Yikes!

I don't even know where to begin! It has been a year since I posted and in that time I finished my MFA, went to STL again, got a new car, went to Vegas (baby), and. . . uh. . . now here I am again.

I can't decide what kind of path this blog should take. I started a new one that was for the sole purpose of my professional endeavors, but it feels so cold. And then I have to decide what is "good enough" to post and then on which blog. Exhusting.

Makeup isn't my line of work, but I recently did some zombie hands for a death metal video. The style isn't quite what I would have picked (I would've gone for classic decay over comic monster), but it isn't my project, ya know. At least I'm doing something creative with my time, because after taking the summer off (yeah, that's what we'll call it), I need to get back into the groove.

The Stuff of Legends

If I were to boil down the relationship with my ex-husband to one defining moment, it would be the time he burst through the front door and threw his wedding ring at me. It beamed me squarely in the forehead, clattered to the floor and rolled beneath the sofa. If I were to create a piece which could adequately express all the love and spite, tenderness, pain and paranoia laced into that union, then I could have a peaceful death. Until then my blending of video and performance serves to symbolize the myriad of relationships betwixt friends, family members, and lovers. Each work is a snapshot, a digest version wherein my actions or words provide a descriptive slice devoid of cluttered contextual narratives. Untold questions garner confessions; accusations are hefted upon an unknown subject; physical touch is touted as unconscious truth. If I were to make a piece about that fateful day, it would be my piece de resistance, but I just don’t think it could happen without great fits of laughter.

Detail photo from an older installation work: His wedding ring embedded in the wall with another woman's hair filling the center.

"Foot, Ass, Foot"

Those were my instructions on how to enter and exit my kayak.

My two day lesson isn't until next week, but a friend found a 1 1/2 hour lesson for $15 (far cheaper than my upcoming lesson)! I tagged along and had a fabulous time. Unlike snowboarding, I really gelled with kayaking on the river.

Makin' Papa Proud

Cooperstown, Here We Come!

I am by no means a sports fanatic, but this was a nifty museum to visit. I did, however, find the section on women in baseball to be seriously lacking. It was a lot of fluff rather than cold hard facts, like stats and batting averages. How did they do? Who won what? Tell me, tell me!

Just Hangin' 'round St. Louis

Somewhere around the Illinois border. . . you come around the bend and "Behold!" Yes, you are in the Bible Belt, folks. And don't you forget it!

Revenge is Best Served Cold

My roommate's mother's tomato plants aren't doing so well. The weather just hasn't cooperated where she lives. Our plants (or more acurately "my roommate's plants" as my help involves simply keeping my black thumb a safe distance from them) have been thriving. So two days ago she takes to gloating over the phone. Yesterday she even planned to take pictures of the glorious specimens to email to her mom.

So, naturally, yesterday we get a hail storm that almost wipes out all our plants and flowers. My car has cellulite it is so dimpled now!

Karma is a bitch.

New York Landlords are Liars

When I was searching for a place to live, I noticed that it was a coin toss as to whether or not a place would have central air. Some places sported window a/c units and others had nothing at all. When I expressed concern over this (because we all know how well I deal with the heat!), I was told it was unnecessary because it only gets hot here about 2 weeks in August.

Filthy Liars.

Due to the excessive heat and stuffiness in my house, I have taken to sleeping with the front door and kitchen window open hoping to catch a cross breeze. A few minutes ago, as I sat on the computer (out of sight of the door) checking email, I heard the screen door latch click shut. Now if there was any wind to speak of, I could chalk it up to that. But Noooooo, there's been nothing. So I was left with the horrifying idea that someone had silently entered the house. Frantically, looking around for something dangerous to threaten said intruder with, all I could muster was a freakin' stapler!

For crying out loud! My heart is beating 100 miles and hour and I am seriously thinking someone is in the house. Visions of "When a Stranger Calls Back" (damn movie!) are dancing through my brain and I'm peeking around the doorjamb armed with an office implement! Fully prepared to pull a Crocodile Dundee and bean my attacker in the head, I creep through the house, arm cocked and discover. . . nothing.

I'm not certain, but I think the NRA just revoked my membership.

Size Doesn't Matter. . . Really

I went strawberry picking today at a farm with some friends and it was quite fun. Seeing a farm that is not run by an agricultural corporation and the food it produces really shows you just how much they monkey with our food! What we buy in the supermarket has all been bred for size and color to make it look more appealing. We had to keep reminding ourselves that size did not matter, it was all about the color. Unfortunately, I don't even like strawberries, but they sure do look good!


The other stuff in the box is snap peas. I'm not a foodie and hate veggies, so to me they taste like grass.

Nine Holes, Please.

Ah, crap. . . the blog. Yes, it has been forever and in my usual procrastinator's style I will go back and make blog entries for the time I missed. Now that it is summer, I can effectively catch up. In my defense, I am also penning 3 other blogs (man, have I turned into a conputer nerd or what?) simultaneously. This, the original and most fun for me, was relegated to the back burner. Sorry, blog.

So here's the update: I can scratch Go-Carts off my list. The other night a few pals and I had dinner and drinks, then went to Fun Plex across the river. That evening also taught me the essential flaw of miniature golf: It is only fun for about 9 holes. After that you play through just to get it done. I am happy to report, however, that I was not the biggest loser of the evening. In fact, I came in second. :-p