The fall of the pig and the rise of the cat

January 1st, 2008 (06:12 pm)


current location: couch
current mood: nostalgic
current song: the sound of the heater and our new neighbors moving in

So it’s the first day of the year. 2007 is over. Welcome the Chinese year of the cat. In a way a lot has happened and in a way very little has happened… Do you know what I mean? I can’t believe that I didn’t even write an account of the amazingness that was Ethan’s birth. That’s just ridiculity, riduclosity, ridiculousness, okay, ridiculousness is actually a word. Ridicularity? No. It was August 6th around eleven in the morning. My sister only went through about four hours of labor. The ladies at my work were pissed. Pissed that they had to lay on their butts for the lifespan of a fruit fly. So okay. A Lot of things have transpired. One. Fall semester went by so fast and with so little sleep that I am amazed I survived. And two- I love bulleting, it separates reading into condensed little packages of words… Two- summer ended and with the ending of summer ended much of the feats of adventure.

I miss riding the bus most of all. For some reason, every time I take the bus- life happens. That’s because you hop into the transit system of middle america, with every scenario at the brink of existence. Like two weeks ago, it was December 22. It was very cold. We left in a hurry, it was an interesting crowd. Amy, Isaac, Dan and I were taking the 18 downtown to the Newsroom to meet Will and Jacob and Karen and some of Isaac and Amy’s friends. The Newsroom is this fantastic bar on Nicollet Avenue, giant newspapers hang from the ceilings and wrap around the walls, while the bar is constructed as a giant pirate ship, the sails hold racks of liquor twenty feet in the air. It’s great. The prices are not, unless it’s happy hour, in which case the prices are fabulouth.

Which okay, I need to explain briefly. So Aaron, this misunderstood, cool-cat, overly sarcastic, unpracticing Jew, who loves bagels, rolls his eyes at the mention of family, loves to hate crappy people, but genuinely does care in his own sullenly kind of way, sees things straight and gets caught up in the sad truth that he wishes most people didn’t suck so much kind of guy. He dresses only in black, that matches his hair and his glasses and the simplicity of his loft on Franklin, that houses a red couch from ikea, aesthetic apparatus posters and a hidden collection of dorky video games which he would be pissed about me mentioning if I didn’t distract you away at the reminder that the only things he regularly stocks in his kitchen are asiago cheese bagels from the Brueggers on Washington.

Anyhow, the sad-overbearing takeover of my life was due to my now thirty-hour work schedule and intense load of classes that wouldn’t have been so hard had I not realized how overly ADHD I am, which led to a sad distance in my life from my favorite two people, John and Justin as well as the ever-interesting Will, who were my fancied pals at the forefront of the exciting adventures of the summer. John did make one, maybe two stellar appearances this fall at the Daily, with his legendary flask of whisky and hung out in the ever exciting world of editorial production for an hour with the interesting likes of Kevin, Doug and Lisa, a few of my favorite personalities at the current Daily. He was really helpful as I finished up some info graphics, inspiring more-so, as he depicted some super-swell charts, one- a pie-chart of the most popular kinds of pies, and two- a bar graph of the most popular types of charts.

But with the dwindling of interesting text messages, my now, ever-continually spirited nights were filled with a new sarcastic friendship with Aaron, who is in charge of Advertising production at the Daily. We get a hoot out of adding t-h’s to words with s’s. Though, it’th more exthiting to talk about how awethom we pretend to be. Anyhow, this fall was a whirlwind of unending latenight homework sessions with Christine, who has basically been my substitute for a boyfriend for the past three months. My favorite times this fall included, late night trips to the uber busy ghetto Super America on Nicollet for no-doze, energy drinks and power bars. A couple of those adventures- with the evil-tiny, Jude in my purse, a kitten we were watching for about a month. Who was so preciously evil I wanted to squeeze the air out of him but had to subside because of his itty-bitty-kitteny-state.

And kittens, strangely, are a good way of keeping up friendships with thirty-five year olds like Jeff, who watched him for a week. By the second day he had renamed Jude- Shithead. Jeff is an interesting guy. I’m not really sure what he does during the week, besides leading an exquisitely exciting social life, listening to good music, aiding his diabetes, helping Steve with minie indie videos and faring the Uptown Bar. I’m sure there is more, but what else do you need? I love interesting people. Jeff and Steve. Very interesting. It amazes me growing up that I had no idea you could still be having that much fun in your thirties. It gives me a different outlook on life.

As has this semester. I’ve gotten really into illustration and sewing. I got on a new medication that makes me less impulsive and helps me make decisions. But mostly it’s supposed to help me focus. I don’t know how possible that is though. I’m like a tortoise on crack at a flea circus.

I have periods of OCD where I go from couch to couch, realigning the coffee table six times, switch on light after light- in search of zen, or something. It’s like, my mind knows every dish and scrap of paper that is out of place throughout the apartment and wants to straighten each and every piece of furniture in order for it to even have the ability to relax and feel at ease. It’s those moments where I come home, and tear off my clothes, layer by layer, because I can feel the difference in pressure between the wrinkles and folds. Like today, I couldn’t wear a bra because it felt like it was sliceing my spine in half and then when the sun went down, all I could think about was how the darkness was staring at me, mocking me, like, oh yea, why don’t you try and relax now! Your sweet sun has stopped sparkling on the walls and you aren’t in your little metaphorical state of random thoughts anymore are you? So I showered, because if you feel shitty, showering usually helps. I’m in this mood, where I think all of these little things are hilarious. The plates in the kitchen are smiling with uneasy grins at me and I’m laughing because I know they won’t be done! Oh no, I am not doing them now. I know I’d feel better, but it’s painful to even think about.

I feel kind of bad because I told Ben that I would call him in 35 minutes. I think it’s been more like 52. Though I gave him that option as well. So three weeks ago I was drawing in the screen printing lab at McNeal. James Boyd Brent, the most adorably charming, wirey and artful British man I’ve ever met was there at the beginning, as well as two others. A girl and a guy that appeared to be good friends. I was doing a directed study this semester with James and was working on drawings that I intended to screen print on fabric and wood and the like. This night reminded me of those late night summer adventures that I have missed.

The screen printing studio in McNeal is kind of like a rigged up garage with tables and sinks and clotheslines. It has an amazing wood ceiling that gives off that log-cabiny kind of vibe, and every time I’ve been there real late, I’ve noticed that all you can hear when your laptop battery dies and beck cuts off- is the wind, whirling outside like there is some blizzard and you’ve been trapped there for days. I was sitting at one of the end tables by the sinks. James left. The boy sitting across the room shouted out a hello. His name was Lee. I came to find out that he likes to ask people what they want to do with their life and is one of the chumiest people I’ve ever met. A friend of his walked into the lab carrying a drawing of a man with a mustache, reminiscent of Will Ferrel. I came to find out it was a self portrait. He had really curly, medium blond hair, piercingly blue eyes and looked oddly familiar.

I have this odd sensation when I recognize people. I am freakishly observant.  I remember faces, even if I meet a person briefly or see them across the room. Synapses cross like mad, painfully googling my mind to figure out what the association is.

It wasn’t clicking, but he introduced himself as Ben. Lee, Ben and I, by about one-o’clock appeared like a group of chummy old classmates, though only having known each other for a few hours. Critiquing each other’s work, swapping turns to play tunes, Lee chose a strange mix of Golden Eye songs and I was impressed as Ben showed me a Sigur Ros video with children running through the fields of Iceland. It was so weird, because a friend of mine had told me about a friend of theirs who had strangely come upon Sigur Ros playing at the foot of a mountain, I think it was Aaron that told me that. I’ve told that story to a few people before. Ben began telling the same story to me and it turned out it was actually his friend. Weird.

Alright, I think it’s just the time to take a deep breath and embrace thoughts of this Friday, when I am going to babysit my pudgey, milk guzzling little, four month and 25 day old nephew and how I am going to get a new bus pass, so I can get off right on the west bank for my drawing class and take it home Thursday nights after drawing class and how I have the next twenty days to really do all of those things that I’ve been wanting to do for months, like catch up on my magazines. I have like eight issues of Newsweek, one of Seed, a few Times, a new Ecologist and a National Geographic to get caught up with, as well as the Tao of Pooh that Mike gave me to read. Mike is one of my favorite people. He is a like a little hobbit version of Buddha, full of life and ringlets and humor. I also need to get my website up and running, so I can get my drawings out there and try to sell my little pillow creations. I’ve been sewing huglets. They are these tiny little guys that I screen print and sew and put in miniature boxes from Michael’s.

I also want to start writing and illustrating children’s story books. Or possibly novels. I love writing. It’s the one form of art that is equal. Everyone has the same set of words to play with and rearrange on the page, but their use is infinite, like circles. Paragraphs fit into the gaps between and stories of years ago run alongside you as the moments happening right here, in this word, in this sentence, as it is finished, become set in time. That silly illusion that overtakes us, like now, as it’s been an hour and six minutes since I said I would call Ben. I’ll have to get back to you, words, oh words, I have so many stories to mold you into. And all I want to do is draw next to you, to draw the powerlines with the colored balls over the St. Croix, the front of the boat as I’m sitting on it as a little girl, Mandy’s curls, and to draw this image of my mom, sitting next to me, as I’m picking my nose at the age of three, while eating chicken in a biscuit and Neil Diamond is roaring in the background. I want to draw pictures of those days. I want to tell those stories. But right now I need to make more memories. I guess I should put on a bra eh? The funny thing is how kitten is always concurrently sleeping next to me whenever I write. I want to draw her precious little face, so you know who I’m talking about. I want to do this for the rest of my life. Just this. With polaroid pictures and comfy socks.