Juana: Part 1

I can usually dictate my mood each day at the factory by my music choice and caffeine intake. A good day usually goes: quad over ice with two pumps white mocha, Medeski Martin and Wood, They Might Be Giants, Pixies and back to Medeski Martin and Wood. On a particularly beautiful day I do coffee and a book on tape. But for days when I am late for work and without a portable cd player I typically fall back in a vary beige routine of drinking ice tea from a box, gobbling dried fruit, and letting the Gin Blossoms break my heart.

Juana had called me over to her station and was sharing with me in beautiful broken English some of her frustrations with the factory. She told me that she was mad and when she is mad her pressure is high and her face is red. This made me so happy that I almost forgot she was confiding in me. I always figured Juana to be a people lover, a beautiful genuinely, shiny human being. You know the productive time? She couldn’t have been tempestuous, hateful, introvert like me.

Then she asked me not to mention her qualms to the others and proceeded to call it our secret. She stopped then and put her hand on my shoulder, “I tell you more of my secrets,” she smiled, “when I think of some.” We laughed and then she looked at me, clearly it was my turn to disclose a secret.
“My heart hurts today,” I said.
“Oh, you have medicine?” She asked. I attempted to explain to her the difference between heartache and cardiac arrest but then, not really able to point out the dissimilarities myself, stopped and just offered her some dried fruit.

Later she asked me if I had a new boyfriend. I laughed. I couldn’t even begin to explain my recent elopement with my cat. So I told her no, and that I wasn’t very good at that sort of thing. She just kind of smiled which I simultaneously loved and hated her for. The boyfriend question is one that my family gave up on a long time ago, but typically my self-loathing admissions of “I’m just not good at that sort of thing” end with other person typically rebounding with a ‘but why? You’re…pretty’ or (my personal favorite) ‘well they’re obviously just not good enough for you’. But Juana always candid, just smiled. “How about you?” I inquired.
“Oh no, oh no” she mumbled.
“Come on what about Rich?” I pushed (Rich is the UPS driver I once caught Juana pining over. I took pride in such voyeurism and proved it by bringing up Rich every chance I could).
“On no, he is very very handsome,” Juana said.
“Yeah? And?” I was beginning to annoy myself.
“And he is handsome and needs a woman who is very beautiful,” she paused “and young.”

I smiled, but not the same honest smile Juana gave me. I picked up a paint brush, and as I plugged one headphone into my skull as the white guilt told Juana what it thought she wanted to hear about Rich and her.

They Might Be…You All Are…

I have been thinking about my life lately and upon doing so I realized that most of the people I know and relate too, like or dislike, converse with and/or stalk I understand primarily through a They Might Be Giants song. The following is a list of people and things I usually encounter and their corresponding songs .

Annabel: See the Constellation, Catching on Fire, Evil Twin.
Ashley Whipple & Rafe Payne: Mammals
Zack Kleyn’s Senior thesis work: The Statue Got me High
Kayo: The Guitar, Ant.
Neal: Pet Name
Becca H: How Can I Sing Like a Girl?
AJ: Hypnotist of Ladies
Dad: Medal Detector
Eleanor: New York City
John Cusack: XTC vs. Adam ANT
The Evangelical Community: Bells are Ringing
26 (The Rav 4): Alphabet of Nations
Jamie Resevio: Istanbul (not Constantinople)
Julianne: Stormy Pinkness
Irwin’s Soft Wall: Subliminal
Biola Residents Life Program: Snail Shell
Diane Arbus: Unrelated Thing
Biola Art grads class of 07’: I should be Allowed to Think
Sunny: Thermostat
Sydney: Bangs
Elizabeth Smith: Cyclops Rock
Libby Stokes: Hovering Sombrero
Monterey, CA: Drink! Drink!, Museum of Idiots
Rachael: If I Wasn’t Shy
Daniel Clowes’s work: She thinks she’s Edith Head
Lauren M. & Sandra Cisneros: Words Are Like

And here are the ones I kept for myself:
Man it’s so Loud in Here, I’ve Got a Match, Turn Around, Till My Head Falls Off, She’s an Angel, Boss of Me, Sleeping in the Flowers.

If you’re sad because you didn’t make the list, don’t be. I can honestly say that if you have EVER come into contact with me I have given you your own soundtrack…not all of them may be TMBG songs or if they are I was probably too embarrassed to admit which song belongs to you, my dear reader. If you really want to know you could always just ask me.

Point and Shoot Adventures: Monterey Bay.

The crosswalk where Mr. Chamberlain committed accidental suicide.



The trees on this street were so angry they broke the sidewalk, a protest my brother and I celebrated by jumping with our bikes.



Spazier Ave.



This was one of my first sacred spaces. Today it is the only nonfunctional (headless) lamppost on Spazier.



Shrubbery.



I visited my old high school.



Visited an old friend.



My studio for the week.



The more a hang out with my mother the more I realize that the only things nice, or good, or attractive about me are really just projections of her.





There are many different ways I could attempt to describe what it is like to be from a place like Monterey Bay. But my point of view is just as much that of an outsiders as any other tourist. It is my hometown, but I don’t have the “be true to your school”…Texas…mark that others might. All that sort of enthusiasm or sense of place has been washed over by the fact that every street in that town is ridden with memory, every avenue a bad dream. My childhood was fine. My parents loved and read to me. There were maybe a pair of tragedies in my life that occurred while in Monterey. But they were enough, and I suppose it would be their names I’d call on whenever I questioned just what it was that packed my bags, or closed my Bible, or changed the locks at my fathers house.

Semi- Charmed- Sex and Candy

Last night I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning reading Sandra Cisneros poetry in between segments of VH1's I Love the 90's best 100 songs of the 90's count down. I am not sure if it was the musings of Cisneros or the melodic garage grunge mixes but I started to take some notes. This is a complete (well almost) record of last night...

In the spirit of Jay and Silent Bob: 90's Chicks I'd go gay for...

10) Joan Osborne: bring God to the masses...literally, before the U2charist I heard this song played in church and kicked my promise ring to the curb.

9) Sarah Mclachlan:



8) En Vogue, Destiny's Child, The Spice Girls and TLC: all at once.

7) Missy Elliot: That one song was dope...and I liked her chubby.



6) Lauren Hill: maybe I'd have a shot if I told her I was a Jew.

5) Fiona Apple: Yeah, she could have her way with me.



4) Alanis Morissette: yes.

3) Dolores O'Riordan: Foreign. Skinny, but I bet she could throw back a few. And we know what her name rhymes with.

2) Lisa Loeb: almost my number one, she is the catalyst for this countdown. Because lets face it she is just so damn cute.



1) Kim Deal: Would gladly be a "breeder" of her spawn...oh! oh! ah! yes.



The following is a list of people who make me want to revoke all things sexual ever...ehhh.

Céline Dion, Lenny Kravitz, Cher (all ages), Bono, Rob Thomas, and all the members of the Goo Goo Dolls.

Luckily for me there will always be these people who emanate sexiness who make up for the previous list...

Barenaked Ladies: why isn't every person a chubby white guy who can sing? I may or may not be in a BNL music video. Just throwing it out there.



Digital Underground: enough said.

The Presidents of the United States of America: coming out with a new CD soon....VICTORY. (not the name of the cd I am just that happy)

House of Pain: BAD ASS IRISH (sort of) RAPPERS. I think Color Me Badd said it best...

BECK: I don't know anyone who would be opposed to a sexual experience with Beck.

Snoop Dog: why isn't every person Snoop Dog?



Thank you for your time.

ehh

poop.

I've fallen for a lamp post...

You know, it is a bitter-sweet thing...the internet. It is like that friend who is everything you want them to be, but their "yes man" qualities more often harm you then not. The internet seems to be a perfect paradox for the lonely. For example if you are a proactive lonely person (which is the best kind to be) there are sites like eharmony or myspace to aid one in finding a friend or companion. But for the rest of us sites like myspace are more useful for internet stalking (we all do it) of past loves, likes, and regrets. All of the information you want to know about an ex is all over the web and with sites like facebook one could even check up on their current status. All that to say, right now as I sit in my bed feeling sick and rather lonely the internet is doing its job...giving me immediate information about people I miss a whole lot.

pubic hair and telephones

Welcome fellow bloggers and/or readers!


Recently I have received many a complaint in regards to my blog up-keep. At first my sentiments were that of Arnold i.e. "What'ch you talkin' 'bout (insert your name here...libby and lauren) ?!"

Now, the funny thing about blogs is that I don't even do much blog reading and I just didn't expect people to read mine. But they do (all both of them)! But those two really cared...so I figured, "hey I can do this...I've got the time..."

Just then, right as I uttered those words, "...I've got the time..." you thought to yourself but HOW?! How does Jamie have all this time to update her blog? Well, do I have an answer for you...

I am an intern with Yo Gabba Gabba, a children's TV show created by insane minds of those folks at The Magic Store, and some affiliated with those magical mind-boggling super heros The Aquabats!

It is very awesome.

But there has been some interesting facts I have learned about myself while working here, (and by working I mean sitting at the front deask 'manning' the phone or quietly huddling under a table while others are laughing and having a gay ol' time...thus the answer to the previous posed question of blogging time) . I have decided to comprise all the things I have learned in form of a song, and it goes a little something like this...

(to be sung to the tune of the 12 days of christmas, or in form of an Irish drinking song)

ON THE FIRST DAY OF INTERNSHIP MY CIRCUMSTANCE REVEALED TO ME...
...that I'm a tool who should never work in TV.

ON THE SECOND DAY OF INTERNSHIP MY CIRCUMSTANCE REVEALED TO ME...
...a pair of women in a male dominated office and...
...I'm a tool who should never work in TV.

ON THE THIRD DAY OF INTERNSHIP MY CIRCUMSTANCE REVEALED TO ME...
...three screwed up phone transfers...
...a pair of women in a male dominated office and...
...I'm a tool who should never work in TV.

ON THE FORTH DAY OF INTERNSHIP MY CIRCUMSTANCE REVEALED TO ME...
...a plane flying over head every four minutes...
...three screwed up phone transfers...
...a pair of women in a male dominated office and...
...I'm a tool who should never work in TV.

ON THE FIFTH DAY OF INTERNSHIP MY CIRCUMSTANCE REVEALED TO ME...
...five pubic hairs scrubbed from the urinal!
...a plane flying over head every four minutes...
...three screwed up phone transfers...
...a pair of women in a male dominated office and...
...I'm a tool who should never work in TV.

ON THE SIXTH DAY OF INTERNSHIP MY CIRCUMSTANCE REVEALED TO ME...
...six bags of peanut butter M&Ms...
...five pubic hairs scrubbed from the urinal!
...a plane flying over head every four minutes...
...three screwed up phone transfers...
...a pair of women in a male dominated office and...
...I'm a tool who should never work in TV.

ON THE SEVENTH DAY OF INTERNSHIP MY CIRCUMSTANCE REVEALED TO ME...
...seven futile lessons on how to transfer a call...
...six bags of peanut butter M&Ms...
...five pubic hairs scrubbed from the urinal!
...a plane flying over head every four minutes...
...three screwed up phone transfers...
...a pair of women in a male dominated office and...
...I'm a tool who should never work in TV.

ON THE EIGHTH DAY OF INTERNSHIP MY CIRCUMSTANCE REVEALED TO ME...
...eight ridiculously attractive men...
...seven futile lessons on how to transfer a call...
...six bags of peanut butter M&Ms...
...five pubic hairs scrubbed from the urinal!
...a plane flying over head every four minutes...
...three screwed up phone transfers...
...a pair of women in a male dominated office and...
...I'm a tool who should never work in TV.

ON THE NINTH DAY OF INTERNSHIP MY CIRCUMSTANCE REVEALED TO ME...
...nine inappropriate fits of laughter...
...eight ridiculously attractive men...
...seven futile lessons on how to transfer a call...
...six bags of peanut butter M&Ms...
...five pubic hairs scrubbed from the urinal!
...a plane flying over head every four minutes...
...three screwed up phone transfers...
...a pair of women in a male dominated office and...
...I'm a tool who should never work in TV.


ON THE TENTH DAY OF INTERNSHIP MY CIRCUMSTANCE REVEALED TO ME...
...a decade of pent up insecurities...
...nine inappropriate fits of laughter...
...eight ridiculously attractive men...
...seven futile lessons on how to transfer a call...
...six bags of peanut butter M&Ms...
...five pubic hairs scrubbed from the urinal!
...a plane flying over head every four minutes...
...three screwed up phone transfers...
...a pair of women in a male dominated office and...
...I'm a tool who should never work in TV.


ON THE ELEVENTH DAY OF INTERNSHIP MY CIRCUMSTANCE REVEALED TO ME...
...eleven sudden urges to weep...
...a decade of pent up insecurities...
...nine inappropriate fits of laughter...
...eight ridiculously attractive men...
...seven futile lessons on how to transfer a call...
...six bags of peanut butter M&Ms...
...five pubic hairs scrubbed from the urinal!
...a plane flying over head every four minutes...
...three screwed up phone transfers...
...a pair of women in a male dominated office and...
...I'm a tool who should never work in TV.


ON THE TEWLTH DAY OF INTERNSHIP MY CIRCUMSTANCE REVEALED TO ME...
...12 verities of candy like manna from the sky...
...eleven sudden urges to weep...
...a decade of pent up insecurities...
...nine inappropriate fits of laughter...
...eight ridiculously attractive men...
...seven futile lessons on how to transfer a call...
...six bags of peanut butter M&Ms...
...five pubic hairs scrubbed from the urinal!
...a plane flying over head every four minutes...
...three screwed up phone transfers...
...a pair of women in a male dominated office and...
...I'm a tool who should never work in TV.

Nonetheless, I couldn't be happier working there. Everyone is ridiculously kind and fun. I'm hoping some of them will rub off on me...would it be too easy for me to write something inappropriate here? I think so.

Please enjoy the photos...


michelle is good

michelle is beautiful

barry?

hot and hot.

Well, comrades that is all for now. I hope it was everything you'd hoped for. I adore you all (all both of you) and now I am off to listen to chapels and make stuff while drinking tea that kind of smells like pot. Perhaps this reefer reeking tea will be the only thing to get me through these damn chapels.

WORD,
jamie

more to come...

...give it some time.

Today I got plastered! c/o Libby

Comrades,

This morning Becka, Libby, and Rachael did a plaster cast of my torso. It was hot. When asked what it was like to get to second base with me Becka replied, and I quote, “it was awesome!”

Rachael responded as though this hadn’t been her first time seeing me lubed up in petroleum jelly and Libby just frolicked around and was continually helpful. Over all it was a pretty good experience…ahh the things I do for art.

It was torrey week this past week which means I pretty much slept more, ate good food, and hung out with some fantastic human beings. I couldn’t quite manage to avoid Biola completely though, seeing that I had much to do in the studio. I did get to spend a good amount of time with two of my beloved soul sisters who so often remind me that breeding is indeed a positive venture. Thanks for your help Libby and Rachael. Also thanks Sunny B. Ware for being sexy and to Julianne for calling me from the North Pole.

So um…the cold war kids… who knew that biola could spawn such a lovely thing…

I am drinking tea a worrying about what I will dream about, most of all I am just tired. Please excuse my unedited last post…I would go back and clean it up but...well to quote Mr.
Conor Mullen Oberst …

“But failure’s always sounded better
Lets fuck it up boys, make some noise!”

Peace.

poopie pants

Upon request…

I have yet to understand blogging entirely, but sense my recent self-removal from various internet groups I have been rather absent from my network of friends who aren’t as demographically intimate as I wish they could be. Thus, the birth of Bunny Head, Spider Body the personal blog of yours truly. You all can thank Mrs. Aimee Buffum for implanting the idea in my skull. Thanks Aim.

Goals for this blog…or rather…The Official Bunny Head, Spider Body Manifesto is as follows…

“…to allow myself time to vomit my views and opinions on art, music, burritos, comics, culture and whatever via type face and fragmented sentences all over whoever reads these sort of things…oh and to excessively promote myself.”

Promote on…


Alright, I hope this blog is good to you…
-JR