Journey to Ass-Hat Land

I am going to undertake what initially feels like the most ass-reaming art project of my entire life: Creating, formatting, and integrating my own personal IRS-type filing system. When an idea for a piece is formed, either by sketchbook, conversation, or random doodle, I will require myself to fill out customized forms-- carefully documenting the idea in progress from 'bubble-in medium(s) used' to a color-coded source material appendix (the list of my OCD goes on.)

I had great/awkward conversation with my mentor earlier about the project at hand-- it was awkward because I'm supposed to be schilling out paintings and shit, only to begin our morning meeting by handing him a piece of paper that looked like a dated accounting form. "It'll be interesting to see what you'll actually make from this," (I can't tell if he's being facetious or genuinely intrigued at this point) "it makes me wonder if you'll create the pieces from the form, or be driven to confine them to the very nature of the form."

TRU DAT, sir! Only superbly refined idiots such as myself will be able to determine the cause of this proposed effect.

I know I've had five months to make stuff-- to paint things/themes/whatever-- but the motivation to actually create any of it never really crystallized until now, when I am filled with enough sado-masochism to subjugate myself to a limitless and absolutely pointless filing system that has no other application or meaning to the outside world.

Excessive amounts of energy wasted-- or STORY OF OUR LIVES?!

Distraction Subtraction

Bought a 3 lb. bag of Haribo gummy bears and spent most of Wednesday afternoon sitting on the soccer field with Miggy-- eating said bears, looking for ladybugs, and writing our conversation on a paper towel. FINALLY! An azn sista to talk with about food, random snacks, and small animals dressed in people clothes (think about why you are friends with me-- these are true friend-requirements, yes?)

On Thursday's gallery, Dawn and Jeff came up to visit/survey the insanity of our campus. There was a decent (for ska) band from Riverside that showed up to play, replete with it's circa '97 gwen stefani doppelgangers, skanking in circles. Creepy Skin-Head Man with Raver Pants was out and about too-- and for some odd reason, was always trying to get into our circle of conversation to talk about Atari Teenage Riot and Doom Generation.

On Friday night, I went on the Inland Empire Critical Mass ride-- had some Dippin' Dots and later spent the evening evading a small police cart. We later got pulled over by a real police car and had to line up along the sidewalk all OG-style (no cuffs though.) After getting cited for running a stop sign I'm apparently never allowed in Victoria Gardens ever again (which is fine considering gas prices as of late, and the fact that every shop in that shitty outdoor mall has an online store.)

I am dying in class right now; totally getting the palsy-shakes from lack of no food. I want to head-butt a chocolate-peanut butter pie and then have a chile-relleno burrito. I have so much work to do before this semester ends (3 weeks left) but all I want to do is make like a cat and sleep for hours under someones couch.

three years (of crazy)

I'm too old for this: drinking semi-heavily (semi, because I can't seem to recall how heavy) for the past four days straight. Befriending MFA Writers who all suffer from some sort of F. Scoot Fitzgerald drinking habit-- proves not be in my best interest in terms of getting work done. Sometimes I feel as if their thesis readings are just intellectually-veiled excuses to get trashed and listen to Dr. Dre's Tha Chronic ("After tons of drunk dancing: Dialog on cultural representation in Rap music.") Everything about this system is a brilliant, accessible, and terrible burrito-o-insanity. For this, nothing on my to-do list gets to-do'ed.

Errands, so many errands for today. The more cumbersome the errand I have to wrestle (i.e. piles of laundry, taxes, smog check) the more enticing it is to type random journal entries and read about all the ways I can mix Pisco! into my Pandapple container. Am I experiencing late onset college frosh syndrome? I stare at my wine-stained sweater cuffs and sit in disbelief; I thought I got all of this shit out of my system long ago (take two angry filipinos, three parts alcohol, one part drug abuse, shake roughly with a twist of live-art = 2003 - 2004. oh yeah, and lots of unreasonable sobbing.)

Diana, Shin, and I are shooting for APE this Winter. Seeing that each of us are frequenting our own little dark places this year; Diana knifing her brains out in Las Vegas, Shin wanting to knife that recluse of an investment banker, and myself-- stabbing my liver. What's not to fuel our creativity in the form of cute, pastel-colored, crap-nobody-needs-but-feels-compelled-to-buy-anyway? YES! So let's make a 'zine together, yeah? This boat is a-sinkin' so it's time to start paddling!