Saturday, June 30, 2007

Last night I:
went to the Chain Drive which is a seedy "Bear" bar in East Austin. There were men in chaps, men in leather harnesses, and Ted Haggard! Risa and I were the only ones there without the requisite bulge. Or were we? Dooodle-do-doodle-do-doodle-do.
-The sound written above is an ancient time-alteration technique as taken from Wayne in "Wayne's World"

Also, I am thinking about moving to Reykavik.

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Last thing:
you HAVE to watch the John Stamos interview in Australia on youtube. That's some funny shit.

god, why do I always over-blog at once?

I shall also be teaching Introductory Drawing at U.T. in the fall. Annnnnd, I have an interview at Miller Blueprint tomorrow for a part-time position. Now I have too many jobs. Oh the tragicomic turns my life takes. Since I am going to be a professor of sorts, I will need to be more of a church-going, monocle-wearing, ethics-enforcing, big word-spewing, pantsuited type of gal. So, from now on, I will limit the discussion in this blog to the following topics:

-the new Creationism Museum in Kentucky.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Back in Austin. Might take possible part-time position as a cookie decorator. More on that later (Ali disappears into her dark kitchen and consumes a day's worth of slightly phallus-shaped confections).

I read National Geographic during my flights today and learned the following things:
-Malaria su-uhcks.
-Birds of Paradise are the drag queens of the animal kingdom.
-Alaska has a rainforest?
-Neolithic men were hot, hot, hot! Mmmmmm bearskins and porcine noses. I bet the sex back then was positively primal!

There were all these mission kids on my flights today, apparently making their way across the pond to spray their youthful exuberance all over Europe's agnostic lil' shoe. They. were. everywhere. Kicking hackysacks, playing Uno, giggling about how unwholesome the word "gee" is. Jeeeze.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

I am bo-ring.
I've been happily painting away at my grandmother's maritime style drafting table. Most of her stuff has either a lifesaver, a crab or a Chinese dragon on it. Sometimes all three.

I have also been reading the book "POWER Optimism" as was my mother's request. I now know that I need to relinquish my rock of negativity so that my garden may grow.

Ok, after reading some of this book, I think people misinterpret honesty for pessimism. I am honest(sometimes unnecessarily melancholic), but not always pessimistic. Truthfully, I believe things usually work themselves out. Sometimes to my detriment, as I tend to let things go for a while thinking that someone else will eventually smooth out my ruffles. This is what the author calls "Pollyanna Optimism" in the book. I think that's funny.

This is very similar to my "peel my orange" outlook on life as quoted in blog entry no. 549. I am also v. big on free-will and believe strongly in choices and interpretive freedom when it comes to your own life. I'm not a "glass is half-empty" kinda gal, I'm more like a "why should I care about the glass when I can drink straight from the carton?" kinda gal. Or a "why are you asking me this during S.V.U.?" kinda gal.

I drink fancy sugar-waters anyway, so I don't really pay much attention to those glass vitrines of old. What kind of water you ask? POWERade. and SMARTwater, and SEXUALLYTALENTEDsmoothies.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

By the way, "Shrek 3" also blows. You know what's a funny movie? "The Wicker Man." Anyone remotely interested in cults, feminism, goddess-worship, and watching Nicholas Cage burn to death should watch. Spoiler alert. Oops, too late.

*Just so you don't think I'm stupid, "Wicker Man" is "bad/good," okay. Also, Ellen Burstyn is in it although I'm not totally sure why she's in it other than the cool merchandise I'm sure she received. Like "Wicker Man" trucker hats or something.

N.C you laters.

Leave tomorrow for North Carolina to visit fam. Have secured job at Southwestern, which is located in the idyllic port side suburb Georgetown, Texas. Actually, it is not port side; it is police-state side as it is best known for its disgruntled lawmen and a newly christened Popeye's.

Onto other Southern hotspots on my tour of the big ole' belt that keeps all that biblical flub tight! Flub? Is that a word? Spell checker didn't correct me, so I guess it is.

In North Carolina/South Carolina (my location depends on my current girth, stance and position on confederate flag-flying) I will:

-start a new series of drawrins' as per my homespun studio residency in the basement-thing of my mom's condo (she makes me sleep downstairs with moth-men, trolls and the ghost of Jerry Falwell!). That futon is not big enough mother, not nearly big enough.
-canoodle my baby sister's baby puppy. So much cuteness, so much cuteness.
-watch wonderful "on demand" items like "Flushed Away."
-Sip things with double straws with my B.F.F.F.F.F. Alaina, whose dysfunctions mirror my own in very pleasant ways.
-visit my alma mater, "Davidson College," where I shall smite and spit and pillage (and maybe have coffee with a professor or two).
-Go to a family wedding in D.C. with my 89 year old grandma. Jealous?
-Swim, swim, swim.

Monday, June 11, 2007

How Did I Develop?

I watched X-3 again last night. If I was a mutant, I would totally have a superpower that has something to do with eating stuff. You know, I a lot of stuff. Like flank steak or chicken almondine. I would eat until I miraculously ballooned and escaped to freedom like an Ali-colored Hindenburg; spitting gristle and barbeque-sauce-type-acid at my enemies.
Or I would be some kind of tri-headed serpentine woman with an incredible rack. Ah, that reminds me of my childhood playmate, Snakegirl.

Saturday, June 09, 2007

jobs and favorites.

I got an adjunct teaching position at Southwestern U. (I think). And BookPeople called me back to say they very much enjoyed reading my sycophantic comic written expressly for BookPeople. Consequently they might hire my book-loving ass sometime in the near future. Things are looking up I say. I even got over my dizzying fear of Northbound I-35. The secret is to listen to the calming, easygoing slurring of Leonard Cohen. It's like valium for my ears.
My new favorite actress is Clea Duvall (she is stunningly talented as the psychic daughter of a catatonic tarot-card reader in Carnivale), my new favorite actor is Clancy Brown, who stars as the russian-orphan-cum-possessed minister in Carnivale. My new/old favorite deodorant is Old Spice, my favorite bone part is now definitely the skull, and my least favorite swashbuckling extravaganzzza is the third "Pirates" movie. It sucks a bag full of stolen booty. Seriously, I hated it. And that's saying a lot because I like most of the components: period dress, boats, weapons, barnacles and eyeliner.

Friday, June 08, 2007

review for ...might be good. warning: not that funny.

Mike Smith: Drawings: Simple, Obscure and Obtuse
2007, Regency Art Press

The striking thing about Mike Smith’s book, Drawings: Simple, Obscure and Obtuse, is how the work within it is undiagnosable. Not coincidentally, this feature also makes this particular collection of drawings exceptionally difficult to write about. I hesitate even to call the aforementioned work a “book,” as the meandering, sometimes indiscernible writing maneuvers between journal pages, architectural drawings, board-game models and rough storyboards. Smith blurs these categories while also complicating ideas of artistic consistency and credible authorship. The narrative voice in Drawings sometimes reveals “Mike,” an everyman whose world is populated by split-levels and humdrum undergarments. Other times Smith reveals more of himself, an artist stripped of his bumbling alter ego, scribbling shit down on his way to the pantry.

Complicating things even further is the fact that Mike is the obliviously uncool star of Smith’s videos, the work for which he is best known. Most of the drawings in Drawings appear incomplete as they allude to future performances, which may more fully realize ideas. But their incompleteness speaks much more to an audience interested in the construction of Mike and his various stage sets as well as in Mike’s exploits told by any reliable or believable narrator. One of my favorite examples of pants-dropping in Drawings is Smith’s acknowledgement that the shades of brown watercolor he used in a balloon-trading board game were “mixed from many, many years of colors taken from my watercolor case.” This statement and others like it reinforce the fluidity of Smith’s thought between performer and creator.

Really, the book is simply about the artist Mike Smith, who is actually quite complicated. Or maybe it’s about discovering Mike Smith by exposing the “Making Mike” process. Or maybe, as Mike Smith himself claims, it’s about chronicling the “struggle to inject order into his hermetic and quotidian world.”

Along these lines, one of the luxuries of reading Drawings is the recurrence of certain symbols employed by Smith: water coolers, pants, underwear, plateaus, balloons, disco balls, credit cards, aprons. The accumulation of these things is much like Mike’s daily life of accumulating arbitrary objects as he traverses his plateau-ridden Americana. I found myself weary after reading Drawings because attempting to unpack Smith’s winking 1950s semiotics is tiring. But then, I really do think that the unveiling of a common monotony might be the point.

Tuesday, June 05, 2007

Positive Thinking!

I deleted someone else's snarky comment and now feel guilty for having done so as it is not in my nature to be all Fahrenheit 451 about the power of words. But oh well, it made me mad. And in this here blog, I reign supreme with my civil-rights stealing trident of awesomeness.
No I'm not quitting my blog (why are people suddenly taking me seriously?), and no the previous entry was not an attempt to get people to love all up on me, I am just whiny and threatened sometimes: which is why I started a blog. Coincidentally, I think that's why blogs exist. I pity the blog-reader who is exposed constantly to the haikus, wish lists and prayer pages of well-adjusted and well-intentioned bloggers. Yawn. Buhhhh-oring. That would be like watching Rachel Ray over and over again. Yuck. Dysfunction and the acknowledgement thereof is what keeps the world turning. Normalcy is that strange state as defined by Bill Cosby and his perfect t.v. children.

In other news:
I am re-watching Carnivale, which still makes very little sense.
I am painting a giant diorama about the trials of "Scared Little White Girl," who is really skinny and pink.
I have become obsessed with drug-resistant tuberculosis and the "monster-hog" that was killed in Alabama (google it immediately)
I am currently reading or re-reading the following: the Canterbury Tales, Angela Carter's "Bloody Chamber," Mike Smith's new book of drawings.

Monday, June 04, 2007

The End.

Went to the Critic's Table thingies again this year. Did not win again, but again had too many gin and tonics(mutually exclusive or inexorably linked?). Anyway blog, I've been thinking, maybe we'd be better off without each other. Maybe logging all my complaints is slowly filling me with the pungent bile of pre-pubescent diary pages.
Remember how Blossom had a diary on "Blossom?" Well, it really slowed the show down.

Maybe if I didn't write in you I would be a productive citizen of the world, saving anachronistic disco babies, drafting mideast pool-party treaties and finding bubblegum-flavored cures for drug-resistant tuberculosis. If only! (places Irish pumpkin head on shoulders in sad, anglo-ish plea for something more exotic).

The End.

Friday, June 01, 2007

Tonight, I was reminded of A. Van Jordan's poetry, which I really dig. Man. Here is an example, the only one I could find online.


As if two girls were starting a fire
On all sides of my daughter,
She is set ablaze: the girls swing
Two clotheslines between them
As if they were goddesses
Holding two country roads
Leading to each other; neighbors
Surround her syncopated dance
As her seizure of heat begins
To flicker on the moonlit sidewalk—
Now, the ropes are white hot—
Her hair ignites in the upswing; her barrettes,
Like petrified butterflies, click on the off beat;
Her knees pump like she's walking on red coals;
Her arms flail as if she's calling the rain
To put her out; she jumps, she flirts
With the flame: she jumps backwards
And then turns forward,
Rocking in and out of the light,
Her hands testify around her head
Or pose on yet-to-be hips, till
Her fire snuffs out as a wind blows cold,
A car with flashing lights
Slows past, and the braids of our summer night
Surrender to gravity.