Jeber’s

Not going postal

Last week I had several pieces of mail that I wanted to be picked up by the mailman. I did what I’ve done thousands of times before, what I’m sure many of you would have done. I put it in the mailbox in front of my house and put up the little red flag that indicates there’s mail in the box.

The next day my mail was still in the box and the flag was still up.

Since this was the third time this year that my outgoing mail was ignored by my postal carrier, I tried to call the local post office to complain. It seems they don’t answer their phone, and for obvious reasons they don’t have an email address. So I called the office of the San Diego postmaster and filed a complaint with him.

Today I had a message on my phone from the office of the postmaster. Finally I’d have an explanation, justice would be served. Well, maybe not.

I was told that mail pickup is a courtesy. All the mail carrier is required to do is deliver mail. The postmaster informed me that if I wanted to be sure my mail was indeed mailed, I needed to deposit it in an official USPS mailbox.

The United States Postal Service “Residential Mailbox Standards” state;

You need to contact your local Post Office before moving your mailbox or mailbox support, because your mailbox needs to be approved by the Postal Service. Your postmaster will approve custom-made mailboxes on a one-time basis as long as they generally meet USPS standards.

Image via Wikipedia

This is because legally your mailbox, the minute you plant it in the ground, belongs to the USPS. Doesn’t that make your mailbox an official USPS mailbox? As such, shouldn’t it have the same standing as the cookie-monster shaped boxes disappearing from neighborhoods all over America?

This is the same USPS that seems to need an increase in rates almost every year, the same USPS that wants to eliminate Saturday delivery, the same USPS that cries over the fact that email is killing its business.

Well, my dear USPS, email is killing your business because it works and you don’t.

I can send email for free. I can send an email instantly any time of day or night and any day of the week, weekends, too. I can send an email from anywhere I have an internet connection. I can send a card via email. I don’t have to buy stamps or find a mailbox. I don’t even have to own a computer to send email, I can use the computers at the library. I can send email from my computer without you being able to suddenly appropriate my computer as your property. I can move my computer anywhere I want without your approval. What I can’t send by email I can send via UPS or FED-EX far more easily than I can send it through the USPS.

The USPS is to the advent of email what the buggy industry was to the advent of the auto industry.  Its methods are outdated and its benefits overshadowed by modern technology. The long history of bailouts of the USPS by the government puts the GM bailout to shame. The days of hand-carried mail by a postal worker are over. It’s a service that has died but remains unaware of its own decaying corpse. It’s no more necessary today than the Pony Express.

Let’s bury this outdated and inefficient service now before its financial difficulties and poor service cause it to become even more irrelevant than it already is.

Related articles by Zemanta

• Stu Bykofsky: Franklin would be ashamed of the post office (philly.com)
• End mail delivery? (geneveith.com)
• How Postal Rate Hikes Foretell America’s Future (money.usnews.com)
• USPS Considering Stamp Price Increase (bargaineering.com)
• Rep. Edolphus Towns: The Postal Service’s Fiscal Crisis and Future Viability (huffingtonpost.com)
• Why a Monopoly on Mail Delivery? (lewrockwell.com)

Jeber – a portrait

Back in 1983 I was at loose ends. I’d been out of the Army for two years and had received my second degree from a local college. I had screwed up big time at my job and been fired. My future, at least in San Diego, appeared bleak at best.

My father and I first met as adults the year after I graduated from high school. I spent a Summer with him in Plainview, Texas where he was working for John Deere as a tractor field-mechanic. Those three months summed up my knowledge of my dad first-hand until I was 29, in 1983.

By then dad had moved back to his hometown of Rupert, Idaho, and I decided to write him and see if I could spend some time with him there. He agreed to this, so in March of ‘83 I and my Keeshond puppy Colin flew to Boise. We both arrived in our San Diego coats. Colin arrived a few hours after me, having been accidently diverted to San Francisco. He obviously had his own plans. Neither of our coats protected us from the freezing cold of an Idaho Winter.

So there I was, in a strange town living with a near stranger, no job and a dog I was responsible to keep fed and healthy. Before leaving San Diego I’d sold nearly everything I owned. I arrived with a week’s worth of clothes, my dog and enough cash to keep us both alive for a few months. Then I found out a few ways my dad and I were alike. We were both opinionated and curmudgeonly. We weren’t social kingpins. We were both sarcastic. We rubbed each other the wrong way. We agreed I should live on my own and visit now and then. I really needed a job.

In Burley, near Rupert, I met a painter named John Horejs (pronounced hōrsh). Not a house painter, an oil painter, a landscape painter, an artist. He was about my age and a very enjoyable person to be around. We were polar opposites in two ways. He was a Mormon and I was an atheist. He was married with nine kids and I was a single bisexual. Normally when two people disagree over sex and religion, any type of friendship is near impossible. Not so with John and I. We both respected the other’s right to their life and beliefs. We were both raised to be tolerant of those not like us. He knew gay people from the art world and I knew Mormons from having one as a friend through high school (we were both in the school’s barbershop quartet). We hit it off and soon he asked if I’d be willing to do some framing for him.

John Horejs

I had a degree in drafting and that made learning the art of framing a bit easier for me. Like most of the jobs I’ve ever held, I hadn’t a clue how to accomplish the task I was being hired to perform. But I’m a quick learner and don’t hesitate to ask questions, and I really like gaining new skills. I loved framing. I can’t paint a lick. Can’t really draw much of anything. Prior to this, drafting had been my artistic outlet. “Drawing” with the aid of French curves, a straight edge and templates. It was as close to being artistic as I’d managed at that point.

Framing was to me what John’s painting was to him. John studied in France and I’d just been an intelligence analyst for the Army Security Agency. We both enjoyed talking about world affairs, art (him, painters: me, writers). We discussed philosophy. We both loved nature, hiking and photography.

John was a great companion as well as an employer. He, I and my two dogs spent a week once around Jenny Lake. It was perhaps the best week of my life. Sharing his company and that of his friends, getting to stay in a condo in West Yellowstone, knowing his wife and kids, watching him build his dome house, many were the benefits of working for John. Who would have guessed I’d have to travel to Idaho to find the international scene. The closest I’d come before was being stationed just outside Washington, D.C. during my enlistment.

Another benefit of working for John was that a couple of times I traded framing work for paintings instead of pay. I have two oils hanging in my front room, both landscapes painted by John and framed by me. I love them now as much as I did when I first saw them. They were quick one-offs for John. He usually paints huge canvases.

One day he asked if I’d like to pose for a portrait holding my then pup, Hillery. Of course I was flattered and intrigued. John didn’t paint portraits. Maybe he had as a student, but as an established artist he was strictly a landscape artist specializing in Idaho and Montana scenery. So I was curious to see how he would render a human and his dog.

Jack and Hillery by John Horejs

Since we cannot see ourselves as others see us, I’m a poor judge as to the accuracy of the image, but I can honestly say that this is the one and only oil painting I have of myself. Good or bad, it’s certainly unique.

It’s not painted on canvas. It was painted on a piece of artist’s board, so it’s all of a quarter of an inch thick. It’s also not signed, but John would remember it, I know he painted it and now I’m preserving that knowledge online, where thanks to Google it will forever be available to anyone who wants the information, like whoever will be selling it or buying it 200 years from now.

I’m glad I had a chance to meet, know and spend time with John Horejs. He was a down-to-Earth guy with his head in the clouds. I’m sure he still is. He’s not into the web, and I haven’t been in touch for several years. We didn’t have so much in common that we ever became like brothers. My life has taken different directions from what I was doing then, and John appears to be getting shown in more galleries around the country. Any gallery anywhere that features nature paintings on a large scale ought to be showing his work.

That’s the tale of the portrait. It is the only self-portrait I own. It’s still unframed.

Related articles by Zemanta

• A Chinese Artist’s Merging of East and West (nytimes.com)
• Art Review: Sun-Kissed Landscapes (nytimes.com)

Donate to help Don Yoon

As you may have heard, Don Yoon lost his wife, two children and his mother-in-law when a Navy jet crashed into his University City house this week. Pretty much everything he loved and owned was destroyed.

He needs daily items such as clothes. Gift cards would be a good idea so he can go buy his own. If you wish to donate money, checks can be paid directly to Mr. Don Yoon. He has 4 funerals to cover on top of starting a life again. If you want to mail them yourself send them care of the United Korean Church at 3520 Mount Acadia Blvd. SD CA 92111.

Is a criminal cracking jokes a Comicon?

I hope not because I’ll be there this Sunday.

Like wannabe Dark Knights answering the call of the “bat signal,” throngs of grown men wearing tights and capes converge this week to revel in all manner of superhero lore and merchandising at the 39th annual Comic Con Convention.

More than 125,000 people are expected to attend the four-day event, which opens Thursday, to indulge in a veritable feast of the latest in comic-related books, movies, toys, games and memorabilia.

(Reuters)

No tights or cape, I’ll be dressed more like Bruce Wayne than Batman. Lacking x-ray vision, I’ll be relying on video and digital cameras to take in the festivities.

I’d enjoy meeting any of you attending the Con. Let’s hook up via Twitter or Brightkite.

Busted Luck

KUSI television reporter Rod Luck was arrested in a San Francisco suburb on suspicion of hitting his girlfriend.

The 42-year-old woman said Luck, 58, punched her in the mouth a little before 8 p.m. Friday, according to a statement from the South San Francisco Police Department.

The woman had visible injuries to her mouth and upper lip, police said.

The station had no comment on his arrest.

http://www.10news.com/news/16227288/detail.html