Nothing to Form a Title From

347 is our studio.  It is equipped with a 43" tall table the size of a full mattress, a shorter 4'x3' light table, a fridge, 3 lamps, some shelves, a closet, all of my art supplies, a desktop computer and mini speakers.  All it needs now are some artists.  Brooke gets home at midnight tonight, and after a whole summer without her, it's going to feel so great to start working together again.  Cracked has an art show opening at the Weisner Student Gallery on September 18 (4-6 or thereabouts), and there is as of yet no content!  

It's also frat rush all week.  I walked down Beacon St last night and scoped it out.  There are sidewalk barbeques on every block, hang outs, free red bulls, frisbee games, and so much animosity from pedestrians.  If you watch peoples' faces as they pass they always sort of scowl at the frats, until they get to the one they were invited to, of course.  It's as if one frat barbeque is infinitely inferior to another's, just because the letters on their shirts are different.  It's hilarious.  

I started going to a chiropractor who waives the insurance copay for students.  She works out of this chic office on Newbury St.  The waiting room has vibration chairs and free granola bars and the receptionist is an asian dude with a mohawk who wears black v-neck tees.  The chiropractor looks like she teases her bleached hair and clomps around in boots and a jean jacket, while putting heating pads on your back and cracking your neck more times than I knew it could crack.  Awesome.

School starts in 3 days, I switched my major to 2A, mech-E with a concentration in Product Design.  I'm psyched, taking a bunch of classes, I hope I just stay afloat

General Rant, at your service!

At our house meeting tonight we were told that it would greatly benefit the reputation of the house to have a hobby as it were.  East Campus went from "that dorm that makes drugs" to "the dorm that builds things."  Henry Jenkins, our housemaster, suggests we take on a similar persona, saying that while of course "the dorm that builds things" is an easy thing to remember, we are welcome to make a slightly more complicated name for ourselves.  

Fanny suggested that the obvious choice was "the art dorm," which, as she pointed out, we sort of already are.  Most bands in the four east dorms practice in our music room, we have people in dance troupe, we have cracked and murals and all that stuff.  As soon as this was pointed out I thought about our towers meeting, when it was decided that in an effort to keep the lounge of our suite a public hang-out spot, we can't leave anything out except for bottles and ash trays.  This charming development was geared towards bicycles, but it was primarily to keep stray art projects from taking over the lounge in an effort to spare towers the reputation of "the arts and crafts suite."

From a girl who is off to Burning Man, not to drink or do drugs but to BUILD ART PROJECTS, I am thoroughly disappointed, if not at all surprised.

And this is the current state of things in my awesome dormitory lifestyle.  Scot is back, which means there will be more dumpster dives.  Luwen is almost back, so there will be a social monolith, which will help me stay sane amongst strong art-nazi personalities (keep it contained to the sixth floor, or, better yet, let's keep you out of towers all together.).  My computer screen is flashing in odd ways.  I think it is time for repairs.  Shoot.

BUR_DFW_LOG

Taking off is a very different experience when you are seated next to a jet engine. The sound is like what someone once described to me as what happens to you when you inhale homemade ether (a kind of wom wom WOM WOM around your head). The irregular clicks and groans it produces resemble the sound of the rickety wooden roller coaster in Coney Island. It also appears always to be just about to fall off the side of the aircraft.

Landing is also different with extreme turbulence. You never realize how fast you're really moving until the plane starts jumping back and forth on the angry wind patterns, it's an out-of-control racecar kind of feeling, hurdling. Enthralling, let me tell you.

Also, don't fly American. Although if you do, you might get the funny flight attendant who made all of the following announcements:

Please keep your seat backs in their upright and most uncomfortable positions.

It is highly likely that you will starve to death on American Airlines, but we will keep you hydrated.

American Airlines has many wonderful professionally trained staff members, unfortunately none of them are on this flight.

Thank you for flying with an airline that hasn't yet filed for bankruptcy.

opinions des art

Damien Hirst created a piece entitled:

Beautiful, cataclysmic pink minty shifting horizon exploding star with ghostly
presence, wide, broad painting (2004)

It looks something like this:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/olmedia/80000/images/_81491_damien_hirst_spin.jpg
and it spins on an electric motor.

Jenny Holzer, who made a beautiful light projection of assorted poetry
(http://sarahwilson.files.wordpress.com/2008/05/jenny-holzer.jpg) carved ten
stone benches with phrases such as:

No one sees you walking with a tick tick in your dick.

or

Aroused ones lock into every position that streams potential woofo.

I don't ever want to lose noticing. Jeff Koons put three basketballs into a
half-tank of water so that the submerged half of the balls looked magnified and
refracted. My grandmother asked me if I had seen what he'd done, and how did he
figure out how to make the top and bottoms of the balls not match up. For being
a small fraction of her age I feel like I've paid attention very hard, or at
least I've noticed that a straw looks funny when it is halfway under a drink.

I've noticed that from a certain angle the taxidermy crow in Robert
Rauschenberg's painting Canyon doesn't look so bad, and that Elsworth Kelly's
black and white canvases are slightly different around the edges when they are
supposed to line up. I looked for the weights moving up and down in the
elevator but I couldn't find them and I read the fire department sign on the
fence before we got a parking ticket.

And I thought about how unproductive I've been for so long. I could cry. There
is so much I used to know that I remember knowing from time to time, but only at
museums, by myself, looking at art I never liked.

misc. on san francisc.

airports are very pleasant places for people who are complete assholes,
but not for me. i had the pleasure of arriving at JFK 150 minutes
early for my flight, which means i got a relaxing seat on the floor of the
miniature jetBlue terminal, keeping my legs crossed so no one tripped
over me while trying to beat the other arriving passengers to baggage
claim. A family of small religious jewish children and their mother sat
near me and produced a giant bag of hard boiled eggs, which they
peeled and ate. a good portion of the egg crumbs (both colors, as some
of the kids only ate the yolks) ended up on the floor, and the rest were
ground into the mother's skirt, although she yelled at one of her sons
who actually peeled his egg and put the shell right on her dress instead
of in the plastic bag on her lap. maybe it was to spite her because when
he said he didn't want to eat an egg she said he had to.

I flew to long beach and waited for a transfer flight to oakland, and i
avoided this family, who was on the same transfer flight. it was much
nicer in long beach.

the temperature difference between long beach and san francisco is
drastic. i've worn a long sleeved shirt and a sweatshirt and boots the
entire time i've been here. it's cold and sunny which means you have to
wear a sweatshirt but it makes you sweat. but despite the chills the
weather is charming. it beats boston summers any day (i've heard that
it's cooled off since i left). i walked around the yerba buena gardens with
ally on my first night here, we sat by a fountain until my face was too cold
even though i was wearing my hood. we took the bart to emeryville to pick
up rachel's car. in emeryville there is a bus called the emery-go-round.
there are also shootings.

i stayed at ally's last night. when i woke up she was watching Dark Passage
with Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. Lauren Bacall is so pretty, we
couldn't figure out why she was so attracted to Humphrey Bogart, and the
movie didn't exactly develop that point either. it was a good movie though
for only seeing the second half. we walked through berkeley's campus
when the movie was over. ally pointed out that people in berkeley all have
really nice legs. they do. if only boston were all hills too.

that's the end of the important things to say. i walked around san francisco
more, had a tea leaf salad and a beer at a burmese restaurant, john and the
media lab team won a game in the D-league softball playoffs, and thai iced
coffee is really delicious.

my mother is a tart

Today is my mom's birthday, and to celebrate we hosted a tart party on her lovely front porch. What is a tart party, you may ask. Well, a tart party is a party at which you both eat tarts and dress up as a tart, or, more simply put, you are what you eat. However, tart in slang is defined by wiktionary as any of the following:

1. a sort of fruit pie
2. any woman with loose sexual morals
3. To dress garishly or ostentatiously

At this tart party there were three fruit tarts, 8 women dressed as tarts, and one male spectator who sat on the porch drinking a beer and smoking his pipe until the end of the party. None of the tart-women had brought their husbands (although all the husbands were invited) and one woman even said she was so excited her daughter and husband had gone to town for the day so she wouldn't be bothered at the party.

I must admit I enjoyed listening to the conversations of all the large-breasted middle-aged women, all of whom talked about their kids, who are my age, and their frequent and idiotic run-ins with the cops.

My mom lives in High Falls, which is an area of "upstate New York" to those who live in New York City, and a part of the city to those who actually live upstate. Everyone in this town used to live in NYC and moved here to get away. The town is upstate-paced, and the houses have upstate-paint jobs, and the co-op sells upstate food, but not so deep down everyone is a city kid. Maybe it's just the vogue.

skipping the next bus to albany

i'm going to albany on the 5 oclock greyhound from south station. some guy got stabbed, decapitated and disemboweled on a greyhound bus in canada two days ago. i hope that doesn't become a trend.

i rearranged the furniture a little and set up this new computer which is awesome. i left everything i own in the lounge overnight and threw it all back onto my floor this morning so i could pack up. i'm going to my mom's place from albany, then to jfk to fly to san francisco with my sister to see my aunt and uncle, ally, tj and jamie and sarah from wtp. then i'm flying to la for a few days and home just in time to miss my desk shift (and maybe the last t home).

i guess i have nothing to say. wtp is officially over, although my meal card still worked for breakfast today. there's room to walk on my floor which is a first. i'm really excited to see my mom and sister in new york. i haven't been there since xmas. also it's my mom's birthday tomorrow, and i forgot about it. maybe dwoira and i will make a cake, or something.

i'll scan some drawings when the trip is over, but hopefully i'll have a good stock of them

laytuh