Artist and writer.
I think it should be pretty obvious (that is, to anyone with at least twenty/two-million vision) that I am a perfectionist of the highest order. But lately I’ve been starting to wonder: Why do I push myself so hard? For example, when I’m dining out I always make a point to let the wait person know exactly how many seconds it took to greet me from the time I sat down (after I answer that no, Pepsi is not okay). Likewise, when I go to Wal-Mart I always double-check the length of the 70-foot rolls of aluminum foil. I mean, no one would want to see a scandal about Wal-Mart’s 66-foot rolls of aluminum foil on “Frontline,” would they? That would be embarrassing.
I could go on. And I think I will. Why doesn’t the local library appreciate it when I show them by example exactly how easy it is to defeat their so-called “theft protection” system? If not me, who? And when I put dead batteries back into their original packaging (carefully re-gluing the plastic) and return them to the store for a refund, I always ask myself why I care so much about recycling. And when the corner bar opens in the morning, perhaps going in for a beer just to help them clear out the tap lines is beyond the call of duty. Not everything is my responsibility.
Well, anyway, this statement may or may not have helped you understand my work any better. It if didn’t, don’t feel bad. You’ll never understand it as well as I do. Because, as you might expect, I understand it perfectly.