D’oh! July 31, 2007

Sorry, Matt Groening. The Simpsons Movie was a bust, in my book. I went to go see it on Saturday afternoon with my little brother, my stepmom, and my dad. This is the first movie we’ve all been to see together, ever. The Simpsons have a unifying effect on my family–it’s one of (if not The) only show that we all enjoy, age 9 to age 64. As such, it was a true disappointment for all of the adult family members. My brother says it’s the funniest movie he’s ever seen…but that could be because I was sitting next to him, laughing sporadically. He idolizes me, and follows me around like a little puppy dog. I’m enjoying that, while it lasts.

The movie fell short in many ways; the standard of searing politics and almost-off color humor was absent. While the writers certainly poked fun of the EPA and the general public intelligence so far as pollution goes, the film never really pushed the envelope, which is the exact reason I hold the show in such high regards. The animation was decent, except there were fragments of the film with too much 3D sparkle; the effect was too polished. One of the charms of the TV show is that the animation is rudimentary, and still perfectly effective. While it was humorous to hear Marge say the word “goddamn”, it was hardly worth the price of admission, and the hour and a half of my life. I think the film provides it’s own synopsis in the first two minutes. “Anyone who pays to see what they can get at home, for free, is a sucker“. It was an hour too long. 30 minute increments have been working for twenty years for a good, solid reason; when the plot has to carry 90 minutes of action, it gets too convoluted. A half hour is the perfect amount of time for Homer to fuck up, and for Lisa to fix it, without having to move to Alaska in between. Of course I’m glad I saw it–what kind of life-long fan would I be if I hadn’t (I was watching that shit on Tracey Ullman, back in the day!), but I would much rather have season three on DVD, any day. Episodic cartoon humor beats feature length, again. See Space Jams if you need further proof.

I saw some old friends this weekend that I hadn’t seen in a while. Mostly, it was fun. This one guy (we’ll call him Ashtray) joined our party. I was not exactly elated to reacquaint myself with him. He hasn’t changed a bit in the ten years since I hung out with him–not by choice, either. He was the guy who would act surprised when I was Fighting Mad to discover that he’d crawled in through a window, cooked some of my food, and enjoyed eating it, on my couch, watching my cable, with his grossly stinky feet on my coffee table, while I was at work. He was a good friend of my old roommate, the person from Olden Times I was actually happy to hang out with, this past Friday. He still smells like artichoke juice and pizza sauce. He still drinks beer like it’s a race. His tongue still swells when he’s drunk, and he still gets too loud, too aggressive, and too entitled when he’s in the cups. At least he’s off The Junk, I guess. He’s one of those crusty punks that tries to hold onto his Punk Rock Ways so far into adulthood that he just looks like a chump to people his age. The Younger Crowd seem to like him, still…he can buy them beer. There’s nothing quite so sad as a 28 year old ‘man’ that still wears Social Distortion patches on his pants. I probably wouldn’t care about the stink, the dress, the Same Ole Job if he was even vaguely different from the Ashtray I remember. But he’s not. At least he’s consistent. I’ll give him that.

In other news, I think it is unfair that the menstrual cycle usually goes hand in hand with uncomfortable bloating, lower back pain, and diarrhea. I mean, what the fuck? Bleeding out of The Nethers isn’t enough?

Poop Gags and Pratfalls July 26, 2007

I finally received details on the elusive summer job. It will be an arduous process, with very few days off from when we start to when we finish; roughly, five weeks of working most every day. BUT–the pay is better than I have ever received, the crew I’m working with is awesome (comprised fully of friends that also remained in town this summer), and the work will be interesting. 30 foot tall candy canes and teddy bears–it’s not boring, that’s for sure. All in all, it will Officially be The Best Job I’ve Ever Had. Considering that I will be making double, in five weeks, what I made last summer in twelve weeks, my wait has paid off. I got 2 months off this summer, and a hefty pay raise. It’s nice to finally feel as though my hard work and progress over these last three years is beginning to pay off. Perhaps the best part is that I won’t have to wash a single bucket. That’s a mo-fuckin’ golden ticket, right there.

My license suspension situation wasn’t the Death Sentence I imagined it to be. I drove to the DMV to get my suspension status report (felt a lot like driving into the lion’s den), and spent four hours on the phone with various county court houses, and have I figured out that I need a lawyer. The statute of limitations has expired on two thirds of my tickets, but the courts still say I owe them money…I guess that’ll always be the answer if you ask, and don’t know better. Or perhaps the solution is having to obtain a lawyer, who can then send letters in my lieu, stating precedents or vehicular laws of this state. My last available option is setting a court date, and requesting a Prayer For Judgement. I don’t really know how these things work, but I had a lot of friends, when I was 20 or 21, get out of their first offenses with one of these Prayers. Again, I think I need a lawyer. I tried doing a Google search for lawyers in my city, but I got intimidated and found myself too unsure to make the phone call. I don’t know what to say to a law office. Is it like a doctor, where you have to ask if they’re accepting new clients? I know lawyers are specialized, like doctors, but would an attorney who tries vehicular injury cases be interested in my seven year old no-shows in court? I don’t know these answers. I have never had to obtain a lawyer before, lucky for me, so I’m left feeling like a fumbling young adult, none of my cultivated street savvy or Almost-Middle-Aged book smarts doing me any good. One day soon, though, I will bite the bullet and start calling lawyers, having resigned myself to sounding like an over-privileged white kid that can’t quite truly believe that they actually need a lawyer.

In other news, I made tabouli from scratch for the first time yesterday, and, if I do say so myself, it tasted exactly like the tabouli that triggered my addiction, years ago. The Joy of Cooking had a good recipe, but they left out cucumbers, which I feel are integral to the overall flavor. I added two medium cukes (from my mom’s garden), and I increased the amount of olive oil and fresh squeezed lemon juice from one-third cup to one-half cup, in both cases. Additionally, I increased the amount of two cups of fresh chopped parsley to three and a half cups, and I left out the mint. Somehow, my random alterations resulted in the creation of Exactly What I Wanted. It tasted authentically Lebanese, that’s for sure. The only downside of this culinary adventure is that the recipe calls for everything to be finely chopped. It took me three hours. I had to sharpen my knife twice, and the effing parsley nearly killed me. Chopping parsley that fine is like trying to shave a dog with a spoon; it’s not impossible, but damn if you don’t have to press down something fierce.

ALSO, I finally saw the movie Sideways. I completely disagree with the reviews plastered all over the DVD case. If that was the funniest comedy of 2004, a lot of people have lost their sense of humor. BOR-ing. I like learning about anything food-related, so the wine knowledge was interesting, but not enough to carry two hours of feature film. The acting was decent, I’m not hatin’ on that, but the plot was dry and slow-moving, and altogether entirely too predictable. Again, I was disappointed by the hype. Although, I’m stationed in the humor camp with John Waters, so I suppose most mainstream comedy will fall short in the poop gags and pratfalls departments, by my personal standards.

Addendum July 24, 2007

There is a possibility, slim but still existent, that my mom will never need to find out about any of this (I believe in honesty, but this is for the better)…she’s switching her insurance policy over to her cousin’s family run AllState branch, or something like that. I’m thinking since He’s Kin, there’s a chance he won’t dig very deep and still approve a policy. At least, I’m crossing my fingers that this is what happens. I went ahead and gave her my state ID number, the same number that my license used to be…and the dice are in play, for better or for worse.

Don’t think too poorly of me…this is My Big Mistake, so far. Not so bad, considering it could have been any number of much more serious offenses, if I had gotten caught at them. I have, in fact, been felonious many more times than I’m proud of, for things I don’t particularly like to admit I was involved with. I should consider myself lucky, I suppose.

And that’s why I’m getting a horseshoe tattoo for my next birthday. Born Lucky.

My Last Real Secret July 23, 2007

In an effort to prepare myself for the task of telling my parents this little tidbit on Saturday, I thought I’d go ahead and spill it here. For everyone. For anyone, really, who might happen to come across this. I’m divulging this secret, which I’ve held close to my chest for seven years now, because I’m tired of Not Telling. Now that it sounds like more of a big deal than it is, here goes:

I’ve been driving without a license since I was 20 years old.

This secret is going to get blown wide apart this weekend, and I am vaguely terrified and mostly relieved. It comes to pass that I have to share this tasty morsel with my mom, because she still technically owns the car I drive, which I’ve been paying modestly on, for four years now. The vehicle is still in her name, and as such, it has been cheaper, in terms of insurance, to have me listed as a secondary driver of her secondary vehicle. 56 gets a lower monthly premium than 28. It’s worked for years. We’ve had the same insurance for years. Now, she’s changing her plan, which means I’m changing my plan to keep the lower rate (which I have to keep, if I want to drive and be a student), which means I have to resubmit all of my information to someone else. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Lemme rewind eight years.

I am 20. I am on an errand for work, which at that point, was Wolf Camera, where I was a senior lab tech. I get into a moderately bad car accidents (cuts, bruising, and a minor concussion) which left my Volvo about one hundred dollars from being totaled. The woman who hit me had signaled incorrectly while driving in a left turn only lane–leaving me to believe she’s gonna turn left–so I pulled out in a left turn and she hit me, going about 45 miles an hour, my drivers side door taking a majority of the impact. That Volvo was fuuuuuucked up–that steel beast of German engineering saved my life, for sure–and it looked like I should have been dead by the severity of body damage. Unfortunately, the accident was deemed My Fault. She was 45, maybe 50, also worked at the mall, and the cop took one look at my tattoos and pink hair and assigned blame to Me. Okay. Sure. Whatever. Too bad for me, I had been tardy in mailing my insurance payment a week previous, not knowing that insurance isn’t like my cable bill–if I’m a week late, I still get Bravo. So now I’ve been in an accident, uninsured. That was a bit of nasty business that plagued me for a while; I took the bus to work for about ten months, and relied on the generosity of friends and roommates to get me to and from Everywhere I Needed To Go That Wasn’t On A Bus Schedule. This entire time, my Volvo has been sitting, repaired, at a body shop…awaiting the cash flow to spring my car from the hock, and mustering up the nerve to drive again.

Nearly a full year after my accident, I had the funds to get the car back. I went and picked it up one early afternoon, giving myself two hours before work to go get it inspected. On my way to the Inspection Station (one block away from it, to be precise), I was pulled over by a cop. I tried to explain my situation to the cop, but I guess he gets cock and bull stories everyday about why vehicles aren’t insured or registered. He gave me not one, not two, but three tickets, where upon I learned that my license had been suspended, as well, for driving uninsured when I first got in the wreck. I had never received one piece of notification telling me this important detail. No official letter, no call from the insurance company, nothing. After getting my tickets, I’m shaken up and decide to turn around, go home, and get my roommate to give me a ride to work. I was, then, unaccustomed to Driving Without A License. On my way home, I am pulled over again. Now I’m going to be late for work, to ice the Cake of the Day. I admit, I got a little sassy with the officer when he started pulling the Stern Cop routine on me, and he ended up writing me three more tickets.

Me: “But I just got these same three tickets fifteen minutes ago! I already have to go to court for these same three things!”

Him: “Well, it’ll be convenient for you, then–you only have to go to court on the one day.”

Fast forward a month and some change. The car is inspected and registered, but my license is still suspended. I have saved money to go pay court costs, and I’m ready to deal with whatever they throw at me. I take the tickets out of my glove compartment to take with me to court the next day (June 10th, 2000–I remember this date), and I realize my court dates were on June 1st, not June 11th, as I thought. Now is where the fuckery begins. I panic. I become paranoid beyond belief, thinking that every knock on the door is the Cops, come to get me for my six charges of failure to appear. Failure to appear for Non Moving Violations, but still…I didn’t show up, and they frown upon that, apparently.

I start driving my car again, in the not too distant future, not being able to stomach the thought of riding the bus to work every day, with daylight hours getting shorter, and the cold and rain of winter approaching. So I drive. And I drive. And I drive for two more years without incident. My license still looks good, without computer checks…it had a couple of years left on the expiration date. I’m scared to tell my parents, and I don’t have the money to fix this costly little error. On the way back from Raleigh, Christmas Day 2002, I am pulled over again. By this time, I have been manufacturing my own registration stickers (the car was in my name, so Mom and I didn’t have the insurance deal we do now), and an observant cop spotted my forgery–he had some damn good eyes, because, at this point, I was working at a vinyl sign shop and my fakes were spot-on. I was on 1-40, right outside of Hillsboro, and I thought I was going to be arrested. AND I had my cat in the car. The cop was in the Christmas spirit (and presumably, after checking my record, and seeing no dangerous violations), he let me go with a ticket, but he Let Me Go. Told me to drive straight home, and to consider his generosity as one more Christmas present. The court date was a month and some change later.

The date approaches, I am petrified (still thinking I’ll be thrown in county for my six counts of failure to appear), I am broke, and I am having a hard time getting time off from work, and a ride to court, three hours away. So I don’t go. Again. This time, I did it willfully. Stupidly, but willfully.

Five years have passed since that Christmas, and I have driven thousands of miles without a drivers license. I drove to Arizona. I drove to Florida. I drove to Cape Cod. I have driven all over this state so many times, I think it would be difficult for me to get lost, anywhere. And every time I get behind the wheel of my car, most every day of my life for these past seven years, I think, I could get arrested today. I have lost more sleep and more energy by worrying about this problem than any other problem in my entire young-ish life. And now, as they say, The Jig Is Up.

I have kept this a secret because I was (am) deeply ashamed of my irresponsibility so far as matters of driving go. I could have avoided this entire saga if I had come clean, and asked for a bit of help, help that would have been willingly given, albeit with a bunch of lectures and disappointment, but I could have taken care of it, and closed the book on this particular Stupid Mistake. It is the last real remnant of my irresponsible young adult years–I am not that person anymore. I’m still bad with money, but I would do things SO differently, if I had it to do over. Do Over’s are a luxury we’re rarely afforded as humans, and now, this little misstep is going to run to the tune of 3 or 4 grand, plus a year without a license, after the fines are paid.

The only silver lining in this cloud is that the offenses were so long ago, and they were such minor infractions (non-violent, non-moving), that the statute of limitations has either just expired this past June, or will within the next year. The problem is, I still don’t have enough expendable income to fix it, (even if I could scrape together the money to hire a lawyer), and I don’t imagine being able to survive, gracefully, my last year of school without a car. Finding a ride home from the Paint Deck at four in the morning is no piece of cake. Of course, I CAN survive without a car, but it would be a rather severe complication to what will most assuredly be a strenuous, demanding, busy year.

I feel like a teenager again. All I can think is, Mom Is Gonna Kill Me.

Hom A Gen July 22, 2007

I have just returned from spending a weekend with my mom, in the small town where she was born, and where her mother (my grandma) was born. I have managed to avoid visiting the one place that could be rightfully called My Roots, and now I wonder why I stayed away so long. It was lovely.

My family has owned this farmland since before the Civil War. There are sprawling meadows, ponds full of geese and fish, and numerous outbuildings that bear witness to the fact that, once upon a time, this farm was all these people had to stay alive. It supported them, sustained them, and provided for them, as well as the community around them. There are five livable buildings on the property. One is a charming, smallish house that was built by my great-great grandfather, in the early 1860’s, right before the war struck; it has now been turned into the home office of my second cousin, a lawyer. The house I stayed in, referred to as The Big House, is where family reunions are held annually (and which I still have no interest in attending). The Big House is simply gorgeous; built immediately after the war ended, it has six bedrooms, two bathrooms (still fitted with the original porcelain…claw foot tubs and the likes), a kitchen that makes me wet it’s so gorgeous and perfectly functional, two sitting rooms, a dining room, a music room, a reading room, bookcases packed full of Good Literature every time you turn your head, and all of it is decorated with beautiful art, antique photographs of the family, or trinkets and regalia from the turn of the century. The front porch is a Proper Southern Veranda which overlooks acres of meadowland, dotted with deer and rabbits, blue birds, yellow birds, and more hummingbirds than I’ve ever seen in one place. It’s a perfect match to the idyllic visions I have of the Old South.

It was an almost overwhelming feeling, all this Personal History jumping out at me, left and right, everywhere I looked. Most of it was quaint and lovely, some of it was a reminder of the Ugly South—there were several outbuildings that have been refurbished for other uses (offices, artist studios, heavy equipment storage) but there was no mistaking the fact that they had once housed slaves. Although I prefer to think of my family as Genteel Southerners, the kind that preferred socializing to slavery, I have finally seen proof for myself that this was not always the case. It was eye-opening, to say the least.

I have always heard my grandmother’s stories about living out the Depression on their farm, and it is a joy and a privilege that I have finally seen the place of her childhood, and my mother’s, too, with my own two eyes.

Productive Insomnia July 20, 2007

At least I’m doing more than looking at porn and playing video games while I’m staying up til 5 in the mornin’.

2′x2′, acrylic/gouache/ink on canvas

Just Another Day on the LBC July 19, 2007

LBC is slang, created by my friend Dallas back when we were 18 and perpetually broke…meaning Low Budget Crew. Just another day on the Low Budget Crew. My mom stopped by this afternoon on her way to Virginia; we went to Whole Foods for lunch, and talked politics over sushi–I love our routines. Also, I get to cat-sit my own cat for five days, which is awesome!! I miss my Cleecloe Burrito!! She’s the softest, fluffiest, sweet and sour thang I’ve ever known.

In other news, I am nearly finished with my first installment in my Octopus series. Unfortunately, I have two more than I’ve been thinking about, so it looks like this may well qualify as an Artistic Phase, when it’s all said and done.

It is interesting to me, with each painting that I do, to be able to see improvements in my work. It bolsters my spirits that I’m actually learning something at Art School, other than how to integrate pot smoking into my career, and score with the ladies (or lady, as the case is). What I mean to say is, yes, I’m painting a highly stylized, cartoonish octopus that smokes cigarettes and plays a tiny guitar, but the interplay of shadow and life is probably more effective than any work I’ve done so far. This is good. I have never had a problem with line drawings…I can convey my ideas clearly with a pen or pencil, but it’s the shadows and highlights that have eluded me. I either pussyfoot around a highlight so it doesn’t really do it’s job, or I go so heavy handed that it’s more like an outline than a subtle reflection of cast light. Those habits are beginning to leave me, and I believe it has everything to do with paying attention to light source. That’s an important factor that I’ve kinda swept under the rug all these years. It also helps that one of my best friends in town is an amazingly gifted visual artist, and I draw on her style and technique for inspiration and tips to help me in my own work.

Artists that I am LOVING right now: Jeremy Fish, BANKSY, Mark Ryden and Sas Christian. All worth checking out if you’re bored at work and want to look at Odd and Pretty Things.

So this subletter…I have avoided the issue here because I wanted to make sure I really had an opinion about it before posting. She is obviously very used to Dorm Living–she’s the kind of roommate that keeps toilet paper in her bedroom instead of the bathroom. I understand being frugal and whatnot, but come on! TP is a holistically communal item, I feel. She sure didn’t have any reservations using all of mine, before resorting to her secret stash. Also, she pretty much lives in her room (D’s room). This is fine, but it’s a little strange. We are living in this huge, wonderful house, with many comfortable common areas, but I don’t EVER see her. Again, this is fine, but it makes me feel a bit strange to be living in the same house with someone and only see them as they come in and out of the door. She’s just turned 21, freshly, so when she comes in at night, she is always D-runk, always with the same line about how she probably shouldn’t have driven, and that’s she’s gotta go pass out. All of this is fine. Not my concern. HOWever, she leaves her vibrator on the bathroom floor. A lot. I could have lived forever without knowing that she prefers a German maker for her waterproof vibrator, or that there is a built-in French Tickler attachment on the head. Now, I understand the Shower Times when you’re living in a dorm room and can’t shut a door to steal some alone time with your hoo-ha, but I can’t fathom why, given the fact that she’s got a bedroom (bigger than mine, I might add) to do with, whatever she pleases, she still opts for the bathroom (to be quiet honest, I don’t even like to take baths in the tub–it’s always in a state of Almost Clean). I guess she saves the bedroom for her 40 year old boyfriend. Yep, she’s a ‘lesbian’ that’s currently dating a 40 year old man. It’s beyond me. One night she told me that her girlfriend was The One; a week later, she had dumped her for an unattractive man-child. Really, none of this, excepting the vibrator part, is what gets me. What bothers me is that her failed conversation starters have been questions such as, “What’s the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done?”, and “Where’s the most interesting place you’ve ever had sex?”, or “What was the best sexual experience of your life?”. These are all questions that even some of my closest friends don’t know the answers to, nor should they, in my opinion. Those are questions reserved for Lovers, in my book. I’m all for people sowing their wild oats and exploring their sexuality and answering their own questions (internally) about sexual likes and dislikes. Sexual adventures are thrilling and fun. But that’s not exactly my standard Getting To Know You method. I think that she has retreated to her room because none of her Sure Fire Conversation Starters have elicited anything other than the occasional ‘…uh…’ or the lengthy awkward silence. She is a nice person, I can say that, but she has a strange enthusiasm for other people’s interests that strikes me as false–she’s way too excited about what I’m doing, when she hardly knows what that is, exactly. I can honestly say I’m looking forward to D’s return. He might be a scrappy, loud, sometimes obnoxious boy, but at least he can carry on a good conversation on anything other than his sex life.

Also, I have had a surprising number of hits due to a Meredith Baxter Burney reference I made a couple weeks back. This is terrifying to me.

FYI July 18, 2007

Now, I’m not saying that it’s right, but I’m currently reading the leaked copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, not due to hit the shelves in the states for another four days. It was surprisingly easy to find. If you were so inclined, you might start the search by wondering to yourself, What Would Tyler Durden Do?

I feel like I’m doing something I shouldn’t. I wouldn’t have bought the book anyway; I would do what I’ve always done–wait for one of my friends to finish it, then borrow their copy. I’m too poor, being the first big factor, but I also can’t stomach the thought of waiting in line with the Witches and Wizards at the midnight release party.

J.K. Rowling, please forgive me. I’ve been a loyal fan, and I just couldn’t help myself when I heard it was available for download, for free, right now, tonight, when I needed something to read before going to sleep. She’s rich enough anyway, right?

Have no fear. I wouldn’t dream of posting even a whisper of a spoiler.

People Search for ‘Heath Ledger’ A Lot July 17, 2007

Wow. That brief Brokeback Mountain post got me 68 hits today, which is about 58 more than I generally get, in one day. I suppose I am naive about such things; I find it surprising that people will read some strangers blog if it so much as mentions one of those hotties. Whatever. I won’t lie. I’m happy that my Blog Stat Chart goes above 16 now.

So, I’m getting stir crazy. This is what my last two days have looked like: Wake up. Stay in bed reading for, at least, two hours. Wander down to the kitchen in my unders; search for food. Play on the internet. Lift weights to feel productive. Clean something. Try to write something worthwhile. Put a DVD on; paint until my back hurts (this usually entails two to three DVD’s). Go to bed. Look at free porn. Read some more. Sleep. Dream. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Granted, this is a life of leisure, I recognize that. But leisure really needs funding, and of that, I have none. If things continue in this vein for much longer, I’ll have a nice series of paintings that I can shop out to one of the coffee shops/bars/restaurants in the area. There’s that, at the very least. Although, I don’t know if there’s a Hot Market for octupi in surprising scenarios…I’m on this octopus kick…I don’t know why. I mean, why not? but they’re silly paintings. No one would ever call them fine art. Not that such a thing matters to me…I’m just trying to have fun for free.

Any good suggestions on free fun in Winston Salem? Anyone?

Grrrr!! July 16, 2007

I was supposed to start a paint job today, doing five drops for a Nutrcracker, and two drops for another show (something about trees…maybe we just have a lot of foliage to paint), but it’s been pushed back once again. This is frustrating. When the school year was drawing to a close, I was approached by the paint charge, and the designer, about painting for them this summer. The pay is good, the schedule is nice (10-6, M-F), and I’d be getting more practical experience while having fun–the Nutrcracker drops are gorgeous and whimsical—candy land, present land, winter wonderland, etc–but now that it’s been pushed back again, I’m in the awful position of needing a job desperately, and knowing that as soon as I get one, I’ll get a call saying the paint job starts in two days. So I’ve been sitting on my hands (or my ass, whatever) for a month and a half now since school got out, and the money is G.O.N.E. I am officially broke, and I don’t exactly know what to do. The paint job will pay me better than anything I would be able to find in town, but I need a job now. Not to mention that I’m getting antsy and bored (there’s only so much I can do in this town for free, and I’ve been in my house too much lately), I would expect a little bit more of a professional attitude from this designer. He’s a seasoned professional, and he knows that there’s a crew of us that have been waiting for this job to start, doing nothing in this city. Problem is, apparently, he wants to pick his own crew and his own schedule, which is negating the job of this woman whose charging the show. We’re all frustrated, she’s frustrated, he’s not even in town, and everyone is Poor with a Capital P. I don’t know what to do. If I get a job at the fucking Harris Teeter as their Produce Bitch, I’d just have to quit in two weeks when I go to meet Lovely Ladyfriend at her family’s lake house in Pennsylvania. If I got another job, and they actually let me out of work for those two weeks where I’ve already planned trips, I still wouldn’t make as much money, and then I’d have to quit when school started anyway. Lots of places around here that aren’t HT want someone permanent, and I’d hate to lie to them, have them train me, and then walk out in a month and a half, leaving them high and dry. I don’t know what to do, aside from what I’m doing; living on beans and cornbread, and re-watching all the DVD’s in my house as I paint ridiculous pictures of octopi in various amusing scenarios. If only I could find a buyer for my Mucha winter scene, all would be gravy. Damn.

A side note: I finally got around to watching Brokeback Mountain. I wasn’t as impressed as I thought I would be. Maybe I wasn’t in the right frame of mind when I watched it…I was really sleepy, and kinda chatting with the subletter (a whole ‘nother story), so the emotions didn’t leap off the screen, as I expected. I thought the performances were strong, certainly, but I didn’t really believe that Ellis was adequately upset when he learned of Jack’s death. I dunno…Heath Ledger didn’t sell me on his sadness at learning the news of the Love Of His Life’s death. Sure, sure, people react to death differently, and obviously his character was pretty emotionally shut off, anyway, but still…crying into Jack’s shirt was kind of touching, but it didn’t feel as poignant or tender as I had been lead to believe this movie might be. I suppose that’s the danger of waiting so long to watch a super-hyped up Gay Movie. Perhaps it’s the rebellious teenager in me…sometimes I find myself disliking something because so many people have told me I would love it. Whatever the case may be, I’m glad I’ve seen it now (I’m a Larry McMurtry fan, so it had to be done–he wrote Lonesome Dove, one of my favorites), but I won’t be rushing out to add it to my collection. Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger sure did look hot as cowboys, though. I can understand why the Gay Men love it so much.