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02.09.2003 - 1:12 p.m.


The house is in dire need of some domestic aid. The dining room table and coffee table need a major polish job, the carpet needs to be de-pet-furred, and kitchen needs, well, a LOT of help, and there's a honking shitload of laundry to do.

Bah. So I'm ignoring it all and writing to you instead. Not that I have anything to say, really. But hell, that's never stopped me before.

We watched Vanilla Sky last night. I'm not sure that I would say it was a really good movie, but it certainly kept my attention - and man, the last 5 seconds left me completely bewildered. The vat of vodka tonics I consumed during the movie may perhaps have contributed to that, I can't be certain.

We also visited the Seattle Art Museum, where I saw a video of a bunch of naked people throwing food at a naked man. This is, apparently, "art". I stared openmouthed and suddenly felt very aware of the fact that I was looking at naked people in a room full of strangers, which while that may sound titillating, was in fact, not.

The appeal of conceptual art or performance art or whatever it's called completely eludes me. The Sedaris book where he talks about doing massive amounts of amphetamines and becoming engrossed with performance art is one of the most hilarious things I've about ever read. He writes, in part:

Watching the performance of my former colleagues, I got the idea that once you assembled the requisite props, the piece would more or less come together on its own. The inflatable shark naturally led to the puddle of heavy cream, which, if lapped from the floor with slow, steady precision, could account for up to twenty minutes of valuable stage time. All you had to do was maintain a shell-shocked expression and handle a variety of contradictory objects. It was the artist's duty to find the appropriate objects, and the audience's job to decipher meaning. If the piece failed to work, it was their fault, not yours.

Although, now that I read that again, the mention of heavy cream reminds me of a video I used to have. It was of those Wegman Weimaraners, and one scene involved the camera taping from underneath a glass table, where the dogs were lapping up a glass bowl of milk. From below, you could see their tongues smooshing along as they licked up the milk. I found it quite entertaining. So maybe I do have the capacity to enjoy naked people being pelted with bananas, I just haven't tapped into it yet.


Have you ever gotten yourself into one of those vicious laundry circles where you don't take the stuff out of the dryer right away, and it lies there in a heap and gets all wrinkled, so you turn the dryer back on to get the wrinkles out, and then you forget about it, and then the stuff's all wrinkled again, so you…you know? Also, the other day I washed a load that contained one jacket with approximately 2974028501496021 tissues in the pocket. Take it from me, you want to try and avoid that sort of thing.


And now, because I can't think of anything else to say, I give you - recent MP3s I've downloaded from LimeWire legitimately purchased online. That Elvis "Little less conversation" song? Impossible to listen to without performing a supremely retarded-looking dance involving massive amounts of rump-shaking.


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I have moved. - 1.03.2005
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