A Day In The Life Of Mark A. Kelso . .
In which I drop all pretenses of creativity, and tread the long-overused path of smack-talk.
For those of you who are allergic to reading for long periods of time, or participating in any activity that requires more than a minimal effort, this is not for you. If you have been diagnosed with ADD or otherwise have a short attention span, you may not wish to continue. This MOC contains over 120 pictures and will take a long time to read. If you choose to continue, I would recommend dimming the lights, grabbing some popcorn along with the beverage of your choice, and getting comfy. Here we go!
After working for eighty-six straight hours without sleep on my latest masterpiece, I'd finally gotten some well-deserved sleep. Yet, even in my exhausted state, I still managed to wake up bright and early.
Stepping out of bed and into my slippers, I could already tell it was going to be an eventful day. Without delay, I enthusiastically started on my morning routine with bright optimism. However, I remembered that I had some extra matters to attend to, and began going about preparing for them.
Recalling a letter I had received from a friend about a meeting over lunch, I went over to my desk and searched through the previous day's mail for the gracious invitation.
Even though my house is a model of tidiness and efficient organization, I was unable to locate the message upon my desk where it should have been. However, due to my unfortunately exhausted condition the previous night, I may have mislaid the object in question, thus necessitating further search of the immediate vicinity.
While a search of my desk's inner reaches revealed nothing of consequence, it did bring to my attention that I could pay more attention to what I devote my drawer space to. In this case, my antique copy of Rembrandt's Storm on the Sea of Galilee, which would serve it's purpose better elsewhere.
Unable to locate the elusive letter, I headed off through the house to the bathroom for a shower and a shave. Even a manly man like myself can handle only so much accumulated grime, and at this point I felt that some much-needed hygiene wouldn't hurt.
Setting off in good spirits, I traversed the hallways of my palatial estate towards that much-anticipated cleansing.
Wrapped in my magnificent morning robe and grandly gliding through the spacious halls, I felt like a king arrayed in royal raiment.
Every twist and turn familiar to me, I could've found my way in my sleep through the arched passages and vaulted corridors.
Yet even if I'd made a mistake and taken a wrong turn, my cleverly placed and clearly labeled signs would soon point even the most directionally-challenged individual in the right direction.
Yessir, every inch of my house is the very model of efficiency.
One can become bored with sweeping through passageways in a robe, however, and I eventually reached the bathroom.
Oh, come on, you don't really want to know about what I did there, too! A guy's entitled to a little privacy, you know.
Sheesh, I just do what everyone does in the morning. I got myself cleaned up for the day, and shaved.
Oh, and I loaded up on plenty of Axe. The ladies love it.
Nothing interesting happened on the return journey from the bathroom. After all, hallways aren't known for being very exciting places!
Like I said; nothing interesting happened.
Following my morning grooming, I returned to my room to get dressed. Entering my walk-in closet, I pondered the merits of each article of clothing. One must be sure to make a good impression at all times, even among friends, and the proper attire is the surest way to convey this.
I knew that I'd need something that would suit the occasion, yet give me an air of gravity and presence, as well as allow me to go from casual to corporate in a moment's notice.
However, while one should dress conservatively, it is often wise to dress with a certain, er, panache. Plain, boring clothes stifle conversation and cause discomfort for all involved parties across the board.
In the end, though, I went with the one outfit that had never let me down before. Daring, yet comfortable, stylish, yet simple, and above all; machine washable. Face it, washing clothes by hand is worse than old-fashioned, it's a symbol of slavery to fashion; a trend that I have since risen above.
Coming- ahem, walking out of the closet, I felt like a new man, yet at the same time, a voice in my head was whispering, “This is the real Mark Kelso, the very one everyone knows and adores.”
By now, I was becoming hungry and eventually made my way around to my newly-remodeled, spotless kitchen with plenty of time to set the table for an early breakfast and go about preparing it.
Starting the coffee maker and filling it with gourmet grounds, I went to retrieve the other ingredients for my breakfast.
Ah, never mind what I had to eat, I wouldn't want to bore you with the details.
Actually, if this is to be an accurate account of an average day for me, I shouldn't exclude a single detail: After a moment's indecision, I settled on pancakes.
Having filled up on breakfast, it was off to work. In my case, work was down the hall and the first door on the left. There are certain advantages to being an artist. Now I don't know about others in my profession, but I need to have that creative spark going to get anything done, so I have this little ceremony that I begin with before starting work. Details you ask? Well, it's sort of like an indian rain dance mixed with breakdancing and a side order of Michael Jackson thrown in for good measure.
But enough about that. My latest painting was my best to date; I call it "Highland Dude with a Stick in One Hand and His Dog by His Side." I had just finished the night before, and I was just now adding a few touches here and there to fix anything I may have missed before.
After consulting my schedule, I began to prepare for my little excursion with my friend. I couldn't remember what the letter had said, but I was sure it had to do with the painting I'd just finished.
My friend had arranged to pick me up since my house was on his way to the cafe we were to meet at.
Arriving at the cafe, we got right down to business.
Actual business, as a matter of fact, it turned out that he really did want to buy my painting, and we began bandying prices back and forth.
After some small disagreement, we settled on an amount and shook on it.
That over, my friend offered to buy me lunch. I declined at first, but I was talked into accepting.
Lunch was wonderful, with some rather exquisite sandwiches and a light dessert, but it was all over too soon, and it was time to go.
Later, though, I started feeling a little guilty about that dessert, and headed off to the gym for some calorie-crunching activity.
I was busy lifting a hundred pounds in the strangely deserted gym when Ms. Sterling showed up.
I've got to give her credit; she's extremely fit, but no woman is any match for a fully-matured adult in the prime of his life, and I must confess, I have a bit of a showoff streak in me, but man, I sure made those weights look straws!
After that, I followed it with some pull-ups on the bar. It wasn't as easy as the weights, but again, I was rather excellent at it if I may say so myself.
I was in the thirties when the place was crashed by the Dem Bones motorcycle gang! I would've defended myself, but there was a lady to protect, so I acted quickly to get her to safety.
Then I was ready to take them on single-handedly, but I thought better of it: discretion is the better part of valor and all that. Instead, I dialed the police on my cell from our hiding place.
If only Stacy hadn't wandered from our hideout and blown our cover! Now there was no way we could just wait it out. But if I could only provide a distraction, the coppers would eventually arrive.
After all, they had never been late before. Besides, I knew one of their men, and was sure he'd be out to rescue me in no time.
In the meantime, though, I'd need to get Ms. Sterling out of trouble. Forsaking my vantage point in a heroic attempt at rescue, I approached the band of ruffians.
Knowing that most gangs pride themselves on their muscle, I challenged them to a contest, suggesting that we test our endurance.
We each took turns, each making a display of our strength, and each lifting more than the last.
The fierceness of our competition was unmatched; no quarter was given or received.
Admittedly, I was impressed by the abilities of those deadbeats. Even though they were a bunch of zombies, they possessed considerable muscle. Even the one that was as thin as a skeleton was able to lift some sizable weight!
Things almost got ugly for a second when this freaky lady with a bad haircut and a chainsaw tried to use me for a weight, but I stayed calm and tried to ignore the cheers and congratulations. I don't weigh that much!
Then it was my turn. I stepped forward confidently, knowing that I had an ace up my sleeve. All I had to do was hold up some weights for twenty minutes or so until the fuzz showed up. Easy for a guy like me.
What a shame my nose chose that precise moment to start itching something fierce.
The resulting sneeze blew my cover, no joke intended, and we had to make a run for it.
I'll never quite know how I got out of that alive.
Some time later, I went over to Ocean's place. He had recently moved to the States, and I was supposed to go help him unpack.
Price was also there, to my surprise, and we all got to work hauling things into the living room.
Having warmed up in the gym earlier, I was raring for some strongman action, though Dennis was a little out of shape for this kind of work.
No matter, though, Shanno and I were more than up to the task at hand.
I must warn you, though, when moving large objects around in a cramped space, watch out for other people. Accidents can happen, you know.
After all of that sweaty work, I was glad that Ocean invited me to the basement for a drink. Price wasn't able to make it, as he was still panting in a corner after a minimal effort.
Okay, any guy that buys a house entirely depending on whether it comes with a man-cave has got my deepest admiration and slight concern. Oh, yes, and did I mention envy?
It turned out that Ocean was into making his own beer, and he needed the cave to keep his barrels in. He even showed me some of his barrels up close so that I could get a sense of the whole process.
He was also quite knowledgeable on the subject and was able to give me advice on the different types of beer and all of that stuff. I personally found it a bit of a bore, being more of the type that just likes to drink it, not think all day about it.
But, being the gracious guest that I am, I endured it all with great patience, waiting for my favorite part: sampling.
What a shame Ocean didn't show the same graciousness, though, he got totally stoned without any respect for company and ended up on the floor of the cave.
Returning to my house, I figured it was time to work on the Eye of Chaos. It wasn't really anything exciting, just my usual brilliance.
After finishing the day's work on the Eye of Chaos, I headed off to the computer to post an update of the Eye on MOCpages.
Never being one to shirk duties, even voluntary ones, I logged on to MOCpages and set about fulfilling my role as a moderator before posting my update. "Work comes first," has always been my motto.
As a shining pillar of morality and an example to the masses, I moderated flagged comments with only the highest standards in mind. Without my guidance, the site would've quickly become a den of iniquities, full of innuendo and sleazy suggestiveness!
After posting, I began cruising around, looking at whatever caught my eye. And man, what caught my eye! Some irreverent young punk seemed to have embarked on some sort of vendetta against me! And for no apparent reason!
Even though I'm big enough to take criticism, I had my professional reputation to worry about, and I couldn't have some loudmouth discrediting me! I began trying to figure out how to prevent this from happening without having to resort to anything extreme.
Later that night, a much-recovered Ocean invited me out to dinner at an upscale restaurant as thanks for my help earlier, and, I suspect, to apologize for getting drunk on me like that.
We each ordered our dinner. I got the fillet mignon and julienne asparagus, while Ocean ordered the chicken cordon bleu and roasted fingerling potatoes.
Unfortunately, it seemed that the kitchen had run out of fillet mignon, but they didn't have to make such a big deal of it!
Ocean tried to calm them down, but it seemed like they would absolutely not let me pay for my food and insisted I eat free! Such excellent service.
After some time, the waitress came out with our drinks while we waited for the food.
The vintage wine was excellent, but I was worried that Ocean may become tipsy again and gently suggested he not drink more than a glass or two.
Sadly, it seems that he's destined for a life of drunkenness; the man can not take his alcohol!
This time, he even ended up dancing on the table! And at such a nice restaurant! I never would've suspected that a hardcore Aussie like Ocean would be such a pansy.
After repeatedly singing a limited repertoire of drinking songs off-key, my inebriated friend finally collapsed upon the table, breaking it.
Considering the disturbance he caused and the irreparable damage to the table in question, he's lucky they let him out of the place without calling the cops.
After such an eventful night, I was dead tired, and wanted to go straight home, but I went out of my way to drop Ocean off at his house.
Thinking back, it's amazing that one can get so much done in just one day, then get up the next day and do it all again, but that is humanity for you, I guess, we never get so discouraged that we're unwilling to give things another shot.
Perhaps another time we'll explore some more of this illustrious life I've had, but for now, this will have to do.
Until next time, my devoted fans,
Mark A. Kelso
Added July 2, 2010
It is with great pleasure that I would like to announce that my autobiography has recently won a prestigious MOCie Award, undoubtedly for best story. I'm quite confident that my life's journey is well on it's way to becoming history. Even if you forget it, your kids will be learning it in school some day, and you'll be able to proudly say that you were there when it all happened.