Ty's 2009/Double-Aught Countdown!

Seriously? Please.

That stuff's lame as hell. Every day is just another day. The decade begins and ends today; every day. Quit frontin'!

For 2010, let's do this: push the envelope and boundaries and paradigms a little bit. Just a little to start, and we'll see where we go from there.

We're making art, people.

Top-ten this.

Woke Up Like This

Went to Bed Like This

A Visit to Grandpa's Emeritus Office

S-s-s-something from the Emailings

"I had a dream about you last night. You were working at an arts & crafts store. I was waiting for the store to open...not knowing that you worked there...then we talked talked and talked some more. Then you asked me if I'd like to go to a softball (baseball; not really sure which one) game and of course I obliged and then you asked me to come over for dinner, then my mom called and said that she was not feeling well and I needed to come and check on her. Your hair was an afro, and you had a toothpick in your mouth...after that it's a little fuzzy.

Then I woke up but went right back to dreaming (with you still in the dream) I just can't remember anymore. WOW! Please advise."


Your dreaming cousin, C.

This interesting note was sent to me by my "little cousin," C, whom I haven't seen in many, many years. I believe she was at my grandmother's funeral, but my memories from that event are very specific and fuzzy; a whirlwind of emotions and activity. I remember sitting between my grandmother's surviving sisters to offer comfort, having a big fight with my father, and my little half-brother being very sad and bolting from the service. That was almost 17 years ago. But it feels like yesterday.

My "little cousin" will be 38 in March...something like that. But she's still my little cousin. I remember her well. Her mother, her brother, her grandmother. It's all there.

One of the lasting memories of my "little cousin" was everybody freaking ass when it appeared that she polished off the remainder of a bottle of Clorox bleach, but that turned out to be a false emergency. I was around 8 then, so she must have been around 2 years-old. That was around the time when I shattered my arm in a bicycling accident. It was C's mom who first assisted me and drove us in her Monte Carlo to the hospital.

Family. I know I give short shrift to my family, but I do believe in family and that family plays a very important and significant role in all of our lives; good, bad, and indifferent. Family defines us.

I am a very lucky man. I am fortunate that I have persistent family members who still keep me within reach. They go out of their way to know where I am and how I'm doing. I've always been the difficult one. Not trouble or anything, but somewhat distant and always out and about, following my own path in the world. I've always been curious about the world and eagerly pursuant of all it offers. I do appreciate their efforts. My cousin, T. My cousin, C. My birth mother. My half-brother. All my friends. Yes, I do appreciate all you do. Thanks.

So what does C's dream mean? It means I have family. It means that she has family. It means that her "big cousin" is out there somewhere. It means that I have people--blood relatives--who still feel me, believe in me, and still maintain a connection to me. We are all connected.

And that's wonderful. Dreams are wonderful. Life is wonderful.

For "tr00f squad" (in the comments)


S-s-s-something from the Emailings

"I think the best thing about your BCC-mails is that we contribute only a nominal amount of input. Which is attainable even by the short-attention-spanned, barely motivated creatives in your life... And then you get a bunch of raw material to create from. So for a minimal investment, we get to see our small creation
a) part of something larger
b) better or different than when we submitted it
c) appreciated by at least one recipient and,
d) we get the spark to DO something, whereas the impetus to DO is often stifled by inertia, laziness, busy-ness or whatever excuse is out there.
So, the beauty is, we're all winners in this. Even if all you did was email people to send you shit, collected a bunch of things and trashed them."


Bits & Pieces

Winners Are Losers with a New Attitude


Ithaca, NY - The Dankness

You Are Not An Artist - 13

How We Roll for Jesu

Sleeping bags, this year [clicky, see comments].

Oh Snap! Guess What I Saw?

Santa Jesus can make the boy preppy, but Marcel Theo Hall (The Clown Prince God of the Southwest Atlantic) still lives in a man's heart. Click above, citizens of the Kingdom of Leisure.

And happy day to the whole interweb tag crew: tr00f mob 2010!


Ask Ty...December 24 [The Fear of Failure Question]

It must be Tuesday Christmas, Middlespace Cadets, because I'm answering your questions
Q: Dear Ty,

My mom sent me an email today, then one right after informing me that she had caught that she had misspelled a word in the previous email, and that she hated when she did that and really wished there was a way to un-send a message. All this for a typo. I thought, only my mom would inform someone of the typos she made in another email, like she has to be perfect all the time. Then I realized, this is just fear of failure. She hates to be perceived as being stupid. But the thing is, no one cares about misspellings or typos anymore.

The written language has become like another spoken language. Just as you wouldn't compose what you were going to say in a conversation ahead of time, go over it in your head right before you said it, then reviewed it after it was spoken, you wouldn't right an email to a friend talking about something that happened that day and then re-read it, correct all the mistakes, add things in later.

No, this would be like talking and being fearful of saying a word wrong. People say words wrong all the time, no big deal, and that's part of spoken language, and now, part of our written language like it never was before. Writing has become de-formalized, you know, for the masses.

What was my question?

-Precious Prodigy Child
Ty: Good question and an even better observation, PPC. I often find myself sending immediate followup instant messages (IMs) to correct language or spelling, etc. For example:
From ty:>> Dude, that was lam as hell
From ty:>> +e = lame
See? I corrected the word "lame" not because I thought the recipient would really believe I thought something was "lam as hell" or didn't understand what I was intending, but I want my recipient to know something; to understand that I'm no slouch and that I give a shit. I want the recipient to know that I caught my mistake and was willing to accept responsibility. I see it as a courtesy, as an ethic. I believe it's a way to acknowledge that you're not some slouch-potato abbreviating everything to bare bones of comprehension of language and thought, as in:
From ty:>> dood tht wuz lah lulz
My intent is for recipients to know that I care about words and language and how I am perceived in even the most basic and informal of communication forms/forums. But I also recognize that I am obsessed with many things. How others perceive me is one of those things.

I care about typos and misspellings, PPC. I judge others almost as harshly as I judge myself, sometimes brutally. Many of my friends are relentless in their dissection of typos and misspellings too. And that's OK. It keeps me honest and aware and careful. We should strive to be on the very top of our game at all times. Period.

In fact, I am also the type of person--situationally--who plans and edits before speaking. Much of that has to do with being an historical minority carrying baggage of people on my heroic shoulders (i.e. BLACK MAN). Just today, I walked into an athletic shoe vendor in a mall and was greeted with, "Yo, wuzzup, buddy?!" To which I replied, "hello." Deliberate. So deliberate.

Now, I don't know your mom, PPC, but I see her action as one of caring and respect. Respect for the recipient of her note, and self-respect. She saying, "I'm no slouch, boy. I give a fuck." That honorable (and a little obsessive on the side). Good, because we should strive to be on the very top of our game at all times. Period.

Now, what is your question, PPC? I believe your question is this:
Are we a once overly formal culture that is slipping (or has slipped) into the abyss of mopetardness -OR- are we going to be fine with having a range of situational formalities? That is, is it acceptable for us to relax our language standards in IM, email, or with those we are most comfortable with?
I say, even in mobile telephone texts we should strive for complete sentences, correct punctuation, and well-conceived thoughts. Why? Because we cheat ourselves and the recipients of our thoughts otherwise. The lazy slips into the formal more quickly than the other way around. We have already accepted a mope segment of our culture and being "normal," why should we cede all standards? That's just ignorant.

Now, let me ask you this from your Ask Ty... question. Was this intentional (annotated)?
" wouldn't right an email to a friend talking about something that happened that day and then re-read it, correct all the mistakes, add things in later."
I could see it working as, "One wouldn't right an anecdotal emailing to a friend." OR "One wouldn't write an anecdotal emailing to a friend, then read it, edit, and follow with a better draft."

Remember, when you shine the spotlight on others, it often reflects back on you. Not being jerky, just looking at the whole (or hole).

Just a guess,


Please Post This on December 24th

Something from the emailings:

Rickey Powell to me Wed, Dec 9 at 12:32 AM (10 hours ago)

And don't let me change my mind:


OK, I'll post it today (December 9 and have it auto-publish on the 24th. That way we'll both forget.


Back from the West - UPDATE

Look who's making hot dogs now. Boy has skills.

----------------- UPDATE -----------------

Speaking of skills, my boy Mr. Meadows made this happen, to accompany: [clicky]


So, yeah, I understand it took you two hours to dig your SUV out of the snow. I get it. We all had that experience. But when you leave a chair in "your" space, that's just gauche. What you're saying to the world is this:
1. I'm selfish and I'm in this life for ME.
2. I don't trust YOU to have any manners.
3. I'm selfish so I have to reserve my precious spot.
4. I somehow own this particular chunk of CITY STREET.
5. I don't realize that I cannot reserve chunks of the CITY'S street that we all pay taxes for.
I was so tempted to park my car there and lock the chair inside with a big Sharpie note that said something like, "THANKS FOR THE CHAIR AND THE SPOT!" Maybe throw away my keys and leave it there forever. To prove a point. So, better, I explained to my child what bad manners were.

Worse, later this evening, the SUV was parked there and the chair, God bless, was in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking that one shovel-width lane where humans could walk. Guess he owns the sidewalk to and YOU CAN'T WALK THERE!


The Asian Pear I Discovered Lovingly Placed At My Doorstep



Family Christmas Letter, 2009

Hey You Guys!

Well, it's "The Holiday Season" time again! [We would say "Merry Christmas" but we met some lovely Hebrews on our tour to New York this year and they do some other "holiday" there] Funny!

We hope this letter finds you all in great spirits and with happy memories of 2009. And, boy was 2009 another roller coaster year for our family? As our favorite Patriot Warrior would say, "You betcha!" So much happened but here are the highlights:

Sam attended swimming lessons between January and March, but whilst he enjoys water on the whole, he doesn’t seem to be too keen on letting go and swimming for himself. Silly kids. I say just THROW 'EM IN! They probably ain't gonna drown or nothin'!

Stephanie and a new friend, Derrick, flew to San Francisco for a visit with her friend, Christine, at Santa Clara University and an evening with her Uncle Jim and Aunt Jackie. We'll miss her! We know Steph will stay "careful" if you

The menu of our Christmas dinner will compose wholly of beef with gravy and corn bread. Our mess is afraid to try anything new, as it might throw us headlong on the sick list in the busy season of house building.

Andy didn't go anywhere the city bus didn't take him, or that he could walk to this year. So I guess we can't brag about that. But Andy's 4th novel is out this year with Stone Garden Publishing. That's something to brag about! Read it and then you can brag too.

Pam has been learning the marimba at weekends: a large xylophone on legs and wheels that spans over three octaves, attacked by up to three players with two beaters each. Sheesh! She has introduced it to some of the senior students, and the children respond enthusiastically.

In Colorado last August, one guy, Omar, whose family was in Iraq, used to encourage us to say blessings on the water we drank. He would say, "When you drink, think of all who thirst..." We can't provide all of humanity with good water to drink or good food to eat, but we do try to spiritually send the strength of water and food and affection to all who feel hunger and thirst and love when we drink. We are the lucky ones....

The dreaded Trigeminal Neuralgia seems to have receded, although John had some pain in the early part of the year which flared up in February, probably due to too much sun on the ski slopes. Since May of this year, he has been pain free. This is the first long time without pain for over 5 years. Hopefully this will continue. Bless!

So, what do you think, does that out-do last year's Christmas letter? Hard to say. This has been a couple years of extreme change, and once again, we survived all of our blessings. Maybe next year will be a little more calm and boring. We certainly hope not!! For now, though we just have to say thank you to all of our friends for your love and support, and Merry Christmas! [To the Hebrews too!]

The Hardaway Family, 2009

today's art



You Will Hear As If In Your Fever Dreams

It was always all about 2010, anyhow.

"Who's got the mic? That should answer your question."
- anon

"The answer is in the photo "YOU SHALL LISTEN", a proclamation it seems."
- anon

Luke, Chapter Two (the long, long wake)

"It is the bait before the hook; the hook before the jerk;
the jerk before the cruel, bright sun and the hot, suffocating air;
one last dry look at the sky before the fatal whack above the gills."

- tKoL, 1997


You Shall Listen

Signs Point to Rickey Powell

Package on doorstep today. I'm not waiting 9 days for shit. I could be dead by Christmas. Fuck it! It's open. It's out. I feel the cold steel on my lips. Jesus, dude!

See? Rickey Powell knows how to give a gift!

Like BDW, RPW knows how to nudge a man, support a man, and love a man (oh that legal?). For real. And as someone who loves to receive gifts, this is bad ass. Thank you Rickey Powell. You know me. This makes the next record that much closer. But you know that and it's your way to whap me in the face sans shovel.

Your generosity and thoughtfulness is overwhelming.

Here's What I See

I'm back. I missed me too. OK, I missed you too, don't fret.

So what am I seeing today? I see that two dear friends, Hi-Def and S@y, share a Friday birthday this week. That makes a lot of sense though. Saty and Sean are intellectual and creative heavyweights; probably the only people I address by the title "guru." And I mean that; dudes keep me balanced.

But December also commemorates the screaming birth of Big Dave Wave, the Manniyer and Gi-Gi. Add in my bad ass grandmother, Hank, and the Jesus, and December may be the most weighty month of birth all year long; all that late winter snuggling coming to fruition. I'll even give it up for my first cousin Bruce whose birthday was on the first. December shout-out-name-drops. December is looking a lot like Christmas!

I also see that you think I haven't really been on top of my game of late. I hear the carefully worded questions and I appreciate the kind nudges. Mostly I'm lying in wait. Waiting for the signs and omens to align. Waiting for the injuries to heal. Waiting for the ideas to settle in a logical fashion. Waiting for the mourning to cease. Thanks to everyone for the nudges and offers. Some I may follow-up on, others I will pass on. But thank you anyhow, especially for the kind words.
"you're not allowed to have a slump!
why? because i said so!"

- Unattributed
Yeah, I also see that I did call the current status a "slump," but I've done that before...a million times before. Worries do not exist, however. My problem is I measure myself against my own impossible standards. Always have - always will. At least somebody has some goddamn standards around here. Hands dirty, shoes worn, mind flexed, sleeping like a corpse. Fear not.

I aksi see that it's that lame-o time of year where the Stupid Lists appear. But not only are there Year's Best bullshit lists this year, but somehow we've been conned into the Decade's Best bullshit: Y2K through the end of 2009. Best band, best album, best book, best news story, best dunker (as in the slam dunk), best gadget, etc., etc. Seriously, it gets on my nerves.

Let me say it here and now so we can be done with this forever: I am the best. Case closed. Year. Decade. Century. Millennium. History of mankind. Best dog, best gadget, best polka EP. I'm all that. Shit, I've been the G.O.A.T. since the Big Goddamn Bang, don. But, I share the title with you. People, get some self-esteem, do some work. Don't be all fake-ass cocky and arrogant like a shitty rapper or interweb "celebrity," but understand your own self-worth. We doin' work like Spike Lee. We're sick like Jesus. Damn! We are the future.
Emailings Interlude (you may dial PC Police now):
Pregnant Friend: I predict a boy! Why? Certain foods are no longer appealing and others are. Based upon this alone, I predict a boy. It does not like veggies and craves fried chicken. Specifically does not like regular chicken -- just fried chicken: A junkfood junkie already!

Ty: Okay. I predict a black! Why? Fried chicken, doy. Does it like grape soda and Kools too?

Pregnant Friend: It could be a white trash baby if it likes grape soda and Funions!

Ty: Oh shit, lady! You're having a Juggalo!

Last night I saw on the the TeeVee one of these "Code Red fea. the Tea Party Patriots*" rallys. CSPAN made me laugh so hard! I guess this is how the conservatives saw the liberals during the Bush years. Hand-written signs some containing misspelled words, tons of lectern screeching, and more chants than the Final Four. Oh, Michele Bachmann was there too! She's crazy as hell and I love how fucking nuts she is. Best was their rally call: "Listen to Me!" which came out as, "Bwhaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!" White people are funny as hell. And these mopes were classic Jerry Lewis in his goddamn prime (except not Jewish or rich or intelligent or truthful). That shit as an indictment on our organizations dedicated to education. Education failure. Freedom to be dumb. But it was funny.

See? I'm back. In fact, I never left. I was right here watching. Watching you. Checking to see who was going to produce and who wasn't. I'm like Santa, making lists and shit. 'Cept I'm real.

You're welcome. Onward, Middlespace Cadets!

* Best hip-hop artist of the decade: Code Red fea. the Tea Party Patriots


I've Wanted To Shoot This Reflection Since Forever

For Some Reason I Felt Compelled to Write This Essay Today

For some reason I felt compelled to write an essay today. But I didn't really begin with a topic, any ideas, or a plan. This is the worst of the rambling mope-rants because there is not a particular focus today. We just don't know where we're going.

It feels as if yesterday lingers and nothing important is coming to me. It's there but it's log-jammed somehow. Somewhere. I had no real focus yesterday but it was "justifiable" like the war and peace. I had things to do. So that made sense. But today is different.

I have no malaise, no problems...just out of executable ideas for today. This is my personal hell by the way, so I thought I'd share it with you. You're welcome! The problem is, like the TGA, I always fret that this is it, my new state: Empty chamber. Meh, who am kidding?

So, what remains of the backlog then? What's waiting in the queue? Let's go to the noteboooks. These are the only unresolved/backlog notes in my main notebook:
109 Cities
14 Countries
10 Sub-continental regions
6 Continents
1,611 + 730 = 2,341
Resolved! But meaningless and forgotten notes do not art make. [Autobiographer, they're all yours to analyze]

My pocket notebook, on the other hand, mostly contains meeting notes, random algebraic gibberish, drawings by the progeny, and an order for Indian take-out for six (Marcy wanted her aloo gobi with "easy oil" I see - is that even possible?).

And this:
Shilling Yokels
Condescending Liberals
I have no idea what I was referencing there. Perhaps something about politics or something to do with my love-hate relationship with "society." Something but I can't remember what I was onto there. Also, the kiddo wrote the word, "SPORECUT" in my pocket notebook. She likes to "borrow" my notebook from time to time.

I know. I could have a real problem to whine about. Hunger. Poverty. War. AIDS. Victimization. The state of my being. Naw, I'm good, don. A fine mist of diamonds rain upon my shoulders. The baby Jesus smiles. Maybe I could take my own advice and take a step back and be grateful or some guru shit. In fact, there's tons of good friend and family advice that I try to keep in mind, but's December. And you know what I'm saying.

So what's left then? What remains are The Big Projects. As the easy minor projects run their natural courses, the big ones are revealed to be up for execution. It's like the performance after the rehearsals; the same but different. The cheese stands alone, right? I have several major-works projects in my mind. Five major avenues are queued for exploration, in fact. I've mentioned most of them here. But that's what's left. These are the hard ones. This is where it really begins.

The monster for 2010 will be balancing a significant execution and paradigm ramp-up on minuscule budgets; the balance of intent with expectation with reaction; how to make money without perverting the plan; how to stay intellectually fed without losing artistic sight; balancing returns versus sacrifices.

Perhaps the real smoke monster is named "balance." Balance. Focus. Balance & Focus. Maybe this rambling mope-rant in my moment of neutrality is not a personal nightmare after all. If I get lost, somebody point me back her, will ya'? Perhaps we are warming closer to epiphany. But what do I know? Nothin'! That's what! And Happy Hanukkah, tribe-mates.