Awaiting The Return Of Our Beloved

Someone thought it would be a good idea if I were raised to be a good internalizer so any information I give tends to come in riddles or cyphers. In tribute to the journey, the feelings that brought me down for the last week, and in the spirit of the person I miss, I offer this,

Awaiting The Return Of Our Beloved

She stands for me
Hiding the visage with glass
Coney faces south.

The Long Trailer

One of the companies I work for does corporate presentation videos -- the company is owned and operated by D. (referenced here) -- and I've spent the middle days of the last few weeks working for him in Pennsylvania. In Chadds Ford. It's one of those places where you know where it is but you couldn't tell anyone how to get there. Regardless, I've missed a goodly portion of the nice East Coast weather by spending the pastoral days locked in a Best Western ballroom listening to people prattle about this or that product while gazing wistfully out the window like a kid trapped in school a week before summer vacation.


With that in mind, one would think I'd been a world beater on my off days, galavanting in the city like a gay tourist ("gay" in the 50's way, thanks). In truth I've spent the last few days inside during the working hours, trying to motivate and finish editing the family videos but I've not had a good time of it. I'm starting to wonder if it's all in my head and if I'm starting to let go of some of the grander promises I made to myself about the type of person I would become. There's still time, sure, and I haven't had the fire under me lately, and it worries me terribly in my quiet moments, of which there are many.

When looking back at the last two years in terms or work cycle, I find that summer means work travel, and hopefully that will be the case this year -- something to shake off the rust and complacency that comes from working from rote.

In other news, I beat my audit! I'll be posting that story soon. Once I get my tires on the ground instead of spinning in the sand.

The truck stop is somewhere off 295 in New Jersey. I have no idea where, really and I'm not sure I would bother to tell you where if I did.

How Did I Get Here?

I think I've made a huge mistake. This,



Is the one I should have posted to Flickr, not the other. I'm bad at editing.

Holly

Just got finished with a little portfolio shoot for Holly Stevenson, whom I could probably consider a regular client if I needed a reference (even if I work for her in trade) and an all-around stand-up gal. She should be putting the new stuff up on her site eventually, if not shortly.

Once upon a time she and Matt and Ted and I all went to school together and I enjoy their personal work immensely, even though I describe them as each angling toward a different level of retardation. Holly's in particular seeps a comfortable innocence that is charming without going into a japana-twee or Kiki Smith-fractured-fairy-tale direction. Her work has been getting darker.

She currently lives in this magical universe where she thinks she's not photogenic.

16 Tons

Dear Blog,

Now that Mr. Hollister has moved out (God bless him), I have the whole apartment to myself, which is a very pleasant and exciting development. The problem lies with the schedule of home repairs, which I hold myself to strictly in an attempt to advance my personal hygiene and keep myself from getting lazy. After twelve-hour days at work, painting and cleaning are not high on my list of things to do,

List of things to do, in order:

1) Eat
2) See What The Social Scene Is For The Evening
3) Drink
4) Sleep
5) Paint
6) Clean

In a minor coup, I have sucessfully painted his old room and installed a six-foot stainless steel kitchen prep-counter similar to this one as a desk (I hacked the legs down about eight-inches to make it proper desk height) and have nearly finished painting my old room.

The sense of accomplishment is palpable even though I've learned the hard way (is there any other way) that like fucking, painting is best done with another individual, and if possible three or four. Now, the problem with home repairs of this scale is the desire to live like a real boy duking it out with the desire to not improve the equity of the landlords, especially when you consider my ongoing series, The Crazy Lady Upstairs and The Case Of The Flooding Bathroom. Please recall The Crazy Lady Upstairs believes I put a curse on her and feels this gives her cause to fight back by running the water at all hours and occcasionally causing my bathroom and entryway to flood.

I feel confident that the little men coming to re-route the pipes tomorrow (Monday) will finally solve this caper and foil her dastardly plot to remove the curse. She should try live chicken sacrifices.

Thanks for listening to my whining, Blog. I really need someone to vent to now that all my friends are sick of listening to my trials and long, boring stories of work, work problems and relationship issues.

Sincerely,

Richard Gin (dot org)

"I FALL TO PIECES" HYPE MACHINE ANNOUNCES ART SHOW, RICHARD GIN NOT INVOLVED

Teg McGrath (with whom I am familiar) and Chris Silas (with whom I am less familiar) are having a double-header art show opening this Thursday, May 10 2007 at The Riviera Gallery! Yes, I just used an exclaimation point. Yes, Ted is the drummer of These Are Powers (Erstwhile-Savonarola, occasionally F-Mold, all-around good-guy). Behold a press release I compelled him to write for the occasion,

The Maypole Madddness marches boldly forward - this thursday please join Mr. Christopher Silas Neal and i for the opening of our art show at the Riviera in beautiful downtown Williamsburg. Details and image enticement below - hope to see you all there!

I will be there, as will many other peoples I know and like and we hope to see you there as well.

Happy May

I was working for the last three days for a British company putting together a show about 7 World Trade Center for a series on remarkable buildings. 7 WTC was chosen for its new safety features designed to survive the salad days of terror, and the people in charge of the building couldn't have been nicer or more accommodating -- we could literally run around where we pleased and spent a good deal of time on the roof and scampering about the maintenance decks and tunnels shooting whatever the hell we wanted. Usually the crew is invited into a building to shoot only to spend 60% of our time negotiating access to the freights or reminding the new security shift who we are.

Nick and I (along with Anthony) were the American support crew -- he was AC and I was audio (Anthony was our driver) -- and if you've ever wondered what it feels like to work in television, look at Nick.