Autonomy as a guiding principle

the future

2011-02-15T03:02:00.000-08:00

I totally forgot about this little private spot on the internets. I missed you so! I haven't posted here in a couple of years which is a good thing because the last couple of years kicked me square in the vadge.

But the last couple of months, it feels like someone opened a window in here. There's sunlight and a fucking sweet breeze in here.

As a great man once said,

"History says, Don’t hope
On this side of the grave,
But then, once in a lifetime
The longed-for tidal wave
Of justice can rise up,
And hope and history rhyme"

-Seamus Heaney

Okay, my sitch isn't that dire. I live in America for chistsakes. Not that I haven't gone hungry, just not in years and years.

Also, why isn't anyone named Seamus anymore???

moving

2009-09-09T14:35:00.000-07:00

Hey! Over here!

http://hulgawest.tumblr.com/

Fortune

2009-09-02T00:12:00.000-07:00

Just got this fortune. Let's check back and see if it happens.

"Something to do with the country, or near a river or ocean may figure strongly in an event which will occur within about one month."

Pretty specific don't you think?

It would be pretty funny if I drowned in a river that ran into the ocean while visiting the country. And after I died, the universe was all, "bish, we tried to tell you dumb ass but your just dissed us on your fucking stupid blog, so that will be 10 years spent as a microrganism or some shit."

Suprisingly, the universe has a pretty filthy mouth.

Finding common ground

2009-08-25T23:09:00.000-07:00

Excerpted comments section on a documentary crime show video between two bored, overly sensitive morons.

BOSM 1: You're delusional if you think he could not have done more. If that was your mother would you just sit there while this guy with a shotgun shot her? He was not being held at gunpoint by this guy. Instead he sat there like a little pussy and his hands in his face. I would rather be a retard than a coward. Which you clearly appear to be.

BOSM 2: You dont know me from shit, dont assume the life i live or what i would. I found out real early im not like most people so i have to think what the "typical" fucking dweeb would do, not what I would do.

BOSM 1: he is a pussy and i agree with you on that. But this world is made up of at least 90% or better of pussies and softees. I wouldnt even hang with nobody who would shoot some little girl in the face OVER NOTHING. So I would never be stuck in a situation like that. Therefore, I wouldnt have to work my way out of it.

BOSM 2: Btw I agree with you. I would also not hang out with a psychotic dickhead like that either. So in a way we all a product of the company we keep.

BOSM 1: Hey you're the one who called me a "fucking retard" is that not presumptuous? Not to mention rude, considering you don't know shit about me either. So technically you started it. Your use of language towards me on my post regarding this video was totally uncalled for considering I was just trying to have an opinion. You could disagreed without using such strong judgmental language about me, then I would not have bit back. Every reaction has an equal and opposite reaction my friend.

BOSM 2: yea i agree, thats why i didnt get mad when you called me a coward. It aint nothing serious. The bottom line is, the shit was pussy to shoot an innocent little girl, and i think we both agree on that.

BOSM 1: Agreed.

You should probably wash that first.

2009-08-01T16:42:00.000-07:00

This is another entry in my survive-the-recession series.

One of my favorite past times is thrifting. I often have dreams where I’m walking down a street and there are a few thrift stores to check out in a row and they are filled with interesting objects on sale for pennies. These are the most restful dreams. In the bad dreams, the thrift stores are closed and I can only look through the window.

I think the reason I like it so much is that unlike new things, every object in the thrift store has a story to tell. You might giggle and poke at the brown, rubber fake boob, but then you realize that the reason it’s there is most likely because its wearer died of breast cancer. This may seem like a depressing way to shop, but for a person who loves stories with drama, it makes purchasing new things, duller than dull, as beige as beige can be. They are so blank and storyless.

The other reason I like it is the cheapness of it all. I can buy a new wardrobe for about twenty bucks. So what if it’s stinky and ill-fitting? That’s what dry cleaners are for. Recently, I spent more on fixing a skirt than I bought it for.

Here are some objects you should never purchase in a thrift shop; underwear, sheets, nightgowns, porn, socks, litterboxes, bedside commodes, bandages, and inner ear wash kits. Shoes can be okay provided that the previous owner’s foot hasn’t shaped the shoe too much. If so, it’s like putting your soul into someone else’s body. There is something disquieting about it.

The book section is also a great place to stay well read for cheap. Be prepared to weed through Backstreet Boys picture books and lots of lesbian poetry that was probably purchased during the L.U.G.-y (Lesbian Until Graduation) self-discovery years. Self help is also big. Probably more self help books are donated to thrift shops every year than are sold to actually help people. Pick through the celebrity autobiographies and you might find a Graham Greene first edition.

The grossest used object that I’ve seen for sale was a used bed that someone tried to sell me in Texas. It had a bloodstain on it that was about torso sized. Someone definitely bled out in that bed and the salesman thought he could still get two hundred bucks for it! He was an optimist. I can only imagine the dreams that a person would have sleeping in that bed. Maybe thrifting dreams where the only items for sale were blood soaked? I’ll never know because we passed on it. I should probably add bed to the do not buy list too; yeah, definitely no beds.

The difference between a cement plant and a prison

2009-07-28T15:31:00.000-07:00

I took my car to a new mechanic last week. I have had several bad experiences trying to maneuver through the male dominated world of the auto shop. Being a woman, with some automotive life experience, I expect to be ripped off or dismissed by the knowing, macho types that car culture often attracts. As I stood waiting in the steamy, crowded office, papered in Lamborghini (or as Otis “Half-Eaten” calls them, Lambos) posters the main mechanic talked with some old guy with like the worst B.O, ever. When he left, I started telling the mechanic about my car issues. He was a big, hulking guy. He looked Middle Eastern in the way that my dad did, which is to say, probably not Middle Eastern, but from somewhere close by. He was wearing dirty coveralls (natch) and was probably around fifty. He listened and handed me the paperwork to fill out.

He says to me as I’m doing this,” That old man, he comes here a lot. He smells so bad. His car is so filled with garbage that it’s hard for us to work on it. Poor, poor man, I think he’s very depressed. Both his sons died of AIDS. It’s very sad.”

That is one monologue that I did not expect. And the caring manner in which he related it, it was heartfelt and intimate, two things I also didn’t expect to encounter at the auto shop.

The universe is still expanding and exploding which according to Big Sur and I guess science and stuff, causes the world to be entropic, often negative, and chaotic. But, lately I have been surprised by open, generous, caring people with expansive energies and although the world still contains all those explosive characteristics, I’m experiencing a lot of the other stuff too.

checking the pulse at the welfare office part II (the weirdening)

2009-07-22T12:23:00.000-07:00

Actual dialogue at the welfare office this morning.

Scene: generic government office 3/4 full. Two middle aged women sit and fill out forms together while the stink of booze rises off of them. It's 9:30am on a Wednesday.

Woman 1: "Wild Child, what's your real name?"
Woman 2: "Shirley."

Checking the pulse of the welfare office

2009-07-15T12:37:00.000-07:00

Today I had the delight of visiting my local welfare office. You hear a lot about those places, but it isn’t like what you think. Or maybe it is. I won’t pretend to know what you think. I guess I know two opinions folks have on the welfare office although people probably have others as well. One is it’s a sad place where useless/dangerous people who have too many kids go, to get free stuff. The other is it’s a sad place where sad people go who have not had the privileges the rest of us have had, to be demeaned while they get free stuff for their multitudinous children.

Now, I guess I am finally one of the privileged. I certainly am solid middle class at this point in my life. However, most things in my life are qualified. For instance, I have a graduate degree but it’s from a state school. I’m a homeowner who only got there the old fashioned way (people died). Maybe I can’t believe I had the luck to be solid middle class so I’m trying to tear it down. Don’t know….

Anyway, I do think I have a unique vantage point. When I was in high school we donated our couch that we had been using every day, because someone gave us a newer one, and when Goodwill came by, they wouldn’t take it because it was too fucked up. In years prior, I didn’t have a winter coat and it was pretty cold where I lived. One of my best friends lived behind the impound lot in a trailer with six siblings. Man we had some good times breaking into those cars. Around this same time, I took my first overnight train ride, on the Orient Express from Venice to Paris. I guess my point is I’ve pretty much seen both sides of things and I know enough to know that what most folks think about class issues is usually simultaneously right and wrong.

Let me interject one moment to say that I’m not going to say why I was at the welfare office but I will say that I was referred to them to check into a situation. It was my intention to be honest and see if they could help me. I actually did tell the person who interviewed me that I considered myself middle class, so I wasn’t trying to scam.

When I walk in, there is a metal detector. I am asked to empty my pockets into a dirty, plastic bin. The security guard goes through my purse. I walk into the main room where there is a bank of windows behind bulletproof glass facing a bunch of plastic chairs all stuck together, DMV style. It looks like a boring George Tooker painting. If you don't know his paintings go google right now. I'll wait for you.

There are two armed guards giving everyone the stinkeye. There is a small T.V. area where kids can go hang. The kid's T.V. is behind bulletproof glass. You know how grumpy those welfare kids get when they run out of those big cheese blocks. They don't get bratty, they get shooty. In spite of all this security, no one looks particularly scary. It’s mostly moms and old people in a rainbow of colors. I’m not the only white person there.

I wait in the customer service line, explain my sitch, and am sent to another line. I explain my sitch again, the woman asks me to fill out a form, which I do. She gets irked because I didn’t bring my social security card. I apologize and tell her that I wasn’t told to by the person that referred me. She is speaking through one of those mics and keeps not speaking directly into it so I keep asking her to repeat everything. She is getting increasingly annoyed. Then she turns off her mic ( I can still hear her but it’s muffled) and starts giving her co-worker the business. “When we all work together thing go smooth, when you send everyone to me, it doesn’t go smooth”. Stuff like that. The co-workers are staring blankly at her. This makes me feel better because I know her annoyance is generalized. It’s not personal. When we finish our business, I smile and say “thank you”. She seems to appreciate it.

I wait in the rows of sticky chairs and read my book. Kids run around me laughing and playing. It takes about half an hour for them to call my name. I go though a door into a labyrinth of blank cubicles for my interview. The woman I speak to is thorough, professional, even kind. She explains how the system works. It’s pretty complicated and confusing. We schedule another appointment in order to give me time to gather information.

When my dad came to America he got off the boat in New York. He was given fifty dollars by a Jewish charity because he came over here with a bunch of people who had been in concentration camps. He tried to explain to the charity that he wasn't Jewish and hadn't been in those camps. just a regular prison camp. They told him to keep it anyway. When he was finally offered a job in California he had doubts about moving to such a far off place. The woman who interviewed him for the job took him to the window and showed him a homeless man people were stepping over, in the street. She told him that in America, you had to make the most of your opportunities because no one including the government had your back. He took the job.

It wasn’t terrible advice. It’s mostly true that if you have to rely on the government you are in a pretty bad place. They will barely keep you alive. The barest bare minimum. But navigating the system wasn’t as bad as you would think either. From what I saw, there were everyday people (maybe with more neck tattoos than usual) being ushered through a regimented process with dignity and kindness.

Mail Bag

2009-07-08T16:55:00.000-07:00

Hello,

I am Oliver N'goran from Cote d Ivoire and I am contacting you because I need your help in the management of my inheritance my father left for me before he died. Please there is Reason for this letter, I will wish that you will read and reply me urgently. You may be surprise why my mail, but I feel it is better to approach you to sort a way forward for my life. The lost of my parents have traumatized me and expose me more about inhumanity among men,

All my father s assets has been forcefully taken away by my uncles and my life is in Danger, I can not take any action now because i'm afraid of been harmed as God has saved me from his den. Before the death of my father, I gained admission to read Medicine at the University of Cocody and could not complete this program due to these problems.My father disclosed to me about his treasure at point of death that worth $6.5 M USD (Six Million , Five Hundred Thousand dollars.) in a domiciliary account with a bank in Cote d ' Ivoire which I am the next of kin.My father was a very rich cocoa farmer and he was poisoned by his business colleagues, which I have my uncle as a prime suspect following his actions since the death of my father.

I want you to stand as my appointed guardian and beneficiary to enable you receive the money in your country since I am only 19 years not up to the age signed with my father in the bank in case of death to release the money for me. This is basically on arrangement. To enable me have the fund as it is the only possible means for the bank to release the Money to me. Please below are three major reasons why I contacted you. 1) I need your assistance to provide a bank account where this money will be transferred to.2) You will serve as the guardian of these funds until I finish my studies to join you.3) You will make arrangement for me to come over to your country after the money has been transferred to you. The agreement states that I have to be 25 year old.

I can not wait for this time, because my uncle want to kill me to have all my father properties for himself, Please this will be done very fast as I have all the relevant documents and I have gone to the bank for the Transfer, so I will be waiting for your mail for us to process fast. Waiting for your response

Thanks and God Bless You.

Oilver N'goran.

______________________________________________________
Dear Oliver,

Great to hear from you. Wow! You certainly do have a lot of problems. Maybe I can be of help. First of all, God doesn’t live in a den. He lives in a lair, silly. Second of all, I don’t know what the study of “reading medicine” entails, but it doesn’t sound like it will help the 13% of your country’s population that is HIV+. Wouldn’t your time be better spent planning a coup or something?

I’m sorry to hear that your father died and that your uncles poisoned him! That’s going to make the holidays really awkward, I’ll bet. I wouldn’t celebrate at their house. Lord only knows what they put in the turkey! Ha ha.

I think it is really cool that your father was a cocoa farmer. Was there a lot of chocolate in your house when you were growing up? I’m allergic myself, but I do love it. Like I always say, “chocolate doesn’t make the world go round, but it sure makes the trip worthwhile”. Yum!

Sounds like you are in a bit of a financial pickle. I would love to help you, but I have had some pretty crazy bank issues myself. I accidentally wrote some checks without “sufficient funds” and when I told the bank people my checkbook had been stolen, they didn’t believe me! It turns out that fraud charges can follow you from state to state. I was told that I can’t use the banking system for five years, at least not under my real name.

Also, I would love to have you come stay with me and hear all about your weird customs and the cocoa farm and all, but I kind of already have company. Her name is Denise and we are in love. We met one night when I was kind lonely and driving around. She got into my car to um, do business and I took her home with me. We have been together ever since. And even though we argue sometimes, with her pleading to, “please untie me and let me go” and "this dark crawlspace is no place to keep a human being” it’s never that serious. There are always going to be disagreements in a relationship. But I do think the added stress of a houseguest would not help our relationship. Also, I wouldn’t want you to judge our alternative lifestyle. I hope you understand.

Oliver, I am rather concerned about this Danger you speak of. Your uncles sound ruthless and bloodthirsty. While these are traits I admire, I do want to help you defend yourself against them. Here’s what I think you should do:
1. Invite them over to dinner
2. Tell them you are turning the properties over to them in return for your life
3. When they are leaving, kill them! Now that would be turning the tables on the situation, don’t you think?

I doubt anyone would blame you. They did murder your father and they never helped on the cocoa farm. Also, isn’t your country one of those dangerous, overpopulated, fly soaked ones? No one will probably even notice.

In conclusion, I really hope everything works out for you, Oliver. Please write me back and let me know how it all turned out. Also, thanks for writing. I feel like we have known each other a long time and it is very exciting to have a pen pal from somewhere so exotic! Well, I gotta go, Denise is screaming, I mean calling.

Toodle loo!

Steve Coffin

I gotta a job making money for the man, put the chicken in the bucket with the soda pop can.

2009-06-26T01:09:00.000-07:00

I have had two jobs in “the industry” since I came to L.A.. They were both short lived, temp job type deals. At the first one I worked for one of the big studios at some satellite office, so I never got to go on the lot. Every day security gave me a bunch of bullshit when I tried to come in to work and I would have to go to the pay phone (I didn't have a cell phone yet) and call my agency. I was supposed to answer a phone for this executive. The only thing was she liked to answer her own phone. So, I only had to answer it while she was at lunch and it never rang then. Every day around 4pm, she would bring me a one page document to fax. I think she felt bad for me. I was probably sending blank sheets to her mom's house or something. My day consisted of trying to hide in my itchy polyester clothes so no one would notice that I didn’t do anything. It was oddly stressful. I would rather have been working. I sat in an almost empty cubicle. It had an electric typewriter and not much else. I did not have a computer, so no solitaire, no email no nothing. I read the complete works of Dorothy Parker in a week.

The second job I was working for one of the big industry papers. I was placed in the editorial department. Every morning when I came in, all the major newspapers would be lying on my desk with certain articles circled. It was my job to cut them out then photocopy several sets for the morning editorial meeting. It was to be my only peaceful time of the day. After that task was accomplished, the phones would be turned on. When the temp agency called me, they asked if I had ever worked with multi-lined phones. I said yes. I really should have asked how many multi is. I was thinking it was like five or six. Turns out it was forty. And they rang all the damn time. They never stopped until they were turned off at five. They were split between me and another woman, twenty lines each. Still, that is a lot. We never spoke to each other or took breaks. People would call, all agitated, yelling things like, “whose Kate Moss’s agent?” I really didn’t know anything about the industry and I have to admit I would occasionally “get cut off” from the person asking the hard to answer question. We got about twenty minutes for lunch and maybe one bathroom break all day. I was too inexperienced to call anyone out on the legalities of this. When my lunch break came, I would eagerly exit the building, lighting the first of three or four cigarettes I could suck down in twenty minutes. I would walk down the street to the 7-11 and get a hot dog and a soda. Once, I was walking through the parking lot and I saw a car that had been abandoned in front of the store while the owner went in to quickly buy chips, smokes, rubbers or whatever. He had forgotten to set the parking brake, but had locked the car up tight. It was rolling back into the very busy intersection. All these people came running to try to stop it. I remember standing there watching it drifitng forebodingly while all this anonymous good intention tried to make things right, and thinking, “yeah, entropy is a bitch”. But, they did stop it.

I got to actually go onto a studio lot the other day for an actual meeting. After the meeting, I did "get lost" a little on the way to my car. I think I have pretty much earned the right to wander a bit.

On looking for a job part deux (the saddening)

2009-06-15T16:48:00.000-07:00

So the job search continues and each day brings a new lesson in humility. I have lowered myself to checking Craiglist. And yes, it is lowering oneself. For one, most jobs expect everything and give nothing back.

Example:
Can you design websites, answer a forty line phone, work overtime, travel, redesign our office, and speak Spanish and Chinese? Don’t bother applying if you can’t work weekends and baby sit the boss’s children while doing all of the above.
Compensation: 8-10.00 and hour

The other discouraging aspect is that you have to reevaluate your life daily. What didn’t fly yesterday may be a fucking okay today. Are you hungry and disappointed enough to be a sign spinner? Would it be awesome or awful if you had to wear a costume with a headpiece while spinning said sign? At least your friends wouldn’t know it’s you, but on the other hand the headpiece might carry that staph infection that started on skid row and county jail. Oh, what to do.

Not that any of it matters anyway. It’s not like after the many, many emailed resumes and cover letters I’ve sent, anyone has responded. Oh, I take that back. I did get one interview, at a collection agency. They worked on commission. So, however many people you could properly scare into paying you, you got a part of it. Not blood money exactly, more like corn syrup and food coloring money. Anyway, I passed, which I kind of regret sometimes, in my potential sign spinner employment moments.

The other job site I have been checking is Careerbuilder. All I have to say is, “Careerbuilder, you are no Monster”. In order to sign up, it’s like a half day temp job, with no pay, natch. After this lengthy beginning, the offers start flowing. Offers like:

Work at home 500 dollars a day, totally legit, just a one time sign up fee. This company is totally legit. We are a housewares company based in England that needs American data entry workers to help us collect payment. Totally easy and totally legit. Did we mention we’re legit? We totes are!!!!!

How does it even work that entering data helps collect debts? The whole pitch reminds me of a trannie hooker with a full beard trying to talk an army guy into getting a blow job. “I’m totally a woman, I swear! This beard is old food stuck to my face. I swear!”

Anyway, I’ll keep plugging away. The only other strategy I can think of is driving around looking for help wanted signs in windows of businesses. Maybe this can be my soundtrack. http://www.sadtrombone.com/ Wish me luck!!

Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see.

2009-03-06T22:00:00.000-08:00

I ended up hanging out in the ER the other night for a few hours and I actually had a pretty good time. My mom had a fall and it is the policy of her assisted living place that you have to go to ER if you faceplant, which she did. When I got there, I pretty much new she was not mortally wounded. The ER was very full and so we did not have a curtained “room”. We ended up in the hall for about six hours. She was in a gurney and I was either standing next her or at the foot of the bed, sitting in a chair. At one point I put an earbud in one of her ears and one in mine and we sang along to Strawberry Fields Forever. But, they didn’t even really do anything for her. It was like we were going through the motions of healthcare, like a performance with no finale. Just sitting in my chair for half an hour, I understood why. They had a lot of more intense shit on their hands than my bruised mom. There was the guy who had apparently stepped in a lot of glass. He was also lying in the hallway. He kept yelling, “I’m not drunk”! Dude, if you are in the ER at midnight on a Sunday yelling about how drunk you are not? Um, you’re totally fucking wasted. Then there was the 22 year old who was curled up in a fetal position on the gurney with his arms wrapped around his head, weeping. He kept wailing, “I took some drugs”. The orderly wheeling him around was trying hard not to laugh. There was also another old man who had not eaten in days and lived alone. They were trying to find somewhere for him to go. That was sad. About every 20 minutes or so a very exasperated voice came over the loudspeaker saying, "I need an environmental waste crew member in room 6". Whatever was going on there required multiple cleanups. I just put my ipod on and watched the parade roll by. I wonder if people ever hang out there. Are there ER groupies? It’s pretty great people watching, as good as the courthouse. I know I need to get a life. I have been known to read the dictionary and the phone book. Seriously.

I once had a grip on everything, it feels better to let go.

2009-02-18T18:41:00.000-08:00

Up until a few months ago, I was a working artist. Now, I am looking for a job, pretty much any job and I am also signing up with temp agencies. As we all know, like fight club, the first rule of temping is you do not talk about temping. Am I happy about this turn of events? No, no I am not. But, I am looking for the lesson in it, moving forward, numbing my mind, whatever works. I have not had a “real job” in over 3 years and I have not had a job interview in over 7. Wah wah, I know. Poor sweet baby me.

So, rather than dwelling in the inevitable, I thought I would give some tips on how to save money in this new economy. Even during the fat years, I lived pretty lean, so my lean years are like a celebrity a week before the Oscars; starvation, purging and hourly enemas. So to speak.
Here goes.

1. Bring your lunch to work. You heard me. Yeah I know you like your 6.00 sandwich, your bag of chips, and your peppermint patty, but shit adds up. You are spending minimum 30 bucks a week. Times that times 52. You don’t even want to know. You can still have all of that, just bring it from home. You’ll save bunches, and you’ll get so used to doing it, you won’t remember not doing it. I swear.

2. Stop eating out at restaurants. We have been having friends over for dinner and doing like a potluck. Also, you get to spend more time together without annoying waitpersons hovering over you, trying to get you to spend more money. Another perk is that when you host it, you can get totally blotto without worrying about driving home. Remember the whole numbing your mind thing from two paragraphs ago? Pretty much, yeah.

3. Get rid of all your expensive beauty shit. This one is more for the ladies, but maybe some of you guys have expensive beauty shit too. Big Sur barely uses soap, and I have to remind him to wash his hair, so I don’t have to worry about him. Most of that beauty shit is a scam. It’s regular shit, but scented nicely and packaged expensively. Here’s an example. I have dry skin on my face in the winter. I used to use nice cleanser and moisturizer, back when I had money. Now that I don’t have job, I spread honey all over my face at night. And it works amazingly. Seriously, it’s nature’s damn miracle. As for moisturizer, I put a tiny bit of olive oil on the dry spots. Guess what, practically free and it works really well. The honey thing wouldn’t work for vegans, I guess. But for everyone else, go crazy. Just remember to put your hair back. And maybe skip applying it on the nights when you host the potluck. Drinking and honey facials do not mix. I have learned that shit the hard way. Fo sho!

4. Stop going to the movies. Either rent or download that shit. I’m not saying do anything illegal. Just share what you have with friends, and make them share with you. Who’s to say how many friends you have? Maybe you are really popular, like me, and you have tens of thousands. You don’t? Well that’s sad. You should get some more. They are all over the internet, waiting for you, these friends. Just put download TV shows into google and you will start meeting your new friends toot sweet!

5. Stop using so much shit! By this I mean soap, shampoo, paper towels, toilet paper, electricity, detergent, and water. Also at the risk of sounding like my mother, if you’re cold, put on a damn sweater and close the doors. What are you trying to do? Heat the great state of California?!?

6. Install those fluorescent bulbs. That shit will save you money. Also, you should have already done that like a year ago. Where the hell have you been?

Well, that’s all I have for now. In a few weeks when I’m down to eating my own toenails for protein, I’m sure I’ll come up with a few more. Until then, toodles!

Unsexy adult situations

2008-12-02T14:52:00.000-08:00

As I'm typing this I'm watching a small spider go up and down on his web at face level, about a foot away from me. Is it a good spider or a bad spider? I do not know. My usual desire to destroy it is absent. As a friend once said about the mouse living in his house, "he's doing his thing, I'm doing mine".

I haven't written anything in awhile because my life has been full of adult, rated R type situations. Not the sexy kind but rather the sad kind. Who wants to hear about that? The world is currently fucked enough as it is without me adding more sad stories to it.

I will share this though. Today I was doing some research on the internets and the person I was looking for turned up dead. Four years dead as a matter of fact. This was a somewhat older person but they didn't die of a disease, rather they smashed their car into a tractor/trailer on an interstate somewhere in this great (possibly fucked) country. Instant death, violent, shocking.

Full disclosure: I didn't like this person at all. They had done some pretty bad things, but then they turned around and did some pretty good things. So there was some redemption. The situation I was researching for, would have given them another chance to do good. It is sad. But the more I've seen lately (and these past couple of weeks has been full of seeing) the more I think that things like missed redemption matter less than I previously thought. I'm not sure why I think this. I have been feeling the impermanency of all life and it doesn't scare me that much anymore. Maybe I'm depressed, but I don't think so. I think I'm forming some type of faith in a universe that wil keep on spinning regardless of unsquashed spiders or sudden, violent death. Good actions and bad. It's comforting in a fucked up way. But I'm not sure why.

alone I am nameless, fearless and faceless.

2008-09-12T23:03:00.000-07:00

So, the day after I wrote that previous doubting paragraph I had a sweet opportunity come my way. Just a reminder to focus on what I want and the things I have accomplished.

I had a funny, fucked up day yesterday. I'll just give the highlights. I had to take my mom out to the doctor and I almost dumped her out of her wheelchair, totally not on purpose (jeez!). Then we got into an argument. There was some swaring, I think, by me. I should be set on fire. Worst daughter ever.

Then I went to a large chain bookstore. It was very crowded because the lead guitarist of K0rn was signing his book. Not to slam on the his fans, but one has to picture the bookshelves this sure to be classic will land on. I'm guessing not next to leatherbound first editions. More likely next to a lot of D&D books, perhaps some books on Majik strategy, and the Big Book of Skulls. A Satanic Bible or two? Anyhoo, I needed help finding a book , I wait in line and I tell the guy behind the desk I'm looking for a book. He says, "Um, I can't really help you with that". However, there is a search kiosk thingy two feet from his right hand. I point this out to him and he says, "Yeah but I don't know how to use it". It says on the screen, "click the mouse to begin searching". Seriously. I ask if I can use it, even though it is slightly more on his side of the counter. He tells me no, and that I have to elbow through the K0rn crowd to go all the way to the information desk, which when I went back there, was unmanned. Where were these do nothing retail jobs when I was in my early 20"s? There's no way I could of gotten away with treating customers like that. I wasn't pissed, I was fucking jealous!

I can say that I hope it will be worth what I give up.

2008-09-04T22:55:00.000-07:00

So there's been some doubts and worries lately. The thought that I'm not getting any younger or any richer or further down the road I want to be going down. It's all good though. Part of the process of being a human that takes risks, I guess. I can't say I wasn't warned, just not by anyone I believed in.

I've been watching some shows on you tube lately (no TV here) and two of my faves are the First 48 and Banged Up Abroad. The first one is an A&E show about homicide. Kind of depressing, but also very interesting and when the bad guys get it, it's a fist pumping fuck ya! The other show is British ( I think) and tells firsthand stories (and reenacts them) of people (American and Brits) who were/are imprisoned in other countries. Lots of very naive people drug smuggling, but also a guy on a road trip through South America who gets captured by Colombian rebels. If you wrote his story as fiction, it would be considered over the top. Search for it on the you tube. You won't be sorry. I haven't seen a dull episode yet.

I also spent some time with the true crime genre and I learned some factoids. One is that only paranoid killers remove their victims eyes. Another is the three elements most serial killers have: brain injury, childhood abuse, mental illness. Pretty much most of 'em have the trifecta of doom. Last one: at any given time there are about 100 of them roaming around the U.S. Sweet dreams!

Are you street or art school?

2008-08-18T18:50:00.000-07:00

Highlights from my weekend:
Danced my ass off at kick-ass dance party. It was a rager.
Caught up with friends who just spent two months on the Silk Road.
Took part in a jam session. Some of the instruments in said session: two guitars, harmonica, egg shaker thing, bongos, dinner fork and beer bottle, bagpipes. The bagpipes were the Godzilla of the jam session, fo' sure.
Spoke with a long lost relative. Also, got an email from a woman I was friends with from preschool until 7th grade. In 7th grade, she got pissed off at me because I said that Who's the Boss, sucked ass. I guess she's finally over it.
Diagnosed my car's problem. I actually looked under the hood, took a couple of things apart, and put it all back together with no extra pieces. I'm so fucking butch, I can't stand it.

Squirrely

2008-07-10T22:23:00.000-07:00

Birds do it. Bees do it. Squirrels do it in my yard. A lot.

I had opinions that didn’t matter. I had a brain that felt like pancake batter.

2008-07-09T21:12:00.000-07:00

Ooooh, I was in sort of a black mood tonight. Big, nasty, monster dogs chased my cats through the yard, stepping on plants I just planted, Big Sir turned his nose up at the dinner I cooked, and then I spent close to an hour on the phone with one of those credit report places, most of it on hold. My security question was “what is the name of your favorite pet”? I had typed in my hands down favorite pet (living). It didn’t work. I typed in my hands down favorite pet (dead). Didn’t work either. So I was locked out of my account. When I finally got to talk to someone (India) they insisted that I name the damn pet’s name. I told them that both of my guesses were wrong. He suggested that I name all my pets. Now, I have had a lot of pets, with a lot of stoopid names. So I start naming names like Poopiehead and Loverbutterfacepants and Dingleberry Derek. Man, I started laughing my ass off and more embarrassingly he’s laughing his ass off too. The list was long and of course the pet I named last was the secret word. Ironically, it’s the pet I actually dislike the most. I must have been high to type her in as a fave. Or maybe she’d been kissing my ass that day. Who knows. I felt bad for the operator, having to listen to my sordid pet history so I actually let him roll through his sales pitch for like fifteen damn minutes. Ultimately, I don’t think he judged me that much. I’m pretty sure they name those sacred cows some pretty hi-fucking-larious names over there in that India. Or if they don’t, they should. Makes life more fun.

I do have some bitter disgust to pass on to the art world. As if it reads this. It doesn’t.
Please, please, please for the love of all that is pure and good in this world, cease and desist using owls, deer, and skulls in art. It’s not interesting. It’s not cute. It’s not ironic. It’s stupid. And boring. And totally overdone. And completely fucking lazy. Lazy because a person doesn’t even to attach meaning to these images to show them and sell them in important places. The meaning seems to be that everyone else is using them, which isn’t meaning, it’s lemming bullshit. For some reason this keeps getting celebrated over and over. Artists, please stop using these images. Gallerists and curators, please stop showing this bullshit, Collectors. For gods sake, stop collecting it. It’s not going to be worth a g-damn dime in ten years. It’s an insult to artists who are effectively using unique, thoughtful, meaningful symbols in their work. Gah! I get all frothy mouthed about this issue.

Alright, let us not end on that note. Really quick movie reviews. As it heats up outside, I hide in movie theaters more and more. Big Sir and an animator friend dragged me to Wall-e. I had zero expectations. Actually, that's not totally true. I expected to hate it. And I didn’t. I didn’t love it, but you know, Disney preaching to me about corporations that turn people into sloths… Well, that’s a little more than I can take. But, I really liked the first hour. I wish we could have stayed there. The deserted, lost and forgotten earth was really quite beautiful. The only other movie I’ve seen is Encounters at the End of the World. What a great movie for a hot day. I really love Herzog and although it is no Grizzly Man, it is quite beautiful and interesting. Basically you get to take a trip to Antarctica with Herzog. Which I totally would have, but he never called me.

Cliché quota met

2008-07-02T20:30:00.000-07:00

Lately, Big Sir and I have been getting up at 5:30 in the morning to go running. Who am I? I don’t even know anymore. I’ve also been going to a yoga class once a week which starts at 9am on Sunday morning. And I show up on time and not hungover or anything. Last week were asked to loop our index fingers around our big toes, while standing, and swing the arm/leg combo out to the side. Try it, your leg will feel like its starting to leave your hip socket. Actually, don’t. It’s too crazy. I also have given up coffee. And TV.

This morning while we were running not only did we see a bird catch a worm, but we heard a rooster crow. It actually went cockle-doodle-do. I mentioned this to Gypsy Prince and he said, “Wow! That reminds me of the time I was hanging out with our friend J. She was on acid, and we saw a white rabbit”.

Give that coyote a one dollar taco.

2008-06-05T21:41:00.000-07:00

My mom lives in an assisted living facility. It is a very nice one and she is actually quite happy there. The food is pretty good, they go on outings at least once a week, she has had suitors. The people that work there have been there for years and are very warm and caring. It is the best case scenario for someone with a chronic, debilitating disease, which she has. The one real drawback is that the people who live there, die periodically. When someone dies, they put a framed picture of them by the elevator along with any announcements of pending services. When I was visiting this week, I noticed a picture of a guy I call Patchy. Patchy was actually fairly young (late 50’s) to live there. He had the diabeetus and probably other things too. He still drank and smoked and had lost a leg and an eye, hence my nickname for him. He was always really antisocial and sort of had a chip on his shoulder. I’m sure he had his reasons for his moods. As a fellow moody person, I’m not judging. I said to my mom, “Oh wow, look Patchy died”. My mom says in this very ominous tone, “We all woke up Monday morning….except him”. It was as if she’s seen the cloaked figure of Death tapping people on the shoulder during bingo. Maybe she has. She is on a lot of medication. I signed her up to go see Iron Man to get her mind off of Patchy.

Last Friday we went to meet some friends at a new bar that has like hundreds of beers. It is sort of an arty/yuppie/NY lookin’ type of bar. It’s a little fancy for our side of town. However, it is located in the middle of a neighborhood that is currently involved in a fairly active gang war. We got there 15 minutes before they opened (8pm on a Friday!) and waited outside looking desperate for a drink. They had a large, newly paved (empty) parking lot that they wouldn’t let us park in. “Employees only” we were told. So, we get in there and I’m thinking, “Two strikes on this place”. We get our drinks, which are excellent, sit for awhile on comfy, cool couches, and have a great time. The music isn’t too loud, there aren’t too many people there, the bathroom has a butterfly theme. It’s all good. Our friends get hungry, and we are too tipsy to drive. The bar only serves bags of chips. We go outside and the doorman tells us there are tacos down the street. Huzzah! We walk about a block and we see a huge grilling table on the sidewalk. It’s actually an industrial grill like you’d see in a restaurant, except there’s no restaurant, just the grill and a table with condiments on it. We get some tacos (a dollar each!) and while we are waiting for them, we see a coyote cross the street, moving fast, nose to the ground. It was one of those moments, eating illegal tacos on a darkened street, in a gang ridden neighborhood, while scavengers skulked around us, that made me glad I live here. It’s exciting even when nothing is really happening. We get back to the bar and the bartender gets pissed at us for eating the tacos inside. The reason being, “It’ll smell like a taco truck in here”. Strike three!

I'm learning things about myself

2008-05-21T23:09:00.000-07:00

Because I symptom google like a good hypochondriac, I learned that this one thing I have, that I thought was slowly killing me, is not only meaningless, it has an awesome name. I have Exploding Head Syndrome.

From Wiki:
Exploding head syndrome is a condition that causes the sufferer to occasionally experience a tremendously loud noise as if from within his or her own head, usually described as an explosion, roar or a ringing noise. This usually occurs within an hour or two of falling asleep, but is not the result of a dream and can happen during the day as well. Although perceived as tremendously loud, the noise is usually not accompanied by pain. Attacks appear to change in frequency over time, with several attacks occurring in a space of days or weeks followed by months of remission. Sufferers often feel a sense of fear and anxiety after an attack, accompanied by elevated heart rate. Attacks are also often accompanied by perceived flashes of light (when perceived on their own, known as a "visual sleep start") or difficulty in breathing. The condition is also known as "auditory sleep starts." It is not thought to be dangerous, although it is sometimes distressing to experience.

Exploding Head Syndrome. God, that makes me feel so much better. Now I can focus more time on my twitching finger.

What's up scro?

2008-05-16T13:49:00.000-07:00

Here's a few unrelated things I've noticed lately.
1. If you drive in a big city with lots of traffic, a good way to get around traffic is to drive through the neighborhoods that white people won't go in. Chances are the neighborhoods aren't as bad as their reps and there is a lot less traffic. One tip: At red lights, don't look too closely at anyone in the car next to you.
2. When you go hear live music, and the drums are really, really loud, so loud that you can feel them beating in your chest and their rythym joins the rythym of your heart... That's a really good feeling.
3. There really isn't anything manmade that can match the pleasure of eating cold, ripe, summer fruit on a hot day.

on sight

2008-05-05T23:34:00.000-07:00

Recently, we went to a park and made paintings. This is something that used to be at the center of my artistic process, but over the last five years, has totally disappeared from said process. What happened? The short answer is academia. But, who cares about short answers.

For me academia was a good thing. I am eternally grateful that I went back to school. It forever changed my life for the better. I had to rethink the ways I was used to working and question what mattered to me. This led to new and interesting challenges, which led to changes, which made more people interested in what I'm doing. Communication being the end goal. This being said, there are certain things that are frowned upon in a contempory, academic setting. One of them is making paintings that looked cutting edge fifty years ago. Which mine did. My process used to be, go out and make drawings and paintings of an area. Collect items from that area (mostly rocks and bits of things). Go back into the studio and make finished paintings by combining all these things. Sometimes I would flip the sketches over and tear them up and then reassemble them into collages that I would paint from. Sometimes I would superimpose the rocks and detritus over the landscape. I would be as complicated or as simplified with this process as I felt the piece required. Sometimes I would throw all the stuff on the ground, mix it up and make a painting. I sort of left it up to intuition. Looking back, this turned out to be the real lesson. I learned to hone and trust my intuition, which is invaluable to me now.

But sitting in a place, taking it in, really taking it in, was at one time, the center of joy in my life. I doubt my paintings from this time communicate this. Although I do think they communicated my loneliness and detachment from the world, which people only want to look at, if it mirrors theirs. Mine didn't. I was definitely more interested in staring at the world, than participating in it. Although I now know that this is unhealthy, a very small part of me still remembers the pleasure and freedom of checking out. I guess the reason I equate on site painting with detachment, is because I was a concentrating, solitary figure in a moving world. A part, yet apart. What happened is that there wasn't an exchange beyond my pure reaction to the world. Now that sounds great. Pure is good. Pure is pure. Pure sounds like something good, nay, great art strives for. But ultimately it is a closed system. The dialogue ends where it starts. Never reaching into our shared world. At least for me it didn't. And I stuck with that shit for about eight years, so you can't say I didn't put the time in.

I guess the major change was more me than academia. I grew up, got in touch with my shit etc... Academia helped me through it though. It holds you accountable or more accurately, it makes you hold yourself accountable. Especially, if you pay for it yourself.

I think we are going to make this a regular thing. The "we" componant also being the major difference. No more solitary figure in the landscape. Now there are two figures hunched over concentrating. And better snacks.

So we went and made paintings in the park. I had no ambition, except to savor the moment. We found a great spot. On the lip of a canyon, looking directly at the other lip, with the city peeking out from behind a spikey bush to our right. A red tailed hawk circled above us. A sunny day. I chose to paint nature instead of the city. All those plants, bushes, and grasses merging together. It was formless and uncomplicated in its spirit.

Stories from the days of yore.

2008-04-27T22:48:00.000-07:00

My brother (let's call him Gypsy Prince) came to town recently and brought with him one of our mom's college textbooks on Modern Literature. It was probably the 1950's equivalent of the comp 101 paperback that was called Contemporary Literature when I was in college, only instead of Joyce Carol Oates , it has T.S. Eliot and he's listed as being a living writer. My mom is pretty old, I know! She is so old that she remembers Civil War veterans marching in Veteran Day parades when she was a small child. She did say that the soldiers were pretty old. Still, I'm not that old, she had me when she was old. Okay, I'm seriously digressing and using the word old so much, it doesn't look like a word anymore.

One great thing about this book is not only is it full of what we now call Classic Literature, it's also huge, thick, and the cover is that shade of forest green that only books printed before 1960, come in. One other great thing about this book is that this is one book that inspired my mothers love of literature, a love that she passed down to me and Gypsy Prince, that has shaped us in profound ways. It has her notes and doodles in the margins. Among the great stories in the book, there is one by William Saroyan titled,"The Pomegranate Trees" that I had never read before last night. They had a short bio that included this quote by the author (also listed as still alive).

"You must believe that as much as death is inevitable life is inevitable. That is, the earth is inevitable, and people and other living things on it are inevitable, but that no man can remain on this earth for very long. You do not have to be melodramatically tragic about it. It is really one of the basically humorous things, and has all sorts of possibilities for laughter... Try as much as possible to be wholly alive, with all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell, and when you get angry, get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough."

Someone who was close to me is now buried near William Saroyan. When I saw Saroyan's grave (which was marked by a hugantic obelisk, it lifted my spirits on what was otherwise a very sad day. I just love that quote because laughter is such a powerful reflection of the force of life that the two juxtapose quite nicely. It's just such a thoughtful thing to say and stated in such an inspiring and heartfelt way.

golden hour

2008-04-22T21:00:00.000-07:00

My favorite time of day is the golden hour. Technically, the golden hour is two hours a day, so it should be golden hours, but this sounds less poetic. The golden hour happens the hour when the sun rises, and the hour it sets, for those who may not know. The light is magical, warm, soft. The deepest of blues. It's when the world slips into the magical, mystical moment of change. It's the time of day where the sky and earth begin and begin and begin to meet, until they finally do. It reminds me that all is temporary, that all good things come to an end, as do all bad. Here's a maudlin quote from a German writer Jean Paul Richter, "The darkness of death is like evening twilight. It makes all objects appear more lovely to the dying". Or if you prefer something lighter, there is always Oliver Wendall Holmes, "Love prefers twilight to daylight". I think I'll stick with the Doors," You know the day destroys the night, night divides the day, tried to run, tried to hide, break on through to the other side". Anyway, I've been going out for an hour or so after dinner and shooting the twilight with my new camera that I love very much and know how to use, not very much. But that's cool because the point of this experience is not to make good pictures as much as it is about understanding and observing this moment that I love. This moment that feels rare and important, but actually occurs twice a fucking day!

the boredom, the freedom, and the time spent alone.

2008-04-21T21:52:00.000-07:00

So, recently my accomplishments were celebrated and this was a strange albeit pleasant occurance for me. I spend most of my time alone. I like this about my life, although I don't consider myself a misanthrope. I'm actually pretty social and I like talking to people, asking questions, sharing andecdotes and whatnot. But, to be the center of attention for hours and hours was tiring and simultaneously a really a fun experience. It suprised me to find so much pleasure in it because even though I enjoy people, I always felt like I could be one of the last people on earth and be okay with that. I have always enjoyed fiction about the last people at the end of the world (The Stand, The Quiet Earth, Where Have All the People Gone, After the Plague, god there are a lot more I'm getting tired of naming them). But tonite I watched that 28 Weeks Later and I don't think I can romanticize the apocalypse anymore. Sidenote: apocalypse means lifting the veil in Greek. I really enjoyed the first film, and I guess I liked this one (like is a weird word for such a hopeless, sad, violent film) but I also kind of felt emotionally abused by it. Like a little piece of my soul died while watching it. And I guess that's a good thing for a film, or any piece of art to make you feel, or is it? I mean it's something, for sure, but is more of bad. good? Anyhoo, I have rejoined the land of the talkers and the cocktail partyiers and the barbecuers for at least the temporary. And I feel pretty good about that. I love the people. I recently reread Revelations (for artistic research) and I think I'm going to trade it in for some People magazine for awhile. For the sake of my delicate heart, sometimes I gotta dial it back.

Am I secretly in love with Dave Eggers?

2008-04-13T00:20:00.000-07:00

One person I really admire is Dave Eggers. He could have just been some writer living the high life on the upper East Side, with some super skinny, ironic, model girlfriend and coke parties galor. But instead, he's helping the kids, writing books about child soldiers and I'm sure a bunch of other generous shit we don't even know about. It's cool that his essence is in the world in such a major way that he probably doesn't even have enough time in the day to fulfill that shit. When I read his first book, I totally wanted to call bullshit on him and his Miranda July groupies. But, he won me over. And he gave a TED talk where he was nervous, so he doesn't even know that he's totally fucking awesome. Inspiring....

It's not easy to get off that ass.
And make a difference and make it last.

Setbacks, pep talks and the weather

2008-03-12T00:21:00.000-07:00

Have you ever tried really hard (like for days or weeks) to do something great and then it doesn't turn out that great. You yell at your partner,the sky, the floor, they don't care. You can try with your whole being, but there is no guarantee that greatness awaits on the other side. No guarantee at all. But your being is great and it's greatness needs to ooze into the world. The world needs it dammit! This phenonmenon is like the weather. You can plan, you can intend, you can check weather dot come fifty bazillion fucking times, but that shit can change in a second and a pro just rolls with it.

black cat

2008-03-08T22:26:00.000-08:00

There's this feral, black cat that has made it's home in our crumbling garage. I think the cat has mange, judging from the large hairless chunks that have been removed from it's side. It has these green, cold, dead eyes and it sleeps on a once exhibited, sagging sculpture that entropy is slowly (maybe too slowly) enveloping. Our non feral cats won't chase it away and seem semi-content with their new roommate. Big Sir is not content with this new roommate and has suggested shooting it with a BB gun, much to my horror and dismay. Where he sees a sly, unwelcome intruder, I see a small, scared creature that has never known love in this world. Or if it has, it was long ago and probably ended brutally. Even our meaner cat knows that she is cared for and I believe, is somewhat less mean for it. When I see Blackie curled up on the sculpture it makes me feel good that we have unwittingly created a home for a living thing with a (probably) unpleasant life. I guess Big Sir and I are experiencing a natural gender difference. Protector vs. Nurturer. It may sound silly, but seeing this cat every day or every other day, has made me reflect on how fortunate I am to experience love in this world. I actually teared up, in gratitude, thinking about this the other day. Of course, this hasn't inspired me to trap the cat, take it to the vet, and have the mange treated. Reflection is less complicated than action.

Here I go, bitches.

2008-03-05T00:22:00.000-08:00

I told someone else's story and the universe said, "oh no you don't".

The best part of it was this.

"I checked the same pay phone return slot every day for months and it was always empty".

That may not be good enough for you, if that's the case then I am sorry, on behalf of the universe. We can only tell our own stories, although sometimes it's easier to tell other peoples. I have always thought I wanted to write. I have met a lot of people who had strange, sad experiences. They were the type of people who had no voice of their own, so in the back of my mind, I thought I could be that voice, for them. Maybe it was my destiny. Or maybe I'm a condescending, meddling pain in the ass. In any case, I never did anything about it. Instead, I've been waiting for life to happen to me. It happened. One way or another, it always does.