In honor of Jack Black and sea foam green spandex...
Spicy!!!
Friday, June 09, 2006
[chili con queso]
Maybe some of you remember that at the end of my adventures in south caroline-eee entry several weeks ago, I mentioned that I would write about our return trip and a little chunk of paradise known to many a road warrior as South of the Border. I have been inspired to post these photos from that roadside stop, as Nacho Libre comes out in theaters next weekend and contains similar tones, colors and textures.
In honor of Jack Black and sea foam green spandex...
Spicy!!!
In honor of Jack Black and sea foam green spandex...
Spicy!!!
[wish list]
Things I Want In My Future
________________________
A garden
A Mini Cooper Convertible
I know, I know. I'm a freak.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
[stolen underwear & other freshman horrors]
Nugget and I just concluded a chat about our college experience and all the random craziness that accompanied it. Mostly, we talked about people. The people we lived with. The people who drove us to madness and left scars. In honor of those people, it is List Time:
People to avoid at all costs when you're a freshman:
1. People who have long stringy blond hair and steal hairbrushes and gel from your bureau.
2. People who walk around barefoot and then try to put their dirty feet on your clean bed.
3. People who hang posters of James Van Der Beek in your dorm without your consent.
4. People who love soccer AND Dave Matthews Band AND Tori Amos AND giant keyrings with 800 pounds of clunkin- in- the- middle- of- the- night- to- wake- you- and- your- roommates- up keychains that say stupid things like, I don't do mornings. (That complete combination, all you Tori fans)...
5. People who recite lines from 'Dawson's Creek' during times of stress, seriously.
6. People who buy GAP jeans in size 2 (because they were somehow able to pull them on without bursting the seams) just so they can say, my GAP jeans are a size 2.
7. People who dance around the room to Rusted Root and Phish until CD owner is prepared to break disks to end the madness.
8. People who hang posters in the bathroom of a college dorm with kittens rolling around in a basket full of yarn balls. Again, I'm totally serious.
9. People who wear their roommates underwear while said roommate is on spring break (and other roommate catches thieving roommate only to report ridiculous underwear vandalism to underwear victim). Ew.
10. People who told professors they had breast cancer as an excuse for missing multiple weeks of class. Okay, so really, people who are pathological liars about everything.
Bonus: People who have boyfriends named Kyle.
(Photo: courtesy of James Van Der Beek fan spot)
And just for the record, I DO feel dirty having that picture up there. Sooo dirty.
People to avoid at all costs when you're a freshman:
1. People who have long stringy blond hair and steal hairbrushes and gel from your bureau.
2. People who walk around barefoot and then try to put their dirty feet on your clean bed.
3. People who hang posters of James Van Der Beek in your dorm without your consent.
4. People who love soccer AND Dave Matthews Band AND Tori Amos AND giant keyrings with 800 pounds of clunkin- in- the- middle- of- the- night- to- wake- you- and- your- roommates- up keychains that say stupid things like, I don't do mornings. (That complete combination, all you Tori fans)...
5. People who recite lines from 'Dawson's Creek' during times of stress, seriously.
6. People who buy GAP jeans in size 2 (because they were somehow able to pull them on without bursting the seams) just so they can say, my GAP jeans are a size 2.
7. People who dance around the room to Rusted Root and Phish until CD owner is prepared to break disks to end the madness.
8. People who hang posters in the bathroom of a college dorm with kittens rolling around in a basket full of yarn balls. Again, I'm totally serious.
9. People who wear their roommates underwear while said roommate is on spring break (and other roommate catches thieving roommate only to report ridiculous underwear vandalism to underwear victim). Ew.
10. People who told professors they had breast cancer as an excuse for missing multiple weeks of class. Okay, so really, people who are pathological liars about everything.
Bonus: People who have boyfriends named Kyle.
(Photo: courtesy of James Van Der Beek fan spot)
And just for the record, I DO feel dirty having that picture up there. Sooo dirty.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
[my new fur coat]
Today I'm in a weird mood. I feel like this has been a weird mood kinda week. There's no reason for it other than the fact that I've been getting to bed much later than usual and there are so many other places I'd rather be right now. Last night was a productive and financially lucrative evening at the restaurant, despite some truly annoying customers and my irritability.
So there has been an endeavor underway that I've yet to share and I suppose now seems like the right time to do so. I've got it on my mind and I'm excited.
I'm applying to The Corcoran College of Art + Design for a B.F.A. in Graphic Design.
I decided this last week after a truly crap day at The University - I went home sick, complained to my mom, declared well if I had the money, I'd just apply to The Corcoran and be a full time student, then proceeded to submit an application online, fill out my financial aid form, request transcripts from The University and schedule a preliminary interview for 2 weeks from the date - all of this done in the 2 hours before I had to be at Cosi. It was spontaneous and fueled by the need to escape my current employment reality and I couldn't be happier with my decision. It was like one of those critical moments in a film when you know what the character's future holds and if they don't do something impulsive, they are going to resign themselves to their boring ol' fate and never truly experience life and find out who they are. That was the type of moment I was dealing with. It was awesome. The Boyfriend gave me shouts of encouragement before I clicked 'submit' and now I'm dealing with letters of recommendation and getting my digital images together. I've already filled out the FAFSA and written my personal statement. Super organized. Super charged. Super. Super. Now everyone cross your fingers and say a prayer of positivity to the gods of higher education, that I not only get accepted, but that they throw tons of moolah at me with urgings of please come to our institution!!! Let's hope.
Okay, so that's my news. What do you think? My rationale is that it's time to do something about my career. Graphic design will offer me something important. A job. Even better, a job that involves creativity and the mighty computer (something I've always wanted to understand on a more personal level).
Man, what a strange world when we need to strategize survival based on degrees and resumes. I mean, send me into the woods with nothing and I'm pretty sure I could kick nature's ass....fish, start a fire, build a hut out of dead tree limbs, carve spearheads for weapons and defend the fortress. Employment is like a glacier, though. Ice cold, lacking materials, and no fun at all. Unless you've got a fur coat. Gotta get that fur coat.
Seriously?
Is there even a question???
Speaking of fur coats...check out Jenny Lewis and The Watson Twins, 'Rabbit Fur Coat'. Such. A. Good. Song. Sad. Sad. Sad. Oh, and very beautiful. Thanks be to Shannon, again;)
(Photo: Courtesy of www-gerg.tamu.edu and www.hockinghills.com)
So there has been an endeavor underway that I've yet to share and I suppose now seems like the right time to do so. I've got it on my mind and I'm excited.
I'm applying to The Corcoran College of Art + Design for a B.F.A. in Graphic Design.
I decided this last week after a truly crap day at The University - I went home sick, complained to my mom, declared well if I had the money, I'd just apply to The Corcoran and be a full time student, then proceeded to submit an application online, fill out my financial aid form, request transcripts from The University and schedule a preliminary interview for 2 weeks from the date - all of this done in the 2 hours before I had to be at Cosi. It was spontaneous and fueled by the need to escape my current employment reality and I couldn't be happier with my decision. It was like one of those critical moments in a film when you know what the character's future holds and if they don't do something impulsive, they are going to resign themselves to their boring ol' fate and never truly experience life and find out who they are. That was the type of moment I was dealing with. It was awesome. The Boyfriend gave me shouts of encouragement before I clicked 'submit' and now I'm dealing with letters of recommendation and getting my digital images together. I've already filled out the FAFSA and written my personal statement. Super organized. Super charged. Super. Super. Now everyone cross your fingers and say a prayer of positivity to the gods of higher education, that I not only get accepted, but that they throw tons of moolah at me with urgings of please come to our institution!!! Let's hope.
Okay, so that's my news. What do you think? My rationale is that it's time to do something about my career. Graphic design will offer me something important. A job. Even better, a job that involves creativity and the mighty computer (something I've always wanted to understand on a more personal level).
Man, what a strange world when we need to strategize survival based on degrees and resumes. I mean, send me into the woods with nothing and I'm pretty sure I could kick nature's ass....fish, start a fire, build a hut out of dead tree limbs, carve spearheads for weapons and defend the fortress. Employment is like a glacier, though. Ice cold, lacking materials, and no fun at all. Unless you've got a fur coat. Gotta get that fur coat.
Seriously?
Is there even a question???
Speaking of fur coats...check out Jenny Lewis and The Watson Twins, 'Rabbit Fur Coat'. Such. A. Good. Song. Sad. Sad. Sad. Oh, and very beautiful. Thanks be to Shannon, again;)
(Photo: Courtesy of www-gerg.tamu.edu and www.hockinghills.com)
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
[intermittent explosive disorder]
Being the smartass that she is, tracie sent me this article from www.cnn.com with the comment: this is definitely you. Being the smartass that I am, I stated: dear god, it is me!
Some may call it Road Rage Disorder, but medical professionals are calling it...
Intermittent Explosive Disorder:
By definition, intermittent explosive disorder involves multiple outbursts that are way out of proportion to the situation. These angry outbursts often include threats or aggressive actions and property damage. The disorder typically first appears in adolescence; in the study, the average age of onset was 14. The disorder involves inadequate production or functioning of serotonin, a mood-regulating and behavior-inhibiting brain chemical.
Check out this link to read the full article.
All I have to say is, THIS EXPLAINS A LOT.
...and thank goodness I don't have a car!
Some may call it Road Rage Disorder, but medical professionals are calling it...
Intermittent Explosive Disorder:
By definition, intermittent explosive disorder involves multiple outbursts that are way out of proportion to the situation. These angry outbursts often include threats or aggressive actions and property damage. The disorder typically first appears in adolescence; in the study, the average age of onset was 14. The disorder involves inadequate production or functioning of serotonin, a mood-regulating and behavior-inhibiting brain chemical.
Check out this link to read the full article.
All I have to say is, THIS EXPLAINS A LOT.
...and thank goodness I don't have a car!
[i have a crush]
Yesterday I was in the studio from 11 a.m. until 10 p.m. I worked with my Lantern Study in Smalti for class and am really happy with how it is progressing. I enjoyed some breaks with Geelite and some L.A.M.B. on the ipod. It was pleasant and I wish I could be there now.
During one of my breaks with Geelite, we sat on the sculpture terrace surrounded by giant pieces of stone and random discarded sculptures when I suddenly noticed the hands. The strong stone hands that The Boyfriend had carved years ago, while still a grad student. They were chiseled to perfection, arked in a supporting position (they originally held pieces of bone).
Then I began to remember that time and how much I crushed on this boy.
And how much he crushed on me.
I remembered the way his big defined muscles looked so perfect under his tightly rolled up t-shirt sleeves. I remembered his jeans, covered in clay, and his rugged workboots. I remembered his facial hair, and the way he carried a cup of coffee when he walked down the hall. I remembered the way he sat with one leg resting on the knee of the other, agenda book resting on leg and cigarette in hand. I remembered the way he would speak. I remembered the smell of the studio on those days. The way the terrace doors sound when they close. The way clay and cigerettes smell on the fingertips. I remembered the butterflies in my stomach when I would be dumping slurry and see him walk by. I remembered the way he looked haunched over his wheel, throwing the most masculine of forms with the most delicate of hands. I remembered that feeling of knowing that he was mine. The arms, the boots, the agenda book, the rolled up sleeves.
I love that those carved hands are still there. That we're still there.
During one of my breaks with Geelite, we sat on the sculpture terrace surrounded by giant pieces of stone and random discarded sculptures when I suddenly noticed the hands. The strong stone hands that The Boyfriend had carved years ago, while still a grad student. They were chiseled to perfection, arked in a supporting position (they originally held pieces of bone).
Then I began to remember that time and how much I crushed on this boy.
And how much he crushed on me.
I remembered the way his big defined muscles looked so perfect under his tightly rolled up t-shirt sleeves. I remembered his jeans, covered in clay, and his rugged workboots. I remembered his facial hair, and the way he carried a cup of coffee when he walked down the hall. I remembered the way he sat with one leg resting on the knee of the other, agenda book resting on leg and cigarette in hand. I remembered the way he would speak. I remembered the smell of the studio on those days. The way the terrace doors sound when they close. The way clay and cigerettes smell on the fingertips. I remembered the butterflies in my stomach when I would be dumping slurry and see him walk by. I remembered the way he looked haunched over his wheel, throwing the most masculine of forms with the most delicate of hands. I remembered that feeling of knowing that he was mine. The arms, the boots, the agenda book, the rolled up sleeves.
I love that those carved hands are still there. That we're still there.
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