Shades of brown hair

Ignoring the fact that it's terribly cooler and windier than I wish it to be in Maryland (though no-where near as ridiculous as Minnesota and Wisconsin were a few days ago), spring is not only bringing near-daily fits of graduation-related panic. It brings, too, the need for change, in so many ways. So, I'm purging my closets, which will in several weeks need to end up in storage or on a moving van--who knows where? So, I'm getting rid of the running shoes I never wear, thinking about re-painting my english dancing shoes which are freshman-year second-hand vintage. Plans for today are finishing my resume and outward bound Baltimore-Philly application, donating blood, a trip to Enoch Pratt Free Library, and the opening of the contraversial Beyond the Compass, Beyond the Square exhibition.

Nostalgic sweaters

I had a dream that someone called my phone and someone else answered it and it was a random dude from OKCupid who was professing his love with the persona conveyed in my personals ad on the dating site. I also dreamt that I went on a night-time canoe trip, which seems to me to be a horrible horrible idea for all sorts of safety reasons. I recall being very frustrated with the members of my family also coming on the canoe trip because they took forever to get ready to go! I just want to be a stern, darn it! My prescription showed up for my doc's appointment on Monday, and I'm nervous but excited, I'm going to be really bummed if my body isn't big enough for the non-hormonal IUD I'm supposed to get fitted with on Monday. I uncovered my tacky navy blue velour sweatshirt that was my Papa Sam's, and it's funny how fabric is conducive to not only the capturing of history but also the re-experiencing of it. By wearing this shirt, I am Sam. I'm not actually Sam, but I can remember my Papa eating my arm like an ear of corn, I remember how warm and funny he was, how he took us fishing and bowling. Anyway, I know one day when I have kids my dad and mom will be great grandparents. And hopefully, that day is far, far away.

Woodgrain resume

What do you think of the most recent iteration of my resume? All I can say is I am so sick of lookin' at this thing that if I never saw it again I'd be a happy woman.

Farewell Minnesota!

Off on some planes to get back to Baltimore, I'll be home soon!

Least break-like spring break ever

I am officially a Wilderness First Responder! Go me! This was my first and only spring break spent outside of Baltimore, and I took a 90-hour Wilderness Medical Institute course during it. I learned a whole lot of skills that are applicable in hour+ from-definitive-care situations. I'm dead tired, seriously, but I'm so glad I did it. Full report when I get back from St. Paul tomorrow, stay tuned, intrepid readers!

From the Fundakowski household of St. Paul, MN

How I remember the patient assessment triangle from scene survey to life threats to patient exam and the focused spinal exam criteria. I was writing it all on my arm until I ran out of the space. I'm looking for a summer job and I really want to not have to worry about it, so if you know someone who will hire a Wilderness First Responder with a BFA in Fibers and give them some benefits for the summer, let a girl know, okay? Magpie out (of energy and clean socks, enough said.)

Oh, adorable jailbait.

<- My fake bruise. Let me first say that the ratio of men to women is 2 to 1, and I must say, I likes them odds. Also, individuals getting wilderness first responder trainings are awesome. They are extreme athletes, ice climbers, whitewater kayakers, camp counselors, an lab technicians. They are high-schoolers, college students, guys that remind you of your dad. Every day is exhausting, and these two days are almost all teaching things I know already, CPR, the initial assesment, ABCDE's, SAMPLE history, et cetera. Consent and legal issues were fun. Yesterday I stayed pretty quiet, and I didn't feel a connection to any of the other females in the course until Amy, a lab tech in her 20's, came on a big walk with me around the camp wherein I jumped in crusty snow and trampled through puddles of mud. I saw three wild turkeys, a few bald eagles, and stepped on one dead bunny (which is covered by snow, but that is a bunny fo sho.) It's been beautiful, I didn't know how I felt at first but now I know that I am gonna be fine, people were joking around a lot more and I got a lot more names down than I did yesterday. There's also talk of capture the flag. I can only hope. From just outside Hudson, WI, fourty minutes from the Fundakowski fam in St. Paul, Magpie out (of fake bruises).

Who's the artist who...?

Does anyone know the artist who has a web site where he always says he is? One that stemmed from being followed by the government? I'm trying to reference him in explaining Twitter to my cousin Anne but it's hard without knowing specifics.

Two guys, one girl.

No, not an allusion to a blue film. Yesterday was the practical exam for the R.A.D. class I just took at MICA, and I got to do two scenarios. The first was a simple walk-by, my aggressor grabbed my wrist and I had to get away from him. The second scenario was one in which I was confronted by one attacker and an accomplice tried to get me from the back, it was a surprise and I didn't realize they would actually send both guys after me. Needless to say, I thoroughly trounced them, there was much knee-ing in the groin and that sort of thing, a punch in the face and one was down, a couple more kicks to the groin and some elbows and the other guy was stunned enough for me to get to my "safe" zone. I was really excited to see myself and one of my co-RCA's from last year do more advanced scenarios and really kick ass at them. What I lacked mostly was verbal warnings with every strike, which is an important thing to do to get attention from witnesses. Sunny used to be quiet, meek, and now she's a pretty scary woman who reminds me of Lucy Liu and isn't afrad to use spear-fingers to gouge a dude's eye out.

Rough times Junior year

After I got back from winter vacation two years ago, my parents were frustrated they weren't around to support me. It frustrated me, too. My mom, though, in her sensitivity, sent a care package full of protein bars and new socks and tights. She even included a little chai she found at a thrift store. I wore that chai every day for the past couple years, pretty much. I think it was her way of giving me a reminder that life goes on, a gift that told me every day that my parents and G-d will always support and love me. It's easy to forget that after a bad critique, or when you've lost your friends, but I really did appreciate it. I noticed this morning that it wasn't anywhere to be found, not in my sheets or in my sweater pocket from when I took it off for RAD. There's a conspicuous absence to me, but I know that I would not have lost it if I still needed that reminder every day, and maybe it's a blessing in disguise. Sorry, mom :(.

This may or may not be an emergency.

Approximately 1/5th of the housing complex I live in slash work grave in on Sunday night/Monday morning is vibrating vigorously. It has taken two and a half hours to get "them" (the powers that be at my school) to call emergency facilities management. Oh, bureaucracy. A couple nights ago I dreamed that I flew to London. The other night I slept and encountered an end-of-the-world sort of situation, wherein I just could not get away. I think I'm probably well-prepared for the real thing should it happen in our lifetime, I've dreamed of it so many times. Yesterday was a big rock climbing trip that I belayed for, and I did two climbs. Now my forearms are throbbing and the two ligaments on either side of my crotch are bruised from all the falling into my harness I did. It was great to get some energy out, to get physical and challenge myself. Back to the typography, let's hope the building doesn't fall to the ground tonight.

I am desperately avoiding heading to the studio.

I am going to work on my bedsheet dress and make pancakes in the morning as well as displaying the printed fabrics I made this past week. Maybe if I work on my proposal and artists statement...crap, I really am going to have to go to my studio. Sigh.

First 'blogs were written

I'd like to propose that Sei Shonagon, the Heian-era Japanese female court lady, was as a blogger. In the book of her collected works, The Pillow Book, she lists insights and goings-on in no order more thoughtful than that in which they came to mind. How like Carrie Bradshaw, or any contemporary young 3rd-gen feminist woman is Shonagon in her book! This is an example that I think is lovely, the 10th-century equivalent of "and he woke me up looking for his car keys, how annoying!" Hateful Things, Sei Shonagon A lover who is leaving at dawn announces that he has to find his fan and his paper. "I know I put them somewhere last night," he says. Since it is pitch-dark, he gropes about the room, bumping into the furniture and muttering, "Strange! Where can they be?" Finally he discovers the objects. He thrusts the paper into the breast of his robe with a great rustling sound; then he snaps open his fan and busily fans away with it. Only now is he ready to take his leave. What charmless behavior! "Hateful" is an understatement. Equally disagreeable is the man who, when leaving in the middle of the night, takes care to fasten the cord of his headdress. This is quite unnecessary; he could perfectly well put it gently on his head without tying the cord. And why must he spend time adjusting his cloak or hunting costume? Does he really think that someone may see him at this time of night and criticize him for not being impeccably dressed? A good lover will behave as elegantly at dawn as at any other time. He drags himself out of bed with a look of dismay on his face. The lady urges him on: "Come, my friend, it's getting light. You don't want anyone to find you here." He gives a deep sigh, as if to say that the night has not been nearly long enough and that it is agony to leave. Once up, he does not instantly pull on his trousers. Instead, he comes close to the lady and whispers whatever was left unsaid during the night. Even when he is dressed, he still lingers, vaguely pretending to be fastening his sash. Presently he raises the lattice, and the two lovers stand together by the side door while he tells her how he dreads the coming day, which will keep them apart; then he slips away. The lady watches him go, and this moment of parting will remain among her most charming memories. Indeed, one's attachment to a man depends largely onthe elegance of his leave-taking. When he jumps out of bed, scurries about the room, tightly fastens his trouser-sash, rolls up the sleeves of his Court cloak, over-robe, or hunting costume, stuffs his belongings into the breast of his robe and then briskly secures the outer sash -- one really begins to hate him.

Update for the new homies

Boinkology (one of my favorite sex blogs) linked to an entry of mine today in it's BOINKABLE LINKS section! That post is here (it's the one on musicians), and I'd like to heartily welcome any of the newcomers via Boinkology, if you like my interests but not my 'blog persay, check out my shared posts via my google reader sidebar. This semester I've been taking RAD, which is Rape Agression Defense Systems self-defense class for women. First of all, it's weird that rape is the first word in their company/system name. I'm not like Heather MacDonald, who recently wrote a Los Angeles Times op-ed piece "What campus rape crisis?" I know not a lot of women self-report, and that the scum that does commit rape and assault has done it 16 times by the time they're caught by law enforcement. I'd like to believe that the number one fear of women should not be to be raped. And I'd like to think that that's not the worst thing that could happen to me, but I guess not much else could top that. Either way, I'm super pumped about my RAD simulation next Tuesday, and I think that every person should have these basic self-defense techniques in their belt. I was never petrified of walking around Baltimore at night, but now I know that I'm a force to be reckoned with. Unless that person has a gun or knife, in which case I don't know as well how to confront that situation. Oh well. The hair is finally starting to grow out, I overdyed it pink because it was looking a little ashy/mousy, and every time I sweat or sleep there's pink everywhere. D'oh. And now, for excessive quotation marks, care of Parkhurst at MICA.

Pictures are more descriptive than words.

My friend Christine and I went to this place in a seedy part of SoWeBo which used to belong to a gas company that became part of BG&E. In that era, the gas houses were in competition with one another and were designed to instill confidence and imply luxury in the way that banks of that time did. This building sat unused for six years, falling into disrepair, until these fine folks bought it and filled it with magical things. A 19th century 20-foot-high circus banner, an electric perm machine, a wheel of fortune, CPR dummies, an old Austin replica/toy car, film on reels still containing the "Coming soon" 1970's technicolor intro to the trailers, anatomical charts and models, lead type, signage, tons of stained glass, and my favorite, the bright blue completely refurbished 1915 Oriole gas stove & oven unit, ready to be hooked up to gas lines! Old stoves are one of my favorite dreamy things to think of, when I think about having a house one day. Just a beautiful old enameled thing with chrome instead of brushed stainless and speed lines instead of corners, these are the things I dream of. Enjoy! The woman who owns Housewerks even gave she and I a lift back to the light rail (to avoid the drunks & meth addicts who frequent the area, she said.) Did I mention they had a real live fire going when we came in, too? Few greater are the olfactory joys to me. Oh, and that big silver thing? It's a "parlor stove," no idea what that is though.

I can has cuteness

Tink is very protective of her foster piggy Pink (Tink+Pig=Pink). My mom sent this to me and

Free books? Not at Baltimore's THE BOOK THING?

The Future of Reputation, a book by Daniel J. Solove, is (each chapter as a PDF file). For anyone interested in thehttp://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif phenomena of being Dooced, here are the chapters in the book: THE FUTURE OF REPUTATION: GOSSIP, RUMOR, AND PRIVACY ON THE INTERNET by Daniel J. Solove Yale University Press (2007) Chapter 1. Introduction: When Poop Goes Primetime PART I RUMOR AND REPUTATION IN A DIGITAL WORLD Chapter 2. How the Free Flow of Information Liberates and Constrains Us Chapter 3. Gossip and the Virtues of Knowing Less Chapter 4. Shaming and the Digital Scarlet Letter PART II PRIVACY, FREE SPEECH, AND THE LAW Chapter 5. The Role of Law Chapter 6. Free Speech, Anonymity, and Accountability Chapter 7. Privacy in an Overexposed World Chapter 8. Conclusion: The Future of Reputation Notes & Index Once again, I wish I could put all of this filtering of information and research into an art piece, but I have no idea where to begin, or where I would end on such a project. Part of me is very into high-touch art, physical constructions that are strong, purposeful, durable, and full of meaningful matter. The other part is into hypertext, interconnected dynamic flow of information, vast fonts of knowledge. Anyway, let me know what you think of the book if you read it!

What is it about a guy who writes songs?

Somethin' that almost insists upon swooning, the offhanded poetry seems to be easy easy easy to them. The words fall from their lips, their voices cut through the sounds of their acoustic guitar and you know, you just know from the way those words escape their lips that they can only be such good singers from being good listeners. These are the boys who listen intently as addled and oxytocin-fueled words drizzle sleepily from your lips in hours that don't belong to night or day. Blue-eyed curly-haired boyish men that your mother can't help but love and approve of. Not to say they didn't approve of the last one, just that this one, they'd love, sometimes greeting him before you as they come home from work. Of course, that's the fantasy of the sweet poetic singer-songwriter boy rolling around in my head. The reality I'm sure includes burps and forgetting anniversaries and losing shopping lists and forgetting milk, but the nice thing about speculation is that the spectacles can be as rosy as I please. And of late, I am pleased to order those glasses tinted near-magenta. I like to know, I like to plan, but I am not what one would call a "planner." I'm a "Oh this is what I'd like to do yeah I'll make that work I think..." kind of girl. I like to know where I'll be, but I'm fairly flexible, and fairly pleased to try and be happy in every situation, take them all as learning experiences (painful and bloody as they may be). You never know what will lead to the next step, the next big thing, the next love of your life or life's work. And that sort of open-ended-ness is the scary thing, but it's also the most exciting bit of moving on. And who knows, maybe I'll fall in love with a musician? [edit 3.4.08 @ 7:18pm EST] I guess I should note that the boy who inspired this post was playing in front of me at the time at Baltimore Hostel--he's a Maryland-area acoustic folk singer-songwriter-guitarist named Michael Berkowitz, who just released A Song For Every Station and sold me a copy of the CD that night (his site here).

If you are what you self-publish, then this is me.

This is the Yahoo! Pipes diagram of the content-filtered SuperFeed that I created. This "pipe" aggregates my Blogger entries, my Pandora bookmarked song feed, and my Google Reader Shared Items. I'm pretty pleased with myself. Certainly there must be some way to turn this pipe's output into an art project.

Things I am in love with (right now)

Pie for breakfast from Dangerously Delicious Pies (3 berry). Kola Champagne "Ginseng UP" carbonated beverage. XM Radio. Marla, who put the entirety of the X-Files on my external hard drive (yes, Kate M., you can get in on that action). My new cordless mouse care of the ex, who got it for half retail at his place of employment. And it's orange. These new artists that I am going to get more of as soon as I figure what is taking up so much darn space on my computers' hard drive. I'm sure there's an application that has some sort of beautiful graphs and things but I'm too lazy to go looking right now.

Good morning, neighbors **puts on sweater**

It's helpful to get this pep-talk from Mr. Rogers in the morning, as I did (initially from NPR's "most e-mailed stories" podcast, so to all my friends who are going through tough times, missing their loved ones, feeling lost and alone, or just feeling like underachievers, it's going to be okay. We all do the best we can at any given time, and that's all you can do. So many of my friends in so many ways are heroes of mine...I think you all are some of the most compassionate, creative, level-headed, and brave individuals that live on this planet. I mean, I'm a little partial to you all, but you all really are amazing. Now, if you excuse me I really have to get dressed.

Testing

I've played a little with Yahoo! Pipes beta which is some sort of visual programming console. I like it a lot, but I don't know if it's aggregating my shared item and blog rss feeds in order of date and time posted, which is what I would like. [[Edit: think I fixed it]] Anyone who can help me troubleshoot it, please comment. The pipe is meant to put my blog and shared google reader items together and edit out any entries having to do with carnal relations so that there's nothing inappropriate flowing into Facebook, which is where I want to link to the pipe's feed from and where I know lots of girls from camp who just aren't "of age" to view adult material. [[Edit:Not sure why it's truncating the entries from the RSS XML of my blog though, only first couple hundred words instead of entire entries...)

Serendipity

I just ran into the director of development here at MICA at my open studio today (part of parents weekend) who had dinner last night with someone on the board of Outward Bound Baltimore. While I love working at camps, Outward Bound or Educo are the types of companies and jobs I'd love to have come graduation, so I'm getting the hookup. Her last name is Hopkins. Read: blue Baltimore blood. Jawsome! Back to the homework.

Oh, Baltimore, cops. Haven't you something better to do?

Eric Vs. Officer Riveri of Baltimore Downtown (read: Inner Harbor) police. Eric Bush and his friends (14-year-olds and thereabouts) get chewed out for skating at the inner harbor (which has, by the way, the best ever smooth pavement and concrete for biking and skating and probably even 'boarding on), and the officer is a big jerk-face and assaults the kid. Then he steals his skateboard. I'm not sayin' the kids was in the right, but I am gonna say that guy has got some serious anger management issues. He also doesn't like conceptual art: here's a video shot of Salvatore last summer getting angry at an art student with an RC car (original source is ABC) Oh, I'm sorry, did you want the link to the February 12th article in the laugh of a paper that is the Baltimore Sun? I'm not the quickest on the wires with this one, but no doubt it will make expat Baltimoreans teary-eyed for their fair biggest little city. For those who don't know Bodymore, Murdaland, I just have to say that for as many awesome people there are in the city it doesn't take a whole lot to make a poor impression. That goes for the cops AND the robbers.

Onward and upward?

I'm not sure what my summer holds. I'm thinking of doing applications to work pre-college. I'm thinking of applying to work as a residence director at Interlochen which is a school for the arts in Michigan (or someplace like that). Basically, I could work my job that I worked last summer, or I can move on and try for greater things than being a unit director at a little girl scout camp in northern Colorado. Anyway, tonight I tailored my interview dress and took the hem up, I've got to extend the side-slits, but it looks pretty fantastic now, and the sleeves no longer fall down past where the flesh of my palms started. I look almost like a grown-up. The twin pig-tails don't make sense, the jeans underneath the striped dress, but somewhere under there is the young woman I'm supposed to be come May, and I really hope I can figure her out soon. The pins are 1940's lapel pins that belonged to my great aunt (I think), on a jacket I got at the thrift store that I'm thinking of using for interviews paired with a great trouser and a nice button-up.

IFC

On IFC I have seen a ton of great shows lately. I couldn't stop watching Darkon, which is about Live-Action Role-Playing (LARP-ing), and this afternoon while slaving away at my typography homework I saw Loves Labour Lost, which is a 2000 version of the early Shakespeare play set in the 1940's and inspired by Fred-and-Ginger Ethel Merman musicals (Karen, are you reading this?)

Did you know...

that a machete costs just $5.95 at the local H&H Surplus Store? Including holster for your belt.

Mmm, global warming

A moment ago I stepped outside of my building and was struck at the warm, humid air. Here I am, leg-warmers, scarf, and tights, and yet it is most certainly no cooler than 70* F outside. Warm, muggy, with a pervasive dampness, this global warming thing is not really working for me. I keep waking up sweaty and clammy it's so temperate in my room. If this is what is in store for the future, I'm going to have to ditch the layered, artsy look so characteristic of a MICA fibers major. The other day we got our senior packets with our applications for graduation from MICA, details about ordering class rings, beret and gowns, graduation announcements, et cetera. I modeled the gown and beret on stage, and it was so bizarre to be in the same place we all were three-and-a-half years ago, shiny-faced and innocent. Little did we know then what wonders awaited, what trials were ahead of us. I mean, to be fair, we're still not aware. I'm still worried about insurance, where I will live, where my stuff will be. In other news, I continue to suck at the internet. The quickness with which one can post, twitter, comment, e-mail, is far shorter than the amount of time it takes to fully consider what one is doing. Luckily, no jobs to lose or money at stake, but feelings and people are not to be belittled. At the same time, one of my former campers just came out as being gay using a Facebook post, and I have got to say that of all the people who continue to closet themselves and hide their true identities, I know that the true powers of the interweb can be used for "good" as well as "evil." So many older people are less honest with themselves and their families and friends, for so long, and I hope she has escaped much of that unhappiness, even as she is choosing a life path that is still somewhat unconventional and will no doubt not always be easy. Plans for the day are contacting my Performance Garment partner (blog here) to talk about going to take photos of us playing around in a clothes shop.

so sleepy....

I worked out hardcore weight training this morning and I'm pretty exhausted. I'm sorry this is just an update of a photo of a little dead wet mouse.

No primary for you!

Despite having been very careful to re-register to vote in the demo primary in California, I called my county elections office and they said that I was not registered to vote-by-mail, and could vote at my regular polling place. Except I'm in Maryland. So, really, County of Ventura, that is not something I can do. Lame. And registering for November won't help me because I don't know where I'll be in November. Needless to say, I'm pretty damn ticked off. It's only my constitutional right. Whatevs. I'm sure I'll get over it soon.

Motvational Quote of the Day

Keep writing. Keep doing it and doing it. Even in the moments when it's so hurtful to think about writing. Heather B. Armstrong of Dooce.com. I've been thinking about starting a historically-based blog on being dooced (that is, losing one's job for what one has written on their weblog), as sort of a warning to bloggers out there and support for those who's online and off-line lives have converged in that perfect-storm sort of way that causes you to reasses your values and existence. And, you know, find another employer. In case you're curious, here's a link to my previous entry On Doocing.... The entry lists 19 bloggers as of March 2007, so obviously it needs a little updating. I think it's also an art piece I'd like to work on, maybe a commemorative quilt or graveyard quilt?

The wood, the bad, and the hungry

I do love my Home Improvement in the mornings. And by mornings I mean afternoons. Last night I had a dream I was looking for a navy blazer and found candy hearts on discount in the front of a high-end suit shop.

Loaded mailbox graffiti in Thousand Oaks

Officially a performance artist

One month since Christmas, and last night I both had a really lovely time with my friends and felt really vulnerable. I also lost at darts. Anyway, off to method act in class.

Toes chopped off so as to stand closer to the stove

Sometimes I do wonder how I even make it as a contemporary woman. I mean, I barely am capable of keeping my eyebrows shaped and trimmed. In the last few months I've worked hard to stop biting my nails as much, though they never are very long. So entrancing is the care and maintenance of nails that I can spend over an hour or two doing them when I have no other obligations. And, this being the first week of classes, obligations I have few. Unfortunately, I am terrible at painting my nails. A (guy) friend of mine, astonished at my utter lack of fine motor control in this case, asked if he could sometime paint them, just to see if he could do any better. Sure, give it a go, man. I mean, I'm not sure anyone could do worse than the job I do when I choose to polish them in a color. I'm just about over the sickness I got the moment I left my folk's house, my room was super-clean and now the floor is buried under clothes and papers. I have two more classes on Monday, and am still trying to find one more job for the semester as a teacher's aid for foundation sculpture classes, which I've done for two semesters in a row now. Funny enough, I wasn't made to feel stressed out by filling out my entire time-line for thesis in my day planner during class early today. I dropped off a copy of my higher ed resume for review by a member of staff here in student activities. Right, darts night! Gonna go scrub up my hands and doll up and drift out!

Vibram Five Fingers

New pair of shoes, testing them out to see if they are at all practical for outdoor work. These are last season's size 40 women's Vibram FiveFinger Sprint in taupe. Today is the first day of my last semester ever of senior thesis as an undergraduate at MICA. I'm sleep-deprived from working the graveyard shift from midnight to 6 AM, but somehow my heart is racing with excitement and I am petrified and thrilled.

Get what you give

At one point last year, I was dating W, but still seeing my ex. And then I told W that he and I were giving it another go, and for some reason, W has still stuck around. Well, the guy who I went out with for drinks a couple nights ago just gave me a little taste of my own medicine. He's getting back together with his ex. It hurts, we had a good first date, we were going to go sledding and on culinary adventures together, but because there is so much power in old relationships, he chose a second chance with her. He said he wanted to be friends, I replied I wasn't really interested. I've got enough friends, I was looking for something more. And I can't really be mad at him, I've done the same thing. There was just a lot of reason to hope, what with the competitive Boggle score and witty repartee.

"You are everything I never knew I always wanted." Gotta love Fools Rush In.

Lots of choices!

I just finished putting my resume onto higheredjobs.com. I'm getting my Wilderness First Responder in March, but I don't have enough climbing experience to work with Educo, and I can spend my summer applying for fall jobs, which can be either reslife or part time reslife and outdoor ed or all outdoor ed. There are advantages and disadvantages to wanting to do many things with your life. You can always mix it up, there are forever options for places you can look for work, you have lots of unique skills that set you apart from a typical job applicant. The disadvantage is that I feel like I'm being pulled in two different directions simultaneously. Once again, I am the girl who thinks she can have everything she wants. I think I can be leading young people on wilderness adventures, and saving up money and living on-campus someplace. Reality is, it's probably got to be one or the other. I am thinking of going back to the camp I worked at last year for the summer simply because it will be easy. It will be doing something I know (even if camp is never easy 'cause of the long hours and low pay), and I will be able to concentrate on finishing thesis and packing up my Baltimore life into a couple door-to-door storage units before heading out to beautiful Northern Colorado. I'd love to see the girls who were in my camps last year, I'd love to work with Blue, who's a great peer leader and will be at her third year at this camp. There are so many little reasons that it makes sense to go back. It'll be nice to leave some things behind, lighten my emotional load, and be someplace completely different after graduation. Openings aren't up yet for the fall positions at colleges and universities, but I've got a start. I've got to try and leave my club at least as good as I got it a few years ago, and I gotta fledge from the place I love at some point. The date I went on the other night, I basically did the admissions schpiel for him as I showed him my campus and introduced him to fellow MICAns and grads at the local pub over some cider. I love the place that I chose to go to school, and I hope to one day work for an institution that inspires some of the same feelings in their students, for the same reasons it did for me: MICA was a place where I could fumble, learn, make mistakes, and start to grow up. And if I don't leave it, I'm never going to be who I'm supposed to.

Domestic drudgery? I think not.

Photos of yesterday's domestic deliciousness with Sima, and photos of my lovely curtains in a bargain-bin cotton-lycra uhpolstery fabric my mom found at JoAnn's. If you know me, you know that this moddish floral print is myself in textile form. And the Pink Lady organic apples at Whole Foods were on sale and are AMAZING (fresh from Washington). Enjoy!

Sick and tired

I'm cleaning the apartment top to bottom, yesterday my friend and I had a great domestic evening in which we did our nails, make sauce from scratch with fennel and ate it over miniature gnocchi (pictures forthcoming). I went to bed early, underwear inside-out-and-backwards and hoping for enough snow to sled on (we ended up getting none), and couldn't fall asleep for the life of me. Adjusting to the time difference is always hard for my body, and getting a cold on top of things isn't helping a lot. I can't breathe well, I have a humidifier but it's not helping a lot. Here's hoping I can recover just a little more today in preparation for the beginning of my LAST semester as an undergraduate!

Reminder to friends who are graduating--

Don't forget to save reciepts for art supplies and certain tools and furniture (starting January 1st) since you'll likely be filing as an independent on tax returns next year! Hooray! I had DA re-training today but we got out super-early, so I'll be unpacking and getting together a couple bags for goodwill of clothes that I'm no longer wearing. Cleaning, etc. I got a new iron for Christmas so I'm kind of excited about that. It's very dry in my apartment building because of the type of furnace, and as soon as I left my parents' place I started getting this respiratory thing so hopefully I can get some hot water up in my shower and unclog. Also planning on heading out to the studio today, and maybe getting my tire fixed down in Fell's Point.

The words, they tumble

Oh, impulses. Little tweaked out ADD-brain, sleep-deprived and sensitive is not the time to communicate with people.

I don't miss you, Baltimore.

A year ago, when I got dumped, I spent MLK week wandering the city at length. I found one of my favorite sweaters, a hand-knit three-quarter length cardigan with a button at the top, hanging on a dumpster that day on my way to Enoch Pratt Free Library and before I went to watch the parade. A neon sort of orange-red in cotton, with bits of periwinkle and yellow and tangerine, it's cheerfulness and dedication completely belied that day's grimness for me. Dazed, lonesome, and alone, before any of my friends had gotten back to school. I smoked clove cigarettes like a chimney, and cut my hair again and again, as if shedding the keratinized skin cells would make easier shedding emotions and memories. Granted, it's not easy to be the one breaking up. It sucks. Nobody wants to hurt somebody they loved, it's just a reality, somebody's gotta do it. If there's not hurt, there's anger, and anger...well, we all know what that leads to. It's called a break-up because it's broken. It's a break-up, not a break-down. And other self-help titles. He's just not that into you, maybe? From Ingrid Michaelson's song Breakable: Have you ever thought about what protects our hearts? Just a cage of rib bones and other various parts. So it's fairly simple to cut right through the mess, And to stop the muscle that makes us confess. And we are so fragile, And our cracking bones make noise, And we are just, Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys. I mean, I couldn't possibly do worse than I did then, so that's a little optimism inside me, but I am not thrilled to be heading back to Baltimore. Here I can be helpful, feed the animals, talk to dogs, cuddle with little warm bodies that never get sick of being the wrong kind of spoon, and autopilot my way to and from the buzzing city (or far-off suburbs). I've got some hard work to do in the studio, I know that now, and that work isn't the easiest to make. Blood and sweat and tears and money and time, to be put on a pedestal and judged. I just want to avoid people and places for a while, and I suppose it will be pretty easy to do so since my life isn't tied to his like it was last year, hopelessly entangled. And the fact that we broke up when we weren't in the same physical space was good. As is my way, I have four dates lined up for when I get back, and of course my on-going affair with LEGO Star Wars to occupy my time. I'm just not a little girl any more, I'm not that naive or innocent or enchanted with possibility, and I'm sort of sad to see that part of me gone for the most part. Still, though, I dream of romance. Of a relationship so well-matched that one can't help but believe in a higher power, with a person who sees me in their future, not just the past and present. I deserve that much.

Scrabulous gettin' sued?

Morning Edition, January 15, 2008 · Scrabble is one of the most popular board games, with more than 100 million sets sold worldwide. An online version of the game, called Scrabulous, is getting a lot of attention. But Hasbro, the maker of Scrabble, isn't happy. That's because it isn't the maker of Scrabulous. Listen here.

New AOL IM Contact

Now my AIM address is the same as my email: ellefeldman AT gmail DOT com.

Have you stalked your faculty today?

Ellen Lupton and Abbot Miller's Bolton Hill rowhouse interior. You're welcome fellow MICAns. Full post and narration can be found --> there Via Design*Sponge

Movies.

I think this vacation has been the most movie-filled in a long time. I saw Juno, I Am Legend (on IMAX), Perseoplis, and then Sweeney Todd:The Demon Barber of Fleet Street . And tomorrow, I'm going to go see a sneak preview of the romantic comedy 27 dresses. It's going to be lovely. Honestly, I am totally scared that it's almost the end of college (undergrad at least), and I want nothing more than to just skip to 6 months from now and just know that everything is going to be okay. I know it will be . I'm more focused and have more direction than most of the people I know and go to school with, and yet somehow I'm worried. Somehow, right? I just have to get into the studio and work and work on some of my applications. I was going to wait to apply for grad school, but I think I'm going to do an application for Shippensburg in PA. They pay you $18,000 a year to go to school part-time and be a Hall Director part-time. It seems right. But I still want to get outside and go on adventures and become a better climber and teacher before I'm too old to do so, till life gets in the way. So many decisions.

Perchance and recup

Me and my momma! Doesn't she look great for just having had two knees replaced? What an awesome lady! Going to see Juno tonight and hang out with my friend from high school Liz, very exciting! Oh, and my surreal experience was, yesterday, while in the fabric district buying for next semester's projects at Michael Lavigne's, I texted one of my ex's and told him I just saw his momma's twin. Only, his mom was, unbeknownst to me, in town for a knitting show. "You're kidding?" I answered when he called in reply. "No, knitting show." "Call her on her iPhone, right now." So I, clutching my two yards of rubber-backed yellow fluorescent (at a pricey $13 a pop, thanks Michael Lavigne's!), watched as this woman, HIS mother, picks up her iPhone. She gets asked if she is in the fabric district. She looks around for a satellite or hidden camera or something that would explain...and there I am. And she is there. In my state. In my part of it. In the same store at the same time as I am just because my mom's having surgery a few miles away. I will never forget how small the world is sometimes if things like that occur in my life on a semi-annual basis.

My Life Is Surreal

and also, my mom's doin' awesome!

Calling all Baltimorons

Anyone want to hit the Ingrid Michaelson/Matt Nathanson show at the Recher in Towson on January 31st at 7 PM? Her station on Pandora has been my breakup listening of choice, and I think it's good to support cool indie-pop artists in concert. Last years' Girls and Boys' "December Baby" is from an Old Navy sweater commercial that was on this past December, and that's how I found out about Ingrid. Listen to a couple tracks on her myspace. And while you're at it, check out Michael Berkowitz, who writes songs about snow and the ocean and Baltimore. Also, if you are a person inclined towards praying or well-wishing, or sending good vibes, send some to my momma, who's having bilateral total knee replacements tomorrow at USC. She's been in so much pain for so long, I hope this brings her as much mobility and relief as possible.

Yay for early thank-you's!

As a present for helping around the house with all of the preparations for my moms' knee replacements (yes, both of them, at once), after making falafel for dinner and retiring to my room to let muscle relaxers kick in, I dropped by the kitchen to see how the food went over, and sitting on the counter was this. "An early thank-you present," mom said. I couldn't believe she'd gotten this for me! It's coming back to Baltimore and will take up residence in my studio this next semester.

Neon Paved Paradise

My dad, the chief veterinarian of the city of Los Angeles, animal services. An off-duty police officer shot and killed this 78 lb. (empty-stomached, and thus probably hungry) female mountain lion who was tearing his dog limb-from-limb (never had a chance). Someone from the park service came to take samples for rodenticides and do a necropsy and this is my dad with the lioness. Apparently there are only 8 or 9 lionesses like her in the whole San Fernando-Conejo-Santa Monica Mountains area, and one male covers that entire same territory. It was completely legal what the officer did, but still I find it sad, since if this man had kept an eye on his dog and not just put him out, the big cat could have snatched somebody's Kitty and made off with none the wiser and probably not getting shot for following her instincts. It's pretty easy to forget when you're not out in the back-country that human beings (and our domestic pets) can still be prey for somebody. No matter how much of paradise we pave, we are still on their territory.

You lose some, you win some.

In this case, my family lost two trash bags full of old clothes and linens and deduced it from their 2008 taxes. And I gained mint copies of Chasing Amy (1997) and Clerks (1994?) laserdiscs for my Kevin Smith collection as well as a VHS copy of the divine Undercover Blues (1993), starring Kathleen Turner and Dennis Quaid (trailer here). Now all I need is a time machine to go back to 1996 to get a VCR and laserdisc player. The Clerks and Chasing Amy LD's have joined the ranks of 4-5 X-Files season 1 LD's I got in Berkley, CA six years ago. Who knows how long it will be till my movie collectibles have a permanent display area, but I've got a MIB Mulder & Scully that are just dying to get the privacy of a cabinet, knowhatimean?

Happy new year!

Rachel was my wing-girl at the House That Greed Bought down in Reseda. There was a fire pit. Costume party--the host of the party wore his Tick costume, I wore my camp counselor gear. Serenity late at night on huge bean bag chairs. Dude, who bogarted our Love Sac, Rachel? As guests left or laid themselves to rest, there was a naked man asleep on the kitchen floor. Later I saw him sleeping on the dog bed, and then at the foot of the bed in the host's bedroom. Witness to lots and lots of debauchery, with really very little involvement therein. I mean, I do love to be a fly on the wall. Always surreal in the Mad Scientist House. Sushi on a unique platter. When we woke up the hot-tub was about 1 1/2 feet short of where it was supposed to be. Fat Tire! Huzzah for Ft. Collins beer! Very very surreal. Rachel & I tag-teamed to make sure everyone got new year's kisses. Yesterday my new nunchuck arrived and I'm gonna spend all morning playing a few levels of LEGO Star Wars. There are few things that could not be improved by being played by animated LEGO guys, who explode comically in a set of painful-to-step-on bright-colored plastic pieces. I have no new year's resolutions of my own, though I do have a counter-resolution, that I not at any point let my twin sister become lighter in weight than myself (her resolution is to keep getting more fit, which is awesome, but seriously? Now I will actually have to work to stay ahead. Darn it.) By the way, making pita pizzas with baba ghanoush in place of pizza sauce and a little kefir and mint on top after baking is super duper delicious.

Few greater are the joys

There are very few things better than yesterday. I have a firmly held belief that I can have everything I want, with little exception. I went bra shopping with my sister (in this case joy comes from NOT being the one buying bras), got 8 pair new underwear from VS (I blame the twin), met up at the Getty Center with my friend Kate, grabbed awesome falafel and hummus next door to the Lammle where we caught Persepolis (who knew that Encino had a downtown?) for free care of movie passes, and had sassy repartee with Starbucks employees afterwards. For the record, everyone in Encino smokes, and I find that refreshing, though I do miss the smell of menthol and Baltimore (Newports, anyone?). The twin is leaving today for going back to school, and I really do have to send of my MacBook since the camera doesn't work and there's actually a sharp part of the case due to some plastic cracking then chipping.

Vacation cut just a little short

I'll be leaving Los Angeles the morning of the 17th in order to be back at school the night before Desk Assistant re-training. Which means I will be in Baltimore the night of January 17th--slumber party and dinner, Sima?

Sad lips part 2

On the plus, as if detecting the impending doom of my former relationship, SiF (adults only, not particularly work safe) podcasted episode #99 on break-ups this week. I met up with my friend Eric who's starting at CalArts this fall (after 3 years off from school) and we had quite the talks about relationships and such, and as miserable as the end of a relationship is, there is, off in the distance, hope for a better one. Sane, rational thoughts in this situation are somewhat new-feeling to me, so I'm not as unhappy right now as I was last January. In fact, I'm not very unhappy right now at all. I would even say that I am happy. I love the writings of the contributors of Nerve (also adults only, also not super work safe) for their uncanny ways of describing situations of the heart, body, and mind. Crying In Restauraunts is a feature by Sarah Hepola for Nerve, and in Septembers' installment I read something that stuck to my ribs : I've written before in this column about the agony of breaking up, of the ways love can disappoint when it runs out of breath. But sometimes just as agonizing is falling in love. There is a temporary insanity induced by the nerves, the distraction, the hoping and not-knowing and fearing. Months later, spooning on the couch during a Grey's Anatomy marathon, all of it may seem so quaint and funny. But falling in love is scary and bewildering. It's like hoping for a kiss and bracing for a slap, puckering up even as you wince.

Happy birthdays, sad lips

I would update more but my schedule here at home is really stressful and there's just no time in my day. What is L's day like in Southern California, you may ask? 5-6 AM: Get woken up by puppy (possibly more than once) to get let out. 6-7 AM: First breakfast, dozing. 7-8 AM: Take dogs for walk to the park, second breakfast. 8-2PM: LEGO Star Wars, watching Home Improvement, reading my blogs, and if the day is even-numbered a shower. 2-4 PM: Run errands-see if Circuit City has nunchucks for the Wii (they don't, ever), either spend some Starbucks gift money or spend other money I can't afford to while meeting up with friends from high school as works in with their own vacation schedules. More TiVoed Home Improvement, some IMing, listening to KT Tunstall. At some point I will eat again and 4-8 PM: Make dinner, hang out with parents, play more Wii, play weboggle with my sister in the next room over (teamStillInPJs FTW). 8-9:30 PM: Get ready for and go to bed. So you can see how your demands for more frequent updates would be met with my busy Angelino lifestyle. Seriously, though, happy birthday to fellow blogger Good times, noodle salad, who turns 21 and is spending the evening watching other people drink. As for sad lips, I ate ONE bite of papaya and my lips, two hours later, are red, numb, tingly, and itchy. NOW they (mom and sister) tell me it is related to the mango. Some starlets would kill for a cosmetic containing a compound that puffs up and reddens their lips for a protracted period of time (2-3 days). Me? Please, enzymes in enjoyable tropical fruits, stop ruining my week. So, if you're looking for me, I'm driving my parents' Prius, playing Wii, asleep on the couch, slowly ressurecting my OKCupid profile, and asleep by 9. New heights of cool, I know.

Oh noes I'm awake!

Happy Christmas everybody! moar funny pictures In a remarkably chilcdish accomplishment, I am up before 6 AM on Christmas Day of 2007. This was not due to excitement (though I did look in my stocking as permitted per Section 2 Paragraph 3 Line 8 of F-F Family Christmas Day Protocol), but instead due to the fact that I am a huge fuddy-duddy and went to bed yesterday at 8 pm after finishing getting my presents ready for under the Christmas tree. And since we had latkes for Christmas Eve dinner, I figured I'll go all-kinds-of-trad for breakfast with cinnamon rolls and blueberry muffins. And a little bit of NPR. Ahh, the holidays!

Now I can continue making break-up art.

The boy off-and-on for nearly 2 years and I are no more. And, unlike the last time when this happened, it was a mutual decision. And I'm not going to do the crazy things I did last time this happened. His birthday is December 28th, and it seems fitting that while we were not dating this summer he sent me a pretty awesome birthday package at camp (notebooks, Let's Get Primitive, collapsible chop-sticks, Luna bars, can't really recall what else at the moment...), and I'm going to do the same. Luckily, this go-round our lives (though not our evenings) were less entrenched, and I still have a lot of support both here in So Cal and back in Baltimore, which wasn't the case when I was an RA last January. Anyway, now I can finish my break-up hair quilt, and do the performance piece where print-outs of e-mails are produced and shredded ad inifinitum. In time, when I've processed enough, hopefully we'll be able to be friends, not just friendly. For now, however, my heart aches, and my eyes are sore, and I'm not going to be able to talk to him everyday (though I will still play Scrabulous against him), but I think I know this time in a way I didn't a year ago that I'm gonna be okay.

WFR woes

So, it looks like the next period of time for me to get my Wilderness First Responder certification is spring break, which for me goes from March 14th to March 23rd or so. As such, I'm posting an all-points-bulletin and will post on couchsurfing.com, but I am looking for people in and around the following places who could offer information about transportation and lodging in the area: Spearfish, SD Flagstaff, AZ Salt Lake City, UT Hudson, WI If you know anyone or anything (more than explained in Oregon Trail II) about these places, let me pick your brain, or direct me to links what may be helpful. Thanks so much in advance!

A lovely evening.

I love being able to run errands and help out at home. Taking morning walks with my dad and the dogs, going on shopping trips and to the surgeon's office with my mom, putting dinner on the table for my mom and dad when they get home. This week, one of the first things I did was to look up the local rock climbing gym and check it out. My dad went with me last night and I showed him bouldering, taught him how to put on a harness and do the figure 8 with follow-through and back-up knot, and he did two climbs, I was SO impressed! It's very different belaying something that much heavier. He didn't think he could do it and he did! And I got to be cheerleader to my father instead of 8 year old girls. I wonder if I can get him to take the belay class and we can be climbing buddies when I'm home? I had a great time with the old man, and I'll remember last night for a long time coming, if only for the fact that Dad put his life in my hands and never questioned me once.

Rush rush rush ... rest

Today I drove all the way to USC and I am very much out of practice on freeway driving. I had a panic this morning because I could not find my iPod (which was, of course, hiding from me), and my mom and I had to be out the door to get to USC on time. I sat through two hours of talking about the knee surgery my mom's having (total knee replacement), and came home to repairmen letting in the cold and taking forever. How long does it take to replace a hot water heater, really? So I'm going to grab some food at some point, I stretched a work on canvas I did long ago for my mother, and am thinking about mounting a lot of my drawings and paintings here in California that I do like (I'm not particularly harsh). Alas, no money or materials so here I am, doing nothing, freezing in the not-balmy 53* farenheit SoCal winter, looking at presents for my hon which I have to wrap, thinking of cleaning my room, in short not doing much of anything. And I am okay with that, don't get me wrong: I've been pretty productive, all said and done. It's so strange being in my parents' house, sleeping in my loft-bed, not having my full-size office (i.e. my bed in Baltimore), being surrounded by trappings of so many summers spent half-here. The room is nice, don't get me wrong, it's sweet and homey, but it's no longer home. Funny thing is, no-where is. Not a person, not a thing, not a city, even.

If Tim Taylor had a website...

"There's no shame in not owning tools/just like there's no shame in holding your wife's purse for a minute." "Northern Tools: Where Warriors Prepare for Battle"

Topping off my podcasts at the airport.

I have a New York Times from today, and I'm downloading some more podcasts, organizing my RSS feeds (75+), and trying not to think about myself and the boy, we had our talk finally and it was pretty illuminating, but not necessarily encouraging of the future of our relationship. But it was more we've talked since...I don't even know when, beginning of the semester? Some time apart physically will allow us the space to think, and I think both of us need that right now. Not to mention recovering from finals. I can't wait. I am aware that it's pretty silly to pay to go on the interwebs, but I just turned in 12 time sheets which will result in over $700 being directly deposited in my account before the end of the year. Yes, it is sad that of me and mine I'm the only one working a campus job (other than my friend Aric, a graphic designer and book-maker), everyone else is in the field and making far more than $7.50 an hour. Perhaps I should work on that next semester?

To my Ikea rabbit duvet:

To the bunny rabbits whom it concerns: Seriously? Why must you be some welcoming? So full of polyester fiber-fill and well-worn? And, full-size-bed, I must say you let yourself go during finals; Food wrappers, pill bottles, a half-consumed bottle of Manischevitz and paperwork abound. I mean, it's me and you and the junk on your top. Granted, you are also my vanity where I spend more time than is unembarrasing to admit plucking, trimming, manicuring, shaping, and painting my own face. And as much as I love you and will miss you over the next five weeks, let's not make this harder than it has to be. Enfolded lovingly by every fiber of your soul I relaxed from finals with Dharma & Greg and Tim, Jill, Randy, Mark, and Brad. I wrote my papers, artists statements, studied chanoyu, and then picked at my toenails some more. I'm sorry, but I need a break. I'm neglecting my studio, my desk, heck, even my shower stall is not as spic-and-span as I would like. So, as comfortable and right as I feel with you, my red-and-white Swedish cotton bunnahs, I've got to move on. I've got to do dishes, vacuum, and clean out my fridge, and get ready for going home on Sunday. Maybe five weeks will be enough for me to figure out the balance I need to strike in my relationship with you, but I can't know unless I leave. I'm sorry, I hope we can someday be friends again. Say, in five weeks? Love, L

Somethin' about Grover Washinton

Television is too distracting, flickering from programs to commercials, and radio is much the same (not to mention late-night radio is pretty darn slow-jazzy and sleep-inducing). Podcasts are too interesting and draw my attention rapidly away from the subject that is supposed to be at hand. When stuff gotta get done, I tune into my father's XM Radio account online and turn on channel 23, the Heart, which is all love songs, jazzy, Marvin Gaye, Elton John, and lots and lots of love ballads from soundtracks (Top Gun, anyone?). No commercials. If there is a sensible bone in my body, I will not get cable, I will get XM when I am no longer destitute. What's that, ladies and gentlemen? You want to see my visual aids?

Thanks for the memories, Martha

RIP Blueprint magazine.

Ah, Busted Tees

Because two Scrabble tee's (and matching socks) just isn't enough.

One day I'll figure out the blog version of the LJ-cut

I am in your layout, messin up yo frames! Robert E. Lee park in Baltimore.

In absentia

Apologies for the lack of postings and updates, it's the last week of finals here and I'm just huddling in my emergency space blanket working until it s al over. Many thanks to Marc for his care package, there aren't words enough to express my gratitude. Sunday I'll be on my way back to California. There are finals to finish up, dishes to wash and a fridge to clean out, but more pressing is talking with Justin about "us." Last year I came back to Baltimore only to be broken up with, and not only was that not what I would have liked, but my parents were upset at his choice of timing. I mean, so was I. It's so easy for him and I to go through our days, recap, and relax with one another, but at a certain point those crucial questions need to be addressed. So far, there just hasn't been any time, and I'm not really forseeing any until later this week, if then. Maybe Saturday? Today I'm going to Robert E. Lee park to take photos of my hi-tech/touch Mudpie garments, being worn by trees (hopefully), so we will see how that goes. After that I'm going to my friends' place to make matzo ball soup. Note to self: borrow fifteen spoons for Way of Tea final. Then it's working on thesis/fashion/multi-media event homework, then a couple papers for Tea and History of Women in Art, then just more presenting of my own work till Friday at 3 pm. And, lo, how glorious that will be! Friday, on the up-side, in the wintery-mix of crummy weather we've been having, I went for the first time to H&H surplus, up on Eutaw Street here in Baltimore city, and I am deeply regretful it took me almost four years to go. If I needed to survive the zombie invasion, this is where I would barricade myself and my fellow survivors to outfit our party for the brain-eating apocalypse. And, finally, I must give a little shout-out to my new favorite litte faux bois blog, It's (K)not Wood. Part of me knows I have so much stuff I may as well start getting well-designed things I love, and part of me wants to put it all in storage and live out of a backpack. Finished chrismukkah shopping!

At fifteenminutesvideo.com viewers can watch the artist plie on a roof, puke the colors of the rainbow, glue m&m's to rubber duckies while hula hooping, awkwardly kiss a boy and even perform a sexy shadow strip tease and defecation. What compels the artist to perform such tasks? Why would any one subject themselves to these activities? The artist fulfills requests of internet users. "fifteen minutes" is an interactive web-based performance. Viewers choose an activity for the artist to perform for fifteen minutes. The artist videotapes herself performing the chosen activity. All videos are uploaded onto the project website for the public to view. At fifteenminutesvideo.com web surfers find themselves in a unique position of power, where they are given access to the artist's time and body. While participants dictate what activities the artist performs, the artist controls how the submitted text is interpreted into video. This action becomes radical, especially in the instances of demeaning or misogynist requests. Thirteen minutes of the video "vomit in a toilet" (which asks "the artist to eat loads of food then vomit into the toilet violently") is the artist enjoying a delicious meal. The purpose of fifteen minutes is not to fulfill the desires of participants, but rather to establish a relationship by which those desires are negotiated. This negotiation complicates the typical rendering of power relationships as absolute, and puts forth an alternative view of power as malleable. This project is ongoing. So please continue to submit activities and check the website for updates! -- REBECCA NAGLE rebeccanagle.com rebecca.nagle@gmail.com

I cannot wait to see I Am Legend. Nothin' like the post-apocalyptic world to bring out the masses.