The Grands are here for a brief visit. Vernon (known better to my siblings and me as Morfar) and his wife Glenda (note: Glenda is the bat’s successor, she married my grandfather probably a decade after the bat and Vernon went their separate but equally odd ways.) They are very education oriented, very concerned with becoming a learned individual. To assist us in this journey, they decided to take us to the Titanic exhibit downtown.

I didn’t really want to go; watching my fellow capitalists and opportunists milk an ancient travesty for every cent it’s worth isn’t something I’m going to condemn, but I’m not going to jump in line to join the whole ‘come get robbed blind by a maudlin, over dramatic display that’s dwarfed by our gift shop, which is then in turn dwarfed by the prices of the items in our colossal gift shop’ thing, however intrigued (or completely apathetic/disinterested) I am.

But whatever. Free food is a guarantee for afterwards, and who knows? I might snag some useless but shiny knickknack from the colossal gift shop, and I know that I love shiny objects…

The exhibit was actually very well-produced, though the fact that the interest in it would be close to nonexistent had it never been for Monsieur DiCaprio bugged me a bit. It was an interesting look into the beginning of the 20th century in this side of the world. There were parts of it that I loved, mainly the recreation of the separate rooms of the different classes and artifacts from the ship. What I loved the most, however, was the guest book. I don’t think I’ve ever been as tickled by pettiness as I was while I read.

“Thank you so much for this life-altering experience and allowing me to relive this sad, sad tale…”

“I never realized how much life was lost, I’m so glad my character lived” (They handed us boarding passes with the name and info of actual passengers on the Titanic, which was really cool. In the end you find out whether or not you lived. My woman rocked.)

“What a beautiful chance to explore this terrible, terrible tragedy. I am so thankful to be able to come through this for the third time!”

I picked up a pen, licked my lips, and began to write.

As I browsed through the gift shop I was amazed at how a boat sinking could bring in such loot. Nostalgia menus, fake jewelry, posters, books upon books upon books, soap dishes with a cruiser and iceberg floating in it, everything. These people must be ingenious.

“Oh my heavens, did you see that silly guestbook?” Mum muttered behind me while inspecting a bar of ‘titanic’ chocolate “on sale” for $4.95.

“Yeah,” I responded. “Did you write anything in it?”

“Ugh. No. You should have seen what people actually wrote in there! ‘My character was young and beautiful and only 25, and she died. How shocked I am to see how many ugly survivors were plucked from the wreckage when my upper-class flower withered and ruined her clothes in the freezing water….’”

I gasped

“I know.” My mother uttered in response. “Can you believe that someone wrote that nonsense?”

“Well of course I can believe it, mum,” I said. “What horrifies me is your failure to recognize and identify my finesse, my unique and novel voice bursting through the mawkish pages of that tribble, my insight and striking world view…”

“I could have guessed. How did I miss that?”

“I have no idea. I hope you realize how offended I am.” I defensively declared.

“Something tells me I never will.” She asserted.

It took the Grands two hours to meander through the exhibition that took me 30 minutes. So I decided to meander through the much more applicable exhibition in the mall windows next door. I found lovely artifacts there, the finest specimens of brown footwear available. Don’t even get me started on the handbags!

Speaking of accessories: Gucci has died. Died. Gucci has kicked the bucket. What a sad demise it is! John Ray replaced Tom Ford and murdered the fashion house. Please, if we could have a moment of silence…

Yes, too much of her success was due to the content in her life, not the mouth used to narrate. Yes, she was over celebrated and because of this came off as a bit haughty in the end, but still I think I speak for many when I say that we’re sad to see her go.

Belle will no longer delight us with her hillarious stories. It’s odd; her blog was the first I read, the one that warmed me up to the web blog fancy-to-do. And now she’s gone, and has published a book that I’m considering reading.

I never mentioned or supported her on my blog because there was enough gala and laud without my criticism/ analysis / guffawing at such marvelous wit. But now as I watch the curtain drop I can’t help but rise and applaud.

Belle, darling, you were fabulous, even to a taste like mine unaccustomed to hints of vulgarity. And thank you, by the way, for actually updating your blog. (Yes, I’m looking at you useless write-once-every-full-moon slackers.)

Last night I painted until I realized how I despised what I was creating. I scribbled in the rest of the print and came to school 2 hours early to do another print. The edges explode, the tip of the fingerprint constricts and stands defiantly in resistance. It was very, very abstract.

Many people liked the print. Many people commented, one came up after to class to compliment, yet my eyes still narrow and my lips purse to remember what the professor said:

“Conceptually, yes, but literally, no.”

Yeah, so here’s the great thing about me: I write this entry full of fervor and determination to toil and labor and sweat myself to success, and then my play list falls upon a song that was played in Dior’s RTW Spring 2004, and it dawns on me:

OMG OMG OMG. Spring 2005 Ready to Wear has begun. OMG. OMG. Herrera. Posen. Wang. It’s out. The fabrics and the beat and the beauty have stormed the runway and I have yet to see it. I must check it out, as in right now.

OMG.

Eat me, you stupid fingerprint...

Close to 11:00 PM here, and I have about 2 ½ hours to go on my project. I haven’t glanced at my physics that’s due tomorrow at midnight, and will only complete 3 prints by tomorrow while I was aiming for 4. I’m not necessarily behind; everything, even school work, is relative and in relation to the study habits of many of my peers I’m right on top of things. I’ve felt this before, however, blogging while hours of pressing homework dangerously sits in silence behind me, looming over my shadow.

I promised myself high school is over. I am not going to continue to skim by in school now that I have academic opportunities to take advantage of (or, in my case as of late [tonight] not taking advantage of them.) I’m not paying for college; I have absolutely no right whatsoever to once again acquiesce to the luscious appeal of instant gratification, especially when I’m getting by on daddy’s wallet.

This is hard though, especially when the assignment one is struggling to devote time to has no solution, no instructions, and no direction but the very vaguest. Stupid fingerprint.

Today Elisse gave me a ride to the studio and I worked, but not really. One must take advantage of witty repartee when such a delight is presented to him or her, and who am I to turn this down when a shady spot atop green grass (increasingly rare in Utah) is offered along with it? We had a wonderful conversation (or 3) that was helpful and reassuring, I doff my hat to her. So I decided that I would pack up my things and work tonight. The rest of my classmates are probably awake with me, strained with me, and probably running out of that daft black gouache paint, too.

I wouldn’t let daddy pay my tuition junior year even if he offered. At that time I would (hopefully) be in the architectural program, which would prohibit me from working at that time. (Well, since you only spend 60 hours at the studio a week while in the program, so I suppose you could work too, but just not sleep, brush hair, or hum throughout the duration of school.) And I don’t want to work now. So I must get a scholarship.

This isn’t far fetched or fallacious. I am bright. A full ride to a decent school isn’t implausible in any sense, it’s simply a matter of work. The desire to not work will be my downfall, if I do indeed fall. But I’m not going to think about that, because it scares me into not working. ;)

Well, fingerprints don’t paint themselves, and solutions that aren’t really there can’t be found on their own, you know! I must leave you now, and I leave you with the promise that if I do indeed return during an ungodly hour in order to escape my work (I consider myself much too realistic and cynical to guarantee that this will never again be the case; I know fully well that it will be) that it will be a rare occurrence indeed. My desire to create and become spectacular is too great to let myself be sloppy. And another thing: I’m arrogant as well, so success isn’t exactly an option, but my chosen path.

Elisse, darling, you feel the same way. Let’s just do our freaking work and rock this pathetic nation.

King Louis, of the Yale I Ward in Salt Lake City, Utah. 

My new ward is much different from my old, although we moved 2 streets over and probably less than 500 feet. The houses, for the most part, are smaller and less expensive, though still quite apt to fetch a nice price for any building. As a result of this there are more large families and a couple newlyweds. One member of my ward has intrigued me, absolutely tickling me to the point of utmost delight. His name is Leonard.

But not to me, you see. To me his name deserves a title, his air and manner stand in need of trumpets and of lace and of a derby handle-silver plated cane. I will never call him Leonard. What a rubbish name! I shall call him Louis XIV. He looks just like him, he does; his long, dark hair falls in curls down the sides of his face from a straight middle part, his nose slides down his long face in the exact same manner. His lips sit dismally above his piercing chin in an expression of undeviating disdain, although occasionally the corners of his dainty mouth pull slightly as if 2 hooks had mysteriously wedged themselves between the lips and were fluidly drawing them upward into a countenance of mocking amusement and intrigue. He has the very tone and natural opulence of a king, and one king in particular: King Louis the XIV of France.

The haughtiness is in no need to be supported by the rich furs or heels of Louis, although he wears a silk vest suit without the jacket to church. He wears converse all-star shoes with the suit, which would devastate any individual dressing to pose. It’s in the way he holds his head and curly tresses, the way he stands and sits and glowers.

Today he was brought into Sunday school by an older man. Apparently our majesty is fond of missing class. In came the aged man, with a full beard and large stature, his arm through the king’s, both heads held high.

Louis was being escorted to class.

Oh, how it added to the likeness already formed in my mind! How he floated forward with his attendant at his side! How he was delivered, how he debonairly descended into the chair, how blasé his stare remained!

“Leonard does not have permission to go to the bathroom, get a drink, or to leave this classroom.” With this the bearded gentleman left the room after softly shutting the door.

Louis simply glanced up at now shut door without moving his head, waited a moment, then rose. He turned to the class, as if bidding adieu with a royal flutter of the hand, preparing to leave amidst the trumpets and the tambourines and the flourish of the majestic procession. He silently turned, smoothly opened the door effortlessly with his white hands, and departed, superciliously prancing out of the humdrum room.

How magnificent! How superlative and glorious! How flawlessly, how absolutely and completely Louis!

limewire rocks my freaking world.

It’s such a shame; every day wonderful, inspiring, wretched, funny, odd and interesting things happen to me or are witnessed by me, but my energy to write has been usurped by a new and busy schedule. After school, painting, grocery shopping, work, grouting, and physics it’s midnight and the day has flown past me and left me too weak to recount it all. Such interesting things happened today, but it would take paragraph upon paragraph and hour upon hour to narrate my day, and I haven’t the resources.

Pity. What a bleeding pity.

College is silly. Completely necessary, fun at times, a luxury, but silly all the same. No college student can deny this. I suppose that I don’t expect things that I (or my daddy) pay a lot of money for to give me a moderate amount of grief. Grief, to put it plainly, is not generally congenial.

Not that I’m unhappy, in any sense. I’m so thrilled to be so satisfied in my educational environment, I’m ecstatic and excited and anxious. It’s absolutely maddening to have 15 hours of work a week for one class. My design class is time consuming, to say the least, hence the reason I am taking a weak 10 credit hours.

Aha, Aha! Justification, darling, justification! It makes me happy! Weeeee!!!

But it does justify the credit hours. I have to have a new print, sometimes two, every time I go to class (twice a week). Prints take me anywhere from 4.5- 7 hours, depending. So I’ve spent many an hour in that abject studio of perdition.

Yawn. I’m going to bed. Bye, my darlings.

Due to the continental drift, the North American and European continents are drifting apart at an average speed of about 3.0 cm per year. At this speed, how long (in years) will it take for them to drift apart by another 1500 m (a little less than a mile)? Give answer in km.

Easy. Convert 3 cm to m (divide by 100 and therefore get 0.03) Divide 1500 by 0.03 (which gives you 50,000) right?

Wrong. I don't know how, nor do I know why, but apparently it's wrong. 50,000 yrs. at 3 cm a year gives you 1500m.

I know. The entire world has gone completely mad.

How Ricky and I communicate online:

ivory says:
you smell, yo

Rick says:
yo yo yO (begins a rap song)

ivory says:
" so I grabbed the money and my woman

ivory says:
went to mexico to hit the gringos in a drive by

ivory says:
been in the pen for 8 years runnin

ivory says:
now I'm hitting down the honkies in the fly by

ivory says:
bum bum bum bum

Rick says:
nanaaaaaaaa

ivory says:
yeah

Rick says:
then i went to lasvegas

ivory says:
eayh

ivory says:
vegas vegas baby

ivory says:
what

ivory says:
what

ivory says:
uh

Rick says:
they said me be cheatin’

ivory says:
uh

Rick says:
they said the never even herd of the 13 of diamonds

Rick says:
what kind of crack were they smoking yo

ivory says:
uh

ivory says:
uh

ivory says:
sing it, brothuh

I walk into my room after struggling with physics to find a bag of peanut butter m&ms, which I had told the bat were the best candy line on the market a day before.

The woman's quirky as cher version blonde.0, but she can be adorable.

The spoils of war (in order of time purchased):

Gap:

• 2 flutter skirts (black, khaki) Regularly 25.99 ea. Purchased for 14.99 ea
• Tropical Mango body lotion Regularly 7.99. Purchased for 5.09
  

Old Navy:

• Leather belt Purchased for 15.99
  
• Chocolate scoop neck sweater Regularly 24.99 Purchased for 10.99
  

Fossil

• Arkitekt duo face watch Regularly 65.00 Purchased for 20.00
  
• Arkitekt Alligator strap watch Regularly 85.00 Purchased for 20.00
  

Wilson's Leather

• Shirt-Collar Lamb Scuba Jacket Regularly 300.00 Purchased for 52.99
  

spent: 139.56 saved: 411.39

Quake before the master o' shopping, ye evil devils of retail! Full price will never seize me, so get thee hence, Satan! Aha! Aha! I so win!

How extraordinary to feel productive once again! What satisfaction can be found in accomplishment! I’ve decided to aim for a good school, an exquisite school. I don’t think that my efforts are truly work, nor do I find arid labor in what I am required to do. I enjoy what I do, thoroughly and sincerely.

Blunt criticism about my work doesn’t batter, bruise, or deter me nearly as much as I thought it would. It is painful to look back at five hours’ work the next day and question what you were thinking and what illicit drugs you were under the influence of at that time. It is unpleasant to find what was once a novel, brilliant idea to be simply and utterly asinine. The sting of criticism, however, is what distinguishes the ideas of an individual.

How exciting.

I allowed myself some reminiscence today, just flipping through the blog archives and what not.

Is it just me, or has my writing gotten insufferably dismal?

One thing that I’ve noticed as of late: college students, at least those attending the University of Utah, are awfully fond of marriage. Yes, they certainly do like it.

My cute physics TA? Married. The 4 people I know in ARCH 1615? Married. The kid in my ARCH 1630 class that looks like he’s 14? Married.

Oh yes, and half of the students in my institute class? Married to the other half of the students in the class.

I don’t know why it strikes me this way, it’s just odd when you ask your peer who looks and acts much younger than you where he got his brushes and he says ‘my wife got them for me’. I’m expecting an answer like Utrecht or Rules, and all of a sudden I find out he’s already walked down the ivory isle.

I must have forgotten that I’m attending school at the third largest meat market in the eastern hemisphere.

Last night at 9:45 I finally finished that wretched fingerprint after working for 4 more hours. It took a very, very long time but I’m glad I put all the effort into it; today on the board it was referred to positively and the TA stepped back and said "damn" when I showed him my work. I think I'm going to go ahead and lump that in with the positive feedback category. The professor (prof Adams) basically told us to work on the foreground, keeping in mind that blank space is part of our work, and then told us to get started. I kid you not.

“Don’t forget that when finding the solution for this problem that if you do a negative you have a problem in a problem.”

Problem? So far we’ve painted our fingerprint. The problem would be….what exactly?

“Ah. You want to know what the problem is. It’s mentioned in my syllabus through two ancient Hebrew proverbs: ‘The problem is the problem’.”

“And the second?”

“‘There is no solution. Seek it lovingly.’ You have your fingerprint, now get some work done.”

I was able to grasp what was desired when talking with the much more helpful TA. Apparently we need to view our piece abstractly, work figure/ground, activate and engage the empty space. I have an idea of what to do and I’m becoming more excited about the problem, even though I’m still clueless as to what the problem is.

I don’t know what I’m doing; I honestly haven’t the slightest bit of time to write right now. I am, however, endeavoring to preserve my sanity and passion for education, so I allow myself to write anyway. In ARCH 2630 we’re assigned to paint our fingerprint on a 30x20, which will keep me occupied until the day the pope comes out of the closet and publicly dates Mick Jagger. I’ve devoted two hours to the project and have thus far completed about an 8th of the fingerprint.

It’s due tomorrow at 9:10 am, by the way.

I’m really tired but I enjoy the work. I feel so devoted when I sit on my front porch, percolated in concentration. It’s tiring though, and I have to rip up the downstairs countertops before mum comes home at 4:30.

I allotted myself a 5 minute break, and I still have to use the bathroom, so I bid you adieu.

Blanket
By my dearest brother Ricky

The source of all heat,
A child’s best friend.
Many long hours
In the arms of a toddler.
Crying begins
When it goes to wash.
But when it is done
A glorious feeling swells inside,
In the heart of a child,
That his friend is back.

How exquisite! By brother is a poet!