girl eat machine.

1. I need to redesign this blog stat.
2. We need to fight for net neutrality stat.

I’m sorry to subject whoever is out there reading this blog to my poetry, but I feel a compulsive need to share. This is, I guess, my blog. Theoretically, I can do whatever I want…

…So long as I remember I’m doing it in public. At the risk of inspiring some nerdy Sherlock Scraper Holmes, I’ll share that I recently rediscovered a largely hidden (thank goodness) blog I wrote a few years ago. That’s where I found the poem that follows — written about Christmas 2006. I’m sure some of my questionable quality poetry turns some of you off because I’m a bit of a poetic literalist, but I’ll admit that I think the style works for the story that follows. But then, I’m biased.

It’s an interesting experience, sharing poetry. All shared writing involves a bit of audacious vulnerability, but Western (or, at least, American) culture is particularly harsh towards the perceived airy, artiness of poetic thought. It’s a squishy place that I’m working on making myself more comfortable with, if only because it’s an artform I can’t quite escape from. Watching Howl recently reminded me of that notion — that there are some things that must be said and can only be said in poetry.

This phantom blog, on the other hand, is an expression of vulnerability I’m not comfortable with: a dangerously near-to-public diary. Bleh.

Working for a tech- and web-focused group as I do, the topic of our individual relationships with the Internet comes up a lot. “I could have sworn that Friendster was going to go big!” … “When did your friends stop posting their crushes on Live Journal?” … “We called them “video web logs,” though we didn’t know what to do with them.. The idea of things being Public in the way they are now was foreign. Sharing was an idea in its infancy. The Internet radicalized our commons and the notion of what and how we could share there — and it still is radicalizing them.

Thus, my dilemma.

I no longer know the password to get into my old blog — heck, I think the login information has changed through all the mergers and buy-outs that have happened since I fatefully typed out alllllll those entries so many years ago. But, it doesn’t matter: I need in. I’m sure there will forever be cached somewhere the awkward pinnings of my awkward younger self, but though She’s part of my history, she doesn’t reflect Me now. Man, thinking about it, I can almost relate to the people that all those CNN Special Report sexting teens will be 6 or 7 years from now, cursing YouTube, Facebook, Flickr, and 4chan for blasting and caching their pictures all over the Internet.

I’m going to post the poem separately in the entry that follows. Related: catch the title reference?

For the curious, check out this short, thoughtful documentary produced by some Yale students as their final project for a class on Intellectual Property in the Digital Age. You’ve probably seen it before in one form or another, but this film is a great introduction to some new artists involved in issues of IP (read: people who aren’t Girl Talk):

“Walking on Eggshells” is a 24-minute documentary about appropriation, creative influence, re-use and intellectual property in the remix age. It is a conversation among various musicians, visual artists, writers and lawyers, all sharing their views on why and how we use and create culture, and how intellectual property law, originally designed to provide people with incentives to create, sometimes hinders creative production far more than it enhances it.

Watch the full film as a Youtube playlist here: WALKING ON EGGSHELLS

OR click HERE to view the film in its entirety on Vimeo

Let’s start with a “simple” definition:

What is art? Art is speech; art is both expression and the means of expressing oneself. Art encompasses written and spoken language, but isn’t bound to the lexicon. (I can guess what you’re thinking — “PRETENSION!” — but bear with me here.)

If we can agree that art is expression then there are two interpretations of how it can function: (a) art is static: what is expressed is pushed into the world and the only form of “interaction” we can have with it is “appreciation” — essentially, we can know the art exists and, on occasion, we can stare at/listen to it.

But, let’s step back. Consider that if art is expression, if art encompasses language but isn’t cornered by the limitations of using words to express ideas, might there be a form of — gasp — artistic conversation? Enter (b) art is active: as an “expression,” art makes “appreciation” active. That is, when we encounter art, we can take our reflections, interpretations, (mis)understandings, questions … and turn them back to the art. We can respond to art with art.

In fact, art is a two-way conversation. It’s about culture, it’s about politics, it’s about the wildness of human survival, it’s about people’s opinions about the way the world works. When someone writes an opinion article in a newspaper, you can write back to them. You can quote them; you can critique them or support them or reference them because you’re able to quote them. You can quote other people, too. All words are open. When someone expresses themselves in writing, you can respond in writing.

When someone expresses themselves in any other another medium, however, the law says that you do not have the freedom to fully respond to them in that medium. You can’t respond to a musician in music; you can’t reply to a film in film, to an ad with an interpretation of the ad’s image. You are only allowed “to listen,” to consume the author’s point of view. “Artists” may not be saying anything different than writers, but they say it differently — they speak in pictures, in paint, in c notes, in steel. Copyright tells you that this difference in medium means something. We need to be critical and respond. Ask, “Really?”

What’s the threat of the big bad remix? What happens when I respond to you without words that in any way threatens your liberty, creativity, or “ownership” as an original author? Just like any good written material, an “artistic” response should (and will) cite the source material. So you can’t see the credit in a footnote written on the page because you’re listening to an audio file or checking out an infographic? Check the meta-data. As our technology has evolved, so too has our ability to thoroughly, appropriately, and consistently give credit where credit’s due.

You say the original author is going to lose revenue? How? Because someone will steal their material? That’s why we define a line between plagiarism and fair use. Plagiarism and fair use are different. The copyleft is not advocating for plagiarism. No one is advocating for the dissolution of proper citation and respect for creation. What we want — and what we should be demanding — is the other right: the right to fair use. The right to respond. Journalists and newspapers don’t fear becoming obsolete because someone is quoting them. In fact, they thrive on quotation. Quotation is recognition. Quotation breeds capitol. So, don’t tell me copyright incentivizes. Copyright doesn’t incentivize. Fame incentivizes. Recognition for skill and quality incentivizes. Excitement, interest, conversation, and shared knowledge capitol incentivize.

Technology has made it easier than ever before for the average person to compose photographs, edit video, cut sound, paint — and write. Major news-media groups may look down their noses at the blogs that have popped up all over the Internet, but blogging provides a critical platform for Joe and Jane Anybody to write about and respond to … anything. Most blogs function by quoting up a storm, but when people use parallel platforms to try to post remixes of music or a depiction of a culture-jammed Mickey Mouse to a blog or website their work may be taken down. The populist particulars of blogs and art remixes on the Internet is a subject deserving more thought for a later time, but the take away message is this:

There is no excuse to silence “artistic conversation” because of proprietary fears. People have the intelligence, the ability, and the tools to create, engage, and respond with art. We know this because people are already creating, engaging, and responding in text — and lo, the world has not come to an end. Money still changes hands. Bylines still appear under headlines. We still recognize individuals for their thoughts and words and achievements.

Why should communication be any different through “alternative,” non-textual means? I don’t know. I don’t understand the fear. It’s fine to choose to sit out on the conversation — to look, to watch, or to listen without choosing to respond to art, but remember that this is a choice that you get to make. And when it’s my choice, I want all my options available to me.

*****

I’ve been chewing over a series of crayon portraits of politicians for a few months now. Over the past two days, I finally took the idea a little further. I’m not entirely sure yet what will become of it/them, but I’m enjoying the work. Crayon (crayola, not conte) is a neat medium; great for building. I’m posting this morning’s round of portraits. It’s a toss up whether I prefer Obama Green or McCain Red (not to ignore The Honorable, of course…).

This post also reminds me of my need to secure a scanner.

Yeah, about that “Dear Sawa”…I’m trying to recycle pages of my art pad. On this particular page there was a half-drawn truck and, apparently, a draft page I used when writing a *giant* letter to my dear friend, Sara. “Sawa” is, of course, Big Stupid Monster from Labyrinth for “Sara.” So, that makes sense. (Ahem.)

Ruth Bader-Ginsberg. Gotta send some love to the third branch. Ruthie’s portrait is not done yet — note the demon eyes (or lack thereof) — but she’s close. She’s currently sharing a page with a rough outline for Hillary Clinton (see yellow stripe, bottom right). You can tell from her eyebrows that she has mixed feelings about it.

John McCain. The campaign trail line-up (+ Justice Bader-Ginsberg and some freak combination of Joe Biden, John McCain, and G. Dub — “Joe John Bush”*) was a bit of an accident…Although I did follow it up by adding a certain ex-governor to an updated portrait of my first crayola president. I’d like to be more creative than using this series/medium to simply rehash the ‘08 Campaign, so consider the above a warm up for a budding project.

More pictures to come.

P.S. You can take a peek at “Joe John”*  in the first image in this post — he’s on the left, winkin’ atcha. Kinda.

So I’m literally up to my elbows in paper when I reach into the bags I’ve stuffed and I can’t help but ask a stupid question: Why?

Why hoard all this Stuff? Sure, insurance statements and pay stubs are important, but why birthday cards? Why notes? Why the images I’ve clipped from newspapers? I’m an on-again, off-again collage artist and a creative recycler convinced that I can reuse everything I touch — remix it, if you will –but when the projects that I save for fail to manifest, I ask again: what am I doing?

I wish I could take these bags and just dump them in the recycling bin…but I’m stuck on another thought: it’s not just paper that I save, it’s images. When something aesthetically strikes a cord, my impulse is to savor then save it. I tell myself it’s because I’m going to find another way to display it, or that it will have some relevance later, but really? I think my behavor’s more like a magpie’s. A desperate, existential-crisis-prone magpie. A sentimental magpie. (Take your pick.)

Is the collection of clippings just a form of hoarding or is it a way of interacting with an image? Can you do anything else with an image besides stare at it? I turn the question to you: What’s the point of “image consumption?” Is it a one-time deal or a long-term relationship? Can I write in vaguer terms and make more generalizations in a paragraph full of questions?

(*Yes.)

This weekend I undertook a Feat, an old school, Greco-Roman (or Celtic, if you’re reading this, Dad), land-a-20 Feat with a capital “f” and a silent “epic”. Mortals call it “spring cleaning,” but I was playing god. This weekend, I realigned the spine of my life.

Everything turned over, cleaned, inspected, weighed, evaluated, commented, fixed, sewn, planted, budgeted, clothed, shod, rearranged, refreshed, restocked, renewed…by Monday morning.

Everything…except for my papers. Squeezed into three over-stuffed NPR tote bags, my “papers” (vague..) have left a stain on the order of my lair. I’m addressing that, even as I type this, but it’s a slow process. There are so many (hilarious) hidden gems in my notes and margins. Doodles literal, descriptive, figurative. Frustrated asides. Over-enthusiastic travel plans. Half-started letters. Postcards. Life goals sketched out last summer. Math. Nonsensical flotsam from past jobs and conferences. I keep these things exactly for a moment like this, where I can sit on the floor of my room and sift through myself, experiencing at once an intimacy (my words, my hand, my state of mind) and distance (all past tense, disconnected, gone) that is palpable.

I thought it would be interesting to share the more…interesting fair. We’ll start with a mind-boggling aside (whose context TOTALLY escapes me…) and see where we go from there.

[EDIT: 10:53 a.m. I have compiled the following view of a random selection of scraps. Bonus points if you can identify my lens cap. Pat on the head if you find the scissors.]

1. Doodle of buses with Swedish vocab drawn while waiting for the metro at Roslyn station (DC). (Bilar = cars.)
2. A BookFace Man. No explanation.
3. The script for a Birthday Party Safari tour of the National Zoo.
4. Birthday cards. The first one shows a man wiggling his hips. (Scandalous!)
5. A bio pic of Mike Musgrove of the Washington Post. The text reads, “The @Play column will return next week.”
6. “You’re In The Top 15 Baby!” a hilarious little poem-in-book-form a friend passed on to me (and many strangers) for Valentines Day 2009. (From Wesleyan.)
7. A St. Patrick’s card I made for my Dad — it’s your day, Pop! — some time last fall and forgot about. Whoops.
8. Random magazine clipping of a woman on a beach.
9. Discarded logo for a discarded blog category from the planning stages of NPR In Other Words.
10.Superman comic ripoff, shows the Man of Steel as Clark Kent talking about free press and then freaking out about a fireball.
11.Karl’s notes about attraction, probably recorded in research following a Radio Lab listening session. (Strange, since we didn’t catch that episode together.) Favorite line, “Vasopressin: during sexual activity, initiates and supports patterns of activity that support violence towards other men.”
12. Interpretations of people I interacted with on the metro between Chinatown and Woodley Park one evening.

If my interests were mapped as sounds, urban planning and urban design would be a hum, constantly underlying all the booms, pops, and trills of my daily focus. Think of them as the sound of a kettle full of boiling water, heard from the next room. Every now and then, the steam builds just enough and the hum turns to a whistling scream. Time to pay attention.

Visualization of Aural Fixation

Today’s whistle came from the pot of social critic James Howard Kunstler(, who apparently has a podcast). I broke the spine of his book Geography of Nowhere this morning and was struck by a passage only a few pages into his book: a description of the suburban life of teenagers. We’ve all heard this one before, but Kunstler’s passage is poignant for two reasons:

One: It is intimate. Most descriptions of the ‘burbs are clinical lamets by talking heads, citing the most recent story on teen depression before cutting to a commercial break. Kunstler’s prose is personal and therefore the opposite.
Two: Although we have all heard the tales of youthful woe before, there is something fascinating about the fact that even when we tell these stories from a personal point of view, we use the same language.

Maybe that’s just what happens when people tell stories: language is limited, storytelling is learned, so of course when we translate our lives into narratives there will be some overlap…Or maybe it’s that suburbia really has replicated itself as an “experience,” reproducing similar life lines, isolation, community, whatever irregardless of actual Place.

Dunno. Now I’m just inspired to make a word cloud or chart out of personal narratives of Ex-Suburban Teens to see what patterns form. Comparing only a recent narrative I wrote with Kunstler’s, we can expect to see a lot of references to cars, drivers licenses, rock and roll, basement hideaways, and waiting.

read Kunstler’s words

Sakura Matsuri (aka ‘Japanese Street Festival’) – April 10, 2010 – Washington, DC.

Okay, so technically this image was taken after the Festival (Sculpture Garden, National Mall), but the same day should count for something. (Pictured above, a friend, Danielle, sunlit with strangers.)

Street Festivals, a phenomena worth musing over. Not to put it too tritely, but there’s something refreshingly “old school” about reclaiming the streets. People mill about, dazed and sated with the hum of the swarm — it’s a magnet of activity because as a venue, the Street holds potential for those with commercial, noncommercial interests alike. Lacking public squares with the capacity to hold the horde, Streets provide space that serves to both contain Festival elements (sword-swallowing, food stands, old cars, musical stages…) and keep the crowd moving thanks to associations/structure of the road (thoughts of cars, movement, transportation, lanes…).

So why don’t we use the Streets as our public space more often? Are they only good as occasional fairgrounds — that is, are they only good for these sorts of large-scale pre-planned festivals which themselves are only good once in a blue moon? What are the dangers of using the Streets more often? No, really: it has to be more complicated than Angry Drivers, right? DC may have a good deal of public space that could make reliance on Streets unnecessary…but what about less architecturally fortunate places?

Are we thinking creatively enough about our space, or not?

“Art, tech, and authorship” are the purported foundation on which this blog is built.

Taking that “authorship” part in a different direction, I want to talk about the authors of books. Or rather…I recently talked about the authors of books on the blog of my aforementioned friend/fellow blogger, Holly.

Want to know what not to say when a date asks what your favorite book is? My personal beef is with Dan Brown — and I’m not alone — but other women flagged other titles, including Ayn Rand, Lolita, and a lot of hate for Catcher In The Rye. It’s worth a click here to see what a few twenty-somethings dearly hope you avoid. Agree? Disagree? Share your thoughts.

…The least you could have done was pick up The Secret or, like, The Mermaid Chair. Then we could have a conversation about /why/ you were so struck by the text. But Dan Brown’s progeny? Nah. You are lazy, semi-allergic to books, and think that your fake knowledge of fake history will impress me (hint: it won’t). Worst of all, as a date you reveal that you’re not even dorky enough to realize you could have better spent your time watching Indiana Jones.

Burn.