Feb 26 2011
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Feb 06 2011
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anxious turned on indigestion over-tired
Dec 27 2010
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how many desperate men do you know?
As a social experiment text all the men in your phone for a picture of their body.
See how many respond.
Send me the results and I will make a pie chart or something.
Dec 24 2010
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And just when it stopped raining it started pouring
I spent all of last night cleaning my friend annes apartment. She is on a plane back from Thailand where she has spent the last week and a half. During that time, she has graciously loaned me her apartment, as I just moved to LA and have not found a good sublet option quite yet.
As a thank you to anne I bought her a necklace, two books (actually the books I got for free from a literary agent friends office), a subscription to The Believer, and a maze of post-it notes scribbled on the earlier hours of this morning that I think are funny.
The point is I got maybe two hours of sleep before I woke up in complete agony. AH! AH! My period. I keep saying I will go get the new IUD that magically reverses the effects of puberty, marketed in europe as “the cure to the period,” the new IUD comes with a period as infrequent as twice a year. So there I am, crumpled up in a ball, in pain, and my heating pad (brought out for emergencies, although I use it every night for minor back pain) has ceased to be effective. I debate whether I should take a bath when it dawns on me, I did not clean this bathtub. So I hobble into the bathroom and lookie here, Anne has not cleaned this tub in, Im guessing a year! I manically scramble through her cabinets and find some Exedrin. I’ve never tried it but the bottle says “Acetaminophen + Aspirin + Caffeine.” I take three.
I call up everyone I know who could be up in New York. SING TO ME! DO BREATHING EXERCISES WITH ME! My mom mumbles something like “Did you submit your grad school applications,” and I hang up in terror. I call my dad, he begins to sing “Que Sera Sera,” my old lullaby, but he starts substituting in news from the city. In a sing-songy voice that was once the star of the Israeli Boys Choir “Janets father died, he was sick for a long time, we postponed our trip, to December 26, so we can attend the memorial…Whatever will be, will be.” IS THIS SERIOUSLY HAPPENING?
My stomach starts pounding now. My contractions are more frequent and lasting longer, it must be the caffeine in the Exedrin actually making my cramps much much worse. I turn over to my belly. Not good. I sit up, not good. Im loosing my mind and call Adam.
Adam tell me a story, I’m in pain! Adam doesn’t know any stories. Out of no where I pick a fight. Desperate and hyper I imagine that emotional torment might alleviate the physical pressure. I pick a fight about a long standing topic that is off limits- his facebook relationship status. So he gets angry and defensive and hangs up. Now I am sad, but truth be told, motivated to get in the shower and get to work. The pain is a little better but I am left with this nagging feeling that Im the grinch that stole christmas, which just so happens to be the movie that was playing while we packed me for my bon voyage, so I feel even worse, because that day Adam was sick and I took care of him and when I am not feeling great Adam can’t find the right words to string together, and its not his fault, and I’m just mean.
So I get in my car, Simmy’s car, Simmy’s father’s car, that he was nice enough to loan me for the weekend. The sky is finally clear in L.A. but i somehow manage to miss a pothole (the cramps! the fight! the shitty la roads!) and I wind up with a flat. I freak out and leave Simmy a voicemail that I should not have, because I could totally have taken care of this and filled her in later.
A co-worker calls triple A and now I have the mini temp tire in place. I took the damaged one to a service station and they want to charge 180 dollars for a damaged rim. 180 dollars! I tried to barter tickets to an art fair, no dice. After a five minute conversation with one of the mechanics, I decide to spend the rest of the weekend hunting around LA and craigs list for a Rim specialist, to fix the damn dent.
So Monday morning, I will be dreading a call from my mom who will say “So did you send in your grad school application yet?”
Dec 20 2010
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“
The sleepless become superstitious. Once she has tried the standard solutions and found them wanting, the insomniac devises her own treatments, her own odd rituals. In order to exhaust themselves, Emily and Charlotte Brontë walked in circles around their dining room table. Teddy Roosevelt took a shot of cognac in a glass of milk, and W.C. Fields found he could only fall asleep if stretched out in a barber’s chair or on a pool table. If rest still remains elusive, you can at least force others to suffer with you: Tallulah Bankhead hired “caddies,” young gay men who would chat with her and hold her hand until she finally drifted off to sleep. Groucho Marx would pick up the phone, dial the first number that popped into his head, and insult whoever answered his call.
If pills and drinks and caddies don’t work, all you can do is wait. When morning comes – when, as Philip Larkin put it in “Aubade,” the rest of the “the uncaring / intricate rented world begins to rouse” – some insomniacs are relieved. Now, at least, they can stop trying to get some sleep; now they have a reason for being awake. “Work,” Larkin wrote, “has to be done.” Others remain in bed. In one diary entry, William Wordsworth’s sister noted that, as of ten o’clock in the morning, the poet was still in bed, hoping to fall asleep. Insomnia infects your whole life. It renders meaningless the distinction between day and night: if you cannot sleep, and you have nowhere to go, you will be as oppressed when the sun is up as when the sun is down.
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“Up All Night.” Elizabeth writes about insomnia for This Recording (via leoncrawl)
My insomnia go-to cure: Electronic heating blanket + Mississippi John Hurt. It doesn’t work for more than two hours but at least its comfortable .
Nov 25 2010
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Home for the Holidays
Home for the holidays means that I find beauty products I have long forgotten about. I am currently wearing a 3x oxygen energizing face mask from Bliss. Tomorrow I will use the pore perfecting facial polish in the am (its a mild exfoliator) and the skin exacting mask in the pm (energizing serum with apricot. black currant, lavender and mint oils).
Apparently NARS makes a blush called “Deep Throat.” Naughty Naughty Nars! Can’t imagine my mother knew that when she bought it for me.
I finished The Beautiful Miscellaneous this afternoon and will start on Jonathan Franzens Strong Motion tomorrow, unless I am swept into a whirlwind black friday shopping day with my mom.
I have a bottle of Palmers Cocoa Butter moisturizing oil here that I just noticed so that should make for a delightful nightcap.
Oh! and I found my old laptop with all the music I thought I had lost forever and and some drafts on chapter one of a book I thought about writing years ago.
All my favorite art is here too! A Robert Longo print of the moon, my african sculptures, a collection of animated poetry, and the flee market crochet paintings! I wish I had a place in the city where I could keep all these wonderful things!
Addendum: + 1 Late Night With Jimmy Fallon tee shirt. Property of CW is here, my favorite thing to sleep in.
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You know what is cute and super fun? This interactive coloring book music video for Au Revoir Simone’s song “Knight of Wands.” Go on, make something pretty!
Nov 23 2010
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What if the turkey is poisoned too?
I am not a paranoid person but I like to mark in six questions or less the road from any point to something delusional. Its a game I like to play sometimes, take a though that seems interesting or unique to me at the time and turn in into something menacing.
Thanksgiving is sort of the opposite of that. We start with the question of colonialism and we end up at an insensitive sort of ironic gesture: we can chose to look at any awful thing we do as kindhearted, either as an insult to the injured party or very naively (jury is still out on which I really think is going on here).
I wrote this paranoia spiral last year but it seems applicable to the holiday: (not johnny holiday, the french pop singer, who also seems seasonably appropriate)
Airplanes that write messages in the sky are the shooting stars of the day time.
What if shooting stars wrote messages but we couldn’t see them because its too dark. Like “Will you marry me” or “Do you Yahoo”
What if we were reading the messages the shooting stars left in the sky and didn’t know it? Like subliminal messages.
What if the government controlled what the stars wrote?
What if the government invented stars for that very purpose!
FUCKING CONSPIRACY
Nov 16 2010
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It is just not acceptable. If I, the curator, introduce you, the artist, to one of my clients at a show that I set up for you and you later on invite him to your studio and sell work you 100% owe me a commission. You owe me a commission on that first sale AND all subsequent sales.
Not only is an artist tapping into your clients while sidestepping you completely rude, its also unethical business practice.
I was at a young curators panel this weekend about curating in the recession, what are the challenges, how it inspires creativity and ingenuity. This issue was not addressed a all. This happens to curators all the time. Shady gallerist’s and artists hiding sales attained from your network. Its very unsavory.
Nov 15 2010
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Someone just started a blog about all the mean things i say to him. It’s called Meanthings____said2me.tumblr.com.
Once someone I refused to date in college advertised on facebook across all of NYU “Thanks for the STD. Happy Valentines Day.” Also addressed to me.
What percentage of the Internet is dedicated to mean spirited jokes? What percentage of that is dedicated at mean spirited jokes at my expense.
I just remembered that the Eminem Sirius radio DJ Rude Jude posted on his blog that I am a cunt. He was poling his fans as to whether he was allowed to use that word. He clearly did not read Inga Musio’s book “CUNT:A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE” which explains that the word cunt is derived from a ancient word for goddess. So thanks rude jude, thanks asshole college freshman, and thanks blogger, respectively.
This post is taking a surprisingly feminist turn so I might as well mention the “Girls Just want to have Funds” lecture tomorrow night at PPOW Gallery. I am excited to hear Marilyn Minter talk about how female artists are not making as much money as their male counterparts. I mean MARILYN MINTER makes a SHIT TON right? Nah I am totally kidding if anyone knows what its like to be a female rock star in a mans world it is she.
So I am in google and I click on the down button more button because I want some more Internet connection so I can finish watching episodes of the Delusional Downtown Divas but apparently that is not an option.
