I was standing outside on campus with a group of ladies when a girl wearing a black windbreaker, black jeans, and three-inch gold stilettos walked by. One lady said, "That is not a good look for her." Another joked that the girl got her clothes from Whores 'R Us. I was offended because I shop at Whores 'R Us and they would never carry three-inch gold stilettos. Any heel less than five inches is for virgins.


Yvan Rodic

The expression on this woman's face is incredible. (Click to enlarge for full effect.)

Untitled (Man in Blue Suit) by Jamel Shabazz

Today I visited the Posing Beauty in African American Culture exhibition at the Art Gallery of Hamilton. While I was there, a middle-aged, white woman was guiding a group of women--who were also middle-aged and white--through the exhibition. The group stopped at a photograph by Jamel Shabazz entitled Drama and Flava from Back in the Days (2000); the tour guide explained, "'Flava' means style." "And attitude!" someone added.


S sent me a text message last night informing me that her friend is Britney Spears' third cousin, and that Britney visited Hamilton during her "psychotic episode." Well, that makes sense, doesn't it? Who in their right mind would retreat to Hamilton for respite if they could go anywhere else in the world?
Have you been feeling uncomfortably virtuous or prudish lately? Slutever is your cure.


Another questionable humanitarian project

One of my roommates has anonymously posted a number of signs on the kitchen wall over the course of the year that pertain to maintaining the cleanliness of the kitchen. It is clear that his standards have not yet been met, as I noticed yet another new sign this evening on the door under the sink that reiterates the same message as the earlier ones. This is what the kitchen looked like when I came home:

I decided that my anonymous roommate needed some help. He needed more aggressive signs that would shock one's senses to the point of provoking a personal transformation in one's habits and conceptions of cleanliness. This is what the kitchen looks like now:

I'm wondering if my anonymous roommate will reveal his identity to me when he sees my work so that he can thank me and ask if we can be best friends, or if he'll think I'm mocking him and will contemplate ways to get me evicted. I suppose I'll only know when the sober morrow arrives...

EDIT: Sober writing analysis has led me to conclude that the original signs were in fact written by two different roommates. It doesn't even matter, though--neither have asked to be my best friend. Whatever.
- "Why are you jaywalking?"

- "I'm just trying to create memories."


There's a bit of Peter Pan in all of us

At the Artist's Talk this evening I learned about a project by Diane Borsato, entitled Bouquet, in which she stole flowers from people's gardens to make a bouquet for her mother. The instructions from the Critical Art Ensemble for the project were to "commit a crime with a humanitarian outcome."

Have you ever done something before that conformed to these instructions? I have. For example, last year my roommates and I stole a traffic pylon that was on the road so that we could bring it out at parties and make people happy.


Ted Lao

Ted Lao


In my Introduction to Art Galleries and Museums seminar, the professor asked us to share one type of thing that we collect. She said that our answers would elucidate our characters. I should have made up something extravagant (peacock feathers), controversial (fur coats), clever (dust), or scholarly (data) to impress everyone. Instead, I said, "I collect images from the Internet of people's outfits..." I might as well have said, "I collect loser points."


"We are both instances and unique." -- Donald Preziosi in Companion to Museum Studies




It is possible to find something funny even if you don't understand what the hell is going on.


I was reading Imperial China: Photographs 1850-1912 by Clark Worswick and Jonathan Spence and came across a funny passage about the nineteenth-century English painter George Chinnery, who went to China in 1825 and settled there until his death in 1852.

For most of his life, Chinnery's geographic location in the world was determined by a series of strategic retreats from his wife whom he described as 'the ugliest woman I ever saw in my life.' The first abandonment had occurred in 1802 when the painter fled to India to escape her; years later she caught up with him and in 1825, he fled once again, this time arriving in Macao. Thereafter, whenever this formidable female threatened to pursue him, Chinnery would beat a hasty retreat to Canton, the final and enviable haven for the henpecked husband. One of the most stringent rules of the China trade decreed that no European females were allowed in Canton by imperial edict.

British people say the funniest things.
S explains why her parents opened a bank account for her at a very young age: "People have been giving me money since the day I was born."


Glam clam

Today was the first day of the Introduction to Art Galleries and Museums seminar that I'm taking. The principal project will involve working within a group to create an exhibition focusing on Chinese texts that teach the Chinese language. The titular hosting institution for the exhibition is the Hamilton Public Library. Each group is comprised of five positions: project manager, curator, designer, liaison/PR, and education. I wanted to be the curator, of course, but so did everyone else, so I opted to be a co-designer. I've already begun imagining Tim Gunn coming into class and saying, "Designers, you have ten minutes...." It's quite a glamorous position, really.

Austin enjoys a well-rounded variety of pastimes. As illustrated by these pictures, one involves sporadically raising his hand in preparation for answering questions first in class (like Hermione in Harry Potter) and another is hugging Miss Rabbit (thanks, Erica!).