the first week

As my list of things to buy for School jumps and grows, here is a peek at what I need to get today:

  • More RAM for my brain (one week in and I'm confident enough to make computer jokes!)

  • The perfect food item I can jam down my throat in the 30 minute break we get that will a) sustain b) nourish c) caffeinate d) not make my breath so cruel it melts the keyboard e) not make people think I'm a pig/weird/scornful vegetarian

  • A binder that I'll hate because the binder I do have that is so so awesome (*ahem* Shawn Kemp dunking circa 1994) is also so so over-sized and hard to handle.

  • A knapsack that I'll loathe because I was so determined to make MY way work; my way being my purse plus my new blue & yellow bag from the USA. But the straps outnumber me, and I don't know where to put my lunch, keys, phone and I ended up dropping both of them in a huge huff a bunch this week and barely containing the urge to satisfyingly kick them both down a flight of stairs. I only have two arms and I need to have at least one free to save my face on the day I inevitably trip and fall.

  • Pens! I am excited about pens!

  • A weird ruler called an e-gauge that I hope comes packaged with a syringe filled with a golden serum I can inject into my brain that has basic math skills concentrated within. Evidently there is a different made up measurement used for page layout in Publishing (picas! points! i'm fucked! oh my!) that really anyone who has a basic grasp of basic math should be able to decode. AKA-NOT ME!

I forgot to tell you: 
How sad I was after going to the 'Krazy' exhibit at the Vancouver Art gallery last weekend. 
(Full disclosure-We were going to go Saturday but as it took us longer and longer to leave, I started to go into mega-panic-monger-shut-down-all-common-sense mode and ended up having a wild tantrum involving slamming doors, hucking my shoes and purse and sitting on the bed facing the wall crying before ceremoniously ripping the power cord for the night table clock out of the wall. This behavior is shameful, and I don't know where it sprang out of, but I felt very young and very heated and very shitty afterward. Soooo, we ended up going Monday instead. And Nuv got to punch me in the kidneys whilst calling me a pussy six times)
Basically, I felt the curators dropped the ball. All personal taste aside, it all rang out as a lazy, uninspired, half dash effort, and if you want me to pay $20 to get in, and not throttle the chick in front of me taking forever to read one panel of one strip because we're going to do this thing in order GODDAMNIT, then don't put a PS2 behind glass and expect me to fall to the floor weeping in the prayer pose. I did enjoy immensely the Chris Ware portion (If I could have one artist render my life in spectacular detail in tiny squares, he is the one) the Maus stuff, Daniel Clowes and Harvey Kurtzman (your fonts! YOUR FONTS!)
When we left I was hungry, both physically, and emotionally, for more. And thus ends my poorly rendered art critique.

About right: It's super awesome when a) The prettiest girl in class shares your name and b) when we all take each others pictures as an exercise and I'm the ONLY one who had fun with it but ended up looking like a cow being branded.
"Hey guys, I'm not 30.5 years old, look how fun and wacky I am!! Guys! Guys?"