"Hipjaculate"

A word coined by Jeremy, over our discussion of how to describe MINT Gallery's "Persona" exhibit. We'd considered a few other, more descriptive phrases, but the basic phenomenon we were trying to describe was an artist whose love for their particular subculture overwhelms their normal artistic sensibilities.




Untitled, by Karly Wildenhaus


Setup footage from Sopo Bike Co-op's upcoming frame show at Radial Cafe

Rainy Weekend

I helped build and set up a hut with the Mad Housers this morning. They're an Atlanta based organization which builds shed sized homes in existing homeless camps, and I've worked with them a handful of times over the last two years. I've been working with them recently in hopes of developing a story for False Magazine's Spring issue.

Today, we were building a house for Mike, a veteran who's been camping in the same stretch of Indian Creek woods for the last 20 years. He had been camping with his wife and a friend - his wife got sick and died about 8 years ago, and his friend was run over while crossing a nearby road just two years ago.


Mike stands by a shrine he built for his wife.

Another couple (whose names I didn't catch) have been sharing the camp with Mike since February. They were forced to leave their government subsidized housing after getting into some sort of trouble over their section 8 eligibility.


The couple, at the door of the hut Mad Housers built in February.

I'd like to say more about this morning's work, and the time I spent talking with Mike, but I've been having a hard time just coming to terms with the reality of his situation. The article's due Tuesday. I'm hoping to find some way of putting words around this entire experience by deadline.

Pictures From World Pillow Fight Day 2008

Most of my actual pillow fightin' pictures didn't come out so well.

A Shitload of Baseball Bats

This is a little piece of dialog from a story I'm working on. As usual, the narrator is based off all my worst impressions.

My brother called a few hours after I posted the ad. We were both a little drunk.

“What's up?”

Muting my television, I moved the cellphone a little further from my ear. “Didn't you say you'd stop asking that when you called me?”

“Maybe I just wanna know whatsup with my brother.”

“But you're calling me. Wouldn't it make more sense to wait for me to ask how you're doing?” I followed this point with a second point, equally reasonable. “You know I'm just going to say 'not much,' or, 'nothing' – why do you even ask?”

“Because you're my brother. I'm just trying to be polite.” Stepping momentarily into a heavier accent, my brother spoke again, “Nah man, I'm onna phone. Tell'im to come back later.”

“If you were trying to be polite, you wouldn't say 'what's up,' you'd talk to me the way I talk to you.”

“Did Tim drop off those baseball bats?”

“Yeah, last week. I couldn't sell them on ebay, so I've got'em on Craigslist as 'A Shitload of Baseball Bats' – no serious replies yet.”

“Cool. I gotta talk to this guy. Lemme know if they sell.”

“Sure.”

I went to sleep drunk, and I remember waking myself up several times throughout the night, speaking to the people I'd been dreaming of just seconds ago. I woke up that way in the morning, telling an imaginary customer, “I could sell you five for $12 each.”

Momocon 2008

The two oldest costumed people I saw at the con.


She sells her handmade panda hats and cellphone dongles at littleraccoon.com



These last two were taken as the storm came in on Saturday afternoon. I've got about 20 pictures of the group trying to get into their pose. We tried hard not to laugh - for their sakes.

I'm a Sucker For Sculpture

Spotted this photograph hanging at Composition Gallery last Saturday. The artist responsible, Julie L. Sims, is a member of ExLucis, Georgia State University's student photography group. The piece is Frozen.




Here's a secret: I like the photograph because it reminds me of that one part in Chrono Trigger, when the protagonist dies and his friends get together to climb this Time Mountain in order to jump start his soul. The mountain was protected by a fierce wind you could only avoid by hiding behind trees which looked almost exactly like the ones in Sims' piece.

Housekeeping, Part 1

I'm switching from my old blog, Shoeless, to this one.

I've been meaning to switch for the last few months. I lost the password for Shoeless at least a year ago, so I'd only been able to post to that blog - I couldn't change the sidebar links or the background graphics, and I couldn't collect the $6.14 in ad revenue I'd earned over my three year blogging career.

Anyway, this is my new blog. The name is stolen from Julio Cortázar's Hopscotch, and the complete line reads, "Nothing is lost if there is the courage to proclaim it lost and start again."

I think the line captures everything I love about Cortázar's writing - his perpetual youth, sly humor, and constant parody of parody of parody.


Taken from the Doraville-bound MARTA.