Immigration Reform 2010!

Tour of California

Things to remember in the narrow isles of the grocery:

"Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me, and be my friend." - Albert Camus

Flowerhead

German born illustrator, Olaf Hajek, creates commercial and personal work. His work can be recognized in the NY Magazine or National Geographic. He paints with acrylic on paper, wood, or cardboard and is heavily influenced by folklore. He finds the American Folkart Museum a place of inspiration and awe. "I love the haptical," Hajek says. It is in his curiousness of the relationship of science and touch that we can explore the luminous and fairytale qualities of Hajek's illustrations.

Hajek illustrated the movie poster for an upcoming film Love Berlin: How We Met.

Sense Synthetic

I flipped the pages of a fashion magazine in the checkout line at the grocery. What I found was a short blurb on perfumes basically telling the consumer to stick to the perfume counter at department stores. It's objective was to inform women (and men) of the dangers of counterfeit and inexpensive perfumes. The fact that the deal you doused yourself in from Chinatown, a bottle (faux) Chanel No. 5, may be more harmful and disgusting than it is cheap. Common ingredients in these types of perfumes do not have a quality code and may include harmful chemicals and random ingredients, like urine.

This led me to think of the perfumes that these vendors are interpreting, a number of designer perfumes made from synthetic materials. Could these perfumes be of a greater quality than knock offs in Chinatown? Not necessarily. I remembered my boyfriend quizzing me on why natural perfumes are within the price range of over the counter designer perfumes and often, more expensive.

I keep a a couple of perfumes on the counter at home; Este Lauder Pleasures, a gift from my grandfather given to me when I was eight, most of the bottle still remains; and a tiny 1/4 once bottle of cocoa perfume by Afterlier.

Natural perfumes have a history that is 4000 years old on top of centuries of experimentation with extracting scents from aromatic materials. Natural perfumes require art, science, and expertise. Combinations of dozens of essences per bottle change and adapt to body chemistry, which in turn creates beauty.

Synthetic perfumes create beauty also, but the ingredients are less expensive, fake, and the typical number of essences is large enough to manipulate the structure of the scent. The aesthetics of both natural perfume and synthetic perfume aim to pleasure the senses but differ in several aspects: ingredient sources, structure, time on skin and relationship with the body, composition, cost and history.

The fine and sacred materials that compose natural perfumes are unique. Next time I'm walk through Macy's I'm curious to see the selection of natural perfumes to synthetic perfumes.

The Mother Nest

The demand for scientists to learn more about bees has increased dramatically as the severity of the livelihood of the bee population becomes more earnest. Bees are crucial to maintaining the ecosystem as pollinators and preservationists; 20,000 species of bees exist and typically we associate them with hives. Recently a solitary type of bee has been discovered that creates nests by pasting together flower petals.

OSS 117 - Lost in Rio

If you like dancing and Chinese, you'll love it.

http://www.imdb.com/video/imdb/vi4012377881/

Thomas Struth

Seestück Donghae City, 2007 Image">

City of Glass

Paul Auster

I read Paul Auster's New York Trilogy during the fall. I only recently discovered my appreciation for the cryptic story "City of Glass." And have been reminded of it again and again more recently. I thought back to a story published in 2000 about a determined fan who approaches Auster much like a character would in one of his own novels.

On his way for his morning Espresso Paul Auster stopped in front of a flyer posted in his neighborhood. "To Mr. Paul Auster," it began. "I have been wandering up and down the Park Slope with a pack of Turkish cigars I bought for you, expecting to run into you. But it seems this method is not going to work. So if you read this message, could you please contact me," the man's name and e-mail listed at the bottom.

The flyers were posted all over Park Slope and Auster did reply. Through e-mail they arranged to leave the cigars at a local bookstore. Auster reported on the matter, "I appreciate the discretion of it."

The fan was a Turkish medical student, visiting New York City. He and Auster kept up regular contact through e-mail, and the Turkish fan disclosed that he too was secretly a published writer.

Here is the full story (subscription required)

http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2000/09/25/2000_09_25_031_TNY_LIBRY_000021754

Stockton Race

Masuelli Bicycles is hosting a Cycling race in Stockton: May 30th, at 2PM.

$5 Entry (towards non profit tba)

Alleycat Style

Single Speed Admissions Only

First Place: Bamboo Frame

Foreign Pabulum

What the fuck should I eat? I was in a hole and I began to think of holes. Holes in the ground, things I like that grow in the ground, money trees (Pachira aquatica), Courtney Love, and finally an economic hole: GREECE. And I ate.

Balk-yeah Salad: Nothing to protest

• 
  
• 1 head romaine lettuce- rinsed, dried and chopped
• 1 red onion, thinly sliced
• 1 (6 ounce) can pitted black olives
• 1 green bell pepper, chopped
• 1 red bell pepper, chopped
• 2 large tomatoes, chopped
• 1 cucumber, sliced
• 1 cup crumbled feta cheese
• 6 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 teaspoon dried oregano
• 1 lemon, juiced
• ground black pepper to taste

Whisk together the olive oil, oregano, lemon juice and black pepper. Pour dressing over salad, toss and serve.

Thanks for the Bailout.

No Bike, Four Fleas, and a Loaf

By Jenna

"Turn off your alarm. We said we would be there at eight, are you getting up?" Vito, my boyfriend rolled over to switch off his alarm clock. We moved in together a few months prior. Vogue said it was acceptable to condense into one space- in order to save money. So we were living together, the double dose everyday. And more allowance for those nugatory "you didn't even put bleach in the whites" arguments. On this morning we had planned to meet a friend by bicycle to shop around at four different flea markets in town.

We got up together, few words mentioned between us. An hour later we cleared up our petty fight from last night; were dressed, fed, and on our way. We cycled the mile from our house to Adam's. He offered to make coffee but as we were already late, we decided to get started. I confess that I don't even remember this leg of the trip, I was tired.

Somewhere in Stockton, California I was under a bridge, trailing behind Adam and Vito. I pulled my bike next to me and shuffled my way through crowds of strangers. Vito stood 6'5 with black, curly, Italian locks that bounced well above the primarily Asian population. And next to him Adam's swirling cigarette smoke stuck in the air. I followed my men and absorbed the grass smell mixed with car exhaust and dust. I looked and I saw tables of fresh produce, farm fresh. I stopped Vito at a table with a sign that read "homemade soy milk." I listened to one of the two women tell me about her children's favorite lightly fried tofu that she made fresh and lay on the table between us. They liked the one made with tomatoes and cilantro and that's the one I urged Vito fork out the dollar-fifty for. He put it into his backpack and we continued underneath highway 4.

We quickened our steps near a Chinese food truck and a handful of picnic tables. The thick moisture of grease padded the surrounding air. Nearby trucks unloaded fish: raw eyeballs, scales and all. I'm from Minnesota and it is exciting to see the lobster tank at the upscale grocery. But shrimp, lobster, tuna, you name it, ready to be weighed and chopped right before my eyes, fabulous. I didn't even mind the smell, maybe I still wasn't awake. The plan was to hit all three markets. This was only the first and offered food and fish, we were looking for a 54cm road bike. A cheap one.

Back on our bikes, we followed Adam, his nearly dreaded, silver hair tucked behind one ear and a rolled cigarette was soggy between his lips. Up and across the El Dorado Street bridge Adam kept pace at seventeen mph and I followed. Peddling past run down houses, dingy bars, outdated corner stores, and fields, we turned. Off our bikes once more, this was an open air market where one needed to be on the look out for gems, agile and ready to move. We locked our bikes on the gate. Mine taking a few minutes longer, I had just fallen off my bike and bent the key to my lock. I worked it through and walked beside our tour guide. Adam said, "this is our man. He's here every weekend. He gets new things on Sundays, and he doesn't know what he's got." We entered a cement auditorium first.

There Vito and I bought two cups of coffee. We pored them out onto the dirt covered ground once we were outside again. Up and down the isles we stopped and bought five avocados for a buck, they weren't Haas and they weren't homegrown, but they were a dollar. I shoved them into Vito's backpack.

In suspense we finally made our last stop, our man. The man with my functional and fitting road bike. We scrapped through all his junk, nothing. "Well it's Sunday he gets his new bikes," Adam reminded us, "that's why." We continued on our tour of flea markets, two left. Halfway between our current location and our next was Adam's shop.

Adam came to America by fluke. He landed in San Francisco, bought a vintage Mercedes and broke down in Stockton. Soon after he bought a Volkswagon bus with a painting of Mount Shasta on the side. Mid summer in Stockton, Adam a Bavarian tourist then, stripped himself of his heavy outer garments and began to sun himself. It was not long before the police interrupted him. He was in a church parking lot, needless to say this occurred a few more times. It was two years before we made friends. Now we stopped and had a nice cup of coffee, strong coffee. And on we went down the levy path and toward highway 99. We arrived, Adam deterred questionnaires by telling the friendly clipboard holder that we were German tourists on bicycle, touring Stockton flea markets.

I walked into the fairground type setting. This flea market was orderly with vendor tents in a large square making rows and rows of people selling household cleaners, underwear, tools, peanuts, antiques, and bikes. A young boy cradled his new puppy. "¿Cuál es su nombre?" I asked him. He was shy, "I dunno," I laughed. Peanuts piled on a table caught my eye and fresh peanut sauce was on my mind. A little boy sold me a pound for a dollar. He was happy to keep the change for himself. Adam had a hint of restlessness in his gait. We sped to the exit and biked back to the Levy path, continuing towards Delta College.

Vito tore off on his fancy track bike twenty-three miles per hour. I fell behind and Adam stayed in the middle. I could see Adam turn his head back at me, but I was tired and now pissed. We got there and this time it took a vendor selling fresh French bread for me to come around. Up and down the isles we went, toting our bikes and straying behind Adam holding chunks of fresh bread with our free hands.

A purple Peugeot! Finally something to look at, the man selling it found it in his mother’s garage never ridden. He wanted sixty.

It was a nice, desirable bike in good condition. But it was not the road bike I desired, this pretty purple Peugeot was not going to help me work on holding twenty miles per hour. We took one last lap for the hell of it and walked out of the market tired. We prepared to part ways: a kiss and a laugh and it began to rain.

A Picture of Dorian Grey: The Preface

• The artist is the creator of beautiful things.
• • To reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim.
• The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.
• • The highest as the lowest form of criticism is a mode of autobiography.
• Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.
• • • Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope.
  • They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only beauty.
  • • There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.
• The nineteenth-century dislike of realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.
• • • • The nineteenth-century dislike of romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.
    • The moral life of man forms part of the subject matter of the artist, but the morality of art consists in the perfect use of an imperfect medium.
  • No artist desires to prove anything. Even things that are true can be be proved.
  • • • No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.
      • • No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express everything.
    • Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art.
    • • Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art.
• From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is the art of the musician. From the point of view of feeling, the actor’s craft is the type.
• • • All art is at once surface and symbol.
  • Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.
  • • Those who read the symbol do so at their peril.
• It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.
• • Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital.
  • • When critics disagree the artist is in accord with himself.
• We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.
• All art is quite useless.
• -Oscar Wilde

Must Read before I turn 26

Maurizio Cattelan

Italian-born Maurizio Cattelan is known for his satirical and controversial sculptures. His sense of humor is present in his work, which he uses to discredit and ridicule art in general, as well as the institutions that promote it. It’s because of this, combined with the fact that he never seems to be taking himself too seriously. He says that he became an artist because of the assured income and the attractive women.

His more controversial sculpture titled, La Nona Ora (The Ninth Hour) depicts Pope John Paul II struck down my a meteorite.

Snow White

Avocado Soup

Fruit Soup

Ingredients
BASIC RECIPE
2 haas avocados
2 cups soymilk or more (to desired consistency)
sea salt (to taste)
pepper (to taste)

Add In:

seriano peppers

cilantro

red bell peppers

lemon juice

baby spinach (finely chopped)

..........

Directions
Mash avocados in a bowl with a fork until smooth. Slowly add soymilk and mix until desired consistency is reached. If you like it creamier, add less soymilk. If you like it thinner, add more soymilk. Add salt, pepper, and any add ins that suit your tastes

Banksy

Psychedelic Picasso