As my lovely co-worker, Shannon, would say, I am fighting my way back into writing "Devil Wears Prada" style.

So here it is, my TCP first story since mistakenly thinking I might be good at sales.

Ill Caps

Ill Caps’ owner and designer Rob Lawson isn’t a typical graffiti-inspired artist

BY EMILY GIBB

Ill Caps’ owner and designer Rob Lawson isn’t a typical graffiti-inspired artist — he’s a bluegrass boy at heart, producing one-of-a-kind hats and remaining true to his artistic roots.

“I’m a hillbilly, graffiti-influenced artist who lives in Toledo,” says Lawson (he also plays in three bluegrass groups). “I’m a rare breed when it comes to that mixture.”

Lawson dabbled in painted hats almost eight years ago, but his interest in the endeavor faded. He was inspired to begin again after watching a graffiti documentary, and launched Ill Caps in June of 2012. While he is turning the hobby into a business, he still is focused on sticking to his creative skills rather than mass producing items. 

“My main thing is to still approach it as an artist and not just a clothing line,” Lawson said. “It’s a canvas for your head.”

Lawson’s Ill Caps range from $20 to $40 depending on the design. 

“Obviously it’s nothing new — people have been painting hats since the '70s and '80s in the hip hop scene, but there’s no one I know in Toledo that’s doing what I’m doing on a business level,” he said. 

To purchase custom-made caps, visit www.illcaps.com or email illcapsrob@gmail.com. Premade hats are also available at the Loonar Station Toledo locations. 

Overheard at TCP

Lurking in the halls of the TCP offices can be a hilarious roller coaster of "did she really just say that?" thoughts. 

For example, this is all from today: 

"Well, whores are cheaper here."

"I thought your email said "AIDS," not ADs."

Trans-dimensional super baby!" 

and a really winner, 

"Looks like an alien took a f***in dump in here."

Welcome to the lives of the deranged writers, designers and sales reps...

...and a loaded baked potato

To my mother and the two other people that have ever read my blog, I apologize for being MIA. Now that I'm living the dream and living with my parents, I am back at it with more ridiculousness.

In my time off, I have gone back to my night job--slinging burgers--and even found a day job.

This particular occasion was one of those nights at Max and Erma's that continues to make me scratch my head in wonderment if it really happened.

During the nursing home hour from 4 p.m. to 5 p.m., two women and a teenager walked in and proceeded to sit themselves.

I walked over to their table and before I could finish "Hi my name is," the younger-older woman asked for a nutrition guide. She explained that she is "on that Weight Watcher's" and didn't want to use up all of her points for the day on dinner.

After delivering their waters and a nutrition guide, she started asking how many points I thought the Chicken Tortilla soup would have. Anyone that has eaten at Max and Erma's is already laughing while reading this.

"Its a bowl full of cheese, cream and a little bit of shredded chicken. I don't think its Weight Watcher's approved," I told her.

That didn't dissuade her though. It wasn't until I explained to her that to add a cup of it to a meal costs $2.99 and to replace a side with it costs $1.49 that she started getting mad at me because it was so expensive.

Sure, get angry at me because, clearly, I make the prices.

They needed more time before they could order, but she said, "get me an order of them soft pretzel sticks with extra queso!"

A diet-friendly appetizer for sure.

I returned to their table and immediately she started in that "it says right here on the menu that I can replace french fries with a cup of tortilla soup."

I said yes you can, but it will still be a charge of a $1.49.

"No it doesn't! It says right here you can replace it for no charge," she said pointing at the menu.

"Ma'am I don't make the prices or the menu, but the first line says replacing a side with one of those sides will be a $1.49," I said while pointing at the same part of the menu.

She wasn't convinced but she stopped arguing after seeing that I was not giving it to her for free.

She proceeded to place her order which was in no shape, way or form, close to being low in Weight Watcher's points.

"I'll get the fried shrimp with a loaded baked potato and extra ranch dressing on my salad," she said.

At this point, I was finished reminding her that to get a loaded baked potato was an extra $1.49. She was just going to have to deal with the fact that she can't follow a menu.

Now, at the time, I was too frustrated to see how funny this was to everyone else watching. But this next part, this next part got to me.

It was her mother's turn to order. And I'm going to spell this as phonetically as she said it, or at least try to.

"I'll have the fajitias," she said exactly how it looks. Forget how to pronounce Spanish "j's" for a moment.

Now I had a dilemma. I have to ask her if she wants chicken or steak FAJITAS. Do I pronounce it like she did so I don't make her feel bad about her ignorance, or do i pronounce it correctly and pretend like she didn't just butcher a Mexican staple food?

However, I didn't have to do either. Her starch-and-fried-loving daughter did all of the above for me.

"WHAT are you getting? OH you mean the FA-JI-TAS."

"Yeah, yeah those," her mother said.

Crisis averted.

Needless to say after arguing about prices for five minutes at the beginning, they wanted separate checks so they could use all four of their coupons.

....Just livin' the dream.

Pancakes, please.

When I was a child, my parents came up with many ways to appease my irrational demands. I would get lost if we went to Disney World. I would get lost if we went to New York City. (Author's note: I eventually went to both and was not lost either time.) Yes, I had a fear of getting lost.

 I had compromised with my mother that she would allow me to get my ears pierced when when I turned seven. Later on in second grade, I wanted more. I really, really, really wanted to get my ears double-pierced. I was such a rebel... The verdict this time was that I had to wait until 8^th grade.

I suspect that they expected me to forget. I, however, did not and I still have pictures of that exciting day at Claire's inside the Southwyck Mall during the summer after 8^th grade.

However, none of these can compare to my greatest victory over my parents attempts at appeasement.

I was somewhere around 9-years-old and the family was packed into our teal-colored Astro conversion van on our way to Tyler, TX for a family reunion.

(Not really our van, but it closely resembled this behemoth, I think.)

As a professional road-tripper, I was skilled at the art of easy amusement. I could entertain myself for hours by only reading billboards-- and I mean every. single. billboard.

Somewhere in between ads for restaurants, hotels and strippers, I started getting hungry. My stomach was reminding me that it was time to ask when we would stop for dinner, and also letting me know that Cracker Barrel billboards worked -- stomach wanted pancakes.

My parents and brothers clearly were not feeling it, so my dad told me that we would only go to Cracker Barrel if it was “right next to the hotel.”

I nestled back into my seat, kept my hope for pancakes alive and resumed learning which Christian bookstores and McDonald's were nearby.

Approximately half an hour later, I saw the shining beacon of awesomeness, the most memorable billboard of them all: Microtel Inn - Right next to Cracker Barrel.

"Look," I shouted. "That hotel is right next to Cracker Barrel!"

My astonished parents sat with their mouths' agape. This was not what they planned.

They agreed that if the hotel was reasonably priced and appeared to be free of bed bugs, we would stop there.

We pulled off the highway and onto the exit ramp towards Joplin, Missouri.

In not too much time later, I was eating pancakes and we were spending the night at the Microtel Inn--right next to Cracker Barrel.

Of course, as a 9-year-old who longed to go back in time to rock out at the first Woodstock, my next question was if the city was named after Janis Joplin, but that's another story for another day.

Port Authority Bus: Fail

Breakfast of Chizzamps

Headline of the day:

5TH ANNUAL DISABLED SPORTSMAN HUNT

 

South Fayette Township Department of Parks & Recreation Fifth Annual Disabled Sportsman Deer Hunt will be held on October 21, 22 & 23, 2010. If you know someone who used to hunt, but no longer feels they can due to a physical limitation? Do you know someone who is disabled and would like to experience hunting for the first time? South Fayette Township invites you to participate in this award winning program. Applicants must possess a valid antlerless deer tag for WMZ 2B. Please contact Jerry Males, Director of Parks and Recreation. South Fayette Township, 412-221-8700, 412-221-7798 - Fax

Devil in a blue chair

I walked out of the bank with nothing on my mind but the turkey sandwich waiting for me back at work. I stepped onto the sidewalk when WOOSH!-- I jumped out of the way to avoid being hit by a woman in a motorized wheelchair.

I looked into her eyes. They were two balls of fury, and her cigarette dangled from her cracked lips. (If I was flying down the sidewalk, I'd probably have chapped lips too.)

She huffed as she passed by with her little legs sticking straight out, ready to attack should a pedestrian get in her way.

I let out a sigh of relief. I had just narrowly dodged a speeding bullet.

Other sidewalk sightings of the day:
Woman wearing 3D glasses at night talking to herself. I want to live in her world.

Church sign I liked:
"A person without a purpose is like a ship without a rudder."