"" bshawise: April 2009

Thursday, April 30, 2009

Who Has Seen The Wind?

We're doing a video with this poem this weekend that I'm very excited about. I've never gotten into poetry but something about this one really spoke to me. Especially when you hear it read by an irish woman and set it to music. If anyone has any poetry that feels similar to this, please pass it along. I may give it (and peace) a chance.

Who Has Seen The Wind?
by Christina Rossetti

Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you.
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I.
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Cool Kid Table (commissioned by Paul Smiley)

Kyle was in the bathroom when he heard the oven timer go off. Fifth period. Lunch. He walked downstairs and his classmates were fighting in line waiting to wash their hands at the kitchen sink.

"Quit pinching." Karin (the oldest) said and kicked backwards.

"Quit kicking." Kenneth (the youngest) yelled.

"I will when you will!" Karin added.

"I will when you quit hogging." Kenneth was ready to eat.

Their mom yelled from the living room, "Karin and Kenneth! Quit yelling. Kyle, are you out there?"

"Yeah." Kyle mumbled.

"Come get your geometry worksheet before lunch."

"Can I get it after?" Kyle asked, waiting behind Kenneth at the sink.

"What'd I say?"

"Fine." Kyle shuffled out. Karin threw the towel at Kenneth and walked to the fridge. She grabbed two Hot Pockets and a gallon of whole milk.

"Mom, do we have any soy milk?" Karin yelled.

Her mom yelled back, "What? No! That's not good for you." Back to Kyle, "Do you have the hall pass?"

"I left it upstairs." Kyle muttered.

"Get it after lunch. Here. Put this in your blue folder and go wash up." She handed him the worksheet. Kyle put it with the others and went back to the kitchen. Kenneth was already sitting waiting for Karin to bring the Hot Pockets. Kyle finished washing his hands.

"Did you make me one?" He said to Karin.

"Yeah, right." She laughed.

Kyle looked over at his little brother. "Can I sit with you guys today?"

"Yeah, right." Kenneth also laughed.

Kyle looked back at his older sister. "Do we have any Hot Pockets left?"

"No. Just Lean Pockets." Karin served Kenneth and sat down. Kyle shuffled over to the freezer. He pulled out the Lean Pockets. He wanted to yell at his mom. He wanted to tell her she's as bad at shopping as she is geometry. He didn't. He already had two detentions that week.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Holy Beatbox

Friday, April 24, 2009


Anyone remember this movie? My brother and I were disciples of this classic tale. Ah, memories.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Four Chords

Monday, April 20, 2009

Photo inspiration

This photo made me think of a theological debate I had when I was six or seven. A neighbor kid at my grandpa's cottage used to come over and we'd swing. We were like pen pals without the pens. We'd see each other once or twice a year. I don't think I even knew his name. One time he told me that Battle Ram (from HeMan) could take God. I told him he was wrong. He didn't relent. I told him I had to go and left. He probably kept swinging. He said he did nearly every day with or without permission. My mixed-up, rebel pen pal.

In grade school I was in love with a girl named Maxie. I carved B + M in my friend Matt's tree. Matt's dad saw it that week while mowing the lawn. He yelled at Matt for carving into their tree with his friend Brad. Matt then yelled at me for carving our initials into his tree because his dad got, "totally pissed." I didn't tell him who the M was really for. It was nice sharing the conviction with a buddy. Sorry, Matt. And sorry if your dad thought we were gay.

This image jogged a memory of my dad taking us to get ice cream. It was the magic hour in late summer. A perfect ending to an ordinarily perfect day. I sat in the back seat with my friend and his sister enjoying our frozen trophies. I looked over to see that my friends didn't know how to eat ice cream. Their parents were born in another country where ice cream must not be a part of growing up. It was melting down their hands, moving towards their elbows like a sugary glacier. I looked at my dad in the rear view. We were both shocked and struggled to find the words to prevent a sticky disaster. I remembered being surprised that they were so bad at ice creaming. I wonder if they were equally surprised by how fondly I talked of such a messy treat earlier in the day.

This photo made me wonder what the dogs are saying to each other.


"ALRIGHT! Quit yelling."



"I'm Matt Flowers. Stop being so dramatic."

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Ray Ray

Saw Mr. Lamontagne at the Taft Theater on Saturday. He was outstanding. So much voice/soul/passion comes out of this small, bearded, meek man. "Three More Days" is one of my favorite songs of his. I think it'd be a great Easter/Resurrection song. Take a look/listen. Your life will be better with more Ray in it. I speak from personal experience.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Friday, April 17, 2009

The Real Karate Kid

This is for you, Brenty.


The past few days I've seen a handful of examples of just how different people's tastes are. Some people love anything meringue but hate jello pudding pops and will expound on their atrocities. Some folks live for NASCAR but would rather die than watch horses make left turns. Some folks hang on Larry King's every word while others would rather choke themselves with suspenders. Some like Gilly while others like Jim Belushi situational comedies.

Here's what I'm thinking this morning. I need to do a better job respecting other people's tastes. Sometimes I feel the need to point out that I think their tastes are wrong. Or argue. Or make fun. And maybe there's a time and place for that friendly banter. But sometimes I can take it too far with little jokes that are meant to be "good fun" but end up being hurtful or insulting. Like yesterday when I made a "friendly" jab at a friend for a matter of taste. It served no purpose. I was just being negative and I had to spend the morning apologizing for being a jerk. That's stupid. And pointless. The reality is you can't really change someone's tastes. Nor should you want to. It's like hoping to turn the ocean yellow by peeing in it.

So what I'm saying is I'm going to try and stop peeing on you. I'm going to still haggle with you (especially you, Fuller) over taste-related issues. But I want to come at it from a place of respect. I don't want to be the consummate voice of negativity. Nobody likes that voice. It's like a loud, wet blanket. It all goes back to what we learned in kindergarten doesn't it? If you don't have anything nice to say....

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Humanity at its peak

Hands down, this is THE most inspiring moment in the history of the world.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

A Gift Rap to the world

Gillyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy #2

Steve and have talked at great lengths about ole' Gilly and we both agree that it might be the greatest sketch ever created on SNL.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Breakdancing Bear

Every now and again my resolve to fear bears is shaken. Seeing one breakdance to one of my favorite groups is one of those moments.

Open Letter

Dear people who wait with me in Dr. office waiting rooms,

I have a few requests:

Bro, You should change out of your sweats and put on real pants before leaving your house. You respect yourself, right? You didn't accidentally show up in the middle of a jog, right? Even Rocky wouldn't rock sweatpants to the doctor. The only excuse I can think of is that you have a horrible rash that itches if anything touches your skin and the only pants you're comfortable lining/coating with balm are your stained, gray sweats.

Young dude, I don't care about your gameboy. I don't want to hear the play-by-play of your sweet baseball game. I don't want to hear you insult the digital pitcher. Put on some headphones and talk trash to yourself- inaudibly. I also have a problem with the fact that you're SUPER into your game but you keep asking your brother what things like ERA and OBP mean.

Sweatpants guy, if your baby is wailing you should know by now that it wants a bottle. You know other random things about him that you shared with us. Seems like you should have the bottle thing down by this point. Taking 15 minutes to remember that almost seems like abuse. I also don't enjoy you chiming in the crying chorus with baby talk.

Old lady, young dude, sweatpants guy, discussing your opinions about the front office decisions made by our local professional sports teams seems pointless. Especially when one of you think sweatpants are appropriate. If you want to complain about Dusty Baker do it at home with your friends and family. They may even be alright with the sweats.


Bitter Diabetic

Sunday, April 12, 2009


My sister-in-law Dr. Jessica asked for photos of my birthday. I didn't take any. I was too busy playing with all my new gifts. So I just now took a few pics so you can see all my sweet loot. Leah didn't get me anything so there's no photos of her gifts. I asked for a platter of sour candy. I was told that's ridiculous.

Chris got me a niiiiiice bottle of scotch. He's now in my will. He gets all my gold bullion and war bonds.

Jboogie got me priceless, mint condition baseball cards. He might as well have given me a new pancreas and/or rollercoaster.

Justin (or DreamMaker as I now call him) got me TWO pocket knives. They both have camo handles. The tiny one is for killing anything that's tiny and rabid. The big one is for shredding badgers and anyone who fronts. Justin also got me a Twilight poster with Edward the vampire on it. He was going to open the poster and then slice it with the knife revealing my real gift- the knives. The poster was too curly to stay open so his amazing plan didn't work. I'm not able to take a picture of the poster because Leah immediately hung it over our bed.

I'm now 30 years old. Look out world. I'm about to tackle your ass. I got scotch, Chris Sabo and camo-covered death weapons to go along with three decades of rad living.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Natural vs. Unnatural

We spent the day shooting a video for Easter. We were in three locations with five people "on set." Location One was an all american subdivision in southern Dayton. Location Two was inside a Nissan. Location Three was CVG (Cincinati/Northern KY International Aiport). The five people were Isaac (producer, camera man, assistant director, guy who made everything happen), Ben (actor), Chris (actor), Chase (Chris' son on kindergarten spring break), and Me (ballbusting battleAX). I spent the day noticing the differences between "the natural" and "the unnatural."

The Unnatural:

It freaking snowed. We were shooting outside in a garage expecting a lovely spring day. It ain't natural to snow in April.

The amount of noise pollution in this SoDay neighborhood was epic this Tuesday morning. Chainsaws, dump trucks, cement trucks, giant drilling machines, circular saws all joined with the snow to really screw things up. Enormous holes were cut into the street one house down from where we were by construction crews to turn the neighborhood's water off. A man somehow made a geyser of water spray out of the neighbor's front yard for ten minutes. FedEx trucks drove by 30mph in second gear. Every neighbor who owned a car drove by. Even this weird vent thing across the street on someone's garage was making crazy clicking noises when the gale force winds hit it just right. And just when things quieted down a beagle named Charlie started barking. The number of things that made noise in that small time frame was uncanny and unnatural.

Guerilla filmmaking at airports feels unnatural. I was ready to get arrested the entire time. You don't realize how many airport police there are until you're trying to avoid them. I felt like we were hiding dirty bombs from Jack Bauer. Uneasy and unnatural.

Making sure you don't say things a kindergartner shouldn't hear. Not that I'm super profane. You just always have to have that filter on. That doesn't come natural.

The Natural:

Chris and Ben act/perform like they've been professionals for years. They're flat-out naturals. They get it. It comes easy. It's sweet to watch.

Isaac is always thinking four to twelve steps ahead. He was made to produce video. He makes things happen as naturally as Tiger swings a golf club. When security stopped us (one shot away from finishing) at CVG, Isaac told him that we got clearance from Barb in PR. Who knows what could've happened if Isaac didn't do the pre-work and then think on his feet when that chubby Jack Bauer rolled up. Instead of getting locked up we got the OK to finish because ole' Isaac is a natural.

Chris is an unbelievable dad. He's taking vacation time to be with his vacationing son. It's inspiring to watch these two interact. After a day that was probably pretty boring for Chase and pretty taxing for Chris, they both got out of the car and immediately started wrestling each other. I hope to be as naturally good at fatherhood as young Christopher.

Being a part of four adults doing something they enjoy and are naturally good at is just a heck of a good way to spend a day. Even a snowy, noisy day.

Monday, April 6, 2009


Friday, April 3, 2009

Champ Champion

As I defied all the odds and neared the finish line, a little girl came out of nowhere with a rebel force of victory on her mind. She gave it everything she had to try and overtake me. But because I'm a winner I gave even more of everything I had which is more because I'm a grown man. It's simple physics. And despite all the obstacles, I held her off. I won. Maybe not the big victory (that monopoly is the Kenyans'), but the tiny victory against this sneaky little firecracker. I beat her and got the medal to prove it. I am a champion.

I also conquered a heinous opponent called Toilet-Install. I'd rather run a marathon in acid sleet than install another. I would like to announce my retirement from plumbing. Don't expect to ever see me come back wearing #45. It's over. Forever.

Thursday, April 2, 2009


Last night I failed badly at installing a toilet. One problem led to another. Frustration kept snowballing. So, I am forced to deliver a carte blanche condemnation of plumbing. Nothing makes me feel more worthless than home improvement projects. I can't wait for round two tonight. Some expensive good news I guess is that I keep amassing more and more tools. And you should be proud of me, I keep walking past the aisle of pocket knives. Those silver beauties keep calling my name like beautiful sirens beckoning lonely sailors. I've resisted so far. But this journey-weary sailor is only so strong...

All this plumbing nonsense/stress forced me to remember my trip to Nigeria where these dudes spent days digging a latrene. So, by the end of the night, as I watched Lost with a glass of Funky Llama shiraz, I stopped pouting. Half because of the wine and half because I remembered helping those guys dig. And that sucked. Like real bad. My plight is a urinal cake walk compared to latrene digging. (In case you don't know what a latrene is, it's a giant hole you crap in. aka Toledo.)

They dig these things 12 feet deep.
(ps, that Tailspin the musical stuff was april fools nonsense. sorry to anyone who bought tickets to boston or nyc yesterday)

Wednesday, April 1, 2009


Do you remember Talespin? I'm pretty sure it used to play back to back with Ducktales. That was a power-packed hour. Turns out John Goodman, of Roseanne fame, was also a fan. (I knew I liked that guy.) He's going to play Baloo in the new musical version. It opens in Boston and if things go well...the bright lights of Broadway. Road trip to NYC anyone? If Johnathan Taylor Thomas plays Kit Cloudkicker I could die and go to heaven.