You are looking at an annotated representation of my first ever knitting piece. After calling it "yellow blob" for quite some time, I decided to spiffy it up by naming it Bart. Outlined are the exciting times Bart and I have spent together.

So if you haven't been able to tell, I have done really nothing of note lately except make super hero garden gnomes with Doug and take pictures of them at the supermarket.

Conclusion:
Organizing shoes on back of door leads to intense desire for new fall shoes.

Rachelle, my roommate, has been moving stuff in gradually all weekend. I liked her plenty from the times we've met previously, but even more so after seeing her book collection- which was the first set of boxes to be brought in and unpacked. And by unpacked, I mean carefully categorized and arranged (the best, most thrilling method) according to subject matter and size. Architecture books with architecture books, German dictionary with book in German. Spectacular.
We rearranged just a few things, and I've decided that I will put my shoes in an over-the-door shoe hanging device. I've always wanted one of these curious things! Surprisingly, I've always had enough closet space for shoes, especially with Ruth's brilliant designation of "the shoe closet" (linen closet overflowing with style). But, at the new place, there's no linen closet to speak of (odd, yes) and my closet is crammed - so, tomorrow I will find one of these over-the-door set-ups and install my pretty shoes in a grid. Joy!

Beware! Pink napkins in mass quantities are invading tabletops near you.

My new neighborhood is spectacular. The surrounding architecture is old and wonderful, there are plants growing out of everything, and people have stone walls and brick driveways. I am pleased by its texture.
There is a certain amount of sketchiness to the area as well, which makes things interesting. There's a few bars and liquor stores down the street, so I see people walking drunk a lot, with or without booze in hand. A major med school is also right down the street, so the rampant drunks and med students make for an interesting pedestrian mix.
Speaking of sketchiness, I almost (not really) got beat up taking this picture of the red car. I've passed it a few times and have admired the beaten old car for being so well-situated! So, I finally brought my camera to take its picture, and one nanosecond after I snapped this, the dude that lives there roared into the driveway on his Harley. He was a scary big biker dude with a beard, and his face was all twisted and displeased-looking! He saw me and my camera, saw me and my camera turn around to get the hell out of there, and then he yelled out an accusatory, "HEY!"
I just kept walking like nothing had happened, and prayed that I wouldn't hear his Harley fire up to follow me. I made it out of there with no scratches, luckily, and here I am one pretty picture wealthier.

Psychedelia update: my novice putzing with Illustrator, which has appeared on the web and in a magazine at the very small size of 4 inches by 8 inches, will now torment me publicly in large format. The orange and pink one is being blown up into 2 foot (!) by 4 foot (!) BANNERS that will hang at an utterly notorious art fair this weekend. The part that I am truly horrified by is the crappy "pattern" that is supposed to fill "Blast" but that I didn't figure out how to do until the second (green) piece. The rest of it I can live with. However, I did literally go blind working on this, and as for the Jimi Hendrix poster, well...

Incidentally, if you'd like to party on the 6th, let me know.

KC Transportation Authority, Boo!

Since my move, I've become creative with how I get to work. Should I take Southwest Trafficway, to the highway, because it could be fastest, even though there's a no-left-turn-between-7am-and-9am sign at SW Trafficway, and the highway is likely to be clogged? Or, should I take Broadway all the way down, and gamble on traffic lights, and more potential cloggedness?

Or, could I take the bus and not have to worry about driving?

No, sadly. The romance of public transportation does not exist in Kansas City, even with its new Max Bus, which is capable of taking me from sort of near where I live to sort of near where I work.

Now, I am willing to walk a little out of my way to the bus stop (this even sounds nice!). I am also willing to hang out at the skeezy bus-stop/ liquor store intersection of 39th and Main to board the metropolitan beast. I am willing to wait for other stops, put up with mysterious or shady characters, and take a little extra time from my morning for the betterment of the environment, the life of my car, and not having to deal with traffic....

And here's the big fat But:
Taking the bus is more expensive than driving to work.


TO DRIVE:
I have no idea how many miles per gallon my car gets, but estimating it gets 22 miles to the gallon (a low guess?), with gas at a high 4 dollars per gallon, that would equal approximately $0.18 spent each mile.
My work is approximately (rounded up) 5 miles from my new abode. So that's $0.90, and $1.80 round trip. So, that was a high guess, the lowest I came up with (yes, I did the word problem more than once - what is wrong with me?) was: $0.60 one-way and $1.20 two ways.

THE BUS:
$1.25 one way!! $2.50 round trip!! What!? I guess the bus is more cost-efficient if you're traveling more than 5 miles, but seriously. This is highway robbery.

Now, my head really hurts from the fancy mathematics.

A gentleman clips his toenails in the park!

Moving!

What is better than boxing up everything you own and taping all the lids on and stacking them up in the space where you already live and labeling (labeling is my favorite part) each precious package with its destination and contents? Everything.

I found an excellent roommate. She's an artist/florist/former furniture designer who loves nature, German, and jewelry making. And she calls our future living room "the studios." Could craigslist have done a better job?

Actually, it could. I found a peculiar part-time job listing calling for someone to write copy for a jewelry sales company in KC. We'll see what happens with that...

And back to moving: our new place(I feel already like I am cheating on Ruth and Bill with the new roomie) is alright, down the street from an excellent restaurant/shopping district with tons of cute stuff like: coffee shop, book store, sushi, bakery, every kind of restaurant imaginable actually. And the neighborhood is chock full of excellent houses and apartments and a beautiful park. I move in tomorrow!

Also, I am officially moving to Missouri. This negates every Kansas-is-better-than-Missouri debate that I've ever won. I've coaxed myself into embracing all that MO has to offer, but it still feels like I'm deflecting or something. And, what to do with stuff like my KS library card? Et al?

the feet madness continues, when oh when will I get enough?

international feet

my new favorite thing to do is to photograph feet.

this was taken at City Museum, a magical place in St. Louis, MO

Delayed reaction? Yes. These are my desks. The one on the right has the pc and the phone. The one on the left has the Mac, the scanner and the printer. I spend a lot of time rolling my chair to and fro.

Loft Watching

To my dismay, I discovered that the downtown loft building where I work, which contains twelve-ish loft apartments in addition to our gallery space, is home to a Naked Loft Guy. He lives on the ground floor in the back of the building, in a loft with floor-to-ceiling windows. And for some reason - no good ones, as far as I could tell from fifteen feet away- he does not prefer clothing. I expressed my horror at this discovery to the building's maintenance dude, who just laughed and was like, "Yeah, he's always naked."
This absolutely in no way corresponds to my recent interest in getting a loft downtown. Maybe this one, even. The biggest draw for me would be being able to walk or bike to work, in addition to feeling oh so cosmopolitan. If something like this takes form, however, I will seriously invest in curtains: the owner of our building, who owns a bunch of real estate downtown, has reported seeing numerous telescopes in tenants' lofts. Telescopes! Just set up right by the window (and not windows with a great view of the skyline)! How overtly voyeuristic. Goo. And there's people like Naked Loft Guy to consider. Curtains would be a must!

Good News First

I will post if nothing else than to say I am no longer officially sick. So there's good news.

My current challenge at work is to replicate the design of this Jimi Hendrix poster, minus the people. My work is having its 30th birthday party, and the print materials have been assigned a 70s look. While this is all fine and good, I have never looked at the fun, bubbly text from the eyes of the maker.

I am horrified by the intricacies of psychedelia.
Also, this show was not even in the 70s.

Yesterday I declared myself sick. Then I slept for over 13 hours, which I didn't know was humanly possible. Also, I don't remember any of it. No exciting dreams, nothing to entice me to slumber so earnestly save my own exhaustion. I have actually been somewhat sick for at least a week but have been denying it and suppressing with cold medicine so that I could participate in the following fun, non-sick-person activities:

Wedding. My old friends Kim and Aaron got hitched last weekend. I was a bridesmaid, which was my first time at that. The dresses were very elegant and I felt I did a very good job of getting glammed up way beyond the prettiness of my daily self. I also did a good job of reading love poems in the ceremony, taking advantage of the open bar, and dancing. The wedding was quite lovely and everyone partied with the appropriate amount of wildness that the words "till death do you part" inspires.

More drinking (survey says: bad idea, sick girl!). Ruth and I attended the Kansas City Chapter of Drinking Liberally, held at Harling's Upstairs in Westport. The group was shockingly small: a few middle-aged men with an adorably grassroots sign (media: blue and red Bic on folded yellow envelope) bearing the group's logo. A few other members trickled in throughout the evening, including a hippietastic couple from the Rochester, NY Chapter. I really enjoyed the quirky combination of people and the low-key dive-quality bar. In fact, for all ex-Bearcats in the audience (Jen?) the experience was eerily like Friday Happy Hour at the Pub with Eiswert, et al.

So, now I am officially sick (except that I think I have plans tonight, crap).

Where to live?

As many of you know, my favorite roommates of all time are moving to L.A. The jerks!
I had the option to sign on again at our current apartment, but decided against living in our complex, or any complex, for that matter. It is disheartening to look across the front yard, er, parking lot, and see a perfect reflection of the architecture that I live in. If you can call it architecture, which is questionable.
So what next? I've been scouring the classifieds and hunting For Rent signs in hopes of spicing up my living space. My three wishes are 1) bricks, 2) hardwood floors and 3) crown molding. Unless something entirely different presents itself, like not very realistic but maybe someday and sounds cool, but is there a place to shower?

Lyle Rocks

Blog, I need to update you like my sassy summer wardrobe and my seventy-dollar hair. Today I went to see my favorite hairstylist, Lyle (he is also responsible for Ruth's new hair). Lyle is brilliant with those scissors and is also quite talkative, perhaps too talkative considering he is a gesture-while-speaking person. This tendency of his leaves his scissors-clad hands flying about in the air much of the time, while I cautiously watch in the mirror to avoid undue injury.
At any rate, Lyle and I had a dazzling conversation about politics and the environment (he was able to act out the splitting of a glacier with his hands - this guy would positively win at charades). Meanwhile, my hair got smaller and cuter, and also a little bit colored. I felt only slightly bad that as we discussed pollution, the expense of gas, and whatever else is wrong with the world, I was spending over seventy dollars on my hair. But really, is there a better cause?
This was also my first ever go with hair coloring. I was scared. Ruth has mentioned that hair dying probably leads to promiscuity, but I have yet to experience this effect.

In a recent correspondence with a favorite former professor (of drawing/painting), I mentioned that I thought there were some interesting connections between Native American thought and the American Transcendentalists, specifically regarding their ideas on nature. I can't get this email out of my head, so here it is. He responds:

"I read Custer Died for Your Sins a long time ago, in Germany, when I probably was too young. I recently re-read God Is Red, also by Deloria. I wonder if there’s anybody like him in the new generation of Indians. If so, I haven’t heard of him or her. I have lots of thoughts about this – in one way or the other, I think about this every day because it boils down to the question How To Live? It is mostly pretty depressing; I think that Europeans are intellectually and physically destined to ruin this planet (as a collective; individuals are a different matter but they don’t seem to make much of a difference). Whatever we Europeans come up with in terms of our relationship with nature, we always get it wrong. The Indians don’t (or at least didn’t before contact) not because they are the better humans – although it is tempting to argue that – but because their culture, i.e. their myths, creation stories, rituals, etc. defined the human-nature relationship in terms of interdependency, not domination. An example: In some creation stories humans are alone on a desolate planet and totally helpless until some animal (duck, beaver, turtle, coyote, etc.) helps them. This not only means that humans have to be forever grateful to these animals but also that some animals were on the planet before humans were created and it isn’t even clear who created these first animals. They are simply there, often as creators themselves (or vital participants in creation). That would be totally unacceptable to a European or, even more generally, to a monotheistic mindset because it removes humans from the top of the hierarchy. What we Europeans lack is a culturally ingrained empathy for nature and that’s why some pretty words from philosophers don’t make much of a difference, or worse, sound hypocritical. The most distressing thing to me is that monotheism, especially the Christian kind, is so dominant that it simply rolls over all these other belief systems because it is linked with human dominance (which leads to consumerism), and that’s the end of it all, anyway."

Trillion

Recently:

3. I played in a Texas Hold'em Tournament last weekend. I learned how to play poker forty-five minutes before-hand and then just jumped in there. (Applause) I won one hand betting on my suited ace and jack and that was just about enough poker for me. I did get a laugh out of the poker lingo: kicker, flop (these two remind me of fishing, an activity most of the tourney players probably looove). Little known fact about me: I have never been to a casino.
2. Work is a mix of very much fun (schmoozing and meeting local art patrons and administrators at VIP parties, planning parties, meeting artists) and waves of frustration (drowning in office work). I've been asked to go back to Northwest in the fall to give a presentation at an alumni colloquium on how I use my English skills in my career. (Applause)
1. I finally bought a new computer. (Applause) It's pretty. The search was long and filled with strife. I also met many a salesperson who thought that my desire for an aesthetically appealling computer was frivolous : "Well, for the money, this nice new LoadOfBricks 7000 is an excellent match for your needs..." Really I think the important thing is that I won. And all of the keys work.

Sincerely, The Oyster: The Origins of Pearl Ropes

a statement in response to mr. skinny

Readers looking to fulfill "fleshy" fantasies will indeed not be sated here. Long-time readers, bless their hearts, or at least those who would bother to read a few back-posts, would note that I used to work in the sweat-and-tears fine jewelry industry. This is just a little background info to inform the choice of title.

"Pearl Ropes" refers to a long strand of pearls. Now I'm talking a real strand of pearls, the kind that decorate jewelry store cases or ladies dressing tables - not some secret plastic toy of carnal desire (how you choose to use your grandma's inherited pearl necklace is, I suppose a matter of choice).

Now for the mini-lesson: pearls begin from a grit of sand or dirt - aka "irritant"- that gets washed inside the oyster's shell. The irritant is layered over time with a milky calcium coating. Layers upon layers. Did you know it literally takes years to make a pearl of a certain size?

This pearl-making process is a survival mechanism for the oyster, or at the very least it improves his or her quality of life. Since the little guy or gal has no means of ejecting the irritant, they layer it with calcium secretions so that the grit inside doesn't rub uncomfortably against their little oyster muscles (who's getting hot now?). The oyster methodically coats the irritant while it simultaneously spins it to acheive the smooth, round result. Once enough layers have built up around it, someone plucks this now pretty and valuable bio-grit from the shell. It is deemed a precious gem and sold to soprano-sounding ladies (myself included) to be worn about their necks.

I find the whole process to be an extremely poetic biological phenomenon. What whispers lovely and disgusting at the same time if not pearls? I am fascinated with pearls as a medium in jewelry as well as the layers of meaning derived from their process.

Still doesn't explain my blog, eh? Well, I chose a strand of pearls as a metaphor for the form of my blog. Each post is created from some subject that washes my way which I find interesting or irritating to a degree that warrants posting. The subject is something that I can turn over and over, hoping to calcify it with words into something pretty, whole in and of itself, and more beautiful than the sum of its parts. To hit you over the head, each post is a singular unique pearl, and the writing (creation) process is for me a necessary biological reflex, a process which improves my quality of life and makes sense of things I cannot eject. I also hope that the result is something to be enjoyed.

To take the formal connection further, each post/pearl is strung together with other posts/pearls - one at a time, over a period of time- to create a long strand, or "Rope" of posts. Anyone that has tried stringing beads will hopefully see the connection I am drawing with the top-to-bottom, one after the next form that most blogs display (blogs are long, literally, in visual length, much like the longness of a strand of pearls).

Finally, an actual strand of pearls exhibits formal qualities which I hope that my blog will take on. Even though each pearl is a unique creation, it was selected to be part of a strand for its ability to relate aesthetically with the other pearls on the strand (either for the point of homogeneity or for the point of a more creative design). I intend that there should be an aesthetic relationship (circling the sweetness, innocence, natural processes, prettiness, and femininity of pearls and pearl necklaces) among all of the posts of my blog, adding up to (again) a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts.

In short, "Pearl Ropes" is a title which uses the history of pearl-making and pearl-wearing to provide a formal construct for my blog.

So Mr. Skinny, thank you kindly for asking. And please tell your horny readership, with all due respect to each and all, to jack off to someone else's blog.

What have I been up to? I joined a rock band and have just finished my exhaustive world tour. Or something like that. Actually, I have been on my exhaustive computer search and after studying ads and websites and store products with two local specialists, I have achieved a short list of finalists. The final selection process is neck and neck, but hopefully soon to be over. I now know more about fucking processors and monitor response time than I ever care to remember, and I am thankful that I am not making a serious major purchase like a car or, god-forbid, a house. That would take centuries.

In other news, spring is here! I went rock hunting this morning. Technically it wasn't morning because of the whole Spring Forward! crap (a slogan which tricks you into thinking that Time getting closer to you is fun. Boo). But I found a few nice rocks (I snuck up on them ever so cleverly, the poor things didn't know what was coming) to use in transplanting my ivy plant to a roomier pot. Nothing says springtime like making your plants happy and traipsing in the sunshine hunting rocks.

I have been reading some bizarrely captivating books as well. First, Vine Deloria Jr's native american manifesto, Custer Died For Your Sins (utterly georgeous); second, The Art and Architecture of German Settlements in Missouri (How To Build A Log Cabin); third, Gods of the City: Religion and the American Urban Landscape (God is sitting on your portico). I'm still working on this last one, but my favorite part so far is a critique of the grid system used in urban planning. The three books are nicely related. They are basically chronological, dealing with American history and similar themes of landscape/land use and how this relates to the formation of culture. Again, somewhat bizarre, but damn mind blowing if you ask me.

That is the sum of my excitement, other than that I still love my job and have purchased an ugly second-hand chair which might be haunted.

On How There Are No Billboards In Vermont

My trip to Boston turned more into a road trip through New England than anything else. I got to Boston, met Brother John at the airport, and scooted round Boston for the day. We hit a few museums, got frustratingly lost over three times, ran into some Maryvillians, and ended up dining in a fine Indian restaurant with windblown hair and a large travel backpack. They do not have lockers for travel backpacks at fine Indian restaurants.
My brother and I rented a tiny automobile the next morning from the charming car rental in Lowell, Mass. We drove to Walden Pond where I had approximately four (4) core-shaking experiences of the romantic sublime. I also aquired the following souvenirs: 1) one full-size pine cone, 2) one full-size leaf that is very curly, and 2) a tiny sprig of baby pine cones approximately 1cm x 6mm x 6 mm each. I put one baby pine cone from Thoreau's pond trail into a silver locket which I wear about my neck frequently. It's cute!
After Walden, we booked it (40mph, 4 hours, in the snow in a Kia Rio in the Green Mountains) to Vermont (the trip would normally be like 2 hours I think). There are no billboards in Vermont. At 40 mph, I noticed every inch of non-billboard landscape in Vermont: georgeous, and somewhat threatening! The mountains are fairly large and dense. They feel like they would be very heavy if they fell on you, which also seemed likely. The mountains, although beautiful, were not friendly like the Rockies.
So I found out from Jen when I arrived in snowy Montpelier that 1) billboards are illegal in VT, and 2) there had been a giant rockslide right down the street. AHH! I do feel pretty strongly that the lack of billboards and the commanding landscape have a direct correlation with the undescribable attitude of the incredibly cool Vermonters I met. Seriously. Everyone should get rid of their billboards and see how happy and strong the world becomes.

A Rock-Solid Plan for a Rock-Solid Future

1. the A-word event at my work has passed wonderously before my eyes. My dress shopping was gruesome but ultimately fruitful... although I ended up ditching out on 2 new dresses to wear clothes I already owned anyway. 2 items of which were Ruth's hand-me-downs. I looked pretty and that's what is really important. I also worked really hard and got lots o overtime.
2. My computer is in intensive care. I've had it looked at and the news is not good. A replacement is in the near future, so I'm kind of excited by my laptop's probable demise. I feel a little guilty about this, like I am getting a new dog immediately after the old one died. But it's fun to shop for puppies! I hope to get my new cute pup when I get back from Boston.
3. My fun trip on comp time is to Boston! I'll visit my brother, John, in Lowell, Mass, hang out in Boston, and see the honorable Jenn Wells of Montpelier. Wooo hooo! I've never been to the east coast, let alone Boston, AND I love plane rides, so I'm beside myself.

Spring Fever Scramble

I see buildings all day- big and brick. I drive through DT Kansas City a lot for work. Lots of brick and concrete and glass. I live in apartments where there is even more brick and metal. While there is a charm to the cityscape, I brutally miss excessive land that appears unspoken for. I thought that the river could be my muse of nature, but it is sadly nonexistent except for a few glimpses while driving in to work. No sparks yet.
The temperature is an issue as well. I am having a bout with spring fever!! It snowed the other day, which was beautiful and typical of February here. What was not typical was the week before, which was warm and not even coat weather. It was georgeous and I was spoiled with breezy sunshine! I am tired of cold floors and space heaters humming and (who would have thought it possible!) scarves.
I am ready for a nice day, a light jacket, and a weekend outdoorsy trip. Know any good places within 1-day driving distance of KC?
My big event is just around the corner at work and my stress level is high but tolerable. I am going event-clothes shopping today and hope to find the perfect dress. We'll see. After the whole shebang is over, I think I'll get some comp time for my weekend jaunt....
Jen, thanks for your thoughts on my "laptop." The situation is looking more grim every day. First the space bar, then a few letters, sure. I can playfully bitch about that. But now the sickness spread to the most important button. The power button. Not sure if resuscitation is possible.

This post brought to you courtesy of Ruth's iBook

P.S. I mispelled button and typed "butoon" which I think could be a fun made up word, maybe a combination of buffoon and something else.

Prayer for b, ( ), and v

I just pulled my granny of a computer downstairs and hooked up its various cords in the living/ kitchen area, where it is most efficient. Sort of like how retired people move to Florida. Also, I am officially missing my space bar now-- I removed the key part out of sheer necessity, leaving a huge gap in the middle of the keyboard where a tiny button gives me spaces. I think it's a nice industrial look. But... if anyone feels like they want to mail me a new computer (or a good coupon for a new computer) feel free. Ah, but I shouldn't bite the buttons that feed me!

Since my last post, I have: gotten lost in KCK, trying to meet Ruth at an authentic Mexican restaurant. I just got back, actually. And on this little jaunt, aside from getting cursed at by an angry motorcyclist, I learned that icons of Mary abound where you would least expect. Even living by the mexican price chopper (where my three favorite things are the Jesus candles, three-color cookies, and samples of three-color cookies) could not prepare me for such rampant, casual, and local religious imagery. I counted over six religious yard statues in two square blocks-- some cute little multi-figure set-ups as well. And there's more where that came from, I'm sure. Very cute!
By the way, my b key and my v key are next to go. I can feel the keyboard sickness spreading...

Untitled

So my computer is injured. It is a cute little Toshiba laptop and is of the variety that is old and persnickety and so it would prefer to be plugged into the wall. This of course negates the convenience of a laptop. Additionally, I used the hell out of the tiny mouse-nub above the space bar, so now I have two problems: 1) the space bar is totally jammed and this renders my computer useless for writing more than one-worders in searh enginges and 2) the cursor flies around the screen because it is willed by demons. I have started using my ho-hum plug-in mouse, further binding my sexy old laptop to the wall. Just thought you should know.
I am currently borrowing Bill's fancy new computer and I can hardly find the delete key. At any rate, Ruth and Bill both have new, pretty, and efficient computers, and mine seems like it's on its way to the nursing home. Just thought you should know.
My excitement for today includes three downtown real estate people, a pseudo-mystery-burglar, creaking floorboards, cops, and some newspeople. I was helping move some art around the gallery (one of my favorite activities) when the real estate folk from across the hall came to pay a visit. Now, they visit often, usually one at a time for coffee or a chat, but never en masse. So they just showed up, 4 or so of them, said that they shut down the office to avoid the police and the local news.
What?! I looked out the window, and men in navy shirts with POLICE printed across the shoulders were walking around the parking lot, searching. I guess there was some shady character that snuck in my building and snuck in to someplace he shouldn't be, and he scared someone in an office down the hall and maybe he was a suspect for something else somewhere else but I really couldn't say because I don't know anything about it. Except there were police in the parking lot and this was our excuse to have a mid-afternoon, let's-shoot-the-shit, eat some candy and make jokes break. While the "suspect" is being sought. So this is when I go to the downstairs gallery to do some work and the creaking floorboards come into play...
And then.... Can this be like a choose your own ending book? Here are your options:
1) I screamed and almost totaled a ceramic piece
2) I found the perp in the storage area going up the elevator
3) The cops came in and questioned each of us, then ate our candy
4) make up your own version and you are the coolest.

A little language of mine

I am still enjoying working at my heavenly job, even though heaven is pretty busy. This week we are taking donations of artwork for our benefit auction (over 200 pieces over 4 days. We have only one day left and over half the pledges left to go!!) . Auction, Auction, Auction. Auction Time! Auction Day! Auction Reception! The word is sweetly burned into my brain and on my tongue.
It's a good thing I got rid of some of my Maryville vocabulary to make room. No more student union, mid-term critique, Culture of Quality, 71 Highway, Mug Nite, and, the death of all word-deaths, "Bearcats." Hmm, typing them is strangely cathartic.
However, I do consider myself very lucky that I am in an environment where I can keep a lot of my art school vocab rolling. It's quite a kick 1) to say "gouache on Rives BFK" to a coworker and be understood, and 2) to get paid to spell it correctly.

A sketch

Apparently my New Year's resolution was something other than keeping my blog polished and shiny. Oops. Of course I have no excuse, you see, except that I have been kidnapped for a fortnight by the person who thought it would be a good idea to put four hours of television onto one DVD. This is probably the same person who invented Costco and supersizing of beverages and french fries. Damn them, one short little hour-long show just doesn't cut it for me anymore. I need mass quantities of Sex in the City and the O.C., as well as someone to blame it on.

My biggest funnest news is that I spent a weekend visiting two out-of-town friends (Sarah and Emily, very good to see them!) ---and I had my body cast into a plaster mold. This experience kicks nude modeling for drawing purposes' ass (hmm, ass and everything else that was revealed). And soon I will be receiving my payment, a paper-pulp cast Julie, in a box in the mail. What to do with that? I am thinking I could make it into a lamp...