The art industry is really terribly unregulated. It is the prime example of capitalism run wild, the rich getting richer, and white privilege. But artists keep making art that feeds into this oozing hungry hungry hippo, and receive free reign in exchange for the pittance of hope they have of "making it". We aren't held accountable, so art becomes more and more detached from the average human being. We are blasting off while everyone else is still playing with fire. It's awful and magnificent and gluttonous and minimalist. We haven't lost our humanity, we just aren't the same type of human as you and your Aunt Cathy with a K. As soon as you tell us no, we'll recoil. But only if you matter. And by matter, we mean you have to forget everything that is is to be a person. Not in the We are Devo sort of way, but more that you have to forget the hierarchy, much like the very wealthy and the drug fueled population has shed your silly morals. We are strapping in, selling out, gutting our souls. You better be Mike Kelley or you'll be showing at the Downtown LA Artwalk. Just a block from MoCA but so so far from what matters. Because all these rules are just here to keep you in bed. We want you to call out sick. We want you to say we're too much. White wash our graffiti. Fold your laundry.
I'll not file my taxes and call it art. They'll give me my own island, and I'll write you letters in a language I've made up.
Can't we have some memories.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
FRUIT LOOP SMOOTHIE pictures included!
Let me just start by confessing, I am incredibly unhealthy person. I drink too much, I smoke anything I can, and I find yoga exhausting. My insides wouldn't be used in a campy splatter flick because it's not suitable for any audience.
BUT I LOVE SMOOTHIES. I like how it feels like they're a healthy alternative to Draino. My insides dance like those little forest ghosts in Princess Mononoke. It's like that feeling you get after eating MSG heavy Chinese food, except without the lethargic aftermath. I even put kale and other green stuff in it to kid myself into thinking that's enough to make up for not eating the lettuce on my cheeseburgers.
I'm pretty unimaginative when it comes to the content, really (kinda like this blog! haha...). Just your average frozen fruit and some sort of liquid to make it less swamp sludge and more melted ice cream. But they usually taste pretty good, except that one time I tried to make white peaches and mango work..
All people who love hot Cheetos are probably horrified with what I've said so far. Please swallow your puke and read on, because I've stumbled across something any processed sugar/velveeta loving baconite could enjoy.
FRUIT LOOP SMOOTHIES
I swear to you this smoothie tastes exactly like that sugary, nondescript fruity cereal, and the glorious runoff milk nectar of the gods that forms afterward eating a few bowls from the same pot. TRY IT! You can look like a health loving, raw food munching ADULT while secretly enjoying fruit loopy goodness!!! I'm not sure if the kale is that important, but it's important to me since I'd like to live a bit longer to see all of Jennifer Lawrence's future antics. Plus I'm pretty sure there was a green fruit loop, ergo, not all green things are gross.
The exact science:
-about half a sandwich bag of frozen flat leaf green Kale
-two golf ball sized chunks of frozen berries from Costco
-a cup or so of Almond milk (unsweetened)
-a 1 inch cube of raw ginger
-1/2 teaspoon sugar (This may be the key, since I couldn't find my roommate's honey this morning)
-2 tablespoons of Greek Yogurt (Fage has a nice buttery texture I'm a fan of)
-3-4 ice cubes
Put the ingredients in in that order or else the world will end, and your mixer will feel emasculated. Then blend.. BLEND LIKE YOU'VE NEVER BLENDED BEFORE. I say this because the kale usually doesn't quite disappear until you hit about the half minute mark. I HATE KALE CONFETTI.
It's going to look a little weird. I think mine started off a Frankenberry Purple, and by noon it was foot fungus green. BUT YOU SHOULD TRY MY DELICIOUS SMOOTHIE. Just close your eyes and pretend you're in your PJs because you managed to stay home sick the day of a group project.
EUREKA!
And that's it. You drink it. I don't use mason jars. I just detach my smoothie cup and go, because I'm cool like that. Here it is. On my desk at work. PROOF.
I was supposed to talk about my life as a sexual deviant today. But this was far more pertinent. Aren't you glad?!
Also, here's a photo of my cat who is hospitalized right now, and will probably be undergoing an involuntary sex change in the next day or so :(
BUT I LOVE SMOOTHIES. I like how it feels like they're a healthy alternative to Draino. My insides dance like those little forest ghosts in Princess Mononoke. It's like that feeling you get after eating MSG heavy Chinese food, except without the lethargic aftermath. I even put kale and other green stuff in it to kid myself into thinking that's enough to make up for not eating the lettuce on my cheeseburgers.
I'm pretty unimaginative when it comes to the content, really (kinda like this blog! haha...). Just your average frozen fruit and some sort of liquid to make it less swamp sludge and more melted ice cream. But they usually taste pretty good, except that one time I tried to make white peaches and mango work..
All people who love hot Cheetos are probably horrified with what I've said so far. Please swallow your puke and read on, because I've stumbled across something any processed sugar/velveeta loving baconite could enjoy.
FRUIT LOOP SMOOTHIES
I swear to you this smoothie tastes exactly like that sugary, nondescript fruity cereal, and the glorious runoff milk nectar of the gods that forms afterward eating a few bowls from the same pot. TRY IT! You can look like a health loving, raw food munching ADULT while secretly enjoying fruit loopy goodness!!! I'm not sure if the kale is that important, but it's important to me since I'd like to live a bit longer to see all of Jennifer Lawrence's future antics. Plus I'm pretty sure there was a green fruit loop, ergo, not all green things are gross.
The exact science:
-about half a sandwich bag of frozen flat leaf green Kale
-two golf ball sized chunks of frozen berries from Costco
-a cup or so of Almond milk (unsweetened)
-a 1 inch cube of raw ginger
-1/2 teaspoon sugar (This may be the key, since I couldn't find my roommate's honey this morning)
-2 tablespoons of Greek Yogurt (Fage has a nice buttery texture I'm a fan of)
-3-4 ice cubes
Put the ingredients in in that order or else the world will end, and your mixer will feel emasculated. Then blend.. BLEND LIKE YOU'VE NEVER BLENDED BEFORE. I say this because the kale usually doesn't quite disappear until you hit about the half minute mark. I HATE KALE CONFETTI.
It's going to look a little weird. I think mine started off a Frankenberry Purple, and by noon it was foot fungus green. BUT YOU SHOULD TRY MY DELICIOUS SMOOTHIE. Just close your eyes and pretend you're in your PJs because you managed to stay home sick the day of a group project.
EUREKA!
And that's it. You drink it. I don't use mason jars. I just detach my smoothie cup and go, because I'm cool like that. Here it is. On my desk at work. PROOF.
I was supposed to talk about my life as a sexual deviant today. But this was far more pertinent. Aren't you glad?!
Also, here's a photo of my cat who is hospitalized right now, and will probably be undergoing an involuntary sex change in the next day or so :(
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
SHHH not for your eyes.
I'm making this blog as kind of an anti-blog blog of all blogs. Unlike most people, I spend a lot of time on the internet: reading, looking, and yearning about, at, and for stuff that just isn't my life. And the thought occurred to me, I WANT A(N INTERNET) LIFE TOO! But like most people, I don't fully relate to most of the stuff I see out there, so I'm scraping out my own corn hole to stuff all my thoughts into, before I go nutter butters out here in the real world. I could tell you (non-existent reader that is really just a projection of my subconscious), that this is all SO REAL, and IN YOUR FACE, that you couldn't possibly handle it compared to the fluff and sparkles out there in Blogville. But I was once told (according to Gooooogle, by Stargate) that I should never underestimate my audience. Plus, I know there's shit like snuff films out there, so I'm pretty much a puffy, pink Pomeranian.
SO. Where to start? Oh yeah, today's my birthday. Just kidding, I didn't actually forget. I am creating this blog sitting at my workdesk, because it's my birthday, and being at desk level is an achievement. About three hours ago, I was under my desk sobbing uncontrollably. If I could put my thoughts at the time on one of those rolling electronic marquees, it would be really confusing and pathetic. But that's kind of what this is all about. Everything about how people deal with their lives is all about confusion and patheticness (and improper grammar). It's preeetty awesome.
I have a history. I have a history of crying at every freaking birthday party that was ever thrown for me by my dear mother. It's funny, and embarrassing, and is probably going to remain a cherished tradition and anecdote my entire life. I think it's reasonable. Birthdays are A Lot to handle. All those feelings and controlled fires combined with a truly excessive amount of sugar just spells trouble. And for someone who was a sensitive child and developed into a beautiful, self-possessed raw nerve of anxiety and depression, birthdays are a little out of hand. I think I kind of hate birthdays... Is that sacrilegious? I hope so. I just find them so distasteful. I find the word distasteful, distasteful. My brain is a vortex and it's swallowing all logic whole.
But I will say this: Birthdays are such a misnomer. You're not celebrating your birth. Who wakes up on their birthday and when they get something bright and sweet shoved in their faces thinks OH GOD THANK GOD I WAS BORN ON THIS DATE X YEARS AGO! I am absolutely certain almost everyone is reminded of their own mortality and behave like 5-year-olds just to return to that state of innocence, riiiight before they realized they were going to die someday, and every birthday party was just another marker edging towards that moment of sweet release.
There is no way that people's palates haven't developed beyond birthday cake by now. It's all nostalgia. And nostalgia is the feeling when you reminisce on a memory, and realize it's already decaying and wishy washy and dead. And we remember we're moving forward, through time, towards death.
#################################################################
A confession: this blog is sort of reactionary to my brother's fiancee's new blog about their voyage to nuptial bliss (very Rachel Getting Married, I know. Give me my Oscar, NOW, please!). It's delightful. It's creative. It's all about love and how their love is a journey. It's all about her finding meaning outside of her current existence, and the hope that this marriage/blog will give her that. It's good and I just have to ruin it. I have to take that perfectly iced cake and smear it all over something that isn't bridal white. Preferably something silk taffeta with tiny beads sewn all over it.
I can't sit here and just let myself be happy for another person, because it's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to. Because I'm a grown woman, and my wishing the best for others does come with a highly critical shadow demon. But the greatest compliment I can pay to her blogging and her life choices, is to say that it inspired me to create. Her delightful radiance pinged back at me and created a foil, deeply rooted in an existential crisis that started with me sitting in my backyard as a child, wondering if I was really alive, or if this was all a terrible, fantastic dream.
Tune in next time for tales of sexual frustration, or how I realized my body isn't a coin machine at the laundromat.
X
Carolynne
SO. Where to start? Oh yeah, today's my birthday. Just kidding, I didn't actually forget. I am creating this blog sitting at my workdesk, because it's my birthday, and being at desk level is an achievement. About three hours ago, I was under my desk sobbing uncontrollably. If I could put my thoughts at the time on one of those rolling electronic marquees, it would be really confusing and pathetic. But that's kind of what this is all about. Everything about how people deal with their lives is all about confusion and patheticness (and improper grammar). It's preeetty awesome.
I have a history. I have a history of crying at every freaking birthday party that was ever thrown for me by my dear mother. It's funny, and embarrassing, and is probably going to remain a cherished tradition and anecdote my entire life. I think it's reasonable. Birthdays are A Lot to handle. All those feelings and controlled fires combined with a truly excessive amount of sugar just spells trouble. And for someone who was a sensitive child and developed into a beautiful, self-possessed raw nerve of anxiety and depression, birthdays are a little out of hand. I think I kind of hate birthdays... Is that sacrilegious? I hope so. I just find them so distasteful. I find the word distasteful, distasteful. My brain is a vortex and it's swallowing all logic whole.
But I will say this: Birthdays are such a misnomer. You're not celebrating your birth. Who wakes up on their birthday and when they get something bright and sweet shoved in their faces thinks OH GOD THANK GOD I WAS BORN ON THIS DATE X YEARS AGO! I am absolutely certain almost everyone is reminded of their own mortality and behave like 5-year-olds just to return to that state of innocence, riiiight before they realized they were going to die someday, and every birthday party was just another marker edging towards that moment of sweet release.
There is no way that people's palates haven't developed beyond birthday cake by now. It's all nostalgia. And nostalgia is the feeling when you reminisce on a memory, and realize it's already decaying and wishy washy and dead. And we remember we're moving forward, through time, towards death.
#################################################################
A confession: this blog is sort of reactionary to my brother's fiancee's new blog about their voyage to nuptial bliss (very Rachel Getting Married, I know. Give me my Oscar, NOW, please!). It's delightful. It's creative. It's all about love and how their love is a journey. It's all about her finding meaning outside of her current existence, and the hope that this marriage/blog will give her that. It's good and I just have to ruin it. I have to take that perfectly iced cake and smear it all over something that isn't bridal white. Preferably something silk taffeta with tiny beads sewn all over it.
I can't sit here and just let myself be happy for another person, because it's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to. Because I'm a grown woman, and my wishing the best for others does come with a highly critical shadow demon. But the greatest compliment I can pay to her blogging and her life choices, is to say that it inspired me to create. Her delightful radiance pinged back at me and created a foil, deeply rooted in an existential crisis that started with me sitting in my backyard as a child, wondering if I was really alive, or if this was all a terrible, fantastic dream.
Tune in next time for tales of sexual frustration, or how I realized my body isn't a coin machine at the laundromat.
X
Carolynne
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