I love cheese.  I eat veggie burritos at least once a week, and quesadillas almost as often.  Naturally, I get the good stuff—Tillamook medium cheddar cheese.  In the interest of saving money, I usually buy it in the large one-pound loafs.  These babies are great thing to have in the fridge, but when it comes time to grate, complications arise.

The main problem is the sheer size of the loaf.  Using a standing cheese-grater, or worse—a hand-held grater—the large block of cheese is terribly ungainly.  It’s too large and heavy to hold easily in one hand an apply the necessary pressure to get a good, efficient grate going.  For the past few years, I’ve suffered through the first half block of cheese, grunting with effort, standing on my tippie-toes, and laboriously grating away until, a couple weeks later, the size of the block is finally manageable.

Fortunately, I’m blessed with an exceedingly clever family—one that encourages innovation and always seeks the best approach to any task.  Enter the pyramid cheese block:
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For the past year and a half or so, shaving has meant trimming my moderate offering of facial hair to a respectable length.  My dad purchased an electric rechargeable trimmer that, without any attachments, gives a nice close trim in a matter of minutes.  Once I started using it, I never went back to the old-fashioned razor and shaving cream.  I felt like I was doing my tender skin a favor, and a little stubble never hurt nobody.

In October of last year, I moved to the Castro.  On the first Monday morning in my new apartment, I went to give my face a trim.  Much to my dismay, I flipped the switch on the trimmer and nothing happened.  I flipped it again, gave it a shake, stuck it back in the charger and tried once more, but got no love.  The darn thing was broken, and I had no idea what to do.

I went to work that Monday, and for the next couple of days, as I tried to procure another trimmer, I allowed my stubble to grow into an unsightly, prickly mess.  I perused the Walgreens offerings but didn’t find what I was looking for.  I was told by an un-helpful Radio Shack employee that I “must be looking for razor shack”.  As the week neared its end and my facial hair continued to grow I finally settled on an interim solution: a $7 sideburn trimmer from Ross.

This little piece of shit is powered by two double-A batteries, and is not intended to do more than reset the edge of one’s sideburn.  It is by no means intended to trim the entirety of one’s scraggly beard, but that’s exactly what I did with it, in a painstaking, sometimes painful process that could last up to twenty-five minutes.  I had to move the thing in a maddening series of minuscule strokes, all the while listening to its pathetic little whine.  On must-shave mornings, I’d set my alarm an extra half-hour early.

This inefficient and frustrating routine persisted for nearly a year.  No matter how many times I dropped the damn thing it continued to work.  I replaced the batteries a half-dozen times, and in the back of my mind was always thinking about finding a proper trimmer, but at the end of the day little “Protocol” was still the only thing keeping me from looking like a complete bum.
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On a summer evening in Chautauqua, New York, a small green and blue hummingbird, attracted by the bouquet of flowers in a studio window, flew inside the school of art and suddenly found itself very confused.  Despite attempts to lure the bird back outside, it flew hard into a wall and fell stunned to the floor.  The student who had witnessed the bird’s accident carefully scooped the tiny creature up and carried it outside to the grass, where it lay on its side, broken and still.

An hour later, returning to the bird, students found it sitting upright—certainly not dead but trembling and clinging tentatively to life.  The students formed a circle around the bird and began to discuss strategies for care and the hummingbird’s chances of survival.  The general consensus was that the bird would most likely die, but that while it remained upright and quivering, there was hope.

I’m in D.C. I’m staying with a dear friend from back in the day. My friendship bracelet is cracking on my computer keyboard. I went out and then I came back and it’s pretty much like any other city. Older buildings, wider streets, people that are vey into their careers, but still the guys and the gals and the bars and the clubs and all the rest.

I see pictures from Chautauqua and I almost want to cry. I miss everybody so much. I miss the opportunity of walking out and talking to anybody about what they’re working on. I even miss bitching about how little sleep I got.

I’m in that ‘tweener period, not the one you’re familiar with probably. I’ve lived a great summer experience and rediscovered a passion and now I’m traveling in the USA for the first time on my own and I’m thinking about my future and the difference between the left and right coasts. SF is calling softly, but mostly I just miss living in reality and cooking food in my own kitchen.

There are so many people that are so cool ‘n stuff. Right? I mean, right? Don’t you know so many ppl that are cool and stuff? And you’ve lost touch with them and if you think about it it makes you sad, right? I see them in pictures and if I don’t friend request them in the next coupla days it’s over and I’ll never see or hear of them again.

But keeping the dream alive I want to always say that I’m an artist with confidence. Meaning I want to actually be an artist who makes art and if people ask me what I do I’ll know what to say.

Today I heard a really funny story from a friend, and I’d like to share it with you all.  My friend actually wrote the entire thing out for me, and I hope you enjoy!

“I’ve begun morning yoga in the drawing studio here at the school of art.  I didn’t bring a mat with me, but after using nothing but a towel for the first couple of days, I’ve been joined by a friend who has two mats, and yoga has gotten much better.  But I really wanted a mat of my own, and I knew just where to get one.

Up the hill from our dormitories is a small gym that I used to frequent two summers ago for the occasional workout.  I remembered a stack of yoga mats and I set my mind to borrowing one for the summer.

There’s only one way into the gym, and the walkway is guarded by a green-shirted staffer wielding a laser gun to scan your gate pass.  Getting in was no problem, of course, thanks to my gate pass.  I smiled at the attendant, he scanned my card, and I made my way inside, down the hall, and into the gym.  I signed in at the clipboard, smiled at the guys working the desk, and headed in to the main weight room.  I cast about a bit, not really wanting to be at the gym but having decided to get in something of a workout before making off with the yoga mat.  Eventually I planted myself on an exercise bike and began a fifteen minute ‘heartrate’ workout.  I chose level 12 (out of 20), but quickly ratcheted down to eight.  I looked around at the scattering of bros lifting weights to my left and the white-haired man shooting hoops to my right and thought about how hot and stuffy it was in the gym and how if my bike were fixed I could be outside doing the same thing.

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I’m settling in to my lovely little niche of the Chautauqua Institution for the summer.  Having attended the program two summers ago, things are feeling veeeeery familiar.  I’ve moved from studio one to studio twenty-six, but I’ve somehow landed in the same bed of the same room as last time.  Same smells, same mediocre cafeteria food, same sound of gravel crunching walking in and out of the art quad.

The Chautauqua Institution Main Gate

The weather began a bit cold and gloomy, but this afternoon I got a taste of what’s in store: blue skies, sun, warm, thick air, and an overwhelming sense of peace.

I’m looking to take it easy this summer.  I’m going to just let it all flow to me, with no massive effort or heated pursuit, this summer is all about enjoying the experience of the moment.  I may not make as many paintings as I did two years ago, but I expect to enjoy myself more, and for the work I produce to be of a higher quality.

There’s a crew of amazing artists all around me, some of my favorite professors here to teach me, and seven weeks to paint my brains out.

I’ll be updating an album on the “Art” page of the site titled “Chautauqua 2011”, so check there to see what I’m up to.  Wishing all of you a fantastic summer.