My new office

As some of you already know, I have a new job. And they really are treating me well. I took a few photos.


My own office

Fancy chair

Two monitors like the cool kids have.

Thanks, Tita Mynna

Don't you hate it

when you look into the mirror and realize you've turned into a giant peppermint patty?

Spasmodic Notes on Success

We constantly try to define success. Whether it be measured on a monetary scale or the proportional progression in life steps (college degree-great job-house-family), or even a perceptible amount of happiness, or hell, a combination of all three, we decide which techniques and philosophies to live by in order to achieve that level of self-assurance and accomplishment that just beams "I made it."

While I do experiment with various methods, I find satisfaction in the goal-oriented model. OK, don't jump to any conclusions, spirtual guidance hipster. It's not the ancient practice of any organized group. A man who changed the direction of my life, Billy P, told me he got to where he was by visualizing.

Note: Use discretion in repeating the "I'm a really good visual thinker because I'm an artist" cliché. People will most likely notice your awful haircut or poor wardrobe choice and conclude that you should have visually thought about your appearance more.

So I put this to the test the other day and many days before. I was in my car rolling down La Brea Ave with my gas gauge reading EMPTY, YOU PROCRASTINATOR. With today's high gas prices, I avoid the gas station like the plague. So this is when I utilize the visualization and meditation: I repeat "You will make it to the gas station" to myself and picture myself reaching the gas pump without the help of tow truck. SUCCESS I MADE IT! Thus proving that visualization does bring success in the form of happiness as evident in my celebration dance at the gas station.

New definition of success: biological need to emit happiness through genuinely ugly violent gestures.

The Cost of War by Ab5trax

Ryan, Seaton and Hunter go political! See more of their work here: Ab5trax

Furious Little Cinnamon Bun

Good Morning!

Home video of me from last Friday

I like your work, Mr. Piven

Jeremy Piven is my favorite TV actor because of his role as the deviant but warm blooded fast-talking hug it out agent, Ari Gold in Entourage.

Dear Car,

This letter is to let you know that I still care. I'm sorry that luck had staked a rusty 4 inch nail in your tire. Or the time some lunatic hit your mirror off, or the time a startled old lady drove her car right into you, or the time a beastly amount tire debris tried to make out with you and ripped part of your face off. (That piece will be replaced, I promise)
Also, I apologize that I had spilled gesso all over your back seat and my father signed his name on the stain, you're still so dependable. I met another artist girl who got gesso in her backseat too. You're not alone! Your battery failed last night, but you know, that's OK. It happens to the best of us. Just remember, as Ramon the AAA car battery pro assured, you were still the best car of 2005.

Weather Report for 10/20

I cannot see the Hollywood sign from my window thanks to brown haze. Above it the sky is blue. It's about 70 degrees. I wore the faux fur anyway.


For breakfast, I'm having coffee and bagels. No bagels for the bad people today. Office policy.

Who is You? #10

Will you just go forward already? My car can only take so much agony.



You = Mercury, my least favorite planet in our solar system.

I love Dolly Parton and so does Henry Kissinger

I just remembered how much I enjoyed this photo. Scrutinized for days, but I hadn't come to a conclusion that "Dolly" was actually Dolly or just a man dressed as Dolly. Look at the hands. A bit manly no?

Who is You? #9

You're always teaching me new ways to be happier than everyone else.



You: My crazy family.

My New Hobby: Counting associations that deteriorate my chances of being elected to office.

Sarah Palin's mention of Barack Obama's "terrorist" associations have inspired me to count how many of my own associations would stymie my chances of becoming an elected official.

1. flag burning ex-boyfriend
2. family friends with communist leanings
3. bowling team of illegal immigrants
4. numerous radical myspace friends
5. i'm poor and so are my hobo companions
6. various ties with non-christian alternative spiritual guides

Good luck, Barack!

Basilio and Bob Dylan

After my beloved cat, Ming Ming died, my parents were left with an emptier home. No more black furry blob to take your seat. No more black furry blob to make you pet her. No more black furry blob to hiss at you when you invaded her airspace (which was pretty much 2 ft away from her in any direction). How do you ask would we be able to fill this void? My parents came up with Basilio, their beloved basil plant.

Yes, they have people babysit and move it to the sunniest spots of our home. He's a spoiled plant. Recently, my parents have decided that he needs a friend. So they are getting a dill plant and are naming it Bob Dylan. My parents birth puns like no one's business. And their household is once again filled with organic happiness.

For Thursday's sake

After Gavin's show at the Hotel Cafe, Eva and I decided I needed some Capn Crunch. Before we entered the store, we were distracted by a group of women in lycra dresses and stacked heels. Eva would later describe them as "tranny-like." Since they were so striking in the parking lot where they drank Hennessey from the bottle, we approached them to take pictures. They received this proposal enthusiastically since it was one of their 21st birthdays. Once both Eva and I took our snapshots with the Amazonian partiers, a small economy car driving by stopped abruptly. The driver shouted that it was his birthday too. The Amazons cheered. The subcompact parked. Then the two bachelors brought their bottle of Jack to the trunk party. Eva and I wished them well and continued on to get the Crunch.

We exit with not only certain beauty essentials and cereal, but with sets of Groucho Marx glasses. Naturally we wear them. Naturally strangers question our sobriety and sanity. We return to my home to snack, then dance. We put on some records and have our own little dance party with big booty shaking moves and grooves.

Gavin and Angela return. They are puzzled. Since Gavin is the only guy, we manage to have some laughs at his expense before meeting his demands: checking if he smelled, scraping gum off his computer (we don't know how that happened), and eating some Thai food. In the groucho glasses of course.

We depart the late night Thai restaurant. Eva, Gavin and I returned to my apt to check out the rooftop hot tub. Gavin, who had already spilled lemonade all over himself, became excited and jumped in completely dressed with the idea of washing his clothes at the same time. Eva and I happily wade and enjoy our view of Hollywood and somewhat warm night.

Oh, Banksy, you're so clever!

Banksy's done it again, but this time his witty social commentary is aimed at not only our love for animals but also our love to eat them with his mock pet shop in New York. I enjoy it but it's interesting coming from a man who painted an elephant for people to stare at it for hours.

Check out more photos here: Towleroad

Pictures taken at the right time

So this blog, Bling It has the best collection of perfectly timed moment fetishes I've ever seen=.

Who is You? #8

You are the coooooolest!



You = Psyop. This bi-coastal FX house is responsible for some of the most ridiculously amazing advertisements we see, including the Fanta one above.

My Future New Car

Apologies for the slowdown in posts. Should be posting more regularly once I become unemployed again. Haha

I've always loved the Smarte Car, but I love these even more! They are Smarte Cars with custom bodykits.

the "Smerrari"


the "Smorsche"

Weather Report for 10/03/08

Outside, unpredictable.

Food for thought: BBQ chicken wrap. decent, not spectacular.