Karma is NOT a b*tch afterall.

I had just started working here at the library, and this one lady I'd met the day before came into the  breakroom kitchen and said "good morning" to me, in a very hoarse voice. I said "oooh, that doesn't sound good. Are you sick?" She said "Yeah, karma got me sick." Thinking it was a strange reply, I just replied "Yeah, karma's a bitch sometimes." She nearly spit out her herbal tea, not saying anything, and left. The next day, I went to some other offices to meet people, and that's when I met my co-worker named Karma. I politely said hi, gave myself a mental facepalm, and DID NOT shake her hand.

The Little Old Lady and the Bloody Truth

Walking down the Home Depot parking lot, I looked to my right and saw a fairly big group of people huddled around something. I couldn't tell what it was, but as I kept upon my path, I saw someone move, revealing a little old lady laying on the ground COVERED IN BLOOD!!! And she was sitting in a huge puddle of blood too! I thought "Oh man... what happened there?!" I figured there were probably enough people at the scene, and I wouldn't be of any help, and kept walking in. I had to rent a tool, so I sent to the Tool Rental desk. The employees there were looking out the window, and I asked them what had happened, but they didn't know. Just then, a Home Depot employee came in from the scene, and the other guys asked what happened.

"So... somebody dropped a gallon of red paint out there, and didn't clean it up. Then an old lady came walking by, didn't see it, and slipped in it, fell down, and got it all over her little old lady dress." There were even little red footprints walking away from the puddle. She was okay.

Does this person live in Independence?

There is enough evidence to support that yes, this person is from Independence.

Today's tax place waver.

I looked over at him; he was yelling something. A dirty gray hat was under his crown, and ankle-high USA socks were tucked into his Sketchers ShapeUps. I turned down the Beatles song I was listening to, but that wasn't enough. He looked like Martin Starr. Passenger window down further, driver window up completely. His lips were moving, but he wasn't facing me, as he stomped, danced, and waved. Oblivious to passers-by, I caught what he was saying. In the brief time that he faced my car, I heard the man say "Helloooo, helloooo, helloooo... I hail from Scotland" in his mostly Shrek-ish sounding accent. I giggled as my light turned green.

Logomotion

*The views in this blog are that of Rusty Kugler, and are not necessarily the views of Mid-Continent Public Library.

This is the logo of the place where I work.

It's a 7-color logo, with an abstract open rainbow book above garamond and gill sans type. At first I HATED this logo. It really was a big pain to work with, but as a monochrome logo, it's WAY easier to use, and just became part of my daily work.

The Library held a contest in 1988 for someone to design a new logo, with a VCR as the prize. Wow. Yep, a VCR. Pictured below is Brent Harris, an Associate Art Director of Hallmark, who designed our current logo. Poor guy.

We've slapped this logo on all kinds of things, and now I've appointed myself the unofficial "Keeper of the Logo." I've written a visual style guide about how the logo should be applied and when, and I sometimes feel as though I'm caring for an endangered animal who's living out in the wild. "Out in the wild?!" What am I talking about? Well, I'm talking about the internet. The digital wilderness of the world, and our logo is out there running free. I recently did a Google Image search of our logo, and was astonished at the findings.

First, I'll show the "designers" who take our logo and pass it off as theirs:

And it's bad enough that someone "designed" East Chicago Public Library's logo with stolen parts, they totally don't even know their logo is really ours.

BUT WHY WOULD YOU TRY TO PUT SUCH A COLORFUL LOGO ON TOP OF ANOTHER COLOR?! ARE YOU GUYS DUMMIES?! YOU CAN'T EVEN READ YOUR STOLEN LOGO!!!

But I digress...

Even the US Government has stolen our logo, re-worked it, and called it their own:

Horrible acts of font treachery have been acted upon our dear logo, like this chop-shop job from a library in NJ:

Or yes, even Jokerman from Brampton Library's FB page. NOOOOO!!! NOT MY BABYYYY!!!

Now I'm just going to post some of the more insane ones I found as I scrolled through the Google Image search. This is just the first 30 pages of them:

So this brings me to wondering just who this Brent Harris is... Random designer?

Or visionary logo designer of the world?

A week with Frank and James.

I recently found out that Wild West outlaw, Frank James is buried just a short drive across town here in Independence, MO. So... I decided to go over there and take a look. He's buried in a small cemetery in a ghetto part of town, but the stone walls and pumpkin plant growing in the corner of the yard was very charming.

I decided that the rest of the week, I'm either going to do something that pertains to 'Frank' or 'James.' It was Frank James week!

Tuesday, I took a photo with my boss, Jim (James).

Wednesday, I met my friend Frank and took a picture with him.

Thursday, I met a card-carrying member of Friends of James Farm.

Friday, I ate a frank. This is the worst blog post ever.

Does this man live in Independence?

Lets go down the checklist:
• 'Merica shirt? Check.
• Black and brown dad shoes? Check.
• Athletic shorts? Check.
• Ponytail? Check.
• Jeff Gordon NASCAR hat? Check.
• Bruises? Yeah, that's not really a factor. But, Check.

Yes, this man lives in Independence.

Does this man live in Independence?

Does this man live in Independence?

Lets go down the checklist:
• Shirt off? Check.
• White, dad New Balance shoes? Check.
• Smoking a cigar? Check.
• Beautiful long hair? Check.
• Chest tat? Check.
• Gold chain? Check.
• Hanging out outside a ghetto daycare? Check.

Yes, this man lives in Independence.

Hot Rods and Flatbeds.

Last week, I went to Steak and Shake to get some lunch. As I was sitting in my booth, I heard the faintest, most grizzly voice I've ever heard. It sounded as if its owner ate lit cigarettes all day while smoking cigarettes and then ate those cigarettes too. It was as if a bulldozer was outside dragging a car that was chained to a Harley that was getting hailed on by gravel.

I looked over, and the image did not disappoint.

 This guy was in "Burt Reynolds mode." A true flashback of Americana, he played the part incredibly. Slicked back hair, Rhett Butler 'stache, blurred-out name tat on his hand, and drinking a sweet tea.

I couldn't make out all of the words that he was saying, but I didn't need to know them all. I heard the best ones. Here's a list of the words I caught:

• Tars (tires), which he said like 4 times.
• '55. I'm assuming he was talking about a car.
• Whiskey. 'Nuff said.
• Kentucky. Yep.
• Shrimp. Hmm... interesting...
• Football field.
• Flatbed. This one's probably my favorite.

I loved seeing this guy. He's a dying breed.

The Walking Man Walks

Every day I see this man. Walking. Up and down the sidewalk. I've seen him walking at almost every point on my route to work at any given time of the day.

At first, I wondered... "Is this a man, or a woman?" The hair suggests a woman, but a rugged flannel shirt says "This is a manly-man shirt." 

And then, there's the shorts... Volleyball teams wouldn't be seen in such short shorts.

I guess if I had leg muscles like these, I'd probably wear less than shorts too. Nice shave job.

I've adopted the name "Chris" for him when talking in the workplace with co-workers who also pass by this man day by day. I call him Chris, because he's always Walken. (Christopher Walken). Yeah, it's lame, but I don't really know his name. 

Every day, same wardrobe. Short-shorts, hair pulled back high, trainers, a tank top and flannel over it. Oh, and water and sometimes a yoga mat or something. Then one day, he wore a KC Chiefs shirt. 

Yesterday, I went to the grocery store, and Chris was there. Like a child seeing Michael Jackson's moonwalk for the first time, I was in awe as I ran up to him. "Hey man... (hey) I always see you walking... (yeah) Um, where are you going?" With a very controlled stare, he said "I walk to the gym. Miles and miles. If you see me walking, I'm either walking to or from the gym. One to two times a day. (Woah...)" "So, like, what do you do there at the gym, like yoga or swim?" 

He took a deep breath and exhaled very slowly. With metered blinks he calmly said "I'm trying to get back into bodybuilding. It's what I do."

Woah. In my head all of the weirdest questions were circling. Like why does he walk? Why a flannel shirt on a 95 degree day? Do you have a job? But all I could think to say was "Cool. Keep it up, man."

He nodded politely and walked away. 

I really do think I've seen him somewhere before. Oh yeah! Here:

Walking man in the 80s?

Hot to Trot

Does this man live in Independence?

Let's go down the checklist:

• Ponytail? check.
• Shirt off? check.
• Camo shorts? check.
• Gold chain? check.
• Shirt tucked in waistband? check.
• Upper-back tattoo? check.
• More than 2 rings on one hand? check.
• Flip flops? (not pictured, but believe me on this one) check.

Yes, this man lives in Independence.

Abandoned House in the Woods

A few years ago, I was walking through the woods, searching for morel mushrooms. These are the kind of mushrooms that kinda look like a small, brown tree made out of a sponge. I walked and walked until I came to an abandoned house.

The house itself was in a drastic state of disrepair, but I cautiously entered through the back porch. As I looked around, I realized that the house had not been touched in over 40 years, assuming to the 1968 calendar in one of the bedrooms was current at the time of abandonment. There was really nothing of value in the house, but the artifacts were incredible.

There were boxes of clothes-mending materials, magazines, books, and newspapers laid on the dining room table, and the air smelled of musty carpet as a broken window brought in the elements. Clothes were still in closets and dishes were still in the sink.

As I looked around in the kitchen, my eyes fell to a chalkboard near the back door.

I didn't want to enter the kitchen, as it was a mess, and I was afraid the floor might give way, so I squinted and leaned through the doorway to read what it said. Sounding out the words, I came up with "Wait Right (here) Be Back." 

Chills ran down my arms, and I felt as though the secret eyes of the house just opened to see its intruder. Slowly, I walked backwards, but quickly made my way out the back. I'll never forget the way I felt when I read those words. The warm, inviting empty house full of artifacts became cold and I needed to get out of there before I was closed up in a time envelope.