Hi y'all.
So I realized I never sent an update from Chapel Hill. Here is the rundown on my current situation.
I returned to Chapel Hill (after a whirlwind few days of moving) from Sedona/Grand Canyon/Las Vegas/Akron, which was whirlwind and alternately amazing/horrible. Sedona is breathtaking, the Grand Canyon was wonderful. I fucking love Las Vegas (and I got to go to the Playboy affiliated club at the Palms for free and Xzibit played a surprise show and yes that all was kind of weird). Vegas was followed by Akron. For my late grandmother's gravestone unveiling. The day after the unveiling my Great Uncle Stu (my grandmother's brother) died. I had to go back to Chapel Hill, but my family stayed in Akron for the funeral. I'm hoping that misfortunate will give my family a respite. I think we deserve it.
I live alone in a little one bed apartment near campus. I like living alone, because I am a neat freak and I enjoy the freedom of doing laundry at three in the morning if I so desire. The complex is extremely quiet, which is perfect. I know there are two Asian women living beneath me, one of whom is on crutches, and I think there is a lesbian couple with a beautiful long-haired calico somewhere in my building, but otherwise I never see my neighbors. The apartment is more or less put together. I'll be getting a table in the next week or so. I'm adding a few final touches such as curtains, and my books are slowly being shipped up from Sarasota. Otherwise my apartment is thoroughly homey. When the table comes I might consider taking a few pictures, because I know you all are dying to see where I live.
Chapel Hill is gorgeous. And loves the environment. They fine you if they find corrugated cardboard in your trash and there are recyling bins everywhere. All the grocery markets have local and organic options. I buy my milk from the local dairy, Maple View Farms, which sells its products at all the grocery stores--and in reusable glass jars, so I am supporting local farmers and saving the environment! Chapel Hill itself is small. I have ventured to downtown Durham for the Gay and Lesbian Film Festival at the Carolina Theatre, but otherwise I haven't gone much outside the city--except to Hillsborough, when I visit my uncles. Chapel Hill is full of fabulous restaurants and funky coffee shops, which I am (very) slowly exploring. The Franklin Street scene lives up to its reputation. When the weather cools I plan on devoting a Saturday to walking the length of Franklin Street. I also plan to try every restaurant on Franklin Street, though that might take some time. Carrboro, which is adjacent to Chapel Hill, is funky. I have tickets to see Peter, Bjorn, and John at the Cat's Cradle (also in Carrboro) on Tuesday. That's just the way Carrboro rolls y'all.
I am enjoying the program. The department is small but stacked with talent. I am the baby of the department and by far the youngest in my year. Most of the students in the program seem to be married/engaged/in long term relations/26+ or some combination of all of that, which is a little startling to me. Everyone is extremely friendly and personable, but they're at different stages in their life, whereas I am still in the "we are young, we are free" stage and wouldn't mind going out for drinks on Franklin Street every once inawhile. Some of the girls in the MA year above mine are super excellent. They are more my age and my speed, and have a generally excellent taste in movies and music. One of them is accompanying me to Peter, Bjorn, and John and, next Sunday, Interpol (!!!) The department just hired a new contemporary art professor, which works very well for me. I knew we would be life long friends when we had the following conversation:
Cary (he says we can call him Cary, he's just relaxed like that): Where did you go to school?
Me: The University of Florida
Cary: Oh so you're a Gator?
Me: I'm a die hard.
Alarms went off in my head. No professor had asked about sports when I said I went to Florida. I later learned that Cary had done his undergrad at Michigan and was a huge Wolverines fan. Now is not a good time to be a Wolverines fan, however, so I had to offer him my sympathies. Still, he likes sports, and contemporary arts, and is laid back...I am excited to work with him. Unfortunately he is on a Getty Grand that prohibits him from teaching/seriously advising until next fall. I'll just utilize this year to finish my non-modern requirements.
I have a ridiculous amount of reading every week and am already forcing myself to step up to the plate. I led my modern art seminar (with the Mary Sheriff ohmyGod) this week, which was extremely stressful and nerve wracking, but I survived and any future leading will seem like not-that-big-of-a-deal. Conquered my fear, time to move on with life.
I'm a little homesick. I spend my Saturdays now with the Gator Club at the Gator Bar watching the Gator Game. Watching the game from a shabby sports bar in Durham makes me long for the Swamp. I haven't met many people up here outside of my program. I'm a little lonely, but this is to be expected. I figure it'll take me time to adjust--although they really don't care about football up here, which is something that needs to be remedied.
I'm looking forward to fall, and to watching the leaves change. Fall also means I get to break out the cool weather wardrobe I am slowly acquiring, particularly the red trenchcoat. Yes, I am vain, but I'm 75% convinced that I want to make fashion my focus area, so I guess that's excusable.
I think that's all. I'll try to update more frequently, considering I am far far away from most of the people with whom I have mutual love. That will change soon, I know, I'm just getting a little antsy.
Ciao kids,
Lindsay
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
In my mind I'm going to Carolina...
All right y'all, I really don't like that song but it is appropriate.
Tomorrow I leave for Chapel Hill. I've shipped much of my life in boxes and the rest is being crammed into my little Honda Civic. My mother is accompanying me on said moving endeavor. We're pausing overnight in Jacksonville to visit my grandmother, and will be arriving in Chapel Hill on Wednesday.
Who is exciting? Me. Fucking me.
I'm mildly terrified as well, of course. Graduate School. It sounds vaguely foreign and adult and far away. I've been planning this since I am sixteen, and now here I am entertaining an M.A./Ph.D. program in art history. They only took six new students this year, so I'm fairly pleased about that. But I'm anxious--I don't know a soul in Chapel Hill, save for my uncles, so I am literally plunging into an entirely new world. It is exhilerating. I excell at such things. But it will certainly be a challenge...
...also, I'm going to miss Gator Nation. I went from a skeptic to a die hard and now I am venturing to the land where all is Tarheel Blue (I finally learned what a Tarheel is, at least, it's a Civil War term). Luckily the Triangle has the third largest Gator Alumni club in the nation, so I'll be in good company. (Go Gators).
So that's all. I feel as though I should say something prolific or profound, but really...y'all know where to find me.
One final thing: My great uncle Stu, the younger brother of my late grandmother and my father's uncle, is dying of leukemia. His granddaughter, Ally, was supposed to be bat mitzvahed mid-August, but she moved the date to last week to ensure that her grandfather was there to celebrate with her. Ally's a lovely, mature, graceful girl, and I'm proud to call her part of my family. A newspaper in Akron profiled the event, my great uncle Stu, and Ally: here's the link.
Lots of changes in my life, right now...
Tomorrow I leave for Chapel Hill. I've shipped much of my life in boxes and the rest is being crammed into my little Honda Civic. My mother is accompanying me on said moving endeavor. We're pausing overnight in Jacksonville to visit my grandmother, and will be arriving in Chapel Hill on Wednesday.
Who is exciting? Me. Fucking me.
I'm mildly terrified as well, of course. Graduate School. It sounds vaguely foreign and adult and far away. I've been planning this since I am sixteen, and now here I am entertaining an M.A./Ph.D. program in art history. They only took six new students this year, so I'm fairly pleased about that. But I'm anxious--I don't know a soul in Chapel Hill, save for my uncles, so I am literally plunging into an entirely new world. It is exhilerating. I excell at such things. But it will certainly be a challenge...
...also, I'm going to miss Gator Nation. I went from a skeptic to a die hard and now I am venturing to the land where all is Tarheel Blue (I finally learned what a Tarheel is, at least, it's a Civil War term). Luckily the Triangle has the third largest Gator Alumni club in the nation, so I'll be in good company. (Go Gators).
So that's all. I feel as though I should say something prolific or profound, but really...y'all know where to find me.
One final thing: My great uncle Stu, the younger brother of my late grandmother and my father's uncle, is dying of leukemia. His granddaughter, Ally, was supposed to be bat mitzvahed mid-August, but she moved the date to last week to ensure that her grandfather was there to celebrate with her. Ally's a lovely, mature, graceful girl, and I'm proud to call her part of my family. A newspaper in Akron profiled the event, my great uncle Stu, and Ally: here's the link.
Lots of changes in my life, right now...
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
The Bed
I'm getting a new bed tomorrow.
This shouldn't be notable. People get new beds all the time. But this bed, save for the dorm bed and the rented bed I have in Gainesville (neither count), is the bed I have slept in since I left the cradle. A twin sized bed, in the same bedroom in the same house in which I have lived since I was three months old. This bed has definitely seen its time. It is twenty-years old, and no longer particularly comfortable. I don't sleep well, in this bed. It is small, and the mattress is worn out, and the sheets never softened with age.
The twin sized bed (and its partner, which is also in my room--for some reason I have two twin sized beds in my room, which was convenient for the sleep-over years) is being replaced by a queen sized bed. This is the first step in my mother's plan to turn my room into the new guest room. The turquoise-purple-and-black wallpaper will be striped. My posters will be rolled and stored. The "Beautiful People" collage I made when I was sixteen, which surrounds the mirror on my closet door, will be torn away--farewell Alan Cumming, Christian Bale, John Cameron Mitchell, and Kate Winslet. We'll give my desk and the giant purple table that served as a night stand to Goodwill. My doll cabinet will be moved into the "Doll Room/Office"--the new title for the old guest room. The antique dresser that my mother painted white and spackled purple when I was five will be moved to my sister's apartment in Gainesville.
The queen-sized mattress will sit in a wrought iron frame, covered in bedding that has yet to be chosen. The color scheme will probably be lilac and pale violet, as the carpet is a pale violet and we do not want to deviate too far from the overall concept of the house. The room will be comfortable, well-decorated. It will be mine, but not mine.
This bed has served me well over the years. I remember being four and piling both sides of the beds with dolls, animals, and two carefully balanced pillows. The bedspread was white, then, with a pale lilac design. One afternoon, after having just seen Captain Eo, I lay awake and pictured that asteroid--the one at the beginning, remember?--flying toward me. I pretended I was part of the crew. This was back when the only reason I would go to EPCOT was to see Captain Eo. Now I have to watch grainy videos on youtube.
When I was six I saw Beauty and the Beast and was so upset that I had to sleep with the lights on. I stopped sleeping with the lights on when I was three. I got over my fear of Beauty and the Beast after our third screening. I think we saw it seven times in theatres. I think my parents stopped reading to me when I was six as well--but by then I already had my nose buried in a book, and though the "recreations of Lindsay's day" my father would concoct still amused me, they did not hold the sway of the preschool days.
In the third grade I found a book on horror movie makeup tricks in the library. Upon seeing a close-up of Linda Blair in full-out Exorcist make-up I shrieked, dropped the book, and ran. One of my classmates deduced my fear and chased me around the library with the book turned to said page. That night I did not sleep in my bed--I slept in my parent's room, with images of scarred and demonized Linda Blair haunting my dreams. I still cannot bring myself to watch The Exorcist.
I woke up the morning after my Bat Mitzvah to the murmurings of relatives already assembled for brunch. I rolled out of bed and noted that my hair--which was giving me hell at the time, and about which I still have adolescent insecurities--had held together rather well during the night. I drew on a t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts (because every Florida kid wore those) and stumbled out to brunch.
The beginning of my sophomore year in high school was the apex of my pseudo-goth phase. I wrote terrible poetry, wore dark eyeliner and Doc Martins, and listened exclusively to Nine Inch Nails and the Smashing Pumpkins. One night I turned the lights out, put Dusk from Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness onto my stereo, and listened to "Thru the Eyes of Ruby" at full volume at least ten times in a row. I lay in bed with my eyes open, particularly relishing the crescendo at the beginning of the second verse.
Senior year, just before and after graduation, I'd have friends piled in this room--some on this bed, some on its partner. The beds are decorated with many pillows. We'd curl around the pillows, and talk, probably about sex--which none of us had experienced--and I'd only turn on one lamp and the light would be yellow and fantastic.
I did not lose my virginity in this bed. I have had sex in this bed. And on its partner.
And now I'm curled up in the bed that is too small for me. Flash, one of my four cats, is being a nuisance. "Lap-top bed" is one of my favorite things--thank goodness for the lap-top, I can reminisce and be comfortable. The queen-sized mattress arrives tomorrow, the frame arrives this weekend. And then slowly, piece by piece, my room will disappear into boxes, and be packed away until God knows when...
I'll miss this bed.
This shouldn't be notable. People get new beds all the time. But this bed, save for the dorm bed and the rented bed I have in Gainesville (neither count), is the bed I have slept in since I left the cradle. A twin sized bed, in the same bedroom in the same house in which I have lived since I was three months old. This bed has definitely seen its time. It is twenty-years old, and no longer particularly comfortable. I don't sleep well, in this bed. It is small, and the mattress is worn out, and the sheets never softened with age.
The twin sized bed (and its partner, which is also in my room--for some reason I have two twin sized beds in my room, which was convenient for the sleep-over years) is being replaced by a queen sized bed. This is the first step in my mother's plan to turn my room into the new guest room. The turquoise-purple-and-black wallpaper will be striped. My posters will be rolled and stored. The "Beautiful People" collage I made when I was sixteen, which surrounds the mirror on my closet door, will be torn away--farewell Alan Cumming, Christian Bale, John Cameron Mitchell, and Kate Winslet. We'll give my desk and the giant purple table that served as a night stand to Goodwill. My doll cabinet will be moved into the "Doll Room/Office"--the new title for the old guest room. The antique dresser that my mother painted white and spackled purple when I was five will be moved to my sister's apartment in Gainesville.
The queen-sized mattress will sit in a wrought iron frame, covered in bedding that has yet to be chosen. The color scheme will probably be lilac and pale violet, as the carpet is a pale violet and we do not want to deviate too far from the overall concept of the house. The room will be comfortable, well-decorated. It will be mine, but not mine.
This bed has served me well over the years. I remember being four and piling both sides of the beds with dolls, animals, and two carefully balanced pillows. The bedspread was white, then, with a pale lilac design. One afternoon, after having just seen Captain Eo, I lay awake and pictured that asteroid--the one at the beginning, remember?--flying toward me. I pretended I was part of the crew. This was back when the only reason I would go to EPCOT was to see Captain Eo. Now I have to watch grainy videos on youtube.
When I was six I saw Beauty and the Beast and was so upset that I had to sleep with the lights on. I stopped sleeping with the lights on when I was three. I got over my fear of Beauty and the Beast after our third screening. I think we saw it seven times in theatres. I think my parents stopped reading to me when I was six as well--but by then I already had my nose buried in a book, and though the "recreations of Lindsay's day" my father would concoct still amused me, they did not hold the sway of the preschool days.
In the third grade I found a book on horror movie makeup tricks in the library. Upon seeing a close-up of Linda Blair in full-out Exorcist make-up I shrieked, dropped the book, and ran. One of my classmates deduced my fear and chased me around the library with the book turned to said page. That night I did not sleep in my bed--I slept in my parent's room, with images of scarred and demonized Linda Blair haunting my dreams. I still cannot bring myself to watch The Exorcist.
I woke up the morning after my Bat Mitzvah to the murmurings of relatives already assembled for brunch. I rolled out of bed and noted that my hair--which was giving me hell at the time, and about which I still have adolescent insecurities--had held together rather well during the night. I drew on a t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts (because every Florida kid wore those) and stumbled out to brunch.
The beginning of my sophomore year in high school was the apex of my pseudo-goth phase. I wrote terrible poetry, wore dark eyeliner and Doc Martins, and listened exclusively to Nine Inch Nails and the Smashing Pumpkins. One night I turned the lights out, put Dusk from Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness onto my stereo, and listened to "Thru the Eyes of Ruby" at full volume at least ten times in a row. I lay in bed with my eyes open, particularly relishing the crescendo at the beginning of the second verse.
Senior year, just before and after graduation, I'd have friends piled in this room--some on this bed, some on its partner. The beds are decorated with many pillows. We'd curl around the pillows, and talk, probably about sex--which none of us had experienced--and I'd only turn on one lamp and the light would be yellow and fantastic.
I did not lose my virginity in this bed. I have had sex in this bed. And on its partner.
And now I'm curled up in the bed that is too small for me. Flash, one of my four cats, is being a nuisance. "Lap-top bed" is one of my favorite things--thank goodness for the lap-top, I can reminisce and be comfortable. The queen-sized mattress arrives tomorrow, the frame arrives this weekend. And then slowly, piece by piece, my room will disappear into boxes, and be packed away until God knows when...
I'll miss this bed.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Spider Man 3 or Web of Lies or Peter Petrelli does the Emo Superhero thing so much better...
I saw Spiderman Three today.
I need to preface this by stating that Empire Strikes Back was on HBO while I was getting dressed, and I watched the whole thing, and I can quote every line and I totally know the fight choreography for the family reunion and ohmyGod Empire Strikes Back is amazing. So I went into Spiderman with the knowledge that I had just observed cinematic greatness and I would probably be supremely disappointed...
...and lord, was I right.
Spiderman 3 is joyless, flightless, and heavy-handed. The inclusion of Gwen Stacy was lame--I'm not even going to broach the issue of comic book continuity, because that blond-ass bitch should have been in the first movie and her ass should have died when Willem Dafoe threw her off the bridge but I said I wasn't going to talk about it so I won't. Dammit.
Anyhow. Thomas Hayden Church, who I generally enjoy, was beefy and one-note as Flint Marko, which I suppose is appropriate. Topher Grace was creepy and ridiculous but Venom freaks me the fuck out so that was fine. Glad they killed Harry, James Franco was useless once his face got blown to shreds, so his time in the series needed an end. Kirsten Dunst still needs to straighten her teeth--I know, I know, it's mean, and I don't care about how it looks but she's going to have some hardcore dental issues when she's fifty.
The real problem with the film? Fucking emo fucking Peter Parker pretending to be the far superior Peter Petrelli (Hi Milo! Call me!) with eyeliner and emo hair. Peter. Peter Parker. Why? I laughed so very hard, and not with you, but at you, at your eyeliner, and your ooky emo hair, and please please please don't ever do that to me again. I feel betrayed, Peter. Or should I say Sam. Yes I'm talking to you, Sam--I forbid you from directing The Hobbit now (if you're still in talks) because if you put Bilbo in eyeliner I will never ever ever forgive you. Like, ever.
Anyhow. Spiderman. Special effects, lots of fight scenes, and an extended bizarre emo pastoral that I would like to blot from my memory. Seriously.
In happier news Sci-Fi is having a Heroes marathon so I can purge my soul with a healthy dose of Milo and Masi and co. Who loves Heroes? I love Heroes. And this marathon of Heroes follows a marathon of Flavor of Love Girls: Charm School so today is an excellent day in tv land, which I needed after having my soul eaten by Peter Parker's eyeliner.
Last bit: I went to Busch Gardens yesterday. Road the Sheikra three times, twice in the front row. I highly, highly, highly recommend--it is difficult for a roller coaster to get me highly adrenalized and this one did. When the coaster reaches the top of the hill it stops--just before the descent. And I mean it pauses, and if you are in the front row you are literally dangling over the edge. The coaster is floorless, so the only thing keeping you from certain death is a harness. You are 200 feet in the air and you are hanging by a harness and suddenly the coaster just plunges and it is amazing. Sheikra gets top coaster rating, an accolade reserved for very few coasters--Millenium Force among them. Bravo Sheikra, bravo.
I need to preface this by stating that Empire Strikes Back was on HBO while I was getting dressed, and I watched the whole thing, and I can quote every line and I totally know the fight choreography for the family reunion and ohmyGod Empire Strikes Back is amazing. So I went into Spiderman with the knowledge that I had just observed cinematic greatness and I would probably be supremely disappointed...
...and lord, was I right.
Spiderman 3 is joyless, flightless, and heavy-handed. The inclusion of Gwen Stacy was lame--I'm not even going to broach the issue of comic book continuity, because that blond-ass bitch should have been in the first movie and her ass should have died when Willem Dafoe threw her off the bridge but I said I wasn't going to talk about it so I won't. Dammit.
Anyhow. Thomas Hayden Church, who I generally enjoy, was beefy and one-note as Flint Marko, which I suppose is appropriate. Topher Grace was creepy and ridiculous but Venom freaks me the fuck out so that was fine. Glad they killed Harry, James Franco was useless once his face got blown to shreds, so his time in the series needed an end. Kirsten Dunst still needs to straighten her teeth--I know, I know, it's mean, and I don't care about how it looks but she's going to have some hardcore dental issues when she's fifty.
The real problem with the film? Fucking emo fucking Peter Parker pretending to be the far superior Peter Petrelli (Hi Milo! Call me!) with eyeliner and emo hair. Peter. Peter Parker. Why? I laughed so very hard, and not with you, but at you, at your eyeliner, and your ooky emo hair, and please please please don't ever do that to me again. I feel betrayed, Peter. Or should I say Sam. Yes I'm talking to you, Sam--I forbid you from directing The Hobbit now (if you're still in talks) because if you put Bilbo in eyeliner I will never ever ever forgive you. Like, ever.
Anyhow. Spiderman. Special effects, lots of fight scenes, and an extended bizarre emo pastoral that I would like to blot from my memory. Seriously.
In happier news Sci-Fi is having a Heroes marathon so I can purge my soul with a healthy dose of Milo and Masi and co. Who loves Heroes? I love Heroes. And this marathon of Heroes follows a marathon of Flavor of Love Girls: Charm School so today is an excellent day in tv land, which I needed after having my soul eaten by Peter Parker's eyeliner.
Last bit: I went to Busch Gardens yesterday. Road the Sheikra three times, twice in the front row. I highly, highly, highly recommend--it is difficult for a roller coaster to get me highly adrenalized and this one did. When the coaster reaches the top of the hill it stops--just before the descent. And I mean it pauses, and if you are in the front row you are literally dangling over the edge. The coaster is floorless, so the only thing keeping you from certain death is a harness. You are 200 feet in the air and you are hanging by a harness and suddenly the coaster just plunges and it is amazing. Sheikra gets top coaster rating, an accolade reserved for very few coasters--Millenium Force among them. Bravo Sheikra, bravo.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Why I should have moved my trip to Europe back a month...
Also called: How Lindsay switches gears from the Political to the Aesthetic (the Aesthetic clearly being more important, duh).
Besides the Venice Biennale (which started June 10th) and Art Basel (which ran June 4th-8th) which I would have loved to attend there are two other festivals which, I think, would have provided me with endless endless pleasure...
The first is the Prague Quadrennial (June14th-24th), which is the world's largest festival for theatre design and set work. Amazing amazing amazing and I didn't even know they had this until this year, courtesy of the NYTimes. Here is said article. But back to my gushing: OhmyGoodness theatrical performances from all over the world and giant sets and Prague transformed into the theatre capital of the world and all this a scant two weeks after I was actually in Prague?! Grumble.
The second is like, the meaning of my life: Documenta, this year in its 12th incarnation. I remember reading about Documenta 11 five years ago, an article about the chief curator. He was African and had neither a Ph.D. in art history nor any curatorial experience and it was an uber-big-deal and all that. And I thought to myself: Wow, I'd love to attend a Documenta one day. But...Documenta only occurs every five years. And it is in Kassel, which is in Germany. I should have taken this into consideration when planning my trip to Europe but anyhow I'll have to go in 2012, when I'm 27...and hopefully almost done with my Ph.D. Documenta 12 runs from June 16th to September 23rd. I'm sure I'll make it to at least one Documenta in my lifetime, as I want to study contemporary art but oh...the pain the pain.
Publish Post
At least I'll be able to see the Richard Serra retrospective at the MoMA this summer. Mm, giant metal works that feel like they're swallowing me...yay...
Besides the Venice Biennale (which started June 10th) and Art Basel (which ran June 4th-8th) which I would have loved to attend there are two other festivals which, I think, would have provided me with endless endless pleasure...
The first is the Prague Quadrennial (June14th-24th), which is the world's largest festival for theatre design and set work. Amazing amazing amazing and I didn't even know they had this until this year, courtesy of the NYTimes. Here is said article. But back to my gushing: OhmyGoodness theatrical performances from all over the world and giant sets and Prague transformed into the theatre capital of the world and all this a scant two weeks after I was actually in Prague?! Grumble.
The second is like, the meaning of my life: Documenta, this year in its 12th incarnation. I remember reading about Documenta 11 five years ago, an article about the chief curator. He was African and had neither a Ph.D. in art history nor any curatorial experience and it was an uber-big-deal and all that. And I thought to myself: Wow, I'd love to attend a Documenta one day. But...Documenta only occurs every five years. And it is in Kassel, which is in Germany. I should have taken this into consideration when planning my trip to Europe but anyhow I'll have to go in 2012, when I'm 27...and hopefully almost done with my Ph.D. Documenta 12 runs from June 16th to September 23rd. I'm sure I'll make it to at least one Documenta in my lifetime, as I want to study contemporary art but oh...the pain the pain.
Publish Post
At least I'll be able to see the Richard Serra retrospective at the MoMA this summer. Mm, giant metal works that feel like they're swallowing me...yay...
Is it November 2008 yet?
Dear President Bush,
Thanks for keeping this country's scientific research in a stagnant position.
From,
Lindsay
(In case you hadn't heard Bush vetoed the stem cell research bill--again--because it is blasphemous regarding the sanctity of life and some stuff. I'm sure those suffering from Parkinson's and living in wheelchairs are so pleased that Bush considers embryos more valid lifeforms than actual living and breathing constituents. Ungh).
Here's the article.
Thanks for keeping this country's scientific research in a stagnant position.
From,
Lindsay
(In case you hadn't heard Bush vetoed the stem cell research bill--again--because it is blasphemous regarding the sanctity of life and some stuff. I'm sure those suffering from Parkinson's and living in wheelchairs are so pleased that Bush considers embryos more valid lifeforms than actual living and breathing constituents. Ungh).
Here's the article.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Getting Better all the Time
Last night my friend/guru Paul Pugliese informed me of the fact that Chapel Hill, North Carolina, gets all the indie acts that would travel through, say, New York City or Washington D.C.
"Why?" I asked, wondering what on earth would bring, say, Wilco or Peter Bjorn and John to North Carolina.
Paul's response was the following:
Cat's Cradle.
From now until September Cat's Cradle will be seeing acts such as the aforementioned Wilco and Peter Bjorn and John, along with Wolf Parade, and the Fiery Furnaces. Among many others. A lot of these groups will be playing before I arrive but Peter Bjorn and John are playing September 11th and not even the burning flames of hell could keep me from that concert. Who loves Peter Bjorn and John? I do, bitches.
Chapel Hill's coolness factor is increasing exponentially as the days go by, and along with it my excitement at getting to live there for the next five or six years.
This is the part where I do a dance and flail my hands about. I'll talk to you when recovering from the afterglow.
"Why?" I asked, wondering what on earth would bring, say, Wilco or Peter Bjorn and John to North Carolina.
Paul's response was the following:
Cat's Cradle.
From now until September Cat's Cradle will be seeing acts such as the aforementioned Wilco and Peter Bjorn and John, along with Wolf Parade, and the Fiery Furnaces. Among many others. A lot of these groups will be playing before I arrive but Peter Bjorn and John are playing September 11th and not even the burning flames of hell could keep me from that concert. Who loves Peter Bjorn and John? I do, bitches.
Chapel Hill's coolness factor is increasing exponentially as the days go by, and along with it my excitement at getting to live there for the next five or six years.
This is the part where I do a dance and flail my hands about. I'll talk to you when recovering from the afterglow.
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