Je bent niet dronken zolang je op de grond kan liggen zonder ergens vast aan te houden.

So officially this is not two posts in one day, but by my schedule it counts. I'm a little overeager in my first week, certain it will pass. The kiddie pool day was way more fun than it should have been. There was a bit of beer and Glenlivet, and masses of half-naked boys running around, and most everyone who passed by dropped in for at least a perfunctory foot wetting. Upon returning from her daily 6-mile run, Anna jumped in directly, shoes and all. Unfortunately, Eric got into the whiskey early on, and the punching follwed shortly thereafter. I've have therefore concluded my scientific study; findings: getting punched in the arm is infinitely more amusing when intoxicated. Who knew?
Fortunately for my state of mind the warm weather has brought with it a mild media blackout for me. This gives me almost nothing to complain about, which is not an altogether comfortable feeling. I'm sure if I really tried I could come up with something, but it would feel forced.
Had a lovely (and enlightening) conversation with Jennifer tonight. It's not often I catch her as she is on "real people time," and people here are still shooting off bottle rockets at 12:52 on a Monday morning. Crazy bastards. The "moving-to-the-west-coast-and-starting-a-business" plan (good move, Jen) is moving right along according to schedule. Now I just have to convince Jen it should be in Portland or Seattle rather than unnamed parts of California {nudge nudge...;);)}
I'm looking at my planner for the next week, and it seems I forgot to allow for sleep again. Silly me. I suppose now is my chance, but what good would I be at work tomorrow, all rested and refreshed? It's difficult to demand galleries send your boss's work back when you're perky. Ah, who am I kidding? I couldn't be perky before 2 a.m. without hard drugs. Probably not even then....

Reading:My new Wired (finally)
Translation of title: Dutch for "You are not drunk so long as you can lie on the ground without holding on."

U-G-L-Y, you ain't got no alibi...

Well, that's a shade of purple the likes of which I've never seen on my body.
There's a punching epidemic around here these days. Perhaps the product of warm weather and sexually frustrated men, fueled by alcohol. My right arm is still recovering from blacked out Eric's rampage last week, but I paid him back in spades a few days ago. Anderson, on the other hand, gave me a proper beating. We started trading licks somewhere around Eastern Nashville, by the time we got to Smithville I couldn't feel my left arm, and so much the better, because today I can. I've never encountered this strange practice before, but I have to say, it's highly entertaining. Could all-out boxing be far behind? Do I need a mouth guard?
Who'd have thought I'd be more exposed to sports in art school? Yet I, no regular fan of the sporting life, traveled to Vanderbilt yesterday for Clay and Anderson's soccer game, had my living room commandeered for the entire football season, and am now trying to write over the clamor of heated March Madness debate coming from aforementioned living room (having the only TV antenna on campus is a mixed blessing). Around here we even invent our own sports...voccer (obviously a combination of volleyball and soccer)...low-rider bike racing....bonfire jumping...drunken blacksmithing(falls under the category of x-treeeme because of the risk of bodily harm)...the delightful game of "stump" involving nails, hammers, and yes, a stump...and of course, the trading licks. For some reason or another, the latter game is always a battle of the sexes, men rarely wrestle or beat on other men around here, fostering a tremendous sense of equality among the sexes. I am beginning to acquire an acute understanding of the development of isolated cultures.
I have just been informed that the kiddie pool Jasmin brought home today is now filled, and my presence is requested for the inaugural dip. We have a trillion gallon lake, but who needs that when you can have a kiddie pool in your front yard?
Listening to: The Splendid Table/Basketball fans

I'm back at my cliff

Today was a sharp contrast to yesterday. It began with too much to do. Somewhere between second gear and $44.86, my life began to unravel. It may very well be unraveling still, but I haven't noticed. Point being, today was a day when it didn't matter. Lunch and clothing came from out of the blue...I discovered a sea of bike parts on my front lawn...changed my look with Bill Murray as Dr. Thompson...scored not one, but two peeps...sake with Anna and Rush...bottle rockets at D2...semi-bi-tentative meeting with the easter committee (aka Bonnie)...Josie and Lisa were born 20 minutes apart from each other 26 years ago today...Lisa won the Niche Award with a joke...Daffodils are accessories...Eric kept his promise even though Jessie and I punched him several times...the ridgers reminisced waterfalls, caves, tressles, quarries, sand dunes...my new white shirt was customized by a freak purple accident (It will never know the washing machine)...Chris "subjected" me to hours of Michel Gondry videos (please don't throw me in the briar patch)....I don't want the day to end....
But it has.
Yesterday, I felt as though I was in an uncontrolled free-fall, today I found myself back at the top looking down at that place I almost crashed, throwing useless objects into the void to see what they sound like when they hit the bottom. It is a better feeling than one could request in a time like this. And with that lovely feeling, I retire.

Mephitic Matriculation

Today I broke my silence. I spoke out in Sociology class, determined to get a response of any kind from someone. Prompted by my instructor, I stood up for my firm belief that Janet Jackson's nipple would not bring the end of civilization as we know it. After more than half a semester of sitting silent while the professor tried to spark discussions on topics ranging from outsourcing of more jobs, other cultures, wars, shady legal dealings in our government, and several crises in the middle east, the class exploded into fierce debate. Over a nipple. The real shocker was the highly enlightened, rosy-necked, young man who, none so tactfully, requested I leave (The United States of America North of Mexico and South of Canada, that is) if I did not subscribe to the Puritanical ideals set forth by our forfathers (my stance=nipples good, everyone has them, legislate something important). He said it under his breath, and with no lack of anger. After I asked him to share his thoughts with everyone (louder, please), a great many of the students in the class turned to stare at us (myself and Ross, who was also throwing in his two cents here and there). They continued to steal spiteful glances the rest of the class, even after the rukus died down. A good portion of them glared as they filed past on the way out (Ross and I have this annoying tendency to pack up our class materials after the professor has finished speaking hence everyone makes it out before us). The experience riled me, to say the least, and sparked lively debate with my peers over beers afterward. Anna, Ross, and I made a pact to stir things up for the rest of the time we have with this lovely segment of the population of Tennesee Tech University. My fear is that if the class becomes so enraged and hateful to us for speaking our mind about nipples, what happens when we hit the hard stuff?
This brings me to another point I have been mulling over, and may have solved. Recently it has troubled me greatly that Ross and I are heading in a very "Green Acres" direction. He's all fresh air, I'm all Times Square. Even though my upbringing centered solely on Western Kentucky and Eastern Tennessee, I have never lived in an area so rural in all my life as I do now. When I dream of my post graduate existence, I see tall buildings, a passable theater district, concrete, corporate art, jazz clubs, mass transit, bums. Ross sees the seventh level of hell in that description. He sees dilapidated farmhouse, tracts of land. This, in a potential life partner, is a deeply serious character flaw. Not that there's anything wrong with dilapidated farmhouse, but perhaps not for my late twenties/early thirties. Perhaps not ever. Luckily, I think I'm getting to him, and today's discussion with our anti-intellectual bible belt friends may have put a few nails in the coffin. I understand there is ignorance everywhere, but it is usualy more palatable in the presence of a decent place to get Indian food within walking distance.

Hoffbauer Syndrome

Art History Exam: Aced
Production Prototype: Finished (I use the term loosely)
Today in my worthless sociology class, I learned behaviors classified as deviant vary from culture to culture. It took an hour and a half to get to that mind-blowing fact. This class should be called Readilyapparentology. Or Painfullyobviousology. This is not science, this is common sense.
It has been too long since one of my academic classes was challenging, engaging, or even borderline interesting (you don't count, remedial algebra, as you are none of the above and spitefully frustrating). I think my professors might be even more bored than I am. Soon, we'll all just sleep through classes, instructors and all.
I suppose it's just as well, my art classes can be overstimulating at times. There is a balance in there somewhere.
I continue to fail at gaining employment above minimum wage, and the summer looks doubly bleak with plant closings and school out. This rural community has no room for me in their workforce, and I have little desire to compete with Betty Jo for a job at the Food Lion. My mother suggests moving back to the city, an idea that both entices the hell out of me, and sounds like an amazingly dumb idea at the same time. I spend 9 months out of the year living at the lake, and I move away as soon as it is warm enough to swim? Visiting is an option, and the hard fact is that I have a better chance of getting any job there than I do here. I believe over the next 6 weeks there will be a great deal of waffling on this subject. Guess I should take a hard look at the ol' resume.
Anna e-mailed today from Argentina, a bright spot as always. Oh, to sit on my balcony, smoke cuban cigars, and drink $1 wine. In the beef capital of the world. Tantamount to a wet dream. Randy is reading poems in Spanish, Ryan is enrolled in French classes. My friends are some of the most amazing people I would ever hope to meet. If I never have another bit of luck in my life, it will be because I used it all in stumbling upon a group of people I will always admire and attempt to stay worthy of.

Reading: The Fran Lebowitz Reader (for the umpteenth time)
Listening to:KEXP.Org

So, this is it then...a little sparse, could use a little work.
Attention visitors, herein lies my humble little view of the microcosms I inhabit, and of the world in general. I am fresh off a blowslot that could have gone better, facing a pile of art history flash cards, and I can think of no better time to initiate an undertaking of this magnitude.
::Dagobert Chair, folding x-stool of Roman type with later back, 7th Century A.D.::
Be it the stress of juggling college life and glassblowing, personal psychosis, anger at the government, procrastination, mere jealousy of others who "blog", or all of the above, something has propelled me to this place. I am not entirely sure what I intend for this space. I lean toward the pessimistic on most subjects, if only to serve as a foil for my boyfriend, Little Mary Sunshine.
::Advisory: Author is a stout liberal and will, bet on it, from time to time rant and rave about the current American ruling party.:: Feel free to disagree (note: arguments based on sacred texts or sociological ignorance will not only be ignored, they will be ridiculed. Nothing shuts my ears off faster than the phrase "Well, the bible says..." I spent the first 16 years of my life as a christian, and I am still recovering). I am not fond of laws that restrict the rights of consenting adults to engage in whatever behavior they see fit. And I will, most likely, go into more depth about this as legislation is introduced.
As much as I would love to be one of those watchdogs who keep an eye on every move the government makes, I do have classes to attend, blowslots to work, and exams to study for.
::Tiles with Kufic Script, molded earthenware with luster, Islamic, Iran, 13th Century A.D.::
If you're still with me, welcome. This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.