310

The 17 year old pothead guys in 310 moved out. Well, I think they were forced out due to their disruptive behavior... Skinny dipping in the pool, rapping on their crappy PA system, parties almost every night for a while there, drunk/high friends always coming and going and loudly wandering the halls at all hours of the night... They definitely gave this place a dorm-like feel...but they never bothered me. They were always nice when I ran into them, and I could only really hear them when I was in the hallway...or they were.

Now the hall is silent. Actually, the building seems silent...and I miss them.

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Art...?

A friend of mine told me that he once took an art class but was kicked out because the teacher didn't think he was taking the class seriously. She thought he was trying to make fun of art with the work he was doing... but, he was actually just trying to create art...

This story made me want to laugh and cry simultaneously. The absurdity that someone's real art could provoke this kind of response - is pretty funny...but, a true attempt at expressing yourself and being judged so harshly - is sort of painful at the same time...

Should art be judged?

Art will always be judged, but should it be? What makes art ...art? Is it mass acceptance? Provocation of thought? An authentic attempt at expressing yourself in whatever form that manifests... ?? Whether good or bad, should the process always be respected? But regardless of respect...should it be judged...? Again, it always will be...

I watched Exit Through the Gift Shop - a Banksy film shot as a documentary about a documentary (you'll just have to watch it) about a man who seems to thoughtlessly regurgitate other people's creations with slight manipulation...grasping onto a success that already exists, while not fully understanding how or why it was important to begin with. He's wildly accepted by the public in the context of the film... and harshly judged by the artists in the context of the film... His art doesn't seem authentic, but he is portrayed as being a bit mentally slow... so, it may feel authentic to him. To add another layer to all of this, the film might be entirely fabricated...which makes Banksy's social commentary go way beyond where this blog post will... ;)

A little bit to chew on.

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"children of an idle brain..."

I find myself incessantly quoting Romeo and Juilet in my head. ...have you noticed? ...because, apparently, I also quote it often in my blog... and in other random places.

Today, I woke up with his name on my lips... and I wondered if I ever cross his mind.

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Gong show!

For the price of a cup of tea, I got to enjoy an SF Gong Show in the Tenderloin with my good friend Katie. Does it get any better than that?? I mean, the underground clown show last night was pretty freaking fabulous, but it did lack boys in animal costumes, a giant drag queen, and the absurdity that just exists on the streets of the loin...

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the tattoo...

I posted this a while ago. I'm moving it in my blog to detach it from Jason's full name which I used in the original post, but I wanted to keep the story...

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I used to know a guy named Jason who was a tattoo artist. He had tattoos all down his left arm, starting at the shoulder and wrapping down to his wrist, of dragons and Asian women, black swirls, and other designs webbed together to make the beginnings of a tattoo sleeve. He was about 17 or 18 and had moved from California. I was 17 or 18 and had grown up there, in Colorado. I used to talk to him in the cafeteria about his tattoos.

Jason asked me for a picture of myself one day. I didn't have one to give him, but told him that I'd try to find one.

I went out for pizza at Fargo's, a pizza place fully equipped with a player piano, an arcade, and a photo booth. The photo booth was an old booth that produced a strip of 4 wallet sized black and white photos. I jumped in to take some pictures for Jason. I took one with me smiling and one with me not. Then my friend Lance stuck his head into the booth making funny faces for the last two. I kept the pictures with Lance and me, and presented Jason with the other two photos the next day at school. Jason said they were perfect, thanked me, and ran off to class.

The next Monday, I saw Jason and went over to say hello. He was happy to see me and showed me his new tattoo. It was on the back of his left arm just below the elbow - the next open space. It was of me. It was a tattoo of my face, looking just like I did in the photo booth picture stylized to fit into the intricacies of his design, but it looked just like me. I didn't know what to say. As I sat there staring at it, my friend Javy came up to us. When Jason showed Javy the tattoo, Javy looked at it for a minute, perplexed. Then he looked at me and, in kind of a bewildered amazement, pointed at me and said, "that's you..."

It's strange to have your face permanently drawn on the back of someone's arm. It's sort of flattering and offensive all at the same time. I wanted to take a picture of the tattoo - to recapture the image recaptured, the compliment, and the absurdity - but, before I could, Jason moved back to California. Gone.

I have always wondered what happened to Jason and my photo booth image etched into his arm.

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roses

I was asked if I'd sold my soul to the devil... "You haven't aged a bit." He said.

I hadn't seen him in 9 years, and swore if I never saw him again it would be too soon...

"What's your secret?".

I replied, "I don't know...I laugh a lot...?".

He was the director of a show I worked on when I first moved to California. I was a first time (and last time) stage manager. I remember sitting in the theater with my stomach in knots trying to figure out how the hell I had gotten there.

Journal entry from April 21, 2001 -
"Deep breath...and now... Can I call this peace? But a peace of what...with life ...screaming at me.
So, I sit in the dark...let the candles flicker... and the wine...drip...slowly...into every inch that I can't reach.".

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"And then they dream of...love."

Just because something seeeeems like a good idea...

Bacon. A tasty, heart stopping, greasy slice of meat that you can add to anything for one dollar.

Act 1, scene 4

On Friday, I was sent a song. It was perfect and romantic in the moment it was sent - full of beauty and promises that filled my heart up until I thought it would burst right out of my chest.

...And now, I can't stop humming it...

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Summertime

My head is spinning...

An intoxicating man made me the most perfect dinner.

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Radio Flyer

Once upon a time...

I used to believe in love...fiercely...completely. I knew it was out there for me and that it was pure and beautiful and perfect. I knew it would find me one day and sweep me off my feet and that I would love passionately and wholly forever.

I used to be a tomboy. ...er, I used to try to be a tomboy... I would follow the boys into the bluffs and climb over rocks and through trees until I would get stuck, and one of the boys would have to save me...

I used to think that mud guppies lived in every muddy puddle... and, that if I squinted my eyes really narrow that I could spy on people without them seeing me.

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Sleepwalking...

I don't know if I've ever been this tired before.

I fell in love and
I needed a roadmap
To find out where you lived
So excited now
Sleepwalking, cuz I'm sleepwalking
The white trash boys
Listen to the headphones
Blasting white noise
In the convenience store parking lot
I hung around there
Wasting my time
Hoping you'll stop by
Cuz I'm sleepwalking, I'm sleepwalking
A mutual friend's parents
Left town for a week
So we raided their liquor stash
And walked down by the riverside
Sleepwalking, cuz I'm sleepwalking

- Modest Mouse

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