Wednesday, 30 September 2009

Today is pension payday for the senior citizens of our country. That means two things. One: my dad descends from the hill and does his routine - goes to the doctor to get the medication, the pharmacy and then the bank. He withdraws all his money, buys cigarettes for mum, a credit phone card and burek. Burek is this ridiculously greasy thing made of gum-like dough, folded tenfold (sic) and filled with oil and minced meat or cottage cheese. It's a shiptar dish, a Turkish thing and we tend to say 'You haven't for burek!' as mobsters would say 'Forget about it!' To eat a slice mens to be really queasy for an hour and then full for a week.
           Dad then drives away, usually to get the car repaired AGAIN. But car has the tendency to work just fine by the time he gets it into the shop.
           Two - is Piček has to spend as long in the base as it takes the last postman to return from the field. Some people get their pensions via mail and sometimes a postman is new and nervous and they take longer to make sure they've done everything correctly. Reeeeeaaally easy to fuck up and lose money, or get cheated or clumsy when you know you carry with you something that would fuck up your salary for a year.  I had this old lady that would always nag how she's late for her plane to Belgium (perish the thought she's get herself an ATM card), but I was only allowed to give money to her daughter. There was always a lot of arguing there, EVERY time. Thing was, the old lady had a tendency to steak from postmen - she'd hide a bill into her sleeve while counting, thus accusing him of giving her too little. Since at first you think 'sure, it's possible I miscounted in a hurry' - though we had to count twice in front of the costumer slowly, but after a few takes, the postmen figured it out and she was taken off the list and her daughter had to apply for surrogacy.) There's a limit on hom much they can carry at the time, so as to make sure they're not too targeted by muggers, meaning they need to return to base twice as much as they would for mail. It can take all day. He usually has to go onto the field 2o times to remedy errors that occur. People are especially edgy on pay days.

An old couple I delivered to, living in one of the suburban buildings (living costs there are probably around 400 Euros monthly; less if they are really really modest and shower in cold water), the lady got something like 118 Euros. She's been a housewife and hence wasn't entitled to more. If she was a widow, she's get her husband's pension or if she was alone, social services would provide something so she's survive. Nice thing about our country is we needn't really have homeless people. The homeless ones we have are such because they're stubborn. You won't really see folk living out of shopping carts or begging barefoot on the street - except when they organize, come in a big car, go out strategically and then do dramatic poses. Perish the thought you'd offer one a job. They'd beat you. Even the seasonal farmers that require tens of hundreds of people and pay decent fees need to import; all the while the syndicates are crying how we've got more unemployment than ever before. (But then again priests are preaching how poor we all are and they drive latest beemers.)
          But anyway, I was thinking about being old and so poor, you honestly cannot afford anything, probably never again. I am not poor, not really, I just haven't got money at the moment. For me such seasons come and go - sometimes I take on a great paying job, pay off my debt and stock up supplies for rainy season. And I don't feel like I will be forever broke. Stuff I'm working on, when it sells, it sells well and my reputation is slowly and surely expanding. And I don't really need anything. I have clothes and toys, Piček brings food and pays some of the bills and the stuff we earn off my art goes for game cards and materials. We've been on a hefty trip already this year, when I had money from the previous big sale to get us tickets; we don't really want to go on another till we lose all the infections and fungy from the previous one, we got the fridge and I got my smoothie maker for my birthday... Nothing I'd want, really, right *right* now. But I can always make lists. Camera for me, plasma for Piček, a cute small city car maybe, a new rifle, loads of books, investments into our new projects, new trips. Fun stuff. I don't want to think old age has to mean it's better to stop wishing.
Hmmm... The spatter may be overdone...
It looks less like weathering and worms and more like... spatter...

Continued work on the beehive panels.I've tried a different approach this time - not painting it first and aging it second, but painting it old to begin with and then just filthying it up with spatter and smear. I'm getting better. Two more and I'll be good for business ;p I need to make the figures even more primitive and figure out how to keep some colors blazing while others completely sieved into the wood...

'Course we won't know anything 'till we've seen it actually printed..

Tuesday, 29 September 2009

Story with Beorn cookies in it

One of the more ridiculous stories on my part is the story with Beorn cookies in it. At the time still a young and not versed in worldly ways, I decided to abuse my powers of travelling through random stories and pay a visit a character that intrigued me for a very long time. This was Beorn, from Hobbit. I wanted to learn how to make his honey cookies. Of course Beorn is a very private person and it took a me while to negotiate one lesson and eventually he allowed me to give it a try with his honey. No, this is not a porn story, this is actual honey I'm referring to, from bees.
         In the next scene, Beorn's kitchen is a bit sooty and he is extremely pissed off. I am grounded and may not leave until I've cleaned the mess I've made of his home up. dDaniel starts to miss me and comes to my rescue and Beorn says to him he will release me if dDaniel manages to eat a single one of my biscuits.
         Need I explain the rest? It was a time before my pastry school. 

History part II.b

Me, first time on my gypsy mount Cerberrus

Once upon a time, my friend dDaniel, myself and some of our acquaintances conjured up a fable in which our roles would allow us to become larger than life. That would serve for numerous styles in documentation, endless stories and more than some higher learning. dDaniel, the patron God of book thieves and myself, his most infamous and maladroit messenger, would chose which bits of history to research from another perspective. Along the way we'd expand out unit to characters abandoned by stories, left behind or gruesomely executed for righteous reasons. In the end the vast majority died in the great Battle for Startracker, the library city, and we got banished into future without books. But since they had flying machines there and General Sepp kicking our butts on daily basis, it soon became our favorite place. Nothing like a world without books for a paper pagan to put his or her hands together and start establishing publishing houses.

dDaniel and a scene from getting denethor on our side

My shop at the Crossroads of stories
Drawing dDaniel in costumes and roles and nudes and captions was so cool. He was the ultimate cross-dresser, not just between genders, but between species, ranks, even classes of subnatural and supernatural creatures and there was usually always someone completely insane right next to him. The only hardcore realist, one almost never portrayed in any other form but photography, would be my ex husband - the on-going war between the two of them, the fantasist and the realist - was one of the two leit motifs of the books written under the banner Zurnizip.

One of the early designs for my personal banner. The motto was 'Live to tell the tale'.

Breaking Bad

Hah, I'm starting to watch 'Breaking Bad' - a show about a mid-life crisis, lung cancer terminal, never-been-anyone-more-mundane high-school teacher that decided to do something big before his number is up - get a decent crystal meth lab going. I've gotten as far as the scene where his ex student, now a suburban dealer, and he are discussing boiling flasks (NOT mixing flasks..) and already I've got an urge to put my girls back into some twisted situation where their aloof, experienced and trouble-attracting attitudes would serve me to harvest another story. I haven't written a full fledged adventure since Huda Lučka (translates roughly into 'mean little lamp'. Long story.'
      In Huda Lučka our surviving book thief, exiled from history into the future, now a 'gorgonaut' (A nickname that came with the spaceshipling Gorgo) tried to sit out the storm that she left with selling a collnial supply ship to save the ever-more imposing general, taking jobs as a bounty hunter on 'Horses', the lpanet physically furthest from Aurora still inhabited by humans. That resulted in banishment from the bounty hunter community also, coming into possession of 3o pounds of star feldspar (think Spice from Dune, only less culinary) and hooking up with a soul shepherd that ripped through casinos like an intelligent thought through Edko.  Under the parole supervision of the general, the remaining team of book thieves - namely PK and Fidi, with Tobi, the General and now Gennonsuke, and almost entirely normal Cole, adventures returned back closer to Aurora. Meanwhile PK had to perform some side jobs for the same folk that would have seen her dead, but as that never really took, had her banished, the last of which earned her the nick 'extractor'.

I'm thinking now I'd start something with a blast from the past, some sexy new enemy, that has a lot to do with illegal chemical labs. Say... A place where lots of people are sick and there's just one cure, but it's limited and a certain pancake chef, with the expertise of an alchemist, produce and trade it - just to illustrate the first chapter. And from there on into something vain. :p

Monday, 28 September 2009

September coming to an end...

Have started the work on the beehive plaques as promised. The first one is of a bee-keeping grandfather telling a story to his grandson. Though I'm not happy with it just yet, I'm getting the hang of it. Basic rules: first -the drawing itself is primitive and inaccurate, but do not underestimate the coloring. Second - do some of the aging yourself and leave some for the photo shop. (Although ye Gods how much I love to splatter :D)

And third: mind the composition, don't overdo the details and make sure the red stays very red. It seemed to have been the only color that preserved itself.

I've spoken to my younger of the older brothers about fashion photography. He may be a slacker in many things, but he sure does know his shooting. I may actually have that drink with him one of these says. One thing I know for a fact, though, is that a) I want to avoid in a wiiiiiiideee circle everyone of my generation that's in this 'fashion photography' scene, because their attitude sickens me  (I grew up with some of them, and the temptation to go see them, meekly, to learn from them and perhaps borrow their gear, may I, please? and  the quietly overtake on the left lane is present.. But I'll pass. In fact I think I'll skip that step altogether.) and b) I need to keep my personal life far away from the professional. I don't mean emotionally, I mean biographically. When people will describe the author of my work, I need them to describe just simple simple author, uncomplicatedly devoted to her work. Not even my name matters. If you like the pics, hire the mind behind the camera. If not, no amount of dropping names and small humorous tid its about my unrelated history should change that. Yes, I was best in my class in pastry school. Yes, I qualified for a sniper in the army. Yes, I once forged the Gutenberg bible in 28 days. It also took me 4 years to reach level 8o on my hunter and even though I have epic PVE gear, I dress in lvl 12 garments and fish coins most of the time, or collect vanity pets. Personal life is just that. Some random geek's life.

A friend dropped by, a painter (I have three of her things, I really like her work), considering going on her own as well. She wanted to hear from me what it's really like and I assured her it's worth the bother. She's of the brother's generation, though, a whole wave of talented people that somehow got lost in pot and commercial ambition. She reminded me I'll need to print invitations for the exhibition and as much as I've panicked the first instant, the wonder of the opportunity hit me the next: what better self-promotion than mailing the invites in the Ninovela cards? Those will be the start of the show anyway. Well done, geek!

On bad notes, Piček is still sick and grandma is molesting the family lawyer, wanting to sue mum. Mum says she'll have her sister exhumed and ban her from the family crypt when her time comes. Ah, the women of my clan. Such drama. One thing about my old age, if I ever catch it - it won't be dull...
Oh, man, I cannot believe I can exist for a week at a time without a single dime! It's been ages since I'va had an income and most earnings go straight for materials, but I seriously have almost no food left at home and in my pockets not enough to buy a bagel. Of course I am making plans to publish photo monographies and purchasing Mark III cameras, but at this moment I am confined indoors, working and I have absolutely no cash. Hmmm... If I had 3o euro... what would I spend it on? A hairdreser? A dentist? Anything else I direly need? Naa... I'd just buy more paper. I'm true to my name :P

Sunday, 27 September 2009

Makes perfect sense that the more and more I am set to become a portrait photographer this month (the passion will flee and then I'll have to wait AGES for it to return again :S) and more and more opportunities to learn, practice and work seem to be coming my way, less and less Porky is able to help me. My camera is all but dead and of course there's no way I am to afford another, unless I steal one, but that doesn't seem right. I have a feeling such a camera would always disagree with me..

There is just ONE rule and one rule only in almost everything one does, all major life decisions and ambitions..

Never. And I mean NEVER
to be

It is the one person whose opinion counts the most and it will almost always hurt your feelings and discourage your intention, making you feel incompetent and foolish.

So skip this step and you'll be halfway to the finishline.

Dark chocolate with salt from Sečovlje Salt fields

Toothache aside, I got a  d a r k chocolate with s a l t  in it.

I'll say that again. We have these salt fields in our country - they are a part of the national heritage and can be quite picturesque.

For a while nobody really cared and they've nearly gone obsolete, but finally some PR genius started this whole program with a new slogan and new production line and suddenly they are amazingly popular and in my book some of the best gifts that aren't books to adults ever. They don't sell just salt in these neat little sacks, they have a whole array of semi-related items, all under the line:

Salt is the sea that didn't get to return to the skies.

Their wrap up is this black and white photos and black text on slightly eldish looking white paper with red punch lines in Georgia font. Here, I'll show you.

Sorry pickies aren't better, they're not mine (I think they're from their expo, I just got the off the web). But you get the concept.

Anyhoo, my elder bro and his lady gave me an apron for birthday (yes. I GET the hint) and the chocolate. It says it's with a salt blossom. There was actually a moment when I got totally confused by how we get salt - at the time I was picking grapes and thinking how tiny grape blossoms are and if bees make honey from it as well and what is grape bloom honey like.. And as pepper also comes from a plant, my brain just leapt into an idea of what a salt plant bloom might be.

This chocolate is just curios, though. It's plain dark chocolate, not exactly Lindt, with just tiniest bits of salt in it. I needn't tell you how salt brings out the flavor and if they did it too much, it'd be awful. But it's not. I've had some bizarre chocolate tastings in my time, never one with salt in it however. Great thinking, guys!

Saturday, 26 September 2009

Dad in the work yard in front of his cellars - the press, the crush, the de-stemmer, the whole show.. :))
the red

the white

last year's gold

 kiddies (helmets in case of rolling down the slope and all.)

the slope - not QUITE visible here.. But it's there, trust me

*The OverMuraMoving cake a Slovenian national cake and a monument to assemble. It consists of  12 layers of 4 different fillings, divided by two doughs and cream and oil. It takes about 14 hours to make if you're doing it properly and it's even better if done in the traditional bowl and one of the large 'bread ovens'.
I graduated from my pastry school with this one - ALTHOUGH I must admit i am not pro enough yet, to compeete with the farm women of the national anual OMMCake competition....
the meats

the cookies
the schtrudel
and the bograč. For fly-bys
Mum first in
  Dad setting it up for the pickers


Elder brother on the wheelbarrow


Huuuuuuu... Vintage time. The grape wine harvest is here, soundbacked by the rattle devices and bits of mirrors and foils hung all around to keep the birds away. We have ours in two takes - the early one for the prestigious Traminian harvest (lengthily and delicate work) and the bigger one for the rest. First the white and then the red sorts as red are usually much easier to pick (and a little less easy to carry uphill.)

Our vineyard is just outside my home town and dad carved it into the hill side shaped as an amphitheatre in 35 or so terraces, wide enough to sustain one or two rows. All year he manages it, watching over it, cutting down the grasses, fertilizing it, talking to it, airing the soil and we all help spraying the medicine and putting on the anti-hail and bird nets. Disease, birds and hail are the number one destroyers - tourists and other local wildlife doesn't come close.

Once we gather, mum dives into the field am early to do anything dad fails to prevent her from doing (you may not pick while dew is still on..), so she scouts the fruit and removes some of the nets. Dogs chase the fawns out, cats kill some birds in the nets, bees and wasps beat us to the punch... We prepare the buckets and presses and ridiculous amount of food and then guests arirve - usually the family and more avidly drinking friends (:p). Three groups form according to physical shape (you'd be amazed how many fall ill or crippled on just this day!) and are assigned to de-stemming and crushing and press; second team is those who carry the loads uphill and wheelbarrow the crates to the works; and original group, mostly women and kids, do the actual harvesting. Mum and eldest brother's lady are pros at that. I am the only female carrier, what with my uncanny joy of bearing absurd loads on my back. But that slope is a bitch.

Next day barely anyone can still function properly. Even now that I'm sorting through the pickies, my legs and neck ache and tomorrow I'll move like a robot. Important part is not to eat anything, tho. Not even after. Dad's food is renown to be a tranquilizer and although fingerlicking good, it makes you lazy and un-bendy like you wouldn't believe. Mom's tiramisus and my own *OverMuraMovingCake are only slightly more work-friendly.

Towards the end of the day, sugar rate of the pressed juice is measured and last year's stuff is sampled and those who would not take heed, eat and fall asleep in the garden. Including the dogs. Crates are tumbled around with the vap spray, food is wrapped in ample packages and stolen and everyone is beat, wooden and happy. Few cuts, hornett stings and sibling arguments aside, it is a very good day.

The autumn shows have started

yeesh, the shows that we've been waiting for all summer are back with a vengeance. I've felt like ODing on old friends for the past few days. It's a whole new thrill, having them delivered a week at a time, after being used to downloading 5 or 8 seasons in one go. Plus there are so many new ones I have to try out (Flashforward, Eastwick...), I needn't even have measure. I can just skip all the scenes with Katherine Heigl (God that female is annoying), switch between Fringe and Bones to prolong both and decide I'm no more interested in any new ABC production than I was in Lost. The only thing I cannot bring myself to watch further is Heroes. I've gotten as far as... Hm... I think better part of the second season and as shaggable as that ugly guy that grows on you and everyone loved in Star Trek is, the whole plotline is just too much. Better luck next year.

Hm, and nearby to that, I've started designing my book and realized I have enoughtmaterial for a monography as it is. Prime time I start going around bumming people for my own shows.

Working on bookmark designs just to spend paper. Two more days of leisure, then it's hard back to work on the beehive wood plates. The money stuff.

Friday, 25 September 2009

Work in progress - the swimmer
Oh, and I hate Vicious.

From Cowboy Bebop..

Things I truly love

1) Clean paper. The paper that's never been touched before and it's not just stuff I'm gonna draw on - it's also the crisp magazines, brand new books, posters, even newspapers and spam straight from the printers. I am in awe of what magnificence can find foundation on such a simple thing as paper. Anywhere, any time.
2) The mate. Not just the warm body that spoons and tussles and fools around and wrestles and pecks and caresses.. The person that makes everything seem bearable and the good stuff worth doing. The unbelievable comfort in moment when you truly run out of courage and hope and they don't patronize or ignore you, but know you and know how to slowly take you out of despair and then take the wheel for a little while.
3) Information. All kinds. Visual, audio, small thoughts, long letters, new books, encyclopedias, newspapers, ...... everything is interesting to me.
4) Gibli studio productions.
5) Good food. Especially sweets. I think that having a really good meal in a cool place with someone you love is the pinnacle of existence. Nothing else is so simple, random and perfect. But it can't be pushed. 

You have to understand, tho, that Sei Shonagon wrote the Pillow Book - and that is a powerful book - on the subject - about the thousands of things that simply make one act like a happy village idiot and they each come to people on their own terms. Books may mean nothing but waste to another and to me they are like the seventh element. Someone might put great stock to a smile, I prefer to know the terms of tears.  There are people who have never heard of manga, but then again I couldn't fix an airplane either. In fact I had a colleague like that. A simple man, heart of gold, who has never been anywhere, never read anything, never spoke to anyone he wanted to meet and we would spend hours and hours at night, on guard duty, talking about Greek Gods and famous paintings he found awfully amazing and by day he's fix planes.

Things I truly hate

1) People who park badly. It's so much worse if they have ridiculously show-off cars
2) Filth. Like dirty bathrooms or restaurants or beds or things I have to touch. It turns my tummy and brings me down. I think that's the result of going to Africa right after I passes my 'Microbiology in gastronomy' exam. If I could work in a sterile lab, I'd be SO happy.. Curiously, tho, I am okay with untidiness. In fact folding my clothes and putting them in drawers seems less okay than piling them around various stools and shelves
3) People who need fans. That just turns me off completely. Having friends or folk to chat with over cake and morning coffee is so cool, but then you get folk who yearn to accumulate people around tem to talk about themselves and should such a person - even tho they never liked them, really - decided they've had it, these will do ANYTHINg to get them back. Such is their terrible need for an audience and feed-back.
4) Drunks. A definite no-no. I won't even deal with my brother when he is drunk. For all the positive things I can think of about alcohol, I would sooner find compassion for a heroin addict.
5) People letting me wait. Especially if they offered a deal or proposed cooperation - and when my end turns up on schedule, they only meet me if they really need something, otherwise they slide into 'changing their mind'.. That makes me want to never deal with them again.

On vicious fantasy sex and John Noble

Aaaaaahhh, isn't it wonderful when you wake up and realize the week all your favorite shows will be back is finally here?? :D Fringe actually managed to sneak by me, it's been on Pirate Bay for two days and I didn't register it.. Shame on me. Ah, more John Noble... Everyone else is great, too, of course, but I've had it for that guy since I saw him in Monkey's mask - and in LotR??--- Those issues and *those* table manners?.. My soft spot for the underdog has made my knees weak and if this was the alternate reality, I'd give my right elbow to have that mouth on my clit. Needles to say that in twelve or so books I've written since, an old, insane, gray-haired tyrant has had a prominent and extremely pornographic role in every one of them. Once a decade someone just has such a fundamentally blood-tears-semen comes along and turn me on near permanently. I've had more wet dreams about him than all the rest of the Lotter cast combines and that one had Craig Parker in a blonde wig and tights in it!

But *akhem*. As I was saying. Simple pleasures in 5am-6am life, Wintergrasp battles featuring grand total of five combatants, waking up *without* a toothache and a new episode of a fav show downloaded... throw in my honey coming home from the night shift and morning's complete.

Thursday, 24 September 2009

The Rain lady. Work in progress...
There's probably some fundamental, evolutionary, genetic reason why we need to live so long and have young and they need to continue the whole shebang and thus forth into a small eternity, but just so that we wouldn't be bored, nature decided to hand us consciousness and thought 'let them have fun these 5o or 1oo years'... What we do with it is entirely up to us. The need to act like animals half the time and petrified of passing the other half is incidental. We're given these moments and they're just for us. Nothing hysterically global about it - just our own personal little 'inside looking out'.

About grandma

I'm thinking (about life and death) and how awfully we dread the end and how tragic it seems that some who have seen and learned so much, would simply vanish, their brain instantly lost.. Since accidents and disease are mandatory (but then even if we all had an exact fair amount of time to live in, most would complain) and as terrible a thought as it is that my grandma hasn't got much left to live, she has a really good life - only the last few years were messy, as she is lonely BUT refuses to be friendly and bored, BUT refuses to take on any interests and vital BUT refuses to go uphill to my parent's place to tend to a garden or something, something that would make her feel happy.. As an insane bitch as I may sound saying it, she is living too long. It is sad to watch her hate it.
            In childhood we're suppose to stick to our parents and nourish ourselves and learn the skills in order to stray from the cave. In teenagehood we are meant to begin reproducing and serving the benefit of the whole community, hence the crazed need to be noticed, different, independent and hyper sexual. Hating the parents is first on the list. Around 2o, that settles down and most breed and perform crafts while others take another 10 years. From 3o to 4o, the purpose of an evolved species is to tend to the young. Women shelter while males provide. At fifty, you're already old and alone again, but in modern age, that's just the means to a second start. You start over: change the job, the house, the car, the friends, the philosophy and many find this to be amazingly rewarding. At 6o you've better settled yourself in nicely to be able to retire in relative calm and spend the remaining years in comfort. By 7o, you're wise and out of time and mostly folk comes to you for stories and money. You watch grandchildren graduate - or not - but mostly nothing really original happens around you. 8o and 9o you're just something in the warm corner, something delicate and silly that drool - even if you're not really, that's how people treat you. Understandably that pisses you off and several old people panic and start acting out, accusing their kids of mean treatment and starving for their proximity but in truth they're annoying and invasive..
                  What the fuck to do? For a long long time I went for a walk with my gran every morning, before I went to work and we would talk and talk. I got married and we continued to do it, though because I was often unhappy, I'd rather bicker than talk.. Every time I'd leave for a lengthily travel, gran would have seizures and fits and attacks and several other medical emergencies and obviosly she'd get really good at them with time, as we wouldn't fall for them anymore. She was literally capable of making herself badly ill because we refused to come rushing for the sevenhundredth time. But then I grew up I guess. I stopped being so interested in how people around me are feeling and started putting my own stuff before, which confused and offended most greatly. No, I don't wanna go for another coffee in which you'll just say 'I told you so, I knew it will never work since day one' about my marriage, looking down on my need of money as 'you shouldn't have given it all to that stingy faggot'... Sorry. I wanna be alone or go to the movies with my friends.
                Course she didn't have many other mates. Several of her lifelong friends have passed on already and at one point or another she's be in a fight with others in the family - she has the superb tendency of telling people why she never liked them.. Then she's confused why they don't forget that and go out with her. She moved out of the downtown apartment and into retirement home for several good reasons, prime one being she'll have more company now should she yearn for it. And of course the retirement home is like 5 minutes away in this town. And I give her things to do and call her and meet her for coffee and it always leads to shit till nobody wants to talk to her anymore and she calls Picek at work. He's too polite to turn her down. What the fuck she's up to now, I don't know, but since last time she wanted to sue dad for making mum miserable (there was a big fight and mum got drunk - the women of our family are melodramatic that way - it's why every man in this family needs oooooooodles of patience), I imagine now she'll sue mum for taking away her royalties (nobody knows how financial affairs in this family actually run, but almost all run through mum and since we always have mum to handle paperwork, I'm fairly certain they entered a mutual agreement at some point, which gran forgot about or changed her mind several years later and is now convinced mum stole from her.

I understand completely the stories now, how children kick old folk out, take their things, etc... It actually goes like this: Old folk offer stuff and for a while everything is honky dory, up until the first fight. Then out come the accusations "I gave you everything I had and this is how you replay me?! By denying me this one small thing I ask of you?...." and those soon start to cook amidst other old folk, how the things were stolen, blackmailed, conned, etc, out of their arthritic hands.  Grandma supported me when I was in college and since she had lots of money, I bought lots of books and painting material (Some of which I STILL use ten years later), but she now believes I demanded that money and gave it all to my ex husband to support him so he would like me. All the stories are partially true, but things taken out of context make for a pretty grim history. Either way, when she says stuff like that about me to her morning walks buddies, I feel pretty damn bad about it. And when then she materializes on my doorstep to bring me cake or something, and I refuse to take it, I am ungrateful and mean and rude and should see a shrink because I obviously have many problems with myself  which I all take out on her, who has only ever done anything to make sure we're happy..




For the last 15 fucking years of trial and error.

More on racism

Watched first bit of District 9. Jesus fuck.

We are SO messed up as species. No wonder nobody ever comes to say hello. We are CONSTANTLY on the verge of being exploitative, violent, degrading, abusive, just plain mean towards others, we only won't do it cause it's currently out of fashion. Given the slightest permission, we would take it all out with a vengeance. Just imagine something like all green eyed peeps would suddenly be declared slaves - no real reason, just some political/economical bullshit there always is, and we would all have one, or two. Not a day would pass that half would be gruesomely maltreated and with time, all. The romantic notion how in the times of Romans all Greeks were household slaves to the extent of being almost parts of the family, is complete bull. Anything that we are not afraid of, we abuse and everything that we can make profit off, we forego all morality and kindness. Personally, if I had a spaceship that I could bring to Earth, I'd get as far away from here as possible. They would a) shoot at me, b) kill me and take the ship, c) demolish the ship and d) make weapons out of everything, including plant fertilizers. Forget medicine, forget higher learning. Nobody is interested in what we could give another world, we're all just thinking, either intellectually, spiritually, economically or violently, "What's in it for me?"

We deserve to be all alone in space.

Wednesday, 23 September 2009

LoL, post-Onyxia-patch WoW is so crowded, the lag it like an hour :D By the time you click 'join battle', you've already won! :D hehe. And I'm unable to do the 'cooking daily' (The one with collecting one cheese and six half empty vine glasses around Dalaran, as both pubs are full of folk on 'ready set go' as soon as any respawn. I'm still unable to paint the hive plaques (at the moment my biggest commission), so I've watched House double episode premiere into the 6th seasons (Good God O.o... Actually makes me wanna go back to the nuthouse :D) and am eagerly waiting for the next Fringeeee.. I miss Noble. I've justv realized I haven't seen any of the Lord of the Rings in almost a year?!!... then again reading all that smutty fan fic kinda ruined it for me.. especially after "Very Secret Diaries".. There was just no way of watching those silly buggers afterwards.

.. Hmmm.. On a related subject, whatever happened to "Looking fo Group"? Richard??

My grandma is up to something again. What oh what could it be this time? Suing mom? I can't help but to worry a bit. I'm supposed to go see her resident shrink tomorrow morning and knowing myself I'll just take it out on him for encouraging her to continue with the demented paranoia. Fucking hate this whole mess. She's so old and so healthy and I honestly cannot stand her, so every time we meet or talk or have coffee or something, I am so impatient and rude and we always fight in the end, usually with me walking out of the cafe... I DO try, but.. With all her impossible ranting and dellusional conspiracies against mum and dad and her statements how she suspects I never loved her and how she hopes she was dead and then we'll see!... That just pisses me off SO badly.. Even if the date starts well and we talk about pleasantries, it NEVER ends well. In 9o% of the cases it's because she's too proud to wear a hearing aid and misunderstands me and when I repeat it louder, she stars yelling at me to stop yelling at her.

I hate old age. NOTHING you can do and all you can do is try to make it as painless as possible. On the nerves.

Wednesday morning

My routine is bust again, what with maintenance day shut-down of WoW and I cannot do my fishing and cooking dailies (something I have grown so keen on doing it's ajar to start the day without them.. :S) But Octoberfest spawned Brewfest and Brewfest spawned all sorts of bugs, so maintenance is extensive.

My 23G BlueRay Hero downloaded. Gods, SUCH a magnificent movie. Makes me go watch Kieslowski and his Trois Couleurs again (Okay, just Red and Blue and not to be unfair, I watch poor Veronica sinstead of White.. I like White just fine, but I can't stand Julie Delpy), in which the actual colors are only hinted and they follow you around in the subconscience, whereas in Hero there's JUST the color and everything else follows you around in the subconscience. Once again the clarity of portraits and the fierce motivations behind the stories are insane. Simplicity and unity that takes a bucketload of effort.

P.S. Hah, Sidney's been hit by an orange sandstorm. Go sand! (Poor Sidney :(

P.P.S. LOL, I just noticed Julie Delpy plays Erzebet Bathory - the Hungarian nut that though bathing in blood of virgin locals will preserve her looks.. Talk about placebo!

Tuesday, 22 September 2009

Got to stop working on my comp now... A new spider has entered the scene and no matter how many times I shoo him somewhere far away (I love spiders in this room, but personal space is personal space.), he comes right back to the desk... I can actually hear him approaching on one of the foil boards..  I hate it when they stare at me, it makes my skin crawl and it's annoying :S I wonder where he came from? He's not the type like others are.. I hope they don't eat one another... Ah, well..

Piček's off to the nightshift... It's so bad, sleeping without him :((

Annie Leibovitz (continued from the previous post)

I'm thinking that as much as Annie Leibovitz is the last genuine spirit of pompous portrait and how she truly is the genius of composition and her photos are marvelous, I don't find her nearly as inspiring as those who seek to eradicate all external influence and just try to capture the shape and reflection off a thoughtful skin. Weird, I know. I'm glad she exists, tho. At least somebody is making the most of all three medias: the pretty stars, the photography and the fuss that sticks to glamour like waterlogged wreckage to a buoy.. :))

Gods, the way she can use 15o elements in a picture and still make it look spontaneous..

Movies and other historic portraits

Must confess I've lately fallen well under the influence of Sofia Coppola.. I mean, not influence as such, but I am in such Sofia Coppola vibe today... I first started to notice her work and then realized if I was into movies, I'd probably direct the exact same way as she does and lastly, I watched Marie Antoinette twelve or so times today and began to forgive the little idiot. The sad, too adult and unfortunate life of the heroine in Lost in Translation is in this movie the exact reverse - Marie's existence is kitschy, hectic, short and childish. I used to think 'down with the aristocracy!' pretty clearly and now I'm just weary of historic reports. Gods know I have seen more of the history's backstage than a regular Herodotus. Those imposing, majestic portraits of kings and generals in 8o-pound gilded frames in museums which are the size of pocket states, those continue to deliver the stories of these memorable men in such ridiculously romanticized way, we think they must have been righteous people, to be so pompous.

Didn't care much for Virgin Suicides, that story was just sick. I do have Lost in Translation on speed dial, mostly because I can't get enough of footage of Tokyo and if it's shot through the eyes of a visitor, foreigner and a talented one at that, then the cultural differences are bridged.. Similar thing happens in The Brave One, where Neil Jordan delivers a portrait of New York as only a foreigner in awe could.

Taking the huge leap from the depressed, lonely, minimalistic shooting of Lost in Translation, the girl takes us to the worst of Versailles..
               Personally I've experinced those circles twice - first while still in high-school, smitten by the plots and power of the court of the self-anointed king of Sun, Louis XIV, knowing the names and short histories of all his courtiers, ministers, mistresses and favorite servant, as well as the stories of some of the buildings and women involved in those.. Second time it was less in awe and more as a villain.. And it is too easy to look down on the rich and to think they had them coming with that business with the guillotine.
                But honestly.. It was bad enough that vast majority was viciously inbred and sick one way or another, but they were brought up so blind and ruthless.. Almost everyone's upbringing is inevitable, there's just no way of getting out of it unless you know better and most people never learn. My country has almost no colored folk and everyone looks at non-countrymen as if they were freaks. We don't mean anything truly wrong by it, we just do it. I was scared shitless of Arabs when I first got to Africa. They all looked to me like the creeps from To Ten Most Wanted posters. But still - to see an Asian in our street is an anomaly. They seem to belong only to the restaurants, other than that people stare. A child of different appearance is still molested in school, no matter how confused by it..

Then again, I was always the social outcast myself, and I didn't look particularly unusual. True, my mother cut my hair and for all her well meant effort, it did ruin almost all my childhood photos, but no matter what, even in kindergarten, I was off. People can sniff I'm off within hours of knowing me and that's when I am putting all thrusters into 'normality mode'. I've grown to be pretty happy about it, but I probably annoy a whole lot of people without even realizing it. So many must have been hurt so much while the hurting party never even knew it. 

There are still some issues between me and death. I KNOW there has to be illness and accidents and I know EVERYBODY dies, but to read about those poor people, torn apart by the mob, literally ripped to pieces and the estate thrashed to bits.. I can believe someone would have suffered for so long they had nothing left but wrath to demolish icons responsible, but still.. That was one hell of a swipe the French revolutionaries swung. Hope later rulers of this kinky little planet learned never to allow it to get this far again. Kim Jong-il may want to read a book. 

Monday, 21 September 2009

Brewfest on WoW.... hihi. So cute :D ... hic!....
Yeesh I'm sleepy :S

Been sorting the cards all day. It's time for the new wave, the autumn set of the wee Ninovelas and as the national post office is my No.1 demand, they make the rules: everything is in foil shirts, everything has their own code, printed especially for the PO, labeled over the original coding system I use to track the sales... Lucky thing I am really into sorting and packing and labeling (been my favorite part of my postgirl days, which is also lucky, as I had the second biggest region in household amount and would have to come to work an hour early just to be able to finish as soon as the rest. (Some had a third of what I had, but their regions would be wider spread in mileage. I got the easy, cushy one mileage-wise as mine were mostly skyscrapers and once you've learned the names on all busted mailboxed in the dark hallways of those, it got sandbox(y :D) ....).... On a related, hehe, funny story - one of the rare lies I've uttered and then apologized for profusely to my future husband was, when I walked into my new and immediately got handled to the controller (kind of 'conductor', the manager of the hive), he asked me one question adn one vital question only: You're good with the bike, right?... And I said... *ughhh* Definitely! Rode it all through college!

              Course I've never even seen a moped up close and mostly hated anything that moved faster than me if I wasn't driving it, save maybe rockets, but it was getting clear there was gonna be no slow entry into the magic of postmen for me and the look on Piček's face as he saw me try to maneuver the moped around the yard was priceless.. Later when I said 'I admit I lied to you once.. I couldn't really ride a moped when we first met', he patted me on the head, saying 'Love, hate to be the one to break this to you, but that was fairly obvious to just about anyone who watched you that day.'
Oki, back to now.. Piček's working nights to earn more money on his end and I'm sorting 20 cards into 50 class I. and class II. posts. I have to wake him up in a couple of minutes and it's usually best to start early, as the first 20 minutes I'll probably be immobile, entangled in the resto druid root trap of his limbs. I love the way he snores when he's on his back. It's like a caramel would snore or a chestnut. I'd press my ear to his chest, but that disturbs him and he jerks and rolls over, usually burrying me underneath..

Sunday, 20 September 2009

Poker night (if you don't wanna be a loser, then quit playing like a jerk!)

I hate losing :(

I did everything right. I googled all the rulz. I read the history on Wikipedia. I listened to Lady Gaga 140 times. I practiced my 'village idiot' look in every reflective surface that failed to flee me and I ate nothing but poker foot for HOURS beforehand, and still i lost :( In my defence, however, I DID tell everyone around I always win and my co-players were taking it especially hard out on me.

*eye* *heart* Texas Hold'em. *HearT*

Sitting down behind that huge desk with Edko to keep a watchful eye over us, snacks all around, cold coke, cigarette smoke, the kid farming saronite in the back, Cuban music from the pub across the street, mutant spiders catching mosquitoes and the sound of chips coming and going... This time mostly going...

Now... Bare in mind that my sister is a naaaaasty player - she's had to play against our mum her whole life and our mum is murder. (Tho in Tarok, not Poker. 'Why I don't do Tarok). Piček, naturally, is the sort of a player you read about in fantasy novels - the kind that looks he's about to maul you if you cross him and probably the second strongest reason why I don't steal chips while others are doing faces at the fish.. First being then it just wouldn't be as much fun.

And Maggie was a pro for years, so..

The mean, genuine *poker* look being taken, as well as the master reader/bluffer and my sister, the only role available was the village idiot. For some reason I am a natural for that one... And When i play well, I really play well, but of course sometimes I'm just an idiot and I don't pay attention until I am literally down to one chip. And I'm not saying one with three digits on it, one with the digit ONE on it. THEN I start playing as I should and I linger in the game for another hour, until finally I run out of luck as well as wit.

Then I cry.

I am such a sour loser .. Hihihi. But next time, surely next time, I shall win again!!!!

The props :)

And of course the commodore: Edko

Friday, 18 September 2009

I've been doodling with these old shots - one of my earliest photo shoots with minimum tech and looooots of pickies taken against a mud hut wall. The model was just some chubby girl I met along the way while travelling.
There is so much one can do with a photoshop, but the question is - what is the message and more importantly - what's the style that passes for signature. So far I continue to be completely smitten by Zhang Jingna's clarity and flawlessness of portraits and I've already made myself a 9 ft board with aluminum foil to aid me in taming the light in my next photo shoot...

In the meanwhile, I'm mangling these.. Too tired for anything else..

It's kinda unsportly how a single portrait (and it's half the victory if it's taken in good light and superb quality. easy to go down, bit less easy to go up in that aspect..) can be taken in so many directions... Low saturation provides for a mild, simplistic outcome, while the other direction - fierce contrast can provide for an exotic, kind of tempestuous, 'hot pepper' kind of version... There's always the ever classy Black&White, and my continuous attempt at retro, and something that happens just by pressing the wrong button...

Those are usually the best ones :))