~ my sixth roommate came by my desk for another pep talk. she tells me that she had a birthday and was finally able to leave the city, which must be done from time to time. i confess that there are no places in this particular city that i can go and feel relaxed and revitalized; it is easy to forget what los angeles is, but i can never forget that i am in los angeles. she tells me that going to the beach is a great escape; i brag that i have been to the beach about ten times in the past two years. i try to tell her that i am not like the others, and that there are other things to do with my time; she asks if i think less of those who do not put ‘everything into their work.’ i pretend that that was not the position i was taking, and i wonder what it would be like to live in this city if i had the time and the money to enjoy it she tells me that there is little use in staying in a place in which you can’t make a difference. i agree with this.

~ sci-arc is currently seeking a ‘permanent’ home in los angeles; the best deal they can find is an abandoned train depot in freaking central los angeles. not only is the building a decrepit derelict in a desolate wasteland, it is in one of the most crime ridden neighborhoods in the city. after months of keeping the students ignorant of what is going on with the building search, there is finally a little display on the wall. much is said about the energy and promise of the area (there is none of either, by the way), but nothing is mentioned of the fact that everyone who i know has visited the site, including myself, has been harassed. i tacked up the district’s l.a.p.d. crime statistics, which included over 32,000 violent crimes last year. i can’t wait to go to school there.

~ tonight, while i was posting the crime statistics for the new school on the wall, a powerbook, two backpacks, and a purse were stolen from people in the current school.

~ i am up until 5am, trying to add some evidence of truth to my mediocre thesis proposal. i run home to get coffee, eat some mueslix, get more coffee, and change cds for phobos. i turn around and speed to school, as i need to get back in time to finish my typing and scour the building for usable images. i speed down the interstate, racing against concrete trucks and sports utility vehicles, blaring men without hats and blondie, nodding off at the wheel, and wondering why my life is being put at risk in exchange for arriving on time to such an inconsequential meeting. i run into my desk and check my email; the first one is from my thesis research advisor, who informs us that we are not meeting this week. the class was scheduled to begin at 11am; his message was stamped at 8am. it would have been easier for me and for a lot of other folks to have learned about the cancellation at an earlier time. for example, last week, yesterday, or last night even. who expects to get an email a couple of hours before the class which announces its cancellation, especially in this business, where most people wake up – this is assuming that they slept – and walk straight into the classroom. the internet is one more tool that people can use to refuse accountability, instead of displaying concern or maturity by finding us and explaining to us – or better yet, attending the class – our advisor has the timeless, faceless excuse, ‘didn’t you get my email?’ the technology changes – phone message, memo, fax, page – but the pathetic shortcomings and lack of professionalism in scholastic instructors persist.

~ why do people who spend the least amount of time on their work happen to be the same people who are the biggest nuisances in studio? why, after showing their hairy faces in studio for the first time in 3 weeks, do they think that we will find it acceptable for them to be blaring salsa or d’angelo throughout the studio, when the rest of us are courteous enough to use headphones? i suppose that the two hours per week which they spend working does not accustom them to the etiquette that studio demands.

~ though this is not a weblog, this log was added to the weblogger [w] ring.

~ i owe some old bastard (see 2000.03.19) an apology; it appears that they *do* have a ‘regular’ size at the coffee b**n and t** l**f. sorry, you old bastard.

~ speaking of coffee, the new hobby of visitors to my desk seems to be to spill some on me and my belongings. today mr. rotondi took the opportunity to pour a good 12 ounces of auto drip across my desk. afterwards, however, he mopped it up with his own handkerchief. pretty noble.

~ after boycotting a certain coffee chain for 36 hours, i returned this morning, as i found nothing in my quick search – one street – around playa del rey. by the time i got there, the line was out the door, giving me too much time to listen to the old and ornery wastes behind me: ‘they should have two lines, one for fancy *hit and one for a straight pour’, ‘or one line for veterans and one for out of work actors’, ‘how does kuwait have the *ucking nerve?’, ‘everyone thinks this country is a bunch of *ussies’, ‘this is why i never go east of lincoln‘.
   after all their whining about how coffee should be ordered and dispensed, i expected to hear them deliver simple, straightforward orders. one of the old bastards orders a ‘half caf half reg’; the other has to ask for the day’s flavors before he orders a ‘regular’ size, as though there was an ‘irregular’ size.

~ tonight, i entered studio to find someone sprayfixing one of ‘my’ postcards to her foamcore model. sat least she’s doing something.

~ my studio instructor has not shown his face in the studio in a week, and he is not intending to come in tomorrow; we are operating under the assumption that there is a midreview on wednesday, but there is no evidence of truth to this rumor…

~ kraftwerk’s website has finally been updated; i have not decided if the ‘advanced’ bells and whistles really help their cause.

~ today, a classmate told me this: ‘it’s graduate school, who cares? everyone’s here to do their own thing’.

~ to help with her architectural studies, my roommate purchased the book, the oxford companion to food, in which the definition of coffee contains this 1599 quote by anthony sherley: ‘damned infidels drinking a certain liquor, which they do call coffe’

~ nostalgia week continues. first, los angeles’s first week of rain in six months reminds me that sometimes the weather can change. then, while working on a ‘conceptual model‘ i pull out a pair of greasy pliers that smell of the childhood days i spent in the garage, watching my father rebuilding british automobiles. now, i am finally eating bananas again, after a series of smoothies took me to the brink this summer.

~ today, i shared a tour of a rainy west hollywood with the class…

~ i spent a few hours in la jolla last month; recently there has appeared on my desk a picture from that trip. just as recently, mr. rotondi gave a little speech about what it is to approach the institute; when a classmate saw the picture, she launched into ridicule about me following his lead by searching out a picture that – if it could inspire him – would surely inspire me. i explained the situation about the trip, and, more importantly, i informed her that i am anything but inspired by the institute. it only makes me feel inadequate and hopeless; it is a reminder that i can never reach such an achievement. she screwed up her face and mocked, ‘that makes you feel inadequate?’ i guess she didn’t look closely enough.

~ since focusing and structuring my dietary habits, i have forfeited the privilege that most take for granted: the ability to consume whatever is conveniently in front of them, without forethought or concern. as the 24-hour studio situation, however, almost demands this type of freedom, i managed to find an item which i believe to be the worst a food can be while still fitting my ethical requirements.

~ finally, the sun

~ nothing is happening in my little piece of los angeles, apart from some reviews, which relieved no stress.

~ there are several reasons why our time is being wasted with this ridiculous storyline of spider-man looking all over the world to find his wife, who should have been killed in the airline bombing. she should stay dead, which is not such a insensible thing to ask in comics, or at least out of spider-man’s life.
one: the first place he looks is latveria, which is nuts, for two reasons; a: doctor doom does not know that mary jane is spider-man’s wife, b: the real doctor doom is on planet doom right now, leaving an android in latveria.
two: mary jane is a terrible partner; what kind of wife would nag her husband for almost being killed just for doing his job? he is spider-man; his first responsibilty is the city. she knew this going into the arrangement.
three: what happened to all that play between jill stacy and peter parker? where is all that sexual tension going to go?
four: for crying out loud, why should peter parker get tied to mary jane when spider-man could be swinging, figuratively and literally, with the black cat?

~ while i wait for my johnny cash cd’s to arrive in the mail, i have been listening to simon v mp3s; i know that he is no squarepusher, but it is about as close as you can get without actually being chased without relent and beaten without mercy through the abandoned metro stations of berlin – by zombies.