christmas flavored haikus.

check 'em out on the haiku hotspot!

(fun with ms paint.)

Twas the Day Before The Day Before Christmas

AT: a christmas story by Will and Andrew (via g-chat):
WY: twas the day before the day before christmas and all through the
AT: shopping malls, city courthouses, and trailer parks
WY: there wasn't a creature not buying, not even a
AT: louse…or a laotion
WY: heheheheh
AT: went the louse. muahahahaa went the
WY: exterminator pulling off wings of a little
AT: angel, who, in consideration of political correctness are called
WY: afterlife windings. Me in my robe and wizard hat, I called to see what was the matter with
AT: leroy the half-human cat.
WY: he had way too much eggnog and shots of
AT: pure poison. leroy jumped up, leroy sat down, but much to my chagrin, leroy simply would not
WY: f-ing die (I hated that little bastard). So I arose such a clatter when I grabbed a
AT: pinch of the latter. I would soon send leroy the half-man half feline to thoughts of nothing dancing in his mind. Away to the window, and in to some trash, he
WY: "fell" head-first about 9 stories, oh what a splatter! Now done with ol' leroy, who next should I meet? Why Santa, of course with
AT: those bitch-tits. How crass of me, I meant to say teat. What great timing, how gay! Here comes Satan now on his impossible sleigh. All his reindeer snarled and stared. I read each nameplate and glared: Dasher, Schlomo,
WY: prancer, dancer (I hear he's a homo!). The raindeer were fierce and smelled quite ripe. I said to Santa "Hey you jolly old elf, what've you got in that pipe?" Santa took another drag and said with a smile
AT: "Son, do you want a hit or should I put it out for a while?" I was taken a back, but it only made sense that old saint Nick was high on earth's incense. I put down my weapon and
WY: took up the thing, had a big hit and puffed out a ring. "Something's gone funny, my vision's not too keen." Santa replied, "Well, of course, I spiked it with methamphetamine!" I felt pretty ill, said "Santa, that's awful, please hand me a beer" He replied, "Well, you've got to do something when you only come once per year". I thought it quite crass, but Santa jumped up and
AT: mounted rudolph, the red-light reindeer. Rubbing my eyes, i squinted and squirmed not believing what I had seen, but santa and his antlered beast were entangled in an orgiastic scene
WY: rudolph let out a cry as Santa's sac got rudolph in the eye. Mrs. Claus came out,bedecked in bondage gear and a big lump of coal, I didn't need that going into my holes! I jumped up and ran for the door but just then
AT: an elf sprung from her bosom and knocked me to the floor. Remembering what elvish i learned from Lord of The Rings, I said what I thought was "stop or i'll knee you in the head." Unfortunately, my dwarf tongue was rusty, and I ended up calling the little guy "
WY: a little punk bitch" He found my slip up a bit of a faux pas and decided to kick me square in the balls. I let out a whoop and with a tear in my eye
AT: , I saw my entire life flash by. As my biography fast-forwarded to me on my knees, I looked over at Santa on Rudolph, on Don(d/n)er, on Blitzen, who would have known, that Santa had such a beastiality fixin'. I had to get out, I had to escape, so I belted out from my belly a dreadful scream and hollered "
WY: Stop, this is rape!" They wondered how I could've yelled through my gag, but I made it out with my bag. The bag full of
AT: what? you ask. Some say it was magical potion, others say it was Jergens body lotion, but i and only i know the truth, the contents of that bag were
WY: live squid, right from the ocean
I felt around in my bag for the squish fellows, threw it at Santa and out he bellows, "Oh, boy more suckers, I can't wait to try!" I turned to the door and let out the cry:
AT: "Suckers, yes, suckers, suckers nice try! Santa, you bearded old hick, these here are squid and you've swallowed enough ink to be used as a Bic." I say this now, as I am not writing this tale with a pencil, instead i am using father christmas' corpse as a writing utensil.
(the end?)
WY: THE END

story time with will!

Another G-Chat unleashed upon the world. Anyone want to publish these? Takers? Takers? I didn't think so. This is madness. Stay tuned for a Christmas version later today.

AT: harvey beanbag
WY: was the most beautiful of all the
AT: animal scrotums. to be specific,
WY: even though he looked like beef jerky caught in a jean-jacket-zipper, harvey had that certain je ne sais quoi, that certain "something french", I don't know, but I was certain that Harvey
AT: Oswald, Lee would have assassinated him based on his looks alone.
WY: Which were, frankly, just the worst I had seen since
AT: Cindy Crawford's beauty mark morphed in to an anus. An Anus!!! right there on that supermodel face. I was so shocked I jumped
WY: like a bunch of kids after throwing thirty seven pounds of ground meat on a landmine in the middle of
AT: the equestrian festival, lovingly called
WY: St. Peter Blasten Von Liverwurstsnausen's Day in memory of the folk hero who courageously
AT: slaughtered ponies in the Great Pony plague epidemic of 1991
WY: which, as all good Austrian children remember, was the day that the Pakistani
AT: statesman, Abraham Lincoln freed the Sikh
WY: -Loving Mongols from their bondage at the hands of
AT: hand/foot/mouth disease.
WY: But regardless, my good friend - Harvey Beanbag - taught me that
AT: you should always put a character limit on the title of your equestrian festival and
WY: never let those wiley, dirty Mongols try and stick you with
AT: made up diseases or
WY: a huge bill after an all-night bender consisting of fine cheeses and
AT: chess fines, and microcharges for several aquatic themed items such as
WY: frogmen, megladon sharks, and the leviathan (which, coincidentally,
AT: is a religious text), urchin urinals, whale vaginas, sea cucumbers, and finally
WY: those tiny little fish that you always see at vietnamese places, but they always look like they'd get stuck in your throat even if re-constituted them in the broth, but even then, you'd be eating a whole fish, which totally makes you think about
AT: how when you're eating/drinking your own body fluid...

(Unifinished, like a really good foreign film).

merry birthday jesus continued.

thanks. thanks a lot man.
we really appreciate it.

happy friggin' birthday.

heeeylllp. mah pets have been spotted all the way in israel!

Thanks to world traveler, photographer, friend, and generally amazing person, Sally Glass, the missing pets project has managed to make an appearance in Israel.

Prestige Worldwide, baby.

Thank you Sally.

Check it out right hurr!

Holiday Presence IV Closing Night

Last call for Kettle Art Gallery's Holiday Presence show is tonight from 7-10 PM. Holler at me if you're heading out there to check out the work. I'll be at the gallery from around 8:30(ish)- 10:00 and then I'm off to Shakespeare Night at Faye's place.

I'm very grateful for the opportunity to be a part of this group show, comprised of some of the most ass-kickin' artists in big D. So much has been said about the decline of Deep Ellum, but with the help of local superheroes like Frank Campagna and Hal Samples doing what they do to nurture and provide a space for cultural advocacy down there, I have no doubt that it's far from dead, far from over, far from stagnant. From what I've seen in the past couple of weeks, we're in for some great things.

Let's keep the ball rolling. Together.

Kettle Art is located at:

2714 Elm Street, Dallas, TX 75226


View Larger Map

2 Birds 1 Stone (Shaped Cup)

You can kill two birds with one stone by heading on down to Deep Ellum tonight for visual and aural stimulation. If you couldn't make it out last weekend to the Holiday Presence group Art Show at Kettle Art Gallery, you can avoid me guilting you by just showing up at Elm and Crowdus between 7PM - 12AM on Friday.

Somebody's Darling and Tolentinoed Artwork will run parallel at Club DaDa and Kettle Art Gallery respectively this evening so come on down!

The art show officially closes on Saturday night, so if you can't make it out tonight there's still hope. I promise.

Here's one of my pieces from the show:



Readbeard has Been Waiting...Patiently
Plywood, Pen, Fiber Paper, Acrylic, Wood Stain, 1/3 Skateboard Deck
2008

for god so loved the world...

that he gave his one and only son a government holiday.

I've been trying to wrangle up Bennie Hott for an experimental photoshoot for quite some time, but he's more elusive than bigfoot. Last night though, as you can tell by his coat, Bennie slaughtered bigfoot and made an appearance at the apartment with Matt and Lisa.

Due to unfortunate weather conditions and a few other wrenches in the plans, we couldn't make it out to the site I had my heart set on, but the concept is in full swing. And thankfully so is Bennie's beard.

I present to you the first piece in the "Merry Birthday Jesus" experiment.

a detached garage, a shoddy garage door opener, and a dream.

Weathering the wintry mix last night, I bundled up and snapped a few self-indulgent photos of my workspace. Take a gander.

what would you have said?

Much respect and many beatnik snaps to my creative genius homeskillet from UT, punojenniferjenniferpuno for putting together this awesome site where you can dream up hypothetical conversations you might have had, could have had, could possibly have with various celebrities. If you've ever encountered a public icon and 10 minutes after you walked away, you made a clever remark to your friend or in your head, you'll appreciate the theoretical banter and badass vector drawings on www.whatiwouldhavesaid.com.

Previously on the chopping block:
Miley Cyrus
Daniel Craig
William Shatner
Dustin (Screech Powers) Diamond
Christopher Walken
Barack Obama
Bob Saget
Shauna Sand Queen of Lucite
Mr. T.
Elijah Wood

Currently Getting Chopped:
Miley Cyrus' fictional alter-ego Hannah Montana

Check it out. Say what you would have said.

coming up next...

HOLIDAY PRESENCE 4 at Kettle Art Gallery!

come pick up some classy, affordable stocking stuffers at this group show in deep ellum.

be there.


flier design by andrew tolentino (i'm shameless).

more info at: kettleart.com

art conspiracy 4 photos.

here's a slideshow of 20 photos from flickr.

if you want more, you can check 'em out on my facebook account here.

checkit.

art con 4. holy crap.

i'm still coming down from the asskickulocity that occurred on saturday, december 6th at art conspiracy 4. there is so much to say about what happened in that warehouse in west dallas, and i've had a hard time coping with the fact that i can not conveniently put in to words how amazing this year's event was. however, i'm not satisfied with just saying "you had to be there," so here's a laundry list of asskicking ingredients and observations:

-i nearly wept when i read cindy chaffin's anecdote about some unlikely passsers by here.
-betsy lewis of KERA's Art and Seek was kind enough to feature me as an art conspirator
-the event raised $28K!!!
-the smiling faces on the lovely folks from this year's beneficiary, Preservation Link
-an otherwise drafty, dark and probably dank warehouse was filled with warmth, art, and advocacy.
-space heaters.
-artists, volunteers and bidders.
-meeting and greeting.
-dylan hollingsworth or more accurately, dylan (is a badass) hollingsworth
-a cold install day that led to elongated hugs, sniffling, and something to bond over.
-the port-a-potty kingdom / smoker's lounge.
-frank campagna
-crazy video installations.
-nervous, arms-crossed gazing as my piece went up for auction.
-relief at $20, nervous at $90, excited at $150, ecstatic at $200.
-friends and family.
-scotty mankoff
-my heart filled with warmth and renewed passion for dallas.
-my heart filled with warmth and renewed passion for real, live, tangible, art.
-(in spirit, via israel) sally glass
-community.
-a badass "deconstructed" set.
-megaphones.
-scott horn
-photobooth + fred.
-tricycle races.
-red stripe.
-splinters.
-gloves.
-mount righteous
-aton
-chameleon chamber group(wigs and all)
-dj sober
and so much more.

many, many thanks and special appreciation to:
-erica felicella
-cari weinberg
-sarah jane semrad
-andrea roberts
-ange fitzgerald

thank you all for doing what you do. thank you for feeding my muse and encouraging me to grow as an artist, as a community member, and as a person. i can not express my gratitude enough.

take a gander (courtesy of cindy chaffin):


Art Conspiracy 4 - Deconstructed from Cindy Chaffin on Vimeo.

this saturday, i aspire to conspire.

This coming Saturday (12.06.08), over 150 local artists and musicians will congregate in an industrial space in West Dallas for the sake of art, inspiration, and advocacy. We aspire to conspire at art conspiracy.

I am proud to be a part of this event and I'm honored to showcase a fresh piece of work alongside some of big D's most asskicktacular asskickers.

I've been pre-fabricating some of my materials, but I don't want to spill all of the beans just yet, so here is a list of ingredients for my 18"X18".

(1) Container of Walnut Woodstain
(1) (Additional) 18"X18" plywood piece
(2/3) Skateboard deck
(1) Bristol Drawing Paper Pad
(4) Black Drawing Pens
(1) Tube of Titanium Acrylic paint
(1) Cordless Sander

shows, shows, shows.

filled with vitamin c, ibuprofen, and enough soup to sustain a small waterpark, i set out to support my friends at 3 ass-kickin' events this weekend. although i had been fighting a cold throughout the week, i was determined to soak in and enjoy the creative endeavors of my homies in a variety of ways.

friday night: halcyon nights at the curtain club in deep ellum
- if you haven't heard their latest song, wear a diaper the next time you come out to see them.

saturday evening: emily stoker and omar ogues (backbone) at etsy dallas' jingle bash at sons of hermann hall
- if this isn't creative inspiration and the DIY spirit at its best, i don't know what is.

saturday night: somebody's darling and john david kent and the dumb angels at city tavern on main street, downtown
-alt. country folk rock. boot scootin' asskickin' good time.

check out some photos of JDK and the dumb angels below or on flickr.

thank you.

normally i'm not a fan of these cutesy slideshow options on photobucket, but i figured this one fit with the theme of our show this past weekend. we had a great turnout. the house was filled with new and familiar faces, art, artists, advocacy, and blue moon.

thank you to everybody who made this possible.

our humble abode.

come one, come all.

abusing technology and the local news.

Last night, my roommate Nick and I decided to flip through the channels to get a diverse whiff of the election coverage. In hot pursuit of an unbiased source, we turned to FOX 4 news, where local reporter Shaun Rabb was engaging in a live chat forum.

We knew what had to be done.

In a flash, I grabbed the laptop from the coffee table and logged in as "HAXOR."

Rather than typing content that would merit an immediate booting, we went with a different approach: Off-topic,mostly benign, slightly personal interaction with the public figure. Regardless of how dull the line of questioning was, there was just something histerical about a dignified, respected news reporter addressing a person named "HAXOR."

check it out.
__________________________________________________________

(HAXOR: why the long face, rabb?)

__________________________________________________________

(HAXOR: rabb, you look distracted.)









__________________________________________________________

(ShaunRabb: haxor it's just been a long day on the web since 12:30 all is well doing what we do)








__________________________________________________________

*At this point, the televised news production panned to Rabb's monitor. Of course, we took advantage of the electronic 2 seconds of fame frenzy...

(HAXOR2: haxorrrrrrrrrrrrrrr)
(HAXOR2: haxorrrrrr)

today, we prove tupac wrong.

and i'm looking forward to it.

And although it seems heaven sent
We ain't ready, to see a black President...



We gotta make a change...
It's time for us as a people to start makin' some changes.
Let's change the way we eat, let's change the way we live
and let's change the way we treat each other.
You see the old way wasn't working so it's on us to do
what we gotta do, to survive.

quality time with my pops.

At the beginning of each week, I like to set my sights on one (or a few) latter week plans to stay motivated enough to not go insane at work. By the time this Monday rolled around, I focused in on my plans for Wednesday...Early Voting Day with my Dad.

Still registered at my parents' address, I told my Pops I would pick him up after work and take him to the closest polling location so that we could vote together. "Obama! Let's go make some f-in' history, Dad," I shouted, pumping my fist as I entered my parents' home. As we backed out of the driveway, I recalled Father, Son outings from my childhood and beyond.

Early morning fishing trips, with pitstops for stinkbait and nightcrawlers at K-Mart.

Last minute runs to the grocery store for Mother's Day roses.

Frequent excursions to Home Depot for handy-man supplies and dowel-rod ninja weapons.

Arby's...often.

Trips to the baseball park (anywhere with a backstop, really) to play catch and fantasize about game winning homeruns. (*I sucked at baseball and never played little league, so this must have been miserable for my Dad)

The time we ate honey-barbecued chicken wings, peppered with earth-grit in White Sands, New Mexico.

The time we took a crowded, nauseating bus all the way from Carrollton down to the State Fair.

The time we both got let down by Cowboys' Wide Receiver Alvin Harper, who failed to show up at an autograph signing session at Sears. (*F you Harper! )

The time we sat within spitting distance of Mark Cuban and Eva Longoria at a Mavericks game.

My Dad is a man of few words. His comfortable silence is the reason why I was able to nostalgically recount all of these events in my brain without wrecking the car. By the time we got to the polling location, I realized that this was another one of those Father, Son outings. Granted, a more historically significant, patriotic duty-type outing, but another relationship-building, hallmarkish excursion nonetheless.

As two lines formed, one for paper ballots, the other for electronic, he and I parted ways. Fearing technology, he opted for paper, while I voted with the ballot-bot 9000.

With our "I Voted!" stickers displayed proudly on our chests, we avoided eyed contact and briefly patted each others' backs as we exited the public library polling center. As awkward as the description of our actions sounds, I found comfort, relief, and joy in our post-voting embrace.

I knew that we had done something that I will never forget.

I knew that we had done something for the sake of change.

I knew that we had done something together.

Thanks, Pop.

i'm sorry. i'm really, really sorry, but i'm obligated.

This really kills me, because I hate this show. I'm almost willing to say that this show is a worse display of humanity than anything from the Tyra Banks catalog, but I actually respect Dr. Drew for dealing with this d-bag named "Chasen." Keep in mind that his name is neither Chase, nor Jason, neither Chasin', nor Chasing, but "CHASEN." It sounds like his parents hastened choosing a name for poor Chasen.

Regardless of d-baggery, thanks to my homie, Matt, Dunn Bros. Coffee in Addison, and the friendly production crew, my art appears in the background during the "blind date" scene. And the "free-spirited art student" is my friend and fellow artist, Cara, who makes a nice defensive maneuver against d-bagocity by letting Chasen know that Vegetarianism consists of more than just salads. She's a champ.

As I've said before, watching this assbag on camera might make you want to vomit and defenestrate your computer, so stay away from windows and make sure that you have trashcan nearby. (!Shameless Self-Promotion alert!) If you can stand to stay on the MTV site for the duration of the video, do me a solid and post a comment on there, talking about how kick ass the art was.

Keep an eye out for:
The Album cover for Raleigh's The House on Seedling Lane - (Mixed Media, in Box Frame)
"Infinitree" (Mixed Media, Behind Chasebag)
"Careful, Encounter" I, II, III, IV (Mixed Media, Birds, Hands, and Texture)

Here goes nothin':

• MTV
• Music Videos
• MTV Shows
• Celebrity News

the great red vs. purple color dispute.

Per the commentary on the last post, I must defend the honor of my color wheel.

While purple scores a passing grade (C+) when comparing the RGB % match, the A+ band to "red" comparison grade speaks volumes.

TMNT ASAP!

Tonight, I had the pleasure of stumbling upon a TV airing of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, the movie (thus the reason for the preceding post). I decided to try my hand at drawing these cultured mutant bastards again and this is what happened. Every time I sit down to sketch an icon of my childhood, I end up putting these characters through an aging and fattening process.

I present you with Raphael, The Middle Aged Mutant Ninja Turtle.

He likes PBR.

Let's be honest, how long did he expect to keep up his high-flying, sai stabbing lifestyle with a pizza diet. You don't want to see what I've done to Michelangelo.

i think i just figured out my halloween costume.

matt dun lost his hand turkey!

my homie, matt dun lost his pet!

while working on a piece for my friend, my homie, matt dropped by the garage and this is what happened:

check out Hand Turkey Hank!

i dun lost a WALRUS!!!

heeeylp, y'all, i dun lost
Larry, the Nine Mustached, Overly Concerned Walrus.

Git the details HERE.

the 575 army.

we've got a boatload of new haikus on the haiku hotspot.

thanks to L-Train and Bhurin for your recent additions.

if you've got what it takes to join the 575 army, email me at tolentinoed.artwork@gmail.com.

i liiiike my biiiike.

In the words of the late, great ghoti hook,

"there's just one thing that i love more than anything....i liiiiike my biiiiike! "

Having taken a half-day off from work this past Friday, I wanted to make the most of my extra 4 hours of freedom. Since the Wonder Years marathon had ended and I have sworn off random body piercings, I looked to my garage in pursuit of inspiration. Bypassing unfinished canvasses and sawdust covered wood scraps, I found titillation on two wheels.

Propped upside-down on its seat, in the same naive way that my friends and I would stow our bikes outside of grocery stores, my Haro DV8 beckoned playfully. Cob-webbed spokes, non-functioning brakes and all, she is my freestyle temptress. As an unnamed stairwell, an unfortunate onlooker in the distance, and I can personally testify, my seductive Haro can be a harlot at times. Despite the often painful consequences of taking her out on the town, I decided to air up the tires and go.

Pedal, pump, pedal, pump, avoid the speedbump, pedal, pump, pedal, pump, bunny hop mini jump, pedal, pump, pedal pump, harumph, harumph, pedal, pump, pedal, pump, that man has a toupee a la donald trump, pedal, pump...

Every time I have been on this bike since restoring it(still no brakes, just new wheels), I have the same 2 epiphanies. (1) The only adults who should ride bmx/freestyle bikes are sponsored by vans/mountain dew. (2) I get to observe so much more, in a more intimate way when I'm pedaling away, not confined behind the wheel of a car. Don't get me wrong. I'm not a filthy hippie who thinks that "all cars are like, the man, man," but there is a certain charm to using pavement without using fuel.

Unable to sit down because of a potentially disastrous short distance between my knees and the handlebars, I pedaled and pumped my way through an array of otherwise ho-hum scenery.

The golf course near our apartment, by way of bicycle on bridge, was a veritable shire, complete with club-wielding wealthy hobbits.

The suburban nature trail that I presumed to be vast and not filled with homeless people was brief and filled with homeless people.

The dog shit that I typically don't think about while driving was alive, well, and pungent on sidewalks and lawns.

My increasing heart rate was a crescendoing meter for imagination invigoration.

I sped up and slowed down, sped up and slowed down, coasting when the coast was clear of ninjas and pirates poised to attack from tree-tops and sewers.

Unripened acorns were pretend land mines, igniting under the pressure of my freshly aired tires. Pedal, pop, pop, pedal, pop, pop. With each revolution, my wheels made for a fresh batch of pre-cracked squirrel snacks.


On a bearable, even breezy Friday afternoon away from work, I can't say that I was "a kid again." I was (and am) a grown-ass person, inspired, invigorated, and uplifted from operating a vehicle of youth.

I'm not back-pedaling, I'm back, pedaling and pumping for the creative endeavor.

Thanks, bike, I liiiike you.

brush 'em real good!

S.D.

congratulations to my homies, Somebody's Darling on winning the 2008 Shiner Rising star competition.

y'all straight kick ass.

indian food haikus

i've been meeting up with an old friend for lunch lately. last night we decided on indian food for today...and then the haiku train came steaming through my brain....which reminds me, i need to watch The Darjeeling Limited again.

take a spicy whiff on the haiku hotspot.

crazy picture guy.

much respect to my homie, scotty mankoff (aka crazy picture guy), who has a badass show at kettle art gallery through this saturday. curated with the same renegade spirit that fuels CPG's work, this one week only show at is an all you can gaze eyeball buffet.


if you're out and about in big d, you've probably seen this bearded wonder snapping the night away with his dslr. whether he'll admit to it or not, scotty is a tenacious photo-journalist, documenting the dallas art and music scene day in and beard out.

i'm sure i'm not alone when i say that the omnipresence of his external flash provides the local arts community with some kind of beacon, spreading credibility and nurturing purpose.*

here's to 1 year's worth of photo-lunacy. here's to scotty.

if you haven't already, check out his show at Kettle Art Gallery. chances are, if you're not on the walls there, you can probably find yourself at www.crazypictureguy.com.

*this message goes out to a slew of other big d(ocumentarians), gracing and motivating us with their shutters:

(to name a few)

blackmarketfunnelcakes (live from israel)
fred
hal samples
cara smith
the urban fabric
sarah jane semrad
erica felicella
emily stoker
jason janik

retrospection: "Dear Fluffy"

In the 3rd grade, our teacher made us write doggy style. checkitout.

i swear to god, we actually do this.

and here's the proof.

check out this incriminating photo-evidence from billy shakes night at #328.

the 5th billy shakes night, tonight!

once upon a time, we were ashamed of these humble gatherings. now, it's just out of fashion not to attend billy shakes night at our apartment. last month, there was treason, mutiny, and togas in Julius Caesar. Our 3-2 is quickly ascending to the top of the theater world as one of the "best venues to see quality Shakespearean productions" (quoted directly from Elegantly Lush and Glamorous and Burberry-Ed Hardy Life Magazine).

thus far we have put on (i, personally, will admit to blaspheme in lieu of 'put on')

• King Henry IV
• Macbeth
  
• King Henry VIII
• Julius Caesar

and what, you ask will we players play tonight?

Much Ado About Nothing, of course.

and believe me, the title of this play, in particular, is highly appropriate in describing what exactly goes on here. all this preparation, all the blocking, all the costuming, all the makeup, all the wigs, all the play abbreviation, all the studying, all the stress, all the drama, all ado so that we can read Shakespeare aloud, spill cocktails, and piss ourselves? Aye.

if you haven't come out to one of these yet, and you're up for it tonight, please let me know and i'll give you directions...fair warning though, i make no guarantees about what exactly may happen at billy shakes night. there are surprises around every corner. just ask Lisa's shoe!

our fearless, and oft pants-less director, markus nicholas III is a real diva about the punctuality of these things, so if you're coming, be there by 9:30 at the latest.

and now, for a taste:

i'm a seedy person. what can i say?

in case you didn't get a chance to take a peek, here are some pieces from my journal at this year's Art Conspiracy fundraiser, SEED. moleskine journals from 15 local artists were auctioned off in june to raise seed money for Art Conspiracy, a non-profit arts initiative whose mission is "...to bring together a group of dallas area artists and musicians to raise money for a chosen benefit."

much like this pair of underwear that i'm wearing, for one month, this journal was on my person at all times. containing random thoughts, random sketches, preconceived thoughts, preconceived sketches, fiber paper, maps, watercolor, post-its, various adhesives, and even the occasional polaroid, this journal is my process in a nutshell..or...in a mole's skin? many thanks to erica felicella (cellaarts) for asking me to participate, to all art con organizers, to all attendees, artists, bidders, and especially to the lovely cari weinberg of lovie for throwin' down for my journal.

checkit:

5,7,5 mofo.

haikus are back, son!
if you don't like 'em, tough shit!
this is a haiku.

check out the haicoolest haikus about the economy and the texas state fair right now!

switchin' it up, avoiding tasers.

A few weeks back, I decided to change up my after-work routine in a variety of ways.
I like my life like I like my cereal, and my women. Not stale…but Black.

Beginning with my regular workout habits, I opted out of 24 hour fitness and in to the closet that our apartment marketing team cutely calls a “fully loaded workout center.” When there is a line for the cardio equipment, that usually means that there is one person grunting on or near the questionably assembled treadmill. It’s pretty cramped, but it’s different, and that’s the point.

Poignantly pungent B.O. (book odor, in this case) struck me as I found an alternative reading/studying joint—the public library. Built in the mid-seventies, Fretz Park Library on Beltline and Hillcrest is a nice, yet sadly decaying reminder that the people still desire free knowledge in their communities. Despite the (arguably contrived) epic symbolism of the public library, this place has two shortcomings: One, the actual brevity of the chair legs (I felt like a child, sitting at a wee desk, using a church-pew pencil to scribble call numbers on scratch paper), and two, the early closing time. If I weren’t at work from 8-5 Monday thru Friday, 9PM would be a perfectly reasonable time for me to cease productivity and get drunk, but I’m just starting to peak around that time.

Thus, the reason why I am where I am at this very moment.

Thus the reason why I text messaged my friend, “Insanely weird request. Do you have a password for UTD wireless?”
(Thanks, Dirty).

Knowing I wasn’t going to get my fill at the public library, I used what little laptop battery I had left to look up UTD’s library hours. Much to my delight, the Richardson facility closes at 2AM, Monday-Thursday. I like to think of this as a funny joke the administration plays on 'of age' drinkers, causing them to choose between the bar (not the exam, but the watering hole) and the library (not the bar). They both close at the same time, so choose wisely.

After a short, windows down car ride, and a timidly shameful entry through electronic sensors, here I am, sitting in an echo-enhanced study space at the basement level of the McDermott library. Unbeknown (at least I hope) to the students and campus security guards that pass me by, I don’t actually have any business being here. Although I’ve taken a few moments to reflect on and relate to my late night library experiences at UT, I don’t feel as pathetically nostalgic as I thought I would.

Perhaps the idea of reconnecting with “Undergrad Andrew” is a romantic and tempting notion, but a lame one, no doubt. As these two “Student Patrol” volunteers unknowingly pass me by, never second guessing my student status, I know that I can temporarily maintain the façade. But what good does that do me? When I leave here tonight, I’ll rest my head at a reasonable hour, wake up, and drive my pumpkin back to work the next day. After several return journeys to Austin since graduating, after several vain attempts to recapture what I thought I could regain, I’m realizing, more and more that I can’t capture that experience again. I can only move forward. And who would want to go anywhere else?


In the eyes of the Student Patrollers, every person on this campus, barring the occasional hobo, neatly belongs in a category: student, professor, administrator, parent. Where in the f does a 2 years graduated, young, barely professional guy like myself belong? If they only had the presence of mind to peek over my shoulder, or read the word “LIBRARY” written on my hand, they might get the hint that I don’t fit in one of these categories. Just like I didn’t, they don’t have the foresight to recognize this mark as a sign of the 40 Hour work week.

On my hand, the word “LIBRARY” reminds me not only that I need to go to the library to return some books. More importantly, it reminds me that after an 8 hour draining session, I sometimes need an ink-on-flesh impetus to keep pushing…creatively, intellectually, and emotionally.

I shouldn’t need daily reminders to do what I enjoy doing.

I shouldn’t need a dayplanner to pencil in a 30 minute intellectual stimulation session.

But I’m no longer in an environment founded on and devoted to the practice of thinking.

I’m convinced though, that this only seems depressing.

Knowing that I am in control of my current situation, my own fate as a thinker and an artist, the thought (and process) of actualizing these impetuses is more invigorating than a bathtub of Red Bull and a mound of coke. By pursuing these passions and incurring their risks, outside the safe grounds of an educational institution, I have become more protective over and adamant about them. Knowing (and acknowledging) that I have reached life after college, I refuse to say that I have no other option to, but I rejoice in the reality that I can move forward.

Sure, I’m not enrolled, and I don’t fit in an assumed category here, but I’ll be damned if that stops the pursuit of progress.

And what would the creative endeavor be without the threat of a trigger-happy, taser wielding Security Officer?

Much love.

new work.

i've taken a liking to using oil pastels on luan plywood. i've also taken a liking to drinking in our detached garage and going to town on cheaper canvases.

here's the proof.

i started working on this first piece (Immediately Below), temporarily titled Cyclops Gothic , in a park near my apartment during a breezy work-free afternoon. i had taken the day off, and it actually felt like we (by 'we,' i mean texans) were going to experience fall (the season, not of society), so i hopped in my car, rolled down the windows and drove off to pick up some banh mi (vietnamese frenchbread sandwiches, a respectable solo park food). equipped with some drawing pens, some newly purchased oil pastels, and some plywood, i had everything i needed to act like a pretentious park-painter.
i'll be honest, it was fun, pondering the subject matter that the passers by expected to see when they saw a stranger arting around in the park.
for some reason though, i felt like i was letting these complete strangers down for not having sketched a sailboat, or bluebonnets, or a mountain. maybe next time i ought to create an orgiastic amalgam of the romanticized painterly images...this is what the people want, right? but then again, who the hell am i to assume what these folks were expecting to be on the opposite side of that plywood? after all, as i was leaving the park, i spotted a flier for a mountainside bluebonnet boatsex party. who'd a thunk it?

now, as for the second piece here (Immediately Below), i decided at lunch on a friday afternoon that my evening would entail: (1) drinking beer (2) working on art (3) doing so in my garage.

as it turns out, i succeeded at all three of these endeavors on that particular evening. after gathering my standard bag (several bags) of room temperature supplies, i remembered objective #1. quickly switching to macgyver mode, i made a makeshift cooler from an empty coffee container (by 'made a makeshift cooler,' i mean that i poured ice in to the coffee container). i managed to jam 4 beers in the container, creating a whole new folgers blend, and made my way down to the garage for beers and mixed media.

after 8 shiners in, this is what came out.

my hands became fluid over the square piece of masonite, ebbing and flowing as they pleased. with my ipod on shuffle, i applied frantic strokes to the sometimes jerky, yet sexy rhythms of the mars volta. then, john coltrane and i gave birth to cool in the form of blue cornflower knuckle caressing.

as witnessed in the various textural additions (string, fiber, etc.), only the beer can explain my affinity for adhesive that night.

it's a mess. but i think i like it.

the mighty mixtape. (retrospection)

check out the retrospection blog for a tale of lies, deceit, and Green Day.

much, much love.

a few conversations with my friend, Will.

"Whatever happened to the dancing baby?"
me: hahah dancing baby
what ever happened to the dancing baby?
William: ooga chaca
me: is that who vern troyer is?
William: killed and eaten
in papa new guinea
me: i'm about ready to pop a new guiness
or play mario-kart and pop a new guinea
William: a new wheelie?
me: no, more racist!
William: new whitey?
me: pap(smearing) gnus giggly
wait.
popeye knew gigli?
William: pabst new wiggly?
me: pork barrel politicking?
wait.
William: pappas fritas free-wheeling?
anybody wanna peanut?
me: louis pasteur's ginseng?
William: bash a blue penny?
me: laverne and shirley's condomini(um)?
William: pop shrew's titty?
drop a newt's genitals?
got a new general?
me: jot it down gently?
jiggly puff drives a bentley?
William: touch yourself generally?
me: general lee wears ass-less chaps?
wait. wait a minute.

"try muffins instead."

me: boy do i want to cuddle with you or what.
(i'm preparing to be a priest)
how did that come off?
too desperate?
(5 minutes pass by)
William: no
a little too "creepy southerner" not enough "wise italian padre". Instead of "boy" try "my son"
me: my son, it's time for cuddleberries.
does that do the job?
or should i take out "berries?"
William: yeah, take out berries
try "muffins' instead
me: got it.
my son, it's time for cuddlemuffins.
wait...
William: :) oh boy, father!
me: my son, it's thyme in the cuddlemuffins.
William: in your rectory?
me: this conversation is getting posted somewhere.
William: :)
in your rectory?
me: i'm nailing it to the doors of the vatican

"But it has Clickpeas."

me: do you want to eat virtual indian food with me for lunch today?
William: haha
I'd love to
me: wait...that's not satisfying at all.
William: I'll have the punjabi channa masala
me: try the naan.
William: mmmmm insubstantial
me: hahah
try this seedy rom.
William: how're you doing?
me: it's not as good as the keyboard masala.
William: hahaha
but it has clickpeas

"Beagles!"
me: beagles!
William: What?

"NSFW"

William: http://www.sfwchan.com/index.php?id=522
me: nsfw dude.
William: no, swf
me: no! NSFW.
we've taken a pro-china stance here at work.
William: dude, the lama is NSFW? where do YOU work communist
me: the lama is NSFW and neither is SXSW.
William: http://www.sfwchan.com/index.php?id=534
me: NIV

amerifuckinca!

Amerikitsch. Dig it.

san francisco, son.

greetings from san francisco, people.

i rolled in to town at 2:40pm yesterday (april 9th) and hopped an airport shuttle tram to the highly efficient BART rail station. i must say, it's been a while since i've been to sfco and i was immediately refreshed and invigorated by the norcal pacific breeze. seeing houses built in hills, graf-work on tops of buildings (so that BART riders can take a gander), i could feel the electric vibe that energizes san francisco.

my friend, blanca (originally from barcelona) met me at the 24th & mission BART station to give me a tour of the great murals in the mission district. and great they were. ranging from creative outcries against gentrification to a virgin mary judging public pissers to a newer piece featuring photos of random items belonging to katrina victims, the little stretch we walked down was a feast for the eyes and mind.

afterwards, we took the train in to downtown for a bite near union square, where my other homie, peter, met us.

blanca hopped on the BART to catch a 10pm flight to nyc, while peter and i continued to his neck of the woods (near golden gate park and 'the haight'). we caught a MUNI to his side of town...and then we were delayed for 30 minutes or so just outside and then inside a tunnel. eventually, we were instructed to evacuate the train and walk the rest of the way. stepping on broken beer bottles and making spraypaint sounds with my mouth, i emerged from the tunnel thinking, "this is not a feature in any travel guide. and i love it."

we posted up at peter's place for a little bit so i could give my shoulders a rest from carrying the 300 pounds of crap in my backpack. then, with a hoodie to protect me from the cold, we headed down to the haight for a nice walk. here's a picture from the evening stroll.

travel is good.

legomania (part 2).

Trojan Horse

Trojan House