yes I did

When I used to come home from dances in high school my dad would always ask me if I "got up and danced." In a pained voice too. First he would ask if I had fun, and I would mumble something and he would say, no fail : "No, but did you get up and dance though?"

Shit of course I did Dad, whose daughter am I?

I turned my left foot, then my right foot.

This is Mina Milk, who does a lot of ink drawings like this one, and also a lot of lesbian love scenes in the same style.

Removed my space bar today,with a deft flick of the towel from my head.
I've had some pretty interesting encounters at bus stops these past few days. I tell you stories in form of lists so that you might digest them nicely.

1- Today I was the most hangry a person could be. Sitting at the bus stop, waiting to get home and devour every scrap that I could pile into my hand. Sitting at the bus stop next to this woman in blue tinted shades with a pink wig over her full head of (brown) hair. Anyway the whole time I am glaring at the passing cyclists and she is muttering to herself about how many fucking cars are going by. And then she says, more coherently "Seven pounds eleven ounces at 4:20 in the morning Dec. 23 1968 the first word I ever said was shut up" She says this methodically, like she is testing her own sanity. And then the bus pulls up and we travel  one stop before she gets off.

2-Few days ago, sitting at the stop with a giant Renoir book on my lap, and about 6 others in my backpack and this smiling old man comes and sits beside me and starts asking me questions. Tells me that Renoir, near to his death wrote a letter to a friend that mourned the fact that he had never noticed black until then. And I replied that all the letters I had seen that he wrote were bugging his friends to give him money. And he said, did I know, close to the end, Renoir painted with brushes strapped to his wrists because his arthritis was so bad. And the bus pulled up and the enchantment ended. Like I was just another early twenties school girl lugging her books to school and he was just another old guy that lived in Oak Bay.

3- Few weeks ago, the streets were wet from rain. I was leaning against a wall, casual like, and this older man comes up and starts talking about how much his pussy cat hates the rain. And how much his pussy cat hates being turned out of this man's bed when the cleaning lady is changing the sheets.  And all the while he is pacing and looking up the street. And eventually he asks me if I am in school and what I am studying. And I tell him, and he looks pleased. He tells me how when he was a kid he was committed to an asylum because he was epileptic and they didn't teach any of the kids there because it was assumed that they were idiots. So he says he taught himself to read using paintings in books. And here he starts talking really fast at a low rhythm and I lose his words. He finishes by saying he got his bachelors, I think he said Harvard.
And the bus comes right after this so I never found out, really, how one teaches oneself to read through art.

Why is the night so long?

The fact that I still haven't mailed your birthday card pretty much means that I can alter it to also be a valentine. Valentine.
Had a killer week in which my wrist was annihilated by frantic scribbling. Not being safe, Sarah C. And you can blame it on the grinning anarchist at the front of the room in the two tone purple shirt. With his suspicious drawings by small children and no answer as to where they came from. With the newspaper clipping of goats in trees in Morroco pinned to the door of his office.
So I was elated to get on the bus and come home before the sun came down today, to apply for this job in the Rockies that would help in my future ass-kicking career. But it is no longer posted, this job. Kat sang me a tune about not giving up until I get a firm reply on whether the position has been filled but mein gott. I hate being pushy.

Yesterday, V-Day, often synonymous with D-Day. Ate sushi, read dates off of a piece of paper, which my mind quickly forgot. Luckily dates only mean so much, as long as you've got your context nailed. And I mean, Franco-Prussian War ends 1871, same year of the Paris Commune, year after Bazille is killed. Poor guy never got to be an Impressionist.

This painting is 19th c. name dropping. For serious. Bazille would paint his studio every time he got a new one, and in this case he included a bunch of his friends in the picture. So he's like: Look! I'm best friends with  Manet! There he is checking out my painting! (in the hat; Bazille himself is the extremely tall man in the center; Zola is on the stairs, Renoir under them, Monet in the fancy pants and some critic is tinkling the keys in the corner). He also shows all his million dollar paintings stacked around like he's just hording them for the end of the world. 

Not sure where that info-vomit came from. You're welcome though.

I'm sorry in advance for not mailing any valentines

Hey girls,
I'm currently engulfed with an headache that just won't dissapear, the mountains are clearly visible  I've ate five pieces of bread, a steamed milk coffee and la. My birthday was filled with Ukrainian dolls, ice cream cake and half dozen ice cream cupcakes. I was craving birthday cake, but whatever. Next year!

Thursday tuned into friday, and I was called up for a girls night with Carmanagh,Natalie and Rebecca. It was hilarious, we built forts, played board games, and played this hilarious game where you take a huge gulp of a water, and everyone watches a hilarious video or listens to something funny and whoever just spits it out last, wins. In that process, I got spit on my head by two girls.

The night ended with a couple of us falling asleep in the fort, the rest found bed and that was it. Or so I thought!

Start around 3 in the morning, carmanagh was sick. It turned into eventually something serious and I later got shook awake from Natalie telling us we are going to the hospital. We rushed to the hospital, and we were there from 4-11 easily. While Carmanagh was getting checked up, we watched soccer and laughed our pants off waiting and waiting. It was Manchester united against some team that started with a "t". One of the players looked like a monkey and it wasn't the worst way to spent a morning. We got out to eat breakfast at a tim hortons and got to watch the sunrise downtown at the waterfront before Carmanagh needed to be back at the hospital for an ultra sound. This long story ended with Carmanagh being perfectly fine. Her and i then met up with her mother at the mall,still in our pjs and we watched the hobbit. There is a ton of fighting in the hobbit. But I guess little boys would go balls to the wall excited for it.

The book sounds interesting Emma. I'll try to look it up someplace. How did you guys spend "family day"? I painted faces up in Coombs then went for a little hike in little qualicum falls.

Hope you guys are happy healthy.

I'm craving cream cheese.

I want the fruit but I fear the tree

So nice to find dirt on a pair of pants that you haven't worn in 4 months.
So nice to be able to put these pants on without undoing the button.

So nice to be home after a two day vacation and feel pleased and relaxed in the same way one feels after two months abroad. You know? Even a small trip works to cool one's jets. Obviously not literally.

Been re-writing my resume for the co-op edition of my life. The recommendations for what to include are totally unrealistic. Unless the rest of the world has more downtime/ never does anything. Just seems like trying to include everything + sophisticated describing words makes one hell of a novel.

Listening to people I know on Bandcamp. I know all the famous kids, don't I just.

Sarah you need to read this book called It Chooses You by Miranda July, bought it recently on a sick day. It's about this time when she was writing a movie called The Future (available on netflix) and she was super blocked and spent a bunch of time reading the Penny Saver, which is this American classifieds paper thing. Anyway she gets it into her head to interview a bunch of the people in there and so the book is her running around Los Angeles interviewing the strangest types who are selling everything from leopard kittens to leather jackets. And I guess the point is that these people chose to sell their things through this paper, because most of them do not have computers although not all of them are old, you know? Like July talks about how she spends a stupid amount of time looking things up online, and these people are too busy/ just generally unconcerned with the advent of computers.

There is a balling ass magazine job posted on the co-op site that requires knowledge of Mandarin, Cantonese or Japanese. There is a totally smoking hot job at Open Space that calls a driver's license "essential." Is "bohemian" still a job? I could be that.

Tuna Casserole and the hard times of being me.

I do remember Lars Farf. Maybe I should hook our resident german-Lars up with da story. I haven't talked the guy in ages. That being said though, I'm currently enjoying this netbook Cyrus gave to me (because god forgive mine was falling apart) but it's cool! I have so much more space and the windows 8 is neat-o.

Other then that, nothing is new. A couple of us when busking d-t Nanaimo and we got like 4 potential gigs in the process. Stupid situation though, the idle no more protest was going on and it was just complicated, people kept telling us, yelling at us to stop playing (even though we had every right tooooooo) and we kept on asking "alright, but can you tell us when we can?" everyone promised they would and then bam! after an hour of waiting,we said fuck it, started playing and then ignored the "you guys were being rude" comments coming out our way. Saw medhi that day too, he's looking good.

That's it for now.
Say an early happy birthday for Sabo from me
<3 nbsp="" p="">

Naming a future son Lars Farf.

The most afraid I have ever been in my life was watching Something Wicked This Way Comes at the age of 7. I know I was younger than 8 because we were still living in the blue house on Fair Road. A house which had since been abused by its new owners, who have painted the trim fire engine red. Point is, I have never been more shitlessly scared than by this movie that I watch at the age of seven, and my parents still fast-forward through sex scenes when I watch movies with them. Why is sex more inappropriate than pure evil? Even if the evil is obviously a fantasy. I know its not just my dad's fault, although he did introduce me to some of the most scarring imagery at relatively young ages (anyone seen Munich?). Hollywood's got this idea that love is more worthy of censorship than hate. Not that things need to be pornographic. Just that I'd rather watch some girl being tenderly poked than a man being ripped to shreds by dogs.
I dunno why this fear thing has suddenly popped into my head. Or this Hollywood movie rant. I forget what the topics have been, but most conversations I've had lately have ended with "America is fucked." Actually had one the other day that ended with "Austria is fucked up," but that's more art related than anything. Now see here.

Also, today I revisited my love for George Saunders. Chez, remember "Lars Fard, Excessively Fearful Father and Husband" ? It's in that Mcswy's compilation for kiddies. The one that ends with J. Safran Foers' "Sixth Burrow." Anyway. I found this other thing he wrote the absolutely needs to be made into a play. Lately I've been picturing written things as stage plays in my head as I read them. This damned house, I tell you.

This is beginning to feel like the dawn of the loser forever

wanwanwannnn.
Listening to a song by a band called "Adam and Binki." Feel bad for Binki.

Also reading about how Jackson Pollock was the precursor to Happenings because his painting was supposedly more about creating an environment through an action than about actual communication of paint to canvas. Or so said everyone after he died. Little did they know that Pollock painted the way a surgeon operates on the body's most delicate places.

 Today I learned to smile and nod when a Chemistry major tells extensive tales about the chemical components of the chemistry required to develop film, and how it is possible to substitute those components for coffee, concentrated laundry detergent (helps to bake it) and crushed vitamin C tablets.


This here painting is by Andrew Young. I think he may be from Van- have to double check.
This week may be the first in almost a year where I will be showing up to school with a hangover. This depends on how generous LV is feeling in the shot department. Winks.

I'm stuck because she still hasn't sent the e-mail.