Pens and Art do NOT go together like Beans and Cornbread

A few Fridays ago at the Art Institute (free Thursday and Friday nights until Labor Day!). I was motivated to write standing in front of the Sol Lewitt-inspired piece, but I didn't have a writing utensil. Urgh! I zoomed through the museum to the gift shop and bought myself one, grabbing for the pencils first, but I didn't want a pencil, I wanted a pen. So I bought one. It clicks.

Hit up the contemporary wings, I made a plan before I got to the museum that this is where I would spend my evening. The entrance to the first exhibit was a large gold-beaded welcome. Had I been alone in the wing, or perhaps more courageous, I would've spent hours, if not minutes, dancing through them - I did take my time in passing, dragging my fingers through the golden strands. After the bead curtain I was unsure of the exhibit, as the first piece I encountered was a series of line graph drawings terrifyingly reminding me of high school math. Then the graphite wall drawing in the third room captured my full attention. Inspired by Sol Lewitt and applied directly to the wall. Scribbles made to appear like a 3-D entrance into a mysterious pencil-drawn world. Recalled images of MC Escher. Also, I enjoyed the thick acrylic work of Gerhard Richter. "Ice 1" and "Ice 4," the layers of horizontal and vertical paint lines and scrapes changed through and through as though the real frozen tundra abstractly defined - green and floral colors lay barely exposed under the cold harsh blues, purples and grays.

Hairy Who: Imagists from Chicago's Hyde Park area in the 60s. Wow. Fascinating and bizarre stuff. Cartoony. Garish, political images and satire. Bright, brilliant colors.

The room right next door had Keith Haring and David Wojnarowicz, representin' NYC's East Village. Haring is always wonderful, and I had never experienced Wojnarowicz that I remember. His "Queer Basher/Icarus Falling" was heartbreaking and it gave me the chills... A father came in with his two young children, attempting to explain the importance and design of KH. They were uninterested to say the least. To that he said, "This is very important and you will understand that one day when you are older."
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On the train, an hour later, recalling... a security guard kindly asked me to put away my materials, informing me that pens weren't allowed in the museum. He said this very politely, but still I felt the sting of sadness fill my throat and burn my eyes - maybe he saw this because he quickly noted that he was sorry for the inconvenience, but pens just weren't allowed. Pencils were okay, but no pens. It makes sense, pen rarely ever comes out, even with multiple washes it's tough - granted if you washed the art it would be ruined. I murmured, "Sorry. No worries" quickly, fearing that if I said another word, tears would flood down my face. I don't know why, that's just how I felt. I thought about how pencils should be banned too, because they can scar when pressure is added. I didn't say it, but I thought it. That happens a lot, I think of things all the time, but I never say them because I know they wouldn't come out right, they get all jumbled and confused on the path from my mind to my mouth. Such is the curse of a writer, I suppose. My hand is my medium.

Also, I spent a few minutes in front of Dali. Blew my mind away, as always. "Inventions of Monsters" and I think it was "Visions of Eternity." (Much better in person)

Vvrrrrrooooom! Off the train to sit in Wicker Park, by the fountain. It's a lovely Summer evening.

I was overwhelmed with loneliness and I walked around listening to everyone's conversations wishing I had someone to share my musings with. Particularly in the Abstract room. Joan Miro's "Abstraction" and Picasso's "Man in a Button Down Vest, Top Hat, Smoking a Cigar in an Armchair" - or something to that effect, it was long, clever and I couldn't write it down. Abstraction is such a bizarre art form - and I love it! I wish I had been able to write what I thought about it as I thought about it, but I didn't want to break the pen rule, even though I was no longer standing by the same guard. I knew the rules and I wasn't feeling rebellious.

My recalled thoughts on Abstraction. The Picassos especially made me think about this. We are the sum of parts

***Oh geez! A homeless man is very offended right now as he just came and sat next to me on the bench - there are many other benches that are not occupied. He chose mine. Then, he being muy barracho, sang a sad garbled song, swayed and attempted to lay his head on my shoulder. If he even comes back I'm going to - he's walking this way, I'm clenching my jaw tight to show my displeasure of the situation - I wish I could understand Spanish - he did come back. He's back. New bench. He's back. I moved again, next to a normal-looking couple. They said, "Hey. Come sit by us." He was offended, again. And I told them I wish I understood Spanish better, and the guy joked, "I don't think that's comprehensible in any language." He sadly walked away, probably didn't even know his own name. The barracho was lonely, too. It happens. This world is lonely, but I'm alone and I don't speak his language and I was startled and I'm busy writing, no time for entertaining bagged, homeless men.***

that surround our everyday life. The man was pieces of everything he touched. As he touched something it became a part of him. Just like the barracho with his black garbage bag and his blue stocking cap pulled over his eyebrows.

Abstraction. The subtraction and addition of parts and people coming and going through our lives. The paths we take and cross by ourselves and with others. The impact of humanity on one single being has ramifications on the whole society. The arts, they capture this, allowing the work to be interpreted, generation after generation, if they are so lucky to help modern man realize that, "Hey. We've always been this way, and I guess things will never really change." People make mistakes, try to fix them, make them again. Wars, genocides, love affairs. It happens. We forget. We grow old. We grow tired, but we keep on going and we keep on doing. Life happens and it is wonderful! Wonderfully maddening, wonderfully brilliant, wonderfully sad and devastating, but from it all we grow and try to teach ourselves and others of the pursuit to make it the best you can, while you can.

As Bob Dylan's grandmother said, "Happiness is not on the road to anything. Happiness is the road." And as Kurt Vonnegut's uncle Alex said, "If this isn't nice, I don't know what is." And as my brother Alex said, "Do not underestimate the degree of impact your life has on the lives of others."

I never want to be so miserable that I don't want to get out of bed in the morning and see the bright, beautiful sunshiney world.

Humans and Animals

Humans and animals can never be friends, unless there is money involved. Even if you fall in love with a stray, one day you're going to have to neuter/spay and pay for it. You know?

I was thinking about this because at lunch the other day. My friend and I were sitting by this fountain in front of our office, making fun of the people around us. Apparently there was a duck swimming around in the fountain pool. I couldn't see it for the longest time, and then poof! there it was, with a whole little troupe behind it... ducks... gaggle, no geese. Train? Anyway, Momma Duck was taking Baby Ducklings for a swim. Nature in the city. Then I noticed this girl, about 12, pretending to be older by carrying a purse, go up to look at the ducks. And she started waving to them. Not frantically or anything, just a little wave. And she waited, as if they were going to stop swimming and wave back. They did not. She tried again. They did not. One more time. Maybe. Will they? Alas, no. And then she had to run off to find her parents because obviously this is something the girl does often, stopping to wave at the animals, and the parents stroll on tired of her shenanigans.

It was pretty amusing, and I thought to myself, stupid girl waving at the ducks. Not in a mean way or anything, just a ha ha ha, you're so young and you know so little of the world-way.

As I was walking home that night I passed a dog, and its owner. And I smiled at the dog. Dogs make me happy. But then I felt like a hypocrite because I made fun of the girl waving at the ducks, and then I go and smile at a dog. It's almost as if I tried to have a conversation with a squirrel or something, but not... at all. I mean the dog isn't going to remember me, and the ducks won't remember the girl, but I will remember it all. Every shining detail. And I'm not so sure where this is going anymore. I thought this would be a witty, witty post, and now it's spiraling, spiraling down, down, down into the darkness of huh, wha'chu talkin' 'bout?

So, money. If I had it and more free time, I would buy these pets. But I do not, and so they don't care whether or not I smile at them. I'm going to continue to smile though, I tell you this. I can't just ignore a dog and not say anything, unless it's big and scary, or ugly. I will continue to tell owners, "I love your dog." Maybe that's a little extreme. Loving a stranger's dog. Does this worry them when I say it? I mean it as a compliment... maybe I just will say, "I like your dog." or, "Oh. What a pretty dog." I wonder what kind of reaction I'd get if I said, "Mmm. That's a good-looking dog you have there. Mmm, yeah." I don't think I could say it though, because I got slightly creeped out just typing it. But I will continue to smile and comment and wish I had my own.

That's just an observation. That's all I have on this topic.

Opposite of the World

This morning was verrrry strange, to say the least. All things fairly normal at home, but when I walked to the bus stop, my iPod headphones started shorting out... they've seen their last days I fear. I wrap 'em around the pod, and sometimes when I'm at work, I forget that the string doesn't go as far as I want it and sometimes I get yanked back towards my computer when I reach for something to my left. So that probably doesn't help much either. Anyway, that's one weird thing - not so much weird as inconvenient.

Then, I was waiting for the 7:15 bus - no show - and this guy was pacing around and around, like the bus would be able to detect his frantic anxiety and come sooner - it did not. He grabbed a Red Eye and read it for about 7 minutes and then THREW IT IN THE TRASH! Really, sir?! Do you not understand that you most likely just destroyed a forest that would feed, clothe, and shelter your children!! It's your fault, sir. He could've recycled it. It's a free paper, so it wouldn't cost anything!! I didn't say anything, though. I wanted to go "Ub bub bub!" when he opened the trash lid, and then say, "What do you think you're doing? Just put it back where you got it." But I didn't really think it was my place, and then I wish I would've, but I didn't want to dig in the trash bin because it was a trash bin and not a recycling bin and who knew what sort of "things" were in there. I think if he's there again tomorrow, (he's a bus stop regular: Warren the Waster) I'll say something, maybe.

The bus rolls in at 7:30, acting like nothing's wrong, and the driver patiently waits for us to get on by reading the morning news. I glare at her a little, but only for a small second. Oh! It's so crowded! And there was this lady with headphones on who got real huffy when an old lady stood up and mentioned she needed to get off, but not just yet. Headphones didn't hear that second part and started saying, really aggressively, "Can we move to let this lady out?!" A very big exasperated sigh and she pushed her way out the front, waiting. All the while, the woman says in a small voice, "I'm not getting out here. I'm not getting out right now." But Headphones couldn't hear, and I was very embarrassed for her standing outside there, huffing angrily. Later on in the trip she missed her stop, and she cursed for a bit. Sometimes those buses are tricky, and I just wanted to tell her to breathe, and that everything would be okay. You'll get where you're going eventually, miss. But she might've shanked me had I said that. So again, I remained silent.

Everyone seemed like they were rushing this morning, and I just felt like taking my time because I left early, but ended up getting to work on-time -- merh! And I thought, as I walked up the stairs, without my iPod, what's the deal world? Why am I always the opposite of everyone else? On the days when people are rushing, I'm strolling. When I'm in a hurry, people shuffle slowly ahead of me, walking in zig-zags. If I'm in a bad mood, the world is smiling, which should make me turn that frown upside down, but instead it usually feels like happiness is being rubbed in my face. Ha ha, look how you don't feel! Or maybe I'm happy and everyone else is merh and tired. It's probably not the case at all, but that's just what I was thinking about as I was walking to work.

A beautiful day.

Oh. And then as I waited for the elevator, this woman said something to her colleague about the space filling up... I'm sure it was in reference to office space, but the way she said it sounded like outer space, because she was really amazed that it happened. I can't believe space is inhabited, Mark. I really can't. I mean all these years, and we never knew. They're probably more established in their societies, with more knowledge than we can even assume. And the fact that they found us! Unbelievable. All this time the X-Files and those 3rd encounter alien nut jobs were right, we're not alone!

Mr. Carlin and his Vest

"There are 400,000 words in the English language, and there are seven of them you can't say on television," Carlin would say in a routine in the '70s. "What a ratio that is: 399,993 to seven. They must really be bad."

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=91791901

"Oh.. there's a moment.. coming. There's a moment coming, it's.. it's not here yet. It's on the way.. It's still in the future. Here.. here it is! [ a beat ] Oh.. it's gone, man. There's no present, man. Everything is the near future and the recent past. No wonder we can't get anything together, we've got no time, huh?" from the first SNL, ever.

"Why is there no blue food? I can't find blue food - I can't find the flavor of blue! I mean, green is lime; yellow is lemon; orange is orange; red is cherry; what's blue? There's no blue! Oh, they say, "Blueberries!" Uh-uh; blue on the vine, purple on the plate. There's no blue food! Where is the blue food? We want the blue food! Probably instores immortality! They're keeping it from us! " from the same show.

Again, same show: "But, uh - we are so conceited about this God concept, that we, we'll go around describing Him to each other. I mean, we say, "He's infinite, and we can never undertand Him - but I'll describe him for 'ya!" What - well, here's what it's like - first of all, first of all, uh, He knows everything. He knows absolutely everything. I don't even know what I'm talking about, He knows what I mean. Secondly, He never started and He's never gonna end. And third, He is all powerful. He can do anything. He can throw a car right over a wall. He's just like us - He's a cool guy, that's all God is, a cool guy. That's what all the religions told us: "He's like us, He's us." That's what all the big ones, all the big religions said, "Love yourself, Love your God, Love your neighbor, because you're all basically the same person. We just don't have uniforms yet, that's all."

... along the same vein and from the same show, "Religion - religion, at best - at BEST - is like a lift in your shoe. If you need it for a while, and it makes you walk straight and feel better - fine. But you don't need it forever, or you can become permanently disabled. Religion is like a lift in the shoe, and I say just don't ask me to wear your shoes. And let's not go down and nail lifts onto the natives' feet."

Smart, and funny guy. Only 71. That doesn't seem so old, I mean I guess it kind of is, but not really all at the same time.

Spelling is only a small part of life.

But I still find it annoying when people spell common words completely wrong. Not even close. Or, when they leave out contractions... hey, I heard your going to the store. NO! That's wrong! Don't be stupid! Sound it out in your head!

Guitar classes are over. The last two songs we learned

--LIKE A ROCK (we did not learn but I am listening to Seeger and his Silver Bullet Band) will forever be ruined for me. Never again will I be able to enjoy it, because I will only think of Chevy being hustlers with their schemes of selling trucks to cowboys with big hats and tall boots who like to spin their tires in the dirt and mud and haul heavy things. Just sayin', just so you know.--

were "Rocket Man" [Elton John] and "Old Man" [Neil Young] and I really love playing the latter. Here's how it goes, in case you don't know. Amazing, Neil Young. I love you.

Old man look at my life, I'm a lot like you were.
Old man look at my life, I'm a lot like you were.

Old man look at my life, twenty four and there's so much more,
Live alone in a paradise that makes me think of two.
Love lost, such a cost, give me things that don't get lost.
Like a coin that won't get tossed, rolling home to you.

Old man take a look at my life, I'm a lot like you.
I need someone to love me the whole day through
Ah, one look in my eyes and you can tell that's true.

Lullabies, look in your eyes, run around the same old town.
Doesn't mean that much to me to mean that much to you.
I've been first and last look at how the time goes past.
But I'm all alone at last, rolling home to you.

Old man take a look at my life, I'm a lot like you.
I need someone to love me the whole day through
Ah, one look in my eyes and you can tell that's true.

Old man look at my life, I'm a lot like you were.
Old man look at my life, I'm a lot like you were.
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And it's really fun to play, I like sliding between D and Fmaj7. And the chorus, F to Am, to some crazy one stringed E. Beautiful. Beautiful! Also, I have "Passenger Seat" by Wilco, but I can't seem to get the beat down. I need to practice my strumming.

I love coffee. Sometimes. Most of the time. I like that after a long weekend, my friend Ash said she was going to "Coffee her way through Monday." She's a funny girl. And it's true. That's what you do when you work at an office. You drink obscene amounts of coffee, and get tired of sitting, and being on computers. The coffee that you feel like you need to chew is the best, but it's liquid so you don't really need to chew it, but it's so strong you chomp. Sometimes I do that with wine.

I'm thinking about doing another blog post today, because there's no work in my queue... AHHH! But I want to talk about my Friday at the Art Institute and I would have to recall events/thoughts by looking at my notebook, and that's blatantly saying to everyone, "Hey! Look at me, I'm not working..." (even though I literally have nothing to do -sigh! I sigh a lot at work, I'm so exasperated here!) sooo, I don't think it'd be very professional of me, and I might put it off until tomorrow when no one is in the office with me at 8am.

Does anyone else get reminded of Bruce Springsteen when they listen to The Hold Steady's lead singer? It's not just me, is it? A little bit? Maybe? Not me, the fact that the guy sounds like the Boss. Here's some summer music for you, courtesy the kind folks at NPR. Marvelous.

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=91707889&ps=bb1

I think drinking on top of water towers would be very dangerous, and considering my silly fear of heights I would not be partaking in the festivities.

Peace.

Jackrabbit Snipers!

I wish I would've walked to school more when I was in high school. I didn't live that far away. Just up the street, about a mile. There weren't any major hills, and it was slightly downhill going to it. I did everything in my power not to walk: rides from friends, friends' parents/siblings, brother. I don't know why. Maybe I didn't want to get all sweaty (Missouri can get quite warm, and quite cold) before class, or because for some reason I thought it wasn't cool. I walked to elementary school with friends, and the middle school was basically in my backyard, and that would've been silly to get a ride. There's an exception to everything, and I guess there were a handful of days when I did walk to h. school. Also, the big duffel bags during sports seasons were a pain in the ass to lug. Eventually I got my own ride and that was fun.

Now I'm back to my pre-16 days without a car. And I have to say, I love it. I walked a lot in college because I always lived on or near campus, and I walk a lot now, being in the city because the CTA is never there when you need it. I really hate paying for cabs unless I absolutely have to take one, and then I try to get as close to my destination as possible before caving, and usually I talk myself into just finishing out the walk because I am so close. Sometimes the night doesn't permit it though and I get creeped out by the strangers lurking just beyond the streetlamps.

Anyway, what brings this on is that I was really enjoying walking to work today - there's just something about the fact that you got yourself from A to B all on your own accord, without a motor or a machine. That you, yourself, are a finely tuned machine with muscles propelling you in the direction of your destination. It's rewarding. And I think I'm in love with running again. Not obsessively so just yet, but getting close. I think I need to get new shoes before that happens. I've always enjoyed it - well, not true. I was on the track team for about a week in 8th grade, and then I got shin splints, ugh! it was awful, and I was a little baby about it, but I feel it was slightly warranted as I was only 13 and shin splints are no good no matter what the age. But yes, I find running to be a fun, sometimes relaxing, and most definitely energizing, and a positively meditative experience.

I ran 13 on Saturday, east down Chicago Ave. then up and down the lakefront, in 2 hours - so that made me happy, and it was noon-time. Hotness, and salty sweat. Then, I stretched while waiting for the bus - good use of time. It finally came and I moved to the back of the bus, just because sometimes that's where I sit if I'm going to be on it for a while, and also I was smelly, but so was the little boy next to me. There were about 1,000,000,000 kids in the back of the bus, and as soon as I took the step up to the platform and saw them, I wanted to turn around. But it was as if I made contact with every single one of them (I didn't really, but that would've been really bizarre/possibly humorous/most definitely um, creepy?) and they dared me to sit in their insanity. So I rose to the challenge and took a seat. Anyway, we're zooming-stopping-starting down Chicago, and we're good for about 5 minutes, then I smell rotten peanuts, if there's even such a thing. It was, let's say rancid peanut butter that had been splashed with some toxic acid and sitting in the sun for 14 days. It came in waves, getting stronger and stronger. The little boy sitting next to me was about 2 (I don't know, could've been anywhere from 11 months to 14 years old - kids are kids) and he had a diaper on, and he was squirming, and this lead me to believe that he was pooping himself. I just sat there and tried to breathe out of my mouth. It was difficult, and I couldn't help but thinking that I was eating the smell. You know when you're a kid, and someone farts in a group, and you plug your nose but then you need to breathe and you take a big gasp, and kids say, "gross! you're eating the fart air!" which is totally worse than smelling it!! And still, sometimes to this day I hold my breath when I drive past a cemetary. Call me crazy... and I'll slap you.

So, I was walking. Wind in my hair, sun on my face, then it wasn't because of all the tall buildings, but I still felt good. Good'ay, Monday. As I was approaching the street I turn on, there was a homeless woman, who probably made herself look as good as she could so she could panhandle on Michigan. She was wearing a semi-clean looking outfit, and her hair was pulled into a tight side half-ponytail sitting on top of her head, but she had the tell-tale smudged dirt on her face saying this isn't just a day job. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be street urchin, the scourge of society. And it made me think about living a day in the life, but that's it. It's just a day, and after that day, you get to go back to being you, and living your life. You can't live a lifetime in a day. And then it made me think of stupid(!) Tyra Banks and her fat suit day when she cried and said she knew what it felt like to be fat and to be looked at by people, and how hard it was to get around, which come on! That was a joke. Seriously?! It didn't even look real, and wow. Really, Tyra Banks, really? How did you get a television show again? Okay, you've probably got the world's best breasts, but brains and personality?! OH NO, MISS, OH NO! So then I got irritated and decided that I would never be able to be a street urchin for a day, and that I would have to try it for a week instead, and then I thought it would probably be dangerous since I was a woman and all that stupid double-standard bullshit that goes on in this society and world.

My Heart's Just Not in it Today

I'm about to cut my right arm off!!! 8 down, 6 to go..... MERH!!

WOOT! We have some fresh hands in the office and I had to teach them the ways of profile writing. I trained two gals, and they each wrote a profile to feel it out, which went on my quota, but then my boss said not to worry about quota today since I was helping. Awlright!!

Feeling much better, and 1/2 hour to go. I should probably work now. The below is stuff I wrote right before the MERH, Arm cutting blurb - it needed an intro.

God! Talk about wunderkinds making you feel inadequate. Simon Rich is pretty funny. Until just now I was convinced he was a graying 47-year-old gay man, kind of like David Sedaris. It makes me sad that he isn't, and that he's living my dream. Ohhhh.

http://www.boston.com/news/globe/magazine/articles/2007/04/01/scared_silly/


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Also, I just wanted to mention that I did watch Game 6 last night, and I did root for the Celtics, as they were the home team AND the underdogs of the season! Thank goodness for that. Besides, the Lakers suck without Kobe, and 16 is very strange looking.

Note, when KG (yes, I have nicknames for them now, as I'm claiming Celtics to be my new favorite, and only, team to support) was taking some point shots for the fouls like 5-2 minutes left in the first half, y'know at this point Celtics were on their streak. Anyway, he was all excited about them winning, and I said in my head, "Hey KG, you got more than half'a this game left. Keep ya head in it." And it was like he heard me because the smile vanished and the concentration washed over his face like the steady stream of sweat pouring down it. Anyway, he held his composure up until the last 5 minutes, when the Championship was a sure deal and then he acted like a madman. Michelle, you look good. Here's a funny article giving a play by play of the foaming, mumbling mess that became KG when the confetti fell down:

http://www.slate.com/id/2193863/

Stream O' Consciousness

SO I was reading "No one belongs here more than you." this morning, on the bus. No one wanted to sit next to me, on my right side, because I brought my guitar along - tonight is the last class, we play together for an hour and then we have a concert, which is actually just an all classes recital, a cheap ruse for not giving me my money's worth of lessons, if you ask me. By the way, next round of group lessons I sign up for I am totally going to go the 1040 tax route by proving to them I am legitimately poor and need the $150 discount rate, so I only have to pay $7 for all eight weeks of classes. Neato. - but I didn't mind because they probably would've cramped my style.

Right. Enough jibba jabba. I got off the bus, slung on my guitar, crossed the street against the light (no cars), ran up the stairs (in preparation for Sears Tower), wiped the sweat off my brow, walked down Michigan, and up Lake to work. I was thinking about things while I was walking. Something I normally do. As Descartes said, I think, therefore I am. And so do, and so am I.

I was thinking about how maybe I'd like to work for Oprah after this job ends. I was thinking why Oprah would want to hire me. Why wouldn't she?! I'm semi-fabulous, and occasionally a hard worker. I think she should give me a job. My resume is becoming something spectacular. For example, I'm pretty stoked about this sock puppet theater class at 826 (it's full, plus 3 extra chillin's) and I wasn't even thinking about it in terms of how I can put it on my resume, but a friend brought it up the other day and I thought, "Hey! Yeah! That's pretty cool!" (because I created it, planned it, and taught it - this last part will include me bossin' my assistants around!!) And I play guitar, I'm not sure what that adds to a company, other than the fact that I'm awesome and sometimes I gnaw on my left hand fingertips. Additionally I, ummm... run, and raise money while running. Okay, I haven't started raising actual monies, but I'm signed up to do so. Ahhh! I have so many things to do, and I'm so sleepy right now.

We started out this month only having to write 12 profiles a day, then last week they upped it to 13, and now it's 14, and soon I fear that will increase to 15!! I mean, I can do it, no problem. The only thing is after I reach quota, I start working on my overtime profiles - we get paid time and a half for every extra 20 we do... did I already explain this? We're behind right now, so that's why the offer was extended past weekends. - and the more they add to quota, the less I can do my work from home at the office!

Anyway, Oprah got me thinking about things, and now that I'm trapped in this cube, I'm not really feeling like writing all the things I thought I wanted to. I worked really hard to pump out 5 profiles in 2 hours, 2 of which I didn't even have the slightest clue of what they did, but I built the shit out of them, and they were quality! I think one was for a grafitti artist, they claimed they could put custom designs on anything from apparel to jewerly to the interiors of homes and cars... ummm, okay? Yeah. This is the shit I deal with on a day to day basis, at least it wasn't a contractor or a dentist, or a criminal lawyer. I like to pretend I'm the business owner while I write, I feel this prepares and trains me as I develop my playwriting skills.

I walk really fast, and I'm pretty good about weaving through crowds.

I sometimes, and by this I mean all the time, wish that I could literally run into P. Charles Right when I'm out running on the city streets, around the corners, taking 'em sharp. And we would recover, and both of us would say, "Oh my! I'm terribly, terribly sorry!" Catch our breaths as we fall in love. "Are you alright?" "Yes. Are you?" "I am now." And running and love would ensue. He, too, would be training for a sub-4 hour marathon time and we would train, train, train together and laugh and explore the world and I wouldn't ever feel awkward or ugly around him. I blame these thoughts on the movies for serving up their delusions of grandeur and other things that would never happen to everyday, normal, upstanding citizen folks.

Who knows where this is going? I think I'm becoming delusional from hunger. I only ate a banana for breakfast because I was running late, and my lunch is sad and simple, as well. I really need to go grocery shopping, I just don't know when I'll have the time. Tonight guitar, run, ah - then grocery!, then dinner, then bed. How boring, yawn! Yawn! I was supposed to go out for drinks with a couple of pals from the pub, but I couldn't drag my lazy bones outta the sack to run this morning at 5 - just couldn't do it, too happy snooze-a-roo'in'.

I've done a lot of cat stretches in my chair today. My shoulders pop. Well, crack would be the more appropriate word. Maybe it's all my tendons and muscles moving against my skeleton. I don't know. I don't know anatomy that well.

Okay, back to work. Work, work, work, work. Something is whistling. A machine, not a person. Oh! Maybe it's the robot who's going to replace me.

Maybe, if you're lucky, and I'm productive today, and become inspired in the afternoon, I'll write what I was thinking about writing when I was walking in the morning sunshine.

MMMMM! Music

Listen to the new My Morning Jacket album, "Evil Urges":

http://free.napster.com/view/artist/index.html?id=11552534

I'm really digging it so far. Showcasing their versatile sound and awesomeness. I think it'd be pretty great to see them live. The vocals on "Highly Suspicious" remind me slightly of Prince, he sings so high, so high-i-high-high-iiiiii! Mm. I'm at work right now so I haven't been able to devote complete concentration on soaking in the sounds, but it's been an enjoyable experience.


And, how about this! She & Him on NPR. I think Zooey D. is a wonderful actress (although I question her reason for being in M. Night Shamalamadingdong's "The Happening" because I heard that it was, get this, AWFUL!) and I very much like listening to her singing. Probably better than stupid Scarlett Johannse/on (sp?). Anyway, She & Him, is Zooey and M. Ward. This is a little interview with the two of them, then some music, and it finishes off with talking to their producer man god, Steve Lillywhite, who's helped such acts as U2, Johnny Cash, and on and on... he's basically Bruce Dickinson - watch out for this gold record!!

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=91377953


So enjoy, my dear blogger enthusiasts. Enjoy. I must send off my TPS report and head home, fighting the angry mob of pedestrians and motorists to get to the comfort of my smelly, sticky apartment. Oh yay! Annnd, Game 6 tonight! So that should be really exciting!! I can't decide who I want to win... Lakers for the underdog rootin', or Celtics... we'll see who has the best lookin' team. That's usually how I decide things.

Peace!

Chuck Norris in a Red Bandana on Michigan Avenue

I thought it was him, it's true.

He didn't just have the full, deep auburn beard, either. He was wearing a black karate Kung Fu outfit, of some sort. It was pretty amazing, and I half-expected him to Judo chop the cat that walked in front of him as he was going into the coffee shop. But he didn't, he was poised about it, reacted quickly by haulting his feet from their forward motion.

And that red bandana. At first I thought he was a hobo, but then I realized he was clean and had an earring (or perhaps two), so he was just... stylin' a different style. Bummy-Norris chic. That's what we'll call it.

I always see people that look like famous people, Chicagoans are famous for looking like they could be someone else. It's true. Look it up. We're all a buncha shape-shifters.

Tourists love it!

A Miniature Life

After a long day in the office yesterday--

[It wasn't really that bad. Management was gone at the Cubs game all day, so those of us left behind acted like 2nd graders with a substitute teacher, making it really hard to do actual work... I goofed all day, too, it was great! Although I did manage to make quota. Yes. I have an adult job where I have to make quotas. Actually it makes me feel like I work in a factory. My fingers are crippled after 8 hours typing, and I have tyrannysaurus arms from bending at the elbows for the majority of the day. OH! And right now I'm at a cofffee shop b/c the internet at my house is shotty. Filthy says it's Comcast's fault. I say it's Filthy's fault for spending bill money on dildos rather than giving it to the Man. Annnnnnyway, I'm here to do my weekend work. 20 profiles for time and a half (only 8 hours, but still, bettah than nothin'). I can't seem to sign in to the company website... I can't figure out what I'm typing in wrong, and no one is in the office. Early out. Awesome! I got Chipotle for lunch and it was delicious. So, it's looking like I'm going to go in tomorrow morning after my long run and type like a madwoman so I can party the rest of my weekend away. --------- Also, this cat baristo (? are male coffee bar attendants still considered barista?) has amazing musical tastes... keeping it funky fresh and flipping it back old school, Doors to J5. I like!]

-- I went to the Art Institute. It's FREE Thursday and Friday nights. Oopa! And I really had to pee when I got there, so I headed down to the bathroom (Now early ninties Radiohead - I might steal this kid), did my biznass (you don't really need to know this, but I'm taking you on my journey. Come along), and bobby-pinned my bangs back b/c they were sweaty - ew! I was going to go upstairs but then I saw there was a Miniatures collection (!!!!) and I think I heard someone say once that it was a pretty cool collection, so I wandered in. Sure enough, it was great!! GREAT! So intricate. The detail on most was 1' = 1". Oh, and they were of rooms through the ages: English, French, American (great halls, libraries, dining rooms, parlors of sorts), then a Traditional Chinese Interior, and Traditional Japanese Interior. I was really very impressed, and I read that the woman... Mrs. James Ward... ahhh, somebody was very demanding that every last detail matched the real thing, same wood used in real thing and so on. Blah blah blah, really detailed. Impressive. So I've said. What I'm getting at is that it was so real I really expected (AHHHH SMOKEY ROBINSON! not in the displays, in the shop) the little man from Indian in the Cupboard to come running through holding a mini scalp. Ha ha ha. No, he wasn't violent, but he would've been in the Colonial American displays. I really wanted to see some miniature ghosts, or another thing, I was wishing I was very, very tiny and I could live in these rooms. I would love it, but then I thought how terrifying it would be to have GIANT people looking in at me and saying, "Oooh! Look at the chandelier. This chandelier is my favorite! And the little chess set. OOoh! Look at this chess set!" There was a group of 4 12yo in front of me and they were very excited.

I like strolling through museums with my arms crossed thoughtfully inspecting the pieces.

After the miniatures I began to make my way to the stairs only to be stopped by the TOUCH GALLERY! I love touching things!! I love it, love it, love it!! They were busts - sexy, sexy. So I touched a marble one of some guy, I forgot already so he wasn't important. He could've had a big nose, and perhaps was bald, or maybe it was a woman. YES! It was! And she had a bun, and some guy that was in love with her when he was in art school in Paris in the early 1900s sculpted her with such fine detail. Then there was a limestone/granite Chinese guard with the scowl and bun... I'm seeing a theme. Joan of Arc was bronze, I touched her crown and put my hands around her neck. Then there was this bronze lady WITH a marble veil. I liked the combo, but didn't. Then there was another bronze bust, but of a guy, and he had the big nose, so I stole it (his nose, like you do a baby).

Photography wasn't anything special, so onward and upward to PAINTING!

I like the paintings where I would like to either be in the scenery, or watching the painter paint. Specifically seascapes. Also, there was this one of a chariot race, I forget who did it, but the horses were painted with such terror in their eyes, and the fine detail of the foam. It exploded off the wall. Merh merh merh. I started to get tired/thirsty when I was up there, slowing going into delusion, so I left.

Walked to the Blue Line, took it to Damen, walked home. Went to run/gym. Walked home. Went to the grocery store. Ate a dinner of this wonderful egg dish that is pretty much the only thing I make besides banana bread, and drank some Yellowtail CabSauv. Yes. I know. I am so fancy. I can barely handle it myself. Then I went to bed. My life is sooooo exciting!

In other news, I have to write a 5-ish minute play for the children, using sock puppets. I believe it is going to revolve around Porter (67, fancy. Wears a top hat, monocle, cane), Camilla Cavendish (45, fancier. Exciting) and HR Sockston (a sock monkey). So, we'll see what happens with that. I'm not sure of the plot yet, since it does have to be G rated. I'm pretty excited. And I want to design a little theatre... so that's tomorrow, after work, MEEEEH!

Sunday, my friend wrote this one man show that's going to be amazing, so I'm going to see it with another friend. Sometime I've got to fit in Anne Sather's and her cinnamon rolls, as I'm having withdrawls. And that is all.

I probably won't write for another week, as I seem to have no spare time on my hands anymore. It kind of makes me happy that I'm doing so many things, but at the same time I used to consider myself a pretty lazy person, and now I have no time to be lazy. I guess the only thing I've been lazy with is my personal writing, and that makes me sad. Although I do compose things in my head, which some people might call "thoughts," but I formulate stories... hmmm... Now I must go home and collect my loan information (ARGH!) so I can consolidate them all into something I will never, ever be able to pay off... I love that my math skills made me think I had $10,000 less to pay, and then my credit report broke my heart. I'm never going to see the other side of the world (HERE COMES MY BABY! I LOVE THIS SONG> KEEP SEEING THIS PICTURE OF YOU!!! HERE COMES MY BABY!! HERE SHE COMES NOW!! AND IT COMES AT NO SURPRISE TO ME, WITH ANOTHER GUY!) I gotta go.

Consolidate. Wine. Guitar. Laundry. Wine. Fold. Wine. Guitar. Wine. Pass out. Sounds like a FUN FRIDAY NIGHT!! I gotta rest up for tomorrow. I'll be 23 in 12 days. Hoo-de-hoo!

Too-dah-loo!!

Robots, and other things I hate.

Robots are the worst. Kind of like tuberculosis, or monsters under the bed, or Hillary Clinton. They're all bad. Except for that movie with the Savage brothers, something with "Monster Under My Bed" in the title, maybe "Don't Tell Mom That The Monster Under My Bed Took Us To His Underground Lair With Lots of Stairs and Boxes." Something like that. Wow. Ben Savage is looking real good these days, real good.

So, why do you hate robots?, you ask. Well, duh! Why wouldn't I? They're evil outsourcing bastards! They steal jobs from capable, hardworking humans, and that is just downright unacceptable! Also, they terrify me. Blame it on my paranoia and Arnold Schwarzenegger (yeah, good luck spell check - wow. it got it, that's amazingly odd, though not at all because he's the highest and most powerful robotic form), he didn't just play a robot as coincidence, he is one. And a damn charismatic one at that! Have you seen "Junior" or perhaps, "Twins" - both co-starring Danny Devito (who[m] I love!)? Amazing. AND KINDERGARTEN COP!!!

Yes, I have been thwarted by the robots. It turns out this job that I just started two weeks ago - which I'm very much enjoying, might I add - is going belly-up and moving to a coastal robot factory at the end of the year. Kind of bums me out, mostly because it's a pretty sweet deal, and I really don't like looking for jobs, interviewing, and that whole stupid process. Though, maybe I'll be able to land a job with Oprah... I don't know how much better that would be seeing how as I'm also convinced that she, too, is a robot.

Robots ruin everything. Everything. And clowns. Make a movie about a clown robot, and of course it's evil, and most definitely I will not be going to the theater to see it, or even renting it when it comes out. Thank you "It." Thank you Stephen King. He's a really great writer I must admit, have you ever read, "Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption?" Amazing. Soooo good, I love it, a lot.

Alright, I'm losing my train of thought because one of my co-workers is making courtesy welcome calls to let people know that their online business profiles are up and running, and he's speaking unbearably loud so I'm finding hard to concentrate on blogging (so much so that I first typed "concert" instead of "concentrate" - must be my subconscious, I really want to go to a concert, and soon! Thank goodness the Blues Fest is this weekend, thank goodness it's summertime in Chicago!). Also, he keeps saying, "Have a good/great afternoon." Umm, well, it's only 9:45am, so I'm pretty sure that it's not afternoon time anywhere that we're calling. I bet people on the west coast are not enjoying that.

Good day, and until I write and you read again. Farewell and adieu.

Horsemeat