Monday, March 31, 2008
Oh right, blogging...
So I have not been blogging for a long time, oops. I think I will share all the digital art I have accumulate in the meantime. Instead of explaining the origin of each picture I will just leave you all to wonder why. If you want to know the how, go to this page. Simply click the one you want to see in process, then press the replay button in the right bottom corner.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Puppy dog eyes
Lately I've been feeling a little like this. (replay of drawing)
But I got better. There are a lot of things happening, including a possible teaching position in Phoenix near my bro Steve. Hopefully the application process goes well.
Well thank goodness for my sister Mags. We spent the day shopping, lolly gaging, and generally being silly, with a little help from my good friend caffeine. In a moments we are going to watch a movie. The Prestige, and though I have already seen it, it is good enough of a movie to watch over I think. At the same time I intend to do a little more drawing (probably another Facebook doodle) and some letter writing. Perhaps I will dream up a good funny post for everyone. Perhaps I will simply overdose on energy drinks and cavort around the house singing songs from the 80's. Who knows?
Has anybody been to the mall lately? I have, and I must say I was shocked. You can buy things at the mall these days that I thought would only be found in seedy warehouses off of non-major freeways, far from civilized society. Sketchy...
But I got better. There are a lot of things happening, including a possible teaching position in Phoenix near my bro Steve. Hopefully the application process goes well.
Well thank goodness for my sister Mags. We spent the day shopping, lolly gaging, and generally being silly, with a little help from my good friend caffeine. In a moments we are going to watch a movie. The Prestige, and though I have already seen it, it is good enough of a movie to watch over I think. At the same time I intend to do a little more drawing (probably another Facebook doodle) and some letter writing. Perhaps I will dream up a good funny post for everyone. Perhaps I will simply overdose on energy drinks and cavort around the house singing songs from the 80's. Who knows?
Has anybody been to the mall lately? I have, and I must say I was shocked. You can buy things at the mall these days that I thought would only be found in seedy warehouses off of non-major freeways, far from civilized society. Sketchy...
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Gramur and punktshewayshun
I have a lot of things to say today, but I will focus on just one. Rather, I will likely illustrate it somewhere in this ramble.
I reflect upon my life and realize that I am, in fact, an English major who can't seem to spell punctuate, utilize proper grammatical structures, and one who only has a dim conception of the use of colons and semi-colons. I hereby vow to drag out an old grammar book and reread the darn thing, because I realize now that this is just embarrassing. It used to be that I simply wasn't paying attention; now I just can't quite remember certain things.
Speaking of remembering, for colonoscopies (sp? that word looks wrong) I found out earlier today that they use a drug that makes it so you can't remember the procedure, like a little memory blip. I think the affected part of the brain is the hippocampus, a la what happens when you drink a lot (gray out) I wonder if it also makes you want to pee... That might be a nifty medicine to have, I certainly can think of a few awkward memories from the past that I could do without. Now that I think about it, that's kinda shady, I wonder that if people could remember the procedure they might have objected in some way? Very odd, but speaking of remembering, again, I said I was going to stick to one subject, so that should do it.
Peace out.
I reflect upon my life and realize that I am, in fact, an English major who can't seem to spell punctuate, utilize proper grammatical structures, and one who only has a dim conception of the use of colons and semi-colons. I hereby vow to drag out an old grammar book and reread the darn thing, because I realize now that this is just embarrassing. It used to be that I simply wasn't paying attention; now I just can't quite remember certain things.
Speaking of remembering, for colonoscopies (sp? that word looks wrong) I found out earlier today that they use a drug that makes it so you can't remember the procedure, like a little memory blip. I think the affected part of the brain is the hippocampus, a la what happens when you drink a lot (gray out) I wonder if it also makes you want to pee... That might be a nifty medicine to have, I certainly can think of a few awkward memories from the past that I could do without. Now that I think about it, that's kinda shady, I wonder that if people could remember the procedure they might have objected in some way? Very odd, but speaking of remembering, again, I said I was going to stick to one subject, so that should do it.
Peace out.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Doodley doo...
I said I would post artwork so here it is, my use of the last 2hrs.
This was done via Facebook's graffiti program, which by the way is now the coolest little bit of code in the galaxy, mostly. Apparently they upgraded the program so that it automatically saves all your brush strokes, clicks etc, so you can watch your creation come to live time lapse style in a movie, which is way cooler than sliced bread. Here is the birth of the steamboat.
This was done via Facebook's graffiti program, which by the way is now the coolest little bit of code in the galaxy, mostly. Apparently they upgraded the program so that it automatically saves all your brush strokes, clicks etc, so you can watch your creation come to live time lapse style in a movie, which is way cooler than sliced bread. Here is the birth of the steamboat.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Confederates in the Attic
Never in my life have I been close to considering myself interested in the Civil War. Though I have seen parts of documentaries on the subject, studied it in school and seen such movie classics as Gettysburg, I nonetheless have always treated the subject with mild indifference. That is until just a week ago when I was introduced to a book called Confederates in the Attic by Tony Horwitz. I will confess that at first I was much more interested in the person who gave me the book than the book itself. Well, I still am, but the fact that this book made me more than once tune out something this wonderful girl was trying to tell me indicates that this book is, in fact, great.
The novel slash collection of anecdotes follows the resurgence of an childhood interest in the Civil War by the author. In his attempts to understand the war Horwitz make a pilgrimage across the mostly hidden Civil War landscape of the South, leaving no stone (or nutcase) unturned in his quest to get all sides of the story. Along the way he meets a plethora of wacky people (of such diverse views that, put all in one place you might have a bloodbath on your hands). The most entertaining to me was a period rusher (re-enactor is a taboo word) who spends his time force marching in threadbare unwashed dirty grays, eating hardtack, and converting others (even the author somewhat) to his "hardcore" anachronistic ways.
The books romps through the paradoxes and conundrums that plague our nation, at the same time explaining our Modern quasi-obsession for the war. In digging up the past we see the same issues (if not always the reasons for them) in this all American topsy turvy past, where Jews and Blacks had fought for the South, families waged war, prisoners Americans both were mistreated by their own, and each side fought or reconciled in the oddest places during and post bellum.
I will not try to explain the book at depth, I lack the power. I will simply say that so many modern issues of race relations, education, and our own conception of history, all trace back to the overabundance of ideas, prejudices, hopes and motivations, that collided at that five year or so intersection so confused that still some call it the Civil War, some the War for Southern Independence.
The book left me saddened, but pensive, it still has me thinking of a myriad of things days later. This is not just because of all sorts of intolerance and bigotry it revealed. It also reminded me me that just as in the war, men and women with mutual respect and deference may even somehow find themselves at opposite ends of interminable irreconcilable views.
The novel slash collection of anecdotes follows the resurgence of an childhood interest in the Civil War by the author. In his attempts to understand the war Horwitz make a pilgrimage across the mostly hidden Civil War landscape of the South, leaving no stone (or nutcase) unturned in his quest to get all sides of the story. Along the way he meets a plethora of wacky people (of such diverse views that, put all in one place you might have a bloodbath on your hands). The most entertaining to me was a period rusher (re-enactor is a taboo word) who spends his time force marching in threadbare unwashed dirty grays, eating hardtack, and converting others (even the author somewhat) to his "hardcore" anachronistic ways.
The books romps through the paradoxes and conundrums that plague our nation, at the same time explaining our Modern quasi-obsession for the war. In digging up the past we see the same issues (if not always the reasons for them) in this all American topsy turvy past, where Jews and Blacks had fought for the South, families waged war, prisoners Americans both were mistreated by their own, and each side fought or reconciled in the oddest places during and post bellum.
I will not try to explain the book at depth, I lack the power. I will simply say that so many modern issues of race relations, education, and our own conception of history, all trace back to the overabundance of ideas, prejudices, hopes and motivations, that collided at that five year or so intersection so confused that still some call it the Civil War, some the War for Southern Independence.
The book left me saddened, but pensive, it still has me thinking of a myriad of things days later. This is not just because of all sorts of intolerance and bigotry it revealed. It also reminded me me that just as in the war, men and women with mutual respect and deference may even somehow find themselves at opposite ends of interminable irreconcilable views.
Coming Attractions
It is my intention in this blog to do nothing in particular but what comes to me on the spur of the moment. At the moment this I hope that will include...
Book Reviews
Poems
Artworks
The ravings of my mad mind, sure to offend
Music Reviews
probably very few actual events
I appreciate all sorts of comments, and welcome any arguments, questions, or segways into other topics. Please feel free to tell me that my poems and prose suck and that I am ugly besides, in return I will most likely insult your parentage, and afterwards we can have have tea, or something.
Book Reviews
Poems
Artworks
The ravings of my mad mind, sure to offend
Music Reviews
probably very few actual events
I appreciate all sorts of comments, and welcome any arguments, questions, or segways into other topics. Please feel free to tell me that my poems and prose suck and that I am ugly besides, in return I will most likely insult your parentage, and afterwards we can have have tea, or something.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Like trains passing in the night...
For my first post, I thought I would share a recent experience I had traveling by train from Milwaukee to Dallas. Firstly, such a journey though frequent for me is not usually something I attempt via train. The ride turned out to be different in more that just the means of conveyance.
I was comfortably ensconced and reclined in my large Amtrak chair with no nearby neighbors, the closest being a quiet guy about my own age a few rows down, with whom I had exchanged a few meaningless words. I was in the process of drifting away amongst the whirs and gentle rocking of the train while a faint glow from the next seat illuminated a recently read passage from the Wasteland. Awakened by a figure and the absence of movement, I only half caring ruminated why she was placing her bags above my head. (there were more than ample open rows) I cleared room in case, but the figure passed and I awakened and renewed my attentions to T.S. Elliot. Hearing noise again, I broke from the text to see... beauty. Older than I by a bit, with dark hair, and vivid (green?) eyes. Her clothes tried their best to accentuate her figure, but they fell short of its closer approximation to the ideal.
Surprised, and more so for her choice of seats, I acted as I thought proper. I minded my own business. She proceeded to flip through her own choice of reading materials, a novel, it appeared, which brought a faint unconscious smile to my face. I always feel a kinship to those few who still dared to read in a public setting. Somehow I get the same premonition of odd stares in my direction while reading as I do in more audacious pursuits like juggling in public. Book-lovers these days I feel get the same sort of reaction though milder, as circus freaks. It was then that I realized, taking furtive glances at the content, that I could not read this book. German? No... Czech?? There was a long silence, a train silence, made awkward with those same bumps that before lulled to sleep, and now conspired to bring two strangers into contact. Did I mention that she (as I find many of the beautiful people do) had a look of scorn at the corners of her visage. I image this now to be unconscious, so as to not accidentally and unwontedly enthrall some poor sop, I guess it was a perpetual harsh kindness.
However time returned me to my musings on the lyric in front of me, until a moment unexpected. The beauty spoke. Small at first, where from where to and the like. Her accent helped confirm foreign Czech indeed. I'm afraid the details mostly escape, insofar as they are details, but the flow was gradual from trickle to torrent of words, in the Queen's English of sorts, (her teacher was from England and taught naught else) Is it odd that I nearly forgot what I was saying in wonder at when this unprovoked act of civility would stop? The answer was that it didn't, it wouldn't. She wished to move into the nursing field, for which she was saving. So I already went to college? Where? What for? ..and on. But suddenly, unexpectedly, we were no longer two stranger conversing stiltedly (well perhaps a little due to the accent) but rather running a gamut over all aspects of life, relationships, politics, education. I spouted a little rant about our overlong period of education, that makes overgrown adolescents of us all, which was oddly well received.
I'm sure this might all be boring to a reader, but for me at the time it was like finding a flower midwinter (or in that awful decayed industrial scenery outside). Here she was, and here it was a real human connection, on an Amtrak train.
At a pause, it seemed that the logical course of action would be to return to our reading. That is when she said. "Would you like to grab a few drinks with me in the lounge?" If you knew me reader, you would know that these were words that would never fight their way out of my awkward mouth. I did dimly enough think this to mean more than face value. I was struck by the thought that I was about to go on a date. (At my college one was careful not to use the D-word, a "date" would transform through gossip into marriage and 4 kids)
At least something must have come out of my short visits in Europe, a little style rubbed off I think. Out of character I replied "that would be lovely! (yes, perhaps too effeminate, but she had already taken the lead in this dance) I was thinking the same thing!" (I was thinking about a drink, more so to calm my head.) So she led the way, stopped for an exquisitely uncomfortable yet proud trip at the necessities. (I wonder if not on purpose) I don't think it was quite my imagination that people were staring, she was older than I, more attractive than I, and had thoughtfully linked arms a moment to accentuate the situation.
Could I truly be blamed that I half serious half jesting to myself imagined some intricate scam being played upon me, or some inconceivable joke? I am not well know for my charm...
Yet I felt charming, if by proxy that evening. We bought a half bottle of wine Cabernet at my choice, and cheese and crackers. (How did she make train snacks seem romantic?) Somehow my sense of uneasiness concerning her intentions faded as she attempted to pay for the lot (of course one couldn't let her). Sitting side by side being fed cheese and crackers, and poured wine; the words again fed into a frenzy, and the conversation poured forth. It was then I learned more serious matters; She was 5 years dating 1 year engaged to a young man who left her, since he would not face his parents. Tears half filled her eyes. She explains she is a Dancer. At first I did not understand. (Nor do I now know what sort and degree of dancer she was.) We moved on to a performance my friends were to be in the following day. She hated performing. We talked more quietly on, as she had bared a great secret, and could not cheer or chat as much anymore.
Back in our seats, she sighs, leans in, places her head on my shoulder and shares, a silent, uncomplicated moment. Poetic, I would say natural, human. Sharing her music with me, one ear phone to each and brought closer, sharing her tastes in music. Slumped over on me she slept, clasping my left in her hands my other resting on her shoulder. On my lap she lay, I out of my usual comfort zone, but for a moment, but then it seemed...right. And we dozed, she saying sweet somethings half heard, and we smiled.
Her stop was in St. Louis, halfway. And so, I walked her out to her stop. She gazing skyward said, "Wherever I go, the snow follows me." We walked in those reluctant snow-flakes, expressed regrets, I swear with tears about to drop.
A number.
A kiss.
A good-bye.
I was comfortably ensconced and reclined in my large Amtrak chair with no nearby neighbors, the closest being a quiet guy about my own age a few rows down, with whom I had exchanged a few meaningless words. I was in the process of drifting away amongst the whirs and gentle rocking of the train while a faint glow from the next seat illuminated a recently read passage from the Wasteland. Awakened by a figure and the absence of movement, I only half caring ruminated why she was placing her bags above my head. (there were more than ample open rows) I cleared room in case, but the figure passed and I awakened and renewed my attentions to T.S. Elliot. Hearing noise again, I broke from the text to see... beauty. Older than I by a bit, with dark hair, and vivid (green?) eyes. Her clothes tried their best to accentuate her figure, but they fell short of its closer approximation to the ideal.
Surprised, and more so for her choice of seats, I acted as I thought proper. I minded my own business. She proceeded to flip through her own choice of reading materials, a novel, it appeared, which brought a faint unconscious smile to my face. I always feel a kinship to those few who still dared to read in a public setting. Somehow I get the same premonition of odd stares in my direction while reading as I do in more audacious pursuits like juggling in public. Book-lovers these days I feel get the same sort of reaction though milder, as circus freaks. It was then that I realized, taking furtive glances at the content, that I could not read this book. German? No... Czech?? There was a long silence, a train silence, made awkward with those same bumps that before lulled to sleep, and now conspired to bring two strangers into contact. Did I mention that she (as I find many of the beautiful people do) had a look of scorn at the corners of her visage. I image this now to be unconscious, so as to not accidentally and unwontedly enthrall some poor sop, I guess it was a perpetual harsh kindness.
However time returned me to my musings on the lyric in front of me, until a moment unexpected. The beauty spoke. Small at first, where from where to and the like. Her accent helped confirm foreign Czech indeed. I'm afraid the details mostly escape, insofar as they are details, but the flow was gradual from trickle to torrent of words, in the Queen's English of sorts, (her teacher was from England and taught naught else) Is it odd that I nearly forgot what I was saying in wonder at when this unprovoked act of civility would stop? The answer was that it didn't, it wouldn't. She wished to move into the nursing field, for which she was saving. So I already went to college? Where? What for? ..and on. But suddenly, unexpectedly, we were no longer two stranger conversing stiltedly (well perhaps a little due to the accent) but rather running a gamut over all aspects of life, relationships, politics, education. I spouted a little rant about our overlong period of education, that makes overgrown adolescents of us all, which was oddly well received.
I'm sure this might all be boring to a reader, but for me at the time it was like finding a flower midwinter (or in that awful decayed industrial scenery outside). Here she was, and here it was a real human connection, on an Amtrak train.
At a pause, it seemed that the logical course of action would be to return to our reading. That is when she said. "Would you like to grab a few drinks with me in the lounge?" If you knew me reader, you would know that these were words that would never fight their way out of my awkward mouth. I did dimly enough think this to mean more than face value. I was struck by the thought that I was about to go on a date. (At my college one was careful not to use the D-word, a "date" would transform through gossip into marriage and 4 kids)
At least something must have come out of my short visits in Europe, a little style rubbed off I think. Out of character I replied "that would be lovely! (yes, perhaps too effeminate, but she had already taken the lead in this dance) I was thinking the same thing!" (I was thinking about a drink, more so to calm my head.) So she led the way, stopped for an exquisitely uncomfortable yet proud trip at the necessities. (I wonder if not on purpose) I don't think it was quite my imagination that people were staring, she was older than I, more attractive than I, and had thoughtfully linked arms a moment to accentuate the situation.
Could I truly be blamed that I half serious half jesting to myself imagined some intricate scam being played upon me, or some inconceivable joke? I am not well know for my charm...
Yet I felt charming, if by proxy that evening. We bought a half bottle of wine Cabernet at my choice, and cheese and crackers. (How did she make train snacks seem romantic?) Somehow my sense of uneasiness concerning her intentions faded as she attempted to pay for the lot (of course one couldn't let her). Sitting side by side being fed cheese and crackers, and poured wine; the words again fed into a frenzy, and the conversation poured forth. It was then I learned more serious matters; She was 5 years dating 1 year engaged to a young man who left her, since he would not face his parents. Tears half filled her eyes. She explains she is a Dancer. At first I did not understand. (Nor do I now know what sort and degree of dancer she was.) We moved on to a performance my friends were to be in the following day. She hated performing. We talked more quietly on, as she had bared a great secret, and could not cheer or chat as much anymore.
Back in our seats, she sighs, leans in, places her head on my shoulder and shares, a silent, uncomplicated moment. Poetic, I would say natural, human. Sharing her music with me, one ear phone to each and brought closer, sharing her tastes in music. Slumped over on me she slept, clasping my left in her hands my other resting on her shoulder. On my lap she lay, I out of my usual comfort zone, but for a moment, but then it seemed...right. And we dozed, she saying sweet somethings half heard, and we smiled.
Her stop was in St. Louis, halfway. And so, I walked her out to her stop. She gazing skyward said, "Wherever I go, the snow follows me." We walked in those reluctant snow-flakes, expressed regrets, I swear with tears about to drop.
A number.
A kiss.
A good-bye.
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