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name
06 December 2007 @ 03:17 am
It's just after three and I'm sitting in the light of a Christmas tree drinking hot cocoa, preparing myself for hours more of drawing and then, probably around twilight, I can get around to editing my short story. I'm listening to a band called Woods, which is folk rock that really is way more in the realm of down-tempo alternative rock. They were recommended to me by my photographer friend Brandon, who is super tall, super skinny, super quiet, and has really thick rimmed glasses. No super powers though.

I was reflecting on what was happening as I was mounting my prints earlier tonight for tomorrow's(today's) final. I was standing there watching Andy talk to one of those gypsy girls we always run into at the coffee shop and then I talked to Theresa about one of her prints, which happened to be of the butt of a 50 year old man in leather underwear. She took it at a party in Oakland. Theo, who has a final critique with me at nine o'clock tomorrow morning(six hours from now), was still off in Mariposa shooting a movie for a Danish friend of ours. I ran upstairs to get some scissors and Brandon was in the little supply room working as the night's lab tech.

I don't know how I get so lucky all the time, but I always meet the right people. Or they insist on meeting me. Either way, without people like this I would be thoroughly and consistently fucked.
 
 
name
07 November 2007 @ 12:16 am
I've been sick for the past few days. Well, almost a week now. Exceedingly long by my illness standards. But it hasn't been quite full-blown sickness. It's more a of a pseudo bug. Anyway, as I sit here and type, learning forward, my nose cannot hold its insides properly and head fluid falls out.

I did a golly-gee-gosh-darn full blown studio photo shoot this morning with full studio lights and the whole shebang. It was pretty kickass as I had my stuff and no one else did thus the entire rest of the class were my assistants. "Why yes, I think I will need you to stand there holding that piece of cloth while I decide if I want to use it or not. I don't know when you will be able to move freely again. Hold still."

Oh no, nose, this was a clean shirt.
 
 
name
30 October 2007 @ 09:34 pm
I think I would find it to be a very pleasing thing if all the seasons in their most iconic forms were made available upon request. It would be nice to get out of bed and step into soft grass and dirt that conforms to the contours of your feet; slightly warmed by the sun. It would be nice to walk across the hall and feel the sting of snow instead of linoleum tile. Listerine would burn my mouth and my feet would turn pink. I could then descend the stairway with a crinkling of leaves and wade my way to the breakfast table waist deep in pointy browns and reds. The front yard could be running water and blooming flowers.

I suppose, though, this desire is rather unrealistic. I would first have to send in the requisition forms, with proper postage and my address written legibly on the envelope, to the processing facilities before waiting several weeks for my file to be reviewed and the proper forms, both parts A and B, exchanged between the departments. Then I'd be added to a list where my background would no doubt determine my level of priority in relation to the other candidates.

It's no wonder the system takes several months as it is.
 
 
name
29 October 2007 @ 12:37 am
Theo gives me a call the other day asking if I wanted to go in on buying an enlarger. A few days later we head off to San Jose way after dark. When we get there the lady isn't answering her phone. Luckily, some people are taking out their trash so we asked them if they knew where she lived and they pointed us in the right direction. Theo's room is worse than mine in cleanliness, but he's got an enlarger and all the tubs set up in it. All we need is photo fix and the other three enlargers that other people are gonna pitch in and we'll have our own bona fide dark room.

There was this chair at a Halloween party. I sat in it and for the next two hours I felt like everything around me was going fast forward while I stagnated in real time. I saw some people gather around a table and by the time I got there I found out that several of them just dropped some acid. As the night progressed you couldn't really tell the difference between those who did and those who didn't. Strangely enough, the one guy who was dressed up as a Chip n' Dales dancer(who, incidentally, was the one guy who most of all shouldn't have been dressed up as a Chip n' Dales dancer) was not one of those people. A friend of mine named CJ, however, was. Not five minutes later I heard that he was already out of the house wandering through the neighborhood aimlessly. When it's time to go two hours later, three in the morning, no one has the slightest clue where he is. The next morning he calls us before we've even begun to wake up.

I woke up at Theo's house around nine and tried to sleep. When I couldn't I pulled out my homework and read some short stories. When two in the afternoon comes by and Theo's still not awake I walk downtown. My stomach is rumblin' at me as I realize I don't remember the last time I ate. I stop by the library anyway and spend an hour in the racks reading photo books trying to find something I want to look at. I end up spending the most time reading a transcribed interview with Mary Ellen Mark whose work I recognized from a portrait hanging in the photolab.

I walk, then, to the coffee shop where I run into my friend Brandon and another guy who was at the party that night. He, Brandon, tells me to call him when I figure out the plans. So, I go home to rinse and then it all repeats.
 
 
name
28 September 2007 @ 12:19 am
Part A. Hotel Chavelier is out and is available on iTunes. Wes Anderson's short film reads - to me - like a Salinger short story.

And B. I went to a poetry reading tonight which instilled in me a new found respect and enthusiasm for the literary form. I saw this amazingly cool guy read named Jeffrey McDaniel and while he seemed to have a little bit of the crazies in him as he read, it was all part of the experience.

The theme, it would seem, is short.

...ness.(?)
 
 
 
name
15 September 2007 @ 12:58 am
Putting aside the painful price of buying textbooks and paying for them in credit, school is stressful and exhilarating. I mean, I'm only losing my weekend and every moment of free time for the immediate week and probably much more thereafter, save a trip to the new coffee shop wherein I will probably due other assigned readings.

I'm not broke -- I'm in debt. By quite the fuckload. I bought a $100 textbook today. I threw up a little in my mouth.

I have to shoot and document two rolls of film, which I still have to purchase, by Tuesday; by Monday I have to finish a self portrait that's already overdue and buy the adhesive spray that will keep it from smearing. By Sunday I have to read an amount of chapters I haven't yet determined from the aforementioned grossly overpriced textbook and write, from my last recollection, at least three responses on things I will probably have no clue about until after hours of study and panic. By Saturday night I need to finish an animated intro for a public broadcasting spot a friend of mine is doing. The money from this will hopefully offset the cost of my textbook. All the while I'm pursuing completion of these tasks, I have to read a 300 page novel and write a 3-page response while reading and citing other academic responses by Thursday. I started reading last night and am only 80 pages in, reading when I get the chance after 12 hour days at school or 8 hour days of work or, as is more often the case than not, both.

In the frequent mental lapses it's not uncommon for misplaced anger to be applied towards the situation, but usually it's actually quite invigorating. Sitting on my bed surrounded by papers, music playing on my computer, pen cap in my mouth and book in hand I take turns writing, reading, and switching over to do some work on my laptop. For the first time in way too long, I feel occupied.
 
 
name
05 September 2007 @ 12:58 am
1. running up stairs with your pants unbuttoned and unzipped will result in a trip back down the stairs.

2. Smells of very specific things bring back very specific feelings, not just memories.

3. Nintendo Wii = fun.
 
 
name
08 July 2007 @ 11:04 pm
Why is it suddenly chic to not only have absolutely no muscle mass, but also to wear the tightest possible clothing to show off your high metabolism and/or laziness?

In short, the Vans Warped Tour wasn't so bad, or wouldn't have been, if it weren't for every single other person that went.

Hey, I got a free ticket though and got to ride with one of the bands to the show, so who's complaining?

For the first time in a memorable while, I have to get up early tomorrow morning. 8 o'clock more specifically, to contest a ticket in court. Nothing makes Monday mornings more enjoyable then going to court.

...yeah.

Compound that with the fact that I haven't slept in a bed for two weeks now.

I've got an interview(hopefully) tomorrow at a new studio and a meeting for volunteering at the new arts center that'll be opening this year downtown.

And Hannah's coming in a week.

I'm 20, I live in California, I constantly find myself inexplicably mixed up in the local music and art scenes. I just started playing WoW. Yeah, things could be worse. They could be better (*gasp*), but they definitely could be worse.
 
 
name
28 June 2007 @ 12:10 am
This week I get schooled in DRM and I realize that I have forgotten so much of what I knew about the RIAA.


*click to listen*

What's the deal with Digital Rights Management(DRM)?

some helpful links:
DRM and the RIAA explained via Wikipedia.

The Radio and Internet Newsletter website shows how a group of music lovers and facilitators(internet radio) are facing extinction at the hands of the RIAA.


We promise to have a better show next week. Then again, what's a promise worth?
 
 
name
26 June 2007 @ 12:57 am
The other night my partners in crime and I bought some booze and snuck into a bird reserve(tangent: in typing this sentence I have discovered that "snuck" is not a word). We climbed a deck and lied down to stare at the stars and all I could think is how much I absolutely hate all that the world stands for. I don't hate the people in the world but just what they, and I, are doing. And this wasn't one of those all consuming hates either, but rather a hate that sets the boundary of personal taboo much like a Christian is supposed to hate sin. The arts are great, TV can be good, my future relies on the technology I use and there isn't a part of my day save sitting in my backyard that isn't made better by the gears that drive the world, but sitting on that deck of the bird reserve I saw space. I saw the station pass overhead like a Pong ball seeking a paddle and on my way out I turned just in time to see a shooting star. We're all so focused on our feet that we're killing space in our heads. One day the concept of looking up for inspiration will seem foolish and it will be our fault.

I've yet to see a celebrity, car, game, cell phone, or war come anything remotely close to how amazing space is.