Monday, June 10, 2013

kind of a link dump: i am really mad at google reader.

oh lord jesus why am i so goddamned tired?  i am a person who has always cherished sleep, and i have the sort of toddler who i don't want to talk about too much because it comes across as bragging (because she is fucking perfection) but let's just say that i don't get out of bed -- ever -- before 8:30 am on the weekends, and she is still asleep when i leave on weekday mornings at 7:40.  i have woken up at 10:15 on a sunday and had a total moment of panicky "oh fuck i bet she's dead in there" and nope, she's just fucking awesome, still sleeping, or laying there amusing herself like the rad little kid that she is.

so anyway, we sleep in this family.  we lay in bed and we read, and then, when dumb shit like work doesn't get in the way, we loll about.  there are no morning jogs in my house.  there are no up-and-at-em, let's hit the farmers market before 7 and then run a 5k before lunch sorts of sundays.  naw, we're pajama people, catch-up-on-the-dvr,  maybe-i'll-make-pancakes-around-10:30 sorts.  and that's how i like it.  i am personally insulted every morning when my alarm goes off at 6:30 (7:00 if i took a shower the night before, 7:15 if i stopped giving a fuck).  and there are nights, like now, 8:45 pm, and i am fucking exhausted, for no reason other than maybe i didn't sleep in as late as i wanted this weekend, maybe i got up early this morning.  and like i said, it's not like i have the toddler who is demanding and screams at 5 am.  god help me if i have another one and they are an early riser.

i might be too tired to read tonight, and that's fucking my plans because DUDE i need to get through my google reader.

do not even get me started on how pissed i am that they are killing off the google reader on july 1.

i know that it requires like ZERO coding effort for them to keep it going.  no staff needed.  no redesigns or massive amounts of storage or resources have to be dedicated to the reader.  please, google, i beg of you, leave it alone.  it is how i read the internet.

i have a vast number of "starred" items, meaning things that i saw pop up in my reader list/newsfeed, didn't have time to read or watch, and starred so i could come back later.  i used to have well over 1,000 starred items, and have gotten it down to a manageable 300ish.  the problem is that i am definitely lacking in time.  sure, i could plow through 300 items, maybe, for the rest of the month, but some items will surely have to be sacrificed.  here is a smattering of what i have in my long-ass list that i don't know if i will be able to get to:

* "American Juggalo: The Movie" - i've been meaning to watch since Sept 2011, when i first starred it.  it's only 23 minutes and IT'S ABOUT JUGGALOS.  what have i been waiting for?

* it's an hour, and sure to be fucking amazing/depressing - a documentary called I.Think.We.Are.Alone.Now, about middle-aged men obsessed with 1980s pop star tiffany.

* a ton of posts about roger ebert from when he died, which i want to read, because i loved him, but, like, ugggh, no time.

* four million fucking recipes and design ideas and other stupid shit that i will pin to my pinterest boards, never to be looked at or thought of again.

* and then like 18,000 articles ranging from how taking tylenol can ease your existential crisis to stuff about how to be a better parent (step one: stop reading parenting articles on the internet) to silly things like posts about world goth day or long articles other people have recommended, like the moron who wrote friday night lights and then spent over half of a million dollars on gucci clothing.

okay, so i have signed up for a new account with the old reader (um, catchy name?) and i have 20 days to get cracking.  which i will do RIGHT NOW.  sigh.  i wish i wasn't so zzzzzzzzzzz.


Monday, June 03, 2013

my art collection: kozik nirvana show poster


the first time i saw a frank kozik print was in a feature of him in details magazine in the mid-1990s.  details used to be soooo awesome. it was written for men who like good music and cleavage and/or maybe were a little gay, and for the women (teen girls) who could overlook the men's grooming articles and actresses-in-bikinis pictorials because otherwise it was super effing hip.  i bought TWO copies of the february 1995 issue, one to cut up and hang photos on my wall and one to keep FOREVER, due to michael stipe being on the cover and a black and white photo of him hitch-hiking, pantless, inside (PS: how is that photo not found anywhere on the internet?).  


this was pre-internet, of course, and it was difficult to find cool articles and photos of bands and musicians i loved, like tori amos, veruca salt, elastica and liz phair, and my bedroom walls were a collage of photos ripped out of details, spin and rolling stone (all sassy magazines were too holy to deface or dismember).  the kozik article (which i cannot find online) showed a few of his prints, and the nirvana poster blew me away.  i tore the page out and hung it not only on my bedroom wall but took it to college and to my first apartment, and several apartments after that and, due to hoarder tendencies, i bet i could find it (as well as that stipe details) within 20 minutes in a box in my basement.  i LOVED it.

i'm not sure what it is precisely that i am so enamored with.  the unexpected darkness to a happy image, of course: the perfect boy and girl from a 1950s picture book dancing in a field with a deformed monster, the little girl's metal hook for a hand.  part of it may even be just the position of the monster's hand, finger delicately raised to a butterfly, frolicking in the sun.  the bands are fucking brilliant - nirvana headlining with the breeders and shonen knife opening - what a completely early-90s lineup: the best band with the best side project and the best japanese oddity (sorry, cibo matto).  the colors: flourescent (even after 20 years, still day-glo and bright), but not too loud.  it says everything about what i find funny and true without really making a statement.    

this print became sort of the holy grail of awesomeness for me.  i wanted it, of course, but i didn't know where i would ever find one.  ebay became a thing, later, but i was in my early 20s and broke and/or spending money on things like vacations and booze, so i never even looked for it.  i think i did once, because i ended up with some other koziks (maybe i will post about them later) that were not expensive at all - $40 each, maybe.  i can imagine spending up to $60 each, but that's it, and i never got them properly framed.  framing almost always costs more than the thing you are actually framing, of course.  

i do know, around 2004, that the standard price i was seeing for the nirvana kozik print was around $400 (it's currently in the $250-300 range, methinks).  and then someone offered it, FRAMED, with FREE SHIPPING, for $300 on ebay, and i ended up winning the auction, and i was soooooo stoked.  i ended up paying $364 for it and couldn't believe my luck . . . until the seller let me know that she had accidentally broken the frame, and did i still want it, and if i do, do i still want it framed, and yes, i purchased it framed so get it fixed, and then . . . silence.  she kept my money and never responded to my (increasingly annoyed and probably crazy) emails, and i had to spend three months asking paypal and ebay and my credit card to get my money back.  

this was in 2004, during friendster's heyday, before facebook, and i found the seller online.  she was a fashion designer in new york; her show, consisting of white satin gowns with DANZIG bedazzled on the ass, was even reviewed by the washington post (it mentioned crooked hemlines and the like), and i took a certain perverse glee in being *kind of* a crazy bitch toward her.  nothing seriously mean.  after it became pretty apparent that she was just going to keep my $364, i set up a friendster account under the name "Nirvana Poster" - my photo was the one that she had presumably taken in her living room - and, under "career" i entered something stupid like "hanging on (seller's name)'s wall" and, under "hobbies," i entered something even stupider, like "wishing that i lived in chicago, with the girl who bought me but was ripped off."  then i sent the seller a friendster rose - apparently the 2004 equivalent of a facebook poke or a stupid online dating wink or whatever - and BITCH SENT ME A MESSAGE BACK THAT SAID "HEY, I HAVE THAT POSTER, TOO!"  then i replied with something that was almost certainly ridiculous and perhaps a little insane.  nothing threatening, just a simple "hey, fuckface, i want my money back, or the poster, you choose," or similar.  

what?  i was younger then, and i don't handle being disrespected or stolen from very well.  no apologies for that.  

so then i gave up on the dream for a while.  it was definately back-burner, when i have more money, someday . . . 

and then, out of nowhere, on the morning of my 35th birthday (damn, gurl, you middle-aged already?) my husband brought a long brown cardboard mailing tube into our bedroom with a sweet smile.  i hyperventilated when i saw it.  it is just as awesome as i always knew it was. more, because he got it for me.  he actually saw nirvana on that tour (i never got to see them) and understands my 90s rock geekouts.  it's signed (kozik 93, in pencil, at the bottom) and numbered (kozik 93-47 - i assume that this is #47 from the original run).  

i was super pleased, when i took it to michael's to get framed (gotta wait for those 60% + 10% off coupons for custom framing), that the guy who took my order looked like a mid-40s alice in chains super fan - long hair, chain wallet, black boots with his khaki pants uniform.  he was stoked to see it - "awww, man, THIS poster!" and we talked about kozik and nirvana and bands we wish we had been able to see but never did.  

it now hangs in our bedroom.  i like looking at it every morning.  naomi likes it, too - we talk about it.  girl, boy, silly kitty, butterfly, flowers.  it's very kid-friendly, with a sharp edge.  it's 20 years later and it is still seriously fucking awesome.