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11.10.2005
Rhode Island School of Design and more
I just finished a job at RISD and all day was left agog noticing the endless procession of girls who looked like models from an Urban Outfitters catalogue. Paintbrushes protruding from back pockets and paint-stained backpacks were nice touches as well. I should have gone to art school. On second thought, no, because then I'd be too poor to leave my house to see the hipster art girls. Since I turned 30 a couple years back I'm constantly hit with the paranoia that I look like a cop, or an ex-convict. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to wait until my dreadlocks grow out, then I'll look cool.
It had gotten a bit chill and most of the fiery foliage lay upon the ground, the victim of recent rain. So after eating a mediocre Thai meal on Wickenden St, I strolled back to my hotel. I passed a couple pubs and with the cold and me in my cabbie hat and stripey scarf it felt fitting to grab a nice pint, but I resisted. I contemplated my week of sobriety and didn't want to ruin it with such a crass disregard of some smidgen of self-discipline. I made do instead with the AA survival diet of coffee and cigarettes and went on my merry way. Don't get me wrong, I'm only imposing such restrictions during the week. The weekends are still reserved for long falls into inebriated madness. I just finished reading the book, "Please Kill Me," about the beginnings of the punk scene focusing on the Detroit and for the most part, NYC scenes. It was written as a series of interviews with various musicians, artists, and scenesters, most of whom were on heroin at some point and many who are now dead. It was sad reading about so much wasted potential. Even though I have never, nor plan to ever, partake in the the junk, I still have been feeling like I waste too much time in the pubs. I mean, it's great that I've been really "networking" and meeting people that continue to help and inspire my artistic pursuits, but there is a lot of "down time" too, where you're sitting and staring off into space. I look at the old, crazy drunks, by themselves and I don't want to wind up as them, although I'm not adverse to taking up the role once my 401k becomes available at age 62 1/2.
It had gotten a bit chill and most of the fiery foliage lay upon the ground, the victim of recent rain. So after eating a mediocre Thai meal on Wickenden St, I strolled back to my hotel. I passed a couple pubs and with the cold and me in my cabbie hat and stripey scarf it felt fitting to grab a nice pint, but I resisted. I contemplated my week of sobriety and didn't want to ruin it with such a crass disregard of some smidgen of self-discipline. I made do instead with the AA survival diet of coffee and cigarettes and went on my merry way. Don't get me wrong, I'm only imposing such restrictions during the week. The weekends are still reserved for long falls into inebriated madness. I just finished reading the book, "Please Kill Me," about the beginnings of the punk scene focusing on the Detroit and for the most part, NYC scenes. It was written as a series of interviews with various musicians, artists, and scenesters, most of whom were on heroin at some point and many who are now dead. It was sad reading about so much wasted potential. Even though I have never, nor plan to ever, partake in the the junk, I still have been feeling like I waste too much time in the pubs. I mean, it's great that I've been really "networking" and meeting people that continue to help and inspire my artistic pursuits, but there is a lot of "down time" too, where you're sitting and staring off into space. I look at the old, crazy drunks, by themselves and I don't want to wind up as them, although I'm not adverse to taking up the role once my 401k becomes available at age 62 1/2.
