I should be figuring out how to animate the subway cars. Because it's hard and way more important. Oh well.
(Also, the photo instructor in me says I totally need to burn down that corner. Sorry.)
Thursday, March 31, 2011
I WIN AT STUFF. YEAH.
Milestone achieved. Have successfully been go-to person in class for 3d modeling questions. I know more than the instructor about lofting splines. (That shouldn't be confused with my knowing more about modeling than the instructor, but I'll take what I can and boast about it on the internet.) In honor of this achievement, I present you with the potted plant I made tonight:
I should be figuring out how to animate the subway cars. Because it's hard and way more important. Oh well.
(Also, the photo instructor in me says I totally need to burn down that corner. Sorry.)
I should be figuring out how to animate the subway cars. Because it's hard and way more important. Oh well.
(Also, the photo instructor in me says I totally need to burn down that corner. Sorry.)
subway East
Next installment, Vizard screenshot. Look! I can make more fake outdoors. Except this time it's fake aboveground. I realize that there isn't really any point in rendering all the lights and shadows because I'll just have to do it again once I add objects to the scene. And I'm not sure how to handle the subway cars under all the different light schemes. Can I appear and disappear different tops with different shadows baked on?
Also, I can't manage to get a good sky in Vizard. It keeps adding shadows to the underside of my "sky" object, and even if I bake it really bright, it goes dark in Vizard. Sadface. 'Cause this is what it should look like:
3Ds Max rendering
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
subway
3DS Max rendering of the objects I'm importing into Vizard as part of an interactive city. This is subway station South
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Why I Call Myself a Hipster and Maybe You Should, Too
or, The Pot Calls the Kettle a Hipster:
I'm a hipster. I wear chunky black glasses, hand-painted Chucks, and a growing collection of ironically worn clothing. My favorite internet radio station bills itself as "indiepop," and was playing Florence + the Machine before they were on the cover of anything besides their own CD. Not only do they play Magnetic Fields on there, but they play a Phil Collins cover of a Magnetic Fields song on there! How kitchy and ironic! Look at my exclamation points! They are also kitchy and ironic! When I smoked, I smoked American Spirit Lights. If I drank beer, I'm sure it would be PBR. I've had more toy cameras in my life than boyfriends. As far as hipsters go, I am not particularly fashionable. My jeans, they are not skinny. And my music collection is far too small and mainstream. But that just makes me a bad hipster, it doesn't make me something else.
The only thing that really separates me from the rest of hipsterdom is the fact that I'll admit it. I may be the only self-identifying hipster around. Every other cultural group (by which I mean, a group of people with a shared aesthetic, musical, political, and fashion sense, along with similar cultural and moral values) has at least some members who self-identify as members of that group. But the thing about hipsters is, no one will admit it.
People say that the last remaining ethnic/cultural group in the US that it's socially acceptable to mock are poor white people from the South. But, no matter how acceptable it is to mock "rednecks," there are plenty of people who use the term as a badge of pride. There are rednecks around to object to their stereotypes. No one complains about mocking hipsters because there isn't anyone who will admit to belonging to that group. And that's how we get art pieces like "Hipster Traps" (http://urbantraps.tumblr.com/).
So why aren't all the PBR-drinking, Holga-shooting, thrift-store-shopping New Yorkers pissed? Because they're not "hipsters." A hipster isn't just someone who likes these things, a hipster is someone who likes them for the wrong reasons. It isn't cool to like something because it's cool. It is, however very cool to mock someone else for caring about being cool. Which, I think, is why the most common response to being called a hipster is for the recipient to turn around and accuse the accuser of being a bigger hipster. The pot calls the kettle a hipster. I'm fucking sick of it.
Because if we only use the label to describe people who like things the wrong way (which, by the way, is totally absurd), then we have no self identification at all. And it's not that I think we are doomed without an easy label, but that this total lack of a label implies a kind of lie. Because there is a cultural group. It has its own rules, standards, values, in-jokes, and slang. But we deny all those things when we deny ourselves a group identity. Why not own the term? It wouldn't be the first time an epithet has been appropriated as a endearment. So, hipsters, is anyone with me?
I'm a hipster. I wear chunky black glasses, hand-painted Chucks, and a growing collection of ironically worn clothing. My favorite internet radio station bills itself as "indiepop," and was playing Florence + the Machine before they were on the cover of anything besides their own CD. Not only do they play Magnetic Fields on there, but they play a Phil Collins cover of a Magnetic Fields song on there! How kitchy and ironic! Look at my exclamation points! They are also kitchy and ironic! When I smoked, I smoked American Spirit Lights. If I drank beer, I'm sure it would be PBR. I've had more toy cameras in my life than boyfriends. As far as hipsters go, I am not particularly fashionable. My jeans, they are not skinny. And my music collection is far too small and mainstream. But that just makes me a bad hipster, it doesn't make me something else.
The only thing that really separates me from the rest of hipsterdom is the fact that I'll admit it. I may be the only self-identifying hipster around. Every other cultural group (by which I mean, a group of people with a shared aesthetic, musical, political, and fashion sense, along with similar cultural and moral values) has at least some members who self-identify as members of that group. But the thing about hipsters is, no one will admit it.
People say that the last remaining ethnic/cultural group in the US that it's socially acceptable to mock are poor white people from the South. But, no matter how acceptable it is to mock "rednecks," there are plenty of people who use the term as a badge of pride. There are rednecks around to object to their stereotypes. No one complains about mocking hipsters because there isn't anyone who will admit to belonging to that group. And that's how we get art pieces like "Hipster Traps" (http://urbantraps.tumblr.com/).
So why aren't all the PBR-drinking, Holga-shooting, thrift-store-shopping New Yorkers pissed? Because they're not "hipsters." A hipster isn't just someone who likes these things, a hipster is someone who likes them for the wrong reasons. It isn't cool to like something because it's cool. It is, however very cool to mock someone else for caring about being cool. Which, I think, is why the most common response to being called a hipster is for the recipient to turn around and accuse the accuser of being a bigger hipster. The pot calls the kettle a hipster. I'm fucking sick of it.
Because if we only use the label to describe people who like things the wrong way (which, by the way, is totally absurd), then we have no self identification at all. And it's not that I think we are doomed without an easy label, but that this total lack of a label implies a kind of lie. Because there is a cultural group. It has its own rules, standards, values, in-jokes, and slang. But we deny all those things when we deny ourselves a group identity. Why not own the term? It wouldn't be the first time an epithet has been appropriated as a endearment. So, hipsters, is anyone with me?
Thursday, March 17, 2011
I DO think about other things, sometimes. Not often, but it does happen. I swear.
For example, someone on the internet needed a comic of a Voltron made up of Ravelry members exploding a DMV. So I obliged.
I cheated and traced Voltron, but those awesome explody lasers are ALL ME BABY.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
they say that demons travel in straight lines
No, I don’t know this. I've been told this, and many things like it, and I feel that it has--always--failed and I'm sick of it and angry.
People can misconstrue their feelings for a million reasons. I do it every day. What's to say that if I drop hints, and he understands them for their true meaning, that he wouldn't be so flattered by their true meaning that he'd mistake flattery for affection? Or that he won't, on his own, develop an infatuation for me that he mistakes for a deeper kind of caring that in 3 months turns sour because we tried to make more of it than the feeling was strong enough to carry? This shit happens. It's a risk we take. It's a risk to be in a relationship at all. I accept that risk.
And if he’s going to back off because my hopes and expectations are too much, at least they’ll be my actual hopes and expectations, and not what it is he will imagine I have. Who knows what he might think I want? The truth might be scary, but the misunderstanding might be scarier. I don’t know. The truth isn’t anything more than the fact that I am interested. I would like to explore that interest. Or, if the attraction isn’t mutual, I’d like to explore a greater friendship. The kind where it isn’t weird to do something without other people acting as a buffer.
I think that the pressure of direct communication can be eased by indirect form of communication. Something he doesn’t have to have a response for right away.
I think that what I do depends on how he feels. If he’s not sure how he feels, but thinks it’s a possibility worth pursuing, if he’s open to being courted, then I court him. If he knows it isn’t a possibility, then I back the fuck off. I can take a no. But I’d rather not assume.
Please, I am not angry at you, even though I sound like I am. I am frustrated. I am frustrated by an accumulation of events. I am frustrated by the accumulation of my entire fucking life, which seems like an exercise in failed communication.
And there are few things I hate more than not knowing. It’s the one reoccurring nightmare I have, where I do something wrong, or I fail to do something I should, because I didn’t know. I couldn’t have known, I was sick the day they announced it; no one told me. But it doesn’t matter why, all that matters is that I failed, and I failed because I didn’t know.
I am terrible at jokes, and I am terrible at polite lies. I don’t see them. I take what people say at face value. I think about all the times that someone has tried to reject me nicely, with shoddy excuses that were meant to be seen through. Except I didn’t see through them. So I kept trying. Until that moment of realization, that the answer was “no” all along, I just didn’t see it. It’s embarrassing. It’s bad enough being rejected, it’s worse feeling rejected and stupid and socially incompetent.
I think about the times when what I wanted was what someone else wanted, and we both waited and waited, thinking that we were alone in our wants. When I was thinking, “why does he stop? Is he really more interested in the tv than me?” And he was thinking, “it’s so hard to stop but she’s not that kind of girl.”
And I think about how grateful I am when people are honest and unambiguous with me.
There are myths that say demons travel in straight lines, so the people make zig-zagging pathways to foil demon approach. A direct approach is crude, inelegant, unsophisticated, unintelligent, and offensive. The same myths also say that a person who is stupid enough to be tricked deserves what they get. Everything should be examined for hidden meaning, for motive. Except I can’t. I can’t tell when people are lying, so I can either trust everyone or trust no one. I can’t tell the difference. So I live on the hope that, most of the time, people mean what they say. Because it’s all I can do.
And I am aware of the hypocrisy in this argument. I am aware that, most of the time, when an opportunity arises to tell someone that I'm not interested, I run away instead. I hide, and hope that my silence communicates what I'm too chickenshit to say. I realize that I ask more of other people than I do myself. But even now, when I'm trying to be honest, all I hear is people telling me to stop.
People can misconstrue their feelings for a million reasons. I do it every day. What's to say that if I drop hints, and he understands them for their true meaning, that he wouldn't be so flattered by their true meaning that he'd mistake flattery for affection? Or that he won't, on his own, develop an infatuation for me that he mistakes for a deeper kind of caring that in 3 months turns sour because we tried to make more of it than the feeling was strong enough to carry? This shit happens. It's a risk we take. It's a risk to be in a relationship at all. I accept that risk.
And if he’s going to back off because my hopes and expectations are too much, at least they’ll be my actual hopes and expectations, and not what it is he will imagine I have. Who knows what he might think I want? The truth might be scary, but the misunderstanding might be scarier. I don’t know. The truth isn’t anything more than the fact that I am interested. I would like to explore that interest. Or, if the attraction isn’t mutual, I’d like to explore a greater friendship. The kind where it isn’t weird to do something without other people acting as a buffer.
I think that the pressure of direct communication can be eased by indirect form of communication. Something he doesn’t have to have a response for right away.
I think that what I do depends on how he feels. If he’s not sure how he feels, but thinks it’s a possibility worth pursuing, if he’s open to being courted, then I court him. If he knows it isn’t a possibility, then I back the fuck off. I can take a no. But I’d rather not assume.
Please, I am not angry at you, even though I sound like I am. I am frustrated. I am frustrated by an accumulation of events. I am frustrated by the accumulation of my entire fucking life, which seems like an exercise in failed communication.
And there are few things I hate more than not knowing. It’s the one reoccurring nightmare I have, where I do something wrong, or I fail to do something I should, because I didn’t know. I couldn’t have known, I was sick the day they announced it; no one told me. But it doesn’t matter why, all that matters is that I failed, and I failed because I didn’t know.
I am terrible at jokes, and I am terrible at polite lies. I don’t see them. I take what people say at face value. I think about all the times that someone has tried to reject me nicely, with shoddy excuses that were meant to be seen through. Except I didn’t see through them. So I kept trying. Until that moment of realization, that the answer was “no” all along, I just didn’t see it. It’s embarrassing. It’s bad enough being rejected, it’s worse feeling rejected and stupid and socially incompetent.
I think about the times when what I wanted was what someone else wanted, and we both waited and waited, thinking that we were alone in our wants. When I was thinking, “why does he stop? Is he really more interested in the tv than me?” And he was thinking, “it’s so hard to stop but she’s not that kind of girl.”
And I think about how grateful I am when people are honest and unambiguous with me.
There are myths that say demons travel in straight lines, so the people make zig-zagging pathways to foil demon approach. A direct approach is crude, inelegant, unsophisticated, unintelligent, and offensive. The same myths also say that a person who is stupid enough to be tricked deserves what they get. Everything should be examined for hidden meaning, for motive. Except I can’t. I can’t tell when people are lying, so I can either trust everyone or trust no one. I can’t tell the difference. So I live on the hope that, most of the time, people mean what they say. Because it’s all I can do.
And I am aware of the hypocrisy in this argument. I am aware that, most of the time, when an opportunity arises to tell someone that I'm not interested, I run away instead. I hide, and hope that my silence communicates what I'm too chickenshit to say. I realize that I ask more of other people than I do myself. But even now, when I'm trying to be honest, all I hear is people telling me to stop.
why
I said: It's spring break. Do you have more free time? I'd like to see you again. Tuesday? Movie and dinner?
I meant: I'm beginning to like you more than I have before, and think I'd like to be better friends. Also I'd like to start kissing you.
And I trusted in standard social expectations to translate what I said into what I meant. This is what is generally advised. Because saying too much, too fast, is bad. Because elegant communication is subtle. But here's the thing: it never really works. He didn't translate. We watched a movie. And I drove him home.
I said: You seem weirded out. I'm sorry.
He said: I'm just tired.
I said: I like you. I enjoy your company. If you're ever not weirded out and tired, I'd like to see you again.
I meant: I'm beginning to like you more than I have before, and think I'd like to be better friends. Also I'd like to start kissing you.
It didn't work before. Why should I think it's working now? How can he communicate to me whether he's
a) not interested in anything different than what we've been up until now
b) interested in being better friends but not attracted
c) interested in being better friends, and not sure about anything more
if he doesn't know what I want? And even if he does know, how can I know what he's saying about it if I don't know that he knows? Do you see? My actions are going to depend on which of those things is true. If I guess wrong, it's bad for both of us.
How can he answer a question I don't ask? How can I understand his answer to a question I didn't ask? If I let him guess what I mean, and then I guess what he means in response to what I think he thinks I meant, how is this ever going to resolve itself? And why is this a good idea?
I want to tell him. In direct language. In writing, so he can take time between what I say and what he wants to say, without any pressure, or eye contact, or awkwardness. And I don't understand why I'm not supposed to do this. Why everyone tells me not to. I would want to know. Why wouldn't you?
I meant: I'm beginning to like you more than I have before, and think I'd like to be better friends. Also I'd like to start kissing you.
And I trusted in standard social expectations to translate what I said into what I meant. This is what is generally advised. Because saying too much, too fast, is bad. Because elegant communication is subtle. But here's the thing: it never really works. He didn't translate. We watched a movie. And I drove him home.
I said: You seem weirded out. I'm sorry.
He said: I'm just tired.
I said: I like you. I enjoy your company. If you're ever not weirded out and tired, I'd like to see you again.
I meant: I'm beginning to like you more than I have before, and think I'd like to be better friends. Also I'd like to start kissing you.
It didn't work before. Why should I think it's working now? How can he communicate to me whether he's
a) not interested in anything different than what we've been up until now
b) interested in being better friends but not attracted
c) interested in being better friends, and not sure about anything more
if he doesn't know what I want? And even if he does know, how can I know what he's saying about it if I don't know that he knows? Do you see? My actions are going to depend on which of those things is true. If I guess wrong, it's bad for both of us.
How can he answer a question I don't ask? How can I understand his answer to a question I didn't ask? If I let him guess what I mean, and then I guess what he means in response to what I think he thinks I meant, how is this ever going to resolve itself? And why is this a good idea?
I want to tell him. In direct language. In writing, so he can take time between what I say and what he wants to say, without any pressure, or eye contact, or awkwardness. And I don't understand why I'm not supposed to do this. Why everyone tells me not to. I would want to know. Why wouldn't you?
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
waiting
Everyone tells me, "don't force it." Everyone tells me to "let it happen naturally." And I get that, I do. Surprise does not work in my favor.
But it's very hard for me to accept. Not just because I'm impatient and I want what I want as soon as I want it. I am, and I do. But more importantly, I don't like "letting things happen." I think that letting things happen is a great way of getting nothing. I go after things because if I don't, I won't have them. I ask people to dance because if I didn't, I would never dance. I don't get asked. I ask people out because they don't ask me. If I want something, I'd better work up the courage to ask for it, because these things don't "just happen" in life, not to me. And maybe these things i get are somehow lesser because they were forced. But I'd rather have these lesser things than wait for an offer that may never come.
But it's very hard for me to accept. Not just because I'm impatient and I want what I want as soon as I want it. I am, and I do. But more importantly, I don't like "letting things happen." I think that letting things happen is a great way of getting nothing. I go after things because if I don't, I won't have them. I ask people to dance because if I didn't, I would never dance. I don't get asked. I ask people out because they don't ask me. If I want something, I'd better work up the courage to ask for it, because these things don't "just happen" in life, not to me. And maybe these things i get are somehow lesser because they were forced. But I'd rather have these lesser things than wait for an offer that may never come.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Now with Lucida Grande and drop down menus
blogspot, meet new website
new website, meet blogspot
(click on photo for link)
Saturday, March 12, 2011
wheeeee!
For a day that started out with discovering that my car has been towed, I'm feeling pretty spectacular.
Today, I took the curtain off the blocking wires. It looks AMAZING.
I showed it off to many knitters and non-knitters.
I finished three swatches for the MK.
I re-re-did the website. This time, better layout AND sustainability.
I saw a lovely musical performance.
I bid for and won tickets to John Waters show & reception.
I asked Lance about doing something together this week. A totally non-committal asking, a totally non-committal answering, but in the positive kind of direction.
Today, I took the curtain off the blocking wires. It looks AMAZING.
I showed it off to many knitters and non-knitters.
I finished three swatches for the MK.
I re-re-did the website. This time, better layout AND sustainability.
I saw a lovely musical performance.
I bid for and won tickets to John Waters show & reception.
I asked Lance about doing something together this week. A totally non-committal asking, a totally non-committal answering, but in the positive kind of direction.
statement in progress
Electronic Mementos of Imaginary Love Affairs
Between April 15, 2009, and February 11, 2011, I have sent 94 first messages in response to personal ads on craigslist.org and okcupid.com.
Each message is an expression of hope. Each message is a love affair I might have had. I look at them, together, and wonder what they add up to, all those lives I imagined. I try to catalogue them, catagorize them, study them. I am struggling to make sense of them. I believe that I am here, somewhere, in these messages, in all this data, if I only knew where to look.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
single panel unfunny comics
It started out as a Ravelry thread, and now is all I want to do. Ever.
Single-panel unfunny comics.
(Note: I would like to make it abundantly clear that this is not intended to reference hyperboleandahalf, because, just like my poetry teacher once told me that referencing Yeats in front of my poem was not a good idea because Yeats was better, I feel that any appearance of competition or imitation would be hubris of the utmost degree.)
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Damn You, Ben Affleck
Eric's Dream
At first the dream is at a party. It's a really good party. And people are talking about whether or not I will get a job. Or that I just got one. I forget. And then I disappear, and no one is sure exactly what happened, because no one actually looks for me, but people think that I killed myself because Ben Affleck broke up with me.
At first the dream is at a party. It's a really good party. And people are talking about whether or not I will get a job. Or that I just got one. I forget. And then I disappear, and no one is sure exactly what happened, because no one actually looks for me, but people think that I killed myself because Ben Affleck broke up with me.
Monday, March 7, 2011
notes for artist's statement
working on contextualizing and packaging self portraits, putting together the body photos, the installation, the 94 dating messages, the spreadsheets, the radio essays, as one giant never ending piece
Sunday, March 6, 2011
things I didn't write
I feel like it's been a long time since I've written anything good. I feel like all I'm doing is dumping information. Here's a chart. Here's a picture I made. Here's what I did today.
I have a few soapboxes I keep meaning to set up. There's the bit about tattoos in non-native languages, and about what it means to know something. And there's always the Why I'm Pro-Choice But Disagree With All Other Pro-Choicers. But even those, if I ever write them down, are still just direct explanations of a position. Communication for the sake of what is being communicated. I want communication for the beauty and the joy of it.
But, really, all I want to do is talk about a boy. I want to tell every new thing I've learned about him, and every good thing about him, which is everything, because all I can see is crush. Conflicting information? What conflicting information? Everything is perfect.
I want to analyze every sentence of the email where he rejected my advances, and I want to find reasons to believe that maybe there's hope, and that way lies madness. I know.
I want to think about all the other people who implicitly or explicitly rejected my advances, and what it is that they want but don't see in me. And that way also lies madness.
So I guess what I have instead is a sort of meta-post, a table of contents to imaginary stories.
And the memory of good music, a charming boy, a pink dusk, and the road West. I wanted to hold his hand, but I didn't.
I have a few soapboxes I keep meaning to set up. There's the bit about tattoos in non-native languages, and about what it means to know something. And there's always the Why I'm Pro-Choice But Disagree With All Other Pro-Choicers. But even those, if I ever write them down, are still just direct explanations of a position. Communication for the sake of what is being communicated. I want communication for the beauty and the joy of it.
But, really, all I want to do is talk about a boy. I want to tell every new thing I've learned about him, and every good thing about him, which is everything, because all I can see is crush. Conflicting information? What conflicting information? Everything is perfect.
I want to analyze every sentence of the email where he rejected my advances, and I want to find reasons to believe that maybe there's hope, and that way lies madness. I know.
I want to think about all the other people who implicitly or explicitly rejected my advances, and what it is that they want but don't see in me. And that way also lies madness.
So I guess what I have instead is a sort of meta-post, a table of contents to imaginary stories.
And the memory of good music, a charming boy, a pink dusk, and the road West. I wanted to hold his hand, but I didn't.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Friday, March 4, 2011
Same thing but better
This time, with dimensions. I love dimensions. I want to dimension ALL THE THINGS.
I am madly in love with AutoCAD.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
autoCAD
Logitech controller, top view. First attempt at AutoCAD. Reasonably to scale, given the limitations of my holding a ruler up to the controller and squinting. Haven't learned yet how to label dimensions or cool stuff like that, so you'll have to trust me on that.
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