Slowly coming back to life with Sprite and saltine crackers.

The churning in my stomach started yesterday morning while standing in the security line at the airport. Laptop. Belt. Shoes. Keys. Run. I rushed to Boarding Group B, made my way through the tube and quickly grabbed a window seat. Another cramp in my stomach. Crap. I made sure there was a barf bag nearby.  I crossed my fingers and reassured myself that I could easily make it through the short flight from Kansas City to Chicago without making a scene. Then the guy seated next to me took of his shoes. Oh boy, I thought, the smell of stinky feet might be all it takes to push me over the edge. I huddled in the corner and tried to focus on the beautiful sunrise outside the window.

The flight was smooth. Land. Gather stuff. Head for the Orange Line. I took a seat and a deep breath. I was much less concerned about puking on the CTA than on an airplane. All was well.

Homecoming. Wife. Dog. My stuff.  I completely forgot about the churning or the cramping. Let’s go out for bar food! Hamburgers, turkey sandwiches and French Fries. Life is good.

10 PM. The world was quiet, but the evil monsters in my gut were up in arms. They had given me the day, but the night was all theirs. I stared at the toilet and contemplated which part of my body needed to be positioned over the porcelain bowl. Eventually everything in my stomach would find a way out. I napped on the bathroom floor and used the rug as a pillow. I thought about germs, doctors, the fragile balance of things and Ebola. I didn’t get to sleep until 8 AM.

Now, after a day on the couch, I’m fairly certain I’m going to make it. Although, I must confess I can’t help feeling a little nervous as I consider indulging in a piece of toast. What if the 24-hour-flu decides to stick around for 48? I don’t think I’m man enough to endure another night’s worth of disgusting bodily functions . . .

True holiday.

Yesterday morning I realized that I was actually paying attention to the act of brushing my teeth. Normally just another mechanical aspect of my daily routine, my personal hygiene actually seemed personal for a second. Then I looked in the mirror and did the old who-the-hell-is-that-guy thing that used to perplex me as a stoned teenager.

I suppose it’s damn near impossible to exist as an independent adult  without a whole truckload of anxiety and long list of chores, but I’d like to try. I don’t mean to get all Bobby McFerrin on you here, but I suppose the occasional “awakening” could certainly help a person manage their life the way a life ought to be managed. That is, by paying more attention to the things that really matter—the good people who surround us, all the nice things we own (rather than the things we wish we had), even the simple fact that we have safe drinking water coming out of our faucets.

Of course, all this reflection strikes me as I listen to the new Split Lip Album. Now a 3-man-band, a short note inside the jacket reads, “In loving memory of Kirk Rundstrom (1968-2007).” 39 years was all he got, folks! On that somber note I’ll make my point: pay attention (if you can)! Live in the now (if you can find a way)! Enjoy this strange existence (if you’ve got the time)! Just a few days shy of New Year’s, I say screw the resolutions and just smile—as soon as you finish brushing your teeth that is.

Non-electronic greetings from near and far.

A very intelligent co-worker of mine told me the other day that the US Mail system as we know it will not exist in 10 years. Man, I really hope she’s wrong.

Thanks to everyone who took the time to send us a card this year. It means a whole lot.

Do you hear what I hear?

One of my favorite parts about being married to an awesome person are the late night conversations about almost anything. This evening we sipped whiskey and covered a wide range of issues—starting with the importance of families in raising a child and ending on the subject of flatulence.

Sure, we’ve all had our fair share of experience with farting, but apparently there was a patient at the nursing home where Cristi used to work who had a simple, insightful point-of-view. Each time she ripped one, she’d say “there’s more room out here than there is in there.”

So, whether you’re hopping planes, driving cars or jumping from one family meal to another this holiday season, make sure to relax and enjoy yourself. If things start to get complicated, just remember the world is just a big old place full of stinky air from our asses.

Merry Christmas!

Zero degrees.

“Art” imitates life.

Hopefully the USPS has done its job and you’ve received the annual Shipley/Green Jezebelle-themed Christmas card. If you haven’t, that means one of two things: It’s lost somewhere in a dingy big city backroom where rats scurry around killing each other for crumbs OR I don’t have your address.

Anyway, every year I tell myself I should switch things up and create something new, but the old dog just has far too much character. As I’ve mentioned to many of you, the theme was inspired by a simple moment, captured on film, during one of the numerous painting projects that took place this past year. The photo and illustration are below for your entertainment.

A good Friday to all.

Me vs. Me

My right arm is a little sore from pounding the trunk lid of a cabbie who cut me off yesterday morning while I rode my bike.

My left ankle is a little sore from dropping a couch on it while helping friends move on Saturday.

The first injury is clearly the result of me being an asshole. The second is the result of me trying to be a nice guy. Together I hope they even things out in some kind of Ying-Yangish kind of fashion.

Retail misunderstandings.

In this quick and easy culture of gift cards, I’m always impressed with people tough enough to endure the confusion of going out to buy things they’ve never heard of.

This is an excerpt from an email my mom sent my way. Enjoy.

“I started shopping for the grandkids a couple of nights ago and I think I’m done with them. That was fun looking at toys again. There’s some strange stuff out there for kids now. I’ve also spent a lot of time in the computer game aisle with all of the other grandmas and grandpas. All of us are holding our crumpled up lists with puzzled looks on our faces. There’s usually only one college type guy trying to help everyone and I’m sure he’s just snickering inside.

I always go back to that story of your Grandma getting a John Denver album for my sister. She went in and asked for a Bob Denver album and the salesperson asked if she meant the guy from Gilligan’s Island? That really mixed up grandma…”

A little faith in humanity restored.

The day after Obama was elected we took to the streets with 3 cameras, $1600 cash, a camper and a comedian. The idea was to put a guy in various strategically chosen Chicago locations and video tape him while attempting to hand out singles, fives and tens to strangers. Needless to say, I was nervous going into the first day. I worried we’d run out of money. I worried people would stand around and hound the guy for more cash. I expected a swarm of homeless people. None of this happened. Not even close.

First and most surprising, most people didn’t take the cash. Those who did were very gracious. A lot of people made thoughtful suggestions like “I don’t need it, but there’s a guy around the corner who might.”  And then there were a number of really memorable reactions—a few ladies offered hugs, many offered him money and one guy took our comedian for a ride around the block in his limo.

I’ll skip the obnoxious feel-good evaluation of the general population and simply  direct you to the videos posted online so you can see for yourself that the world isn’t as greedy as you might expect. BE WARNED: this is advertising, so if you’re not interested in a word from our sponsor, don’t click the link and forget you ever read this post. However, if you do find your way to the videos, please enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/givethegiftofcash

My morning commute.

Decided to break out the “stealth” bike today. Fat tires, gears, brakes…so strange.