Timailius: Translations

Oh, right, a blog

2010-10-26T18:02:00.005-04:00

So I refuse to do the thing where I say, "I've been really bad about posting on my blog, and from this point on blah, blah, blah...". Because I know it will never happen. I'm terrible at posting things on a schedule, be it writing, photography, or anything else I'm doing "just for me." So I'm sure it will be another 8 months before it even occurs to me to post something here again. [Note to future self: Welcome to April! How was winter?]

That said, I thought I would record a few things that came up this weekend. For posterity's sake. For example:

During a game of Streaky Bacon, the phrase "pants-destroying erection" was written. Good god, what a thought. A few days later, during a conversation about god knows what, (although I believe the phrase "Throbbing Member" was ultimately to blame), the idea was presented that human development -- puberty in particular -- would be a lot different if, every time someone got a raging erection, it was accompanied by a raucous Dub-step beat. It would most likely be unique to the individual -- which introduced a whole new trait for which females could select, (take this sample conversation: "So how was your date with Todd?" "He was really attractive, but man he just didn't have a good rhythm. I can't be with a guy with no rhythm.")

Also, it would be singularly impossible to hide the offending erection when, for example, you were called to answer a question during 7th grade math class.

"Now who can tell me the answer to question 3? Jimmy?"
"BBWWAAUUMM WAM WAM WAM WAAAUUUMM BBWWAAUUMM WAUM..."
"Now settle down, class, It's a part of life. He can't help it. Can you, Jimmy?"
"BBWAAUUMM WAM WAM WAAUUM..."

...I sure am glad we can still have intelligent conversations around here.

On a totally different note, it's almost Halloween, and while I've never cared a great deal about my costume, I have developed a certain passion for pumpkin carving. So I have two days to come up with an amazing design. Here are my pumpkins from the last few years, for inspiration:

Morpheus - 2009

Cthulhu Pumpkin - 2008

The Nightmare Before Christmas - 2007

Wondermark Understands Me

2010-05-25T10:57:00.003-04:00

I read this comic the other day and felt like David Malki was describing two different sides of my own personality...

Fire Hoop / Human Statue: Wings

2010-05-13T09:46:00.004-04:00

Things have been a little disorganized since I reformatted my hard drive, and I've finally found the folder of photos that I was working on when everything failed. Now, finally, I'm getting around to posting things I took in October. Hopefully I'll have all the old stuff dealt with by the time Wild Fire rolls around in June.

Dryer Cookies™

2010-03-29T19:16:00.003-04:00

BBQ

2010-03-12T20:11:00.006-05:00

Selective Color: Duo Silks

2010-02-21T11:36:00.003-05:00

Child vs. Caution Tape

2009-10-25T11:37:00.001-04:00

Notes from China

2009-08-02T01:47:00.008-04:00

I recently returned from a trip to China, during which I had an amazing time. I kept in touch with my family, because quite frankly they would have sent in the Red Cross if they hadn't heard from me in a few days. I epically failed, however, to include the rest of people on these emails to my family, which turned out, in the end, to be more of a semi-daily journal of events. In order to share my adventures more fully, I have copied all of those emails here, (with a few edits for coherence's sake). Yes, it's long; if you want the true email experience, read it every few days over the course of two weeks.

Mon, July 20 -

It's been sort of a whirlwind start to my China tour. After my flight from Boston to New York, and then the 14-hour flight from JFK to Beijing, (which took me from Wednesday morning into Thursday evening, an event which I'm still not confident follows conventional science), my flight to Chengdu got delayed almost two hours. I sat in the airport sort of napping, reading, and generally keeping busy until a group of Chinese children made camp across the seats from me. After almost an hour of noise and chaos, one of them approached me.

"Hello," he said, "what is your name?" The conversation quickly evolved into a game of let-me-practice-my-english-on-the-American-tourist, and when he asked "What do you do?" I was confronted with trying to explain my juggling career. I hesitated; no words came to my mouth. Instead, I pulled out my juggling balls and did a demonstration. I did some basic juggling (including a relatively successful attempt at 5-ball, which I'm still working on), which was greeted by the boy, his friends, and all of the people around me with delighted applause. This was followed by a barrage of people asking questions, and then to take their picture with me. Group shots, family shots, etc. International celebrity status.

I didn't arrive in Chengdu until 2am, where a tired Karen met me at the airport and hailed us a cab. After now 29 hours of travel, I was barely coherent. We got to her apartment and promptly fell asleep. The next day, however, we were up at 8am to go BACK TO THE AIRPORT. Turns out, Catherine (karen's mom) scored us some hard-to-get vacation time at a Tibetan settlement/village city called SongPan in a reserve called JiuZhaiGou in the mountains an hour or so north of Chengdu by flight, (the only road from Chengdu to JiuZhaiGou was recently destroyed by an earthquake, so the many-hour bus ride was not an option. Phew). It was a great trip overall, lots of hiking in the mountains and lakes and waterfalls, and nice cool weather, (compared to the disgustingly humid 85+ degrees here in Chengdu), and a delightful tour guide to show us around. Again, more people asking to take pictures with Karen and me, and the rest of the American teachers with whom we were touring. Apparently, this is quite common. In any case, the scenery was amazing, and I have several hundred pictures which I'm sure you will see when I get back. I am also learning the numbers 1 through 10, (Yi, Er, San, Si, Wu, Liu, Qi, Ba, Jiu, Shi! ...with spelling correction by Karen).

Now we're back in Chengdu sitting in the "air conditioned" internet cafe, although I'm still sweating. I sat in on a lecture by Karen and Grace (Karen's sister) this afternoon. They discussed American culture by region, including food and agriculture. Then the class devolved into history and politics, none of which they're quite qualified to be teaching, but they did their best. We're meeting up with Catherine for dinner tonight, who (hopefully) will give me some more information about what I'm doing here, and whether or not I'm paying for all of my meals. I brought along my Canadian busking money to change, although the bank rejected one of the $5 bills for being a bit ripped. "You can spend this in Canada," the bank teller said, "but not here." Well, yes.

Anyway, my jet-lag has been minimal due to my inability to sleep on planes, so I settled into things pretty easily. The food has been fabulous -- Sichuan province is known for spicy food, which so far has been delicious -- and you'll be happy to know that I'm eating lots of vegetables whose names I simply don't know in English. I am still, however, avoiding the mushrooms.

I'll write again in a day or two, I'm sure. On days that I'm not "working", I'll basically be wandering the streets. This should be an entertaining adventure.

"Zai jian" from China!
-Tim

Tues. July 21 -

Ni hao from Chengdu!

Exciting news: This morning we witnessed a partial (EDIT: total) solar eclipse! Or, rather, we witnessed the world suddenly getting very dark and then very light again six minutes later. It's been very overcast/rainy the last few days, and while we were supposed to be right in line with the path of the eclipse, the cloud cover made it pretty much impossible to tell where the sun even WAS to begin with. But we drank our tea in the momentary darkness, and still it felt like witnessing something special. A total eclipse is an event which is not expected to be visible like this for another 5,000 years or so. Hopefully, the weather will be better then!

Yesterday Karen and Grace took me to their favorite noodle place for dinner. The food has been wonderful so far, (Sichuan province is known for their spicy food), and this place didn't disappoint. The spices here follow a ying-yang principle: two spices that balance each other, the "ma" and the "la". We've been eating plenty of spicy foods since I got here a few days ago, (the "la" spice), but this was one of my first authentic experiences with the "ma", which is based on the Sichuan peppercorn. This is a spice unlike any in the states. It tends to make your whole mouth tingle and go almost numb; a great counterpoint to the spicy "la" flavor, which makes your nose run like a faucet. The noodles were amazing, as were the "things on sticks," which were various vegetables on skewers which were cooked in a pot of broth filled with either the "ma" or the "la" spices. Some spicy pigeon eggs followed by some mouth-numbing potato slices... delicious.

I'm out of time here at the internet cafe, and I'm going to be late for lunch, so I will write again later on. Tomorrow I go down to XinJin, the city where I'll be doing most of the computer work for which I'm here in the first place. Hopefully I'll have time to write again down there.

Zai jian!
-Tim

Thurs. July 23 -

Ni hao from XinJin!

We arrived in XinJin last night via taxi, the city in which I'll sporadically be working while I'm here. When we came in it was dark, and as we drove along one side of the river, we could look across the water and see lots of buildings lit up with colorful neon lights. It reminded me of the boathouses along the river in Philadelphia, except without any sense of grace or coherence. A little tacky, really, but still quite a sight. Anyway, they put up all the visiting teachers in "the best hotel in town", (which is quite nice of course, but nothing like a nice hotel in the states), so this is where I'll be while I'm in XinJin.

This morning I awoke at 6.45am, (the earliest wake-up call of the trip so far, not counting the 5am departure from JiuZhaiGou), and had a small breakfast of steamed bread. Then we got onto the yellow school bus which took us the short ride to the school. Fun story: apparently, a few years ago some of the Chinese faculty here came to visit America and see an elementary and middle school there. After several days of observing, they returned to China and made one major change to their own school system: yellow school buses. Which, it turns out, amounted to a van being painted yellow and getting the words "school bus" written on the side. Wonderful.

I spent the morning looking around at the school's computers to "analyze their capabilities." The eventual goal is to wire the school such that students and teachers here in XinJin can have live video lessons with students and teachers in Catherine's school in Colorado. To begin, I met at length with Principal Xie, (first order of business: he invited me to his office where he served me tea that was locally grown and famous in XinJin). After talking about my trip so far and where I came from in the United States, he told me a little bit about the history of the city. Apparently there were 10 dynasty changes in this city, whereas there was only 1 in Chengdu. (Or something like that. It was a little hard to understand him).

After looking at the computers, the principal and a number of the elementary school teachers took Catherine, Karen and myself out to lunch at a wonderful duck soup restaurant. My mom noted to me that it seems like all we ever do is eat, and that really is true -- meal times are a big deal here. It also turns out that, in formal settings like this one, there is a very strict seating system based on your status in the group. Unbeknownst to me at the time, they put me at the position of honor for the meal -- the head of the table, and the furthest from the door. On one side of me was the principal; on the other was one of the head teachers at the school, and one of only teachers that spoke decent English. Also, all the men sit along one side and all the women along the other side. Very odd. The meal was great -- whole ducks sitting in boiling broth in the center of the table, with individual bowls of spicy sauce for each person -- and then as we sat there, the waitress brought out tray after tray of different kinds of mushrooms and tossed them into the broth to cook. Last night, I happened to put a temporary hiatus on my not eating mushrooms because they were in the fried rice, and now suddenly I was presented with more species of mushroom than I had ever seen before, let alone eaten. No sooner had they cooked than the teacher to my immediate right began to serve me, dropping things indiscriminately into my spice dish for me. Well, I have now officially eaten a great many mushrooms, including several species that I had never seen before, not even in nature documentaries. And I'll admit that with the spice sauce, they weren't half bad. The meal also included tripe, which I understand is some sort of intestinal something-or-other, and has quite a texture to it, like eating a shaved-down Koosh ball. The duck, of course, was delicious, although I couldn't make heads or tails of the duck feet with which I was presented. My stomach felt a little funny for the rest of the afternoon, which I'm going to chalk up to drastic dietary change.

After lunch, we headed out for a stroll around the city. Mom asked me if the cities here are like American cities, or if they have a distinctly older feel. I would describe it more like an old city with a sudden influx of modern people. Some of the architecture is old-world stuff, buildings with pointed roofs and dragon heads at the corners. But a great deal of the city feels like it was built quickly to accommodate a lot of people. Shops are crammed together---fruit vendor next to hardware store next to upscale shoe store. Wandering around today, Karen and I found ourselves in a wholesale fruit market with mountains of watermelons, which led into a series of booths selling tshirts and shoes, which spit us back out onto the road with the beauty salons, corner markets and lingerie stores. The city does this frequently, going from an old, cobblestone, covered-market feel to a more modern, busy, cars-honking, lights-flashing city at the turn of a corner.

It's also tough as a pedestrian, since traffic seems to have no rules whatsoever. Cars regularly honk just to let you know they're coming up behind you, or merging into another lane, or coming around a turn, etc. And the number of bicycles is staggering, not to mention the number of pedicabs, which are rickshaw-like bicycle taxis. This is true in both Chengdu and Xinjin, although XinJin is MUCH smaller and thus offers a more bicycle-friendly atmosphere. It's all a jumble, and people are everywhere.

Also, people like to stare, since I would estimate there are about 12 white Americans in this city of 70,000 people. We stick out. One of the American teachers on the program, a wonderful, crazy grandmother named Susie, is so outgoing that she says hello to anyone who stares for longer than a second, and often will go and chat in halting conversation with complete strangers. Walking back from dinner tonight, we stopped at a tea shop because the family of owners were sitting around a large table of fresh jasmine flowers, picking the stems from the petals, and they smelled delicious; before we knew it, Susie was sitting at a table with the family, de-stemming a pile of jasmine flowers right along with them.

And then it turns out that it's the season for chili peppers, which are the key ingredient for the "La" spice that is so important here, and out on the sidewalks are piles and piles of the peppers out to dry in the heat. Walking to dinner, we passed some women who were grinding it into a paste and storing it in vast quantities in huge, earthenware jars. We asked how much they had, and they said something like 10,000 pounds. Yes, ten thousand pounds! They had a whole garage full of them!

One last story before I crash for the night (and be warned, this is not for the faint of stomach): After dinner, Karen, myself and another teacher with the program named Mike took a walk down to the waterfront to take some pictures of the lit up buildings we had seen coming in along the river the night before. We did, and had a nice stroll, and were almost back to the hotel when we came across a man surrounded by 4 or 5 people, and this man was tying a 4 1/2-foot long snake to a tree. No, really---he had tied twine around its head and was hanging it from the tree. We couldn't figure out why at first until he took out his pocket knife and began to cut the skin from just below the head. He then began to pull the skin back from the snake -- which was still wriggling, mind you. He was pulling it down like a tube sock, one that was attached directly to the muscle. Best we could tell via Karen's translation, they found it in the trees nearby, (a rare find, we hope), and had decided to skin it for the meat. After the skinning -- which took some doing; at one point, the head actually ripped off from the force and he had to re-tie the rest of the body to the tree -- the man pulled out the stomach and intestines all in one go. He then put it all in a plastic bag and took it with him.

So far, this puts my animal slaughter count at three: at the market in JiuZhaiGou, I watched a goat be slaughtered at the meat market, and then I saw a chicken go from clucking to bleeding out in a box to totally limp and de-feathered in about five minutes. All in all, it's been a trip full of experiences... and I've got a whole week left!

On a sunnier note to close, I'll be heading back to Chengdu tomorrow, and this weekend I will hopefully be going to visit the Panda Reserve. I'll be sure to take plenty of pictures of these dopey yet adorable animals.

Zai jian,
-Tim

Sun. July 26 -

Ni hao!

I'm back in Chengdu with Karen and her sister, Grace. I return to the states on Wed. morning, so this is likely to be my last email until I get home.

As promised, this weekend took me to the Panda Breeding Center. One of Chengdu's most famous attractions, the Panda Breeding Center boasts one of the largest panda populations in China; the giant pandas, as you probably know, are on the endangered species list. As a species, pandas require a very large territory, and as humans encroach further and further into their land, the pandas become more scarce. The thing that is less commonly known about pandas is that they have a great deal of trouble breeding in the first place. It seems that the male reproductive organs are so small that, often, they cannot reach the female reproductive organs at all. A pretty poor design, really. So here in Chengdu, they have created a special breeding center to help preserve this national treasure, and also to promote panda copulation, even if it means artificial insemination.

Long story short, the Panda Breeding Center is a large outdoor zoo. Many of the paths are surrounded by bamboo plants, (the panda's primary diet), which are often shaped to curve up and over the paths, creating a sort of natural archway/tunnel. All of which would have been very picturesque had it not been steadily raining all morning. So we met up with the other teachers from XinJin, as well as a bunch of American exchange students and their host brothers/sisters and, after purchasing some cheap plastic ponchos for 3 Yuan, (the Chinese currency), we ventured out into the park. It should be noted that pandas are large, lazy creatures who, especially in the heat and humidity of Chengdu, spend most of the day either sitting on their butts eating bamboo or sleeping. Karen warned me that the last time she went there, most of the bears were just sitting there scratching their privates. We were positively lucky, then, that we caught a few of the bears munching on large bundles of bamboo plants, or walking around trying to find a place out of the rain, (just like us, really). A few of the other teachers had umbrellas, so I tried to do some guerrilla photography by slipping in and using them for protection from the rain when they had a good vantage point. I haven't gone through the photos yet, but I might have a few good ones.

After the panda reserve, we went to visit an active Buddhist temple. Karen loves this temple; because monks still live and pray there, it has not yet become just another tourist attraction. People tend to stay quiet and respectful, and it has a slow and peaceful quality that is hard to find in the city at large. This temple has an active history of over 600 years, which is older than pretty much everything we know in America. Karen explained a lot about the different Buddha statues, (she was a religion major, and focused largely on Eastern religions), most of which I've already gotten confused. I lit some incense and said a prayer for my family, and took some photos where I was allowed. It was very beautiful, with wonderful ornate statues and paintings, scrolls and murals. Every architectural detail seemed like it had been completed with great care.

Afterward, we wandered up an old-style street, which nowadays has been largely converted into shops. After some very wet shopping, (yes, it was still raining), we found ourselves a taxi and came back home. For dinner we went to a small noodle place where I watched them prepare the noodles by pounding and stretching the dough with their bare hands, over and over again. They were served in a salty broth with beef and vegetables; on the table was some ground chili pepper as well as red Sichuan vinegar. The vinegar is used here far more commonly than soy sauce -- I haven't been able to discern whether that is an American bastardization of Chinese cooking, (like most things on a Chinese food menu), or whether it is a regional variation. In any case, I proved to myself that I'm getting much better with chop sticks.

Tomorrow I will be helping Karen, Grace, and Dave, (the other American teacher here in Chengdu) with their conversation class tomorrow. Don't worry, this doesn't involve working with kids; their students are overwhelmingly young professionals or university professors who may have received invitations to work/study in America, so these are very smart adults who already have an elementary understanding of English. In theory, I'll just be helping guide a discussion in English about some cultural topic or another, so it should be pretty fun. We're also trying to cram in some last-minute sight seeing: we may visit Dushu's cottage, (a famous Chinese poet), or perhaps the historic museum of Chengdu. In any case, I'll let you know once I get home.

Zai jian,
-Tim

Wildfire Retreat: Allison, with Fire Staff

2009-07-03T13:52:00.003-04:00

See the whole set here.

Another Flash-Mob Flash-Dance Video

2009-06-09T17:15:00.001-04:00

Chad from spin jam found another flashmob flash-dance video. This time, It's Hammer Time:

Fire Hoop

2009-06-07T12:35:00.002-04:00

Click here to see the whole set.

Portrait Through A Chair

2009-06-04T16:34:00.005-04:00

(Click to see the entire set)

Fingerpainting (Footprint)

2009-05-04T14:59:00.002-04:00

See the whole set.

I-Movix SprintCam - 1000 fps

2009-04-27T14:56:00.002-04:00

I found another awesome video.

This was made with the I-Movix SprintCam, a camera that shoots at roughly 1000 frames per second. Typical video, by contrast, is viewed at or around 24 fps. The additional frames allow you to slow down the video for some astonishing detail, (pay particular attention to the 47 second mark. That's my favorite part):

I-Movix SprintCam v3 NAB 2009 showreel from David Coiffier on Vimeo.

Hawks!

2009-04-25T18:53:00.005-04:00

No, I'm not cheering for St. Joe's, though I should also give a hearty congratulations to my cousin Kevin for his ever-approaching graduation from said institution of higher learning.

Instead, I'm linking to an amazing slice of urban wildlife. Nestled in a windowsill of the Franklin Institute in Philadelphia, there is a nest constructed several months ago by some honest-to-god hawks. A live streaming web-cam was installed on the inside of the window to sneak a peak at this marvel of nature. The chicks have hatched now -- apparently, the hatching process was quite amazing -- and are now adorable little piles of fluff who stumble about and try to eat scraps of food that are bigger than they are. It is worth glimpsing, even for just a minute.

http://www2.fi.edu/hawknest.php

The world we live in is amazing. Not only that these birds are able to nestle into the city that grew up around them, but that we are able to watch it, live, from wherever we are.

Technology is neat.

Take That, Flash Freeze

2009-04-15T16:05:00.004-04:00

This is in response to Mooney's post from a few days ago. This is the actual footage, with the actual music:

Turns out, it was from a T-Mobile commercial event called Life's For Sharing filmed in Liverpool Street Station, England. It took eight weeks of preparation and rehearsals, including several nights of rehearsing at 2am in the station. It involved 400 people, down from the 10,000 people they auditioned at the outset. Quite frankly, I think this is one of the greatest things ever. To see more, including rehearsal process and crowd reactions, check out the behind the scenes video.

Self-Portrait

2009-04-11T04:35:00.001-04:00

I like this new lens...

Update: I'm Not Dead

2009-04-08T01:38:00.002-04:00

RECAP: So last Friday, while doing your everyday Atlas balance on Jeremy, I fell out of my standard upside-down orientation and rolled my neck pretty badly. Badly to the point of passing out and collapsing. Twice. After several hours in the ER strapped to an orange plastic backboard and getting stuck through a cat scan machine, it was decided that, while I hadn't broken or displaced any discs in my spine, I had most likely torn some muscles and/or ligaments in there someplace. Anyway, here's some drugs that will make you feel like a total zombie. Don't do anything for a few weeks. Crap. So A Different Spin placed a call to its West coast members and prepared to bite the monetary bullet to fly Alex out to Boston so he could go to Atlanta in my place for our first real gig of the season.

Update: Eff that. After two days of wearing my very stylish foam neck brace and being numb to the world, I decided to start rationing my drug use and testing range of motion again. I'd take the intense pain shooting between my shoulder blades over that crap any day. Turns out, my condition was improving. After another day, I had stopped taking my narcotics entirely; by Wednesday, I was out juggling with the boys again. God, it felt good to get out and do. Stuff. Anything, as long as it wasn't clouded by prescription drugs. By Thursday, we had an honest-to-God rehearsal again, and called Alex back to tell him we wouldn't need him after all. Friday we ran our fire show, built ourselves some new staves, and felt generally confident.

And now I sit in the internet cafe of the Sheraton hotel in downtown Atlanta at 2am, eating the sandwich I made myself at 5pm as we left our apartment in Boston. Our ski bag full of fire toys actually made it through airport security, and tomorrow should be an excellent day, provided we can track down a stupid Walmart that actually has some stupid fuel.

And I promised not to do anything upside-down until the machinery in my neck are back to one hundred percent, and I will keep my word; but at this rate, I think I'll be flipping over audience members in another week or two.

Photography At f/1.8, or "How To Distract Yourself From A Serious Neck Injury"

2009-03-28T02:30:00.004-04:00

Still Life, with Percocet.

Today had a distinct high point and low point. The high point was the arrival of my new Nikkor AF F/1.8D portrait lens, which operates in an exceedingly friendly way with my new Nikon D80 D-SLR. After months of hemming and hawing, I finally sold my Olympus to a friend here in Boston and dove headfirst into the world of Ebay in all its glory. The camera arrived maybe two weeks ago, followed up by some filters and a memory card. So I cannot begin to describe how excited I am that, with the F/1.8's arrival, my new photography kit is now complete.

The low point of the day was the grievous neck injury I incurred while attempting the Atlas balance during rehearsal at the YMCA this morning. After some serious pain and two prolonged black-outs -- my thanks to Jeremy for catching me both times before I pitched into the bathroom wall -- I got strapped to an orange plastic backboard and loaded into an ambulance. The CT scan showed that I didn't do any serious damage to the vertebrae or spinal column; still, it's likely that I tore a few muscles and/or ligaments along the left side of my neck and that I won't be doing a great deal of flipping, spinning, or really much of anything in the near future. All things considered, it could have been a lot worse. So I'm thankful for that, I suppose.

But I don't understand how people can get addicted to drugs like Percocet; in my mind, it will forever be associated with the excruciating pain shooting up between my shoulder blades, and why would I want to remind myself of that?

Borrowed Words Poetry

2009-03-19T12:21:00.002-04:00

[Borrowed Word poetry is something I picked up in high school, I think; the idea is that you take the words of someone else and recompose them. It's a mix of collaboration and inspiration that allows you to generate ideas less linearly and is, I hope, not actually plagiarism.

In any case, the following poem was composed using only words and phrases pulled directly from T S Eliot's The Wasteland. Everything -- including verb tenses and articles -- came from the original work.

Mr. Eliot: please don't sue.

To Play A Game

And as we talked, I found you there
In a garden of your images,
Arms and hands and fingers
Wrapt softly round white bodies, red sails
Gliding over the violet air.

You show me something different
Those strings of pearls, fruited vines of ivory
That run softly down your back,
Draped in your shadow at evening,
In empty rooms, in faint moonlight.

I spoke of nightfall with you, the scene
Framed by marble walls, each red flash
Like so many caresses, mixing memory with desire
Like a bridge of reflecting light over a calm sea;
And through a window of unlit fog, red and
gold, we talked for an hour in whispers,
and rose and fell and glowed into words.
Goodnight. Goodnight.

More ADS Designs

2009-03-15T02:33:00.002-04:00

Circus Arts Shows Poster (8 1/2 x 11):

Fire Shows Poster (8 1/2 x 11):

A Different Spin Got Talent

2009-03-11T13:05:00.005-04:00

A Different Spin is for realz, y'all. For the last month or so, we have been doing our damndest to pull ADS together as a legitimate business. Which is hard when you're dealing with four people as ridiculous as ourselves, but still, we're doing it. This involves a lot more than I would have thought going into it. We are practicing upwards of six days a week, two hours a day. We are constantly writing and rewriting our routines to make them smoother and more entertaining. I have cut and recut the same three songs so many times that I'm not sure I remember what the original tracks actually sound like.

And that's just the performance aspect of it. On top of the 10-12 hours of rehearsal time each week, we're doing our best to be an active business practice. Ricky and I have been graphic designing our asses off to get ready for the APCA National Conference in Atlanta. Since the APCA conference is really focusing on the fall, Mooch and I have been submerged in more college calling, while Ricky and Jeremy are hunting down spring and summer festivals. We've also registered as an official partnership, gotten a tax ID number and opened a business bank account.

And to prove it, here are some of the finished products that Ricky and I have spent what must be hundreds of cumulative hours designing. Goooo team!

Business Card (front and back):	Full Page Ad:
Tri-Fold Brochure (outside, interior):
2' x 6' Vinyl Banner:

Sun Rises

2009-02-20T12:53:00.021-05:00

This poem was inspired by a series of photos taken by a friend. One of these photos is presented below.

Sun Rises
The crisp air drags a finger across the glassy surface, over hills and rising fields, rippling trees and sky with tangled textures and windblown hair, wisps of light that cover her eyes but not the addictive smile etched across my window. I strain to see in focus through the deep, round frost, corn silk glowing gold and twisting into every twig and finger of the winter ash and pine that stand guard along the rocky shore, (and I hear the faint voice of music, a soft treble
whispered across strings and mountains, an echo of a summer long since gone to sleep. And she lingers as a gentle spirit, back turned, looking ever forward) and the shore scattered with sentinels cold and muted grey; I see red brushed across her cheeks. Oh, how I wish I had kissed them just once more, that satin skin raised shy above her lips curled up in a reluctant smile and drawing a line in thick crystal up to her clear, glittering eyes. The winter chill breathes soft across the glassy surface, decorating the ice that spreads slow and gentle -- silver spider webs dusted with clean, paper doilies -- while the bleached skulls of ancient kings stand bright upon rivers, stones and tides. She stands upon cracked earth and rising fields	and lifts her chin, eyes closed, to breathe in the morning sun that soon will saunter through the jagged woods, mingling with the current of a new day. And a long anticipated smile spreads with a sigh across her lips -- moments later she catches fire and dances with the phoenix in the thin space between the world and the night and all of the dreaming -- while she hums in tune with the last dissipating refrain, (she must hear it, too), quiet and calm, and magically waking. It was, in a word, Freezing; and also in another word, Beautiful, that spirit hour before the sun rises, and when I flutter and drift, and wake in that moment made of moments, the now that crawls and walks, and flies on into forever, I take comfort and lift myself from my frosted sleep, over the fractured fingers of birch and pine, and I glimpse her in the glassy surface, and warm my hands upon her feathers all aflame, as she runs out to the lake, and watches the sun get up. And I rise.

I Saw A Squirrel: "Airline Check-In"

2009-02-09T17:30:00.002-05:00

Grand Canyon, Aug 2008

2009-02-09T14:01:00.005-05:00

See the whole set.

A Different Spin Photo Shoot

2009-01-27T12:55:00.005-05:00

See the whole set.

I Saw A Squirrel: "Holiday Cheer"

2009-01-25T03:46:00.001-05:00

I Saw A Squirrel: "Mall Santa"

2008-12-31T00:47:00.005-05:00

I Saw A Squirrel: "Power Tool Rangers"

2008-12-10T01:30:00.003-05:00

2 Weeks, $200

2008-12-02T03:12:00.004-05:00

As most people know, I dabble in the art of "Photochopping," a hobby which has kept me occupied on those nocturnal nights, (Read: every night), and which, just recently, has started actually paying off. Thanks to good old Woot.com, I am now $200 richer, or at least I will be when their budgeting department realizes they're obligated to pay me.

In any case, due to the demands of those I've mentioned it to already, I am posting the winning images here, along with the contest guidelines that generated them:

Contest #196: Show us a Halloween costume made of past or current Woot products.

Contest #197: Show us the secret role played by one or more Woot products, past or present, in the 2008 election.

Eye of Blue

2008-12-01T16:16:00.002-05:00

Grover

2008-11-13T17:24:00.003-05:00

The neighbors had always been wary of the Ekhart family. It wasn't the fact that Mr. Ekhart was an abstract sculptor without sufficient studio space, prompting him to keep what amounted to a huge pile of scrap metal and rubbish out on the front lawn. And it wasn't that Mrs. Ekhart enjoyed authentic smoked meats such that thick, black plumes poured from her chimney twice a week. And it wasn't that their eight year-old son, Robert, had recently developed a love of both bicycles and fire engines, which combined into a single hobby of riding up and down the street while shrieking at the top of his lungs.

No, it was their dog, Grover. From a distance, the jack russell terrier was almost cute, a little bundle of white, bristly fur with a big brown spot on one side. His tail wagged perpetually, and his open mouth curled almost into a smile. But up close, the neighbors all knew that there was a strange glint in the dog's eyes, and his adorable outward appearance didn't entirely cover the uneasy feeling they got when his gaze met with their own. The Ekhart's thought they were all crazy, of course. They loved their little Grover more than anything else in the world.

The Ekhart's house was nestled into a small cul-de-sac at the top of a hill. The access road sloped down through a row of young elm trees before meeting with the busy street below. The traffic light defaulted to the main street, changing only when a car passed over a sensor at the end of the quiet road. Because of this constant cross traffic, the Ekharts tried to be vigilant in keeping Grover securely leashed when they let him into the front yard. They didn't want him to run off, or -- God forbid -- dash in front of a speeding vehicle. There was also a chain-link fence surrounding their property, but the little dog had long since learned to escape this obstacle, though the Ekharts never could figure out how. More than once, one of the neighbors had rung the doorbell and delivered Grover, tail wagging, leash trailing behind, back to the Ekharts after a daring escape. Every time, the neighbor would tell them that they found him sitting at the top of the hill, head cocked to one side, staring down at the traffic rushing past. The Ekharts would thank them profusely for saving Grover from harm, although often got the impression that they were less concerned with the safety of the dog than with the safety of the cars in the street below.

One day, Mrs. Ekhart returned from her errands with two new toys: a big, shiny red firetruck for Robert, and a big, shiny red rubber ball for Grover. Both the boy and the dog danced about with glee at their new gifts. Robert dropped to the ground and began to drive his truck from room to room, shrieking with renewed vigor at the top of his lungs. Grover followed right behind, pushing and kicking his ball as he was unable to grasp it in his small, smiling mouth. Once or twice, he accidentally got the ball to bounce, which seemed to delight him to no end. He played with the ball for hours, kicking and bouncing, and then trying to bounce it higher and higher. The Ekharts laughed as they watched him, his little tail whipping about like a propeller.

Around five o'clock Mrs. Ekhart began to prepare dinner. Almost at once, the red rubber ball bounced onto the counter and into the sink where she was peeling potatoes. She chuckled at the little rascal, and then put Grover and the ball out into the front yard so she could cook uninterrupted. She secured his leash to the tent stake in the middle of the yard, scratched Grover behind the ear, and returned to the house.

Grover watched the retreating figure of his owner as it passed into the house. He waited for a moment, watching as the door closed behind her, and then looked at the tent stake. He grasped the protruding end between his teeth and pulled it straight out the earth with a practiced movement. He shook the leash free and deftly replaced the stake into the ground, sliding it gingerly back into its hole. Then he turned his attention to the ball.

It was exactly what he had been waiting for all these months. The perfect toy; the perfect tool. He began to kick and bounce the ball, nudging it higher and higher into the air, until with one final leap he shot the ball, silhouetted for a moment against the late afternoon sun, off his nose and right over the chain-link fence. It swished gently into the hedge on the other side, sliding quietly through the leaves. He stared at it for a moment, then trotted to a small bush in the corner of the yard. He pulled at a loose scrap of Mr. Ekhart's sculpting metal, something corrugated and innocuous, and dove stealthily into the small tunnel hidden beneath. He appeared a moment later under the hedge on the other side, shaking the dirt from his fur, and glanced around. He located the ball, perched in the branches just above him, and carefully nuzzled it free. He looked right, then left; satisfied, he batted it cautiously into the empty road. He ran after it and, with mounting excitement, bounced it once, twice, three times into the air, nudging it ever forward. Then, abruptly, he stopped.

The dog sat down and watched as the ball bounced down the hill, gaining momentum every time it flexed and recoiled on the sloping concrete. He saw the glint of the sun on the red rubber, and also on the hard metal frames of those monstrous vehicles rushing through the intersection below. He panted, tongue waggling, waiting patiently for the inevitable.

We Dared To Hope

2008-11-05T23:33:00.005-05:00

In late lamplight I watched
the crowds ripple electric,
a spirit dancing from aged hands
to youthful smiles, a song made
from laughter and deep, deep joy
that splashed over the night
in blue and white, and red-striped banners
shining triumphantly, throwing their
honored salute into the crisp November air.

With the genuine dignity of the noblest of men,
he stood before them — and me,
and the world — and spilled
saturated words out over that Chicago night,
beacons of lights that mingled
with constellations, guiding us

to speak in one voice
from New York to Nairobi, Beijing to San Francisco;
and the blood pumped through our veins,
and our eyes began to water
as we stared in awe at the sun.

And for once I felt my heart pound with theirs,
and theirs with mine,
and my untrained lips spread into a laughing smile,

and I felt big.

Today I shook the hand of a stranger on a train;
I shared a smile and a nod with a man
playing drums beneath the streets of New York;
I laughed as children played,
and raised my voice with a boy
who was shouting his name between streetlights and trees.

I felt alive today.
And we dare to hope.

Obama

2008-11-05T23:13:00.005-05:00

Photo credit: Tom Turnbull

Photo credit: mrspleasant

Photo credit: katherine of chicago

Photo credit: tay-lo

Also check out:
sionfullana's ELECTION NIGHT 2008: NY CELEBRATES OBAMA'S WIN (1 of 34), (full set);
Charlesmedia's A Change Is Gonna Come;
luluinnyc's It's been a long, long time coming...;

Election Day: Watching the Vote

2008-11-04T02:44:00.003-05:00

It's game time.

...And PA polls, for me:

John and Sara

2008-10-20T17:19:00.004-04:00

John and Sara were about as average as they could get. They lived in a nice house with a small yard surrounded by a white picket fence. John worked as an accountant in the block of offices just off the interstate, and Sara always had dinner on the table by six P.M. They had 2.5 kids and 1.3 dogs, and were generally satisfied with life.

But it was hard to live up to the standards of the average, middle-class life style. John worked as the manager of a retail electronics business, though he was often putting in overtime hours to make sure he got enough money squared away every month. Sara was always a little bit frantic, making sure their kids got to school, got to sports practices, got to their doctors' appointments. It was a real challenge to get dinner ready on time every day, and that it was something that would satisfy everyone. They made the best of it of course, and they went to bed every night with a smile — albeit a strained one — knowing that they had done their duties as parents, and done them well. Still, it was hard.

A lot of it, they conceded one night, talking softly as they changed into their pajamas, stemmed from their children. As an average family of average means, it was difficult to raise their children. Quite frankly, they didn't know how other people did it. And it wasn't even their two oldest children, (they noted over the bathroom sink as they brushed and flossed their teeth), it was their "point five."

Tommy and Caitlin were great, actually. They got decent marks in school; they were well-liked on their respective baseball and soccer teams; they were responsible and polite, if not altogether clean and self-sufficient. No, it was their youngest, Char, who took up the vast majority of their parental efforts.

They paused, a momentary shadow of uncomfortable guilt passing over them both as they rinsed with Cool Mint mouthwash. His name, according to his birth certificate, was Charles, but he had insisted on being called "Char" since he was able to speak. His full name wasn't him, he said. It didn't fit his personality, his life. And so he cut it in half, so to speak, and refused to go by anything else. He was that kind of kid — stubborn and strong-willed.

It wasn't his fault, (they admitted as they kicked off their slippers and climbed into bed); there was nothing to be helped. He grew up in a world where he was supposed to be part of an average family, only he couldn't ever really live up to the expectations. He tried to join Tommy's baseball league, but with only one arm he couldn't wear a glove without making it impossible to throw. He tried to join Caitlin's soccer league, but with only one leg he couldn't keep up with the other children, let alone kick the ball without risking falling down and hurting himself. They had even tried a table tennis league, which required only one hand and limited movement, but with only one eye and the resulting depth-perception issues, he could never manage to get the ball over the net.

It was also a shock to John and Sara both, (they finally admitted as they set their separate alarm clocks on their separate night stands), when they learned that the average American family does not, in fact, have to deal with these issues. That all of the articles they had read talking about families having "two-point-five children" were describing the average number of children over a wide sample base, and that the average family had either two or three. Very few, if any, have half a child.

But despite all this, (they concluded, heads resting on their pillows, facing each other in the dark), they had done well as parents. Or at least, they had done the best that could be expected of them. And who could ask for more?

I Saw A Squirrel: "The Box, III"

2008-10-17T00:11:00.007-04:00

Nine Beginnings

2008-10-15T03:30:00.003-04:00

John and Sara were about as average as they could get. They lived in a nice house with a small yard surrounded by a white picket fence. John worked as an accountant in the block of offices just off the interstate, and Sara always had dinner on the table by six P.M. They had 2.5 kids and 1.3 dogs, and were generally satisfied with life.

* * *

He was wary of his surroundings, and not without reason. A shadow slid past the gate and melted into the fractured lamplight that cut jagged shapes across the gravestones. He felt a shiver run up his spine and radiate through his arms to the tips of his fingers, and he feared very much that it wasn't from the icy chill of the surrounding night.

* * *

"Take a look, Mr. Wilkins," the man in the suit said to him. "All this could be yours one day. All this could be yours." The man spread out his left arm before them, his right wrapped soundly around Wilkins' shoulders, cigar clenched between his yellow teeth. Wilkins wasn't sure at that moment why in the world he would want this mountain of garbage spread out before him, but somehow the cigar smoke and the cut of the man's suit made it seem like a dream worth having.

* * *

The dog sat down and watched as the ball bounced down the hill, gaining momentum every time it flexed and recoiled on the sloping concrete. He saw the glint of the sun on the red rubber, and also on the hard metal frames of those monstrous vehicles rushing through the intersection below. He panted, tongue waggling, waiting patiently for the inevitable.

* * *

Six sticks, a few paper clips and a piece of gum are not enough to rebuild a boat engine, I don't care how god-damned clever you are.

* * *

Ellen couldn't concentrate. It wasn't her fault, either. She had successfully blocked out the ticking of the wall clock, as well as the quiet slurping noises coming from the desk next to her, where a kid called Billy was chewing on the end of his pencil. It wasn't the stress of the exam, because she had memorized all the mathematical equations she would need, and it wasn't the fact that her boyfriend had just told her that he was considering joining the army and so thought that maybe they should see other people. It wasn't any of that. Sadly, Ellen's brain was rupturing, and there really wasn't anything she could do about it.

* * *

Eight bananas nestled comfortably in the crook of their tree, all bunched together, as happy as ever. They watched the monkey with increasing glee, knowing that soon all their hard work would come to fruition.

* * *

Tourists are everywhere. In every niche of life, there are those who simply come to watch. They see the sights, they drink your beer, and then they go home and tell their friends. And the number of tourists grow, while we sit here and are consumed.

* * *

The music rippled through the air like water, concentric circles bouncing off of every corner and surface in the room. With every heavy step, I pushed through the crowd of half-asleep ghosts in search of the exit. It glowed just beyond reach, the invitingly cool air brushing seductively against my lungs...

On Tiptoes

2008-10-14T01:43:00.002-04:00

Once Upon A Time

2008-10-08T04:39:00.001-04:00

...Once upon a time there was a girl who was a princess. She had golden hair the color of corn silk, and skin that was smooth and pale and glowed like the full moon. Her eyes, as I've heard it told, shone so brightly that they could be seen from across the sea, and her laughter was known the world around for the light and warmth that it brought to those that heard it. And she was beautiful. More beautiful than anyone you've ever seen, that's for sure.

That was, of course, quite a long time ago. The princess did all the princess-y things: she out-smarted an old witch who was trying to trick away her youth and beauty; she trekked through the forests in search of ancient wonders long ago hidden away; and she went to a fancy ball and danced with the handsome prince who, as I'm sure you know, then went on to ask her hand in marriage. And at the wedding she laughed, and her laughter rang with the bells in the steeple, and everyone in the kingdom felt a certain joy to have heard it. And she knew, from all the story books she had read in secret under her goose-down blankets when her parents thought her asleep in her bed, that it was about this time that she was supposed to live happily ever after. And so she grew up, and ever after drew ever closer.

And she smiled and laughed to herself when she thought about it all, about what had happened and what was to come, and even her quiet laughter sprinkled like snowflakes over the land. It was quite pleasant, she supposed, to live in a huge, enchanted castle with servants who adored her and accommodated her every whim. It was very nice that bluebirds came and fluttered about her as she sang in the garden, chirping and rustling their feathers. And it was great to have an attractive prince for a husband, if you know what I mean.

But the girl, now grown up, knew that something was missing. She felt that, despite the smiles that she put on peoples' faces as she passed them in the marketplace, the life she was living was predictable. Her life was a fable, a tale passed on by mothers to their children as she tucked them in at night, and she couldn't ignore a certain nagging feeling at the back of her mind.

And so she cut her hair and enrolled at a liberal arts college, taking courses in psychology and women's studies. And she learned about female stereotypes, and archetypes, and learned to dissect the idealism and fantasy that had always troubled her a little bit down to their roots in oppression and egoism. And she joined the crew team -- though she wasn't thrilled about getting up at four in the morning, what with psych at 10am and barely enough time to bolt down a frozen waffle for breakfast -- and she got a part-time job at Cafe Libra on the corner across from the campus bookstore. She began to hang out with the hipsters, and listen to National Public Radio -- I mean, Terry Gross says some really insightful shit sometimes, you know? -- and she really loved her job at the coffee shop because they only sold fair trade coffee, and she could like totally dig that.

And one day her cell phone rang, and it was her husband the prince calling to ask if she was going to come home when the semester was over, because he and the rest of the people in the kingdom just weren't as happy without her beauty and her laughter to brighten the days.

And she gave him a derisive snort, a laugh drenched in sarcasm, cutting off his words. And she said, "You know, that sounds like an emotional dependency issue, and it really isn't my responsibility."

And then she hung up. And, wearing a little smirk on her face, she curled up in her 100% cotton sheets and went to bed. Well, first she checked her email, and played a few rounds of Text Twist. But then she went to bed.

And she felt good.

I Saw A Squirrel: "Terminal Velocity"

2008-10-07T23:09:00.002-04:00

Playa Haikus: Plaikus

2008-09-15T00:28:00.013-04:00

Seven days of life
in playa earth and white-outs.
You are dusted pure.
* *
Shirt once a bright pink
lost against green tent, gold car,
my white muted hair.
* *
Days later these clothes
still cough powder; hate to think
what my lungs look like.

I Saw A Squirrel: "At A Walmart In Texas"

2008-09-12T20:11:00.006-04:00

Anonymity

2008-09-07T03:54:00.012-04:00

Why is it that so often we find
our true selves in the places
that are meant to disappear?
- Written on the floor of the temple

In the Temple

2008-09-05T03:23:00.007-04:00

We climb the twisting stair
which creaks and groans
beneath our leathered feet, each
voice calling silently after us
as we meet these strings of music that
hang so delicately above;
and we watch the sky fade
here above the earth,
and we hear the desert roar
and toss its wild mane, breathing
hard across the backs of giants
who sleep around us as the sun
rises higher.

We are ghosts
who wander in twos, or threes,
or alone,
through sweeping white dust,
appearing and reappearing at the whim
of the winds that swirl
and howl through twinkling strings
of music that hang above,
each silver sliver that shines
in the muted sunlight.

And as we pass each to each
we never see another soul,
hearing only the white sounds, the faint
moans and songs of those beside us,
closing our eyes and breathing deeply
these clouds through our nostrils
that we might feel the air,
turning and returning through the ash and smoke,
and get to know this spirit better.

And it does not rain, here among these
ghosts and wanderers, yet I feel
the faintest drops against my cheek,
and I can stare at the afternoon sun
hanging moon-like behind the veil;
it does not rain, for every hand
is held outstretched
to taste the white rays that wash
and flow around our every curve.

And I hear nothing, and I cannot see
the sky above, nor the shrouded shapes
that once stood all around,
nor feel the pulsing beat of this city
which once sounded and resounded
through the day, and the one before;
I hear nothing,
and oh, how loudly it speaks
to me.

He Returns From the Desert

2008-09-05T00:35:00.011-04:00

I try not to make this blog about writing journal entries. I don't like writing journal entries. I realize their potential for self-reflection and reliving ones past experiences, but I have such a hard time actually putting my words down in any sort of permanent form because I fear they will not do justice to the experience itself.

I spent this last week in August living in the dry, arid, lifeless desert at the Burning Man festival, and it was amazing. I had the great fortune of being allowed to arrive early to help build our camp, and as a result I got to see the community grow from the ground up. To watch a city of 50,000 people rise up out of the dust and fill in the dotted outline stitched into the waiting desert was fascinating. To feel simultaneously out of place and at peace with the people and the world around you was exhausting. To live in a place with such an excited, pulsing heartbeat of music and movement, knowing all the time that in seven days it will all disperse and trickle back into the veins of real life is exhilarating. It was an experience I will never forget, but also one that I could never -- not in a million years -- capture with my words.

I will try, of course. I will write about going on a hunt through the midday sun for a slice of apple pie and instead finding a large tent with the words, "Hard Cider: Quench Your Dust" written on its side. An oasis, it would seem, greeting us with rare luck and fortune. We wandered around the side and in moments found ourselves chatting amicably with Tommy, an Irishman from Galway who now owns a pub in Santa Barbara. This was his ninth trip to Burning Man, and each time he brings more kegs of cider to welcome lost souls out of the day's heat. I found myself back in that tent quite a few times throughout the week, both for another pint (or three) of cider to wash down the playa dust, as well as for the company of the people I met there.

I will write about Roo's and my self-imposed quest to seek out and play on every trampoline on the playa. On the first day of wandering, after a snack of bacon and waffles which were well worth the wait, we passed a trampoline that looked far too inviting to pass up. After bouncing and flipping for about half an hour -- an already exhausting activity made even more tiring by the dry, pounding heat; it's a good thing I was wearing my kilt for ventilation -- we decreed that we would have to find and bounce on them all. Six days and seven trampolines later, and after seriously pulling a muscle along the left side of my back, I don't think we were anywhere close to our goal, but it was a valiant effort to be sure. They did make for some epic photos against the deep blue desert sky.

I will write about watching the spinners on the Shiva Vista stage and being blown away by both the performers and the stage itself. The large, square playing space sat out in the open playa, a good hike from center camp, but it was always plainly visible. The stage was flanked at each corner by a massive column of black steel, a fire cannon capable of blasting a pillar of flame twenty feet into the sky. Around the audience space stood a ring of ten or so additional fire rigs which threw flame both straight up, as well as inwards towards the stage. As I watched the burners dance, the cannons pumped their excited tongues of fire into the night, popping and swirling and tossing irregular shadows across the hard desert floor. At full blast, I could feel the orange flames wash over me, a bubble of heat in the cool yet boiling night.

And I will write about these things and more, and I will continue to write for days to come, and it will never come close to capturing the experience as a whole. How can I describe the intense dryness, the dust seeping into my skin and mingling with my sweat, staining every hair on my body a chalky gray? I can't, not in that way that will make you touch your fingertips together to take comfort in the oils on your skin.

I will write about these things, and I will feel like I did out there in the desert: for every thing that I see -- for every sculpture that I touch; for every person that I encounter; for every song that I hear; for every star that I see blinking at me from the night sky -- there will exist a hundred other things that I will never see, will never find, will never even hear about second- or third-hand from others. And that will be okay. Because that is part of the experience, too.

Update: Haircut!

2008-08-14T12:32:00.004-04:00

And oh, yeah. I got a haircut. No, like a serious haircut:

Road Trip - Highlights

2008-08-13T18:10:00.003-04:00

It's been a while since I've posted anything here, so as a place-filler I'll post some highlights of the road trip thus far:

So far, we've spotted licence plates from over half of the states in the union, (including Hawaii!), and we're only in eastern Texas.

Stopped in Nashville, TN to see the Parthenon. Or, at least, a very accurate recreation of the Parthenon. What it's doing in the middle of Tennessee I'll never know, but at least it has towns nearby called Sparta and Carthage to keep it company.

Stopped in Memphis, TN for some amazing dry-rub pork ribs at a little back-alley place called The Rendezvous. Seriously delicious ribs. I felt like I had wandered into the Food Network's show about finding the best food around America.

Following that, we walked down Beale Street and saw live music, a backflip competition, and a crazy guy on a motor scooter. Favorite sight: a sign at the top of the street reading: "First chance for a drink! Next opportunity: 20 feet."

Coming up: The Texarkana post office, which straddles the state line between Texas and Arkansas. I'll be in two states at once! ...And I can send snail mail at the same time!

Caterpillar 1

2008-08-01T00:37:00.001-04:00

Cookies

2008-07-30T16:13:00.003-04:00

I heard a great metaphor today:

Sex is like making cookies. Sure, cookies are great; but it's also fun to mix the ingredients and eat the cookie dough without ever putting it in the oven.

...As long as you take the proper precautions against salmonella.

Late Nights

2008-07-08T22:53:00.002-04:00

Dust, that thick perfume of
pine and fiberboard which clogs
my pores, fills my nostrils and
mixes into a paste with my sweat,
now circulates the room at roughly
one hundred thousand parts per million.

Four A.M. is no time for power tools.

Noa Grace David Goes For A Joyride

2008-07-06T18:00:00.010-04:00

My friend Biebs was showing me pictures of her niece, Noa. I couldn't pass up this prime Photoshop opportunity.

(See the original image here).

P.S. This was a quick chop, but I think it's looking pretty good. Let me know if there are any details you notice that I can hammer out to make it look better.

::EDIT::
I colored out the orange light on the dashboard. Thanks for the catch, Ricky.

I Saw A Squirrel: "Thermodynamics"

2008-06-28T20:48:00.004-04:00

I Saw A Squirrel: "Mind Over Matter"

2008-06-21T21:36:00.001-04:00

Low Rumbling, Plastic Ivy and Eggo Waffles

2008-06-21T13:04:00.010-04:00

They grumble and stomp their feet
demanding word -- a few lines
posted on a painted nail,
parchment flapping in the venting breeze;
a rope dangles from a beam,
looped above a lantern, an old woman,
an elephant and a coffin --
any sign of life.

Will this do?

The hours flash past,
each day melts into the next
with only enough time in between
to unwrap the black from my back
and fall unceremoniously onto cotton sheets
before the sparrows call me out again.

I am lost.
Is it Tuesday already?

The valley fills with purple clouds
and electricity bends like a rainbow
over the horizon,
tapping its toe on either side of the ridge.
Paper lanterns hang precariously in the periphery,
but they do not move. Not one inch.

The heat slips off into the shadows;
even it is getting more sleep than I.

C'est la vie, they say,
and they are absolutely right.
Who am I to raise my voice? My cries
echo into a nest of ants
scurrying here and there with their wares;
I speculate on the odds of one
hitting his head on a chandelier.
The space is getting smaller.

Did we change the world in under an hour?
The champagne still buzzes around my head,
a pesky fly I cannot wave away.
Or maybe it's the sugar. Who can tell?

I never got my sandwich.
It's a comment on something, I'm sure.

Still,
he waits patiently for her to call.
After all, chocolate kisses are the best.

In the meantime,
the twenty-five cent alarm clock beckons.
Here's hoping it still works.

Post script:

Alas. It does not.
It spins quietly, but emits only static.
I suppose one gets what one pays for.

Fire Escape

2008-06-05T22:40:00.001-04:00

I Saw A Squirrel: "Public Transportation"

2008-05-27T01:16:00.004-04:00

Encounter

2008-05-24T18:49:00.004-04:00

I saw you suddenly dancing
across the night,
wearing wings of light and silver,
drifting lazily on the wind
without direction, except...

I caught your eyes,
pricks of brightness darting behind
their smooth, black cases,
glinting gunmetal armor
hiding every thought except...

I felt your arms
snake like silk around me
your fingers tangled like ivy into my hair,
your hot, orange breath
tracing mazes
into the corners of my neck
but saying nothing, except...

I knew your touch,
the red shivers from your fingertips,
the feathered whisper of your lips
gliding over my textured skin
every hair rising to greet
those seductive echoes,
screaming out to stop, except...

I saw myself under the surface with you,
pitching and turning on the waves
of fire and passion
and every breath in the room, and every
flick of the clock drew us
closer to the waking hour.

And the birds sang,

and the light pierced through
your ghostly image.

Welcome back,
you said.

And you were gone.

Things I Learned At Work Today

2008-05-20T20:43:00.003-04:00

1. Despite my predictions, it is, in fact, possible to work a 14-hour day, stay up late drinking, get 4 hours sleep, and then wake up at 8am to repeat the process.

2. It is harder to focus stage lights when you are dangling upside-down from an I-beam harnessed into the high steel than you would think.

3. Meta-Algebra:
a. 2x4 + 2x4 + 2x4 + 2x4 = Platform framing.
b. Holding 2x4 in place + Nail gun = Helpful and efficient.
c. Nail gun + My thumb = Lots of blood + Light-headedness.
d. My thumb + Hospital staff + Tetanus shot = Crabby nurse.
e. Tetanus shot + No stitches + No bone contact + Workman's Comp = VERY, VERY LUCKY.

4. People are cynical and sarcastic when they think you injured yourself. People are much nicer when they learn that someone else did it to you.

------- EDIT: -------

5. When people who have just met you accidentally shoot you through the thumb with a nail gun and watch you bleed all over the shop floor, they will make you wonderful trophies, (even if they don't yet know your last name).

Keith Olbermann Special Comment

2008-05-17T02:04:00.004-04:00

Wow.

More links. Watch this. Now. (11 minutes combined).

* Keith Olbermann - part 1
* Keith Olbermann - part 2

"And sir, if you have any hopes that next January 20th will not be celebrated as a day of soul-wrenching, heart-felt thanksgiving because your faithless stewardship of this presidency will have finally come to a merciful end, this last piece of advice--"

PSF

2008-05-15T01:04:00.003-04:00

A brief note:

For those that didn't know, I will be leaving in just under 6 hours to begin my summer internship at the Pennsylvania Shakespeare Festival at DeSales University.

For the next twelve (12) weeks, I will undertake all the duties of the "swing intern," which, as I understand, means I will be the production manager's bitch for the summer. Which is fine by me -- I haven't had an honest day's work in a long time, and this will be a great way for me to get my foot in the door and make some connections within the theater world. Hooray.

This also means I will be living at DeSales U until Aug. 6. In a dorm room. Possibly with a roommate. If I have one, my challenge for myself will be to see how much like Freshman year at VC I can make this experience. Mainly, I will try to get the roommate to move out after six weeks. If I find him doing lines of coke off my desk, I'll know I'm almost there.

Don't worry. I'll have my computer and phone, so I won't be entirely dead to the world. But I will be living on theater time -- very much like my life at VC, except I won't have the periodic nap-times throughout the day that were my classes.

Anyway. It starts.

I Saw A Squirrel: "A Brief Chat With God"

2008-05-12T21:13:00.004-04:00

Everyone should see this...

2008-05-11T22:03:00.003-04:00

It's educational. It's entertaining. Mostly it's just pretty.

It's sort of long, but do watch it to the end. That's where it gets good.

http://www.ted.com/talks/view/id/260.

For Your Consideration

2008-05-08T23:25:00.002-04:00

Parrot Tulip, From Above.

Thoughts?

Encounter

2008-05-07T01:02:00.010-04:00

On this whispered night,
lying secret between a cool spring breeze
and a deep crimson quilt,
your weightless kisses float across my face —
my cheeks, my eyes — and tickle the very
corners of my curling breath.

Red brush strokes blossom across each silken curve
as roaming petals dance and explore
the small of your back, and we tumble and fall
within the rich folds of color
until dew seasons every finger of grass
and birds' songs float and mingle with new light,
refracting through a green and smiling world.

Here's To You, Matthew Vassar!

2008-05-03T08:00:00.004-04:00

Happy Founder's Day! Today is the day when all Vassarians come together in all their inebriated glory to celebrate the founder of their beloved school, the most honorable Matthew Vassar. And if all has gone according to plan, I have successfully made the trek back to Poughkeepsie so that I, too, might celebrate this man and all that he knew and loved.

Matthew Vassar was a brewer by trade, and any self-respecting Vassar student will proudly tell you that Main building was designed with exceptionally wide halls so that, in case the school failed, Mr. Vassar could convert it easily into a brewery. This cunning and ingenious forethought was -- and continues to be -- an inspiration to all of us; his legacy lives on each and every day through the age-old college traditions of mildly responsible consumption and all out binge drinking alike.

Fortunately, his school was a success. And so once a year, as the sun rises over the quad and the warm spring weather descends once more from its hibernation hole in the Catskill mountains or somewhere, Vassar students, alums, faculty and friends take a day to honor their founder and all that he was able to accomplish. And how better to celebrate the man than by driving a giant beer truck onto Balentine Field and spending the day playing, dancing and enjoying the company of friends, all with a plastic mug of suds clasped faithfully in our inebriated fists.

Here's to you, Matthew Vassar. May your soul rest blissfully, and may our intoxicated--wait, no; -ing, intoxicating--laughter show our deep appreciation for all that you have done.

At the mercy of public transportation

2008-04-30T12:26:00.003-04:00

He sits on the bed,
the screen glowing softly beside
him, while sounds of jazzed-up
Broadway hits are transmitted
from satellite to
satellite to
him
as he waits for a
customer service agent.

He dozes; the clock
ticks quietly in the next room.

After a dream --
a mutant cat eating a street
full of people? --
a voice interrupts the music.

He explains the problem,
patiently.
It's been two hours, he says.
She tells him there
has been a glitch in the system,
the ones and zeros
didn't add up,
we're sorry.

We can request a ticket
to be waiting for you at the desk,
she says. He can hear her smiling,
falsely.
That would be great, he says.
It will take some time, she says,
We'll call you with the confirmation number.

Confirmation number;
A glitch in the system;
Customer service agent.

The clock
ticks quietly in the next room,
the screen glowing quietly
beside him.

The three dollar convenience fee
is mocking him;

he sighs.

I Saw A Squirrel: "Not An Exit"

2008-04-25T02:45:00.003-04:00

I Saw A Squirrel: "Impressing The Pope"

2008-04-20T00:17:00.004-04:00

Seriously? This is our president? Awesome.

Response: Founder's Day

2008-04-19T01:27:00.011-04:00

In regards to Justin's post, I whole-heartedly agree. We will need a T-shirt. I will also voice my stern opinion that those Candyland kids are scary as hell -- as I put it to Justin earlier, "they remind me of the kids of one of my old high school teachers... They were frightening children-of-the-corn type kids..." -- but as no other ideas have yet been suggested, I've done the initial tracing:

(Click for full size)

God, those kids are creepy. It is just me, or does the black and white make them look like they're wearing prison jumpsuits? Also, keep in mind that this isn't quite stencil-ready; I couldn't get it to work in my head, so you should all feel free to chop away at it until it works.

Or, (please, dear lord), suggest something different. I was thinking a stencil of one of the Candyland game pieces, (you know those little plastic 2-D figurines?), but I can't find a good image. Or hell, it doesn't even have to relate to Candyland, per se, (though it probably shouldn't be about Brisco Country Jr. or something quite that far off. Much as I like a non sequitur, that would just be weird).

Response: ::floating::

2008-04-18T13:00:00.006-04:00

Why must one walk calmly through this
ordered plane — where logic
precedes action;
where practicality
precludes every piece of the
puzzle; where programming
prevents spontaneity,
those psychological splashes
of silver and satin color —
when the world within
my wandering mind
wears a wild fantasy,
a fearless fervor
which feeds my dreams?

Jump —

Why do they insist
that imagination resides
entirely inside, behind
the eyes?

They say you wake, or fall;
yet I see you fly.

Ben Franklin, Ed Rendell, and A Dozen Eagles Cheerleaders

2008-04-17T15:21:00.008-04:00

On Wednesday, I proudly stood in several lines, dripped vegetarian sandwich sauce on my pants, took off my belt for the metal detectors, and giggled gleefully like a little girl all for the sake of being in the studio audience for the Colbert Report in Philly.

...Or, as it has been officially dubbed, Stephen Colbert's Doritos Spicy Sweet Pennsylvania Primary Coverage Live from Chiladelphia, the City of Brotherly Crunch.

And it was amazing. I sat in the second row right at the corner of the stage. I saw how a TV show is filmed. I got to slap Colbert's hand. Benjamin Franklin made reference to French prostitutes. One of the Eagles cheerleaders smiled and waved at me. I got to slap Colbert's hand again. The only thing that could have made it better would have been a delicious Philly cheesesteak slathered in Whiz presented to me by a tuxedo-clad waiter riding a velociraptor. Unfortunately, we weren't allowed to bring food into the theater, or I would have been all over that, too.

...And just to prove it, here is a an actual screen capture from the show that aired at 11.30pm on Wed. April 16. Let's play a little game of "Where's Waldo," shall we?

Can you locate all the important characters in the above photo? Give up? Here are the answers:

All in all, 'twas a wonderful day. I'm thinking next time I go up to NYC, I should really try and get tickets to The Daily Show. You know, complete my experience of the Comedy Central dynamic duo; the dream ticket; the late-night political power hour.

In the meantime, I'mma go vote in the Pennsylvania Democratic primary, which is being hailed as "the first time since 1976 that Pennsylvania will play a major role in a presidential nomination." Take that, Bicentennial.

I Saw A Squirrel: "In The News"

2008-04-15T18:34:00.005-04:00

Side note: This was inspired by an actual news story from Dec. 2007, starring a dude in Wenatchee, Washington. No joke. You can read about it from the local Wenatchee World article; or, even better, here's another write-up from metro.co.uk, (be sure to read all the way to the last paragraph).

I Done Did It Good

2008-04-10T23:06:00.005-04:00

Today I did a little freelance electrician work for a small theater in the next town over. Woke up at 6.30am, (holy crap was I not ready for that), so I could be on the train by 7.30 and at the theater by 8. My mom greeted me at the bottom of the stairs with, "Oh, wow, I forgot you were getting up this early. I'm impressed you're awake! Too bad I'm going to school, I could have given you a ride." (Thanks, mom).

I got to the theater a bit early, and sat in the amazing morning air until Lauren, the production manager, unlocked the doors and let me in. At first I was annoyed that the first brilliant spring day of the year would be spent in a dark, dusty theater, but then I realized that on any other day I wouldn't even be awake until 11, and I should be grateful to see this so-called "morning" at all.

It was the kind of invigorating theater work I haven't done in so long: I deciphered an incoherent plot; I climbed ladders while carrying too much heavy equipment; I hung, struck and rehung lights; I ran circuits; I ate a donut; I joked about how annoying actors can be. We ended up finishing everything in only 4 hours. When I left, I had cuts and scrapes, not to mention a layer of generic filth, all over my hands and arms. Man, did it feel good.

It seems stupid, however, to have to fill out a bunch of tax forms so they can pay me $52... Minus taxes.

Damn you, IRS. Damn you.

I Saw A Squirrel: "Mentalism"

2008-04-09T16:52:00.002-04:00

I Saw A Squirrel: "Olympic Hopeful"

2008-03-26T00:45:00.003-04:00

A More Perfect Union

2008-03-21T00:21:00.002-04:00

Once again, I must apologize for presenting you with a political post. It is not my intention to influence anyone's voting or ideal candidate. But if you didn't catch Barack Obama's speech earlier this week, or if you haven't seen any of the hundreds of videos posted on YouTube, I urge you to seek it out. Forget the politics. Forget the campaigns. Forget the Democratic nomination. I simply encourage you to experience his speech as a human being living in America in 2008.

I realize that this video is almost 40 minutes long, so if you don't have that kind of time, then track down a "greatest hits" montage on YouTube; I'm sure it's out there. But if do have the time, or can make the time, do watch this:

Also, the transcript is available on Obama's website if you're interested in reading along.

I Saw A Squirrel

2008-03-20T00:27:00.003-04:00

Colbert In Philly

2008-03-18T02:23:00.008-04:00

Well, shit. I think I might be the winner.

During tonight's airing of The Colbert Report, he announced that they were coming to Philly in April to cover the primary elections, and pronounced that "tickets [were] available starting now on ColbertNation.com."

I thought to myself: "That's awesome! I should go see if I can get tickets as soon as this show is over!"

And then I thought: "Wait. Who the hell do I think I'm kidding? I gotta get them NOW."

So I ran. I sprinted upstairs, jumped on the computer. ColbertNation.com. Loading... (Thoughts of site crashes leaped to mind, but I kept my cool). I clicked the link, entered my info, requested four tickets, hit submit... Error. Requested tickets unavailable.

Shit.

Based on what, I thought? Did Monday sell out already? Did I request too many tickets? So I tried again. Entered my info, picked Wednesday, (who ever picks Wednesday?), lowered the ticket request to two, hit submit...

"Tickets reserved." WINNER!!!

Moral of the story: I will be in the audience for the taping of the Colbert Report on Wednesday, April 16. I will be going with my friend Nate Kleinman, (he runs the International Aurora blog that I have a link to on my sidebar), who has spent countless hours getting involved in the Obama campaign, even going so far as to get on the ballot in my county as a potential delegate with a real chance of going to Denver for the Democratic convention. So if anyone deserves to see Stephen Colbert make ruthless fun of the Democratic party, it's him.

Needless to say, I'm psyched. Beyond psyched.

Oh, man. Unemployment was worth it for this.

St. Patty's Day!

2008-03-17T16:39:00.005-04:00

Happy Saint Patrick's day to you all! May your cup (read: pint glass) runeth o'er, and your day be full of th' luck o' the Irish. It was a beautiful day in Philly, though I spent most of it in a car driving to a piano repair company because the keyboard we're using in Sweeney Todd died yesterday. And I have another 3 hr. rehearsal tonight. But hopefully I'll be able to finish my night in my most favorite of dives, Buckets Tavern, which has been fully decorated since Friday. Here's hoping they went all out and got some Magners Irish cider for the evening; if not, it'll have to be a traditional Irish whiskey night!

I was thinking we bloggers should track down some multimedia for this festive occasion. Music, videos, music videos, etc. For example, here's a little video from the Official Saint Patrick's Festival of Ireland website:

Ah, that brings me back. Who remembers St. Patty's Day, 2006? I hope I still have my Irish flag/cape around here somewhere... And Ricky, you'd better still have that cap! Anyway, in the spirit of the day, I'll post a bunch my pictures from Ireland 2006 on Flickr, (don't worry, nothing too incriminating).

Here's one more video, for the road:

Éirinn go Brágh!

I prefer cherry pi...

2008-03-14T03:45:00.004-04:00

Happy Pi Day, everybody! At 1:59:26pm today, I expect you all to be doing something meaningful and/or delicious.

Some links for your edification:

The Official Pi Day Website
Wikipedia's Pi Day entry
The Exploratorium (I don't know, blame Google)
The first 1,000,000-digits of Pi
Pie recipes from PastryWiz.com
There's also a National Pie Day sponsored by The American Pie Council, (I bet you didn't know America had a Pie Council, did you?)

Yellow Tulips

2008-03-14T01:42:00.004-04:00

This seems like as good a place as any to advertise my Flickr photos, especially when I'm feeling good about them.

Recently, a friend of mine posted a couple of photos of a bunch of yellow tulips on a table. They were a nice touch of color compared to pretty much everyone's recent cold, gray winter photos, and I liked them a lot. Then, a few days later, what should appear on my own kitchen table but a vase of yellow tulips. As it happened, this was also on a day that I woke up with the sun at 8am, a time of day I have not seen for months. I immediately thought "photo response" and ran for my camera. The results can be found here.

These photos became part of a larger series of photos taken around my house. My parents recently decided to redo the plumbing in their bathroom, hiring some guys to come in and rip the room apart. Literally. Sink--gone. Toilet--gone. Floor--gone. Which, knowing me, became a veritable treasure hunt for things to photograph. Pipes, wires, etc. It's way more interesting, in my opinion, to take pictures of things you don't see every day. I think most people would agree. And it isn't every day that you see the gutted remains of a room that is usually clean and -- well, usable in some way. Something about looking through the hall closet and seeing the knobs of the bathtub faucets suspended in the void that used to be a wall is a very unusual perspective. It sort of brings me back to the days when I was young, my imagination was overactive, and I would pretend to be a superhero with x-ray vision. (Not that I don't still do that now, I'm just more subtle about it these days).

I Saw A Squirrel: "The Box, II"

2008-03-13T03:27:00.005-04:00

This Just In: "Hillary Clinton Is A Monster"

2008-03-08T02:08:00.004-05:00

...That is, according to Samantha Power, Obama's most prominent ex-foreign policy adviser. Excuse me, ex-unpaid, volunteer foreign policy adviser.

The big news story came yesterday when Samantha Power spoke her honest opinion about Hillary and her recent ruthless and underhanded campaign strategies. During an interview, Power blurted out that she thought Clinton was "a monster" willing to "stoop to anything." (Oddly, the issue of whether Power was "off the record" or not made almost as big a headline as the actual remarks she made; read the Washington Post's story here).

In the end, Power apologized and resigned her post almost immediately after the initial outrage from the Clinton camp, another swift response from the Obama campaign. Which is too bad, considering all the nasty things a whole load of people on the Clinton bus have said about Barack. None of them have been asked to step down, let alone have done it of their own accord. I just hope Samantha Power takes this opportunity to say whatever she wants.

Re: Short and Sweet

2008-03-05T21:45:00.004-05:00

Swampy posted a link yesterday informing us that Gary Gygax, creator of the game Dungeons & Dragons, passed away.

Each of us deals with our grief in a different way. The good folks at woot.com, as always, put faith in the healing power of laughter.

EDIT: And here's a tribute from xkcd.com.

I Saw A Squirrel: "Shooting Star"

2008-03-05T02:11:00.004-05:00

Photoshop Chopfest

2008-03-03T15:44:00.008-05:00

Another weekend, another Photoshop contest.

Results from last week's contest: I received an "Honorable Mention", which I will add to my collection of Honorable Mentions. Woot.com offers free shipping to HM winners, but since I'm poor, I don't order anything from them with any frequency. If anyone wants to save $5 on a woot.com order, let me know.

This week's theme: "Refurbished Art": "Fix" a classic but "defective" piece of visual art.

My entries:
(And be sure to look at the original art to see the differences)

The Norman Rockwell series:
Thirst Conditions (Based on Rockwell's "Traffic Conditions") (Click for full size)	"The Critic" (Based on Rockwell's "The Connoisseur") (Click for full size)	Accurate Triple Self-Portrait (Based on Rockwell's Triple Self-Portrait) (Click for full size)

100% Orange Juice (Based on Rube Goldberg's Automatic Orange Juicer) (click for full size)	Nighthawks and Webslingers (Based on Edward Hopper's Nighthawks) (Click for full size)
[I better not have any copyright issues this week. Unless I get a letter from Norman Rockwell himself, I'll be really pissed if my images get deleted.]

My Internal Clock Is Analog. And Needs Winding.

2008-03-02T03:50:00.005-05:00

I'm nocturnal. I can't deny it. I've always known it. I love all-night parties. I love astronomy. At school I always did my best paper-writing while the sun was dampened and dark. Most of all, I love sleeping, which generally means that my waking hours begin in what most people would call the "Afternoon." And because of these factors, I recently found myself stuck in the most terrible sleep pattern that I can imagine.

The average American wakes up between 7.30-9am.
I, on the other hand, did not rise until between 1-2pm. Late; I concede.
The average American goes to sleep between 9-11.30pm.
I, on average, did not hit my pillow until between 4-5am.

I would normally chalk this inconsistency up to what I'll dub the "Employment Factor," (or "EF"): that other people have jobs to go to, while I am, at present, a useless carbon-based humanoid. However, I know other people that are also unemployed, or who work only in the evenings, and their bodies are programmed to somehow bounce awake in accordance with the AAS, ("Average American Schedule"). So it must be more something more.

Recently I have been trying to reprogram myself, to wind and reset my internal clock if you will, and have discovered a most peculiar phenomenon. Setting my alarm for 10.30am, and then my phone alarm for 11am, (well of course I'll ignore the first one), I have experience two different results:

I will turn off the phone alarm, ignore the radio alarm for it's full two hour run, and wake up at 1pm feeling groggy and confused;
I will heed the phone alarm, get up by 11.30am, be proud that I've taken control of my life, and then feel horribly tired and unfocused all day.

Whichever the result, they both end up leading to the same place. By the 6-7pm stretch, I'm feeling tired and in dire need of a nap. I ignore these urges, spend the evening yawning, and push through until whatever seems like a reasonable bedtime.

Inevitably, at this precise moment, something will occur: I will stop feeling tired. I feel energized, creative, social, etc. If I attempt to ignore this newfound energy and go to bed anyway, I will lie awake for up to 2 hours with no result. If I just go with it, (as, you will note by this post's time stamp, I have done tonight), I can work until 4am without even noticing the time. This then makes it even harder to heed my alarms the following morning, and the reprogramming fails again.

What the hell? What is going on here?

Photos In The Wild

2008-02-29T15:49:00.007-05:00

So I was just informed by a website called schmap.com has included and credited one of my photos from Flickr.com on their Chicago guide. They informed me they were considering my photo about a month ago, and I just received an email confirming its inclusion. They even gave me this nifty little widget to include on my "website, blog or personal page":

(My photo of the Liar's Club is #24 in the widget to the right).

I'm feeling a little disappointed by it, though; mostly because, after buying an expensive digital SLR camera and spending the last 6 months teaching myself to use it with some minor proficiency, these people choose a photo of mine that was taken with my crappy little point and shoot — on "Automatic" setting — out the window of a moving car.

I did have another photo get picked for some sort of web article about amusement parks or something, but I don't know what ever happened to that...

I Saw A Squirrel: "Psychology 101"

2008-02-28T02:27:00.002-05:00

Photoshop Chopfest

2008-02-25T02:02:00.019-05:00

So I have been known to dabble in a little Photoshopping now and again. Nothing serious, I know how to control it, but I do like to keep my chopping muscles in shape. Also, the wonderful woot.com has a casual chop contest every weekend, so I have a weekly supply of chopping themes.

Along those lines, it seems that a blog wherein I record the haphazard results of the garbled mess sloshing around in my brain is the perfect place to share these little distractions. Also, if you have any ideas on a given theme -- and by "you" I mean, of course, all zero (0) people who read/comment on this blog with any frequency -- then you can help me out! Hooray for communism!

This week's theme: "Branding Irony": Put a corporate logo on a natural or man-made wonder. And make it funny somehow.

The results:

Liberty Bell Atlantic Full size: 550x550.	Great Wal-Mart of China Full size: 400x300.
Little Caesar's Acropolis Full size: 450x390.	Taipei Jenga Tower Full size: 465x585.
Tut's Tupperware Tomb Full size: 475x355.	The Leaning Tower is in Good Hands Full size: 545x405.
St. Peter's Basilica Kisses Full size: 400x585.	Inappropriate Vatican Ads Full size: 385x585.
Giant, Green Liberty Full size: 495x585.	Apple Of Eden Full size: 585x300.
Creation of Man's Modesty Full size: 585x300.	Victoria Fall's Secret Full size: 450x340.
[Note: I'm aware that some of these images may be copyrighted, or based on work that was not originally my own. I've already had several images deleted from my hosting site without explanation. They have been rehosted elsewhere. While I did not get the artists' consent, (though I doubt Michaelangelo would mind), these images are being used for entertainment purposes ONLY. If you are an artist/photog who is offended that I made humorous chops of your work, please let me know and I will remove your image from my blog, hard drive, short-term memory, etc. Harumph.]

I Saw A Squirrel: "Higher Math"

2008-02-22T00:23:00.005-05:00

Reflections On Flashing Lights

2008-02-19T01:44:00.004-05:00

You may wear the gold, you may hold the
steel, you may drive through nights with
flashing lights and storm each castle you
come upon with strength and rage, the name
of the gods at your command, throwing aside
those who ask you your purpose.

You may raise your voices and issue forth
a black river of glinting power, taking each
shadow by the neck and forcing them out into
the cold, deaf to the protests, the panic,
confusion, and anger.

Do you not, through your armored masks, feel
the way you charge upstream, against the souls
you promise to protect? We raise our voice
as one into the starry sky and sing, and dance,
and drink the nectar that flows sweet from
our joy, and we keep each other warm.

And we would shine our smile on you, mingle
our colored lights with yours, and laugh with
the din of your sirens, if only you would loosen
your fists, uncloud your eyes, and see that you
and we are the same:

We are spirits of the earth. And yet still we
hammer down upon each other.

It is not enough to survive, to go on living
these lives with a boiling sense of privilege.
We must prove that we deserve them. We must
be grateful. We must be at peace.

I Saw A Squirrel: "5 P.M."

2008-02-15T02:51:00.003-05:00

Life Update: 2/14/08

2008-02-14T18:15:00.005-05:00

I have come to realize that this blog doesn't have really anything about my actual life on it. Cartoons, yes. Real life, no. So I'mma start trying to post little journal entries when I don't have anything else to post. (That is, when something interesting has happened. Most of the time, I'm a lethargic slug--not particularly news-worthy).

Off we go: Last night I had my first of what I hope will be many single-serve theater jobs in Philly. I found a post on the Theater Alliance of Philadelphia webserv for some guy named Todd looking for a light/sound board op for a two-night performance at the Shubin Theater on Bainbridge St. It was a series of one-act staged readings, and so promised to be simple. I called him up, he told me to show up early to go over the scripts, and that was that.

Well, nearly. Tuesday it snowed and sleeted and was generally gross, and after driving downtown -- which took almost 3 times longer than normal because of weather and traffic -- I got a call from Todd saying he was stillstuck in NJ, and was canceling the show that night. So I spent another 1 1/2 hours driving home. Tons of fun.

Fortunately the next night was clearer, and all went smoothly. The job proved easy enough, (mostly a "lights up, lights down" sort of thing), and Todd ended up paying me for both nights, which was very nice of him. I hung out afterwards with Todd and a few of the younger actor-types, (some students, some no-longer-students-because-we're-full-time-actors-now), and he gave me the leftover wine as a sort of tip. Which worked out fine for me.

So I earned some money last night, plus made a great contact, (Todd often does little shows in that space, and also is planning a Fringe Festival show, and he said I was good people and that he'd call me for the next show). Plus, I'm looking forward to a little PEX Heart/Burn action this weekend, so I'm feeling pretty good at the moment.

I'm sure next week I'll feel like a useless slug again. But for now, I'm good.

And hungry. Time to go raid the fridge. Tally-ho!

I Saw A Squirrel: "Adventure"

2008-02-11T20:54:00.001-05:00

Smiles Filled with Laughter

2008-02-11T03:09:00.001-05:00

I've always been intrigued by the etymologies of interesting words. I'm no Latin scholar -- the closest I've gotten is figuring out the basic "amo, amas, amat..." for the purposes of crossword puzzles -- but I do sometimes enjoy dissecting words to find out how they were formed. As a quick example, take the word "awful". In daily speech, this word implies that something is bad or distasteful. But if you look at it literally, the word breaks down into two halves: "awe" + "ful". Nothing in the word itself connotes badness; instead, it should produce awe. Things that are "awful" should fill you with amazement and wonder, not disdain.

En Español, the word for smile is sonrisa. A mi me gusta cuando estás sonriendo -- "I love it when you are smiling." This is, of course, a misnomer -- most English-speaking people would see the word "sunrise" practically leaping out at them. That is, however, a beautiful thought: that one might confuse a smile with a sunrise, or vice versa.

What make this even more interesting to me is, again, the two halves of the word. If you break this noun in half you have "son" + "risa". Son, when taken as a noun, means "sound". Risa, interestingly, means "laughter". Laughter sound. But isn't laughter already a sound? It seems backwards to me. Shouldn't the word for "laughter" be smile sound? Wouldn't that make more logical sense? I also thought that, perhaps, son was originally sin, meaning "without". But that makes it "without laughter," which may technically be true of a smile, though it implies to me that you're probably not full of glee, which would minimize the appearance of said smile, as well.

Anyway, I'm happily perplexed. What do you think? I'd love to hear responses of any kind: Your thoughts on the sonrisa puzzle; other misnomers or poetically constructed words in English or any other language; or any other words with etymologies que causa una sonrisa.

Evening Gown

2008-02-10T20:04:00.000-05:00

They danced,
her blue hair sweeping past the windows,
his mind tied up with the footwork,
a hand balanced on her bare back,
fingers, absorbing satin skin,
perched on the delicate, polished
pearls of her spine.

Each minute
held tightly their hands,
tied with careful concentration
and bashful smiles. The sand
spilled and whirled beneath their feet,

While music,
softened with ebbing foam,
floated warm and soft
through cracks in the evening,
guided by the north winds
and the heron's wings.

The lights
splashed and rippled in their eyes,
a mirror of the skyline
keeping watch across the bay,
each fluorescent window humming
in tune with the whispering reeds
and the low, soothing voice of a cello
played beneath a growing moon.

I Saw A Squirrel: "R.H.P.S."

2008-02-07T00:38:00.002-05:00

Brain Power

2008-02-06T17:45:00.001-05:00

A thought:

The body is a machine. Complicated, organic and fragile, yes; but a machine.

Every bone is a piece of a frame which gives the body shape. Every muscle is a plaster which defines that shape. Every inch of skin provides protection, like the wax on an expensive car.

The body has mechanical systems, tendons pulling at muscles pulling at fingers, providing motion in every limb and digit. The body has chemical systems, veins and arteries pulling oxygen from the lungs, the heart pumping it around to each cell. The body has plumbing systems, separating waste from fuel and disposing of it efficiently.

And the body has electrical systems, each nerve sending and receiving pulses of energy to and from the brain. Every spec of light we see, every grain of sand we touch, each sound and taste and smell are translations of electrical impulses provided by our bodies' sensory equipment.

And the brain, like the motherboard of a supercomputer, analyzes these impulses, computes an appropriate response, and gives the order. We flinch away when we feel the heat of the stove top on our hands; we salivate when we smell the brownies baking within. We react because we are programmed to react. Those with bad programming do not survive.

What, then, is music? Why do we feel overwhelming calm when we hear DeBussy's "Claire de Lune", feel sadness at a Chopin nocturne, or feel alive with Carl Orff's "O Fortuna"? Normally, the sound of cannon fire would make one alert or fearful; why, then, do we feel powerful during the "1812 Overture"?

But more importantly: from where, then, does music come? Where, among each electrical impulse telling him that the light was dim, the room cold, or the wine deep and rich, did Beethoven find his "Moonlight Sonata"? From where did Liszt or Bach create their many works? From what experience did the child Mozart, age 8, find the inspiration for his first symphony?

Where, for that matter, do we find poetry? Where do we find cartoons, or flower arrangements, or knock-knock jokes, or philosophy, or fine Italian cuisine? These are not reactions, but creations, works of conscious thought generated spontaneously by a piece of electronic hardware.

In all the complex precision of our brains, in all the meticulous engineering that controls each system with perfection, where do we find the mind? Where does it come from? Why is it so unique to every individual?

And why can't it be controlled?