Dear Christophe, my love,

Maybe you were thinking hoping that I had forgotten about you. But alas, you are never far from my reach my secret dungeon my thoughts.

Ahem.

I just received my copy of George’s Secret Key to the Universe. I’m very much looking forward to understanding how black holes and other nifty theoretical thingamabobs and ajigs work. Should you and Dr. Hawking decide to do a publicity tour here in the United States, do please let me know. Maybe you could sign my boob…erm, I mean, my book.

Languishingly,

P.S. I’ve got to take my Math-4-the-Mathematically-Challenged-Even-Though-I’m-Asian course this summer. Do you tutor?

Jesus Would Make Death Threats?

Tomorrow is the last final of the last class of the Spring semester…Medieval Art History. I don’t think it’s possible to convey my utter contempt, my sullen disdain for this subject. Oh okay, the reliquaries were amusingly macabre. Body parts for personal satisfaction and suddenly your a serial killer, but do it in the name of a god and holy hell, we should kneel down and pray.

Harumph.

Bishop Gene Robinson (Da Gay Priest) has been receiving death threats since his affirmation and now is making himself a target once again with his new book and announcement that he will be tying the knot with bonesmuggler partner this June.

The big question here is not whether homosexuality is immoral or whether his god approves of his union or even What Would Jesus Do?

The big question in Franki’s mind is, “Why the hell does he wanna get married in the first place?”

What an idiot. You know that old adage…why marry the cow when…oh, erm…my mind just went to a very dark visual place.

Sorry folks.

I’ll shaddup now.

All that AND the ability to make a sentence.

Pant. Pant. Pant.

I’d love to introduce you to a new FwB, from a rectangularish state a safe 3 hour drive away who has wormed his way into a ridiculous amount of communication through laughter and I’d love to amuse you with a fellow classmate’s sculpture turned death chamber and I’d love to whine about how my allergies are turning my head into a bee hive of misery and I’d love to tell you about DJ Spooky and how I’ve got a big giant black hole crush on him, but damn, it’s the last week of school and I’m fookin busy.

So here’s my latest print. With the help of 5 different translations of the Tao Te Ching and my clear-thinking roommate, I came up with my own rendition of one of my favorite verses.

#44, 2008

14×30, serigraph

Fame or self, which matters more?

Self or wealth, which is more precious?

Gain or loss, which causes more anguish?

Attachments entail great suffering.

Hording entails heavy losses.

To know when you have enough

is to be rich beyond measure.

To know when to stop

is the right beginning.

Actual conversation in da house tonight:

Q: What would you do with unlimited free time?

A:

Oh, and to those of you with Word Verification on…don’t take this the wrong way, but….FUCK YOU. Do I need to fail your stupid little tests every time I want to leave my amazingly charming and witty comment on your posts?

DO I?!

I didn’t think so.

I Swear to the Gods…

…I’m renaming him Stir Fry.

So I’m sitting here at my desk, sipping coffee and slaving away on this research paper about the National Cathedral that’s due tomorrow.  It’s 10:30 pm and I just wanna lay down and go to sleep.  I turn around looking for something and this is the scene on my fuckin bed.

Can you believe this shit?  Jane, you be quiet.

MIA

Daisy requested an update… below in CAPS.  Oh and add drama from my ex who has decided that he will no longer buy groceries for our boys to make lunches for school when at his house OR give them money for lunches, in addition to clothes or shoes.  He told the  boys to come to me for money.  How can this be?  Where is the man I cared enough about the have children with?  Where?

Everyone:  Think anal fissures!

In this next week, I have to:

1. Work - CAUGHT UP!
2. Finish sculpture #1 - NOT A CHANCE
3. Start and finish a sculpture #2 - STARTED
4. Start and finish new print - STARTED
5. Write a 2 page paper about performing consumers - DONE
6. Write a trip report about the NYC art trip -DONE
7. Write a 5 page paper about the National Cathedral - FUCKING UGH!

I might be having some palpitations right now.

Anyhoo, I think blogging will be out of the question. But I leave you with some pix I took at the National Cathedral today. It is a beautiful example of gothic/decorated architecture. No matter what your creed, the exquisiteness of this building is undeniable.

Imagine the Next Words in Ring-Around-da-Rosie Sing-song

I’m gettin more tattoo—oo! I’m gettin more tattoo-oo!!

People are funny about tattoos. Hate ‘em or love ‘em is my general experience. I am often questioned how I’ll feel when the tats are old and faded.

“You mean like the rest of me?” I reply.

Whatever. When my boobs are swinging round my knees, my blurry tats will be the least of my worries. I get all my work done at State of the Art Tattoo by owner, John Joyes. I think of him as a fine artist and myself as a collector of his work. He’s got about a year waiting list. If you go to Gallery 2, my first tat by John is #13. His name is Buttercup. I still yuv him, 10 years later.

My friend Tom, who is a brilliant photographer, is coming along to document this time. I’ve got a couple of koi on my back and am working towards a full panel. If you are really nice and send me expensive gifts, I might post pictures.

But maybe not.

Because despite being an outspoken loudmouth, I’m actually pretty camera shy.

Wish me much pain tolerance.

Now go look at this picture.  If it doesn’t make you change your panties, nothing will.  Thank you Falwless…for making me change me panties even though they were just fine and it wasn’t like I was gonna have sex with anyone tonight.

I Heart NY

New York City, as usual, was invigorating. Friday night, my trip into Hoboken, NJ, where I was staying, was made more exciting by the PoPo. Knowing my challenges, my friend was attempting to talk me into his neighborhood. Crossing an intersection, I spied two police officers standing on the corner. They see me.

PoPo #1: Ayyy, ohhh. Ohhhh, ayyyy. Yous can’t be on the phone while drivin.

Me (rolling down the window, while still on the phone, while being Asian): Huh?

PoPo #1: You gotta get off da phone.

Me: But! I don’t know where I’m going!

PoPo #1: Pull da car over right now!

Me: *sigh* Lemme call you back.

PoPo #1: Look. Yous can’t be on the phone while drivin since March 1. But since yous gots outta state plates, we won’t write you up dis time.

Me: Oh sorry about that. Can I sit here for a moment so I can call my friend and get directions then?

PoPo #2: Attagirl!

Me: (using crucial inside voice) Fuck you!

The next morning, a quick train ride finds me in the City. Oh how I love the energy! At least twenty blocks that I need to cross are closed, even to foot traffic, for Da Pope. Helicopters drone in the sky above, lazy dragonflies, searching for Pope-killers. Is it just me that feels that the Pope shouldn’t need all this security? Shouldn’t God be looking out for his Number 1 Dude?

But it was a fine day for a walk. The city was mobbed with Catholics and doomsdayers, holding signs saying things like, “The Pope = The Anti-Christ!” and “I Heart the Pope” and “Da Pope is Hawt.” K, maybe not so much that last one. Sidewalk hawkers are selling Pope buttons, 2 for $4, 3 for $5!!! and t-shirts, 2 for $10!!!

I finally managed to get to the Whitney and hooked up with my classmates. According to the Whitney website, “By exploring the networks that exist among contemporary artists and the work they create, the Biennial characterizes the state of American art today.” Perhaps, then, Amanda Ross-Ho said it best with her giant blue kitty-litter box. (No, that’s not what it looked like. This is much better anyway.) Maybe I am just too much of a peasant, but much of this supposedly cutting-edge art just made me think, “What cutting-edge bullshit!”

After that I met a couple of my dearest friends for lunch in Chelsea. If you are ever in the area, and hungry, check out Don Giovanni’s Ristorante at 214 Tenth Ave - Between 22nd & 23rd St. Authentic, cheap, fantabulous Italian food, served by authentic, gorgeous Italian waiters and waitresses with pantie-wetting accents. Try the Polenta covered with Garlic Sauteed Spinach appetizer. I also had the Lasagna Verde which was unbelievable. We languished at an outdoor table with carafes of cheap red wine for a few hours before checking out some small Chelsea galleries.

This artist must have some wicked dreams. I should have written down his/her name, but I suck.

On the way back to the subway, we came across the Trailer Park Bar. It seemed important to stop by for a drink. Great concept; poor execution. Reminded me of a Ruby Tuesdays inside. (For those of you who don’t know what Ruby Tuesdays is, 1. be thankful and 2. it’s not good.)

While sipping on Happy Hour Margaritas, D asks me about the FwB situation.

Me: It’s ideal. No expectations on either side except a fun sex weekend every coupla months.

D: What’s he like?

Me: I dunno. Quiet, loner. Non-committal.

D: I’m curious to meet him. Think he’d meet us for a drink?

Me: Hell no, but I’ll call and ask.

***

Me: Hey there. My girlfriend D was wanting to know if you’d come out for a drink.

FwB: Hell no.

Me: That’s what I thought. I’ll call you later.

The young FwB is a nihilist. Doesn’t care about much and seems fairly content that way. Likes to play sports, compete. Loves his dog. Thinks eating is a hassle. Hates people and especially stupid people who stop when they don’t even have a stop sign. Has a good sense of humor, but no need to share it. We have a lovely sexual chemistry and das good enough for me.

The first time we sat down and talked, he said, “The best gift I ever received from a girl was to be left alone.”

Me: Wow. I’m perfect for you.

For Krok

I put on some fuzzy socks for you.  I hope that helps, you freaking pervert.

Blue Nails & Puppy Dog Tails

 Dear Krok9.2,

I call this one Stir Fry, just to keep him nervous.