seventeen years ago today, marvin gaye’s father killed him. and dance music grew a little wearier.
i’d just like to point out that the art i’m making for a certain celebration is shaping up to be one of the most beautiful, opulent things i’ve ever created. and oh, look, could that be a sneak peak at a teensy portion? why yes, it could.
and for the record, i’m a fucking nightmare at christmas. i love the suspense. grandmama’s all about the maddening hints, but she never gives away the story.
…that you may be in over your head?
details forthcoming. currently freeeeeeeeaking out.
fi i t’ndid evah a ereves gninreael ytilibasid, siht dluow evah neeb ynnuf. sa ti sdnats, i t’ndid teg ti.
(raise your hands if you could read that perfectly.)
the scent of roasted corn from the neighborhood tacqueria, bells from elotés carts in the street, warm winds bringing cleanness from the lake, scent of thick portuguese coffee and crustino with fresh butter from the kitchen, cats sitting at the windowsill with eyes half closed, blissful as they sniff long and deep. ignoring me as i (wearing an electric orange tank, tattered jeans, sling sandals and a thin coating of sweat) hang backdrop, prepare lighting and makeup, charge my camera, and watch as the gigabytes of data my machine creates as of late turn into radiant images. echoes of my mood. sincerity is in this season.
a good first day of spring in a city which reminds me of a beautiful woman remembering after too long that she is beautiful.
a fascinating study on my favorite buddy, the marshmallow peep. (via metafilter) includes basic health information, separating cojoined peeps, and more. and when you’re done popfreaking there, go buy an official peeps t-shirt. then you can decorate it with the bedazzler i told you to buy a few weeks ago.
for all the sycophantic freaks out there who’ve emailed me to whine that their link has disappeared from my links page, i’m fully aware of it. i’m changing a few things, and links will soon reappear in more context-sensitive locations. i am doing this to assist you, the content provider, in your rabid quest for pageviews. now fuggoff. thanks!
“hi, i can’t take your call because i’m looking at my caller ID going ‘oh god, i so don’t want to talk to you.’ leave a message and if i call you back you’ll know where you fall on my social richter scale.” beep!
also (removed because dad admonished me saying, “now son, what did we decide about being flamboyant just because you can?” which was just too cute and fatherly to disrespect):
“hi, i can’t take your call because i have my phone stuffed down my pants and it’s set on vibrate, so i’m just enjoying myself right now. leave a message; i’ll call you back after i clean up.” beep!
currently:
“hi. can’t take your call right now because my stigmata are bleeding all over the place and it’s a huge mess. leave a message and i’ll call you back as soon as i can.” beep!
(i need a new one. any suggestions?)
anywhere but here: ten days. ten days. ten days. get me away from bleak chicago, get me back to the city i fell in love with ten years ago when neither ana nor i could find a destination for a road trip and threw a lucky dart…and it landed us, happily, lost in the honeysuckle, transcribing crudely-drawn letters from two-hundred-year-old-signs, learning typography from ghosts. when we looked up, there were battered red satin pumps dangling from a branch like a tittering whore’s forgotten goodbye to new year’s eve, and we knew it was OUR city. ten days. ten days. ten days. ten days and two years too long.
“ohmigod GET SOME SUN, you translucent thing,” shrieks the ever-critical voice in my head. “a nice pair of shoulders is only worth so much if people go blind from your glare.”
sorry. can’t help it. 100% second generation irish-american. pink i am and pink i shall stay.
emergency trip to j.crew (how i loathe that company) for shorts. dust off italian sling sandals. re-dye and cut hair. finish WIRED. buy Black Hole strength sunblock. establish hostess gifts (they’ll freak). try and finish tattoo sketch (it’ll never happen, not in this time allotment). prepare powerbook remote settings for handy-dandy non-chicago artmaking. load nikon grab software. recharge digital cam batteries. pack phone charger. get film for lomo. pay bills. pre-pay the maid (antonia just became a grandmother last week, so proud of her). much to do. including possible mothballing of the house in case i make a rash decision. i can afford to do that for the first time in my life.
seven days. seven days. seven days.
six days. getmethefuckouttahere.
shorts: bought.
sandals: found (buried in my ShooTique since last summer).
hair: i came, i saw myself in Feria, i conquered.
WIRED: nearly done.
more interesting art: done, output tomorrow.
sublock: bought.
tattoo: on hold, may actually get finished this week.
powerbook: prepped.
bills: paid.
taxes: done, awaiting refund. (to business losses! clink!)
and met a boy named su via my daily chat session. faboo!
thursday morning regrets at the dodger tonight, folks: dj promqueen and dj daughter of lothar cameo with shakey shaun. gurl power! superbonus: queercore at fireside bowl - so says my sleepy mancub.
stay tuned, glamourpups.
props to my friend daniel carter, former design director of wired magazine and his wife aimee: they’re now the eleventh floor - with clients like motley fucking crue. happiness is a client who isn’t afraid to get his cock sucked on film. and a collaborator like me.
04 20
call in sick to work
renew driver’s license
(thank god; the last one shows me platinum blonde)
write checks for maid and landlord
04 21
pack
board
drink and fly
arrive
meet one of my best friends for the first time
celebratory drinks
camille
04 22
present something beautiful for an anniversary
(a work that’s taken me a month!)
04 23 - 04 28
anything goes
celebrate my 31st birthday
with 17 grand in disposable income it’s time to give real thought to whether i ever want to go back home. it’s time to have a dream while i can.
1 pr jeans
1 pr green satin jeans
embroidered vinyl trousers
3 pr rave dork pants
leather formal slacks
cotton fornal slacks
2 pr cargo shorts
2 pr walking shorts
idiotic tiki swimsuit
3 tanktops
8 wifebeaters
4 ironic t-shirts (hello kitty, sailor moon, etc)
2 formal shirts
2 marginally fashionable shirts
4 pc various prada silliness
red fun fur shrug
fleece loungepants
7 pr socks (black/white)
formal slippers
prada casual slippers
converse suede sandals
sling sandals
backup slings (in case i have a fit)
thunder TALL platforms
fluevog platforms
eyeliner (gold/black/brown/orange/red)
eyeshadow (metallics/reds/browns)
glitter (oh, fuck you, grandmama)
pancake (orange/red)
lipstick (gloss/gold/bronze)
moisturizer
avacado masque
hangover helper
peachpit scrub
bodywash
aveda landfill starter kit for hair
natty kenneth cole glasses
backup pr contacts
saline solution
3 pr earrings
2 facial piercings
4 necklaces
4 rings
nikon coolpix 880
powerbook
wacom tablet/stylus combo
batteries
2 chargers
palm IIIxe
nokia 8260
…in an carry-on bag, mothafuckah.
in new orleans for almost 24 hours now, and much better. rico suave and jonno are treating me like a pretty pink princess. for now, life’s too interesting to blog (bully for you). more soon.
as a member of the cute girl sisterhood, i pledge to follow the rules when i wear sandals and other open-toe shoes. i promise to always wear sandals that fit. my toes will not hang over and touch the ground, nor will my heels spill over the backs. and the sides and tops of my feet will not pudge out between the straps. i will go polish-free or vow to keep the polish fresh, intact and chip-free. i will not cheat and just touch up my big toe. i will sand down any mounds of skin before they turn hard and yellow. i will shave the hairs off my big toe. i won’t wear pantyhose even if my misinformed girlfriend, coworker, mother, sister tells me the toe seam really will stay under my toes if i tuck it there.
(sandalfoot pantyhose are acceptable.)
if a strap breaks, i won’t duct-tape, pin, glue or tuck it back into place hoping it will stay put. i will get my shoe fixed or toss it. i will not live in corn denial, rather i will lean on my good friend dr. scholls if my feet need him. i will resist the urge to buy jelly shoes at payless for the low, low price of $4.99 even if my feet are small enough to fit into the kids’ sizes. this is out of concern for my safety, and the safety of others. no one can walk properly when standing in a pool of sweat and i would hate to take someone down with me as i fall and break my ankle. i will take my toe ring off toward the end of the day if my toes swell and begin to look like vienna sausages. if i have been privy to the magic that is foot soap, i will share that knowledge and experience with the non-initiated. i will be brutally honest with my girlfriend/sister/coworker when she asks me if her feet are too ugly to wear sandals. someone has to tell her that her toes are as long as my fingers and no sandal makes creepy feet look good. this is my summer shoe pledge to you.
patric king = ass mangler
i seem to have been nominated to the smithsonian national design museum’s national design awards. shet my mouth. you can just guess which piece is going into the portfolio i need to submit. and i think i can guess who nominated me.
