Conceptual Art Exhibition

On Thursday, March 2nd, from 3:30pm to 5pm at Columbia College there will be an opening celebration of my friend Brandon's untitled conceptual art piece, I would imagine with a bit of food and drink. His work will explore relationships with, and perspectives of, poverty.

624 South Michigan Avenue,
10th Floor, Peek-a-Boo Room

I would love to be in attendance to support a dear friend, but, well, I fear hipsters clad in white belts and checkered sneakers chomping on canapes. Actually, I'll be at the office. But everyone do yourself a favor and stop by. I can only imagine what his expansive, eclectic mind has in store for us.

No Rights or Reason

You know you have it good when you get a back rub before and after work.


Alright, whoever guesses how these two stories are related wins the prize:

South Dakota Passes Abortion Ban

Only an unlikely veto by Republican Gov. Michael Rounds could prevent the legislation from becoming law, people on both sides of the issue said.


Drives to Ban Gay Adoption Heat Up

Steps to pass laws (to ban gay couples from adopting) or secure November ballot initiatives are underway in at least 16 states, adoption, gay rights and conservative groups say.

Okay, I'll answer for you. This is how it looks from over here:

*giving up unwanted babies through abortion: bad
*giving up unwanted babies through adoption: good
*giving homosexual couples the right to raise those unwanted babies: bad
*giving straight couples the chance to raise those unwanted babies: good

So, they want to decrease the number of abortions by giving more support to adoption programs. Good, I agree with that. As does Planned Parenthood and every other pro-choice man and woman. But when you eliminate an entire community of willing, appropriate parents because the idea of two men or two women together gives you the "ickies", you've fucking taken it too far. That's not support. Who are they more concerned with? It surely isn't the unwanted children.
Logic? I'm out.

I'm Not An Al-Qaeda Suspect, I Just Play One

Guantanamo Actors Held at Airport



The men, who play British inmates at the detention camp, were returning from the Berlin Film Festival where the movie won a Silver Bear award.

One of the actors, Rizwan Ahmed, said a police officer asked him if he intended to make any more "political" films.

I wonder if Clint Eastwood gets stopped in airports like this.
"So, Mr. Eastwood, you plan on making anymore cowboy movies about slingin' guns and killin' folks?"

Mr. Ahmed also alleges that he was verbally abused by a police officer and had his mobile phone taken from him for a short period.

The actor also claims that he was told by police that he could be held for up to 48 hours without access to a lawyer.

Out of the Closet

When I first moved into this place, I had big plans. "You won't recognize this apartment in two months, baby." I began painting my living room a lovely jade green. (Began being the operative word.) I wanted to have the carpets cleaned, new curtains put up, new furniture for my bedroom. It's been 7 months, but if you took one look, you'd think I was a squatter.

I had to hold my breath to open the office closet this morning. Dust bunnies flying in my hair. Boxes, clothes stacked to the top. Most of my life is in this closet. Old journals, photos, videos, cds, clothes. Even old prescriptions. Most of them are still unopened. That's scary. I began to wonder why I'd stashed most of this stuff in a closet. Then, I found it: the tape that kept me locked in my apartment for a week straight last winter. The Pike family home videos. Me in an incubator, Christmas in Dallas, slip-n-slide, cook-outs, graduation, etc. Most people get the warm and fuzzies watching happy times with the family. I'm not most people. I'm reminded of what I don't have anymore, what I think I'll never have again. Stability. Comfort. Love. Everything synonymous with family.

Well, I watched the tape, anyway. I feel better for it. I've been hiding my problems away in a box, instead of hiding from my them. Same difference. I'm going to finish cleaning the closet, because Tim is moving in with me 2 weeks from now. Yes, I have to live with a boy. It's only temporary, 6 months top. But now where will I hide everything in the closet?

Smoking, Working, Screwing

I find it disconcerting that I can only blog when I have a cigarette in my hand. Well, not technically in my hand. It's resting on the tip of my lips, while smoke seeps into my eyes. Gross.

This is probably why the only place I can update from is my apartment. You see, Chicago has turned "health conscious." The city of deep-dish pizza, Wrigleyville wieners, 24 hour Swank Frank style dives with fried twinkies and mozz sticks. But, smoking 15 feet from a public building? Lighting up in a bar? Coffee shop? Gosh, no.
Reminds me of an interview with Morgan Spurlock. You'd never yell at an overweight person for dipping Super Size french fries in their hot fudge sundae, although it's perfectly acceptable to take a swing at someone for smoking in public. "You're killing yourself!" "Think of all the money you could be saving!" Smokers aren't the only ones with nasty habits.

I'm taking another Saturday off. Even feeling a little guilty about it. I guess I can rationalize and say I'm young. I don't want to be so burnt out this early on. My dad worked 12 hour factory days, sometimes 7 days straight. I can't even fathom that. He was only doing it to provide for me. Didn't want me ending up in a dead-end job, a job I hated, a job like his. I'm forever grateful for that.

I don't want to demean his work. He was good at what he did. Although, I can't honestly say I knew what his work consisted of until after his death. His company set up a tour of the factory for me and my brother. I'd only been to his work one other time when I was a kid to pick up a Christmas bonus or something. Let's just say after another look at that place, I have no room to complain about an outdated, fluorescent lit office.

Is anyone else watching the Olympics? I tuned into women's hockey this morning. Those are some tough broads. Checking left and right. I'm impressed. Although, I think I know what their secret is, now. (Thanks, Tim.)

Well, I think it's time to take a shower. There's no need to be lazy and dirty.

Everybody Wants to Be Happy

Mortified. Selfish. Foolish. Weak. Alone.

I guess this is where I should explain:
I cried at work, yesterday. I guess there's a first time for everything. It's hard enough having the "sweet, young female office assistant" label. "Sweetheart." "Dear." "Honey". Now I'm the girl who cries at work. Everyone will tiptoe around my feelings, make me feel inadequate. Or maybe they'll realize everyone falls on hard times. Sometimes you just have to break down in order to get over how you're feeling. "Maybe she was just having a lousy day and couldn't control how she felt?" Nope, I'll be forever known as "the girl who cries at work." The token "softy" of the office.

Moving right along, I have a doctor's appointment, tomorrow. I'd rather be tied-down to the bleachers in Fenway Park and have a hot dog shoved down my throat...in full-out Yankees gear...than go to the gyno. I think it's more that I don't want to go alone. I need someone there to hold me tight, if it's serious, to tell me everything's going to be okay, to laugh with me when it's just "trapped gas."

Well, I'm going to watch my newest Netflix arrival,
Happy Endings.
Here's hoping my tomorrow has a happy ending.


Dan: Everybody wants to be happy.
Larry: Depressives don't. They want to be unhappy to confirm they're depressed. If they were happy they couldn't be depressed anymore. They'd have to go out into the world and live. Which can be depressing.

-Closer

Dance, Dance!

54 days until Spring Training...

But all I can think is...
"Dance, Dance!"

Damn you, Fall Out Boy.

I think I'm going to begin using this blog (Under My Skin) as my personal news outlet. I'll be updating my current events blog Starving American when I come across newsworthy public material to spout about.

Well, it's the end of another weekend. I decided to take Saturday off and get in some undercover time with The Beau. We've both been working a lot lately. Crankiness has ensued. I needed this, desperately. The director of my part-time job claims he comes in every Saturday, but I've never seen him there. Could I log that I worked Saturday, anyway? Would that be wrong? Yes.

I've been thinking a lot about my family, lately. Translation: I've been missing my dad a lot, lately. I still have too many emotional attachments. Photos, books, memories. I still want to crawl under the covers when I don't want to face what's really taken place. Maybe this is as much "progress" as one can make in 2 years. I still can't help but wonder what is expected when the one person you depended on most in life is gone? Do you garner replacement support from everyone else that will give it up? It doesn't seem fair to do that when I don't understand how I feel most of the time.

Moving along. I'm working late tomorrow night. Another 12-13 hour day. I'll be sure to take an extra long lunch. No one will miss me. Tuesday, I'd really like to check out some exhibits at the MCA. Man, I haven't been in so long. Was I more cultured when I dated artists? Probably not. I pretended to be. What a hipster.

Well, I guess I'll go watch some Super Bowl commercials. What an odd concept-all these people keeping the tube on for 3+ hours, care nothing about football, but instead want to catch a peek of the "clever" brainwashing corporate America brings us in the form of an advertisement. Scratch that. I'm going to make some Starbucks coffee and smoke some Parliament Lights cigarettes.
Cheers.