We eventually got to the museum at about 1 or so and took a brief tour of the Mexican Print-making exhibit with a knowledgeable docent and a group of elderly people who did not ask too many inane questions (except maybe for the guy who kept asking the dates of the prints - which would cause the docent to turn around and read the date off the placard. COME ON, eliminate the middle man, go straight to the placard, dude! Silly stranger). That was cool; we checked out a little bit of the modern art section and I hit up the Philip Curtis exhibit again to snap some photos that I forgot to take last time:
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Pretty cool surrealist / circus/train nostalgic stuff. Definitely has appropriated his own style, which is always cool - weird that he has his own wing in a giant museum and seems like a relative unknown outside of Phoenix.
We also checked out a graphic art exhibit called "Uninked" that featured a few well-published artists; I especially like the stuff by the mono-named Seth and Regé Jr. Good times; always nice to see graphic arts get the full-blown museum placard treatment and force yourself to question what the hell high art is. Actually, I just put a placard next to our bathroom that says "Bathroom." Where my money at.
We headed back to the DC abode to be entertained by the lizard-decapitating stylings of Elliot the Dog. We watched Tiger cap his 13th major win in Tulsa Oklahoma - I actually saw his full round from Friday where he shot a major record-tying 63; the rumors are truths; the dude is ridiculous. And even more ridiculous in widescreen HD, thanks Dan and C. Oh, man, hold on a sec...
I completely neglected to mention the highest of awesomest developments that has occurred in the past 48 hours. Dan and Christina were cleaning out their pantry and discovered under the mound of pantry-targeted acquisitions that they had a spare table - which they gave to us! So for the first time since I arrived in Arizona, I am blogging in an upright, human-style position. No longer are the Nyet entires being made from a prone stance or in a Schroeder-at-the-piano-esque hunch; I am sitting upright at my desk like so many soul-less accountants before me. Wahoo. Note also, that big blue ball - inspired by the Bally sales lady, I am using an ab ball as my chair. It's exciting, works my core all day long, and if I get excited I can bounced up and down like an idiot. You know you're jealous. AND, it what I'm relatively positive is a meta-moment first, that picture includes a shot of this computer screen which is actually the editing screen for this very post. So the Ballad now prominently features its own creation from within the Ballad; hell, this post contains its own creation. Somewhere, Tom Pynchon is smirking from behind a head-covering brown paper bag.
(And a real Nyet aficianado will note a Mark Grace Bobble-head doll poking its Bobble into the frame. Nice. Hey, Bauble-headed. I never noticed that before. Fascinating).
(So a quick quip - is there any other kind? - from the DC Sunday. Christina wants to paint an entire wall in their study with whiteboard paint, so the space would be usable. Dan and I protested that this would get ugly after a while with smeared dry-erase; plus Dan thought it would make the place look like an office, which is lame. Christina countered that it is an office. Ratiocination at its finest. Dan grumbled wearily. Christina then extended the idea, wanting to put bulletin board material up as one of the another wall, again under the rationale of usable space. I asked if she would put in carpeting of boredom; Dan asked if they would install the soul-sucking machine in the ceiling. We are funny in our cynicism).
At some point we remembered that Dan had never seen The Goonies, so we headed back to our condo for some swimming, beers, pizza, Boone's and Goonies. Ah, Boone's - somewhere, Carrie Stallings is smirking from behind a surgical mask. Not drinking Boone's, hopefully, for both legal and fetal reasons. Anyhoo, caught the tail end of the Philly Atlanta game (Howard homered - again), and then exposed Dan to the childhood wonders of Gooniedom (in case you have not heard, Dan had some rather stringent cinematic restrictions in place throughout his childhood which led him to miss pretty much the bulk of any healthy Gen Xer's collective pre-adolescent cultural experience. So he's trying to catch up now - Back to the Future, Ghostbusters, going trick-or-treating. It's been a trip). Dan gave the following review:
"What's with all the screaming?"
Experienced through the eyes/ears of twenty-something child-like-optimism-long-since-defeated experience, Dan is quite right; apparently child acting in the 80s equated vocal volume with quality and depth of acting ability. So all of these years when the Beck was (in a very Lucy-esque way, actually) ridiculing my legendary Snoopy performances, it turns out I was just acting in the vernacular. I was every bit the genius that Mikey / Rudy / the Hobbit/ the CIA director Sean Astin was. Hoo-ah. That said, Dan is pretty much right - the movie is very loud and shrieking. perhaps he has missed his window of childhood. His parents won, and his mind is forever sacrosanct.
So that was the fun Sunday before my test Monday, whose face was rocked rather harshly byt eh Nyetverse. That is hopefully the last time I pat my own back with regard to that, but come on, I need to get a little bit excited about... wait for it... wait for it... ANNIHILATING THE GRE.
Actually, some sad news from the Monday morning of my standardized glory - Sparkle fell off the bed, or rather jumped and landed in a crumple. SO Beck was pretty sure she had torn her ACL or broken her back or pelvis. I was sickly worried about her, and when I got home she was shivering and whimpering and altogether looking like an invalid whose world was coming to an end. Of course, a couple of anti-inflammatories and a few hours later, she was walking around the house just fine, and this fine Tuesday morning she is motoring about and acting like nothing happened. She did this a few years ago and we determined that she is probably just the world's least stoic dog - in reality, she probably subluxed her patella or something that is bad and horribly painful, but fairly acute and not surgery-requiring. Thank goodness. The gameplan, if you're interested, is to keep an eye on her and take her in for X-rays if necessary, though given that she just vaulted across the apartment to bark at NOTHING, I'm guessing she'll pull through. Nonetheless, throw a kind thought the way of the world's most pathetic pup:
Dios mio. And so - I'd better go get some real, non-blogging work done. In the meantime, check out this nifty little new feature from our friends at Foxy Tunes (a Mozilla Plug-in) that allows you to inform the masses exactly what recorded music you are listening to at this very second. You are taking notes, right?
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Now playing: The Who - I Can't Explain
via FoxyTunes
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