Wednesday, October 27, 2010

A Picture of Dorian Grossies

Turns out my post about old underwear has put my blog on the international bloggomap. People from Japan, Russia, Ukraine, Indonesia, Canada, Germany, Sweden, Italy, Egypt, India and Slovakia are looking at my dingy old underwear! And there are new ones each day... Gosh, international attention has never felt so....skeezy.

Now I know what to put in the meta tags for my website!

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

I'd always choose flight over invisibility.

Flight, always flight.

If you could have a superpower, what would it be?

Still flight.


If you had to choose between flight and invisibility, which would you choose and why?

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Icing sur le cake

Parking Ticket

I was hit on by the son of this woman who was hosting a party that I had to go to for work.

So get this. Instead of introducing himself to me, this 29-year-old guy, red chest hair peeping prominently through his barely-buttoned oxford, and red wine in hand at 3:00 pm, said: "I have to show you my bedroom."

Well, seeing no other choice in the matter, as my delicate social being was paralyzed with shock and horror, I followed the 29-year-old bare-chested, wine-bearing man into the depths of his rich parents' apartment (where, mind you, he STILL LIVED!) so that he could show me his bedroom. As I slunk farther away from civilized humanity, I heard one of the hostess's friends mutter under her breath, "Well, that's a tactic I've never heard before!"

That made two of us...

Well, he showed me his room which had...are you ready for this....LEOPARD PRINT CARPET, which, according to him warranted my witnessing its existence (since I happened to be wearing blue, totally different, cute and conversely rather tasteful leopard print stockings ;-) ). But, the show didn't end there--what I saw will haunt me for the rest of my days... On top of the leopard print carpet sat a twin-sized bed, dressed with a brown paisley patterned duvet cover, a brown paisley which had somehow been cloned against its will and reborn as wallpaper, which covered every non-leopard surface in the tiny bedroom. Before I blanked out, I think I did see a couple board games and a desktop PC....

Well--in any case, my quick observations just outside the threshold of this chamber came of course as some relief to me and my instincts for basic survival for three reasons. Firstly, as the bed was a twin, then certainly the worst of what he might have possibly been advertising could somewhat easily have been avoided through some simple clumsiness of the elbow or knee. Secondly I'm sure if I ran in one direction or another, he'd hardly be able to find me as my leopard stockings might have a zebra-herd effect on him. And thirdly that should I have actually stepped foot into the room itself, I am certain that I might have gone into a severe state of sensory overload and subsequent paraplectic shock, leading most likely to a swift loss of consciousness and hopefully some decreased memory of the whole fiasco which might then have allowed me to sleep peacefully.

Fortunately, I told him his little room was nice and bolted in the opposite direction.

Later the same night I was also hit on by a French black man named Prince who made me blush. And I ate some cookies.

Went on with little strain or injury, most likely in order to prepare me for the next happy set of occurrences! (Shucks, don't you hate it when that happens?)

I got into a car accident when some idiotic, probably drunk, jerk nearly t-boned my dad's fancy prius while I was driving a friend and my sister to tea. Yay car crashes!

Then I got a fever and felt pretty dizzy and had chills. Yay fever illness!

Then I was berated by another (yes, different) diva-man artist. And this time I DID start crying (after I hung up). Yay egotistical assholes!

Then I fell asleep for about 24 hours and now I feel much better, but what the hell!?!

Slept through all of Monday and find myself here, on Tuesday, still reeling.

Hey, maybe this is the price I need to pay for next week, when I'll undoubtedly get laid.

* * *

Great news, however, on the flipside: I figured out why all these people in the Ukraine, Germany and Indonesia have been reading my blog! They all searched google for the term "panties" or "kiddy panties" and found my post about the Dorian Panties! Too bad they found a shriveled, scanned version of what they were looking for...

...Um, gross?

Friday, October 15, 2010

Pride & Prejudice

Well, this week sucked.

I was verbally abused for forty-five minutes by this woman that I'm doing a graphic design job for, my parents left the country and left me with a house for sale, two children and a dog, my roommates are in a tiff, and the cat box has not been changed for weeks [so I changed it], and on top of all of that I've been doing a TON of free work for my gallerist for somebody else's exhibition--we're talking everything from ten hours worth of layout and design work, four hours worth of video editing and tech troubleshooting, not to mention passing hors d'oeuvres and serving beverages at not one, but TWO epic five-hour art openings one day apart (we're talking napkin-collecting, dishwashing, that kind of stuff, all AFTER I finished the day at my other two jobs!!!).

What the hell. I'm feeling exhausted, exploited, and generally trod upon.

On top of it, one of the big famous artists that I was busting my ass for these past days managed to dish out a particularly nasty insult in my direction last night, after it was all over.

When the opening was over last night, I took a seat for the first time--my feet were killing me and I was reaching new depths of full mental and physical exhaustion. I sat down next to one of the artists from the exhibition, who is quite established and has work at the Smithsonian and the like. He's a glass artist.

The first time I met him, it was during an artists dinner at the gallery, where we all went around and presented a new work to the other artists. Mine was of course first, and I showed a video piece. I had a really positive response from a lot of the other artists, including his wife, and generally went from feeling really nervous and intimidated to feeling quite pleased with myself.

Well his presentation went right after mine, and he said, looking straight at me: "There's no big concept to my work, and no fancy tech presentation needed. I work in glass and ceramics; there is value in working with your hands."

That burning red-faced feeling and butterflies in my stomach came straight back.

And then after I got pretty ticked off, but only after, once the shock of it all had worn off.

Anyway, I thought that was all behind us, especially as I made sure not one but three informational videos about his and his wife's work were properly put on display, and edited to be palatable to a gallery audience. I also made some really nice signage for their opening, which otherwise would have no text AND worked late making it right and making any number of revisions in accordance with their whims. To boot, I'm not a server, and I had to run around giving people filet mignon and horseradish (gross/super-degrading), and wash dishes, as there was no dishwasher (human or machine). I mean -- if that doesn't say I'm humble, a hard worker and know how to use my hands, what does?

But I soon realized it wasn't about that. Flash forward to the end of the second five-hour exhibition preview, and I'm sitting in front of one of the videos at a table with the artist himself.

I muster a, "Were you pleased with everything? I think it went formidably well!"

We both agreed, and given this encouragement I continued, more enthusiastically this time, "I'm so glad that your videos worked. It was exciting to see people watching the videos so attentively!" (I was implying, but not directly mentioning that videos and peoples' reactions to videos interest me, in general.)

And, leaning back in his chair, one arm on the table he smiles and says, "Well that's because they were informational videos. If they were art videos, they probably would have walked away."

And with that I tumbled down to a meager, "Ha ha, I guess so..." And got up and walked away.

In my mind, it takes way more energy to be a jerk than it does to be supportive, but I guess for some people it feels like the opposite. But, honestly....

Wednesday, October 13, 2010


Well, that's it, it's on the market (click the image to see the creepy Howard Hanna profile). If you didn't know already, my parents are moving out of the state, and selling the house I grew up in. And although I'm pretty ticked off that my parents went off to Greece, expecting me to deal with workmen, realty agents, neighbors, dog and their children, I still have enough energy left over to feel a little sad about having to let go of my childhood home, for good.

Most of it has been gone for a long time. The neighborhood I knew growing up is mostly gone, people have moved out of town. My parents have made so many changes to the house over the years, that it's already really different than the way I remember it being. They also made me get all of my stuff out of the place about a year ago, so I don't really have a room of my own there anymore. My brothers' rooms have been converted to sitting rooms and studies.

I honestly didn't expect to feel the pangs of nostalgia, but this weekend when I was there, heartily cursing my parents for leaving me alone and overridden with their life sh#!, I took a moment to look around and think about how nice it was to grow up in one place, one house, for all those years.

My parents and I don't often see eye to eye. They have built their lives around achieving stability--in particular financial and marital stability--above all things. Things like personal happiness, emotional stability, etc. I realize now that in many ways, the things that they valued and worked for in life were a direct response to things they lacked while they were growing up.

Both of their parents went through nasty divorces, just as my parents were leaving home for college. My mom's father didn't believe that women deserved to be educated, and didn't offer a dime for her education. My dad's parents' divorce trial made it to the New Jersey supreme court, and he, his six siblings, and their foster brother were caught in between some serious animosity. In brief, alcoholism, extra-marital affairs, emotional and physical abuse, endless petty court battles, suicide and chronic depression defined a good part of their young lives. And so, I'm sure at one point they made a resolution, both separately and together, that 1) their marriage would never end in divorce (this, is more my dad's big thing) and 2) they would achieve the kind of financial stability that would allow them to support a house, the full education of four children, etc. (my mom's particular leaning).

Perhaps because this is what they offered me growing up, and perhaps because it is all I know, I of course found flaws in their methodologies, as children of parents often do. Both of my parents, for instance, had difficulty controlling their tempers, and corporal punishment was not out of the question when I was growing up as it was for, say, my youngest sibling. And, while they saw me through my "necessary" education and day to day needs with an admirable, even enviable, steadfastness, other reasonable, but superfluous expenses or needs were deemed unworthy, and largely overlooked.

Looking back on it, I realize how young they were, and how fresh their family traumas must have been even after they had me and my brothers. How they were learning to be parents, as I was learning to be. And--part of me understands the decision-making there, however muddled with anger and insecurity, through that assumption of their vulnerability. I honestly believe that they were trying to make the world a better place in their own little way, and coming to terms with a lot of serious baggage in the meantime.

But, seeing the house as it is now, and remembering how it was, I can also see a big, beautiful part of what they were able to give me: a sense of place.

I mean a sense of place in more ways than one. Literally in that they gave me that house for twenty-odd years, and that childhood, which for the most part was pretty--stable. And I also got a sense of place in a different sense--more emotional and intellectual. An internal sense of place, which will be with me a long time after the house, and even the parents are gone. Confidence can come from any number of avenues and byways, but I attribute a good deal of my internal stability to my education and having had people--parents, friends--who did not always understand me, but who did offer support in the best way they knew how. You can't go off beating your own drum, so to speak, without a couple of decent mallots.

And so, thanks house, and thanks parents for doing all that you did.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

zees and zat

A little tired today, been seriously lacking sleep due to a royal pile on of family sh*t, work sh*t, and just sh*t in general. Here are two videos that are too cute, and even though they're kind of dark, I think it's dark in a good way. They cheered me up. Plus the French make melancholy look like a deliciously worn old sweater...Good lord, I'm such a francophart. The song is really good too...j'm holden!

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Dear Diary...

Hello readers,
It has occurred to me that the way I've formatted this blog is like a public diary. I never have had much luck with diaries in the past--usually my hand would get tired before I'd fully finished a thought, or I'd only pick it up when I was angry or upset, and so looking back on it it would all seem utterly trivial and I came off completely wrong. So I have all of these books with about three to five journal entries in them, and then tons of [really shitty] drawings, which at the time I thought were totally avant-garde. Even so, I was always pretty fascinated with the idea of the habit of keeping a diary. I immersed myself in the diaries of various other little girls, Anne Frank, of course, Zlata (who was a little girl living in Sarajevo in the 90's), Robert E. Lee's daughter. Any time that I would try to do any creative writing, it would often be in the first person, in journal-entry form. I was convinced that I wanted to go to Columbia University to study journalism, because there I might learn how to effectively write a journal of my own.

As an aside, the benefit of this forum is that I am "composing" my innermost thoughts and secrets for a group of hopefully open and understanding people to read--and so there is (believe it or not) some minor censorship/editing involved. (In reality, I'm super petty and get frequent hand cramps--ha). Frankly, I'm surprised I've made it over a year now with not infrequent posting habits.

Well, getting more to my point here, as my parents are moving out of their house, little dust particles of my childhood are bursting forth in plumes--both good memories and bad. I did, however, have the pleasure of re-reading the various diary entries of a precocious and somewhat lonely little girl, and so I thought I'd share some of them with you. (They are only slightly embarrassing, but mostly pretty funny and, like I said, utterly trivial--e.g. awesome!).

Here is a transcription of the full contents of my 1997 Diary. I was 10, going on 11.

Keep Out!!!
Go Away

I've found you in the pile of books by my bed. Oh what a treat it is to have some one to talk to. I'll call you Herry, and I hope we will have good times.

[It should be mentioned that Herry was the name of my favorite stuffed animal, a pink beagle, who has been a good bedfellow to me now for twenty-four years.]

January 24, 1997
Dear Herry,
Today was great. In the morning I was cheerful, as well as in the afternoon. I talked with Sara a bit at recess. At home I don't have to wear my orthodics.

Saturday the 25
Dear Herry,
Today I got squeak, the hamster. Zolin is here to babysit. Chris's pinewood derby was today, tomorrow is Superbowl Sunday.

I <3 Brad Renfro [scribble crossed out J.T.T.] and D.C. [all triple-underlined]

January 26
GreenBay Wow!!! [double underlined]

January 28, 1997
In a baby picture of Sara she is wearing a bicinni [bikini] that is Pink with lips on it! [There is an illustration included, obviously I thought that this was scandalous. I was, and still am a one-piece girl, with a brief hiatus during highschool and college.]

February 1st, My Worst Day.
I'm not selfish. Chris is such a jerk, so are all of them, I don't want to move. I love this house. I did touch it within three years! It's not His at all. Jerk, Jerk, Jerk! They think I'm having a dandy time, But I'm not. Chris hides his devilish deeds behind my parents. I'm so angry. A whole bunch of jerks!

[I'm assuming this is about my dad giving away something to Chris that he assumed I "hadn't touched in three years." A not atypical occurrence. Somebody must have called me selfish. I also am realizing that I loved writing in cursive, and used a lot of Big Fancy Capital Letters]

Feb. 3
Dear Herry,
Mom is going to have a baby! We're not moving after all.

Thoughts for March
It hasn't become March yet, but I feel since I didn't choose to do much of February I wanted to get a head start on March. I just discovered that I can't sketch as well as I can draw. The boys went outside so they can't bug me. I wrote the winning speech for Caitlin.

[Caitlin, like Sara, was one of my best friends in the fourth grade. I wrote her speech for class president elections because I was too nervous to run myself, and besides, I had little interest in politics. Not sure what I meant about sketching versus drawing. I'm assuming that sketching meant drawing from life, and if that is the case it's still true. I can't draw very well from life, but I can draw from my imagination pretty well.]

March 7, 1997
Oh, I'm so sorry I haven't even written to you since February. I'm going to conquer Les Miserables.

Sara's A.g. [American Girl] party is on the 15th the day after her B-day. It is her first sleepover B-day party--I can't wait!

Aaaaaaaand that's it for 1997! In the back are the telephone numbers, sans-area codes for my three best friends: Sara, Caitlin and Meghan. Some practice drawings of horses. Guess sleepovers and Hugo must have hijacked my life. Annie was born in September, and all of a sudden I was the babysitter. Ch-ch-ch-changes!