My Favorite Model

Alackaday, for my life drawing class has been rubbed out by the merciless eraser that is time. At least the last class was a fun one. Lori, Queen of AwesomePoseLand, modeled, and all of her poses are awesome. The awesome thing about awesome poses is that they often result in awesome drawings!















See? Awesome!
Right.

Interesting Observation: the pool of Northeast Ohioan life drawing models is composed almost exclusively of bikers.


Speaking of bikers...
Okay, this requires some background. The students at my high school never used the library. It is a sad fact that, until last year, no one I know ever checked out a book. Why? We were scared! There were two short, blond, and very elderly librarians. They were both SCARY (have I emphasized their EXTREMELY HIGH FRIGHTENING QUOTIENT enough?). Orange just spent a few million dollars upgrading to a "media center", though, and Angry Librarian 1 retired (in protest? Perhaps) and was replaced by The Really Nice Librarian That We All Remember From Elementary School (she is also short and elderly, but more of a light, dusty brunette than a blond).
So, now that the hate factor of the library has been reduced by 50%, sometimes... my friends and I actually work on projects there! Most recently, we did a 3 panel mural that represented the themes, motifs, and symbols in Salman Rusdie's The Moor's Last Sigh (go read it!). As we are coloring in Ganesha, Angry Librarian 2 walks by, breaks into a maniacal grin, and tells us her life story.

OH MY GOD

She is a biker! The licence plate on her motorcycle says "Ganesha". She was married in a Hindu ceremony. Her house is filled with curiosities from the Jewel in England's Crown.
What?! Are you as floored by this development as I am? Cuz I am seriously floored. And now she is nice to us. It is eerie. I expect Rod Serling will be popping by any minute now.

I'm pretty sure there is a moral having to do with books and their covers here.

The Kids at Camp

They used to call me Alison Wonderland. In retrospect, it's a pretty cool nickname.

Seriously, Guys, It's an Ethical Dilemma

Sir Robo-galacticoman: But Princess Ashaleey, I love you!

Princess Ashaleey: No, Sir Robo-galacticoman, it can never be!

(It's for the love of her country! She is worried about the potential immortality = king forever issue - no one likes a metal tyrant)

ZOHMBAYHZ!

I promise not everything I draw is dead!

Skellingtons

It was a real skeleton. I touched it. It was cool.

By cool, though, I mean sad. Despite the beautifully simple lines and the awe inspiring, complex structure (evolution blows my mind), I can't help but to wonder who she was.

Anyone seen Fast Times at Ridgemont High? Do you think she was a vagrant who sold her body to science for $30? I have no idea when she was alive. Maybe she was the victim of grave-robbery in the 1800s? Did she know parts of her body that she herself had never even seen were going to be thoroughly but dispassionately scrutinized by art student after art student for decades. It's like she's being whored out. I wouldn't feel so bad about it if any of us had the talent to really render her with the passion, innovation, and loveliness that her bones deserve, but as it is, she is prisoner to our mediocrity.

In other news, I'm still jazzed about MIT. Not even art can bring me down from the cirrus (is that the very, very high one?) cloud that I have been floating on for the past 55.5 hours.

MIT '12

Yes.

This isn't l'etranger!

Part 2, Chapter 4 of Albert Camus' l'etranger is the chapter that I have been assigned to teach tomorrow. Naturally, that means that I've spent the evening puttering around the internet trying not to think about the fact that I left the wee tome in my locker. And thus, the origins of this post:

I googled some phrase in Klingon, the only result was an old livejournal. I explored the livejournal. What's this?! The fellow speaks at least 5 languages, how interesting... and then I see a string of comments, a 'conversation' in which the blogger and another non-native English speaker attack an American for using the present tense of 'to forget.' No where else in the world, they say, have they ever heard anyone say 'I forget' instead of 'I forgot' or 'I have forgotten.' The American, they say, is just plain wrong. Now, the American failed tragically in defending himself and his countrymen, and I would have gone hastily to his aid if the thread (and, in fact, the entire blog) had not died several years ago.
So, I will justify the American 'forget' here. This may be not be true of everyone, but when I say 'I forget,' I say it with the expectation that I will remember the information at some point; it has been only temporarily misplaced. I say 'I've forgotten' when I doubt that I will ever be able to drag up the lost kernel of knowledge. Chalk it up to the legendary American optimism! We of the United States refuse to acknowledge the potential endurance of any sort of negativity.

And I should go look for l'etranger again.