Saturday January 5

Happy 2002! No, I’ve not been doing a Rip Van Winkle number as has been rumored. My internet connection was down. My ISP changed to a new connector service, and somehow I didn’t get word to download the new dialer. But that has been accomplished and I’m back in business.

Although they weren’t all there at the same time, some two dozen guests signed my party register. I was too busy having fun to take any photos, and the Cad was frozen-in at his new place up in Illinois. So Laura became the official photographer, though she didn’t arrive until the party after the party, when everyone was cagey, including myself.

Philosophy Roundtable was Thursday night as usual, with Ernie, Rowen, and myself in attendance. We ended up returning to our old textbook on classical philosophy, picking up about where we left off in an excerpt by Bertrand Russell. Rowen and I capped off the evening cruising for dates at Ginger & Pickles, but that’s another story.

Thursday January 10

For the first time at this site I’m going to attempt a series of daily hikues on a similar theme— in this case that of domestic happiness and its apparent want, particularly among single men.

In some respects this is inspired in conjunction with Car Series, Ryder, a painting owing its source to one of the all-time artistic greats, particularly of this country, Albert Pinkham Ryder. Despite his fame even during his lifetime, and no apparent proclivity for the comfort of other men, he never found happiness, remaining a bachelor.

Nor have I, considerably less-renowned, ever enjoyed it, having yet to find a lover, much less anyone I would want to cohabitate with. Perhaps my difficulty is not dissimilar to Ryder’s. Once you’ve fixed an ideal— as he did at least visually in those paintings that included female representation— the real cannot hold a candle.

Sunday January 13

The visual-art happening last night was an opening reception for a show of large paintings, medium-size pencil drawings, and giant hanging sculptures by artist David Brown at the Maiden Alley Cinema Gallery. Many area artists were on hand for the event including the artist himself (originally from Paducah, now working in Lexington). The mayor too was present.

Afterwards to top off the evening I watched both movies that were playing— Paul Cox’s clear and honest Innocence and the Coen Brothers’ tale of passion and misguided justice, The Man Who Wasn’t There. Topnotch films both, but the latter was also a visual tour de force, shot entirely in black-and-white.

In attendance at Philosophy Roundtable here Thursday night were Ernie, Ernie’s friend and co-worker Dwayne Stice, Rowen, Clinton, and myself. We finished and discussed the chapter containing Bertrand Russell’s essay on the value of studying philosophy.

Tuesday January 15

While I sympathize with investors who lost big in the Enron collapse, I don’t feel quite as lonely down here now. I have thirty-eight cents in my checking account and numerous past-due bills. For decades I’ve skimped along, dreaming about someday saving and investing, but all I’ve managed to accumulate so far is a mountain of debt.

Anyway maybe it’s time for a series within my Car Series— my Potboiler Series. Paint ’em fast and sell ’em fast and cheap— at least until my career is out of danger. One well-known artist (no, not that well-known) who makes a half-million or so per year selling his paintings cranks out about three dozen of various sizes per year.

It’s time I worried less about perfection and perhaps even detail itself. I need to produce work in quantity with reasonable quality. In fact although this one I just started, Car Series, Blue Highway, commenced as a potboiler, I’m beginning to think that maybe its spare economy and frontal composition will make it one of my strongest paintings after all.

On another note, I hope everyone saw and/or taped Ken Burn’s Mark Twain on PBS tonight and last night. I skipped a drop-by visit opportunity just so I could be sure of being back in time to set up a tape and make as perfect a copy as I could for later re-watching while I enjoyed it the first time.

Well our PBS affiliate must not have forgotten that I’d been too thin to rally to the past few fund-raisers, so proceeded to mess up my plans by taking off the first five or so minutes of the film and playing part of the middle at the start, providing service commiserate with my latest contributions.

Saturday January 19

Philosophy Roundtable met Thursday night as usual, but due to snow or other reasons only three of us were in attendance: Ernie, Rowen, and myself.

The next chapter in our book spotlights an article by Charles Peirce, “The Fixation of Belief.” Weak on Peirce but anxious to learn, I was eager to dig in, but was outvoted two to one and we ended up passing around a paperback copy of The Adventures of Peter Cottontail that Rowen had brought, which thoroughly delighted the majority of us.

Rowen unveiled a new short short story he had written titled “The Church” which, with his permission, I posted on this site. It was inspired by my painting Car Series, Church, and thoroughly delighted me.

Monday January 21

Happy Birthday to Me! Happy Birthday to Me! I suppose you want to know my age. That’s cool.

The Prose Writers Group met here tonight. Attending were Harry Rowen Bash (for the first time in ages), Dee Reynolds, Brenda Hollis, Judy Milford, and myself. We discussed the first chapter of Dee’s novel, which dropped us smack into the 1920’s rural South. Next month we’ll finish the chapter and look at Rowen’s story, “The Church.”

I’m almost finished reading The Q Letters. It’s been an eye-opener. I’ve really been missing out. The author’s most mundane realities surpass my wildest imaginings, much less anything I’ve actually experienced. Course he lived in New York and Chicago. Still it’s made me resolve to try harder to wrest some life out of this old town.

It’s been inspiring in other ways too. Whereas he says he maturated as a vanilla, I seem to have been destined for the scene since before I can remember. His conversion as a young adult left him better-versed than me— one foot straight and the other beyond aspiration— his bio healthy fantasy from either direction.

Because he’s an exec you might have expected power inversion to cast him as a sub, or at least a switch. But he stays firmly on top, and his apparent success in that role— as a guy yet— is making me reconsider my own philosophical commitment to the switch, albeit the latter’s bilateral empathic energy.

Believe I’ll pass on the edge-play though— at least for now!

Thursday January 24

Last night my parents had me over for a belated birthday dinner of homemade spaghetti and pie for dessert— sister Lori and nieces Tami and Nikki were also present. Afterwards Nikki demonstrated some yoga.

Today following some afternoon errands I stopped at Jeremiah’s Antique Mall to say hi to Diane and let her try out one of my anklets— minutes later she was begging to have it taken off. Then to Creatures of Habit for a leisurely visit with Jack and Natalya, and home to get ready for Philosophy Roundtable here at seven.

Four of us made it to PR: Ernie, Dwayne, Rowen, and myself. We got started on the article by Charles Peirce, “The Fixation of Belief.” Peirce favors the fourth of his four approaches to philosophy, which he calls the “method of science,” as the one least likely to result in error.

After the meeting Rowen and I tried Froggy’s for beer and karaoke. Rowen’s rendition of “Locomotive Breath” was— well, you had to have been there.

Still don’t have a date for the Symphony Saturday night. Diane has to work.

Saturday January 26

Yesterday evening I finally found a last-minute date for tonight’s Symphony— this morning she called in sick. At six-thirty, a hour-and-a-half before curtain, I came up with a last-second-of-the-last-minute date, and she came thru— whew, I’ll have that harem yet. Give daily prayers of thanx if you are married.

Since I literally cut my classical teeth on Baroque wax from the Musical Heritage Society, I was pretty excited about an all-Bach/Handel/Vivaldi concert. The first two were enjoyable, although the “G String” sounded more like “F” in a couple spots.

After intermission The Four Seasons, with a reduced force of strings and harpsichord, was superb all around, more than earning its standing ovation. I can state with fair certainty that Carnegie Hall has seen less able performances of the Red Priest than we were treated to right here in Paducah tonight.

Kudos to Dr. Jordan Tang, Kathy Gardner, and the rest!

Note: My direct link to my philosophy book writing project, FaithByReason.com, is momentarily down for nonpayment of the renewal fee on the name— I couldn’t manage to come up with eight bucks. In the meantime this will still get you there.

Tuesday January 29

Several folks, particularly those with websites, have asked now and then what kind of traffic I’m getting to this site and/or others that I run. Even if you haven’t asked, I’m sure you’re dying to know :-). Well it’s a lot better than it was a year ago, but not nearly enough for bragging rights. Here are some numbers:

The warrenfarr.com home page averages about 55 hits a day. That includes repeat visits by the same person, including several test-visits a day by me while updating the brushcam, today’s hikue, journal, etc. So let’s say around 50 a day not counting my own maintenance visits.

Next to that the most popular page on this site— by far— is my Proposal for Rebuilding World Trade Center, with roughly 15 hits per day. Third in popularity is previous Hikues with about 3 hits a day, followed by 72 Virgins with slightly less than 3, barely ahead of the Art main page with about the same amount of traffic.

The Hikues and the Virgins— in addition to links from other parts of this site and search engines, etc.— are fed traffic by so-called traffic-catcher domain names. These are generic dot-com names that people might try typing right into the browser instead of using the search engines, for example hikus.com or 72virgins.com.

Top among my other sites is zan-E.com (later gurf.com), a humor site, with 46 visits a day. Namedance.com (domain-naming) averages 26. Luckymaiden.com, a casino, gets 24. The newest member of the family, russianbelles.com, still draws only around 7 unique visits a day.

(Some of these stats may be considerably inflated by InternetSeer.com, which once-an-hour automatically checks the homepage only of each of my sites— except russianbelles.com— to make sure it’s up.)

Monday February 4

While I’m an enormous fan of everything St. Louis (less than a three-hour drive from my home), I can’t be too sad that a team called the Patriots won the Super Bowl this year. Except for 60 Minutes II, in 60 Minutes’ regular slot, I had the game on while I painted, and as a virtual non-football-watcher even I can say it was one for the books.

Okay I know you’re wondering— did I or did I not switch over at halftime and watch the Playmate Fear Factor Special, with scantily-clad women doing inane stunts in a battle for a pitiful fifty grand? Don’t insult me another second with such contemplation— I savored the gulping of every fly-sauced strawberry!

Friday I visited friend Mary Beth in Mayfield. We spent the afternoon discussing everything from spirituality to applying for food stamps (something it looks like I’ll be doing very soon). Then we were joined by her charming daughter for a yummy dinner of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and corn. Thank you Mary Beth!

Thursday evening was Philosophy Roundtable. Present were Rowen, Ernie, Clinton, and myself. We read and discussed an article titled “The Crisis Within Islam” from the Winter ’02 issue of the Wilson Quarterly. A thorough historical encapsulation provided insightful background for present challenges faced by this major faith.

Tuesday February 12

Been destitute now since late Summer— there’s not a buck to be had. Every other day I catch the scent of a sale, but excuses range from, “Definitely want one of your pieces, but don’t have a place to hang it” to, “I couldn’t make it the other day because I was involved in a car accident.”

The last cash money I had that could remotely be considered discretionary I paid Chad to patch the roof. He did the best he could under the circumstances, but basically it was like hiring the finest doctor to help exhume a corpse and give it medical attention. The entire West Face is toast, and the East is butter starting to melt.

Have seven dollars in my wallet and that requires a decision— whether to get something to go with my rice, or buy another month for a bit of scrap at the pawnshop. Good news actually from the bank— my minimum payment due is some forty dollars less than what I’d thought, and I have till the end of the week before they’ll contemplate foreclosure.

Why am I writing this? Because actually I feel very happy. I don’t know why. I think it is because I’m doing something really worth doing rather than that miserable office grind, where I’d get chewed out for too many trips to the water fountain, go home, put on a stack of Gregorian Chant, and weep.

It’s faith beyond the easel, sustained by the force— intellectual and emotive— that only a contemporary spirituality can raise, against the inconceivable challenges of a Third Millennium— and that while ignoring my own resolution to start praying. If I’m ever to share Unitheism, I’ll have to have lived as well as known it.

Thursday evening was Philosophy Roundtable as usual. Present were Rowen, Ernie, Dwayne, Clinton, and myself. We returned to our pursuit of Charles Peirce’s idiosyncratic yet productive article, “The Fixation of Belief.”

Tuesday February 19

Spring is in the air, and I’m excited about the look of Blue Highway. Collectors, grab it or weep— I hope to make a free downloadable wallpaper to make it famous. Yet I’m only asking thirty-two hundred (10% or more down reserves it). Don’t be whining a decade or two from now if it’s appraised at a thousand times that. Thank you.

My plan for rebuilding at Ground Zero is continuing to generate interest worldwide, or at least continent-wide. I regularly get emails from places as widespread as Canada, California, and of course New York itself.

Last night was our monthly Prose Writers Group meeting. Attending were Rowen, Dee, Judy, and myself. We finished the first chapter of Dee’s novel and discussed Rowen’s story, “The Church.” For next month I promised an unspecified contribution.

Thursday evening was Philosophy Roundtable. Present were Rowen, Ernie, and myself. With so few present we set the book aside this time in favor of free discussion.

Sunday February 24

Lately it has taken all the courage I can muster to check the mailbox, often not accomplishing that chore till evening, or even next day. Sunday has become my favorite day of the week by virtue of its being a day off from mail— and banking, for that matter.

Speaking of which, I wish I could have nothing more to do with banks— or at least loans and mortgages. When my last-month’s mortgage payment went three weeks late I got a letter from a woman at the bank. I called and told her I would do my best to tender it by the end of the week.

I’d planned on bringing it to the bank Friday afternoon if I ended up having to borrow from my parents. I did end up having to do that, but Mom was out that afternoon, so I dropped it in the night depository. Would you believe that woman wouldn’t even wait Monday morning to open the deposits— she was literally banging on my door around 10 AM!

If banks don’t have anything better for employees to do than wring poor artists for a lousy hundred bucks they ought to hire one or two fewer and buy some original art from local artists. It’s not like they have to worry about getting their mortgage back either— not only is it cosigned, but the house is worth a lot more than the loan.

Well back to my mail. Yesterday I approached the box with usual dread— unexpected communication from the bank my number-one fear, utility-disconnection threats a strong second. But pleasant surprise— one, my first issue of a renewed subscription to Art Calendar; two, an envelope stamped “CHECK ENCLOSED.”

The latter wasn’t from a long-distance provider— it wasn’t a bribe to change companies (mine’s the best deal anyway for anyone who doesn’t make a ton of calls ’cause it’s cheap yet doesn’t carry a monthly fee). So it must be— finally— my first web site affiliate payment! After two years of learning and toil with not a dime to show.

Eagerly I tore it open. It wasn’t. Only $3.50, not the $25 or more it should have been, and there was that dreaded fine print on the back. By cashing it I get listed in some dot-com listing. For that matter not even a dot-com, a dot-net. And for $15 a month. That’s me paying them. I want to get money not pay it.

There are a zillion nice sites— dot-coms— just for art listings. The majority are free in return for a reciprocal link, and many let you list title, description, etc. I’ve only started my listing process on what will eventually be perhaps a hundred or more such free sites, their return-link logos more fun to collect than postage stamps.

Thursday evening was Philosophy Roundtable. Present were Rowen, Ernie, and myself. Again with so few present we just had free discussion.

Friday March 1

Last night was Philosophy Roundtable. Present were the three regulars— Rowen, Ernie, and myself. We decided to rotate around on subsequent meetings, each of us picking a philosopher to study that evening from the book Great Thinkers of the Western World. It was Ernie’s book so he got to choose first.

The thinker he selected was Friedrich Nietzsche, even though— or perhaps because— his ideas seemed evil. While the German philologist’s attitude toward the weak— including the less-privileged and less-fortunate— was at the least unsympathetic, I felt his tendency toward rejection of old icons— “God is Dead”— adventurous if not fruitful.

What thinker, ancient to modern, would you pick? If you live in the Paducah area and would like to learn a little more about philosophy, discuss it, and have fun doing it consider joining our group. We would especially enjoy having more representatives of the female point of view.

Tuesday March 5

Saturday evening Gary Kolb opened at the Maiden Alley Cinema Gallery with a series of large black and white photographs taken in the Shawnee Forest. While trees silhouetted as gray vertical strokes, the rock formations were most memorable— massive brooding sentinels.

Even though I didn’t arrive until a few minutes before the close of the reception, 6:20 or so, the wine had not run out nor had the guests, including several local and regional photographers— Jeff Curry, Glenn Hall, and Bob Shapiro, among others. Artist Mark Barone appeared after I did.

At the symphony at eight I let my sister Lori and niece Nikki have my tickets so they could sit together, while I sat in 1A-left until the intermission. Those front-left seats are underestimated— the violins right in front of you are lighter than the cellos so the balance is okay, yet the surround-sound is impressive.

The orchestra played well overall. Sometimes the first selection tends to be a warm-up and the group is not quite together, but Strauss’s “Tales from the Vienna Woods” came off fine. After the Intermission P.D.Q. Bach’s “1712 Overture for Really Big Orchestra” was not only funny satire but actually a decent-sounding composition.

Wednesday March 6

This morning the bank called about the mortgage payment, which was sixteen days late. I’d only had about three hours sleep so was pretty groggy— up till dawn arranging dotcoms for sale at Afternic.com.

Like last month when they actually came banging on my door I was surprised they’d be worried about it at all. Their money is absolutely guaranteed. Not only are my parents co-signed but the house is worth at least double the principle owed. There’s no second mortgage— one mortgage is one mortgage too many as far as I’m concerned.

Maybe they’re hard up for the eight-score or so bucks. Which is good enough reason for not identifying the bank. If word got out that a certain institution was drubbing starving artists for pocket change to stay afloat the result would not be pretty. No “I’m king of the world!” stuff either— they’re not that big.

But she was nice about it and I was gracious in response, through my stupor. Unlike last month I got the weekend as well as the remainder of the week to fork over— until Monday. I also took it to mean (without saying) that this time they’d check the night depository before pounding me out of bed. They pride themselves on their service.

You know I even feel like returning the favor. I’ll wait till I think one of their execs has been asleep all of three hours— no hell I’ll give him four. Then I’ll ring him up at home and give him till Monday— by gummit, make that Tuesday— to buy one of my paintings.

In consideration of their apparent financial straits, it will only have to be one of my small ones.

Tuesday March 12

It’s wonderful to be rich! I’ve never been rich, but know how great it would be in contrast to my present state— broke— which is hell. Near impossible to accomplish anything when the minute you’ve scrounged money for one bill another is past due. Late-mortgage paid, electric disconnect arrives in mail.

Look at the current BrushCam painting— Car Series, Blue Highway. Little done in past few days, mostly on account of scrounging. And dang it I’m going to take time off right after posting this to re-watch The Sting before I go to bed. I haven’t made time to watch a good movie in ages.

By the way while everyone’s scrambling to get back into the already-overpriced stock market, no one has laid claim to the best investment that I know of— placing ten-percent ($320 of $3,200) down to hold the aforementioned painting, sure to be an icon worth a million or more a couple decades from now :-). Don’t wind up gnashing your teeth!

Friday March 15

I’ve had a lot of negative things to say lately about my bank, but don’t get me wrong— until fairly recently it was a friendly-style bank, even for people like me at the bottom of the income scale. It may still be so for the moneyed classes.

If your account went a few cents short not only would they clear the check but if you covered it within hours you could call bookkeeping and they might reverse the $25 over-limit fee, or one of them if it were two small checks. People that close to the edge can generally ill-afford $25. They eventually provided me with $750 of overdraft protection.

This fall and winter, between recession and world unease, I couldn’t sell a thing. Except for a trickle of payments on a previous sale, my income dropped to zero. I found myself nearly $300 and a couple weeks into overdraft protection. According to their letter I had thirty consecutive days to cover or my protection would be revoked.

Still it was too soon to think about getting hassled by them. Yet that’s what woke me up one morning after only three hours sleep following an all-nighter of computer work— a strange woman from the bank, wondering when I was going to cover. Woozily I mumbled that I didn’t know. I hadn’t used half my limit and thought I had plenty of time.

She threatened me with five years of bad credit and suggested that I close my account. After re-awakening and brewing coffee I called her back and left the message that I would try to scare up something later that week. I scrounged and managed to cover in full by the following Monday, a full four days before the deadline.

Despite being okay on that, my protection was revoked. Repeated phone calls succeeded neither in restoring it nor reducing by a nickel some $150 in fees, including $25 charges on drafts for as little as $15 which couldn’t be stopped in time. That left me in the middle of December with $5 total to cover all of that month’s bills and holiday shopping.

I decided the only thing left was to appear in person, so one afternoon I dragged my sorry ass down to the main office of Shabby Bank & Trust— not their real name of course (www.shabbybank.com) and plunked myself down in the chair opposite the desk of the first person who spoke to me.

It would be an understatement, or at the very least a misappropriation of rhetoric, to say that my physical and emotional state at the time gave all indication that— during the past few months at least— I had been considerably less-successful financially than Bill Gates.

While by then I’d written off the protection, I counted on not leaving without an easing of fees at least. But the best she could do was to promise a phone call back within a day or two. This promise was kept, but my supplications for relief of any sort were declined. I wrote the bank president explaining everything. No response.

I think I know what the problem is. They spend so much money promoting what they do for the arts and artists that there isn’t enough left to actually give artists in a bind a break— much less buy original paintings by local artists, flagrantly evidenced by the walls of their office.

One-Armed Government

Republicans are out in force helping us poor people by trying to outlaw what they know is bad behavior on our part and bad for the country. This time it’s internet gambling. Before I go any further I better say that I might be a little biased since I run a small online casino myself, the Lucky Maiden. On the other hand it’s yet to show a dime :-)

So maybe not Lucky yet. At any rate besides being worried about the easy access to a potential addiction, they weep of vast sums being sucked out of the country by the offshore operators who run them.

Even though the servers and licenses must be maintained in the islands or wherever, I’m sure a lot of owners, webmasters, etc. are small to medium-sized guys like me operating out of offices and bedrooms right here in the USA. I’d thought the coming thing was to legalize in Nevada so they could be run from there, with their regulatory experience.

As to the addiction thingy, if we outlawed everything that was potentially addictive we might as well crawl under the covers and die of boredom. Turns out that with a few exceptions internet betters are small-time entertainees— quarter slots, ten-dollar sports bets, that kind of thing.

Banning them would just eliminate another entertainment option. But maybe that’s what the Republicans want. Those who crave that species of rush would just have to become day-traders on the stock market. Then instead of losing the weekend video-rental money they could risk the kid’s college fund, the house, the car, etc. Now that’s excitement!  3/22/02

What is the Word of God?

What is the Word of God? Some might say it’s the Bible, others the Qur’an or Vedas. Scriptures are the words of the men (and a few women perhaps) who wrote them. While at best they convey great truth and inspire great faith, none are ultimately more inerrant than were their human authors.

The word, or message, of God must be the whole of the reality of ourselves and the world— Law, Life, and Love. These are the gifts we continually enjoy. Less a determination would posit a lesser god.

Does that mean we have to include evil— entropy, death, and hatred— in God’s Word? They are also a part of our reality.

Pure evil is nonexistence. Evil— while apparent to us— is nonexistent. How can that be? In a state of absolute evil nothing would exist, including evil. What we experience is impure evil— evil mixed with various degrees of good. There’s always some degree of good, no matter how minute, in every situation.

What exists is the good, not the evil. Yet the evil is as real to us as it is ascertainable. We might not see a vacuum, but when we tried to take a breath we would sure know we were in it.

The Word of God is good, and good only. God is good, and good only.  4/5/02

Mower Start a Success

The starting of my lawn mower, after numerous delays and setbacks, occurred around four this afternoon in a scaled-down ceremony. The event was rated a success by all concerned. Jerry Watson, the donor of the mower, presided. I was accorded the honor of pulling the cord. We dickered over who would get to adjust the choke.

Despite advance promotion on my part it was apparent as early as a week ago that proceedings would be abbreviated. The mayor had already sent his regrets, and at least two of the city commissioners reported that they were elsewhere engaged.

The simplified program was brief, consisting only of an invocation and keynote address, together lasting less than thirty minutes. Prior to the cord-pulling I gassed-up the mower. Although we were shooting for three pulls, the machine coughed to life after a half-dozen or so good yanks, an average for mowers of similar age and type.

Once started I pushed the mower into my challenging East Lot, where it immediately stalled in high weeds. Then I announced to enthusiastic applause that the first tuft of cut grass would be donated to the Market House Museum downtown.

It had been decades since I had attempted to operate a power mower, having previously paid to have that work done.  4/16/02

Farewell To Dreams

The domain-name resale site Afternic.com, after dropping chat and fora, has now dispensed with appraisal boards, ending those wealth-fantasies for thousands of e-real-estate investors and speculators.

The boards were used by sellers and others to post usually highly-optimistic appraisals of domain names belonging to others, and often to request evaluations of their own names. Due to over-inflation and disparity of opinion, ultimately their only real value was to gauge potential interest in names and compare relative values.

Appraisals on items in even my small portfolio of dotcoms ranged from $19 to $450,000,000. The latter was for claustrophilia.com and obviously far from serious (the record sale price for any name is still only $7,500,000 for business.com). Actually I think the appraiser thought the name worthless and was spoofing the appraisal system.

The $19 was for cagebondage, surprising since metalbondage sported the second-highest estimate I had received, $150,000. Third-highest was $39,500 for ideallovers, though no amount of money can buy those :). Fourth was tieandtease, which I’d like to develop, at $12,000 (if someone will offer that I might consider letting them develop it :)!

Bondfast got $5,000 and ukrainianwife $150. My only name that got more than one appraisal was hotbones, and that was because I’d requested opinions on it. The way that was done was by appraising the names of others and appending to comments— p/a hotbones.com. It got a total of four appraisals, with a mean of $10,375 and a median of $7,500.

This scratch-back system encouraged flagrant valuations of the domains of others in hopes of similar regard from them, though real buyers paid little if any heed to appraisals. Conversely warfare would sometimes break out between rivals, each bashing the other’s names on the boards and flaming insults. The fun will be missed.  4/25/02

Lawn Mowing Challenge

People say they don’t mow their own yards because they don’t like pushing a mower. I can manage that, provided I’d gotten out of bed before four in the afternoon. My problem is that I’m usually completely worn out before I’ve cut the first blade of grass. Before I start pushing I have to some pulling— to get it started.

My mower will usually start within an hour of beginning the attempt, provided I take relatively short breaks between tries. That’s if it’s a warm day. If it’s a cool day I was told by the previous owner to leave it in the shed and watch a movie.

First I set the choke up all the way and pull the cord. Then I back the throttle to about the middle and give the cord a couple more good pulls. Then I repeat this procedure as needed. After a few minutes it’s time for my first break, if nothing else to try to reconnect the tendons in my arm.

On this first break I’ll usually grab a few sips of coffee, with or without a light hors-d’oeuvre. Then I’ll go back out and pull some more on the cord until time for a second break. By this time it’s the mower that’s most in need of rest. I might call a girlfriend, watch a little news, or enjoy an entire English tea, complete with sandwiches.

Afterwards it almost always starts— the rest is easy.  5/9/02

Toilet Training

Some plumbing problems can wait. My dishwasher hose sprang a leak— all we had to do was disconnect and cap it, and while I’m temporarily without the use of the dishwasher everything else can go on like normal until we obtain the needed part.

Not so with certain other household malfunctions. If you only have one bathroom for example, problems with the toilet carry a cachet of urgency unique to that fixture.

A couple days ago my flusher lever broke. Too lazy to shop for the part, I jerry-rigged a plastic-ball-on-a-cord-tied-to-the-chain-inside-the-tank. Pulling on the ball flushed the toilet, but the cord found enough resistance going through the hole in the tank to prevent the valve from reclosing properly. So

Off I went to Lowe’s, where I was happy to find a better-looking (chrome finish) replacement lever than the original for $.98. My jubilation in getting off that cheap was short-lived— while there I picked up a couple other things I needed for a total bill of $36.23.

Intimidated by plumbing, I still put off doing the actual replacement. Finally I had to. Not only was I tired of removing the tank lid, reaching into the water, and pulling the chain, but I was less than thirty minutes from the scheduled appearance of a guest with a nervous bladder— bathroom upon arrival, once-an-hour thereafter.

There are times when a deadline can increase the flow of blood to the brain— I soon figured out the trick, and it wasn’t mentioned in the directions. The plastic nut that secures the unit in place is reverse-threaded.

I always thought that physical weakness was a no-no in plumbing. In this case I was glad I was only beginning to get back in shape and not strong enough to break the nut while turning it the wrong direction. After that the repair went smooth as silk bought on eBay and was completed with minutes to spare.  5/16/02

Riders On The Storm

For me tennis is too much like running, always chasing the ball. My house doesn’t have gutters— if only the same could be said for bowling alleys. Swimming is fun when you’re not sinking like lead.

I always thought bicycling would fit in well with my two other sports, jogging and hiking. So when friend Marvin offered to throw an extra bike in the back of his van on his Memorial Day Weekend visit down from Indianapolis, I said sure.

Riding a bike is something you never forget. That’s provided you do it at least once a century. The last bike I rode reverse-pedaled to brake and had a kickstand.

To ease my reintroduction to cycling we picked an optimum beginner’s roadway— a little-used section of the Tunnel Hill State Trail in Southern Illinois, an old railroad bed paved in fine gravel. Level, straight, light traffic.

The first step was to get on the bike, which meant mounting the saddle, or more properly, the seat. I immediately felt as though I’d straddled the blade of a knife, and that if I’d been ten pounds heavier I would have sliced myself lengthwise, beginning with that part of the anatomy one least wants split down the middle.

Remembering that the rotation of the wheels is the only thing keeping machine and rider upright, I did not pause long to reflect on this minor discomfort, but began immediately to pedal. Happily the bicycle moved forward with me on it and I wobbled into my test run, a loop around the parking lot to accustom myself to the handlebar brakes.

The challenge was loosening the grip on the handlebars enough to grab the levers. Marvin suggested that just one finger on each lever was sufficient— the problem was how do you release one finger when you’re clinging on for life. Since there were no hills to speak of I came up with an emergency system— stop pedaling and brake with the feet.

We set off down the trail. While I never felt comfortable with the steering, the sure and level track helped build confidence and soon we were zipping along, the woodlands on either side a breathless blur of trees. Marvin checked his speedometer and reported that we had reached a speed of 4.7 miles-per-hour.

In all we went a distance of four miles that afternoon, with two or three rest stops— permitting me both to reappreciate the joy of standing vertically on solid ground, and to ascertain— via sensation rather than mere ratiocination— that my bowels were still where I’d remembered them.

The adventure was without accident till I lost track of the pavement with my left foot and fell over in the parking lot on the way back to the car. I had on long pants so was uninjured, save a couple minor abrasions. The mishap left me even more appreciative of gyroscopic force, and glad I wasn’t on a Harley.  (pics)  6/6/02

Luckiest Guy In Paducah

Not that I really wanted to, but I ran an ad recently in the local paper offering my services as a free-lance web designer. My preference is to sleep late and paint, but failing that my second choice is to sleep late and jpeg.

The ad cost $75 but for that amount it appeared every day for a whole month. I didn’t want to give up painting, I just wanted to give up pawning my camera.

I had no idea whether I would get zero calls or a hundred, but expected it to be somewhere in between. I was right. I got a total of three calls regarding the ad.

The first call could hardly be counted though. The guy was selling refrigerator magnets. I immediately thought, is refrigeratormagnets.com available? (I’m a self-styled domain-name expert— moniker namedancer on the boards.) Or would we have to settle for the much-lesser refrigerator-magnets.com?

This impromptu exercise proved neither productive nor profitable— he didn’t need a website. Rather I could pay him $135 to see my ad on his magnet, which would have “emergency phone numbers” (like 911, duh?). Whereas I had hoped the call would be a pleasure, it was only irritating. I had no money. I wanted money.

Glad that was out of the way, I waited for my second call. It came a few days later, from a woman who said she represented four regional newspapers. This alarmed me. Even small papers have gargantuan sites with endless pages of articles.

I didn’t want to work full time— much less overtime— for someone else, like my friend Deon in Arizona. I needed enough mouse-muscle at the end of the day to design a religion for my crème de la crème of domain names, unitheism.org.

Happily my fears were premature. She just wanted to tell me they would run my ad in all four of their publications (weeklies?) for $49. I was happy with the amount, only again I wanted it to gravitate from her pocket to mine, not vice versa. I asked her if she needed a website. She hung up angrily. Huh? It was I who was aggravated with her call.

At least no one would call from the paper I was in and ask me to renew the ad. I’d run a ton of ads in the same paper and never had that misfortune. Long as my ad was off-limits to billboards, the third call would be the paying one. But no, ’twas not to be. A saleswoman from the paper, a strange new curse, wanted me to renew the ad. I didn’t.

All told though it was a wonderful experience. I realized that— unlike the wretches who called me— I didn’t have to try to sleep at night after spending my entire workday irritating people.

True, as I write this my camera is once again in safekeeping at Cash Express. But I can drink and stay up weeknights. I’m the luckiest guy in town.  7/18/02

Build Towers Not Cowers

What was done by terrorists in New York last September was horrific and irreversible. Fortunately a comprehensive victory on the foreign front over these fear-mongers is only a matter of time. But why then are we slacking on the Manhattan front?

A while ago the Lower Manhattan Development Corporation and Port Authority released six concept plans for the expressed purpose of soliciting input from the public. Good thing site options are not limited to these plans, because reaction from neither critics nor the public has been particularly favorable.

While the tragedy offers a new-millennium chance to show those whose main weapon is fear that we’re not afraid to build higher and safer, the tallest tower in any of the plans is a wimpy 85 stories. Overall the proposed layouts— street-grid riddled, crowded, and generally uninspired— can be characterized as having a designed-by-committee look.

So we turn for relief to the work of highly-touted individual architects, such as the fifty or so invited to submit their own World Trade Center redevelopment proposals for an exhibit held at the Max Protetch Gallery in New York earlier this year.

This too is disappointing. While a few designs were imaginative, even inspired, most were incomprehensible, certainly from a practical point of view.

One looked like a collection of cardboard boxes in a warehouse. Another could have been mistaken for two light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. Others were mere coffee-table ornaments— no resemblance to a memorial of any size, much less to structures of even a Frank Gehry. Impossible to imagine what these had to do with the problem at hand.

Yet there is room on the sixteen-acre site for a bodacious Memorial Park, having— besides a large formal memorial and associated museum each in its own tree-lined setting— the footprints of the original towers, gardens, paths— even a broad public plaza, complete with restored fountain.

In addition, perhaps the greatest and most important monument— three new, higher office towers (119 stories each— 911 reversed), the likes of which have never been seen and which even as a target would be safer than existing skyscrapers.

To see this click here.  8/5/02

An Hour With The Mower

Grass-growth has been spotty in the drought— some a foot high and some no growth at all. Still the yard was starting to look ratty, so Thursday I spent an hour or so with the lawn mower.

Besides being a chance to get outdoors, mowing is good exercise. A couple days later I could still feel a nice tightness in my shoulders.

My only regret is in that hour or so of hard work I only got a few square feet of grass mowed. I completed one strip behind the car which is about eighteen inches wide and four or five feet long. Also another strip, again the width of the mower, only this one is a good six or seven feet long.

In one way it’s okay that I spent the entire rest of the hour— with occasional timeouts to rest— pulling the cord, since I only had gas-enough left for one fill-up. I don’t get that much useful exercise pushing the mower— my legs are fine from jogging.

The cord-pulling, on the other hand, is what builds my shoulders and puts muscles where they’ll help me attract the babes.

There are times when I need to get some grass cut, so I might get one of those new mowers that you don’t have to start. In fact there’s no motor at all— the cutting blades are powered by your own pushing, which (without the weight of an engine) is easier. My only worry is that it will spoil me.  9/4/02

Make Chain Letters Legal

Money wasted on MLM schemes, including that $25 for 5 how-to-spam reports trash which is basically a poor-man’s MLM and the cause of valuable minds having to waste more of their precious time hitting the delete button than many viruses, makes me wonder— have we legislated-away an effective and fairly-painless education?

The class I’m talking about isn’t a doctorate in philosophy, but Pyramid Schemes 101 at UAK (the University of Affordable Knocks). Like who the sucker is— the sucker being any person who, whenever he sees or imagines a pyramid, puts himself at or near the top of it rather than his real place, in the row at the bottom.

True, even with chain letters outlawed he can learn later from MLM schemes. But aren’t chain letters generally a lot less costly to the victim? And at least they are fun, especially for those who think the lottery is a good investment. Some of the MLMs look like— and are— real work. Except that you pay the boss, not the other way around.

You’re the big-hearted moralist wanting to protect feeble minds from getting taken big time? We’ll put a one-dollar limit on the letters. Send the person at the bottom of the list of six names a buck for an email report on the best work-at-home opportunities and forward the offer to ten friends. Do the math. You’ll still make a million!

It sure beats waiting on your share of the oil money from that guy in Nigeria, much less your first dividend check from the East River Bridge Corporation, headquartered in New York.  9/24/02

Egomaniac For Hire

As many of you who have been following this column know, as well as many of you who have not been following this column, this hasn’t been a stellar year for me financially. In fact I can already see the submersible robot JJ  poking its miniature headlights into my stateroom windows.

On top of dismal sales and an unpatchable roof, I’m in default with my parents, who kindly helped me out of a credit card mess a few years ago. They themselves borrowed for the bail-out. The first year or so went okay, but now just the interest accumulation is beyond my ability.

Dad reaffirmed that it had been out of their security, not my inheritance, and Mom is ill— the future is uncertain. I still owe $450 in FICA from last year’s taxes, state taxes, and property taxes. The cable will get disconnected Friday— oh well, can’t get C-SPAN anymore anyway on Limited Basic.

Needless to say, I’ve had to tighten up a bit. I rinse and reuse coffee filters, and even resorted for a while to an old depression-era trick I remembered from grandmother, the toilet-paper substitute. My choice was old telephone directories. Not as bad as you’d think, especially considering the phone numbers of girls who were always too busy.

So I’m leisurely looking for a little part time work, like in the next day or two. Wouldn’t mind more experience in web design, Photoshop, or maybe something I haven’t tried. I like to write, and enjoy meeting people, even though I forget their names. I’d be reasonable and flexible on hours, if you’re the same with me.

But why hire an egomaniac, you ask? Simple, it’s less maintenance. You don’t have to always be pretending to pat me on my back when you’re really wishing you were in Florida— my ego is always more than okay. Nope, none of that “Warren, you’re like a farmer— you’re outstanding in your field” stuff is necessary.

Though I’d eat it right up :-)  10/17/02

First Real Love Affair

It’s never too late to find a soulmate, and I’m swooning with excitement over my first.

I’ve dated a number of women over the years. Many only once, thankfully. Others lasted longer— with some there was an erotic connection, with others a kind of friendship, and in a few instances I hope I never hear her name or see her face again.

But real love, that’s the toughy.

Real love— where nothing is forced, it just happens. Where dating’s unnecessary, you’re just together. Where there’s neither hypocrisy nor need of it— souls can be bared as easily as bodies, because each person accepts the other, faults and all, even to the extent of appreciating those differences as part of the mystery.

Real love— where each neither needs nor wants to change the other. Where each feels free to travel in his or her own direction, of entirely his or her own choosing, not only expecting no resistance from but being able to count on the unqualified support of the other. Where sex is art, passion is wild, and desire is eternal.

Yes I’m beside myself with anticipation. I feel it coming. I wonder who she will be. I can’t wait to meet her.  10/26/02

See Me on KET

If you live in or near Kentucky and can get the KET network, I’m going to be one of the featured artists on Mixed Media, Tuesday at 7:00 PM West Kentucky time or 8:00 if you live east of here. The half-hour program will also showcase Yeiser Art Center, Southern Jazz, and a lot more. Check it out.  11/7/02

Thank You Everyone

...For the great response to my recent appearance on KET’s Mixed Media. Sorry for the inconvenience of my telephone (and warren@warrenfarr.com email) being down for the past week. Until I can get it restored you can reach me via warrenfarr@hotmail.com (which I’ll check remotely every day or two), snail mail, or by just dropping by.  11/16/02

Frames for Car Series

Can’t wait to start seeing the Car Series in the latest frames from Gallery 600. Nancy had gotten some new moldings in— flat black with fine-line maroon accents, picking up the car hoods. We settled on the widest of the bunch, which will up both the size and the look of the works. The first will be a reframing of Car Series, Blue Highway.

Maybe an excuse for a hefty price increase (just knew you’d like that :)!  11/26/02

HAPPY HOLLIDAZE!

Here it is the Hollidaze, which means, thankfully, the end of 2002. It’s been a godawful year for at least two reasons— the apparent end of the happiest years of my life, as a full-time painter of pictures, and Mom’s diagnosis with cancer.

Things have not been all bad. I have a sweet new girl to playfully ease me through Christmas stress, and a month or so ago I finally received my first trickle of hard-earned affiliate income from my web ventures, a check for $56. I just need to repeat what I did to get that a thousand times! :-)

We refinanced my main debt to lock in the current low interest rates— $214 a month for 20 years. Hopefully I won’t have to go Chapter Seven on my remaining card— it’s not really that much.

Still, making money is such a pain. There are zillions of intriguing and enjoyable schemes to earn money floating around these days, especially in the computer world— from web site development to domain name sales— but for some reason (wish I knew what) none of them ever seem to pan out.

Despite my overtly anti-materialist nature, financial independence has been a long term dream of mine. The idea of long, quiet summer afternoons on my porch with the latest New Yorker and a good single-malt— a budding model with side interests in philosophy and astrophysics waiting for me inside— has had an irrepressible allure.

I’m just the one to invert Pascal’s Wager— while some might content themselves hoping for the gentle life in the afterlife, I figure there may just not be an afterlife, so better try for it now. Be Merry!  12/19/02