The Eyes Have It - Time On My Hands

By Steve Bussiere

---

I was thinking, which isn't a very good thing for me to do at times, about the last column. It's not an ego thing, but I was at the infamous Woodlands, Outdoor Garage Sale and Massacree, a couple of weeks ago, and in a fit of culture, I purchased a Print of a picture somebody had.

Had is the key word here, cause now it's mine all mine!!

And then, as I rode down the highway the other morning, I realized the danged thing was naked!

Unframed!

Unloved.

Naked to the world. Well just picture that.

So being the sensitive, new millennium type of guy I have become, I decided to buy it, it's very own frame, and give it it's very own place of honor on the wall of my humble and here too for, bachelor pad.

Look, I'll be honest, a home decorating genius I will never be. That would be a serious problem, if I had anything remotely resembling good taste.

Let's face it; I just ain't a haute couture kind of guy. Whatever haute couture is.

I'm not even sure I can spell the word correctly, so it doesn't matter that I'm not sure what it means.

But I'm wandering aimlessly here dear readers. As I was saying, I needed to find a frame for my priceless piece of art.

As I was cruising down the Inter State, I spotted a craft store. Thinking that that was how I originally found Texas, and that worked out pretty well for me, I pulled off the highway and headed in to the store.

There is nothing more ridiculous than a left handed writer, with slightly less than no experience in things artistic and crafty, entering an establishment of that ilk.

But we're talking about me here, so I ignored my own good sense and boldly entered where no man in his right mind ought to.

I really should have known better, but I did it anyway.

Those of you of the female persuasion who are reading this know full well that I had entered no man's land.

For you males, let this be a warning to you, and learn from my folly.

If you ever get the urge to enter one of these establishments, take a pass on it and get as far away as you possibly can.

They have a lot of stuff in these places, designed to confuse men.

They have stuff in them, which I am certain is only placed there to keep the men out, because they have absolutely no value for us.

The women know this, and they never would consider purchasing any of it. It is the first line of defense against our attempts to trespass into their peaceful territory.

Oh it's true they have a few men working in them, but I figured out that that is a ruse as well, designed to place a sense of false confidence in the unsuspecting male who dares to cross the line.

I walked deeper into the bowels of this place, wondering where the heck Clark, Alton Rich and the other single guys who attempt to decorate were when I needed them for support.

They had so much merchandise in there that I wandered like a zombie through the place, not daring to look too much for fear of confusing myself even more.

They hide the picture frames at the very back of the store, and as I wandered deeper into "Never Never Land" the panic feelings grew stronger with each step I took.

But I finally arrived at the frame section.

Did you know that if you are going to buy a picture frame, rule number one is you need to know what the picture dimensions are?

Neither did I!

I'd know better next time, but there is never going to be a next time, and you can take that to the bank!

Sometimes when making a decision, you have to take an educated guess. The print I had purchase was big, so I looked around and finally found the largest frame in the store. So I bravely grabbed it off the shelf and went back to the check out counter.

Finally I arrived at the cash and when the clerk looked up, it was a woman I knew. "What are you doing in here Steve?" she asked me.

"I bought a print and needed a frame for it."

"Oh, for your bachelor pad, huh?"

"Yeah, such as it is. You know, decorated in early depression motif. I'm trying to spruce it up."

There were several ladies in the line behind me, who apparently felt sorry for me and began to offer decorating advice designed to confuse me.

One very nice lady pointed at some flower arrangements. "You should get one of those for your place. That one there is really nice. And it half off today."

Dena the clerk jumped into the fray. "Yes, you should get it Steve."

"I don't do flowers. I'll over water them and kill them anyway. Besides, something that nice will make the rest of my stuff look even crappier than it already looks."

The very thoughtful lady who had pointed out the arrangement said, "They're not real. You don't need to water them." And she smiled condescendingly at me.

My jaw dropped.

They sure looked real to this uneducated eye.

"You mean… they have man proof plants now?"

They all started giggling at me.

Dena looked up from the register, "Of course they do Steve. Even you couldn't kill one of them."

"What do you have to do to them?" I wondered aloud.

"Oh, all you have to do is dust them once in a while." another lady in the line offered.

A let go with a relieved sigh, "Ok that settles it. No way I'm getting one of them. I don't do dusting. It's a bachelor pad."

I looked at Dena, took my bill, picked up my frame, and headed for the door as quickly as my scrawny legs could get me there.

"Thank you for the help ladies." I said and turned to the door and the safe and secure real world outside.

As I headed for my car I sang softly to myself.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to funky, I ain't no artsy, craftsy junkie."

Decorate My Life - Time On My Hands

By Steve Bussiere

---

In my so called life, I have been involved in more ridiculous conversations than I dare to even begin to recall. But I believe I may have hit the penultimate one just last week.

The square table, with my buddies, is a safe haven, but at times I get reckless and begin to roam. Not a bad thing, normally. One must expand one's horizons from time to time, while in search of world peace, or at the very least, a modicum of sanity.

That was my mistake. I shall try to learn from it and hold it in my heart in the future.

Being an explorer is an exciting thing, because you are never quite certain when you are about to fall off the edge of the earth. So, like a fool, I pushed it.

"Clark's Corner", "Dusty Cox proprietor". The edge of the earth. Or at least as close as this boy will ever get to it.

If you have grammar check on your computer, try typing in what I just did. Scary stuff dear readers. Jeez, it did the green line again.

Let me see now, where was I before we got side tracked? Oh. Yes, Clark's corner. Where the girls are, …occasionally.

Well, upon my arrival in that sacred ground, who should I come across but Clark! And Alton! And Pete. And Rich. And a bunch of other single guys with seemingly no purpose in life other than to laugh.

We began chatting, and somehow the conversation turned to home decorating. It was likely started by one of the occasional girls that drop by to make sure we took our vitamins in the morning. They are all so maternal and caring and they know that we are useless Troggledites who deserve to live alone.

One of these caring young ladies spoke up. "So what is your theory on decorating Clark?"

"Decorting what?" Clark asked.

Clark is one sharp cookie and is not one to jump into a commitment without knowing the ramifications of his actions.

"Your home, what else would I be talking about?"

"Well, I don't know, you may have a bakery or something along those lines."

"Answer the question Clark. I'm curious." She continued.

Clark is not one to dive into anything before giving it a lot of thought.

There was a pregnant pause, before he replied.

"My credo has always been, always be sure that your carpet color matches the color of the adult beverage of your choice. And after that, do all of the rest of the decorating to match the carpet color."

I was astounded!!!

That was, upon reflection, probably the most sage decorating theory I have ever heard in my adult, or any other kind of life!.

I always knew that Clark held genius inside of him, but now, at long last he was sharing.

Sharing is a chick thing, and we were talking about chick stuff, so I guess he was caught up in the spirit of it all or something. Then she looked over at Rich. "Well what about you Rich? What is your perspective?"

"Oh, well I just find a girl to do it, and if it's screwed up, it's her fault, not mine."

Now I was in awe. Here I stood at Clark's corner, right in the Mensa neighborhood! These guys were brilliant!!!! I mean, who would have suspected.

Pete was next in the barrel. "What about you Pete?"

"I don't decorate." He responded. "I get buddy passes and fly women down here and I let them have a free rein. Then I just buy them dinner and a return pass back home."

So much wisdom!!!!

Such a little corner!!!!

I looked at the young lady, trying to be as inconspicuous a possible, and watched as she wrote down her notes.

"Alton." She said, "What about you?"

Alton just smiled. Alton always just smiles. Alton is the head Mensa guy.

His pause was even more pregnant than Clark's had been.

Of course Alton is a touch older than Clark, and all of the rest of us, and longevity breeds patience. So he was patiently, pregnant pausing, for a very long time.

"Maryilynn of course."

She looked up from her notebook. "Marilynn? She asked quizzically.

"Yeah," he replied "I decorate my place with pictures of Marilynn Monroe. Everybody knows that!"

"Why on earth would you do that?" she wondered aloud.

"Cause the guys all come over and after they see her, they don't notice anything else."

I had never realized that people I knew had put so much effort into decorating. It was a real epiphany.

"The Epiphany of Clark's Corner".

A sacred moment in my life!

I stood there, completely dumbfounded.

Well, at least until she turned to me.

"Steve?"

"Present." I answered,

"How about you? What's your spin on decorating? You know, you're swinging batchelor place."

"Sugar Plum Fairies!!" I thought to myself.

"Well," I had hesitated, trying to regroup myself, " I did my place in Early Depression."

"What the heck is Early Depression? " she wanted to know.

"Well. Basically, I have what I need to survive in there, not what some chick wants me to have."

"Really! How's it working?" she asked.

"Pretty well." I replied.

"How?" she wanted to know.

"Well, I get home, have a beer and if it's too ugly, …. I just take an anti depressant."

She just shook her head and walked away from the corner,

I can't figure out what I said wrong.