Morning in Texas

It was a beautiful morning. The kind that makes you want to lie in bed soaking up the sunshine until it meanders away from your window. This is how we ought to be photographing the sun.








Far Cries and First Try's
Oopey

Don't mess with Texas, lest ye wish to be messed.

So It’s been since Korea that this blog has been touched. And with good reason. Well, not really actually. Apparently I’m lazy. Bastard of a personality trait.

So let’s you and I talk a little bit about Houston Texas. That’s where I’ve been for the last two weeks, and will be for the foreseeable future. The ‘forseeable future’ being a term heavily weighted with variables like job security, domicile procurement, and general shit-get-togethery.

So what’s on the plate? Somewhere in the midst of being aimless I’ve come up with a few ideas. They’re dependent on the advent of some sort of organizational epiphany on my part, which might very well come in the form of a bottle of designer pills. Now that I look back on it, I don’t know why I ever gave up my prescription for aderall. Oh wait I remember, it killed my appetite, made me feel greasy and cracked out, and essentially rendered my man bits useless. Sort of like whiskey, except with a much speedier crescendo and an inflated fear of social interaction. So not like whiskey at all really. Damn, almost had that one.

My last go at the Houston lifestyle was centered around working on the Climber and so I didn’t really get too far outside the fold of work and hanging out with my brother in his world. This round thus far has been punctuated by a lot of time to ponder exactly what the hell is coming up next. There’s the looming problem of not having a place of my own yet, which is being slowly remedied. Living on a couch is no way to run the backend of a personal business. It’s downright hoboish in fact. No client wants to come to your studio if your studio consists of the three foot radius around the second hand couch in your brother’s 1 bedroom apartment. There’s probably a experimental art project within that situation, but I don’t think I’ll chase that one.

So, there’s some art competitions I’m submitting to, a job I have an interview on Thursday which I intend on nailing like Heysus Kristo for a super sick job working as a photographer/writer cum public school outreach worker. Helping kids learn to express themselves through the mediums of the written word and the picture taking box. Part time, pays ridiculous, and would be pretty fun methinks. It’s really the only job I’ve ever been perfectly qualified for, and it’s a pretty legit excuse to bust out the new suit. No child left behind may have been a ball wrenching failure, but its hangover here in Texas might mean a decent paycheck for yours truly. Thank you George Bush? That felt icky.

Some good friends of mine are getting married next weekend, which will be a mix of stress and good old fashioned fun. I’m the photographer, so it’ll be a work day. It pays though, and once I’m done I can eat nice food and drink with the brides Itali/Peruvian extended family. We’ll think of it as a launch pad for the USS Wedding Photography career. But like any good mission put on by our local outfit NASA, it wont get off the ground. Weddings are stress factories, and I’d really rather be dodging bullets in Afghanistan with a camera, than being constantly berated with the petty complaints of stressed out wedding head cases, self important mothers and overly protective fathers of brides and grooms.

I found a girl who likes to eat almost as much as I do. We drink, dance, and then go find Mexican food at 3 am. There’s something amazingly alluring about a girl who wears stilettos and will put the hurt on a enchilada platter then make out with you in the parking lot. If that’s not special, I don’t know what is. You should all be very jealous. Unless you’re into dude’s, in which case you should be jealous of her. Did that come off as conceited? I sure hope so.

I’m going to end this one for now. It wasn’t that funny, but it’s a shaking off of the dust. I’ll credit my friend the Wizard of Koz for goosing me into writing on this blog again. Apparently I’m very easily persuaded to give a shit.

Skinned Knees and Melted Cheese.

Max HP

So I could spend a whole paragraph dwelling on the fact that I haven't updated in a long while, and how I generally neglect this blog because I'm lazy blah blah blah. But I wont. I'll just drop the odd hint about my past months and you'll be that much more amazed at how adventurous and worldly I am. It's more pretentious that way.

Just did. Damn. Anyway I bit the bullet and went and got a tattoo here in Thailand. Yep thailand. There's a pretty common tattoo here that a lot of fighters and generally supersititious people might have. Five lines of ancient Kahmer script and buddah symbols that protect the bearer. Traditional tattoos here are sort of a hybrid buddhist, Khamer, hindi magic that can protect the wearer from a diaspora of ailments, dangers, and general bad vibes. It all a bit confused as far as I can see, and in the modern age of tattoos for aesthetic's sake it's bound to get not only confused, but a bit convoluted. That said, I got it as a bit of a momento of a bit of a momentous journey into the big bad world. We could all use a little extra protection sometimes methinks. too bad I didn't get it before I got into that scooter accident. Lesson learned. Get tattoos to ward off a bad future.

Because I'm not a buddhist, I went for a half and half tattooing method. Half being done with modern tattoo gun, the other half being done with a tradtional stick poke method. I thought it a bit more genuine to the way I live my life and what the tattoo means to me. I'm not 100% convinced by the pursuits of purely mystical or esoteric world, but then again, I'm not 100% convinced the modern ideals of the world are doing us any better. there I go being all two sided again. Anyway, I thought if there's anyone still reading this blog, you might be interested in seeing a bit of the stick poke business at work. The video is a bit shaky because the cameraman was being repeatedly jabbed in the ribs by a very sharp needle. He apologizes.



Inky Needles and The Thai Beatles,
Oopey

Fuck Multiculturalism

I'm going to Outback Steakhouse for dinner, because I want a steak. I think the whole world should speak english. And america wins.

Oh, and don't mess with Texas.

Etc.
Oopey

Korea in 20 mintues or less

So... Korea. Get it. Not north. Nevermind.

This keyboard has like a one position shift on the bottom row so all of a sudden I'm a really bad typer. I'm sitting in a PCbang which is pretty much all the kids around me have probably gotten as far as loving goes. Computer sex joke, nevermind. I can't string along a clever thought to save my taint today. I've come into this cafe to observe the Korean national sport of Starcraft, as played by the pale masses in windowless rooms. There's a bank of computers in a stantchioned off area labeled "Couples" needless to say it's as empty as a lawers convention after a 60 car pileup. Hmm... still no good, I'll get something funny in by the end. I swear.

So I was in busan for about three days, hanging with my old pal from the AMC huts gig. I didn't get much sight seeing done, as I was fairly strung out from the overnight flight/inflight hangover/ luggage loss/ bullet train ride etc. My internal clock was proper fucked, so we got drunk stayed up late, and ent about as far as the corner store. The corner store served as the launchpad for the next few nights of Soju induced ribaldry and jaw sessions aplenty. So I was mostly a creature of the night in Busan, though a rather unadventerous one. It was entertaining, and a very neccessary decompression from the rigors of indian culture.

Here's what I've noticed about Korea. I wont label them all drunks, but I've certainly seen some amazing displays of sheer wastery and alcohol induced hijinx. After about 7pm the streets are swarming with waves of beligerently trashed middle aged men. Alcoholism is a bit of a problem here I've been told. A high pressure collectivist society and no access to any other drugs means korea's developed a drinkign culture that encourages over doing it as both a way to cope with stress and a method of bonding between other stress cases. Seeing a 45 year old man in a suit crawling throught he gutter at about 10pm is not uncommon, and dustups between friends and foes alike seem to erupt pretty regularly. I saw a guy get as hard as I've ever seen anyone get hit in my life. And while he was out cold on the ground, the champ of the round proeeded to kick him in the face a few times. Brutal.

So. Lots of drinking. Got that covered. A general distrust for the japanese, they've got that covered. Historical issues you understand.

Umm... I've been a hangaround at the incheon womens art bienniale in incheon for the last few days. My brother's GF was showing work, though the building she has her piece in has been locked since installation, including opening day. Shitty organizaiton overall. A lot of sub par shite on the art front, but a few notables that I'll tell you about if you ask. The art world is a strange jam, full of even stranger people. I've never met a group of people so hung up on the details. We'll not the details, but the implicaitons of the details of the details,and so on and so forth. It's a little maddening, but I've been trying to cut the pretension by being my oppotunistically crass self and keeping it generally juvenile. It's fun to pretend to not be sophisticated, and it gets you out of a lot of potentially really pointless conversations. My art degree has served me well, and I still think feminism is sort of a cop out in the modern age.

Today I put in an order for a custom tailored suit. Do I have that kind of money? no probably not, but my brother was getting one, so I had to do my duty as younger sibling. The tailor has met a Bush, and made shirts for the ex governor of Texas. Small world. It's going to be a grayish blue pinstripe with a shiny oxblood floral print lining. I figured might as well get a little flashy for the cashy. Look for it at your next formal occasion.

I think I'm going to go get a burger, korean food is sort of a one trick pony as far as the spice profile goes. Kimchi, red chili, or bean paste. Meh. Bit heavy handed and it makes the foul winds blow. Ha fart joke on the outro.

Bad Arts and Cabbage Farts,
Oopey

Shutdown... or damn near

We went to Agra yesterday. It was a nightmare. It was hot. It was rushed. It was overpriced.

Agra is the home of the illustrious Taj Mahal. We had about 45 minutes to see it. The bus parked 15 minutes from the gate. The math suggests a rip off.

I don't mean to be unfair or elitist, but make sure your Indian tour is geared towards foreigners. We, and another pod of non-Indians, were misled into taking a tour on a bus full of Indian tourists. The bus was cramped, the AC barely worked (despite the high premium paid), the guide info was mostly delivered in hindi, and we were dragged to sights and places that expected exorbident amounts of money for poor and misleading services. We spent a 45 mintues at the Taj and 45 minutes at a crappy little shop that sold replica Taj Mahal nick-nacks, though we hadn't even been the genuine article yet. The idea of commission is alive and well in India. From the lowliest dope pusher, to most legitimate tourism services, to anything retail. It makes India fantastically annoying. Getting marooned at a handi crafts shop because your tour guide wants a cut from the 400 rupees some sap pays for a Taj replica is a drag.

As frustrating as it all was, it made my photographic mission a bit more succinct. As in I had to get as many decent shots in 20 minutes as possible. It was nice to know that I can, if pressured, compose, capture, and set up good shots in short amounts of time. That's about the most positive thing I can come up with.

I tried to get out of Delhi today. The foreign tourist office at the train station was closed. There were people in the office, but they were watching TV or napping, which exactly what goes on usually, except the door was locked today. Delhi is trying my patience with it's abundance of touts and tourists. The indian notion that we're all friends because were all human has really been honed by the parade of stoney backpackers here in delhi. The commission junkies and minor league scammers tell you what they think you want to hear, or what they think you want to hear. I can dig the one race one planet thing, but when it ends with a blatantly exploitative sales pitch, it just makes India feel cheap and artificial in all it's holiness and canon. Which I have to say, for the most part, it seems to be just that. Holiness and hospitality have taken a very subservient role to the almighty INR. Not that this is only an indian problem, certainly everywehre is subject to the freinds for money gig, but since I'm in india now, it's really all I care to discuss.

I told some greasy hash dealer to fuck off today, and he got all huffy, told me I was an asshole (or the hindi equivalent) and immediately made the same sales pitch to the other white kid walking behind me. I don't recall ever saying I wanted any hash, and the fact that he grabbed my arm at first, and failed to cease when I first told him I didn't want anything from him, I thought was perfectly deserving of a big ol' "Get the fuck away from me." Guess not.

The shame trip is particularly annoying as well. Just because I'm white means I have money. Granted I probably have more money than a large majority of the street people will ever see, but merchants who seem to be doing all right will always make the desperation pitch that, in the big picture, such and such a ripoff is ok because "you're rich ser. We in india are not." Not my fault. I'm not rich when I'm not in india, and I still ahve to live off my money for two more months, so no I cannot afford your crappy scarf.

Hmm.... I'm coming across as a bit bitter. Haven't slept well in days thanks to my sauna of a room, and india will grate on your every nerve if you're not well rested. I need to get back to the hills.

Annoying Touts and Govt Louts,
Oopey

Things that i'm overthinking

I want to buy weapons. I want to buy belly dancing gear. The order of said purchases and subsequent utilizaiton ofsuch items evades me. I want a pretty girl to make vaguely DnD photo's with. I think I grew up reading too many fantasy novels. Curved blades and jewelry adorned hips and foreheads are cliche, but sometimes things are cliche for a reason.

There's a heat wave in Delhi, which is bananas. Even the Indian's are bitching about how hot it is. I'm not sure they don't bitch anyway, but one would think after enough complaining, they might realize India is not for them.

I bought a pocket english dictionary today. For too long I've been surfing on my supposed vocabulary, but too often I quesiton the meaning of words I absolutely ought to know. It makes me extremely anxious when I need to use a word, but I'm unsure of it's precise meaning but have to use it for lack of a synonym. Gads that irks me.

The specter of Oscar Wilde has been haunting me recently. Not literally, but all manner of Wilde oriented media has been flowing my way. I was also told, by the facebook, that Oscar Wilde is the wacky writer whom I most resemble, whatever that means. So I've decided to abandon all literature that was not penned by Oscar Wilde, get get my Wilde On as it were. I remember "A Picture of Dorian Grey" and I think I dug it, but high school was a strange time. Along with my english-hindi dictionary, my english dictionary, and my lonely planet, I bought three books which ought to help pass the impending 24 hour bus and train rides.

Incidentally I broke down and bought the india lonely planet. I thought I could make it without, but I found myself using the internet to find stuff in india, which is a dilapidated fun-house drag. It weighs about seventeen pounds and has way more info than I should ever need, but them's the breaks.

I have more to talk about, but I'm going to go try some mango sandwich thingy.

Heat Waves and Hindi babes,
Oopey