Yo!
Evanston was kind enough to let us Northwestern folk ease into the chilly spring of the midwest, as it's been nice sunny days since I've been back that just now have dipped into it's, ahem, charming blustery temperatures. Cause I swear I would've cried if I stepped off O'Hare with icy winds on my face, coming back from Paradise, U.S.A. (aka Santa Barbara, California). It was a good break through and through, though I wished I had spent more than three days at home. I realized there that as much as my dorm and my friends here are comfortable and great, home is home. I've made a commitment to call home more often (at least more than, say, once every two, three weeks?); it grounds me.
But yes, California was great. I was surprised to find my most exaggerated stereotypical California expectations to turn out more or less true. We hiked, watched a lot of basketball, boogie boarded, ate good food, deep sea fished, and did other enjoyable sunny things. My last moment of Santa Barbara was driving down the freeway while the red sun was setting in the horizon, looking out the window and seeing a pretty California girl smile and wave. Yep, that was pretty much California.
And here I am! Only a few days into the quarter and I've got a pretty sizable to-do-list. Summer plans are pretty exciting, actually they are really freaking awesome, if things turn out right. DeYoung and I are gonna shoot for this summer undergrad research grant ($3000) for the animation/prelinger archive project we've been talking about since the fall. If things turn out right, I'll be in Evanston and Chi-town for the summer animating and working on Stuart's movie (and getting paid for that) with little restrictions and pressure (I'll be able to visit home or wherever whenever I want). I guess things are turning almost full circle for me, and I'm a bit suprised on how much animation is exciting me. Which is very very good. It feels right, comfortable, and unsettling at the same time (cause when was the last time I've done something like this?). So, cross your fingers! Plan C for the summer is now heading underway.
By the way, if you're a Motown fan, or just like good music, you should really check out A Cellarful of Motown. Its this Universal compilation, two disc's full of unreleased and vaulted Motown tracks Gordy threw out ("the rarest of detroit grooves"). I don't understand how these songs aren't on oldie stations and proudly standing alongside "I Heard it Through the Grapevine" or "Baby Love;" these songs are rawer, more powerful, and more soulful than your average Motown track (which says a lot) and are just amazing. Really strange to hear something so familiar and new at the same time. So yes, do yourself a favor. Okay, off to bed for another exciting day of learning!!!!!!!!!!!!! ALRIGHT!!

One More Thing...
"But Jenkin seemed to be able to enjoy everything; even ugliness. I learned from him that we should attempt a total surrender to whatever atmosphere was offering itself at the moment; in a squalid town to seek out those very places where its squalor rose to grimness and almost grandeur, on a dismal day to find the most dismal and dripping wood, on a windy day to seek the windiest ridge. There was no Betjemannic irony about it; only a serious, yet gleeful, determination to rub one's nose in the very quiddity of each thing, to rejoice in its being (so magnificently) what it was."

Last Dance
ACk! So, after working dilligently all day in the darkroom, I go out to get a bite to eat and purchase some matteboard to mount my prints as soon as they dried for my critique tomorrow. I come back, and the @#$^!@#$^!# darkroom is locked! It closed early! My prints are locked away til 9 tomorrow morning. Which means, instead of taking care of everything today, I'm gonna have to wake up super early, work on the matteboard, wait til the darkroom opens, rush rush rush to get my prints out and slap 'em on the boards (and reprint several pictures as well). ARGUH! And I'm gonna have to leave in the middle of the critique to catch a cab and pray I make my flight to Baton Rouge, which means I'm gonna have to pack and have everything ready by tonight.
And so that means this will probably the last entry I'll drop in a while. Baton Rouge will be gloriously boring and perfect, and California will be an experience all unto itself. Too bad that this spring break will start exactly like last year's, spending all of this friday in airports. Get this: I'm gonna be flying from New Orleans to Los Angeles by Charlotte. Charlotte! That's South Carolina! I'm gonna be flying from roughly the middle of the country, to the opposite coast I want to go to, and ultimately fly across all of the United States to LA. But I'll arrive finally with Ryan, Andy, and Adam waiting for me, so that'll be nice (unlike Savannah...where I showed up...and nobody was there...). Hopefully by the time Spring Quarter starts again, I will have read one book, gotten spoiled on good food again, fished, hiked, drove, and so much more. Glorious. Let's just hope I'll be able to make it til noon tomorrow.... rock it!!

P.S. So Ryan tells me that he's looking into getting a bass soon... so we can officially start rocking out. We miss nothing more than being able to play music for people back in our seperate high school days, and um, yeah, something might happen. Anybody wanna be in a band? ROCK IT!

I'm sitting here looking at Jimmy John's large Mr. Pibb soda, which might or might not have been spit on (or worse). See, I woke up this morning starving, and having to organize my photos today and retake some (and by being really lazy), I called for food. My stomach was wrenching by the time I made the call, and finally thirty minutes came. Then 45 minutes came. Then 50. I was about to kill someone. I called the place back, and they were like "uh, yeah it should be there," NO help at all, and finally, five minutes later, I get the call and go downstairs-- and, get this, he forgets my large drink! What the hell! He has a pissy attitude, which only makes me have a pissier one, and tip him 50 cents. He calls back twenty minutes later with my drink, and now, hours later, its still sitting on the table. And I'm staring at it. Hmm.
There's a certain dichotomy to delivery; you call for your food and for service, and you pay accordingly. So, when you don't get service, and especially when you don't get your food, you should still pay accordingly. It's not my fault the guy sucked. I have friends who were past waiters, and they always say to tip your waiter well, no matter what. Well, I'm certainly no Mr. Pink, but I think I have to disagree. I'm not going to give someone money freely. This is a give and take relationship; I understand if the waiter might be having a bad day or whatever. It's a strictly nonpersonal transaction; in fact you make it worse by making it personal and mixing sympathies with dollars. Maybe I'm just a cheap bastard, but if I was a waiter who messed up an order and acknowledged I was dishing out bad service, I wouldn't expect the pay. I really wouldn't... and I do understand yes, be nice to your fellow brother, but aaaargh how do you weigh being a good samaritan (if supposedly the guy's having the worst day of his life, or something) with following regulations of what should be and what shouldn't?
This is what I'm thinking about, staring at the (still) unconsumed large Jimmy John's Mr. Pibb.

Only thing left in winter quarter is a bunch of retouched prints, and a portfolio organizing all photos done this year.

The Walkmen were intense, as they should be.

One last party. Hopefully enough.

Ready to go home and leave this place! So, very, very ready.

I Read the News Today, Oh Boy...

http://www.cnn.com/2004/WORLD/europe/03/11/spain.blasts/index.html

I went to Madrid, Spain on an exchange trip with some of my best friends sophomore year in high school, exactly four years ago on this date. The metro system there is huge and crucial; there wasn't a day when one of us and our Madrid friends didn't use it. This is really beyond words, and I'm trying to reach my old spanish teacher for the email addresses of the families and friends we made in Madrid. Sometimes I don't understand how these things happen.

5 Days
I was about to go to sleep last night when I started hearing thunderous yelling, roaring, right outside my window. Ryan looked at me, and jumped on his bed to look out the window to see T, drunk beyond belief, smoking a cigarette. "I SAW YOU CHANGING! AAAAH!" and proceeded to start rolling around in the grass all the while holding his cigarette afloat. We laughed, I gave him my lighter to light another cigarette, and we then proceeded to engage in a philosophical conversation, with T giving this Shakesperean monologue of the moon and the tides, of his new tattoo, how he was never happier sitting in the sink with the faucet on when he was a baby, and of protecting emotions. He had 12 beers in the past hour, due to some bizarre drinking game, and in the middle of talking about his fascination with runes and pagan myths of the moon, he took a moment midsentence and peed on the wall right by our window. It was a beautiful thing. T reminded me of one of those clowns in Shakespeare tragedies, with their red cherry nose, revealing as much wisdom as their alcohol blood level. Ah, College life!

5 is the lucky number of the moment; flashing five fingers in Haiti will, well, not be the greatest idea right now, singing five years will make you into a bonafide Bowienerd (which I might be doing right now), and five more days remain until this winter quarter is over and I'm back in Baton Rouge! I really miss Mama, Papa, Tatana, and Colita, driving around in my car (!), warmer weather, eating good food (oh God), excersing regularly again, and the freedom to do whatever I want. I don't think any friends will be in town, but that's fine, as I can focus my attention homewards and recharge my batteries. And then Cali, baby!

I have many photo-things to do, and I'm about to run into the darkroom again. But I figure I should drop a few words here. These days I'm either dragging myself towards the finish line or jumping in the sun (its out!). Walkmen show Thursday, which I fully expect to be mindblowing and nothing less. Party at Mike's friday, St. Patty's Parade Saturday (it will be a hard yet valiant attempt to outdo last year's), and Sunday is Sopranos again. Here comes the sun...

On a quick side note, other than I'm Costa Rica, I feel like shaking up things a bit. This is in regards to certain people and certain situations, where I've always decided things should stay where they are, but what would happened if they didn't? Life would certainly be more interesting, wouldn't it? Lately I'm thinking some things would be worth it, and that just the reactions and consequences of stepping out of character would shine light onto dark corners that I never realized existed! A sense of a creative license that could be applied to anything, and anyone. So yes I know this terribly and frustratingly cryptic, but in a space where I can flesh out all my thoughts, concerns, and desires, I find an inherent and blaring contradiction. You.

You're Costa Rica!

You're about as peaceful as anyone on the planet, a real dyed-in-the-wool
pacifist.  And why not?  No one really poses much of a threat to you and
everything seems to work out, no matter how much violence and insanity rages all around
you.  So you relax and appreciate nature and culture while the rest of the world carries
on their petty disagreements.  If only everyone could follow your
example...
Take the href="http://bluepyramid.org/ia/cquiz.htm">Country Quiz at the href="http://bluepyramid.org">Blue Pyramid

And the finishing touch to a glorious weekend: Bada-Bing!(click)

50%?
Birthdaypalooza was a bonafide grade A success in every sense of the word... I don't think I've ever seen that many people crammed into that apartment (and that is that says a lot, esp from last quarter)-- and people I didn't know! Who just showed up! Unbelievable; I think I said that word roughly around 27 times last night. We couldn't have asked for more, but we got it. And guys, thank you once again for the present, completely a suprise. But it still needs a name!

So, now, after vowing to not give a @#%! these past two days and just enjoy them, I must snap back into things and pick up the last few remaining pieces. I'm not sure if I'll be at Min's tonight, as I have an eight page research paper due Monday that I kinda haven't started yet? Yeesh.
And here's some old, but fitting news (clicky). Two decades down for me, and only two decades more to go? I can't tell if this is Chicken Little screaming at his loudest, like one of those embarrassing things you read from the 50's and 70's that prophesized imminent doom by the year 1980... or if its legit. Hey, its the Guardian, and those Brits are pretty smart. If so, click here for a sneak preview courtesy of Roland Emmerich and Jake Glyeenhall! I can't wait to swim around the Wrigley Building and ski down the Statue of Liberty when I'm 40, can't you?

My Post-Teenage Manifesto
Tomorrow, on March 5th, 2004, I will turn twenty years old. As of tomorrow, I will have spent two solid decades of existence in this world as of 11:37 a.m. I will no longer be considered a child, nor will I ever technically be a teenager. High school and puberty (really?) are past me now, and this is, as so they say, the first step towards becoming an adult; this is where and when it happens. All those conceptions of teenage life I had when I was younger turned out to pretty much false; I never slammed the door in my parents face while they yelled “Because I said so!” to a grungy room full of posters, nor did I ever hang out with Zack, Kelly, and Screech in the burger joint after school. I didn’t do any of those things, and in college I never walked down sunny lawns of Fraternity row and saw Bluto smashing a guitar on the ground. My actual experiences and memories of these places seem false compared to my preconceptions, and when my friend told me “this is your last day as a teenager man!” I felt a deep sense of confusion and loss; as if I had jumped on the wrong boat and I’m sailing miles and miles away from where I should be.
But these things are arbitrary. Why do people make resolutions on New Year’s Eve and not on any other day? Or birthdays for that matter? There’s no intrinsic quality of December 31st that causes for self-examination and change; the day itself is no different than any other day. Why only once a year? It is important though to at least assign some day for self-examination, as to not let every day slide by without notice or thought. My friend’s birthday, which is conveniently a day before mine (today), muttered on the way out to the door “well I wish it was a little warmer for my birthday.” Why must we only wish it outloud on our birthday? Why not everyday?
So here I am, on the verge of things ending, on the last and steepest dip of the slide. Winter quarter is rapidly wrapping up (finals already?!), and I’m writing my last papers, attending my last classes, and wearing those long johns for just maybe the last time. But what strikes me most about where I am are not the endings, but rather the beginnings. I’ll be flying to California in a few days to what seems like an unbelievable trip. I’m working on film and photography ideas that excite me more and more as they grow. Beginnings are always more exciting than endings; and this is the attitude I want to adopt as I turn 20 tomorrow.
However....Ben left, rather cryptically, a message for me, ending it by saying “Hope this is the life you’ve always wanted!” To be honest, it pissed me off. What’s that supposed to mean? What’s does that say? That you can have the life you want right now? Not after fifth grade, not after middle school, not after high school, not after college, not til when everything supposedly culminates in finding a job afterwards, but you be perfectly happy and content with where you are right now? My whole life, I can safely without exaggerating, like any other American young student, seems to be a mad rush in preparation for something; keep working now to get to the next step, and when you get there, you have to make sure you do this and that to get to the next step, and so on and so on. I clearly remember sixth grade teacher Mrs. Scobee popping into class during the last month of fifth grade, laying it on us to start getting serious: sixth grade is only next year! Sixth Grade! And then, in sixth grade, it was to get ready for the big seventh grade, where kids started to grow facial hair and smelly clothes...and all of sudden, it was high school where things got really serious. I remember waiting for it; bracing for future’s slap on the face. But it never came. High school was more of the same, except now, shit, you’ve gotta worry about colleges and moving miles and miles away. This was the ultimate; all of your life has felt like it’s been working to this point: where you gonna go to college? It was never a question of “if” but a necessity of “must.” And now, smack dab in the middle of college, is it any wonder I feel a gnawing disillusionment? The big talked-over shebang never dropped, and now I’m sick of the cyclical wash of quizzes, midterms, papers, finals, and registration. “Hope this is the life you’ve always wanted?” Sure, if someone had really told me that what matters today and this second matters exactly as much when you’re in some office job with diplomas on your wall and kids on your life, sure. I’m not saying future-planning isn’t as important, but what happens when it becomes the life you’ve always lived? What makes life in your twenties more valuable than when you were thirteen?
So, in trying to come up with some response to Ben, I had to say no. It’s not, but in a bizarre sense I don’t even feel like that’s an applicable question: I feel my life hasn’t started yet. And that, to me, is the saddest thing in the world. So, with one last day as a teenager, I say life starts now. Fuck this incessant worry and anxiety about where I’ll be in a few years, and fuck this omnipresent hesitation I’ve felt since grade school. I want to be a better person right now. I want to be the person people remember me by forever at this moment. I want to find everything I want and fix things right now as if this was it. This is it, as of tomorrow I’m forever saying goodbye to being “something-teen.” College should be about yourself, and wanting to be as passionate as you want and drop italics as much as you want.
It's kind of ironic that Mrs. Scobee is now the head Alumni contact, in charge of organizing all the high school reunions and the alumni magazine. And though I never had a friend like Spicoli (well, close maybe) nor had Principal Belding giving me a detention, that is not to say I’ve been disappointed. My experiences have been different in so many incredibly fascinating and curious ways, showing me things and showing me people that have had a profound impact on my life. It’s just a matter of realizing that things can be better than you’ve realized before, and that not everything grows worse and stale. And so I say, happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me.

Fasho
Wow!, What an unpleasently, failing attempt by Eamon, March 2, 2004
Reviewer: Matt (see more about me) from P.a.
Weather or not its Eamons fault that his album is so awful is beyond the point that he is a one-hit wonder. The album has barely any good tracks, and most of the songs are just mind-filling, poorly produced songs. "FU-K IT" is obviously Eamons only hit that he will have. Yes, just like the Baha Men and "Who Let The Dogs Out", Eamons "FU-K IT" will be his career making and ending hit.

After the damage that this c.d. has done to main stream music, people will move on back to the way rap/hip-hop/soul/r&b was before Eamon. Its also sad that Eamon style resembles Eminems career so much that he is trying to follow in Eminems footsteps. The only problem with that is that Eamon does not drive enough creativity to spark imagination and thats what will drive people away from him. Anyone can sit down and write what he writes on his c.d.

Overall, probably a one-hit wonder artist and a c.d. that will be long and forgotten only to return to the dark mists of wherever the horrific mess of "I Dont Want You Back" came from.


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EAMON (I DONT WANT YOU BACK), March 2, 2004
Reviewer: musik lover (see more about me) from SUMWHURRS
YO NEED I SAY MORE ALL BOUT EAMON???? Y OR N?? CUZ EVRY DAY I COME ON HURR N I ALWAYS SEE Y'ALL HATIN ON HIM! N WHY U HATE N CANT EVEN APPRECIATE HIM?? CUZ HE COMES FROM STATEN ISLAND N.Y N HE STRAIGHT UP GANGSTA.. HE BE DOIN HIS THANG FASHO! N I STILL CANT STOP PLAYEN IT.. AND WHEN I FIRST HEARD DAT I HAD TA GO N BUY IT BUH IT WAS SOLD OUT EVRY WHURR SO HURR IN MURDASOTA EVRY 1 BE REPPIN EAMON!!!!!! SO FASHO DO DA SAME!


Just when I thought radio and MTV couldn't get worse. WOW. I don't want this to be another long and tired damning of radio and the music biz. But all I'll say is this, to anybody who's heard this song, it is a bonafide miracle (in all the wrong ways) that this song is Clear Channel fodder. Someone actually had to listen to this, convince others to throw thousands of money at it, all the while they slash and trash artists because they can't make the singles. Save the RIAA!

Potpourri
State of the Union:
1) Photography is becoming more and more alluring to me. I read through a couple of National Geographic magazines and it blew my mind. Reminds me of collecting Wildlife Fact Cards (anybody remember those?) back in the day and poring over National Geographic every month, looking for the weirdest animal to draw. For the apartment next year, I must remember to bring those binders of W.F.C.'s-- that stuff would be great to have around.
2)Speaking of that, I must first find a freakin' apartment for next year! Diane's putting the pressure on, and I need to decide on all this quick. Clarke Apt's are great and so is Diane, but 660 a month might not be so great. Plus, it'd be nice to live in a house if the guys decide on getting one.
3)Or wait, I could just bring those binders back for Spring Break. Two weeks! Unbelievable-- I can't wait for it. Home will be much needed, and California will be paradise. We will be deep-sea fishing, spending the night on an island, go hiking in the mountains, dive, and hike every day. You can be jealous.
4) Film ideas are burgeoning suddenly and unexpectedly, and I find two potentially fun things slowly but steadily demanding me. DeYoung's and I's animation idea is increasingly picking up steam, and things sound pretty exciting, if not a lot of work (though the good kind). I must also email Dana for a permission number for 380, as Man with the Couch has gotten too much attention and excitement to not develop now. OH man, but also I'll be Video Doc'ing Buskin' and editing that too along with Even if I Told You. Should give me clearer feelings on the whole film situation. Oh, and finally:
5) Birthdaypalooza. Unnerstand?

So yes, but most importantly than any of those, photography is subtly changing things in me. I look at every photo now in magazines completely differently, fully absorbing and focusing. Must subscribe to National Geographic again tomorrow. Summer plans have died once again, and now I'm working on Plan C, which might involve looking to be a photographer's assistant in a paper in Baton Rouge. How unbelievable would that be? It'd kinda be lame to spend another summer in Baton Rouge, especially when nobody will be there anymore. But I don't have any better plans, and doing photography for the summer would be amazing. Anybody got other suggestions? Hm? Buller? Anybody staying for BR for the summer (or a part of it)?

Man with the Couch
Ahh! Yes! Monday is here! Here comes the sun, along with flip-flops, short sleeved shirts, and a smile on my face with thoughts of spring and, hell, I'll be able to spend the day outside without pain! Spring quarter was glorious last year; it was technically my first winter (boy was it a doozy) and I remember how astounded I was coming home for Spring Break and Savannah at how green everything was-- so intensely green with a vibrancy and boldness I hadn't seen in months. But, as I normally do when it's warm in Evanston, I get lost in memories and of people at home... of crashing friend's pools in Baton Rouge, driving to Waffle House with Ben and John with the windows down, Colita, and, of course, tossin' the rang. I must start practicing again, as one hazy night I threw it and ended up about thirty feet away from me in the snow. Yeesh.
And then I realize, wait, I'll be home in exactly two weeks, and then chillin' in California with most of the gang. Winter Quarter is almost over, and that's an amazing/intense thought. These busy weekends have strapped time with rockets. Oh, and despite feeling worthless all weekend gripping for Min's shoot, good people were on set and Nazan and I came up with a pretty interesting fun film idea, inspired by Andy and I bringing the couch to wait for Michel Gondry/ Charlie Kaufman tickets at Norris (and not the Bukowski stories Zach lent me on set... though it'd be pretty funny if I could cram some of those ideas into it. Actually, probably not). It'll hopefully make full use of the great city of Chicago, and if things work out right, I will have a very productive spring quarter.
I'm on a Motown kick right now, and when you're listening to Motown, everything seems a bit brighter. Also got a heads up that good news for people who like bad news leaked, and it definitely delivers on "Float On's" promise. Also, I'm going to scan some drawings and post them soon, probably tonight or tomorrow. Now I'm wondering whether I should stop by Central Camera and the Apple store downtown (iPod still down & out), or stay in Evanston and enjoy the weather. Um, yes, I think the weather wins. Oh, did I mention March 5th is in 4 days...? On a Friday...?