This one's for my sis'...

So I haven't posted in a while. It's been about a month and a half since my last entry here. Sure, I felt like a slacker for dropping the writing ball, but I didn't think my grand readership of 2-3 people (by my estimate) would mind terribly the lack of fresh material.

Well, apparently one reader does mind: my sister, Sarah.

I recently went to Maryland for a long weekend - I stayed at my parents' house with my sister, brother-in-law, and niece, who were visiting from Nashville. During said visit, I learned that Sarah regularly checks my blog for new material, usually two times a week, and she was growing tired of seeing the same post at the top time and time again. I was flattered that she was so devoted, and upset that I was letting down my singular steadfast reader.

So...I promise to write more. There are things to write about, and I just ain't been doing it.

That being said, I present:
A CHALLENGE (to my, um, many readers, sister included)

The CHALLENGE is this (well, it's a challenge to myself, too): I promise to write a blog post on any subject matter that is presented to me through a comment to this post.

Frankly, I don't think I'm setting myself up for much work here, because I fear that my readers have all but disappeared. But, hey, if you prove me wrong, I promise to write away. I hope you do.

Live Through This

My friend Sabrina Chapadjiev has been working her butt off for at least the past year getting this amazing book together, and it's finally done. I went to one of the reading release parties here in New York a few days ago, and the presentations by contributors Cristy C. Road, Nicole Blackman, Fly, Silas Howard, and Bonfire Madigan Shive were just amazing. Do yourself a favor and check this out:
Live Through This: On Creativity and Self-Destruction.

Here is a quote from the back of the book jacket (which, by the way, includes endorsements by Janeane Garofalo, Lydia Lunch, and Sara Quin of Tegan and Sara, among others):
"...(Live Through This) is a collection of original stories, essays, artwork and photography. It explores the use of art to survive abuse, incest, madness and depression, and the often deep-seated impulse toward self-destruction including cutting, eating disorders and addiction..."

Full list of contributors: Nan Goldin, Patricia Smith, bell hooks, Eileen Myles, Inga M. Muscio, Diane DiMassa, Fly, Cristy C. Road, Annie Sprinkle, Elizabeth Stephens, Nicole Blackman, Stephanie Howell, Daphne Gottlieb, Carolyn Gage, Carol Queen, Anonymous, Kate Bornstein, Silas Howard, Toni Blackman, and Bonfire Madigan Shive.

I am so proud of my friend and so thankful she has put this amazing book out into the world.

My weakness for bad game shows

I am going to admit something. I love the television show Deal or No Deal. There, I've said it.

Why do I love this crappy show hosted by a bald ex-comic and populated by life-sized Barbies in matching mini dresses? I am not sure.
I will say that my fascination with the show has waned a tiny bit as I've slowly let myself accept the fact that the contestants/contests may very well be rigged. (Aren't a disturbing number of "reality," or reality-type shows scripted? So what is real about it? The writing?).

I think I just love numbers, and odds, and chance. And maybe I get a little thrill out of watching someone stupidly throw away a good offer, when their chances of doing better are obviously next to zero.

I do have a least favorite part of the show, however. I really dislike it when Howie gets into the details of the contestants' personal lives, 'cause that's when the show seems most scripted. And, frankly, I don't really care about the personal lives of the contestants, real or not.
I'm a Deal or No Deal bitch.

art + fashion

It had been quite some time since I'd splurged on a copy of the Sunday New York Times. As the price of the paper has steadily risen ($4.00 for Sunday alone!), I've become a regular online reader.

But there ain't nothing like a leisurely day off with the Sunday paper spread before me, so I decided to splurge yesterday and buy myself a copy. Also, the magazine section was taking the art world as its focus this week, and this intrigued me.

Ah, the "art world." It's like people who are involved with art live on a different planet...hmmm...

So there was one photo spread in the magazine called Hang Time with which I have some beef. It features nine young art handlers (in their 20s and 30s, I think) who install work in New York galleries and museums, including the New Museum, Matthew Marks Gallery, and John Connelly Presents. All of these real-life "models" are dressed in work clothes - if work clothes mean things like $2,245 Prada jumpsuits. Ummm...

Some of these art handlers are artists themselves, not too far out of art school, working as art handlers to pay the bills (some of which surely include hefty art school student loans, I am guessing). Can they afford these clothes? Do they work in these clothes? Even lounge around in these clothes? Doubtful, I'd say.

I know that a big dose of fashion's appeal is its fantasy aspect - the promise of a better life through better clothes - but I think that this particular fashion spread is perpetuating some myths about what it's really like for many folks in the "art world." I am sure plenty of folks in the land of art can afford these clothes, but it sure ain't the guys doing all the grunt work.

(Update: found a nice little interview on the New York Times online that expanded the story nicely).

art?

I rarely enjoy discussing art much anymore. I rarely go to see art much anymore. My art viewing excursions have waxed and waned since I went to art school...mostly they've waned. Yes, I blame art school.

Perhaps I just didn't have the temperament for it, perhaps somewhere inside myself I hate art just a little bit, but, in any case, so much discussion of art and meaning for two straight years in intimate settings with a limited number of people left me running and screaming when the whole thing was over.

Today, however, I broke my art avoidance habit and went to see some work in the galleries of Chelsea. I generally dislike Chelsea (so far away from the train, so much bad, overpriced art), but sometimes I stumble upon a show there that leaves me with food for thought and makes the trip worthwhile. Plus, I found out that one of my favorite professors from school, Nayland Blake, had a solo show up that would be closing on March 8, 2008. So I made my way to the western edge of Manhattan...

Nayland's show made me miss my regular studio visits with him. He was one person at my school with whom I never tired of discussing art. This is probably because Nayland believes that other sources of inspiration (music, writing, etc) are just as if not more important to the creation of new work than other visual art is. He was also suspicious, I remember, of the usefulness of a formal art education. I respected that, even though I was going into massive debt receiving my own formal art education.

I only visited galleries on West 24th Street today - there's so much jammed into that one block between 10th and 11th Avenues that continuing on to other streets ends up overloading me with too much visual data.

I'm glad I went to Chelsea today. More often, recently, I find myself having the urge to start drawing again (I've all but given up making artwork in favor of writing and music in the last couple years). Perhaps, with baby steps like the one I made today in visiting a few galleries, art and I can become friends again.

The most wonderful time of the year

I finally buckled down and filled out my tax forms tonight. It wasn't too bad...I found the various cross-referenced forms to be a bit annoying, but I was still able to handle it myself without professional help. Had a W-2 and a couple 1099s to deal with this year, as well as my pretty little student loan interest deduction...

So I finished up the federal forms a little while ago. To set a productive scene for myself, I popped the LL Cool J All World CD into my laptop (classics!), and took out my contacts (somehow, being bent over tax forms in the middle of the night looks better to me with glasses resting on the bridge of my nose).

I held my breath as I reached the end of my 1040...I was at the line that reads TOTAL TAX, and I was looking for Box 2 ("Federal income tax withheld") on my solitary 2007 W-2...please, I thought, please let that amount in Box 2 be larger than my TOTAL TAX owed for 2007...

A smile crept upon my face:
I was completely thrilled to find out that, despite a couple worrisome components of my income, I am still due to receive a little refund from the Feds this year. Thank the lordy...I'm getting that form in ASAP now...it always takes Uncle Sam so much more time to issue checks than to cash them, in my experience...

Emboldened, I decided to try to wipe out my New York State tax forms tonight as well. What could possibly follow Cool James in my CD rotation? I chose Fugees The Score CD...it doesn't really compare, but it does have nice college nostalgia associated with certain tracks for me...

I am now *this* close to finishing up the NY forms, but the application displaying the form instructions on my laptop keeps unexpectedly quitting (ack!). I am tired, and I gotta work tomorrow, so New York's gonna wait for now. I'll finish tomorrow. Hell, it's not even April yet, so I'm way ahead of my past years' schedule.

February didn't exist this year

Yeah, so it's a leap year, and even with that extra day in February, I somehow didn't manage to write one new blog post the entire month.

It seemed like a pretty full month, though. It seemed there was plenty to write about...yet, I didn't. And now I can hardly remember what all happened all month long. I'll blame that memory lapse on a long week instead of on the inevitable fact that I am getting older.

I'm having a few folks over tomorrow for a bit of a housewarming. I've been in this apartment for about 4 1/2 months...what can I say, it takes me a while to settle in. I do like to make a space nice and livable before I subject outsiders to it.

This February blur is bothering me. I suppose, at least, that if I were going to let a whole month slip by that it's just as well that it's the shortest month of the year. The shortest month, with one extra day.

Maybe I should write more often.