A Ressurection

Here the blog comes again to life.  There will of course be new posts, but also additions and revisions to old posts.  This blog becomes what it was always meant to.  Riskier, unbound by my fears.  Every post I have written in my head for the past month is a reflection of exactly what I meant to combat by keeping this web log.  I am tired of holding back in my own life-- for no reason.  And this post is no model post, but at least if I start writing something again, I've jumped back in.  I want to expand the mission of the blog as a way of healing myself and becoming the person my blog thinks I am.  I would never admit it, but I stopped this because I gave up.  Today is a day to confront denials and a day to get in the face of strangers that are doing the same thing.   

Oh Yoko!

Dear Yoko Ono,

Yesterday I was reading a copy of Grapefruit, and shortly before burning it (as the dustcover instructs), I thought you deserved a letter.  You are a genius and I will openly confess my love for you.  Out of all of the artists that inspire Mundane Mischief, you are the big kahuna.  I won't pretend for a minute to understand you, but that is part of the point.  To me, your art exists in acknowledging and breaking interpersonal borders and causing the viewer (observer? coconspiritor?) to see the beauty in this outrageous and boring world.

Many critics of modern art justify their conventional (tight ass) ways by claiming that it isn't art if anyone can do it.  And here I display my evidence to the contrary.

(New Math by Craig Damrauer, Via:FreemanTransport.com)

I consider Water Piece to be awe-inspiring.  The page says one word on it.  "Water."  It isn't every day that a person acknowledges the beauty and thought-provoking nature of this terrifying and miraculous substance.  You have made art out of ordinary life.

Something must be said about The Beatles.  I am an enormous fan.  And I must say that I do not believe that you are the reason they broke up.  Anyone who knows anything about them knows about the intense creative energy they had and how sometimes two many creative minds clash.  Then again, sometimes they work well together, like you and John.  I believe you brought him to new creative heights and together you acted as great humanitarians.

Love,

Day

I've Been Quiet

So, when my iPod realized that I was capable of awkwardly interacting functioning without it (check out my live blog Twitter posts to the right), it committed seppuku. I guess I have to start living my life against my mission statement.  Damn, just because I acknowledged that I was a hypocrite didn't mean that I was ready to stop being one.  R.I.P. iPod.

(via: Digital Claxon)

To Be Continued And Revised...

As I mentioned in the past two posts, I had an adventure in the city.  Me and Other Dana took a road trip down from Albany to Brooklyn for a Dirty Projectors show at The Music Hall of Williamsburg.  Call me a hipster wannabe, but Williamsburg is one of my favorite places to go in NYC; there is plenty of great graffiti (pictures are coming, but right now I am blogging from my parent's house), indie comic book stores, and of course, vegan restaurants.

 Before heading down, Dana and I decided to make some homemade stickers (Priority Mail Labels are free) to post up around town.  Dana even remade some of the images we'd attempted failed at with spray paint. The graffiti artists here are amazing.  No doubt some of this art is commissioned, or created by the building owners, and though that may be less exciting, it still makes this neighborhood a vibrant, happy place.  Someday I want to upgrade to making stickers like this one.  We took to the train platforms with chalk and Dana drew a great White (Blue?) Rabbit waiting for the train.  As usual, I stuck to words. 

As the concert drew near, we chowed down at Foodswings (the wet dream of any fast-food deprived vegan), and I was thrilled to see that though ownership had changed hands, the bathroom was still graffiti-friendly, so I added my two-cents in.  The concert itself was mind-blowing and possibly spiritual (they do a cover of the Black Flag song, "Spray Paint (The Walls)" ). but it ended much later in the evening than we had intended to leave.  The lines for the merch table were unbelieveable, and add in autographs, and some time spent subtly liberating posters from the walls, and we found ourselves running, hysterical, to the subway.  On the way, were were snapping shots of some great art and I was shouting about how sad it was that the night had to end so soon. 

As we squeezed onto the L, I had a classic OCD moment of doubt. I yelled to Dana, "Get off! It's the wrong train!," and she just managed to pull herself through the closing doors as I realized I was freaking out for no reason.  Still, the great thing about NYC is that there are trains running all the time and another would be there soon, we had fifty minutes to get to Grand Central anyway, and only four stops to traverse.  Twenty minutes later the next L arrived.  It took twenty minutes between each stop.  People were screaming, "what the hell is wrong with this fucking train!?" Several women were crying.  I was crying too, because I was crazy, and now we were stuck in the city.  We arrived at Grand Central twenty mintues after we were supposed to.  After the last train out of the city leaves, the terminal is barricaded off.  So much for sleeping in the plastic arm chairs in Dining Concourse.