Designated Doodler

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Who knew that a suggestion I made while I was at work would turn into a dream vacation? I was just fooling around on the internet and found some Steelers seats for the December 24th game against the Rams at Heinz Field. I mentioned it to my parents in a half joking manner and wrote it off as a wishful desire that probably wouldn't happen. But it did! The next day my Dad booked the tickets and called me up to tell me we were going. I don't think I could have been any more excited!! If there's one thing I know it's that life is short and every opportunity you get to do something amazing; you should take it. So on Christmas Eve I found myself looking out the window of our rental car and seeing the giant steel arms of Heinz Stadium reaching towards the sky. As soon as I sat down in seat 3 of 114 V and looked around I knew I was surrounded by "my people." The fans were friendly, the sun peeked around the passing clouds and the nipping cold made the excitement of th

This ridiculous semester is almost over and I'm almost peeing myself with excitement at the prospect of leaving. But alas, here I sit in my empty apartment avoiding the unformed boxes that are staring at me from across the room. If you've ever moved (which you probably have) you know that moving is a bitch. I've lived in 3 different states, 5 different cities, and have "moved into" a room about eight times. Being an artist you can imagine that I have a lot of shit to move. I am also an avid reader and lover of books so that means that I have even more shit to move. OH and I love xbox and games and movies and full season collections of my favorite shows....you get the idea, a lot of stuff. And the campus is errily quiet and I get to spend all day reading on Facebook about how all my friends have already left and are comfortably situated at home. It really hit me how empty campus was when I could actually find a parking spot today on campus, and in a prime location.

I undid the chain That held me together But pulled me down I severed the ties And in darkness did rise Not looking down Not looking back At the weight sinking to the ground What a feeling it is to lack The one thing that held me down “You’re no hero,” I think As I swim towards the light And you begin to sink Into the darkness Into the depths Of intense obscurity No longer a harness Tripping my steps I want to erase you From every part of me I want to un-know your name And forget every word Forget every game Cut my losses and let you go If there is one thing that I know It is that I am strong enough To practice the art of letting go With each second you fade further I ascend higher Leaving you to rest in the mud and mire In the forgotten depths where you belong Like a sunken treasure without a song Cold and silent in the dark A victim of anger, ego and spite I leave you to rest in the cold dark night In the muscled arms of the freezing ocean A si

Twas the night before my birthday, when all through the dorm Not a creature was stirring and all was quiet and warm The papers were written with wreckless half-care And books were stacked upon my desk chair There I lay all snug in my bed With visions of Christmas break dancing in my head Soft socks on my feet, warm blanket wrapped tight Was settling my brain for a nice peaceful night When out of my window I heard drunken laughter I rolled my eyes at the ceaceless collegiate clatter I didn't bother springing up to the window in a flash Just assumed it a gaggle of students all giggling and trashed The moon shone bright over the drought stricken grass And peered in my blinds like a peeping tom so brash When out of the darkness did appear A minature birthday fairy and eight tiny reindeer The little weird fairy had borrowed santa's sleigh And with a wee little laugh had steered over this way He took pity in that my birthday was overshadowed by the holidays And

1. Don't daydream about napping 2. Think about coffee, imagine it's wafting fragrance floating into your nostrils 3. Memorize every single object in the room 4. Write in your blog while your prof goes on his #4532 tangent 5. Pay attention (HAHAHA JK) 5. Doodle in your notebook 6. Think of ideas for novel 7. Go through schedule in mind (but don't cry aloud in class) 8. Daydream about hot man-candy 9. Mentally go over plans for world domination 10. Cling on to the idea that you SHALL eventually go to sleep 11. Cling on to the hope of graduation in May 12. Reconstruct episode of Spongebob in your mind and replay it 13. Take notes on how to use this lecture as a torture instrument if you do infact ever end up working for the FBI or CIA 14. Imagine everyone in the room in their underwear 14.1 Mentally scream and desperately try to forget what you just imagined 15. Plan future wedding Don't forget while your doing one (or all) of these things to maintain a facade of interest.

Dr. Wong is a fictional psycho-therapist on Law and Order SVU I am so proud that I made these...they are by far my greatest comedic artistic contribution to the world.

My class is stupid. Not just what we're learning but the actual people in my class...not the sharpest Prismacolors in the box. We had an option to either not have class today or to come in and watch a video....guess what they voted for.....CLASS. WTF?!?! So here I sit, watching videos of Chris Burden doing some crazy shiz that he considered "art." These things include watching him light pants on fire...watching him lay in bed for 22 days in a gallery...watching him lie down naked (in a gallery) with two glass shelves on his shoulders, having gas poured on the shelves and having them lit on fire...watching him get drunk and high in a gallery...watching him crawl through glass (mostly NAKED) in "Through the night softly," watching him lay in the street in the dark under a tarp with flares until he was arrested....watching him get shot in a gallery... Oh yeah and he set up his body on a car in a crucifixion-like manner and nailed his hands/feet to the car and the c

I ride these waves of cotton Am alit by the latern moon Navigating dream filled waters Arriving nowhere too soon Places I wish were forgotten This raft rises and falls You push me away and then you call I run away from and then run back But how far can you get When you're on a raft? Deep night Wandering thoughts Truths that cannot be fought You are seeking, you have sought A reality that is not right Lie down on this raft And pull your covers up high And when you are lost Look up at the sky Feel the surf, its rise and break Let the ebbing tide of slumber Lap over this tired mind And pull consciousness under In hopes that maybe I'll find Solid ground when I awake

I found myself sitting across from one of my favorite professors, and a total stranger. I've never had to interview for a class, until now. So here I was...after my internship and nearly three hours at the health clinic; here I sat, my head feeling like a rock, my eyelids heavy and my thoughts running on the fuel of a cheese stick and a mini Snickers bar. I actually had to refrain from laughing when the interviewer asked how I handled stress. If I had a video montage of the week thus far to show them they'd be laughing too. Running all over the place, going to work, going to class, I got an email Monday from a professor telling us we had a test that week (and apologizing for forgetting), I had a paper due that I wrote in twenty minutes the night before, life was, and is, on fast forward. So instead of busting up in a fashion typical of a deliriously sleepy person I instead smirked, answered that I handle stress well and briefly described my schedule this semester. Which was

Okay, so I have fifteen minutes until Whose Line starts and I figured I should share more about my disturbing art history class...just incase you weren't already disturbed enough. Don't forget that it is my personal view that none of this is art and the majority of these works are "abominable," and no, not like the snowman. We'll start with the lesser disturbing and work our way up...take Acconci's "Trademarks" for example, where "the artist" sat naked in a gallery and proceeded to bite himself. Yes, I said bite himself. He bit wherever his mouth could reach and left "trademarks" all over his body. I'm not sure how he ended up in a gallery and not in a padded room. Continuing on the theme of nudity...VALIE EXPORT (In Tap and Touch) took the mental scarring public by being in public with her upperbody encased in a cardboard box...that opened to the front...with drapes. She let strangers (dudes) reach in and touch her fun bags.

What is art? Everyone has their own definition. But I've stumbled upon a type of "art" that I refuse to call "art." The movement of Actionism is little known to the general populous and consists of a myriad of disturbing works that I've been forced to learn about through an upper level art history class. It's a good thing I go into this class every T and TH hungry. So first of all, lets define actionism, this is how Term Wiki describes it "English version of general German term for Performance art, but was specifically used for the name of the Vienna-based group Wiener Aktionismus founded in 1962. The principal members of the group were Gunter Brus, Hermann Nitsch and Rudolph Schwarzkogler." So it's this type of "art" that (from what I can tell) utilizes dead animals, genitals and blood to create "pieces of art." Take for example Acconi's Seedbed, Sonnabend Gallery, NYC 1972. The picture looks unassuming enough and y

I have learned something about college; and unfortunately, it's that it can be really lonely. Don't get me wrong, I have lots of friends, but college isn't the roller coaster of pure awesome that so many people make it out to be. And the more stressors that are present, the more of your time is taken up and the more time is taken up the lonelier you feel. Rushing from one thing to the next, from one class to the next from one internship to a class, from class to a job from jobs to interviews from interviews to sorority meetings. It's more like a roller coaster of ridiculousness that involves odd sleeping habits, poor eating habits and a constant struggle with parking, papers, tests, projects and lots of TUMS. My second most popular drink is Pepto Bismol and ZONE protein bars, Nilla Wafers and Yoplait are keeping me alive. Anyway, so here I am, half-studying, half nursing an upset stomach and fully invested in watching this new episode of HOUSE M.D. I'm not quite sur

This morning I woke up at eight something, so much for sleeping in late. I laid there in my pink plaid pajama bottoms and pink TCU hoodie, wrapped in a sea of green sheets. I rested my hand on my chest and felt my heartbeat through both layers of clothing. It beat fast, as usual. And I continued laying there, relishing the fact that I didn't have to be anywhere. My obnoxiously squeaky bed screeched in protest as I got up and opened my blinds. This was going to be a day of errands, artwork and reading my media law book. But no matter what exactly I'm doing the realization that I'm nearly half-done with my last year of college is never far from my thoughts. There are so many possible directions for my life to take post-college that it's mind boggling. Haha, that reminds me of last night when I got caught up on an episode of Community I had missed. Ahbed and Troy had a housewarming party and Jeff created six parallel timelines by rolling a die to see who had to go answer t

On nights like this, I wish I had someone I could run to. Someone I could fall apart to. Someone who would wrap me in his arms and not even try to convince me everything would be okay, because he was smart enough to know that it wouldn’t be. But who would sit there in the silence with me. “Is there a cure?” is one of the first things people ask when you tell them your father has cancer. And I hate the answer. I had a nightmare last night, one part of which involved me knowing that I was only going to live for one more day. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine what it must feel like to not be certain that you’d be around tomorrow? I experienced that feeling in a dream, for a brief amount of time. And it was an awful feeling. Yet, every night when my Dad goes to bed, he’s not sure if he’ll wake up the next day. And as I sit here with burning eyes, the most painful throbbing in my head and that familiar ache in my chest, it breaks my heart to think of how my Dad must feel. Occasionally h

The piece I have chosen to analyze is Gerrit Dou’s Dentist by Candlelight. A Dutch painter from the 1600’s, Dou began this piece that explores everyday life in 1660 and completed it in 1665. Painted with oil on oak panel (14x10 in.), the piece, which is mostly bathed in blacks and grays, has an eerie lure to it. Entrapped on the oak is a man with his mouth agape, sitting in a wooden chair, wearing a distinct look of anticipating agony. The man looks to the ceiling, where his eyes are met with an alligator hanging from the ceiling; the alligator’s mouth agape as well, with its underbelly aglow. The dentist holds a single candle to the man’s face with one hand, and with the other holds back the patient’s forehead. A concerned wife stands before the man, holding his hand, which is securely fastened to the arm of the chair. The viewer anticipates action, as the scene seems ready to unfold at any moment. The three people in this situation form a sort of circle through their lit facades and

History Behind the Piece Commissions, requests and patrons pay the artist Supper at Emmaus is one of five Caravaggio was commissioned to do Religious decline in 1600’s Style of time was Baroque Caravaggio started Baroque Naturalism Meaning Behind the Piece The picture is of an innkeeper, Jesus, and two men who had been walking with Jesus and just now realized Jesus’ identity. What's going on: Jesus blessing bread, other two freaking out, innkeeper is unaware. Caravaggio is a skilled artist and portrays their emotions well. How Caravaggio Paints Decisions must be made as an artist, Caravaggio decides to portray characters emotionally, use shadows to his advantage, and arranges the props to reflect the scene. Overall, the work is lifelike and expresses vast emotion, reflecting the talent of Caravaggio. Bib Hibbard, Howard. (1983). Caravaggio. New York, NY: Harper & Row. Puglisi, Catherine R. (1998). Caravaggio. London: Phaidon. Rosenberg, Naomi, (1999). Saints & sinners Carav

One day in the summer before you begin college you will be sitting at your desk ordering as much collegiate paraphenillia as possible. You will be pumped about beginning your higher education! And then three and a half years later you will find yourself a jaded senior, sitting in your media law and ethics class hoping that your prof won't notice that your on blogger.com attempting to keep up your blog. It's not that a law class is boring...I just have a rather fast moving mind and a deep love of multitasking. Just sitting down and listening/taking notes just isn't stimulating enough for me. And being on a laptop and unable to doodle, I have turned to my neglected blog to satiate my mental needs. Anyway, back to the discussion...about college. I'm at a private university so keep that in mind. So you probably know that Junior year in college is the hardest right? Well...wrong. If you think you're going to sit back and enjoy your last year in college you are sadly mist

One lone packing peanut I see you in the hall Oh lone packing peanut From a box did you fall? You are white And the carpet is green. I’m sure you do not like being tossed on the floor Because it is unclean. Oh packing peanut! Where have you traveled Where will you go? Your expression is baffled You must not even know! I wonder why they call you a peanut? You look nothing of the sort The people who named you must be nuts It had to be their last resort. You look more like a Styrofoam S You kind of look like a marshmallow hook But I’m sure you’d taste worse than you look Why must you sit out here in the open? Don’t just lie out here mopin’! Go ahead and run along, Go out into the world and sing your Styrofoam song! *photograph courtesy of Elizabeth Rector, in association with Packing Peanut's permission* *this goes out to anyone who has ever been in contact with a packing peanut*

I’m not sure, Possibly? In that reflection, Is it me? Moving parts make me who I am But on shaking ground I stand Three words have the power to define Who I am What makes me mine Do you know? Have I told you- Who I am? Should you go? Try to reach thorough- Separate the me  from the them? Looking at me,  What is it you see? Do you see the me I am- or the me to be? Reach into the dark, Do you Dare? to grasp what I wish wasn’t there Do you see what's been gone through Do you understand The battle fought for these ten years That has sought to undo This solid ground and strong command

Next to me on my desk is my open literature book, it’s open pages a stark reminder of how behind I am. “The Invisible Man” looks up at me from its stagnant position on my desk, my yellow highlighter still wedged in the binding. “What’s the point?” is the only question I can seem to ask myself. Just another week, just another night that ends like so many before it. All I can think about is the possibility of summer, of its hot hands wrapped around those three months away from this place. Those three months that can either be a disaster or a relief, time will tell I suppose. For now I’m just grateful that I’m nothing like the Invisible man, or at least what I know of him from the prologue, because that’s as far as I’ve gotten. This whole college thing can get so monotonous sometimes, but don’t get me wrong I love my school. Anyway…it’s these times when I reach for a sketchbook, or a fanfiction or my guitar. My poor guitar, well, my poor guitars. Sitting in their cases in my house 2

I was thirsty. That’s how the rest of my life started, by being thirsty. I was thirteen, and my family had just moved to Houston, we had been there for four months. Everything was going so well. Houston was a leap and a bound above the small refinery infested town we had just left in the Panhandle of TX; the middle of nowhere. I have such a clear memory of standing in my room, the walls a blinding white, the sun setting beneath the large empty field that lay behind our house. I picked up a roller and pushed it through the soft blue liquid that pooled in the plastic tray. We painted my room blue that night. Blue like the thirteen year old me dreamed of flying in. I wanted to be a pilot. But that’s another story. Needless to say, I was an interesting 13 year old and if you don’t believe me when I say that, just take into consideration that JAG was my favorite TV show. Anyway…so I was thirsty. My feet thumped down the stairs as I took them almost two at a time. The late afterno

I should be freaking out, but am I? Nope. I don’t know what it is about this year but my attitude in general has gone from wound ten notches too tight to not really being bothered about the things that most people would have a coronary over. But instead of looking at the various things I have to be freaked out about…I decided to go get frozen yogurt. I think spring break messed me up even more. I have no fire left really. My thoughts are drunk off the notion of summer and in the distance I can catch a glimpse of graduation. “Just one more year,” is the only phrase that keeps scrolling across my mind like a broken stock ticker. So instead of freaking out about what I have to do, or what’s going on I’m chilling here at my laptop, listening to some old school rap and writing this. I’m not much of one to procrastinate, so I would say that this is very out of character for me. But if you saw my options you’d understand. My options are these…finish my rather large paper that’s due to

Four and a half hours is a long time. That’s how long it takes me to drive home. I’m not the kind of person who likes being alone in just everyday life, so not seeing or talking to anyone for nearly five hours…is not my idea of fun. The familiar roads rise and fall, twist and lean in the same way that they did one and two and nearly three years ago. Me and my ridiculous memory know where every billboard stands. I told Claudia once to wait until we reached the top of a hill because I knew precisely what billboard lived there. I study ever stretch of road, every car’s driver’s whim, and every twisted tree that stretches to the clean blue sky, every patch of flowers that bravely grow uninhibited. Every hour or so I will see a sight that awakens in me this yearning to paint what I am seeing, but I know I cannot, and the beauty quickly becomes a blur that I leave behind. Sometimes in that drive I find beauty, and sometimes in that drive I find fear. That familiar sensation that I am