Tuonela

It’s quite trite to say, “what a year!” But seriously, what a year! This week I’ve been reflecting on the one year anniversary of the loss of my events career and the upheaval of my finances. Being some mix of artist and educator for the past 15 years in San Diego means I’ve had to fly by the seat of my pants financially more often than most. Since the 2008 market crash when my family and many others lost their homes, I’ve been homeless and home insecure multiple times; it’s not a pleasant state of being and makes moving a very emotional ordeal.

This year was the first time I was ever able to receive UI benefits and was also the first time I’ve been unemployed since 17. I hated it. I’m not the kind of person who asks for help easily, and relying on a fraction of my income with no knowing when I could support myself again has been...well...not good for my mental health. Not to mention there’s this awful neighbor who loudly complains about the greedy people who just want a hand out while he blocks my car in the garage making my reliable transportation to anywhere, including a brief attempt at an on call job, impossible. Slum lords as well as “the vibes” in my immediate neighborhood have been a major detriment to anything I’ve tried to rebuild this year. Between the garage flooding all.the.time to a shity, smug neighbor blocking me in, I am SO GLAD to be leaving this dump. However, that means leaving my hometown and home state.

I just went back a year from today in my photos. What I was worried about then vs now.

Then: just moved into a condo in Carlsbad with my ex, not working, but taking online classes

Now: living with my sister in an apartment in North Park, was working but got laid off from my scene shop job because of a Pandemic

Then: worried about money, my lack of a sex life and what to eat to lose weight.

Now: worried about money, my lack of sex life, and what to eat so I don’t get scurvy.

Shit, man! Talk about patterns; it’s like the same story but worse.

Current album: Brushfire Fairytales

Singing “The News”

Originally bought this album for my fiancé’s birthday, it was just released and everyone was in love with Jack Johnson...

I’ve still never been married.

So I initially went to school for sculpture and museum studies before becoming a preschool teacher; I was a starving artist then a starving teacher. Now back to a somewhat less starving artist.

Over the last 10 years I’ve worked many Artist assistant jobs. The constant has been for Sasha K Reibstein, my ceramics professor and mentor. I eventually became her default cat/ house sitter. I adopted one of those three cats, pour one out for Mister Merlin Von Jonestein. I even Nannied for her two children last year, Ruby Vega and Grayson Wild. Shit, I dug up a body (allegedly the former owners family dog) in her front yard. The point is, I’ve been her assistant and beyond through a lot. I’ve also helped produce some of her art.

What is an artist’s assistant?

The style, idea, and concept are all dictated by the artist. The assistant, ie me, follows the dictation and makes the work. Although the intellectual property remains the artist’s, the assistant produces it. Sometimes there is room to add your own flair as an assistant; when I worked in the Bohem Gallery, some artists were very hands off or vague in their instructions and I was set free to do it my way (within reason). That means to be an assistant you are highly skilled in many ways...but get minimal credit or bragging rights. It becomes difficult to showcase your skills when people only see the headlining artist.

Something something non sequitur

It was just after dusk in the still heat of the day. The windows were down and she could smell the hot asphalt. Crystal Castles at max volume, she was speeding down the i805. The purr of the black Honda hatchback was barely audible over the custom subwoofer the original owner had installed. She depressed the cigarette lighter, silently blessing vintage cars and the former owner for letting go of his cherry 97 DX.

What are Maths? Also I think three of you five are spam. This is like Gandalf introducing the dwarves to Bjorn one at a time and Bjorn catching him on his words just as another dwarf arrives. Except 5 doesn’t equal 13...

Now I’m sidetracked wondering what the opposite of triskaidekaphobia would be called. Triskaidekamore?

Well you two, five, or thirteen, buckle up I’m driving this magic bus. You can chew gum just don’t stick it under the seats.

I also want to lastly point out that if there are indeed 13 followers, that it’s the same number of dwarves on the unexpected journey. Therefore I’d make 14, and be Bilbo in this analogy. I’m ok with it.

Also the next person to follow would round out to be Gandalf...so...tell your friends.

Actually don’t. I like the freedom of being mostly a secret.

This is all just an homage to my ujournal.

Oh man. Singing (touch-a, touch-a) touch me from Rocky Horror Picture Show.

RPHS at 18 was my gateway drug into counter culture. It would be another four years before I fully connected with Crazed Imaginations by living with two cast members and dating another. Though never fully a cast member, I knew enough people to be in the inner circle and get invited to all the best parties. Through RHPS I would go to my first Pride parade, meet amazing people, and fall ass over teakettle into the SCA. Who knew that first fateful Time Warp would shape the past decade of my life as exquisitely as Tim Curry in a corset.

Sexual harassment orientation was yesterday at work. As the kids say, I’m pretty salty about it.

In one of the Narnia books there’s a passage about Lucy using a magic book to see her friend in the mundane world. She sees her friend saying some two faced shit and the lesson is something about snooping and words out of context. I maybe forgetting the finer points, but in that I read it once 20 years ago, I think my lapse in memory can be forgiven.

Anyway.