I miss cake.

I wanted to bitch about how minimalist ideas are sometimes contracdictory. I wanted to talk about how the sky tonight is such a light color of any sky colors the night time can bring to the table.

But I won't, I'm too 'laxed to write anything long and thought provoke. My fingers are dry and stiff as I'm writing this.

The Kids Just Want to be Left on the Outside

Hey. I've got a bit of a two day headache going down. Not complaining or anything though, I'm still basking in the after glow of the trip. Plus a friend in class today said she could almost certainly get me a job at the Maltwood art gallery on campus for the summer. This would only be about ten bucks an hour putting radio-tags (I think that's what they are called) onto archive materials but can you imagine? One of the reasons I was iffy about staying in Vic was that I would probably not be able to get a job that would contribute to my future career. TADAA!

Anyways been trying to make a playlist for my group of seven- the ones that went to New York- someone had a bright idea that we should all exchange music, which is cool but expensive if it involves burning 6 seperate cds. I'mma have to go to the bookstore and pick up some blank discs.

Also realized about 30 minutes ago that the paper I have to write for my film class is required to be WAY more involved than I was planning on making it. We're talking 4 print sources, at least. How in tarnation am I supposed to find ANY sources on Bollywood film in our white bread university library...hmmmm?

Anecdote: this girl stood up in front of our Emily Carr class today and starts talking about this SexPositive magazine that she and her friend were starting up, which is cool and all, but I honestly have nothing to add in- I need to work on my sexploits. Anyway at the end of her spiel she mentions a contest to determine the name of the magazine and my prof (who is probably in her mid sixies, tiny and so so smiley all of the time, with shaky hands and an old fashioned attitude, I thought) makes this sweeping motion with her hand and goes: "Was Emily Carr a virgin?" and then quieter, "let's hope not." I have to admit that I cackled. The girl in front of me laughed until she cried, seriously. Please do not make me visualize this cutesy old woman doing the nasty- you can call me immature all you like.

The picture at the top was taken in the Metropolitan Museum- right next to Northwest Indigenous art section, this uberwhite boy in our group claimed to be an expert Kwakwaka-wakh carver, surprinsing the rest of us. You never know with people eh? Life has taught me this.