Jack's Guide (the Renaissance Person's Guide to Survival in a Shaky Economy)

Urban Muralists vs. Punks (warning- implied expletives....)

Secreted away as I am, very near to the heart of downtown Atlanta, I see more than my share of urban wall graphics, some of which I'd label art, but much of it mere garbage, in my humble opinion.  The latter has become for me a trigger to the immediate detriment of my serenity.  I have an almost visceral reaction when I see the midnight scrawls of whatever street punks put them there, wherein I fantasize fruitlessly about catching the little illegitimates in the act.  I often wondered why my own building seemed immune to this defacing, while all those around me were subject to frequent re-painting.  The answer became evident when a couple of my neighbors, Stan and Dave, managed to actually track down some of the perpetrators, by way of some clever detective work.  Well, maybe it wasn't all that brilliant- the idiots had emblazened said property with "art" that was prominently featured in a nearby "alternative" gallery show, whereby names were named, and one thing led to another.  Stan, who is an ex-marine-looking guy, a body builder and wrestler (the Greco-Roman type, as opposed to the psuedo-teevee variety), tells me he approached the author of the violation at the gallery opening, and asked what the guy would charge to put that on his wall.  He then casually enquired what would be the cost to remove it.  (Oh, to have been a fly on the wall, and witness to much stammering and sweating, I feel sure.)

Talking later with Stan, I discovered a possible reason for my personal apparent reprieve from this urban blight.  My previous tenant was a dedicated skateboarder, and it seems that these citified sportsmen are frequently at the  forefront of the shenanigans.  And as the saying goes, one doesn't s*** where one eats.  I normally hesitate to resort to any variety of profiling, but I must say I look at those burghal boarders in a new and less-than-favorable light.  Perhaps the majority of them are innocent, but running with the pack is often just as dangerous for the straggler as for the alpha male.

The definition of art is subjective, at best, and I would not want to be the one to draw the line between the sacred and the profane.  Living where I do, I can claim to have seen it all.  There are elegant examples of urban mural art to be viewed, and then there is the other, e.g. the scrawl I witnessed recently only a block from my residence, in day-glo green: "F*** your wife, defacing s*** is fun!"  I mean, really.  Fortunately the property owner oversprayed this eloquent message within a few hours, fortunately depriving the gentle diners across the street of such literary wit.

I must admit that back in my younger days, when clambering up a ladder or scaffold was not the torturous affair it sometimes can currently be, I was guilty of accepting money to do some of my own urban mural work.  Since that work came to be published in various newspapers and in Sandlapper magazine (a magazine devoted to life and culture in the state of South Carolina), I must assume that my work, done in partnership with my ole pal Sonny, was deemed socially acceptable.  Here are a couple of examples, both painted exclusively on flat and featureless walls, at close to full size.

Sonny is currently tracking a couple of new (potential) civic mural projects, so I've got to decide whether I can reclaim my old skills and strengths.  In keeping with this blog's theme of creativity and productivity, I hope to be able to do so.

I also would like to display another local example, which comprises both extremes of this type of graphic expression.  These photos show adjacent exterior walls belonging to the music studio of my friend Ken, and they are separately adorned with examples of the two opposites.  Not to claim to be the arbiter of anyone's taste but my own, I do admire the composition and chiaroscuro (for those not schooled in the lingo of artistic expression, that's shades of black and white) of the left-hand effort.  

And of the right-hand scribbles, I am reminded of the quote from my junior-high-school days, regarding fools' names and their faces.  Ken's building was at one point graced by a really impressive statement in the finest urban-muralist style, which was commissioned by one of his offspring (I think as a birthday surprise).  (It ultimately succumbed to the spray cans of the less culturally enlightened, and had to be painted over.)  It proclaimed while it lasted, in magnificent style, "MY DAD ROCKS".  And so do, in my sight, such legitimate purveyors of civic artistic expression.   Of the others, well, Stan and Dave have filed suit against the ones they know of, who are proving to be a wealth of info about their little s***-head buddies.  Plea-bargaining can be a wonderful thing.

For more info about public murals, I can heartily recommend the book Toward a People's Art, which I got shortly after it was published in 1977.

One last example, a couple of blocks from my place, showing both ends of the spectrum.  At least in this case, the vandals had the decency not to paint over the wonderful oriental koi mural....... there is always some hope to be found, if you look for it.

Take my advice......

To complete the title of today's post: "Take my advice- I'm certainly not using it."  That would be my advice about having a semblance of a routine, and sticking to it.  And today, having let myself sleep in, I missed attending my regular Saturday morning assemblage of like-minded guys.  That's faux-pas number one.  Number two is the fact that I have not posted here for several days, a shortcoming which I vowed to myself to not succumb to.  We do what we can.  I trust everyone (including myself) will get over it.  My reason for this delinquency: I have work!  And I'm talking paying work!  It appears I will be occupied for most, if not all, of the summer working on an airport wayfinding project, and, as often happens, the primary architects on the job have neglected this aspect of the project until the last minute.  This usually results in a mad flurry of activity on the part of me and my client, and brings to mind another aphorism:  "Poor planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part."  Unfortunately, this rarely proves true. 

So forgive my absence, whilst I take the easy way out and fill up this space with a couple of creative design links, as is not an unusual (and expedient) thing for me to do.

For those aficionados of urban living, you may enjoy this Broadway (as in NYC) penthouse, by architect Joel Sanders:

I like design with a sense of humor.  Like this coat check chair.

Yes, those are coat hangers. 

Sleep Awareness Week

Yes, dear ones, it is real and official.  March 7 thru 13 has been anointed Sleep Awareness  Week, by no less an authority than the National Sleep Foundation, whose motto/slogan is "Waking America to the importance of Sleep"......... Does anyone besides me find that somewhat amusing? Or contradictory, at the very least?  I mean, if anyone is a big fan of sleep, you're (sort of) looking at him, or reading him.... I think you get the idea.  And as such, the very last thing I want is to be roused from total immersion in my rich and varied dream life, to be informed how important to my health and sanity that activity was.  Go figure.

I do, however, heartily endorse this organization, catchphrase-challenged as they may be.  Regular and frequent hibernation is one of my all-time favorite activities- never mind the beneficial results.  If alcohol and drugs were half as wonderful as slumber, I'm sure I'd be hooked on them, too.  But the snooze frequently induced by those things would be perhaps better described as, well, a coma.  At least, that's my recollection.

Whenever I abandon myself to bed down, bunk, catch forty winks, catnap, conk out, cop some z's, crash, doze, dream, drop off, drowse, fall asleep, fall out, hit the hay, hit the sack (or rack), lay about, nap, nod off, relax, repose, rest, retire, sack out, saw wood, slumber, snooze, snore, turn in, or zonk out, I enter a state of bliss, wherein I am generally deemed wonderful by all I meet, and am possessed of abilities I find extremely useful and enjoyable, like the ability to fly, or being irresistible to women.  I find it no great stretch to understand how this state is essential to mental well-being- so much so that I find myself frequently in danger of snooze-button satiation, that manifestation of hedonism that can make me miss entire mornings, if I am not careful. Fortunately (I guess), I am made of sterner stuff than that- I can usually drag myself from somnolent bliss into the too-often hateful world of reality, griping and groping for the thermostat.  (I normally turn the heat down when I sleep- which makes my morning waking all the more hairy.)

So, now that you know the importance of this week's focus, you may choose to visit the Sleep Foundation's website, or not.  They have fascinating information, though I fell asleep reading it.  Which, I suppose, may have been their plan all along.

Whenever I come across interesting stuff, I like to include it here for your review.  Today I found (thanks to Design Milk)  this interesting conversion of an Airstream trailer, into a live/work space.  I have recently been so engaged in making efficient use of space (downsizing by half will do that), that this appealed to me.  (Lots more photos if you click on the link above)

A Room of One's Own

I find it quite fitting to be composing this blog in my present circumstances, celebrating this January 25th, which happens to be A Room of One's Own Day.  The irony (if that's what it qualifies as) is that I sit here typing away on my MacBook Pro (today is also commemorated as MacIntosh Computer Day), in my new living quarters, which happen to be one large room, basically.  But that's part of what loft living is, by my definition, and in my humble opinion. Please allow me to digress.

It drives me crazy (not a long trip, admittedly) to see so many brand-new "loft" buildings, built specifically for residential or live/work tenants.  The original idea of loft living, in my so-called mind, comprises three primary prerequisites, to wit: One- the space is recycled and in an urban setting;  Two- the space was not originally intended as residential; and Three- the space incorporates at least some elements of open-plan layout, with a minimum of traditional "rooms".  Bathrooms and other private areas may be partitioned off, but often times these areas, too, are merely screened off or otherwise designed to feel more spacious or open.  Call me narrow-minded if you will-  condo or apartment developments built to look like lofts are not the real thing.

My building was used for sixty or seventy years as a light industrial facility, but when I bought it, it was enjoying perhaps its initial adaptive re-use, as a place of worship, complete with full-body baptismal immersion font, choir loft, organ, and pulpit.  As a result of that deal, I inherited the organ, a piano, and several very nice old wooden church pews, along with the mail subscriptions to a host of evangelical services and mail-order proprietors.  If you want to know where to find coffee mugs with your pastor's picture on them, just let me know.  Same thing goes next Halloween, when you and your pals decide to dress up as a gospel choir.  

I think my fascination with loft living goes back to childhood, to approximately age twelve or so.  I had made it to that point in my career sharing a room with my younger brother Gordon- or maybe it was him who was the survivor.  I had graduated into my teen years possessed of all the mad trappings of the age group, and bursting at the seams with pubescent angst, hormones, and righteous indignation at not being recognized for my martyrdom and special talents.  And any first-born will tell you, as the eldest of four, I suffered the task of "breaking the ice" for  my siblings to follow.  At any rate, when it became obvious that I was morphing into a social retard and not fit for co-habitation, my parents, in their infinite wisdom, turned the basement over to me.  It was an unfinished space with a slab floor and no partitions.  A furnace room was partitioned off and some stud walls were erected, but the floor joists and cinder-block perimeter walls were left exposed.  Thus I came to associate that type of environment with self-sufficiency, freedom, and self-expression, and found myself longing for a similar adult equivalent, much later in life.  I never did achieve my own bathroom way back then, and am happy to report that I have long since achieved that lofty goal.  It even has a door.

Sunday morning

I must confess- I am a sucker for a Sunday morning.  By no means do I consider myself an early riser.  Unlike my bro-in-law, Dan, who (so he claims) rarely sleeps beyond 5:30 am, I am generally not up (Monday through Saturday, that is) before the seven o'clock alarm, although I always enjoy getting a head-start on the day, whenever I do have occasion to wake before my accustomed hour.  On Sundays, though, I am known to languish under the covers for the extra hour or so, sleeping in until as late as 10:00 or so.  Any later than that, and I start to feel behind for the rest of the day, trying to catch up, but never actually gaining enough traction, however, to do so.  Today I lingered under the covers until around 8:30, encouraged to do so by my cat Lucy, who had located herself luxuriously across my feet, and protested vocally whenever I stirred.  

I am not these days a church-goer.  What suffices for spiritual sustenance these days is a venue I have mentioned in previous posts- a Saturday morning convocation of men from all walks of life, who have one thing, among others, in common- a commitment to become better people.  The lies we swap are a luxury we indulge in to keep from bettering ourselves beyond the point of reasonableness.  Yesterday the gathering focused on the topic of gratitude, and while I did not speak up, it got me thinking. (Normally a cause for concern.) And now, a day later, I am enjoying watching the Catholic church parking lot across the street filling up with vehicles delivering the faithful to morning mass.  (I guess that's what it is- having never been denominationally inclined in that direction, I am only guessing; clueless to those mysteries hinted at by my friends who call themselves "recovering Catholics".)  I am quite satisfied to observe those faithful as they answer their calling, while I enjoy my coffee and those big fat out-of-a-can Pillsbury cinnamon rolls. (Not my usual breakfast fare, I promise you, but it is, after all, Sunday morning, and the time is ripe for indulgence- yet another reason to be grateful) 

Appropriately enough for the occasion, I am reflecting today on the gratitude I feel for my situation.  I am becoming quite comfy in my new, smaller space, and although it surely will prove adequate to my living and working requirements, it certainly fulfills the "cave" part of the euphemism "man cave", if compared with my previous, spacious digs.  I am quite fortunate to have had the option of relocating, leaving my former space available to generate considerably more in the way of rental income, than was previously the case.  I am continuing a search for a suitable tenant, which activity includes  much yet in the way of clean-up and fix-up, and will ultimately result in a fire sale of generous proportions, in order to divest myself of much of my collection of books, artwork, furniture, plants, etc., etc.  This continues to assure enough in the way of activities to keep me out of trouble for the immediate future.

But at the moment I am savoring my solitude and marshaling my energies for the activities of this afternoon.  I find myself adjusting nicely to the new economy, and getting creative with new ways to generate income.  I'm grateful to have picked up some architectural work, and am in the process of seeking music students and repair/renovation work.  In the meantime, clients continue to speak to me of promising project leads, and the coming year bodes well for my economic situation, provided I find that ideal tenant and continue to put one foot in front of the other and stay active.

From Design Milk comes the following:  I found the photos of this single-family home in Toronto compelling, although its siting appears to be somewhat suspicious.  There is a street a few blocks over from my building, featuring such a number of similarly designed homes peppered in among such a variety of older home types, that makes one feel that they have wandered into a home-builders' trade show.  But in general, I like it, removed from whatever site context it actually exists in.

Too Much Stuff

I have come to the sudden and shocking conclusion that I have waaay too much stuff.  Delbert McClinton actually did a catchy little song by that name ("Too Much Stuff"), but ole Delbert was talking more about a whole different variety of miserable overabundance.  I'm in no dire straits, but I am finding I have far too much stuff, as regards to books, artwork, furniture, clothes, kitchen gadgets, musical instruments, plantlife.... you get the idea.  Talk about high-quality problems.  

Of course, those of you who have been following my lately catch-as-catch-can posts will know that my dilemma has been wrought by the necessity to downsize into living quarters approximately half the size of my previous abode.  It's all part and parcel of a building I can (courtesy of the institution that holds the mortgage) claim ownership of- I just have relocated from a 2000 square foot place to one of 1100 square feet.  I have recently transferred the necessities for living and working from one space to the other, and am left with too much stuff- stuff that I need to sell, give away, or otherwise figure out what to do with, before leasing out my former residence for, hopefully, a small fortune in rental income.

I am refreshed by the opportunity to do some filtering, and to pare down after years of collecting stuff.  I am a pack-rat by nature, and find it hard to get rid of things that I might conceivably, in the time left to me, use one more time.  It is frightening to conceive of life without all our material goods and toys, and we tend to define ourselves (and others) by the things we possess.  At risk of sounding trite and formulaic, let me utter once again some of the truisms regarding "stuff"- "you can't take it with you", "what matters is within", and perhaps my favorite, "he who dies with the most debt wins".

I am frequently reminded, despite my craving for creature comforts, that I need to address the things that should be my most treasured possessions: strength of character, perseverance, honesty, and willingness to be of service to others.  Sometimes I get caught up in juggling the "stuff" in my life, and forget about what should be important.

As for the things that I will keep, I am enjoying the process of devising solutions to my space and storage issues.  When I have settled a bit more, I hope to be able to share some posts about creative new solutions to such challenges.  All in the interest of survival in the worst economy I can remember, and I've been around a while.

Progress, not perfection

Having now successfully dug out from Atlanta's winter event of the past week, and functionally ensconced in my new work/live space, I feel compelled to compose.  My writing output for the past month or so has been woefully inadequate, and for that I do not apologize.  I would certainly do so, had I been sitting around slacking off, but I like to think that I do not make a prime slacker candidate.  I may not always be as efficient as I could be, but who of us is?  It's like the old claim that the human brain is only utilized to a fraction of its potential.  But if I can say truthfully that today I was a little better than yesterday, on a continuing basis, then I'll consider that I truly am making progress.

I have a lot of stuff to share about the renovation/moving process, and want to share a couple of items today.  

First is the interior wall I mentioned (in my December 18 post). The goal was to create a wall treatment that would lend something of an oriental feel for the space.  Here's what it looked like when I started:

 

After a few hours of ragging, dry-rolling, and slinging paint, it looked like this:

and with A/V components in place, here's how it looks:

I am okay with it for the time being, but in the overall context of the space, I'm afraid once I get all my stuff moved in, the wall will just be too busy, and may ultimately get painted a solid color.

One of the issues that I wanted to deal with was the fact that the entry to the space is right on the street, so I wanted to create some privacy.  Here is a photo of the security fence I had fabricated twelve years ago, when I first got the place:

In order to devise a privacy screen, I recycled some old vertical blinds, weaving them between the re-bar verticals pretty easily, and concealing the entry from immediate street/sidewalk view. (Pardon the stucco repair currently under way):

 

 

New Digs, etc.

 I picked rather a mouthful of a name when I decided to call this blog Jack's Guide (the Renaissance Person's Guide to Survival in a Shaky Economy).  That moniker says something about the State of Things, in general, but also is quite accurate as applies to my personal situation.   A whole mess of us (the collective us referring to "First World" human beings) find ourselves resource-challenged here lately, and the wiser among us have found that sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves just doesn't get it; not in this new order.   Anyway, I do admit to straying significantly from that specific topic, but I'll get over any concerns about those serendiptous departures, and hope you will, too.  However, today's post (only the second of the New Year, due to the following explanation) nails its nominal raison d'etre on the head.

As a fortunate (questionably so, admittedly) member of this country's landed gentry (aka "property owners"), I own a building near downtown Atlanta, and have for some twelve years now.  I'd created two separate living quarters, and had been living in the larger of the two spaces, and operating there as a wayfinding consultant, up until about a week ago.  My last tenant in the smaller space left at the end of October, and after I started cleaning up the place when he left, I hatched a plan to adjust to my new reality.  That reality being that I had not worked for nearly a full year, and was coming close to spending all my savings.  I knew that I needed to recover that lost rental income post haste, and set to work on the smaller living space, which comprised the front half of the building footprint, a one-story area of about 1100 square feet.  I decided to make it nice enough that I'd be happy living there.  Clever fellow that I am, I realized part way through the process of cleaning and upgrading, that it might be a wise move for me on all fronts to do just that; I'd relocate to the smaller space, with its lower utilities, etc., and lease out the larger two-story space, at twice the size, for considerably more rent- perhaps enough to cover my mortgage.  

The process was an easy one to conceive of, but somewhat more time-consuming in the execution.  The former occupant was there for six years, and was a wonderful tenant- never complaining, and there like clockwork on the first of the month with rent in hand.  But he was a bachelor, and not a very good housekeeper, and lived with a big boxer (a dog, not a pugilist).  He also was a creative sort, and dabbled in fiberglass resin casting, concrete casting, and various paint media, dribbling, as he dabbled, the various media all over the concrete floor.  Consequently, it has now been two months (and change) since he left, and I am finally to the point where I have moved in all of the  necessities and am now ensconced in the new digs.  Keep in mind, I am moving to a space a little over half the size of my previous crib, and am looking at a plethora of stuff I have yet to move or otherwise dispose of.  I have stacks of books, piles of artwork and clothing, and a whole mess of kitchen utensils and a food stock that will last me well past armageddon- all yet to be moved, disposed of, or consumed.  High-quality problems, to be sure, and food for much blog activity.

So there's my current mission- to successfully downsize, adjust and continue to survive and find work in the current challenging economic environment.  So far, so good.  I got my office furniture and equipment in place just in time to begin a new project, an architectural re-design of a historic trolley barn, currently in use as a special events venue.

I do have before and after photos of the new space, and will post some at a later date. (Actually, it's mostly "before" shots, at this point- still way too unpacked to take "afters".) Hopefully, there will be some new ideas for you to peruse regarding efficient use of space, storage, and clever decorating ideas, for the esthetically-challenged.  In the meantime, I hope this will inspire some to investigate your own hidden options for solving whatever dilemma this financial spiral has inflicted upon your own self.  Above all else, one must have hope and believe that one does have perfectly acceptable options, and that they may not be immediately obvious.

 

Pearl Harbor Day, stupendous rental offering

Yesterday's calendar featured a number of odd celebrations, resourced from my wealth of data regarding useless holidays.  But it also commemorated the entry of the US of A into the Big One- World War II, brought on by the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, on December 7, 1941.  Prior to that date, popular opinion in the US was pretty much laissez-faire, but American youth rose up in droves to invoke justice on the Axis powers, and the military-industrial complex was born (of honorable enough intentions, I must admit, regardless of your take on it today).  So here's to the greatest generation- thank you again, for putting yourselves on the line.

In a naked and undisguised plea for sympathy and financial gain, I am attaching these photos of my current living space, which by now you will know, if you follow this blog, I am putting up for rent.  I am vacating this abundant space (around two thousand square feet) for the smaller adjacent space in the front of the building.  I have lived in this space for twelve years now, and while I love its unique character and roominess, I can get by with much smaller living quarters.  So if you know of anyone who might be a candidate for less than a dollar per square foot monthly rent (plus utilities- contact me for details, please), by all means, pass on my contact info.  (Best to use e-mail to start: evets492003@bellsouth.net ) More to follow.........

The place has a rooftop deck and a great view of Atlanta's skyline, secure parking, and is in walking distance of restaurants and clubs in Atlanta's Old Fourth Ward neighborhood, near Inman Park.

My apologies for waxing mercenary here, but I'm claiming justification thusly:  On a site ostensibly devoted to creative and productive challenges in a lax economy, I am showing off my creative efforts (I designed and built the place from a former light industrial structure), and endeavoring to be productive by cutting my expenses and generating rental income.  You buying it?

 

Survival Mode- Downsizing

I have frequently espoused the "less is more" doctrine, but I can't say honestly that I've lived it.  I've got a lot of stuff.  Yeah, there are beaucoup of folks who have lots more, but I really do feel, at times, like a the living personification of a pack rat.  First off, I find it extremely difficult to throw things away.  At great risk of turning this into a gruesome confessional, I'll allow that I save paper bags (brown paper as well as designer), glass jars, rubber bands, bad cd's, and newspapers.  I have lots of what I call "heirloom herbs" in my pantry- so old they might have been left me by my mother.  (Hey, they're dried, okay.  They never go bad, right?)  Don't even talk to me about canned goods. My pantry makes me look like an apocalypse advocate- I could live for five years on the grains alone.  I have a storage room where I keep left-over paint I have accumulated.  I could do the Georgia Dome in rainbow hues.  I suppose that part of it comes from being a "jack-of-all-trades" kinda dude- one ends up collecting stuff related to a plethora of pursuits and pastimes. 

Well, I'm done being the guy who says, "Take my advice, I'm not using it."  Out of necessity, I am downsizing.  The necessity part has to do with being self-unemployed for nearly a year now.  While I feel I have lots of talents, none of them are paying at the moment, and I am taking that as a message from the universe to "simplify, simplify".  (Calm down, all you ex-marines- that was simplify, not semper fi...)  I actually got started with this process last spring, when I sold half my transportation fleet, leaving me with the lone aging Jeep Grand Cherokee, a delightfully utilitarian vehicle currently featuring no turn signals and a perpetually illuminated "check engine" light.  The latest development finds me contemplating a change in residence.  I currently live in the larger of two units in a building I own.  Actually, the bank owns it, and they seem to enjoy dangling re-fi opportunities before me and snatching them away at the last minute.  But I digress.  My tenant of six years in the smaller unit recently left, and I had dived into the process of cleaning up and repairing six years worth of bachelor-skateboarder-doggie grime, with the attitude that I'd make the place nice enough that I would be willing to live there myself.  (Trust me, it's been quite the challenge.)  A few days ago, it occurred to me that I could, in fact, live there, and rent out my current space, at twice the size and, in theory, twice the rent- which would pay my mortgage and still leave me with pizza money.  

I took the time yesterday to photograph some of the nicer features of my place, did a Craigslist posting, and am planning a moving sale (in the event that someone takes me up on my offer).  I'm sort of excited about the process of getting smaller and more space-efficient, and to the prospect of getting creative with the new space.  If anyone out there has any ideas about marketing it, or knows of anyone looking for a 2000 square foot loft apartment with a unique "look" and great light, please do let me know.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.  I'll not be posting tomorrow, having volunteered to help cook for a couple hundred of my closest friends.  Take care that your food doesn't fight back, as happened to this pooch....