Look, its content, ya yipheads! I just made that up. It DOES sound derogatory, don't it?

There is no mention whatsoever of anything audio-visual and only one, extremely minor reference to sex. So stop reading now if you're looking for cheap thrills. Well, I got the cheap thing covered, so you can stay for that, if you like.
This is long----about three trips to the john, or one if you're "Evelyn Wood" competent or looking for hemorrhoids. I'm simply providing something to read for those who take your laptop or tablet to the toilet! I KNOW you're out there! Seriously, I would admit it. It would never occur to me to do it, but some of you have, right? Or texted while on the can?! Gross! So now I need to make up a word that sounds both derogatory and gross. I'll bet one of you has already Instajunked. Toilet Tweeters! That's it. Ewww! I'll bet Ian has never combined those two words. Back in the late 60's, you were the office dweebs who pulled down your pants and sat on the Xerox machine. (Really---Xerox! Silly kids! There weren't always choices! Where's Ray when I need back-up?) And ya didn't even Windex the glass, didja? Pigs! Around 1970 the glass became curved with a steep arc of almost 90 degrees for a piece only 12" wide. That made for infinitely more exacting assographs with a much broader depth-of-field.)

Saturday was my last day at one of these things that some of you have. I can't even say the word, as I've had to do it so infrequently and find it so distasteful. You know, that three-letter word that begins with "j?" Mark is among those here who does not have one. When not self-employed, I always held "positions," not the "j" thing. A job and a position are very different from each other, unless we're talking about sex, then not so much.

With the "p" thing, I've been free to re-invent the whole deal. As long as I made no big gaffs out of the gate, I was always pretty much allowed (encouraged, even) to be a megalomaniac; wear 13 hats and to re-invent the wheel at will. I always got the next position because of my compressed accomplishments (that's what 60-70 hour weeks get you), so the next institution's opportunity was usually handed to me without much fuss. I worked for it all, but still, I was very lucky. Then I became self -employed. I had 14 years of self-employment that was almost always on my terms. Then I thought I'd "come in from the cold" and do the j-thing.

Overnight, having to be at the same place at the same time every day, and doing exactly what someone else has set out for me to accomplish each day for the last 8 months was merely a babysitting operation--- to me, a j-thing. It's a j-thing when I don't get to decide when I come and go, make new decisions about lots of different things every day, and simultaneously try to beat out a deadline and undercut a budget. It's a j-thing when all of my efforts are to help somebody make a lot more money then I, especially if it's someone I have to say, "Good Morning" to. (Oh, eff the preposition!) Shit! That just made me sound like a decent (is that even possible?) bureaucrat! Or worse! A competitive bureaucrat. Ha! A new oxymoron!

Wait. I gotta go think this through and get back.
Bureaucrat?!!! Where's Towelie?

(Or maybe just turn down the AC/DC "Powerage" doin' about 99db?)

Nah! (OK, one outta two. Thanks, Towelie!)

Most of what I did was at non-profits; colleges, museums, public service organizations (PSO's), etc. I worked stupid hours and got crappy salaries, 'cause, well, that's just how it was. ("Hey, man, it's all about a cause." Well, "Hey, man, you never mentioned you had a huge trust fund.") When they say "non-profit," they really mean it, except for the director and development officer. The people directly responsible for "giving birth" to the things and getting them out there (THE reason the institution exists), need advanced degrees and yet are compensated terribly. We did it because of one thing---passion.

I (we) came of age in the late 60's. What was SO reinforced was "never sell out." Fill your head, your psyche first, not your wallet. (Nice work if you can get it. I remember a heated argument in grad school between two classmates during an open, department-wide critique of each student. One snarled, "Whattsa matter, socialism scare you?" The other yelled back, "You're just a socialist, because your entire (f'n) family can AFFORD to be!" We knew that his family did have a multi-home summer compound in Maine---for four generations. One point for the plebes.)

So my 8-month tenure as a full-time (+) color and paint guy for a local chain of Ben Moore stores (and being a store babysitter/paint jockey/re-stocker when my schedule allowed, or they had "needs," which were all too often) ended Saturday at 3:21. Color consultants in place at each of the other stores sent their "problem" clients to me, or worse yet, they came to me on their own after being dissatisfied (or pissed off) at one of the other locations. That part was fun (everyone left happy and laughing, no matter WHERE I had to go to get it). They would stop back just to say, "My sister-in-law went wild over it and I didn't tell her I had any help! You explained the "whats" AND the "whys," so I had all the answers when she asked. I had a blast. Thanks!" C'mon, who else can bring color and revenge together, when necessary?

Women (sometimes men, sometimes couples) would bring in everything from furniture legs to whole seat cushions; great Granma's quilt to a 2 x 3' slab of granite. Then the Ben Moore semi would pull into the parking lot, and I'd think, "Couldn't it have come tomorrow, when I'm NOT here? I'm too old and broken for this."

So, I no longer have a 10-hour-a-day j-thing, or any-thing, for that matter. At my age, it's like going from 90 to 35 m.p.h. Not going back to cabinet making or paining, either. Can't---too many unreliable and no longer fine-tunable parts; not my tools', mine! Nope, I'm heading into that pastureland called "consulting." (I already have some clients.) Some pro friends (comm. photog., printer, graphic designers (3), web designer---I'm really lucky) are doing new website site stuff for/with me gratis! I'm changing my name to Hugh (actually Hue) Chroma, (yeah, Color Color) and offering custom color consulting in a way that has never been offered before. Centuries, millennia old, even. But no one has thought to offer it yet. It was so stupid obvious, therefore well within my thoughts and mental capacities.

That was all back story as I've been leading up to the bad news FOR YOU, which is that, at least for a while, I will have time to bother people around here--on a regular basis---sometimes, real regular, like.


Someone has to give Murph a break. He's been a stalwart and I'm sure he's tired. Plus the asshole quotient around here has diminished considerably. We have some really steady new members who contribute regularly. They have been great additions to Axiomburgh (like TAM, Trevor, Matt, Blair, Richard, sorry if I couldn't recall everyone. I'm old. It's now a felony to strike me). Thanks, guys! However, none of them is an asshole (sigh!), so, now that I have the time....

Don't get me wrong! Please! There a quite a few potential assholes among the newer members, but it's gonna take time and nurturing. Fred either can't or won't make the time to help. Same goes for Peter, Ray, and JP. See, that's the problem with naming names. People feel left out. Sorry for not including everyone who qualifies as an asshole. (Of course, there are assholes (different kinds) who should be listed, but some assholes just don't wanna see their names in the same sentence as other assholes, so, it's all a very delicate balancing act, really---wouldn't wanna alienate anyone.) Mark and Murph aren't real assholes. (Well, Murph, anyway).Tom would have to take classes for a year just to make his first attempt. You can jump from or fly a plane solo in way less time. Chris (Lampy) is a great asshole, but only one-on one. He emails me really funny stuff and I tell him to post it and he welches every time. He's too decent in public print, poor guy. Ken's inconsistent, so he's too hard to pin down. He can be a supreme asshole, but sometimes, lately, I feel like he's been asleep at the wheel, ya know? They all just try to fill in when needed, but, let's face it, they're just not the assholes that Cam and I are, are they? (Yes, Cam, that means you've arrived. Congrats! You're welcome.) And speaking of assholes, has anyone seen hide or hair of

Oh, the title! Thanks to Ken for the "hand grenade" idea, ("Hey, Bob, nice hand grenade." Remember? Good, 'cause I don't). Teddy Bears and F-bombs are just for balance, to leave me options, to make it possible for me to include my softer side here as well. (Don't be fooled. Inside this icy exterior beats a heart of pure stone. I need to air it out now and then, you know, just for normal erosion.) It was the most important thing I learned in grad school. It cost me much inner turmoil, suffering, self-doubt, depression, chemotherapy, psychiatry, and two decades of student loan payments: ' Leave your options open and don't eat anything green before or at a public function.' There! I just gave everyone a free advanced Ivy League degree. BFD!

I saw a bumper sticker on a Jeep ahead of me on the highway last Wednesday. It had four pale, solid colors. One was the background color and three were different hued squares. On the upper left of the background it read: "I Believe In:" Below were the three different-hued squares. The first read : "Pro Life" and pictured a heart. The second square had a cruciform and it read: "Pro God." The third square read: "Pro Gun" and depicted a handgun, on axis, in profile. Kinda reminded me of out-in -the-Arizona-boonies "convenience" stores. The sign would have a name, like "Ted's," and underneath, all the same type-size lettering, would be listed: Cigarettes, Lottery, Liquor, Ammo. I always thought it'd be great to open one in the boonies of Nevada, so the sign could read: Cigarettes, Lottery, Liquor, Ammo, Whores. Oh, get off your holy outriggers! In business school that's just called "market segment capture."

It changes from time to time, that use of God and Gun simultaneously (purposeful cap on "Gun"). For a long while, our thoughts went straight to Al Queda. Then it was ISIS. A few months ago it was Boko Haruum. Now it's ISL, which used to be ISIS, so I'm confused. Maybe I've been out if it longer than I think. While I haven't been paying attention, have African-Americans or Native Americans changed what they want us to call them? Crap, I don't even know if gay people have changed their mind about that! And to what, More-Out-And-Less-Happy? MOALH doesn't really "ring," does it? Looks like an Old Testament name that's pronounced with hard, long "ch" sounds (starting BEFORE you get to the "M!").

Recently, that man who has been in every American movie made since 1976, Morgan Freeman, said that there was no longer any need for the word "homophobe," as we already have the word "asshole." I wish I could lay claim to that one. Laugh-Think-Laugh. Masterful. Though I prefer Cringe, Laugh, Think, Laugh, Cringe again. Ahh, yes, that masterstroke of 8th grade humor---holding the punch line until everyone is drinking---Sunshine Dairy through their noses. Still, as always, my ultimate goal. So, I'm here. Got milk?


Always call the place you live a house. When you're old, everyone else will call it a home.