Thursday F---ing Morning

So last week I accidentally spilled apple juice all over my BRAND NEW macbookpro (the beautiful 17" one). The sheer panic I felt is the type of panic you would feel RIGHT after you just hit someone's car. You wish with all your being that you could redo the last 45 seconds of your life. Man, that's a shitty feeling. So I'm in the process of trying to get that thing fixed. Until then, I will continue to chain myself to my ergonomically awesome work space, and crank out some more work. That said, I'd like to give a little shout out to USAA Insurance for being so awesome with their renter's insurance, as they will cover the cost to replace said computer. I'd also like to give a good ol' FUCK YOU to the representative at APPLE whose inability to answer a simple question ACCURATELY has caused a major headache, and my severe decline in brand loyalty for Apple. Yup, I'm still pretty bitter about this, even though it was totally my negligence that caused this crisis in the first place. But, like my renter's insurance, I thought that buy buying the overpriced AppleCare Portection Plan, that my clumsy ass would be covered.

sigh.

I woke up this morning and realize three wasn't any milk left for my coffee. This is a definite shit-way to start the day. I love coffee in the morning, but i HATE drinking it black. I've been up for maybe 3 hours, and haven't started a single thing! Although writing this blog does make me feel productive. I keep hoping that some little milk-goblin will creep past me with a satchel full of soy milk. I really don't want to get dressed and go to store. That's pretty much the last thing I want to do right now. But I think that's really the ONLY solution to this problem...yup, it's really the only way that I'm going to be able to get milk. Guess I'm done here for now.

To My Mother...

At about 6:00 this morning, I was working on my publication layout while listening to Patty Griffin. There is one song of hers called "Top of The World" that somehow seemed to capture the very essence of my mother's life, at least one aspect of her life. Out of nowhere the song completely brought me to tears and flooded my mind with a million "what ifs" about her life.

I don't know a whole lot about my mother's life, prior to having kids. But the thing I know most about my mother is that she's the strongest person I've ever known. This is something that cannot be taught. I know that she has passed this strength down to me and my siblings. I think it's the strongest common thread, and the greatest gift that my mother has given us.

The sacrifices she made take my breath away, and inspire me to be a better person. She recently told me about a time right after my youngest brother was born. It was December, 1984, and my father was deployed overseas. My mother was pretty much on her own. About a week after coming home from the hospital, there was a bad cold snap that caused the heating in the house to be shut off. Still bleeding and not fully recovered, my mother chopped firewood and moved the furniture around the fireplace to ensure that we would be okay. She did all of this by herself. There is no doubt in my mind that this is just one of infinite personal sacrifices that she has made for her children. I may not truly know what it's like to have this type of dedicated, unconditional love for someone, but I sure as hell am glad to know that my mother does.



My mother is a very private person, and probably doesn't want her personal stories aired in such a public venue. But I can't help but want people to know how proud I am to have her as my mother. She is dynamic and inspirational. She is strong, but vulnerable. She is the inspiration for a lot of the work that I'm doing this quarter.

My father is very lucky to have my mother in his life. And although he may not be the most emotional or romantic person, I can't help but think that his dedication to her is inspired by her dedication to us. I think this is love in its rawest, truest form. It's pure, unconditional dedication. While he may not sweep her off her feet, or engage in huge romantic gestures, my father owes my mother his life. In the same vein that my siblings and I owe my mother our lives. Because my mother put our needs before her own. I don't know how to repay her for this. How do you do that?

Nearing the end of my seven-minute mile

So there's about two weeks left of the quarter and I'm feeling pretty burned out. I'm slowly entering an apathetic state of mind where I watch TV and nap on the couch. It's like when you're running on the treadmill and you've only got 5 minutes left and you're about to complete your third mile and you just keep thinking--well I'm sweaty enough now right? But no, you truly have to push yourself to keep the pace and finish what you started. It's the hardest 5 minutes of the day. I'm about to enter the hardest two weeks EVER.

A lot of my work this quarter has involved an incredible amount of emotionally charged material. I'm very happy with just about every project and look forward to seeing them completed (on time!). But I really hope that releasing this emotional energy will allow my next quarter to be bit more light-hearted and fun.

I think I will indulge in some comfort food: a fat juicy Wendy's #4, no onions, with a coke!

Green eggs and Drag Queens

If I learned one thing this past Sunday it's to never leave home without my camera. Especially when I've been invited to attend a brunch with a bunch of drag queens, strippers, and the drag queen equivalent to groupies. If I had to sum up this experience in one word it would have to be WhatTheFuck!!!

First off, let me premise this explanation by stating that the dude that invited me was very sweet to do so, considering my newness to the gay scene here in Atlanta, but also given my alleged low status in the gay scene. Until Sunday, I wasn't quite aware that I even had a status in the gay scene! Those who know me well know that I pretty much hate the gay scene. I've even blogged about it a few times. Well let me rephrase that, I really don't like to be immersed in it. Sure those boys know how to have a good time, but that's just about it.

So Sunday morning, I find the restaurant, park the car, and walk into the lion's den! Within the first five seconds of approaching the very long table made up of smaller tables that were just pushed together, I am met with about twenty-five matte finished faces all asking the same questions to themselves: who the fuck is that? I approach my inviter who was the head of this super-gay social hour. He introduced to me to everyone around me, and that was pretty much the extent of the conversation that I had with everyone!

Something happens to me when I'm around people like that. I climb back into myself and don't say a word unless there is actually something to say. I'm usually pretty good with the small talk and shmoozing, but such was not the case on Sunday morning. It's fair to say that those at the table with me were probably just responding to my standoffish behavior. It's just that I wasn't able to contribute even small talk to the conversations going on around me, which consisted of hilarious recounts of the night before, gossip on "some tragic queen", or splenda-sweetend comments about someone’s D&G sunglasses. I didn't know any of the clubs they were talking about because I don't really go out that much, I didn't know any of the people they were talking about because they didn't attend Portfolio Center! and I think it's ridiculous to spend $500.00 on sunglasses--or any article of clothing for that matter! Of course I couldn't interject these comments into their conversation, because that would've further alienated myself from the group.

So about a good twenty minutes of eaves dropping on conversations, the six people sitting around me have now moved away from me, breaking off into their own little group, leaving me sitting alone at an empty table. I was panic struck, and refused to move. Probably a mild to moderate case of social anxiety has now set in, and I want to walk out and forget that I even attempted to socialize with the gays! Suddenly, I hear one guy utter "Oh yeah, I'm writing a book on...." excited by the idea of someone working on something involving their mind and not their dick, my eyes shoot over to him as I leaned in to ask "what are you writing a book on!!!?" Only to be met with a dead-pan stare as he informed me that he was being sarcastic--this from that guy that had just spilled his ice water down the right side of my leg ten minutes prior--NICE!

It's clearly not going well when my inviter approaches me and states the obvious "my goodness Kevin, you're quite! You're making me nervous being all quiet. Hey so-and-so, isn't Kevin making you nervous being all quiet over here!!!" It took the force of God's hand covering my mouth to prevent me from letting him know exactly what I was thinking, though my facial expression and body language said it all. It was at this point that one of the guys to my left started mouthing something to me as he smiled. It was hard to make out what he was saying, as he was wearing helmet-like sunglasses that covered 96% of his entire face--yeah it was weird. So I ask him "what!!?--and smile." He then let me know pretty quickly, that he was talking to the person behind me! GREAT!

So now I'm sitting there, feeling pretty humiliated, and I decide that I should just be myself and say fuck it. So I did. And this is what happened. I turn to my inviter and, in jest, ask him "did I see you with a doo rag on the other day?" My accusation was sarcastic yet playful. His faced dropped and eyes pierced mine as he told me "it was stocking cap--not a doo-rag!" "Is there a difference?" I asked. "YES!" A doo-rag is something you tie around your head, a stocking cap just slips over it" he informed me. WELL SHIT. FUCK. WELL ALRIGHT!!

At this point I had nothing to loose so I ordered a very STRONG mimosa and started to drink my way into their club. I suppose the alcohol loosened me up a bit, because before the brunch was over, I was chatting with one of the guys about his $12.00 hat from Target and puffing on a cigarette. I had given in. I assumed the role that I hate to be, which is caddy, chatty, gay. My conversations started by asking "OMG, where did you get those shoes, they're fucking great!" Bla Bla Bla! I guess is some social situations we always have to alter ourselves just to "make it through the hour" but man I really fucking hate that shit.

I don't think I'll be asked back to Sunday brunch!

Hard Things vs. Easy Things

Hard thing: Blogging on a regular basis

Okay first off--MAD props to those who keep their blog updated on a regular basis! Finding the time to do it every day is pretty much not happening for me this quarter. I'm much more focused on the work this time around. Some particular mad props go out to to Trochlle and Minus5 for keeping their blogs updated ALWAYS! (I apologize for not inserting links to their blogs--still haven't figured out how to do it!) While the act of blogging is fun and self-fulfilling, finding the time to sit down and do it is easier said than done.

Easy Thing: Working out and eating right

So for the past, oh, two years I've been swinging back and forth from eating really well and running every day to feasting on Luck Charms while using my entire body as upholstery for my couch (usually watching Alias DVDs!) I'm pretty much okay with this too. I enjoy both time-fillers equally, and I think it's important to indulge in the Luck Charms and Alias DVDs, as long as it's not excessive. For the past two weeks I've been on the eat-right-and-run-a-lot side of the pendulum. And it's getting a little easier each time, probably because I feel more motivated then I've ever felt in the past two years. I'm pretty convinced that this new found motivation to physically improve myself is the positive affect of attending PC and investing my emotions and thoughts into my work. attending PC is like drinking green tea for me. Green tea helps clear out all of the toxins in your body. Attending PC has given me the opportunity (and permission) to clear out all the "emotional toxins" of my mind. Now that sounds pretty drug-store psycology-like. Probably because it is! But nonetheless, it's how I'm feeling.

Hard Thing: Taking the trash out

I HATE TAKING THE TRASH OUT! I just hate doing it. The way the apt. complex is set up, there's only one place to empty throw trash away, and it's on the other side of the property. Granted, the other side of the property is about 200 yards from my front door, but it's still a PAIN IN THE ASS! Not to mention that attending PC has also increased the amount of trash I "consume"--i.e. paper scraps and ink cartridge packaging. I wish that the city of Atlanta could remove my trash from my front door for me.

Hard Thing: doing laundry

I hate it. I just hate it. Now I know the CoHo Apartments will do it for free, all I have to do is drop it off, but you can only do one load a day, and I'm more of a do-it-all-at-once type of launder.

Easy Thing

Buying songs on itunes! I love how easy it is. but i hate how easy it is. because i spend a lot of money on there. Since my itune's inception into my life in 2004 I have spent about $1,000 on music. Which, I don' think is too bad over the course of three years. That's about $333.00 a year on music. Not bad! Thanks itunes!!

Hard thing: defining my lower-abs

OUCH! that shit is hard and it's not fun while I'm doing it! but it does feel great afterwards!

Hard thing: figuring out how to check the power steering fluid levels in my beloved VW. Yes, I've checked the manual and there's nothing in it that alludes to how to check it. I'm just going to have to roll up to the dealer and ask; then i'll have to figure out a way to grow my balls back!!

Hard thing: killing roaches:

every now and then I'll find a roach--it's almost always already dead. But last night this shitter was alive and kicking. and I freaked out!! A LOT. I grabbed the 409 and soaked the bitch! It JUST died this morning. I hate it.

Soccer practice

I found this tonight and thought it was hillarious! Still haven't written any poetry yet........maybe I can use this!

I don't want to title this one

I feel like this day didn't happen, and yet it's actually still happening. I got up at 8:30 and worked on stuff until 1:00--when I had class. After class, Roommate and I went to Panera for dinner. I'm sick of Panera, but it's closest to the apartment without being fast food for Firehouse subs. So we go there. For about 70% of the time that roommate and I are physically in the building, there was this overweight 30-something man pacing the floor of the restaurant while talking on his phone via his too-hot-to-trot Bluetooth ear bud piece. I hated him the whole time I was in the building! He had a stomach so large that it would it certainly impair any attempt to pee standing up. His hair was shellacked firmly to his head. I'm sure he was aware that he was annoying every living thing around him, but for whatever reason, felt compelled to continue his workday at 6:00 PM over a strawberry Danish. If at the end of every day I feel mentally exhausted from all of the thumbnails and bad ideas, I can at least sleep soundly knowing that I will never be like that fat fat man in Panera.



I've decided to stop trusting the weather information provided by my custom google-homepage. According to
weather-google, today was suppose to be 50 degrees. But it was much colder than 50 degrees. Today was cold, wet, and cloudy. It was the perfect setting for a Jennifer Jason-Leigh movie. On days like this I like to pretend that I'm in a thriller mystery movie where I'm being chased and have to rely on my intuition to out smart the chasers. Eventually, I end up in a high speed chase through the streets of any given city. The only thing is my car isn't really a "car-chase" kind of car. It is for this reason that I miss my 1997 Dodge Intrepid. Now that was a good "car-chase" car.



I'd like to take this moment to give a little shout out to my mom for finally sending me some of my Christmas presents! They arrived today--Styrofoam peanuts and all. Maybe in another almost-month I'll get the rest of them :)

I am very thirsty now. So I will go to the laundry room and get a Mountain Dew.

38 days later...

I typically get bored easily when reading about other people's relationship problems. So if that's not your scene--you should wait another 38 days for another post!

But I need to get something off my chest:

I have been single for seven years. Yup--SEVEN years. I had always thought that my 20's are a time for self-reflection and a time to "figure myself out". This has always been the excuse I give myself and other people if the topic of relationships come up. I always pity those who marry early and vow to myself that I will not marry until I am in my 30's (provided that the federal government removes the stick from their ass and will let me legally do it). But upon further reflection of my happy single hood I've found that it has very little to do with self-reflection, and everything to do with fear.

In its most basic form I fear rejection--bla bla bla who doesn't!? But given certain events from my not-too-distant past, the word rejection doesn't even come close to quantifying what it is I fear. In other words, there are so many other emotions and meanings attached to the word rejection--it's complex and dependent on so many varying factors that I don't even know that I could map them all out if I tried.

So here's a recap of a personal conversation I'll have with myself--also called lies that I tell myself when no one else is around...

"Things are fine, you're trying to force it, just relax and let love find you--sure there are some lonely times, but everyone gets lonely. You're not the only one. Just hang in there and keep doing what you're doing."

The key to this lie is the part where I tell myself to "keep doing what I'm doing" Here's what I'm doing--I stare at guys that I think are cute--I don't talk to them, I don't smile at them. I stare blankly while I completely abandon all sense of my small-talking talent and witty sense of humor. I automatically feel inferior, inadequate, and I feel like an idiot for not being able to chat up some cute guy. Then I run through the never-ending list of why he won't like me:

I'm too mainstream
Not mainstream enough
I don't have enough hair on my head
I have too much hair on my head
I shop at retail clothing stores too much
I don't shop at retail clothing stores enough
I don't have a six pack anymore
I'm not funny enough
I'm too funny
My eyelids are too big
My forehead is too big
My bottom teeth aren't straight
My breath might smell
I'm too liberal and artsy
I'm not liberal or artsy enough
and so on and so on and so on and so on and so on...

So what the fuck? Really. What the fuck do I do? I know that something needs to change. I need to develop the testicular fortitude to at least smile at guys that I think are cute--a simple nod hello or even "wass'up". But when the situation arises when a simple nod hello is more than enough to express interest, I completely abandon all rational thought, and up going through the list and starring like a dead gay zombie. Furthermore--I look desperate. But I guess I am desperate. Because sometimes--it really sucks when you're alone.

My trip into DC was surprisingly effortless. Airtran may be the big double-wide in the sky, but I've always had really good luck with them! This time I upgraded myself to business class as a little holiday treat. Probably the best thing ever because you get a free drink right when you sit down and a bag of chips!! The seat was wide and comfortable. I didn't have to share the other side with anyone. I will probably try to do this every time I fly. The flight landed right on time. So to ensure a prompt pick up, I quickly called my brother. This is how the conversation went:

Brother: FUCK THIS FUCKING SHIT. DAD IS A FUCKING ASS HOLE AND GAVE ME WRONG DIRECTIONS TO THE AIRPORT. I DON'T KNOW WHERE THE FUCK I AM. I'LL CALL YOU IN 30 FUCKING MINUTES WHEN I'VE FIGURED OUT WHERE THE FUCK I AM. JESUS FUCKING (CLICK).

I didn't really feel the need to contribute to that conversation! And so the holiday at home had officially started. I should mention that my brother is a 2nd Lt. in the Marines. I mistakenly took his hostile words for just that--hostility. But he wasn't being hostile. He was just talking. This is pretty much how Marines talk. They love to say FUCK and they love to belittle just about all living things, and even a few inanimate objects. It's a constant dick-swinging contest. Anyway, my homecoming was pretty anti-climactic, as my parents and my sisters were at a Christmas party and my brother retreated to his little world in the basement. So I sat in silence with the dogs as I transitioned myself into family world.

Family world is much different from my safe little world. I love my little Atlanta world and hate to be away from it from for too long. That's probably a sign of an addictive personality, but nonetheless, I don't like being away from it from too long. On a side note, I am particularly happy to be coming back to Atlanta-world because I have redesigned the work space and redecorated the living space. Lab-rat roommate and I had several in depth discussions about how we wanted to set the apartment up so that we could maximize the efficiency of the workspace. Basically, I moved the work area from the dining room into the living room and moved the couches into the dining room---thus creating a personal little setting to watch TV in. aaah.....

Right now I'm sitting by the fireplace in family world watching Cinderella Man. I couldn't be less interested in this movie and feel a little trapped. Because if I left the room to do something else, I would be betraying my family's commitment to family and the holiday. I really want to take a nap. Perhaps I'll have another mimosa!!!

I have many pics to post, but every time I go to post them, there's always something wrong with them and blogspot doesn't allow them to post. any ideas?

mmmmm Cheetos!!!!

I'm afraid that I'm going to end up on People's court or Judge Alex, or one of the thousands of shows where semi-good looking actors pose as judges and overstate everyday facts with a sassy attitude.

Yesterday someone in my apartment complex accidentally backed into my car. He was really cool about it and left me a note. But I just hate to see my little car with a scratch on it--yeah I'm one of those people who treats their car like a human. I'm in the process of dealing with his insurance company right now. It's a HUGE pain in the ass! I really want this thing to run as smoothly as possible and that both parties get what they want without involving Judge Alex.

On a better note, I had my first crocheting lesson today with TeeRu-shell. Isn't it funny that crocheting could be pronounced Crotch-et-ing. I think that's how I'll refer to it from now on. TeeRu-shell was pretty awesome because she bought me a 6.5 mm needle and yard that reminds me of Cheetos and Roman Noodles. I reviewed the instruction book that T gave me, but every time I looked at one of how-to pictures I was reminded of this book I used to read as a kid where this woman makes a bunch of pasta and the pot keeps getting bigger and bigger and there's pasta all over the place. I wish I could remember the name of this book!

Finally--what the fuck is up with the weather lately! It's been damn 70 degrees for the past two weeks and it's fucking December!!! Granted, I love to go running in the evenings when it's cooler--like in the 60s. But my turtleneck sweaters really miss clinging to my neck!

i'm too tired to think of a witty title.....

So after three straight nights of going out, getting wasted, and not really sleeping much, today was my total day of rest. I watched most of the entire third season of Arrested Development. Damn that show is hilarious! I think the third season is my favorite by far. I love that the storyline is bizarre and uncomfortably odd. But I really love how the writing seems to take on a bit of an allegorical context; it seems to be telling the story of why the show was cancelled. At least that's my theory. Perhaps after watching some of the episodes with the commentary on, I will be able to determine if this is the case. The writing in the third season seems to have a darker tone to it compared to the other two seasons. I love that these characters seem to be bitterer (more bitter??) than in the previous two seasons.

Tonight I checked out a documentary a la Blockbuster--(I miss the documentary selection of Netflix). Anyway, this was an older documentary called Searching For Debra Winger. The documentary focused on women in the film industry and how hard it is for them. It was produced and told by Rosanna Arquette. it was pretty interesting, though the interviews with Sharon Stone and Jane Fonda made me throw up in my mouth. The subject matter was interesting and the interview with Debra Winger was great, but the rest of the documentary seemed a bit forced, as the other high profile actresses like Meg Ryan and Diane Lane really seemed to be "on".

I have this fascination with Hollywood and how it's run. There's this great book called "The Player" by Michael Tolkin--who also wrote the screenplay for the 1992 film. It gives this dark, scary satirical view of Hollywood and the entertainment business. It's so strange how different that world is. The rules of engagement are completely different--from what I can tell. A part of me really wants to investigate the raw truth of Hollywood and expose it all. I think it's time that we see those celebrities that we hold in such high esteem taken down a few notches and viewed as the real human beings they actually are---flaws and all!

Relief

The energy in the building last night was exciting. It reminded me of the way it felt, back in the day, right before I walk on stage on the opening night of a performance. But this was no improv set or a musical. This was my first quarter critique.

It went great. My presentation was natural and not rushed. I was able to connect with each of my panelist (all women thank god!) Some of the work was unfinished, some of the work looked amazing. Despite the quality of my craft, or lack there of, I am proud of what I presented. I worked my ass off and it showed. Sure I used the wrong type of glue with one of my boxes, and most of my edges weren't cut very well. One panelist commented that it looked like I had been using the same Xacto blade for the entire quarter. If it weren't true, I'd probably be upset. Unfortunately, I had changed out my xacto blades every 15 to 20 minutes! I am going to rework a few things over the break to get them to the point where they are perfect, or as close to perfect as I am humanly able to do--though it'd be great if I could find an awesome robot to help me!

So there was this definite high I felt after I left the building. And the Pomegranate margaritas I indulged in afterwards never tasted so sweet! But when I got home I felt a little sad. I felt a sense of loss. As I walked through the wrecked wild scraps of paper and empty starbucks cups, I realized that my work area was now my apartment again. I just sat in the dark and silence and took it all in. I had to take this moment to let the quarter officially end with me. It's hard for me to let it go because I know there was something so special about it. There was this type of innocence and eagerness. I was unsure of what I had walked into. I was scared and excited. I was distressed and then confident. It makes me happy to think that the experience of my first quarter was so unique that I don't know that I'll ever be able to experience something like it again.

I remember working on our value charts with everyone in my Design Aesthetics’ class in the basement of the school. All of the upper quarter students would pass by with reminiscent looks on their face, which quickly turned into relief. This is how we got to know each other. We helped each other out, we were all each other's shoulder to cry on. We all bought each other drinks when we celebrated. We all critiqued each other's work. We all gave each other ideas. We all laughed together.

I like to think that none of us are the same people we were when we started. I know I'm not. I look at my work and I see the beginning of something amazing. I see myself becoming the person that I know I am on the inside. I've seen my friends start to mature and grow. I often wonder who I will work with again when this is all said and done.

How do you know when to take the good with the bad?

I got a picture-message from my sister last night. It was a close up shot my family's Christmas Tree. I'll be honest and say it was a little sad not being there for the tree stuff. I typically don't like to make a big deal out of stuff like that, but nonetheless, I missed them. Weird... I questioned my decision to stay in Atlanta and work on my projects instead of going home like I had originally intended. I don't regret my decision, just questioned it.

I miss my dogs and I miss the smell of the house when the heater is first turned on. I miss the cold wet November leaves on the ground and the way the cold would sting your nose the moment you walked outside. I miss the way the smell of burning wood in the fireplace would warp itself around you and hold you if only for a second. I miss fake fighting and getting tipsy with my siblings and trying to keep it together for dinner. I miss being the only one that didn't close my eyes for the dinner prayer. I miss the Starbucks runs with my siblings--trying to pimp out in the Audi! I miss the taste of the rolls my mom makes. I miss the little subtle decorative hints found throughout the house that suggest what season we're in--be it a candle, or a sad antique toy. I miss my brother and sister playing the drums in the basement or my older sister playing the piano while I try to watch TV. I miss the sound of my walk on the hard wood floors. I miss the small moments when I would look around the house and think to myself " I grew up here?" I miss my mother's uncomfortable sofa that looks awesome, but isn't functional at all. I miss trying to pile into the "tavern room" (all of the rooms have their own name) to watch a movie but with no where to sit. I miss seeing Jack-dog curled up in my dad's leather chair and the way my mom would shout through a whisper for him to get off.

But I don't miss the fighting and the yelling. I don't miss walking on egg shells to keep my father from exploding. I don't miss pretending that nothing bad ever happened there. I don't miss looking at the fireplace in the old living room and reliving everything again. I don't miss getting mad at my dad and being forced to keep it to myself. I don't miss the way we all would fall back into the rolls we had when we were 10 or 11 years old. I don't miss feeling guilty for watching TV. I don't miss the ridiculous requests made by my father. I don't miss the ongoing power struggles. I don't miss the cold administrative conversations with my dad. I don't miss the constant disapproving comments and glances. I don't miss the negative commentary. I don't miss the soapbox political statements.

It's hard to know if I made the right choice.

where are they now...

So within the past two weeks, random people from my past have been popping up out of the blue! And by people of my past, I mean my fellow (and former)r PKD performers!!! About a lifetime ago, I had a 3-year run hosting (and dancing in) a Nickelodeon show at a paw-dunk theme park in the outskirts of Richmond, VA called Paramount's Kings Dominion. It was a white-trash country fair but to me and my friends that worked there it was pretty much hollywood! The show was a real 35 minute-long Nickelodeon show that was written and produced by awesome people from Nickelodeon Studios. We performed 4 shows a day and 5 on Saturdays. It was the most dedicated I've ever been to any job that I've ever had--I had even dropped out of college for a year in an attempt to further my yet-to-being acting career with Nickelodeon.



So why aren't I working there now? This is a loaded question best answered over a spilled bottle of Malibu Rum and Watermelon Smirnoff Ice! Let's just say it eventually felt like the wrong thing for me to be doing at the time...

My favorite part of working there were the rehearsal periods. We had about three weeks to learn the show--dances, lines, blocking, etc.... It was a very intense three weeks and I loved every minute of it. It felt great to come home at 2:00 in the AM and collapse on my bed from exhaustion. There was something so invigorating about being a part of a creative process. I loved to watch the producers, directors, and costume people huttle in a corner while we performed to an empty stadium. Always wondering which one of us they were talking about and who was going to get their ass handed to them for half-assing it.

Being at PC feels a lot like it did when I was rehearsing for the PKD shows. I think that's a very good sign!!!

Fall Into The Gap

So it's been a week and I've been slacking off on the blog. My apologies. But I have been kicking ass with all of my assignments and navigating through the peaks and valleys of motivation!

So Saturday my motivation and inspiration were at an all time low. I didn't want to do a damn thing with design and I was sick of looking at everything I had worked on that week. So I skipped my Saturday class, got myself fixed up to go out (which I haven't done in a while) and set out for the Ansley Square Starbucks for a mid-afternoon Venti Skim with whip Peppermint Mocha! I perused through a bookstore and saturated myself into the see and be seen atmosphere. It was great. I haven't enjoyed being around gay guys in quite some time.

Afterwards, I picked up roommate and we headed to the mall for some food--and he needed a shirt from the gap. So we show up at Lennox Square mall where we hiked through the hordes of cell phone talkers and slow walkers until we reached our destination--the newly redesigned gap store (and by redesign I mean they added more blue-black and dimmed all of the lights). While roommate looked for his special shirt, I began to toy with the idea of getting a puffy vest. It was while abandoning the idea of the puffy vest that I found myself starring at a huge wall of scarves, which were arranged by color. "Consumer-me" took charge of the situation and began to yay or nay each scarf by cross-referencing each scarf in terms of occasion and outfit. Out of the blue, like a knee-jerk reaction, this new "designer-me" stepped in and told consumer-me to fuck off. I began to realize that these scarves were someone else's design. They were good designs, but they weren't my designs. And in this moment I felt like these were the only choices in scarf I could ever have. And that truly disgusted me. And then it hit me--why the fuck couldn't I design a scarf for myself? So then Consumer-me and Designer-me had a little conference call:

CM: So you want to make a scarf?

DM: Yeah, I think I can figure it out!

CM: Can you knit?

DM: No, can you?

CM: No, that's why I'm at the gap dumbass!

DM: Well, these scarves are great, but they're not unique enough for Mr. Fenton.

CM: Who's Mr. Fenton?

DM: I've learned a lot in the past couple months--I’ve cut paper, made boxes, and even worked with leather burning! Why not add knitting to the list?

CM: (silence)

DM: Yea!! Let's do it CM!! Let's learn to knit and make awesome scaves!

CM: What's the worst that could happen?


And then CM and DM went to the Ansley Square Starbucks where they both found hot Latino boyfriends!



So it was while looking at scarves at the gap that i was able to actually feel my own potential. Roommate got his shirt, I got a puffy vest, and we went home and got to work! I like to think that this jolt of gap-induced inspiration was worth missing class for.

And if anyone knows how to knit--please pass along some tips!!! My goal is to have one scarf knitted by Christmas break!

Best read while listening to Sarah McLachlan's Elsewhere from "Fumbling Towards Ectasy"

Today I helped my friend and her girlfriend move into their incredible apartment in Little 5 points! It was actually the first time I’ve enjoyed unloading a U-Haul--probably because it involved 6 awesome people!! It felt a little bit like a cheesy straight-to-DVD gay British movie (the kind that you can only find in certain Blockbusters). It sounds funny, but it felt safe to be around other gay people (plus my roommate) in a setting that didn't involve alcohol or bar smell. Not that I feel unsafe when I'm not around other gay people, but there is always an internal sigh of relief when I know I'm not the only one in the group.

It really sucks when you're the only one of anything in a group. Like if you're the only woman, or the only red-head, or the shortest, or the heaviest. I think we all sometimes feel like the only of one of something when we're in a group. Sometimes that one differentiating characteristic is the basis of our insecurity. I think everyone interprets that insecurity differently, and adapts a certain behavior or persona to cope with it. For example, when I'm the only gay person in a group, it makes me feel a little insecure because I don't know if other people approve of it or not. So I try to find a way--usually with humor--to make it okay for them --and then it makes it okay for me. Now it's pretty simple to say "fuck 'em if the don't approve." "Since when do you need anyone's approval to be who you are?" Well...this looks great on paper, and sounds even better on Oprah, but in reality it's not so cut and dry--at least not for me.

Incidentally, since I've been at Portfolio Center, I'm starting to feel less dependent on other people's approval to substitute a floundering self-esteem. I think it's because my reasons for wanting to come to PC were my reasons, and mine alone. They were not influenced by anyone else, (i.e. my father). I feel like I'm living the life that I want for myself, and not a life that I think my father would approve of. This school may teach a lot about typeface design and color harmonies, but it's a lot more than that to me. I look around at all of the other students and wonder if it means more to them too. I'm curious to know what PC means to other students and graduates of the program.

In honor of the shifting politcal climate, I give you Jem and the Holigrams!

Sibling Rivalery?

And here it is---the AFTER portrait of my new beautiful sisters after completing 6 months recovering from some intense plastic surgery. Up until recently, my parents felt my sisters' picture only belonged in scientific journals documenting the social affects of ugly. My brother and I had to have 72-hour intervention with my folks to convince them to take all of their saved up Christmas money and spend it on plastic surgery for the girls. We all had a good laugh for about 45 consecutive minutes, followed by some heavy drinking and some heavy charades-playing. Long story short--my parents lost the game of drunk-charades, and now my sisters are less ugly then before! Thanks mom and dad!!! Hang in there girls!!! See ya at Thanksgiving!!!

PS--I'm bringing Open-Bar-Nana! wooo hoooooo

Gay fact or fiction

I recently had someone tell me that a gay guy is a girl’s ultimate accessory. Every time I hear some fucked up shit like this a small piece of me dies inside. But I guess to many people, gay guys are fashionable, bitchy, well-groomed men with perfect bodies and a lot of disposable income. To some gay guys, that's exactly the standard they feel they should live up to. Nothing disappoints me more than this thought process. I always feel sad and let down by people who think this way. It also makes me resent myself a little for not adopting this fucked up way of thinking. Sometimes I think if I were more like the stereotyped gay guys, maybe I wouldn't be single.... or maybe I would have a more "fabulous" life.

So, if you don't fit the gay stereo type, then are you still gay? That's a tricky question. In the real world, you're still gay, but just different because you don't use the word fabulous. However, in the gay world you're not understood. You speak a foreign language. Your topics of conversation are confusing and are often followed by long pauses and blank stares. You're different and they fear you. You're not really considered the "right kind of gay."

So what is the "right kind of gay?" He goes to gay pride parades dressed in a cowboy hat and a Speedo. He totes a well-recognized name brand messenger bag, and can identify other people's clothing by name brand and price point. He goes to the same bars and clubs every weekend where he'll dance shirtless while high on some fashionable drug sipping on a vodka tonic. He has two or three boyfriends that probably know about each other and probably met online at some point. He worships gay icons like Madonna, and will proudly drop the name of a friend of a friend who knew someone that did Kelly Clarkson's make up. He wears sunglasses indoors and finds some way to expose his name brand underwear. He goes shopping with his closest girlfriend where they'll tell each other what they want to hear and disregard any sense of personal honesty. He is shallow. He is weak. He tolerates people using the word Gay as an adjective--he perpetuates the social lies that run deep within the thin waters of the gay community.

I clearly see myself as someone who doesn't fit this gay stereotype. However, in some social situations I will sell myself out and adopt some of the characteristics of the "right kind of gay" just to get me through. I'll admit there is some comfort in hiding behind that identity. Nevertheless, it's false, it’s life denying, and it's weak. I haven't met a gay guy yet who understands what this is all about.

enjoying the struggle

If someone is creative, does it mean he/she is also talented? For that matter, if someone is talented, does it mean he/she is creative? Can you have one without the other and still produce good design?

I'm sure these questions have been posed by many design students before me, but I'm really wondering how closely the two go together. There are very talented individuals at PC (and all over the world) who can cut really well with exacto blades and draw perfect thumbnail sketches--but are these people really creative? Which begs the question: what makes someone creative? Am i creative?

If you break the word down, the root word is create, and suffix means to be able to. So you could say that being creative is having the ability to create. This leads me to believe that everyone is creative, meaning everyone has the ability to create something--be it a work of art, a spreadsheet with pie charts, or even another human being. I suppose that's where talent comes in. It takes talent to enhance the ability to create.

Talent, by definition is a natural ability or aptitude. So if talent is natural, can it be taken beyond what naturally exists? I suppose the answer is yes--that's why I'm a student of design--to take my natural ability, and enhance it to a point that it supersedes itself. And this is done by practicing. Well what the fuck does practicing mean? Repeating the same action over and over expecting different results? I guess. Are the next two years of my life going to be all about practicing and getting better?

It's like when you train for a marathon you have to run every day; even if it's just a short distance. The point is to condition your body to accept a certain level of stress. With each run your body gets a little bit more conditioned so that you're able to run longer distances, or short distances faster. Some runs are good and some aren't so good. There are days when you walk, and days where you're able to sprint for a little bit. Being a PC student is exactly like that.

It's all a big struggle. And I'm sure it won't stop after the two-year program at PC. I think that's the point. I like to think that from struggle comes victory. Sometime you're struggling and sometimes your victorious. It's a sick little cycle that can easily fuck up your mind. I've experienced this mind-fuck in my own life several times--hence the name of this blog: fall and recovery. We all fall but not all of us recover.

I am very thankful for the struggles that I've experienced in my life up to this point. Because resilience is born from those struggles. And it's that resilience that will carry me through all of my life's struggles--including the next two years at PC.