THE BEACH.

My favorite that is.....

Jeff Koons

Last week I had the pleasure of viewing the Jeff Koons exhibit on the roof at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. With my rising interest in sculpture and installation art I have become very intrigued with the work of Mr Koons. This being the first exhibit of his that I have seen I was quite impressed. His designs were immaculate, vibrant, surreal and up-lifting. Below are a few shots I took of the exhibit that was on the roof of the museum, the weather was lovely and made for some great reflections off the pieces.

Citizens of Seattle. We like em' crazy in these parts

I always run into crazy people late at night or early in the morning. This seems standard. The early morning crowd seems to be the craziest. They've been awake all night thus allowing them to get into all sorts of nutty antics. This past Monday morning, for example, I was at work around 7AM, this woman in her late 30's early 40's approaches my co-worker to inquire if we have a room. My co-worker informs her that we do and that it would be roughly $300 a night. She states that she would like the room however she needed to contact her mother who would be paying for the room. Twenty minutes go by, all the while dealing with this woman's mother and the details of using her credit card with out her present. Blah, blah, blah. During this time period it becomes apparent that this woman is not totally there and it is also clear that her mother is not going to pay $300 for her mentally ill daughter to stay in a hotel. The woman realizes she needs to find an alternated plan due to the fact that she was "very tired and had been be beaten up very badly," and her mother wasn't going to be much help. So she makes a call to a friend. The one side of the conversation that I heard went as follows:

"Hey I'm downtown Seattle, can you come pick me up........I just got out of jail, I was there for three months.........I was at a bookstore and they said I tried to steal a hat..isn't that crazy, you know I don't steal..........and I dropped a book and they said I tried to harass a customer.........I know it was ridiculous, they had me arrested and my car was parked out of Safco Field and it got impounded.............that's why I need you to come get me, I got beat up really bad.........Mark beat me up..........that's why I had to leave and I haven't' slept............well what do you consider sex to be..........well I had to do something he was letting me stay at his house.............no Larry, we didn't have sex..................I needed a place to stay.............please come get me..........you were in jail too?"

The conversation went on like this for some time, so long in fact that this woman's mother called back to ask if she was still at the hotel. When I told her she was her mother told me to call the cops and have her arrested and taken to Harborview or the West Seattle Mental Health Center. I'm not one to call the cops but I did want this nutcase to kick rocks. I had been tried to get her attention multiple times and she was ignoring me. So after her mother called enough was enough, and her language had become much more vulgar so I stood directly in front of her, the desk between us, and slammed on hand down on the desk as hard as I could and in a very stern tone told her to leave. And she listened.....she didn't look at me or acknowledge my existence, but she listened. One can only hear so much blow job talk at 7AM.

Photo-Graph.

I've always wished to be a talented photographer. However I was not blessed with an artistic eye. I spent many enjoyable hours in the darkroom, however I never produced anything notable. Last night I went to a gallery reception that featured Hugo Ludeña, a beautiful photographer. This exhibit primarily featured photos from Hispanic wedding ceremonies, and they are amazing. I think the most difficult aspect of photography is capturing emotion and these pictures do more than that.

Summer

Summer 2008 hasn't been anything to write home about. The weather has sucked, I only went swimming twice, and I didn't drink nearly as much alcohol as I should have. Crying shame. And I probably did cry a few times. However I know that there will be greater summers to come and the summers of the past make up for any lost time or lost swimming excursions. So here's to memories and here's to fall! Cuz summers almost gone baby.

Attack from Outer Space

I've been analyzing Cindy McCain today and I've come to the conclusion that she is a terrifying person. She reminds me of the alien from Mars Attacks who dresses as a woman to penetrate the tough security of the White House. Tough indeed. Coincidence? I think not. Philanthropy is a great occupation for someone who is covering something up.

90210

I am a huge fan of the original 90210. I love it. Love, love, love it. It is maybe the funniest show ever made. They were the teenagers that the youth of the early 90s wanted to be and they were the fashion icons of our time. Now as I religiously watch the back episode DVDs I laugh at the hilariousness of the characters, the bad clothes, tacky decorating of Kelly's home, and obscene plot scenarios. But I love it. Its heartwarming and fun. Completely harmless and documentation of lives that we left behind a decade ago. I, obviously, am not the only lover of the show considering the series long run time. Whenever I put a season of Beverly Hills 90210 into the DVD player all of my friends are equally intrigued as myself. It is a time for the children of the 90s to come together and rejoice, for our molding is still a beautiful work of art. As of yesterday, 9/02..../08 our television sets, ie our flat screen plasmas, were graced with the likes of the new generation. The generation of i-pod listeners, test messagers, and bloggers. (Blog is a gross word by the way) I watched the two hour season premiere of the 2008 Beverly Hills 90210 last night on the edge of my seat. The cars are shiny, the stars are slutty, the houses bigger, and the clothes more expensive. I missed the first ten minutes of the show and came home to a living room full of avid viewers to fill me in on the blow job, David Silvers sister, Kelly's appearance, and the new state of the Peach Pit. Or The Pit as it is now called. The bitchy Brenda and laid back Brandon Walsh of today have been replaced by a sweet, spunky dishwater blond and a black kid. So....where exactly did this black kid come from? Do the viewers get no explanation as to how this black guy is born into a completely white family? Of course he is obviously adopted, however we, the viewers, need to know the background of our main characters.
I mean, the writers can put a blow job in the first scene for Christ sake, yet we won't be told the history of our new beloved family? But I'm interested to see where this thing goes. It either going to be very bad or comparable to the OC. Its great to see the old characters; Brenda, Kelly, Nat. But its sad to see the Peach Pit change to the Pit as I said before. Im defiantly interested in the older characters more than the new. For instance, who is the father of Kelly's son? And is the actress who played Kelly's mother really going to be in the show!? How funny is that??? She really has to be considering 'Silver', Kelly and Davids little sister, is a star of the show. And when is Donna going to make her appearance? There are so many aspects of the previous show blended into the new version that I am excited about. What a great way to get viewers, just hook the old ones. I mean, come on, you'll know where to find me on Tuesdays 8/7C.

NYT.

Has every one seen the cover of the New York times today????
Normally the cover of the NYT is kind of depressing.....but today....try hilarious!! The picture details Barack Obama and Joseph Biden in what appears to be a 'chest bump'. Its also appears that Biden is in the act of giving 'snaps.' Best cover I've ever seen. Hands down.

Mans best friend.

I am a cat person. I love my cat. He is handsome, charming, soft, and sweet. This categorizes me as a crazy cat lady, but I'm okay with that. However, even though I love my little man this does not make my love secular. I love all animals. And even though I love cats I do like dogs as well. Cats just so happen to have more redeeming qualities, ie. they clean themselves, they are independent, and they defecate in a box (and even bury it). Dogs just happen to be too high maintenance for me. This does not mean that I don't respect the joy that dogs bring to peoples lives. The gentlemen pictured above are volunteers for an animal rescue project out of NY. And if that isn't the cutest little puppy I've ever seen I don't know what it. This picture is absolutly adorable. I want to find that puppy and make him my own. I just wanted to share this heartwarming image in hope to brighten everyones day as much as it brightened mine.

There are two sides to any perspective just as there are two sides to any argument. Sandra Cisnero once said that she wrote for other writers. Whereas Annie Dillard said to always write for readers. It seems obvious to write for the reader and writing for other writers seems borderline conceited. Don't get me wrong, I love Sandra Cisnero, she is one of my favorites, and I don't think her statement was made with conceited intentions. This being because most readers read filth like The Da Vinci Code. Half of the population doesn't read and then poor literature is produced to satisfy their mush brains when they actually feel like picking up a book once in a blue moon. Its sad really. It makes me wonder if the trend of simplistic sentences that I've been noticing in younger writers is related to this dumbing down.
I like the short, clear sentences, I've just been noticing that style in fiction that has been published in the past two years so much that it has stood out to me immensely. Maybe its not our stupid society.....maybe its the change in fashion. Much has happened since the descriptive sentences of Charles Dickens and even more recent, Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Is it more difficult to offer someone a single word rather than a bouquet of them? Does their mind focus on absence rather than what is present? I suppose that writing for anyone is sufficient. We do not write for ourselves, we write for whoever will take the time to read it. All a piece of writing needs is an audience.

I am not one to attack the media as the sole instigator for our societies negative body images, however I do find it exhausting to see the emaciated models day after day. I recognize a designers need to have a model that will complement their line as much as possible; to act as a hanger for their goods thus presenting their art in the most complementary way possible. However.....I am sick of my healthy friends complaining about being fat. I am sickened that I, myself, complain about being fat. I am repulsed when I am working out at the gym and I think to myself of how great it would be to be as skinny as the girl in front of me and on closer inspection I realize that she is extremely anorexic. For I have no desire to be anorexic. And in reality I always find a thicker woman more pleasant on the eyes, however for a fleeting moment I was sucked into the illusion of how I feel I should look. How atrocious is that? A person who is relatively happy with themselves suddenly becomes doubtful for no apparent reason? It is sick and wrong.

Not only do we strive to be trim, we also strive to maintain our health by eating well and by exercising. But what exactly is eating healthy? With a plethora of new health studies, articles are written everyday that make me question the foods I love. Now lets remember that health is not only psychical but also mental. We are told that carbohydrates will make us fat. People who consume soy products are sixty percent more likely to have dementia. Red meat is bad for the heart. The thing is that I love breads. I dislike milk so I use soy milk as an alternative. And as an anemic female, red meat is a great iron rich option for me. At times we are told that it unsafe to consume certain fruits or vegetables however our body needs the vitamins and nutrients from these foods. A quick fix would be to take a daily vitamin, but then aren't we succumbing to the pharmaceutical companies? Replacing our foods with a pill. Taking away one of the pleasures of our lives. We should enjoy eating. We should enjoy our lives to the fullest and we should not be dissuaded by such fear tactics that our media is presenting before us.

Pleasantly morbid.

I have come to a decision. I am going to quit smoking 100%.

Its true that I really only smoke when I'm drinking, however there is something about smoking in a group environment that I find so cliche. And I don't want to be apart of it any longer. I love the idea of a pencil thin, despondent, woman, smoking in secret. An excellent illustration would be Gwyneth Paltrow's character, Margot, in the Royal Tenenbaums. A solemn blond, unhappy with her life, hiding from her family. A lone smoker expresses romanticism and turmoil, while smoking in public only cries out for a need for acceptance. And i do not need to be accepted by anyone, thank you very much.
Maybe I will take to holing up in a bathroom chain smoking. My feet will soak in a lavender infused, warm bath in the sink while I blow smoke at my own reflection in the mirror. I would eat apple blossoms and marigolds all the while, letting their loose petals fall from my mouth into the lavender waters at my feet. It sounds quiet to be a secret smoker, left alone with your thoughts and the simple sounds of ones environment. Only surrounded by your own intentions.
And when the lung cancer sets in you won't be shamed by others opinions or watch them shake their head in shame as they mutter their 'I told you so.' Rather, for a secret smoker it would be a fluke. A genetic botch job. You could embrace the destiny that you brought upon yourself with open arms. For you knew that time would run thin. Maybe you were even waiting patiently for the day to arrive? Fingers laced together, hands sitting pointedly on your lap. You would go to your doctor appointments and do their suggested treatments, accept condolences with an arms length of gratitude, and maybe even join a cancer fundraiser. And then you would go home, lock the bathroom door, and pull a drag through the hole in your throat.

If this isn't self absorbed I don't know what is.

What determines a persons success...money? Power? Happiness? Is success something that you have to dig out of the bottom of a designer bag? As a person in their mid-twenties I feel that I have reached what I like to call my mid-twenties crisis. Mid-life crisis is so 1992 driving a red sports car. Come on, its the year 2000 now, the youth of the past thirty years have been overstimulated and hopped up on anti-depressants, we're a bit more anxious to get this life over with than our elders where. See, most people in their mid-twenties are starting careers, getting married and having babies, or both. I am in the middle of my college career, have a shitty ass job, have no love in my life, and there is no way in hell that I'm about to give birth. So where do people like myself fit into this mold? I can honestly say that I have no idea what I want to do or where I'm headed. I did. At one point. But those ideas have been washed away with time and I am left stranded on a rock amid rapids trying not to topple over. I know many people feel this way I am not the only one, I should really just quit whining. But when I try to hype myself up to start a better, more fulfilling, productive life something like this happens:

First let me introduce you to my nemesis Kirk B Bernard

If you are from the West Coast you may recognize Mr Bernard from his daytime television advertisements for his law services between Jerry Springer and The Maury Show. Kirk B Bernard and myself do not like one another, its our mutual understanding. I think hes extremely weird, rude, and cannot interact socially in a respectable manner and....well I'm not sure why he doesn't like me and its irrelevant anyhow. A few days ago he walked up to me while I was working, put a walking stick on the counter between us and asked me, "Do you like my stick."
"That is a vary nice stick," I replied cordially.
"Do you know what its for?"
"Your shoulder," I state, knowing full well that he had been complaining about his shoulder the past few days.
"Yeah, how did you know that?" He asks, shocked that I knew of his ailment.
"I'm a genius."
"Then why are you working behind a desk?"
With this statement I wished I could have come up with a witty retort however I am not that clever in a pinch. All I could come up with was, "Because I'm trying to make myself suicidal."

Now is it so hard to understand why I have lost my lust for life? One can handle being beaten down so many times.

During my senior year of high school I was your average eighteen year old kid. I drank too much booze and passed out, took all the hallucinogens that I could get my paws on, and smoked the pot like it was going out of style. However while my peers were experimenting with methamphetamines and other narcotics I said, "No thanks guys."

And took another hit from my bong, inevitably taking seven more hits from the bong and spilling bong water all over the place. What can I say, I get excessive with the hand gestures when I'm speaking.

During this time in my life I was In such a rebellious state that I even went so far as to defaced school property and tore out the above picture from one of my textbooks. I was a firm believer that narcotics were wrong, this belief instilled by good parenting and the harsh lessons of life, and as my life lesson ensued I learned time and time again that, in truth, crack is wack. People that I had once called friends turned to lives of theft and attempted suicides. Some clawed their way back to the land of the living and the others fell deeper into zombic states of existence.

In my youth I thought that it would be simple to keep the no good drug addicts out of my life but as I become older, thus wiser, I learn that it is impossible to do so. Im-freaking-possible. Simply, because there are too many of them.

Example: I walk outside on Monday morning to shake out the bathroom rug while doing my day off cleaning. I take two steps onto the deck, the cool wood under my bare feet, give the rug a shake, turn around, and turn the doorknob firmly.....but wait, it doesn't give. It doesn't FREAKING GIVE. I'm locked out! In my pajamas! And no shoes! So I walk around the house surveying my options, all windows seemed to be locked and/or painted shut, so I had nothin'. I came to the conclusion that I had to call a locksmith....but how? My phone was locked inside? I returned to the deck, my feet now covered in dirt, and I wait for about 20 minutes for someone to walk by. Now its just my luck that on Mondays at around 10 am there are very few people walking around my neighborhood, everyone is at work....except for crackheads. I see two gentleman walking down the sidewalk in my direction and I hesitate, for they are too far away for me to determine if, in fact, they are crackheads. I take the risk and call out to catch their attention. That is when I notice their staggering gate, however there was no turning back, so I inquire if they possibly had a cell phone that I could use to call a lock smith. One of the guys pulls his phone from his pocket so I descend from my porch, to the curbside and waited while he tried to get his phone to turn on. After what seemed like five minutes of watching him fiddle with the phone while his friend flipped a crack rock around his mouth with his tongue, I thanked them for their time however I could wait for someone else who had a phone. But they insist they could be of service, for the gentleman with the phone use to break into houses for a living. Oh yea! What luck for me! I have found two heroic crackheads to break into my residence. Sweet! As much as I wanted to take advantage of this great opportunity I was hesitant. But was else was I to do? So I faced them with my arms crossed over my chest, eyes narrowed, biting the inside of my cheek and asked, "All right, how you gonna get in?"

Phone guy smiles, enters my yard, and eyes the windows. He then walks up to one gives the frame a shake and up it goes.

"Wow," I say, gazing up at the window in awe, "Just like that hu? Well thanks a lot."

As I was looking up I realized my head was tilted back pretty far. So far, in fact, that I knew they were going to have to lift me into the window. I shuddered. God, please, don't let this be so. I glanced over at them and their expressions gave away that they knew as well. So I closed my eyes and said, "Alright, lets do this, lift me up."

And they do. They both do. I scrambled in with all my might but there was no avoiding their crack hands on my legs and waist. Finally I got inside, went to my purse, and grabbed twenty bucks. I flung the door that had locked me out open as hard as I possibly could in retaliation. Facing phone guy and crack mouth with one hand on my hip, the other pointing at them with the twenty dollar bill between my fingers I said, "Look you did a nice thing for me so I'm gonna do a nice thing for you. But lets keep this legit and don't fuck with me alright."

They agreed as crack mouth snatched the money from my fingers. I went back inside overcome with half relief, half disgust and took a really, really long shower.