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