peanut butter

Window Light

Here's a photo I took of one of my moto piloting friends, James, capturing his schizophrenic personality. You know, half good, half bad, half crazy, half sane, half dark... You get it. I know, I know, I'm very clever.

Again, Wayne Coyne Wisdom

From a recent interview with Wayne Coyne. The interviewer said: At 27, being 49 seems like a long way to travel.

Wayne Coyne: I remember when I was 27, I would think about someone who’s almost 50 years old: ‘Dude, are you alright?’ I don’t ever get the feeling that I’m any different. It’s only when I look in the mirror sometimes that I think, “oh wow, I look like a weird old guy.” I don’t feel different to myself. It’s a strange phenomenon.

Here's one of the drawings he tweeted a couple days ago:

Stamens? Pistols? I don't remember.

But here's a couple photos. The first is the sex parts of some flower. Hot. Next is the awesome fog of the San Francisco Bay Area. Last is... Well, it's a plane. I know I'm sort of obsessed with planes, but I'm not sure why I like this photo so much. I think it's the composition, but I'm not sure. It just looked cool to me, the balance, or something.

So You Think You Can Dance

So I was watching So You Think You Can Dance last night, partly too lazy to change the channel and partly because I like it. But I need some dance person to explain contemporary dance to me. I hate it. It looks spastic and as if people are making mistakes all over the place (in general, sometimes I see cool stuff). And last night they had this piece that one of the choreographers did about his mother's battle with breast cancer. The judges loved it. I was cringing at how horrible it was. The aspect that I found most ridiculous was the lack of subtlety in the piece. The constant clutching of the breast so we all knew it was breast cancer that the dancer was struggling from, then there was the "breast cancer dancer" standing on the dancer who represented the son's feet so he could help her walk to signify him helping her through this.

Now I'm all for emotion in art. In fact, I am not a fan of art that is all about stimulating your brain, I want my heart strings tugged. But there is a fine line that you walk. You can't smack me in the face with the emotion. That's just melodrama. This piece lacked all subtlety. It was a made for tv movie. It was a soap opera.

Please artists, in whatever mode of expression you use, don't smack me in the face with your tears. Draw your tears out of me.

I started this post a a while ago and then my lunch break finished and I forgot to come back and post it. So here it is, a couple weeks late.

Liberty of Jaimé

I don't know if this sums up the party at Kate's for the fourth, but it's pretty good. When iMovie decides to see the rest of my Aperture movies, off my phone, maybe I'll get some more of this party up. Or maybe I'll just do it on my phone...


A song to eat pot brownies to?

Recorded on my iPhone's Voice Memo app for five minutes, add a tiny dash of even higher (sometimes way off key), confused, vocals in Garageband, and then reverb the hell out of it for about three and a half minutes. You get this scratchy, spacey, blah blah. But if you let it cook in your head for a little bit ,you'll like the taste. I know you will. Yeah, like it. Like it good.

I think my weird work schedule this week has warped my head. Fitful dreams and tired eyes.