If Jamie is going to secretly post pictures of me on the internet, I'm going to secretly link all my friends to her blog
. Only fair. The picture at the bottom does the bruise no justice whatsoever. Anderson and I have scheduled a rematch for Saturday, weather (and intoxication) permitting. Okay, I've
scheduled a rematch; never underestimate the element of surprise, grasshoppa.
Jesu Christo, what a frickin' week, and it's not even over yet. Got my pieces into the gallery today (Look ma, I's a artist!). I was ready to never make another one of those damn things again, then Gail says "do you have any more of these? I'm going to want more when I sell these." "When" she sells them, not "if." That's a high you don't get from the reefer. Luckily, I've gotten pretty good at cranking them out...but is this really how I want to spend my slots?
I discovered (thank you, jesus) that the villain of the mystery "Where the hell did 2nd, 4th, and Reverse go?" is a tiny piece of plastic that holds my rear gear linkage in place. I had visions of a summer spent rebuilding my transmission. Now I can go back to my fantasy of tropical beverages brought by a hot latino poolboy (also, currently accepting applications for one hot, latino poolboy....oh, and a pool, references required). I become more and more tempted to take Jen up on her offer to live at the beach all summer as the semester drags me along kicking and screaming.
However, the rest of this week is joy. The tents are going up around campus, Brian finished the giant grill, people all over campus are cleaning out their studios for the VAS sale, and family, friends and other loafers are already arriving. It's Celebration '04, baby. Charly promises a keg of either Sierra Nevada or Bass (I'll have the Bass, por favor) for the after-madness, a refreshing change from the ubiquitous budget diet of Miller High Life tallboys. If anyone ever wondered just what was keeping the Miller Co. afloat, I have your answer.
I had originally intended to muse upon the fact that one of the reasons I chose the fine arts was to escape the inexplicable evil that is science/math, yet Wednesday's glass class was all Fibonacci annealing cycles, Coefficient of Expansion Compatibility, and GB4 programming. This happens often. My whole life now revolves around gravity and centrifugal force (maybe it's revolving around me, ha ha), and the effects of certain color producing minerals on those forces. Glass is an awesome enough material for me to actually care about these things, though. That's a scary thought. Could a masters in glass chemistry be far off? Um.....yes, yes it can. Quite far.
The serene clickety-clack of the keys, and the grumblings of my poor, neglected stomach
Working for Charly at 9 a.m. What divine torture will he come up with this time?