da illest

After the conversation we had in class regarding bathroom graffiti, I remembered that I obsessively take pics with my phone of three things: weird stuff in other people's houses; funny license plates and/or weird cars; odd graffiti that mostly appears in bathrooms. 

It looks like there's a web site just for people like me who enjoy the latter of my camera-phone hobbies: graffiti projects.

But there's a new site I found not too long ago that also condenses my amusement with unique urban art, and combines my enjoyment of all things outdoors. It's all about green graffiti. 

I also used to be part of a movement that used a form of posterized graffiti, which was more crude than the post-modern sophisticated UK ideas that are posted here. It started with blown-up heads of Jeff Goldblum taken from "The Fly." Underneath the poster heads was printed the line, "Jeff Goldblum is watching you poop." We posted the "heads" on the backs of bathroom stalls; all of this was the brainchild of one of my peers at the University of North Texas, where we went to film school together. The original web site is gone, but you can find an example of the Goldblum posters here.

Next post I think I'll upload some of my pics from the cell phone. 

Whozeewhatten

My life is essentially that of a writer pretending to have a real sort of life. I currently have three writing classes, I work for a newspaper, and I’m a project leader on several poetry areas on WEbook. All of this is to help facilitate my degree in creative writing (poetry). Today in the English building’s restroom, I read some graffiti: “English majors are future McDonald’s employees.” I beg to differ. English majors are capable of any number of jobs at the mall. In addition, I agree with my mathematics teaching assistant when he said, “I shouldn’t make fun of you, you might help me edit my dissertation.” Which may be true, but it’ll be after I get off of work ringing up books at Borders. 

In my previous years I served as a search and rescue operative in the US Navy, and I worked hurricane sorties as a rescue swimmer, as well as a counter-drug auxiliary. But I’m talking about tons of cocaine, not joints.  Now my body is used up and slightly broken, so I just sit and type. Which helps, because I have to do a lot of it this year.

I’m also an avid fan of gonzo journalism. More like rabid, actually—at least before I got all my energy out in the Navy. I was enamored with the gonzo concept so much I took to hitchhiking across Mexico, which in turn is not a wise move because you might end up with the following : Amoebic Dysentery; a mother who has a panic attack when she receives a call asking to look up a location in the Sonora outback when she thought her son was somewhere in Texas visiting a friend; or getting punched in the face by two Frenchies that were riding a bus with me and decided to get the upper hand when we stopped in a tiny town that only had one room available for the night. At least I made the ten-day trip on less than $80, and I lost twenty pounds from Amoebic purging. I'm sure I was quite charming as I crossed the border into San Diego, toting bottles of tequila, a backpack, soiled clothes, and a torn woven blanket that was supposed to have been a gift for my panic-stricken mother.