Stir Crazy

The semester wrapped up a little over 3 weeks ago (THREE WEEKS ALREADY?!), and since then I have been in a semi-constant state of boredom that ebbs back and forth between worry-free elation and lackadaisical frustration; the latter of which has been effecting me most recently. I am jobless, I have too much time on my hands, I have friends who aren't as needy as me and goddamnit I have a mind that thinks (see, 'worries') far too much. I have become stir crazy in my solitary confinement, longing for the platonic companionship of a dog or cat in the most desperate of moments (Herbie just doesn't cut it sometimes, he's so selfish!*) and finding myself stuck in a perpetual downward spiral of borderline agoraphobic anxiety...

So...needless to say...it was INCREDIBLY NICE to go out this evening with my friend Julie. I mean, wow, indescribably nice. The weather in Louisville has felt like I'm stuck on a movie set in Seattle, preparing for a funeral scene...ultra gloomy and doomy; so I was surprised at how great it felt to be out and about in the world. I joined Julie at Molly Malone's and gorged on fish and chips, topped off with a Stella Artois (courtesy my recent 21st birthday...woo!)...and we even got coffee at Quills and ice cream at Homemade Ice Cream and Pie Kitchen. It was a real hog fest, but we were both so tickled to be out that, well, why the fuck not, you know? We then spent the evening "girling out" and talking about guys; more specifically, our shared affinity for a good beard. Mmm, yes.

I'm not sure what I'm getting at. Maybe that it was nice to feel alive and happy after several days of Charlie Brown-esque depression. And that I need to get out more and really, REALLY need to find a job with this newfound, uplifted attitude before it hides away again. Yeah. I think that's it.

On one last random side note: I am SO fucking excited about this My Morning Jacket concert coming up on the 31st. I mean, just as excited for it as I am for Bonnaroo. I bought the tickets as a birthday gift to myself (ROW B...just think about that), and when I found out it was being turned into a sort of huge event thing (with Todd Haynes directing it and broadcasting it live online)... Now I'm just beside myself with happiness and am forcing my brother to go with me (we love concerts and we love the Jacket, but our last MMJ concert experience ended with two kiddos on acid rubbing our hair the whole time, and it made us want to steer clear of GA concert crowds for a while), so it should be a raucous, good ole time... Okay, I'll shut up now.

*just have to clarify...that's a joke...hardy har

I Need To Get Out Of Louisville

For the longest time I was not only content with Louisville, but I was happy. Why shouldn't I be? Yes, this isn't the biggest city in the USA, and even if it is very supportive of the arts, it is virtually impossible to work as an artist (specifically, a performing artist) within the city, but it has everything I ever wanted growing up...so how can I complain? The answer is simple: I can't. I think every single day about how different my life could have been had I grown up in a city that had magnet schools, private institutions with many opportunities for scholarship funding, and exposure, exposure, exposure. My God...

I don't have a time machine, and unfortunately for all of us, time doesn't even stop to let us think for a moment; so it's a total waste to linger on what could have been. I am just grateful to have been raised by two wonderful people who still exposed my brother and myself to as many things as they could. My parents did normal things, like encouraging us to listen to music, having us take piano lessons (6 years for myself, not sure about my brother), enrolling me in ballet, and later, jazz and tap, and of course private guitar lessons for my brother, while I opted to take private painting instruction...but these normal things meant so much more to us than most will ever realize.

For whatever reason, Eastern Kentuckians don't like art. Well, that's a roughly put statement...what I mean to say is that, they don't really care about art. Yes, you will still see plenty of folk art (quilts, woodwork, crafts, and the occasional bucolic painting: see, Russell May), and no I am not saying every Eastern Kentuckian falls into this category; but if someone were to argue with me on this, they better have an argument to back it up. I grew up around friends who, God love 'em, made fun of me for years because I was an artist. I know the majority of it was done in jest, but that doesn't make it entirely okay. It didn't help that the only decent art instructor I ever had during my entire 14-year public school education was in elementary school (a woman who I later mentored under, and realized that teaching anything outside of a collegiate setting wasn't for me). Hell, after my freshman year of high school my school decided to eliminate the art program (yes, you read correctly, the program...all because they wanted to fire the teacher), pushing me even further into the dark away from art education.

So, you see, if my parents hadn't encouraged my brother and me to take initiative outside of school for our art, then we wouldn't have become the pissy, creative little artists we are today. I am getting beside myself, though. The point of this post was about why I need to leave Louisville. In the journey that has been/currently is my life, I feel that Louisville was the perfect stop-over point for me; but I'm ready to move on. This city is comfortable...too comfortable... It feels like an artist's retirement dream (well, if you want small town America + enough of the city life, but not too much of it), but I'm not ready to retire. I'm ready to get out there and fucking work. I need to get out of this city. The world is my oyster, right?

Also, on a random site note: I heard this band called Cibo Matto on Grooveshark earlier and they are so fucking weird I can't resist them. I told Erin that if we had a band, it would be just like Cibo Matto.

Cibo Matto - Know Your Chicken by WBRNewMedia

Obama Is Such A BAMF

Ugh, apparently the video got taken down or something. Maybe I'll come back and fix it later...maybe not... You can probably Google search "Obama, Seth Meyers, Donald Trump, 2011 White House Correspondents Dinner" and find a billion versions of it. Just sayin'...

A friend posted this video on Facebook earlier, and while I usually dodge videos related to any political figures (a bad habit, as I am often lagging behind on current affairs), I was drawn to this video. And boy, oh boy, am I glad I watched it...

Basically, if you don't feel like watching all of it, President Obama rips Donald Trump a new asshole like it's a surprise roast. The best part of all? It just gets worse and worse as the video goes on. As if that public wound isn't painful enough, Seth Meyers steps up to the plate and pours some more salt on it. Oh well... I don't want to sound mean, but the Donald certainly had something coming to him, so I can't feel too bad. Either way, I take comfort in knowing that our President can handle a sense of humor with swag and still come off on the right foot at the end of the day.

Good Morning

I had an older friend a few years ago who was a poet (sorry if that sounds a little pretentious, but she was...she was even finishing her master's degree in poetry), and she used to always talk about how much she loved mornings. She would go to bed around 10:00PM and wake up by 5:00 or 6:00AM the next day. Now, at the time, I thought she was insane. Maybe insane is a harsh word. I guess I just didn't understand why anyone who wasn't required to get up so early ever would...

That is, until I discovered why myself. I went through a bad phase last spring where I quit sleeping for over a month and just spent a lot of time in some weird fog. And while I wouldn't go back to having sleepless nights EVER again, there were a few really beautiful things I took away from the entire situation...one of which being this: I love mornings. Do I get up early? Fuck no. Not often...not as much as I should. Then again, to be fair, I don't usually have a huge incentive to get up and get going most mornings (just bitching cause I still don't have a job).

Ah! I'm digressing! The point is, if you never take the time to wake up and appreciate a beautiful morning once in a while, then you are letting something truly precious fall right through the cracks in life. We all know it can be fun to be a night owl, but when you get up early (and I mean early...think 6:00AM) there is something so beautiful and tranquil about the morning. It feels like a well-kept secret...like you're the only person awake in the world, and it's just you and the earth for a few minutes as it should be. The air is still, unstirred by the bustle of people's movement, and sounds are soft, but clear. It's definitely one of those situations where you have to let yourself give into the morning, otherwise you'll just wind up feeling stupid and cranky and tired.

Anyway, maybe Walt Whitman was on to something all those years ago...

"Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers where I can walk undisturbed." - Walt Whitman

I think the video has to be opened in another window...and for that, I apologize...

I'll Have So Much To Tell You About It

I love Fleet Foxes. More specifically, I love Robin Pecknold. Why? Well, to be honest, because I've heard he's an ultra shy guy and I can totally relate to the hellhole that is a shy life. Regardless, when I was home over the weekend I took some time out to read the most recent issue of Rolling Stone and found myself enamored at the Fleet Foxes article. It wasn't even anything special, but I guess what really stuck out was one part where it mentions the meaning behind the song, "Grown Ocean." Now, I'm not going to slap any specific claim on who said it (cause I don't remember and the magazine is at my parent's house, 3 hours away), but it was mentioned that "Grown Ocean" was about a dream where Pecknold is no longer socially anxious...and I think that's gorgeous.

Sometimes I understand the sentiment behind bands not telling the meaning to their music, but other times I think it makes the songs richer and fuller in worth and meaning. So, assuming this is true (I mean...RS wouldn't publish it if it wasn't...right?), and "Grown Ocean" is about the dream of overcoming social anxiety...well, that's just incredible. I concur Mr. Pecknold, and I hope that I too will one day awake from this because I have so much to tell.

Fleet Foxes - Grown Ocean from Fleet Foxes on Vimeo.

I know someday the smoke will all burn off
All these voices I'll someday have turned off
I will see you someday when I've woken
I'll be so happy just to have spoken
I'll have so much to tell you about it

Gone Too Soon

As of yesterday evening, my iPhone met an early demise courtesy of the washing machine. I don't want to talk about it, but I will say that I swear I checked my laundry beforehand and all the pockets and I have NO idea how in the fuck I overlooked it... Fast forward to today, where I tried to go purchase a new phone, ran into complications and finally just said fuck everything, bought a temporary piece of shit replacement phone and went on my merry way...

Looking onward at my new phone, lovingly... or sadly... I'm not sure what that emotion is.

Anyway, I'll stop complaining now. Enough of my white people problems.

Story for a Rainy Day...

Today was a little rough for wear on me. I normally get to sleep in on Mondays, but in lieu of this I had to get up early and meet some classmates at campus to work on a project. I won't delve into details, other than mentioning two things:

1. It's a craft project (meaning, it's a waste of time for anyone over about the age of 13)...but maybe I'm biased in being frustrated over this aspect of it because I'm an artist. I already don't like working in groups (see #2), but when I have to do a project that involves creativity of any kind...you may as well just put a gun to my head. It's the same thing...every time...no one else will suggest any ideas, especially nothing sensible, cohesive, or entertaining, and anytime I make a suggestion I may as well have just said it to the wall, cause that's the reaction I get.

2. I HATE WORKING IN GROUPS. Ahhhhh. I'm sorry. I do. Especially when it's a group you don't choose... Nothing is worse.

Anyway. Momentarily shoving aside my anger over this ridiculous project, I'll go on to say that today was really strange. I set my alarm for 9am, but found myself awake around 7:30am anyway. I took my time enjoying the morning, preparing for the day, whatever else. I left the house and stepped out into that last lingering bit of beautiful weather that was blowing away with the storm pushing in. There was even a strange peace with going to a Hobby Lobby at a 10:00am on a Monday. Just me and a bunch of scrapbooking, crafty moms, shuffling through aisles with that odd Christian hymnal elevator music in the background. It was strangely nice. All of it.

I got to school, worked on that project for THREE HOURS, then got to walk around with it in down-pouring rain between class. The thick presentation board was almost soaked through and was starting to bend by the time I headed to my car to go home. At this point, I decided to skip my afternoon class, already affected by the weird haze of the day. So as I walked to my car, rain still pouring everywhere, I found myself soaked to the core along with my (basically) all-paper poster board project. And as much as it sucked to think of that project getting ruined...or knowing that I look and feel like I just took a shower fully dressed from the rain...I started laughing. I had one of those insane beautiful moments where I kept wanting to break out laughing while I walked alone, but I knew I looked crazy so I kept trying to stifle it and just enjoy the feeling. And finally, as I approached the awning to the parking garage stairwell (my safe haven goal from the rain), I saw a man coming down the stairs, fighting with an umbrella as he approached the open sky. It was a fight he lost, as the umbrella immediately protested by blowing backgrounds with the first gust of wind, being more problematic than useful. The guy began shaking the umbrella and yelling loudly, "Fuck this fucking shit! Fucking monsoon!" And that was all it took. I busted out in raucous, almost uncontrollable laughter, only managing to calm myself for the two seconds it took to pass him on the stairwell.

It might not sound like much, but it was a nice feeling...the entire day felt great in such an unfamiliar way. I feel like I don't get too many days like this, so when they come along it's an incredible feeling...and I wanted to share that.

Plus, I mean...that umbrella guy story is funny...

I'll leave you with photos (because I know people only peruse through blogs to look at photos 9 times out of 10) from Twin Peaks since I am currently a slave to David Lynch's universe. You can expect a post all about it here in a few days. For now, though, pictures [spoilers...sort of]:

Celebrating Leo's vegetable-state return home...

Log lady...

Lucy...

Agent Cooper singing the praises of pie...

And of course...I can't resist a photo of Audrey and Agent Cooper...one of those couples that I feel almost morally(?--not sure if that's the word I want to use) wrong for "shipping"...