portrait of a usps postal worker

her name is caroline bull. caroline bull on the government-issue nametag, caroline written on masking tape stretching across her well-worn stapler. her countenance is, in fact, bullish. large eyes in an unmoving face with bristly hairs lining the upper lip. she thinks i'm mildly retarded at handling mail, but cracks a smile at the fact that i, like every other working class los angeles citizen, am not immune to the misfortune of a pay-by-mail parking ticket.

re: playlists about 'love'

compiling a playlist of songs containing the word 'love' is expansive and daunting because, well, all rock music tends to be a running meditation on love--its highs, its lows, its bittersweet remains. a more contained project would be creating conversations out of song titles about 'love', with results often seeming like a scene out of a melancholy new wave film. imagine:

person A: hello, i love you (1). do you love me (2)?
person B: i love you (3).
person A: it's true that we love one another (4).
person B: love will tear us apart (5).

artists featured:
1. the doors 2. kiss cover, nirvana 3. the dandy warhols 4. the white stripes 5. joy division

combination of factors

i had just come back from a day trip to san diego. i lounged about the apartment, watching top chef and then reading an experimental food blog from one of my favorites. i had lettuce, tomatoes, and burnt cashews with homemade lemon-tahini dressing for dinner. i thought a lot about how i became date-able material during my post-dinner walk. somehow, this confluence of events led me to purchase the following when i went to my corner armenian grocer:



which, in belarussian (the birchful country of origin), is spelled like:



it tastes like the water runoff from the sweet fermented rice my mother used to make back in the day, but intentional. ethnic grocers--your prime go-to destination for food and fascination under $20!

portrait of a saturday morning

eric roberts and chequers

being 17, riding 141 mph down the highway with the windows down, feeling so much possibility in the world and wanting everything--these are all things i think of when i listen to mr. brightside by the killers.

excerpt from a cover letter

"i think about privacy, cinema, and the silent beauty of everyday life."
no, really, i do. i just need to understand how i want to speak it. gmail is probably not an appropriate medium.

when in doubt

put on some eyemakeup, put on some mgmt, throw yourself a camerafone dance party.



i made a really good drawing last night (chillingly, sylvia-plath passive aggressive good) but i have not had access to a scanner to show it! ARRRRRRRRRGH, my sound of pirate discontent at the realization that nothing is free in the great state of california. that was my art for the night; now, flannery o'connor.

(don't worry, i'm still freaked the fuck out about my work situation. even though i, uh, have a work situation.)