Man, I don't feel so good.
Käthe Kollwitz ~ Self-Portrait, 1921 (etching)
Well, it's that time of year again when people start getting winter bugs and illnesses, and that is always such a great time. Brillig alerted me on Tuesday that Wednesday was World Pneumonia Day and I couldn't have been more excited to learn that. She mentioned it because I was kvetching about the proliferation of holidays celebrated in schools and she wanted to be sure I had it on my calendar.
I did not have that on my calendar, but the conversation was serendipitous because I coincidentally have been out sick since Wednesday. TI'm pretty sure that's not brillig's fault, and it isn't pneumonia but some virus my kid gave me (as opposed to a virus someone else's kid gave me). It came with a nasty canker sore waaaay up in the top back of my right buccal mucosa, next to the swollen salivary gland. It also came with a fever, a cough and a ringing headache.
Please ignore the used Longhorn-orange kleenex on your way over the fold. I just don't have the energy to pick them up at the moment.
As an added luxury yesterday morning, after graciously allowing my wife to get the well kid ready for school while I expanded to her side of the bed, I got up to make myself a desperately needed cup of coffee. Some of you know my relationship with coffee runs the gamut from strong and black to iced quad espresso. Very rarely does that spectrum include two day old leftover pot coffee, but yesterday that was all I had the energy for.
No run to Starbucks or my preferred local caffeine dealer, and since my French press exploded in my kitchen's face and I am out of Turkish grounds, my option was clear: make a new pot or make do with the leftovers. While that may not seem like a clear choice to some folks, the fact that it was clear to me should make clear how bad I felt. They say in homeopathy and Hippocratic medicine that like is treated with like. Since I felt like shit, I suppose drinking shit coffee could be viewed as the right move.
What was not the right move was choosing the (used) decorative mug sitting right there on the edge of the counter to heat this coffee up. I know this was a mistake because of the painful second-degree burns on my palm, thumb, right index finger (side and tip) and pinkie. You see, this kitchy ceramic menace has a hollow, thin and ENCLOSED handle that when heated for 1:45 in the microwave becomes a real world demonstration of the Second Law of Thermodynamics and is a vivid illustration of thermodynamic entropy. I even found a reference to these principles on the internet. Here, look:
OT: FInding coffee mugs with handles that stay cool?
Is there a way to tell if a coffee mug handle will stay cool when the mug is heated in the microwave. I have a couple that do and a couple that do not and want more of the ones that do and am so over the ones that do not cause ouch! They hurt! Is it in the material or the construction or both or what? Name names/stores if you have them. Need mugs not cups. Thanks.
I won't link because a) this could be me and b) I don't want to encourage rubbernecking, but you should know there were zero replies. That could mean nothing or it could mean the answer to "is there a way to tell" is a resounding "it gets HOT, dumbass!", in which case the silence is as deafening. In my case, there was zero silence because my yelling and cussing drew the sick child out of bed and down the stairs at 7am with a 102º fever thinking something bad was happening.
And it was, but he's a worrier so I had to hide that by explaining daddy was holding the frozen avocado because he wanted to make guacamole for breakfast to help him feel better. I was later forced to explain I threw the first one out and grabbed a second frozen avocado because the first got mushy. He did not believe me and eventually I came clean. I told him I had a burn but that it wasn't really bad, I was just feeling hot and holding a zip lock bag of frozen tomato sauce made my fever better. His look told me he needed me to do better than that.
Oh, shit, you did WHAT?!?!
Rembrandt,. Self-portrait in a cap, with eyes wide open 1630.
Now, up top I say I am prone to injury/illness AND luck, but to get there we need to hop in the Wayback machine and spin the dial for November 1992, almost exactly 22 years ago today. The location is Boston, more specifically in the printmaking studio at School. The hour is 2-ish AM. My buddy and I have been
drinkprinting since about 11PM and we are getting tired. The school is quiet, we have the studio to ourselves, and we are in The Zone printing a final edition of his oversized zinc etching.
It should be noted that both of us were fairly skilled printers at that point. He was more of a lithographer and I an etcher, which was why I had remained there with him overnight to help with his edition. Oversized prints can be difficult, especially etching with deep line work and subtle gradations of tone. He needed my eye for inking and wiping to maintain consistency. He also needed my help with the physical printing. This plate was roughly 20x30", with a 6" margin on the paper.
Printing paper is made with a variety of fibers and thickness, but we were using Rives BFK, a standard, heavyweight, 100% cotton rag that is, as stated honestly on their website, "the paper of choice" for traditional printmakers. It's a bright, forgiving paper and can handle a deeply recessed print like we are making.
Part of what happens when printing intaglio on this paper type is it needs to be soaked and blotted before use. Soaking removes the heavy sizing the manufacturer employs for a smooth, consistent surface. It also softens the fibers so they conform to the plate, lifting ink out of the lines and pits that comprise the image on the surface of the etching plate. Since our ink was oil-based, water resistance allows it to remain on the surface of the paper even under heavy pressure, thus maintaining the crispness of the print and integrity of image.
To maintain an even pressure and to help force the softened paper into the recesses of the plate, an etching press is equipped with three felt blankets cut to fit the size and shape of the bed. The top blanket is called the "pusher". It comes in contact with the heavy roller that is the force behind the impression of the image. The second blanket is directly under the pusher, is much thicker and is called the "cushion", because it acts as a cushion between the roller and the third blanket called the "sizing catcher" or simply the catcher. This blanket comes into contact with the paper and both forces it into the recesses of the print and soaks up excess water squeezed out if the paper under pressure.
And let's talk about pressure and the forces involved here, because pressure is the source of this luck I reference. It is the very reason we traveled back into the studio tonight. You see, to pull a plate like the one he was working calls for around 1000lbs per sq inch. With thick blankets on an oversized bed at those pressures one can encounter a buckling or lifting of the blanket just in front of the roller. The result is most often a wrinkled or shifted print, and that is almost the worst outcome. To limit this effect, a second printmaker stands to the side of the press, forearms across the blanket and palms flat, guiding ("chasing") the blanket as the other printer turns the wheel that drives the worm that turns the roller that draws the plate under pressure through to make an impression.
(Feel free to browse this google books doc for more in-depth explanations of the entire process. It's an oldie but a goodie for basics and n00bs)
I say a wrinkled or shifted print is almost the worst outcome because while a ruined print is a bad thing, it isn't nearly as bad as getting out of synch and having your pinkie crushed at 1000lbs psi. That's a lot of pressure for pinkies and while it does create a spectacular visual effect, one akin to placing a hot dog into the microwave until it splits along one side, it's not the effect we intended. In fact, after he backed up over my pinkie so I could remove it, and as I did exactly the WRONG thing in running to wash at the sink, we got to see just how spectacular that effect had been.
You Sir, are a dumbass.
Lucian Freud. Head of Bruce. 1985
If you have never seen the inside of your body in real time, to include fat, muscle, tendon, bone and odd negative spaces, it is aptly described as shocking. Literally shocking, because as my friend said "Sorry, man!" and I said "Grab that bottle." I wrapped the mess into a bunch of paper towels and began to slip into shock. My buddy, a combat veteran I have
written about before, moved quickly to prop me up before I fell into the
acid-bath hood. As I regained composure we came upon the Night Guard. He was engrossed in the sports section of the Boston Herald and startled at our arrival.
"You guys done? Have a good night."
"Man, we got a call, our apartment got robbed. We have to clean up in the studio before morning but we HAVE to take care of this. The place is unsecured. Please let us come back in." Usually they were strict because folks abused in-and-out privileges. That night he was cool.
Waving us out, the door clicked behind us and we knew that if anyone found out I had been injured our privileges would be permanently revoked. We had to lie and the lie was automatic and effective, like so many prints pulled without incident. We absolutely had to be back to clean up the blood before the sun rose, so it was off to Beth Israel ER ASAP.
Apparently, I had picked the slowest night of the year to go to the ER because everyone was asleep. Literally, everyone was asleep. The attendent, the nurse, and finally the resident, who was summonned after 30 min of excruciating frustration. Yet, an hour, four x-rays and 14 stitches later I was back out the door with what was left of my finger. The resident happened to specialize in hand surgery Within the next hour we had cleaned up, polished off the bottle and headed to our respective apartments. No one was ever the wiser.
My future wife gave me the same look as my son did about my burn when I woke her up, accompanied by an astute observation.
"You are a dumbass. I am going back to bed."
At this point I figure you're wondering "how this could possibly be considered luck?", let alone be implicated as such in the burning of my hand and fingers via thermodynamic entropy. Quite simply, the damage was so extensive that I lost most of the feeling on the inside edge of that finger. 22 years later and after being able to mostly straighten it for only the past 6 of those, it is the only injured part of my hand that didn't hurt. See how lucky I am? I know you are astounded and will praise my luck in comments!
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TOP COMMENTS
November 15, 2014
Thanks to tonight's Top Comments contributors! Let us hear from YOU
when you find that proficient comment.
From ericlewis0:
Blue Aardvark had a hilarious response to today's Nuz crawl. From Eric's CARTOON: ANIMAL NUZ #225.
From elenacarlena:
I'd like to recommend AnacharsisClootz and joynow They ran with the snark in my diary Everyone In Minnesota Is Flashing Gang Signs!! and took it to the next level. Hilarious!
From greenbird, a seconded TC!
KSTP = putting both the 'stu' and the 'pid' in the word 'stupid,' but also broadcasting this achievement with their call-letters (whoops!) = Ground Zero for this droll comment from joynow in a fine, lemony diary Everyone In Minnesota Is Flashing Gang Signs!! by elenacarlena is well-illustrated and comforting to read, to share, to ponder. it's cold in here, Philae's sleeping, it's cold where she is, too.
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TOP PHOTOS
November 14, 2014
Enjoy jotter's wonderful PictureQuilt™ below. Just click on the picture and it will magically take you to the comment that features that photo. Have fun, Kossacks!
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