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.

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.

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.

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.

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.(?)

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

We were all in my neighbor's basement, I must've been in 7th grade, and we were just slacking around watching TV or playing ping pong or something. She was there goofing around with my other friend before saying "look what I can do." It was over before I knew it and I'm still not quite sure what happened: she lifted her leg and kicked me in the face.

That's how I got my first bloody nose.

I bet all the characters in those fancy movies we pay money to see go to bed at night and dream about situations like the awkward dinner I had earlier with my parents. Pirate lords subconsciously fantasize about poorly lit kitchen's and I'm sure all the fantasy creatures really just want a nice pillow on a nice couch with a TV or fire place. Maybe weekend runs to the grocery store to pick up fresh fruit. Seeing someone they know in the electronics section and making spur of the moment plans for the weekend.

Maybe that's what they want and maybe that's what I sound like to them when I tell them I want to cut stuff with swords and shoot stuff with guns. I mean, for them my fantasy is reality and my reality is their fantasy so dreams are all a matter of perspective and taking the right one means achieving them are much easier than you'd originally anticipate.

See, there is a coast.

Neverminding the fact that plans are set to fail, I will take a car and I will head over until I bump the ocean. Then, taking a right turn, I will race it to Oregon and maybe Washington. Using the attributes of North America, which is a lot like Pacman, I will shortly thereafter and quite suprisingly discover myself in New York or Pennsylvania. I will find a small one room apartment where I will stay up late at night staring at my laptop screen. At this point I will have reading glasses and will own an ashtray. Then, for either a day, a week, or a year, I will briefly touch down in Indiana before disappearing off this continent and hopefully off the grid.

J.D. Salinger would be more fun if he was Waldo. Rather than being holed up in a cabin in New Hampshire he should travel the world anonymously, appearing from time to time in people's vacation photos just to fuck with them.

For a day trip my parents and I climbed over 9000 feet and walked on mountain tops. I threw a snowball at my dad.

I passed out most of the way down because I'm sick. I couldn't breathe for most of the trip which is sort of ironic considering that place probably has the only fresh air left in California.

I didn't qualify for financial aid. That's funny because year-round these people bombard me with PSAs about how everyone can afford college with financial aid. Their reason: apparently my family makes too much money. Both my bank accounts are empty, work hasn't paid me the last two paychecks, I have bills to pay in less than two weeks, I have to start paying back my student loan in a month, I have a ticket to pay/contest, and based on current standings, in a year I will either be on my own and likely in poverty or, hopefully not, worse. Hell, at least I'll probably qualify for financial aid then.

But, I did throw a snowball today. So fuck them.

That's what you call a knowing look over the shoulder.

Mariposa is the spanish word for butterfly. It is also the name of the town where I spent my weekend. I stayed up all night on Saturday poking at a fire and shootin' the shit with the few other people who chose not to sleep. As the sun started coming up over a mountain I said fuck it and told whoever else was willing that I was gonna climb it and if they wanted they could come. After several near slips off of big cliffs we found ourselves on a big patch of rock when the sun finally broke out into the sky. We could see that there were deer at our campfire eating our marshmallows.

When everyone else woke up we went swimming in a river. A big one with plenty of rapids. After jumping from the requisite tall rock, Theo(the crazy one) insisted we swim out to the top of the rapids and try to cross the rocks. For thrills, I guess. He gets out there and reaches the middle rock- and then he slips. While he hangs on, trying not to get dragged away by the current, my friend Andy(the strange one) swims out there and helps him regain his grip. Half wanting the excitement and half wanting to help, I decide to go out there too. I take the easy way. I swim out to the middle of the river where the rocks are shallow and walk to the edge of the rapids. Thinking that being able to stand is the same thing as having control, I walk over to a relatively featureless side of the rock. I somehow managed to avoid the useful sense of visual perception and as I get close to it the significantly strong current starts to sweep me away. First, I reach out to grab Andy's hand; he loses his footing and falls in behind me. Then, Theo lies down and offers me his hand; he slides off the rock. Like three stooges we start to fall down the rapids, but at the last possible moment something miraculous happens: I find my footing. I reach behind me and grab onto Theo who uses me to get back on the rock and Andy makes a lunge, barely finding a grip. After a slow reverse of the domino effect that had put us in that tight spot we found ourselves sitting on an overpopulated little island. I looked at a cut on my foot that I had just acquired, painfully, and the blood started to mix with the water and gave the illusion that my foot was bleeding profusely. Little red dots fell from my toes into the white waters they dangled over.

Just for kicks, we finished crossing and climbed to the foot of the rapids where we jumped in and swam with the running current.

I woke up today with bruises, cuts, sunburn, and tenderness. I walked around work with a limp and couldn't sit all the way back in my chair. It's great when things are worth it.

I think there are things and dreams about ourselves that we can only realize and imagine in fantasy. While the fantastic is certainly great to lose yourself in, I feel that little is worse than when you can't draw the metaphor to reality. It's like there's a cruel little trick in that at creative peaks there is a guarantee of flawed translation from the mind to the world in whatever your canvas is. Then again, perhaps perfection being impossible means that the potential for improvement is infinite. Seemingly, this is where all things lead to: attempts at anything are wonderfully in vain and terribly inspiring. Well, this balance can kiss my ass.

So, to sum up, in my own words, what I think I may be trying to say, is that I probably enjoyed the new Pirates movie more than I should.

Anonymous Comments welcome.

No wait, preferred.

Say anything.

Hey, been tryin' to meet you.

Hannah was supposed to call back, I was supposed to clean my room, I promised myself I would study some more Processing language.

Hey
We're Chained

I fell asleep to some Thom Yorke. The sun was going down and blue light was filling my room. I said I'd just take a little nap.

Uh said the man to the lady
Uh said the lady to the man she adored

I woke up wanting to go back to sleep. The playlist reached its end some time beforehand and it was night out. I had a missed call, tons of missed message, but for once, no drool on my cheek. I wanted to quickly pass back out so I could wake up for good before sunrise and clean my room. Or stand outside and watch the sunrise.

One day, not too too long ago, when the novelty of California still caused my brain to release a pleasant-feeling chemical, I woke up at sunrise to work on an art project. I donned an old t-shirt with my own dried blood stains on it, my favorite pair of jeans, and a baseball cap. I walked outside barefoot and worked on the project for about a half hour as the sun came up. I could see my breath. Excited and free from work, I walked to the end of my street, then to the end of that street, then to the middle of a larger empty street and watched the sunrise with my breath. It was one of those moments that you don't expect nor do you think about it at the time but you realize afterwards that you will never, ever forget them.

But hey
Where
Have you
Been if you go I will surely die
Were chained

Fun food combinations that are delicious at the dinner table together, in our stomachs together, just not in our mouths together:

Chicken and Milk(Dinner o' Leftovers)

Onions and Apples(Picnic)

Mayonnaise and Twinkies(Desperately searching for food before your next class)

Wasabi, Tabasco Sauce, and NesQuick(LA School)

Brusselsprouts(never. ever.)

Hmm, okay, maybe half of those sound delicious anyway.

I got a dollar for consuming the fourth one. Good times.

After the show we bought some CDs and Theo had to ask the girl where she got the Lite Bright. We all had to mention how awesome we thought it was for a band to spell their name on a Lite Bright. Apparently people in bands also use eBay. It was good to know.

Later on we had a veggie burger cookout in Theo's backyard. He played some Bright Eyes while I talked to this graphic designer lady whom Jon had met just a few hours before yet somehow she was comfortable enough to be hanging out with us all after the show. She was amazingly cool regardless and tons of fun to converse with. This stranger guy and I kept huddling around grill for warmth and later, we all played music. Being himself, Theo broke out a couple of instruments and by chance stranger guy happened to be a really good bassist. Grabbing hold of what was left, I played what I could remember of New Slang on the xylophone. Oh yeah, The Shins and veggie burgers while freezing your ass off, let me tell ya...

There was a modest amount of sarcasm in the last paragraph. I don't rightly know what at, though.

Okay, make my brain stop hurting. I go back to work tomorrow and this just isn't fitting. At least my hiccups are gone.