There is a penny embedded in spilled tar in the middle of Hancock Avenue.
It is face-up.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
I might have learned the meaning of life today
Or that there is not one.
Or neither.
I drove to Augusta, Georgia today with my boss, Jeffrey. We passed an abandoned school house he lived in once and he told me about how Herman Melville's grandson was the surgeon who once sewed part of his thumb back on. The drive was about two hours.
We were driving to the studio of an artist, Philip Morsberger, a painter in his early seventies who was loaning us nineteen of his paintings, each almost as tall as me. Most of his paintings were wildly colorful and cartoonish; "cozy chaos" as my workmate Jessie described them.
Jeffrey gently sifted through them, carrying them to different spots in the room like he was arranging a scene in a movie, looking at them closely, then from far away. His eyes fell on one unlike the others - it was an abstract piece. Fat, short brush strokes in almost every color created a diagonal cascade down the canvas which must have been six feet tall. There were no hats or faces or airplanes like most of his other works. Artists call it, aptly, an abstraction.
All my life I have been so clueless to abstract art...these creations with seemingly no meaning behind them, random strokes across a blank canvas. Meaningless color. And then, the arrogant artist's statement alongside it telling me this piece represents LOVE or WAR or MY MESSED UP CHILDHOOD. The fact that the creator could assign seemingly random attributes to these seemingly random brush strokes always came off as pretentious and nonsensical to me. Was that really why these strokes had fallen the way they did? Or was the creator simply trying to assign meaning to them out of some strange desire for order?
All my life I had wanted to know, "What do these brush strokes really mean? Why this yellow? Why this red here? Is this really supposed to represent war? A mess of colors? Am I supposed to believe that?"
And for the first time in my life, I stood before an abstract piece, this cascade of random brush strokes, with the artist right next to me. It seemed to good to be true.
"It's a really beautiful piece," I told him. And turning to this incredibly sweet, witty and talented old man, I asked: "What does it mean?"
He looked surprised for a moment, and I blushed, thinking I had definitely shown my extreme ignorance of art.
"It doesn't mean a thing," he said, looking at the work, not me. "It's just paint arranged in an arresting manner."
There it was. The meaning I had been searching for my whole life....was that there was no meaning. That random brush strokes are just random. Designed to be aesthetically pleasing, and nothing else. Not designed with any higher meaning but just to exist and be art....
...
On our way out he beckoned towards the two potted plants sitting by the front stairs of his studio.
"I forgot to introduce you," he said, beckoning towards them, "This is Bruce, and this is Kitty, my plants."
He seemed all in all to be one of the most happy individuals I have met of his age, and I will not forget having met him any time soon.
Or neither.
I drove to Augusta, Georgia today with my boss, Jeffrey. We passed an abandoned school house he lived in once and he told me about how Herman Melville's grandson was the surgeon who once sewed part of his thumb back on. The drive was about two hours.
We were driving to the studio of an artist, Philip Morsberger, a painter in his early seventies who was loaning us nineteen of his paintings, each almost as tall as me. Most of his paintings were wildly colorful and cartoonish; "cozy chaos" as my workmate Jessie described them.
Jeffrey gently sifted through them, carrying them to different spots in the room like he was arranging a scene in a movie, looking at them closely, then from far away. His eyes fell on one unlike the others - it was an abstract piece. Fat, short brush strokes in almost every color created a diagonal cascade down the canvas which must have been six feet tall. There were no hats or faces or airplanes like most of his other works. Artists call it, aptly, an abstraction.
All my life I have been so clueless to abstract art...these creations with seemingly no meaning behind them, random strokes across a blank canvas. Meaningless color. And then, the arrogant artist's statement alongside it telling me this piece represents LOVE or WAR or MY MESSED UP CHILDHOOD. The fact that the creator could assign seemingly random attributes to these seemingly random brush strokes always came off as pretentious and nonsensical to me. Was that really why these strokes had fallen the way they did? Or was the creator simply trying to assign meaning to them out of some strange desire for order?
All my life I had wanted to know, "What do these brush strokes really mean? Why this yellow? Why this red here? Is this really supposed to represent war? A mess of colors? Am I supposed to believe that?"
And for the first time in my life, I stood before an abstract piece, this cascade of random brush strokes, with the artist right next to me. It seemed to good to be true.
"It's a really beautiful piece," I told him. And turning to this incredibly sweet, witty and talented old man, I asked: "What does it mean?"
He looked surprised for a moment, and I blushed, thinking I had definitely shown my extreme ignorance of art.
"It doesn't mean a thing," he said, looking at the work, not me. "It's just paint arranged in an arresting manner."
There it was. The meaning I had been searching for my whole life....was that there was no meaning. That random brush strokes are just random. Designed to be aesthetically pleasing, and nothing else. Not designed with any higher meaning but just to exist and be art....
...
On our way out he beckoned towards the two potted plants sitting by the front stairs of his studio.
"I forgot to introduce you," he said, beckoning towards them, "This is Bruce, and this is Kitty, my plants."
He seemed all in all to be one of the most happy individuals I have met of his age, and I will not forget having met him any time soon.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Sorry for the long delay
Things that have been happening:
One of my friends got the tip of one of her fingers cut off. The tip fell into a lake and was not recovered.
I noticed today that one of my ex-boyfriends has grown a goatee. I consider this a personal victory for me.
I baked a red velvet cake.
I got to dance with Jeremey to Al Green at his sister's wedding (He is adorable in a tux, by the way).
I learned how to make yellow curry sauce.
One of my friends traced his lineage and believes he is a demigod.
I think he's an asshole.
One of my friends got the tip of one of her fingers cut off. The tip fell into a lake and was not recovered.
I noticed today that one of my ex-boyfriends has grown a goatee. I consider this a personal victory for me.
I baked a red velvet cake.
I got to dance with Jeremey to Al Green at his sister's wedding (He is adorable in a tux, by the way).
I learned how to make yellow curry sauce.
One of my friends traced his lineage and believes he is a demigod.
I think he's an asshole.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
The Fattest Dachshund
I was biking down Washington Ave. yesterday and stopped at a red light when a couple passed me walking their Basset Hound. A crazy homeless woman I have seen around often was walking close behind them, and she yelled out, "That is one FAT wiener dog!"
I cracked up.
I cracked up.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
My Stupid Barbie Bike
Jeremey and I taped my bike's handlebars today. I suppose the good news is that no self-respecting male will ever risk stealing this. The bad news is that that's because it looks like a Barbie bike:
The handle bar tape that described itself as "burgundy" came out more as a fuchsia, leaving my bike frightningly remniscent of a Kaboodle I owned in second grade. This is what I get buying color-specific things off the internet. The worst part is that this is vintage Benotto handlebar tape, shipped to me from England, and I love it....so I think I'm going to paint the body of my bike a darker color so the handlebars stand out more.
Why is this thing that began simply as a mode of transportation becoming so much like my pet? All these mechanical parts have become so dear. It is strange.
The handle bar tape that described itself as "burgundy" came out more as a fuchsia, leaving my bike frightningly remniscent of a Kaboodle I owned in second grade. This is what I get buying color-specific things off the internet. The worst part is that this is vintage Benotto handlebar tape, shipped to me from England, and I love it....so I think I'm going to paint the body of my bike a darker color so the handlebars stand out more.Why is this thing that began simply as a mode of transportation becoming so much like my pet? All these mechanical parts have become so dear. It is strange.
It is Ninty Degrees Today
It is sunny, cloudless, and hot. Biking feels nice, but once you get off and the breeze stops the heat falls on you - your face is wet, your clothes stick.
I ran into my friend Kirk outside the post office today around 2 p.m. Still cloudless, maybe a storm a couple miles off, but the clouds aren't close. I hugged him, his dress shirt was sweaty, a huge dark blue spot had formed on his back.
"Where are you walking? Do you want a ride?"
He was smiling, and he didn't stop smiling.
"To Normaltown, that Mexican Grocers," he said. "They have cheap ice cream."
Normaltown was at least a two mile walk, especially if he began on campus. He had probably already walked past two or three ice cream vendors, and would pass two more before he got there.
"It's a nice day, you know?" He was almost panting.
"My car is right here. And I live right near there, you know," I said. I did not understand why he did not want a ride; I do not understand why he did not want a ride.
"I'll walk," he said, still smiling (though I cannot attribute his half-crazed expression to the heat - he seems to wear it always).
I got into my car and watched him continue walking. It would be almost an hour long walk, and another back. This was half an hour ago. The temperature still reads 90, Kirk's blue dress shirt is probably drenched by this time.
Every so often I am reminded that human beings possess the ability to perform completely irrational tasks, just for the sake of reminding ourselves that we can. It is a somewhat comforting thought.
I ran into my friend Kirk outside the post office today around 2 p.m. Still cloudless, maybe a storm a couple miles off, but the clouds aren't close. I hugged him, his dress shirt was sweaty, a huge dark blue spot had formed on his back.
"Where are you walking? Do you want a ride?"
He was smiling, and he didn't stop smiling.
"To Normaltown, that Mexican Grocers," he said. "They have cheap ice cream."
Normaltown was at least a two mile walk, especially if he began on campus. He had probably already walked past two or three ice cream vendors, and would pass two more before he got there.
"It's a nice day, you know?" He was almost panting.
"My car is right here. And I live right near there, you know," I said. I did not understand why he did not want a ride; I do not understand why he did not want a ride.
"I'll walk," he said, still smiling (though I cannot attribute his half-crazed expression to the heat - he seems to wear it always).
I got into my car and watched him continue walking. It would be almost an hour long walk, and another back. This was half an hour ago. The temperature still reads 90, Kirk's blue dress shirt is probably drenched by this time.
Every so often I am reminded that human beings possess the ability to perform completely irrational tasks, just for the sake of reminding ourselves that we can. It is a somewhat comforting thought.
Monday, September 1, 2008
My Apartment
I live in a really cool apartment complex. For example, I looked out my window the other day to see who was at the pool (I have a view that voyeurs would drool over) only to realize that I would not be able to go swimming, as a local band was shooting a music video in the actual pool, with their clothes on and everything. I liked them a lot, they are called Quiet Hooves. Below is the video they shot. It's pretty cute.
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