Worst ad...

Consumerist.com has a worst ad in America contest going on right now. freaking hilarious.

as is this... and this...and this... and this

and this is totally subtle.

Warehouse

I'm working in a warehouse right now, lifting and carrying fake greenery. It's the girliest warehouse to work in, and everyone dealing with the stock are in fact girls. But those 10 foot fake palm trees are stcuk in buckets of cement, and after two days of hauling buckets of cement, not to mention other large, heavy things, my body is in a state of shock. I'm so physically exhausted right now, I can barely lift my hands to type. But I like the work. There's something satisfying about being this extended. My arms are covered in big purple bruises and scratches, as are my legs. I know I've pushed my body as far as it'll go. As a Joe-job between gigs, I like it.

We had to put our little chihuahua down yesterday moring. We got the call at 7AM letting us know that he had gotten worse, and walked hand-in-hand in the sun the few blocks to the vet. I made sure he could see and hear me as she injected the meds into his little IV, and told him he had been a very, very good dog, and that we loved him very much. His eyes focused long enough to look at me, then he lifted his head to Michael, who was holding him. He lay his head back down, his eyes unfocused, and he was gone. Suddenly it was Paco's body, but no Paco. He looked like a limp, taxadermied version of himself.

We had had him for four years, and the three of us were a family. He sat on my shoulder at the base of my neck as Michael drove us to do errands. He curled into a ball and pressed himself into my stomach every night. He sat on my lap as I worked. We had a game where, instead of waiting at my feet to be picked up, he jumped onto the chair next to my desk. I rested my feet on the chair and extend my legs so that he could climb across. It was treacherous, his Indiana Jones moment every morning, and we both celebrated when he got to my lap safely.

I didn't understand how much pain he was in those first two days of his illness. I wish I had. I'm trying not to think of this as a failing of empathy on my part. About six months ago, I was seriously ill with what I thought was swine flu but was probably a nasty infection. Michael was out of town, so I was alone in the house. I couldnt move for 16 hours, and Paco lay next to me the entire time, liking my hand or resting his chin on my arm. He knew. Why couldn't I have known when he was sick, and done better for him? I feel disconnected from the instint that should have kicked in and said "This is bad. This is serious. Take him to the freak'n vet." I did eventually, but it was a day later, a day too late. This is not helping though. Time to just remember him and the joy he brought us.

Long time no post. Hi there! Wedding was amazing, better than I could have imagined. The only sun that weekend broke through as I started to walk down the beach-aisle, and hid back behind a cloud twenty minutes later. That kind of good. A couple examples of the lovely- my six-year- old niece singing "All You Need is Love" into the mic at the reception, and 150 people joining her, swaying back and forth. My mother and father speaking to each other for the first time in 26 years, and not in a mean, hostile way. Seeing my step brother and half-sister for the first time in ten years. He now looks like Jerry Garcia, and she looks amazing.

The honeymoon was amazing! London, Paris, Berlin and Istanbul. I should have kept notes, should have kept a diary, but I was so in it, and exhausted, that I simply experienced it without much reflection. But holy crap did we take in a lot of culture. Just stuffed ourselves with it. Saw gallery space in newly conceived ways. Plays, dance, music, almost every night. Three freaking works by Shakespear alone. Tiring.

Highlights- In Berlin, at the Tanz im August festival, Hela Fattoumi doing a VERY controversial dance piece (Manta) about the burka. Bums were waving, she flashed us her wigg-ed bits, the movement was constrained and crippled; small, arthritic gestures until she threw the thing off of her and escaped. Very critical. We had seen Bertol Brecht's house that day, and it got me thinking about dangerous art. What is the art that one risks their lives to do now? What does dangerous art look like now? It looks like Manta.

Also in Berlin, the Boros collection, a fine collection of contemporary art housed in a WWII bomb shelter/location of legendary 90's underground raves. They only allow 13 people twice a day on the weekends, and it's booked solid months in advance. You're only allowed access through a tour. But Michael, God bless him, thought we should try anyway, and we slipped in. My favorite- Olafur Eilasson, Anselm Reyle, Kitty Kraus, who was also part of the Younger than Jesus show at the New Museum in NYC. There was some bullshitty pieces that you know they threw way too much money for in the pre-2008 bubble. A couple of the YBA's seem to represent a time now gone. But the Boros' asked the artists to reimagine the pieces for the gallery, so there's this great relationship between the pieces and their scary Nazi, concrete-walled, drug-fuelled environment. It was totally incredible.

Now back to life, back to reality. Unemployed. Job prospects not looking too good. No work out there right now. Chapters?