The Schprock Report

Note the title of the post. Now note the blog’s name. They match, don’t they? Yes, the other day I stole a few moments to creep into my Fortress of Solitude and rethink a few things in my life. Rejected were the aquamarine hair beads, Beatle boots and psychedelic, bell-bottomed pants, but accepted was a new blog name. You see, the clunky Musings of Great Import was thought up on the spur of the moment. I wanted to comment on Random Squeegee one day and the only way I could see to do it was to create a blog identity of my own. So, after devoting to this weighty matter a full two seconds, the name Musings of Great Import came into being. Little did I suspect that the moment my back was turned this blog would grow and multiple like fungi in a damp, dark place, and I’d be saddled with the name day in and day out.

Of course, it doesn't help that I’m not a good name thinker-upper. I nearly settled on this jazzy alternative: Ruminations of No Small Moment. It turns out a guy named Mr. Schpreck already took that one. That's okay — it didn't quite pass the smell test anyway. So finally, after hours of deliberation and reflection, I hit upon The Schprock Report. But nothing else has changed. It’s still the same softening, deteriorating brain that generates the content. My skewed perspective on the world remains wonderfully consistent. And I know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sorry about my reticence of late. I’ve been busier than a — than a what? A “one-armed paperhanger with crabs”? Oh Henry, you slay me, you know that? I nearly choked on my bagel when I read that. It took three of my office-mates to figure out the Heimlich in time to save my life. But how true. As many of you know, I’m a graphic designer, and my bosses thought it might be fun to assign me two huge projects at once. Each one is a full time job in and of itself. Project number one is the spring 2006 catalog for a major publisher of schoolbooks. Project number two is an annual report for a well-connected not-for-profit agency. The annual report I work on exclusively, while the catalog I supervise and must know like the catechism, so when the client calls I can speak about it intelligently. Both have my signature, so to speak. The result is my brain has been cleft in twain. While the right hemisphere concocts snappy pie charts for the annual report’s financial page, the left hemisphere tries desperately to divine the vague direction the client has given for the catalog’s Emergent Readers’ Social Studies spread. Yeesh! The other day, while my right brain was designing an organizational chart, the left brain ran into the men’s room and hid in there for an hour and a half. We had to take the door off the hinges to get it out. Is this any way to do things?

I get into work so early I have to disturb the homeless guy who sleeps in front of our door at night. It’s still dark — not even 6am — when I roll in on my bike. Sometimes I can sneak by without bothering him, but often I need him to move over or he’ll get it on the coconut with the door. I always tell him it’s still early and go back to sleep. Poor bastard. — Or wait — who’s the poor bastard? The guy who’s sleeping or the mindless drone who gets in before the cock crows to go tap-tap on the keyboard and click-click with the mouse all day?

Pardon me while I take this moment to have an epiphany.

Anyway, here it is, Saturday, and where am I? At work! And what will I do tomorrow? Work! At least there’s this one blessing: no phones are ringing and the email is relatively silent. While I toil the client sleeps. O the injustice! O the humanity! O quit my complaining and get to work!