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Sunday, March 25, 2012

Packing Tape Art

In my quest for more creativity I’ve been prowling the innards of the Internet for other creative folks in hopes that they will inspire me to leap out of my creative comfort zone.

I’ve sat at my computer hour after hour searching. Sometimes I get distracted by things I shouldn’t get distracted by (but that’s another blog). Sometimes I’m bored to tears. Sometimes I’m mildly amused. And sometimes, if I’m lucky, I’m highly amused and aroused and wanna dim all the lights and dance the dance of creative joy.

Today I came across Packing Tape Art. Yes, packing tape. The same tape you use to secure shipping boxes, and the same tape a few school teachers have illegally used to tape overactive students to their chairs.

I’ve always had a fondness for packing tape. It’s far superior to scotch tape and masking tape. It has more “stick” and it’s more durable. Those other tapes wither under extreme conditions. Packing tape is the survivor of all tapes.

Street artist Mark Jenkins has created some astounding scenes with packing tape. My favorite is the dogs in the trash. They look like the ghosts of dogs past....


"Once I have the finished sculpture, I'll put it out on the street or in nature or somewhere where it interacts with the environment," Jenkins says. "Really it's the idea of turning the street into a stage, so this urban theater has a life of its own."


Totally creative. Totally cool. I wish I thought of it.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Genuine Tutu Love

Last Friday I thought it’d be fun to go to work dressed as a priest. I had this black shirt on and in the confines of my bedroom I added a white piece of cardboard across the neck and transformed myself from hip-geek to hip-priest. I looked divine, priestly, even virgin-like in the “priests don’t have sex” sort of way (wink, wink).

I was all set and ready to head to work when good ‘ole Catholic guilt reared its ugly head and taunted me until I broke down and changed. (To be a little devilish I didn’t wear any underwear.)

Sometimes you just need to shake things up and do something daring.

Well... today I read about a man who dresses in a pink tutu and takes his picture in all sorts of wonderful places.
Of course my interest was piqued and I knew I had to check it out. Pink. Tutu. Photos. How wonderfully daring is that?
He’s a photographer named Bob Carey who initially did it to help raise funds for the Arizona Ballet. When his wife Linda was diagnosed with breast cancer he continued the pink tutu photos but is now using them to help fight the fight against breast cancer. He’s selling prints and t-shirts with his totally pink tutu-ness. He’s also created a coffee table book aptly titled “Ballerina” to continue raising funds.

Wow... that’s brilliant. That’s pink. That’s genuine tutu love.

Be sure to check out the website: http://www.thetutuproject.com

Compared to his tutu idea my priestly idea sucked. I need to really vamp up my creativity.

Tuesday, March 06, 2012

Butter and Sugar and Diabetes Too

What lurks behind the southern drawl of the butter loving, whipped cream licking, pecan pie baking, fried food fanatic Paula Deen?

Fakery.
Greed.
Diabetes.
Sexual Harassment.

Are we really surprised? I wasn’t... well, the sexual harassment at the restaurant Deen owns with her brother Bubba was a bit of a shock. It turns out Bubba’s a whoring porn loving pig. He should be spit roasted.

The first time I ever watched Deen’s show I was overcome with potential diabetes just by seeing all the sugar and butter she was pouring into her overblown recipes. My sweet tooth rotted and my arteries clogged just by watching her for 30 minutes.

Sure the food looked great and delicious (that kind of food always does), but one small serving would be enough to put anyone into a serious health risk.

If I ate what she cooked I’d be constipated for weeks. Weeks!

Money and fame seems to be all that Deen’s about because she’s been concealing her own diabetes from her beloved fans for years. Let them eat cake and let them get diabetes just as long as Paula Deen keeps her checkbook fat with cash. She’s made millions peddling unhealthy food, and she knew all along what she was doing.

And that white toothed smile? I never bought it. I can only imagine before the camera’s turned on she’s a nasty bitch on a severe sugar low but once the director’s ready to yell “Action” she snorts sugar and becomes all charm. Oh yes, I can see it in her eyes.

Shame, shame, shame on you Paula Deen.

I’d love to continually force feed her deep fried sticks of butter covered in peanut butter with cinnamon sugar coated chocolate sprinkles and dipped in whipped cream.