February 03, 2004 :: 11:49 p.m.
lactose intolerance is simply not an option
I just had a quesadilla. Mmm, cheese and tortilla sandwich. I love cheese. Really, it's the best food ever. Cheese melted over anything makes it taste better. It's like a hard and fast rule. Except in the case of obviously clashing food groups, like cheese and ice cream products. Because cheddar melted over a scoop of Cherry Garcia would just be... nine kinds of wrong.
Someone in this house is smoking something. Unless my nose deceives me, it's a pipe. Which means that it's my dad doing the smoking. Hrm. I didn't know he really did that anymore. I remember him smoking a pipe for as long as my conscious memories go back, and even now the smell immediately makes me think of him. I like the way pipe smoke smells. It's kind of sweet, herby, not overly offensive. It doesn't smell nearly as toxic as cigarette smoke, even though I'm sure it is. And something about smoking a pipe is just light years cooler than smoking a cigarette. It's a frickin' pipe, man! Come on. It's all Masterpiece Theater. Sophisticated, intelligent old guys with thick white moustaches. Ancient, battered books. I would never smoke one myself, but I'll forever have an affinity for them, I think.
So, I seem to be having an art block. Kind of like writer's block, only... with drawing. I can't do anything I'm happy with. I have a few ideas, most of which don't really appeal to me, and the ones that do I can't seem to execute to my satisfaction. It's extremely frustrating. I want to apply to PCA&D sometime in early March if possible, but I still need to generate at least 4 or 5 GOOD works before then. Preferably color, and preferably, unfortunately, non-digital. I need to tear myself from the comforting bosom of Illustrator and get my hands dirty with real media again. And that, my friends, is scary as hell. I am not good with real media. My pencil drawings are hopelessly messy and always, always smudged like you wouldn't believe. My colored pencils are bland and boring. I can't make a decent picture with markers to save my life, despite knowing in theory how to. And it's like some scary nightmare world when I try to paint. It's just the most confidence-crushing experience in the universe, I swear to god. I've got... 6 portfolio-worthy things as of this moment. Well, five and a half. One of them is a pencil drawing that I didn't finish in class. And they're decent, I think, but that's not enough. And there's not a whole lot of variety. I was big into subtractive charcoal last semester, so three of the six are subtractive works. Variety is important. I am terrified. Please send help.
My writing, on the other hand, is coming along almost swimmingly. I started a new story last night, wrote about three pages of that, and then today I went back to a story that I started months ago during Creative Writing I. I never went very far with it, but I like how it started out. I've done nearly four new pages of that one today. The main problem I have with writing stories is that I never know where I'm going with them, so things get confused. I've tried to do outlines and stuff, but that's so... binding. I'd like to be able to just write along, making it up as I go. Which is pretty much what I've been doing. And it works out okay sometimes, but more often than not it just leaves me stalled and unsure of where to take things. Again, very frustrating. But things are going well as of now, so at least it's not a double-block. Ye gods, that would be horrendous. I'd be like a dried up seed pod, sad and alone with all of my goodness gone missing.
In BookWorm news, I got up to level 22 today, the highest I've ever been. "Vocabulist," they call it. My downfall was a burning J. Alas. Try, try again.
Adam and I watched American Idol tonight. Let us never speak of it again.
So I've got this whole mismatched earring thing going on, since the screw-on ball from my other horseshoe took a tragic trip down the drain (that'll teach me to take out the hair-catcher thing!). It's kind of pathetic. I only own two pairs of earring, the horseshoes and the studs they were pierced with. So I have one horseshoe and one stud. I think it's a testament to how un-girly I am that I pay such little attention to things. I've almost forgotten about it, really. I do need to do something about the situation now that I've got it back in my mind, though. Unfortunately I am too po' to purchase another horseshoe, or any earrings for that matter, so... I don't know. Maybe I'll fashion a matched set out of paperclips and call myself "punk."
Or, you know, not. Anyway, I'm off to read some Michael Moore and send energy charged with horrible death and massive defeat in the general direction of George W. Bush. Ta.
back & forth
Wait, there's more!
I like pina coladas - March 30, 2005
must... finish... projects... - March 22, 2005
Mr. Postman delivers the good stuff - March 18, 2005
when everything is bad - March 16, 2005
of fruits and menstruation - March 15, 2005