common lets build an old style house

had a pow wow with a few other appreciators of art. We talked about forgery and thievery- did you know that their is a Masters program at some Italian school for art crime? Talk about badass.
Anyway this guy I know, 30 something and oh so positive was talking about commissioning art works from his friends. To begin his collection with pieces made specifically for him- that is the gold mine. He told us about this movie called the Herb and Dorothy- this wee ancient American couple, retired school teachers and post men or something, with the largest collection of minimalist art in the world- worth millions no doubt. Just because they started small, bought from their friends, kept their eyes open.


I found a staple tangled in the back of my hair in the shower the other day. I felt something hard and reached around to pick out what I thought was going to be an earring. Looks like I've been hitting the books a little too hard (with my face)
Midterm Monday tomorrow. Gotta put on my game face, speaking of.

See, this is how I imagine you in the snow - all flustered from a hard days work, standing at the door of our first house, dressed in your puffy winter jacket and the rescue hero boots.

Joël Tettamanti took this picture and this is Greenland.

If we ever have a baby, and you get in trouble and the only way you think you can save us is if you leave us in the middle of the night - Don't.

I figured something out today. I think I might be scared of the stage. I realized that while I was there, on stage today. Wearing the customary marimba dress. I really can't work under pressure and i really don't belong up there on a stage under lights. You know, the colored lights that apparently bring out the best of people?

I freeze up. Well, I've worked past that. I've taught my arms to move and act like as any marimba player should. Because I'm good like that. But even teaching my feet to tap with the beat is causing me problems. It's getting ridiculous where I can only focus on one thing, and that thing being the wooden keys. The most simplest of parts and here I am, staring down. Not being able to become this ultimate stage presence. Like the rest of the girls on stage who are just doing it naturally.

I'm just comparing myself to the rest of the gang. And it just feels like that rough year away (rough being used in the sense of the year wasn't completely whole/ and a bit ripped apart) I am seriously the runt of the group. Runt runt runt. I don't know if that adds to my ultimate cuteness or just a obvious lack of skills, but it annoyed me tonight. Well, earlier tonight. Pre 7pm.

Anyways, take care and be safe.

Totally did.

interior of Santo Spirito. Betcha didn't see this one coming

Oh Valentines. The day that you boss suggests you come to work at 11 just to keep her company.

Commonly Known As the Santo Spirito, it is one of the first examples o' renaissance architecture.

Hey. How's it going?

I didn't actually drink the vodka that night with him on the cold beach. Mostly because I don't want to be drinking anything lately. But my butt did soon turn into a cold piece of a steel and my toes, only protected by my thin rubber boots and an pair of socks that were paper thin. They froze with the casual rain, low temperatures and the fog that descended upon us at 2 in the morning.

My favorite memory of the night was finally trying to warm up at around 3. Laying in bed, cold as an ice cube. I stayed there for almost an hour, not even close to warming up. So I ran myself a bath near 4 in the morning and sat there, half asleep, feeling my body burn. Mostly Good, Some bad.

The day after, I made some peanut butter cookies. Man oh Man, i love peanut butter cookies. I pressed some in some roasted sesame, some in pistachio nuts by c-man sent, and some filled with raspberry jelly.

I brought them to this party shingdig thing at the marimba household, where I think the most hilarious part of it was watching the girls team won against the guys and watching some very white butts run down the road. Foosball is always good. It sucked kindof though, because eeeeeeeeeveryone was paired up with a significant other and what was left was two lonely people. Me and this other guy, Tyler. And to be honest it was awkward at times. But we pushed through it and here we are. I'm back home with my head still in the right place.

Now It's monday, I hope my valentines gift gets to c-man on time and I'm just casually looking at recipes that include unsweetened chestnut puree. I also tried to make plantain pancakes. Without a recipe. Didn't work.

Paper Flowers, Happened when the back was to shit.

Like A Hot Turd Down A Hill

HI Laur. I saw this woman with the same back pack as you yesterday (complete with fake daffodil) crossing the parking lot at Camosun with a small child in tow. Also its weird not seeing you every day. Last night a gang of neighbourhood hippies showed up and made themselves comfortable. They were drinking wine out of a bag and it looked like blood. I talked to a guy with dreadlocks and really soft eyes about linguistic theory. Two people were wearing real fur stoles, one was also wearing a horse tooth on a chain around her neck. They were going to the best party of their lives, one that you will regret forever if you don't go to it, and remember fondly forever if you do. They had a blow up dolphin, beach style. After that I went across the park to Seth's house and we listened to David Bowie's Changes and I named a song that has yet to be written. Seth got me to write something random at the bottom of his set list for Thursday's performance. Unfortunately I have no recall of what I wrote, due to the extra large wine bottle that was circulating the lips of the room. Two men were wearing bowties.

Hi Chez. I hear that you sat on a beach and drank vodka full of sand fleas last night. I kind of wish I had been there. Not for the vodka so much as for the company. I'm going to watch the Darjeeling Limited at Jocleyn Cook's house in a few. Gotta make a badass salad first.

Happy Birthday Rant, Not About You

I pocket dialed Fran like 4 times today while walking from the bus stop to school, the back way. She probably hates my guts.
this incident set the stage for my class, which started with my prof scrambling to give a lecture about Emily Carr and the First Nations, which I could have done better, frankly.

And then she did a lecture about Land Art, which only served to make me mad. She prefaced it with a picture of Oldenburg kneeling by a hole in the ground he had dug in Central Park (called Hole, this is art). She went on to talk about Robert Smithson, which is when my eyes really got to rolling. So this is the 1960s in the states and Vancouver, when there was a hippy camp full of draft dodgers down along Dallas Road, when environmentalism was just beginning to emerge, when sex drugs and rock and roll were the most important things for everyone all the time. So Vancouver is a hub for American artists because of all the dodgers settling up there, wanting some kind of scene of home. So Robert Smithson gets this bright idea for a "Glue Pour." The idea being that he would dump a truckload of literal glue down the side of a cliff on the UBC campus and that would make everyone think about their own relationship with the land.

Except he couldn't afford a truck load so he ended with a barrel. That's it above, what the photo doesn't show is the glue is bright orange. Toxic. Other ideas of Smithson's include a "Glass Island" in which he covered an entire small "barren" island off the coast of Vancouver Island in shard of glass so that it would reflect prettily in the sun. Because we all know coastal islands are ugly without the beautification of human debris.
Anyway there were a few other things that were actually kind of cool so I cheered up a bit and then she showed this: The Vivarium at the Olympic Sculpture Park in Seattle.
This is literally a nurse tree that has been moved from a few miles away to sit in this glass shrine to humanity in the middle of Seattle, art. This girl in my class was like "Yeah well it's good because a lot of the time when you go hiking nurse trees are blocked off so that you can't get too close." And I was just wondering where the fuckity does she go hiking? Beacon Hill Park?

Ok that's my rant of the day. It all improved after I had a free meal at a church filled with students. And got two compliments in a row on my jacket and a full body hug/slam from the captain of the quidditch team.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARAH C.
HOPE YOU ARE SO FULL YOU ARE HYSTERICAL, LIKE I WAS ON MY BIRTHDAY

That's a good place to sit.

Sometimes I think it may be fun to be a bubbly "going out" kind of girl too. And then I realize the merits of sitting on the hardwood in my living room, staring at the sky for hours. You wouldn't believe the Fernwood bird traffic. Like the last time I was at Beacon Hill with my parents and all these tiny brown birds kept popping out of the mud at our feet and we were laughing and staring until this woman with an uppity standard poodle marched by with her nose in the air.
Been a mad cleaning frenzy over here. Jean came over and apparently was not at all thrilled with our lifestyle choices. And Jean is the Landlord's wife so apparently that counts for things.

Going out wasn't an option either. Or at least I don't want it to be.

It's saturday night and the night is going mighty slow. So slow that you don't even want to try and do anything. Reading isn't even an option, and the restlessness-bug just creeps up and doesn't even bother with a grand shocking surprise. So your just left to yourself.

I tried cleaning my room, I tried stuffing my face with banana muffins, and I just attempted to teach myself how to crochet. That was and still is a disaster. BUT ALL IN GOOD TIME.

 Maybe I shouldn't be complaining. I could try to be this out going, little bubbly individual, but who would I be kidding? I enjoy being quiet, and for the most part, I like either being alone or with people I reaaaaaaaaaalllly care about (that's you girls). So perhaps I was just asking for it when I set my path on the road of being a solo person.

That being said, I got two birthday gifts so far and it isn't even my birthday yet. (yes!!!). C-man sent out bunch of tea, food and books (along with a arts magazine) to fill my days. Graeme sent me a bunch of photos I should show you gals. I've only really enjoyed the tea, ate half of a bag of pistachios and read the first five pages of "the divine comedy". That book really does weigh at least a brick and a half.

Other then that, nothing. I'm always cold and I fucked up my back earlier in the week to the point where sleeping wasn't an option. I can proudly say that I am now sleeping soundly.

Hope both of you girls are happy and healthy. And still beautiful. Always beautiful, sooooooooo beautiful it hurts. Exactly like that.

http://hypem.com/#!/item/1fa35  -> Song of the night? I think so. I think secretly this guy might be my husband or something of the like. Actually, honest to my bones, if this guy did ask me out, I would say no. He's a huge smoker and I know for a fact he might just be two times more hip then I will ever want to be. It gets to that point where you actually have to try. That being said, there is still dream world 101.