Sartre's Rabbit

I should send these to Ed Ruscha or something

2009-09-07T08:31:00.000-07:00

For all y'all with iPhones you know that for some odd reason those people at Apple couldn't find it in their hearts to allow us to receive images in a text message. You can do just about anything else with your phone, but not this. An oversight perhaps, but it has led to a wonderful thing. Verging on the genius of some spam email names like Hope E. Esparaza and Hilario P. Mooney, the log in passwords to view multimedia messages are sheer genius. Here, in order, are the ones I've received:

what3limb
bin9barb
hear65west
hoax50veal
dame5fees
used92sill
doom8drew
vain36wink
pang1sags
tout07iced
grip57slip
get1span
bun7errs
hold8bind
hag5prop
raps3wire
puns54just
slow12edit
vows62gee
obey44slid

Was the proof in the tight pants and footwear?

2009-09-06T20:12:00.000-07:00

I mean, could you have guessed that after having the good idea to hold a beer bong contest where round one (one beer) was swiftly followed by round two (two beers) and then round three (three beers) after which contestant number one immediately puked all six beers and the contents of his stomach and maybe a little chunk of his small intestine that floated up in the effervescence from the cans of Modelo injected into his system through a funnel and a hose? I wasn't watching the spectacle (as you can see from my picture, there wasn't a whole lot of visibility anyway) until the last round when I watched the poor man who was about to experience the wrath of a body forced to drink nine cups of liquid in what boils down to just a few minutes in front of a large crowd of spectators. His eyes bulged like Large Marge, I kid you not. Actually, puking was probably the better option. If his eyeballs had popped out of his face and beer gushed out of his eye sockets, could I say that I would have been surprised? Hardly.

Yay Labor Day Weekend.

The land where nothing fazes

2009-09-03T19:51:00.000-07:00

While reading the NY Times on-line over lunch, I was attracted to the headline "A Cab Burns: Midtown Takes It In Stride." Much to my dismay, I discovered in reading the article that taxis spontaneously bursting in to flame was anything but this one time occurrence! I already have been buckling my seat-belt religiously after hearing some horror stories about people going through the plastic partition in cabs during accidents.

The main problem is that when attempting to evaluate a cab driver's skills, like some abstract art, it is hard to differentiate between bad form and genius; they can frequently take the same shape. Driving the wrong way down a one way alley is either a brilliant maneuver to evade traffic or the guy doesn't know what 'Wrong Way - Do Not Enter' means.

Either way, I feel more nervous than ever.

technical jargon is hilarious

2009-08-20T20:43:00.000-07:00

Today I learned that 'tightwad' is an actual academic term. The world is a hilarious place.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/16/weekinreview/16rampell.html?_r=1&hpw%E2%80%9CSpendthrifts

de/composition

2009-08-17T20:25:00.000-07:00

I saw another of those subway poster reappropriation art pieces yesterday that made me laugh out loud and John was all 'I'm glad there are some things you like about New York.' Of course there are such things and they are kind of all around. They have nothing to do with things in general or in any one thing but about small things. Like the subway graffiti - mustaches on poster supermodels; different commentary on the same advertisement in different places; an abandonded bicycle locked on my route to the subway that I have watched slowly be destroyed over the past few weeks, like watching a time-lapse of a dead animal decomposing. I'm sure that in a few months all that will remain is a broken U lock. I guess that's the thing that is most surprising - that it isn't the New York of the movies and the lifestyles of the rich and famous that make me like it. It's the urban erosion and simultaneous growth that I find so fascinating and enjoyable. And I don't think I'm the only one for whom this is true. It's kind of been the very nature of this place, just as real as the glamor it also touts. We went to the Philadelphia Museum this weekend and they had a bunch of early to mid 20th C American paintings on view and quite a few were New York City scapes either in fact or in abstraction and I felt happy that not only are the details still pretty much the same, but that I am not alone in history in finding them remark-able.

half my culture rapes the other

2009-08-07T19:43:00.000-07:00

Beethoven would be rolling in his grave if it wasn't so hilarious. Sorry all you non-J speakers out there. There is a version with subtitles but a) it's low rez and b) it's just not as funny. If you must know what they are saying, then you must, but in any case watch this first. My mom sent it to me. Her words were, "This is really funny and you will appreciate it."

She also recently sent me black Qtips so you can see the crap that comes out of your ear clearer. Was there ever a mother who knew her daughter better...?

Enjoy:

9/26/09 - sweet vengence dipped in butter

2009-08-01T19:45:00.000-07:00

On the set of “Julie & Julia,” the lobsters posed a special challenge. Ms. Adams appears to plunge two live lobsters into a pot of steaming water. The steam is actually a cool mist, and just off camera representatives from the American Humane Association monitored the creatures’ health.
- from the movie review in the NYtimes

The lobsters' health professionals probably get paid better than any health official I have seen in recent years. This makes me slightly bitter and I will be happy to have my revenge on their species when I attend a wedding in Maine next month and eat some of their kin slathered in melted butter.

American Style Inspiration, or Take What You Got and Run 2

2009-07-27T05:16:00.001-07:00

American Style Inspiration, or Take What You Got and Run

2009-07-26T05:15:00.000-07:00

Cultural offerings

2009-07-25T05:39:00.000-07:00

'Anpanman' sets record for most characters

By MINORU MATSUTANI
Staff writer
The TV program "Anpanman" has been recognized by Guinness World Records as having the most characters in an animated series, Nippon TV said.

As of March, the weekly program had featured 1,768 different characters, according to an official Guinness registration in June, NTV spokeswoman Shigeko Chino said Thursday.

The television version of "Anpanman" began airing on Oct. 3, 1988. Long popular with children, the titular hero's head is a bun filled with sweet bean paste, hence the name, which means Red-Bean-Bread Man in English.

Most of the other characters are related to food, including Shokupanman (Loaf-of-Bread Man), Jamu-Ojisan (Jam-Middle-Aged Man) and Omusubiman (Rice-Ball Man.)

The "anime" teaches children to wash their hands and brush their teeth by showing Anpanman always defeating his archrival, Baikinman (Germ Man).

"We received this honor because we have kept airing the program for 21 years. Those who were children then have become adults and are watching it with their own children," NTV producer Toshio Nakatani said in a statement.

In addition to the TV series, there have been 20 "Anpanman" movies.

"The 'Anpanman' series has had more than 2,000 characters and the figure is increasing, but the Guinness registration is very strict and they recognized only 1,768," said Takashi Yanase, the series' creator.

3 nappers, 2 breezes and quiet equals 1 lazy summer afternoon

2009-07-19T07:52:00.000-07:00

Gin Yummy

2009-07-13T19:22:00.000-07:00

Muddle cucumber and mint leaves with the syrup per the gingerale in the Pimm's cup. Add some gin and soda water. Top off with a squeezed wedge of lime.

Thirty-two, going on third grade...

2009-07-13T18:48:00.000-07:00

This was texted to me: "What's brown and rhymes with Snoop?"

The answer of course is Dr. Dre, but it continued my third-grade train-of-thought today. Next there was a segment on PTI (don't ask; won't tell) on the baseball player Pujols and whether or not he used steroids. Of course it's pronounced POO-holes. The rest of the segment was buried under lines like, "Do you think Pujols is clean?" "No one is going to beat-out Pujols" and under the laughter pouring out from my face. I don't think I ever regained composure; who would?

Popsicles are for the summer time...

2009-07-06T20:05:00.000-07:00

and I've always wanted a briefcase hand-cuffed to my wrist are two of my favorite lines from Mitch Hedberg that pop-up in my consciousness from time to time.

Summer is here and the search for the perfect summer beverage has begun. So far we've tried these, both to much success (photos will be forthcoming, I drank mine all too fast to even consider documentation, but I'm not as excited now so next time; next time).

Pimm's Cup made with home-made, fresh ginger-ale (which is awesome on its own, by the by)
Fill a glass with ice. Pour it half full of Pimm's. In a separate cup mix the juice of a chunk of ginger squeezed from the gratings of a piece about the size of your thumb with some agave nectar (or simple syrup) and the juice from half a lime. Mix until combined and add selzer water. Then top off your Pimm's cup with your fresh gingerale, stir and garnish with a wedge of lime. (Peep Nekko in the upper corner of this picture!)

Campari and fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice
Um, mix Campari and fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice? (1 part to 3?) Serve over ice and a piece of lime (?).

Did you know that the red color in Campari's comes from insects? YIKES! So, anyway, vegans beware! NO CAMPARI FOR YOU!

Way better than a pie in the face*

2009-07-03T06:35:00.000-07:00

or How to ring in 32:

Start time: approximately 6:30pm 7/2/09 (Food = F | Drink = D)
D: Shaken: Carpano Antica (an Italian Sweet Vermouth), bourbon, fresh lemon, lime and blood orange juices (cocktail; glass)
F: Bread baked on-site served with choice of butter or house-made rosemary lardon
D: Zidarich Prulke 2001 (wine; white; bottle)
F: Lettuce and herb salad (antipasta)
F: Broccoli Rabe with mozzerella (antipasta)
F: Broken spaghetti with lobster (prima)
D: Calabretta (Etna Rosso) 2000 (wine; red; bottle)
F: Orcchiette with lamb gravy (prima)
F: Fresh Halibut (seconda)
F: Italian-style Steak (seconda)
F: Cheese tasting plate
D: Bracchetto - Forteto Della Luja (dessert wine; glass)
F: Olive-oil roasted dates with yogurt, almonds and sea salt (dolce)
D: Dindarello - Maculan (dessert wine; glass)
F: Chocolate cake (dolce)
D: Jacopo Poli (Grappa; tiny glass)
D: San Leonardo (Grappa; tiny glass)
D: Espresso
End time: This much imbibing and you really think I noticed when we finished? (I'll guess 11:30pm)

I love that this list is 18 items long. John took me to Del Posto for my birthday and we ate and drank so much. It was amazing. Being 32 rocks.

*Yes, better than a pie in the face, though certainly not as funny.

Villon never thought of the ramifications I'm sure

2009-07-02T06:21:00.000-07:00

Apparently I am having a love-affair with the word "yesteryear." I realize that I used it in both of my previous posts and in an email to A.K.Narayan this morning. The funny thing is every time I use it I think of this moment from 'Catch 22,' and so in my head, immediately after the word yesteryear, I think "Parlez en anglais, for Christ's sake!" - which almost never applies to the situation.

Excerpt from Joseph Heller's book:

“Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Où sont les Neigedens d’antan?” Yossarian said to make it easier for him.

“Parlez en anglais, for Christ’s sake,” said the corporal, “Je ne parle pas français!”

Bushwick BK: the hot new slum of NY Hollywood

2009-07-01T06:03:00.001-07:00

I walked out of my subway station last night and there was a movie being filmed. This in a place that only several years ago was a dank and scary place - no joke. One time someone leaving the secondary subway access of our stop was pistol-whipped and had his jaw broken; a few weekends ago there were hipsters having a sidewalk sale ajacent to this very site, blissfully unaware of the attrocities of yesteryear. Times really are a-changin'. Anyway, this wasn't just some kids with a camera; it was the whole Hollywood treatment. There were actors' trailers, tents with craft-services underneath, grips with lights and cables, a huge light deflector next to the car where the camera crew was shooting from a camera on a dolly...I guess Bushwick is the new choice for slum portrayal. A place that is still ghetto looking but at least your craft-services won't be raided by gangstas.

When cultural references go awry

2009-06-21T09:03:00.000-07:00

The music at my friend's party last night ranged from jazz to kind of trip hop, from James Brown to the Beach Boys. Each LP played brought to my mind good times and memories of yesteryear as well as nostalgia for times not even lived. As "Surfin' USA" came flowing through the speakers and Sarah and I talked about the harmonies and sound which are so indicative of the Beach Boys, my thoughts began to wander. "California in the 60s..," I thought. "How things must have been so different...idyllic." My brain flitted from thought to thought: idyllic, Beach Boys, Surfing, sun shine, beaches, relaxing, pot, hippies, San Francisco, free love...when suddenly out of nowhere a semi-drunk Taiwanese guy slapped me out of my reverie with this insight: "I know this song! It's off the Teen Wolf soundtrack!"

It makes me wonder: if I could strip all of the occurrences in my life down to simple facts, how different would my life seem viewed through a completely alternate set of cultural references? Imagine a world where melodious harmonies make me reflect not on the nostalgia of the past but of a hairy Michael J. Fox, congealed blood doesn't look like Starburst, and Chinese Hip-Hop grandmas aren't funny or weird, but a simple fact of life.

if you are bummed, prepare to not be

2009-06-17T04:30:00.000-07:00

Directions:
1. Hit play, then immediately hit pause.
2. Wait for clip to load.
3. Key up player at 1 minute & 15 seconds.
4. Play.
5. Laugh.
6. Watch the clip in its entirety.
7. Feel emboldened to overcome challenges which seem insurmountable in your own life.

when playground egos collide

2009-06-07T06:12:00.000-07:00

I witnessed a hilarious moment on the playground Vteering yesterday. Two ten-year-olds battling for the upper hand, verbally jousting for who would back down from the climbing structure to let the other pass. "Excuse me! Move! Do you see a TEEN SENSATION trying to get up the ladder here??!!" "Do you see a professional RICH MAN trying to get down the ladder?!!" Frankly, I was laughing too hard to remember who won this spar. Who are these titans of dreams? Here they are posing for the camera. Oh what the future may hold...

perspective

2009-06-04T05:25:00.000-07:00

I came across this photo on Ye Olde Interweb and realized what a perfect point of comparison it is to my life as a FT worker. I was telling/bemoaning to OTPET recently about how tired I am at the end of the working day/week but that I'd come to the conclusion that I'm simply in an adjustment period having not worked full time for about six years - imagine if you did no exercise for six years and then suddenly started working out 40 hours a week! You'd be bushed, too. And while to some it may appear that I've lost my head, like this gymnast it only appears that way from a particular perspective. In fact, both of us are performing at our highest level with real capability and total success.

Next step: Peace in the Middle East

2009-05-25T08:42:00.000-07:00

Nekko (left) & Fred (right). Hopefully the beginning of something beautiful.

They've been growing accustomed to each over these many months and I've watched them work out ranking and hierarchy in their own feline way. But having known Nekko since she was discovered in a garbage dump at a month or two of age, over these past 10 years 'cranky' is a better 'c' adjective than 'cuddly' when it comes to describing her. With the exception of when I take a nap in a prone position. In this case, she uses me as a hammock everytime and that, to the untrained eye, might be misconstrued as cuddly (and not manipulative). Needless to say I was surprised, neigh, SHOCKED to find Nekko sitting next to Fred on the couch with their butts touching. I don't know what it says about me that I immediately documented this moment with both my camera and my iPhone, archiving it as perhaps a good omen of things to come.

This man has more time on his hands than I

2009-05-20T05:18:00.000-07:00

I'm sure this is on the internet somewhere but my dad emailed it to me and I'm too lazy to look for a source. Here it is: "Dammit I'm Mad" by Demetri Martin

Dammit I'm mad.
Evil is a deed as I live.
God, am I reviled? I rise, my bed on a sun, I melt.
To be not one man emanating is sad. I piss.
Alas, it is so late. Who stops to help?
Man, it is hot. I'm in it. I tell.
I am not a devil. I level "Mad Dog".
Ah, say burning is, as a deified gulp,
In my halo of a mired rum tin.
I erase many men. Oh, to be man, a sin.
Is evil in a clam? In a trap?
No. It is open. On it I was stuck.
Rats peed on hope. Elsewhere dips a web.
Be still if I fill its ebb.
Ew, a spider… eh?
We sleep. Oh no!
Deep, stark cuts saw it in one position.
Part animal, can I live? Sin is a name.
Both, one… my names are in it.
Murder? I'm a fool.
A hymn I plug, deified as a sign in ruby ash,
A Goddam level I lived at.
On mail let it in. I'm it.
Oh, sit in ample hot spots. Oh wet!
A loss it is alas (sip). I'd assign it a name.
Name not one bottle minus an ode by me:
"Sir, I deliver. I'm a dog"
Evil is a deed as I live.
Dammit I'm mad.

This is where I live 2

2009-05-17T14:31:00.000-07:00

direct objects DO serve a purpose

2009-05-13T05:57:00.000-07:00

I saw a man handing out pamphlets of a religious nature in the subway yesterday. Obviously a believer of his message, he wore a sweatshirt that was airbrushed with his message about allowing Jesus to save your soul from eternal damnation. Of course, "Jesus: Believe in Him and he will save your soul from the fiery depths of Hell" was too long a message for a sweatshirt front, and besides, you have maybe 3 seconds with which to get your general message across to busy commuters who won't even take your leaflet and probably don't want to be saved by you or your savior's message anyway. So, editing occurred, direct objects were omitted and the meaning was obsured. I wish I had taken a picture but there was just no way to do it, plus: what if I missed my train? Yes, commuting has taken precedence over photographing weird things. This is a major difference I've noted between my life here and my life in Tokyo. ANYWAY, the shirt read:

Jesus Saves
from
HELL

Of course the words were engulfed in flames. FLAMES!! It was the most hilarious thing, and I kept thinking how metal it would have been if there had been a vengeful looking Jesus with hand curled into a claw emerging from the flames as well. Oh, hell. Photoshop is my friend. I'll just take a few moments to show you what is in my imagination. Happy Wednesday to you.

so i don't forget this happened

2009-05-10T16:55:00.000-07:00

Just last night I was complaining that Spring never happened: that we went from an East Coast winter straight into an East Coast Summer. Even though the last few days have been spring 'temperature,' they've been balmy as all hell so not Spring as I idealize it. Then I woke up this morning with that fresh crisp air coming through the apartment. And I realized that my wish had been granted in less than 24 hours and I'd better appreciate it the short while it is here.

So, my tribute to Spring in New York and Mother's Day are together in one. Today was beautiful.

Things from the street

2009-05-05T20:37:00.001-07:00

Here's another installment of brilliance I encountered over the weekend.
First at PS270:

Then in defaced ads in the subway (some of which I thought were great re-appropriation of materials):

Of course it all degraded into mustache drawing eventually, as everything does:
Though the last mustache barely made an impression on me simply because it was just so right.

Beautiful decay; This is where I live.

2009-04-28T20:14:00.001-07:00

The time to stop being lazy is now.

2009-04-24T05:47:00.000-07:00

Also known as 'forced productivity:' This is what happens when someone should be blogging on their own but refuses to for reasons scapegoated by laziness. We all know it's 'cause you're too cool for school, Ashi. You probably had a blog when blogs first began and then deleted it when it became part of the mainstream (I'm recalling a specific moment; rebel with a cause).

So, here is your blog were it to exist. Your header is freakin cooler than mine. P.S. The Evident Utensil video made my editing glands salivate and now the catchy song has grown on me.

I've been nerding-out on music videos on youtube, and I have these songs stuck in my head (they alternate). Thought I would share them with you (or torture you with them).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fPb--BzlEc0 (Note: Fred Frith is NOT performing in this, thank goodness)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6LG39Wp7OzQ (I also like the "How to Datamosh Part 1")

You may have seen these already and hate/love or are indifferent to them.
I would start blogging, but I'd probably stop after the first day cuz I'm lazy.

Love,
Ashika

Spring and a boner in the Upper East Side

2009-04-17T14:20:00.000-07:00

I've recently begun some form of employment in the Upper East Side and have to say I really appreciate the blooming pear trees as well as the tulips which are finally showing some color all up and down Park Avenue. When you are contending with mostly concrete- or stone-gray, a little color and brightness really goes a long way.So on this glorious spring afternoon on my walk back to work, having shot this white-haired-tree-and-blue-sky-combo, I was looking up more than at my feet. In this city, this could prove a fatal move what with the uneven sidewalks, oblivious speed-walkers, ladies with carts or small dogs in jackets on leashes, cabs, cyclists, etc., etc., but had I not risked my life, I would have never noticed this dangling above eye-level. I must say that whenever I see something this out of the ordinary, my gut reaction is always to jump to the conclusion that it is an art piece. Once someone had left a box full of candy in the hall in front of the the gallery I worked at in SF; it sat there all day tempting me every time I passed it to steal a free Crunch bar or Snickers, but I never did because I was convinced it was under surveillance for some dumb art project and I refused to be a sap.

But really, what alternative to 'art project' is there when you see a bone security-locked to a parking sign hanging like some weird morbid phallus on East 78th and Madison? It certainly didn't get up there by accident.

This smells awful! Here, YOU smell it!

2009-04-17T05:34:00.001-07:00

Some things, as awful as they are, need sharing. One time on Ashika's recommendation I watched a movie called The Piano Teacher and felt so ill and mentally disturbed that I literally needed to watch hours of Seinfeld or something in order to cleanse my brain and be able to function normally again. John introduced me to a subculture he stumbled upon yesterday whose youtube videos have a similar effect on me as this movie. For your own emotional safety, this "YOU smell it" comes in two parts.

Part one is to watch this stealth ninja cat video many times in a row. It is cute enough to almost barf, but seriously it will help with part two.

Part two: proceed with caution. These videos are not violent, lewd, pornographic or inappropriate in anyway, but they might as well be. They are creepy as hell. The more I've seen, the creepier they get and now it almost makes me want to vomit.

When that vomitous feeling comes, just watch the cat video again and try to forget the creepy shoe guy, though it may have already scarred you, also, for life. Why, why, why? I recently wanted to see that horror movie "A Haunting in Connecticut" but no longer have the need. I can just watch this guy's movies back to back, follow the threads to related videos and be literally unable to sleep soundly for weeks straight.

Common Ground?

2009-04-15T12:45:00.000-07:00

“What I liked about Wall Street,” Mr. Brod said, “was that it’s full of manic-depressives. There are a lot of artists who are manic-depressive. And there’s a lot of creative people in Wall Street.”

Read the story if you like. It ends with a poem.

Whoever on the road.
Whoever still traveling.
Whoever says whatever.
Whoever is dead.
Long live whoever.

An unusual view

2009-04-15T12:08:00.000-07:00

SOFA TENTS AT THE ARMORY NY

4/14/09 (the anniversary of Lincoln's assassination); 11:30 am

don't use this art handler

2009-04-05T18:36:00.001-07:00

Doesn't he know that white canvas will scuff?I'll file this memory away labeled "uncommon scenes in the NY subway." A story I heard second hand that would fit in this category: A man was eating a tuna sandwich on the train, messy (I imagine similar to the guy with the everything bagel in Eric's rant), dropped a little bit of tuna on the ground, picked it up and ate it. Now, I am a strong believer in the 5 second rule, but there needs to be some statute of limitations. For example: A potato chip that fell while you were watching sports at home: Fine - even if you have cats; A lollypop that dropped out of your mouth into the sand at the playground: Okay - if you rinse it first; tuna salad that you picked up off of a train floor that literally sees the bottom of millions of shoes that walk miles through dirt, dog poo and city grime everyday: Totally unacceptable - no matter what the scenario. That's my two cents.

Can I get a witness?

2009-03-30T11:32:00.000-07:00

I found a page on NYTimes.com where people write under a 'dear diary' header some New York related experience. I read this one today and was amused then relieved to know that I'm not the only native Californian whose perception of reality is being distorted by the city's steep learning curve.

Dear Diary:
My husband, Daniel, works on the 41st floor of an office building in Times Square, overlooking the Hudson River.
When US Airways Flight 1549 made an emergency landing in the water in January, Daniel and some of his colleagues gathered by his window. A co-worker walked by and asked, “What’s everyone looking at?”
“A plane just landed in the river,” Daniel answered.
“Oh, I saw that a few minutes ago,” said the co-worker, who had just moved to New York from California. “I thought it looked a bit weird, but then I told myself, ‘This is New York,’ and I just went back to work.”
- Rebecca Wolf

Amen, my Californian brother (or sister). Together we shall walk through this city of strangeness.

It's not littering, it's a contribution to culture

2009-03-27T20:19:00.000-07:00

I suppose this might be true for any city, but I recently was marveling at the sheer number of gum stains on any given parcel of pavement in New York. As I walked from my Vteer gig at the senior center, I scanned the sidewalk passing under my feet and found myself wondering what the average time span in gum age was on any given square of concrete (oldest piece vs newest, though maybe color and tackiness can identify the latter) and wondering whether that data could possibly be of use to anyone. "Where are my scientific contacts who can carbon-date the samples I scrape up from each gum stain so we can find out the precise historical moment to which it is linked?" I thought. "More importantly," I wondered, "What could one do armed with such information?" I guess my plan then would be to make a different kind of tourist map (not unlike the Maps of the Stars in LA...Maps of the Stains?) with which to tour New York. What a pain in the ass, both to make and to do. Forget it.

Maybe it's enough that there is mid-century modernist art literally at our feet everywhere we go. Some of the materials (gum, grime on concrete) might even date to that era. Who knows. It's like some crazy collaboration between litterers and time that resulted in an infinite number of abstract picture planes which we'd believe to be relevant to art history if they were framed right and hanging in the MOMA. Imagine:

"Untitled," 1955
Oil on canvas 60 x 88 inches

Brilliant.

It's like a Bowflex for your mind, only cheaper.

2009-03-22T14:16:00.000-07:00

An at-home exercise program for your 'little grey cells' - an hour a day, three days a week and you'll have a sexy, toned and perfectly sculpted left cerebral hemisphere in just a few weeks!

My friend Vanessa just turned me on to this website Academic Earth Dot Org where you can watch videotaped lectures on many different subjects by amazing academicians from places like Yale, Stanford, Berkeley - you know, places for the freakishly smart - as though you were taking the course itself. And while I must admit that I still like creating intricate C-4 traps to contain the falling napalm and oil, then blow it all up with the some fire on the original amazing time suck I am probably better off learning something from people who clearly know better.

Besides, who can complain when it's so free?

Spreading the yang to the yin of love

2009-03-20T10:45:00.000-07:00

As you all well know, I am doing my best to keep with the positive in these times of trials and tribulations, but...well, I can't help but love the haters. This here is part of a rant from the blog 'Monkeys for Helping' that was started by a guy I knew at Con College. (I've started dropping the second N after watching Trailer Park Boys. I can now proclaim my alma mater with something perhaps not unrelated to pride.) Thank you Eric for your rant. And, I hear you, man.

Monday, March 16th; excerpt from Sipping on Haterade: a brief but profanity-laden essay detailing why I hate the Subway.

I make an executive decision to keep my sunglasses on. Yes. I look like a douche bag. I don't care. I need them. They allow me to spend my 35 minutes of misery doing what I enjoy most in the morning: Rolling my eyes and sending invisible hate beams in the direction of those I hate. Specifically..

1: Anyone engaging in any form or variation of what can be considered Ipod dancing.

2: Those clever little Cosby sweater type dude he guy who thinks he's a Sommelier for microbrews, plays bass or DJ's in 4 bands, and definitely would have sex with Brooklyn if Brooklyn somehow transformed itself into a artsy Japanese girl.

3: Blissed-out passengers that whisper-sing Dave Matthews violin solos. Fuck the fuck off. Go buy another scarf and choke yourself with it, you horrible, horrible, person.

4: Air drummers. WTF? What's the functionality and purpose of air drumming a Rush solo at 9 in the morning? God help you.

5: Yawners, moaners, T-Mobile walkie-talkie people, and any and all that engage in repetitive motions, excessive paper folding, sneezing, chewing, coffee slurping, etc. you know what I'm talking about. To the dude grossing me out in the seat across from me: Eat your Everything Bagel like a ninja, not a Golden Reteriver, barbarian. Shut the fuck up already.

Wow, I'm kind of a dick, huh? Oh well. (PS: Don't call me a dick.)

Gross miscommunications

2009-03-15T07:41:00.000-07:00

I attended a reception for a Japanese ceramicist yesterday. It was cool to be hearing the usual art reception banter going on but half of it occuring in Japanese. I was doing my slow drive-by walk looking at the art, floating in and out of conversation/banter bubbles when I walked by two people conversing in English in the corner. The participants in this conversation were an elderly white lady (ewl) and a youngish white hipster (ywh).

ewl: Do you speak any Japanese then?
ywh: I wish I did, but I only know like a word or two. (laughs)
ewl: Yes (laughs). Ohayo.
ywh: (pauses; laughs) Texas.

This conversation snippet really happened and I had to turn my head to hide my huge grin and give a little cough to hide my guffaw, you know, lest I embarrass myself or the parties involved. I wish I could have seen what happened next, but I had to exit stage left in a hurry. Life is good.

my counterpart

2009-03-13T13:24:00.000-07:00

man in the dark

I heart NY and NY hearts me

2009-03-10T14:06:00.000-07:00

Living in a city that is constantly being characterized to me by others as having hard edges, I am doing my best to find the love it has to offer wherever I can find it:

in a piece of tofu

in paint chipping from a door frame
in spackle
in a skid markin eroded concrete and a paint blob

and in community center sponge paint graffiti

Will the real NY artists please stand up?

2009-03-09T06:49:00.001-07:00

On Saturdays I volunteer for this photo exploration class with kids at a public school over in Bed/Sty. Their photos are pretty good, but I have to say I enjoy their photo albums way more. Check a few:

(the kids were each lifted to the rim by a volunteer who was 6' 6")

(if you zoom in you will see he is holding his lunch money - a stack of ones)

(this kid is the mustache drawing master. Every page has multiple mustaches on it.

Duchamp ain't got nothin on him)

es hilarante. seriamente.

2009-02-26T18:44:00.000-08:00

Lately I've seriously been reconsidering nearly all of the well-intentioned decision making I've done in my life. Granted I wouldn't be here now had the happenings in my life not transpired in the exact order that they did, but I digress.

For example, while my love of the French language hasn't waned, I now realize that it would have been infinitely more useful to have studied Spanish with the same vigor. Which brings me to this post: I recently decided that you can teach old dogs new tricks and I decided to learn some basic Spanish. Not necessarily to achieve speech but perhaps just some level of comprehension that might prove useful living in a place like Bushwick. So I went to the library and came home with "Speak Basic Spanish In No Time!" It is filled with the same lame sentences that fill all beginning foreign language books: "What time is it?" "That ball is orange." "Where is the bathroom?" etc., etc. Having taught from these types of books, I know how unimportant content usually is. You grasp the structure, you grasp the grammar, you learn vocabulary, hopefully you can put it all together yourself, the end. I have learned to gloss over the rest.

Luckily an alert reader had borrowed this book before me. Otherwise I would have missed this hilarity completely. This is probably also not as funny as I am acting, but I swear I can't stop laughing.
Enjoy:

Not David Zayas

2009-02-21T08:57:00.000-08:00

I was watching TV the other night and saw this guy playing a New York cop on a rerun of some non-cop show. I realized half way through where I recognized him from: he has one of the main roles on Dexter, as a detective. I think I've seen him on other cop shows, actually. And, you know, the dude looks like a cop. Or anyway he looks like what we want to think cops look like. And as I answer job listings - for teachers, substitute teachers, art assoicates, gallery managers, registrars, grant writers, office managers, program managers, part time, full time, volunteering with at risk teens, TESL jobs, tutoring jobs - I realize how truly lucky I am that I have not been type-cast. That this may be, contrary to my gripes about having a CV that looks like someone threw-up a bunch of job experiences and skills onto a sheet of Strathmore Soft-White 24 lb paper, not such a bad thing after all.

something I wrote on 11/30/08

2009-02-18T07:09:00.000-08:00

"As the days pass I am reminded again and again that life is never what we think it's going to be. And that making it what you thought it was meant to be does not make it good. Or right."

The positive side of me really thinks this, but I'm not all woo-woo. How else could I laugh at these 'inspirational' posters I saw the other day?

Sometimes the cynic in me laughs harder than my heart beams; it just does.

Wagahai wa neko de aru. SERIOUSLY.

2009-02-16T13:11:00.000-08:00

Except forget the whole 'wagahai' part. Maybe you know this famous book by Natsume Soseki which roughly translates into I am a cat. Except that he's using the most formal and honorific form as though he was a lord. I will always remember one line in particular, "It was then that I realized that the rice-cake was a fiend." It still cracks me up. Read the freakin' book.

Anyway, I have often wasted time wondering what exactly it is a cat does all day. I mean, don't they get bored? Sometimes when I'd leave my house, Nekko would be sitting in the sunshine, dozing. And when I returned hours later, there she is still in the sunshine, still dozing. Or maybe she's looking out the window at a tree waiting for the elusive squirrel or bird. Whatever her actions, riveting is hardly an adjective that I would ever consider using in describing her day. Somedays I'd envy her lacadaisical existence, other days I'd pity her small world. But always, always I wondered how her 24 hours could possibly pass in the same 24 hours of my world when her world is: breathe, eat, sleep, poop, repeat?

I still don't have an answer even though now my day-to-day resembles her day-to-day more than ever before. The closest thing I can come to a revelation is: Somehow. Somehow the hours pass, somehow it's time to eat or have tea, somehow it's time to sit in the smallest room, somehow it's dark again.

Breathe, eat, sleep, poop, repeat.

(image of me contemplating cat contemplating cat as the parallel to this thought)

An amazing time suck.

2009-02-12T09:08:00.001-08:00

Time sucks for job-search evasion

2009-02-12T05:16:00.000-08:00

From time to time it becomes necessary (for the express purpose of preserving one's sanity) to take a break from the bleak scanning of jobs posted, of editing cover-letters, and the empty feeling produced by the sound of having no email responses from places you'd sent your resume to when you check your inbox. It's times like this when you go searching for ways to stay in touch with the world and at least convince yourself of your continued cultural validity by finding things like clips on youtube that make you feel that creativity is still valued in this 21st century world and thus maybe, just maybe there's still a fighting chance for triumph.

Here are some that reminded me of these things recently:

Miming isn't dead:

Wonder isn't lost:

There are still people who can find humor in the face of honor and esteem:

First New York

2009-02-09T14:20:00.000-08:00

I visited New York for the first time when I was in elementary school. I came with my dad on a work related trip I'm sure. My grandfather was here, too, and he took me on a day-long outing where we visited the UN building and he bought me my first Dove Bar from a street vendor complete with the little paper tray to catch the chocolate if/when it fell off the ice-cream bar. I remember noticing the way the streets smelled like old basements or sewers sometimes (certain places in Tokyo smell like that, too). We stayed at the Mayflower Hotel because they had kitchens and I remember the first time I turned the light on in the closet kitchen, the sickening sight of a large army of small, brown cockroaches scurrying to their hiding places and disappearing from sight completely, not that I was fooled. I knew they were just waiting for some privacy to come out and claim what they probably (rightfully) viewed as their own.

New York is also the place where I accidentally added lemon to my milk tea one morning at some restaurant(*). It curdled and I felt too embarrassed to ask for a new one and tried to drink it anyway, rationalizing that it would have combined in my stomach in any case. It didn't work; I couldn't do it. I remember feeling amazed, overwhelmed, excited, nervous, and intimidated in this place of huge history and many bustling people. I guess I still feel the same.

I recently saw this guy's blog in the New York Times and it made me wonder about feeling like your life/world is here in New York. I must say I really enjoy people who love this city and wear it like a skin. I remember once I came to visit my college boyfriend when he was studying at NYU and one of his roommates had just returned from a trip to San Francisco and he kept saying how glad he was 'to be back in the real world again.' For me, it's the exact opposite. All this gotham-citiness, busy people with places to be, weather and seasons, honking cars, coffee with milk unless you specify black, $2 subway rides, amazing things available but you have to know who to ask or where to look; it makes me feel a little like Alice down her rabbit-hole.

I wonder what it is like to have a sense of reality about New York like that roommate had in 1998?

Packaging for consistency in experiential digestion*

2009-02-08T13:32:00.000-08:00

When I first returned from Japan, the most frequent question people asked was how it felt to live in Japan and how it felt to be back. The answer was always the same: it simply felt normal. And this normalcy really started me thinking about how we as humans digest our experiences and why mine was leading me to feel like leaving my life as I knew it for an entire year and then coming back into it was, in a phrase, no big whoop. Having the chance to talk about this with many people, I became good at describing my idea in person relying heavily on the hand gesture to illustrate my thoughts. These ideas are resurfacing now as I get used to my new surroundings and seeing how I've started a blog about this kind of thing it seemed like a good time to put these ideas down using actual language and not relying on the cop-out mechanism of hand gestures and the frequent repetition of, "you know?" So, here we go:

We understand time in a very different way than we experience it. It is a necessity that we experience life linearly because we are trapped in time. There is nothing we can do about its progression and, being human, this is how we all experience life. However when we stop to reflect or digest experience, it's never in a purely chronological fashion. I find that I group things by category and compare these similar experiences with each other, looking for meaning not just in the individual experience but in how it relates to other similar experiences. We might consider the memories chronologically within these subdivisions, but they don't blend together with all experience like a deck of shuffled cards.

This is why it didn't feel strange to have spent a whole year in Japan, why it felt 'normal.' Even though I've never been there for such a long time, I had been there many times, so this last year just added another layer to the "my life in Japan" category which has been growing since I was born. Of course there are things that were unique about this most recent experience - it's not as though I can't differentiate between the experiences since I do think about them chronologically within the category - but I think about them categorically as the same thing. I started to think about how I viewed other experiences and I found that this categorizing persists: time in LA blends together even though they may be months or even years apart; experiences at college and graduate school seem to be lumped together. It even explains why sometimes when you see someone after a long period of absence, it feels like no time has passed at all: because in your categorized experiential memory of them, no time has passed. It's not that you don't see change or that you don't experience differences, but the divided moments are linked. These categories can be as defined as 'experience in a particular place' or as loose as 'things experienced under the influence of a certain emotion.'

The confusion begins when one memory fits several different categories and how we relate to that memory becomes divided and less clear the more we try to relate to it. Also, as we age and as our experience necessarily broadens as time passes, there are more categories, cross-categories, subcategories and as such reorganizing of thought that needs to occur! What a mess.

*A note about the title: I wrote down that sentence in my notebook forgot about writing it and just saw it again today and had no idea what it was about at first. I really had to dig deep. So if this word salad makes no sense to you, you are not alone. I am apparently not exempt from my own verbal obfuscations.

Medical woes

2009-02-06T08:50:00.000-08:00

This (modified) ad for the Benjamin Button movie is gone from our subway stop now but I still think about it, probably more than I should:
Of course the part that makes it hilarious to me is the fact that it's a curious case. It's probably not as funny as I am acting, but I cannot help myself.

Post Script: continuing on my love of obscure web URLs and the like, here is my defense of this new one. Originally I thought up the tag line as the blog title, but it was too long for the URL; 'rabbit' is 'lapin' in French (LAPiN); J-P Sartre is French and thus the blog's name was born. If you couldn't follow my train of thought, welcome to my world where I am usually the only one inside on all my inside jokes. Thus things like namidotcom.org (look up nami.org or nami.com if you wanted to know where that URL originated). Sometimes I think if you opened the top of my head up, spring loaded snakes might fly out.

Or maybe I'm simply suffering from a curious (but acute) case of Jamin Butt.

A new direction, also to nowhere

2009-02-05T14:11:00.000-08:00

Having spent a year observing and remarking on Yoko in her natural habitat, I've found that shirking a 121-post habit is not an easy thing to do. Admittedly I no longer have that source for brilliant blogging which was my mother, but seeing as how I have half her DNA it might be possible to continue somehow. I still spend far too much time thinking about useless things and they are apt to build up and come bursting out in some ridiculous and probably senseless word salad. It seems normal to me, but weirdness has a way of hiding in plain sight. You never know what you might see. It might even be a man falling down an open man-hole cover.