A different kind of water-"fall"

Now this is what I call bringing out your artistic element.

Impossible instructions

Driving piece:
Drive over every pothole you come across.






Resting piece:
Anytime you feel tired, do something you couldn't imagine doing unless you were bursting with energy.

Flirting piece:
Wink at every attractive person you see.

Sounds of the Subaudible

Here are some sounds to listen out for if you find you're the only one awake at 3AM in the morning. Although they seem utterly unspectacular (it's difficult to imagine being stimulated by the sound of a computer fan), their omnipresence and deceptively "silent" nature are what give these sounds their cultural immortality, and commit them to the paradoxical realm of the Subaudible.
(Refer to the first entry of this blog.)

Click here to listen.

When Andy met Edie

If anyone's interested in expanding his/her cinematic horizons, there's a 2006 film called "Factory Girl" that effectively chronicles the relationship of classroom-discussed, iconic artist Andy Warhol and the woman who became his muse, Edie Sedgwick. Although the film's main focus is on Edie herself, it lends substantial illustration of Warhol's magnetic influence on the people who crossed paths with him. A couple great quotes to listen out for:
"I always thought Andy threw America back in its face."
-Edie Sedgwick
"He turned the assembly line into a punch line."
-Edie Sedgwick
As a self-proclaimed film buff, I highly suggest you watch this film.

A matter of time

If there's one thing I've noticed about time, it's that there never seems to be enough of it. Actually, to be more exact, there is enough time - indeed, more than enough time - but only when I don't want it. For example, when I'm engaged in an activity I don't like - say, for example, working my wonderful and emotionally stimulating job in vitamin retail - time has a magical way of slowing down. I gaze at the clock, watching the minute hand make its leisurely trip around the dial, and gradually begin my descent into temporal oblivion. It is in this state that a single hour - trivial and unassuming - can become a deceptively vast ocean of time. On the other hand, when I'm engaged in an activity I very much enjoy, such as kicking back and watching a movie, time always goes by in a heartbeat. I sit down, get comfy, get lost in the art of the movie, and before I know it, the light fades and several hours have elapsed, leaving me to ask myself, "Where did all the time go?" It seems an ironic shame that my life is so often defined by long durations of meaningless activity, whereas the truer moments of my life - the ones that border on the magical and unforgettable - are also nothing more than moments, fleeting and abstract. Perhaps this helps explain the adage, "live today like there's no tomorrow", although given the subjective realities of duration and time, "today" may be nothing more than a traitor of "tomorrow".

Parallel driving

I took a drive with my parents recently. At some point during the ride, it dawned on me that there were a couple parallels between my current experience of mundane car travel and the vehicular experience presented in the film "The Last Clean Shirt". For one, I noticed that my father didn't seem too interested in what my mother had to say. Although he didn't turn on the radio as a way to shut her prattling out, he did revert to his automatic, semi-nonverbal response system of head-nodding and the occasional affirmative grunt. That's not to say, however, that my father didn't value my mother's company. He just wasn't captivated the way she so often is by certain scenic items, such as falling leaves, cloud shapes, and color schemes. The second parallel between mine and the film's car ride was the number of quick stops that were made during the drive. I've always found my mother's insistence at being driven - indeed chauffered - from store to store, and often when the locations are within brief walking distance of one another, somewhat nonsensical. Yet it's become an unspoken rule of automotive errand-running in my family. Sometimes I wonder if all that petty mobility is an effort, on her part, to rev up - if you'll excuse the pun - the fleeting immediacy of life outside the home. My mother is, after all, a product of the homemaker era. I don't think she even learned how to drive until after she became a mother herself.

Dance version of Around the World in 80 Days

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo

This guy Matt gives new meaning to dancing across cultural boundaries.