Bad parking

I had started off this post writing about the adventures of swollen calf muscle, but even I got bored so I have scrapped that train of thought.
It looks like someone here in the "compound" is having an opening or a party of some sort. There's lots of cars coming in and I am getting more parked in by the minute. This parking situation is getting to be kind of a pain. This morning both Rand I were parked in by two rows of cars so a whole car moving event had to be orchestrated for us to just leave. I got home at 5:30, and as expected, most of the cars had cleared out by then. After 5 or 6 it's usually just the stragllers who work late that stick around. But then I was ready to go out and restock the barracks because we have nothing in the fridge that isn't spoiled and I see that I am parked in again. By two cars. I just checked and now it's 4. The problem is that I am to motherfuckin embarrassed (I think shy is what I really mean) to walk into that party/opening and say 'hey, I gotta move my car!'. It sucks. And it's my fault, and I know it. I feel like a poser: we are renting this awesome strudio space and I haven't made art in months. Internally, I am ok with that because my mind is elswhere, with other things. But then I can't shake that feeling that I should be making art in order to justify being here. Yes, I know that this has no bearing on the fact thatI need to get out of my parking space. But interaction is complicated.

My womanhood has me whooped today. My boobs are puffy and huge and for about an hour this morning it felt like my uterus was being wrung out like a bathing suit. My accomplishments for the day have been minimal, at best: sleep, run, sleep some more. No mention of paper writing in there you might notice. yeah. Oops.

Walking on the Flanks of Presumption

My right calf looks like a swollen, pasty piece of pork flank. And not a delicious one at that. I made the decision this morning not to push through the pain and run run run, and pouted all the way back to the car. It doesn't actually hurt that bad, mostly when I squat down and squash the back of the calf muscle. I need to not be an idiot and tear my muscle to shreds.

I was home again yesterday afternoon, and it felt so illicit and wonderful. I had a huge lunch, took a nap and read more stuff for my paper. A day well spent. In a fit of rationality I also decided to cancel the party on Saturday. This is a huge relief. The smell of the apartment when I walked in the door yesterday was the first sign that the party plan was not going to work. The lack of studying caused by the nap was the second.

I was very very pissed off last night and for no apparent reason. Well the main reason I guess was PMS, but beyond that I was just simmering with an unrequited disgruntledness. Some of it had to do with the fact that R is busting his ass to finish doing the floor in that room, and that he won't be finished on schedule due to no fault of his own and most likely my dad will be annoyed that it's not done. Some of it had to do with the fact that yesterday they were installing the fiber-optic cables for the ridiculous video monitored gate entry system. Soon we will all be subject to scrutiny before we can enter the "compound". I think that the last some of it had to do with the realization that I was worrying about whether they would find the house dirty when they came back. I was mad that I was worried about it, and getting madder at the thought that they might in fact find it dirty. We ain't a bunch of maids, especially the Marisel and Rosemary. They are paid to take care of my grandmother - not mop the floors. They already cook for the whole family, which is a lot to ask in my opinion.
Anyhow, the parents/ bosses have returned. I haven't seen them yet, but I need to try and push all these issues that I've created in my head aside and deal with them in reality. Not presumption.

Convicted in Icy Hell

I managed to successfully escape work yesterday like a convict out of hell. It was a beautiful afternoon, so of course the natural thing to do was suck up my calf pain and run, run, run. Definitely worth it.
this morning however my body wasn't so into the concrete party it had last night. First off, I felt like I hadn't eaten in days and that there was a gopher eating away at the inside of my stomach. Then my calf seized up after about a half hour. I made it for 20 more minutes until I just had to walk it out of fear of seriously rupturing something down there. As expected, I was sweaty, so I got cold on the long walk back to the car, and now I can't shake the chilly feeling.

But speaking of great escapes, today there is another one in the works. It's my last chance before my parents come back to work and the grind starts again to play hookey and have riotous times at the library. The wonderfully warm and sexy fine arts library.

You might remember that a while back I mentioned a 'shits n' giggles' party I was planning to throw? Well, that's supposed to be on Saturday - yes, the Saturday that is 2 days from now. There are few things I am lacking at the moment in regards to organizing even the most informal shits n' giggles shindig: 1) money 2) time to clean 3) desire to clean and 4) the energy to muster up interesting and unakward conversation for an evening. Item #1 is a very serious problem, because even the most drab of events can be made tolerable by the mere presence of lots of food. And I suppose, alcohol. My budget allows for not much more than a bag of pretzels and that's no fun.
Not without mustard anyways. Hm. Do we hear mustard themed party? Wear yellow and twist into your favorite pretzel shape - I smell a bash coming on.

puta de mierda

My grandmother has always had a foul mouth, and despite her incredible good-heartedness, has always disapproved of everything. It dawned on me this morning that I might be the only witness to her cussing, screaming rampages. A few months back my mom was horrified when she heard Carmen insulting Marisel and saying words like culo or calling her a whore. I told her - 'but Mom, she's always been like that. It's a good sign. It just means that she's being herself." I was surprised that this was news to her, but I didn't think too much about it. Then this morning my aunt was telling me how surprised she was to hear my grandmother talk like that. She was shocked, and that's when I realized that I am maybe the only one who knows. I wonder if she was as angry, belligerent, disapproving and foul mouthed in Argentina as she was when I was growing up.
She came to the states, suburban Detroit more specifically, when she was 60 years old. She's been living with us ever since. That's was a big change: she came not knowing any English, and with the intention of only staying for six months. At around the six month mark, her mother passed away, so she went back to Argentina to make all the arrangements. I however was having none of that and at six months old decided to stop growing, get sick and make my parents life hell. She came back to the states soon after and 26 years later here she is.

So her life took a pretty serious shift in direction. Maybe that was enough to make her suspicious and judgemental about everything - especially changing teenagers. But I think there's something else going on, some remnant of her life that has left her feeling unsettled and guilty for all this time. My aunt was questioning this morning what she must have been like as a teenager, that maybe something in her adolescence prompted her later mistrust of young people. Sadly, whatever that might have been has been lost. Left to speculation and the spotty memories of her surviving siblings, all of whom were probably too young to know anyways.

Maybe it's her falut that I have such a sailor's vocabulary now. I curse in English of course, but violent language knows know borders.

***

My parents are supposed to come back from China tomorrow night and that means we can go home on Friday. It hasn't been so bad of a week after all, and I really have to thank my aunt for that. Manly I am looking forward to sleeping in our bed and not on a skinny piece of foam on the floor.
I have a killer pain in my right calf so I skipped the run this morning. I am feeling a little antsy for it now, but maybe just maybe, it will feel better and I can sneak out of work early and run in the afternoon sunshine. At least I can fantasize about running while I'm locked in this fluorescent cage.

Eat shit!

To prove what a diligent student I am, I actually went to the library last night. The fine Arts library is beautiful. Mahogany and spiral staircases all over the place. I would have stayed to actually do some more studying - the place is wonderfully silent - but I had to get back to Carmenville.
I am sleepy again this morning, but I think that today is has to do with my weird dietary habits the last few day. I didn't each a very hearty or balanced dinner last night and I felt it on my run this morning. That, and a huge, painful knot in my right calf. Maybe with some more coffee and food I can have a productive study day. Inbetween my work duties, of course.
I've been reading a little about Olmsted's central concept behind the creation of Central Park. Not only did have a wonderfully and stringently composed plan for the landscape, but he also had a plan of comportment devised for the park's keepers. They were restricted from chatting with the park's visitors, and if asked for assistance they had a 5 minute time limit in which to provide it. Olmsted's vision of Central Park was perhaps the first site-specific art experience.
Christo and Jean Claude can eat dirt.

The Day After Tommorrow

For about 15 minutes this morning I thought that the world was seriously ending and that I was going to die wet and alone.
Yes folks, it hailed this morning. Hailed. Big, round, motherfucking painful pellets of hail. It was about 6:30 this morning and the weather felt good - it was damp out because its been raining the past couple of days, but it was warm enough to run in a tank top and it felt good.
Then the light started to turn yellow. In my head I was trying to convince myself that this didn't have to mean it was going to start pouring. I thought that maybe it would be just a drizzle - but then it started a downpour. I couldn't see in front of me, so I pulled over to get a plan together but I was just getting wetter. Then the rain started to sting my eyes and hurt. I look down and see all these white pellets on the ground, like road salt. What the fuck - it was ice. No wonder it hurt. I had to keep running because I wasn't about to stand under a tree and get struck by lightning. This is when I started to think that maybe this was the end of the world. It's the end of April, it starts hailing out of the blue, and the thunder and lightning are feeling pretty apopoclyptic. For the next 15 minutes I got a pretty good speed interval going though, and before I made it to the Texaco where I was planning to take cover, the hail stopped and turned into regular old rain. Eventually it tapered down to a drizzle. I was already drenched so I figured there was no point in stopping so I finished my run as I had intended. There was even a little bit of sunshine. Just a little.

I did not do enough to get my paper started this weekend and am slightly panicking. I have gotten a bunch of reading done today though inbetween doinng stuff at work. The paper is starting to take shape mentally, if not physically. Hopefully I can sneak out early for a date with Frederic Olmsted at the library after work.

morning nap

Had a pretty good talk with my aunt about urban renewal and other current topics of interest. Its rainy today, and cold and kind of blah. My grandma was good this morning, until Carmen, one of the girls who comes on Saturday, got here and then she got all pouty. We'll see how today pans out.

It's Saturday, and my body knows it. I'm sleepy. Nap time until R gets home.

Tornadoes in Carmenville

Carmen nearly made me cry yesterday. When I got home she was with Rosemary, and while she seemed to be upbeat and in a good mood, she was in the process of packing all her belongings into a trash bag so she could catch the train home. I managed to distract her for long enough to give her the dinnertime meds. We started to make dinner, but she was getting increasingly pissed off and eventually went up stairs to keep packing. She flipped. She yelled at me, told me that I was lying to her about where her clothes were. I let her rip everything out of her closet. Just when I had decided that the only thing to do was to take her for a long walk to the "train station", she got tired and agreed to come have dinner. After eating she calmed a bit - I think that maybe she didn't have enough food in her stomach when she took her brain cocktail. All was pretty calm from then, except she was planning her bus trip the next day.

This morning at about 2:00 I heard her get up, and from the intercom in her room, it sounded like she was opening and closing doors. Thank god my aunt was in the next room to deal with it. Carmen sounded mad, but I couldn't decipher why.

This is hard. It's hard to see her like this, and it's hard to be patient and accept that it's not really her insulting you. Two weeks ago she was so relaxed and not mentioning anything about wanting to go home. I don't know what's happened this week.

The funny thing is that it feels like it's been a pretty long two days, and my parents aren't even in Beijing yet. At least I'm not sleeping in an airport.

See that tent over there with the mailbox? It's mine.

Today I escaped the building and mailed off my materials for POST. In addition to registering for the Open Studio Tour, there is also have the option of submitting work to be considered for an exhibition sponsored by the Center For Emerging Visual Artists. Here's a smattering of what I shoved in that envelope (ok, you know I didn't "shove" it in - I slid it in like it was made of that soap paper stuff that they used to have in public bathrooms.):

I also sent in the cards that for with Lenny, Charice and Faruk. Here's Faruks card:

I spent way too much money doing this - between getting the slides duplicated and the registration fee it came to over $150. This $150 will now not being going to our MASSIVE natural gas bill, or our rent or any of the other insaley expensice things we have to pay for in order to get by as "civilized" human being. Dude, tents and vacant lots are so underrated.

Yesterday the gossip mill was abuzz with the news that a hottie bicyclist is applying for the technician job that is open. Yes, I said it: hottie.* The talk yesterday wasn't so much about the fact that he was (is) goodlooking, but rather a concern over whether his "personality" will be too overbearing. What a crock of bullshit! As a group, we are the most unwelcoming, hard headed people in this whole institution - and there is a concern that he might be too opinionated? No. I think the ladies here a little intimidated at the idea of a) yet another man penetrating the estrogen barrier, and b) that the brave soldier is about 6'7", young, and definitely not a science nerd. And, let's not forget that he is actually qualified. He knows what he's doing, and definitely has me beat in terms of lab technique. We'll see what happens with this soon enough, but I have a feeling that we might be having a spike in the number of single women coming in to use our equipment.

*Sorry Kid. You know I love you - it's just that this siuation required some "objective" analysis.

Shame still hurts when you're half asleep

I have recovered from my day ungodly sleepiness. Yesterday was hell. I could not keep it together, at all. I should have known as soon as I woke up and felt like my brain was tuning in static radio. Oh yeah, and yesterday in my fogginess I neglected to mention that as I was backing out of my parking spot in our buildings little lot, I rammed into a vintage Cadillac. Yup. It doesn't run or anything, but it's been garage kept and is (was) in pristine condition. Thankfully, the damage barely a dent, so not too noticeable. Not in the dark at least. The heart pounding anxiety that ensued was enough to wake me up until I got to where I start my run. I got about 7 feet, paused and wondered whether it was worth driving back home and crawling into bed. It takes about 20 minutes at that hour due to the lack of traffic. I decided it wasn't worth the five minutes of sleep, and continued to have a really good run. I thought I would be good for the day.
Not quite. It was the longest day ever. The 12 or so cups of coffee I had between 8:30 and 4:00 did not improve my profound sluggishness. I am getting tired as I describe this, so I'll just say that I made it home and had a wonderful nap till about 7. I must have slept through all kinds of stuff going on just outside my door because when I woke up the stairs were redone and there was the most gigantic dog I've ever seen in my life - Tyrone.

Tomorrow my parents leave for China, meaning that tonight begins our 10 day stint in Carmenville. My dad informed me yesterday that Carmen had a quite a night on Monday: she woke up mad because she thought the me and Estela were waiting for her at the bus station. I am so glad that my aunt will be there with us. I can't handle those moments of crisis by myself. Her being there also means I can leave for my run in the morning without developing ulcers worrying whether Carmen is ok at home.
I dreamt last night that she didn't end up coming. I really, really hope that dream doesn't come true.

Horse

As everyone is getting reading to jump ship here in the lab - either going back to school or on maternity leave - my days are getting more hectic as I prepare to take on everyone else's duties. Thus I apologize for my occasionally irregularity lately. (What am I talking about? Like YOU care! I care. I'm sorry. I shoudn't be displacing my guilt on all of you) Onward.
Last night was my last class, and now begins the trials of writing the final paper. It only needs to be about 5 pages, but its going to be a nervewrecking doozy, especially considering the foggy state of my thinking skills lately. Compounded by the fact that tomorrow begins the "China marathon" at my parents house. Yup, they're going to China so R and I have been assigned to stay with Carmen for 10 days. It should be fine; I am not minding the time away from home too much especially since my aunt is supposed to be there. I am nervous about writing my final however. My concentration has not been known to be at it's peak with Telemundo novelas in the background beckoning to me. It's also hard not to eat a whole bunch of crap when I am over there. They just have such good snacky food.
I have a lot of work today and it's not quite getting the day off to a good start that I've been procrastinating for a full hour now. (Officially only a half hour since I got here early.)

Since I am already deep into this procrastination thing this morning, maybe it's a good time to wonder aloud whether anyone is actually reading this. Part of me, hopes not. But of course I want you to read it. I check that stupid counter all the fucking time. Maybe you, whoever you are, could indulge me once in awhile with a comment? Am I begging? You know, it's a long day and my voice is a little hoarse from talking into an empty text box.

Yesterday's Fencing

**This post was written yesterday, but I had to run off to class and submit my embarrassingly terrible paper before I could post it.

Shit is getting wierd on the homefront - not the my immediate homefront, but the one that involves my lovely and dear progenitors. When things go awry here, it also tends to mean that they go awry at work. Every day I am becoming profoundly more uncomfortable with the fact that R is employed as their personal contractor, a contractor who is paid rates far too low for his level of love and commitment to the work. (no, I'm not biased!) Aside from that, the whole issue of my Dad's fence is starting to annoy me more and more for its' total excess. This weekend, the fence guy installed the automatic gate opener. This is admittedly great, because now you will not have to get out of the car to open and shut the gate when you come in. We have learned first hand that this is a pain in the ass, especially in winter. My dad then proceeds to tell us about the intercom system and video cameras that they are going to install. We laugh. Gee. wouldn't that be funny. Here's the thing: he was serious. There are numerous problems with this idea, elitism being only one on the list. There are, in fact, more practical issues, the first being how Marisol will get in in the morning if no one hears her buzzing. She could conceivably be waiting at the end of the driveway for a very , very long time before anyone notices she's out there. In addition, my dad is planning to have only 2 openers made - one for him and one for my mom. This would be fine, except it leaves me to wonder how I am supposed to get into the house to watch after my grandmother when they are away. Which as of late, is every 4 days.

It's such a silly thing, this damned fence. With each piece that goes up the less I understand it. It doesn't help that I held it up as example of violations of public space in my rotty paper. My poorly written, but well reasoned argument about the fence only fanned the flames of my civic-minimalist backlash.

I just barely managed to write the most excucuating 1 and a half pages I have written since high school. I don't know why I haven't been able to get that paper out for the past couple of weeks, but today I finally got something out. It's bad. But it's words. Words that in their own interpretative way, make sense. It's safe to say that this isn't going to be one of the final papers I present for class.
Last night R and I cashed in our pennies and retrieved $33 - which we then spent on a dinner that exceeded that amount by too much to make me comfortable. But hey, we had a blast.

purge

Yesterday I purged my parent's attic of highschool artwork that had been sitting there, well, since highschool. It felt great. It was a little appetizer of freedom: from history, from stuff, from the reigns of what was and could have been.
Well, I tried to throw it away. I had brought all the trash outside, I was about to bring it to the curb and my dad spots me. He raids my pile and grabs a good half of what I had chosen to chuck. Oh well. The upside is that now it's his problem, his belonging, his memory. Not mine. I renounce my claim to the first evidence of my early artistic proclivities. It has been thankfully relegated to memory. Except of course, for what my dad has cloistered away.
I did also find papers that I wrote in my senior year of highschool and freshman year of college. I still haven't learned to proofread.

Ok. Its too early for me today. Goodnight.

37 degrees

Today we are having a farewell lunch for the other technician in our lab. Fun times of pre-Easter distraction and un-work related interaction!
Yesterday was actually busy at work for the first time in quite awhile and it was kind of nice - but I think that that has to do with the fact that I actually learned something new for the first time in months.
I have been continuing my thoughts on spatial distribution. I highly recommend you go here. That's all I'm gonna say about that right now. My thoughts are still fuzzy today on this matter, and I have the feeling that I might jinx myself.
I have this thing, that whenever the seed of an idea is just beginning to sprout, one of two things can happen: In the excitement of the revelation you share it with those around you, or, you don't say anything and let it grow a little bit. In my experience, whenever the first thing happens, the idea fizzes in its own juices for a bit, but eventually dies out. The next step is never taken, nothing gets made. If you let grow however, it kind of swells and expands until eventually it just has to get done. By this time, the idea has matured into a thing in and of itself. It is born.
This superstition isn't about protecting "intellectual property". It's not that I am scared that R is going to steal my idea. It really is about fertilizing and properly incubating a course of action, whatever that may be.
So that's kind of where I am at today. In incubation.

They yawned before they revolted

It's morning. Boy is it morning. I am actually sleepier now than when I first got up this morning, which is odd, because I am usually pretty obnoxiously peppy after my run. Maybe I need a third helping of breakfast to kick my brain into gear.
Last night's class was really interesting, but a little weird. The professor was trying to make a pretty sophisticated, but fundamentally simple point: that poverty has less to do with income than with wealth. And I think that the class was with him on this - it's a tough one to argue when you really think about it. No, what got the class going in strange semantic directions was one of James Mills' 1826 writings about the economy post-slavery. Overall, what he was suggesting was that to pay a man to work was the same as owning a slave because in either case you (well, Mills and his cronies) were still owners of what that man created. Paul Samuelson more than 100 years later expands on this by describing labor as the renting of humans.
The professor started out the discussion by asking us to define slavery. Taking into account Mills conclusions about the equivalence of slave labor and paid labor, then we in the working world are all slaves simply because we do not own what we create. I don't have a stake in the scientific experiments I carry out at work, nor do I have "ownership" of anything I might create there, be it physical or conceptual. (The latter is true only to a certain extent)
This seemed to be an itchy spot for the class. I don't know why really, because it seems unfortunately and painfully obvious. Maybe it takes a couple of years of having to work for a living to realize how precious your time and your mental effort are, and sadly, how little we are actually required to think as we become more digested into the machine.
Anti-capitalism in the morning! I think that woke me a bit.

Relent Not.

NPR kindly informed me on my way in to work
this morning that Paulo Mendes da Rocha was awarded this years Pritzker Prize for architecture.
I won't sit here and pretend that I knew who Mendes daRocha was before 8:15 this morning, or that I remembered exactly what the Pritzker prize was. Nevertheless the story got me thinking - not so much about the prize itself, but about blind faith and devotion.
In the peice, Nicolai Ouroussoff, architecture critic for The New York Times says. "And one thing I like about him is he has always been true to values… There’s a strain of brutalism, but also nature, indoor, outdoor, as in L.A., Brazil, but he stayed true to those values all way through."
Mendes da Rocha is not a young man - I believe they said he was in his seventies - so he has had a long life of relentless adherance to his own vision. That's the hard part, isn't it? The relentlessness. It is one thing to have your vison, but quite another to act on it, fail, and act on it again.
That, and the fact that you can never go about anything with the intention of winning. (Beef & Salt what kind of anti-competitive fascist are you?) Wait. It's true - it's not about the winning but about the doing. Do. Just do (yeah, I'm talking to you Beef). You can't possibly start off your life with the final goal being the Nobel, or the Pritzker or whatever. Once you succeed it's over - kind of like scarfing down a whole meal wiothout having chewed a bite of it.
Anyways, congratulations Paulo.

Pluck out of bed

I am savoring the last few moments of my bed before having to rip myself out of the wonderful poofiness that is our blankets and head out into Carmenville. I love that our new wireless connection has allowed me to stay in bed that much longer.
I truly hope that I can get my shit together enough to write my paper today. It is so hard to be with my grandmother and not worry like crazy. The funny thing is that she has been fine lately; she's been calm, with a sense of humor, and not hankering to 'go home'. But it's stressful to think that she might get up in the middle of the night, get dressed and be ready and waiting to leave. Last week I got up at 5 to go for my run and noticed that her light was on. I went in to check on her and she was laying on the bed, fully dressed and annoyed that there was a confusion over the time. I don't know.
Time to peel away.

R is going ape shit organizing the studio and I, as expected, have not lifted a finger to help him all day. His frustration is reaching its peak, and my own guilt level is therfore rising. But, what amI supposed to do? He has a plan and is charging through it - who am I to get in the way? Ok, fine, I guess I live here too, so that gives me some rights/ obligation to particiapte, but I am not about to start taking directions as to where to put this book orthat camera. No thanks. That's what work is for.
I have once again done an excellent job of procrastinanting. I guess tommorrow will be the day to write my paper because I won't have a choice by then. Time to go to bed and get a head start on that tommorrow thing.

Fri-da-da-day

Mornings sure ain't what they used to be. I thought that yesterday would put me back on track in terms of getting up early to run, but this morning felt too cold and too early. I think the temperature is the main problem. It is definitely colder inside than outside, especially at 5 in the morning. It doesn't help that I go to bed wearing so much clothing and sleep under so many blankets that I wake up drenched in sweat. I got up around 2 to pee, and realized that I had soaked through the t-shirt I was wearing under my thermal. No wonder I'm cold. So once again I'll be running after work, which isn't so bad now that it tends to be atleast in the 50's by the afternoon.
Today is another one of those crumbly Fridays where everyone is distracted and too busy planning their weekends. Except for me, of course, because you'll remember that we never actually do anything. But that's a rant for another day.

Since Thursdays are the preambles to Fridays, yesterday afternoon was spent making the invitations for the 'shits n' giggles' shindig we're having at the end of the month. The sheep and the butcher are courtesy of Ron & Joe) It is highly unlikely that we will be fully unpacked and set up - more than highly unlikely. Impossible. The rest of this month will pretty much be spent living at my parents house watching my grandmother. Oy. Maybe we can have some shits n' giggles to celebrate being home again after our month in Carmenville.

s p a c e

In gathering material for POST, as I mentioned yesterday, I have once again been revisiting past work - work which I am tired to death of looking at. Yet, I am finding a new significance in the Arturo maps particularly in light of what I have been thinking about recently.


After putting away the science aspect of the Portillo project, and the fiction of it, what I am left with are images which show a craving for space - open space. Back in 2002, when I was looking at and making all those topo maps I was gravitating towards representations of open land and water. I had tried to make some street maps at the time, but they never worked. I was wanting the openness.
Jumping ahead to last year, feeling supremely stuck I started making the horizontal paintings (for lack of a better description).


They are landscapes, kind of, but again I was craving space - this time in a more real way: space to physically live in and space to do what I wanted.
So lately, much because of the class I'm taking, I've been thinking about space in the city, especially the spacial distribution of North Philadelphia. There is this great contrast in scale: you have these old industrial buildings, which are of course huge, and then right inbetween them tracts of housing that look miniature in comparison. The river is near by, as is I95, which between the seagulls and the looping highway ramps makes it feel as if we are pushing off the very edge of the city.
The notion of space and our place in it is starting to take shape. What is particularly exciting is thinking back to how I started with the Arturo maps. I was playing around with some 35mm slides my dad had given me of histological sections, projecting them and tracing the cellular shapes. These tracings became the beginnings of Arturo's topo maps. I remembered this yesterday in that incredibly boring meeting because some very positive (meaning very brown) immuno-stained sections were up on the screen.
Nice how everything comes full circle when you are battling sleep in public. Maybe my little pretend company name, SpaceAged Beef is more appropriate than I had intended it to be.

POST!

Spent way too much (work) time yesterday getting all my stuff together to register for the Philadelphia Open Studio Tours in October. I was all set to do it last year, but the registration fee never materialized and that was that. I won't be making the same mistake again this year, no sir. I realize how highly unlikely it is that we'll get any foot traffic, considering we are pushing pretty far north of center city, but it's the principle that counts I suppose. A good kick in the pants if you ask me - and these pants are begging for some boot prints.

I have been on an evening running schedule for the last week now, and it's odd. It feels like I haven't started my day until I get back, which has been at about 7:30 or so, at which point it's time for dinner, and then surprise - the day is gone again. The plus side is that I am not so a)starving during the day b) sleepy.

***The Update: sat through an incredibly boring meeting, which zapped all desire to run right out of me. Looks like I'll be back on the morning agenda again tommorrow - phew.

no white lights

Perhaps you remember a little while back I wrote about that feeling you get when you realize that you don't suck as bad as you had thought. Well, last night I definitely did NOT have one of those moments. I got the revision of my paper back and it was just as copiously annotated as the first one, and while I wasn't too eager to sit there and read about the many ways my argument was flawed, I did read enough of the comments to gather that it was superbly flawed. The worst feeling about it is the fact that he's correct in his criticisms, and I kind of knew from the beginning what the contradictions were. I definitely got in over my head on the topic though - I am no art history expert to begin with, so to try and base an argument around Dada and political art was pretty silly on my part. Oh well. Damn. I have to admit it: this class is hard. Not so much hard, but complicated. Supposedly next week is the pinnacle of the course, and while I don't expect a great white light to start shining, maybe I'll get how it comes together a little better.

Little Bucking Horses

Wow. It's been a tumultuous couple of days even though nothing has really happened. Nothing, except confirm the fact that we are in a serious economic crisis, of course - and no I don't mean the nation. On Friday I opened the first scary threat from the gas company that they were going to shut off the gas, um today. (Maybe I should check the mail more often) Depressing, yes, but expected. The tumult of the weekend stems from the dangerous mixture of doing business with family. R is in a tough spot: he is the son in law (not technically, but in practice anyways) and not only does he feel like he has to do an excellent job on my parent's property, but he is genetically bound to his perfectionism. He can't be haphazard no matter how hard he tries. The thing is, he's only one guy. He's not a painting contractor with a van and a crew. He is not a landscaping company. He is not a domestic manager who professionally deals with all the little things that come up in a house. Like I said, he's just this guy, you know? Yet, he does all these things a)out of the goodness of his heart and b)because my parents (unconsciously) take advantage of this goodness. R works for way too cheap, precisely because he is not set up as a company, so he knows that things will take him longer. Anyways, the shit hit the fan this morning when we discover that a tree company has been hired (by my dad, presumably) to do a job that R was originally hired to do. What gets me is that this was never mentioned to either of us. My dad must have hired the tree guys sometime last week - before they went away - because they were there working at 7 this morning. He had ample time to notify R that he wouldn't be needing him to do the job. Instead R spends Saturday and a good chunk of Sunday doing the estimates for this same job. 2 days for naught.
I realize that this has been a delicate situation from the start, and truth be told, not one that I have been totally comfortable with. But work is work, and my parents needed somebody to help them with their place. Maybe they don't see that R takes the work seriously. I wish he didn't, but he does. Way too seriously. A little professional courtesy would have been nice. It's quite a jab to discover by accident that you've been shafted out of your next job.
I guess we deserve it for getting involved with family in the first place. Like I should talk. At least there's a bureaucracy hanging over my head to reign in the wild horses.