When was the last time you pulled out a box of crayons? I mean for yourself, not for your kid (and sitting down to color with your toddler doesn't count -- I'm talking about an adults-only Crayola session!) Somehow, I'll bet it's been a long time! When I was a child, the big box of 64 was the equivalent of a school-age ocular orgasm -- so many colors to choose from, you didn't know where to begin! Do you remember that deliciously waxy smell? Trying to decide between "burnt umber" and "burnt sienna" for the bark of your tree? The satisfying way that little stick fit in your hand? The joy of watching a line form on a fresh piece of white paper? And how badly your mother beat you for coloring on her newly painted kitchen walls?

As we move into adulthood, we're expected to give up so many things that we enjoyed as children -- running around naked on the front lawn, playing in paddling pools, water balloons, climbing trees, and 3-month-long summer vacations Well, this is one part of our youth that we can hang onto until the day we die! You might say, "I just don't have time for that foolishness, I have to go clean the gutters." But it is so vital that we add a little beauty to the world each day -- it's what makes us human and what keeps us sane. Most working people have absolutely no creative outlet, no way for that inner Picasso (or in my case, Pollock) to express himself. And that's why they are dying inside -- living each day in a colorless cloud of responsibility, paying the mortgage and raising their kids and holding down a job, but missing out on the pure joy that comes from pouring your heart onto a piece of paper. Somewhere around age 18, we decide that art is only for artists, and we shut off the door to a very important room in our souls. Wrong! Just Wrong!

I think that we would all be a lot better-balanced if we were given a box of crayons along with that college diploma -- fewer wars, less road-rage, and a lower incidence of depression. So I'm officially instituting a daily "hour of art" in my fascist state (to be held just before nap time!) Anyone who wants to join me for an afternoon of preventative Crayola therapy, come on over (and for those of you who have already gotten yourselves seriously twisted up into a knot, I recommend finger-painting!)

In my fascist state, each person will be required by law to pull out a box of crayons and color every day, with no particular artistic goal  in mind, with no thought about whether they have any talent, and for no other reason than it just feels good!

"That's my job. Thinking up goofy shit, coming around every now and then, letting you know what it is."