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I AM SO EXCITED FOR FALL. It’s the only season with two names because all of its splendor and glory can’t fit into just one word. In case you’ve forgotten what fall is all about, here are a couple of vocab words to refresh your memory:

– yarn mittens! but with none of that finger business
– LEAVES aka, the city of Northfield in formalwear
– crisp wind that makes you shiver and gives you an excuse to hug someone
– sweaters
– pink cheeks
– the smell of pencils
– Halloween
– apple cider
– football games I don’t attend, but talk about nonetheless
-Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade
– “You’ve Got Mail”
– sepia-colored everything
– candy corn
– Norah Jones-y music
– October Baseball
That’s 15 non-Carleton related reasons why I am more than happy to wave goodbye to the broken toaster that has been summer of 2010. Carleton-related reasons:
– I miss The Clap
– I left my umbrella in the dining center
– I miss spending 10+ hours/week in the dance studio
– My mailbox this year is the perfect height, no joke. PERFECT. Please send me mail, otherwise I’ll just subscribe to cheap magazines so that I can have a reason to open it every day.
Other Bullets:
– Tomorrow is my sister’s murder mystery party for her 11th birthday party. MURDER MYSTERY party. With a CHOCOLATE FOUNTAIN. I’ve already been outcooled.
– My brother is in Cedar City being a whiner. I was half-asleep when I said goodbye to him before he left for his flight, which has upsides and downsides, but mostly downsides. But for what it’s worth, I still hesitate before turning corners at my house in case he’s crouching behind them.

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Horrible Things I Should Not Like

1. “California Gurls”

2. Lil’ Wayne
3. Jersey Shore
4. Chick-lit, in the form of Meg Cabot books and recently, Bridget Jones’ Diary

5. The final verse of “Love Story”.
List TBC.
Also, Some Important Things That Have Happened As Of Late:

Was recently informed (by Francisco, who couldn’t stop laughing) that Adam Lambert and Pete Wentz are two different people. Was relieved. Had been mortified that the hottest member of Fall Out Boy was gay. All is well.
Saw Doug Lee at Rochesterfest. Had not seen him nor been to Rochesterfest since 11th grade. Kind of an overwhelming night.
Was driving back from Nfield when heard this song. Thought it was stupid. Heard it about three more times. By the fourth time, had fallen in love with it. For some reason, makes me reminiscent of tenth grade.
Survived Boundary Waters. Half of right pinky toe nail mysteriously disappeared.
And Ernesto broke up with his colon. FB official.

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Spring Break To Do List:

1. Be in my own novela.

I’ve been home for 24 hours and I’ve already spent an embarrassingly large percentage of that time watching Pura Sangre, my mom’s new addiction on Telefutura. Compare that to the time spent by other Carleton SpringBreakers doing everything in their power to look like this:

“Science!” (or, if he’s feeling patriotic: “Thienthia!”)

How To Make A Latin-American Soap Opera That Will Capture The Hearts Of Millions
1. TV Network – I’m Mexican, so.. Univision baby!
2. Theme Song – sooo important. Must somehow contain the title. Bonus points if it alludes to blood, tears, or heartache in general.

(inspired by Robin and Bill’s Semaphore duet)

3. Title- determined by song so, any of these are feasible:
-Triste Febrero
-Gauchos Colorados
-Los Negros estan Llorando
-Esfuerzos Fracasados
-Sangre Derramada
-La Esperanza Se Acabo
4. The Perfect Cast
The naive, 100% well-intentioned good girl- Taylor Bly
The not so naive, not so well-intentioned best friend- Kate Wilson
The legendary relative who “died of natural causes” (but was actually suffocated by a pillow)- Adam Anderson
The gringo – Jake Dungan
The powerhungry murdering rich girl who’s obsessed with the good guy- Kelsey Norton
The fortune-teller – Courtney Bertschinger
The guy who gets manipulated by the rich evil girl for sexual favors/blackmail- Jon Aranda
The illegitimate son- Jeremy Goerss
The family doctor who switches babies at the beginning of the whole thing- Eric Hitimana
The Catholic priest who knows everyone’s secrets BUT CAN’T REVEAL ANYTHING! – Phil Sietsema
The wise, down-to-earth servant woman who spends all her time in the kitchen – Catherine Cragun
The mafia leader (or equivalent) – Elsie Arisa
The great-looking good guy who gets what he wants- Aaron Kaufman
The great-looking good guy’s brother who gambles and drinks too much and eventually dies- Mateo Trujillo
The other great-looking good guy who gets the consolation prize / ends up in a wheelchair – Will Corderis

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lSomeone who will not be named (Ernesto Manuel Llano, Davis 111, 507-250-2924, suggested (demanded) that I be completely honest in this blog and reveal some of the unappealing things about myself. And since I love talking about myself (flaw #1), this entry was born.

2. I haven’t showered since Monday at 7 pm. I don’t plan on showering until tomorrow. This is a weekly pattern.

3. I chipped the same tooth twice in the past week. There is no cool story behind it. I got excited about Whoa and hit myself with an empty cereal bowl, it looked dumb. I still look dumb. Hopefully I’ll get that fixed before Haley gets married so that I wont get shopped out of all the wedding pictures.

4. I use boy socks.

5. The last time I did laundry was December 22nd, 2009. No trips to the Watson Laundry room have been made since last fall, when I filmed that video for that stupid Cams class.

6. I got an effing B+ in that stupid Cams class, wtf. I don’t get Bs unless it’s a (fake) physics class. This was CAMS. I spend my free time picturing ways to make Paul Hager whimper.

7. I say things like “effing”.

8. I spend my Aesthetics class writing down my feelings. Today’s notes, for example: Thing I Don’t Like About the Guys in this Class. V’s mouth is too small and always hangs open. M’s mouth is always half-open. His eyes are ALWAYS half lidded and his beard is scraggly. K’s fingernails and hand gestures. The three of them are sitting in a row on the other side of the room, are they magnets to each other?

9. If I’m not friends with you, I either idolize you or hate you.

10. If I’m friends with you and your name is Jon Aranda, I hate you.

11. From Sunday through Tuesday, I made stupid decisions that resulted in my staying in Boliou until 3, 5 and 2 am.

12. Consequently, my immune system shot itself in the face and now I have a cold. I wipe my nose on my shirt because I’m too groggy and lazy to look for a tissue.

13. I sprayed my perfume in my mouth by accident. Perfume doesn’t taste as good as it smells.

14. I hate brushing my teeth. I talk myself out of having to do it when I’m really tired. Which is all the time.

15. I lose everything. Everything. I’m very aware of this, and constantly check all of my coat/pants/bag pockets to make sure I still have my keys/Onecard/cell phone. I have lost all of those at least once this term. Also lost this term: my 2012 shirt, my mitten, my earring, my bra, two of my erasers, the pencil I bought and swore I wouldn’t lose.

I’m going to go have dinner, which will probably consist of cereal, english muffins, 2-4 cookies and softserve. It will NOT consist of soda. Because I’m doing the lent thing for the first time to improve myself as a person. Not that there’s a need.

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My Kid Could Paint That, Too

(as in “two”.. hahahahahaha get it?)

Last week, I could’ve picked between studying for finals or watching My Kid Could Paint That. A High Five Fantastic Time’s reaction to Bar-Lev’s 2007 doc (though it was mostly a reaction to the reactions from the art majors in her class) had gotten me pretty curious.. Needless to say, I know very little about the French conditional and future perfect tenses, as will undoubtedly show up on my final grade.

It’s been a few days since I watched the film, so some of the initial excitement/anger/ frustration provoked by the doc has died down a little bit. But the fact that something other than Glee could have provoked such an explosion of emotion is enough to prove that watching that film was soooooo worth watching my chances at an A in FREN103 poof into oblivion.

My Kid Could Paint That
1. Marla vs Dad. In Courtney’s blog, she writes that the film proves that 4-year old Marla was responsible for her paintings. Although the doc includes footage of Marla completing a painting on her own, this footage is used to show how unlikely it is that Marla is the sole artist of her work. Bar-Lev compares the painting Marla completed in front of a camera to those that were previously exhibited in galleries and sold for thousands of dollars, and the message is pretty clear; the former looks nothing like the others in the collection in terms of composition, in terms of color palette, in terms of how the brush was used, in terms of overall aesthetics. By the time the documentary gets to this footage of Marla’s 100% pure handiwork, Bar-Lev isn’t redeeming the Olmstead’s stained reputation by proving that Marla is “the real artist”. He’s materializing his doubts about the family’s honesty and gouging your eyes with them. He also documents the doubts expressed by once-loyal Marla art collectors, who swear over their Hummer and all their grandkids’ trust funds that “Ocean” (the redeeming footage painting) looks like it’s done by a completely different artist than the one who made “Ode to Pollock” and “Asian Sunrise”.

The point is, My Kid doesn’t at all prove who was responsible for the all of famous Marla paintings. It proves that when placed in front of a camera and told to act natural, Marla painted “Ocean” without anyone’s help. It showed how eager she was to finish the painting and go to some room not filled with documentary equipment, probably to finish a puzzle or make fun of her younger brother (who has these artsy SHENANIGANS* to blame for his inferiority complex). It showed that “Ocean”, the only painting we knew to be 100% Marla’s handiwork, could be interpreted as being completely different than any of her other paintings.

2. Doc about a Doc. Whether the Marla Vs. Dad question is answered isn’t ever the point of the documentary, because Bar-Lev’s film is a documentary about documentaries. Half an hour into the film, there’s a creepy confessions session during Bar-Lev’s car ride back home where he basically spills that:
– He doesn’t know whether to believe that Marla’s work is genuine anymore
– He wants to believe her family because they’ve been so nice and whatnot
– Is it bad to pretend he believes them to their faces in order to remain on good terms and finish his film?
The story develops around the notion that no one can measure anything without altering the results (PHYSICS FOR POETS**), and that any story is only a compilation of true/false. Should we expect anyone to perform 100% normally in front of a camera, let alone a 4-year-old? Etc.

3. moving on. Going back to a comment from Courtney’s post: “[The people in Courtney’s class] argued that because the girl was a 4 year old that it wasn’t real art and that she shouldn’t be selling paintings for thousands of dollars. It mocks what real artists try to achieve and struggle with.”

The comment addresses some major points: a. what constitutes Real Art, b. the ethics of art marketing,

b. It’s completely reasonable to be outraged by the fact that Marla recieved the recognition she did, because the fact is that all the recognition didn’t have as much to do with the quality of the paintings as it did with the fact that she was four years old. If Marla had finished those same paintings when she was 23, she would probably be living off Ramen in a bathroomless studio. And I have the right to be outraged about that because there’s no way I can justify that Marla’s talent at 4 years old consitutes her as a modern art prodigy. Even when comparing “Ocean” to her “more polished works”, the canvases generally look like accidents, some more aesthetically pleasing than others. This ties us back to point a.

a. Another interpretation of My Kid: It isn’t just the marketing of oblivious 4-year olds that mocks what ‘real artists’ try to achieve, but the fact that work done by oblivious 4-year-olds could even pass as art. Because a piece like “Ocean” looks like it could’ve been done by an oblivious 4-year-old, or a Modern Art major, or a homeless war vet, or a hamster on steroids, or a blender. I’m not yet at a point in my career as an ObsDraw graduate where I can appreciate something like “Ode to Pollock” or Andy Warhol’s soup cans as much as I can appreciate Degas’ dancers. I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I was charged $12 to see Penis Hat at the New York Museum of Modern Art. Is it wrong to be bitter about this? Penis Hat looks like it was inspired and completed by a drunk Jace Rustan. Who cares. It’s 2:33 am and I can’t fall asleep and I’m bitter. Suck it, 21st century Modern Art. Oh gosh that ties back to Penis Hat, and I’m so mad/tired I’m not even going to hit the backspace key. 12 effing dollars.

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Que du bonheur!

It’s Friday and I refuse to be unhappy, even if half the campus wants to wipe their butt with the Carl Horoscopes for all the stupid alliterations that someone (Blanky Blanky) decided to add. Unless your name is Shel Silverstein or Eminem, thinking that alliterations will make your sentence sound better is like puking on your hot dog to give it extra flavor.


1. Inching my way to the top of the Carleton College Publications Pyramid is going better than expected. I even skipped a whole level (The Carletonian). It’s like skipping a grade but it’s more rewarding and no one plays Monkey in the Middle with your lunchbox during recess. Writing/editing/fighting with (Blanky Blanky) about the Carl Horoscopes isn’t a bad way to be part of the elite few who get to call themselves editors of this school’s most respected (read:recycled) paper. Brag! Brag! Editor! Brag! Carl! Brag! Trelawney Protegee! Brag!

2. Courtney Bertchinger: Like any good friend, I was reading your Facebook info and I noticed that one of your listed Favorite Movies happens to be one that I love with most of my body and all of my soul and that has since served as my personal definition of “beautiful”. Thanks for reminding me of my definition of “beautiful”.

3. Ernesto LLano: Like any good friend, you were creeping on my Firefox tabs and noticed that I was having trouble coping with the possibility that I might never again watch Portraits Chinois. Thanks for making me extremely happy. Next time we watch it together, maybe you won’t fall asleep half an hour into it.

4. I am trying very hard not to write this all in caps but holy crap Ebony is tomorrow and I am so excited you wouldn’t even believe it a a a a a a a h h h h h h hh hhh!

5.ça fait longtemps, and it’s lovely to have this as part of my life again. I love the internet.

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Review of Everything

(because I can’t love too much one part of it)

The Carletonian: Like Old Faithful, you never fail to be the most advertised AND most boring attraction on campus. Except for 4th week’s issue, where the open letters to/from SaGa were more entertaining and passionate than anything in the Carl. Thank you. Please go back to being bland.

Benjamin Parks: Thanks for the migraine-inducing Clap article. Or whatever that was.

Fall: Your one night stand has broken thousands of hearts across the midwest. I hope you’re making potato chips out of leaves somewhere far away where you’ll be underappreciated until you cry the way my heart did when I saw snow outside my window.

Bob Dylan: Thanks, but no thanks.