I came home in the post-snow weather, sort of a curious hybrid of sun and freezing temperature, and went to bed after a few rounds with the toilet. I woke up at midnight, came downstairs for some foodage. First off, my rad dog gave the guard-dog song-and-dance. He didn't, in fact, sing and dance, but rather gave a Real Bark and started getting up in a movement that only could be catagorized as "What the hell?!". But I reassured him that it was me, and he calmed down quickly, albeit with a strong bribe of scratching his stomach.

On the family room table (does anyone know the distinction between the family room and living room? I think that's going out of style) was a slide projector. I think it may have been broken, but between my tech support fumblings and Lucca's (my dog) strange looks, I did see some slides, as well as a polaroid collection of photos. They were from the wartime, and there were so many men smiling at the camera, all wearing the same dark-green uniforms, the pointed hats that looked like the way people fold napkins at expensive restaurants now, just ready to serve something good and pure, not rife with distrust.

Being an artist isn't really about being so into yourself that you can't see out of some sort of silly half-assed painting that you did with the intention of getting some cash and jetting into tha capitalism-style sexiness aestheticness. Maybe the whole process of art is a steady longing for the past, since that's all we know. We can't tell the future, only guess what it may be. Postmodernism had it right far too early - cold, mechanical, corrupt. Fragmented.

Then again, it's 30 minutes until 1 in the morning and I have to work tomorrow. I haven't heard back yet from the Rad Job, but we'll see.

Those slides, though. Even the fact that comic strips are starting to be from
"my era" like the Far Side, when it had strips of collective entities showing a slide show. Kids now aren't going to know what a slide projector is. It's obselete. We have digital pictures now.

With all these better methods of collecting the present, I hope we can look back more critically and know what we were doing wrong. At the moment, I'm tired of the debt and paranoia. My friends and people I know are aware of this: there's certainly more than that effort of pushing up above the average income line so you can get a house. There is something strange and almost primal underneath the surface - happines is such a simple thing but yet so extraordinarily difficult to grasp given our current circumstances. However, we only know what we've learned, and however many times we study World War 2, we weren't in America in that steady time of tension. Even then, we certainly weren't worried about bombs scattering across our country. The war was over there, after all. We could still go to the barber, still chat with our neighbors. Now it's universal. This planet isn't big enough.

Now the word that I have avoided can't be avoided: innocence. Maybe we shed it like a skin as we get older, with a frantic grasp to retrieve as the years move on.

I don't know, I'm just 25.

Annie (girlfriend) and I are doing well - she's back from her vacation and spooning her after days of absence was great, to say the least. She's just a spoonable person. And lovely, at that. I feel better now that she's home.

Maybe I fear the future of the USA. Maybe the first thing that crossed my mind was this entry being scanned and used against me in court for some odd reason, but that reflexively suggests some sort of paranoid Orwellian future reaction. Maybe I'm a blend of scholastic terms and boyish reasoning. Either way, you all should call me so I can have the numbers, and that number will be hidden in this next sentence: 303-xylophone-552-Lucca-8816.

Speaking of, Lucca has reached the status of Good Dog with my family. Here is a picture of him as a puppy, to validate that: (update: photobucket is doing scheduled maintenance and can't host the photo of my pup).

I stilll need to get a Bluetooth USB adaptor so that I can transfer the pictures from my phone over to here, but in the meantime, be good to one another, and be well. Toodles.

Simply,
Jared