industrial devolution May 8, 2011
Technology is the bane of my existence.
It’s like…your senile great uncle. You love him dearly and want only the best for him, but if he wets himself at the dinner table one more time, nothing will stop you from throwing him in a home.
Okay, perhaps that was a false analogy, but my point remains the same: Just like poor Uncle Herbert, technology is a wonderful thing; nevertheless, with their inability to function properly, the tools of our modern age have a heinous reputation for raising people’s blood pressure.
I was simply attempting to complete my normal cyber-chores–that is, logging on FB, scrolling through my news feed, logging out, logging in again….
“Let’s see,” I murmured to myself while scrolling through the massive inventory of FB mush. “Oh, would you look at that? Nancy’s using the bathroom right now! Thank god for this informative status update! And, and–oh! Those two are having relationship issues? I’ve never spoken to either of them in real life, but this is still something I definitely wanted to hear about! Oh, yes, yes. Where would my life be without you, Facebook?”
I clicked the URL bar and typed www.tumblr.com…
ACCESS DENIED
“What kind of sick joke is this!?” I roared, “I need my daily dose of clever GIFs and black-and-white photos of people’s backyards! I NEED INTERNET!”
I groaned. “Okay, fine,” I mumbled. “I’ll try Google.”
ACCESS STILL DENIED YOU STUPID SUCKER
“GAHH! I require internet! It’s my DRUG!” I grabbed my head and thrust it into the nearest brick wall, which–looking back–sort of hurt a little.
I lifted myself from the rubble and massaged my forehead. “Get yourself together, Jessi,” I whispered. “It’s just a stupid computer. You’re a human, and this isn’t a sci-fi movie, so it’s not going to revolt against you or anything…” I paused for a moment and inhaled deeply. “Besides, there’s no need to damage the wall like that. You remember the last time…with the choppers and the straitjacket and the big bowl of elbow noodles…”
I waltzed back over to my laptop. To my great concern, websites such as www.porno.com and www.littleasiangirlsstickinglargeobjectsuptheirbuttholes.com were materializing out of cyber-nowhere like dirty thoughts in the mind of a pervy teenager.
I’ve never been one to invest my time in such media, and the origin of this virus still remains a mystery to me.
Long story short, I had to wipe my poor laptop and sacrifice my iTunes and pictures and documents and everything to the computer gods.
“Finally,” I breathed.”Nothing can stop me from my internetting now!”
…Until I knocked a cup of dirty paint water onto the keyboard.
Now the H key and backspace button are prisoners-of-war.
And, of course, I need H for my password. The one letter taken hostage had to be the most necessary.
Why couldn’t “Q” or “~” have died off?
I mean, who even uses tildes anyways?
Digital art is now on hiatus, and I was reduced to my iPod touch for communication.
Then, by a sick twist of irony, my iPod fell into the toilet.
The screen started flashing bright colors and stripes…like Missingno a la epileptic seizure.
Then it died.
Amidst all this pandemonium, my scanner also committed suicide.
I don’t know where all this bad electronic mojo is comin’ from, and I honestly don’t care anymore.
I’ve adapted to the absence of technology. I thought I’d lose my mind, but I’ve found time for more productive and beneficial activities!
I’ve also spent a lot more time on traditional artwork.
If anything, I’m almost thankful for this recent conflict. Even without screens blaring 24/7, life can be pretty dang good!
Back to the basics! Sharpie doodles and digital camera-ing:
art is for your soul, not for your wallet. March 28, 2011
I spent a good portion of today chilling in a local cafe.
It was one of those instances in life where you are sucked into your own thoughts and walk away having realized way more than you ever really wanted in the first place.
Everyone in Nashville has a guitar, I pondered while sipping my steaming cappuccino. Everyone. Your barber, your neighbor, your neighbor’s illegitimate son, your neighbor’s illegitimate son’s dog…everyone. Even I have a guitar. I can’t play it, but I have one–it’s the Golden Rule of Nash Vegas.
It seems that Music City’s denizens are obsessively fixed on being discovered.
Everyone wants to get somewhere, especially if that ‘somewhere’ isn’t the Hooters they currently work at or the frozen pizza aisle in Publix.
Honestly, it’s really sad.
A lot of these people are more focused on cash than their craft.
It’s extremely heartbreaking–especially as an artist.
I can only hope that the ones who survive the thick of Nashville’s–and the world’s–artistic jungle are the ones who do what they do for themselves… and not for money.
FOREVER ALONE February 14, 2011
All my fellow single friends were miserable on Valentine’s Day, but I must admit that, despite being single, I am actually quite happy. Here’s why:
- Love is awkward.
- I’m awkward.
- My partner, if I am ever to have one, will most likely be awkward.
- Less laundry.
- Less dishes.
- I get the remote.
- I get the armrest at the movie theater.
- I don’t have to waste money buying chocolates for other people. Rather, I can spend it on consolation ice cream of loneliness for myself.
- I can eat as much garlic as I want without having a lover from which I must hide my breath.
- I can eat as much beans as I want, and will not suffer embarrassment in front of said lover thanks to flatulence.
- HECK, I can eat garlic and beans at the same time. SCREW LOVE, man. Garlic bean dip is where it’s at. Bring on the mega-farts.
Valentine’s Day has been an okay day for me, actually. I sort of anticipated sinking into a mini-depression (i.e., crying myself to sleep while watching The Breakfast Club), but I’ve been in an extremely pleasant mood all day!
I took advantage of V-Day’s heavenly weather and zipped around the neighborhood on a cozy bike ride. (Okay, the uphill part of the bike ride wasn’t quite so cozy. In fact, I think my leg muscles had heart attacks. And yes, that’s possible! Anything’s possible on Valentine’s Day)
Hopefully…hopefully spring is officially around the corner. I wouldn’t mind a smidge more of this sunshine!
all lost in the supermarket: johnny depp, chuck norris, and bad spinach February 12, 2011
Sometimes life yanks us into terribly undesirable situations.
By a series of my own insolent errors, I was chucked into one such episode.
It all began as an innocent trip to the grocery store.
Horrible Mistake #1: Going to WalMart.
Being a moron, I picked the worst possible day of the year to make my round trip to the market.
Horrible Mistake #2: Going to WalMart on Superbowl Sunday.
Of course, every single person in the state of Tennessee was at that very WalMart when I traipsed grudgingly through its sliding glass doors. I suppose that everyone was snagging their last-minute football rations of Pepsi and microwave teenie-weenies.
After brushing through the jungle of body heat and fur coats, I whipped out my handy-dandy checklist and maneuvered my way through the massive clothing department.
First I accidentally skidded in front of the Valentine’s day display, where I sunk to the floor and wept for twenty minutes straight.
Not because I’m lonely.
Because I remembered that I didn’t completely close the refrigerator door before I left.
NOW ALL MY SPINACH WILL GO BAD.
I took a deep breath, pulled myself up from the ground, and courageously walked away from that wretched scene.
I leisurely strolled past the book section. A beefy thug was snugly seated near the magazine rack, silently devoted to some sports article. I wiped another tear from my eye. It warms my heart that America has given jocks the opportunity to read like everyone else.
I slid past Professor Beefy McEnglishMajor and quickly scanned the bookshelves.
“What the heck,” I whispered to myself, “Why is Diary of a Wimpy Kid in the Harlequin romance section!?”
I pondered this for a moment. I read that book a few years ago, and certainly didn’t recall any romantic or sexual content.
I scratched my chin and twirled my imaginary goatee. What if the Cheese Touch is actually…?
I cringed a little, then moved on.
I tried my best to dodge the office supplies. As I’m relatively obsessive over art and writing, I’m drawn to notebooks and other papery goodies like a fat person to a plate of cookies hipster to Urban Outfitters magnet.
While avoiding the stapler-and-memo-pad domain, I stumbled upon (“StumbleUpon”. Haha, internet humor) a beautiful Chuck Norris poster. I spent a reasonable seven minutes absorbing its wealthy inventory of Chuck Norris jokes when a deeply philosophical question slithered into my mind:
What will everybody do when Chuck Norris dies!?
His epitaph will probably read “Chuck Norris didn’t die. He beat life.”
At that moment, I reached spiritual enlightenment.
At this point, I was eager to escape consumer hell; to leave this crowded, sweaty, disease-ridden grocery store. I briskly trekked down the mart’s large center aisle, then swerved and took a detour through the soft drink row.
While gliding along the shelves of Dr. Pepper and other such canned heart palpitations, I brushed shoulders against a tall, pale fellow in suede jacket. He distinctly resembled Johnny Depp; his face was angular and his black hair was parted into this…weird frou-frou haircut.
He peered at me out of the corner of his eye, then whipped around and stared at me as I turned and made my way for the vegetable stands. Realizing that he was watching me, I began to pick up speed until I was nearly jogging to the veggies.
I swooped around the corner and, nearly colliding into a rack of cantaloupes, let out a sigh of relief. I’m safe, I thought to myself.
I pivoted around and began examining some of the produce. I picked up an apple and poked at its mushy bruises.
“I’m glad I’m not an apple,” I mumbled to myself. “It’d be really awkward if I had to sit here all day and be fondled and poked by random people.”
I chuckled quietly and dropped the poor fruit back with its siblings.
I lifted my head and glanced around–
“Oh my god,” I whispered.
Johnny Depp Jr. rounded the corner, pushing his empty cart past the racks of carrots and celery.
Instinctively I lowered my head, trying to avoid making eye contact with the unnerving socialite. I slid and attempted to hide behind a rack of peaches, but he’d already seen me.
He trundled along the vegetable aisle, then slowed to an almost complete stop as he walked past me. Just….watching.
I gasped for air, then leapt up and ran to the other side of the store as fast as my out-of-shape legs could schlep me.
“Hopefully I’ve lost him,” I muttered. I took a deep breath and twisted my head back to ensure that I was safe.
He was behind me. A good 200 feet or so, but he was moving in my direction.
Finally, I did what I should have done an hour and thirty-seven minutes ago:
I LEFT WALMART.
I still ask myself what Mini Depp wanted:
Did he think I was shoplifting?
Did I have some lettuce in my teeth from lunch, and he wanted to warn me at just the right moment so I wouldn’t make a fool of myself in public?
Was he schizophrenic? Was he so delusional that he believed it was his solemn duty to kill off all mythological creatures, and he thought I was the Easter Bunny?
Was he trying to stick a “Kick Me” sign on my back?
Whatever the case, I will never, ever be able to watch any Johnny Depp movie ever again.
I suppose the moral of this story is quite simple: Buy all of your groceries from eBay.
Also, I’ve been pooping out quite a bit more art than usual lately!
this is why i art February 10, 2011
Requests are dangerous things!
If you are an artist, I solemnly suggest filing a restraining order against them.
Otherwise…they will take over your existence.
i had too much to think last night February 2, 2011
I’ve been thinking quite a bit lately.
Thoughts on Dreams…
- Do not fall asleep while watching Inception. You will dream about having a dream that you are a character in the movie. And Leonardo diCaprio will be there.
- Never eat microwave bean-and-cheese burritos right before bed. Just…don’t.
- If our dreams are honestly trying to share vital information with us, why must they be so cryptic? If it’s really that important, just come out and say it, man. Let’s leave the detective work to Nancy Drew and Steve from Blue’s Clues.
Thoughts on 2012…
- What if, in 2012, reality becomes one huge Lady Gaga music video?
- What if, in 2012, reality becomes one huge anime series?
- We’re all expecting something extremely unexpected to happen in 2012. What if this big unexpected twist is that nothing changes at all? That would be pretty unexpected, especially since we’re all anticipating huge explosions and zombies and nuclear fallouts.
Thoughts on love…
- I love you. But I also love pizza. And Doctor Who. And the Kinks. And poking dead things with sticks. But sure, I love you.
- Flowers are a terrible gift to share with your lover–they quickly wither and die; are you implying that your love will behave in the same way? Screw roses and get your girlfriend a box of chocolates. Unless she’s allergic to chocolate, in which case asexuality probably isn’t a bad idea.
- I’ve offially decided that I don’t need love. I’d rather become the friendly old granny who lives cozily in that rustic wooden house at the end of your street. I’ll paint portraits of newborn kittens and collect porcelain statues of goats, and I’ll be the coolest, most lovable old fart in town because I’ll bake the best homemade corn muffins.
I’ve noticed recently how absorbed in my own artwork I really am.
When I draw, it’s as if a colossal, soundproof glass box erupts around me. I curl inwards, and everything around me fades into white noise.
I’ve questioned whether or not such behavior is healthy, but I’ve firmly and finally decided that it’s an artist thing.
horoscopes: how badly your future is going to suck January 31, 2011
DESCRIPTIVE WORDS THAT DESCRIBE: A bit of experimentation with Crayola markers! I had the recent itching desire to draw something fun, detailed, vibrant, and colorful. I scribbled this down instead.
Horoscopes. Zodiacs.
As of a few weeks ago, astrologers thought it’d be funny to violently gut-shoot the 3,000-year-old zodiac wheel, turning horoscopes into a flaky, discombobulated mess.
They even introduced a new star sign, by god: “Ohf*ckthis” “Ophiuchus”.
Thanks to the new Mary Sue of astrology, there are only six days in Scorpio, making nearly everyone a Libra.
NO. We don’t need all these poser Libras stenching the earth up with their fakeness.
And, dear lord, I am NOT A VIRGO!!!
,,,
All of this commotion honestly got me thinking:
Who writes all these horoscopes?
And then:
Wouldn’t that be the coolest job ever?
Many a time, while awkwardly waiting in line at Publix, I’ve leafed through those little horoscope booklets. They’re usually a load of BS….but people still buy them.
I’d die to be that greasy fat man with a hoagie who lives in his basement and writes these for a living.
Coolest. Life. Ever.
I decided to take a whack at writing some horoscopes of my own!
Quickly, now! TAKE A GLIMPSE INTO YOUR FUTURE!
Aries: There might be a 50% chance that you may or may not possibly have a good week next week. Maybe.
Taurus: Don’t ask me. I’m not psychic.
Gemini: Your other self is cheating on you.
Cancer: Get off the internet and go do something with your life. Like knitting a sweater.
Leo: Now is not a good time to get plastic surgery on your kneecaps, no matter what your fashion magazines tell you.
Virgo: STILL NOT A VIRGO!
Libra: A wonderful person may be about to walk into your life. Of course, if you’re one of those grimy pseudo-Libras, then they’re most likely about to walk right past your life completely oblivious to your existence.
Scorpio: You’re an emotional train wreck. Go visit a psychiatrist.
Sagittarius: Stay away from train tracks; you might get hit by a Scorpio.
Capricorn: Nobody likes you.
Aquarius: You’re going to face an untimely death at Burger King. Looks like your assassins are havin’ it their way! ***
Pisces: (see Scorpio)
***Shoot me. My puns are getting worse with every passing second.
i draw things... 