Is it seriously this cold.

Monday Feb. 11...

I mean, seriously. You know when you step outside and it is so cold that you immediately feel the snot in your nose freezing? Ya, well, I'm fed up with it. Completely sick of walking into a building with tears streaming down my face gasping for air. Why don't I live in California? Or Capri? Or maybe the cold would be tolerable if I had something nice to look at... maybe snow capped mountains? Penguins and polar bears? Throw me a bone here. Somebody. Please. My nips can only stay hard for so long before they become exhausted and fall off.



How come the weekend can't be 5 days and the week 2 days? That would be way more awesome.



I went to the Eiteljorg museum yesterday (for those of you who aren't familiar, the museum focuses on Western American and American Indian art). The building is architecturally stunning. Ansel Adams was my main draw for visiting the museum, though I found much of the other photography more interesting. Don't get me wrong, Adam's photos were beautiful- he is legendary- but they were all much smaller than I imagined.

I found my mind stirred by much of the other work. The photos which depicted the "Americanizing" of American Indian people. The destruction our society has brought to the earth. I found myself reminded of America's selfish greedy nature. Of our desire to conquer, divide and steal. I'm reminded that sometimes we "Americans" are a bunch of assholes. I feel like sometimes american doesn't deserve to be capitalized. And then, I go to the gas station and I get really pissed.

I also thought a bundle about inspiriation. About where it comes from... about whether creativity exhists inately in all humans or whether it is learned or passed from person to person. Think about this-- what led cavemen to draw on walls or native people to make jewlery or paint their skin? Were they instinctively inspired by nature-- were they attempting to express themselves, or were they just doing what the guy before them did? It's incomprehensible for me to think about the first time a person on earth sang or decided to paint a picture. The very first song! How did they know to do it? Was that first song one of sadness or praise? Why did others think the sound was beautiful? Why does music and art still grip so many in such a profound way?


I'm starting to spin out... yes, I know... don't worry I'm not sitting here stroking magical crystals or anything as I think about these things. But, really, humans are so much more alike than they are different. We all feel love and sadness-- we all laugh and cry and sing in the same way. Beauty is beauty is beauty. Though our opinions of what is beautiful may vary, we all see it in the world. Each and every human.