Flipflops vs. Steel-Toed Wolverines

Welcome winter, Pittsburgh missed you. Today I was forced into wearing my winter boots outside, as it finally feels seasonally appropriate. Donning those big, heavy, brown, impenetrable Wolverines made me recall a lighter, more vulnerable time back in September. I took my trusty laptop to the computer Help Desk at my school, and was patiently waiting for my computer to be updated. I stood there, standing awkwardly but patiently for someone to tell me that I was virus-free (I get checked regularly, of course, for all malicious content...), and might I add that I was wearing a good outfit that day, too. A Harley Tee-Shirt, probably, and my gray 3/4-length pants (capris, of course, but I'm a man so the Gap called them '3/4-length'), and my flipflops. And wouldn't you know that as I stood there in my flipflops, a female computer science professor, working in her rolly-wheeled chair, decided to careen across the room while sitting in her chair and proceed to run completely over one of my bare flip-flopped feet.
How she managed to clear the bump of my tall arches and continue on her chair journey to the other side of the Help Center is beyond me. But what really blew my mind was that she didn't even realize that my foot was all red and scraped up because and mangled by the wheels of a chair, and that I had blatantly said 'OW..' in a loud enough voice that someone might hear me and pity me. The event didn't even register on her MS-DOS-sy face. Then it dawned on me that she wouldn't have realized she ran over my foot, because she's a computer science professor, and probably in her own little C++ world all the time. CS Lady, or should I say DOSsyface, I hope you know you ruined a perfectly good fashionable day by bloodying my toes, as Band-Aids do not a glamorous outfit make.
It's a good thing I've been virus-free ever since.

Back 2 School! I need to buy pens.

Going back to classes and having homework always makes me feel like I should be in 6th grade, where my fascination for pens with funky designs was at its peak. I had them in a little pink box, and my favorite one had aquatic animals on them. My second favorite was a pen whose plastic shell changed colors with your body temperature. Naturally I'd clench the pen for dear life to make it all bright green, and it would slowly fade back to black.
Ah, the good old days. Of course, I've repressed all the torturous sixth-grade moments with the bullies, the asthma, the puberty, and girls wearing neckties and boy's dress shirts with vests (oh, nope, I still remember that.)
Nowadays 'school' seems more like rush rush rush, gotta get to my assistantship, gotta drop this nonsensical form into a nonsensical box, and gotta find five minutes to eat a S'mores granola bar. But I am loving being in a learning environment again, and I just heard today that my octet will be performed by a contemporary chamber ensemble on their first concert. Very good news, indeed.
I've also posted this collage, which has nothing to do with Bic Pens, or dodgeball bullies, or Octets. It's actually the cover to a box that I covered inside and out with hand-dyed papers, but its images are abstractions of music performances. If you look closely you might be able to spot me as the pink blur. Just kidding. That's probably Jake Shears, from the Scissor Sisters. He and I wear the same shirts from time to time. Maybe we once had the same pens.

Dumpster Butterfly Boy

There are a couple things that come to mind now that I'm posting this tiny collage that I made in August of 2004. First and foremost: why do I do this stuff that nobody finds particularly interesting but me (I know what would be so cool- let's glue this picture of a butterfly next to a paint chip and a magazine cutout! Rad. And simultaneously, this is not going to get me into MoMA, this I know.) but also 2. If Joseph Cornell could make his super awesome dioramas and assemblages full of wonderful dreamy nonsense, than so can I. And 3. I'm picturing myself as a hip fashion photographer for a hip menswear-streetwear-funky screenprint company. And I know, let's get this hot guy to pose outside. Now where should we go...I know! How about these old smelly dumpsters! Paarfect! But wait. Ok, now go straddle them, but don't fall in...but look all abdominal-y and casual, like you just landed there.
Click.
Shoot's over, let's get out of here so Nathan can glue this baby down to a map of the Nile.

Rooster/Rootster

What's the difference between a rooster and a rootster? One little 'T'. But as much as one tries, 'rootster' is not in the Scrabble dictionary, and will not get you a great triple-word score. (I have never met a rootster I didn't like. And look at those beautiful strong legs! Contrary to roosters, which are just annoying, like alarm clocks permanently set to 5.30am.)