The less fuzzy but not quite bald eagle

I’ve always had trouble with my own haircut (and look in general): Occasionally I can appreciate the fluff, but asked how I’d like it cut, I just go meh. This presented a problem today as I didn’t know how to say “meh” in Polish, and ended up saying “just don’t make me overly friendly.”

Fair enough — it’s hotter today than yesterday, and I’m happy sheading at least part of that dead ferret which had been occupying my head for the past three months. Besides, it’s nice to go to a fancy schmancy hairdresser just cause I can afford it here; Services are one of the few things that still are cheap.

I’m in a rut and have walked up and down the same street I always walk up and down; This “autistic tourist” approach applies to wherever I travel, so I guess I’m just a very rut-oriented kind of person. Who wuddathunkit.

Got me a Polish cell today, so I can be contacted at number +48 698 861 180. I might check the usual number from time to time, but since it’s a painful process to change the simcard in the phone I got, that won’t be too often.

Going for some tea. Y’all be good while I’m gone.

The fuzzy eagle has landed

I left Gothenburg, a city shrouded in clouds which manages to be both cold and asphyxiating at the same time, and landed in Warsaw ten in the morning.

Got fed by granma, slept a bit, talked biz with dad and talked misery with my granma. The more I think about it, the more I suspect that the moody genes are a wonderful combination of my paternal granmothers worrywartines, and on the maternal side the fear of authority. More research is needed.

Really have to get a haircut tomorrow. Which, btw, is the aforementioned birthday on which you should send me smut cause I feel like an alpacka in heat and it’s not the good kind of heat; It’s way too bloody humid here, and the mosquitoes are on a killing streak so I have to stay indoors after sundown. (think “vampires with insectoid eyes”)

My plans so far: Stay here over the weekend, then go south to visit relatives, then visit cousins in Krakow. Yay. Just really really need that haircut.

Move on up, move on down. Da-dum da-dum

Mark Melvin, the promising and strapping young artist from England, left two weeks ago, and it was sad. There’s definetly a vacation feeling to all of this, only that I’m going to return to a university that doesn’t seem to have my best interests in mind, and it’s a bit unsettling – there’s five of us left in the class, and since the course is being discontinued, I’m looking forward to the curriculum…

On a more or less sudden impulse I bought me a ticket to Warsaw. Leaving tomorrow in the early morn.

The past week has been uneventful. I’ve been working at the store.

And that’s it.

OK, OK, last weekend I went out with a friend from work and his sister, and that was nice. I actually have some nice pictures of that, but since I’m on a stupid pc I can’t really be bothered downloading an iPhoto replacement just to resize the images off the camera (I mean, c-hraist).

I’ll get a Polish cell-number tomorrow and’ll post it here.

Have birthday on Wednesday. Send me pictures of you naked.

Do a little dance.

Let’s make myself look bad for once.

Andreas has just gotten his first cellphone and has way too much time on his hands playing with it. For example, he films his friends when they’ve had a few daquiris too many.

Lo and behold, for I am dancing:

The grainy quility is actually a good thing, since I’m quite certain that I was singing along as well. And we don’t want my contorted face to show in quite such detail. No we don’t.

Also, since I can’t be having just me looking bad, here’s a vid of Anna trying to explain to Lasse what a blog is, and that he’s going to be on it. Alas, only in Swedish:

The ‘happy birthday mom’ thingy

The project finished succesfully. One person actually heard my cries for help and emailed me a clip. So thank you very mush Nina, I appreciate it a lot.

As for the rest of you lot who saw this page but didn’t bother helping out: Screw you big time, you slackers.
Internet bridging the gaps between people my ass; More like Internet allowing people unlimited ways of doing a lot and doing nothing

In the end, I had eighty-something videos, but decided to edit it down to fifty (since, you know, it was my moms fiftieth birthday?) and here’s the resulting video. (with which, of course, I created a dvd)

To the people who participated: Thank you very much. It made my mom happy.

An eventful weekend

Oh oh oh! There was this show that we had! And oh oh, then mom & bro (mobro!) came visiting from Stockholm, and oh, then there was this party and a loooot of beer and oh oh oh(!) I had to work the day after! Hilarious! Oh oh oh, smelly I was, in store I standing was! Oh, and then, then I had a lot of tea and we had sushi, and mom ate way too much wasabi and her tummy ached and today is Sunday and mom and bro (mobro!) just left on a train, and now I’m sitting here and I want more coffee!

At some point during the evening Mari took my camera, I think she’s to blame.

Well hung

Yes, well hung indeed. The gaps between the four prints is visable, but since they align quite well, it doesn’t bother much. What I ment to write is it doesn’t bother me much, but that goes without saying. The first fucker to ask me the symbolism of the cross-pattern the prints make will get a blank stare though.

I managed to surprise myself with how the finished work actually resembles the photoshopped dummy I made a couple of days ago.

Show opens Friday.

Underlying

I tried to distill the motivation I have for The Boy with Half a Pinky, and arrived at these three paragraphs:

A project to measure the load-carrying capacity of text, an attempt at outright lying without speaking falsely and an illustration of automatic, biological narrative.

How far can one stretch the imagination to accomodate for ones beliefs in the face of contradictory (or inconclusive) evidence, and what is the quality of succesful propaganda (both the quality of the propaganda and the quality of our reaction to it, as well as the mechanisms that bridge the gap between what is presented and our internalisation of a message)?

Where exactly are you lost in the transition between presupposed understanding (unselfreflecting knowledge) and the rest of the world?

The galleries webpage is located here, where you’ll find more info about the exhibition.