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22B422 Pt. 16: Now You’re Just

Well hey there. A week ago I made the huge mistake of listening to Gotye’s “Somebody That I Used to Know,” so obviously now I’m super depressed and/or have lost all faith in humanity. A while ago I wrote a list of goodbye songs that aren’t really saying goodbye, and this one just tops them all. 
To deal with my all of my complicated feelings regarding this song, I made a bunch of advice animals and took some liberty with Gotye’s lyrics.

Alternate Endings to The Chorus for Gotye’s “Somebody That I Used To Know.”

Now you’re just somebody’s lawn I used to mow.

Now you’re just some money that I used to owe.

Now you’re just a neon sign that used to glow. 

Now you’re just the pottery I used to throw. 

Now you’re just the sculpture that I used to sew. 

Now you’re just the cleavage that I used to show. 
Now you’re just the bubbles that I used to blow.
Now you’re just the season when it used to snow.  (MN WINTER 2012!)

Now you’re just the sea monkeys I used to grow. 

Now you’re just the college where I used to go. Seeyuh, Carleton.


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22B422 pt. 9: Books J.K. Rowling Should Write

J.K. Rowling recently announced her new novel, The Casual Vacancy. According to Rowling, the “blackly comic” book will be a departure from the Potter series, focusing on the events of a small idyllic town. While this is a perfectly reasonable narrative for an author to pursue, I think J.K. Rowling isn’t doing this right. The past decade of fame and fortune following the UNPARALLELED WONDER that is Harry Potter allows her the freedom to write absolutely anything she wants for this next book. No matter what, people are going to read this first non-Potta book, because they’ll want to see what non-magical things she has to offer.

Think of the possibilities, J.K.
The possibilities are endless, J.K.
J.K., but seriously. (geddit x3)

Books J.K. Rowling Should Publish Instead of “The Casual Vacancy
Sixty-One Different Ways to Fold A Sock, the story of a half-Japanese adolescent girl who reconciles her heritage with her individuality by repurposing lost socks into origami figures. 
My Favorite Crayola Colors in Reverse Alphabetical Order, Wisteria, Wild Blue Yonder, Unmellow Yellow… what comes next? Read to find out.

No Pain, No Gain: Reforming Education One Spank at a Time, one woman’s take on Education reform.

Even Eva Excitedly Electrocuted Erin’s Excellent Essay, a collection of 26 short stories, each dedicated to one letter of the  English alphabet.

Who, Who, Who?, where the author expands on several theories about who let the dogs out.

When Everyday Is Hobo Day, the heartbreaking account of a girl whose old, tattered sweatpants chemically merged with her skin.

Where The Wild Things Aren’t, including but not limited to: Thursdays on First, Mai Fete, under the bed, in the passenger’s seat, and so on.

Standing Ovations That Weren’t Deserved, recounting the author’s long history of being too generous with her applause, and the disastrous results that followed. 

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Read This To Feel Cooler Than Me

Ernesto has been out of town on another one of those nErD cOnVenTioNz (i.e. medical school interviews) (i.e. paths to an actual future) since Thursday, which means I’ve had the entire apartment to myself to go crazy. Carpe diem! Git’er dun! Just do it!  Here’s how I’ve seized the day so far:
1. I woke up promptly at 11, after staying up until 3:30 a.m. the night before for no apparent reason other than to watch The Office while eating choco-banana muffins.  (It was actually only one muffin.. I ate it slowly so it would last the entire episode. I’m not sure whether that makes my night more or less pathetic.)
2. At some point while singing/washing the dishes, I came up with “I ain’t no challah-back girl” and thought it was the most hilarious thing in the world.  Like, I couldn’t get past the chorus without giggling uncontrollably, which was probably a good thing because I wouldn’t have been able to come up with more dumb food puns for the rest of the song. Honestly, I still think it’s the most hilarious thing in the world, partly because “challah-back girl” conjures up this delightful image of Gwen Stefani using a loaf of challah as a track baton in a 4×400 relay, while “hollaback girl”only makes me think of Gwen Stefani in a cheerleader outfit. You decide which one would make a better GIF. 
I just got 245,000 results after Googling “challah back girl,” so it’s probably too late to use it as my original catchphrase. Under most circumstances I might get a little depressed, BUT I also found this site, where I can still feel like it’s my original catchphrase by purchasing “I ain’t no challah-back girl” business cards at the very reasonable price of 7 cents each for each order of 1000! Never mind the fact that I, 1) am not Jewish, 2) don’t have a company. The last time I checked, I live in Amurrika, where I’m free to buy 1000 business cards that have my full name printed on every line.
I’m, like, 5% tempted to actually do this just to spite Ernesto, who is probably stuffing his face with challah at some charming bakery on Brookline Ave. as I type this. You think you can just fly to Boston without me and shrug it off?! Think again, sucka. 
3. Speaking of healthy communication in relationships. Today I decided that my New Year’s resolution will be to not suck at texting. There are two specific ways in which I am the worst texter I know. The first way only applies to Ernesto, because only Ernesto would put up with it. To sum up a very long, heartbreaking story involving a comatose Blackberry to which I never got to say goodbye, my old  phone broke and now I have a touchscreen piece of crap that puts up a hissy fit every time I try to unlock it to DO anything, but somehow manages to call my house whenever the fabric of my pockets or the dust particles in the air of my apartment so much as brush by the screen. Which they like to do between 2 and 4 in the morning, at least once a week. The phone also insists on typing 5 different letters when I very clearly only pressed one, and the autocorrect is a joke. 
SO as an act of resistance, I refuse to correct my spelling whenever I text Ernesto, which may have something to do with the fact that he MADE me get this phone (yes, at gunpoint) (obviously not at gunpoint.. in case social services or someone is reading this) instead of the perfectly acceptable Blackberry with actual buttons, all because the non-Blackberry was $70 ish cheaper. Well, I can use those $70 to buy 1000 personalized business cards now, so I think we know who really won that battle. 
Well, no one won that battle, because everything I send Ernesto looks like a drunk text (see Figure 1) AND I’m still stuck with this touchscreen phone that takes 3x longer to text with than a phone with actual buttons (so if the things I text you don’t look like they’re straight out of a Ke$ha music video, FEEL IMPORTANT). Also, I still don’t have 1000 challah-back girl business cards. Lose-Lose.  
Figure 1: Paulina Lopez’s texts to Ernesto are 80% incomprehensible.
Second (and this applies to everyone), I take somewhere between one hour and 4 days to respond. Sometimes I don’t respond at all. So.. my apologies if that’s happened to you. I’m not trying to be a jerk. Usually, what’s going on is something like this scenario (my thoughts are in purple):
(recieved text) Friend: blahblah insert funny thing here
(attempting to text a response) me: hahahaha wait how many ‘ha’s are too many? just one sounds sarcastic, whatever I’ll go with three. although.. three seems a little much for something that wasn’t exactly the most hilarious thing Friend has ever said. I have to make them work for my ‘hahahas’, don’t I? Otherwise I’ll have to add another ‘ha’ onto the actually funny stuff and that’s gonna take forever to type out. lskjlfkjs ahh whatever I don’t text Friend that often anyway that’s  real funny god I sound like a hick really funny that doesn’t seem sincere totes funny wait will this person get that I’m making fun of abbreviations or does it seem like I’m actually abbreviating? Cause I’m trying to make fun of abbreviations here. I only sincerely abbreviate when I text Other Friend.. although now that I think about it, does Other Friend get that I’m sincerely abbreviating and not just making fun of abbreviating? 

Aaaand that’s how what should have been a very simple response never gets sent because I’m the most awkward person in the world. 
(relevant at this point in the post:)

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I Can’t Believe It’s Not Art

I’ve never gone to an addiction recovery program, but I’ve seen enough episodes of The O.C./Grey’s Anatomy/Arrested Development/other shows featuring well-to-do alcoholics to know that the first step is admitting you have a problem. 
There are a couple of instances throughout this blog where I hint at my obsession with all things food-related, but even I didn’t grasp the extent of my infatuation until recently completing a sculpture assignment that, as it turns out, is the fourth consecutive food-related artwork that I’ve made in the past 2 months.  Below, I give you the artistic manifestations of my troubled, food-addicted subconscious:
Let Cake Eat Them. Felt, thread, zippers. 
Prompt: Make a piece about connection. 
This guy took me 2 weeks to finish, so I spent a looooong time daydreaming about real desserts during the process. 
Putrescence. Satin, Sequins, Thread. 
Prompt: Make your favorite word.
An excerpt from a future art history textbook that will undoubtedly be written about this work: “Much like Picasso went through a depressive Blue Period (or how Van Gogh went through an entire depressive career), this piece sheds some light on the more painful aspects of being in love with anything: having to say goodbye. The juxtaposition of fine materials with forms that reference a clear state of putrescence manifests the artist’s inner struggle at this crossroad; by looking at the piece, the viewer can almost hear the artist whisper to the bowl of fruit, ‘You are beautiful, no matter what they say,’ before tossing it into the dumpster to avoid yet another fruit fly infestation.”

 Concessions at Weitz Cinema. Fake popcorn, fake coke, fake candy bars, fake nachos, fake pretzels. 
Prompt: Make something site-specific. 
I sincerely believe that more people would attend movies at Weitz if they could buy overpriced snacks. I know I’d rather pay $5 for a jumbo box of Sour Patch Kids than for a 2-day old parfait at the Sayles Cafe. (count the rhymes, imma poet)
I Keep On Fallin’. Flannel, Satin.
Prompt: Make something else that’s site-specific.  
It was in the making of this piece (at 2 in the morning while watching Arrested Development) that I realized all of my art was about food.

So now, I’m going to follow in the footsteps of Kirsten Cohen, Chief Webber and Lucille Bluth and weasel my way out of any interventions that threaten to separate me from my one true love.
1. It’s not really a problem to think about food all of the time if food is my muse. Some people get The Dark Lady, some people get Yoko Ono, and I get the food pyramid. Potato/Potahto. (but no one says ‘potahto,’ so more like.. Coupon/Kyoopon)
2. This entire dilemma only exists because I initially denied food the condition of Art with a capital A to begin with. Luckily, people like Marcel Duchamp and Laurence Weiner have paved the road for making Non-Art into Art at my very whim. So.. food, I now declare you to be Art. Which makes my food-related sculptures actually art-related sculptures. Which in turn makes my art self-referential and snooty and fit for inclusion in fine institutions like ARTFORUM and the MoMA! Below, I present you just one of many works of art handcrafted by moi that you now have the privilege of admiring:

Enchilovin’ It?