Ultramundane.com -- It's Just Not Natural.

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United States, California, San Francisco, The Mission, English, Spanish, Casey, Male, 31-35.

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Friday, September 26, 2003

Clean, The Cleanest I've Been.

Do Laundry. Vacuum carpets. Last night I made a list of all the chores I needed to do before this weekend, and it's turned out to be a rather impressive list. Mop kitchen. Check guest sheets. Nuns are coming into town and will be staying at our house for the Folsom Street Fair this weekend, so I needed to do something before the glitter-to-carpet ratio in the apartment reversed. Scrub toilet. Clean bathtub. I've been slack this past week, spending my weekend drinking with the Jug Wine Festival and enjoying the company of my favorite unicorns Keith and Aaron; and during the week I have been sitting on my ass playing Bookworm and Rocket Mania instead of getting anything accomplished around the house. Fix duvet cover. Change sheets. It's not so bad, really; I love to make to do lists, and I frankly enjoy the satisfaction of knowing that I've removed the dirt and scum from the places that need it, which is why the bathroom is actually the most satisfying place for me to clean. Get groceries. Check sale at Office Max. I know I've accomplished something when I've removed hard water stains from the shower doors and made the porcelain ultrawhite again. Wipe table. Empty trash and recycling. But right now I am tired, it being one in the morning after a long day, pitching in a project which was spinning slightly out of control, the kind of project that doesn't really need a few bodies thrown at it as much as just one organized body with enough time (as if there's ever enough time at anyone's work.) Sort paperwork. Pay bills. Cleaning like this is particularly useful when things are feeling out of control, though it's not necessary to have both—it's no less satisfying to bring out an old toothbrush to really get at the grout in the shower when I'm in a good mood as when I'm in a sour one. Update calendar. Send in rebate. But it is now well after midnight and I am still considering mopping the kitchen, even though Vince told me that only crackheads mop their kitchens at midnight. Bleach countertop. Buy soap and TP. I walked past a crackhead today at lunch; he was in a grey hoodie smoking crack by the side door of a nearby Chinese restaurant. Make new to-do List. How can I be a crackhead if I don't smoke crack?

Yeah, maybe I mixed a couple kinds of cleaner together; it works better that way. Why do you ask?

01:33 AM PST (link)

Thursday, September 25, 2003

Returned Mail: See Transcript For Details.

For the last week I've been flooded in returned mail messages from a spammer spoofing email addresses on my domains. I tried to be stoic through it all and just slog through the onslaught. But the tide has receeded, and I'm back to normal levels of spam traffic. The odd thing is hearing myself say, "Thank god, I only got spam today!" and breathing a sigh of relief at a mere 50 junk mail messages.

Update: Spoke too soon. Spoke way too soon. In the past 18 hours I've gotten about 400 more, in roughly alphabetical order through the letter D, mostly from aol.com. Very little of it gets auto-filtered to the trash, either. Explain to me again how technology was going to improve my life and make communication simpler?

05:01 PM PST (link)

Wednesday, September 24, 2003

The Koan Brothers.

Before enlightenment, Chop wood and carry water.
After enlightenment, Chop wood and carry water.
—Wu Li

Discussion this evening after our movie club movie (which took a very long time and went a great distance in order to not really get anywhere) brought us to the question, what is a koan? And how is it pronounced?

It's not that the movie was particularly Zen; If there was as much toplessness in Zen as there was this movie, then I'd be surprised more straight men and lesbians aren't Buddhists. No, I think we were just desperately trying to put some sort of meaning onto the evening and ended up there.

That's one of my hangups about reviewing something critically; I feel like I sometimes apply more meaning to a piece than it really has—or possibly deserves. I'm sure that's one of the fears that I use as an excuse for not making art again. I left art school in the Postmodern 90's feeling deconstructed as an artist: suspicious of theory and of criticism and intimidated that by opening my mouth I might betray my ignorance of them as well.

But don't get me wrong; I got bettuh'. Some days I just have to get over my damn self. I can talk about art and the artists I know and will try not to make stuff up unless it's funny. Ask me and I will tell you how I respond to something aesthetically. Trust me, I will—at respectful volumes—particularly in galleries where I am not responding to the art in a positive way.

So after all of that, did I like the movie? Well...I never studied film, so...Mu.

02:26 AM PST (link)