Young Artists

The YAS murals at the Virginia Home, in my neighborhood.
The reception was on friday, and I was in charge of documentation.

Just lovely.

Note to self 1

Private Eye.

Today at work Robert showed me a sign on the back door to the shop that I had never noticed, even though I had seen it a million times. It is for William J. Burns International Detective Agency. William J Burns was the Director of the Bureau of Investigation, which came before the FBI during the 1920's. He was a former Secret Service agent. Here's the shop door:

The best part is, the metal gromet looking thing to the right of the red sign IS A PEEPHOLE! MYSTERIES!

Nation Run 2008!

So Ken Stannard, (my long time summer camp friend and the only person I have ever known that I can actually visualize being a superbly content cruise director) is running across America. He's doing it right now, and it's amazing!

Check out their progress on http://www.nationrun.com and see if they are coming to a town near you! Let them sleep on your floor!


"San Diego, I am coming for you, and I'm going to dance in your ocean."

Brilliant.

Life.

Sunday morning, 2/17

Hunter gatherers.

Introducing the finished product of the first design/print collaboration between Taylor and myself, the 2008 Collectors Night invitations for the Visual Arts Center of Richmond. 1,000 of these were mailed out last week, and frankly I feel proud and rosy cheeked:


Illustration and design: Me
Printing, Cutting, folding, rounding, being awesome: Taylor

Oh, Vicious Viscosity.

Also, what if the viscosity of water changed, and it no longer was able to flow through our taps? I had a dream about this, and am now completely pre-occupied. Things change their properties all of the time, WATER DOES. What if this whole system of underground life delivery tubes we had was CLOGGED UP?

I'm sure this has nothing to do with the fact that I've been looking at my father's art lately:

When hormones ATTACK!

I'm really interested in pheromones.

There's this recurring thing that happens, during the time of the month where I absolutely feel the most disgusting, the least attractive, the grossest ever, when my brain chants:
"how-can-I-go-out-in-public-everything-fits-me-like-a-burlap-sack..."

It's during that time that I get the most brazen attempts by men. For example, just now, when I was sitting at the front desk and a man walks out of his class and we have this exchange:

Him: Hey girl.
Me: *looking up from google reader* Oh, hi!
Him: You don't need a jacket? You're not cold?
Me: I have a secret space heater back here, I'm fine.
Him: Oh, hah! I was gonna say it was because you were so HOT, because DAMN!
Me: *Choking and exclamatory* OH! Well!
Him: I know, corny.
Me: *Throwing hands up* Whatever works!

In the past, this usually only happens at gas station, so I thought that maybe my scent mixed well with diesel or something. I'm going to have to re-examine this issue. I'll keep you posted.

the jolly postman

Almost 80 letters are off in the mail, and hopefully one is on it's way to YOU.

Here's hoping you participate.

xo.

Submission request.

Friends.

I require your assistance for a project.

For further information, please email me at Jackie@prettysillythings.com with the best address to send a letter to.

You won't regret it.

I wish I believed.

When I was little and catholic, my mother and I used to go to Ash Wednesday mass together. I don't remember anything about what it meant, or why it was so important.

I remember her pulling down the visor mirror in our mint green 1984 Honda though, touching up the ash mark on her face, wiping away the smudge.

I am trying so hard not to draw a conclusion from everything I think.

From sunflower Sutra.

...Poor dead flower? when did you forget you were a

flower? when did you look at your skin and

decide you were an impotent dirty old locomotive?

the ghost of a locomotive? the specter and

shade of a once powerful mad American locomotive?

You were never no locomotive, Sunflower, you were a

sunflower!

And you Locomotive, you are a locomotive, forget me

not!

So I grabbed up the skeleton thick sunflower and stuck

it at my side like a scepter,

and deliver my sermon to my soul, and Jack's soul

too, and anyone who'll listen,

--We're not our skin of grime, we're not our dread

bleak dusty imageless locomotive, we're all

beautiful golden sunflowers inside, we're blessed

by our own seed & golden hairy naked

accomplishment-bodies growing into mad black

formal sunflowers in the sunset, spied on by our

eyes under the shadow of the mad locomotive

riverbank sunset Frisco hilly tincan evening

sitdown vision.

Allen Ginsberg

Who wants to drive to Savannah with me in April?

I'm taking a vacation.

frizzy susie.

Every morning I sit in front of the window that faces the alley and blow dry in a towel.
This means that about once a week, someone sees me and thinks that I am sitting there, naked.

That's alright.