Enjoy Your Thursday

Tomorrow is the final day of classes and I'm sure there are plenty of people already celebrating. Maybe even me... As I browsed through one of my favorite websites Do512, something caught my attention. Everyone knows that Thursday nights on Sixth Street are college nights which means one thing: amazing drink specials. Barcelona, a favorite club of mine, partakes in this thirst quenching phenomenon. The first time you go to Barcelona, you realize it is an oasis among the clutter of bars, many of which are seemingly identical (to a seasoned Sixth St. go-er, this is probably debatable). Tiny but unmistakable, the entrance to the club leads down a flight of stars into a well dressed bunker. The first thing you see is the DJ, the person responsible for the beats reverberating through the concrete walls and pouring into your ears. Further into the club are gauzy sheets hiding seating areas and on either side of the small club are plush booths, where I've seen groups enjoying a hookah. To your left, there is bar and this is the place to be because there are $2 wells and $3 Jaeger on Thursday nights. That's a price that you have to be careful of. The decor is very urban, with artwork on the brick walls but overall, the club is hip in an unpretentious way. I've seen young professionals dancing to dub reggae in their white collars, girls dressed to the nines in spike heels, and dreadlocked hippie types among others. Tonight is dance and hip-hop night, and promises a good time.

Daniel Radcliffe on Nudity

Everyone who said Daniel Radcliffe would be typecast after Harry Potter didn't know that he had other plans. The 19 year old English actor stayed busy in the acting world, making it a point to have an identity outside of Hogwarts. In February of 2007, Radcliffe fulfilled every creepy Potter fanatic's fantasy when he dared to bare all in Thea Sharrock's production of "Equus." His performance was well-received and impressed critics. But I have to admit, there's something slightly unsettling about imagining the tiny bespectacled vulnerable Potter as a man, a nude one at that. I did a double take after catching a piece of a commercial for A&E's Inside the Actor's Studio with Radcliffe, where he admitted fearing that he might get an erection on stage. It was, of course, the perfect soundbyte to get anyone's attention. In reality, after checking out the interview in full, I found out that Radcliffe was making a hilarious observation about the disappointing appearance of certain parts of his, and that it may work to his benefit to have such an embarrassing thing to happen. Currently, Radcliffe is working on the next Potter movie, Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince which should be released in the summer of next year. It is rumored he will be doing the naked thing again for a scene in this chapter.

Here's a clip of the interview with Radcliffe that aired on A&E on November 25th:

Tina Fey named one of the Top Entertainers of 2008

Entertainment Weekly has counted the votes and the result is unanimous. Tina Fey, with her slanted smile and comedic smarts, is at the top of the list of awesome entertainers for 2008. Fey is infallible. Her work on 30 Rock, a critically acclaimed sitcom, received three Emmy awards this year. The show alone, a situational comedy with wacky digressions and colorful, characters proves that her talent tops the league of TV writers. I mean, c'mon, this woman endeared Sarah Palin to America, with her spot on impersonation of the clueless politician--the tight smile and nasally midwestern accent. That didn't help Palin's chances at all, but Fey managed to impersonate the former-beauty-queen-turned-governor with a lot of class. She also signed a book deal with Little, Brown Book Group this past October said to be worth 5 million dollars. Obviously, Fey had this one in the bag. To be named one of EW's top entertainers is the least of her accomplishments.

Kim of the Real Housewives of Atlanta is Destroyed on the Reunion Show

The BravoTV machine has been cranking out money-made celebrities with their drama-filled, addictive series "The Real Housewives." Kim Zolciak, the Barbie blonde, chain-smoking star of the Atlanta version provided the flaw addled keystone on which the entertaining, trash-talking reunion showed relied on. It was no surprise. Zolciak is an easy target with her larger than life plasticized shiny weave, her aspirations of becoming a country music star with vocal chords that burn from twenty cigarettes a day, and the mystery behind her benefactor, a supposedly married man.
In response to the attacks made on her hair, she pointed to a past illness she linked with cancer, but later admitted that it was not actually cancer. She did not, however, explain why a hair piece that screams fake would be a attractive alternative to a more modest hairpiece. Viewers reveled in the embarrassing scenes where Kim in the studio with producer Dallas Austin heard her husky cigarette cracked voice in her ear clear as a bell. And she was stunned that she could not carry a tune. Stunned but not completely discouraged. Her relationship with "Big Papa," the enigmatic man-friend who sponsors Kim's Dior and diamond addictions doesn't do much to improve her reputation. When Nene Leakes, the most unashamedly outspoken housewife, spat that Zolciak was a hooker, it rang out all too true. By the end of the show, although fully amused, I wondered how someone like Zolciak will manage to recover from a nation-wide verbal throttling as many viewers comments/insults were included.

But Season Two is in the works and Zociak made it a point to mention that her single is due out January 2009 and her album shortly after. Anyone who heard Kim in the studio knows that she must have endured thirty hours of voice coaching a week to make it work. What's more probable is that her producer did some million dollar magic to turn the pitch-less sliver of a voice into a full-fledged instrument to be showcased in an album. Assuredly more embarrassments, disappointments, and ugly scenes are on the way. I, for one, will be there enjoy it.

Five Entertainment Trends

1. Adding another sparkling new reality series "First Class All the Way" to the bunch of shows about rich people spending boatloads of money, BravoTV has yet again tapped into the worst of their viewers' sensibilities: a desperate, drooling envy.
2. Thanks to the vigor of their promotional team, Scion has become popular among young people for more than just their design-it-yourself, slick-looking cars. They have joined up with the hip, still undergroundish magazine, Vice, to throw free shows and film showings in major cities around the US, including Austin.
3. In the ashes of the X'ed out raver scene, techno was born again wearing American Apparel and quirky, neon green sunglasses. A flood of DJs from Los Angeles and Europe are resurrecting electronic dance music and drowning the well-dressed masses in it its addictive and glamorous sheen.
4.It's going to be hilarious. Vince Vaughn plays a cynical, foul-mouthed still adorable kinda guy and his love interest is (insert name of lovable actress here). But something comes between them. Their families are absolutely nuts and Vince gets sprayed with vomit, or gets kicked in the groin or... wait, haven't I seen this movie before? The formulaic romantic comedy is going strong and here to stay. (And so are Mr. Vaughn's fat paychecks.)
5. Part of "being green" is not just about fuel efficiency but knowing what you eat. New restaurants proclaim organic, all natural meals and ingredients. But do they actually qualify?

St. Ed's Homepage All Sorts of Messed Up

I noticed a couple of weeks ago that St. Edward's had changed the picture on their homepage. I realize it's important that they update consistently, to show students, parents, and alumni what's new and what's happening on campus. Usually the pictures are of smiling students, some of them recognizable (which never surprises me--it is a tiny campus), sitting on a grassy patch, you know, just learning to think, mouths open in broad smiles.

So why does the new picture on their homepage look like a scene from a Lifetime movie?? A naive students falls into a dangerous relationship with her Chemistry teacher. Is it just lust or can their love survive against all odds?


Thanks to the myriad of courses I've taken that have forced me to wear an analytical lens, I can say that this picture is rhetorically wrong in so so many ways.
Who is the young woman and what exactly is she saying with her eyes to her professor? Look closely. Her dark eyes are half lidded, thickly lined and she could be listening attentively, sure, but I think her face says other things. And that's not just me being perverse! The point is, we're left to figure it out for ourselves because there's nothing, not even a caption to put this scene into context. Are these two learning to think or learning to do something else?

And, what does the Homecoming, which I would suppose may be the context of this picture (??) have to do with the scene. Wouldn't it be more effective to emphasize the fact that Homecoming is approaching with a picture of the past Homecoming?

Seeing a group of toothy students enjoying the lawn never gave me problems. I suggest the next time St. Ed's updates their page, the person in charge gets a second opinion before putting up a picture that has people wondering...

Leftover Crack @ Fun Fun Fun Fest

I had been jonesing to see a good hair-thrashing, fist-raising punk rock show for a while. So when I joined the large crowd that gathered before Leftover Crack at FunFunFun Fest, my eyes watered with joy as I watched Stza Crack, the archetypal punk, swig from a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label in between songs, as he spewed anarchist principles (F**K the government, F**K the police, F**K Texas!) Half-full beer cans flew in sporadic arches as Stza and his band mates sang, their shrieks tearing into the souls of pious punk fans as their ska-punk tunes made the entire crowd bounce. Brief interludes gave the skinny, tattooed Stza time to reminisce on the past, his former drug habit and of his recent clash with the cops. (Earlier this year, Stza was arrested during one of their shows in their stomping grounds of New York for throwing an entire box of donuts at the police.) Although Leftover Crack’s profound animosity toward the police may be their least articulate point with catchy anthems like "One Dead Cop," Leftover Crack has been a radical voice for nearly two decades with its message of utter anarchy meshed with commentary of social injustice. Stza gabbed candidly with the crowd, making it no secret that he was planning on getting sloshed during the show and also that he had some beef with the apparently homophobic HR of the much-revered Bad Brains. How characteristic of Mr. Crack to undermine one of the punk rock gods, when other bands that appeared on stage that day sang praises. Despite the raucous punks and the hard aerial objects overhead, the energy Leftover Crack invested into each of their songs made this one of the most personable, intimate shows I have seen yet. It was, without a doubt, the perfect punk rock fix.

Fun Fun Fun Fest Vignettes

Four o' clock on a sunny Saturday, I was standing smack dab in the middle of Austin at Waterloo Park watching Octopus Project plug in guitars and Korg keyboards, arranging the tall, sheet covered ghosts that hovered behind them. As my sister and I speculated whether or not the cartoonish, happy boxes were robots, the drummer kicked off the first song and an intricate melody sprang to life. Having never seen the Octopus Project live, I was immediately impressed by the way the group intertwined all sounds-- the brash guitar, the dreamlike chime of the keyboard, the pleasurably incessant drum machine and the unfiltered energy of the drummer. When Yvonne brought out the theremin, an instrument you can play without touching, I was sold. The players embodied a constant, cheerful energy, constantly switching instruments, showing the extent of their musicianship . At the climax of the show, when the ghosts suddenly jumped to life, swaying and bouncing their little boxy heads to the beats, I was sure that for the Octopus Project, I would hide under a sheet for twenty minutes just to be on stage with them. The thoughts one has while drunk on an aurally stimulating experience.

A tiny segment I videotaped of Yvonne playing the theremin:

Barack Obama Elected President

A collective sigh of relief ensues.

Anxiety ate at me all day, and unlike many people who were able to sit in front of the TV and track the votes, I couldn't be too concerned what with a paper to work on, readings to do, and work.

A half-hour after I got home, my sister yelled to me as I was in my bedroom changing that Obama had won. His face was on television, underneath a caption that read "Obama Elected President." It was all over, simple as that. In some ways it was anti-climatic, but in an entirely, worry-free perfect kind of way. Strange how historic moments can slide right by if you don't stop to actually think about it.

Now he can sleep for ten days straight. Imagine the toll a campaign takes on the human body, the mind, the nerves. He'll need lots of rest for the ugly mess that awaits him.

In Anticipation of Election Day

My professor mentioned this morning that approximately 30% of registered voters in Travis County have already voted, a statistic that gave me pleasurable glimmer of hope. According to the Austin American Statesmen, 440,000 voters were expected to vote early. This estimate takes into account the growing number of early voters seen in the past two elections. In 2000, 47 % of registered votes cast their ballots early. Four years later, the number rose almost 20%. It's no surprise that they've reasoned that at least 50% of Travis County voters will have already voted by election day, if not more.

So I think Brother Perron got it wrong. That number just has to be bigger.

What's better is that already 20 million people have voted nationwide and most of these votes are cast for Democratic candidate, Barack Obama. Austin, a city known as the oasis of blue in a desert of red, must reflect that trend. In other words, the majority of ballots that have already been cast in Travis County were no doubt for Obama, a result of his imploring voters to vote early during his campaign.

Obama played his cards right. I only hope that hiccups in the voting process won't lead to a deeply disappointing surprise when all is counted, said and done.

I decided to vote on Halloween, down the street from St. Edward's at the Texas Juvenile Probation Commission off of S. Congress. Even though I had to wait in line to change my address and left without even being offered one of those sweet "I voted" stickers, I was still glowing.

Owen Egerton's Annual Halloween Bash

Opting out of observing downtown debauchery and drunkenness, I decided to hit up the S. Lamar Alamo Drafthouse for "Owen Egerton's 4th Annual Halloween 4 Bash." I figured
1)If Egerton has anything to do with this showing, it will be hilarious. (As an improvisational comedian, writer, and fixture at the Alamo Drafthouse, Egerton makes his living making people laugh.)
2) The costume contest and free candy promised to provide my Halloween fix. 
3) There's nothing better than watching a laughably bad movie and being able to make fun of it while you watch it---hopefully while you are half-drunk.

I was delighted to see a line of people waiting outside the theater dressed to the nines in store bought and homemade designs. It made me feel less weird for looking like Stevie Nicks in a black wispy number I scored from the clearance rack at the Megaplexxx. It was supposed to be a sexy witch costume, but in reality was the only halfway modest costume I could find in the store.

Standing in front of us were a well-dressed matador and his bull, a girl with two grand papier mache horns arched around her face, draped with ivory beads and small flowers. Behind us I spied an alien with plastic toxic green hair and huge, shiny gold sunglasses and down the line I saw spitting images of the Republican presidential candidates. I evaluated my crew: a panda, a leather daddy, and a cowboy. We weren't winning any contests that night.

We filed into the theater and took our seats. As the Alamo Drafthouse website had mentioned, there was indeed a "live stalker" in our midst. A putty-faced Michael Myers meandered around, glinting the light of a huge silver kitchen knife on the faces of innocent onlookers. Egerton, dressed in a little kid's polka-dotted clown costume (probably creepier than the movie itself) pelted the audience with Tootsie rolls before running to the front to introduce the movie. Egerton likes the movie. He revealed the strange, illogical timeline that has Michael Myers returning from the dead, time and time again persevering through full-body explosions and barrages of bullets. Halloween 4 was different though, he claimed. It was better than you expected.

This statement proved to false. And it was a tragedy that Egerton didn't indulge us with much more than his own perspective of the movie remarking that it was a social commentary while still being completely ridiculous. My attention wandered thanks to the predictable screenwriting and I still only have a shady understanding of the movie. We walked out of the film feeling unfulfilled except for the buttery popcorn that lined our bellies.

Things could have turned around. Live Oak Brewery was sponsoring the event, and so there was a free keg of cold, tasty beer awaiting the Halloween 4 Bashers at Sinsations, an adult boutique off of S. 1st Street. Apparently, the plan was to drink free beer while surrounded by rubber sex toys and swings. Besides what I could see on the movie covers, not much action was going on and the place emptied quickly. Perhaps if Egerton had led us in a game of Dildo Ring Toss (which was set up on a table in a enticing multi-colored spectacle), or offered another source of diversion, the party could have carried on. Instead, after enjoying a free beer, we left with the disconcerting familiarity of every single rubber whatsit that was hanging on the bare walls.

Prickly Pears vs. Pele's Envy Saturday Oct. 25th

I am such a wuss. Always have been. Probably always will be.
My fear of competitive sports resulted in my quitting swimteam when I was twelve. My abandonment of my favorite sport, soccer, came later. The anxiety would transform my stomach in a tumultuous sickness during the ride to the games. I'd sit in my seat praying that the clear sunny day would take a miraculous turn for the worse, that the sky would cloud up and rain the fields muddy and useless. I was a complete and utter wimp.

Only recently have I found enjoyment from competitive sports. For two seasons, I've been playing on a Division V co-ed soccer team for a league in Austin. It's the lowest division. There's no real pressure, no practice even (although we could definitely use it). This is the kind of atmosphere I like to play in. The game last Saturday gave me a much different feeling.

Perhaps it was because we were playing our rivals, Pele's Envy. This team brings a very egotistical attitude onto the field with them. Go figure. Normally, our games carry on with a few falls, maybe a yellow card from a loudmouth who can't shut up. But what transpired on that sunny Saturday were animosity injected tackles and a desperate effort to annihilate the pride of the opposing team. It began when they argued every call, or lack of call. It was either "Offsides!?" or "Offsides!!" At a certain point, the referee had to remind a player or two that he was the one making the calls.
With each jumble of legs and locked knees, there was a growing sense of purpose. Grudges formed. That girl is not getting past me again, I vowed. I'll have her on the ground before that happens. As one of our half-backs, George, and one of their fullbacks raced towards the corner of the field fighting to gain possession of the ball, tensions rose. The fullback forced George to stumble. What could have been a common, accidental consequence of two people sprinting for the ball, had George screaming a profanity that rang out across six fields (it's a good thing children weren't playing next to us, as usual). In a moment of unfounded male aggression, he threatened to beat the crap out of the other player after the game.
Even though all of this pointless behavior-- the grudges, the snide back and forths, the complete dissolution of 'it's only a game' state of mind-- the sense of urgeny to ruin the other team had an exciting effect that everyone felt.
Suddenly, I was running faster, meeting the balls with better, more decisive kicks, trying to throw elbows in subtle, disabling jabs. One of our occasional players, an optimisitic, smiley guy named Ollie was ruthless, and rude on the field. After each flourished fall (to which one of the opposing team members commented on his Academy award winning performance), he'd get back up and demand that the person who kicked him in the shin man up. "That's dirty," he'd say loud enough for everyone to hear, shaking his head. "Dirrrty... dirrrrty..."

The anti-climatic and sad truth is that...well, we lost. The first half was our Achilles heel, our defense was lacking and two shots flew past the goal. While our offensive managed to muster up one goal in the second half, the game was done before we could achieve the victory we knew we deserved. I have to say though that for all of the dumb, meanspritied shenanigans that occured onfield, I was enlightened that day. For once, my wimpy, "everyone should win" sports mentality changed. For once, damnit, I felt that competitive, ruinous rage, and I relished it.

French Kicks--"Swimming"

The Brooklyn-bred French Kicks hit sweet waves with their fourth full-length album “Swimming,” a collection of fourteen tracks that ring in your head long after they are over. Diverging from their garage rock roots and giving their mod-pop a more effervescent flavor, “Swimming” is what lead singer and drummer Nick Stumpf believes to be “by far the closest we’ve come to getting the sound we wanted." It's easy to tell.

The opening track "Abandon" proves the band can still strike up intriguing momentum with simple percussion. Stumpf's voice resonates, his smooth, delightful whine melting into a soaring harmony with band mates Lawrence Stumpf, Josh Wise, and Aaron Thurston. Songs like "Sex Tourists and "Said So What," are evocative of more innocent times. The quality of the tracks, a conscious or unconscious production choice, creates the impression that the songs are encased within gym walls, invoking chaste prom nights and naive lovers. The tune of "Said So What" dances to a gentle swinging chorus complemented by airy percussion. Wise's bell-like vocals endears this ballad to romantics with its hook "Why tell me why/I don't know." With relaxed lyrics and a flowing arrangement, "Love in the Ruins" embodies the band's desire for a more plush pop sound. The plucking of a ukulele accompanied by a bass line that undulates in rare bounces begins the tune. As Stumpf's lyrics dissolve into the background, the lackadaisical chorus returns like waves on a beach, the repetition reaching a level of indulgence not often shown by mature bands.

Produced and mixed entirely on their own, French Kicks achieve with Swimming a subtly upbeat sound that begs to be listened to with eyes closed. Their lush melodies and joyful harmonies leave me anticipating the next evolvement in their almost decade-old music-making career.

the Haunted House of Torment (Part II)

I found myself standing in front of the Haunted House of Torment, a gray faced killer at my heels, wielding a chainsaw, realizing just how serious the actors inside would be. I could smell the gasoline of the motor, for heaven's sakes.
I had never ventured inside of a place designed to scare people and like most people, don't prefer to be scared/uncomfortable/surprised.

My brain reasoned with me like one would with small child:
'It will only be actors in masks and makeup. They will jump and scream and try to scare you but they aren't real.'
My neurosis/tendency towards irrational emotions knew better.
'This is going to be horrible. One scare and your heart will jump out of your chest and beat in circles until it dies at your feet!"

It didn't matter. I had to go in. Honestly, those fifteen minutes were absolutely terrible. But in hindsight, I wondered: When is it ever okay to scream yourself hoarse for fifteen minutes straight without people running to your aid or asking you to shut up?

Once outside, exhilarated and a bit raspy, I had to admit that screaming the whole time had to be the most amazingly fun thing ever.

I must say my performance in the haunted house probably made me into a loathsome character.One step into the dark foyer and I was already crying out, seeing shadows jumping from the corners. As the line wound into each room, my mouth was open, a half laugh half cry pouring out. I was louder than everyone, even the actors and I started to sense their annoyance. With each "There! Something's going to pop out from there!", I went about completely ruining each ugly surprise, rendering every guttural moan anti-climatic, a waste of breath.

Huh. All in a day's work.

XL about The Haunted House of Torment, Published in the Austin-American Statesman

The clunk of the heavy exit door as it closed behind me was heaven sent. After being mentally pummeled and provoked for 30 minutes, the Haunted House of Torment finally vomited me back into the real world. We quickly rejoined the rest of the group, checking to see if everyone made it out alive and with dry pants intact. At the suggestion of a group photo, we arranged ourselves dazedly before the gargoyle statue at the front. I didn’t even have time to flash my cheesy smile before the picture had been taken. As we stood awkwardly waiting for the next flash, a high pitched screeching noise exploded from behind us. Everyone turned to see the gigantic gargoyle lurch to life above our heads, flapping its long, ripped wings in all of its animatronic glory, threatening to clobber the taller people in the group. I stumbled back, losing my balance and stepped on someone’s toe in the process. Fed up and a little more than disoriented, I speed-walked to the car.

Obama and McCain Presidential Debate October 15th, 2008

Obama and McCain went head to head Wednesday night answering question regarding the horrible economic catastrophe and finally making statements about their specific plans.

I haven't yet subscribed to the Obama email letter, slapped his face on my bumper, yelled it out loud and proud but this debate set it in stone for me. He has my vote.
He won. And here's why:
+ Whereas McCain responded to every issue by pointing a finger at Obama (how he voted, how he's going to increase taxes, what he did wrong), Obama responded to the question by giving the viewers background. For example, in regards to the question about how the bailout was going to affect everyone, the senator gave a very careful, precise explanation of what exactly was going on. What were the mechanics of this billion dollar bailout and why was it proposed. He explained how it had happened, how these Wallstreet companies were handing out loans right and left and there was no regulations in place (as a result of a steady de-regulation process, as advocated by McCain) to stop them from doing this.

I think the most important fundamental difference about these two, though this may be seen as superficial rhetorical devices, are the fact that they made their points clear about the roles of government.

How are we going to fix the American economy?
McCain's answer (more or less): "We're Americans. We can solve these problems together."
Obama's answer: "This problem requires leadership from Washington."

We are the public. Yes, this is a democracy but the President is the person whom we should be able to trust to prevent and solve our problems before they become national catastrophes.
We trust that the leadership of this enlightened person, this member of society who feels strongly that our national policies should change and be reformed will make wise, ethically astute decisions on behalf of all of us.

Austin American Statesman Adventure

Around 2:30pm on Tuesday afternoon I entered the doors of the Austin American Stateman and sat down to wait for my professor and well-known social columnist, Michael Barnes. The design of the building is a bit trippy. Angular, askew. It always seemed like I was walking into a corner.

Once Barnes arrived, we took the elevator up and entered the newsroom, an open area full of desks, Macs, and newswriters. Everyone was busy. I rubbernecked past every desk, wanting to catch a glimpse of what these people were working on whether it was designing, chunking and organizing information, talking to important contacts ("...turkey on wheat, no mayo and lots of mustard), and revising the good old fashioned way--with a pen, paper, scratchouts, and arrows. The vibe wasn't as frenetic as I expected. I had imagined people running between desks hurriedly, talking seriously, writing a mile a minute, maybe even yelling at each other. Who knows why my imagined model of a newsroom mirrored the Washington Post during Watergate, but it did.

Needless to say, I felt perfectly comfortable in the lax environment and Barnes made me feel at home and less like a pimpled teenager seeing people do what I want to do when I grow up. So he sat at his computer and I sat on a desk and we got down to business.

He replied to emails and I opened this guy's mail. As a former entertainment editor, Michael recieves tons of free music from random record companies. So here I am, this person who only ever recieves bills and paychecks in the mail, tearing open package after package, each one containing a new, shiny album, DVD, VIP invitation, or doodads for your wine glass, or whatever---point is: FREE STUFF. It was the best christmas ever. I even got Billy Bob Thorton's Christmas album! Well, I received it. Michael is the lucky one who gets to keep this stuff.

But I digress. After he checked a week's worth of emails, we walked to the printing room. He pointed out the new vertical printing presses that are worth some millions of dollars and are specialty equipment exclusively made in places like Germany and Switzerland. These machines were massive, stretching the length of ... I don't know, a football field. I don't remember too clearly. Frankly, these monster machines freak me out. I wash my hands of it.

The experience was refreshing. Finally, I could concretize the idea of a career in journalism. And it didn't seem impossible. These people in the newsroom--they looked like you and me. I looked around and thought, "This would be a great place to work."

Plus, there are candy bowls everywhere.

The Woes of Fruitless Talent

I don't see why artists can't make a living doing what they are good at.

I have two friends, young artists, who are the parents of a beautiful, fat baby named Teddy.

Last night we talked about a watercolor Troy was in the process of making, a swirl composed of tiny penciled circles. There must have been at least 1,000 on that piece of paper. He was just beginning the task of coloring each dot, designing the scheme of the piece. Troy has great artwork. It's modern with an appreciation for automatic decoration, spontaneous ink lines that look like foreign languages and calligraphy.

To be honest, I'm surprised that these two young people can provide for themselves and their babe with the money gained from their creations.

I reminded Troy that writers and artists share the same struggle. There's just not enough money, or guaranteed income at that, for one's talent/love to become one's livelihood. Too many people with creative endeavors work day jobs, their talents only complementing their lifestyles. And this isn't a terribly bad thing; people can be happy either way. My point is artists should be able to create art, and there should exist a big enough market for that art so that people can  support their families.

Troy's getting into the t-shirt business. He said he can put an original design on a t-shirt and sell it in a boutique for forty dollars a piece. Wearable art. Way cool. Yet I can't help but lament the fact that there are bare walls in the bedrooms and living rooms of so many and unsold pictures, painting and drawings sitting stale, collecting dust in dark closets.

It's time to tear down your posters. Support your local art scene and put up your friends' drawings.

Season Finale Project Runway

Now that I've decided to own my Project Runway obsession, I think this is an opportune time to discuss the season finale, during which the final three contestants will be giving all they've got in Bryant Park for Fasion Week.

Part I of the Season Finale had viewers a bit perplexed over the judges' decision to pull the plug on Jerell's designing dreams. It seemed that Kenley's defensive schoolyard attitude and backtalk wasn't enough to deter the judges from praising her wedding dress, a fantastical feathery McQueen knockoff. It is a nice look...for the prima ballerina in Swan Lake maybe. Perhaps even more confusing was Korto's out of character misjudgement with her "overworked" and "overlabored" papery wedding gown. Her simple bride's maid dress, a halter top with a pleated skirt, did not impress the judges or her fellow designers. It was LeAnne's wedding dress that shined among the rest for its originality and flawlessness. Her architectural take on waves produced a "modern" garment that looked like two chefs hats stacked on top of each other. Really though, it was an impressive garment although I can't see any woman wanting to walk down the aisle looking like a person sized wedding cake.

A series is never interesting unless there is a twist. Jerell's elimination showed that Kenley's abrasive, tough girl attitude not only was overlooked by the judges, but managed to intrigue them. But as long Korto keeps her collection simple and definitive, and LeAnne continues to contruct wearable sculpture, I don't think Kenley's peppy fifties style will be able to hold its own.

Don't leave alcohol near your pumpkins...

Ah ha ha.... Just for a laugh. Halloween is a tricky time of year. It's a sad time for kids too grown to trick or treat, for teenagers too mature to wreak havoc, and for parents too tired to keep glueing sequins to garbage bags, throwing together a last minute costume for one night of the year.

I think that we are starting to resemble the parents more than the others. Putting together costumes is all about using what you already got.
"I guess I'll just wear my hair down and carry around a bottle of Jack Daniels. I'll be Janis Joplin."(appear to be drunk too, it's more convincing)
"I guess I'll strap down my chest and wear a sock. I'll be a dude." (stuff a bra, wear some read lipstick, and you're a chick)
"I picked up some face paint. I'll just paint myself silver and be an alien."

You know, this is why I'm appreciative of costume ideas that have you standing in the corner of the party, silver paint sweat stinging your eyeballs, going "Why didn't I think of that?"