| Warped |
[Aug. 28th, 2005|11:15 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Umebayashi Shigeru: 2046 | ] |
Today I owe my health and well-being to PLaystation. Oh yes, you read that last sentence correctly. No more than 20 minutes ago I accidentally turned the electric burner on underneath a pyrex baking pan. I was cutting some tomatoes, grilling chicken, and wondering why it was taking so long for the water to start boiling. To pass the time I decided to pick up where I left off on the playstation game I was playing. Well, five minutes pass and I hear an enormous explosion as all the pans on the stove fall onto the floor along with thousands of shards of glass. I rushed in to see what all the commotion was about only to discover a scene of utter chaos. Glass had flown into three rooms besides the kitchen and the rest of dinner was splattered on the walls and floor. If I had been standing there I would have received so many cuts and lacerations I can only imagine the damage it would have done. I humbly thank that electronic device for its life saving qualities.
While the playstation saved my life, it did not, however, frighten away the hippo living underneath the floor boards. Some act of nature or mistake of proper building technique has resulted in a six inch tall rift that runs across my roommate's floor. It is literally rising out of the floor. Today, a sliver of the outside world could be seen from the exposed flooring. My second rate land lord does not see this as a problem apparently, as he has made no effort to come to my house and fix it. I suppose when the hippo emerges from beneath my home and begins trouncing around the kitchen, a little light will turn on in his head. I left him a message today saying, "The floor opened up today and locked my roommate in his bedroom. We had no choice but to rip the doors off their hinges to get him out. The floor is open, the doors are now on the floor, and the problem isn't fixing itself. Would you like to come fix this please?".
In brighter news, my project which had engorged itself on all my available personal time, is finished. Not only is it finished but has been chosen for the NAAB board of review. A slight hint of satisfaction after a quarter of hell. |
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| Cancelled |
[Jul. 29th, 2005|10:00 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | The Shins: Girl Inform Me | ] |
These days have been trying in the relationship of Tony and Sam. Today, that has ended. We have separated. Neither of us are very depressed about the whole situation and neither are surprised. So I guess that's that. |
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| What the fuck were you thinking? |
[Jul. 29th, 2005|04:44 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Styrofoam: Couches in Alleys | ] |
The effect of bureaucracy on architecture...SOM's redesign of Freedom Tower...absolutely horrendous. That is all I have to say about that travesty. |
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| Thusly, the beast emerges with a bellow that shakes the earth itself. |
[Jul. 20th, 2005|07:56 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | The Delgados: Everybody Come Down/Port-Royal: Flares Part 3 | ] |
Well, to start off on what may develop into a twisted and socially deformed recent life excerpt, I just stumbled across a small gem on itunes. Apparently, Bratz, the wide-eyed future whores-to-be of the doll and action figure world, have cut their own album. With cunning lyrics about excessive shopping, falling in love with guys at the tender age of twelve, and overly applied cosmetics, I am sure this will only be a stepping stone to world wide acoustical and lyrical recognition. You may thank my friend Michael for this. A writer for Wire magazine, Michael often spends large portions of his day sifting through the enormous collection of refuse that is sent to him via producers, studios, and labels. I envy him slightly.
Speaking of itunes, my itunes collection has reached 132 songs shy of 10000. It has turned into a library of sorts covering so many genres and eras that I often find myself surprised when I come across a song, or even a band, that I had no idea resided deep within the annals of my computer. A constant soundtrack to an utterly discombobulated lifestyle.
Even in a world as hideously disorganized as mine, some things remain comfortably consistent. My vanity, for example, is sort of a bane in my life. I admit that I can be very vain from time to time. Some people call it snobbery, others narcissism, but really its only the everyday vanity that has been a part of me since high school. Yet, despite the existence of this character flaw, there is not an equal output of energy. In fact, while my vanity has increased since my high school years the effort i have put towards attaining this self-indulgent notion has decreased. I think I just care about it less. Another constant is my atrocious way of saying exactly what is on my mind without a single care in the world for the opinions and feelings of others. Of course, being a keen individual and a fan of diction and vocal games, it comes across playfully. The intention, on the other hand, remains true to self.
The humidity today finally subsided and allowed for a most delightful bike-ride through the historic district and a jaunt in the park. A cup of bolero tea, an essay on public art work, and my sunglasses were all that was required; needless to say, I enjoyed it thoroughly. The breeze made even the sunny areas comfortable.
I suppose I can thank the Riverhouse for today's freedom. That eternal pit of hellfire I call the Riverhouse takes up any time I may have when not at school, my other job, or deep within my daily schedule. I was, however, put on suspension for messing up a schedule change. If i didn't make so much there, I assure you I would gladly leave it behind.
In other events, I made a crack-head piss his pants, I developed an entire sound exhibition for the next world's fair, I found my dog a future mate, and finally cut my hair. 24 hours is a ridiculous amount of time to finnish all that needs doing. |
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| Hermits |
[Jun. 28th, 2005|12:14 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Goldfrapp: Hairy Trees | ] |
Rain is an extraordinary impediment to individuals without cars. I am afraid I do not have the luxury to brave the rain as classes require that I do not flood the drafting desk. All movement is slowed to a walking pace. A hectic lifestyle does not abet my predicament. I am frustrated with mother nature's timing.
Frustrated is actually a pretty good choice of word for my present state of mind. I have been inextricably overcome by work and school. I exist only as a traveling hermit of sorts. I wander the streets completing tasks so that I can return to a safe place of sorts and delve into study materials. I believe I accidentally committed social suicide. My ipod has become one of the only sources of entertainment as it goes everywhere and does not impede the completion of tasks. I am one of the few people who actually require those 40 gigs to store my musical collection. oh, how glorious a break would be from the banality of Savannah life. On the upside, the extensive studying has rendered me a temporary expert of sorts in sound based architecture and large scale installation and exhibition. Knowledge I am certain will benefit me in some way far into the future. That and my short-term memory retention has improved dramatically.
Do you remember The Oder from the Cremaster series? That somewhat masonic retelling of the construction of the chrysler building as told by Mathew Barney. I decided to watch it again as it pertains in a sort of a highly theoretic way to my project. I figured the entire ten hour series was unnecesary to my thesis, plus that is just too much Barney in one stint. I always argue with myself after watching that movie as there are many aspects that i find questionable in his performance. Its playing right now in the background in case you were wondering why I brought the subject up in the first place.
I wish this rain would cease.
"We simultaneously defy and enforce physics. We’re the mumbling in your head while you’re crunching the numbers. We’re the apparitions, ticks, gut-wrenching suspicion, and glee too. We’re the reason you rolled a nineteen for charisma, the cat’s meow, your least favorite aunt. Touch us and we’ll touch you. Watch us and we’ll watch you. You once tried to call us and the line was busy, but that was actually just us making busy signal noises with our mouths. If you would have called back we would have cooked you some pasta. What you’re looking for right now is going to evade you forever. Fish don’t speak, but squirrels do. It all depends on your longitude. You should start from the beginning, but ignore the prequels. We like minimalism, broken robots, granny smith apples, sneakers, and the mundane. We like make-believe vampires but the real ones scare us. We don’t care too much for your boss and the fact that you’re starting to resemble her. You should work on that. You’ll find us very reasonable if you just give us a chance. You can paint us by numbers. You can tell us to your shrink. You can consume us up to three times daily but you shouldn’t ever exceed twelve doses in a four day period, unless you have a note from your mother. We definitely detest mom jokes: seriously. we don’t need to be reminded of what we resemble. We named ourselves after midwestern dairy queen civility. We usually involve a variety of livestock running rampantly around. We think sideways motorcycle helmets are all the rage now that sideways trucker’s hats are out. We are live, fleshy human beings attempting to recreate these sounds in real-life. We put out our own records. we speak in binary code. We’re in the market fro an A-team van. We strive for muzak and custom made slip n’ slides. We write under pseudonyms. We play for keeps. Our grass is always greenest. Our hair is unkempt"
In conclusion, my dog has fleas. I am sad for him. |
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| Would you like to be my neighbor? |
[May. 16th, 2005|10:17 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Portishead: Biscuit | ] |
My neighborhood is in a word, colorful. Never in my life have I lived among so many different sorts of people from so many different walks of life. Most of the pedestrians that wander the streets do it aimlessly. They walk for no other reason than to accidentally encounter someone they know. There are the secret prostitutes, the college professors, the single mothers with 30 children, the art students, the chefs, the ministers and reverends(of which there are hundreds). All of them add something to the character of the six block neighborhood. Yet, there is a disturbance. Suddenly, the low income housing is vanishing. Those once interesting and life-loving people are being replaced by gentrified clones. Clones and supermodels. Yes, apparently the world's supply of supermodels have found a new storage facility: my neighborhood. Its been a slow transformation, but tonight it seems, the coup begins. Usually when i let the dog out, I am met by three people, my neighborhood across the street, the gang leader, and an old woman who feeds the stray cats. Tonight those people were not there. Tonight I was met, instead, by four gorgeous Puerto Rican student/models, and the three soccer player/models that just moved here from Indiana. I was perplexed. Had this gaggle of gorgeous gents killed the other three? I had no other choice but to relent to their growing numbers and join them for drinks and a late night game of soccer. Its strange how quickly people come and go from this city. I do miss all the very strange people that have migrated to other parts of the city. I don't think I will ever live in a place as diversified as my neighborhood. |
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| The Iceberg |
[May. 8th, 2005|06:30 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Husky Rescue: New Light of Tomorrow | ] |
I just finished watching Donnie Darko: the last of seven psychological films dealing with an apocalypse. My penchant for this film genre is bizarre. It makes me over-think things not because I believe in them, but because I enjoy debating both the fictional and real aspects of the situations. At the same time, it seems to be persuading me to focus more on my own future. Though my life is planned for the next two years, the process leading to that point is uncertain. My focus is off-kilter. |
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| Overcast...almost raining...almost |
[Mar. 31st, 2005|05:19 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | I am Kloot: The Same Deep Water as Me | ] |
The wind is blowing unbelievably hard on this overcast day. An exclamation point of sorts to this most amazing week of weather. I do love windy days. There is a certain pleasure i take in having to battle the elements just to walk around. I cocoon my body in layers of clothes and march steadfastly through the gale. I love the sound the wind makes, and the faint scent of rain.
It is as though the weather can read my mind. Thoughts, too numerous to go into any feasible detail, are circulating and storming inside of my head. This next year will prove extremely unpredictable if nothing else.
Life has been somewhat trying as of late. When life gets complicated I become somewhat selfish with my time. I find that I make myself busy and in doing so miss some pretty important opportunities to spend time with people who will be moving in two months. I also become rather cranky. In fact, the other day I made a little kid cry in front of his mother. Well, first off he was running around Gallery touching my stuff that I had left on the table. That is a reason in itself to halt the rampant activities of this ill behaved retch...especially when projects are on the line. But in the end, I became rather harsh, and scolded him in a way I know his mother had never done. He was so shocked he ran screaming to his mother. Apologies were not in order and I told her to control her son.
A postcard from my friend Allison, however, put a smile on my face. It is not too long now before I take a holiday in NYC...the city misses me, I can tell. |
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| Pause |
[Mar. 1st, 2005|08:11 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Kevin Shields: Are You Awake? | ] |
Sometimes life moves so slowly...it seems it has stopped. |
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| Wisconsin |
[Feb. 12th, 2005|04:30 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Sondre Lerche: Two Way Monologue | ] |
A return to Wisconsin was just what the doctor ordered. Its frigid, snow-laden, and just as i remembered it. Sometimes its refreshing to return to a place that rarely changes, but where you are able to travel but a couple times a year. Its sort of surreal in its familiarity and general feeling of comfort. Of course, no one i know is here this time a year...but the fact remains. I miss the wilderness, and quiet of a city frosted over in snow. I fed the deer today and watched a small pack of coyotes mingle in the back yard. How often can one do that in Savannah? The answer is never. In a year my whole world will change another time, yet this place will remain constant, always constant. I needed the break from the dredge of everyday life. I needed a break from my roommate as we are ever so close to killing each other outright. And in one day, I leave this place again to return who knows when. Despite how much I felt like I would regret the trip in every sense of the word, I am glad I went.
Just as a side note...is it only in Wisconsin that well figured guys at Abercrombie and Fitch are allowed to go shirtless and nearly naked, and still work as a regular employee would? |
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| Touched |
[Jan. 25th, 2005|11:59 am] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Son, Ambulance: A Dress for Maybell | ] |
I am not a touchy guy. Let me start off by saying that. It comes as no surprise to those that know me. I am not very good in situations of sadness or abatement. My heart, a dormant mass of solid ice and steel, seems inept. Most people come to me for their problems not because I will console them, but rather because I am a good listener and often a realist. Recently, I have noticed a strange trend among friends and colleagues. A sudden desire for all people to hug seems to have swept the city. Now, there are people out there, ie Richard, who will hug me because they know I dislike it. But these are genuine hugs. People who I barely know, monotonous straight guys, and acquaintances in general have replaced the hand shake or the wave with the hug. The oddest part in all of this, I can't help but to return the favor. How bizarre that in the coldest month of the year, my heart seems to be thawing. Its at the point now that hugs are as natural as jovial "hellos" and casual nods. Perhaps this "hugging" is not so bad after all. |
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| Oops |
[Jan. 12th, 2005|06:04 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Lamb: Five | ] |
I was recently approached by a young Frenchman that I could not describe any other way but phenomenally gorgeous. He mentioned that he thought I was cute and that he would like to invite me out for a drink with him and some English pals of his. "That night, flush cheeked and spellbound in conversation, he told me softly over cocktails, 'You have the most American smile...'." Amazing! I thought. He understood that my smile spoke of new horizons, limitless possibilities, wide-open spaces: the power of the western frontier, and a heart as big as a horse! The next morning, over an aromatic cup of coffee, his English bets friend explained that my 'American smile' meant my teeth showed too much, too white and too perfectly straight to be anything but the vulgar result of ridiculously priced dentistry and the American love of all things plastic and perfect." |
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| Electronic Psychosis |
[Dec. 21st, 2004|10:05 am] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Mum: Night Whispers | ] |
As Tzu-Gung was traveling through the regions north of the river Han, he saw an old man working in his vegetable garden. He had dug an irrigation ditch. The man would descend into a well, fetch up a vessel of water in his arms and pour it out into the ditch. While his efforts were tremendous the results appeared to be very meager.
Tzu-Gung said, "There is a way whereby you can irrigate a hundred ditches in one day, and whereby you can do much with little effort. Would you not like to hear of it?"
Then the gardener stood up, looked at him and said,"And what would that be?"
Tzu-Gung replied, "You take a wooden lever, weighted at the back and light in front. In this way you can bring up water so quickly that it just gushes out. This is called a draw-well."
Then anger rose up in the old man's face, and he said, "I have heard my teacher say that whoever uses machines does all his work like a machine. He who does his work like a machine grows a heart like a machine, and he who carries the heart of a machine in his breast loses his simplicity. He who has lost his simplicity becomes unsure in the strivings of his soul. Uncertainty in the strivings of the soul is something which does not agree with honest sense. It is not that i do not know of such things; I am ashamed to use them.
I think that answers your question Ronnie. |
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| On this most infamous day |
[Dec. 7th, 2004|01:06 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Trashcan Sinatras: Weightlifting + A Coda | ] |
Peculiar subtropical conditions have pushed the comfortable chilly winter winds aside and have replaced them with temperatures that northerners would consider beach weather. My plans to read Buckminster Fuller's "It Seems I am a Verb," while sipping some dark hazelnut brew in the leaf laden park has now turned into a visit to the park to soak up some sun.
The most spectacular news, that I have been excepted into the experimental architecture program at Cooper Union, has put me through a loop. While my present remains a prickly hell, it seems my future desires to be successful.
On top of that, I was thrown off this morning on my early walk. I usually take Gideon out for some exercise in the morning: a peaceful and brisk excursion. However, this day, a man approached me and started reprimanding me for allowing my dog to defecate beside his truck. He claimed that he has stepped in such a substance for the last three days. First I suggested that he park elsewhere and that situation could be easily remedied, and then I reminded him that i do not allow my dog to defecate near any walk paths so it was surely another animal. Unfortunately, he took me for someone who cared about his dilemma and continued instructing me on how to take care of my dog. My interest waned and I walked on.
The wintry north calls for me. Just a couple more weeks, I reply. |
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| Error |
[Nov. 20th, 2004|03:37 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | The Libertines: What Became of the Likely Lads | ] |
Quickly falling, plunging, plummeting, and recklessly descending into self ruin. This constant barrage of unsettling personal dilemmas have ruined my life in its entirety. I have become a burden to some and a spectre to others. There is but a brief hope that the present will become the past...and even that hope, is waning into obscurity. |
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| Holy shit it's been...like...forever! |
[Nov. 9th, 2004|03:45 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Boards of Canada: Roygbiv | ] |
I just came back from the most exhilarating walk of my life. The cold snap of autumn has finally fallen upon this humid corner of the southeast. Being a generally northern climactic creature, I spent the whole of my morning and afternoon walking the streets, sipping hot tea, and unintentionally driving a man to the brink of sanity(maybe i will come back to that point later). While there are few trees in Savannah that change color with the seasons, my neighborhood is chock full of them: golds, browns, oranges and reds. The smell of fallen leaves and dew laden soil perfumes the air; a breeze even. The doldrums that encircle this city have turned south for the coming winter.
Despite my deplorable financial condition, this simple gesture of seasonal change has put a smile on this face. And although I still feel like a burden, I have not lost hope.
This change has not only energized me emotionally, but it has firmly planted a new course of life into my head. A desire for experimental forms of learning outside the university. I do not plan to throw myself into the real world of work just yet. I need new challenges by like-minded people. By people I can look up to and truly respect. No more changing my mind. Its time I stick to this one.
Oh yeah, that guy in the park...I think I really did drive him to madness. He ran away screaming into the streets yelling something about cloned babies and world domination. Life hasn't been kind to that chap...I can tell. |
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| Thanks for being a responsible driver |
[Jul. 24th, 2004|01:32 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Walkmen: Thinking of a Dream I Had | ] |
I received a letter in the mail entitled, "We'd like to thank you for being a responsible driver." The fine people at Progressive Auto Insurance feel as though my driving history is not only commendable, but reliable enough for them to "feel comfortable getting in the front seat" with me. I could not help but to chuckle privately. For those familiar with my driving history, the humor behind this situation is obvious. For those of you unfamiliar with my driving history, it can be summed in one work: deplorable. I have an unrequited love for speed that has brought along with it a series of speeding tickets. Furthermore, I have a tendency to get into situations, while beyond my control, that manage to destroy the vehicle I am in. Most people pray when they enter my car: a Virgin Mary statuette permanently resides in my car to make the praying process more efficient. I suppose I lose all sense of time and speed when i am in a vehicle that i am driving. It makes for a good racecar driver, but a reckless daily commuter.
I humbly reject your invitation Progressive Auto Insurance and appreciate your unsubstantiated flattery.
While the surprise letter was indeed a fine start to the morning, it could hardly compare to the weather. Absolutely perfect, the weather this morning reminded me of why I love the summer so much. All i wanted to do was sit outside in the breeze and slowly sip a warm cup of Bourbon Tea. I feel a positive change in the air this morning, a feeling I have been without for some time now.
To you antiquated chick-fil-a woman, I devote Belle and Sebastian's "If You're Feeling Sinister." The fact that you are able to speak without any noticeable soft or hard palate is not only commendable, but beyond human. You take pleasure in the littlest things, when you are able to see them through your septifocals. You love Florida more than any one person should. While your job title at said establishment is yet a mystery, as you seem to do nothing more than walk around and reference obscure facts about Florida, you bring a smile to everyone's face, no matter the age. Sometimes I wonder what goes on inside your head. What have you seen? Where have you been, besides Florida? You seem like a mischievous type. The type that runs around the corridors of the retirement home disconnecting people's breathing apparati. Antiquated chick-fil-a woman, you are amazing. |
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| Distant cartoon noise |
[Jul. 18th, 2004|10:47 am] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Alcazar: Crying at the Discoteque | ] |
I am the king of Biscuit Land
Ruling my world with scepter in hand
Baking my buns so cinnamony sweet
Hording them all so none can eat
I trounce upon those gravel and whine
Stupid, dirty, ungrateful swine
Oh yes, I am the king of Biscuit Land
excerpt from an extremely surreal dream I had last night
If dreams are the human psyche's effort to subconsciously expose its innermost desires and needs, then I am afraid I am a simple man. |
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| Make a habit of it |
[Jul. 16th, 2004|12:28 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Basement Jaxx: Good Luck | ] |
People without habits are like people who watch television all day: everything is always changing so nothing is worth repeating. |
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| The Exhibition Opening |
[Jul. 16th, 2004|12:03 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | American Analog Set: Know By Heart | ] |
If a piece is created for the sole purpose of being sold to a highly manufactured consumer market, is it still art, or is it simply a product?
I was lucky enough to attend a showing of about 25 works of modern art belonging to the Saatchi Gallery. Perhaps one of the preeminent sources for modern art in England, and Europe for that matter, Charles Saatchi has helped to define modern art for the last twenty years. Artists such as Jake and Dinos Chapman, Sarah Lucas, Tracy Emin, Damien Hirst, Richard Wilson, and Jenny Saville filled the vacuous white walls and glazed concrete floors from entrance to exit. Some of my favorite modern artists, their works have fed my continuing interest in modern and installation art. The Chapman brothers' "Tragic Anatomies," Zygotic Acceleration, Biogenetic de-subliminated Libidinal Model," and "Hell" are endlessly entertaining as sculptural political, scientific, and social satire. There is a morose humor there that only a slightly twisted mind can appreciate. I was most excited, however, to see Rachel Whiteread as I had never seen her sculpture firsthand. Her casts of interior spaces, though nothing new ideologically, have a very ghostly mien which is further multiplied by the mass and solid volume of the pieces. There is a subconscious effort on the part of the viewer to remain silent when in the presence of her larger works, as though sound has been mummified within the piece or resisted by an air-tight seal.
Returning to the subject at hand, I tend to avoid hearing the input of the artist as I feel my own interpretation should be gleaned from the work alone. The gallery, however, provided commentary for each piece by its appropriate artist. I was rather disillusioned afterwards after hearing some of the commentary. Sarah Lucas' commentary was especially unwelcome. Her sexually explicit, though understated, works using everyday materials has a sloppily humorous quality and a teenager's immature outlook on the act of sex. Her interpretation dealt with sex as something dirty and socially unaccepted: dichotomous bourgeois bullshit! A typical and loosely conceived response, her comment spawned a considerable amount of mental exercise on my part. Though many artists create for the thrill on innovation, others do it because they know it will garner a response. Do these artists actually believe in what they are expelling? If they do, that is one thing, but sexual shock value has expired my friends.
I looked around the gallery and saw a group of buyers and socialites almost as uninterested in what the works were about as they were with the exorbitant price tags that adorned them. One woman, a product of excessive plastic surgery and body dysmorphia, slowly inched her way towards me as I looked on at a Jenny Holzer. She seemed generally interested in the artist as she spent an unusually long time in front of the biographical plaque (as it turns out, the vicadin she had most likely popped before coming through the door had taken effect.). Her words were brief yet profound: "I bought it because its pretty." And that was it. She bought the piece for no other reason than it was pretty. She did not care that it was an important electronic piece, or that it was delivered to the gallery and installed by Jenny Holzer herself. I was ecstatic.
Is it still art if it is created out of mass consumerism? The answer is yes. Art is aesthetic and art is visually stimulating. Therefor, anything that is visually or otherwise stimulating is art. Sometimes the definition can be as vague as that.
Its strange how the slightest stimulation can turn into a springboard for future projects...the wheels are turning within. |
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