He engulfed my face with both hands and told me that for him being there, at that party, to be a part of the vibrant Los Angeles lights regardless of how drunken or underground they were, just being there was ‘it’ for him. Inches from my face and sprinkling my glasses with spit this guy who earlier had held the entire party’s attention with a simple slide and hammer on, just showed me his entire deck. This drunken and soon to be forgotten act, leveled the field. I’ve never been one for hero worship, but a life infused with rejection and low selfesteem can make one painfully aware of leagues. Oddly enough a few hours spent people watching at a party in Los Angeles will pretty much deem any social hierarchy as complete, and utter bullshit.
As simple as this next thought will be, for someone…an introverted someone, a closet lover of human beings and all things human, a not yet but almost secure someone, for someone like me…thoughts such as this have to come like 22-year long migraines or metronomes. The simple thought is this: we are all just people.
Just ugly and beautiful people bumping into one another. We are no better, not any cooler or prettier. We’re no worse, not any fatter or less read. When one takes the time to push all those value judgments to the front of ones mind they become mushy enough to blow out both nostrils. In the case of the band leader and myself it was simply one gorgeous, drunk, and insecure male groping for the approval of a ridiculously sobered and equally insecure female. But just as the band leader was elated to be there, I guess I could be okay with being here. Here, flopped straight down on my ass, an infant again.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
I've been working on this for hours...damnit...
Often referencing the unexplainable, the work of Jamie Uretsky feeds off of ambiguity and simulations opposites. “Driving back and forth from northern and southern California…something a co-worker once said to me…creatures of the outer bay, and I guess outer space…so then angels I suppose…and oh! Sparkle cake,” was the response Uretsky give when asked about her recent work entitled Something Jauana Said. When inquired as to what the piece was actually about Uretsky seemed to go cross-eyed for a moment and then responded with a shrug. Uretsky scratched her head under her cap then glanced at me over her glasses, “I can only assume what you want me to say, so I will say that first. I’ll get all the pretty art book language out first so it is out and I can really tell you how I feel or perhaps I’ll tell you how I feel first since now you know that I am irritated. Each piece can be considered to be about different things. For example, I Put Her on the Shelf was about me watching my friend die. The Plane’s On Fire! The Plane is Paper is about being twenty-one and crumbling foundations. But Something Jauana Said and Untitled were different. They too were about things, lots of things like I mentioned before. Sparkle cake, sexual frustration, conversations I’ve had, jellyfish, ska music, ect…so..while the work is about those things, I would like to think of my work as more of a response to those things. These visual landscapes, the curving, twisting, organic, planes are my visual output. This is vague so let me try to explain. Let’s say for a moment you are trying to remember something…you are in the middle of retelling a joke that you think is hilarious…and you’re telling it to someone of the opposite sex in hopes that they too will find it funny and you to can laugh yourselves off into the sunset. Well the punch line, the kicker comes along, and you’ve got nothing. You’re memory fails. Your prospective date retreats and you end up in the shower three weeks later attempting to recall the last time you saw Kirstie Alley look good…khan…BAM! you remember the punch line. Now take yourself out of that story for a moment and try to explain that to me visually. What the feelings look like. What the smells look like, all the thoughts, the insecurities, the dreams, what the passing of time looked like. All I am doing in my work is making abstract visual responses to the mundane. In a way, a piece such as Something Jauana Said is highly narrative, my language is just different. For the language I am interested in, when it comes to sharing my stories, is not language that will get viewers to a place of understanding or experiencing my metanarrative but rather the strange, missed, perhaps…tossed aside utterances of language that will aid the viewer in relating to something they cannot describe fully but feel as if they 'know'. When the viewer sees my work it is not as if the work sends them to a particular memory but rather a place of memory. Visually I try to make this possible by using repetition. I once heard an artist call repetition her “visual prayer”. I like this; it makes my work seem more important then it is. The viewer’s memories could also be tickled by my choice of materials. I use the word choice lightly…because if I had my way I would like to be a painter, photographer, or a comic book artist…but I think I respect those sorts of people way too much to ever attempt to be one. That’s not to say 3rd and 4th dimension artists don’t hold my high regard, oh they do. I somehow fell into my nitch of building/crafting shit and now I cannot stop (the words ‘can't stop’ I don’t use lightly).”
With this Uretsky seemed to begin to stand as if she had other places to be. Knowing of her inability to let people down and her complete lack of backbone I pushed her more to talk about her materials. “Well, I tend to work in systems. I often joke about my work, claiming that it is just a bunch of little shit glued together to make bigger shit…”
“ahh yess.” I agreed.
“Yeah, well I’ve found it tends to be more then that,” Uretsky continued, “My work creates itself out of systems. For example the system for The Plane’s On Fire! The Plane is Paper was cut the paper, fold the paper into a tiny plane, separate the string, glue the plane to individual string, dip individual plane into paint, let dry, glue plane chunks to main sculpture. I never know how a piece will end up. The work itself knows and it tells me, more often then not it wont speak to me at all or it will just screech at me ‘I’m not working! I’m not working and by the way you suck and I hate you!’ but there are moments...sweet moments when I’ll get a whisper that will say glue me here, or bend it this way, or keep going, or use wood glue because it's yellow. I should mention that I do use glue a lot. I use it for the same reasons a painter would use paint I suppose, it is their best way to make the piece. When I want to make a piece that will take a video, or dancing, or 5,000 leather batman masks then I will, but for now I am using glue…and glue has been quite faithful.”
With this it seemed that Uretsky didn’t want to talk anymore so I asked another question, “is it true that you have very little feeling in your fingertips because of all the hotglue burns you’ve endured?”
“Yeah, uh sort of…well no, not really. I just like to say shit like that. I just know when the glue is ok to touch. I have been burned pretty bad before.”
“Really?!”
“No, not really.”
“So what of your performance/video work?” With this question Jamie chuckled and then got kind of crazy excited, then got quiet again. So I probed, “What are some of your inspirations for your performance/video work?”
“Devo.”
“The band?”
“You’re interview is falling apart. You know that. I mean you this whole article is not very interesting not to mention your opening statement is…offensive. It’s sounds as though I’m painting sets for the X-files.”
“Well, I think it works it says everything you said in a sentence rather then a whole paragraph of fragmented sentences and a pointless story that you threw in just to use a khan reference.”
“Jamie, you shouldn’t write when you’re hungry.”
With this Uretsky seemed to begin to stand as if she had other places to be. Knowing of her inability to let people down and her complete lack of backbone I pushed her more to talk about her materials. “Well, I tend to work in systems. I often joke about my work, claiming that it is just a bunch of little shit glued together to make bigger shit…”
“ahh yess.” I agreed.
“Yeah, well I’ve found it tends to be more then that,” Uretsky continued, “My work creates itself out of systems. For example the system for The Plane’s On Fire! The Plane is Paper was cut the paper, fold the paper into a tiny plane, separate the string, glue the plane to individual string, dip individual plane into paint, let dry, glue plane chunks to main sculpture. I never know how a piece will end up. The work itself knows and it tells me, more often then not it wont speak to me at all or it will just screech at me ‘I’m not working! I’m not working and by the way you suck and I hate you!’ but there are moments...sweet moments when I’ll get a whisper that will say glue me here, or bend it this way, or keep going, or use wood glue because it's yellow. I should mention that I do use glue a lot. I use it for the same reasons a painter would use paint I suppose, it is their best way to make the piece. When I want to make a piece that will take a video, or dancing, or 5,000 leather batman masks then I will, but for now I am using glue…and glue has been quite faithful.”
With this it seemed that Uretsky didn’t want to talk anymore so I asked another question, “is it true that you have very little feeling in your fingertips because of all the hotglue burns you’ve endured?”
“Yeah, uh sort of…well no, not really. I just like to say shit like that. I just know when the glue is ok to touch. I have been burned pretty bad before.”
“Really?!”
“No, not really.”
“So what of your performance/video work?” With this question Jamie chuckled and then got kind of crazy excited, then got quiet again. So I probed, “What are some of your inspirations for your performance/video work?”
“Devo.”
“The band?”
“You’re interview is falling apart. You know that. I mean you this whole article is not very interesting not to mention your opening statement is…offensive. It’s sounds as though I’m painting sets for the X-files.”
“Well, I think it works it says everything you said in a sentence rather then a whole paragraph of fragmented sentences and a pointless story that you threw in just to use a khan reference.”
“Jamie, you shouldn’t write when you’re hungry.”
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
corporate exchange to intimate connections
I work in a drive through. Don’t let the fact that it is for Startbucks fool you, I am indeed working in a drive through. And while that sweet headset song of beeping, and humming and amplified big truck exostpipe often remind of times when my parents were actually proud of me, I am typically distracted by the looming question of whether I am under or overqualified for this position. All that to say, I have actually stumbled across a few absolutely beautiful things while working at Starbucks…well beautiful and interesting…mostly terrifying.
It was a closing shift when she came through the drive through. She ordered a drink, I took her money and asked how she was. It was at this point that her eyes turned into two tiny pools and her face to a muddy red earth color. She had just found out that her mother was in the hospices. Apparently this is the place where people go to die. She never fully cried in front of me but I knew that if I were to touch her or anything she’s probably just melt away. So I gave a few free drink cards and listened for a while.
She asked me if I was a believer in Jesus Christ. Rather then waxing poetic about how the church had failed me and how most nights I’d rather fantasize about being cradled in the arms of a Mos Def- Simon Pegg- John Linnell- Andy Richter superhuman then praying to my ceiling I replied, “uhh I’m working on it,” which wasn’t a lie. I then mentioned that I attended Biola to take some of the heat off. She looked relieved but I was still looking over my shoulder. She could probably sense my anxiety, then most likely mistook it for the Devil, because at that point she asked me my name.
“Jamie,” I smiled.
“Well Jamie, I’ll be praying for you. And never let Him out of your life, always keep Him in your life.”
“Well mam’ I don’t think I could get him out even if I wanted too,” after she found no humor in this I figured that this woman had never danced with Anne Lamott’s Jesus Cat.
That was the second time in a week someone had said they’d pray for me. When this happens I usually feel insulted at first, then bad. Bad for a lot of reasons the main being the whole...not knowing what the hell I believe in any longer. Better yet, knowing that I think I believe in God but having absolutely no reasons or support or logical standing for thinking that (If it smells like faith...). Feeling bad is also the result of becoming so apathetic toward something I once loved so much. Apathy is insulting. Hatred is terrible, but at least it’s a feeling. A plaguing feeling such as love...or intense like. But apathy...apathy is rolling over, apathy is a text message, it’s a quiet slap to the jaw, masked and made okay by books entitled, “He’s Just Not That In To You.”
When I got to work the next week the woman had left a gift for me. A tiny Max Lucado book, some Easter chocolate, and a card assuring me that she was praying for me and reminding me to let Him IN this Easter. Again, at this point I should be a little insulted. But I’m not. She was loosing her mother so she did what many women would have done, she became a mother. This woman clearly was the type who was always taking care of others and happened to run into me the night where the one person she learned all that from was dying. A few free drink cards and a listening ear seemed to lend this woman the distraction she needed from the horrific evening ahead of her. A night spent with her dying mother. She may have interpreted our meeting as an act of God. As the Divine taking from her one life but letting her be the salvation source for another. If she needs all that to get through burring her mother, then she can most certainly have it.
This all sounds very cold of me, I know. Having someone offer something to you like a free coffee is one thing, but prayer is another. This woman really believes in God. She actually believes that her mother will die and then go to an actual heaven. This baffles me, for my last words will not sound anything like peace-filled tasty wisdom tarts, but rather something along the lines of, “oh shit, what if the Jews were right!*” In the case of the woman in the drive through, she was so earnest and so sad about her mother there was no way I could reject her prayers. And because the other person who said he’d pray for me is such an important and respected figure in my life I couldn’t possibly say no. All I can do is shut up and receive.
So here I am, taking on these unknown wishes that people have for me. Letting them stack their intimate god speak in my annoyed and anxious arms like a mother loading up their college student to go back to school with pie, and ham, and tea, and frozen cheese.
I guess I’ll take whatever I can get.
*I’m quoting from somewhere.
Now when my boss got word of this she wanted me to write a little something about my interaction for corporate. The following is...The Corporation Version
It was a closing shift when she came through the drive through. She ordered a mocha, I took her money and asked how she was. It was at this point that her eyes turned into two tiny pools and her face to a muddy red earth color.
“Not well,” she whispered and thanked me for asking. At this, I let out a sort of cough/sigh and thanked her for answering honestly. She had just found out that her mother was in the hospices and would most likely die that night. She never fully cried in front of me but I knew that if I were to act on my initial impulse of leaping through the drive through onto her lap for an embrace, she’s probably just melt away (and I’d most likely receive a restraining order…or a pink slip).
She had already paid for her drink so I offered her a free drink card. She mentioned how she was going to give it to one of the two nurses taking care of her mother. With this, we agreed that the other nurse should probably get one too. Then I put another free drink card in her hand and told her to stop giving them away but rather treat and take care of herself.
We chatted a bit more and then she drove away. Our point of convergence had ended. She driving off, Strabucks goods in-tow, to see the woman who brought her into this world out of it; and me off to sanitize blender tops. That evening in the drive through may have been a lot of things. But everything that comes with personal agendas, sickening sensitivities, and fumbly humanness seems to be the very ‘stuff’ that bubbles under the foundation of The Starbucks Corporation. It is this breath of humanity that gives us the ability to turn corporate exchange into intimate connections.
It was a closing shift when she came through the drive through. She ordered a drink, I took her money and asked how she was. It was at this point that her eyes turned into two tiny pools and her face to a muddy red earth color. She had just found out that her mother was in the hospices. Apparently this is the place where people go to die. She never fully cried in front of me but I knew that if I were to touch her or anything she’s probably just melt away. So I gave a few free drink cards and listened for a while.
She asked me if I was a believer in Jesus Christ. Rather then waxing poetic about how the church had failed me and how most nights I’d rather fantasize about being cradled in the arms of a Mos Def- Simon Pegg- John Linnell- Andy Richter superhuman then praying to my ceiling I replied, “uhh I’m working on it,” which wasn’t a lie. I then mentioned that I attended Biola to take some of the heat off. She looked relieved but I was still looking over my shoulder. She could probably sense my anxiety, then most likely mistook it for the Devil, because at that point she asked me my name.
“Jamie,” I smiled.
“Well Jamie, I’ll be praying for you. And never let Him out of your life, always keep Him in your life.”
“Well mam’ I don’t think I could get him out even if I wanted too,” after she found no humor in this I figured that this woman had never danced with Anne Lamott’s Jesus Cat.
That was the second time in a week someone had said they’d pray for me. When this happens I usually feel insulted at first, then bad. Bad for a lot of reasons the main being the whole...not knowing what the hell I believe in any longer. Better yet, knowing that I think I believe in God but having absolutely no reasons or support or logical standing for thinking that (If it smells like faith...). Feeling bad is also the result of becoming so apathetic toward something I once loved so much. Apathy is insulting. Hatred is terrible, but at least it’s a feeling. A plaguing feeling such as love...or intense like. But apathy...apathy is rolling over, apathy is a text message, it’s a quiet slap to the jaw, masked and made okay by books entitled, “He’s Just Not That In To You.”
When I got to work the next week the woman had left a gift for me. A tiny Max Lucado book, some Easter chocolate, and a card assuring me that she was praying for me and reminding me to let Him IN this Easter. Again, at this point I should be a little insulted. But I’m not. She was loosing her mother so she did what many women would have done, she became a mother. This woman clearly was the type who was always taking care of others and happened to run into me the night where the one person she learned all that from was dying. A few free drink cards and a listening ear seemed to lend this woman the distraction she needed from the horrific evening ahead of her. A night spent with her dying mother. She may have interpreted our meeting as an act of God. As the Divine taking from her one life but letting her be the salvation source for another. If she needs all that to get through burring her mother, then she can most certainly have it.
This all sounds very cold of me, I know. Having someone offer something to you like a free coffee is one thing, but prayer is another. This woman really believes in God. She actually believes that her mother will die and then go to an actual heaven. This baffles me, for my last words will not sound anything like peace-filled tasty wisdom tarts, but rather something along the lines of, “oh shit, what if the Jews were right!*” In the case of the woman in the drive through, she was so earnest and so sad about her mother there was no way I could reject her prayers. And because the other person who said he’d pray for me is such an important and respected figure in my life I couldn’t possibly say no. All I can do is shut up and receive.
So here I am, taking on these unknown wishes that people have for me. Letting them stack their intimate god speak in my annoyed and anxious arms like a mother loading up their college student to go back to school with pie, and ham, and tea, and frozen cheese.
I guess I’ll take whatever I can get.
*I’m quoting from somewhere.
Now when my boss got word of this she wanted me to write a little something about my interaction for corporate. The following is...The Corporation Version
It was a closing shift when she came through the drive through. She ordered a mocha, I took her money and asked how she was. It was at this point that her eyes turned into two tiny pools and her face to a muddy red earth color.
“Not well,” she whispered and thanked me for asking. At this, I let out a sort of cough/sigh and thanked her for answering honestly. She had just found out that her mother was in the hospices and would most likely die that night. She never fully cried in front of me but I knew that if I were to act on my initial impulse of leaping through the drive through onto her lap for an embrace, she’s probably just melt away (and I’d most likely receive a restraining order…or a pink slip).
She had already paid for her drink so I offered her a free drink card. She mentioned how she was going to give it to one of the two nurses taking care of her mother. With this, we agreed that the other nurse should probably get one too. Then I put another free drink card in her hand and told her to stop giving them away but rather treat and take care of herself.
We chatted a bit more and then she drove away. Our point of convergence had ended. She driving off, Strabucks goods in-tow, to see the woman who brought her into this world out of it; and me off to sanitize blender tops. That evening in the drive through may have been a lot of things. But everything that comes with personal agendas, sickening sensitivities, and fumbly humanness seems to be the very ‘stuff’ that bubbles under the foundation of The Starbucks Corporation. It is this breath of humanity that gives us the ability to turn corporate exchange into intimate connections.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Fat cats and bedtime prayers
Up until about a month ago I prayed every night before I went to sleep. Toward the end, the prayers turned to lemons, then super balls that just bounced around my room and then finally, to rocks that weren’t flat or smooth enough to skip. Tired of watching my prayers sink, I stopped praying. This was more difficult then one would think. Every night I get myself ready to say something to the big brick wall in the sky but then have to bite my lip and tell myself, “no, stop that. Tonight we’re exercising our right NOT to pray.”
Last night, cold and tired of being sick I curled up into the fetal position on my bed and prayed again. At first I prayed a behemoth of a prayer, why not it was my first night off the wagon, I prayed that God would reach down from heaven with his magic Midas finger and zap the shit out of Alexander Hamilton (that’s what I named my ailment…see previous blog). Then I told God that it would be fine if I woke up tomorrow and A.H. was still hanging around, but He should give me the patience to wait it out a few more days and the knowledge that Alex will go away. What a mature prayer. Typically my conversations with the divine consist of me bitching about something, not expecting (or getting) any sort of response, and then declaring myself a lazy atheist. This morning I woke up nervous about the results of my prayer. I had dreams about Alex being gone and me calling up everyone I know in a fit of revival saying, “hallelujah! I prayed and Alexander Hamilton is gone! God actually listened to me…therefore HE IS real! hallelujah! I believe! it’s all a Jesus soaked landscape again!” But rather then rushing off to get a tattoo of a Celtic knot trinity I pulled the blankets up to my chin and prayed for a second time.
“God…hey…look if Alexander is still around…I don’t care. Just give me peace about it. Please. Thanks.” I laid there a while longer before I realized that for the first time in three years I was acting like a Christian. At this I panicked and attempted to force a sex dream. I finally kicked off my covers and went to check on my tiny miracle. Alexander Hamilton was there, dry and still white with last nights medicine. I sighed and rubbed my clavicle with my fingertips then rested my palm over my chest like a scout. I couldn’t feel my heart beat, but I knew it was in there and I knew it wasn’t beating at God with it’s usual confusion and contempt. It was just beating, and I will get up…I will pay my parking ticket, I will get myself a smoothie, I will read a little, I will sulk around my studio until I make something, I will have good conversations, my cat will continue to be flea-ridden, and my heart will still be beating.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
taking baths and eating salads
Taking baths and eating salads used to be two of my favorite activities. The salad thing was weird because I would have never considered anything green, outside a Hybrid, a luxury. I was mainly a burrito gal but then the salads begin to call to me. The Persian, the mix greens, and oh…the great Caesar. Baths too where a treat. Going back to Monterey always allowed for several things: free food and laundry, mom and pop, beers at The Crown, and a big ass bath tub. Many women like to use bath tub time as…um…well their special alone time…but bath tub time is warm and relaxing the last thing I’d want to do is start the laborious processes of masturbation. I would have never thought of taking a bath in my own apartment if it weren’t for Julianne doing it first. The tubs of Toka apartments are nothing like the Monterey Bay baths, not to mention our own bathtub had turned into a kind of bomb shelter for Kenobi. A retreat for when she’s been caught in mommy Jamie’s bedroom, or scaling our double TV tower, or crapped on a curtain.
The past two weeks I have been sick. First anxiety brings back an ol’ ailment that I don’t particulary enjoy talking about but I did name Alexander Hamilton. Second came the flu. Alexander retreated for a while but then returned bringing with it…(sorry readers) The Curse. I’m just laying this all out for back story. Because of these various aliments I was forced to eat only salad and take countless sea salt baths. The result of which has been me laying around for 14 days pooping out tiny jungles. Today I cracked. I had Chinese food about two hours ago and of course now I am starving again.
I found myself in the tub again this afternoon, but I had quite literally gone insane at this point. Pissed off and actually tired of being naked I plopped my absurd whiteness into the salty water. Somehow I had brought the copy of Traveling Mercies Eleanor had given me into the bathroom. I cannot remember if I brought it in to read in the tub or if it was another one of my efforts to counter act the mindless bullshit that typically litters our magazine rack. That was harsh, Cosmo can actually be a good read especially if one is as curious or sexually suppressed as most Biola alumnae. But I have been known to slip in a feminist magazine or some O’Connor short stories if I see some of the same tight, white, faces hangin’ around the ol’ zine rack.
Eleanor had given me the book long ago and I loved and hated her for it because I always knew the book was too good for me. It sat by my bed for some time before today when in a fit of crazed frustration and a bit of confusion I picked it up and read the first part. I read it until the drain sucked most of the water away. That didn’t matter much for the water had gone cold and Ms. Lamott had proven herself a friend. Reading books on Christianity holds the same weight with me as jogging. Perhaps I should do it, maybe it will help me feel better about my current situation…but probably not and what kind of music do you listen to when you’re jogging or reading Christian books anyway? But I could trust someone who was saved with a “fuck it” rather then a “hallelujah”. Anne proved herself to me with her writing, then with her stories, she made me her friend and by the end of the first part of this book I was naked in a cold bath in tears. I’m not sure why I cried. Perhaps I was sad for her, perhaps still frustrated over Alexander Hamilton and being sick, or maybe Anne reopened a dusty place in my mind that allowed the rest of me to be brave again…in other words, to hope. Maybe.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, January 14, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, January 04, 2008
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.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Friday, April 06, 2007
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.
Friday, February 02, 2007
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
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
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Monday, October 23, 2006
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.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
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
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
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