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name: will baker blogrollin' other sites: |
craft hell
Day Three of Project Quit Smoking Before I Die. It sucks. But not quite as bad as yesterday, which sucked the chrome off a trailer-hitch. I actually had one cigarette last night, and then realized I was being an ass and gave the rest of the pack to J2. The sad part is that I had to smoke one to come to my senses. I�m not sure about these Target-brand patches. Are they really juicing me up with enough nicotine? They help a lot in the morning, but by late afternoon, I feel like snapping the heads off innocent children. Last night, J1 and J2 took me to this little shop up on the far north side that sells nothing but stamps and related paraphernalia. This is a part of J2�s ongoing effort to strip me of the last pathetic shreds of my masculinity, but that�s another story. This store has a �stamp night� on Wednesdays; you pay $5 and you can use everything in this big room full of stamps, ink pads, papers, scissors, glue, beads, and all manner of other craft sequelia. They also provide snacks, but the snacks will make you die of acid reflux disease. They are snacks for anorexics or something. Avoid them at all costs. J2 is very crafty, Dear Reader�always fashioning little instances of art out of the most unlikely things. I, on the other hand, do most of my arty stuff in the world of vector graphics and HTML�all nice and tidy, on computer screens. As a result, the lobe of my brain that would normally provide the fine motor skills for crafting is seriously atrophied. I gently stamped a beautiful little graphic in the middle of a broad, clean sheet of velum�and smudged black ink on the corner of said beautiful sheet with my dirty fingers. I carefully glued a small square of snake-textured hand-crafted paper in the middle of a sheet of beautiful blue water-marked paper�and oozed glue all over the goddamned place. I am, in short, a craft retard. In Illustrator or Freehand, you can undo ANYthing. There is no �undo� menu option in Paper n� Glue 1.0. Also, the people who hang out in a stamp store are�well�different. Let�s just say that if any of those women are married, I�m absolutely 100% certain that their husbands are cheating on them. Because I have never seen a bigger collection of humorless shrews in my life. Picture hair in desperate need of a hot-oil treatment. Hair held back in scrunchies to keep it from getting glued on, or set ablaze by the nifty little heat-gun one uses for embossing (but which could clearly be used for all manner of torture-related activities). Picture little or no makeup on pasty, pimply skin. Most of all, picture women with no sense of irony. None. There is a strong inverse correlation between crafting skills and ironic detachment (which is odd, since artists, on the other hand, usually have irony aplenty). These are women who have cats. Lots and lots of cats. Also, they like fairies. And British royalty. But not, I suspect, men. Or sex. Not deep down, not really. J1 and J2 are, of course, gorgeous and hilarious. One of the reasons I love them both is that they are both crafty andevil, pressing their hot-glue guns into service of the cause of world domination and general mischief. They are ironic. They are sexy, evil bitches. They are Bond-girls. They are hot. And I was with them, so I had a good time, despite my own ham-fisted attempts at stamp-art. Real objects are so fucking obstinate. Let me just go ahead and add �the third dimension� and �viscosity� to my �Things I Hate� list. Ooh, PS, that stamp store had the most bitchin� collection of handmade papers I have ever seen. Some totally wicked Japanese fiber stuff. I could blow some major money up in there. On�textured paper. God, I�m such a faggot.
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