she's got a midnight voice like a beckoning saint, she's got somethin' special but you she ain't

Anyone who has read Dune, read this comic.

For anyone who does or has ever been addicted to caffeine/worked in a coffeeshop, read this comic. And everyone else who gets confused with the new and different health crazes, read this one.

Did you guys hear about Haditha? The marines that killed a bunch of civilians?

Did you hear about the guy who patented a ropeless jump rope? Apparently it's great for people in mental institutions. Not even joking.

The great thing about summer is feeling sufficient. Waking up every morning and feeling like you can handle whatever the day throws your way. After the first couple weeks of school, I always feel a little subjugated.

And in other news, I might be working at the priceville store next week, where apparently you get better tips, but you also have to work alone. I'm a little nervous about being the responsible party, you know? Like today, a couple things went wrong with the register and the card-swipey thing and I had to have Phyllis come fix them, because I just didn't know what was going on. But I guess everything will work out OK. Good-bye for now, loves.

in praise of persistance

alternately titled "It's Not How You Pick Your Nose, It's Where You Put The Boogers."

No. The two titles don't have anything to do with each other. At least not that I can figure out. But as postmodernism teaches us, just because the author doesn't intend it doesn't mean that it isn't there.

Today was one of those days when you're writing, but you don't really want to write, and it's frustrating to sit there and make yourself write, and you don't know what's happening or going to happen and your every pen-mark is dogged by the thought that you'll have to write all this over again anyway, why bother?

At least that's how the first half of my writing-morning was. Then I realized that I was thinking in poem-cadence, so that's why all my prose was coming out stilted. So I went and wrote poetry, and then came back to prose and the voice came easier. And when I came back to the prose I decided to switch to narrating from a different character, and that worked really well, and I decided a large part of the character's make-up. And then, because of that, another character, the villain, just sort of dropped into my lap, and I think he's a decent villain, which is unusual for me. So, because the villain came in and pushed things along, I now know what happens next. So that's why the title of this post is "in praise of persistence." Because sometimes it really does work to just keep going, no matter how crappy it's going at the moment.

Whew! Long paragraph. Thanks for bearing with my artistic/writerly ramblings about my creative life. I miss you guys. And thanks for the overwhelmingly affirmative response that yes, writing and photography are work! Y'know though, I kinda wish I knew somebody who made their living as a writer so I could see firsthand what it's like. And the same for an artist.... But maybe I'd change my mind if I did. = ) So! Love is sent all your ways.

and now, to make you smile:

Visit kittenwars.

Hi guys. So, it's been a while. Not a lot to report from this end. I don't have to work for the next two days, so I guess I better make shift to do some other productive-type things.

Speaking of productive, people keep telling my mother they hope that I'll 'recover' and have a more productive summer, because I'm only working part-time, so I'm obviously wasting my life away. It made me kinda grumpy. I do work, it's just unconventional work. And I'm not getting paid by the hour for it. But I'm so totally developing skills that will help me get a job later on in life. I'm sure you guys agree - writing is work. And how is photography not work?

Photography: not as much fun without a darkroom, I've discovered. I'm so totally not giving my film to somebody else to develop and print (lousy mechanized processes), but I loath the computer, and the darkness/contrast on the screen (which looks great) is totally different from what comes out (which looks either too pale or too contrast-y). I have yet to make one really good print, although I've got good 'negatives'. So. Another learning curve to deal with. And I now understand what photographers complain about all the time in books - the failure of most printers to replicate the look of a reg'lar ol' darkroom print. It's just different looking. So. My photographic struggles. Which are probably not that interesting, but I thought I'd get them off my chest.

Today Avery and Mom and I start painting together... so wish us luck, people. We might need it.

larva, chrysalis, imago

To a Friend Whose Work has Come to Nothing
- W. B. Yeats

Now all the truth is out,

Be secret and take defeat

From any brazen throat,

For how can you compete,

Being honor bred, with one

Who were it proved he lies

Were neither shamed in his own

Nor in his neighbors' eyes;

Bred to a harder thing

Than Triumph, turn away

And like a laughing string

Whereon mad fingers play

Amid a place of stone,

Be secret and exult,

Because of all things known

That is most difficult.

I dunno. I just like it. And now, on to the rest of the day. Join us for "silly poem minute" again tomorrow, same time, same place!

and i shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
- Yeats

Michiko Dead is a very good poem. Pretty haunting, but also I find that I like it a lot.

Also, I like Let Evening Come.

And in conclusion, I had better go to bed. Because apparently I'm going to have to cope with a whole new schedule again tomorrow.

and also this one makes me chuckle.

some of it is transcendental / and some of it is just really dumb

Shel Silverstein is, apparently, "not so much interested in destroying the status quo as in giving it a poke in the eye." I think that would make a smashing epitaph. Here Lies Shel Silverstein, Beloved By All, and Not So Much Interested In Destroying The Status Quo As In Giving It a Poke In The Eye.

Also, here's a hysterical paragraph I found about Allen Ginsburg:
"Diagnosed by his therapist as 'just an average neurotic,' Ginsberg was the perfect patient, exploring his hidden urges and forcing the country to do so as well. In the early ’50s his therapist encouraged him to quit work, embrace his sexual desires, and write more poems. He concluded his treatment shortly after finishing Part I of 'Howl.' A year later, he was doing readings naked. As the story was told in Life magazine, this began when a man at a reading stood up and asked Ginsberg what he was 'trying to prove,' Ginsberg said, 'Nakedness.' The guy said, 'What d’ya mean, nakedness?' So Ginsberg took off all his clothes."

In semi-relation to that, you should go visit literaryrevolution.com. The organization which created this sight apparently protested the inclusion of Ginsberg's poem "Howl" into the literary canon at a recent reading. That's why it's semi-connected. I'm not sure whether to take it seriously or not. But if it is serious... I think I must be a bad person for laughing so hard at a sincere attempt to save the world.

All right, loves, I guess that's all from this end. Today I done a lot of reading. So maybe I'm getting me some eddymacation (that's education for those of you who don't speak Ridiculous Hick).

"the dolphin defender!"

Seriously the worst and simultaneously the most hysterical title for a documentary ever. Doesn't it just reek of satire? It's quite a sentimental/emotional documentary, too. Or maybe that's just me translating everything through an overemotional girly lense. Or maybe I'm right either way. Maybe I should stop second guessing myself.

Jenn suggests "Knight of the Maritime" as a subtitle to "The Dolphin Defender."

Apparently a documentary of my mother's life would be a comedy-horror. At least that's what one of her fellow nurses said after today. Another said, "Lita, it's not that I don't like you; I just don't like what's coming out of your mouth."

And isn't it ironic that Animal Planet has a show on about dragons, in documentary style? They're a completely mythical creature. How did the narrator manage to keep from cracking up while he read his script? Does Sunday wear a sign that says, "Absurd Programming Here"? How many other silly questions can I ask in the space of this post???

I'm going to introduce End the Post on a Miranda Field Quote, to encourage me in digesting her work. Today's Quote: "intention is a web without the tensile strength to hold us."

Tata, y'all.

writers are impossible

I'm not sure if I mean that in the sense that they really can't exist, or in the sense that they're very difficult to get along with. For example: I'm grumpy/mood-swing-y lately, and I think it's related to the creative impulse. I'm unmotivated, I'm sleeping too much, and I haven't made anything in a while (and by awhile I mean two weeks). And I it itches. I know some of you know what I'm talking about: that crazy internal restless itch. And I'm craving more sweets than I should, and I know that if I could just get some discipline and start making things I would probably feel a lot better, but it's just not working out. Although actually, all of the above symptoms could indicate PMS. Dang. So maybe it's not actually my fault that I'm grumpy. Well. Whatever.

I got through Miranda Field's book, Swallow, today. I think I like it. I don't understand any of it. Yet. That's at least one goal I'm progressing on: reading lots of books that are in some sense educational. Isn't it hysterical to be able to say taht you read for your job? I mean, it's work, but it's not work, and other people definitely don't think it's work.

And Chad and Amy got married! Which is super exciting, and much more important than the stuff I've been talking about, but I wasn't there, so I can't really talk about it. Congratulations, guys. You're married!

a rant and some spoilers. if you enjoy christopher paolini, navigate away from this page now.

I just finished reading Eldest, by Christopher Paolini, and can I say that he makes me angry? It is, to give him credit, much better than Eragon, but he doesn't know where he's going with character arcs, he's bad at writing realistic character interactions, and he brought only a thimbleful of resolution at the end of a 668 page book, contradicting himself several times (rather majorly) about the capabilities and personalities of his main characters. I mean, anybody could see some of the events coming, but the rest of his plot is held together with masking tape and elmer's glue. And he changed his mind partway through this book about things he said in the other book and is changing his plots. Which, to be honest, I could forgive if the rest of it were better. And partway through Eldest, we learn the secret of the total villain's power. And then at the end we find that oh wait, there's some other secret that we don't know that allows a mere mortal human (who's new to the villain game) to defeat Eragon, even after Eragon's been transformed by supernatural powers so that he himself is supernatural. And he included a pronunciation guide at the back of his book which was extremely patronizing. He thinks he's Tolkien, and he's not. And so he makes me angry. I predict that he will be one of those terrible writers who recycles plots, has an inflated opinion of himself, and is unreasonably popular with large segments of society.

I rant about him, but I know that I couldn't write 668 pages of one story, even if the 668 pages were slop. So maybe that invalidates my criticism. Maybe not. But here's the deal, right? If I ever write a book, don't let me try to publish it unless its actually freaking good, OK? That's the rule. If there are plot holes, no publish. If you don't believe a word of my interpersonal conflict, no publish.

Good. I'm glad we have the ground rules established. You can stop reading now.

newses that confuses

Okaypants. It's one crazy webcomic. Here's a quote: " I am the wishful farmer, whose aspirations lie within this season's crops. Only to get crushed by the ufo of fate! SMOOSHED into illegible symbols and diagrams that profisied my DOOM!"

Also, today is Avery's birthday. Happy birthday Avery!

"out of the pen of slavish / adoration into wilderness"

That quote has almost nothing to do with this post, except that it's in the post. Miranda Field (who wrote it) is difficult. I don't know if I hate her or love her yet. But I'm going to know this book, whichever it turns out to be. (and here I'm going to type more words, because if I don't, that 'be' will be sitting on a line all by itself, lonely-like, and it's irritating.)

Whew. Work. It's busy. I'm learning a lot. I think it'll only be a week or so though until I've got most of it down, which is nice. They keep commenting that I'm catching on quick. To me a week does not seem quick. But maybe it is.

So. Apparently there's a whole pseudo-intellectual vocabulary that we use at school. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say we've developed our own sort of pseudo-intellectual colloquialisms. Which is kiiiinda freaky. It especially happens when we talk about faith. Has anybody noticed that? Just a simple statement of belief, if not couched in certain phraseology or "ifs" or qualifications sounds... dumb. It sounds un-intellectual. I think they're secretly trying to mold us into elitists of some sort... and by "they" I mean the school administration. It's third on their to-do list, right after committing environmental travesties.

I thought that if I wrote a page every day, I'd have what, ninety pages of writing done after the summer? But I'm scared to make that kind of commitment. And before I start writing I should probably finish unpacking all my clothes. And I should probably also start doing art things too. Maybe photography? I had lots of ideas, but I'm getting the summer lazies. I thought maybe getting a job would give me enough routine to stay productive, but I guess not. Or maybe I should give it more time. I've only been home what, four days? and working two.

And now I'm babbling, because I'm kinda sleepy. (Don't laugh. I'm allowed to get sleepy at 10 over the summer.) So goodnight.

happy mom's day, yo

and happy mom's day to my mom.






...it's a small world, after all! it's a small world after all! it's a small, small world! = D

i got a job, so i can pay for my speeding ticket

and all those other lovely things that come with being alive. I'll be working at Java Jaay's, which is a coffee shop, and it looks like it'll be a pretty cool job. I mean, not amazing or what I want to do with the rest of my life, but pretty cool. We're going to try two weeks and see how it works and then they'll decide if they want to hire me for the rest of the summer, and I'll decide if I want to work there for the rest of the summer. And we'll figure out if this whole employment thing is going to be full- or part-time. I'm just excited for income, and some kind of delineation of my day. You know, this is work-time, and this is not-work-time. It's hard for me to do that creatively. This is writing-time, or this is painting-time. Especially when my computer, which I use to write, is constantly connected to the internet and is full of games and movies that are totally distracting, and I don't differentiate between literal spaces for working creatively and playing. That's one reason I think the studio at school is so great - it's away from distracting things like computers and books, and it's full of other people with artistic insights who are working through the exact same problems you're working through. It's nice.

So, then, I'm going to go work from 10:30-3 tomorrow, start learning the ropes an' all that. And Diane, Tammy, and Blake'll be here over the weekend, and it's mother's day, and all things considered, I didn't take as much veg time as I thought I would. But I think I'm OK with that.

"...still the mind thinks itself
a bank of windows, sheer glinting invitations...."
-Miranda Field, Swallow.

i got a speeding ticket

and to my surprise, speeding tickets aren't hundreds of dollars. No, I will not tell you how fast I was going. Suffice it so say I was in Virginia (where the cops apparently actually pay attention).

So yeah, the first day of travel was hard, in part because it finally sunk in that I was leaving and that I wouldn't see most of my friends for over a year. For really. An' I kinda miss you guys (already, yes).

But today was good and I got here at like 1 o'clock or something (AL time). I drove almost the whole way with the windows down because of paint fumes (until it started raining). And then I got here and we unpacked, saved a bird from Maggie, and talked a lot. Now comes the part of the day when I stop unpacking (I'm about halfway done) and start on some serious veg time.

Liz is very right: life savers are like the best ever for long trips.

"i call it nap time... which is right before food time... and then comes food-nap-time. that is my favorite time of them all!"

"I carry these scars, precious and rare,
and tonight I feel like I'm made of air."

I was so tempted to sleep through bioethics one last time. But I resisted the urge since, y'know, I'd be missing the final exam an' all.

I've decided I need to go to a materialist's anonymous meeting. Do they have those? I have waaaaaay too many possessions. I've been pretty ruthless about getting rid of art I don't think is good, even though I'm attached to it because I made it, but I still have a lot of crap.

First materialist's anonymous meeting at my house; be there or be square. That is, y'know, just as soon as I manage to pack all my crap into the car so I can get home....

so i guess that means i'm done?

I can't think of anything more to do to my painting. So I guess that means I'm done?

...I think I'll go down tomorrow after my exams and take a look at it again just to make sure, and especially to make sure I like the thumb (which I just added).

I feel kind of guilty, actually, that I think I'm done so early. I couldn't have put in more than 35 hours on it all told.

I think I'm really just frightened about this painting because it dropped in my lap. I'm afraid to touch it, becuase if I touch it, whatever-it-is-that's-made-this-painting-so-much-better- than-my-other-paintings might stop. I'm afrait to not touch it, because what if I'm not serving the work well enough (which, interestingly enough, no artists ever talk about, but lots of writers do...)? I'm afraid to show people at the crit, because I feel like I had no control over most of the painting. It just happened, and I was just a bystander. And the few decisions that I did make are the ones I'm afraid people won't like. Or maybe they'll criticize me because I had so little control over what happened. Yich! OK then. I'm going to stop freaking out and not think about it until tomorrow. In the meantime, packing.

"no, no! i cant figure that out... i just need a thesaurus, a slide-rule and some LSD."

one of my photographs got accepted into the juried student show this summer! aaaaaaahhhhh!

Deep breath. Must be calm for work study interview in half an hour. Hmmmm....

So I'm really excited. A lot of stuff was submitted, and a lot of it was two-dimensional, so I'm really excited that I got in. Granted, I think the faculty votes according to the best pieces they saw in each class, and I don't know how many sophomores submitted things, but in any case I'm really really excited. And really glad that I decided to just go for it and submit. I'm really really excited. Can you tell? Really excited.

And on the flip side, I'm really nervous that all my peers and all those adorable little incoming freshman will see my work next fall at the big DOVA meeting. Mainly I'm worried they'll think I'm a lousy craftsman. Which, frankly, might be fair; I'm only mediocre. But there were some definite flaws in presentation. anyway. All this is to say, I'm excited. So excited that I'm about to explode. And in lieu of exploding, I'm blogging. I mean, I write about all the frustrating or irritating things that happen, so it seems like a nice change to tell you all about something nice that's happening. So you're all fantastic for listening this long.

Au revoir!
Mackenzie

two words: darth binks

i have an interview for a work study position with the english department next semester! yay!

"students are headed to jail - take the lead!"

Possibly the funniest poster I've ever seen at Jesus College.

Got my art history research paper back, and I only got an 86, so that means I'll have to settle for an A- in the class, which brings up all kinds of lovely scholarship worries, because I'm sure as heck not getting above a B+ in any of my studio classes, if that.

Can I say that right now I'm just really angry that I'm not a genius, or at least really absurdly talented? I'd settle for even absurdly efficient.

Loves from the pits of finals week,
Mackenzie

So, Liz and Andrew are apparently really good at this writing thing. They rock my face off.

Congrats, guys (by which I mean one guy and one girl).

We had a really emotional crit today in photography. I think I must've broken the ice with the whole crying-in-class thing, because today three other people did it....