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rue-madame's Diaryland Diary

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Vive la rťvolution!

I just got back from printmaking class.

I actually got out earlier than usual due to a finger injury the teacher sustained last week (he had a doctorís appointment and stopped class around 1 pm, instead of 3 pm.) Apparently, he sprained some kind of little muscle in the area connecting his thumb to his index; his explanation was that he was helping too many students last week, showing them how to print one-handed, and all that fancy action caused injury. Because he hurt his right hand, and because itís the tendon between the thumb and index, I kept visualizing him exacerbating his injury by self-medicating with a giant joint.

I do feel kinda bad for the guy. Today he had a brace on his hand, and some sort of makeshift sling. It looked like he had a dirty shoelace around his neck. On a normal day, heís got both ankles wrapped in braces and a giant leather posture belt poking through his t-shirt. Itís hard not to feel a little bit sorry for his progressive decrepitude.

The Pocket Homies in my class are getting funnier and funnier. They are so Brown Power and politically aware, itís awesome. Today, they were going through their ideas for prints, and mixed in with the Joy Division and The Smiths artwork, were images of Frida Kahlo and Che Guevara. Theyíre always talking about demonstrations for workersí rights and other stuff. I wish I could be more specific but I donít want to be too obvious with my eavesdropping.

Anyway, during every class, they comandeer the ghetto blaster and play cds. Last week, it was pretty cool because they put on Manu Chao and it reminded me of France. Today, however, they put on some psycho dark music with creepy, satanic voices, and myself and another woman were all, ďWhatís with the devil music? Where did Manu Chao go?Ē So they put The Doors on instead. After The Doors, they threw on a bunch of different stuff, finally settling on the first Specials album. That used to be one of my favorite albums back in the day, so I was singing along, and their heads just about exploded off their bodies. Iím sure they were wondering how the hell an old lady knew the words to the songs.

Kids these days...

After class, I decided to go check out the Giant Robot store since itís not that far away from Santa Monica College. The store is rad! I wanted to buy everything: one of each Margaret Kilgallen t-shirt, one of each Yoshitomo Nara book and toy, etc. Itís unreal how much cool shit they have there. Of course, the shopping experience was negatively affected by some pseudo-artsy-look-at-me-in-my-thrift-store-t-shirt people, but all in all, I was happy to finally be there. The shop is the perfect size, with just the right amount of merchandise, it didnít feel crammed or empty but you could still *see* and appreciate everything... if I had a store, I would model it on that one. Itís one of those places that is so perfectly someoneís committed and focused vision; when youíre inside, you feel like youíre in someoneís mind. I couldnít leave without buying a little something, so I splurged on a series of 4 signed prints from Optic Nerve, one of my favorite comic books. They really werenít that expensive, and anyway, Iíve decided to write them off. They are going to look so cool when theyíre framed. It cracks me up that on some microscopic level, I am indulging my Peggy Guggenheim art collecting fantasies (minus the sex with the artists, minus the 10 little yappy dogs, minus the palazzo on the grand canal, minus the heiress fortune, minus a lot of things. Sadly.)

On that same thought, tonight I am going to an art opening in Los Feliz for Gary Baseman. Weíre meeting for drinks beforehand, then walking over (since the show is at Wacko.) Les Sans Culottes are playing at Spaceland, too, so if Iíve got the stamina, maybe Iíll head over there for a little Frenchity Frenchness.

God I need a nap.

5:03 p.m. - 2002-10-04

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