::Download Flash SWF::

Here is my first baby steps attempt at animating the giantess. Yes, I know she limps. But the poem words also give some idea of what I want to do, word movies that morph meaning.

Why should it be so hard to draw naked people! Is it so wrong? I'm beginning to think it should be a requirement for everyone before they graduate. I can imagine conversations like "Dude, did you fufill yer figure drawing requirement" "Uh, shit, no. Do you think spring break in Cancun counts? I took a lot of pictures..."

In case anyone hasn't heard me whine about it, my life's energy flow is still being blocked by the bureacracy, and just when I thought it was over, it all fell apart.

Non-students, ignore this detailed explication, which will seem cryptic, kafkaesque even, and just plain inane: See, the grad Media Studies people wouldn't let me take figure drawing to count towards my master's thesis, since it was an undergrad course. So I thought I had it worked out that I would sit in on the class, and register as if I was taking an independent graduate study with the prof. Everything had been given the okay, but then the prof went to Sri Lanka to care for his ailing parents, so he can't sign my stupid form work. Soyeon warned me, but did I listen? The prof will be gone for two weeks, well past the last registration date.

So now what? I say fuck it and draw. Here is what I made my first day in school, mommy:



It's okay, I think. But after living in the nurturing womb-like bubble of support from you, my dear peepers, i had come to believe i was a talented artist. Well, I have discovered, much to my chagrin, that undergrad fine arts majors can draw circles around me! (heh heh) But that's awesome. I feel like I can really learn something in the class, and I really want to learn it, and I've paid my own (future) earnings to learn it. And isn't that what education's all about? Me setting out to learn what I want to know, despite any obstacles? Sheesh! Hasn't anyone seen an after-school special?

End rant transmission.

(e:drchlorine), is (e:mang) available? hot kitty! [inlink]drchlorine,24[/inlink] I love a cat with a sense of humor.

Some nuggets of Gertrude Stein wisdom, just to give everyone a (eyebrow) lift:

"A writer should write with his eyes and a painter paint with his ears."

"It takes a lot of time to be a genius, you have to sit around so much doing nothing, really doing nothing."

And some film recommendations: all you lonely office gals and ex-cons out there should watch this movie called "Read My Lips (Sur Mes Levres)". I've already watched it twice this week, and will show it at a movie screening on Friday, I believe. Lonely Parisian office gal, mostly deaf, hires ex-con to be office assistant. Imbroglios ensue.


Oh, and Buster Keaton too.

How nice that fall began on the first day back to school! How can I communicate the sarcasm in that statement? How could last week have been so balmy and beachy, and today well, in the words of the Long Winters, "I can't face the cold gray cold."

And how nice that I crammed as much summery fun and debauchery into my last free week as into the whole summer season. More even. I feel like I ran a marathon of parties. I should get at least the silver. Only finally is my higher brain returning to form. Well, mostly.

The beginning of school has made me put my thinking cap back on. And here is what I've cooked up. My thesis has been coming together slowly in my mind. I knew that I wanted to do a digital chapbook, i.e. a flash poetry collection, and that the topic would encompass feminism, american history, hypertext, and geography. I want to paint myself into the timeline of american women. You'll navigate through paintings, poems, videos, etc. as if you we're travelling through a map. Only it's a map of time and space. You'll see. Anyways, I think I'm going to call it [size=l]Dare, Virginia[/size] after the first person born in the jamestown colony, Virginia Dare who disappeared with the rest of them. That means that she was the first white euro "American", the beginning of a new era for this continent. And she vanished into thin air. Here she is, and where I'll be, once I repaint it with me there:

Reporting live from 567, the arts festival is packing up and heading home for the evening. It was pretty cool, but I questioned a bit why walking down a strip of chotchke tents is the highlight of my summer. Flashback to Allentown arts festival. I'm such a curmudgeon. Really my mild bitter feeling comes from the fact that there is a lot of stuff, well, at least one or two things that are so great I have an art attack-- but can i afford to pay $400 for a batik plant cell silk painting, gorgeous as it may be? Not. A struggling artist can't afford the art of struggling artists. That's funny. I'm sure I would do the same thing in their place, you have to in order to get by.

In other news last night we had the whole MFA media study thang, and guess who asked Steve Kurtz how his summer was? As soon as I said it I was like doh! Holly, you couldn't have been stupider. I was trying so hard to avoid making a gaffe I came out with a real whopper. I recovered my social graces by being rude to the waitresses and mildly belligerant with everyone else. Shit happens. But I think we should try to get a major rock band to help fund Kurtz's defense. Like someone with real money draw. Anyone out there know Micheal Stipe?

It seems like we're off to the park, and then to Bunnytown, where some friends will be performing art. Readings, music, paintings, video maybe. I've been to one show before and it was pretty hot. It's down on Illinois in the wearhouse district:

49 Illinois
Take Washington to HSBC, turn L. on Perry, then 1st R. on Illinois.

Or maybe it should be Illi noise. Heh heh.

Okay, so today my own life is so boring, filled with bureaucratic glitches and oh, wait, i did almost wreck my car by driving up over the curb accidentally, and boy that gets the heart thumpin', but, vehicular suicide notwithstanding, my own life is so boring, i say, that i must spare you the bore-y details. Even last night in the bar, though I thought I could pry details about last week's event with R from M, M was not forthcoming with the goods (this teaser for Exxon-Mobil Hollypiece theather brought to you Elmwoodstrip.com) But do we really want to know the bumpin' uglies truth anyway? No, none of that is very interesting. Nor is the Republican Convention, I'm ashamed to say. Yesterday evening I scrubbed fungus off my tub rather than watch the talking heads talk. It just felt somehow, I don't know, more socially relevant?

Anyway, the point of this whole thing is really just to post a joke I plucked off my sister's daisy chain. Now, usually these jokes give me a hearty har-har, especially when they're about the devil or politics, but I think, conventions and fungus and near-death in mind, this one might make you laugh:

While walking down the street one day a US senator is tragically hit by a truck and dies. (See that's funny right there --holly)
His soul arrives in heaven and is met by St. Peter at the entrance.
"Welcome to heaven," says St. Peter. "Before you settle in, it seems
there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these parts,
you see, so we're not sure what to do with you."
"No problem, just let me in," says the man.
"Well, I'd like to but I have orders from higher up. What we'll do is
have you spend one day in hell and one in heaven. Then you can choose were to spend eternity."
"Really, I've made up my mind. I want to be in heaven," says the
senator.
"I'm sorry but we have our rules."
And with that, St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell. The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course. In the distance is a club and standing in front of it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him.
Everyone is very happy and in evening dress.
They run to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at expense of the people.
They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster, caviar and champagne.
Also present is the devil, who really is a very friendly guy who has a
good time dancing and telling jokes. They are having such a good time that, before he realizes it, it is time to go.
Everyone gives him a hearty farewell and waves while the elevator
rises.
The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens on heaven where St. Peter is waiting for him.
"Now it's time to visit heaven."
So, 24 hours pass with the head of state joining a group of contented
souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They
have a good time and, before he realizes it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returns.
"Well then, you've spent a day in hell and another in heaven. Now
choose your eternity."
The senator reflects for a minute, then the senator answers: "Well, I
would never have said it before, I mean heaven has been delightful,
but I think I would be better off in hell."
So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell.
Now the doors of the elevator open and he's in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage. He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags.
The devil comes over to him and puts his arm around his shoulder.
"I don't understand," stammers the senator. "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and club, and we ate lobst
er
and caviar, drank champagne, and danced and had a great time. Now all there is is a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable. What
happened?"
The devil looks at him, smiles and says, "Yesterday we were
campaigning......
Today you voted."



BTW, I'm very down with Paul and Matthews Habitat for Humanity idea [inlink]paul,1857[/inlink]. I've always wanted to do it. Who could pass up the wholesome, socially-responsible fun of spackling with friends...