Monday, August 22, 2016
TAKE NO SHIT
We constantly are building, but from time to time you work on a piece that makes you feel good.
The bed build was great because we have always wanted to build a bed. Shit, I need a bed, Zack needs a bed, everyone seems to NEED a bed, but finally, someone put some cash in our hand and said "build me fuckin' bed!".
While our minds were building some of the craziest beds one would ever lay their big fat asses on, our client gave us some photos of what they desired. Even though we had a creative leash on, because the customer should get something in the realm of what THEY want as opposed to what WE dream up, it was fun as hell to make.
Now that our bed making cherry has been officially popped, hopefully there will be a long line of funky beds going out the door.
It's funny because as you watch the stain dry, you stare at this monster in the middle of the shop thinking of all the things you want to do on the next one.
The last photo are vintage suitcases turned into bottle service caddy's for a bar/night club in Chicago.
They first came to us about a year ago and had us turn a vintage piano into a DJ booth.
God bless Zack's fuckin' soul for having some magical gene in his DNA that enables him to master all things electrical and mechanical.
He spent countless hours soldering tiny wires to these LED strips and battery packs in order to make these things light up like the Ark of the Covenant in that Indiana Jones movie.
The customer had picked them up on Friday, and on Sunday morning I got a text from the owner saying that they needed 5 more.
My not so little guy starts first grade tomorrow.
First grade for kids is a pretty big milestone, for us parents, it's just another level of heart break.
When my son was a baby, all he did is cry and shit for the first year and a half of his existence.
Seasoned parents would always tell me "hold on to those moments when their babies, they grow up so fast."
Um, I never figured out which moments they were talking about. Was it the 12 hours of "moments" at a time where he'd basically scream in my face? Was it the moments of projectile vomit that would decorate my shirts? Was it the alarming amount of fecal matter that I would have to handle in any given 24 hour period?
The only reason I don't suppress those memories, is so that I can use them as a weapon. I often remind him how the day HIS hands are covered in MY shit, THEN and only then, does he get to call the shots.
I'll start my moment cherishing at the age of 2 and beyond.
At 2 he's walking and talking and discovering everything, and not to mention that at that age, I am a fucking GOD in his little eyes.
What I have done over the last 6 years is created another "ME".
Not so much the shitty parts of "me", but a more handsome, loving, caring and funny version of me.
The other day Max is sitting in his underwear playing a game and his mom is going on about how we didn't stay to see his cousin get his trophy for soccer, and how no one told us he was getting his trophy and how she felt horrible and so on and so on, and Max looks up from his game and says "a closed mouth doesn't get fed" and went right back to his crossy road game and completely shut down the tirade...just like his old man would.
Now...first grade. Shit gets real in first grade. He has a uniform now, no naps, a more diverse classroom. I'm going to be spending more time de-programming him from the things our society deems as an educational system.
There are many nights when Max will fall asleep in my arms and I will beg the gods and the universe to let my son stay 4 forever. The gods and the universe gently whisper in my ear "go fuck yourself...time waits for no one."
Leave it to the gods and the universe to state the obvious.
The last few years I have made an extremely conscious effort to REALLY enjoy my son. By doing so, it seems to have lightened the heart ache of a child, my child, my baby...growing up.
Off to school you go young man. Take no shit, question everything, and remember...yer old man has ALWAYS got yer back.