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Archive for the ‘Art’ Category

And now I’m right back at school and with so many interesting, challenging, fun things to do before now and when I go back home in two and a half weeks.  Wow.  Such a short amount of time before I’m heading right back, yet everyone makes it out to be such a long time.  But really, that’s two weeks of classes (and, oh you know, five exams), six chapters of psych to read, one stats assignment, three art projects, and Mrs Dalloway to finish up.  And then four/five finals!  I can do it, I can do it!

This weekend, I’m taking two days out on Friday and Saturday in order to make a (spoilers) for my mum for her joint birthday and Christmas present.  I’ll tell you what it is after I give her the gift, and I’ll be sure to put up pictures (with my new Nikon Coolpix that needs to be removed from its box).  Rest assured that it is something both artsy and never previously done by me.  My art professor is giving a class to a few of us about how to make unsaid object, so it will be pretty exciting to learn a new skill (even if I will be probably horrible at it).  I’ll give you a hint if you promise not to tell my mum, though.

Anyway, Thanksgiving holidays went well, though I saw less of my friends than I had anticipated.  I had two delicious meals with my mum’s side of the family and also with my dad’s/sister’s, was able to visit my work and chat with the managers, went to a bonfire with friends, and I even went Black Friday shopping to get money off of some boots I had bought a few days before ($100 off of the original price is incentive enough for me to brave the hordes of shoppers).  Somehow, Noah and I found a spot at the very, very front of where we wanted to be at the mall.  And thank God, because otherwise, it meant parking at least a half mile away, which would require us to cross seven lanes of very busy traffic.

But I spent a lot of time reading comics (such as Questionable Content and xkcd) and watching old episodes of Cowboy Bebop, which sort of felt like me from eighth grade coming to punch me in the face.  After six years of travelling, it’s built up some momentum.  My brother also gave me all of Harvey Birdman: Attorney at Law before he set out to move in with my dad, which, yes, happened on Sunday.  Hopefully he will be getting along a lot better down in Florida than here in Missouri where it’s just constant bickering.

The rain is coming in now, though, with chilly winds and so little light that it should be criminal.  I’ll set off to listen to more Natacha Atlas songs on Youtube so that I can decide which of her albums to buy today since I have a coupon from Amazon.  Oh, decisions, decisions.  Halim or Gedida?  Both are awesome albums of Egyptian/Arabic/French songs blended with electronic, hip hop beats.  She’s like listening to a young generation from the Gaza Strip.  So I’ll leave you to go decide on an album, though there’s really no wrong choice; both that I’ve previewed are amazing.

PS: If there were any more links in this post, I’m pretty sure WordPress would explode.  I just thought it would be fun to give some examples and references to you folks for all of the crazy things I chat about.

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If you have not yet seen A Very Potter Sequel (the sequel to last year’s A Very Potter Musical), I recommend getting onto your fat ass and watching it via Youtube.  Click here for the link.  I’ve been sitting around for the last few days, deciding why I’m strangely attracted to Lupin (aside from the very handsome Darren Criss).

Anyway, I’ve been musing around lately about how I’m going to be setting up my dorm this upcoming semester.  And when I say musing, I mean worrying and trying to figure things out.  The main point is that I need to find a place to fit my desk where it will get natural sunlight from the window but not disturb my room mate when I turn on the desk lamp early in the morning (because our sleeping schedules are quite a bit off sync).  I was worried that I’d also need to position my desk in an area so that the shelving on top of it could serve as a night stand to my lofted bed, but I’ll try to get a clamp on shelf for that.  It’s dumb that I’ve lost sleep over deciding where to place my desk, but welcome to my life of being an interior design nerd.  I sit around looking at house tours on Apartment Therapy while sipping down hot tea with Cat.  If you are interested in the neatest ever decor or vintage furniture or anything about making a house unique and interesting, check-ch-check-check check-ch-check it out.

I’ve been reorganising my room a lot lately.  Or perhaps it’s just cleaning.  A very deep cleaning that it has been neglecting for years.  The only other thing on my list to still clean out would be the top of my closet, which has not felt a human hand since sixth grade, when I dumped the entire contents of my floor onto the shelves in a matter of three minutes so that I could go over to a friend’s.  Ever since, it’s just sat there, and I’ve turned a blind eye.  But, since I’ve cleaned so much else over the past year, why the hell not tackle that one of these days?  The storage space is unbelievable, and I’m ashamed that I’ve been wasting it all of these years.

I’ve also been giving away a lot of things.  Hefty bag after hefty bag after hefty bag.  My mum always has been a pack rat, and she passed that onto me at an early age.  But, as I grow, I’m beginning to leave that–much to her chagrin.  She’s definitely not delighted when I give away all of my old stuffed animals or clothes from elementary school or old school supplies.  But I always tell her, ‘what am I to do with it?’  If it hasn’t been used in six years, that means that I never will use it later on.  If it’s a stuffed animal that has eight years of dust on it, do you really expect me to want to play with it five years down the road?  She has trouble understanding that I am an adult who has no need for all of the crap that I have managed to collect over the years.  After a while, you have to let a lot go because it’s flooding your life and slowly drowning you.

For me, the release is all I ask for.  Becoming emotionally attached to objects is a bad habit that I’m strangling out of me.  I don’t want to be dependent on things that I do not need or want or care for.  If they can be donated to someone who will actually use them, then everyone is better for it.

But that’s an example of only one of the many differences that my mum and I have.  There are many others, mostly in personality.  She is very high strung, irrational.  And I used to be that way completely, but I’ve also been growing away from it over the past few years as I figure out just who I am, and I’m not sure if she’s willing to accept that yet.  She may never be ready to accept that I am not the same person as her and a separate entity.  But I’m more than willing to break away.

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I can sum up this post in one sentence: I like to bitch about facial features of story characters even though I have no facial recognition (whaddup Prosopagnosia?).  Really, don’t bother to read this.  It’s confusing and weird and quirky.  Sure, some good pictures along the way, but really now, let’s not kid ourselves into thinking I’m humorous.

I have this super bad habit of trying to figure out what a character in a story looks like so that I can properly read a book and reinact their movements and gestures in my head.  But I also have a lot of trouble with facial recognition and imaging the right face.  This ends with me reusing the same male characters for just about everything or me scouring Google images in order to find something better.  It’s why you can see me reading A Great and Terrible Beauty but also parading Google in order to find better dress/hair styles for the characters or reading Dan Brown books while searching for the perfect picture of Johnny Depp to be my image of Robert Langdon (which Molly ended up finding for me, which was spectacular).

“Angels and Demons would have been a much better movie, had I starred in it.”

But let me sum up my lack of imagination and help I often need when thinking up how a character will look.  No, let me just explain how I reuse characters.  You know Howard Roark from The Fountainhead?  I put a beard on my image of Edward Cullen for that one (my Edward Cullen looked nothing like Cedric Diggory, by the way).  You know Joe Gargery from Great Expectations?  He happens to look identical to Simon in A Great and Terrible Beauty, but again, I added a beard.  And the protagonists from both Fahrenheit 451 and 1984?  Same exact person.  I’m so freaking lazy.

“Um, hi.  I happen to be Missi’s go-to-guy for every baddass character over the age of forty.”

“Hi.  I have a beard, which allows my character to be used even more times.”

But it’s infuriating for me to not picture someone as the character.  It’s easy for me to picture the women, and I can make it be a variety.  But the men?  I have to have them perfect.  Maybe it’s because I want to fawn over the book character, or maybe it’s because I’m just some type of OCD about the men of the story.  I don’t know, but it bothers me when I can’t come up with something right–especially for the guys my age in books.

So, it’s that kind of dilemma that I have hit while reading Great Expectations.  I’ve been able to come up with what every character looks like just fine–except the main character.  Pip.  Oh Pip.  What the hell do you look like?  I could imagine young Pip just fine.  A kid.  Easy.  But handsome Pip around my age?  Shit.  I haven’t a clue.

I could go the easy route and imagine a young Brad Pitt or Orlando Bloom or what-have-you.  But you know what?  I keep seeing the same thing over and over in my head.  This:

Why Barnes and Noble?  Why?  Why on earth do you ever put what you think a character looks like on my novel?  Why would you not give me the opportunity to try and figure out what Pip looks like?  Why would you ever give me this weird ginger kid to be Pip?!

I know, I’m obsered.  But imagine that you have a character that looks like this in your head:

And every time you open your book, BAM!  This is what you see:

WHY?!

I have enough trouble as it is imagining characters without the book itself trying to put yet another face into my mind!!

So, that is my dilemma that I have been bitching about in my own head.  Sorry you had to bear witness to it.  Sorry also to those who have seen my copy of Great Expectations and wondered what the weird mass was over the picture.  It happens to be a painting I made out of black paint and nail polish so that I wouldn’t have to see that guys ugly speckled mug any more (wait, Ron Weasley from Potter Puppet Pals?  No!  That would have been a great choice; not this rubbish).

So, there you have it.  I have to have the perfect image in my head of a character, but I have trouble when the books tell me what I should imagine.  GRRR!  FEAR ME, BOOK COVERS!

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(Note: I originally tried to hide this from third parties, but because of the drama and hurt I caused with it, I’m putting it fully into the open.  I better ready myself for deleting the spam comments.  There will be a follow up blog or two to explain some actions.  But you won’t see the full repercussions.)

Woah.  Just woah.  Where the hell have I been?  Has it really been more than two weeks since I updated?  Have I really said ‘ef it’ to everything online?  Yeah, turns out.  Somehow, I’ve ended up with only two public posts so far in May, which is a major turn around from my average of twelve, post-non-depression.  Oh wait, I’m sorry, let me put that in layman terms: I posted a shit tonne when I was depressed and stressed with school.  Now, I just sit in my room and internet around, or I’m flitting off with friends, having adventures and catching shit on fire.

Should I say that?  Adventures and fire?  Will that go against me?  We’ll pretend it won’t.

All right, making a mad dash to fill in crap.  Feel privileged–I haven’t even been writing in my diary because I’ve either been doing too much or just haven’t cared.  I guess that’s what summer does to you.  So, where do I begin?  Well, I’m still unpacking (my room looks ganky as fack; I can’t wait for everything to be put in its rightful place), I’ve hung out with my friends literally every day for nearly two weeks, and I don’t have a job.

Let’s start with the friends department.  We’ve been hanging out, catching up, blah blah blah: enjoyable.  Some friends and I meandered to the Renaissance Faire today (kick ass, let me tell you), have made far too many trips to Main Street, and have had a few get togethers that have all either ended in a bonfire or watching a movie or both.  Somehow, we end up adding gossiping like bitches and throwing dance parties into that mix, which then leads to trips to Steak and Shake in the dead of night.  I don’t know how this happens.

Something I do know that happens, and will most likely happen until the end of time, is that our friends will find gossip and drama to parade around.  Whether it be talking too much about the girls who are preggers or getting pissed off about not being invited to watch a television show that you don’t even like watching, we manage to claw at each other when backs are turned.

Now, I realise that this is just girl life (though how that ever became a standard, I’m unsure of), but damn it!  Can’t some people just hide their bitch-card once in a while?  For heaven’s sakes; I have a friend mad about not being invited to a small get together and another mad at me for eating a slice of pizza that I paid for.  And then the smart Facebook statuses full of complaints about it?  Really girls: get over it.  We’re all bitches to each other, so don’t feel so hurt.

I sound really negative, maybe on the edge of upset, but I’m not.  My mum even commented that I take social drama more maturely than anyone she’s ever met.  I don’t let my emotions get involved, and it’s why I am rarely disappointed or upset or angered over things that happen.  Not to mention that I accept the fact that I’m not everyone’s best friend and thus will not be invited to every little get-together.  I accept that I make other people uncomfortable at dance parties and that you’re afraid to touch me (unless you’re Alex, who decided to-hell-with-it and gave me a four second-long lap dance at a party because everyone else was too intimidated by me.  You win, Alex!).  I’m fully aware that people say mean things behind others’ backs then smile at them ten minutes later.  It’s kind of life, so I don’t get upset by this petty drama or how people treat me.  Getting bothered seems like a waste of time.

I guess I’m just trying to say that I wish others didn’t feel the need to be so upset by such small things.  No wonder heart-failure is so prevalent in this country: everyone is constantly moving fast and getting angry.  We all need to chill; have a Meditation With Missi day.  It will be glorious.  I promise.

Meanwhile, no job.  Not surprising, actually.  With this economy, even my friend who has applied for seventeen jobs can’t manage to grab one (and she’s one of the workers people should fight over).  You could say that I’ve given up without trying all that much.  After all, the Historical Society must need me in order to bring me in, and without the need, you might as well sit back and think of other things.  That ‘other thing’  for me has been painting.  I recently decided to start a miniature painting business (as in, I paint you a crappy picture for twenty bucks that you’ll probably hang in your dorm room).  It’s part hobby, part that I need the practise, and part summer job.  Maybe I can paint enough to have a little spending money for the summer (like, an extra fifty dollars, yo).  Nothing high-roller; I think of it more as bartering anyway.  You get a painting, I get a full tank of gas.  That sort of thing.

If you’re interested in purchasing a painting, let me know.  I’m best at abstracts and landscapes.  Give me the information, I’ll tell you size possibilities and prices.  We’ll work this old school.

Anyway, I can’t find much else to say.  This was more of a ‘let me fill you in and be a bitch along the way’ kind of blog.  And to anyone who would be upset by anything said: please take some time to chill and not let little things ruin your life.  You owe it to yourself.

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