to sense that something is going to change. It even went cold Turkey, and recalled the long-forgotten concept of using its ink for printing rather than for satisfying its thirst, as if pleading us for one more chance to repent.
The day we got the Email that the printer has finally shipped was a day of festivities (yeah, we do need to get a life, I know).
We kept tracking the UPS site with bated breath, as our promised printer was making its journey from the desert of Nevada through Sacramento, had its arrival scan at our town on Saturday 3:59am - and halted there, awaiting delivery until after the weekend. Moses must have felt like that, watching the promised land from afar, online.
I swear, they have a special team at the main UPS office, whose job is to time packages so that they get to spend a luxurious weekend at the UPS storage place, and the delivery is done only on Monday, preferably when you are not at home, and you come back to find their pink note maliciously gloating: "You weren't in! We'll try again tomorrow, when you're out again", forcing you to rush to the UPS office that's located two blocks north of the middle of nowhere, and is open only between 9am and 9:01am.
Somehow, by sheer miracle, things worked fine: I was at home as the nice Santa Claus, dressed as a UPS person, knocked on the door and carried in a heavy huge box, watching with interest and growing concern as I was jumping up and down around him.
And as John got back from work, we went to install it.
"It should take 5 minutes to hook it up", he claimed with his husky voice and infamous confidence (see under his almost-fatal ingeniousness last Christmas), "and 5 minutes to install".
"So, that means two hours...", I summarized with a profound sense of realism.
- - - It only took an hour and twenty minutes.
John claims it took so long because he was sweet enough to let me do most of it (needless to say, under his intense paralyzing supervision. I am not to be trusted with computers, but that's another story...).
It was actually fun, as that is one cool printer!
Having a 6 year-old printer makes you truly appreciate technology! We admired the brilliant idea of having 5 separate cartridges, each with its cool-colored ink inside (I could hardly keep myself from breaking them open and paint with them!), the easiness of installation, and the very impressive dashboard and screen.
When the printer finally got to the stage of aligning its printer head and cartridges and printing its first test page, it was showing alarming signs of bulimia: it daintily nibbled on the edge of the paper, made a face, decided to give it another try, cautiously took another bite, printed a bit, spat the paper out with utter disgust, swallowed again, threw up... it was fascinating to watch, but I was glad when we finally got the result: a beautifully patterned page in balck and blue. I was starting to think something was broken.
Our old printer that served us for 6 years, printing so many pictures and words, is now standing on the carpet, looking very disconnected, melancholic and abandoned. I look at it with apology, and it reminds me of the IKEA lamp commercial. Good thing it's not raining...
And for those of you who eagerly await new life-risking stunts of John, well, here is your reward for reading so far:
After we were done, John went to the garage to look for the box of the old printer.
Up he climbed, on "my" ladder, heading towards the loft ...
(what a nice term for that creepy space under the roof, where the empty boxes live their meaningless lives, longing for the day they would unite with whatever was inside them and left them with this unbearable void).
... Down he came, changed to the real manly ladder that reaches the skies and does all kinds of masculine wonders, failed to find the desired box, and then asked me to pull the ladder backwards by 6 inches.
Not 5, mind you.
6 inches.
While I'm struggling to figure out how much 6" are (Hey, I speak fluent Metric!!!), he performed a graceful pirouette that would have made Baryshnikov green with envy, and gallantly leaped onto the loft, while leaned with all his might on one of the beams that supports the roof.
And sure enough, a c-r--a---c----k--i---n-g sound has followed, the beam started to swing and my heart sank.
As opposed to the very concerned me, John dismissed the near-accident with disregard, and went on with his quest for the desired box, getting more and more pissed that it wasn't to be found, decided to take the opportunity to vacuum the debris from when we had our roof redone last summer, and generously spilled most of it right into my unsuspecting car, that was parked with its sunroof open wide, right below this sudden cleaning-spree.
. . . Never a dull moment!
So: what did we have:
- One broken beam ("That's OK, it's still doing its job", claims He with sheer self-conviction).
- One car filled with roof debris
- One new printer, alive and kicking
Overall, I'd say it sums out to a satisfactory operation.
Not even one single trip to OSH, and my studio wall does not have a hole in it.
Thanks for small mercies.
Labels: Damn Technology, Wonders of The JohnnyB
Sunday, October 29, 2006
The Home of The Brave
and The Land of Multiple Time-Zones
So, Cheap Joe's had an amazing sale on their Tsunami brushes.
...Why amazing? 'cause they were 70% off!
......Why Tsunami? due to their ability to pick up a lot of water and paint.
.........Why is that good? Oh, go take a watercolor class and stop interrupting me with questions!
Now, artists are notorious for getting as many brushes as they can. As Myrna, our esteemed and very cool instructor in the Watercolor Portraits workshop cheerfully claimed: "The more brushes you have, the bigger the chance you'll eventually have the brush you need. And always call them 'tools'".
A lesson I have embraced with loving hands, as it serves as a wonderful excuse (explanation, that is) for our non-understanding spouses, who cannot comprehend the profoundly significant difference between a red sable, a Kolinsky and a squirrel brush, and why we really do need seven of each.
Now, not only are artists keen on enlarging their brush collection, they are also on the look for deals, as, well, you don't quite make millions being an artist. That's because the world is not yet ready for your masterpieces, obviously...
So, upon receiving that appetizing ad via Email, I contacted several artist friends, got our orders together, from brushes to paint to glue to a new type of paper, and together we made it above the free shipping bar, which is always a reason to rejoice.
The special sale was until October 25th, midnight.
Needless to say, being an orthodox procrastinator, I postponed the actual completion of the order until the very last evening. Wait - you really can't blame me! There is, you see, something very final and irrevocable about the "Place Your Order" button. Once you hit it - that's it. The decision has been made, there is no way back, and it's all just too hard to cope with for my suffering artistic soul.
Plus, I was trying to resolve the moral dilemma whether I should indulge myself by buying some more stuff - - - No, rewind! I mean, Uhm, responsibly purchasing crucially essential and indispensable, hmm... tools.
There I was, sitting in the living room after a nice Raman dinner, contemplating brushes, knowing I still have 2.5 hours till midnight - - and suddenly, it hit me.
To John's astonished eyes, I performed an impressive spring from my chair, and with a cry of despair sprinted to the den, where the blinking desktop was awaiting, giggling....
And indeed, on the website, as I logged onto my cart, the prices have tripled themselves like a nightmare. Apparently, that art supplier resides in the East Coast...
...and as the clock hits 9pm in California, their carriages start turning back into pumpkins, and their Tsunamis get expensive again!
Needless to say - I freaked. Quite loudly.
John came running to investigate what-what, and after learning of the tragedy, he immediately assumed the position of the mature-adult-perspective-man, elaborating on priorities and scales of disasters and how this is not really crucial, all this said with the pious tone of he-who-never-ever-freaks-when-a-CD-is-put-back-in-place-not-according-to-alphabetical-order-and-at-a-slant-of-two-degrees-from-the-angle-of-the-other-CDs-that-Arianly-stand-to-attention.
I felt terrible, as it wasn't only my order - I was ordering for 6 people!!!
And so, in between john lecturing, and me hitting my procrastinating head at the wall while furiously uttering "(censored)!!" "(censored)!!!" "(censored)!!!!", I looked angrily at the sale ad - - - - - - and, through the fog of guilt and sorrow, it suddenly occurred to me, that the ad, how shall I put it, never actually mentioned EST (Eastern Standard Time).
A little ember if hope was starting to rise, bringing me back to a state of being able to express uncensored words. And John switched to the role of the knight in shining armor, and claimed I should go ahead with the order, and then contact them about this.
And so I did.
The story has a happy ending: after a firm-yet-pleading Email, and a follow-up phone call in the morning, not only did they claim they adjusted the prices, they even apologized (and thus became a favorite art supplier; as fairness has a big impact on me).
Between the 6 of us, we have 11 Tsunami brushes on this order... and the price difference was very significant - hence the panic.
11 Tsunami brushes!
Now, that's a lot of squirrels running around without their tails...
And to those of you who jump with horror, crying out "Awwwwww, but how can you use brushes made from these cute creatures!?!"... Well, you can put your steak dinner aside for a second, look at your leather shoes - and then get back to me.
Mind you, whenever I see "our" territorial squirrels jumping all over our hanging pots, digging out newly planted seeds, biting into our tomatoes and peppers (one bite only, before they move to the next one), and doing all that while giving me the finger - - I do toy with the idea of simply catching one of them and making myself a real nice thick brush, for free, from its (censored) tail.
But there I go again, reverting to profanity...
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Of Art and Engineers
These are exciting days, as I am showing a painting at an exhibition, for the very first time in my life. It's the annual show of SCVWS, or Santa Clara Valley Watercolor Society.
The show is on the grounds of Santa Clara's Triton Museum. Sounds impressive, but the gallery is well hidden behind the museum... And so, after you've blazed a trail with a machete and paved your way into the gallery through the cobwebs, you're standing surrounded by 99 masterpieces - and mine among them.
Seriously, it's a good show.
Or, as Minnesotans would say: "It's an above-average show. You Betcha."
There is something very scary and very exciting in putting your own creation on a strange wall.
It's scary because my painting is now exposed to the critical (or worse: indifferent) eye of the world.
It's exciting for the very same reason. A whole new experience.
Mine is a portrait of a woman.
I am getting more and more into figures and portraits, which I enjoyed through drawing so far, and just recently started to dare expressing them in watercolors.
A challenging subject, in a challenging medium.
And since CherkyB persists that it cannot be that JohnnyB hasn't done anything stupid in nearly a year, I feel obliged to share an anecdote that shows the, Hmm, well, joy of an artist and an engineer living together.
I'm currently taking a Watercolor Portrait workshop. Unfortunately, no live models.
(For the non-painters among you: no, it does not mean we paint corpses. It merely means we paint from photo references...).
Anyway, We were asked to bring photographs as follows: 3/4 view of an old person, profile of a young person, and full view of a baby's face.
I was frantically browsing through dozens of pictures, and John came in, trying to put his 10 cents into the process.
He found me gazing with awe at a very powerful photograph of my 80 year old aunt, which I took about 18 months ago, admiring the great light pattern, the calligraphic wrinkles, the wonderful shapes - - -
- - - and John cheerfully said: "go for this one!".
"No, we need a 3/4 view for an aged face", I reminded him.
"So, what's the problem?", wondered the one and only.
"This is a profile" I explained, with a lot of patience.
"No it's not!", defied the know-all. "It's 7/8!"
I hit the floor laughing, tears in my eyes, spleen exploding and all.
...10 minutes later, when I managed to recover my breath, John, obviously and utterly offended, informed me that if I ever ask him to pose for me, he will give me 1/16, at most. For a portrait, that is!!!
Wiping my eyes, I realized with sheer sorrow that it's one of the most hilarious things John has ever said, but the tragedy is that nobody will understand how hysterically funny it is.
That is, nobody except portrait painters/photographers/sculptors.
(Jim, the legendary figure drawing teacher, choked on his coffee when I shared the joy with him, and took 5 good minutes to get back to a relatively respectful state of being).
Still, it's worth documenting.
Labels: Art, Wonders of The JohnnyB
