everyone cares about women's issues, but nobody cares about men's issues.  not even men.

and what's the word for a feminism that cares more about people than genitalia, anyway?

[ah, to learn everything in a very short period of time...]

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

so there was this lady and she said once: "you can teach and do that if you want, but you can't not be an artist.  it's in your blood."  and i thought: "that's a double negative, and how would you know anything about my blood?"  and i still think she was off about the blood thing, because i feel like my blood is full of primary colours and stupid black bonnets [another blog entry entirely], but maybe the art bit is lodged somewhere else in my body.  in my hair follicles or something, just below the surface.  like an itch you can't quite scratch.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

so i have a box of seventy miniature mars bars and all the time in the world.  and that's why it's important for the end of midterms to coincide so sweetly with the post-halloween sugar rush.  i smell celebration in my future.

i smell celebration in my present.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

f enters sculpture studio and smiles at j, while taking off excessive amounts of winter apparel.

j: hi.  how's it going?

f: good.  i've regained my zest for life.

j: oh...that's good.

f: [skipping clumsily into plaster room] yep.  i'm thrilled to be living and i'm thrilled to be here and i'm thrilled to be me!

j: cool.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

i'll walk right out into a brand new day,
insane and rising in my own weird way.
i don't want to be the bad guy.
i don't want to do your sleepwalk dance anymore.

- santa monica, everclear

so this is what happens when you stop ignoring the diety in the room?

[like an elephant, but bigger.]

sweet.

+++++

i have been making art since nine o'clock this morning, with breaks for food and only food.  and drink.  and that makes me feel very productive.

so now i have to wash the sawdust down the drain from my whole self and pull the splinters out of my fingertips.  and take a break for food and drink.  and write about art until my eyes fall out.

haha, gross.

and then i will stick my eyes back in [groping, blinded] and hope they are not in sideways or something, and study the history of art until my body liquifies, except for my eyeballs, which will have recovered by then.

oh and somewhere in there i will examine my pretty bruise from when the table saw threw wood at me.  ouch.  somebody oughtta teach that saw a lesson.  except somebody with a practically indestructible blade should probably be the one to do it, so it's a fair and even match.  i am all about retribution toward power tools.

ha.

oh, and plus i met this man today and he is an art student just like me and we are going to london together.  so yay.

right, about that shower.

let's not forget ourselves, good friend.
you and i were almost dead,
and you're better off for leaving.
yeah, you're better off for leaving.

- does he love you, rilo kiley

'''''''''''''''''''''''''

i am so frustrated with my ineptitude [word?] right now and i would like to cry and get it over with.  but i will not cry.  instead, i will buy some chocolate soy milk and sip it until it is gone and then feel bad that it is gone.  and then plough on through, like i always do.

i cannot wait until thursday.

it bothers me to see someone made into a conversation piece.  he's sitting right there.  the randoms from calgary who showed up to get drunk really [really] don't need to know what sort of people he dates.  it's just not relevant to the general activities of alcohol-comsumption and loudness.  but then, what do i know?

i need to take some breaths.

i am thinking of quitting everything to become a country music singer.  but i think i would miss that gross smell of wet concrete eventually.  ew, wet concrete.

chocolate soy, here i come.

life just gets better all the time.  i feel like shouting, "praise the Lord!" in a quavering preacher voice.  hallelujah!

ha.

i think in order to compensate for not living with megan and cassandra i now have the strange compulsion to play the same song over and over.  and over.

my room smells like sandal wood kinda.  and satisfaction.

and it turns out the kid who can't speak english actually can speak english.  he has a beautiful reading voice, but i think he's shy about his accent.  and now i feel like i know something really important and precious, but what does one do about that?  convert it into gold and bury it under an X?

i look so new media right now.

so i gave my microteach lesson this afternoon about INTEGRATED EDUCATION: Blending the Arts and Academics.  it was thrilling.  my prof was very excited that i didn't seem to care when the dvd player wouldn't play my video clip.  it's funny what'll get these professors going.

sometimes i do things just because i want to.

---

there's blood in my mouth 'cause i've been biting my tongue all week.
i keep on talkin' trash, but i never say anything.

- portions for foxes, rilo kiley

mm.. lychee.

so the deed has been done, the old lady took my vial's worth, and i am officially a member of the unrelated bone marrow registry.  feels pretty alright, except right where the needle stabbed me hurts a little.  that's okay, cuz i got some sprite out of the deal.

i also bought some fair trade products for my sister's birthday next month.  but shhh, don't tell.

:::::

she says,
"everywhere i go, damn, there i am,
and i just wanna walk away.
won't you let me walk away sometime?
i just wanna walk away.

every one of you is fired."

- fired, ben folds

:::::

i am very pleased with myself today.  i don't know why, but i really enjoy being me.  here.  now.

time to eat again.

La peinture n'est pas faite pour décorer des apartements.
C'est un instrument de guerre offensive et défensive contre l'ennemi.

- Pablo Picasso

...........

like a roundhouse kick to the face.

or poison in your coffee.

i got wiring loose inside my head.
i got books that i never ever read.
i got secrets in my garden shed.
i got a scar where all my urges bled.
i got people underneath my bed.
i got a place where all my dreams are dead.

-blackest eyes, porcupine tree

........

i used to hate that song for the second verse, but i'm almost okay with it now.

if i were a movie, would i be a comedy or a drama?  maybe neither.  maybe i'd be a low-budget indie flick that nobody watches but a few poor students wanting to feel quirky and unique.  that's what i'd be.

sluuuuurrrrp.

........

as anti-social as i am, i think i am a communal-living kind of girl.  what a contradictory person i must be.  but i like my bedroom to myself, so butt out.

there's something special about a duet, you know.

this lady i know died this morning.  she was the smallest lady i've ever known, but she shook hands even with very big men because that was what she did.  and that is a pretty good legacy i think.

........

so that's it.

fifteen cent wings and chocolate fondue get twelve thumbs up from me.

today i won my very own miniature bottle of hand sanitizer.  because we want to kill germs, not people.

you know what?  i would make a good teacher.  [i'm more coherent in a classroom.]

+++++++++++

your family's rad and i
wish that they were here today,
but they're thousands and thousands of miles away.
i felt so bad when your mom
caught us eating icecream in your
room at three in the morning.

- two weeks in hawaii, hellogoodbye

+++++++++++

surprisingly accurate, though it would be better if he used the word "didactic" in there somewhere:

http://www.toothpastefordinner.com/101906/art-show-explanations.gif

+++++++++++

i hate the way cigarette smoke clings to your hair.

to nav: i am so glad i am not a psychology student because i am afraid of all the things i would be diagnosing myself with.  if you'd been in my mind lately, you would understand this fear.  luckily, ignorance is [false, but still] bliss and i am full of glee and [diagnosed] mental-illness-free.  ah, my life.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

in other news, my top pick for graduate schools [not that i'm going any time soon] gets about 250 applications for the program every year and accepts [drumroll, please] a whopping 9.  and not all of those spots are even for people with the same disciplinary focus as me.  isn't that funny?

oh, come on, it is at least a little funny.

however, i expect i have many years of galavanting about the globe before i need worry about that.

know what's cool?  when the kid who can't speak english is idolized because wow, that dude knows RUSSIAN.

also: knee socks.

also: grilled cheese.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

tom thomson was actually a good painter, i think.  considering he was the first canadian dude [women cannot be great artists, doncha know] to use a palette knife for anything other than mixing colours.  and that earns him props from me, except i want you all to know that the idea of painting with a palette knife still makes me cringe and i will lose immediate respect for you the second i know you do it.  because this is no longer 1914 and you are not likely to mysteriously drown in a national park.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

and i had a vision of seeing things straight.
she had the heart of a liar.
i never saw her leaving me once.
she never felt me beside her.

- hold on, dashboard confessional

change your heart.
look around you.
change your heart.
it will astound you.
i need your lovin'
like the sunshine.

everybody's gotta learn sometime.

-everybody's gotta learn sometime, beck