Oh, the Arctic Places You'll Go

Facebook has been introducing all these applications which you can add to your profile, including the 'Anonymous Comments' feature ('Hey! Your face looks like a butt, buttface!' and you'll never know who sent it to you) and a slide show of your favorite works of Art. However, I find fascinating the 'Where I've Been' application, which includes a feature to let your friends know what countries and states you've traveled to, lived in, and where you'd like to go. I was amused for a good chunk of time clicking on the countries I wanted to visit, and the selecting the piddly number of U.S. states I've seen (I haven't traveled west of Cleveland, OH save for a vacation to Hawaii!) but pleased that I've visited the little country like Monaco. It looks just like this vintage poster here, with it's fancy speeding race cars and population: 5 gazillionaires, 5,000 perfect palm trees.
But I wanted more than just clicking on every single Scandinavian country and desiring to go there, and my wants were satiated when I discovered that you can click on remote and scantly-populated countries, and you can even zoom in on tiny islands! Here is a sampling of where I'd like to go, proving that I will one day become the 6th gazillionaire of Monaco and be able to get myself to these locations via sumptuous-yet- earth-friendly transportation. Any travel companions?

In no particular order:

Svalbard. Archipelago of islands North of Norway. 2004 population: 2,765.
I'd like to visit here for the incredible-looking Arctic flowers that bloom and to see the wild polar bears roam about (they have "Polarbear Crossing" signs on the trails). There's a couple small towns, and a 'capital city' but no roads connect them. I'm most fascinated by Svalbard, however, by the Norwegian government which is currently building a "doomsday" seed depository there...in other words, a huge cement vault which will store as many seeds of plants in the world as possible, to secure future crops from the dangers of global warming or, oops, nuclear war. The tunnel will be built 120 meters into the rock (permafrost, of course) and have security guards protecting the doors.

Okay. So perhaps I won't be able to be a tourist to the Doomsday Seed Depository Museum any time soon. But who wouldn't want to play with these happy little creatures that just hopped out of the Norwegian Sea? So chilly! They look hungry, I'll give them some fish to eat!...Why aren't you eating? Oh, you're blocks of ice.


Next stop: Easter Island. Kind of a given.
2002 Population: 3,791.
It's kind of cliché by now, but I still think it's cool.
This island, between Chile and Tahiti in the Pacific Ocean, has too many tourists as it is for the fragile state of the island, but I still want to see all these stone heads. Maybe they'll whisper to me secrets like, how can I stand still for long periods of time and not fidget? Or, how can I find a man with a good head on his shoulders, a good strong chin? I bet these guys would tell it like it is.
Easter Island also has an ancient script, a writing called 'Rongorongo', which could be a form of writing that has had no outside influence. That's pretty amazing. I think everything I do, say, act, dress, write, listen to is taken or adapted from somewhere else. I can't imaging coming up with my own written language. 'Course, nobody can agree on if it's even writing at all, as no scientist has been able to translate, so the point is probably moot. I can see those ancient stone people now, coming up with clever ways to amuse themselves by thinking, 'boy, people in the future are sure going to go nuts when they see this!' (scribble scribble).

A brief hop over to Yap.
2003 population: 6,300 (this is the most densely-inhabited place so far.)
Part of Micronesia, Yap uses stone money! Here's an 8-feet-tall stone 'coin' of great wealth. I'm not making this up. The smallest money items are three inches tall, and everything is disk-shaped. Lately, though the stone money is still viewed as real and valuable currency, the U.S. dollar is used for every-day purchases, and that really disappoints me.
Of course, as a picker-upper for having to deal with silly U.S. dollars, you can also frolic with giant swarms of manta rays that gather around Yap. But watch out or you might Irwin yourself.
(Aside: I'd really like this photo caption to read: 'Giant Crusty Donut Still Munched on By Local Wildlife'. But I can't compete with 8-foot tall stone money.)

I'll discuss briefly the Faroe Islands. With a population of over 48,000, this collection of islands delegated by Denmark is practically a megalopolis compared to Yap or Svalbard.
Highlights include a beautiful colorful capital city, Tórshavn (see left), and inter-island transportation, which used to be mainly by boat or helicopter, but now one can commute by fabulous underwater tunnels.
The music scene here also thrives, though many young people move to Denmark after high school. However, several indie bands, folk musicians, and composers have come from the Faroes! I have only been fortunate enough to come across Teitur, but that's at least one.
As far as delicacies go, I don't suggest you accompany me on this trip unless you like mutton and whale meat. I'm still on the fence about the whales.

Our last stop will be one that I haven't visited, but I've heard a lot about. It's pretty remote as far as I can tell. We're going to visit the mysterious island of Long. Now the 'Long Island' as it has been called by the Natives, is heavily populated with indigenous people who have created their own dialect, often untranslatable by people who live relatively close on the Isle of the Manhattan. Long Islanders often wear big dangly earrings and tacky accoutrements, and place values on family, hard work, and densely-populated dwellings. I don't know if I really want to visit this Island of Long, but seeing how we've been flying around the world, we might as well stop in for some of the local 'cwawfee', don'cha think?

God out of a Machine

Wikipedia's users describe a 'deus ex machina' as "an unexpected, artificial, or improbable character, device, or event introduced suddenly in a work of fiction or drama to resolve a situation or untangle a plot (e.g. the rope that binds the hero's hands is luckily chewed off by a rat, or an angel suddenly appearing to solve problems)". I thought about how amusing this translated phrases is, literally 'God out of a machine'. I suppose I could have drawn the luminous figure of God appearing out of a vending machine, but that would probably be a little idolatrous. Funny, yes, but I'd probably have to obscure his face and all (God is secretly shy).
Instead, I chose to do some word-play. I like this version, in which God appears out of nowhere to rain and thunder on my parade. Notice that I'm only steps away from a church, where it's always sunny and beautiful. Perhaps a Target Ex Machina could suddenly send down a stylish umbrella? Or at least some galoshes for these sinners.

(Click on the image for a bigger version where all my photoshopping foibles show.)

Emotive Fireworks

A scene from the Fourth of July in Boston, Mass., which features synchronized fireworks to popular tunes.

Air thoughts, P thoughts, A through G thoughts

Air holds up sounds and brings them to my ears! I was sitting on Flagstaff Hill for lunch today and every once and a while the wind would carry the sounds of disembodied jazz to my ears, which was coming from live lunchtime music about a quarter mile down the street at Schenley Plaza. So cool! I also love when I can sometimes hear church bells at my apartment, carried by the breeze, when normally all I get for street noise is unsa-unsa-unsa ghettoblasting car sounds and the occasional dog-peeing-on-a-tree sound.
Speaking of peeing, I saw a drunk guy relieve himself on the door of the building across the street from mine in the middle of the night. Should I have been more of a good Samaritan, I would have loved to yell at him and startle him so he'd jump back and pee all over his pants and probably fall over, pants on ankles, onto his fratty face. And then kick him symbolically in the face for being such a loser. But you know, I wasn't feeling like much of a good Samaritan that night.
Speaking of good nights, I've finally been sleeping better after my sore throat has calmed down. The doctor called today and I had Strep Throat Type C. Last fall I had Type G (oo, a rarity). Before that I don't think I had strep throat in 10 years. But one day I might be lucky enough to collect all the letters. I hope I have to wait a good while for that.

100th Post!

I noticed on the blogger dashboard that I had just made my 99th post, and this one will be the 100th! It's a blogger anniversary of sorts.
On this momentous occassion, I thought I might share with you some tidbits of things which are happening around the time of the 100th post. I've also included a comic of me boring the 100th post into the ground with something like a sledgehammer. Which is totally not how one would put in fenceposts that look like that, I know. But I'm going for effect here, not accuracy.
-5.05pm is a special time. 5.05pm today signaled all the hunky metrosexual men in Pittsburgh to go out for a run, passing me as I walked home from work. Bless them and their beautiful toned biceps.
-Friendly visitors and one's curiosity about anything on the internet can make a boring desk job go by in a snap.
-Cakes baked from scratch are very impressive! I've seen two baked this weekend, a yellow layer cake with magenta buttercream frosting, and a green tea cake with neon green frosting.
And finally,
-If you get prescribed a medicine for sore throat called 'Magic Swizzle G', it will definitely not taste magical. It will taste like sh*t. Then, after you swish and gargle, you have to swallow it, "*" and all. Thank goodness my blog always tastes good. And I still have those mints from a dead woman on hand if you need one.

Sounds of the Orchestra of Birds

I recently started writing a piece for full orchestra, which is part of the curriculum here at CMU, with the School of Music's Philharmonic playing the piece in a concert. I had a discussion with my composition teacher Nancy Galbraith about the 'bureaucracy' of writing a piece like this.
I'd like to believe I just write music that is as good as I could make it for the specifics given, inspired by the world around me. However, there are so many other factors which influence music writing, consciously and subconsciously. It's an amazing opportunity to have an orchestra of sound at your disposal, and the possibility of an additional reading of the piece by the Pittsburgh Symphony. But both orchestras have limitations of instruments, rehearsal time, and even union obligations. The judge of the Symphony submission is the incredible John Corigliano, who I greatly admire. Then there's the chance at cold hard cash for the winner of the 'competition'. As I continue to write, to what extent will the work appeal to one group of people with a certain aesthetic sense? Will I make the work for my own personal growth, not caring about whether other people like it or not? I decided I'm not going to write a purely 'pop' piece, like I might be tempted to do. As fun as some dance-club beats would be, interspersed with clapping and pop music fragments, I'm here to write a more 'academic' piece and grow from that process. (Later, once the Icelandic Symphony gives me a call, I'll write them the dance-club piece on commission.) But I also don't think I want to write a purely emotional work, because it won't win the prize for being robust enough in form and development. As heartfelt as a 'lamentation' could be, it won't win any money because emotional works are not really 'competition winners'. And frankly, I'd like to attempt to win some money and pay back more student loan. I don't think there are any composers out there who'd rather not try and win the money, nah, that's okay, I'll pass. I'm gonna go home now and tape up my cardboard box for the winter.

My starting idea was Lake Myvatn, in Iceland (quel suprise), and the sounds that I might hear in my head that come from the changing weather there. Covered in ice in the winter, the lake is also a hotbed of volcanic activity. There are also millions of different birds on the lake in summertime, so I'm hoping to have some sort of sound representation of a in the orchestra, without using actual bird noises or bird calls (though I may pay a little tribute to Olivier Messaien, the composer king of birdsong). I think the drums will be busy with a lot of flapping wing noises. And maybe there could be some airy, distant chirps or something. The buzz of millions of mosquitos.

Fortunately, after our theoretical chat, I played what I have so far and Nancy liked my beginning work. I think I'm off to a good start with music that seems both Impressionistic/emotional, and intellectual and (hopefully) fun to play. I'm also writing the piece in a way I haven't done for a long time, writing a reduction down on paper from start to finish so that it can organically 'grow'. Usually, I come up with some snappy ideas and then plop them into the computer, and more or less piece them together, which has resulted in varied levels of success. This time, I don't want to write down the ending of the piece, and fill in the rest to catch up to it. I want the end to come on its own time. We'll see how that goes. I'm impatient when it comes to endings.

BIBLE

Overheard in Pittsburgh: An elderly woman on the 71A bus, Center Ave., wearing a grossly-oversized sweater emblazoned with the acronym 'B-I-B-L-E'.

"I'm from the old school, you know. Mmm-hmm. Where kids treat their parents with respect. None of that bossing their parents around. I've seen some crazy things nowadays. Kids with their pants around their ankles. No, sir! They don't know what they're doing. Probably sinners. Parents are cheatin' around. And don't even think about the gays! Homosexuality is a sin and those mortal sinners will burn in hell for eternity!! And bestiality. It's immoral. We gotta praise Jesus. Burning homosexuals in hellfire. It's an abomination. We gotta put faith in the Lord!! Well, it's my stop. Ride safe, and it was good to see you. Bye now."

(The response from the man sitting next to her as she gets off at her stop?
"Well, she means well, but she goes off on a tangent.")


Elderly women these days. You know, honey, I'm from the new school! Mmm-hmm! Where crazy elderly women treat their fellow bus-riders with respect!

Midnight Haircuts of Yesteryore

Hey kids! It's first-grade Midnight Shoveler. By popular demand, I've decided to dig a little into old photos to show the many transformations of Midnight Shoveler's hair since...birth. Well, almost birth. And along the way we get to see the changes in American culture , like, in the change from 'scrunchies' to 'no scrunchies'. It's pretty revolutionary. So hang onto your mouse buttons, kids, this could be a long post.
We'll start with the very beginning. This is me, circa first grade! Note the lovely hairdo which emphasizes that my face has yet to expand to the rest of the front of my head- I think it shows how big my brain must have been. A stylish cut, I must say, for not having a choice in the matter.

The gray striped shirt is around my eleventh year. I discovered 'the part', which is big news for an 11-year old. School photographers also discovered the ladder as the pre-eminent prop on school photo sets. I kind of want this haircut again.

My teenage years entered a long era of neo-hippiedom. I loved the tie-dye. I embraced all that is wonderfully New Age. I started to grow my hair long and wear lots of great retro items, like bellbottoms and a necklace with a holographic eyeball on it. I had the power to seem like I knew what it was like in the 1960's though I had little clue. Unfortunately, in the process of staking my own claim into my own hairstyles, I allowed my mother to have a say on one last haircut, which apparently gets its inspiration from either Swedish milkmaids or by placing a colander on one's head and then trimming all around. Don't forget really awkward bangs, either. But I think in this photo I was really excited about this flower arranging book I just got at a sweet bargain, so I'm showing it off in front of the local five-and-dime. A few years later, the hair is starting to grow, and I have one of the best mullets I have ever seen.
Seriously, I think this is one of the best pictures ever taken of me. If I had this much hair again, I'd probably have this haircut, because I could have the shaggy confidence to pull it off. Back in 1997, though, I was unawares at how many cool Scandinavians would be wearing my haircut a decade later! Here I'm just babysitting (note the pudgy baby). I also am wearing a delicious gold brocade vest without a shirt on underneath and canvas moccasins. Hot.
Okay, this time around, I'd skip out on the moccasins and the jean shorts. I'm just sayin'.

This picture's a little tippy, but it shows teenage me at equal-length long hair before it got really long. I like this length on me, and should have stopped when I had a good thing going.
It reminds me of some angsty teens who have good guitar skills and you know that down the road they'll do something interesting with their life. But for now, they just brood a lot. I wasn't that angsty, but I sure wanted to be.

Senior high school photos!

Rockin' out with the longest hair I've ever had, partying like it's 1999. I took some of the poses from art photography, but some, like 'Tiger in the Woods' type photo, were sort of improv. The theme of senior year was that I have some pretty cool shirts and my hair was too long, but I'm a better person now because of it. And I always keep my hair clean.


As college arrived, my hair went for a hike, and I came into the 'wings' period. I generally like this hair for its 1970's qualities. And its sheer abundance, which I now lack.

From then on, my hair sort of changes every few months, with several home-made haircuts and let-grow-outs of varied success. I went from a 'Farrah Fawcett' to a 'gay ninja' (complete with safety pins) to a 'Rufus Wainwright' to a quasi emo look with a scruffy beard within a year. This is also the first emergence of the facial hair for Midnight.

Of course, there was that one crazy night in college that I was a piano-playing drag queen with a platinum bob, but that was nothing compared to my freshman year roommate's hair.
There was also about five minutes where my hair stood straight on end.
I look pretty rough and tough here, n'est pas? Like I could rock-and-roll your face right off. That short phase didn't last long either. But the goatee did.
These hairstyles revolved a bit but pretty much stayed the same for several years, as my hairline gradually recedes and all the hairs I lose from my head get transplanted to my back. But I do think I will make a fairly stylish bald man, and I can wear a short beard pretty nicely, so I'm not too worried about the day that I run out of my warehouse supply of Rogaine.
In the recent past, bringing us up to present, I've had black hair:
And a sort of faux-hawk, which I cut myself:
And most recently, I've just been enjoying a 'do it up, do it down' kind of ease, especially good in hot summers.
I miss having thicker, non-receding hair. I feel like my hair is a part of my personality, like a good pair of glasses or a unique watch. But I know that no matter if I have blue hair or two-foot long hair, I'll probably still be friends with the same great people who don't feel afraid to tell me if I've missed a spot on the back of my head that I couldn't see to trim. If I could get a hair phase back for just a day, I think I'd ask the Hair Gods for circa 1998, when I could have put birds' nests in my long hair and braided it all crazy, but I was too shy then to try. One can only be so daring when there are gym class bullies around. Then again, maybe I'll soon be fed up with shampoo and I'll enjoy waking up with a freshly-shaved head, moisturized with baby oil, and all I need to do to wash it is slap a paper towel across my noggin', and I'm out the door. I'll probably be on my way to look into wearing hats. I hear hats are the new hair.


Photo credit where credit is due: the Hall household, Kate Casolaro, Jaime Gullotti, Erik Reuter. All images copyright 2007 Nathan Hall/Midnight Shoveler.

Like Taking Altoids from a Dead Woman

Last week, I helped a professor clean out the personal belongings of a much-loved opera diva who recently passed away. We took dozens of baskets and stacked them up, cleaned off all the shelves, packed up the photo albums, and recycled all the papers. We dusted off the picture frames, and taped up boxes to be sent to the singer's family. I emptied the desk of its paper clips, keys that don't unlock anything, and piles of letterhead, and there among the junk was a beautiful practically-new box of Altoids. Which I promptly stuck into my pocket at a moment when the professor I was helping would not notice. Is that wrong? It feels a little creepy, but was Ms. Opera Diva going to need them now? Not unless there's a need for fresh breath in the afterlife. I wasn't about to let good things go to waste. But I can picture the scenario where I'm not just in her studio, but at her funeral, and there amongst the casket belongings are some minty-fresh treats. And I just reach in.
I guess the point of the story is: I've been enjoying the mints of a dead woman, and my breath has never been fresher.

(Click on the photo for a bigger version with more detail.)

Postage Goes Up

Postage recently went up. Again. It's gonna cost me seven hundred dollars to mail this envelope. Maybe I should send an e-card instead. One with a talking cat. Yeah, that cat's funny.

Country-Club Loser Grafitti

I spotted some grafitti in the Music Building bathroom today which I had never seen before. It wasn't very kind to one of my professors.
It read:
"---- (name omitted) is a country-club loser wannabe and a closeted homosexual".
Underneath this, grafitti also read "Toilet Henge" and "For the Turd Time" so I'm thinking that that the allegations toward my professor are not very reputable.

Jewelry Whore

I thought this one could use a little color. You know when you go to a craft fair, and everyone's selling their goods, they've got their best products on display, with their bright lipsticks on and their cash in hand, ready and eager to please a willing customer...well, you know, it's just like this. Oh, wait, that's not a craft fair at all. That's a red light district. Or is it? If only the twain shall meet. There would be a sign on the table that reads something like this one. I can picture a low, smoky, gravel-filled voice saying "You want sumpin' pretty for your girlfriend, sweetheart? Or you want someone pretty for yourself? Heh heh. (Cough, cough.)"

And yes, I know that feet don't point like that in real life. I'm just illustrating a point, okay? Doesn't that eyeshadow just turn you on?

Lead Paint Chips

My landlady told me the other day that my new apartment has lead paint in it, which has been covered over by non-lead paint. Not a huge concern of mine, considering it could have asbestos in it instead, or growing mold from within. However, she made it a point to state it as thus:
"The walls have lead paint on them. So don't chip off the paint and then eat it. I'm serious."

This makes me wonder if she's had problems with this sort of thing in the past.

Belt Buckle Collage for the Blind!

I was in a creative mood lately and I worked on some new small pieces which I think are pretty fun. This one in particular is neato because the sparkly part on the collage is an old belt buckle of mine which I inset into the cardboard backing of the collage. For all of you blind blog-readers* out there, this piece is for you: it's all about texture. I don't know what you could interpret from the texture other than 'wrinkles', 'belt buckle', and perhaps 'sea creatures', but it does have embossed paper and rhinestones, corrogated paper on the bottom (fun ways to reuse packing materials!) and then an image of feathers which I have abstracted on top. I think it could look nice in a black frame, too, should I ever want to frame it. And should I ever find myself with an emergency saggy-pants situation, I can always remove the belt buckle.

*I had no idea until this second that there is internet for the blind, either in speakable websites, or braille-downloaded text. I feel bad for the blind who would have to listen to the entire front page of nytimes.com only to find the article heading they want. On the plus side, perhaps someone blind is reading this website right now! That would be so amazing! If only the text came to you in the sound of my voice. Midnight Shoveler, now in audiovisual interactive! (Perhaps I should just start a podcast.)

I also did these super little collages, from two of Sally's test photos!

If Prussia, then Praustralia, Prongolia, Pranada...

Note: Not to scale. Or anything resembling actual geography.

New from Prevlon, Eyelashes 1000% Longer!

Makeup companies are always boasting their newer, fuller, longer, voluminous lashes. Why not go all out? This new mascara gives you lashes that are so beautiful, so elegant, so je ne sais quoi. Drag queens the world over have already been placing pre-orders. Why not you??

It's Gettin' Hot in Herrre, So Take Off All Your Bones

I know it's a little early to complain about the heat, but this summer is turning out to be a bit less air-conditioned than I could forsee. Way back in high school, I was the sweaty kid who didn't believe in wearing shorts (knobby knee shyness) and I frequently passed out in public places from heatstroke. Well, now I wear shorts, thank goodness. Or at least mapris.
In college, I worked in a VERY air-conditioned Slide library and art gallery, climate-controlled to perfection. It was almost too chilly. And thus it was wonderful. I could wear pants to work, stand over the vent, and my sweaty, chafing thighs would get a little R&R. However, the moment I stepped outside to buy a sandwich, or rest in my summer dorm room, the wall of boiling heat would hit me. I'd think to myself, I've spent all glorious day cataloging images of the Sistene Chapel, and now that that's done, I want to rip off my epidermis because there's nothing more I can possibly remove to get cooler. Take me back to work! I won't take up much space sleeping underneath the light table.
After graduation, I worked in another gallery, but this time without air conditioning. Hot, yes, but I had 8 hours of continuous MadTV to watch, so that balanced out the radiating heat from the glass-block windows. I also lived in a farmhouse where the quaintness (and a tiny air conditioning unit) distracted me from the hotness.
The gallery I worked at in Boston had air conditioning. Theoretically. It did break one summer, gushing water down to the floor below, which consequently was displaying $5000 vintage advertising posters on its walls. Oops. I also was employed by a man who believed that if you cranked the thermostat all the way down in the middle of the day, the entire building would magically get cool in ten minutes, when a whole horde of wealthy guests were scheduled to arrive for cocktails. Little does he know that one has to start the day off very cold and plan ahead for these things. Instead, all of the wealthy guests would complain to me that it was too hot for them to buy anything, as I demurely stuff more napkins in my armpits to disguise the encroaching black circles on my blue dress shirt. Like a blessing from heaven, I'd return from work to an elaborate tunnel-funnel system of air conditioning in my apartment, which made my bedroom nice and chilly.
All this historical account of air conditioning leads up to this summer in Pittsburgh, where my two places of employment and my apartment are all currently un-air-conditioned. Therefore, it's epidermis-ripping time again. With hope, things will change soon. I think I'm getting an a/c unit next weekend for the apartment. I'm also working in my boss's office for some time during the summer, which is set to a pleasant 73F, unlike the closet we call my office.
However, right here, right now, at the ceramics store, the air conditioner is broken and will not be fixed in the forseeable future. I'm tempted to turn off all the lamps we sell to cut down on the excess heat from 70-watt bulbs. I've been entertaining myself by singing into the oscillating fan (hey-ey-ey my-y voi-oic-e is all chop-op-op-oppy!'), and hearing every customer come in and say 'Wow, it's hot in here!' or just turning right around and walking out the door as fast as they came in. I know that this is only the beginning of summer, and not even official summer yet, so I can expect up to twenty degrees hotter versions of this. Gosh, I have so much to look forward to!
I hear it's lovely in Greenland this time of the year. You know, with the glaciers, and the midnight sun, and not a degree past 55F to speak of (and that's a very hot day). When I return from the Arctic Circle, the leaves will be falling in Pittsburgh, and it will be time for everyone else to complain about the cold. They'll use words like 'bone-chilling', 'crisp', and 'nippy'. But you won't hear any complaints from me.

P.S. Caption for this photo: Christian Bale looks hot too. Courtesy of pajiba.

Birthday Card

I made this cute little Birthday Card-type collage the other day with this letter "B" that I found on the ground back in Boston. Who could be so foolish as to throw out such a wonderful sparkly sticker like that? So I stuck it on a piece of painted paint-sample (how meta, painting on paint chips) and voila. But now, who to give it to? I was thinking my friend Bessica. Or maybe Batherine, her birthday's in the fall. Boseph might like it too. (My mind wanders off to Boseph and His Amazing Bechnicolor Breamcoat.) No matter what the recipient, it's clear that their name must begin with a certain sparkly letter.

Stuffing Envelopes

I found out today that not one, not two, but FIVE envelopes from a stack of about 60 invitations to a faculty member's retirement party were sent out, by me alone, completely empty. I think I got into absent-minded "stuff/lick/label/stamp" mode that I forgot to insert anything into some of the envelopes. Luckily all the recipients were family members, and they knew about the party anyway. I did feel bad for the wasted stamps, which just went up in price. (Aside: there are now 'Forever' stamps, which are supposed to be good 'forever', no matter what the price of postage is. I don't believe this one tiny bit!)
It just goes to show, if you pay a guy 7 dollars an hour to sit in a hot closet measuring 6' x 5' with no windows, no air circulation, and all-you-can-watch YouTube, this is the quality of product you may receive.

Manliness

I saw this text on the back of a hooded sweatshirt a while back, as I waited for the bus with my friend Andy. Well, everyone knows the phrase, 'Manliness is next to Godliness'. All I'm saying is that I'm standing next to Manliness so I must be Godliness.
Oh, right. It's cleanliness. Not manliness. So that must mean that this guy is just lame.
I'm all for fun typography on clothing. I think people should be far more daring to explore the vast area of tabula rasa that covers our bodies. Armpit text anyone? Why haven't we printed long phrases that curl around our sleeves yet? But some printed words, like the ubiquitous 'COLLEGE' on fratboy teeshirts, are just a little too Abercrombie, a little too cutsie. Next thing you know they'll be putting 'Princess' on the butts of girls' pj pants. Oh, wait, that happened five years ago. Next thing you know they'll be putting self-empowered bitchy sayings like 'I'm crabby' on girls' pj pants. Oh, wait, they make those too. I've got it: next thing you know they'll be putting 'Cheap Whore' on the butts of girls' pants. And hopefully the pants won't sell well at Macy's and the 'Cheap Whore' pants will have to go on sale. Oh, the irony!

You Know You Work in a Music Office When...

You know you work in a music office when...you're cleaning out the office supply closet and you pick up litter scattered about the floor, and the litter turns out to be clarinet ligatures. You also know you work in a music office when you're cleaning out that same closet and you find a disgarded set of bagpipes.
It sounds like a bad joke, but seriously, I think this could only happen at Carnegie-Mellon. It's the only school in America where you can major in bagpipes. (And there's only one student right now, but doesn't he feel special!)
I also found about a billion hanging file folders and two billion manilla envelopes, but that's pretty normal for an office supply closet, and not very interesting.

So much music, so little bank account

May has been the month of some great new music albums, from some of my favorite people! In wanting to actually buy the cd's for once, this has made my bank account tiny, but my ears so content. I thought I might give a little run-down on some albums lately, and my stylistic interpretation of them. I even made handy photoshopped Album Cover Comics!
Firstly, Bjork's new album Volta was released last week. It features Bjork in a huge plastic creature-suit on the cover and wacky typography (if you can't read it it must be a cool font!). The music on this album is more raw, improvisational, and just a little bit underdeveloped, but hey, there's also an electronic thumb-piano player, a pipa player, the clavichord, and an all-female brass band. So in other words it's typical Icelandic fare and I'm obsessed with it.

Tori Amos' new album, American Doll Posse features multiple personalities (when do they not?), a more rock-heavy flair of electric guitars, and a very grey cover of multiple Toris, including one Tori holding a rooster. Which I can only presume symbolizes 'cock'. I thought I wouldn't like this album, but its more poppy songs are beginning to grow on me, as are the rest of the 23 tracks on the cd. Also growing on me is the 'typewriter' font of the album cover. Not growing on me is mold, small children, or the fact that Tori doesn't seem to want to actually 'play' the piano in a pianistic way anymore. What ever happened to the notes on the piano above, say A5?

A new artist, Mika, has an album out called Life in Cartoon Motion, which has been out for quite some time but is new to me. So here is my interpretation of the Rainbows! Color! Disregard for Color Schemes! cover that is the album. Some of the songs are quite infectious, as are his hit singles 'Lollipop' and 'Grace Kelly', but I prefer songs like 'Relax' which have a distinctly 'everything good about the 80's' sound to them, which is sort of a combination of sexy/gay/Eurochic/Freddie Mercury/piano/electronic. He can also sing about three octaves higher than I can and make it sound completely off-the-cuff. Thus, I love to hate/hate to love him.

Finally, Feist has a new Cd out called The Reminder, which I'm loving in all of its glamorous, yet shabbychic way. Feist's works can convey so many influences without smacking you in the face with them. Contained within 45 minutes is jazz (a great cover of Nina Simone's 'See-Line/Sea-Lion Woman'), blues, French crooner pop, bossa nova, '60's folk, new indie pop, and my personal favorite, songs that make you get up and dance in choreographed motions, as if the whole world was a music video.
In addition, I still have to go listen to Laura Veirs' new album, Saltbreakers, 'cause who doesn't love rock songs about manatees, glaciers, and igneous rocks? I don't know of anyone!
There just better not be any other new music I want to listen to coming out soon, or I'm going to have to go back to waiting in line for the 23 holds of The Shins CD at the Carnegie Public Library before it comes to me through Interlibrary Loan. With luck, I'll get that album in a year.

The Big Bag Theory

Summer vacation started for me 45 minutes ago. Unfortunately, summer work started 4 days ago. I took my last exam this afternoon and let out a sigh of Stravinsky relief, and now I'm looking forward to working at the Music Office and the Ceramics store, and hopefully starting my orchestral piece. I do wish I could hide in this big bag, though, and go with you to some place magical. You could store so much in here! It could be the next big thing in haute couture. Yes, I'd set up a little pillow and a book-reading light in there, if only for a little sleepover, 'cause I'll be off to work again in the morning. Thank goodness I can get paid for looking up celebrity fashion online and generally just smiling a lot, otherwise summer vacation would be kind of a bummer.

The Flood

I watched a ridiculous video in 'Stravinsky' class today, my last 'school day' of the first year of grad school. A bunch of Dutch artists in 1984 tried to recreate a 24-minute long TV show that Igor Stravinsky dreamed up. The piece itself was originally written in the '60's, and Stravinsky has brilliantly scored the TV show with an orchestra playing 12-tone serial rows which sound neither painful nor snobbily intellectual. The score incorporates talking, singing, and ballet dancing to the stories of Noah and the Flood and the book of Genesis (i.e. 'Hey! I made the Earth! Come here, Adam, give your papa a big bear-hug. Eve...don't you touch that apple!') . The TV show, which originally aired in black and white, may be lost, but the original sound recording still exists.
Well. The original concept is brilliant. The original recording of the music is also beautiful. However, the recreated version from 1984 was almost as bad as the all-theremin 'vortex of sound and light' that I had to witness earlier this year. But thankfully the Dutch are funnier than the theremin. The video included a monstrous barrage of outdated special effects, no dancing at all, and 'God' was portrayed by three people (and one of them is Asian) in a pulsating glowing yellow triangle which is green-screened to float on top of all the other action on screen. The action includes gratuitous nudity, as all contemporary Dutch things do (therefore, I love the Dutch). Adam, who is Latino (apparently God isn't picky about race), Eve, and the Devil run around quasi-dancing with their unmentionables hanging out. Then scene cuts to a glowing orb representing the Earth, which cuts to a surrealist painting in which the head of some guy is superimposed, like a carnival-cutout photo opportunity, onto a mirror, or into tiny boxes.
And then the flood comes.
Noah's sons (none of whom look like they could be related, and one of whom is black!) warn their mom to get on the boat, while a fade-in ocean wave slowly encroaches onto the TV screen. The 'Flood' itself is a tumultuous chaos of orchestral sound, but in the TV special, the Dutchmen decided to just show two minutes of calm rippling waves--are you ready?--in various colors, like hot pink, blue, and neon green. Run for your lives! The gentle rippling is coming.
The back of the VHS box says that this production tries to realize Stravinsky's full vision, what with the advent of color television and David Bowie-sequined unitards.
I don't think that this is what Stravinsky was envisioning.

I've saved the best for last, of course- the Expulsion of Adam an Eve from the Garden of Eden. God casts the naked Latino Adam and boobalicious Eve out into the green-screened box of a beach-like scene, and in their shame, Adam and Eve put on clothes. But the clothes are designer clothes. Adam is wearing some kind of fabulous haute couture vesty item with puffy sleeves. And Eve is fixing the strap of her sexy strappy dress. And her high heels...
Man, I'd eat that apple too, if I knew that Satan looked like David Bowie and I'd get to put my toes in some Manolos.
Rest in peace, Stravinsky. May God bless you and may you never see this video from the afterlife.

Glacier

If I lived in Prehistoric Man Land, and a glacier invaded my town, I'd probably still blame global warming. Or Al Gore. Or both.

Test Strip Triptych

Being a collage artist (can one say that, or does that sound silly?) I'm often delighted when people give me their crap to work with. Sadly I'm not Chris Ofili, though, so working with actual crap has already been taken. Instead, the materials for this collage come from discarded photo test strips. I tried to take some element of the photo (architecture, color, shape, etc) and use it in a different way from what I normally do and try to create something multilayered and busy. 'Busy' I think I achieved. 'Cohesive' maybe not, but I do like that it's different from anything I've made before. And unless someone wants to trade me a new sexy leather jacket for it, I'll keep the work myself. (Seriously, I'm on the prowl for a streamlined leather jacket, aka 'man magnet'. Preferably inexplicably free and perfectly fitted. Or maybe I should just prowl for someone in a leather jacket.)
I also like the title of the work, as it does have a nice ring to it: Test Strip Triptych. I'd try to say it three times fast except that I had wine with my dinner tonight (who knew that three glasses of white wine goes perfectly with tuna noodle salad?!) and it's all I can do to concentrate on good spelling.

Art in ovoids

Easter-egg decorating turned out to be a rockin' artsy party, with loads of creativity bursting from the seams (or shells, perhaps). Since it's been a while that I've displayed some collages or artwork, I thought I might share with you some egg creations! These babies are only for sale for a limited time, so call now! Get your hardboiled beauties while they still smell fresh. (Thankfully some are blown out so they will last forever.) Here in the form of a fashion show are some treats:
This saucy little character from Scooby-Doo is poised and ready for her American debut! Doesn't she look lovely in her purple camisol, ready to jump out of that eggshell like Venus from the salty seas?
This darling of an egg takes inspiration from the japanese obi, or belt. A dazzling spring kimono for every fashionable chicken embryo. Note the use of dyed tissue paper wrapped around a dyed egg. So hot right now, don't you think?
Well, now, this is really haute couture if I ever saw one. This handblown egg is wrapped in cloth strips and covered in textured paper. This look is sure to be in all the stores next year. Magnifique!
I say, isn't this just pretty darn gay? Well, it is missing a little blue and purple, with which some more patience could have finished it up with a flamboyant bang!, but overall I think a smashingly good show. Teehee! Get it? Smashing? Be careful with those eggs, my dear.
See you all next Spring for the Paris Preview. Ta!

Gentrified Oliver

I should watch 'Oliver' again. That was a great movie-musical in my childhood mind, and I remember the moral of the story being something like 'Sucks to be an orphan, but if you can sing, you'll save the day!' (Isn't that also the moral to 'Annie'?) The most memorable scene to me happens when Oliver asks for more porridge, and the Mess Hall server says in his Cockney accent, 'Moah?! Yew waont sum moah?!'
In contrast to all of Oliver's trials and tribulations, I'm excited about this Easter afternoon because, aside from Jesus being risen from the dead and all, I get to stuff my face! I'm thankful this holiday for my family sending me Peeps in the mail as an Easter basket, and some delicious chocolate eggs. I also have half a chocolate cake and some Chicken stuffed pastries to look forward to at dinnertime!
I wonder what Britney and Paris do for family fun, or if they even recognize that there are other holidays in the calendar year that don't involve nightclubs. They probably won't have nearly as much fun coloring eggs as I will. Then again, they could encrust their eggs with diamonds. And then unhinge their jaws like snakes, and swallow the jeweled eggs whole. I can't do that, which is why I'm not a celebrity.