New Work

44" x 66" Acrylic and paper collage on panel.

The Way I Feel

The Happy Pee-Pee Song

Freud could come back from the dead and write a best seller about my childhood.
There is nothing not cooler than every couple of years bringing a new girlfriend home to Philly
to meet the history of me via the retelling of my childhood. In specific my potty-training.
No, not my participation in olympics of the mind or mentally gifted program or how good at drawing I was,
or how well I played and shared with others... it's gotta be the most freudian story possible. During the telling I could
see the expression on the girlfriend's face go from interested, to amused, to uncomfortable, to concerned, to
"I'm questioning what kind of person you may have turned out to be based soley on this story and the fact that
your mother is telling it to me for entertainment".
Well Happy Pee-Pee to me! There is a strong possibility that my mom picked up a book on how to raise a puppy
instead of how to raise a real living boy. I learned both basic motor functions and umm, private functions based on
the reward system. When was the last time you saw a little gold star? Probably in elementary school to highlight
the swell accomplishment of a star pupil. Me, I was a star pupil of the pee-pee chart. Every time I successfully mounted that
monumental proclain thrown (and pointed everything in the right direction) I was awarded a gold star on the chart.
Oh that would have been quite enough gratification for any child but noooo I got the Happy Pee-Pee Song!
In case you haven't imagined my humility just yet, sing happy birthday out loud, keep the melody the same
but substitute all the lyrics with "happy pee-pee to you".

Just for fun.

Yo La Tengo playing "The Story of Yo La Tango" on The Gilmore Girls and the same song live in concert.
Plus an appearance on the now cancelled John Mcenroe show.




...coming soon, my blog entry about "The Happy Pee-Pee Song".

At least I'm more normal than this guy!

Crazy: So I had to get fillings in all of my teeth.
Passenger: Uh huh.
Crazy: But I figured, why let them do that to me after they drilled holes in my brain, ya know?
Passenger: Sure.
Crazy: But I figured, might as well! Although if they were going to fill my teeth, I'd want them to use jelly.
Passenger: Yep.
Crazy: But the guy at the counter said they were out of jelly. So I got a blueberry muffin.
--R train
from "Overheard in New York"

Am I normal?

This might be a mistake. This posting is a quick email exchange with my friend Sarah from Philly.
When someone genuinely asks "how ya doin"? or you might try to explain the mood you're in, the
words that come out in response often sound so generic or even didactic.
This email exchange does a much better job of summing it up:

Hey Sarah,
For some reason I was just thinking about your teeth.
Remember- It's important to rinse with mouthwash twice a day! It will prevent infection and any further problems.
In other news: Tonight I'm going to have the final talk with Lucky about our relationship.
Then I'm going to become a Buddhist monk.
Let me know when you're coming to NY.
-A

Hey there,

Thanks for the dental reminder. It is feeling way better I am glad to say. What happened with Lucky and the talk? Did it go okay? I actually got to see Shawn on Sun, he got up early and came to my race on Sunday. So Impressed as it was at 10am. We went out to brunch where I consumed massive quantities of unhealthy food and loved every minute of it! He seems very excited for the wedding to say the least. Well I hope the talk went well and it went the way you hoped. Let me know.
Sarah-

Sarah,
Congratulations on the run! Usually after vigorous activity (although not quite a marathon) all I want is meat. Lot's of
fatty protein packed hamburger type stuff. Your body needs it - eat up!
I'm actually looking for a new jacket for S and J's wedding today. Just for the record, I hate getting dressed up. Especially in a suit. I always feel like and ex-con at a job interview or church when I'm wearing a suit.
Most of my clothes come from a japanese store in Soho so I guess I'll look there... and look at the pretty ladies at the same time. Speaking of ladies... not so good with Lucky. I'm not happy about things. Neither is she. We've been spending time apart. Dinner tomorrow though. That's all I can say really.
I've had so many relationships at this point I'm worn out. The art world is enough to squash anyone's energy by itself.
Add back-to-back serious relationships with both Lisa's and I'm finished for a while.
It's too bad I like girls so much. I have so many female friends, maybe I just need a prostitute now and then to get things out of my system. Or possibly an adult nanny.
On that note, thanks for checking in on me.
Keep rinsing and brushing.
-A

Code of the Boys

thanks to foundmagazine.com

Multiple Moms

Every couple of years I learn a new bizarre fact of my childhood. To illustrate the scale of strangeness I'll tell you that finding out that I was not my mom's first born after 20 years of thinking so was "eh, wattaya-gonna-do?" I wasn't phased in in the least. One may have been forced at that point to recontemplate ones biological or existential existence but not me, I know better by now. However, this next bit of information is enough to make anyone question the sanctity of life itself.
I was breastfed my multiple moms.
As some of you know, my early years of ghetto-granola upbringing by a 20 year old mom was experimental at best.
Some hippie moms of that age mixed drugs and sex, my mom mixed whole grains and boobs. Apparently my mom's
friends would sit around in a circle, talk recipes, jesus, natural hair care and breast milk. I imagine the precise moment when
one mom ran dry and another sitting next to her with much larger, let's call them tanks, said "oh, let me take over, I have plenty, my little moonbeam is a light eater". Oh my god. How many different breasts did I siphon from. Is that even sanitary?
The most alarming part of all this is the nonchalantness in which my mom gradually breaks the news to me.
I wouldn't be surprised if the next installment was something like "your real father is a coffee cup".