22 December, 2007

right now

i am at my parents house. right now my dad is watching The 40 Year Old Virgin and I'm reading about the Civil War on Wikipedia.

Nothing liking it!

19 December, 2007

man of the year

i just watched a particularly animated episode of the O'Reilly Factor on the tube. he and guest Dennis Miller were discussing who they thought should have been Time's Man of the Year. Bill was siding with General Petraeus (for his successful surge), while Mr. Miller said President Bush should have been (his logic -- no domestic terrorist attacks since 9/11. on this point i admire Dennis Miller's naivety; his neglect to consider the incredible recruitment opportunities America's enemies have been given via the undeniably unnecessary Iraq War, and the inevitable attacks that have yet to come).

Though Bill and Dennis disagreed on who they thought should be Man of the Year, they somehow managed to come to the agreement that perhaps it's our troops that should be the Men of the Year. Dennis' backing point (with incredible fox-news-irony) was that without them (them referred to as kids by the hosts in dreamy nostalgia) fighting out there every day, [bill and dennis] wouldn't be here having this discussion, we wouldn't have Time's Man of the Year, and so on and so forth.

If for no other reason, I think this might be grounds to bring our troops home.

I suppose I'll end this unusually political blog with this:

"You just call in some analyst who's experienced in adjusting people to the joys of television, and Life magazine every Wednesday, and European travel, and the H-Bomb, and the Presidential Elections, and the front pages of the Times, and the responsibilities of the Westport and Oyster Bay Parent-Teacher Association, you just do that, and I swear to you, in not more than a year, Franny'll either be in a nut ward or she'll be wandering off into some goddamn desert with a burning cross in her hands." --- Zooey, in Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger

Poets, it seems, will never be men of the year.

16 December, 2007

sunday bloody sunday

1. i spilled an incredible amount of ketchup onto my favorite shirt this morning.
2. nick and i ate breakfast in bed. special thanks to sean naman for letting us eat his perishables while he's away on vacation.
3. in just under an hour i'm going to film a new short movie. it's an experiment, although i wouldn't call the movie an experimental film. you know? i'll post it on the tube when it's done.
4. tonight my friend ariel and i are going to start making a kids show called "The Bellinghome Funshine Hour." i think everyone should look forward to the final product of this.

please keep your thoughts and prayers with my shirt today. i really don't want it to be ruined.

15 December, 2007


this is what happened to me one weekend in portland:

i bought a box of dough nuts
the box was pink
it cost five dollars flat
the dough nuts were a day old
i handed them out to people
who i didn't know.

11 December, 2007


last week marked my very first finals week near disaster.

for my art and feminism class we had to prepare a final presentation with a partner where we'd each discuss an artist's work through an analytical methodology that we had studied throughout the course. my friend dave wall and i were planning on making a video. the presentation was slated for tuesday morning at 9:30. On sunday we filmed it. On monday we edited it. And very early tuesday morning i began compressing it right before heading to bed. normally compressing takes several hours (compressing = taking the raw video files, and shrinking them to a more manageable size to put on disks, etc.). When I woke up tuesday for class, expecting to copy the file onto my ipod and then heading to class -- I discovered to my great horror that the file was still compressing, and wouldn't be done before I had to head for class.

i do my best to not come undone and call dave. "dave," i said, "our video won't be ready for our presentation. what should we do?" dave, cool like a wolf, told me that he'd throw together a power point presentation consisting of the paintings we were planning on discussing, and we'd just show up in class, put on our slides, and just roll with it.

we get to class, and that's just what we do. we set up a desk in front of the room, we dim the lights, and we say, "well, how should we do this?" and i suggest that we "have an intimate conversation, just the two of us." so, without ever addressing the class, dave and i have a twenty minute conversation between the two of us about our artist's works. i even ate breakfast during the presentation.

our professor loved it, and we were heroes. no one was any the wiser.

college rulez.

07 December, 2007

sloth villain

about forty five minutes ago I woke up from a rare nightmare. In the nightmare I was walking down switchback road outside of a dorm with this girl. On one of the switchbacks this little guy was sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce on the ground. We passed him. Then he got up and started following us. He was such a creeper. Let me see if I can explain: He was really short, and really skinny, and had a contorted, bizarre face. It was like someone put a regular face in a vise top-wise and then smooshed it in.

When he spoke he was really quiet sounding. He followed us to teh house we were going to.

At the house he got into the rafters (because the house was more like a Church) and was jumping from tier to tier. He had three clothes on his hands just like a sloth would. I forget which of my friends were there, but we tried to get rid of this creeper by fighting him. But we couldn't hurt him. He seemed to be invincible, and he kept scratching us.

Anyway, I don't remember what really happened. But I do remember at one point he he jumped into a styrofoam box. The type of box you get at a restaurant when you don't finish your meal.

My friends and I left the apartment eventually. Then we realized that we left the creeper there in that styrofoam box. We were all too scared to go home. So I went to Yakima and visited my brother. There was snow on the ground and when he answered his front door I said, "Who wants to party?"

Then my alarm started doing its thing.

Kind of a weak sounding nightmare. I guess you just had to be there.