Hi, so I haven't written in a while because my life has been fully infused with the CRAZY and my mind can't stop moving long enough to formulate a coherent post, and I am still in this position so don't expect this post to be coherent. Or a good lesson on how to use punctuation/complete sentences.
My long weekend flew by with the moving and the spending eight hours in a darkroom on a holiday, but the second-best thing about a long weekend? Short week afterward! Before I left for work today I was getting my lunch things together and I said to myself, hmm, I believe I will have a hot dog for lunch today. Mostly because that was all that was left in my fridge/pantry that was lunch-able. So I packed up my lunch and traipsed off to work. A couple hours later my stomach was all, FOOD! NOW! and so I was all, mmm hot dog. Then I realized I forgot cheese for my hot dog, but I was like, well, ok, I can deal with having a cheeseless hot dog just this once. I guess. So I got my plate and was all set to go microwave my hot dog and eat its lonely, cheese-free self, when I realized, hey! I forgot buns too! Talented. So I went to Wendy's for lunch instead. The end.
So I spent eight hours in a darkroom yesterday? Working on a project that's due on Wednesday? And the weird thing is that... uh... I kind of wouldn't mind going back today? To print some pictures I took over the summer? And I think I have a sickness. A sickness cured only by huffing developer and fixer for eight hours straight and also not seeing daylight. Maybe it's like a vampire thing! Only instead of blood, I need DEVELOPERRRRRR. AND FIXERRRRRR. ARGGHGHGHHHH VAMPIRE ANGRY!
I also MOVED over the weekend! It was a totally awesome pain in the ass. But I had a lot of help, so that was nice, and I spent a large part of the weekend organizing and arranging my things, which was also nice. Except I'm stuck in this paralysis of organization/put-away-...tion wherein I can't do anything else until I go to Target and/or Ikea and get some wall shelves, because my room is really tiny and I need to add some height to it because I have this weird thing about rooms feeling weighted when there's too much stuff on the ground and not on the walls, so I can't hang anything up or put anything else away until I figure out where I want me some shelves. Classic! One would think it would be easy to find time to go to Target when it is a five minute WALK from one's new house, but one would be wrong. Turns out.
Last but certainly not least, in my quest to read all of the Harry Potter books in a row because omgggg so goooodddd, I finished the fifth book last Wednesday and realized, OH GOD. NO. I DO NOT HAVE THE SIXTH BOOK RIGHT NOW. WHAT WILL I DOOOOO?? So I got an (inferior, NOT Harry Potter) book off my shelf and began that, and it's okay, I guess, but I don't think I'd even like it that much if I wasn't yearning for Harry Potter, but as it stands, I am YEARNING for Harry Potter and I have no idea when I will be able to borrow the sixth book from someone. Harry Potter is like a hardcore drug to me. My veins are lonely! SIXTH BOOK! NOW!!!
9.04.2007
8.23.2007
I will be a student FOREVERRRR!!!
So yesterday I was sitting in the hallway waiting for my art history class to start and I randomly started up this conversation with a girl who used to be a photography major at my school. USED TO being the operative term there because the reasons she told me for dropping out made me want to curl into a fetal position and cry right there in the middle of the cold tile and amidst the awkward stares exchanged between my fellow students, like, is she ok? Should we do something? Call someone or something? Is she seriously about to throw up?
There are four classes that photo majors must take entitled Directed Study 1 & 2 and Portfolio 1 & 2. These class titles did not used to reverberate with such tones of DOOM inside my poor weakened heart but alas, those happy days are over. Only a few days ago I had plotted out the rest of my courses so that I had slated myself to graduate in spring of 2009, which, holy hell! That's only a year late, even with the transferring of schools and the changing of majors and all the lost hours and WOW I AM AWESOME. SO, SO AWESOME. But as it turns out, I am not awesome. Way not awesome. Because yesterday I found out that both Directed Studies and both Portfolios must be taken separately from one another. And by that, I mean that you cannot take any one of those four in the same semester with another of those. Four. Consecutive. Semesters. Which I had already kind of planned on, right? Because I had planned out four more semesters for myself? WRONG.
You cannot even begin taking these four consecutive semesters until you have completed ALL OF YOUR OTHER STUDIO CLASSES. ALL. OF THEM. I will not be done with all of my studio classes until the end of fall semester of 2008, and you know what that means? I am TENTATIVELY expecting to graduate in FALL OF 2010.
Let me repeat that. TWO. THOUSAND. TEN. AS IN THREE YEARS FROM NOW. AS IN SIX AND A HALF YEARS AFTER I GRADUATED HIGH SCHOOL.
Okay. I'm breathing. Deep healing breaths, seriously, but SERIOUSLY, GEORGIA STATE. OH MY GOD WHY. Even if I had begun the program as a freshman it would have been impossible for me to graduate on time. I think. I'm holding onto that thought because seriously. It's not even really the graduating late that is irking me so hard, because let's face it, I kind of like school an awkwardly large amount and will kind of probably feel a little lost and empty once I graduate. It's just infuriating that the degree is set up so fucking awkwardly, like, sorry guys, but unless you start school in the last semester of your senior year of high school? You are fucked. Have a nice college experience!
Most majors involving directed studies don't even have to take them. Directed studies are usually an option to pad your hours requirement for graduation, but photo majors? Not only do we HAVE to do a directed study, we have to do TWO! OH THE JOY. I don't know, I just never thought getting an art degree would be so complicated, but I guess we really take our art seriously here, huh? The good thing is that people know that GSU photo degrees are no joke and from what I've heard, people who graduate with a photo major from GSU usually do pretty well for themselves. So that's something, you know? Except it is also something that when I finally graduate and people are like, what happened? Did you take a couple of years off? Like three? I will have to be like, NO. I JUST SUCK. SO, SO HARD.
On the other hand, hi! I really do love photography and even if I switched majors at this point it would take me just as long to graduate, and on the bright side? Taking this long to get through school means I get darkroom access for the next three years. So I guess it's not all that bad.
On the other other hand? I get to buy one of these this semester, because I need it for school, which means I can totally rationalize making a purchase that I have wanted to make for the last three years:
There are four classes that photo majors must take entitled Directed Study 1 & 2 and Portfolio 1 & 2. These class titles did not used to reverberate with such tones of DOOM inside my poor weakened heart but alas, those happy days are over. Only a few days ago I had plotted out the rest of my courses so that I had slated myself to graduate in spring of 2009, which, holy hell! That's only a year late, even with the transferring of schools and the changing of majors and all the lost hours and WOW I AM AWESOME. SO, SO AWESOME. But as it turns out, I am not awesome. Way not awesome. Because yesterday I found out that both Directed Studies and both Portfolios must be taken separately from one another. And by that, I mean that you cannot take any one of those four in the same semester with another of those. Four. Consecutive. Semesters. Which I had already kind of planned on, right? Because I had planned out four more semesters for myself? WRONG.
You cannot even begin taking these four consecutive semesters until you have completed ALL OF YOUR OTHER STUDIO CLASSES. ALL. OF THEM. I will not be done with all of my studio classes until the end of fall semester of 2008, and you know what that means? I am TENTATIVELY expecting to graduate in FALL OF 2010.
Let me repeat that. TWO. THOUSAND. TEN. AS IN THREE YEARS FROM NOW. AS IN SIX AND A HALF YEARS AFTER I GRADUATED HIGH SCHOOL.
Okay. I'm breathing. Deep healing breaths, seriously, but SERIOUSLY, GEORGIA STATE. OH MY GOD WHY. Even if I had begun the program as a freshman it would have been impossible for me to graduate on time. I think. I'm holding onto that thought because seriously. It's not even really the graduating late that is irking me so hard, because let's face it, I kind of like school an awkwardly large amount and will kind of probably feel a little lost and empty once I graduate. It's just infuriating that the degree is set up so fucking awkwardly, like, sorry guys, but unless you start school in the last semester of your senior year of high school? You are fucked. Have a nice college experience!
Most majors involving directed studies don't even have to take them. Directed studies are usually an option to pad your hours requirement for graduation, but photo majors? Not only do we HAVE to do a directed study, we have to do TWO! OH THE JOY. I don't know, I just never thought getting an art degree would be so complicated, but I guess we really take our art seriously here, huh? The good thing is that people know that GSU photo degrees are no joke and from what I've heard, people who graduate with a photo major from GSU usually do pretty well for themselves. So that's something, you know? Except it is also something that when I finally graduate and people are like, what happened? Did you take a couple of years off? Like three? I will have to be like, NO. I JUST SUCK. SO, SO HARD.
On the other hand, hi! I really do love photography and even if I switched majors at this point it would take me just as long to graduate, and on the bright side? Taking this long to get through school means I get darkroom access for the next three years. So I guess it's not all that bad.
On the other other hand? I get to buy one of these this semester, because I need it for school, which means I can totally rationalize making a purchase that I have wanted to make for the last three years:
Medium format, baby. Twin-lens reflex camera using 120MM film to make 6x6cm negatives OR 6x4.5cm. That I will then get to develop. In the darkroom. And also impress unsuspecting bitches with my awesome big camera, like, look at what a SERIOUS photographer I am. I am very SERIOUS about what I do. Look at my LARGE CAMERA. No, you cannot see the picture on the back after I take it, this is FILM, YOU IDIOT, NOT DIGITAL! WHAT DO YOU TAKE ME FOR? HAHAHAHA!!!!!
8.08.2007
JAZZED
Dear constant exhaustion,
Why? Why do you plague me with your exhaustive-ness? I have so much to do and yet by the time I return to my apartment at night, all I can do is lay on the couch in a heat-fueled stupor and drool on myself until I gain enough energy to haul myself into the shower and then into bed. You are very, very inconvenient for me. I have cleaning out to do! Movies and shows to watch! Books to read! I haven't bought groceries in approximately five weeks! But I can do none of these things while you are hanging around. GO AWAY.
Pressing the keys has wiped me out,
Whitney
Dear dull, throbbing, nagging headache,
I really hate you. Why are you here? It's not allergy season. Well, okay, I have been around a very large number of cats lately, but REALLY. I live with cats on a daily basis, what difference should three more tiny, almost invisible kittens make? NONE, HEADACHE. Are you allergies? Are you not enough sleep? Are you and exhaustion simply teaming up to drive me into the ground? You make me feel like I am walking through life barely conscious of what is going on, because that is WHAT I AM DOING WHEN YOU ARE AROUND. Please vacate the premises immediately.
My eyes are throbbing from looking at the screen,
Whitney
Dear Whitney,
CAFFEINE!!!! BEAUTIFUL, LOVELY CAFFEINE IS THE ANSWER. YOUR HEADACHE WILL MAGICALLY DISAPPEAR AFTER THE FIRST THREE SIPS OF THAT VANILLA COKE ZERO AND YOU WILL BE ABLE TO STAY AWAKE THROUGHOUT AN ENTIRE WORKDAY! WHY? WHY WITH THE NO CAFFEINE IN THE LAST THREE DAYS? SEE HOW MUCH BETTER YOU FEEL? YAYYYYYY CAFFEINE!!!!!!
You're welcome!!!!!!!
Exhaustion and headache
Why? Why do you plague me with your exhaustive-ness? I have so much to do and yet by the time I return to my apartment at night, all I can do is lay on the couch in a heat-fueled stupor and drool on myself until I gain enough energy to haul myself into the shower and then into bed. You are very, very inconvenient for me. I have cleaning out to do! Movies and shows to watch! Books to read! I haven't bought groceries in approximately five weeks! But I can do none of these things while you are hanging around. GO AWAY.
Pressing the keys has wiped me out,
Whitney
Dear dull, throbbing, nagging headache,
I really hate you. Why are you here? It's not allergy season. Well, okay, I have been around a very large number of cats lately, but REALLY. I live with cats on a daily basis, what difference should three more tiny, almost invisible kittens make? NONE, HEADACHE. Are you allergies? Are you not enough sleep? Are you and exhaustion simply teaming up to drive me into the ground? You make me feel like I am walking through life barely conscious of what is going on, because that is WHAT I AM DOING WHEN YOU ARE AROUND. Please vacate the premises immediately.
My eyes are throbbing from looking at the screen,
Whitney
Dear Whitney,
CAFFEINE!!!! BEAUTIFUL, LOVELY CAFFEINE IS THE ANSWER. YOUR HEADACHE WILL MAGICALLY DISAPPEAR AFTER THE FIRST THREE SIPS OF THAT VANILLA COKE ZERO AND YOU WILL BE ABLE TO STAY AWAKE THROUGHOUT AN ENTIRE WORKDAY! WHY? WHY WITH THE NO CAFFEINE IN THE LAST THREE DAYS? SEE HOW MUCH BETTER YOU FEEL? YAYYYYYY CAFFEINE!!!!!!
You're welcome!!!!!!!
Exhaustion and headache
8.07.2007
The run-on sentences and parentheses are out of control
Things I Have Learned Today:
1. It is a bad idea to eat applesauce straight out of the jar when you are very hungry because all you had for breakfast was a pack of peanut butter crackers because you have not gone grocery shopping in four weeks because you are tired and lazy and busy and also, you really fucking HATE going grocery shopping and would kind of rather eat ramen noodles three times a day for a month than go grocery shopping. Eating applesauce straight out of the jar, especially when you are at work and distracted by the shiny computer monitor in front of you, will probably result in looking at the jar after thirty minutes and realizing there is only about a third of the original amount of applesauce remaining. You will then need to sheepishly re-cap the jar and place it back in the refrigerator before your crazy applesauce-eating self begin to chomp on the applesauce-flavored glass without realizing it.
2. Actually, mostly just the applesauce thing. I think that's all I've learned today. Not from experience, of course, just from... uh... hypothesizing? Yeah. Totally just an untested hypothesis.
Speaking of the Food-Related Crazy, I hoard condiments. Is that weird? I get fast food at work probably once or twice a week (except when I haven't gone grocery shopping in four weeks and am forced to forage for food [holy shit, look at all that alliteration] elswhere than my lonely, cold refrigerator, in which case I get fast food a little more often than that), and a lot of times I go to Wendy's because it's really close to my office and it's cheap. (Are you still following after all the punctuation? IT'S A PUNCTUATION PARTY OVER HERE! PARENTHESES! BRACKETS! COMMAS! WOOOOOO CRAZY TIME!)
Anyway. What was I saying? Oh, right. Condiment hoarding! (I feel like it's some kind of illicit sexual act or something... you rotten hoarder). Anyway OH MY GOD PARENTHESES. So the Wendy's I go to does not offer mayonnaise packets for some ungodly, unexplained reason, and I like to mix my ketchup with mayonnaise to dip my fries in, I know, weird and ew. Whatever. So whenever I ask for mayonnaise they give it to me in a tiny condiment cup but that just gets kind of inconvenient, you know? Also I get tired of asking for mayonnaise and ketchup all the time and the guy behind the window totally KNOWS ME because I am all the time asking for mayonnaise and now he brings it to me without my asking and I don't know, that's just kind of embarrasing.
So now whenever I have extra ketchup packets or I get mayo packets from a different fast-food establishment, I totally toss them into a Wendy's bag and keep them for next time I get fast food so that I won't have to ask for condiments. And I hide the bag behind my computer monitor so no one else can see it, like it's some kind of dirty little secret, you filthy condiment hoarder. I mean, seriously, who does that? I think it's some kind of weird sickness. I think it has something to do with the Type-A and OCD and shit. Who even knows.
In other obsessive news, my Netflix queue has somehow shot up over 100 (Holy shit! Arrested Development, I totally want to watch that! And Big Love, omg! OMG SO MANY DVDS!) and I totally upgraded to three DVDs at-a-time because in addition to being a filthy condiment hoarder, I am totally a filthy DVD hoarder. I cannot help myself.
1. It is a bad idea to eat applesauce straight out of the jar when you are very hungry because all you had for breakfast was a pack of peanut butter crackers because you have not gone grocery shopping in four weeks because you are tired and lazy and busy and also, you really fucking HATE going grocery shopping and would kind of rather eat ramen noodles three times a day for a month than go grocery shopping. Eating applesauce straight out of the jar, especially when you are at work and distracted by the shiny computer monitor in front of you, will probably result in looking at the jar after thirty minutes and realizing there is only about a third of the original amount of applesauce remaining. You will then need to sheepishly re-cap the jar and place it back in the refrigerator before your crazy applesauce-eating self begin to chomp on the applesauce-flavored glass without realizing it.
2. Actually, mostly just the applesauce thing. I think that's all I've learned today. Not from experience, of course, just from... uh... hypothesizing? Yeah. Totally just an untested hypothesis.
Speaking of the Food-Related Crazy, I hoard condiments. Is that weird? I get fast food at work probably once or twice a week (except when I haven't gone grocery shopping in four weeks and am forced to forage for food [holy shit, look at all that alliteration] elswhere than my lonely, cold refrigerator, in which case I get fast food a little more often than that), and a lot of times I go to Wendy's because it's really close to my office and it's cheap. (Are you still following after all the punctuation? IT'S A PUNCTUATION PARTY OVER HERE! PARENTHESES! BRACKETS! COMMAS! WOOOOOO CRAZY TIME!)
Anyway. What was I saying? Oh, right. Condiment hoarding! (I feel like it's some kind of illicit sexual act or something... you rotten hoarder). Anyway OH MY GOD PARENTHESES. So the Wendy's I go to does not offer mayonnaise packets for some ungodly, unexplained reason, and I like to mix my ketchup with mayonnaise to dip my fries in, I know, weird and ew. Whatever. So whenever I ask for mayonnaise they give it to me in a tiny condiment cup but that just gets kind of inconvenient, you know? Also I get tired of asking for mayonnaise and ketchup all the time and the guy behind the window totally KNOWS ME because I am all the time asking for mayonnaise and now he brings it to me without my asking and I don't know, that's just kind of embarrasing.
So now whenever I have extra ketchup packets or I get mayo packets from a different fast-food establishment, I totally toss them into a Wendy's bag and keep them for next time I get fast food so that I won't have to ask for condiments. And I hide the bag behind my computer monitor so no one else can see it, like it's some kind of dirty little secret, you filthy condiment hoarder. I mean, seriously, who does that? I think it's some kind of weird sickness. I think it has something to do with the Type-A and OCD and shit. Who even knows.
In other obsessive news, my Netflix queue has somehow shot up over 100 (Holy shit! Arrested Development, I totally want to watch that! And Big Love, omg! OMG SO MANY DVDS!) and I totally upgraded to three DVDs at-a-time because in addition to being a filthy condiment hoarder, I am totally a filthy DVD hoarder. I cannot help myself.
8.03.2007
A bunch of random paragraphs masquerading as an entry
So I'm totally obsessed with Netflix right now. Netflix and I are having an illicit and highly improper love affair and I probably should not be typing this for the Internets to read but I don't care because I LOVE NETFLIX, DON'T YOU SEE? WE LOVE EACH OTHER AND I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU THINK! I got a free trial a week ago and opted for the two DVDs at a time plan and now I kind of want to upgrade to the three at a time plan because oh my God, the possibilities. I have spent several hours in the last week surfing around the site, internally screaming things like, "Oh my God! Clarissa Explains It All! NETFLIX, YOU HAVE CLARISSA EXPLAINS IT ALL? Oh my God! Grey's Anatomy! I totally want to watch that! Oh, and Lost! And Prison Break! And... this? I don't even know what this is, Netflix, but you suggested I would like it based on my other choices and I trust you fully! One hundred percent! ALSO I LOVE YOU. SO, SO MUCH." So after a week I have approximately 80 DVDs in my queue and I have finished and returned exactly one of them. Methinks the love affair will probably be lasting long into the foreseeable future.
Speaking of love affairs, I love organization and storage (news to anyone? thought not). Yesterday I went to Target to pick up a prescription and accidentally got absorbed in looking at the plastic storage containers because I am cleaning out my room right now and about to start packing to move and that means that I obviously need many, many more storage containers than I currently have in my life. All of the storage containers I already have are inferior and must be replaced with newer, shinier models. ALL OF THEM. Everything I own must have a storage container to call its own! It would be organizational heaven!
I didn't even realize that Target has a lot of storage containers on sale right now until I got over to that section and then I just stood there in awe as I stroked the containers' discounted plastic exteriors while a little bit of drool dribbled down the front of my shirt. I snapped rudely back to life when I realized that I have approximately $40 in my checking account to last me until Friday, but I bid a loving farewell to the containers and told them I would come back for them before the sale was over. Fear not, my loves! I shall return!
My roommate did a bad, bad thing. For me, anyway. As I understand the story (and to be honest, I don't really understand the story), one of her co-workers had a cat who had kittens and then he had to move out of his apartment/house/wherever he lived, and so Sara took the kittens until they could get their new homes. Most of them already had new homes (I think there were six to begin with?) and the others found homes almost immediately after Sara took them. However, and here is the bad part, there is now one kitten remaining. One tiny, lonely, oh my God adorable kitten. A friend of Sara's has already laid claim to this kitten but won't be taking her for another week or so, which, as it turns out, is about six days longer than it took for me to fall dramatically, irreversibly in love with this kitten. She is a tiny, unbelievably fluffy gray ball of fuzz and she's rambunctious and playful and runs around crazily pouncing on specks of dust, but then last night she curled up next to me and slept that way all night. All. Night. If I moved or turned over, she would move so that she was still touching me. But she didn't want to be ON me - if I put her on my chest, she would almost immediately climb off and lay back down next to me. She wanted to be touching me, but still in her space. Oh my God, she is so adorable. I AM SMITTEN. SMITTEN WITH A KITTEN, LOL THAT RHYMES!
And basically, now I want to keep her. But I can't. So I am sad. The end.
Speaking of love affairs, I love organization and storage (news to anyone? thought not). Yesterday I went to Target to pick up a prescription and accidentally got absorbed in looking at the plastic storage containers because I am cleaning out my room right now and about to start packing to move and that means that I obviously need many, many more storage containers than I currently have in my life. All of the storage containers I already have are inferior and must be replaced with newer, shinier models. ALL OF THEM. Everything I own must have a storage container to call its own! It would be organizational heaven!
I didn't even realize that Target has a lot of storage containers on sale right now until I got over to that section and then I just stood there in awe as I stroked the containers' discounted plastic exteriors while a little bit of drool dribbled down the front of my shirt. I snapped rudely back to life when I realized that I have approximately $40 in my checking account to last me until Friday, but I bid a loving farewell to the containers and told them I would come back for them before the sale was over. Fear not, my loves! I shall return!
My roommate did a bad, bad thing. For me, anyway. As I understand the story (and to be honest, I don't really understand the story), one of her co-workers had a cat who had kittens and then he had to move out of his apartment/house/wherever he lived, and so Sara took the kittens until they could get their new homes. Most of them already had new homes (I think there were six to begin with?) and the others found homes almost immediately after Sara took them. However, and here is the bad part, there is now one kitten remaining. One tiny, lonely, oh my God adorable kitten. A friend of Sara's has already laid claim to this kitten but won't be taking her for another week or so, which, as it turns out, is about six days longer than it took for me to fall dramatically, irreversibly in love with this kitten. She is a tiny, unbelievably fluffy gray ball of fuzz and she's rambunctious and playful and runs around crazily pouncing on specks of dust, but then last night she curled up next to me and slept that way all night. All. Night. If I moved or turned over, she would move so that she was still touching me. But she didn't want to be ON me - if I put her on my chest, she would almost immediately climb off and lay back down next to me. She wanted to be touching me, but still in her space. Oh my God, she is so adorable. I AM SMITTEN. SMITTEN WITH A KITTEN, LOL THAT RHYMES!
And basically, now I want to keep her. But I can't. So I am sad. The end.
8.01.2007
What? This is still here?
Hi! Still alive, albeit just barely, occasionally! Still in class, although only for one more day, and thank God because if I didn't have the (meager, two-week) break between summer and fall semesters very, very soon, I'd probably be going crazy! And excessively using exclamation points again! I love punctuation!
I got an A- on my last project, which, on the one hand, cool, because it's totally not like a B or a C or a D (all of which my teacher has handed out joyfully and without mercy to numerous people over the course of summer semester) but at the same time my inner perfectionist/type-A personality is totally abusing me because DUDE. You TOTALLY should have gotten an A, you worthless piece of dog poop! You are no more than a smelly pile of feces to me! You hear me? FECES! And I cry a little and promise Type-A that I will do better next time, I swear, I'm sorry, I really am. I didn't mean it! I don't know what happened! I... please don't hit me!
Anyway, so yeah, aside from my crazy-ass multiple personalities (which were actually what the project was based on, ooh!), one of which tells me that I suck unless I'm perfect, I'm well aware that an A- is a good grade, especially since I think I did better than almost anyone in the class. But still, it's kind of like, I worked so fucking hard on this project, I mean I literally put like 35 hours into this shit in the span of maybe a week, and so I kind of feel like my best work is only worth an A- to my teacher. Like she's laughing at my pathetic efforts, all HA! 35 hours? WIMP. AMATEUR. I scoff at your efforts. A-MINUS FOR YOU, BUT ONLY BECAUSE I AM FEELING KIND TODAY. Begone with you! Better luck next time!
The project I'm working on now is our final project, and I had a really hard time coming up with a concept because I think that the project is, frankly, stupid. Really stupid. Especially for a final project. We are to create at least five postcards. Postcards. Where we take pictures for the front of the postcard, and then we do stuff to the back. We can write to anyone, from anyone. The pictures have to relate somehow to what we write. And! We can manipulate the postcards and use techniques that don't involve pictures! Like painting! And drawing! And... um... stamping? I guess? I really feel like this is an idea that could be successfully executed by third graders, and actually, maybe I did a project like this once in elementary school. I can't remember.
Since I've had such a hard time coming up with an idea for this project, and I think it's kind of stupid, I'm writing to things that frustrate me, and taking pictures that illustrate these things. The recipients of my postcards will be:
- Money (that vicious minx)
- My apartment (fuck you, apartment. seriously.)
- My packrat tendency (see also: I've Saved Everything Since I Was Born, and No, I Am Not Kidding)
- Cigarettes (why, cigarettes? you are so bad for me, yet so enjoyable!)
- uh... one other thing I can't remember right now. Probably not a good sign.
So yeah. Stupid. Very, very stupid. But look! Pretty pictures! Which I will maybe eventually scan and put up here, but probably not!
In other news (that is the only segue I seem to be able to use appropriately), someone left the office for good (again) yesterday, and when I arrived this morning there was a cake sitting in the refrigerator. A chocolate cake, with chocolate whipped-looking frosting. My stomach was immediately screaming at me to eat this cake, I mean it, NOW OR ELSE! and so I finally got a piece and oh my, is it ever delicious. There's chocolate syrup or something on the inside and it is covered with a huge layer of chocolate-flavored whipped cream instead of icing, which is good because I hate regular icing. I am almost finished with my piece and I am sort of sad. I kind of want to announce that I am quitting just so I can get a cake and then come back the next week and be all, just kidding guys! I still want to work here! But damn, that was a good cake, huh?
I got an A- on my last project, which, on the one hand, cool, because it's totally not like a B or a C or a D (all of which my teacher has handed out joyfully and without mercy to numerous people over the course of summer semester) but at the same time my inner perfectionist/type-A personality is totally abusing me because DUDE. You TOTALLY should have gotten an A, you worthless piece of dog poop! You are no more than a smelly pile of feces to me! You hear me? FECES! And I cry a little and promise Type-A that I will do better next time, I swear, I'm sorry, I really am. I didn't mean it! I don't know what happened! I... please don't hit me!
Anyway, so yeah, aside from my crazy-ass multiple personalities (which were actually what the project was based on, ooh!), one of which tells me that I suck unless I'm perfect, I'm well aware that an A- is a good grade, especially since I think I did better than almost anyone in the class. But still, it's kind of like, I worked so fucking hard on this project, I mean I literally put like 35 hours into this shit in the span of maybe a week, and so I kind of feel like my best work is only worth an A- to my teacher. Like she's laughing at my pathetic efforts, all HA! 35 hours? WIMP. AMATEUR. I scoff at your efforts. A-MINUS FOR YOU, BUT ONLY BECAUSE I AM FEELING KIND TODAY. Begone with you! Better luck next time!
The project I'm working on now is our final project, and I had a really hard time coming up with a concept because I think that the project is, frankly, stupid. Really stupid. Especially for a final project. We are to create at least five postcards. Postcards. Where we take pictures for the front of the postcard, and then we do stuff to the back. We can write to anyone, from anyone. The pictures have to relate somehow to what we write. And! We can manipulate the postcards and use techniques that don't involve pictures! Like painting! And drawing! And... um... stamping? I guess? I really feel like this is an idea that could be successfully executed by third graders, and actually, maybe I did a project like this once in elementary school. I can't remember.
Since I've had such a hard time coming up with an idea for this project, and I think it's kind of stupid, I'm writing to things that frustrate me, and taking pictures that illustrate these things. The recipients of my postcards will be:
- Money (that vicious minx)
- My apartment (fuck you, apartment. seriously.)
- My packrat tendency (see also: I've Saved Everything Since I Was Born, and No, I Am Not Kidding)
- Cigarettes (why, cigarettes? you are so bad for me, yet so enjoyable!)
- uh... one other thing I can't remember right now. Probably not a good sign.
So yeah. Stupid. Very, very stupid. But look! Pretty pictures! Which I will maybe eventually scan and put up here, but probably not!
In other news (that is the only segue I seem to be able to use appropriately), someone left the office for good (again) yesterday, and when I arrived this morning there was a cake sitting in the refrigerator. A chocolate cake, with chocolate whipped-looking frosting. My stomach was immediately screaming at me to eat this cake, I mean it, NOW OR ELSE! and so I finally got a piece and oh my, is it ever delicious. There's chocolate syrup or something on the inside and it is covered with a huge layer of chocolate-flavored whipped cream instead of icing, which is good because I hate regular icing. I am almost finished with my piece and I am sort of sad. I kind of want to announce that I am quitting just so I can get a cake and then come back the next week and be all, just kidding guys! I still want to work here! But damn, that was a good cake, huh?
7.13.2007
Okay, so remember that time I posted twice in like four days, it probably won't ever happen again
Life these days has been a confusing mix of busy as shit and boring as... well... shit. I guess. My job mostly accounts for the boring part and I don't know what to do about this, really. My job is kind of boring but I like the people I work with and for and I've been here for a long time and they're really cool about working with my hours since I'm in school. I come in at 11 the days I'm not in school and basically stay until whenever I want, depending on the amount of work I need to get done and the amount of crap breathing down my neck and begging me to come home and do that instead. But it's like a forty-minute drive from my apartment and did I mention that the work I do is pretty boring? Because it is. This paragraph is basically pointless because I'm not trying to come to any kind of decision about a major life change in the form of a new job. I'll probably quit working here eventually and find something more fun and closer to where I live, but for now this is working out pretty well. Mostly.
In other news, my summer photography class is kicking my ass. When I signed up for it I was like, "Well, I mean, I don't know if I really want to take a summer class but I really need to, and I mean, it's photography for God's sake, I've taken it before so it will totally be a breeze cause I already know everything anyway. No time spent outside of class studying! Lots of extra time to sit around and stare at my belly button!" WRONG. We covered the basics in like one class period and from there it has been TAKE PICTURES PROCESS NEGATIVES MAKE CONTACT SHEETS MAKE PRINTS MAKE MORE PRINTS FUCK THESE HAVE DUST ON THEM MAKE THEM AGAIN MOUNT THEM HURRY HURRY TURN THEM IN!!! CRITIQUE OMG!!! The photography class I took last year was like... well... NOTHING compared to this. Nothing. I could have done that shit in like two weeks, seriously. I have no concept of how it took us an entire semester to get through that class. I shot like maybe four rolls of film the whole semester and only processed one of them in the darkroom. I've already shot and processed six rolls of film in three weeks and wow, it is time-consuming. I love it, I really do, and this is definitely not going to deter me from pursuing photography, but this summer class is nothing like I expected it to be. We have two more assignments -- big ones -- left to go this semester and only three weeks. Between twelve hours spent in class a week and 21 to 24 at work, it's hard to find another twenty or thirty to spend taking pictures and working in the darkroom. At least it's something I love, ja? Except for the times when I end up crying in a corner because my prints won't come out correctly even though I've done them 18 times and someone keeps opening the drying cabinet while my negatives are in there, making dust attach itself permanently to all my negatives. Which is then impossible to get off and leaves spots all over my prints. But I love this class. Really.
Also, during our critique on Tuesday, my teacher made three people cry. Out of nine. That's like one-third of the students in the class that were in tears at some point during the class period. I wasn't one of them this time, but I fully expect to end up red-eyed and blotchy before this semester is over. Art is hard.
Moving on, I have been really hungry lately. Really, really hungry. And by lately, I mean like the last two days, but still. I was really hungry yesterday and now I am really hungry AGAIN today and that's enough to create a pattern or continuation or whatever, and now I find it weird. Yesterday I was at school and had my typical lunch of sandwich and chips, which normally keeps me good until class is out, but I was starving by about three hours later. This morning I had cereal for breakfast around 10:30, which usually means I won't be really hungry again until 1:30 or so, but I was ravenous a WHOLE HOUR EARLIER. And then I ate chicken nuggets and a large fry from Chick-fil-a and I'm still not wholly satisfied. I could eat more. Normally I can't even finish that meal. What's going on? Am I feeding the stress? Am I ovulating? Is my body determined to make me obese by the wintertime so I won't be so cold? Stay tuned!
Speaking of yesterday (with the food? remember? the hunger? I spoke of yesterday, just trust me) I twisted my ankle and fell down. I want you to visualize this in your head, seriously, because it was the least elegant and most awkward thing I have done in a while, and I do a lot of awkward and non-elegant things. I stepped weirdly on some uneven pavement, my ankle went TWIST approximately perpendicular to my body, and in about a tenth of a second I had flown onto the ground. Please note my choice of words: flown. Not fallen, not... some synonym of fallen... FLOWN. It was pretty acrobatic, I think, being that my lens cap from the camera INSIDE MY PURSE popped off and flew onto the sidewalk. And seriously? Who falls? I mean, people trip a lot, you know? And then they catch themselves after a bit of a stumble and they keep walking like nothing happened. Not me! I fell. Hard. I scraped my hand up pretty well and my ankle was going, "Um, hi? What just happened? I think I kind of hurt?" and then I got up and felt dizzy. Flash forward a couple of hours, my ankle hasn't been hurting very badly but suddenly begins to hurt VERY VERY BADLY (possibly due in part to the fact that I walked around a museum on it for three hours). I begin to freak out and ponder the fact that I could very well have fractured a bone in my foot and/or ankle due to my horrible awkwardness and clumsiness. Flash forward a few more hours, and the tear-inducing pain has subsided, and this morning I am convinced it's nothing but a simple sprain, because it hardly hurts at all anymore. Just a little bit. Also the big scrape on my hand is stinging whenever it touches something, but whatever. The moral of the story is that my body likes to freak me out with horrible pain and then say, just kidding! Oh man, I totally got you. You were totally scared that it was something worse than a sprain. Man, you are gullible. Too easy.
In other news, my summer photography class is kicking my ass. When I signed up for it I was like, "Well, I mean, I don't know if I really want to take a summer class but I really need to, and I mean, it's photography for God's sake, I've taken it before so it will totally be a breeze cause I already know everything anyway. No time spent outside of class studying! Lots of extra time to sit around and stare at my belly button!" WRONG. We covered the basics in like one class period and from there it has been TAKE PICTURES PROCESS NEGATIVES MAKE CONTACT SHEETS MAKE PRINTS MAKE MORE PRINTS FUCK THESE HAVE DUST ON THEM MAKE THEM AGAIN MOUNT THEM HURRY HURRY TURN THEM IN!!! CRITIQUE OMG!!! The photography class I took last year was like... well... NOTHING compared to this. Nothing. I could have done that shit in like two weeks, seriously. I have no concept of how it took us an entire semester to get through that class. I shot like maybe four rolls of film the whole semester and only processed one of them in the darkroom. I've already shot and processed six rolls of film in three weeks and wow, it is time-consuming. I love it, I really do, and this is definitely not going to deter me from pursuing photography, but this summer class is nothing like I expected it to be. We have two more assignments -- big ones -- left to go this semester and only three weeks. Between twelve hours spent in class a week and 21 to 24 at work, it's hard to find another twenty or thirty to spend taking pictures and working in the darkroom. At least it's something I love, ja? Except for the times when I end up crying in a corner because my prints won't come out correctly even though I've done them 18 times and someone keeps opening the drying cabinet while my negatives are in there, making dust attach itself permanently to all my negatives. Which is then impossible to get off and leaves spots all over my prints. But I love this class. Really.
Also, during our critique on Tuesday, my teacher made three people cry. Out of nine. That's like one-third of the students in the class that were in tears at some point during the class period. I wasn't one of them this time, but I fully expect to end up red-eyed and blotchy before this semester is over. Art is hard.
Moving on, I have been really hungry lately. Really, really hungry. And by lately, I mean like the last two days, but still. I was really hungry yesterday and now I am really hungry AGAIN today and that's enough to create a pattern or continuation or whatever, and now I find it weird. Yesterday I was at school and had my typical lunch of sandwich and chips, which normally keeps me good until class is out, but I was starving by about three hours later. This morning I had cereal for breakfast around 10:30, which usually means I won't be really hungry again until 1:30 or so, but I was ravenous a WHOLE HOUR EARLIER. And then I ate chicken nuggets and a large fry from Chick-fil-a and I'm still not wholly satisfied. I could eat more. Normally I can't even finish that meal. What's going on? Am I feeding the stress? Am I ovulating? Is my body determined to make me obese by the wintertime so I won't be so cold? Stay tuned!
Speaking of yesterday (with the food? remember? the hunger? I spoke of yesterday, just trust me) I twisted my ankle and fell down. I want you to visualize this in your head, seriously, because it was the least elegant and most awkward thing I have done in a while, and I do a lot of awkward and non-elegant things. I stepped weirdly on some uneven pavement, my ankle went TWIST approximately perpendicular to my body, and in about a tenth of a second I had flown onto the ground. Please note my choice of words: flown. Not fallen, not... some synonym of fallen... FLOWN. It was pretty acrobatic, I think, being that my lens cap from the camera INSIDE MY PURSE popped off and flew onto the sidewalk. And seriously? Who falls? I mean, people trip a lot, you know? And then they catch themselves after a bit of a stumble and they keep walking like nothing happened. Not me! I fell. Hard. I scraped my hand up pretty well and my ankle was going, "Um, hi? What just happened? I think I kind of hurt?" and then I got up and felt dizzy. Flash forward a couple of hours, my ankle hasn't been hurting very badly but suddenly begins to hurt VERY VERY BADLY (possibly due in part to the fact that I walked around a museum on it for three hours). I begin to freak out and ponder the fact that I could very well have fractured a bone in my foot and/or ankle due to my horrible awkwardness and clumsiness. Flash forward a few more hours, and the tear-inducing pain has subsided, and this morning I am convinced it's nothing but a simple sprain, because it hardly hurts at all anymore. Just a little bit. Also the big scrape on my hand is stinging whenever it touches something, but whatever. The moral of the story is that my body likes to freak me out with horrible pain and then say, just kidding! Oh man, I totally got you. You were totally scared that it was something worse than a sprain. Man, you are gullible. Too easy.
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