i can’t stop thinking about the time my roommate and i asked our insanely ripped neighbor brian who wore flip flops year round and sunglasses on the back of his head for help with carrying a solid wood dresser up to our apartment. he wanted to get his son who was home from college to come help too so he takes out his phone and goes, “siri, call christian christianson” and turns speaker phone on while we stand there sort of stunned by the name and after a few rings cc answers, “what the hell do you want” and brian just hangs up without responding and is all, “kids, am i right” then carries the dresser up four flights of stairs pretty much by himself. we offered him a six pack of rainier as thanks which he immediately opened in our kitchen and downed 2/6 beers in 10 mins while telling us about his 1989 dodge ram 1500 he was trying to get his son to restore with him to no avail. really nice guy. we never saw his son before he went back to school but any time i ask my roommate for help with lifting stuff or reaching something he says, “siri, call christian christianson” and we reminisce about brian and his truck.
if youβve never engaged with a creative art on a regular basis you need to understand that it requires concerted effort to get into βthe grooveβ to make something and every second that it takes to get into that groove causes physical pain, but the only thing worse than doing it is not doing it.
