daily preciousness

call me Ishmael

2009-06-26T11:09:00.003-04:00

"You are an idiot," I typed. "Oscar Wilde was put on trial -- that's obviously what the song 'DJ Culture' is all about!"

It was spring of 1993. I was debating Ish, a guy I just met online, on a computer bulletin board, an early electronic discussion group.

We were parsing out the lyrics of the Pet Shop Boys, the pop group from the 1980s who sang about "West End Girls" back in the day. When Ish and I scrutinized their music lyrics, it was the early days of bits and bytes. The internet was just a bunch of boxy beige boxes with glowing green screens and text-only communication. This was the place where I met my first virtual friend, Ish, the great debater, who wrote, "I don't know about no 'Oscar Wilde,' but I do know it's a great song because it sticks in my head and stays in my heart."

Ish and I didn't always agree on the intricacies of the music canon, but we did have one thing in common: a deep, abiding appreciation for Pet Shop lyrics and music. Their music spoke to us. Plus, we were simply thrilled to have a virtual community of friends to discuss our favorite artists.

The latest buzz on the bulletin board was that the duo would be appearing where Ish lived, in Mexico City, for a huge concert! On the spur of the moment, I'd bought a ticket. Not just to the concert, but to Mexico! I decided to go see it, and maybe even upgrade my first virtual friend into a real friend.

Believe me, I wouldn't normally do this kind of thing. In the early 90s, people rarely drove across town to meet a virtual companion, let alone to another country. I wouldn't normally do this kind of thing. As for me, I'd never traveled very far from home by myself. Certainly not to another country. Keep in mind: there was absolutely no safety net. There were no cell phones back then and long distance calls were expensive. On top of that, my Spanish really sucked. But I wanted to go, despite the fact that I didn't really know much about Ish.

Here is what I did know: he was a university student and we had great chemistry online, but we hadn't even swapped pics. I guess it was weird, but, I wasn't nervous... at least not until I was on the plane.

At 35,000 feet, I began to feel anxious. When a stewardess with a thick accent asked, "Do hugh wan peenas?" I bolted upright in my seat. A thought struck me, like a bat to a piñata: "What the hell am I doing, jetting off to another country? What if we don't get along? What if our debates turn into arguments?! What if he's a psycho killer?!?"

"No, no -- It's ISH -- everything will be OK," I thought. Sitting there, consoling myself, munching on a little bag of roasted penas. Still, I had a knot in my stomach, even hours later, in the airport terminal of Mexico City.

There I stood, surveying the crowd. In this mass of humanity, thick with foreign smells, I tried to pick out Ish. Was he the weird soccer jersey guy, knee-dribbling a half-inflated ball? Hope not. Was he the creepy mustache guy in cut-offs? Dios Mio, I hope not! Was he the good-looking college type, holding a sign with my name? It was Ish!

"Call me Ishmael," he said, quoting the first line of his favorite book. "So, how is it, your trip from New Orleans, Mississippi?" His geography wasn't so great, but our conversation flowed quickly.

Before I knew it, I'd hopped into his dirty orange Datsun hatchback and we were careening through suburbia, outside of Mexico City. "Jeffrey, now I show you 'Mexico Mágico' -- I show you my favorite things." His voice cracked a bit when he said the word "favorite." It was endearing, as if his favorite things got him choked up. At the same moment that it was endearing, it was terrifying, because he turned and faced me in the passenger seat, taking his hazel eyes off the road for a good 5 seconds. And, over the next few days, he showed me his Mexico Mágico.

He showed me the flying men, los voladores, four guys hanging upside down, spinning from a pole high above our heads. We raced into the countryside for a rave party, hidden deep within a cave near the pyramids of Teotehuacan. We partied for eight hours. Then, we stepped out into the sunlight, where we witnessed a glorious sunrise over the pyramids. Napping in the front seats of the car, his head fell on my shoulder. I drifted off to sleep, inhaling his spicy, salty scent.

Zooming into town, we skidded into a parking space at el Auditorio Nacional. We walked in, just in time for the actual concert. There we stood, side by side, cigarette lighters swaying to the slow songs. We threw our hands up, hopped and gyrated to "It's a Sin." I nudged Ish playfully, pointing to the dancers acting out Oscar Wilde's trial ("See? I was right," I teased him, feeling validated.)

A few days later, while hotfooting it to the airport, Ish was quiet, glum. "Introspective?" I asked. He told me that he'd had a great time during my visit and he was going to miss me. "Don't worry," I reassured him. "Why don't you visit me and I'll show you around New Orleans?"

"Yes -- this summer, we make Mississippi Mágico!" Yes, I would like that, I told my new, real, friend, not bothering to correct his geography. After the trip, we swapped e-mails for months, thrilled that our friendship was budding.

Then it all stopped. No e-mail, no online forum postings. Nothing! Ish had vanished.

"What does this mean?" I wondered. What happened to my new friend?

Then a single e-mail, with the subject line "sad news." I sat there, staring at the glowing green screen, reading an e-mail that changed everything.

I remember it in flashes, A car accident. Instantaneous. Just thought you should know," his sister wrote. It was the worst e-mail ever.

I pictured that beat-up orange Datson, always in motion, suddenly still. I recalled Mexico, his "Mexico Mágico" that he showed me, the pyramids and the concert.

At that moment, I felt like I was hanging upside down and spinning. I'd lost a wonderful person, somebody who could've grown into a great friend.

But after more than a decade, I can look back, reflect and be truly thankful for knowing Ish. I guess that's why, even today, I sometimes just smile quietly to myself when people question online relationships, but I know that they can be kind of like great Pet Shop Boys songs that sticks in your head and stays in your heart.

kawaii nation

2009-03-13T20:44:00.002-04:00

Talk about a great gig for Japan. CUTE is their new weapon of choice. They have designated these kawaii (Japanese for "cute") grrls as the ambassadors of cuteness for their entire country.

Trendy harajuku girls have always cornered the market on stylish and hyper-crazy. That's their thing. Whether they're wearing a cowgirl outfit made of human skin or popularizing the harelip, they're busy with trying something new and coo-coo. So why not recruit them to be ambassadors of a country???

It only makes sense to be aggressive (like a cheerleader on crack) and upstage China in the coming Asian culture wars. They've got to put their best size 3 foot forward and make things happen. Otherwise, China is going to elbow them out for all the attention.

So you go, grrls.

via Reuters

can you exterminate stairs?

2008-10-25T10:42:00.001-04:00

robottwitter06
Originally uploaded by docpop

You've got to love this cartoon.

I had a baby with Elvis

2008-09-04T18:04:00.007-04:00

Have you ever played the pass-the-time game, which celebrity would you like to hook up with most? Well, I have done it once or twice. There have been a few genetically gifted folks that I wouldn't mind mingling the ol' DNA with. First on my list has always been a tried-and-true classic. You really can't go wrong with wishing for THE KING. Sadly, our Jailhouse Rock romance must've hit rock bottom. Why? Well, I'm not really happy with my Presley lovechild. Luckily, I'm much better than Bristol Palin; I can make this little problem simply go away. She's going to have to deal with it for much longer. Bless her little Alaskan heart.

So, after seeing that Elvis and I wouldn't have the MOST BEAUTIFUL BABY EVER, I decided to give it a go with Nick Lachey. (Such pretty lips!) Sadly, it went even worse....

So, of course, this time, I decided to go "old-fashioned" and mix it up with a girl. Which one to choose? The Material One, of course. Madge was a natural pick. And I've always loved the color of her hair, no matter the year. Our baby looked very Downs Syndromey, though. I suppose that's what happens when Mom is over 45....

After enduring the concept of having knowledge of a woman, I had to get back on the wagon, so I leaped onto Ryan Reynolds. Why? Because he's one of those cute, funny actors that I fall for, despite the occasional sucky movie....

Not bad. I'm really happy that our baby got Ryan's eyes, which I always thought were very twinkly.

As a finale, I've saved my absolute favorite. I decided to scare the living daylights out of my grandparents and create another life with somebody of a different racial group. (Yes, yes, I know that the races are nothing more than a ridiculous social construct, but it's more fun to say it in a dramatic fashion.) So I chose, arguably, one of the most powerful African American that I consider interesting. I chose her mainly because I like her bookclub and her commitment to pleasure reading.

Say hello to little baby Okra....

Fun stuff. Who would you like to mate with? Leave your thoughts in the comments!

recent aquisition

2008-08-19T18:48:00.006-04:00

Great pic, huh? It's not mine. It's a customer homage pic. Great set up -- like a little worship area. Something about this tenugui (the pink one on the left) just spoke to me. I've always been a fan of cherry blossoms. Plus, I love my 'bots. So I had to get it at thinkgeek. wonderful stuff there.

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Now playing on iTunes: Snow Patrol - Snow Patrol - Chasing Cars (Dj Mario Remix)

hmmm. not a big fan!

2008-08-19T18:40:00.005-04:00

Overheard at Japanese grocery store:

Daughter: Daddy, do you like herpes?
Dad: Um... Herpes?
Daughter: Yeah, Herpes.
Dad: Herpes?
Daughter: Yes, do you like him?
Dad: Him?
Daughter: Yes, Herpes. The swimmer. In the Olympics.
Dad: Herpes in the Olympics?
Daughter: For America.
Dad: Oh. You mean Phelps?!
Daughter: Herpes.
Dad: Yeah, Herpes is a great swimmer.

In Japanese, "Phelps" is pronounced "Ferupusu" (フェルプス). And "herpes" is "Herupesu"(ヘルペス).

You've got to love it when the most famous athlete in the world's name is almost a homonym for an STD.

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Now playing on iTunes: Snow Patrol - Snow Patrol - Chasing Cars (Dj Mario Remix)

Toyotas: what the Final Five drive?

2008-06-19T22:18:00.004-04:00

Busted
Originally uploaded by dspain

My first thought was: is that a frackin' Cylon car?

But nope; it's just the Google Maps car getting a ticket. Maybe the poor driver inadvertently snapped a pic of the officer picking his nose or something. Or maybe the cop's blog has a sucky page ranking.... Who knows?

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Now playing on iTunes: Télépopmusik - Brighton Beach (Feat.Angela MC Clusey)

F & I

2008-01-28T15:37:00.000-05:00

Once, not that long ago, there was a little bull and his name was Ferdinand. Ferdinand loved, of all things, the beach. He only knew it because Florinda, the farmer's daughter spoke so lovingly of the beach on her cell phone when she fed them hay every afternoon. Pretending to focus only on his salt lick, he would listen intently to her rave about the South Pacific's beautiful islands and their perfect beaches. And he adored these stories. He longed to stroll along these beaches. Not just any beach, though. The one he longed to see the most was the famed midnight blue sands of the South Pacific island of Calovella. Oddly enough, Ferdinand's lover was Isabella. Both of them had grand plans to sail to the island, claim it as their own and make it a cattle-only island (no humans allowed). They managed to escape their small rural village of Basque country. An unguarded pleasure yacht (and Ferdinand's ability to unfasten nautical knots with his hooves) was the key to their escape. Isabella had a way with machines and managed to sail them to Calovella in only 9 hours. (Ferdinand had figured it would take them 12 and had even carried some hay and a little wine for their journey.) When they arrived, the first thing Isabella wanted to do was tan on the beach. So they did. They lolled around languidly, until Ferdinand asked Isabella for a milkshake. After she produced some, he smiled and put his hoof in hers. They smiled at their accomplishment -- no cattle had ever devised such a cunning escape. And they had even pulled it off! The sunset before them was astounding -- red and gold fire on the calm but mercurial South Pacific waters. F & I were happy.

Note: This story is based on an Exquisite Corpse from Busboys and Poets.

'shrooms

2007-12-10T17:54:00.001-05:00

What a pleasant surprise to see Wakayama mentioned online! I love the fact that their yummy mushrooms are getting some love from the blogworld. Roll it out and eat it up -- those glow-in-the-dark 'shrooms look so delicious.

I recall talking about mushrooms with my students and they told me, "Oh, yeah, my family owns a mushroom mountain. That's where we go mushroom picking." Their parents jobs were mushroom agriculture. Amazing.

So can you eat these super mushrooms? I have no idea. But it takes me back to a happy time, in a tiny village, with wonderful people and delicious mushrooms.

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Now playing on iTunes: Andy Williams - It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year (A Shrift Remix)

This is Umerica

2007-12-04T12:34:00.001-05:00

Worlds Most Lazy Lawn Mower
Originally uploaded by B-S

I thought I was lazy until I saw this. Yeah, she can walk. She just can't be bothered. After all, this is Umerica. Bless her heart!

ass man

2007-12-03T15:37:00.003-05:00

Ass Man at the Horse Races
Originally uploaded by gastonfernandez

OMG. I really would have loved to have seen this when I was in Japan. This is one of those lovely Engrish shirts that just stops you in your tracks and makes you appreciate life.

You've got to admire it when guys let you know their proclivities in such an upfront way. Takes a real man to do that!

prefuse

2007-12-01T14:44:00.000-05:00

Melange-ilicious. Prefuse 73 has some amazing skillz. Loving the mashup sensibility with the lyrical sensitivity. Also, great running music.

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Now playing on iTunes: Prefuse 73 - Prepared As It Was

parking garage chic

2007-12-01T14:23:00.001-05:00

Library Parking Garage
Originally uploaded by jonathan_moreau

I hereby nominate this as the coolest parking garage. EVER. I want to park up inside some Dickins. Why not? I think that's a perfect place to be. Go, Kansas City, for making good use of ugly parking garages. You rock.

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Now playing on iTunes: DJ Bitman - El Diablo (feat. Jimmy Fernandez)

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Now playing on iTunes: DJ Bitman - El Diablo (feat. Jimmy Fernandez)

army 10 miler

2007-10-27T11:13:00.001-04:00

Running DC IMG_0576
Originally uploaded by Ian Dowling

I put myself though another 10-miler. This one was great -- no stress and very little strain. My pace was a strong: 9:27 per mile. I whipped through the course in 1:34. That was just four minutes over my goal, so I was psyched. Cheers to Ian, whom I've never met, but who ran the same race and just married my friend, Tiff. Loved this picture, dude.

Here are a few more pics of the race. Thanks, uber-handy Apple Grab app, for saving me mad $$$ on the pricy downloads! P.S. Don't rat me out to the copyright overlords, please.

Slideshow of this and my other pics.

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Now playing on iTunes: Midival Punditz featuring Vishal Vaid - Khayaal

running wounded

2007-10-08T11:23:00.000-04:00

Ran the Army 10-miler yesterday and I had a strange experience. It was a very emotional day for me. I think it might have been the endorphins playing crazy with my melon, but I'm not sure. It was 8 AM when the four apache helicopters flew just a hundred feet above us. We were lined up on the highway, hopping, stretching and rolling our heads around.

They zoomed over, raising the hairs on the back of my neck and giving me chills to be near so much power. The chaplain on the PA announced the start of the race for the "wounded warriors." These were the guys who ran with their prosthetic limbs and wounded hearts. They struggled with each step because their bodies had been torn apart by this war. I passed a few by mile marker one. And my heart just broke for them. Tearing up a bit, I wiped salty tears from my eyes and wondered what it must be like to run on these plastic and silicon replacements parts. One of them had a T-shirt that read, "The Bionic Man." He got a lot of cheers. Good for him -- take a sad song and make it better, like the Beatles instructed.

He bounced along on oddly shaped, springy half moons of composite material. He reminded me of a satyr or some such creature because of the odd shape of the synthetic feet. This year's race had a record number of them. I cheered them on because I can't begin to put myself in their place. Could you imagine what it must be like to experience something like that?

This morning, I ran across a gif image of an IED roadside bomb and I could visualize what some of these guys might have experienced during the last few seconds of wholeness. How horrific. An unbelievable mushroom of earth and fire. Force created to destroy. To tear apart limb from limb. Drawn and quartered by detonation.

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Now playing on iTunes: Delphinium Blue - Dupont Circle 4am

exhausted, but healing.

2007-09-10T20:11:00.000-04:00

Ragged and red, I'm recovering from Piga's annual rafting trip and mobile alcohol binge. It's Anywhere Goes. It was a small but friendly group this year and I wish I would've been perkier after the long busride, because I forgot to get business cards so that I could connect with folks. But I might run into them somewhere and reconnect.

Phil and I shared a raft and I was a bit surprised that we got flipped. I guess even veteran river rats can get tossed, now and then. It's been at least a year since I gulped up river water. Hope I don't get the beaver fever. Ick.

I got to know a few movie night friends better and I even met two new Louisiana escapees. Scott, a graphic design professor at Gallaudet, lost his family home to Katrina. But he still managed to win "best smile," despite all of that. He *did* have a nice smile, too.

Jonathan, a former teacher from Boston, shared with me his stories of teaching math in an inner city Edison charter school. Amazing. And he had nice Japanese tattoos, too.

I also met a cool veterinarian from Pennsylvania, Marc. He has the auspicious sound-alike that brings to mind Obi Wan Kenobi.

Just got an amazing massage from Julia. She has magic hands. Wish I could afford to have her over more than twice a month! She brought green bean casserole with fried onion topping. Yum. That alone is worth a happy dance. Combine it with the afterglow of the massage, the pink cheeks of my only sunburn of the season and I'm positively glowing right now.

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Now playing on iTunes: JUDY AND MARY - Sobakasu

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Now playing on iTunes: T.M.Revolution - Invoke

this can't end well.

2007-08-02T09:57:00.000-04:00

Yep, we've all had moments like this. Ouch. Normally, this happens to me verbally. I open up my piehole and blabber on and on about something, only to realize that I've just completely said the wrong thing. Stand-up comics at least have the dignity of a spotlight and a microphone. And quite often, they have a classy brick wall background. But when I'm standing there and somebody's face is contorting into complete rage over something I said, I have just left my airborne bike and I'm heading for the pavement!

shoes.

2007-08-01T22:43:00.000-04:00

Mmm, Girl! Tia knows how to get what she wants.

And she had to get her hands on some of them fabulous shoes. Problem was... she didn't have the money for it. Well, Tia just did what any good consumer would do. She EARNED her money so she could get some shoes. How? Various methods. You go, Tia. You remind me of the traits that are so characteristic of our culture: dogged determination, shrewdness, craftiness and greed!

Please make sure your flash player is up to date. Click here to update.

OMG. Let's get some shoes.

feeling kinda cagey

2007-07-30T06:58:00.000-04:00

My election day working vacation in Florida put me up close and personal with the DARK SIDE a few years ago. I was there when some pretty suspicious things went down. What I didn't know is that plans were apparently in motion for months and months before election day rolled around. In fact, the DARK SIDE engaged in a very suspicious practice called "voter caging" to keep some folks off of the voter rolls.

Have you ever thrown away junk mail? Well, after you watch this, you will never want to throw it away again. That junk mail might be part of a practice called "voter caging" that sounds pretty sketchy. But that's how you roll if you've got the Justice Department full of your personal henchmen.

loving: Blue Stone

2007-07-25T11:39:00.000-04:00

They've got no promo. No marketing. No nothing. So you probably won't have heard of the music. But it's thoughtful and great background music, a clever blending of technics and organics.

a charmed life

2007-07-25T10:45:00.000-04:00

I've lived a charmed life for the last decade. I have attended an incredible school and met some fascinating characters. I have flown alongside a seeker as he raced after the golden snitch. Once-invisible thestrals -- truly magical creatures -- took me on a journey of understanding from innocence to experience. A giant friend introduced me to his (gianter) half-brother. A funny pair of twins introduced me to delicious treats and hilarious hijinx like puking pastilles. Hermoine taught me that house elves have rights, too. (Who knew?) Mostly, I think, I will leave this journey with a better appreciation for the values of loyalty, friendship, trust and patience. Yes, I've seen the darker side, too. There have been moments of complete disillusionment at my care-givers, along with some terrible losses of friends and family.

It is truly amazing to me how authors create entire worlds out of thin air. J.K. Rowling took a panoply myth and magic already present in real (muggle) world folklore and, with a delicate touch, wove it into an intricate parallel world. In this world, she told a complex story of growing up. A story of learning about friendship and enemies. A story of black, white and ever-present gray.

We have grown from the awe-filled, wide-eyed world of a first-year student to the darker, world-weary cynical world of political intrigue and war. It has been quite a journey! Thank you, Jo, for letting us into your rich and wonderful world.

This summer's biggest highlight for me was the release of the 7th Harry Potter book. I have to admit that, this summer, nothing else really compared to this book. The rest of the season I've pretty much just phoned it in. Yes, I worked hard at composing music for the fringe festival and I had an OK time in Cape Cod (yawn), but nothing has compared to the visions of big HP7.

chocolate jesus: first show!

2007-07-20T09:22:00.000-04:00

Everybody loves a delicious sweet surprise, don't they? Think about those little easter treats and only then can you fully realize the power of poor quality milk chocolate. Ah, the smooth and creaminess of it all! Yes, chocolate is a powerful drug. Combine that with the power of Jesus and you will begin to understand what we experienced last night!

About 35 folks got to enjoy chocolaty goodness last night at the premiere of Speakeasy DC's Fringe Festival show, Chocolate Jesus. It was the first of at least two sold-out performances, according to Fringe executive director, Damian Sinclair. Our talented cast and director put on a wonderful show and I was so happy to be a part of it! It was a fierce brew of personal stories, all reflecting on the theme of religion. The stories were all real -- this is a nonfiction performance -- and are, by turns, heart-warming, hilarious, nearly unbelievable and truly poignant. Stephanie talks about her time as a fertility goddess (really). Travis recounts his trials as a recovering southern baptist (ouch). Eva laments her fate as a child of Argentinian hippies, while Amy gives us the low-down on her crazy Jewish summer camp. All of the performances were pitch-perfect and very earnest. This is the opposite of acting -- this is real storytelling at its best.

I composed some music for the show that I'm more than happy to share. (My particular favorite is "postshow," a megamix. Where else can you find "If I were a rich man," Madonna's "Like a prayer," Beethoven's 9th Symphony "Ode to Joy," Jeffrey's "Jazz piano improv on Madonna's like a prayer," and the "We shall overcome" latin house mix?)

Download away, kids -- just remember that the bulk of my music is elsewhere.

Back to the show... I hafta say that last night's crowd was great: receptive, warm and truly eager to hear the stories. I hope that we have the same amazing reception next time!

Special thanks and shout-outs to cast, director, volunteers and everyone who made it happen!

Mer's summer o' fun (TM)

2007-07-06T17:12:00.001-04:00

04JUL0016
Originally uploaded by YoyoGrrrl

Our view from the top was kind of like this. We were near the top of RFK stadium. Mer, a pal from speakeasy, invited me to a Nats game last night. It was a blast. The Nats went up again the Chicago Cubs. The Nats so lost. But the people-watching was good and the company was great. We discussed all of the important issues of the day. Like boys. And food. And summer. And boys, too.

After we waved (and gang-signed) goodbye, I had a little adventure. Somehow, I managed to take the train on the wrong side of the platform. Then, when I realized my mistake, I got off at the Benning Street station. Yes, that's right, one of the sketchiest areas of town. So I exit the station, embark on a scary "find the ATM that hasn't been robbed and vandalized" hunt. I went to two gas stations without a working ATM. Strobing police lights put me in a daze. Stumbling toward gas station number three, I could detect the subtle scent of stink weed. Finally, I got my cash, flagged down a taxi and got home before I turned into a statistic.

Fun stuff!

new logo

2007-07-03T10:35:00.001-04:00

Bob always had a rough time getting things into position on his powerpoint slides. He needed my help. Me? I was the handsome young personal assistant that Bob hired after his promotion to VP of Marketing.

Bob had the corner office, the new title and a penchant for adultery. I was helping him get ready for a big meeting, prepping him with his powerpoint presentation, when he made the first move. It was the ol' "hand over the hand holding the mouse" trick. We changed positions of a few things and left the presentation behind, so to speak.

Imagine my surprise when he showed me the new design for the corporate ID -- he wanted to commemorate our "meeting" with the new logo. So that's how A-Style Architecture got its new logo.

chocolaty goodness

2007-06-21T14:25:00.000-04:00

Is He hollow inside, or does He have a creamy center? You'll have to check out DC Fringe Festival's upcoming show, Chocolate Jesus, to find out. And I'll be part of it -- Jesus told me so. It will be the first time my music is part of a staged performance. Should be quite a challenge to compose music for five different stories, all with a religious theme. Hope my music can set the right tone.

little Pedro

2007-06-21T10:35:00.000-04:00

One thing I love about teaching is watching children invent language. They have an astounding ability to express themselves, even if they lack the vocabulary or grammar to share a thought. They just make it up as they go along.

I was reminded of this a few weeks ago when little Pedro came up to me and tugged on my lanyard. A round-faced, cherubic little guy from El Salvador, I often worried about him. His family was very poor, both parents working several jobs, and he only got practice speaking English while at school. Would he develop his language skills OK, despite his home life?

We were in the café-torium. In case you’re unfamiliar with the term, it’s a god-awful idea that could only be dreamt up by public school architects. (These are the guys who couldn’t cut it designing things like courthouse bathrooms and got demoted to public school buildings.) The café-torium is the unholy union of a school cafeteria and an auditorium. It has the acoustics of an auditorium during the lunchtime rush, so that the screaming is amplified. During assemblies, when it is used as an auditorium, all the tables and chairs are pushed aside so that children and adults can sit on the floor… the floor that has been infused with decades of spilt, soured milk, (both the 2% and chocolate variety). Every nook and cranny of the floor is also crammed with overcooked peas, carrots and cauliflower. That includes all of the outlets: cable drops, electrical outlets and microphone hookups. Think of the fun being the A/V go-to man at a place like that; they’re all filled to the rim with desiccated food. (Makes for crappy connections, too – thank goodness for WiFi!)

So, anyway, Pedro and I are in the café-torium when he yanks on my lanyard and motions for me to kneel down to his four-foot height. I do and he whispers in my ear that he’s found a something, saying, “I saw a dead cat behind the school!” He was so excited by the find that I wanted to be happy for him, but I was a little skeptical. “Are you sure it was dead, Pedro? Maybe it was just taking a cat nap.”

“No, no – I’m sure it was dead,” he assured me, nodding resolutely, hands fiddling with his pockets.

I still wasn’t so sure. Pedro’s English was OK, but not all that great. Maybe he saw a possum and just didn’t know the word for it. After all, I had no idea what “possum” was in Spanish. I figured he saw a possum and it was just, you know, playing itself.

“I know it was dead because I pissed in its ear,” Pedro explained with a straight face.

I was totally floored. Put yourself in my shoes for a minute and just envision a little four-foot Salvadoran kid, peeing into the cranial orifice of a dead house pet. Imagine it. Use your sense memory to consider the sound of the liquid splattering. The off-putting scent of the urine. The golden color filling up the downy fur of an unmoving, triangular ear. Just imagine it.

Flapped beyond my usual unflappability, I inquire, “You did WHAT?”

Again, fiddling with his pockets, he said, “You know, walked up to the cat, leaned over, and whispered, ‘Psst!’ into its ear. Then I patted it on its head to wake it up. It didn’t move, so I know it must be dead.”

“Oh, OK. Well, go wash your hands, Pedro. Safety first!”

From that moment on, I no longer worried about Pedro’s language development. He was doing just fine, inventing the language that he needed to get his point across.

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Now playing on iTunes: Annie Lennox - Womankind>

This is why

2007-04-20T11:55:00.000-04:00

you really don't want to mess with crocodiles. I am just glad that there weren't any back home. 'Cause they would have upped and swallowed me up whole!

BsG meets the Simpsons

2007-03-28T14:25:00.000-04:00

Who knew that somebody would combine two of my favorite TV shows? That talented Dylan guy, over there at live journal, has made a wonderful mockery of some of our favorite characters. He had created this Six & Baltar sketch back during season one. Just recently, he's added to his drawings and now he has the entire cast.

My favorite has to be the wonderful addition of Dualla. She's so great. I love how she's got our boys on leashes.

I approve.

the possibility of a dual universe... and the existence of pink blenders

2007-03-17T11:37:00.000-04:00

"Why did god create a dual universe?

So he might say,

'Be not like me. I am alone.'

And it might be heard."

These lines have a familiar ring though I've no clue why or where I've heard them before. They bring to mind the implausible but undeniably possible existence of the perfect kitchen appliance.

I am speaking, of course, of the pink blender. Yes, the perfect flamingo pink blender. And I am sitting here at buzz, gulping down wi-fi, euro-style coffee and bright ikea color, no longer having to imagine the impossible. Because the impossible has arrived. Like the possibility of a dual universe, the existence of a pink blender is a beautiful thing. And it is here.

With stealth and grace, I steal glimpses of it out the corner of my eye. I peek at it. Wink at it. Flirt with it. It's just beyond the plump lady with the hair pick and the attitude. (I would have attitude, too, if I worked with kitchenware like that!)

Just pause a moment to think about how sassy and full of impish pride you would be, to serve alongside something as beautiful -- as gorgeous as this.

Does anybody notice my greedy, lusty looks? Do the children pick up on the wild smiles? Will the little 3-year-old figure out that the guy tucked away in the corner of the shop has unnatural thoughts about a piece of glass, plastic and stainless steel? Who can say? All I know is that, if he stumbles this way, I will tell him, "Be not like me. I am alone."

Undeniably.

lupe learns Cervantes

2007-01-17T11:24:00.000-05:00

The maids came in the other week. The two of them were all shy smiles and cleaning products. The shorter one, named Lupe, told me that she had just visited family in El Salvador. Her father had fallen off of a horse and almost died. I told her that I was sorry to hear that. I told her that I wished him well and reminded her, rather sternly, to work harder on the toilet than last time. (It was getting a little hard-water stain.) I told her that if she didn’t work harder, I would have to create another dark circle. The dark charcoal circle, I explained, had a powerful gris gris and would do her father more harm than last time. The fault is yours, Lupe, I lamented. I wish that you had only worked harder. She sat up suddenly, her face pale. She clutched the toilet bowl brush firmly. I gesticulated grandly with my cocktail, in a manner that certainly looked like a bon vivant character from an Oscar Wilde play, telling her, “Lupe, if you will recall from the Cervantes, ‘Truth, whose mother is history, who is the rival of time, depository of deeds, witness of the past, example and lesson to the present, and warning to the future, teaches all things.’” Her eyes widened slightly. (Perhaps she didn’t recall her Cervantes?)

She apparently had no idea that a hard water stain could endanger the life of her loved ones.

Well, she’d better get it into that thick skull of hers: Don’t mess with the Jblend’s bowl. Just clean it up real good. Or else.

backyard burn -- part deux

2006-11-08T11:33:00.000-05:00

More fall leaves littered the ground. They were a little browner this time. The weather was perfect: crisp and cool, and I wore my cozy gloves to keep my hands warm. I was in prime running condition and I zipped ahead of the pack, finishing 27^th in my age group. I was proud of that. The race track wrapped around a large swath of land in Fairfax. It was a little hilly, but very gradual -- just bumpy enough to keep it interesting. The most ridiculous thing about the course was that they’d plopped a really ugly power relay station right in the middle of this beautiful park. And the course looped around it. We had to run over smashed concrete blocks and mud just so we could approach this horrendous power plant. It looked like a scene from a post apocalyptic road race. I assumed that Mad Max and Tina Turner were going to show up in a tricked out 18-wheeler. But no luck. I kind of wanted to sing, “We don’t need another hero” with her. Just to make my buddy Stephen jealous. (He’s a huge fan.)

(mantra: I am strong, fierce and pissed....)

(get out of my way, bitch!)

(Cute boys # 316 and 317)

(hot pareve boys 560 and 498)

Had she been there, Tina would have shared a Gatorade and Tanqueray cocktail with me at the finish line and we would’ve discussed the true meaning of the lyric, “We don’t need to know the way home.” It would’ve been so glam. I would of course be panting a little bit, because I was very winded at the end of the 50 minutes because I didn’t take my usual walk breaks (except maybe once for about 10 seconds so that I wouldn’t run into people in front of me.) Do the walk breaks slow me down? Yes. By about 9 minutes. But are they really necessary? Apparently not. I just have to stay focused.

26 275 Jeffery Blender 34 Alexandria VA 50:45

backyard burn

2006-10-28T12:08:00.001-04:00

There it is, like an old nemesis. I get a stitch in my side. And I keep running, alone in the wilderness. I keep running through the turning, twisting, undulating trail. It tosses me across a stream, over a rickety bridge and onto a muddy, leaf-strewn morass. I ignore the stitch in my side and picture the shape of things to come. I see a flash of bright red in the brush a few dozen yards ahead. It’s another runner.

I’m burning up the backyard in a national forest just outside of the beltway. It’s a five-mile run that feels like a fifteen-miler. The hills are not agreeing with me. And the hilly, bumpy, muddy course is playing havoc on my sense of balance. But that flash of red pops up again – and I realize that I’m gaining on the runner ahead of me. He’s short with hair Kramer (from Seinfeld) hair. And I can see the outline of his calf muscles at 15 paces away. Impressive. But I’m gaining on him. And he can’t escape me. I am a primal and atavistic force. I cannot be stopped. Breathing into each step, gliding through the rough and tumble course, I smile quietly. A week from today, my friend Stephanie will be screaming “Hooah” and taking the Marine Corps Marathon on. Wish I could tackle that race. But I’m just barely making it through the first half of this five-miler today. The stitch has left me, but I’m embarrassed about feeling it.

I catch up to the red flash. He’s young. About 20. And I leave him in my dust. Well, by that I mean I beat him by about a minute. But that’s a satisfying minute. Half an hour later, I am panting and walking up a laughably steep hill just .5 miles away from the finish line. I can hear the thump thump thump of an ABBA bassline and Madonna’s voice. “It’s a sign!” I think to myself. There’s got to be a gay DJ at this event, I think, even though most of the other runners have the shaved heads and trapezoid-thick upper back and neck of Marines. I’m not the only one representing my people here today. That fills me with joy and boosts my metabolism just enough to let me pump my arms more. I lean into a ¾ time sprint and take the last half-mile on with almost all of my verve. And for the photo finish, with the big digital clock ticking away, I arrive at 59:22:00, just below my usual hour time for a fiver. Not bad, considering all of these hateful hills and kick-me-in-the-morass mud holes. I came in #75 out of 147 overall. As Borat would say, Niiiiiiiice!

After I turn in my number (for the official count), I head straight for the pizza tent. Loading up on cheese pizza and Gatorade, I drop into casual post-race convo with a pert little health nut from Arizona. He’s run the ultramarathon there, through Death Valley and beyond. So today’s a walk in the park for him. He just got surgery on his knee, so this is his first race in 4 months. And he finishes his 10-miler just a few minutes after I get back from my 5-miler. Pretty impressive. Hope his knee is okay, I tell him. He smiles and boasts that he’s now an official bionic athlete. With his better, faster knee, he imagines a Steve Austin sound whenever he storms past the finish line. I playback that audio cue in my head and imagine that it would be quite the motivator. (Note to self: try that next time. Or maybe play it back a few minutes *before* the finish line!)

I say my goodbyes and wish everybody well until November 2, when we will meet again and race a different wild and wooly trail course through the hills of Annandale. Should be cool.

overheard at the page photo shoot...

2006-09-29T17:38:00.000-04:00

Mr. Foley, could you move your hand a little more north, please?

update

2006-09-28T17:23:00.000-04:00

What a luxury this is. Sprawled out in a big, comfy leather chair, I sip on raspberry iced tea and relax into a late afternoon attack of slothfulness. The chatter around me is multi-lingual at the coffee shop today. It is a regular tower of babble. Arabic, Spanish, French and Japanese. I spent half an hour listening in on a Japanese couple. They were planning their next vacation and discussing the merits of thin crust pizza. I grinned and recalled more Japanese than I expected. It is nice to be surprised by how much I can still really comprehend. The afternoon is not entirely wasted. I got some reading in and managed to eat supper early. Tonight is a worknight. Luckily, it’s one of only two this year. The next one falls right after my birthday.

But enough about my work life. I should talk about my personal life. I yelled at H the other day and I felt really bad afterward. I was a jerk because I'd had a long day and I didn't feel like talking. Did I just back off and ask for some time alone? No. I snapped and hurt his feelings. I didn't say anything that I regret, but I took a really bad tone with him and should not have. I'm bigger than that, after all.

On a happier note, the new job is working out well. Despite the half-hour morning commute (and only 20 minutes homeward bound), it is a great place. The people are friendly. My assistant rocks like a cheerleader (b/c she was one before she got knocked up in college!). I love that she's really enthusiastic and a go-getter. And she absolutely loves talking to people. All good things. Oh, and she uses the words "fabulous" and "daahling" a lot, even before I got there. So I won't have to train her to do that.

Mom and Dad are off to see Greece. I'm so happy for them, although I wish I could've tagged along to see all of that. Maybe they'll bring back some good olives or something edible.

facing east

2006-08-09T11:35:00.000-04:00

Spent a relaxing afternoon staring eye-to-eye with a few dozen dead people. I was feeling freer-sackler, so I dropped by my fave museum on the mall to see their new exhibit: facing east. This was a collection of multi-media portraits organized by different interpretations of selfhood.

Just last week, I had dinner with Kathleen, a charming Georgetown student, who took a course called the anthropology of the self: exploration of identity and culture. What a perfect time to visit the collection -- Kathleen had just discussed with me various concepts of selfhood and identity. So I had some theory down when I visited the exhibit. They had three parts to the exhibit: likeness & identity, portraits & memory and projecting identity. My favorite was the idea of how people perceive the resemblance of a portrait to its subject. This idea differs across cultures and time. Some portraits can actually be authoritative in their representation of a subject, despite the fact that the artist may have lived centuries after the subject was dead! Portraits can be based on verbal descriptions. Religious art especially relies on the written word. Pretty neat stuff.

The pic above is a portrait of Jitsukawa Enjaku II, a 17th century kabuki actor. Around his mug are decorated donation envelopes, which fans would give to their fave actors as gifts. This painting was the "Tiger Beat" of its time -- idolizing a handsome star with bold, colorful graphics. Coolness.

sail away (^3)

2006-08-06T20:14:00.000-04:00

David took me on his 36-foot sailboat on a sunny Sunday afternoon. I met his friend, Eddie, a handsome russian Jewish guy who had really dark, tan skin. (David and I cursed our heritage, which gave us the delicate, fair skin of the landed gentry! Oh, to be blessed with the ruddy complexion of the other caste -- what a joy that must be while outside braving the elements!)
We launched from a yacht club near here and had a great 4 hours on the bay. We passed this cute little scenic lighthouse called Thomas Point Shoal.

The wind was light at just a few knots and we sailed with most of the tell-tales fluttering in the breeze. David taught me a few sailor's knots and I was happy to practice them when we docked. This was my first time crewing on a boat and I had a blast. To be honest, I thought it would be a whole lot of hard work. Those deck hands on the Melville's Peaquod had a really rough time of it. But I had just a few simple jobs. Chiefly, I was the ship's comedy relief. Kept the crew smiling. Made sure everybody was having a good time.

Was it scary? Nope, although I honestly thought that I might be thrown off a few times when we hit some wakes of passing ships. Somehow, though, I managed to stay onboard. What a relief!

All in all, a fun little afternoon in the sun. Thanks, Dave!

Don't know what I'd do without it!

2006-07-25T12:40:00.000-04:00

With all of that I've been through lately, I don't know what I'd do without my meds. They help me get through the day, even when I'm shivering naked and bruised, chained up in a corner of the basement. All I know is that without my little blue pill, I wouldn't be half as healthy as I am today.

Thanks, Panexa!

Panexa. Ask your doctor for a reason to take it.

wikimapia fun

2006-06-26T11:25:00.000-04:00

You've got to love wiki-powered goodness. And the boys over at Wikimapia, they've slapped down a nice little self-mapper that is powered by Google Maps. Love it. Go, play around and be prepared to waste plenty of time. Fun stuff.

run, rabbit, run!

2006-06-19T14:46:00.000-04:00

Is it just me or does this remind you of a bugs bunny cartoon? Run, rabbit, run! Poor little guy. Gotta feel sorry for him.

SLDN

2006-05-14T23:21:00.000-04:00

OMFG. Just got back from a wild politico event. Is it just me, or is the media is just everywhere these days? They were ALL UP IN MY BUSINESS -- harassing me. Seriously. People, listen: I'm all for the free press, but can't they just leave me alone? I was hanging with Adam and some cutie at the Servicemembers Legal Defense Network's 14th Annual National Dinner and here comes the media again! At least they had a nice article about the speaker.

And it's all for a good cause, right?

Right.

Just look at how they hounded me -- and I so wasn't even ready for any pics. Can you see how I'm desperately trying to get out of frame?

*Sigh* Well, at least I got to meet nice little Brian, who is quite the Tennessee cutie. He had the nicest accent. Great job, Brian. And seriously, don't let anybody tell you that your medals are hanging the wrong way. Your fruit salad did *not* look tossed around at all. It was just right. Seriously. ;-)

So dark the con of mime

2006-05-13T07:44:00.000-04:00

Michael made me laugh out loud yesterday when he sent over the artwork for the promotional postcards. The idea is based on Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code, since the movie promotions are in full swing. (Ya hear that, Dan?!? Sue me if you don't like it.)

The movie is actually about a mime hooking up. It's a silent film, so there is wacky physical humor and some nice reaction shots. Will was our lead actor and he did a great job. Wayne was his love interest and did great things. Your truly got to be an extra for the first time, plus I got an assistant editor and credit. Finally, I created the music for the film. Busy me!

I'm just happy about what the Silver Spring Times said this morning:

48 hour weekend

2006-05-08T20:59:00.000-04:00

OMG. You would think that 48 hours would be MORE than enough time to create a film. Not so. The entire process is like me walking through a room of priests -- It's always a pinch. Always a squeeze.

But the results are almost as gorgeous as my hair. This year, Team Anjou came together and made a great short film. I'm really proud of it. Not only did I whip out the editorial assistance, but I also did a X-treme job on the makeup. If that isn't enough, I actually composed the soundtrack. OMG. I'm just a triple-threat entertainment machine.

stupid

2006-04-17T19:33:00.000-04:00

You know what? That is one stupid, funny video.

I think my favorite part is the bit at the end where the actor points out, "He's Chris Lowe. And I'm the other one." Priceless.

I liked the song so much that I had to create a light, fluffy remix for big springtime fun love! Enjoy my Boys.

bt on myspace

2006-04-12T14:07:00.002-04:00

Wow. I love BT. And now that he's bloggin' on myspace, I can laugh and point fingers at how vacuous and lame he really is!

Oh -- wait -- nope. He's actually extremely bright and insightful. And he has a cute baby girl.

(Part of me wanted him to not have it all: the looks, the musical skillz and the writing. But he does. And I'll just try not to be too jealous.)

Damn him.

Ken Wilber

2006-04-12T14:07:00.001-04:00

Okay. Is it just me, or is Ken Wilber the world's hottest philosopher? Ever? I've been reading his book and it nearly brought me to tears today.

In public.

And I wasn't even feeling weepy or anything.

This was the guilty passage:

Is that story, sung by mystics and sages the world over, any crazier than the scientific materialism story, which is that the entire sequence is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying absolutely nothing? Listen very carefully: just which of those two stories actually sounds totally insane?

I'll tell you what I think. I think the sages are the growing tip of the secret impulse of evolution. I think they are the leading edge of the self-transcending drive that always goes beyond what went before. I think they embody the very drive of the Kosmos toward greater depth and expanding consciousness. I think they are riding the edge of a light beam racing toward a rendevous with God.

And I think they point to the same depth in you, and in me, and in all of us. I think they are plugged into the All and the Kosmos sings through their voices, and Spirit shines through their eyes. And I think they disclose the face of tomorrow, they open us to the heart of our own destiny, which is also already right now in the timelessness of this very moment, and in that startling recognition the voice of the sage becomes your voice, the eyes of the sage become your eyes, you speak with the tongues of angels and are alight with the fire of a realization that never dawns nor ceases, you recognize your own true Face in the mirror of the Kosmos itself: your identity is indeed the All, and you are no longer part of that stream, you are that stream, with the All unfolding not around you but in you. The stars no longer shine out there, but in here. Supernovas come into being within your heart, and the sun shines inside your awareness. Because you transcend all, you embrace all. There is no final Whole here, only an endless process, and you are the opening or the clearing or the pure Emptiness in which the entire process unfolds -- ceaselessly, miraculously, everlastingly, lightly.

The whole game is undone, this nightmare of evolution, and you are exactly where you were prior to the beginning of the whole show. With a sudden shock of the utterly obvious, you recognize your own Original Face, the face you had prior to the Big Bang, the face of the utter Emptiness that smiles as all creation and sings as the entire Kosmos -- and it is all undone in that primal glance, and all that is left is the smile, and the reflection of the moon on a quiet pond, late on a crystal clear night.

To quote Joey, from the hit TV show Blossom, "Woah!"

You know I'd get all Ode to a Greecian Urn on Ken Wilber, after a passage like that!

Hokusai + 11

2006-04-12T14:07:00.000-04:00

You know Katsushika Hokusai (葛飾北斎). Or, at the very least, you know his work. No -- really!

The Japanese master of brush and block had a career that spanned seventy years. He influenced not only Japan with his revolutionary vision and mad skillz, but the entire world (yo!). His idea to create "random pictures," or as he called them "manga" forever changed Japanese art.

(Yes, today Manga means Japanese comic book or graphic novel art, and it was Tezuka Osamu (手塚治虫) who popularized the modern form. But Hokusai was kicking it old school back in big bad Edo Period (1603-1867). Let's just put it this way: If Osamu is the "father of manga," it is Hokusai who is the grandfather.

Okay. Enough history. Let's get to the art. Visted the ">Freer/Sackler Galleries today to see one of Hokusai's most famous works. It's called "In the Hollow of a Wave off the Coast of Kanagawa" from "Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji." In the U.S. it's most commonly referred to as "That Japanese print with the big honkin' wave." Know what I'm talking about?

In it, a dramatic, white-capped wave arches precipitously in the foreground, tossing a tiny fishing boat about. Frosty white foam and Prussian blue dominate the lower half of the seascape. The upper portion is all earthy grays and gentle pastels. In the background, Mount Fuji adds a stately calm element.

It's all beneath a pink and clouded sky. At 10 by 15 inches, it is not a large work, but it is powerful and iconic.

I was standing there, just admiring it, when a handsome 20-something walked up beside me. He had a quick smile, a tight t-shirt and a friendly manner. "OMG - he is SO Bel Ami," I remember thinking.

Pyoter told me that Hokusai is an early example of an artist using fractals in his art. "My math instructor in university mentioned him in class," he explained, intelligent brown eyes sparkling. The muscular young Pole elaborated, explaining how the main curve of the wave was echoed at its very edges. He was right. The waves were trimmed with tiny finger-like extensions, each one a miniature reproduction of the larger form. Like the fractal shapes of tree branches or lightening strikes. "Mathematics is the language of nature," I offered, quoting a favorite BT track. Pyoter flashes a quick smile of agreement.

His comment reminded me of a line from Ken "I'm hot *and* a famous philosopher" Wilber's book, A Brief History of Everything, in which he writes, "Reality as a whole is not composed of things or processes, but of the holons (wholes that are parts of other wholes." So true.

"So you're obviously a scientist, then?" I asked Pyoter. I was right. A 23-year old first time traveler to the U.S. from some place in Poland that sounded like "Crack Whore." Unfortunate name, that. He comes from a very old family there, one of his relatives was even mentioned by famous Polish author Henryk Scienkiewicz. Talk about six degrees of separation! "More like eleven," he countered. Touché.
At this point, I have to pause during my writing. I'm sitting in the National Gallery's 'Neath the Fountain Café and I just saw Saddam Hussein's body double walk by. He was a dapper man, kind of run down after his long day at trial. His female companion was humming a tune and seemed rather happy. I wonder if he checked out the Dada exhibit.

Quite right you are, Pyoter. Eleven degrees of separation. Between you and me. Between Saddam Hussein and his body double. Between us all. And there it pops up again. Eleven.

Some highlights of my latest elevens:

11 yellow footholds I used during my first 30-foot climb up the indoor climbing wall at SportRock.

11 drink choices available for our upcoming cherry blossom~tini crawl.

11 members in Brian's Long Island ice tea social club.

11 pianos at the mechanical symphony that I heard play earlier today at the National Gallery (controlled on a Mac MIDI computer).

11 times my grandmother repeats a comment before I get a little sick of it. 'Cause Alzheimer's is a real bitch and life's unfair.

11 servings per container of my breakfast of Irish oatmeal this morning. Yum. Almost better than cattle feed. Without the mad cow disease.

11 times that I've viewed my favorite podcast: "yoga for energy."

11 minutes after I have said goodbye to Pyoter, I realize that he probably wanted to go clubbing in DC, but I forgot to ask and now he'll think that I'm lacking in hospitality. (Real smart one, there, Jblend!!)

Okay. So I didn't get to buy him a drink. But I got to have a great little conversation with him. And the Hokusai ruled today. It was worth the entire day just to see his beautiful prints on a quiet museum outing.

W00t for Hokusai, Baby!

Sigur Ros vid

2006-04-09T14:06:00.000-04:00

Absolutely gorgeous. I dare you not to cry.

cyborgs are fun.

2006-03-22T14:28:00.000-05:00

Yep, you know I'm all about that nocturnal destruction.

the cos'

2006-03-07T10:56:00.000-05:00

That man has got the funny. Big time. I must've seen more than a dozen stand-up comedy routines in my life, but Cosby -- classic Cosby -- is by far the best. He's got a really wonderful way of making fun of relationships, people and interpersonal dynamics that is just spot-on. He also has a genuine warmth about him.

We got sweet, sweet seats on the 3rd row of the KenCen Sunday night. I laughed so much that my face ached. Great fun.

I didn't get to ask him what was up with all of those crazy sweaters in the 80s, though. Maybe next time.

blender humor @ toothpaste for dinner

2006-03-06T12:30:00.000-05:00

Mmmm. I love smoothies. There's a reason why they call "Toothpaste for dinner" the most addictive comic on the web. Because it is. And how! Don't miss the artist's other comic, Married to the sea, which Drew draws with his wife, Natalie.

~ good times ~

powerful faithful reproduction

2006-02-15T19:07:00.000-05:00

If you google the phrase "faithful reproduction" you get a whole bunch of Christian websites devoted to makin' whoopie. (You also get this corny sunset boating picture here.) So that's the theme that I took with a fun retro piece that has a big band feel to it. I snipped together a perky little drum 'n' bass percussion line and completely enjoyed myself. The reviews have been good, too. (What do you think? Tell me.) I'm just pleased that I spent my snowed-in Sunday creating this last week.

I also explored my interest in clairvoyance with a little piece about a famous 1950s psychic. This guy, Maurice Woodruff, told the fortunes to the rich and powerful all over England and the U.S. He has a wonderful speaking voice, too, which is what I sampled for this piece. Give it a listen and be sure to tell me what you think.

blissed out

2006-02-05T17:38:00.000-05:00

Thank you, Gleetchplug, for your wonderful new software. It is one of the most relaxing works of art I've ever laid ears on. The wonderful Italians over at Gleetchplug have put together a meditative music and ambient sounds generator, called 0M. How wonderful. And how deliciously relaxing. Oh -- and the graphic design is just pitch perfect, as well. Sweet.

Another big thank you, Enigma co-founder Jens Gad, for creating this beautiful CD. Who knew that Scandanavian folktales and fables could be so gorgeous! The vocals are just perfect and the orchestrations are creative and constantly evolving. Nice job. Right now, I'm all about the journey through the Nine Worlds.

With music like this in my life... and my new personalized yoga podcast with cutie-pie Chaz, I'm not just following my bliss, I'm all up in that mother. *Sigh* Thanks, Chaz, for helping me get in touch with my inner downward-facing dog. Seriously, though, I'm absolutely loving all the stretching and toning. And breathing and downward-dog styling. Thanks, Chaz. You are amazing. Note: Please consult with a physician before listening to my music or starting this or any other fitness program.

eats shoots and leaves

2006-01-14T17:31:00.000-05:00

eats shoots and leaves
Originally uploaded by jblend.

Stop me if you've heard this one.

A panda walks into a restaurant, orders his food, eats it, gets up, shoots the waiter and then leaves.

The horrified staff, who witnessed this terrible carnage, quickly turned to a book on wildlife to make sense of it all. Once they saw the animal's description, they knew what had happened. "Panda - a four-legged animal of northern China. Eats shoots and leaves."

Here, you'll find me with some JET friends. We're pretending to eat shoots and leaves in front of a DC sculpture of a panda. We spent a fun afternoon exploring the Dupont area of the city, wandering around taking fun pictures. (Yes, you might have noticed that I was sporting a bright red fauxhawk that day. I just felt like being a redhead.)

map of prejudice

2006-01-12T12:30:00.000-05:00

I love the sociological aspect of cartography. Here is a fun look at how people view one another, as indicated by Google keywords. Interesting.

Awesomeness

2006-01-12T11:57:00.000-05:00

My numbers are up! I have a feeling this is going to be a great year.

ice, ice baby

2006-01-11T20:12:00.000-05:00

Those poor, poor kids. I still can't get over it. They left their mother in London, only to get caught up in the schemes of this horrid woman.

You have to admit it, though. She is a glamourous villain. (I loved how one of the reviews said she had the icy glamour of a Vogue editor.) Well, her particular brand of fashionable evil is something I can totally respect. So I'll dedicate this track, which played during the opening credits, to her. I'll call it the ice queen remix.

a magnet for wonderment

2006-01-06T18:06:00.000-05:00

Never thought I'd be remixing a Christian music track. But then again, I never thought I'd be asked to go to work on a Friday with glittery, blueberry-colored hair. (That's what I did today. Everybody loved it. I really had my sparkle on.)

But then again, I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wonderment. I am a wunderkind. And I am a pioneer naïve enough to believe this....

So said Alanis. And so am I. Thanks, Alanis, for asking me to add keyboards and percussion to this track, "wunderkind." I hope you enjoy it.

lyrics:

Oh, perilous place walk backwards toward you
Blink disbelieving eyes chilled to the bone
Most visibly brave no apprehended bloom
First to take this foot to virgin snow

I am magnet for all kinds of deeper wonderment
I am a wunderkind
And I live the envelope pushed far enough to believe this
I am a princess on the way to my throne
Destined to serve, destined to roam

Oh, ominous place spellbound and un-child-proofed
My least favorite shelter bear alone
Compatriots in face they’d cringe if I told you
Our best back pocket secret our bond full blown

And I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wonderment
I am a wunderkind
And I am a pioneer naïve enough to believe this
I am a princess on the way to my throne
Destined to seek, destined to know

Most beautiful place reborn and blown off roof
My view about face whether great will be done

And I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wonderment
I am a wunderkind
I am a groundbreaker naïve enough to believe this
I am a princess on the way to my throne

And I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wonderment
I am a wunderkind

I am a Joan of Arc and smart enough to believe this
I am a princess on the way to my throne
Destined to reign, destined to roam"

So happy to be home

2006-01-04T07:05:00.000-05:00

Dit Is Mijn God (This Is My God Take Zeven)
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom.

I missed H so much. He spent the holiday with his family and so did I. How refreshing -- how beautiful that I'm thrilled to be back with him again. He makes me smile, gaze up at the sky and feel lucky to be with him.

good grief!

2005-12-26T07:02:00.000-05:00

David is in Donna. Donna is actually a town in Texas. He and I collaborated on a Christmas song a few days ago and had a great time. The Vince Garibaldi classic Charlie Brown Christmas was the track that we chose to attack. He took a very smooth, classic approach and I went a little more divergent.

Wednesday in the park with george

2005-12-18T13:56:00.000-05:00

Standing in Lafayette park Wednesday afternoon was very chilly. It was a windy 30 degrees, but the cold temperatures did not deter. About 75 transplanted and uprooted Louisianians attended a rally to rebuild New Orleans and the gulf coast.

We gathered with fun protest signs and plenty of spirit. I held my "Katrina blows & FEMA sucks!" sign and bobbed it up and down as we chanted, shouted and generally acted up just behind 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. I doubt that George W. was listening to us, because he was holed up doing damage control because the New York Times was about to publish the fact that he'd okayed spying on U.S. citizenry without any judicial review.

Mrs. Landrieu laughed at my sign and told me that she agreed with it. Before long, about 15 or 20 reporters appeared. We carefully orchestrated ourselves, making sure camera angles were just so and I had a team of 4 people making sure my hair and makeup was just so. We stood so the cameras would have the White House North lawn right at our backs. After Landrieu spoke, the Lt. Governor gave a brief speech. I had to leave when he started, though, because my lunch break was over!

It was a worthwhile little gathering and I was glad to see people as outraged by the hypocrisy and incompetence of the administration as I had been. The "Save the Wetlands" people were there, also, passing out bumper stickers. Another group had a nice sticker that said simply, "ReNew Orleans." How eloquent. Two or three posters simply had a picture of W himself, in the Jackson Square speech, iconic and yet somehow less than impressive, in front of that Andrew Jackson statue, with a quote of his promise to "do whatever it takes to rebuild New Orleans." That was nice.

Glad I went! I feel like I've officially paid back Louisiana for everything that it's given me.

Strange, but I didn't see very much coverage of the rally beyond this.

my humps

2005-12-09T13:53:00.000-05:00

Postcard from the culturewars

Okay. I know I'm not in the forefront of a cultural revolution or anything. I realize that there's nothing fabulashly unique about this. It is not a thing of otherworldly beauty. "Transcendent" is not the word you'd use to describe it.

But I am truly mesmerized by this "distill every hip-hop cliche into a single song. It's all there, from greed to lust to envy. All in one song. And the kids are loving it. Just ask little Cassidy. (Boy, I'll bet that somebody's really proud of Daddy's Little Whore!) Or the creative boys from exclamation films. (You go, you crazy gaysians!)

I disagree with Slate's point of view -- "[it's] a song so awful it hurts the mind." I think that "My Humps" is simply a big parody of the whole hip-hop world view. Human beings are not commodities to be bought and sold. Our minds and souls are worth more than brand name labels, flashy jewelry and appropriately sized mammary glands. And they know it. And now, so do you, Cassidy!

I'm going shopping for some bling now,
Jblend

I've got my Kringle on.

2005-12-04T12:52:00.000-05:00

Wow. Amazing Christmas rush this year. I don't know why I've gotten an extra dosage of holiday spirit. It's usually pretty lackluster until December 20-something. But this year, I've got my Kringle on, big time. I slapped together this and even this, while humming holiday music the whole entire time. Very strange.

Maybe it was that eggnog enema I got at the salon last week....

a pittance of her brilliance

2005-11-16T21:58:00.000-05:00

Dear Madge,

Welcome back, girl! Let me get you some tea. (Earl Gray, hot?) I had forgotten how much fun you could be. You hit it on the head this time. Thank you for a bouncy, retrograde blast of disco fun. I love the "gimmie, gimmie, gimmie" sample in "hung up."

Speaking of "gimmie," I love the line, "Give me a pittance of its brilliance" in "future lovers."

...And Madge, please forgive the 9.4 meg remix of "hung up." I couldn't help but have fun with your latest stuff.

Please give my best to the kids,
Jblend

my second home

2005-10-21T14:36:00.000-04:00

Koyasan got a nice write-up on a Kiwi website earlier this month. I have slacked off on my New Zealand newsfeed reading, so it was only this afternoon that I got caught up on it.

The little lotus blossom of a town, surrounded by the famed eight peaks of the Koya mountains, is where I lived for three peaceful years. Whatever part of my nature that is peaceful, I owe to those years. My neighbors were mostly monks. I was known on a first-name basis by most of the 5,000 people of the little town. Or they at least knew of me as "Sensei."

I really miss taking the tram up to the town from Osaka. It used to add 10 minutes to the already 90 minute train ride. I used to be able to fall asleep for exactly 10 minutes and wake up just in time to get off the tram -- even while totally drunk. The station managers must've seen me each time and thought, "Oh great -- him again!"

I also miss the rock garden at the main temple.... I would sit and contemplate life for hours on end! This view was gorgeous when there was a light snow flurry.

While checking for more pictures, I ran across a new reason to be nostalgic. Finally, somebody's creating a web presence for the town, blog-wise. Now I can keep track of all the Koya-fun I'm missing on a recent blog-find. I'm glad they're finally getting that. I just wish *I* had been the one to do it!

ample parking day or night

2005-10-21T11:14:00.000-04:00

Here's my South Park character - the crazy 4th grader who reads a lot and likes art class too much. I had to laugh out loud at the season premiere the other night...

There's a terrible beaver dam accident and the entire city of beavertown is flooded. And everyone else is in a total panic. They really take good snapshots of this country, saying, "Look, people! This is how ridiculous you've been acting lately, you idiots!" Nicely done. Good job, Stone & Parker!

autumn

2005-10-20T14:03:00.000-04:00

autumn7
Originally uploaded by cobaltika.

How I wish the leaves looked like this! The dry spell didn't do any favors for the trees around DC this year.

So autumn won't be full of the usual natural fireworks. It's a shame -- I usually love to watch the leaves change.

Maybe next year!

final beam out

2005-10-15T15:14:00.000-04:00

10/15/2005

The following message will be placed on board a NASA spacecraft currently scheduled for launch in mid December, 2005:

Thank you for inspiring me with your character Scotty. You taught me to pad my work timelines carefully to manage supervisory expectations... thus producing many "miracles" and impressing everyone. That's an important lesson! Seriously though, thank you for your warmth to fans. I grew up on reruns of the show and I always loved your funny accent."

- Jblend, DC, United States

feeling left out

2005-10-07T08:25:00.000-04:00

I, for one, feel left out. I mean, every religious person I know gets the chance to enter a kind of holy lottery. The winning prize is this: they can hear God speak to them. The words of the Divine are whispered in their ears.

Well, here's the honest-to-God-darned truth. You heard it here first, folks.

Jesus Christ himself, while He wandered through the Holy Ground of the World Trade Center wreckage, must have smiled upon the workers and handed a certain president a certain megaphone.

And as he handed G.W. that megaphone, He whispered in his ear.

"What did he say?" You might ask.

Was it a great brocolli cassarole recipe? (Heavenly!) The location of physical evidence that will prove the "theory" of intelligent design? (Like that scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark!) Or maybe, just maybe, God told him go to war and slaughter hundreds of thousands of heathens.

But wait -- if God told you that last one, wouldn't you ask for a sign? Maybe the classic burning bush? Or perhaps all it would take to believe Him would be a close call with a pretzel?

Well, God has spoketh (or is that "spaketh"?) to George. And He exhorted him to "Go and fight those terrorists in Afghanistan" and "Go and end the tyranny in Iraq." God also said, "Get peace in the Middle East."

(Is it just me, or in that last one, does it sound like God might need a refresher course in good old 'merican English? God might need to brush up on some of those SAT vocabulary words -- "Get peace?!?" Come on!)

Shortly after the messages from On High became public, the White House denied the Jesus Briefings. The folks at BBC maintained their story, which is more than I can say for the Bush administration. (How many revisions have we had on the justifications behind invading Iraq, anyway? I lost count somewhere between "evil man" and "painting their fingers purple," you know?)

All of this leads me to ask: How many times does Our Glorious Leader get to indulge his Holy War fantasies before somebody calls him on it? I hope this was the only time. Otherwise, we're in for a very bumpy ride during these next few years.

OK. Go back to reading about Nick and Jessica breaking up and forget all that I said here. (You know you're going to, anyway, so just do it.)

*** \\\ This just in: I have found the actual movie file of a God's-Eye-View of the White House when He came in for a landing on the Jesus landing pad. /// ***

freaky Florida

2005-10-02T16:36:00.000-04:00

Is this actually real?!? I'm not sure, but it's certainly not out of the realm of possibility.

This week has kept me very busy in training for the army 10-miler. So I haven't really read the newspaper much this week. If it's true, it makes me glad that Henry's not in Sarasota on business like he was last year. Of course, this may have an up side to it... I wonder if this means I could shoot people that are bashing me?

Go, Brady campaign! Glad that Florence Henderson is keeping busy after the show. Or maybe it's mature hottie Christopher Knight?

help

2005-09-30T10:30:00.000-04:00

Josh does great work. He's a graphic designer. He and his bf, Ben, spent a fun Friday evening together at the Arts Club with Henry and me. We listened to a lovely soprano and shared a wonderful meal together outside on the patio.

Ben is from Louisiana, so we had a lot to chat about. He has a friendly cajun way about him -- even if he's a little on the quiet side. (Maybe that's because we had just met.) Henry had met the pair at a fundraiser for our pal, Adam.

Ben and I commiserated over the plight of those poor New Orleanians. That was a few weeks ago.

Little did we know that Rita would strike his family home, in Iberia Parish. We sipped cocktails and laughed, not knowing what was around the bend. (It was all wine and circuses before a great tragedy... there's something very decadent about that.)

Now, much of his family is homeless. His elderly parents are being denied medical care because it's "too expensive" and the u.s. treasury (which is running low) cannot help them during this perilous time.

That's why Josh came up with making a t-shirt to help raise funds for the small community where his parents live. Can you imagine what it must be like? He's thinking up ways to generate money so that his parents can survive.

Please buy one of these t-shirts. As Ben says,

You wear this, women will want you, and men will want to be you. Or the other way around, depending on your predilections."

Windi city

2005-09-30T09:17:00.000-04:00

nola34
Originally uploaded by spyrylgyrl.

This pic eloquently captures two things I will miss about New Orleans -- the beautiful old trees, reaching out in all directions, in all their verdant spendor, alongside the lovingly restored historic homes, all tucked into the expansive boulevards.

Thanks, Windi, for these amazing pictures.

faith-based disaster

2005-09-21T12:17:00.000-04:00

A few days ago, I made an off-hand remark that Katrina was the country's first example of a "faith-based" disaster: The official response by local, state and national agencies was to just pray that everything would get better. Help was ridiculously slow to arrive, so the suffering had to pray that everything would turn out OK.

Alternatively, they could simply pray for their souls, like the hundreds of people who died of starvation, flooding or who died of medical problems. So the faith-based disaster relief was less expensive and certainly more faith-positive.

Turns out that I was right.

I had no idea of these facts.

On the official FEMA website, there were only two secular organizations listed for contributions. The rest were faith-based. Additionally, FEMA ignored some experienced secular organizations with prior disaster relief experience. They went, instead, with Baptist and Catholic Bible Camps. (I guess poor people need a little dose of the old time religion with their FEMA checkcards, right? Or maybe the checkcards are faith-based, too?)

exploited

2005-09-16T15:50:00.000-04:00

Remember these guys?

They're the famous right-wing company that supported Bush and helped deliver the election to him.

Yeah, thought you might.

Well, seems that they found a little problem with their programming. Specifically, they found a vulnerability in their system that allows a "backdoor" way into the software, which a local or remote user could utilize to modify votes. The United States Computer Readiness Team reports that, "No workaround or patch available at time of publishing. We are not aware of any exploits for this vulnerability." Wha? No exploits?!? You're not aware of any exploits for this???

Really???

I'm feeling pretty exploited right now. Most of the rest of the country probably is, too. So do we somehow get a refund on two presidential terms of illegal presidency?

"What's he talking about, Dick? How is my presidency illegal?"

"He can just go fuck himself like the commie that he is, Mr. President."

"Oh.... Damn commies."

I know what it means.

2005-09-16T15:40:00.000-04:00

The song has always been a personal favorite. And it's always made me a little nostalgic. "Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?" is a classic of jazz. And it has given many a transplanted Louisianian a lump in the throat. No more so than in recent days.

So, as a personal tribute to a world-class city, I would like to explain what New Orleans means to me. What this city of moonlight and water has given… What it nearly took away… What it means to miss her so dearly…

My first memories of the city involve muppets. The City Children's Museum had a wild and wooly exhibit of Kermit, Miss Piggy, Big Bird and the rest of the bunch. My parents took my brother and me to saw how all the Henson magic worked.

It was spectacular to peek behind the veil like that. What a glimpse that was! The sheer magic of bringing those characters to life inspired me. I remember going home and making puppets out of socks, paper bags -- anything. My brother, my best pal Christina and I must have made puppet shows for months afterwards, because I remember the exhibit with the crystal clarity of Something that Really Mattered.

Not far from the children's museum, in City Park, there was a little train that pulled a train of a dozen or so cars. My nostrils would fill with the smell of oil and smoke as the train began to move. The tracks wound around the city park. An old man in denim and gold-rimmed glasses was the conductor. He had to sit on the little engine car with his knees jutting out at an awkward angle. I remember it had a loud, high-pitched bell. He rang it as he called, "All aboard!"

I vividly recall being jealous of the children who dwelled in the houses and apartments that faced the park. "The kids that live here must get to ride the train all the time -- and that's not fair at all!" I remember thinking. What wonderful logic.

My first trip on a real train took me from Baton Rouge all the way across Lake Pontchartrain. I remember thinking that the water must go on forever. "Is that the ocean, Mama?" I remember asking. I had never seen a body of water that vast before. Nor had I been on a bridge that went that far. Miles and miles later, t steady noise of the train must have put me to sleep. I rested in my mother's lap. By the time I awoke, we had just pulled into the station.

Tiny mountains of powdered sugar couldn't hide the glory beneath them. The little pillow-shaped bounty beneath the snowy white sugar could never hide for long. After a meal with Dad, we would board the riverboat and listen to the jazzy calliope echo off the waterfront.

The World’s Largest Ferris Wheel stopped one day. With me on it. It was the 1984 World’s Fair. Yikes!

Dad had scored us free tickets to go. I remember being so incredibly proud of him. His black and white pictures won us three or four visits to the World’s Fair for the whole family. It was amazing. I remember seeing the Space Shuttle, awesome, spectacularly huge and powerful.

There wasn’t much of a breeze that day. The steamy river air was still and stagnant. After what seemed like half an hour baking at the top of the Ferris Wheel, they finally let us down. Was it a cigarette break? A labor dispute? A broken part? Nope. A very fat passenger had somehow gotten herself stuck in the seat and she couldn’t get out. They had to call the police to help pry Mistress Lard out. Thanks a lot, lady!

Many years later, I would celebrate my first New Year’s Eve as an adult in the French Quarter, popping noisemakers and wearing silly hats with friends. We sipped Irish coffees and leaned over the French metal work of the Quarter balconies. I was 18 and so happy to be an adult. I kissed Joel, my very first long-term sweetheart, for good luck that year. The joy of that evening is balanced by the shock of just a few years later when a mugger got his wallet and shot him in the chest in the same part of the Quarter. It happened just two years after that wonderful New Year’s kiss. He very nearly died.

New Orleans did not take him.

But now, New Orleans is hurt. And we now know what it means to miss her.

These memories, good and bad, form a composite of the city in my mind. It's a city of moonlight and water, seductive and treacherous. I hope that we can revive her. Until then, I will miss her.

Part of being from Louisiana is helping people understand what this city means. And I hope that this glimpse at her will make you understand just how special of a city she is.

sushi bash

2005-09-12T22:42:00.000-04:00

I’m just back from a weekend of pure gama-go ahead fun. It was friendly people and a splashy, campy, real-life adventure. It was my once-a-year treat: rolling on the river in the big WV. And I had would share it this evening. I was going to paint a picture and really take you there, squeezing out the story -- a tale teeming with more life and more promise than a drop of pure river water. Just like last year.

But I can't. I lost it all on the way to get some sushi.

The scene is a dimly lit parking garage in the ‘burbs. Arlington’s little postage stamp sized village of Shirlington. I hop out of the Volvina and walk over to pick up my carry out: yellowtail, tempura special and a just a tickle of the old ivory salmon.

Was it my perfectly coiffed hair? Was it my stylish yet retro shirt? Or was it the perfectly coordinated belt and shoe combo? Did I prance when I should’ve strutted? Or was I too expressively happy about the oncoming wasabi and ginger rush?

I will never know.

All I know is that a shabby red hatchback with Virginia plates drove by me. The window open. The teenage passengers (all girls?) pass by and shout “faggot” at the top of their lungs. One leaned over from the back seat toward the window and shot a crumpled diet Coke can at me. It flew past me harmlessly. It was an attempted Diet Coke bashing. By girls. I got verbally fag bashed by girls.

Or maybe they were just boys whose voices hadn’t changed yet.

It matters not. All that matters is that I kept walking, doing nothing. I let them win. I just stood there in shock.

There was no “Oh yeah, you little cunt faced motherfuckin’ hetero scum? Well that’s ‘Mister Faggot’ to you!”

The rejoinder was not a flashy, “I’m more man than you’ll ever get and more lady than you’ll ever be you sorry-faced proto-neo-con bitch!”

And I can’t say that I had a “Thank you for noticing that I have a better hair, a better education, and more disposable income than you ever will!”

I just stood there and watched the crumpled can of Diet Coke land and spin on the black and shadowy asphalt behind me. The car was out of the parking lot before I had the urge to run. I nearly dropped everything and just raced after it. But there was no stoplight nearby. They could’ve easily outpaced me in the white trash hoopty car. Marathon training or not, I was powerless to pursue them.

And without missing a beat, I start the blame game on myself. Why didn’t I do something? Where was the snappy come-back line? Why didn’t I at least try to chase ‘em down? How can I even let this hurt my feelings?

It reminded me of 9/11: Don’t let this upset you, or the terrorists have already won! God, why can’t I let this go?

A few moments later I’d calmed down. The sushi shop was nearly empty. I grabbed my order, left a generous tip and made it back to my car. I didn’t even realize that I was crying until I tried to pick out the right key for the car door. I guess the terrorists (in this case) did kind of win. Because I let it bother me.

A beer and a meal of yellowtail, tempura special and a just a tickle of the old ivory salmon followed. It was not as sweet as usual. The rice had lost its charm. The yellowtail was kind of waxy. The tempura had too much sauce. But I enjoyed it as best I could.

I’ll try to write about the weekend tomorrow, when I feel better. On a happier note, I found great solidarity when I Googled sushi and gay-bashing and found a similar instance in DC. So I wasn't the only one whose sushi dinner was ruined by hatred recently. Misery loves company. Misery also loves nifty anti-bashing graphics:

Please, parents, stop the cycle. End the violence. All I am saying is, give peace a chance. And let me get a piece of sushi without all this drama!

Jay Junior

2005-08-18T18:25:00.000-04:00

He really

wasn't trying to

take advantage

of anyone.

He just wanted

to be certain

that he was

getting enough foods

from the Meat Group.

libraries are so gay

2005-08-18T17:18:00.000-04:00

Go, Sweden! First off, I loved the whole Ikea idea. I'm a big fan. And my Volvo is purring like a kitten. So you didn't really have to do anything special for me... but I'm glad ya did!

Sweden managed to do one-up itself by having a library that lends out gay people. Yes, that's right. Next time you visit the ol' library, you can check out a stack of best-sellers, a few CDs, a movie, and now you can even borrow a gay. Nope, not a book about gays. You can borrow a human being.

The Malmo Library, decided to do something a little bit different. It's just their way of combatting prejudice and putting it in the center of the community -- and that's a great service to their public. Sure, you can check out a Gypsy or an Imam, but why would you bother with one of those when you can have a gay? I know I can't wait to visit Sweden so that I can check out one of the gays. And now I won't even have to go to a bar!

So you go, you crazy Stadsbiblioteket!

(Interview with librarian.)

such a hunk!

2005-08-13T12:18:00.000-04:00

Thinktronic musician and complete charmer, Hunksten Proudfoot, is my first acquaintance to get a real album deal. He's in the midst of putting finishing touches on said album. He got signed on by a label after a series of fortunate accidents and tons of talent.

Kudos to you, Hunk! Oh, and thanks for the great music, the comaraderie and the nice compliment. You are off the hook.

good at sports

2005-08-10T11:38:00.000-04:00

Finally, after many years, I've realized that I'm actually good at sports, from start to finish. And, in the real world, I'm getting ready for the Army Ten Miler.

Good thing, too. According to this, I could have been at risk for becomming one of those homo sodomites.

Thank God that I'm a True Christian™ and a member of Landover Baptist, where I learned why even Jesus had certain homo sodomite tendencies. Amen!

perfect sunrise

2005-08-06T11:53:00.000-04:00

I'm out of the house, tap my keys, lock the door. Start my morning run under a golden sky. The light of sunrise greets me, filtered by windblown dust and the smell of freshly mowed grass.

The senator's son from Wisconsin is mowing. Looks 17. He's as tan and careless as a highschooler should be on a perfect summer morning. Wipes his brow and nods at me, swats at a fly and wipes the splattered remains off his hand. I smile and nod back. Friendly, unlike his dog. The family dalmation is furiously barking at me, keeping the stranger off their boulevard property.

And I'm considering the perfection of the sunrise. One perfect sunrise.

It could be my last, just like the bug's. I consider that for a few more moments -- what if this was my very last day to live? For every mile of my route, my feet hit the ground a thousand times. What if one of those thousand is my last step? What if my timeline is ending? Terminus: the endpoint.

What will it be? A 747 dropping on me? Avian flu? The overworked, drowsy driver of a glass transport truck? A gas main explosion? A sewer hole cover-turned-projectile? Or could the danger be from within? Heart attack? Spontaneous combustion? Who knows?

The smell of cut grass comforts me and I continue my run, toward the university campus. It is quiet there. The only work I can see outside is the work of the sprinklers, clicking little bursts of diamond drops toward a bed of purple and red flowers.

Click-click-click-tappa-tappa-tappa-tappa-tappa.

Perfect soundtrack to summer.... My timing is just right and I catch a quick spray. Summery and comforting. The spray hits me in the pants. I look down and I see that, while I pass the elderly care facility, I will look like I've wet myself. How perfect. Maybe I will brighten the morning of a lucky early riser.

Past acorn strewn brick paths, past bumpy asphalt sidewalks littered with ketchup bottles, past the flight plans of cardinals and suspicious squirrels, past the Lynn House Plastic Surgery Center, I continue.

Eventually, I U-turn, head home and see how far the senator's son has gotten. He's all done. And my usual 45 minute run has turned into an hour and a half journey. Was it seven or eight miles? Or was it just five plus plenty of sticky summer heat?

I'm not sure. But I am sure that it was one perfect sunrise. And I survive it. And it will not be my last.

dadaist entry

2005-07-19T13:07:00.000-04:00

Weep at everything. Challenge the Scorpio coffee. Drink it up.

Automatically, it is philosophy: dadaism. A story. Clear as kerosene! Half as bitter. Part of my glorious, multi-colored, waking sleep.

Peanuts? Am I part of the yeastless all-knowing embrace?

No. I embrace conflict, life-changing chocolate and all the sooth-sayers.

Why? Simple. Simply put, I am unadulterated. I slip and slide. Galaxy class. I welcome the conflict during the downtown photocopy strikes. The strikers? They, more than anyone, paused to experience the next doorway. (And the nest and the nest....) Got to admire that.

I never had an ounce of courage. Never an ounce of shame. Never an ounce to smoke. Me, smeared gently with Kifflom? With God? No. I warm my bed mercilessly. Stealthily. Clear as kerosene. Half as bitter.

nonblonde

2005-07-11T11:23:00.000-04:00

I have been pondering on an experiment I did with a lame movie trailer today. In this piece, I decided to play the part of a saucy blonde who really knows how to make an impression. Yes, it's not a traditional role for me, but I thought I should stretch a little bit and really test my acting chops. I think I'm pretty convincing as a blonde.

That being said, I've decided to go the nonblonde route this summer. It's just not me. I'm just the auburn type, I suppose.

(BTW... in case you were wondering... I chose the role soley on the basis that it has the best lines in the trailer.)

Christopher Walken was such a pro. I really loved working with him on this film. Um, Chris, if you're reading this, I just want to thank you for introducing me to cucumber sandwiches. They're so yummy! And I agree with you, the soundtrack to this film definitely needs more cowbell.

paparazzi

2005-07-10T12:32:00.000-04:00

Got my summer started off proper with a photo shoot. Yeah, yeah, I know... I probably should've cleared it with my publicist before agreeing to it, but I went ahead and accepted Cynthia Wilson's offer to include me in her project. It was fun chatting with her. She had just left home to begin her cross-country journey. I wish her luck and I look forward to the tasteful, extremely artistic photography.

You know, it's amazing how soft and comfortable a bearskin rug is, even during the dog days of summer!

7/7

2005-07-08T14:34:00.000-04:00

Such awful news!

Mrs. Dalloway spoke to me, from the pages of the wonderful Virginia Woolf novel of the same name. After surviving the terrible events of world war 2, the character spies the open pages of a novel in a bookstore window:

"Fear no more the heat o' the sun Nor the furious winter's rages.

This late age of the world's experience had bred in them all, all men and women, a well of tears. Tears and sorrows; courage and endurance; a perfectly upright and stoical bearing."

What a wonderful way to describe London's reaction to the 7/7 bombings! I can't imagine a more appropriate and poetic commentary. Thank you, Virginia Woolf!

a woody

2005-07-05T12:31:00.000-04:00

CIMG0058
Originally uploaded by ZapWizard.

This is a woody that I don't want. Don't get me wrong; I love the idea of wraping up a cultural icon in rich, deep woodtones. But it looks kinda unwieldy. Plus, if it fell (as mine often does), it would get all nicked up.

But kudos to ZapWizard for the clever idea and the skillful execution.

dig it, a dancing queen!

2005-06-17T17:14:00.000-04:00

Seems I'm not the only queen who had to get one of those new iPod Mini! Glad to hear that she's still "keepin' it real."

Warning: Close the door

2005-06-10T14:15:00.000-04:00

Warning: Close the door
Originally uploaded by Robbie1.

I am loving flickr's photo search feature. It's so much better than Google for finding quirky images for the office. This one will confound and entertain anyone who walks past my door. (I prefer to keep it shut.)

sexy infection

2005-06-10T12:15:00.000-04:00

Great. Now I have something else to worry about.

There's a newly discovered bug in town. And let's face it: with my checkered and paisley past, I'm probably so infected.

It's a newly discovered mind-altering parasitic infection that can be caught from cats and squirrels.

I've often wondered why the French behave the way they do. The world center of fashion and fragrance also has a very high percentage of people infected with toxoplasma gondii. (Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?)

People infected with the virus seem to go through a sort of "sex kitten" effect, "becoming less trustworthy, more desirable, fun-loving and possibly more promiscuous," according to the BBC science news.

Wait a minute -- desirable, fun-loving and slutty?!? I think I've had this disease for years!

At least it's a sexy infection, right?

Wraaarrrr! Bad kitty!

Let this be a warning to you all: don't cross me or I'll CUT YOU!

dilF brekkers

2005-06-08T09:15:00.000-04:00

PETER BRADY
Originally uploaded by theherocomplex.

Got a nice surprise this morning. I passed DILF #381, walking down the hall. He was bending over, retrieving a soda can from the drink machine. "Oh, starting the day off with a healthy breakfast, I see!" I told him.

That pretty-lipped young thing blushed a little bit and admitted that he'd pressed the wrong button. (Obviously, he was a looker, not a thinker.) And he handed me his unwanted can: a nice bit of classic Coke.

I bat my eyes and gush a "thank-you" in his direction, while sashaying down the hall.

A quick Google Image Search revealed nothing close to an actual dilF. However, a flickr beta search revealed this tasty entry. Mmmm-mmm!

The morning got even *better* when another parent gave me a hu-normous chocolate chip cookie. Nice combo! I'll be on a sugar high until noon~!

Hugs and kisses,
Jblend

Pi's tiger, my great white

2005-06-04T09:45:00.000-04:00

"I am sitting in a downtown café, after thinking. I have just spent most of an afternoon with him. Our encounters always leave me weary of the glum contentment that characterizes my life. What were those words he used that struck me? Ah, yes: 'dry, yeastless factuality', 'the better story'. I take pen and paper out and write:

Words of divine consciousness: moral exaltation; lasting feelings of elevation, elation, joy; a quickening of the moral sense, which strikes one as more important than an intellectual understanding of things; an alignment of the universe along moral lines, not intellectual ones; a realization that the founding principle of existence is what we all love, which works itself out sometimes not clearly, not cleanly, not immediately, nonetheless ineluctably.

I pause. What of God's silence? I think it over. I add:

An intellect confounded yet a trusting sense of presence and of ultimate purpose.

I can imagine an atheist's last words: 'White, white! L-L-Love! My God!' -- and the deathbed leap of faith. Whereas the agnostic, if he stays true to his reasonable self, if he stays beholden to dry, yeastless factuality, might try to explain the warm light bathing him by saying, 'Possibly a f-f-failing oxygenation of the b-b-brain,' and, to the very end, lack imagination and miss the better story."

- from Life of Pi by Yann Martel

Striking, these words of Pi Patel... They story of Pi catching the spiritual tiger by the tail does force me to mull over my own spiritual thoughts. In the novel, Pi must take care of a Tiger. And wrestle with his beliefs at the same time.

Pi's words, above, call to mind, in the resonant voice of one who has seen Life not only through the eyes of the living, but also the very nearly dead. I have to pause, look up from the text and allow my surroundings to go soft focus, as if someone has smeared petroleum jelly over the lens of my camera. Will I be doubtful and distant, to the end, like Pi's proverbial atheist, only to embrace, in my final moments, the reality of Kifflom? Or will the metaphor be slightly different, the nature of my comprehension a few shades off? Will I come to grips with Kiff during those final moments? "Embrace" suggests loving, worshipful arms that reach out to wrap myself around an idea -- the Idea of Kifflom -- whereas "coming to grips with" Kifflom suggests a shrugging, doubting Thomas, rubbing his shoes in the dust absent-mindedly while reluctantly shaking hands with The Divine. Which of these will I be during those transcendent moments?

Or might there be a different transubstantiation of the food of the soul, or, as we Southerners call it, "soul food"? I do not know. Maybe the dark chocolate cake of the soul will occur well before my post-mortem.

During a moment of bliss, will I again see that mythical Great White that visited me, so many years ago? Note to reader: The Great White is not a creature of the deep. But the memory of it does consume me deeply. The Great White is my nickname for the spiritual experience I had on the 18th of September morning, 1996.

I remember it so clearly. I went to bed the night before, just like any other night. I set down the steaming cup of hot ginger tea onto the little kerosene stove right before bed. I was reading a book of philosophy. I sipped the tea occasionally while going through a particularly interesting chapter on eschatology. I was brimming with questions, my mind utterly focused on the book. After a half hour, I realized that the stove was working a little too well. Even on the low setting, it was heating the room too much. I shut it off. After finishing the chapter, I set the book down on the stove and drank the tea to the dregs. I paused to savor the last sip and gently drifted off to sleep.

Now I remember shutting off the stove, so that it would not automatically come on the next morning at sunrise. I normally had it set to warm the place up before I hopped out of bed. But this time, I know that it was off. This is important, as you will soon see, so that I can be certain that what was about to take place was not "the result of f-f-failing oxygenation of the b-b-brain" (as Pi put it).

What was about to take place is this: simply the most vivid and beautiful feeling that I have ever experienced. Take the best orgasm you've ever had and multiply it to the power of googol. (That's the inconceivably large number google, not the search engine Google, mind you!) Then add the complete peace and liquid existence of floating in a sun-basked pool mid-summer. On top of this, subtract any problems with high chlorine or sun damage to your skin. Also, subtract the pruning of fingers, toes and elbows. Finally, add that peculiarly exquisite weakness of waking up in the morning after an usually good night of sleep. This is what I experienced for several hours before waking up the next morning, that morning in September 18th, 1996.

I floated in joy-filled cloud of extreme bliss for several hours but somehow also seemed like mere nanoseconds. And it was the all-knowing, all-seeing bliss of experience as well as innocence. Pure joy. Unadulterated.

It was as though I'd walked through a doorway to another place... as though I were back with Guinan, wrapped in joy, as if joy was something tangible that you could wrap yourself in, like a blanket.

(joy shown smaller than actual size)

Upon waking, I went into the emotional equivalent of the dry heaves: I wanted to weep an oceanful of tears at the soul-crushing fact that I no longer existed in that Perfect Place. My entire body, down to the last cell, longed to return to this incredible place. "Why, why, why did I have to leave?" I asked. No answer. But I also felt thankful that I got to visit. I did not move for an hour, not wanting to disrupt the feeling that lingered, like the ozone smell after a lightening strike. The feeling of that great, perfect, white emotional place, that Great White space, just filled me with a feeling of such love and joy that I felt lucky to even hear the distant echoes of it. It was just that amazing.

As a writer, I am filled with humility at not being able to capture the feeling in words. I suppose that it's because of the incredible contrastive elements that the experience brought to me. I had the exhilaration I get from a 50 yard dash on a cool fall morning, the scarlet leaves of the forest path waving me along like the flag at the Daytona 500, along with the utter and complete calm of an hour's meditation, the quiet ringing of temple bells caressing my ears from a distance.

I had no visions of the afterlife. There were no relatives beckoning me toward them. My Godfather, just recently deceased at the time, did not hand down words of wisdom from the great beyond. No. None of these clichés. But the feeling has stuck with me. It was that life-changing that I can imagine it to this day, nearly a decade later.

This experience is why Pi Patel's words strike me with such resonance. Pi argues that the unimaginative will miss the better story of existence. I'm forced to ask myself: Does my experience conflict with my non-belief in a higher power? Notice: I did not say disbelief. I do not disbelieve in God. I simply lack belief. Is this because I lack imagination? In every day life, I'm on a magic carpet ride of imagination. I prize creativity and imaginative fancy more than most. I write, sing, dance and draw. I use up half a hard drive on creative expression of every stripe! But why am I so unimaginative when it comes to reading the spiritual roadmap to a Higher Power? I have no idea.

Maybe Kifflom can teach me.

doe

2005-06-03T10:35:00.000-04:00

It was my usual route: a breezy run, right through the hood and through the local Seminary gates. I was listening to Baltimore dance savant bt. The music shimmered like a new computer and seemed to lend me extra energy -- always nice.

I was about 30 minutes into it when I hit the steep, steep hill that leads from the main road to the main church. It's about 1/4 mile in length, but that actually feels like a long way with that steep gradient. I'm pounding my way up the hill, my sides aching from the heat and the strain of the hill. It feels like my own private Everest.

So I stomp up, turn the bend and I see her standing there, nibbling on something and looking at me all doe-eyed. She was beautiful. Just as peaceful as you please, not a bit scared of me, but still watching me, all the same. She stood there and let me pass, without really moving very much.

Bambi's mom was quite a site, considering that Bountiful, my parents' retirement home, is located smack dab in the middle of hundreds of miles of rural countryside and I've never been that close to a deer, whereas this little seminary is just 10 or so square miles in size. Odd that I should have such a natural encounter within the gates of a religious school, in the middle of the Alexandria suburbs. Why not on the C&O Canal? The last time I saw a deer there, it was head-first in a ditch, dead. (What a sight! A huge buck, face-down dead in a ditch is enough to make even Baby Jesus cry!)

So this was a welcome sight and it made my afternoon just a little special.

That and the George Jetson lesson, I mean.

This summer will be the last one when I have to take classes. Finishing up the second round of graduate classes will keep me busy. Luckily, it's something I can do from home. The class will be webstreamed, or in the macromedia vernacular, breezecast. It's a setup that would make George Jetson proud.

The multimedia lesson is a mix of video cameras, sound, screen sharing (for ppt presentations) and chat. I was pleasantly surprised at the professor's intellect (he's a sharpie) and the class' eagerness to chat. I suppose my expectations were low because I'd never heard of the school before. Well color me impressed -- it went well and I enjoyed the presentation.

microsoft dinosaur

2005-05-31T09:01:00.000-04:00

Had to laugh this morning at the little advert in the WaPo that Microsoft had done. It showed a sassy secretary and a dumb boss in an exchange where dumb boss accidentally emails everybody his salary. How appropriate that the characters in a MS ad are dinos! It nearly made me cough on my kiwi.

Ah... the simpler pleasures in life!

In line for star wars

2005-05-18T20:46:00.000-04:00

"that's no moon!"

Will, Henrico and I had a blast watching the show. It was bigger, bolder and with prettier gee-gaws than ever.

I think the Baby Jesus butt plug would adore this movie. Because all the actors are so stiff in it, they have clearly inserted this product into their anus before each scene was shot.

Lucas is superb with the visuals and the action. Just don't ask him to work with humans. The humans in this picture should have prayed to their Baby Jesus butt plug for acting skills, instead of merely inserting him. Maybe then they could've included some human emotion.

Amen.

Buy me some peanuts & crackerjack

2005-05-18T08:41:00.000-04:00

I don't care if we ever go back. The Nationals lost big time to some out-of-town brewery. But Aaron and I were the *real* losers. The only beer that we could find in the entire ballpark was some domestic swill that must have been harvested from the sewers of Milwaukee. Yuck. And they served it in plastic bottles. One of our beer hawkers won big style points, however, when he showed off his battery powered bottle opener. It was great. Like some bionic Dilbert baseball bartender, the man served up two cold ones by industriously opening the can with his obviously homemade invention. Clever.

Wow. Randomness is great. I got an e-mail from Aaron. Would I like to go to a Nationals Game? Sure! I've never been to a baseball game... at least not that I can remember! It was fun. Very nice just relaxing, people-watching and snickering at the lameness of the sport. Too bad we arrived late I would've liked to have seen people try to sing the national anthem. (I like to make the sound of rockets and explosions during "the rockets red flare" part.)

Nationals game

2005-05-18T08:35:00.000-04:00

Aaron feeling his nats

perfect story

2005-05-12T11:53:00.000-04:00

Here's how you make propaganda. It's easy. Just take a few elements that everybody can relate to easily, even if they have a grade school education.

First, take a handsome, all-American athlete. Just for the fun of it, let's say former NFLer Pat Tillman.

(Extra points if he has a better jaw line than most comic book heroes!)

Next, give him a full soldier makeover! Grrrr! You're so tough!

Perfect.

Now, add a rousing story of heroism and patriotic fervor. Here's one that the WaPo printed:

"Tillman died trying to save fellow members of the 75th Ranger Regiment caught in a crush of enemy fire," the story went. Tillman, said a friend and comrade-at-arms, had told his fellow soldiers "to seize the tactical high ground from the enemy" to draw enemy fire away from another U.S. platoon trapped in an ambush. "He directly saved their lives with those moves. Pat sacrificed his life so that others could live." [It was a] "storybook personal narrative."

Now, that's what I call true patriotism!

(And a source of ugly gif web memorials, too!)

And that's how a legend is born. News casts, radio shows, front pages... everyone sings the glory of the fallen hero. Yes, it's a story to be told and told again... a yarn worthy of EVERYONE's respect.

Except, of course, for those who like to stick to the truth.

Tillman was not the victim of terrorists or insurgents. He was not the victim of THOSE WHO HATE 'MERKA, as some are so fond of saying.

Nope. He was a victim of poor situational awareness.

Like when you get hit in a paintball fight by your own team. So-called "friendly fire."

But you'll never hear about that. It's too buried by other news to make much of a dent in popular consciousness.

So is it propaganda? Or just very well timed press releases? I'd say it's basically the same thing. Chalk up one more X-treme deception in the war against terror.

Oddly enough, the situation reminds me of a scenario from the video game...

"Richard Baxton piloted his Recon Rover into a fungal vortex and held off four waves of mind worms, saving an entire colony. We immediately purchased his identity manifests and repackaged him into the Recon Rover Rick character with a multi-tiered media campaign: televids, touchbooks, holos, psi-tours-- the works. People need heroes. They don't need to know how he died clawing his eyes out, screaming for mercy. The real story would just hurt sales, and dampen the spirits of our customers."

-"Mythology for Profit" -Morgan Stellartots Keynote Speech

Just like in the video game, the administration has used this man's death to promote the war on terror, pushing the truth out of focus so as not to "hurt sales and dampen the spirits" of the citizenry.

sick chick

2005-05-10T14:52:00.000-04:00

The boys at the CDC know a thing or two about the bird flu. But I bet they don't know how much fun it is to watch these little guys sneeze. One of them let out a big one. Hope it's not the flu!

my peeps

2005-05-10T14:51:00.000-04:00

Now that I'm beyond the age of 30, people might say that I'm no spring chick, but these guys sure are. Nothing says spring like the smell of my peeps have freshly dropped!

the screening

2005-05-06T09:16:00.000-04:00

Of course, everyone is nervous for their first time on the red carpet. The strobe-like flashes of the hungry tabloid paparazzi... The chatty interviews outside the theater... the tight-fitting little black stretchy number that your dashing boyfriend wears... And then there's the booze party at the bar and the cheek-kissing greetings of cast and crew...

Joan and Melissa were very generous with me during my first red carpet approach. There was not a single callous remark. It's a good thing that I'd threatened their plastic surgery with outrageous library fines, or they might have castigated me on my less-than perfect hair or my "loaner" jewelry from ~~Overstock.com~~ Tiffany & Co.!

What a complete and total blast! The energy was really good and the talent there was outstanding. I feel that our film was perhaps 4th or 5th place of the 10 shown. And the top 3 could have easily been a real feature film... they were amazing! Great writing, acting, creative talent... the technical side of things was definitely low, overall, but that didn't really distract from the amazing artistry. One in particular, from Washington Improve Theater, was great. It was called "Occupational Hazard" and was a romance about an office worker that went to "war" against a corporate takeover. Sweetly written, my favorite scenes involved sensitive and tear-jerking scenes of letters written home and to the war front, of how supplies are low (toner) and the boys are taking heavy losses. Very impressive!

"hOnc" was our group's film. It was a light, cheerful and funny short about some picnicking time-travelers who travel back to cavemen times. The travelers, dressed stylishly in gold lamé, accidentally leave behind their hOnc, which the local cavemen find and enjoy. (Production note to sci-fi geeks: take "hOnc" and change each letter one place over in the alphabet, just like they did with "HAL" in 2001, and you'll find the modern equivalent.)

Mike, our leader, was so sweet and kind to me at the screening. He took me aside, putting a hand on my shoulder and said, emphatically, "Jeffrey, you know you were SO MUCH MORE than a gopher. You really helped us out and I appreciate it." How nice; I'd had a full day of sincere compliments at that point and this was just icing on the cake.

Patrick had printed up some wonderful posters of our movie. In it, he used my picture of cute caveman Chris.

He made a nice addition to the stylized (and heavily photoshopped image) of our two beloved time-travelers. Nice job, Patrick. Photoshop props to ya!

The screening was so much fun for me that I was crying from laughter. I had to wipe my eyes several times, just to see the show! Will, Chris and Greg were amazingly funny in their roles and really stole the show. My favorite part was hearing the audience's reaction to Will's unearthly screaming. Go, Will!

Finally, seeing my name up in lights at the end of the show, when the credits rolled, was very nice. But I suspect that I got more of a rush with the feeling that our team really pulled together, 12 people with not much in common, to create an original, funny, creative work of art. Nice job, Team Anjou!

Can't wait for the DVD to come out....

52 hour film project

2005-05-03T20:31:00.000-04:00

It all came down to the last few hours. And we couldn't create a film in time. Call us ambitious, call us totally pie-in-the-sky amateur arteests, just don't expect for us to be on time!

After the whole weekend, we missed the deadline by just a few hours. So the 48-hour film project came to something closer to 52... which is much more reasonable, I'm sure you'd agree, right? Oh well... at least we still get to show our short at the American Film Institute! It rocks like a big, glamorous, rocking thing.

Although I'm not sure how good the film will look, at least I know that we looked good making it. Nope, pictures don't lie and we looked pretty darned cute in our little gold lamé body suits. (-: