I begged and begged and begged my roommate to let us add Showtime to the digital cable package, so that I could gay off to season 4 of the L Word on demand. It took months and months of convincing. And finally, Starting April 7th, we had it. Thank you baby Heyzeus. The best way to watch a television series is in a row, that way you can break it up into maybe 2 or 3 days. If I don’t watch a series like this, consider me irritable, obsessed and overall distracted.

“Hey! Patience is a virtue,” yelled the guy walking side by side with three other people on the sidewalk Thursday, as I charged around them. Well so is not hogging the sidewalk man, when some of us are up late drinking and super late to work.

I was getting really into the L word, of course, and when Erni came to visit we got through the first half on the rainiest Sunday in New York. Helena has developed a serious gambling debt slash addiction, Jenny S went loony tunes on some poor little dyke, Kit was starting to drink again and be dykish (yes). I actually started to like Bette and Max, who knew that would ever happen. Tina just solidified the fact that she does, indeed, suck. They finally got rid of that annoying girl Carmen, but replaced her with an equally annoying player Papi and free loving artist Jodi. Tasha seems stern yet pleasant. Did I mention Tina blows. Cybil Shepard officially creeped on me and was seemingly born to play this role of crazy. And dangit, not only has Shane calmed her balls, but Alice is once again soooooo funny and soo soo cute. Quite frankly, as much as I want to fight it. The L Word is my only serious, commited relationship.

Yesterday, my day off, after getting in from an evening of debauchery and a pleasant morning, I sat myself down with the plan to watch nothing else other then the L Word for the next 7 hours and finally finish the season. I bought some sushi and made a HUGE stink with Watawa about making sure I got extra wasabi, cause lord knows my ass isn’t already on fire. I sat myself down. All plush and comfy with the extra wasabi gold and yes, apparently patience is still a virtue and thats why comcast fucked me. No more L Word on demand.

Thank god for Mary Louise Parker and Weeds.

So now I’m all caught up with Weeds, I’ll trade you time with Mary Louise if you give me time with Alice.

I’m just saying

Next Sunday (May 6, 2007) I will be going down to Philly for a food tour/art-a-thon. That’s right, Pennsylvania Tots, Philly Nuts and food of the like will be consumed.

However, that’s not the highlight. The best part will be seeing Zoe Strauss’s I-95 work, live and in person. I am pumped.

I’m fucking pumped.

Quiz concerning this image via Alec Soth’s blog

I have to say, I’m a little in love with Dawn Roscoe’s Exquisite Suburbia project.

The entire book The White Album by Joan Didion has felt more and more relevant to me during this week. What has really been sticking in my head is the first essay, specifically this:

“We tell ourselves stories in order to live. The princess is caged in the consulate. The man with the candy will lead the children into the sea. The naked woman on the ledge outside the window on the sixteenth floor is a victim of accidie, or the naked woman is an exhibitionist, and it would be “interesting” to know which. We tell ourselves that it makes some difference whether the naked woman is about to commit a mortal sin or is about to register political protest or is about to be, the Aristophanic view, snatched back to the human condition by the fireman in priest’s clothing just visible in the window behind her, the one smiling at the telephoto lens. We look for the sermon in the suicide, for the social or moral lesson in the murder of five. We interpret what we see, select the most workable of the multiple choices. We live entirely, especially if we are writers, by the imposition of a narrative line upon disparate images, by the “ideas” with which we have learned to freeze the shifting phantasmagoria which is our actual experience.

Or at least we do for a while. I am talking here about a time when I began to doubt the premises of all the stories I had ever told myself, a common condition but one I found troubling…”

Like Didion, I truly do believe that some string of narrative is necessary for making any sense of the daily events we encounter, but are we pushing it at times? Does the explanation sometimes do a disservice to us, because we’re stretching it a little?

I really like the “skyline” and “unknown fire” series. Kunihiko Katsumata has a different take on your typical skyline, cutting away the horizon to leave almost all sky. I really wish I had been able to see the prints of these photos at the Armory Photography Show.(via Conscientious)

“A lot of people call me the architect of rock & roll. I don’t call myself that, but I believe it’s true.”

I think that in every single Little Richard interview that I’ve watched, he’s felt the need to assert that he “did it first.” Which is true, but you can tell that he’s so incredibly vexed by the acclaim that the musicians following him have gotten. It’s interesting to me, because he renounced rock and roll so many times, saying that it was “of the devil.”

(I believe this photo was taken around the time that Little Richard was selling the Black Heritage Bible)

Basically, I’m really into Little Richard.

Watch him speak on the topic of Jimi Hendrix:

I have to say, I’m more excited than usual about the upcoming Jen Bekman project: 20×200.

Inspired by a belief that good art should be made affordable, and not just to the incredibly wealthy, the concept is very similar to Tiny Showcase, a website that prints affordable, limited edition (100) prints of fine art. I’m always too late to get ahold of the prints that Tiny Showcase offers, but I’m definitely excited about the prospect of 20×200.

20×200 will release one photograph and one fine art print, every week. The concept is that there will be 200 prints of each work, all for $20. How democratic! How fantastic!

We vote yes!

In regards to Mr. Vonnegut’s death; my favorite Vonnegut book was God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater. At one point, I had four copies of this book…excessive, I know, but they kept falling apart. I was in High School and considered it to be a guide for life, a reminder that I should consider others with kindness, compassion and innocence, despite all of the horrible things that we tend to do to each other.

I heard someone say something about it this morning when I was on the train. Then again ‘online’ at Duane Reade. I was holding a red bull, decongestant I had to both sign and show ID for, tampons, baby wipes, and cheese goldfish. Not to mention, just to mention, we all know its raining.

I’m indoors now. In this basement office, breathing in Brazilian mold. And I googled, Kurt Vonnegut is dead and friends, he is. So so dead.

My Dad’s favorite Vonnegut book is “God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater.” My Mom loves “Cats Cradle” and my favorite is “Welcome to the Monkey House.” I need to call my parents.

In other news, I googled ‘billy pilgrim band’ thinking there was a punk rock band named as such. Only to find out, no and this….

I’ve been reading the Walker Art Center’s blogs lately and they just opened Kara Walker’s first museum survey in the US, Kara Walker: My Complement, My Enemy, My Oppressor, My Love. I have to say, reading the blog has been really great for a variety of reasons, one of them being that it’s gotten me really excited about the fact that Ms. Walker’s show is coming to the Whitney in October. She makes intellectual and passionate art that really speaks about the histories that influence our present lives.

You know what else they’re showing at the Walker???

1. Paper Trail: A decade of the Walker’s acquisitions on paper: An exhibit that focuses on all of the changes that have occurred in the ways that artists produce work on paper.

2. Body Politics: Figurative Prints and Drawings from Schiele to De Kooning.

3. And other pieces from the collection.

I would truly like to go there.