the blog electric

The blog is moved

2007-01-30T15:41:00.000-08:00

Hey I moved my blog to a new place so here it is

http://www.gabebc.com/blog

check it out!

Memoryphone

2006-12-16T11:24:00.000-08:00

So last night I performed with my memoryphone, the instrument I have been building for the past semester. (expect a video soon) Everything went really well and the crowd seemed very amused by my hijinks. My New Interfaces for Musical Expression class performed our homemade instruments at the club Tonic in the lower east side and I would dare say we sold out the venue. The place was packed and everyone did an amazing job. Performances included the darkest arts, resurrection, bird heads, and a weird torturous drinking competition. It seems like quite the dark night now that I think about it retrospectively. (is that a word? no.) But all in all a great time. Then after the show we packed up all the equip and I had to flag down an angry cab driver who became only more irritated by the sheer ammount of electronic stuff we were loading into his cab. After dropping it all off at school we went to Josh and Rocios where we watched circus soleil videos, played with hamsters and got thai massages. no seriously.

churn.

2006-12-13T01:26:00.000-08:00

Tonight I finished almost everything. I feel like I am orbitting the rings of saturn and waiting for everything to be sucked into a giant black hole around me the moment I stop. I am afraid of stopping. There is no escape. I will continue to produce and produce and produce projects like a cow being squeezed dry of milk. If I stop, it's all over...right? You already know the ending. Even before it's penned out on the cosmic page of everything and anything. And yet I want to keep producing and producing and producing there is no limit to the human mind. You can go sour, ideas can go sour but you can still keep churning more and more and surely you are sure to hit one good one, one good stick of butter in the golden mess of fat.

Tiny People Trapped in Bottles

2006-12-12T19:35:00.000-08:00

So I have just recently completed my video art installation "Animalia Chordata" which features a number of tiny human specimens put on view for your enjoyment. Watch as they struggle to get out of their glass prisons! If you live in New York City you can come see this amazing feat of science live and in person on December 17 and or 18th. Just click on this link for the exact time and location.
Itp Show Info

Boy

2006-12-12T00:01:00.000-08:00

Boy
Eats
Boy
Eats
Boy
Sleeps
(crank)
Boy
Eats
Boy
Eats
Boy
Sleeps
Boy
Grows
(crank)
Boy
Eats
Boy
Eats
Boy
Sleeps
Boy
Works
Boy
Eats
Boy
Eats
Boy
Sleeps
Boy
Grows
(crank)
Boy
Eats
Boy
Sleeps
Boy
Grows
Boy
Works
Boy
Sleeps
Boy
Sleeps
Boy
Sleeps
Boy
Sleeps
(crank)
Boy
Eats
Boy
Sleeps
Boy
Grows
Boy
Grows
Boy
Works
Boy
Grows
Boy
Works
Boy
Girl?
(crank)
Boy
Eats
Boy
Sleeps
Boy
Works
Boy
Sleeps
Boy
Eats
Boy
Girl?
Boy
Girl?
Boy
Girl?
(Crank)
Boy
Girl?
Boy
Girl?
Boy
Girl?
Boy
Eats
Boy
Girl
Boy
Girl
Boy
Girl
Boy
Sex.
(crank)

Good Morning Lethargy

2006-12-06T22:24:00.000-08:00

It's all coming together working clicking on fire bursting from every splintered bone in my body. I get no sleep or maybe I get too much sleep waking up at 1250 after going to bed at 630 and realizing that my alarm was set for 10 and I have class at 1230 and yet it's strangely warmer in my room this morning and I feel like I have enjoyed a good night's sleep. Maybe it's the new space heater I purchased from Kmart yesterday eventhough they had 6000 of them I liked the fact that it looked like a fan because this made me think about nice cooling air rather than dry dusty head which is the thing I hate the most you know waking up with a nostril full of dust, a snare across your chaped lips you know? I've been thinking alot about space travel lately and how yesterday Laurie Anderson said that we are eventually going to green mars and move all of the earth's industry and coal and crap to other planets so that we can have a virtual garden of eden for a planet. But wouldn't that just make all the other shitty industry planets just like what we have now on earth? It's sort of the landfill theory. Like hey we are making a mess in our house so let's dump it in the trash dump it in the landfill dump it dump it dump it. And then we end up with too much trash and burn it out by the ocean and make holes in the ozone layer. But then again saturn has a whole other layer to punch holes in and all those rings which we never liked anyway because they are so much nicer than our lack of rings. I wish we had some rings. That would make us a much better planet. And maybe another moon or two. Bigger really is better. Bigger and deep fried and crunchy with a small order of sex on the side. And beer and cars and plastics and no I dont want paper I want plastic so that when I drive a tank through all the elk in the forest so that I can have an entire bedroom made of antlers I can comfortably strangle myself with the comfort of a smooth plastic bag when I'm ready to go.

Running on Hy!

2006-12-05T14:06:00.000-08:00

In college I once drank about 200 cans of redbull in a semester. I worked out some sort of deal with a girl down the hall where I gave her 50 bucks and she gave me 300 dollars worth of her parents money (dining card money that is) The hitch was that this was at the end of the semester and the 300 dollars had to be spent by the end of the day or else it all faded away. So I took the 300 dining dollars or trojan money or whatever USC called it and purchased so much red bull that we had to rent a cart from the student services to cart it back to Caroline's dorm room. For the next three months, my hands had a noticeble shake to them but I was sharper than speed racer in the mach 5. You know what I mean. So since then I have sampled many an energy elixir. And although I have cut down significantly since my undergrad days, I'll still pick up a new oddly shaped energy can just to see the jolt factor. So that being said the other day i tried Hydrive. Hydrive sounds like the name of a new harddrive but in actuality it is a kick in the face water that claims to be "dragonfruit" flavor. Ha! It tastes like medicine but slightly more acidic. However about 10 minutes later I was spun out on caffeine which I later found Hydrive has 30% more of than most energy beverages. So I decided I might as well do something with all this energy. I started by running from the East Village to central park. Sure it was 34 degrees outside but the heat in my muscles warmed me up and luckily I was topped off with Hydrive! But by the time I got to central park I was still not tired so I decided to keep running. By the time I reached 165th street I began to break a sweat but still no signs of fatigue. Oh Hydrive you are the best! I decided to keep on trucking and somehow about 9 hours later I found myself in rhode island. My toes were bleeding but I felt great. It's been 4 nights since that run and I still haven't slept a wink. So I guess the moral of this story is Hydrive wow. My skin may be a pale green, my eyes are bulged and burning red, I basically look like a christmastree with enormous calves but I am still extremely alert and ready to take on the day!

Happy Bunny Joyous Day!

2006-11-28T12:47:00.000-08:00

So the other day one of my good friends told me that reading my blog makers her depressed. She says my blog entries are suicidal, too dark and make her feel sad. So here is a blog post for you Jenny Lee. Yesterday I woke up and the first thing I noticed was the smell of springtime flowers floating through my open curtains. Sure it's the middle of winter but for some reason I felt like prancing around my room stark naked. So I put on some vivaldi and shed my sleeping cap and gown and oh it was a glorious time! Prancing and skipping and jumping about my chamber to Vivaldi's spring. The cool air against my flesh and a bounce to my step. Suddenly in the middle of a prance a fluffy pink bunny rabbit bounced through my door and twitched its tiny little nose. I bent down to the cute creature and said:
"Why hello mr rabbit, I am famished would you like to accompany me to lunch?"
To which the rabbit replied with a twitch of its nose and a bob of its tail:
"Alas I have just eaten and my stomach is full of carrots and onions! But good sir I have a pleasant idea."
"What is that Mr Rabbit?"
"Since you are in search of a lunch partner and I have already just stuffed myself with delicious garnishes, why don't you just eat me?"
And with a tiny twitch of its nose, the rabbit quickly snapped its neck and presented a delicious feast for my enjoyment.
After lunch I bounded down the stairs and out of my apartment. The homeless man outside wished me a joyous day and I wished him the same with a shine in my teeth and a glitter in my eye. I gleefully skipped down the avenue around losing lottery tickets and broken glass (surely from last night's bachhanalian festivities) I stopped at a chunky puddle of vomit which winked at me and I winked back knowingly. Oh what a glorious day! At the office I wanted to wish everyone a joyous Saturday but then I realized oh silly me it's Saturday and there is nobody even present! So instead I lept from cubicle to cubicle wishing every stapler and keyboard a splendid hello until I reached the cubicle of Peter the office intern who in fact was present even on such a glorious Saturday afternoon.
"Why hello Peter my friend, isn't it a beautiful Saturday afternoon?"
"Why are you naked?"
"Why Peter, I need not clothes to be mineself!"
But Peter did not share in my joy. He was grouchy and grumbly and mumbly. The kind who writes depressing entries in his electronic journal. Oh poor Peter. He shall never be happy, he shall never share in my joy and bliss and sunshine rays!
I left the office and gleefully skipped home wishing the homeless man outside a Joyous evening.
Oh what a day wht a day what a glorious day!

33 Black.

2006-11-22T02:25:00.000-08:00

I was thinking ealier about the increasing ammount of blockage in my right nostril and the Atlantic City boy who bet it all on the cancer in his leg and all of the loneliest people in this world and the debate comes to mind between what's worth more...personal sucess or the feeling of being loved. The girl next to me laughs but when she does I instictively turn because it sounds like she is crying. What a horrible illness. To sounds like you are crying when actually you are laughing. Her boyfirend says he wants a beer and there she goes crying again. Or is she laughing? Laughing at his alchoholic tendencies. Maybe she is amused by the way he slurs his words. Or the way his palm strikes her milky face night after the night he suspects infedelity. Why is it that the only place cancer ridden boy feels safe is Atlantic City? Maybe it's the one place where no one feels safe. Where depending on the spin of a roullette wheel anybody could be just as well off. And maybe we are all growing a cancer deep inside of us. The girl who laughs as if she is crying, the blockage in my right nostril, the boy who gambles on life...

Open up your heart

2006-11-21T11:40:00.000-08:00

Last night, my buddy Devin and I went to see the rapture at the Henry Fonda theater in Hollywood. We arrived early so as to secure a good standing place before the show. At this point I notice that everyone around us is like 18 and is either a crazy little girl with a black headband or a beefy looking dude. I guess in New York, the crowd at concerts tends to be a little older. So we watch the first band "The Presets" which pretty much suck. All their music is sequenced and they sound like Joy Division after a ketamine binge. At this point I am wondering about the current state of so called "indie" music. At a show sponsored by KROQ and filled with 16 year olds out on thanksgiving break who were probably listening to Fall Out Boy on the car ride over, I am pondering the current state of so called "indie" rock. That is until the rapture come on. The rapture are a rare sort of band that manages to sound amazing live and maintain a fun nonpretentious stage presence. They seem like the kind of guys you would actually want to hang out with. And they can all play their instruments. NO SEQUENCING!

So about halfway through the rapture show I notice that dev's disappeared. It was right after some beefy dudes warned me that "bro there's gonna be moshing here so watch out" And moshing there was. Again moshing at the indie rock show? Maybe at the slayer show but seriously kids, moshing to the rapture? Anyways so Devin has disappeared but wait no there he is off to the side of the stage talking to this cute girl. Wow good job Devin. Somehow amidst the sea of psycho KROQ'ers Devin manages to chat up a girl. So the concert comes to a close and I find Devin who is bidding the girl adieu. But he doesn't look all that excited or happy. This is not the face of someone who has a new number burning in his pocket. I can see this. And so I ask the obvious "Hey man so did you get her number?" Devin looked shell shocked. LIke he had just seen an indie ghost! Or actually he had seen an indie baby. Because this girl was 17....and therefore 7 years younger than Devin. And jailbait! Yikes! Apparently the conversation went something like this: Both were making comments about the crowd and how strange it was. Devin said he felt like an old man. The girl said "you're not that old!" and then it came out that she was 17 and he was 24 to which she replied "all my friends are like a couple years older than you." I want to know who the 34 year old guys are that hang out with 17 year olds. That's pretty gross. So would it have been wrong for Devin to get that girls number? What do you think? I mean he is only 24 and she is 17. In maybe less than a year it would be legal. But also it's legal right now as long he doesn't "get himself into it" (rapture quote) wink.
anyways since this post is alot about devin here is a movie that we made together once upon a time in a land far far away.

The Desert

2006-11-19T17:56:00.000-08:00

The minute I stepped off the plane and onto Los Angeles (well Burbank) soil I noticed a change in the air. Something about the wind here, the desert, it feels dusty and serene. The wind has weight here, like it's pulling at your hair and face but not stinging or chapping it. I stick my head out of the car going 60 on Venice boulevard and I feel like riding a horde of mutant buffallo into a giant spinning orange tornado.

Foodcourt Woes

2006-11-16T15:24:00.000-08:00

So it's official. The westside pavillion foodcourt is falling into a state of decrepit downfall. All that is left is korean, japanese, mexican salad. What happened to the glorious 1980's foodcourt golden era? Where can a good guy go to get some pre-packaged styrofoam divided deep fried food served on a plastic tray. What is happening to America?

A Long Wednesday Delayed

2006-11-15T15:16:00.000-08:00

I write this post from the airport. Today I awoke and got all my things together and packed my bags. I left my apartment with two hours to get to the airport. Usually this is enough time to get to JFK, even with traffic. Do you sense the impending doom? So I was walking down the street to quickly return the "Notorious Bettie Page" Dvd I forgot to return the day before and I notice an extreme lack of cabs. Maybe this is just in my mind I tell myself. Two hours is fine! That's plenty of time! So I get out of Kim's and walk up st marks towards 3rd avenue looking for a cab. Nothing. Ok I'll try 3rd there are always cabs on 3rd avenue. Taken. Ok how about 4th avenue. I roll my wheely luggage up the gravel road bouncing plastic chunks off the wheels. 15 minutes in. All the cabs are taken. 20 minutes. Finally a cab stops next to me and asks where I'm going. "JFK" and I move to get into the cab. The driver turns back to his wheel and drives off before I can even lift my luggage off the sidewalk. Seriously. He just left me there because he didn't want to drive to the airport. That is illegal by the way. So I walk around a little more and begin to get really nervous. I still have plenty of time but it's just the nerves starting to get to me. Finally a cab drives up that is off duty but the guy is nice enough to take me to JFK. It's probably close to where he is dropping off his cab for the night. The cab driver says "I'll take you to JFK but I have to warn you, there is alot of traffic right now." Shit. Well even with lots of traffic it shouldn't take more than an hour. Right? So we are off and the cab driver is great, he's swerving around cars and honking and getting the finger thrown at him more times than Donald Rumsfeld at a peace rally. Everything is going great until we hit the expressway. And that's where things begin to go wrong. And I mean really wrong. It was probably the smoke pouring from the hood of the cab. I really hoped it was a magical illusion and this cab driver was an amature magician. I was hoping that at any moment he would turn around and yell "I'm just kidding!" But unfortunately he did not. And you can't imagine how hard it is to find a free cab on an expressway. SO needless to say it's now 6:47 and my flight left at 445 now i'm delayed and waiting for the new flight. It's going to be a long wednesday.

Underwater (I Found Your Face)

2006-11-14T14:08:00.000-08:00

So I am going to begin a new project featuring people dunking their heads into water. The faces will appear almost as if they are drowning in watery graves. As you approach these tubes mounted on a dark wall, the faces will poke through the water and stare at you holding their breath while holding their eyes wide open. Almost like a watery staring/breath holding contest. I want it to look really blue and black. I've been really into the blue/black look lately. Or maybe they will look like portholes as if you are on a giant ship and there are these weird ghostly faces peeking in from the ocean looking at you. I like the idea of the viewer being watched by the art. Sort of like a watery silent film star screaming for your attention.
These are some sample photos I found online by a photographer named SnoopRat. I tinted them in photoshop to show what kind of effect I hope to achieve.

Easy rider:Blog from a bus

2006-11-10T16:58:00.000-08:00

I am writing this from a bus
it went dark
on the way
to
atlantic city

5 to 1 1 in 5

2006-11-07T13:03:00.000-08:00

I was eating lunch today and there was this guy slurping his spaghetti out of his plate and his head was hung so low into the plate that his chin would dip slightly in the sauce everytime he bent down for a slurp. He didn't seem to notice.

My first and most immediate reaction was to be disgusted. Here was a guy so busy, so engrossed in life or work or thought that he was shovelling noodles into his mouth like a snake handler cramming 35 snakes into a cigar box. And with every slurp of a new wet spaghetti strand, his chin burned a deeper tone of saucy crimson red. But he didn't seem to notice.

I on the other hand could not stop watching. It was a beautiful and hideous display. It reminded me of a scene from Mathew Barney's cremaster cycle. As the man chordled his final slurp I desperately hoped that he would forget to wipe his chin and walk around all day with the bloody looking mess decorating his chin but to my dismay, he quickly swiped the sauce from his face and practically ran out of the pizza place.

I think this scene was especially interesting to me because I have weird issues with food. If I dont have time to sit down and actually enjoy the act of eating, I tend to just skip the food altogether. I really enjoy relaxing and talking with people while I eat and I can't imagine becoming a human food vaccum, slurping down nutrients like a hungry plant.

Drillin for a livin'

2006-11-06T10:21:00.000-08:00

So I am currently constructing something called the memoryphone. It is a musical instrument based on the design of an organ grinder. More Info Here So last night I was using a heavy piece of machinery known as a drill press. You know the kind of machine you need to wear goggles so the splintering wood chunks dont' fly into your eye. The kind of machine they make horror movies about (ahem Body Double) The kind of machine you should not be drinking while operating. However this didn't stop my buddy who was also working in the shop from offering me a bottle of wine while drilling! It's like I'm diffusing a bomb and trying to decide between the red and blue wire and sweat is pouring down my brow and the time is ticking down and wait oh here buddy have a drink! NO. There are certain situations where a drink is a definite bad idea. So I thought I would make a list of other situations in which I feel it would be innapropriate to be offered a drink:
1. Riding a bicycle in New York City traffic
2. Swimming with a killer whale in a tank full of seals
3. Any sort of Trapeeze work
4. Running in the special olympics
5. Driving a schoolbus
6. AA meetings
7. Climbing at high altitudes
8. Any sort of religious cult meeting (especially Kool-Aid drinks)

But of course I couldn't wait to have some wine and now thanks to mr drill press I have a huge yet stylish hole in the middle of my hand. That's in this season though. The bloody gash you know. I swear.

When planets crash into the sun

2006-11-04T02:36:00.000-08:00

Tonight I got home after soldering for 8 hours and thought I was going to go directly to sleep. Actually I really didn't want to go to sleep at all. I wanted a break. Some fun. But as I got home and set my bag down and sat on my bed I felt increadibly tired. It was 1230, I was ready for bed. So what did I do?

I went out. And it was very pleasant. The air has turned crisp and breezy and the leaves crunch and twist under my shoes on the pavement. The air is buzzing with people on friday night in New York City and everything feels alive and undulating. A mass hysteria or is it belligerance? Either way it's still interesting to see. Sleep is overrated.

It's now 5:33 am. Tonight I saw MIT students dancing to hip hop, a man smash a beer bottle over someones head at a bar, an awkward but pleasant encounter with a friend from last summer, and the Turkish theory of phenomenon. Yes this makes no sense whatsoever, but I've come to the conclusion that life itself makes absolutely no sense whatsoever most of the time. And that's fine. Let's stop trying to find meaning in everything and just enjoy things for a while. Sounds a bit libertine doesn't it? But coincidence and chance and spontenaiety are often what drive the most important turning points in our lives. You could spend your entire life trying to achieve your life's purpose or goal. You could spend everyday in the lab, in the office, on the set, studying the stock market, reading medical journals...and then one day you look right instead of left and wham! you are hit by a greyhound and all your hard work and dedication is tossed in the air and flattened on the road.

I'm not saying you shouldn't try, I'm just saying next time it's 1230 and you are ready to go to sleep, make sure you really want to be sleeping. Do what you want, don't do what you should. And that's my inspirational rant of the night. Goodnight vampires and good morning early birds.

I'm a vampire

2006-11-03T02:29:00.000-08:00

It's 522am and I'm a vampire baby!

I don't know what it is about the night that keeps me so awake but I love it. There is something about the quiet. I can't imagine only being alive when it's noisy.

Back Again (with a mouse in the house)

2006-11-02T18:52:00.000-08:00

Ok so I have officially decided to start this engine up again. It's good to have a blog I think? Maybe it is. Maybe not. Ok I'm done good bye.

No ok I'm back now and here's been what's up. I have been working on several projects. Most of them video installation type things with screens and projectors and little people in bottles. It should be crazy. I'm also working on something called the memoryphone which is a musical instrument/ video player. hot Hot hot.

In personal news. I believe there is a mouse in my apartment. I was washing a cup the other day and out of the corner of my eye i noticed something flash by on the floor. It was like a scene out of a really small horror movie. I was thinking about it. Mice are pretty cute but when they are in your house they suddenly aren't cute anymore. If you put the mouse in a tank it would be cute. But if it's free than it's vermin. This applies to some humans as well.

Halloween was pretty great. Me and ranny went costume shopping and purchased some good suits. Then for actualy Halloween I ended up working till 1am and then went to the Motherfucker party at the Roxy down by the water on the westside. That place is totally insane. There were people naked and covered in blood. good old pagan fun you know? At some point they turned off the lights and put on Carrie and played the shower scene. However when the clip ended and the lights came back on, I noticed that directly to my left there were two gentlemen engaging in some halloween fellatio. Yes right there on the dancefloor. Only feet from where I was standing. Who does that? Especially during carrie?!

On another note I finally removed my air conditioner from my window and now I think it I may have been a mistake. Yes it's still warm in New York. It's going to be a hot nuclear winter boys and girls. But it's fun to be back in the blog.

July 12th 2006

2006-07-12T19:27:00.000-07:00

...and it's on this day of our lord July the twelfth two thousand and six that two legged animals will burst like tiny bubbles of bones. And all the squids and snakes and manatees will grow plump from excess oxygen and fruitfully multiply both day and night until all that is left is unintelligible blobs of furry winged, saliva horned male-female zygote sex bristled beasts...

On Your Dash

2006-06-17T16:49:00.000-07:00

12 days ago we stumbled across deserts made of concrete. My hands stunk of lamb oil you rubbed through the milky strands of your auburn hair. I loved how you loved me when you were nineteen. The devilish glare in my rear view mirror as we hit 120 somewhere between the ranch and the rest of the world.

You always wanted to die in a car crash. Lungs ruptured full of oil and exhaust. Strangled together by seatbelts, pythons winding between our hips and around our necks. My California license plate embedded deep in the back of your skull looks beautiful. The edge of an aluminum palm tree peeks out from under the rupture in your cerebellum. Some kind of white viscous fluid oozes across the number "4"

And for a moment my gaze falls jagged across your auburn hair and into your eyes and I remember days when we used to drive down desert roads made of concrete. The wind blurring the world into a sweet shudder. The way you used to laugh when I took my shoes off while somehow still managing to steer the car across the dusty desert road. The way the world fell into a deep grey blur. And when at 120, I suddenly hit a lamb in the middle of the road, blood sputtering from its throat where my chrome grill kissed it atop bright white yellow lines right before we flipped and turned and slid into the cool blue night...

photo by Ansel Adams 1960

We're All Gonna Die From Ink Poisoning

2006-04-21T12:30:00.000-07:00

It's inevitable. We're all going to die from inki poisoning...or at least anyone who's been hanging out with me recently. You're doomed. The skulls and dragons and spiral hexadodecahedron patterns scrawled into your arm with a Sharpie, they're going to be the death of you. Everynight we go out to bars or restaurants or movies or shows and draw into eachothers flesh. Who needs tattoos? Every night I've got a different eyeball, face, korean lettering, lightning bolt...the possibilities are endless. Marker felt is the new ink.

Uh-Oh Mr Chicken Salad.

2006-04-17T16:54:00.000-07:00

I've been working on a digital comic for the wonderful world of the internet lately. It is full of irony...much like life. I find that ironic things are always happening to me, like I'm living in some weird practical joke world. Maybe irony is the wrong word for it...I need a word that conveys both the emotions of sad and funny. Maybe I should call it the Charlie Brown effect. You sort of want to cry for Charlie Brown when Lucy constantly rips the football out from under his feet like some sort of evil bitch harpy who revels in the pain of others, but it is kind of funny at the same time. Uh-oh funny not ha-ha funny. Maybe my life has become uh-oh funny. LIke when I get out of the shower and step in cat pee. That's pretty uh-oh funny. Or when I realize that somehow I've managed to tye-die all my clothes so that they have giant red blotches. Or when the man at the chicken salad sandwich restaurant recognizes my voice on the phone and says "Oh i know who this is, Mr Chicken Salad." That's sort of pathetic uh-oh funny. Being known as "Mr. Chicken Salad."

A still from my comic: "3:07pm and the world ended" COMING SOON to www.gabebc.com/comics.html

It's alarming!

2006-04-13T13:10:00.000-07:00

Something just occurred to me as I haphazardly made my way down Broadway wearing a blazer, long pants and canvas shoes. It gets hot in New York City. You see, I'm fairly new to the idea of seasons. In California we have seasons, well we have two: Summer and Winter. In Summer it can get to be 90 degrees in los angeles and everyone takes off all their clothes and hits the beach. In winter it gets to be about 60 degrees and everyone wears scarfs and hats and has fires in their living room. But New York is a totally different story. My mind doesn't quite comprehend these "seasons" yet and my body is struggling to adjust to the temperature as well. I woke up in the middle of the night last night, sweating and confused so I opened my window next to my bed and fell back asleep. Then at around 5am I hear a strange noise that sounds like someone is trying to get through my window and I sit up and slam it closed. In other news when I arrived home last night, the emergency exit door of my building that leads to the roof was open and a horrible ear bleeding alarm was going off. Seriously it sounded like someone being poked in the ear drum with a metal toothpick. So me and my roommate decide that we are going to take it upon ourselves as good tenants of this fine establishment and disable the alarm. I put on my ear buds and cover them with my huge headphones and make my way towards the electronic shrieking banshee of death like some sort of bomb dismantler. Then I remember, oh right I have no idea what I'm doing. My roommate on the other hand, comes out with a sledgehammer and hits the alarm box about 40 times. He continues to pound at it and I am reminded of Dave dismantling HAL at the end of 2001. Finally it falls off the door dead. The alarm stops, but the ringing continues in our ears for about 10 minutes. Flash forward to that night when I hear someone trying to break into my window. There is now no alarm box on the roof because we dismantled the alarm earlier that day. It's alarming!

Walls

2006-04-10T15:52:00.000-07:00

I spent yesterday in complete zombie mode. With little to no sleep from the past 4 nights, I worked on a video project all day and by the end, was ready to crawl into a small hole and die. However I did not crawl into a small hole and die but rather walked out of my bathroom at midnight and slammed my face right into a wall (accidentally) I swear that wall wasn't so close to the bathroom. Maybe the walls in my apartment have some sort of nighttime alternate life that I don't know about. Like as soon as I turn off the lights they go to the awesome Wall club where they all engage in debaucherous activities with other walls. Dancing to Gloria Gaynor and soaking their plaster in cheap wall booze. However, last night I caught them surprised and they couldn't return to their natural positions and thus I faceplanted directly into the corner of one of the mischievous creatures. Well now my right eyebrow feels dented in and the right side of my face feels slightly numb. Walls....can't live with 'em...can't live without them... fuckers.

A break from the drama

2006-04-03T17:32:00.000-07:00

So here is a break from the dramatic novella I started writing in my last post. I will get back to it, I just realised that it was preventing me from writing in the blog at all and I can't have that now can I? So now I've decided to use this arena to vent all of my frustrations and joys in this tiny plastic wrapped suction cupped world.

Yesterday I was walking down the street outside of my house and a couple of pimple faced undergrads toting a cheap hi-8 camera and some condenser mics approached and wanted to ask me some questions. So I figured either these two were members of the secret nerd police or they were film students (which pretty much is the secret nerd police for those who didn't go to film school) I obliged to answer all their questions because I am pretty much a ham when it comes to hot on the street interviews. And the paler of the two held an ice cream cone shaped wind socked mic up to my mouth and asked:
"Do you use Myspace?"
What is it lately with Myspace? Seriously should I be worried? When I joined myspace a couple of years ago I thought it was sort of interesting, I mean in that internet phenomenon pop culture trashy playground sort of way. It was Friendster's sluttier younger cousin. You know, the one that always wanders around in a tank top and cut off hot pant jeans and loves the movie "The Wedding Planner" But lately all I hear about is Myspace Myspace Myspace. It's like somehow the younger sluttier cousin ran for president and won and now completely controls the universe. For god's sakes, it's the second most viewed page on the internet after google. At least google gives you some sort of information. Myspace just gives you some sort of personal weird vallidation. Some channel to be whoever you want. (Which usually turns out to be a brooding emo hipster) But maybe this is a good thing. Maybe this is just what our society needs. Maybe we'll all become so completely blissed out in our world of pre-teen softcore porn shots that we will forget about all the war and hatred in the world. Maybe myspace is the answer to all our problems, to all the unjustices in the world....maybe Myspace is the new Holy Grail. Gosh I hope so...
I told this to the pimple faced boy with the condensor mic. He looked shocked for a moment, but then he realised that the mic wasn't actually plugged into the camera at all and well...my tyrade was lost forever. And...I do love myspace.

Part I (It was golden...)

2006-02-01T13:12:00.000-08:00

It was golden she said-- ready to go. Pressing 1982 adidas blue and white striped tennies down hard onto the dirty pedal of the Cadillac, she sends the vehicle rocketing off onto cold midnight concrete.
2nd Gear.
The sky is warm. A faint smell of eucalyptus stings the air like the shrill voice of a soprano on opening night at the Met. And now she's so far from the Met, so far from anything that vaguely resembles New York City.
3rd Gear.
The hull of the Cadillac begins to creak and whine. Outside its thick scratched windows, the world blurs into an orange desert smear of Joshua Trees and soil.
4th Gear.
Smoke tendrils flip and flop from thick red lips. She bats her eyes, the fourteenth eyelash of her left eye sheds two microscopic black dust balls of mascara. She pulls another drag off the cigarette, her lips leave lipstick stains on the filter. Evidence. She cracks the window a little more, the air momentarily swirls the smoke throughout the car and she takes a deep breath, filling her lungs with a fine coat of dust and gravel.
5th Gear.
"It's almost as if the entire world fell asleep one night and never woke up" she grumbles to the empty passenger seat on her right. She hasn't seen anyone in days. How long has it been? She thinks back to the last time she had any sort of interaction with a living human being. Last Thursday, At the gas station? There must've been somebody working in the convenience store while she pumped another fresh 14 gallons into the hungry Caddy. Some pimple faced seventeen year old bumblefuck slurpy vendor crunching into a sodium heavy meat stick as she pumped gas in another town with a name ending in 'Ville.'
How long HAS it been?
She hadn't actually seen anyone in the convenience store.
A fly buzzes into the car, the kind of fly so thick and black you wouldn't want to kill it on a wall for fear of leaving a large fly stain. The girl, the woman, barely notices. She bites her lip. The fly buzzes around and around, drunk on the smell of nicotine and cheap pine tree shaped air fresheners. It lands on the woman's dark red bangs that partially obscure her right eye and she brushes the insect away. The fly flips into the backseat and sticks to the leather upholstery. It crawls into the gap between the seats and nestles itself deep into the body of the car. From inside the trunk, the insect claws its way across grey velvet lining dotted with oil stains. In the darkness of the small tight trunk, the fly buzzes over a rough red corrugated surface, around a cold metal clasp, under a plastic handle.
The car rocks back and forth, a boat wavering between faded yellow wiry asphalt.
The fly sits atop the small red suitcase nestled sweetly in the trunk of the car and rubs it's tiny feet together. With a hairy pair of lips, the fly quietly licks the top of the suitcase. Inside this red ballistic nylon shell, locked tightly in the trunk of a Cadillac going 115 miles per hour somewhere in the desert between New York and Los Angeles is six hundred thousand dollars in cash.
Celeste lights another cigarette and pushes the dirty pedal of the Cadillac a little further into the floor...

Where no cars go...

2006-01-22T22:16:00.000-08:00

Today I got 0 emails, 0 emails can you believe that?!
this is a first since maybe 6th grade!
love gabe

Animated Advertisement

2006-01-21T14:44:00.000-08:00

Last night I was feeling lethargic and so I decided to do something new...I was browsing through the Village Voice when I realised I have never actually been to a play in New York City. SO, I flipped to the theater section and saw that there was a production of TAPE going on in midtown which I could easily attend for 17 bucks. So I hoofed it up 29 blocks over to W36th and 8th avenue to the Underground Artists Theater Company playhouse for a short theatrical endeavor. The theater was small and only fit about 40 people although only 15 were in attendance. I was fairly familiar with the play as I once had to recreate a scene for a film class in college, and while the performance was slightly over-acted, it was still exciting to see live acting again. I think that maybe we are too used to having a certain distance between ourselves and acting (usually in the form of a screen) and seeing actors up close and personal really is much more exciting.

On my way back home after the play I decided to walk back whichever way the street lights took me. What I mean by this is that whichever street light was green is the one I would walk down. So I took a nice 45 minute walk home and saw many things I would've never noticed otherwise. As I was walking I suddenly looked to my right and found myself staring at an animation moving right next to me on the street! It's hard to explain, but a light box with small slits was hanging on the scafolding nex to me. So as I walked by the slits, the pictures on the inside turned into an animation of a new car commercial. I have posted the experience below so check it out....you never know what you might see in New York City.
Street Animation

The Emergency Room! (Or How I like to Spend my Friday Nights!)

2005-12-03T11:03:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I exited my abode, rushing out into the chilly 30° vaccum that is New York City and found, much to my dismay that the street lights appeared to have a bright halogen streak cutting through them. (Sort of like what you would see looking out of a pair of glasses smeared with crisco) However I then, much to my further dismay realized that this was only occuring in my right eye and when I popped out my contact lense, the streak remained.
It is very scary when you realize there is something wrong with your vision. The first thing you think is, I'm probably going to go blind and then you calm down and rationally deduce that there is no way you are going to go blind but you should probably go have your eyeballs checked out immediately. So I went over to the NYU health services building (my favorite place!) and went to Optometry where I was redirected to Urgent Care. So apparently it is a semi serious issue I began to think.
At Urgent Care I was seen by a befuddled Japanese doctor who strangely enough kept bowing to me. At first I thought he was joking but then the bowing seemed to increase and so did his serious expression as he re-directed me to the emergency room of the New York Eye and Ear Infirmirary.

So at 6:30 on Friday night I find myself in the waiting room of the ER at the Infirmirary listening to Bing Crosby croon "It's the most wonderful time of the year" on what seemed to be an infinite loop. Then finally after 2 hours, I get called in by the lone doctor who has 5 other angry people with eye problems to see after me. She pulls me into a darkened room and straps a clockwork orange like contraption to my face and drips 4 drops of diallating fluid into my right and left eye. She then replaces me in the waiting room and tells me that for the next 25 minutes my vision is going to get a bit "quonky." I remember back to when I was 4 years old and had the same drops put into my eyes when I first got glasses. I remember how I screamed in terror while a nurse clutched my hand and told me to pretend I was "Luke Skywalker" Fuck you nurse. Luke Skywalker wouldn't need glasses, he would have Jedi vision, there is no way Luke Skywalker would've let the nurse put those drops in his eyes. (Or at least that was my reasoning as a 4 year old)
Now 20 minutes into the procedure I my vision has become blurred. I can't see anything within a foot of me and all the christmas lights hanging from wreaths around the waiting room appear as giant fuzzy blur caterpillars. The ceiling of the room is a giant white grid of lights and this for some reason comforts me whenever I look up at it. I feel warmth eminating from the ceiling and want to touch--gabe I'm ready for you now.
So I march back into the room and after more clockwork orange like contraptions I am diagnosed with "Posterior Vitreous Detachment" a detachment of a jelly like substance from my retina. Apparently as long as my vision doesn't get dramatically worse over the next three weeks I wont go blind in my right eye! So I left the New York City Eye and ear infirmirary feeling happy that I wasn't going blind and also feeling completely "quonky" on a friday night. 2 for 1 I highly recommend a visit.

OnthursdayIgetintotroublealot

2005-11-11T12:19:00.000-08:00

So last thursday was the whole Anarchy in the UK problem which, I will admit was largely my fault. But this thursday I once again experienced another altercation at a bar and this time It was NOT my fault. The altercation took place at Siberia in midtown, a rock bar populated mostly by ex-frat boy white rap stars who are "cruising for ladies." My favorite scene right? So at around 3am everyone is having a good time. I'm dancing to a jukebox which is filled with suprisingly good music with some kids from ITP and it's all going very well. I decided to cut back on the drinking and began to order water from the bar. I walked over to the bar and ordered a glass of water, but the bartender, a ponchy man in his 30's wearing a grey knit skull cap was falling all over his own workstation. This was not the bartender I had been ordering drinks from all night. Rather this was some trust fund baby frat boy buddy of the bar owner who since he could not get laid any other way, decided to hit on all the asian girls of ITP from behind a bar.
"Water please?"
"We don't serve fucking wawteer at this bar man."
"Come on just give me a water."
"Alright I'll give you a water."
And with that, the surly bartender pitched a full glass of water onto my shirt.
A Pause. (Thinking back to the week before -stay out of fights gabe)
I picked up a handful of ice and launched at the guy's eyes scoring a direct hit and forcing the man to clutch his face.
"I'm going to fucking kill you!" He slobered as he jumped from behind the bar.
Now at this point I honestly thought he was kidding and so I quickly scampered around the room as the man chased me ala roadrunner Wile E Coyote. He was just so increadibly goofy looking with his grey skull cap and oafy looking face that I didn't actually take him seriously. But he was serious and proceeded to "try and fight me" for the rest of the night. His frat boy hijinks resulting in people having to hold him back from me for what seemed like 30 minutes. Ruined my night. I do not need to be thought of as the fighting guy of itp. SO finally after trying over and over to get somebody from the bar to kick him out, one of the bouncers finally picked him up and tossed the ex frat boy tubby bitch out of the bar.
So later I find out that this man had been hitting on all the asian girls of ITP and using derogatory terms to refer to them. I leave with two of my friends and we take a cab ride home.
But I feel strangely unfulfilled. I know that tomorrow this drunk asshole will be right back behind the bar pouring shots for girls filled with date rape drugs or something of that sort. So I get out my trusty cell phone:
"411 city and state please"
"New York, New York"
"What listing?"
"Siberia Bar."
"Hello?"
"Hello I'm calling about an altercation that took place at your bar tonight. Generally we don't call about this sort of thing but I am a Los Angeles editor for the Fodor's yearly nightlife guide and tonight one of my writers was accosted by a bartender at your bar while trying to do research for a review. Are you aware that an altercation took place?"
"Yes there was a slight problem tonight"
"Well from what I understand, my reviewer ordered a glass of water and this water was thrown in his face by your bartender."
"Well let me tell you that this sort of thing never happens at our bar"
"Well it apparently did tonight and usually we don't make this kind of call, it's just that we would like to include your bar in our book but after the treatment my writer got tonight i'm afraid we can't."
"Oh but it's really not like this usually It was just a freak occurence and I can guarentee you that we will have whoever was involved fired immediately. Please come by tomorrow night and we can all have a drink and you can see the kind of place we have."
"Well I don't come out myself ever I send a writer incognito but we will re-review your bar, I just wanted to alert you of the problem so that we don't waste any more writers' time."
"Oh well we're very sorry and we guarentee that we will take care of the situation. seriously man this kind of stuff doesn't happen here alot it's just this guy who we've been looking for an excuse to get rid of but he's the owners friend. After this call though i'm sure there wont be a problem firing him."
"Well i'm glad to hear you are responsive to your customers have a good night"
"Thank you and please come by the bar anytime for a chat, the drinks are on us."
And I hung up the phone, feeling hungry for a chicken salad sandwich and Oliver Stones' film "The Doors." I stayed up till 7am.

Take the M5

2005-11-07T18:35:00.000-08:00

"Here's 2 Dollars,"
The driver, a man whose face is permanently crinkled into a tight wrinkly grimace replies: "We don't accept dollar bills."
"You don't accept dollar bills?" I reply, hoping that by rephrasing his statement as a question the driver might reconsider and actually accept my dollar bills.
"We don't accept cash, that's what I said. Just Metrocards or change."
A line of people is beginning to accumulate behind me. A woman dangling what must be a dozen shoes by their strings shifts behind me uneasily. The driver smells like one million cups of coffee...black coffee...with no cream. I make one last ditch effort. I play the stupidity card.
"I don't have either I'm really sorry I'm from Los Angel..."
"Just get in the back," he motions with an outstretched hand covered in thick black hair. Out of the corner of my eye I catch him smiling and shaking his head in disbelief. It's Sunday, some sunny day in November and I am rolling down the hot black cracked asphalt in a carbon monoxide filled capsule of plastic scratched glass. I have never seen so many different ears. Some are curved, some round, some spiral inward like fleshy shells. I have never seen so many different hands. Fat stubby flat fingers, long wiry wrists, curled dainty digits. They all stretch out over laps, grasping bags or cameras or other hands. I have never seen so many different faces. Mustaches, beards, moles, arched noses, plump lips-high cheek bone spectacle reflections of a motion blur. I am surrounded by strangers, and yet they don't feel very strange. There is an air of friendliness to the woman dressed in a grey blouse as she crunches the Wall Street Journal in her lap. There is a familiarity to the 50 year old man, as he lugs a bag full of cans down the center aisle, his face cracking with a smile so wide he almost appears to cry. There are two children climbing over the blue metal seats of this giant playground, laughing and screaming with glee as we all rumble and tumble down 6th avenue at an oh so speedy 10 miles per hour. Wait, did I mention we are only going 10 miles per hour? Yet nobody seems to care, no one complains. The caffeinated driver twitches as his glass boat twists and turns down the crowded city streets. Decals on the transparent walls of this vessel detail the danger of standing unless a stop is requested. Is a stop requested? Surely a stop must be requested some time? In this city, this hustling-bustling frenetic whir of color, nobody ever stops. The pavement glows with the heat generated by the feet of abuelitas and walstreet business men and next week's celebrity high roller as they all pound the street together in a brilliant dance of color, light, and motion.

In this city, this buzzing bubble, the ambulance drivers are Disc Jockeys. Sirens mix into the chatter of street vendors as hot sausages crackle and pop on electric grills. From outside the plastic shell a hum is growing. The hum pushes itself through the plastic exoskeleton of the bus and suddenly my ears are intoxicated with the rough coarse hoarse voice of the city. Cement mixers laugh hot gooey screaming cab driver-noisy-shrieks-of-joy. Car alarms sting silence as angry French bulldogs bow-wow grace notes through the air. Wine sloshes round back and forth chatter as cigarettes crackle the tap tap tap of a blind man's cane. Even the light, as it kisses the corners of every skyscraper, hums high pitched whispers throughout my cochlea. Is there a stop requested? In this city, this delicious vissicoise of sound, nobody ever stops.

I am shuttled up 6th avenue and into a blockade of yellow bricks, red eyes blinking as pedestrians weave in and out of an automotive maze. As the driver twitches to the left, the wheels of the vessel screetch across an intersection and suddenly we are across from central park and I no longer inhale carbon monoxide but rather the sweet smell of something new. A leaf floats through the emergency ventilation shaft on the ceiling of the bus and onto the rough corrugated black floor by my feet. I bend down to pick up the leaf and upon touching its veiny skin, I am instantly transported outside the glass boat. A pile of leaves engulfs my body, floating me across central park south and up Broadway. It is warm inside the crispy pile of green flakes and for the first time in my life, I inhale the sweet metallic aroma of fall. While floating along up riverside drive past the park I think back to the moment I moved to New York City. I remember lonely nights walking up and down 3rd avenue at 4am unable to sleep. I remember complaining to my parents that this city was too loud, that I was becoming claustrophobic and couldn't leave my apartment in the mornings. I remember a trip to the school psychiatrist on the Friday before Labor Day, feeling more lonely than ever. I remember all these tensions, all these bouts with anxiety and now, engulfed in the leaves of central park I realize how far I've come in 2 short months. I am so much happier now, having experienced the noise, the loneliness, the anxiety. Wrapped a green blanket of New York city foliage I slowly drift off to sleep.

The smell of empanadas and fried chicken-chop suey-pan dulce-brisket sandwiches swims into my sleepy nostrils. I crack open one eye and now it is night and 150th st is a blinking strobe of warm bulbs advertising every ethnicity of culinary delights. A multi-cultural beacon which signals constant activity to the rest of the city, there is a certain energy on this part of the island which I haven't found anywhere else. It reminds me of home, of downtown Los Angeles, but in a new exciting way. I finally exit my seat and move onto the street. I am ready to experience the city on my own again. I bid farewell to the driver, who is quite surprised that I'm still on the bus after 3 hours and apologize for my lack of exact change. He smiles and says: "That's ok...now you know what I do everyday." I leave the bus behind and as my feet touch the pavement, I am energized and ready to explore...for the first time in forever I feel new.

Anarchy in the UK

2005-11-04T16:09:00.000-08:00

It was during Anarchy in the UK...arms flailing, hair pushed back, sweat dripping down my brow... that's when the random man in the bar handed me a glass half filled with beer. Now logically most people would assume that this man was kindly offering me a sip of his pint but I, in my punk rock addled mind, adrenaline pumping through every nerve in my body decided that this man, this random bar man really wanted me to use this half a glass of beer as part of my dance. So I did what Sid Vicious would've done, what Johnny Rotten would've done, what Steve Jones would've done. I took the glass of beer, swished the entire half a pint around in my mouth and spit a fine mist of brown ale all over the man's face.
A pause.
And back to dancing.
Alright so I did already have a few glasses of Jack Daniels of my own prior to this very uncharacteristic event. I thought everything was going great. That is until the random bar man walked right over to me on the dancefloor and hawked a giant wad of spit on my pants. Then he turned around and walked outside. For some reason, it didn't register to me why he had done this? He wasn't dancing. He wasn't imbibed with the spirit of punk rock. So I followed the man out onto the street and quite sloppily shouted:
"Hey man don't you ever fucking spit on me again!"
(As this could've been a regular occurrence. Like one day I might see this guy again at the supermarket or something and on that day he'll come up and spit on my pants again.)
The man turned around and stared at me, a puzzled look spreading across his face. I decided to tone it down a bit.
"Man it's just that I only have like 3 pairs of pants and now I have to wash these Fuck!"
the man smiled and said:
"I only have one pair of eyes and I can't wash the beer out of mine!"
Tension.
Then uncontrollable laughter. I said I was sorry about spitting the beer in his eyes and he said he was sorry about my pants and also that he was afraid I was going to beat him up or something. He said that when he used to box in the marines there was a guy who looked like me who used to beat him up all the time and that's why he went outside in hopes that I wouldn't go out to fight. (At his mention of boxing in the marines I also realize I am glad I didn't go outside to fight)
And for the rest of the night we are buddies. Hanging out and singing along to Joy Division's 'Love Will Tear Us Apart'

The boy electric

2005-11-01T21:26:00.000-08:00

Medium
From Wikipedia:

"The word media derived from medium (from Latin, in which it means, "the one in the middle") can have different meanings in different contexts."

Part I
(Strapped to the Machine)

The boy sits amongst piles of wires. He smells the sweet sour smell of iron, metal- liquid-dust rotting the insides of the cables attatched to his arms, legs, joints...a techno-puppet pulled by invisible strings. Is this life or merely a new form of communication? The boy pulls at the wires, stretching grey matter sinews from every inch of his brain. He thinks about the past: the smell of grass, visits to the natural museum of history as a small child, his first kiss...sloppy and filled with the metallic clinking sounds of 15 year old braces. Is the past gone? Is there nothing left for the boy but the non-linear digital world of the future, a cold lifeless life tangled in wires? The boy wants life to be simple. Linear. The boy wants to move through life like a rat, clawing through a maze, squeaking his way towards the ultimate prize. The ultimate goal. The end of a fairy tale. He pushes and pulls at the strings, struggling to communicate personally in a world dominated by machines. Is the future filled with promise? Are we moving towards something new, something inovative? Or are we simply making life more complicated with every keystroke, every click of a mouse? The boy wonders this as he is strapped to the machine, arms flailing, his mind a digital mess of digits, signs, symbols, equations.
"What are the dangers of the machine?"
The machine caresses the boy, wires cradle his head maternally. It's so inviting, so seemingly personal. Every instant message, ever hyperlink leads to a whole new individual world of communication, a whole new source of gratification for the boy. Click. The history of the bubonic plague. Click. Encyclopedia Britanica! Click. Live chat with russian mail order brides. Click. Become an online minister! Click. Moby Dick $19.99! Click. The boy begins to sweat electronic oil, his skin lubricated with excitement by all the possibilities of interaction with the outside world. Click. Free airplane ticket to Europe. Click. Groceries delivered to your door. Click. Mozart's "Jupiter" symphony 41 pumped through stereo hi-fi titanium speakers. Suddenly his past, his visits to the natural history museum, his first kiss, the smell of grass mean nothing to the boy. Click. Flickrgrandma's 87th birthday. Click. Online buddylist. Click. In this new technological fantasy world, identity is anonymous, the past is trivial. The boy can experience true collective thinking. He is, for the first time in his life, part of a community. He feels accepted. He belongs. He can blog. But where is his sense of self? What is the point of interacting with strangers over a vast network of other lost boys and girls? When all of your friends fit in a folder, what do you do at 10pm on a friday night?

Internet
From Wikipedia:

"The Internet, the extensive, worldwide computer network is a more general term informally used to describe any set of interconnected computer networks that are connected by internetworking."

Part II
(The Past)

The first time the boy met the machine was at the natural history museum in Los Angeles. Whale skeletons dangled from the ceiling by invisible wires, and ants and beetles crawled over eachother in glass cases filled with sawdust. While spiders weaved nets made of stretchy stringy fluid, the boy was drawn to a different kind of net. One console. One lone computer sat in the midst of taxidermied lions and freeze dried gorrilas, ferret bones and quartz rocks from Colorado. One keyboard console amongst thousands of years of cavemen, insects, continental drift. The internet. An exhibit suddenly worthy of natural history status. The boy approached the console, fingers outstretched and eyes wide open. His digits sweeped the keys. "www" The first thing the fifteen year old boy's eyes saw of the internet was the pale blue glow of the Mtv website. It was a simple page, filled with grotesque comics and pictures pop culture princesses. Hardly any links, hardly any personal interaction and yet despite the lack of museum worthy content, the boy fell in love. For the first time in his brief fifteen years, the boy could reach out and touch something, a metaphysical object that millions of other fifteen year old boys could also see at the same time, no matter what country they were from, or what ethnicity they were, or how much they had in common. The boy knew that thousands of people, thousands of other boys like himself, had seen the Mtv website and for the first time in his life, he felt connected.

Nonlinearity
From Wikipedia:

"In mathematics, nonlinear systems represent systems whose behavior is not expressible as a linear function of its descriptors; that is, such systems are not linear. In nonlinear systems one encounters such phenomena as chaos effects, strange attractors, and freak waves. Whilst some nonlinear systems and equations of general interest have been extensively studied, the vast majority are poorly understood if at all."

Part III
(Life)

The boy sits at home in his electronic box one night in Autumn wondering if his life is over. How much value does life have when everything is nonlinear? Life is inhearantly linear. Life is like some sort of ellaborate deli sandwhich. You are born, you live, and you die with all the pickles, cheese and dressing in between. But this machine, this new form of history, isn't linear in the slightest. When the boy is attatched to the machine he can travel back in time. He can recall pictures of events he wasn't even alive for. While attatched to wires and cables, the boy can be anyone. He can be a rockstar. He can be a 50 year old woman from Kansas. He can create media and sell it to millions of viewers in Prague without leaving his easy chair in west Los Angeles. But does he ever meet anyone new? Does he ever truly interact? Sure he can sell hundreds of megabytes of canned video to hip European production companys, but the boy has never been oustide of North America. He has never touched the base of the Eiffel tower. He has never eaten paella in Madrid or drank wine in Italy. He has never lived outside of his world of wires and networks. Is this life, or nonlinear fantasy? The boy has seen Starry Night but only at 834 X 680 pixels. He has never seen a canvas swiped by Van Goghs actual brush. In 100 years, will the entire internet be considered a fantastic experiment gone wrong? Is the net merely a pair of 3D glasses for the 21st century audience? Are we all, like the boy, becoming digital spirits trapped in a lifeless world of wires and cables? One day will we forget what it's like to visit the natural history museum and actually SEE dinosaur bones from 50 million years ago? In the future, will we no longer experience the awkward anxiety of a first kiss? Will we dissasociate from all human interaction, plugging ourselves into apocalyptic machines bent on destroying emotional and physical connection? Will there be touch in the future? Will there be interior as well as exterior life?

Quote from
Forbidden Planet (1956)
[About oxygen.]
Robby the Robot: I rarely use it myself, sir. It promotes rust.

Part IV
(The Future AKA Sleep)

The boy sits amongst a pile of wires. He wants to die young. To escape the linear. To escape growing old. In the machine no one grows old, rather we suddenly evaporate. To die on the internet means several things: Your email address suddenly becomes useless. However, it takes months for your friends to realize that no one is responding to their numerous emails and even then, they don't realize that you've died, but instead assume that you are out of town on vacation or simply depressed. Your flickr account no longer exceeds your monthly megabyte limit. Your blog mysteriously ends without any conclusion whatsoever. Your online girlfriends (having never met you) never will meet you for that coffee you almost asked them to meet you for. The world is a safer, cleaner place. Blood doesn't bleed. Tears aren't shed. Wires engulf the boy. They feel warm. He wants to fall asleep wrapped in their glow. He closes his eyes. Visions flash through his mind but he is unable to focus on any specific memory. The natu32ral hi398498story mus1102eum, his fir3190st ki198274ss, the sme293l3l of gra21ss in J23uly. The boy squints his eyes, he wants to remember. His mind is jumbled. W31ww insec32ts whale starry12 n29ight. The wires entangle his legs, slowly crawling up his thighs. Digits23 sign2s sy39mbols. The cables make their way up his chest and over his torso, engulfing the boy in electric anonymity. Connect. Disconnect.
Click.
And the boy is gone.

Sallys Fake Orgasm (On Rye)

2005-10-31T13:24:00.000-08:00

it's noisy at noisefests where I screened this video I made muy muy recently. I will put it up online and you can gawk. Things here have been cold. I had midterms and 1.00000000,000000,,0,.0p0,0,0k,-0bajpjb things to do. but now that they are over I will resume my life of lacksadaisy leisure. I finally went to the Katzs deli *the deli where sally had her fake orgasm. Actually that would be a much better name for the deli. Saly's a faker. Or maybe just Sallys fake orgasm... On rye. I had a reuben sandwhich which was very tasty and not all greasylike. Apparently however they have a very intricate ticket system at Katzs where everyone who enters the deli zone must take a ticket and present the ticket upon leaving or else be fined 50 dollars. Apparently also if you don't have 50 dollars they just take a slice of your back and add it into the pastrami...so succulent and delicious! Tonight is all hallows eve. Last night I went to this party at this club called 13 which was filled with hipsters dressed in hipster halloween costumes. What do I mean by hipster halloween costumes? Well while hipsters usually dress in a conventional 70's style, on halloween they dress like 70's rock stars. Thus keeping their cool appearances but also seeming quirky and filled with the spirit of the holliday. Silly silly. (but still fun to watch)

scarlett

2005-10-17T22:35:00.000-07:00

tonight as I strolled down avenue A with my dearest kt friend I passed by a ukrainian restaurant known as the Odessa Bar. In the window stood a girl dressed in a grey hoodie with full red lips and gigantic eyes. She laughed and as I passed by the window, my stomach sank upwards into my throat...yes the girl in the window was in fact Scarlett Johansson. I swore once that if I ever saw Scarlett Johansson in public I would immediately procure some kind of immense charm and ask her out on a date. And there she stood in the window waiting for me to bust through the glass and pull back her hoodie in a romantic gesture of indie film power...but she was much shorter than I imagined...and rather regular looking in real life...very peculiar. This is not to say that I wasn't ecstatic, this is not to say that given the chance, I wouldn't have cut off my right pinky toe for the chance to bask in her lost in translation glow. But in the end I just walked by and she got into a cab and left...just another day in the east village.

oh the glory of it all

2005-10-17T13:49:00.000-07:00

I wonder if I'm losing my hearing. sounds seem to blend together lately punctuated by the occasional taxi cab siren or dj firetruck...the weather is changing and nobody seems to notice. I finally finished a 500 page novel that has given me a whole new perspective on life or rather what it means to be alive. Surging with creative energy I will now attempt to watch 24 hours of television straight and record a frame every 5 minutes in order to create a kind of television electric injection of light through noise video. Are things collapsing? Or buidling momentum? I've decided to ignore said hearing loss and instead start a new band...of outsiders.

It was a stress and a half darling...a stress and a half

2005-10-10T12:01:00.000-07:00

let me tell you about how for some reason when I do any sort of creative project that takes more than 8 hours, by the end of the day my body is physically exhausted.
Like that link for instance...if you click it up there you will see a really compressed video of what I did with Jennie-O yesterday. I need to stock up and chockmyself full of echis and ABCDE vit-o-mins. Then when we go out late at night riding in convertible caddys down electric highways, the icy air stinging our lips purple flakes, our eyes darkened with circles for the weary...i'll be A-ok for whatever comes next. sometimes life is a stress and a half darling...a stress and a half.

Diary of a burnout Dj LCD screen cracker

2005-10-07T13:55:00.000-07:00

So last night I Dj'ed the weekly ITP TNO (thursday night out) event at this bar called Solas in the East Village which went pretty well I think. Being trapped in a small box filled with cables, mics, dj mixers, cd mixers, cigarette butts and laptops made me feel like I was in some weird Philip K Dick Metropolis dystopic view of the future.
Flash forward a few (4) hours.
I am left hungover with a burn on my chin and a cracked LCD screen on my mom's camera which is now filled with tons of pictures of drunken nerds. The screen makes this weird ass pattern of these crazy black LCD bloody trees when you press it. I'd take a picture but eh...you know. Apparently also break dancing on carpet is a poor idea and leaves scars the morning after. I'm learning so much!
then we all went out and ate chicken salad sandwiches...the perfect end to the perfect night.

It's time jane...our time.

2005-10-03T13:47:00.000-07:00

Dear Jane,

So since I have yet to officially document any time whatsoever I have spent in New York, I figure I would just jump right in to where I'm at right now. Forget all that previous fluff. Forget all the drama of living in 5 different hotels in 3 weeks, all the stories of creaky hotel roofs, leaking sewage water from overflowing toilets onto my bed at 7am. Don't even bother with tales of meeting new friends, completing new projects, surviving a new city filled with dirt and grime and crazy people. Omit the yarns of drunken nights, calls to ex-roomates briming with unneccesary tension, cockroaches crawling across the living room of my new apartment.
You're not definitely not going to hear about the time I accidentally ended up in an extremely gay bar with my first girlfriend from highschool... or how I stood on a rooftop 20 stories in the sky at 3am staring at the bright white hallogen lights of the Empire State building. Or the copious ammounts of chicken salad sandwhiches I have consumed, or the visit to the school psychologist (which I will have you know is only open till 1pm to which I say "what depressed people are awake before 1pm?!") You will surely not hear about the Pixies concert at coney island I scalped half-price tickets for after 2 hours of waiting...or the increadibly strange cat I live with named Clementine who negotiates for bits of food in a high pitched whine-meow.
No Jane you will not hear about any of these things.
Forget-about-it.
I will instead tell you all about what's going on with me right now...for once...absolutely nothing. And you know what Jane? I much prefer something. It's time Jane...my time.