Prisencolinensinainciusol

Adriano Celetano, an Italian singer/songwriter, wrote and performed this song to sound like fake English back in the 70's:



Let me just say, I love my heritage.

And we're pretty badass dancers.

Dancing

Nobody dances in this country - I mean, really dances. And when they do, it's always about something else - something else besides the pure notion of enjoying and moving your body to the music.

There's the awkward, "ironic" dancing, which many people do either because they want to make fun of the music or contain some belief that letting loose breaks their "cool" somehow. Most of the SAIC parties I attend consist of this kind of dancing, if any dancing occurs at all. Even then, it only seems to be a brief segment during the party, after which most of the attendees continue on drinking and chain-smoking.

That, and the ever-so-popular "grinding." All attention to the beat or the rhthym of the music is thrown out the window, all in exchange to see how long two people can rub up against each other fully clothed before the guy gets a boner. Basically, it's dry-humping in public, but with music in the background. It's not much of an annoyance after high school, but I wouldn't be surprised if there are people who still "grind" well into their 20's.

Lately, I've noticed that, when the rare occasion arises and people actually do begin dancing, I'll often try to dance for real along with them. However, since they're not into it, I always end up looking and feeling incredibly awkward and uncomfortable. So then that makes me an "ironic" dancer, which kind of, indeed, annoys me.

Two Insane, Comedic Performances and New Layout

In case you haven't seen my actual blog in some time, the layout, color scheme, and the banner have changed. No more obnoxiously large photo booth picture of me eating bread in a time warp.

Dressed as a beatnik for Halloween, since my Alex DeLarge costume fell through. (Note: Duct-taping two white belts to the inside of your pants and calling them suspenders isn't as easy as it seems.) We went trick-or-treating for, like, a half hour in Pilsen before we decided to head to this party over in Lakeview. Pretty good fun overall.

Tomorrow we're having another class shoot, this time with a dolly, inside a studio. Hopefully I didn't annoy anyone with my decision to switch from the "homemaker" role to the "pissed off worker" role. Actually, if I did, whatevah.

New favorite movie scene of the moment: Daniel Brühl's performance in 2 Days in Paris. Unfortunately, there is no clip on youtube I could gladly show you, so I'll leave you with a, no doubt, beautiful picture of him as "Lukas" in what was overall kind of a meh film in terms of story:

"I'm a fairy..."

Also saw Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971) for the first time on the big screen at the Gene Siskel Film Center. It's better and more appetizing than I remembered.

Two entertaining, comical performances of insane people.

Murderous Children and a Rant about Non-Subversive, Sexist Comedy

Just saw ¿Quíen puede matar a un niño? (1976) or, Who Can Kill a Child?, in English. It's insane, I recommend you watch it to see Spanish children kill adults.



Also had a conversation I've been wanting to have for quite a long time in film class. B (I feel weird using full names in my blog now... for some reason) brought up how someone in his painting class brought in this really exploitative, gratuitous painting of a naked woman bending over, along with a random tit in the corner. He, the painter, apparently wanted to present the naked female figure as "decoration". B was pretty adamant about how he (and, thankfully the rest of the class AND the teacher) disagreed with this student's depiction of women in the painting. Thank gawd -- this gave me hope.

This reminded me of the time someone brought in a drawing for critique in the "comedy" Research Studio last semester. The drawing was as follows: a line drawing of a naked, faceless woman, holding her legs up in the air, with a coin slot for a vagina. Chee-ya. So I expressed my discontent during the critique, and the teacher asks if I think the guy who drew it thinks a woman's vagina is literally a coin slot. My response should have been:

-"Gee, I don't know, has he ever even seen one?"

or,

-What the girl in my film class (the one, who I believe wrote for Second City, or was affiliated with them in one way or another) said. She mentioned how what we laugh at reveals what we truly think in our subconcious...

...Thus, if someone laughs at a drawing of a faceless, naked woman with a coin slot for a vagina, there's a kernel of truth, and sadly enough, odds are, that person subconsciously feels that women can be bought. The "it's funny because it's true" doesn't work in this case because it's not true -- they're stereotypes, and they're certainly not anything new and subversive WHICH IS WHAT COMEDY WAS AND IS MEANT TO BE.

The whole thing kind of distanced me from some people in the Research class, and I definitely felt silenced and a little isolated for the rest of the term, simply for saying I was offended by a line drawing. So it was quite the relief to hear like-mindedness on the situation, instead of the half-witted, apathetic, hipster response on how we shouldn't take sexist jokes and such so seriously because it's supposed to be "ironic". I got a whole 'nother rant on that, but I'll withdraw that and save it for a rainy day.

I also wrote a Feministing article about the line drawing incident, but someone from my class left a comment on it defending the guy who drew it. Weak defense, of course -- s/he said it wasn't a final project and it was supposed to be "lame, bad, ugly" art and we're supposed to laugh at the piece because of that. However, laughing at someone like this, something that degrades half the population using old clichés and stereotypes because you think it's bad is the same as laughing at it because you think it's true.
Rant: done.

Though I feel like I have much more to say...

Notes of Interest

-I started another tumblr called "Photo Booth Photo a Day". It's just me taking one photo booth photo of myself everyday and posting it to tumblr. I might delete it, it's not as cool as I thought it was when I thought of the idea.

-I've returned to Twitter after a long hiatus of not understanding what the f to do with it. However, I still don't understand the appeal of "tweeting" that you're going to Jewell-Osco. At least make it remotely funny/interesting. I save my tweets for something along those lines.

-I'm about to watch "Curb Your Enthusiasm" and "Mad Men". Just another Sunday evening in the Kimcave.

-P.S. Is it just me, or is kind of lame that Jason Schwartzman stars in and sings the theme song to his own show? There's a little too much of his distinctive voice in a short period of time, in my opinion. E G O E X P L O S I O N . . .

-Here are the two photo booth photos I've posted so far on that one tumblr account:

Vass-evah

I'm over it.

Knittin' 'n Learnin' German

It's about that time of year again -- that time when I buy some yarn and knit 1/2 of a scarf for 2 weeks until I get bored with it. I went to Loopy Yarns today after Screenwriting class to get some supplies. The ladies there are, well, loopy.

Downloaded some "Learn German" podcasts as well. They. Are. Bizarre. My first two "lessons" involved simply "listening to the sound of the German language" and "relaxing" to long, drawn-out musical interludes. So far I can say "This is a song by Claus Hoffman." And all the other stuff Americans tend to pick up as they go along.

Tomorrow I meet with someone at Berlitz for a language learning consultation to figure out which German class I would be best suited for. If I pick up on it as fast as I did Spanish, then maybe I'll be able to constantly skip ahead to the next level. (FUN FACT: I skipped a year of Spanish in high school. Just sayin'.)

(Click to enlarge)

Ok, I'm looking at this graph, trying not to get too cocky, trying not to tell myself that I'll complete levels 1-6 in 20 lessons each.

Notes of Interest

-We watched this video in puppet class yesterday. A French theatre company called Royal de Luxe constructed these massive puppets to walk across Berlin and meet at the Bradenburg Gate. It's in celebration of the 20th anniversary of German Unification. WATCH IT! It is breathtaking if you imagine yourself there. (I'd post pictures, but I can't decide which ones to put up -- it's that crazygood.)

-Saw Was nützt die Liebe in Gedanken or Love in Thoughts, as we'd say in Americaland. Also highly recommend this, as it is good, available instant on Netflix, and contains (semi-) nude Brühl.

-The past few days have been very, well, German. I'm constantly thinking of where I'd like to study abroad next year, and London seems like the most doable in terms of having a film program that teaches in a language I understand. The other places my school has an exchange deal with are Weimar and Berlin, and apparently the Berlin one is one of the best for film. However, I don't know German, and attending that school requires that I speak and understand it. Lately, due to my very German days, I have a feeling that I'd be able to get a good grip on the German language. Whether I could be fluent by Fall 2010, that's a tricky subject. Damnit, Madrid, why can't you have an outstanding film program that has an exchange deal with my prestigious art school?

-Went to MAC today, the cosmetics store. Got some concealer for the droopy droopy purple bags under my eyes (thanks, Italian genes!) and a very dark green eyeliner with speckles of gold in it to bring out the green in my round-ish, hazel eyes.

Was nützt die Liebe in Gedanken (2004)

That's all for now. I'm about to go on Etsy. Might return with pictures of the crap I bought, a.k.a. the source of my buyer's remorse.

This Morning's Flashback: An Emotional Rant

I had another mini-flashback this morning. In case you don't know, I tend to suffer from these small, abrupt flashbacks, usually stemming from really emotional moments I've had. But this one was somewhat startling, mainly because it involved someone who I really like, but have been really confused about. It's a long and complicated story, but, in essense, I can't decide whether I should "let him go/forget about him" or keep him in mind and continue to like him.

This dilemma developed after he decided he couldn't be in a relationship quite yet after a pretty messy break-up, from what I can gather. However, I often get pissed because he's ditched me on several occasions to hang out, hasn't paid me back the money I lent him, and hardly ever responds to any message I send him, be it on AIM or Facebook (I guess I can understand the last one, but, come on, he borrowed $25 from me two months ago and hasn't paid me back even a cent.)

But recently I fucked things up. A few nights ago I had a few too many beers, and I think I might have blacked out for the first time. From what I can tell, I sent some angry instant messages to him, basically saying, "Since you aren't replying to these [obviously catty] messages then I guess that means you're trying to ignore me" yadda yadda yadda. He sent an im the next day reading, "wow ok", and that's when I discovered the big fuck-up. I frantically sent him back messages saying, "fuck, I don't even remember sending those, I'm sooooo sorry I don't really mean that", etc. He just responded, "ok." Of course, it's a pretty ambiguous response, and tone is so hard to read via AI fucking M. I asked him what he meant, but he still hasn't responded.

Anyway, back to this morning's flashback. So I'm feeling pretty shitty, like most mornings. And then I had a flashback from the time we first met. We were at this party in Roger's Park, sometime this past December. We went outside and sat on the wooden staircase coming down from the deck outside this apartment. It was nighttime, of course, and it was snowing. We're both a little drunk, but sober or not, I gotta say it was a pretty magical setting. We started on this deep conversation, one mostly brought about by him. He was talking about how he has a fear of a flying. I distinctly recalled this portion of the conversation:

Him: What are you afraid of?
Me: I don't know... maybe... not being liked.
Him: Well, I like you.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. It sounded like something straight from a John Hughes film, which is what we were gushing about earlier that night, and how we "connected", I suppose. I thought about how it go to this point: how we went from this happy little place to him thinking I'm a total psycho. I guess he has a right to think so, I mean, those messages did make me look like a crazy person. But right now I'm just hoping to move on, see what else is out there.

If any of you have read up to this point, I say to you, in the words of Samantha Baker in Sixteen Candles: "It's really human of you to listen to all my bullshit."

Bolex Projects

Went to Lincoln Park Zoo today for Film as Capture to get acquainted with the Bolex camera, much like we did in Media Practices: Moving Image. Only this time we didn't have to film BOTH a video and a film version of it, and we had a much better idea of what the hell we were doing. We shot: flamingos, warthogs, giraffes, a bear, and zebras. We tried to shoot these funny-looking, spastic monkeys, but, being spastic, they scurried away before we could film.

Also unlike last time, I walk away actually knowing how to read a light meter. Turns out it wasn't even complicated to begin with - friggin Media Practices teachers complicated it. Just like they did our first film assignment, where we were using the Bolex for THE FIRST TIME yet still had to shoot on friggin video, too.

Bamboozled is coming in from Netflix sometime soon - a movie shot entirely on mini DV video cameras...

Puppet Show and Pete Campbell

Didn't wake up until 1-ish today. It was definitely one of those nights when the longer you sleep, the more tired you get. Luckily, I was able to rouse myself in time to make it to Links Hall, where I helped set up a one-man puppet show performed by my puppet teacher. Another girl from my puppet class was there and we ended up circling Wrigleyville searching for a place to fill an air tank. But before that we helped put together these insanely thrifty yet awesome stage pieces. And then I also had to run to Walgreens to buy some black eyeliner, cold cream, and chap stick.

The show, called "Hard Headed Heart", was amazing. It was a series of three segments, beginning with a very comedic Spanish Punch and Judy type sketch with hand puppets. Loved that stage piece -- it was sort of janky and reminded me of Splash Mountain. The second was a musical piece with marionettes called "St. James Infirmary", based on the poem. There was puppet sex in that one. The last was a shadow puppet interpretation of "13 Different Ways of Looking at a Blackbird", which was quite inspiring. Would make for, perhaps, the greatest opening credit sequence in a film. "Mad Men" this week certainly improved from last week. But that mainly might have to do with me seeing Pete Campbell (a.k.a. the dashing GQMF below) shirtless:

You devilish little weasel, you. Treat me like a German au pair and getinmypantscoughcough.

Blehk, I've got a paper due Tuesday. There goes my Monday.

9 Problems

I guess the last few posts (minus the puppet ones) make this blog my bitchin' blog: my blog for bitchin' & rantin'. In spirit, I am going to list 9 problems of mine:

1. Paper due Tuesday
2. Presentation due Tuesday
3. Need to make two 3-D objects, even though my construction skills are equivalent to that of a 3-year-old
4. Need to find a new crowd to hang with (Decided to "start fresh" this year by essentially eliminating asshole-y people from my life, yadda yadda yadda)
5. Bored as fuck
6. Would rather be overseas
7. Complicated situation with a member of the opposite sex
8. There's a crack in my kitchen ceiling
9. Want to delete Facebook account, but it's regaining its appeal right after I send out the message telling everyone I'm deleting it.

Bitch.

I Been Tumblin'

I've been doing most of my bloggin' on tumblr lately, mainly because the material you use for posts/entries are so readily available and easy to obtain. Not to mention, motivating. For instance, I saw this dumbass graphic/picture:


And "reblogged" it, adding a commentary I kinda feel proud of:

"Ok, let’s backtrack…

Polanski is a great filmmaker and all, but he drugged and raped a 13-year-old girl.

I admire a great film, no doubt, but making a great film isn’t a “Get out of jail free” card when you have drugged and raped a 13-year-old girl.

Michael Vick is still widely hated for having dog fights, but for some reason Polanski’s crime is still widely defended based simply on the fact that he made Chinatown. In my own personal version of Dante’s Inferno, dog fighting and raping children are in the same circle of Hell.

People, start learning how to separate art from real life."

(Or at least come to the realization that you're giving rape culture just another little push into the mainstream - again.)

Nothing to hold up against the Gettysburg Address, but ya know.

My tumblr, by the way, is here.

Puppets Bring Happiness #7

Yes, this is Kermit the Frog performing "Once in a Lifetime" by Talking Heads.

I find it funny that they used stocks photos in the background. Even the Jim Henson company's keepin' a tight budget.

Crusty Old Used Book Stores

Yesterday I went to Myopic Books, a used book store just off the Damen stop on the blue line. Yes, in the heart of Hipster Park. It was nice, cozy, musty, and probably ridden with mold in every corner, just the way I like my used book stores. It reminded me a lot of the Book Loft back in German Village, back in Columbus. It also, surprisingly enough, reminded me of a bookstore in Madrid that only sold books on film. It was glorious.

I purchased:

-The screenplay for The Royal Tenenbaums (it would be a nice guide for my screenwriting class this Fall)
-A book from 1977 about Swedish film (mainly for the design of the front cover, I'll admit)
-A biography on Walt Disney (meh, could contain some interesting little fun facts)
-A book on the cinema of Almodóvar (it's about time, Kimberly)
-A book in Spanish called Guardian Devil (whatevs)

Old Live Journal/Xanga/MySpace

I just re-discovered my old live journal account from the summer between 8th and 9th grade. It's pretty embarrassing/hilarious -- I was pretty much the Michael Scott of adolescent girls.

But what is, perhaps, more entertaining yet harder to read is my old xanga. Definitely more than 9 entries there, and a better example of teenage angst/attempts at songwriting/obsession with The White Stripes.

I've lately been feeling nostalgic for my early high school years. I still believe it was the second most hellish period of my life, but, yeah, you know. I also checked out my old myspace. I had some pretty interesting photos on there, such as this one:

Still so proud of it.

Puppets Bring Happiness #6

"Good source of riboflavin."

Back.

My need to write on blogs comes in waves.

This summer has been kind of a dud, except for a few pockets of fun times here and there. People kept telling me over the school year, "Oh yeah, you GOTTA spend at least ONE summer in the city." Yeah. Probably so I could have some material for a depressing yet brilliant masterwork of art (of a medium yet to be determined.) Everyone has been in their hometowns, doing... hometown stuff. I've been here, gettin' credits and persuading my brother to buy me copious amounts of booze whenever he visits. I really need to get a fake.

A part of me wants to have a Mad Men party for the season premiere this Sunday. Smoke cigars, dress nicely, drink man drinks. Sounds like a fantastic idea.

Anyway, I went to my new dermatologist yesterday. She has a super thick German accent. It. Is. Awesome. But apparently I have eczema, so I'm being put on a special diet. Must avoid: Citrus fruit, tomatoes, sugar, white flour, caffeine, or cow's milk. I also can't use hair conditioner, get overheated, or wear polyester. Not to mention I have to take a shit ton of dietary supplements and use this super fancy ointment that probably comes from deep within the Amazon rain forest. If the 2.5 of you who read this blog are still reading, I salute your patience. This paragraph makes me sound like a smelly old lady.

But anyways, I'm back and I'm ramblin'.

How?? Why??

How and why have I ignored my blog for over a month? Apparently, when I'm NOT that busy, I don't have any grievances to air, other than being bored from time to time. Is this the right font type and size I've been using?

--**COMPLAINING: COMMENCE**--

But oh boy, I've got some grievances now: figure drawing has injected a little bit more suffering into my life. Not to mention, hardly anyone I know is still in Chicago, so weekends have been occupied with shopping, coffee, and Flaxman library DVD rentals. And on top of that, my phone battery, for some inexplicable reason, won't charge. Way to go, Steve Jobs.

These past few weeks have also reminded me that I am perhaps the least informed when it comes to dating faux-pas (when it comes to communicating NOT in person, that is.) Oh well. If he's so hung up on bullshit like that then he's a douche. By all standards.

--**COMPLAINING: DE-COMMENCE**--

My 24-year-old brother bought me a pack of Blue Moon and Fat Tire beer on Saturday. I'm floating in gourmet brew. But not really.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA...

Finals have really been hitting hard this week. Luckily all I have to do before I move out is put the finishing touches on my Art History essay due tomorrow. Plus, I have no idea how I am going to put my stuff into storage without taking several taxis/having a taxi driver NOT throw around my boxes/getting everything there before this Tuesday (not today, of course.) A member of my family might come up and help me, but I doubt it's going happen on such short notice. Fucking carts can't be rented for over two hours. How the hell long do you think it takes to put shit into storage?!

Don't want to show my video to Pun Intended I'm in a bra for half the video WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

Puppets Bring Happiness #5

Now here's one that teaches little Canadian children how to speak French. Vive le Téléfrancais !

Good Times, Bad Times

Good times and bad times happened during the time I haven't posted.

Good time: Signed a lease on a studio apartment located in perhaps the coolest possible residential area in the Loop. Only $1177 a month for an apartment, party suite, fitness center (like I'll use it), 2 hot tubs, 2 saunas, a patio, a little park, complementary coffee, guest suites, a fancy Italian café next door, a morning shuttle bus that takes you up and down Michigan, and some sweetass modernist fountains outside. And it's just a 15 or 20-minute walk to the Michigan and Sharp buildings.

However, I'll need to crash somewhere from May 12th-June 5th since I can't move in 'till June 6th. Anyone need a housesitter?

Bad time: For some reason, after excitedly telling everyone that my piece was going to be in Art Bash, it didn't show up at Art Bash. I asked Leone, the teacher who sent it in, and she said she handed the copy of my video directly to the person who made the compilation that played at Art Bash. So hopefully that asshole will pay my tuition for the next three years, get fired, and/or be publicly humiliated in payment for the frustration and humiliation he/she caused me. Now I'm feeling like a total loser, so thanks, whoever you are and you know who you are. I missed out on seeing my work projected inside an actual theater setting because some twatface decided to be lazy and unprofessional that day.

Good time: I went to lunch with my uncle and my cousin who were in town on a short vacation. We ate at Cheesecake Factory and later on joined up with my aunt and my younger cousin to go to Filene's Basement. I bought two articles of Ben Sherman clothing for only $20 each. Such a bargain, I tell you.

Bad time: I was not born to gesso. Especially pieces of masonite.

...I can housesit from May 12th-June 5th...

The Strokes, The Julio, and The SOV

I've been listening to a lot of Lady Sovereign lately. I'm gonna try and deport her. But not really.

I also just finished my FIRST Barbie doll clothes dress (we will not speak of the "other" one... that was not a dress...) I hope Edmund erases those photos of it from last class and replaces them with this one, because I'm sure it looks more like a garment. It would be kinda funny if he had scissors in his hands and cut it up, then we could call him Edmund Scissorhands. But it wouldn't be that funny.

I've been thinking about my bad art project. I'm thinking about making an intentionally bad video (well, duh) of me making out with photos of characters from "Física o Química". It'll probably be a "remake" of the "Dedicated to the One You Love" project, with crappy titles and all (i.e. " Dedicated to THe 1 U loveprojet")

I hope The Lonely Island makes a video for "Boombox" soon. I'd like to get re-acquainted with my long lost love, Julian Casablancas.

OMG GET RANDOM!

Why, hola, Julio.

Hola, Julian.

Turtle Burger

I think I'm under the impression that all the stuff I make in my film/video class isn't what I normally make, which is quite ironic. It's probably mostly due to the fact that we're working in groups, therefore, we're using a cluster of everyone's ideas instead of solely my own, twisted ideas.

Speaking of ideas, we had to make a proposal in front of the class for a video projection that's due next week (surprise!) Everyone had to pitch their ideas, and afterward we all had to vote on which ideas we wanted to realize. I thought mine was pretty clever, however, I don't think I pitched it the way I wanted to. I wanted to collect found footage and my own personal footage of Madrid (the other three members would have collected footage for another place that's dear to them) and then project it as a collage on a blank wall (the other three would have been on the other three walls.) And in the center I wanted to put a heat lamp or warm spotlight with a comfortable seating cushion for people to view the projection and listen to the sound pieces (via headphones) corresponding to each projection. My idea was to display a location that was dear to the artist, and then transfer that warm, comfy feeling the artists feels about it to the viewer. A little cheesy, maybe, but with a group I could've found a happy medium.

I don't know. Maybe it's not as cool as putting speakers next to colored water and watching it vibrate against a background of iTunes visualizers. 'Scuse the lack of overly conceptual bullshit -- the Japanese students would've loved it.

Did I mention "The Kimberly Ad" is going to be in Art Bash? Honestly, I forget, I'm not trying to be annoying.

I also kind of peeped over at the computer of the girl sitting next to me in film and video today and noticed she was on this website called Future Milk. Check this shiz out:

That's right, try not to get eaten, TURTLE.

Bleh Week

I have to re-do my Barbie doll clothes dress like, MAJORLY. I went to Joann Fabrics yesterday to get a pattern that hopefully turns out to be easy to make. The lady who cut my fabric was telling me that the Project Runway patterns (the one I got) tend to be confusing to read. I read through it a few times and so far it seems OK, since I'm only making a strapless dress. Then the lady (who was a bit older, by the way) apologized for talking to me so much because, "they hadn't given her any drugs." It's kinda hard yet easy to believe that the employees at Joann Fabrics have to be on drugs.

This week hasn't been too interesting. I started to re-do the subtitles of the first episode of "Física o Química", which I did back in November and December. They went a little too quickly the first time around, plus I can't find the file anymore, so I figured it'd be best to start over.

I'm thinking about having an (ironic) slumber party when I finally settle into my new apartment and showcasing it then. I'm thinking about having a lot of parties in my new apartment, actually...

I uploaded my "Please Don't Talk to Me I Fall in Love So Easily" video onto Vimeo:


Please Don't Talk to Me I Fall in Love So Easily from Kimberly P on Vimeo

The Woody Allen Post

I watched "Annie Hall" yesterday for the first time since high school. It's so much funnier when you're not 15 and haven't had any experience with complex relationships yet. I've sort of been on a Woody Allen kick ever since "Vicky Cristina Barcelona".

I'm on break in Film/Video right now. Just got me some filmz from the Flaxman Library: "Breathless", "La Dolce Vita" and "Love and Death". A Woody Allen film and two other films I'm sure have been referenced in a Woody Allen film at one point or another.

I also started following fake Woody Allen on Twitter -- it's in Spanish, so most of the stuff he "twits" about being Jewish seems mildly racist. For instance, there was one where he said (my translation): "I'm glad I was born in Brooklyn instead of Poland, otherwise I would have been made into a lampshade." Yeah.

...At the Edge!

I am not going to apologize for not posting in a while, because apparently Cory Arcangel is planning on possibly creating a blog filled with blog posts from other blogs that say, "Sorry I haven't posted in a while." (Click "Continuous Partial Awareness" to find out some more of his insane ideas. Reminds me of things either Kirk or Tim or both would suggest.)

Anyway, I tried taking a walk around the area where my apartment for next year is going to be, however, with it being monsoon season in Chicago today I could barely make it past the El stop. An old Asian man tried telling me something in his native tongue while waiting for the train back to the Loop. Then he walked away, confused. I must be turning Thai/Vietnamese already (the place I'm going to live is right next to "Little Vietnam" and some Thai restaurants.)

The security guard at the Chicago Building desk asked me how to pronounce my last name. I pronounced it. And then he asked if it was Italian. I replied, "Yes." Yay, I'm still ethnic!

I just ate a blueberry muffin and now it's onto the monstrous coffee cake muffin.

Oh! I saw the Naoyuki Tsuji animations this afternoon, a.k.a. an hour after I woke up. It was supposed to be a Conversations... at the Edge! presentation, but there were some technical difficulties the night it was supposed to happen. But now I must write a formal response for Media Practices. Unfortunately, not having been able to seen the artist, a large chunk of this essay will be missing, as I'm sure I would've had some interesting/snide comments about the artist's physical appearance, as I always do.

My response to every question for now on: "I don't know, why don't you go ask your friend Billy Zane."

Puppets Bring Happiness #4

This one's a little creepy, but then again, what puppet video isn't?

Sock puppets do a cover of a cover: a cover of Nirvana's "Lithium" as sung by The Polyphonic Spree.

Beautifully shot, though.

Mojo Mooch

So I've recently downloaded this free software called Mojo (I personally think they should call it "Mooch".) What you do is, you set up an account, and then you go "online" (they call it "available") and share your iTunes library with other people in your network. How is this different from the regular iTunes network-thingy? YOU CAN DOWNLOAD THEIR MUSIC, TOO. Since the iTunes on my Mac is a bit menial, this is a nice opportunity to inflate it to the size it is back at home.

My back kinda aches from hunching over and sewing those Barbie clothes together. I'm trying not to hunch, but for some reason it's still uncomfortable. I feel like an old person. Sigh.

Anyways, here's another Zach Galifianakis video:

Zack Galifianakis Interviews Moby

"Have you ever seen art?"

It's Hard to Tell If People Are Actually Reading These...

...But anyways...

I had to attend a Final Cut Pro authorization to get an overnight pass for the Michigan building. It was required for our Film/Video class, however, I didn't see anyone from my class there. Then I hopped on the El and went to Vogue Fabrics to purchase some supplies for my Barbie doll clothes dress.

I also went to Target to buy some Barbie doll clothes. Boy, that was awkward. Then I worked on it. I think it's going to be more of a Barbie doll clothes strapless top by Thursday, if even that.

I feel bored and a little depressed. I talked to my Mom a little bit today. She told me another one of those crackpot stories she always hears at work about how people who live alone in apartments during college become isolated and lonely and stop having friends. This is exactly what I was afraid of, and being in my situation it doesn't look good. You see, I'm kind of in between friends, if that even makes sense. I'm sort of growing apart from this one group of people I've been hanging out with since the beginning of school. They've just sort of been ignoring me. That's why I've been a little shy in taking initiative and asking people to hang out. I'm fearing rejection and that thought of, "Oh my God, do we have to invite Kim-bur-leeee?" and the like. In Madrid it seemed so easy. There's a group (maybe 2) I feel I get along with really well, but the whole social thing is just an enigma to me. I need a how-to book on socialization, preferably written by Demetri Martin.

Anyway, MOVING ON...

Learn some Italian:


UPDATE: In a less poopy mood now and ready to write happier blog posts tomorrow.

Apartments, Ahoy!

Today I looked at two apartments.

The first one was located in between the Chicago and Grand stops on the red line, and, boy, was that neighborhood majestic. The apartment itself was located on top of a Designer Resale shop, right on a happy little tree-lined street, across from Starbucks and Whole Foods. Quite the Yuppyhood. It was a pretty sunny studio with bay windows and French doors leading to the kitchen.

However, I noticed that the door was kind of busted. When I asked the realtor about it, he said that there was an emergency where they needed to ax down the door to get in. Sketchy, much? But other than that it's pretty much a steal -- $1085 in the Loop? I oughta sign up now! The people at Chicago Apartment Finders were amazed as well, but changed their minds once I mentioned the door. Plus, the dude at that place (the apartment in the loop) didn't seem so "Wham! Pow! Apartment! Deal!" about the place, if you know what I mean. The painting was a little lumpy and poopy too.

I took a nice stroll from the apartment to the Instituto Cervantes. I picked up some information on advanded/intensive classes and the DELE test. I need to brush up on my Castillian Spanish, and perhaps learn some Basque or Catalan if I wish.

I also went to Beyond the Wall to kill some time before my appointment at Chicago Apartment Finders. I bought a postcard of Young Pete (From "Pete & Pete") posing next to Artie, the Strongest Man in the World:



Then I went to Chicago Apartment Finders, where Josh took me to see some apartments. Unfortunately I was only able to see this one 1 Bedroom apartment in Lincoln Park, which was probably perfect for me. I'm planning on checking out some more on Tuesday, even though I feel a small spot in my heart being carved out for that Lincoln Park apartment.

So Rone-ree.

All right, this apartment thing is getting ridiculous.

March is whittling down and I still haven't found a roommate(s). My parents aren't giving me any information on what I should do, as if finding a place to live was a homework assignment they handed me. And on top of that, I totally come off as a crazy person asking people if they have an apartment/roommate yet. Because starting off an apartment lease with someone by asking, "Hey, can I live with you? None of my friends can live with me and I don't know why it's certainly not because I'm annoyi-" is not the most comforting starting-off point.

Sigh, in other news...

I'm pretty confident in my idea for my final sculpture project. It'll be a soft sculpture (hand-sewn) of four "fallen idols", or celebrities who've had major career crises happen to them: Pee-Wee Herman, Michael Richards, David Hasselhoff and George Michael. They will be little plush dolls in a chain, holding each others' hands. They'll be on the floor. A sad but cute sight to see.

Art History is beginning now. I should wrap this post up right... now.

Spring Break Recap

I'm sipping on some crappy (pun intended) Seven Eleven coffee right now, working on some sketches for my food still-lives and watching the cycle of America's Next Top Model I didn't really get a chance to see (cycle 9, with the girl who has Asperger's Syndrome.)

My Spring Break was kinda poopy fun-wise, but it was relaxing. It was probably what I needed in the end. But still, I would've liked to have gone out a bit more. Sigh, people and their visitors/people being visitors elsewhere. My roommate's friend who came to visit was pretty cool.

I went to Unique on Saturday while all of the DePaul/UIC students were celebrating the whitest day of the year. I bought a pair of light brown booties (or... ankle-high boots, I guess) and one of those oversized windbreaker jackets that old ladies (especially my step-grandmother) wore circa the 1990's. However, the "look" kind of reminded me of someone I know after I bought them, so I don't want to give her the wrong impression. I'm suseptible to creeping people out when I seriously don't mean to.

I want to watch Vicky Cristina Barcelona again and book a flight to Madrid. Or Barcelona. I could use some beach.

Munch and No Mike

Last night I told my brother (Mike) it was my spring break and we tried to plan an impromptu visit for him. Unfortunately, after asking my roommate if my brother could stay in the dorm (he doesn't want to spend a shiz ton of money on a hotel in the loop) she said she felt a little weird having a dude sleeping in her room. So visit: denied. But she had a friend come stay over without telling me first, so I'm a little tiffed off about that. I'm up in my loft now and they're down below talking. Actually we've just been introduced. It's a little less awkward now... I think.

(Think about this: Situations are only awkward if you're thinking about them too much, I've noticed. This is why I come off as a weirdo sometimes, but I end up feeling a lot better.)

I'm also feeling pretty paranoid all of a sudden.

Anyway, right after that profound statement, I'd like to mention that I am wearing my new bowler hat today. Super excited. I wore it to the Munch show at the Art Institute. It was AMAZING. Especially when you go alone, which is what I did. I enjoy art shows more when I'm alone, but I think that goes for most people. However, I did see a lot of huggy-kissy couples there, which is strange sight when they're standing in front of The Dance of Life (see below) which depicts a depressed, lovesick girl mourning over her lost/no-longer lover. It's a little less romantic than they (or you) might think.

The Dance of Life, Edvard Munch


I suck.

Canción

Everyone in high school wrote "songs". I, certainly, was a "song"writer. However, I seem to be continuing this habit into college, as I've written a Fania-type song in Spanish. It's inspired by my recent fallouts with boys in the past week. (And yes, I've had three kinda traumatic experiences with boys in the past 7 days, maybe even less. My life is sad.)

English translation below

"No Me Quieren"

Me presentó un amigo
A un amigo llamado Guille
Y nos liamos, hablamos tanto
Pero hoy me dijo que no
(No seguiré)

Guille no me quiere
No me quiere, no me quiere
Y Guille no me quiere
Cuando le pido, le caigo triste

Yendo de copas una noche
Conocí el Benjamín
Y nos liamos, hablamos tanto
Hace tres meses que no nos vemos

Benjamín no me quiere
No me quiere, no me quiere
Benjamín no me quiere
Cuando le llamo, él no responde

Una noche de pasiones
Conocí a un ingles
Y nos liamos, hablamos nunca
Pero sigue llamándome

A Tomás no le quiero
No le quiero, no le quiero
Y a Tomás yo no le quiero
Cuando me llama, no quiero hablar


"They Don't Want Me"

My friend introduced me
To his friend Liam
We messed around, we talked a lot
But today he told me no
(I can't go on)

Liam doesn't want me
He doesn't want me, doesn't want me
Oh, Liam doesn't want me
When I ask him, I sound so sad

Drinking one night
I met Ben
We messed around, we talked a lot
I haven't seen him in three months

Ben doesn't want me
He doesn't want me, doesn't want me
Oh, Ben doesn't want me
When I call him, he doesn't respond

One night of passion
I met an Englishman
We messed around, we hardly talked
But he keeps calling me

I don't want Tom
I don't want him, I don't want him
Oh Tom, I don't want him
When he calls me, I don't want to talk

Smacking It Down

I've been selected into what I hope will be a super exclusive and elite blog called "haiku smack down". I'm hoping it will become super exclusive and elite mainly for the sake of my own subzero self-esteem. But anyways, I'm pretty much a haiku machine, which will pretty much make me a blog entry machine, seeing as I've been successfully updating my blogs for over two weeks thus far (fingers crossed, oh boy!)

I'm going to make one up on the spot RIGHT NOW!:

Buttholes like daisies
and carrots like heretics
deflower the earth.

Barcelona Movies

It's official -- I miss Spain too much.

Although I'm a Madrid person, I've realized lately that I've grown quite fond of movies set in Barcelona, particularly The Spanish Apartment and, until recently, Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Not since I first saw George of the Jungle at age 7 have I had the urge to watch the same movie twice in a row (this goes for both of the two first movies I mentioned.)

The Spanish Apartment is about a French exchange student who studies abroad in Barcelona for a year and shares an apartment with a cool, collected Belgian lesbian, a slightly wound-up Brit, a didactic German, an easy-going Italian, a hunky Danish guy and a feisty Spaniard. I won't delve into the details of the plot, because I highly recommend that YOU SEE IT and find out. But the whole thing takes me back to my time in Madrid and allows me to relax and bask in the warm feeling I get when surrounded by people from all corners of the globe (or, in this case, Europe.)

Woody Allen's Vicky Cristina Barcelona, however, cemented this idea of me not being able to resist these types of movies. It certainly romanticizes many of the experiences one might have in Barcelona, but at the same time seems to describe it perfectly well - from every whim, mistake and emotion. Again, I'm not going to release any details until YOU SEE IT and/or look it up on imdb. I rented it on iTunes, so I only have about 4 hours to watch it a second time the whole way through.

It stars Javier Bardem, Scarlett Johansson and Penélope Cruz. Apparently Javier Bardem goes to the psycologist that works on the first floor of the apartment building I lived in in Madrid. I've told that fact way too many times but for me, it never gets old -- and that's kinda sad.

But anyway, both films seem to portray that chill, "go-for-it, life is short" kind of attitude that perhaps every non-Spaniard fantasizes about. Of course, I really wish it could apply here in the States, but then again, don't we all.

And did I mention that I could very well possibly go gay for Penélope Cruz? Because I totally would. Straight girls, get real - you'd totally hit that.

Photos from The Spanish Apartment:

The Frenchie I was telling you about.

The Europeans I was telling you about.

Belgian girl teaching French boy how to properly seduce a woman.


See? Even Cristina would totally hit that. But did she? See the movie.

At that amusement park on a hill overlooking Barcelona.

See the movie.

UPDATE: Kirk, if you're reading this, SPANISH MOVIES.

Puppets Bring Happiness #3

GERMAN KERMIT!

Cupcakes and Crap

I've been working on sandwich boards for two days in a row. They're about 3/4 done -- all I need to do is place some balsa wood and some laminated photos and PRESTO! Ready to be placed in certain areas of Chicago.

That's all I have to say. Other than I went shopping yesterday before working on the sandwich boards with Alice. Oh, H&M, how you aid me in finding cool duds.

Bleck, nothing on my iTunes is listenable right now. And I'm not sure if Back of the Yards is safe or not to go to tomorrow to place a sandwich board with a picture of a fair that occurred there in the 1950's.

I made elaborate cupcakes with Bennett and Sam last night. I tried making some fancy puppy cupcakes but ended up making a gay male couple and what Sam called a "Spaghetti Dog." Sam made some kickass cupcakes, including some kittens and a wolf. Bennett's unicorn was prime, horn made out of airheads and horse teeth and all. She's going to document them, so hopefully I can post some photos here soon.

Don't know if my parents have looked through that list of apartments I sent them. They should've looked at them as early as possible, since Craig's List ads expire a week after they've been posted. Arrrrrgh my living situation for next year!

I think I might smell. Otherwise it's a pure coincidence that no one can or is agreeing to share an apartment with me. I will think so until someone else proves otherwise. (I used "otherwise" twice in a paragraph... not being a flexible writer, Kimberly, not... being... flexible.)

Book of reference for our cupcakes:

Frustration

Ay ay ay I don't know what to do with my Pun Intended project, the $6,000,000 thing. I don't know what the hell I'd do if given $6,000,000 to do... All I can think of at the moment is making a video piece where I melt a butterscotch flavored lollipop in the microwave and hope it turns into butterscotch. (I've tried this once before in my childhood. All it left me with was a hot lollipop, as you might imagine.)

I made the bold move in class today to have my proposal discussed in front of everyone. One person told me that my idea seemed like a business invesment instead of an art piece. But who the fuck would seriously want to create a restaurant where customers are punished for talking? (Especially in economically tough times like these?) Well, I would, but not unless there was some sort of artful purpose, which I've yet to explain in more vivid detail. I guess it stems from wondering what drives people to go out to eat other than food or a type of food.

We have studio time next week and I have no idea what sort of maquette or whatever I'm supposed to make.

Back to the drawing board. Fuck, this totally goes against the "Cult of Done" Dunda was so fervently explaining in class.

Right now I'm pretty much depending on seeing some homeless man on stilts riding a unicycle on the train track and then coming up with an inane string of thoughts that will lead me to an epiphany.

Rant: done.

UPDATE: I don't mean to offend anyone in this post. I was just in a terrible rut and I deeeeeeply apologize for having pissed anyone off. I'm willing to pay the 7 bucks for an Eiffel Tower at Margie's as a peace offering.

Old Idea, New Idea

Ok, scratch the trullo idea. New idea: Silent Restaurant.

Sipping on Cosi, Thinkin' bout Trulli

I arrived about 37 minutes early to Art History so that I can write this blog post and sip on my Cosi cappuccino with a shot of French vanilla.

On my way to Cosi I saw a portly old business man wearing a Mancester scarf. And then on Michigan I saw a middle-aged woman wearing a Liverpool scarf. This kind of sucks because twice in about a 5-minute period I was reminded of this guy I met and had a thing with in Madrid, who was from England. His Facebook stati always mention something about some football match that apparently occurred recently. He poked me on Facebook a few weeks ago just so I could find out that he's finally "in a relationship." What a douche. What a wankah.

Anywho, it's another lazy Wednesday, seeing as I don't really have anything due for Core tomorrow, and just a 1-page proposal for Pun Intended. I have to think of a project I'd do if given $6,000,000 for funding. It's going to be a trullo, which is kind of a little stone or stucco hut that peasants built in the Italian region of Puglia (Cisternino, represent) many centuries ago due to high property taxation. However, I'm going to make it out of bullet-proof glass, furnish the dwelling with highly expensive furniture made to look crappy, and place it in the middle of Little Italy in New York City. In order to enter the trullo, you must claim Italian heritage. Once inside, you (as long as you're Italian) can enjoy a savory, mouth-watering, orgasmic Italian meal that includes my family's kickass sauce (or "gravy", as us real dagos call it.) It has to do with Little Italy's being gobbled up by Chinatown and loss of cutural identification, yadda yadda yadda. More details later.

And did I mention that there's totally a small town near Cisternino called Palmisano?

(Click for detail)

Mallrats, Bolex, and Pin-Ups

Repetition was cancelled today, so I spent my 2.89 hours of freedom watching the portion of "Mallrats" that MegaVideo would allow me to and downloading an episode of "7 Vidas", Spain's answer to "Friends". Apparently P. O'Leary has come down with a stomach virus and could not take himself and his furry fur hat on the green line.

Yesterday in Film/Video we scrambled all about the loop to shoot BOTH video and Bolex (film) versions of our project. It consisted of a lot of forgetting and, "Here, you take this and I'll go up and see if..." you get the point. Not to mention a lot of winding. And a short lunch at Patty Burger. Gooooood stuff. The closest you'll get to duck fat fries without waiting until Friday or Saturday to wait in a long line (only the ones at Patty Burger aren't really duck fat fries.)

Going to Patty Burger made me remember how much I like Alberto Vargas paintings, and how many times I've given Vargas posters as gifts to other people except myself. Plus, there's that self-consciousness that goes along with being a heterosexual female and having pin-ups in your dorm room.

But here they are, on my blog:

One of the pin-ups I gave as a gift

Another pin-up I gave as a gift.

Dollar Menu Millionaire

Level of Coolness According to Location

My Core Teacher Thinks I'm a Half-Hearted Hipster

So yesterday Kirk and I presented the final FDR scultpture. And for the second time one of my Core teachers, Leone, told me I'm a hipster. I was unaware of this. Until she proceeded to tell me that I appear to be said hipster working in the back of Urban Outfitters, as opposed to the front.

However, no harsh feelings. Here are some photos from the critique:

Someone blatantly violating our touching/breathing rule.

The setup.

Me in the left-hand corner, dressed for work.