Friday, April 28, 2006

Today I met with one of my art heroes: Peter Saul (loud swooning and release of artgasmic energy). He wore a whiteish t-shirt with costumed cats on it. Some had sombreros, others berets. Obviously, his taste in feline kitsch made me like him immediately. The best part was that he wasn't wearing it to be ironic (see my previous 800 diatribes about hipsters and their precious, precious insincerity). As I try to recollect my conversation with him, a few things stand out: He praised Christina Ricci for her subdued performance in "Monster," he talked about his next couple of paintings (which include a picture of Hitler blowing his brains out and Mickey Mouse imitating Pollock), and he asked me if I thought he looked like a woman. His t-shirt, which resembled something my grams' mah jong circle would like, did not help to assert his masculinity. In turn, I asked him if I looked like a man. I don't know why I did that---it was a nervous response to his strangely direct question. He gave me the big thumbs up on my ladyhood though. Sigh, still not androgynous enough apparently. Anyways, I'm going to the BIG Blanton opening tomorrow. Their list of events frighten me. 24 hours of yoga workshops and sundae-topping-fun. I'm sure there's an event that combines both: tantric sex and sprinkles.

Saturday, April 22, 2006

Donkey Show is over (it went well I think). Scholarship day is over (it probably did not go well as all my new work was at the aforementioned space). Only my poetry portfolio remains. And c'mon poetry is just verbal vomit--you know I can churn out some mellifluous bile. After that it will be all mindless drinking, skinny-dipping and latte-sipping (see, that's a poem right thar). I cannot wait to feel free. Also, I just drove Sara's car home and was pulled over for not having my lights on. I sat there fumbling with all her SUV gadgety whatnot for like 30 minutes. I swear to god it was like decoding a KGB plan for a topsecret pin-sized nuclear reactor. I still have residual anxiety from it. The policeman was very nice though (probably because he thinks I have a myriad of mental handicaps). Gawd, this is the month that won't die. Fuck you April! I hate your showers and bluebird fuck sessions. I hate your oak pollen and your day of fools. I hate your sundresses and your tandem bikes. I hate you. Come to me, sweet May, and swaddle me in your unbearable heat and boredom. I am going to love all up on May. I'm serious.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

The Curse of the Donkey People

Stu, Stan, Harry and Marty form a roving band of socially impotent businessmen, fused together by their mutual love of Internet porn and escapist fiction. They travel to a border town in pursuit of something intangible, something only recognizable in the recesses of their pasty veneers and pleated pants. They seek a power dynamic that does not exist in their own alka-seltzer riddled reality. But perhaps they could pay someone to fake it.
After a particularly emasculating run in with a resentful (yet sexily unavailable) CVS employee, Stu waxes his station wagon, buys a pricey tub of hair product and heads south. He leads the lonely group to a dark place that, (unbeknownst to them) has been plagued by a terrible affliction.
Once there, they stay at a dingy, yellowing, gangrenous hotel room and order in. An “exotic” woman arrives, cloaked in nothing but brilliant red underwear. They become entranced with the seductive cadence of her voice (somewhat similar to a “whinny”) and her brutish sexual demeanor. However, upon arousal she is at once transformed into a monstrous hybrid of donkey and woman. She is simultaneously the cause of their fear and the product of it.
Come see the “Andrea: the Mutating, Terrorizing, Unidimensional Donkeywoman!” Don’t forget to see the twisted B-Movie director, Ali Hitchcock as she grapples with her own role in producing this sick psychodrama.

Sunday, April 16, 2006



I'm boring. Ali FitzBoring.

Saturday, April 15, 2006

Yesterday was a long day. I am installing at the Donkey Show now and I think it's going to be assarific. At some point, we went to Home Depot where Risa feigned a geriatric gimp to nab a motorized cart. To describe her wheeling slowly around the corner, hair billowing in the 3mph wind, would not do justice to it. It was so fucking funny, I felt like I was in middle school again (minus my queen of the nerds tiara and my hordes of debate team devotees). I even snorted a little, which is indeed a return to my middle school social trauma. I am going to call on that image every time I have to sit through a clip-art laden lecture about the glory of geometry in art. Chuckle.
Well, I'm off to paint some more hybridized, objectified, agency-reclaiming donkeys.

Shit, someone is at my door. I bet its a well-dressed Mormony man who never blinks. It reminds me of "Good Country People" everytime they come. I am always afraid they are going to take my false leg and leave me at the top of a barn.

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

I can't wait until school is over. I mean I really can't wait. I am doing mental kegel exercises to keep myself from bursting with school-induced bitterness. This Summer I am going to live at the coffee shop and smoke cigarettes and marvel of people with dreadlocks and/or femullets. I am also going to take the time to really fight "the man." Maybe I'll spit on a hotel parking attendant or something. Mmmmm, Spiderhouse is quite nice for emo-spotting, I think I'll camp out there for the Summer. I'm very excited about not TAing. I think I need to detach myself from UT. I am like a barnacle that is clinging to some sickly whale's chum. I'm also feeling incredibly guilty lately (what is up with me actually exploring my "feelings" on this blog? I never thought I would be one of those people). One of "those people," sigh, what a snob am I. Back to my latent Catholic guilt...I should have marched in the immigration rally, I should have gone to a bunch of art shows by my students, I should not paint a person finger-fucking a donkey.

Monday, April 10, 2006

Um, I deleted the last post. I put up a poem but decided it seemed a little too "poetry class" for my taste. I don't know what that means exactly, but it made me feel very exposed somehow. I hate my poetry class. And, here's something you should know faithful readers, I detest talking in class. Especially if I feel pressured to talk. I hate knowing that people are watching me speak ineloquently in response to something the professor said. Anyhoo, I'm like Nell in that class because I know nothing of syntactical bullshite and I don't have the impulse to contribute. It blows and it makes my social anxiety like 10 times worse. In other news, I am finally having fun in the studio again. Ali gots her groove back. And it didn't take a Jamaican sexperience to do it. Although, let's be honest, I would be making some good shit if I had a Caribbean tryst and a sassy tag-a-long friend like Whoopi Goldberg. Caribbean tryst with Whoopi Goldberg? No, that would be too perfect.

Sunday, April 09, 2006

Went to Art Palace last night, but was so congested that I sounded like the swollen-nasal-pale complected sister of Missy Elliot (minus the bedazzling garbage bag jumpsuit and throng of gyrating little girls). Coupled with my dripping nose junk and squintiness, I was DEAD SEXY.

(Juicy sneeze and awkard sleeve swipe). I hate allergies.

I used to wipe my snot on my sleeves as a child. I always lived in fear that someone would notice that my jacket was always coated with a thin reflective veneer. Maybe they thought I wore pleather. Or maybe they thought I was an overly cautious biker. Or maybe they thought I was a superheroine that could morph into shiny plastic with a single drip. Or maybe, just maybe, my snottiness was the least pressing of my many embarassing habits.

Art Palace hosted a silent auction of art, some of it was quite nice. Especially the one I bought: a masturbating robotwoman! Fuck yes. It is beautiful. I asked myself what was more important, paying off my insurmountable collegiate debt or buying a picture of a mechanical self-pleasuring cyborg? The second, tis' the second. She's looks like Barbarella too, which makes it even sweeter.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Ok, I lied.
I love da blogging. My mom also told me that this buzzing hunk of cyberspace shiznit is my stand-in therapist. So, needless to say that without it I've been a pantless, muttering mess. Why pantless? I dunno, crazy people seem to have a problem with pants. But I don't have a problem with pant-hating crazies. Actually I really like Tom Cruise. Get out of that closet, Tom Cruise you secret homonude! Tom was only truly happy when he was skidding in his skivvies in "Risky Business." Belt loops are like nooses for him! I don't like pants either. Only gaucho/oyster shucking boyshorts for this girl.
Donkey Show update: Here is the website---www.thedonkeyshow.org . The show is April 21st I think the address is on there. Also, people keep emailing me on myspace about having threesomes with them. Is that normal? They were like specific requests from people in Austin. So, I put up a picture of barf as my icon in a passive-agressive protest. See below. I feel durrrty.

My girlfriend and I would like to meet you and if you have a friend, bring him/her along as well. I am trying to set up a gift for her this Thursday.....a fantasy of hers. Would you have any interest?

Barf.

Also, Meredith Viera is replacing Katie Couric on the Today Show. That is like replacing an annoying puppy with a rabid ferret...who has a penchant for flesh-tearing and disease-spreading. Meredith Viera is the second most ingratiating person ever. First? Dr. Phil. Get the fuck out of my TV Dr. Phil.