City Pixel

2006-12-27T06:37:00.000-08:00

The catapulting springs slingshot me up two rickety steps, through a front door that doesn’t latch and an obstacle course of boxes in the living room. I come to rest at the cabinet/shelves I built to replace the kitchen bar I’d torn down. This is the loudest ding; the highest pitch of vibrations: Another coat of paint; doors on the cabinets below.
If I can’t idle the chimes with stillness, I’ll drown them out with movement. There’s no need to pause, or look, or plan; just open the paint can and go. It feels good, this quickness with which I’m at work and the certainty of progress. These are things I’m no longer familiar with – certainty and progress. They surely didn’t exist when I began the cabinet. I was an amateur craftsman with an empty space to fill. There were false starts and necessary stops – measure and cut; rethink, remeasure, recut. There was also pressure to produce. I got myself into that mess, too.

“What’re we gonna’ do here?” I asked my wife, and waved a hand at the bar, which served as little more than an unsightly divider between kitchen and dining room.
“What do you mean?” she answered. I detected damage-control antennae coming out of her head.
“Well, we need more cabinet space, don’t we?”
“Yes, but shouldn’t we have water first?” She tried diversionary tactics.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll fix the water. What I’m thinking is, we can put a little knickknack shelf here.” I moved my hand up and down between the two turned columns that went from the top of the bar to the ceiling. “Then, I’ll put some plywood here.” I held an imaginary piece of plywood on top of the bar with both hands. “We can put little shelves on the dining room side, and cabinets on the kitchen side.”
“I have to finish painting the hall,” she said, and walked away. She was in denial.
This went on for a week as we worked on the house, preparing it to move into. I’d stop her and say, “OK, how about this?” Then I’d walk around the bar, pointing here and there, trying to give my new idea shape and dimensions. I don’t think she ever saw it.
Finally, the time came. It was late one night and she was tired, her defenses weakened. There were two weeks left before we were supposed to move in, and I called her into the kitchen. I put my hands on her shoulders and broke the news as if I was telling her I had to go into the hospital for some tests.
“We have to decide what we’re going to do here. Very soon, we’ll be marching in here with boxes, and unless you just want to stack dishes on top of this bar, we need to talk about it.”
“OK, but something simple will be fine.”
“I’m all for simple,” I assured. “But before we can see what simple is, all this trim has to come off. It’s cheap, it’s plastic, it’s ugly, and it’s in the way.”
“OK. Take it off,” she said, and slid a bucket into a neutral corner to sit and watch. I produced a wrecking bar and quickly dispensed with the trim.
“Now, this padding.” I put my hand on the vinyl-covered foam rubber that covered the corners of the counter-top and looked at my wife.
“Do it.”
With an almost vengeful release, I dispatched the pads. I opened the dining room window and tossed them into the darkness.
“All right, what do you think we ought to do?” I asked.
“How about some shelves on top?” she suggested.
“Yeah, I think you’re right. But what about down here?” I asked, opening the cabinet doors beneath.
“How about some shelves on bottom?”
“Yeah, that’ll be good. Just plain, open shelves, right?” I nodded at her expectantly. She shrugged and nodded.
“So we don’t need any of this,” I said, and hooked the wrecking bar on the one-by-two facing that framed the doors. With a few pries, a couple of jerks, and one well-placed swing, the facing was gone, doors and all. I tossed the entire mess out the window and listened as it crashed to the ground. I had tasted blood.
“This rotten piece of particle board is outta’ here, too,” I said, and it was – out the window.
“And do you see this?” I wasn’t waiting for an answer. “Nobody should have to put up with this.” Another piece of offensive – and defenseless – mobile home carpentry cracked and crashed. I felt large.
“This will be easier to do when this is outta’ my way.” I continued without looking at my wife, bringing the wrecking bar over my head, then down onto the counter-top – once, twice, three times – out the window. All that remained was the end of the bar, nice and square, with turned columns extending to the ceiling.
“Would you like to keep these?” I was out of breath and my wife was wide-eyed.
“No,” she answered.
“Are you sure? I mean, if you’d like to me to craft some kind of ornate something-or-other here, I’d be glad to leave these.”
“Whatever you think.”
Out the window.
“Now, this is starting to look up.” I spread my arms to welcome the empty space.
Sherry got up smiling and put and arm around my waist. “Let’s go home...just leave the wrecking bar here.”

2006-12-09T09:26:00.000-08:00

Twisting

Randal J. Brewer

Chapter 1

The morning is cool, and a light breeze fragments the morning sun’s reflection on the pond into a thousand bobbing orange splotches. This is Texas, though, so very soon, breeze and pond be damned, there will be no fragmenting of the sun – only the multiplication of its heat. What are the terms – Indian summer, dog days of summer? What does that mean, anyway, the dog days of summer? The only thing my dog ever did during the heat of August was dig a hole and lie in it.
I’m too smart for that. The clock is ticking, and I can’t wait for September. Invisible cogs are ratcheting the sun up and over the edge of the world, just as cogs are turning me in a circle atop this perch, a large rock near the pond. Another set of cogs are pushing the rock, season by season, up and out of the ground. I’m the second hand to the sun’s hour hand and the rock’s calendar.

And there are chimes. Every minute there’s a ding in my ear, followed by a reminder of something I’m not getting done. Ding: Grass needs mowing. Ding: Shelves need building. Ding: Must fix leak. I concede to the ringing in my ears and take inventory while ticking in a circle:
(Ding, eleven o’clock) The pond dam to my left is overgrown. Trees, weeds, and thorny vines make the high ground impassable. I imagine a landscaped bank; cut green grass and sculpted trees. Perhaps this winter when branches are bare and the snakes are hibernating, I’ll have time to forge around the dam to the other side of the pond. That’s where the water spills after a heavy rain and the grass is all waist-high.
(Ding, one o clock) I wonder how many acres are mine to mow. There are probably seven or eight inside my fence. I’ll have to talk to Bill about using the tractor.
(Ding, three o’clock) Speaking of tractors, the safari trail of a road we live on needs a lots of work. There’s a dip near the gate that might swallow my wife’s car after a good rain. That’s if she makes it up the hill and doesn’t slide into the ditch because the rock is so thin. We also need a culvert where the road widens into a driveway. Let’s see...twenty feet of culvert, two or three loads of rock...Demands for my time are one thing, demands for money are ridiculous.
(Ding, eight o’ clock) My circle brings me to the house. Dingdingdingdingding. Our new home is a half-remodeled mobile home that has set empty for two years. We hope it will be a nice place one day, but there is an overwhelming course to be run between today and “one day.”
That’s why I’m not at work. I want to do something that will cause my wife to believe this might wind up being home. I want to accomplish something that might cause me to believe. I know, however, that I’m beaten before I even begin. There’s not enough time to paint all the walls, or fix all the shelves, or unpack all the boxes that are filled with things I have no place to put. There’s not enough time, or money, to fix the air conditioner, pump out the septic tank, replace the kitchen floor, or tame the wilderness we’re calling a yard.

I close my eyes and let my head fall. I feel like the small child that puts it’s hands over it’s eyes and says, “You can’t see me.” I try to make my mind a blank, to still the second hand so that the hour hand will also stop. But it doesn’t. I can feel it coming up behind me, getting warmer on my neck. The persistence of the hour hand causes tension, and instead of chimes and dings I hear a cartoonish, metallic stretching and compressing of springs that makes my teeth itch. I start to suck on them with my tongue but it’s too late. The springs release and catapult me off the rock and toward the house.

I have my own metaphor for August: two-a-days summer. The hottest month of the year is also the month that football begins in Texas. One hundred degrees, dressed in armor, head wrapped in foam rubber and hard plastic, and I would be running. Running and flinging myself into others at full speed. I would do this for two and a half hours, twice a day, for two weeks –two-a-days summer.
It feels as if I’ve returned. More than thirteen years since I last strapped myself into shoulder pads, yet the moment feels the same, with a kind of dread that says, “I can’t believe I’m here and the end is so far over there.” I wish for a fast-forward button. I want to look back on these days fondly, not actually live through them.
And why did I? Live through them, that is. For the love of the game? Why did I love it? I think back to the start - to my brother and me in the front yard - and me dodging him and calling a penalty because he grabbed the collar of my shirt to pull me down. I think of bigger football games in the front yard, and of running in to the poles of the front porch, and being pushed into the holly bushes beneath my window, or being caught neck-high by the (guy) wires from the telephone pole on a crossing pattern. The street was one end zone; Mrs. Lindsey's driveway was the other.
I think about playing two-below while we were waiting for the bus. Stonegate was one end zone, and our driveway was the other, street curbs were out of bounds, four plays to score, no first downs. We played Tackle The Man With Ball, where we'd throw the ball into the air, and everybody pounced on whoever caught it; and we played Fumbilitis, where instead of throwing the ball in the air, when you were caught, you fumbled on purpose. We played horseback football, where every player was really two - the horse and the back.
And if there was no one else to play, I played by myself. I was the announcer, the coach, the offense, the defense, and the cheering crowd. I always won those games.
I remember the first year of Pee Wee League, when I was so little I couldn't get into a game, but when I finally did, I scored a touchdown on the first play. It was a toss sweep to the right and I can still see the winding river opening up in front of me, with banks of blurry red and blue jerseys. The river curved left, to the middle of the field, then back to the right, before emptying into a sea of green.
The next year, we were undefeated going into the last game of the year, but lost to the Panthers, 8-6, forcing a championship. We tied 12-12, and tied on penetrations, but they had 12 first downs, and we had 11. They got the trophy. We went to the Dairy Queen after the game, and I couldn't figure out what we were celebrating.
There are differences between today and the two-a-days of thirteen years ago. Thirteen years ago the season was just beginning. The chance and hope for glory still lay ahead, and optimism fueled me. Hope and optimism that was born in my front yard, and fed in Pee Wee league, and grew up in the eighth grade when we ran the perfect punt return.
Practicing punt returns are a little like practicing CPR. You don't think you're really ever going to use it, because the precise combination of circumstances needed rarely come into alignment. For one thing, the other team has to cooperate by kicking the ball to the right spot, and the players rushing downfield have to do so in a predictable fashion.
So I was often guilty of practicing punt returns by going through the motions. It was usually the last thing we did before practice was over, and I was thinking about what was happening after practice. And I lined up in the game for the return, probably thinking about being on offense when the punt was downed. I was going through the motions, running back toward our return man while the ball was in the air, and turning toward the sideline when he caught it, and suddenly, I was "in the zone".
I didn't know what that was at the time, but in later years I would hear athletes describe a moment, or a game, when they could do nothing wrong - when everything else seemed to slow down and they almost know what's going to happen before it does. When I turned toward the sideline, and saw my teammates - in a line, spaced about five yards apart, forming a tunnel for the return man to run behind - and I saw the other team's contain man entering the tunnel form one end; and the return man entering from the other end - everything slowed down. I started laughing around my mouth piece as I sprinted toward the wall. The contain man was breaking down into position for a tackle when I sent him flying into our bench. The return man cut off my block and sprinted, untouched, to the end zone, while our sideline did the tribal victory dance of lifted right fist, and jumping around the human sacrifice.
Today, it seems, I am the human sacrifice. I am looking up into the faces of the victors who celebrate. The season is already over and I’ve been severely beaten. These are post-season-I-got-my-butt-kicked, two-a-days.

2006-11-28T14:16:00.000-08:00

"Consider how the lilies grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.

When I was in my late twenties, I started a record company to record the best band I ever heard. Twisting is the story of the aftermath of what turned out to be another in a lifelong series of twists and spins to live the abundant life.

Twisting was first written over twelve years ago. After near representation by a literary agency, the manuscript was set on a shelf while I pursued my own musical aspirations, instead of the aspirations of others. After recently taking a job as a sports writer, my attention has returned to writing, and to the rewrite of Twisting. These postings will come as each section has been re-written.

2006-11-27T14:26:00.000-08:00

In an effort to bring serious return traffic to the www.citypixel.org family of sites, we are changing the blog to something unique, thought provoking and fun. Beginning December 1, 2006 or so we will serially publish pieces of a manuscript to its totality. Our first piece is an effort from author Randal Brewer titled, "Twisting".
To submit your transcript, send an e-mail to us at support@citypixel.org and tell us a little about yourself including your interests, family and tastes regarding literature but please do not send us your piece right away. We certainly enjoy all types and would like to hear from you. The next entry to this blog will be directly from Randal and will include biographical information about him.
Finally, it looks like our friends at www.citypixel.com have paid us a visit. I appreciate the blog comment and gladly post their web address here as their is plenty of internet pie for everyone. Anyway, we appreciate all traffic to this site and hope they have success. Please come back guys and have a look around. As usual thanks from yours truly, Jack Pack.

Remember www.citypixel.org is a site where you can billboard your website for as little as $100 for 3 years. Don't pay for clicks! Pay a one time fee and watch your internet business grow! City Pixel currently owns the following sites www.FortWorthpixelpage.org www.Dallaspixelpage.org www.Houstonpixelpage.org www.SanAntoniopixelpage.org and www.Austinpixelpage.org

2006-11-02T14:40:00.000-08:00

The improvements to the www.citypixel.org family of websites is moving slowly forward, but moving forward just the same. I am meeting with Randall to discuss a webmercial and other ways to promote the sites in the early afternoon. If our readers have any ideas, please submit them and we will give credit where credit is due, especially if we use the idea. In the meantime, keep your eyes on www.citypixel.org.

2006-10-10T11:47:00.000-07:00

As you can see our sites are in the process of being transformed into a more content rich source. The guys at Chakery are have a done a great job from a technical and creative standpoint. I am happy to have them working with us. On a personal note, we are excited about our marketing plan. We now have a basic my space account and that address is www.myspace.com/citypixel Not much there now, but there soon will be.
There will certainly be more to come & soon as we here at www.citypixel.org are excited about the prospect of creating a destination where the user and advertiser can come together in a safe, inexpensive and fun environment. Thanks so much for those of you who continue to support our site!
Jack Pack

Remember www.citypixel.org is a site where you can billboard your website for as little as $100 for 3 years. Don't pay for clicks! Pay a one time fee and watch your internet business grow! City Pixel currently owns the following sites www.FortWorthpixelpage.org www.Dallaspixelpage.org www.Houstonpixelpage.org www.SanAntoniopixelpage.org and www.Austinpixelpage.org

2006-10-07T08:04:00.000-07:00

The weather is nice and the kids are playing and performing on Friday nights again, how wonderful. I left one game early last night only to pass by another last night. The lights, crowd and atmosphere were almost magical. I had the windows down and really enjoyed the nice Texas air.

2006-09-26T14:25:00.000-07:00

It has been a while since my last blog. At this point I would assume there are about 4 people, all of who are related to me, that are disappointed by my lack of activity here. We here at www.citypixel.org have been working hard to familiarize the typical internet advertiser with our site.
Today however, I have a few thoughts about integrity in business. Recently there has an uproar regarding the business of paying for clicks. Although paying for clicks might be effective, it is a risky affair. A recent Business Week article detailed one business owners struggle to maintain his company, verify his click billing as correct and argue his bills if he feels he has been overcharged.
My first thought is that the practice is not equitable and I am not sure it can ever be reasonably so. An example being the customer receives a bill for a click and in the best of circumstances the person that clicked went to the customer site and became a client or purchaser. How often do you think this really happens?
I would be inclined to believe the typical browser clicks on something that gets in their way, like a pop-up or a maybe an ad that looks cool but then does nothing more. I consider myself to be an average consumer and I do make purchses on the internet. Usually though, I seek out a specific product through the company web site. The issue for me is actually finding that companies web site.
More later.

Remember www.citypixel.org is a site where you can billboard your website for as little as $100 for 3 years. Don't pay for clicks! Pay a one time fee and watch your internet business grow! City Pixel currently owns the following sites www.FortWorthpixelpage.org www.Dallaspixelpage.org www.Houstonpixelpage.org www.SanAntoniopixelpage.org and www.Austinpixelpage.org

2006-07-25T13:42:00.000-07:00

Okay, so here we are at almost $3.00 a gallon for gas. Sorry to complain but I brought it up so that we could all remember a nicer, more simpler time when gas was less than $.50 a gallon. In my opinion, this is one of those summers we will all remember as one where national temperatures were above average and gas prices were increasing. I would like to know your thoughts about what has impacted you this year and how it will add to your rememberance of '06. Compare it to other summers, recent or not so recent.

The summer I got my first car was the most memorable for me. I was 16 and was expected to pay for my own. As a sophomore, I had 2 jobs so it was not a problem. I had visions of granduer too. I really wanted a new car, something sporty like a camaro or a mustang. I was sure a cool car would help me find a girlfriend. My dad, ever the pragmatist, helped me purchase a car from the son of friend of his for $500. The car was a metallic blue chevy something that had been abused by the son for several years and was in mediocre condition at best.

Now, to complicate matters the kid I bought the car from was a local drug dealer. I guess my father knew this because as soon as I got home, he handed me a ratchet set and told me to take out all the seats, carpet and anything on the iterior that could be removed or modified. It was late July of 1979 and I wanted to cruise the Sonic Drive-In, not work on the car I had just purchased. Man was I an unhappy camper.

Remember www.citypixel.org is a site where you can billboard your website for as little as $100 for 3 years. Don't pay for clicks! Pay a one time fee and watch your internet business grow! City Pixel currently owns the following sites www.FortWorthpixelpage.org www.Dallaspixelpage.org www.Houstonpixelpage.org www.SanAntoniopixelpage.org and www.Austinpixelpage.org

2006-07-24T12:51:00.000-07:00

I spent a nice weekend with my family. My wife and I had some alone time Saturday spending part of our time discussing movies. Her favorite director is Woody Allen. To those of you who have seen Sleeper, you know he can really cook when it comes to comedy. Although I do not always understand the attraction to his work, I love my wife and think it is cool that she enjoys something a little off beat.
As fall approaches we should expect the hot Texas days to end. Of course that means high school football games, dark skies at 6pm and dew on the morning grass is just around the corner. I really enjoy that time of the year. For a short time, every thing seems to move a little slower and people are more relaxed. So keep trudging through summer, relief is soon ahead.

2006-07-19T12:27:00.000-07:00

I would like this blog to be enjoyable, a respit from the everyday grind of your workplace. A spot where you come to think. I hope to discuss family, music, food, movies, books, relaxing with friends and especially the complexities of everyday life. Let's let everyone else discuss the controversy of politics, war, global warming, crime, federal budget and other issues that make my head hurt. Remember billboard your business at www.citypixel.org

2006-07-18T07:50:00.000-07:00

First blog today. July18, 2006. Texas. HOT! I grew up on a farm near a small Texas town in the 1960's and remember during the 70's we had 40 consecutive days where each day was over 100 degrees. I played outside everyday then, now I do not.