"But ah'm not afraid of dyin'. Cause I know that when I get to heaven there are gonna be these wonderful trees, and ah'm gonna climb them. But you know what? Instead of leaves and flowers, those trees are gonna have fried eggs, and delicious Virginia ham, and big heaping bowls of biscuits and sausage gravy. And one day, Sammy, you're gonna meet me there, and we're gonna climb those breakfast trees together, and it's gonna be delicious and we're gonna be happy until the end of time."


The implications of the double negative

I can think of few things I love/hate more than being forced to choose between two (even three) friends. I'd be flat-out lying if I said having my company begged, guilted, and ordered by two dear, old friends at once didn't appeal to some massive pocket of vanity stuffed deep down in my being. But having to actually choose between said friends utterly kills me. That said, Chad and I had a fantastic time on Friday night. It's easy sometimes, given my current financial and educational status, to forget sometimes that I am no longer nineteen, and that I should be effecting the behavior of a lady of some age. If there is anything that is effective in reminding me it's a martini in one hand, a dashing man on my arm, and a conversation in which The Iliad and the Bible are quoted to demonstrate why Neil Gaiman and Daniel Quinn should be invited to the next White House State Dinner. Or something like that. I heart you too, Chad, I hope you have fun in New York.

My sincerest apologies to Adam and Eric. I hope they'll find it in their hearts to forgive me. Just let me know my penance and I'll submit happily. I am your slave, do your will (but may I commit the sin of begging your most holy mercy?).

I got to talk to Anna and Randy! I got to talk to Anna and Randy! I can't wait until they come back so this burning fire of jealousy will subside. And, of course, I miss them horribly. And I got the good news Ryan is coming for a visit!

Over beer and Big Fish, Anna Rockanova and I lamented this idyllic summer of jobless recovery can't go on. But man is it nice.

After a full viewing of the uncut version of Kill Bill, vol.1 I rescind my earlier statement, that movie does rock a little. Now I would very much enjoy a viewing of the second installment, but I may just wait until I can get my hands on another uncut version, as the fight scenes were vastly more impressive with the addition of a bit o' the old ultra-violence. Maybe I should call that ├╝ber-violence. Who doesn't love entrails?

Listening to: Bebe Neuwirth reads "Snow Glass Apples"


I'm surrounded by Good People

I just got a funny card from Jen: "A friend will bail you out of jail, but your best friend is the one sitting next to you saying 'That was f***ing awesome!'" LOL!

What a week! Snake drama has been brought under control, thanks in part to the helpful folks at redtailboa.net. Got him all cleaned up, now he's fat, happy, and hiding in his box. I just wish the parents would let me move him out of the basement, it's kinda cold down there.

Anna and I popped our climbing cherries Tuesday night. I suck pretty hard, but that can be applied across the board to all sports so I'm not worried. It was all kinds of fun, now it is all kinds of pain, but I'm definitely going to do it again. And again.

Wednesday was yummy Indian dinner with Ross, Adam, and Ben. Eat that, you Argentine beefeaters. Adam suggested we pack up Cleo, Torpe, selected familiy members, move to Argentina, and open an Indian restaurant. I am so down.

Here's a list of people I randomly ran into/hung out with at the Gillian Welch show at Market Square last night: Randy's parents, David Lew (who is on his way to climb Mt. Ranier as I type this), Laith, Nate, and Jodie (of course), Big Jay (avec uber-hot girlfriend), Reagan from back-in-the-day 11th St (with baby), and I'm sure I'm forgetting people. In addition were the usual suspects, Anna, Rush, Adam, Ross, My dad and Melody, and Ben. My brother John was supposed to be there too, but I never saw him. So much fun. Ms. Welch sounds better live, which is always the mark of excellent talent, and the weather was more than fantastic. Afterward we sorta wandered around downtown aimlessly, flirted with the notion of foosball, met up with Chad and Jeff in World's Fair Park, bid good night to Adam, picked up Sushi at Kroger, and continued the party until closing time at Union Jack's. All in all, the quintessential Knox-vegas evening. I added all kinds of phone numbers to my address book. If I'm going to continue to be this social, I'm going to need a better source of income. Or a source of income, for that matter. Grrrr. I just want to bang on the drum all day..is that so wrong?

I love all of you.


Lapdance on yo' laptop while yo' laptop's in yo' lap.....digital good times

Adam is right, surfing and posting from a non-traditional location is a highly rewarding experience. Now that my dad's house is a cloud of Wi-fi bliss, I can look up all those PBS.org references while I'm watching Colonial House, and the other fine programs I've become attached to in only having PBS in my secluded wilderness existence. My excitement over being back in the world of cable television has already withered, with one gleaming exception; The Brini Maxwell Show is the most swell show ever devised. I must make the disclaimer that Adult Swim falls into the category of "programming genius" as it is technically many shows cleverly packaged and marketed to adults of questionable sleeping habits, and The Daily Show is, I'm convinced, a figment of my imagination stemming from my long-standing desire for a)Jon Stewart to have the show he has always deserved and b)someone to publicly acknowledge that the entire endeavor of mainstream media is complete and utter bullshit. So that leaves Brini in the category of Best Show going. I'll refrain from trying to describe it, just know that it is genius, and get thee to the Style network to check it out sometime.
I bought a nice, juicy, frozen rat for Cleo(n) today. Poor guy was so hungry he nearly took my hand off when I opened the cage. Melody refuses to go near him, and even my dad exhibits a ridiculous fear of the caged reptile. Marcia appears to be handling his presence better than anyone else, though this may just be a result of her awesome, and tolerant, demeanor. Of course, no trip out would be complete without Ben tagging along to accomplish some errand that will take him way longer than would take any standard human being. Today, it was a trip to River Sports to spend an ancient gift certificate on supplies for his trip to Argentina. As Ben spent what seemed like hours scrutinizing every glove in the sale box, I did laps around the store, and made the silent observation that they must have a secret lab tucked behind the climbing center where they are on the brink of successfully cloning Adam, or the requirements for employment there include sandy colored bed-hair, scruffy beard, and an average height of 5'10". Creepy.
So goes the excitement that is, so far, my summer in the 'Ridge.

My head will explode in 5..4..3..2..

I could do without the Michael Savages of the world. Really, how can one be so proud of such intolerance? I sure can't wait for the day when we hate people based on the content of their character and not the color of their skin or religious affiliation. To the terrorists of the world, thanks for trying to send a wake-up call, may I suggest another attempt? I'm sorry we didn't quite get it. I'm sure we'd be more sympathetic to whatever cause you were trying to promote by blowing up those towering symbols of wealth and greed if you and your friends weren't so, well, dark-skinned. And non-Christian. You know we're just not down with that. You must really hate freedom.

I don't mean to trivialize the deaths of the roughly 2,976 we lost in the attacks, but how were they more important than the more than 3,000 Afghans and 9,100 to 11,500 Iraqis we've killed since that day? More stock options? Healthier 401K? How many "subhumans" (to use my buddy Savage's terminology)do we have to kill to bring those Pentagon and WTC people back? Well, this guy says it more eloquently than I ever could.

Meanwhile, congrats to an American we can be proud of. Go Michael Moore. No doubt my favorite pundits will offer up your latest cinematic triumph as another example of how stupid the French are. I wish you luck in finding a distributor for your film, because I'd love to be allowed to see it. You know, because I live in the country that is a beacon of freedom and democracy in this dark world, and we're allowed to express our beliefs, especially when those beliefs are based on fact. As long as it doesn't affect the tax benefits of a corporation that made Michael Eisner $954 million between 1992 and 2002. I'm no math major, but I'm pretty sure that averages to about $1.8 million a week. A WEEK!!!! This is the guy who decides whether we or not we get to see the film that won the Palme d'Or at Cannes, based on what he thinks the brother of the president will do if he allows it to be released. Who doesn't love this country???

I bet if Rush Limbaugh made a movie about John Kerry's unpaid parking tickets in 1975, Eisner would have pushed it out months ago, avec daily free screenings paid out of his own pocket, and an extended edition DVD available at the corner video store by mid-October.

God Bless US, and no one else.

Seriously, about that expatriation....


"Serenity ain't no $40 freakin' candle, yo."

I don't have anything amazing to report today, but I drove all the way to school from my house to check my mail and e-mail and now I'm hesitant to just turn around again. I was supposed to go back to Oak Ridge today, but I found out Lino Tagliapietra is receiving an honorary doctorate from Centre College tomorrow and is thus giving demos all day in Danville, KY. I will be there with bells on because I was lucky enough to be invited by my professor. This is a slightly large deal. To my computer geek friends, I would equate this with being invited to hang out with Richard Stallman for an afternoon. This guy literally open-sourced venetian glassblowing techniques, allowing glassblowers the world over to breath new life into a stale genre. They're not very happy with him in Murano. In the old days they killed people who taught their techniques outside of that island (today you just get blacklisted). How's that for intellectual property rights? Anyway, that's worth an extra day in Smithvegas.

Adam pointed this out. Makes me feel almost cool. I'm part of an elite inner circle who have been given access to something people are lusting after. Now if only my friends would e-mail me so I could use it more.

Listening to: The world's tiniest violin, playing the world's saddest song.


Beerlirium Tremens

Phase 1 of the evil scheme is almost complete. Mwah hah hah....

I need to stop being such a bad influence on myself and others. Anna, Adam and I hit the pub on Saturday night and had what I felt to be a rollicking good time, but I woke up yesterday feeling how Nicholas Cage's character in Leaving Las Vegas must have felt the day before he drank himself to death. I think I sustained some sort of nerve damage, as my entire right side was twitching all day. Seriously, my fingers were moving independently of any type of purposeful nerve stimulation on my part, and my eyelid was going nuts too. Ben said it was the DT's, but I'm dubious. I was under the impression you had to be committed to alcoholism to get those. I, apparently, only get wasted when Adam is around, since every time I've been truly drunk this semester he's been there. I promise we'll hang out sober sometime soon. Maybe even do something constructive. I dunno, what do sober people do for fun? Pinochle, maybe.

At my mom's birthday party, my brother, John (also a recent sociology survivor) and I got into all sorts of discussions, until we got to the topic of organized religion, which we both agree is a sham. We were carrying on quite heatedly, until we realized where we were, a party for a minister attended by her church friends. We were getting stares. Hope no one feels it necessary to mention to my mother that her children were plotting the end of modern christianity as we know it at her birthday party.

Ross and I drove to his parents house last night to return the van we'd used for moving purposes. We were about to pass out in their guest room in the attic until we realized we were, literally, surrounded by Brown Recluses. We killed about five that were just hanging out around the edge of the room, then we looked at the windowsill and it was completely covered. This, in light of recent events, freaked me the hell out. I almost ran screaming from the house. I didn't sleep, just stayed up all night in the living room staring blankly at Adult Swim, periodically succumbing to fits of paranoid shifty-eyed methhead behavior. I felt like I had spiders all over me. The Venture Brothers is funny. Especially through sleep deprived goggles. I'm not coming back to this house until they promise me those evil creatures are all destroyed.


Okay, enough of this lollygaggin.


Caution: Do Not Cover Breathing Hole

Sure, I'm supposed to be moving, but there's still time for bullshit, 9-page personality tests! Apparently I'm a Peach (or Random Gentle Love Master). I don't recall being gentle, but the rest sounds about right.

So, since I'm moving I'll be offline for an indefinite period of time. If you got this page, most likely you got my number too. And I'll be making a brief stop in Knoxville this weekend for party-related program activities (and my mom's birthday). I'm sure that's all you need to know.


I was glad that it didn't destroy you...

In an attempt to piece together this crazy week I started an in-depth rehash of the events that shaped it, I made it to last Sunday afternoon and it was about twelve pages, so I scrapped it. Here's a (amazingly more) brief rundown:
Friday: Spent way too much time helping KY put up her show. Note to self, don't start putting up your show the day before the opening. Talked Jenny through a major breakage crisis. Second note to self, don't coldwork your pieces two days before your opening.
Saturday: Again, with the helping. It's like I don't even have finals of my own. The opening was fantastic, the show had KY written all over it. Who else can turn 31 years of pack-rat tendencies into art? Organza is cool.
Sunday: The "woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown" Jenny was transformed into Jennifer L. Knox, international superstar. Anyone with enough balls to make an entrance on a motorcycle to the acoustic strains of "I want to rock and roll all night" performed by a Gene Simmons impersonator (in full KISS stage makeup and costume) gets my vote for best show ever. She sold t-shirts to commemorate the event. The show itself was kickass. My favorite piece (who can pick) had to be "Rust Never Sleeps", a rusty glass truck slowly succumbing to a field of growing grass. The cop car on the pile of donuts ruled too. And the PBR pedestal...classic. I had a blowslot, so I made it to the party late. On my way out of the hotshop, Jessie came in for her slot. She looked like death on toast and asked me if I could think of any reason for the painful bump on her leg. Swollen lymph node? Yeah, sure, that has to be it.
Monday: Jessie skipped class to go to the doctor. Brown recluse bite, now twice the size it was yesterday. She was not in good shape. Paul visited class to tell us his exciting tales of Australia. They have lots of poisionous spiders and snakes there. And there are only sixteen glassblowers in New Zealand.
Tuesday: Ross and I skipped class for the best b-b-q in the whole of middle tennessee, Herbert's. Worth every minute of the hour drive. I spend most of the evening in final preparations for my final critique. Finished early and started drinking. I stayed up all night worrying. Now I know why I usually procrastinate.
Wednesday: Jessie's leg just keeps getting worse. Everyone on campus is worried about her. This does not help her relax. She went first in crit and then left to go back to the doctor. The rest of crit was pretty standard, I got my usual pat on the head. Whatever. Jessie came back at the end. She has to get plastic surgery, skin grafts, etc. Curt advised a second opinion.
Thursday: Jessie woke up and freaked out, called her mom, and somehow got talked into coming home to Mississippi to see her family doctor. Being under the influence of poison, painkillers, and an injured gas pedal leg put her in no condition to make the eight-hour drive. I signed up for the job, but a last minute health-food store run in with a crazy lady, some creepy guy, and a doctor convinced her to just chill out and go to a local doctor in the morning. We fried chicken and pickles and watched Elephant. Not what I was expecting...I don't recommend it. The movie that is, the fried chicken and pickles come highly recommended.
Friday: Jessie and I showed up at the university clinic early in the morning. They got her an appointment with a plastic surgeon for that afternoon. We spent the day roaming yard sales, then hit the library for some waiting room material. Foucault's Pendulum and Cash by Johnny Cash were the only promising offerings in the paperback category (all others either having flowers and gold embossed writing on the cover, or being authored by Danielle Steele, in most cases both) so I chose the former. Sitting in the posh plastic surgeon's waiting room, I discovered the intricate difficulties of reading Foucault's Pendulum while a painfully southernasal receptionist loudly described the beauties of Botox to four callers in a row. Apparently Botox is hot. And $350 a treatment. $350 to inject Botulism into your face. WTF??? Jessie came out, looking very relieved. The doctor scored open her leg and told her it was going to get really nasty, and black. And dead. I fail to see how this would relieve anyone, but I think knowing that someone was actually going to fix it helped her immensely. She'll be spending the majority of the summer having skin grafts done.

The lesson here is this, kids: Shake out your pants before you put them on, especially if you live in the woods. Them spiders ain't fuckin' around.

Today I didn't do much. Anna and I went running, then we undid all that work at El Tapatio with chimichangas and margaritas. Now I drink the champagne of beers and record every last boring detail of my life for the past week to publish to all three of my semi-regular readers. Okay then.

Listening to: This


I miss Bob Edwards

So the lack of post has been due to the insane amount of things I've been attempting to accomplish as of late. Final crit is tomorrow, after which all is gravy (and moving and finals, but relatively easy finals). I will sometime attempt writing up KY and Jenny's shows (and the crisis that was putting them together) before they're out of the galleries. But not now, now is coldwork, sanding, and more coldwork. Then a panic attack...then some more coldworking.

I sold my last piece...a day late. I talked Curt into a B, but I totally deserved an A, seeing as how I sold all my pieces. He wouldn't budge on that one. Whatever. At least I know three people were actually willing to lay down their hard earned money to own a piece of greatness.

Okay...to the studio....home stretch!!!!

Listening to: BBC World News