I Refuse to be a Poop-Flinging Monkey!

Monkeys fling poop when they feel threatened. It's a fact. If you don't believe me, refer to the totally reliable oracle of truth, Wikipedia.




Behold, the Chimp:

Look at him; he's thinking about throwing poop right now.

You would think that millions of years of brain development would elevate the social behaviors of the homo sapien to a level above their cousin, the chimpanzee. But, no, sometimes, humans can be just as dirty as their nearest relative.



I have recently encountered such an individual. For some reason, unknown to me, I have received a little bit of love in the form of an anonymous email that spews some of the foulest insults I have heard in my short life. The immature thing to do here, since I am fairly certain who this "anonymous" sender is (let's just say this isn't the first time she has done something crazy to me or someone else), would be to regress back to her level of maturity and send a spiteful return email, or maybe leave a bag of flaming dog poo on her doorstep, or egg her car, or, or... I don't know; I'm sure there are limitless options for retribution. But I will maintain my dignity and a level of thinking that puts me somewhere above a chimpanzee (but still below the common gerbil ;), and I will choose NOT to digress and become a poop-flinging monkey because, unlike her, I think poop should only be flung in zoos.

Co-op Boy

Yesterday afternoon I had the most fantastic time with Liz at one of the most unlikely places: The St. Peter Co-op. We decided to go there so I could get my hands on some saffron, which is incidently the most expensive spice in the world. I did NOT know that before I decided to make the white wine and saffron risotto. Unfortunately, I learned this when I was looking at the six dollar price tag for an itty, bitty 1" square packet that supposedly contained the stigma of a crocus. A crocus looks like this:

It doesn't look like it is worth a MILLION dollars, but it is literally a cash cow if someone was patient enough to hand-extract its stigma (and then repeat the process 70,000 times-- you need that much to make one pound of this stuff). Bottom line is: this saffron risotto better be GODDAMN DELICIOUS, or I may cry a little.

After we picked up this little gem and some random other organic goodies (and, no, Katy, we did not come across any organic, free-range, USA-made edible undies--sorry), we decided to get some warm goodness from the buffet. Our menu was benign enough-- a sandwhich, some scalloped potatoes, etc-- until Liz suggests we try some weird drink called Kombucha. This stuff was $3 a bottle. After picking up my expensive little packet of stigmas, I was skeptical about this over-priced drink's worthiness. So, being the safe girls that we are, we asked an employee to tell us a little about this magical bottle of elixir from the East. In reply to our inquiry, the co-op dude said, "Yeah, it's good; sorta tastes like vinegary fruit". This did not sound $3-good to me, but Liz insisted. (I think it was because the dude -- I have to refer to him that way because he really looked like someone who would say "dude" often, and probably in reference to himself--told us that there was a small amount of alcohol in it. She is such a lush.) Here's a picture of Kombucha in case you were interested:

Anyways, food and Kombucha in hand, we went to the checkout line only to come face-to-face with the one man who would change our lives for the next 30 minutes: awesome-voiceover-co-op employee boy. This 16 year-old, pimply-faced boy had the voice that sounded EXACTLY like the deep voice of the men you hear during movie trailers. And with the enthusiasm of someone who had temporarily replaced his identity with his role as a cashier boy for the co-op, he excitedly asked, "Are you a member of the co-op?" For the first time all day I smiled so hard it hurt, and replied, "No, but now I feel like I should be." Hence, the inspiration for our movie that starts: "In a world where no one was a member of the Co-op, one man bravely faced..." The entire dinner was spent composing the opening scene for our movie based on this new superman. Quite entertaining--in fact, it was the most I had laughed since Katy and Matt tried to entertain me with dirty jokes involving foot stools and washing machines.

Liz and I finally left the co-op to seek out beer downtown with friends, but nothing compared to the last conversation of the night. I am so lucky for that-- kept me going today even when my pots continued to fall after 5 inches. Damn pottery class is kicking my ass. For some reason, I have no problem handling anything up to 6 inches; after that, things get a little crazy and my pot gets out of control. Oh well. I guess I'll rant more about the clay tomorrow.

Dirty Art

So Thursday, despite feeling under the weather for various reasons, I decided to finally keep my promise to Brandon to do some headshots. I showed up at his door an hour late, Inta juice in hand, and a scowl on my face. Apparently that isn't the best facial expression for close-ups, so Brandon immediately offered a raincheck if I wanted to wait until the dark cloud of gloom lifted. I was too miserable to want any part of his raincheck, so I simply sat down and sucked $6 juice from a styrofoam cup for an hour and a half as we chatted about philosophical ramblings and past loves. By the end of that pre-gaming, I was in a better mood, so the camera came out.

After four rolls of film and a quick trip to the downtown Cub for some lipstick (for Brandon of course), we called it a day. I'm not sure how these pictures are going to turn out considering my state of mind and the fact that the worst head cold of my life (and that is saying a LOT considering I am always fucking sick lately) has kept me from sleeping much. BUT at least I can say my word is good for something. I guess Brandon had a good enough time to ask me to do more at a later date. Next week we have plans to meet at a local watering hole to peruse through the pictures and decide if there are any worthy ones. Regardless, I suppose we can always shoot more later. He even agreed to be my subject in some future pictures I would like to take for class. Good stuff.

Speaking of class, I pulled up my first pot this last Thursday!! I was so damn excited. Going into this class, I had NO idea how difficult wheel pottery was going to be. But, damn, it is VERY, VERY difficult. So difficult, I have asked the teacher on more than one occasion to let me just do pinch-pots. He didn't think that was funny. I wasn't joking.

Anyways, Liz and I are going to head to the studio in an hour or so. She is apparently bored this weekend and looking for a good laugh. I can't deny that it is probably quite entertaining to watch me magically get clay on my nose, ass, forehead and completely down my front. I am not kidding when I say that I am by far the messiest person in that classroom. Somehow there are three clean-cut, sorority-type girls who go in to class looking like high maintenance and come out the same. I go in looking a little frazzled and red in the cheeks (due to my morning dedication to the treadmill/track) and come out looking like I should be in a pen on someone's farm. Ah well. Art is supposed to be dirty, right?