You are currently browsing the archives for the “Art” category.

MUNI:” We’re on time in making you late.”

March 9, 2012 // Posted in !Share, Art (Tags: , , , ) |  No Comments

Muni:" We're on time in making you late."

Well, what can be said that hasn’t already been exhausted on the topic of MUNI. A lot, if it’s your main source of transportation. This morning was an exception to the rule. With a casual jester, my Manipura chariot awaited across the street. I hopped and strapped myself in thinking,”Oh, the blockages I will be sear thorough today.” The driver was impressed with my route selection. I prefer Post Street. Bush feels too much like traffic and Post feels more like a stroll. For those needing the thrill of bumper to bumper, there’s the infamous one block of gridlock before Union Square. This day I took delighted pleasure in it’s static movement. My driver and I witness the unheard of…a biker had to stop and wait. Numerous times! Actually, it drew some laughter and spirited comments. That merriment withered away as the driver flowered in to the Dali Lama from South Side. He was letting everybody and their mama turn, or switch lanes, in front of him. “Well, I’ll be (#*$@”, to myself. I got a doormat of a driver. Luckily, the radio caught my attention when they mention Whitney Houston’s will and what she left to her daughter. And more importantly, who didn’t get anything. Bobby Badboy Brown got nothing. Then I learned she had her will drawn up in 2000 and divorced Bobby in 2007. Go head, Whitney! She knew what was up. Bobby’s book should be titled: “Didn’t He Almost have it All.” or include this jewel of a song in his set: ‘I have Nothing”! HA. “Don’t repo my vespa today…I got a gig at Subyway.” Exiting the cab, I couldn’t get the image out of my head of a picture of Bobby singing I have nothing. I rushed up to my office and made use of the software available. It was the laugh of the morning.

Pride, Duty & Space Change

July 25, 2011 // Posted in !Create, Art (Tags: , , , , , , ) |  No Comments

I salaciously dabbled in some soft non-profit pan handling for Pride Sunday. Weeks before, I wanted a different routine away from the party river of least resistance and unknowingly mental blast the universe for assistance. My response was a slip on a banana peel that breached me upon the deck of The Imperial Council of San Francisco’s charity fleet. I reeled from the awakening of a self actualized thought. Basking in a whiff of arrogant laughter, I mentally chided the work hard mantra of the “little people” They clip clop around marveling at a sun set and a sun rise. I masquerade around as a quantum singularity, radiating a hex of improbability. One random quirk could catapult me up the echelon order of society or below the bowels of Hades. This quirk afforded me the opportunity to participate in Pride Sunday and also dumb down to graveling on the street for $$$ all at the same time!. “I accept!” Pride morning, I pondered the appropriate attire to wear to such a function. Bathing seemed optional…hmm? A travel wash and a few laps around the block should authenticate me enough not to offend. Then a quick squirt of Febreze on some jeans and a t-shirt from the dirty clothes hamper and color me done. I arrived early and eager. If only my attention span could match my nano-second of enthusiasm. I was dumbfounded by the tepid engagement from the throngs of people herding through the gate. What looked like a goldmine was anything but. My excitement of the crowd started to wane and I was crippled when I learned it was a three hour tour. I had to reach deep to stay afloat. I revisited my advertising and marketing classes. I craved out my target market and revamp our sales pitch. “5 dollar donation gets you 1 dollar off drinks was not poppin.”5 dollar now or we take it later…”. “5 dollars gets you off? “5 dollars to have what’s behind door #2!” That resulted in smiles and cheeky banter and modest donations. I could see my patience in the rear view mirror when the questions erupted. And, yes, there are stupid questions. Is there a fee? It’s a donation. Do I have to pay? No. Do I have to donate? Uh, yes! Are there ins and outs? ?!? I saw them as a mindless, gaseous mass of hairy, sweaty pits and I wanted out. I longed for my curator days where I controlled and protected the gallery from street eaters, transients and photo snapper. “Please re frame from touching the paintings.” “Our bathroom is broken”, “I wasn’t kidding about not taking pictures.” “Please leave!” That was a favorite. One exchange with an errant visitor resulted in a major sale.. Not at the gate. I was powerless and surly. Then it was over much like this post.
** Sat on this one too long. : (**

To Poke or Not to Poke….

April 25, 2011 // Posted in !Share, Art (Tags: , , ) |  No Comments

Desperate times calls for desperate measures, especially when you’re in a two hour meeting and the bobble head effect is upon you. I was unprepared for the vapid verbiage that assaulted my un-caffeinated body. My only saving grace was the coveted back area I stealthy secured upon my arrival, while the novices bickered over breakfast. My sanctuary lasted for a hot New York minute as I labored to appear focused and mildly interested. I tried pinching, adjusting my seat, playing with my hair. I almost axed my ban on cofffee, but instead give my tongue a defiant bite. Ten minutues deep into the meeting I was already haggard and had exhausted all options. I was sinking to rise no more. My eye lids weighted of anchors lost long ago. I started swaying in the ether between dreams and reality. A ray of light in the form of a poke brought me back to the grips of reality. I thanked my giggling savior and commenced to doodling. I drew circles, boxes and scribbled catch phrases, but my mind fancied on my poke. I couldn’t remember the last time I was poked. If I hadn’t drained my battery with Angry Bird, I’d check up on my stories on facebook. Then it hit me… does anyone poke on facebook? Who knows? The poke button is the one function that not publicly broadcast in the News Feeds or Walls, I could be wrong but I’ve never seen it appear in feeds from the self-absorbed pride of mega stars and icons I associated with. A persona boundary issue, maybe? See me, but don’t TOUCH me appears to be the silent mantra heard over clicking mouses and keyboards. A poke is deemed a breach through the gated compound and the “little people” are free to roam about and touch things. There are groupies at the front door and stalker at the back, sifting through our refuse; however, the paparazzi is held in high regards and a readily supplies of batteries are kept near their designated entryways. Or, a poke is deemed an unwanted illicit act. One woman learned the hard way. Survey says….

Do you poke?
Yes (If so, have you done any below…)
No. (good to bed, but some may still apply below)
Returned a poke
Ignored a poke
Hit poke button by mistake
Blocked someone for excessive poking
Flamed a person’s wall about their errant poking
Poke strangers you don’t know from someone else account
Poke the wrong person
Wished that special someone would poke you
Wished anyone would poke you
Received pokes from different people
Witchiepoo giggle while you poke
Drunk, etc poke
Hoover over the poke button contemplating
Host poke
Travel poke
Have or wished for a touch me in the morning and then just walk away poke
Uh, you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here poke
What’s your name again poke
Uh, your cab is here poke
Uh, excuse me that’s my man/woman, baby’s daddie/mama, pot pie poke
Dude, where’s my car poke
Excuse me poke
Poke the poke out of me poke.
Danm you poke

Peck no evil

April 14, 2011 // Posted in !Vent., Art  |  No Comments

Smug behind a monitor
Transparent and none the wiser
Keystrokes engrave in time
Bray your opinions
I’ll wipe mine

I wish there was a way to see the faces of these cowardly people leaving comments on the internet. I’ll have to expand my stance of not watching any broadcast news to include reading comments to articles.
“Say it to my face, mean mama medfly.”
“F-U!”
“No, F-U!”
“NOOO! F-U and anyone else who looks like you.”

Bubble Pop!

August 6, 2010 // Posted in !Share, !Vent., Art, Uncategorized (Tags: , , , , ) |  No Comments


As I vigorously attacked the bridge in my mix voice, I chewed on Judge Walker’s decision on Prop 8. So, it was ruled unconstitutional; however the stay was maintained and it could be upheld in U.S.S.C. All that merriment and ruckus that ensued later was a bit premature. While my instructor had me doing lip trebles, I contemplated the real meat and potatoes of any union: living trusts, power of attorney, wills, insurance policies, liability waivers and DNR forms.

The nostalgic prenup is only binding when it’s drafted on the dried bar napkin that still has your intended spouses phone number and ….name?

Chip, chip away…..

May 5, 2010 // Posted in !Create, !Vent., Art  |  No Comments

Ever bitten off more than you can chew? I’m wading through all the photos and

videos of me tiling my table and I can’t get a decent story line together from

what I was able to salvage from an encryption problem. Some ideas are gonna

have to filmed again and I’m not to pleased. I gonna need additional bodies for

angles, etc… Then there’s the whole permission things with stores. I don’t get

it. You want publicity, but no piracy of store’s theme, products, etc…. Have

they ever heard of hidden camera? Recently, I’ve been brushed away from just

filming the outside of stores, like their store is the center of my focus. Now

if someone was robbin’ the joint, they’d want every jpg, mov. mpg, and wmv

for evidence. While I’m there, people who get into a huffy about having their

picture taken shouldn’t leave their dwellings. I wonder the film time one

consumes on various cameras while going to work. MUNI doesn’t count cause

most of their camera don’t work! The only cameras that seem to work properly

on MUNI are those from passenger filming the latest beat down. Another false

sense of security are fake security camera. Need I vent more? Those seeking

attention would really be hot if their Air Jordan were scuffed up in some urban

larceny that didn’t filmed. Outdated video programs presents the next hurtle.

I like the program I have, but it’s not working properly due to continual updates.

I’m so over it. I tried just using what Windows had to offer. TRIED! I have to

investigate new video editing software and that not the time I want to spend in

front of a monitor. Hopefully the learning curves aren’t steep this time around.

Third problem is laziness pays off NOW!

Googolplex?

May 15, 2009 // Posted in !Create, Art, Uncategorized (Tags: , , , , , ) |  No Comments

** Funny incident edited for internet privacy**
This drunken vagabond slurred his way across Hayes Street into a watering hole with the intent of replenishing himself, but incurred the wrath of the in-keeper. Popeye reeked of failed glories and swaddled laughting-lionup to the bar, or so he thought. More like a zig-zag from the front door, to a video game, back to the front door, ATM machine then finally a stool. It was quite amusing to the patrons. A defiant “GET OUT” erupted from the in-keeper’s lips. In a dramatic departure from the normal dismissive, the in-keeper came from behind the bar to secure the parameter. He feverishly spraying everywhere Popeye had been with this mysterious spray can. The bar, stools, video game, ATM machine…open air! His efforts drew admiration. I felt clean and swine-flu free from watching. I demanded to know what was being used. Demanded. Lysol? Febreze? … AQUA NET HAIR SPRAY!! It became a googolplex moment of laughter.

Googolplex?

First you need to know about a googol: the digit 1 followed by one hundred zeros (in decimal representation). The term was coined in 1938[1] by Milton Sirotta (1929–1980), nephew of American mathematician Edward Kasner. Kasner popularized the concept in his book Mathematics and the Imagination (1940).

Googolplex is the number 10 followed by a googol.
There isn’t enough space in the universe for all those zeros. I equate it to creative inspiration. That one brief moment when human aspiration conjuncts with totality; delirious wonderment erodes barriers of duality and enlightenment step forth…YES! And the dance of the ancients begin. Amen. Hallelujah(הללויה). OMM!
The side effects are de-li-cious. A well trusted kitchen staple is my new BF for wire pieces. I was contemplating ideas regarding some labor issues and by chance my eye happened to affix on the container. BAM! The rouge idea electrified my senses. I became light headed and flushed. Maniacal laughter filled the air and my blessing turned into action. I set a record for the longest time spent on a wire piece in one sitting: 7 hours. I tore into it like a Christmas ham. Usually, I cut wire off the spool. This time I attached it to the piece and carried on. 100 yards later the green was gone. “It not done”, I brayed. I rustled up some purple and began anew. My thoughts became mercurial as I bore through obstacles peppering my progress. As my hair was my witness, I was not to be denied!

  • Categories

  • Recent Comments

  • Meta