Sweet Home Manhattan

The trip back home was marvelous, I didn't get to see everyone because I was only there for a two days so if we had plans and I disappeared forgive me. Somehow I filled up my 2 gigabyte SD card to the brim in 48 hours, which is odd because I'm not much of a photographer. Well, sometimes I am.

After my camera took a big steaming dump of New York on my laptop, I thought I'd share a few of the high and low moments with you all.

Seeing my favorite dog Bella was wonderful, we played like the old days and I could tell she was happy to see me.

Equally great was seeing my favorite view from Manhattan.

No, stupido, not anything from the high line. I'm talking about this view, baby:

Another great moment was going over to Daniel's house. For some reason I haven't set foot in his abode for years. We joke about it all the time, that I had become a rumor in his household, that Daniel's parents get suspicious when he says "I'm going to chill with Kevin" thinking he is actually saying "I'm going to go do drugs with bad people"

Needless to say, nothing had changed. Just like the old days.

The real highlight was spending some time trying to record an awesome episode of Friday Night with K-Dog. It was the dopest night to do it, energy was high and my boy-o's Chris, Ludwig, Carlos and Daniel all hit up the microphones and had our shot at greatness.

Well...things didn't turn out that great. After tanking for at least an hour, we all started laying around in defeat. The place looked and smelt like an opium den.

Essentially, this photo of Chris can summarize how much fun we were having.

Still, even after failing miserably and having nothing to do but revel in our own incompetency, we all had fun. That's what I love about these buckos.

All of that is long gone now. I'm tucked away in my living room, back in Chicago, chilling with Spuds Mackenzie, thinking about some prints I have to do tonight. It's a totally different pace from things back home but in some ways I enjoy it just as much.

I do look forward to going home, though.

Episode Three, Baby

The vacation induced hiatus ends today and what a better way to celebrate that than uploading the third installation of the Friday Night with Kevin Gannon poopcast?

If you missed it last week don't fret, you missed nothing. Literally.

Enjoy, baby. Don't forget who's back in town.

Stay Tuned...

Sorry folks, I guess I should have put this up a few days ago.

Why are there no posts? No poopcasts? I'm on my two day vacation, baby!

That's right, my school gave me two days off for spring break and I'm trying to live it up while I still can. It might be hard to believe but even K-Dogs gotta' rest sometimes, too.

I'll be flying back to Chicago tonight. See you then.

Robbie and Chicago

Robbie spent some time here and I decided to take a few days off and update you about things later. I guess now is later.

We had a pretty wonderful time. Robbie seemed to have brought the nice weather with him and Chicago was a completely different city. Don't believe me? I have photographic proof:

I swear to god, that's Chicago.

We didn't do much but lounge around the crib and occasionally take a nice stroll somewhere. Something I never thought I'd see what Preston and Robbie lounging in the Gene Siskel Theatre. Talk about synergy.

It felt like the scene in Heat when Pacino and DeNiro finally met over a tense meal only the meal was a movie with Janet Gaynor and no one was tense at all.

I think the only low moment of the entire trip was when a telescope stole a quarter from Robbie.

It was his last one.

Sadly, all this fun had to come to an end. Robbie is back down south and I'm back in the Big Apple. Tonight I record the third episode of Friday Night with Kevin Gannon and let me tell you:

This one's a doosey.

Litho With My Bro

Robbie Cline is in Chicago for a week and I'm having a blast kicking it with him just like the old days in very new day surroundings.

Today I had a shitload of litho prints that needed to get done which meant, unfortunately, Robbie had to tag along with Steph and I as we panicked to get as much work done as humanly possible.

After a few hours, Robbie became a crucial element of the artistic process. He timed each print, forcing Steph and I to work like athletes during the most important game of our lives. Our record? Two minutes and 30 seconds. That's from plate treating to sitting the print down to dry. That's beautiful.

One thing that blew was that we didn't have an extra pair of gloves for my precious little hands. The professors insisted that we use gloves but I had no choice but to do this barehanded. What a mistake.

There is a stage in the process where you coat the plate with asphaltum liquid. This stuff looks like asphalt, smells like asphalt and feels like asphalt. Essentially, it's road in a bottle.

I found out the hard way that getting street all over your hands is nearly impossible to tolerate and even harder to clean off.

Still, six hours later the prints came out nicely.

My hands still smell like Delancey street on a hot day. Blech.

Second Episode

It looks like this poopcast business is official. iTunes is not giving me a tough time with anything and updating episodes is easy and smooth. Like a baby's butt. Uh...why'd that come out dirty this time?

How do I know this? Today I put up the second episode! Yay!

For those of you who have subscribed you probably already know this (congratulations: you are the cool kids). Those of you who haven't, now you do. You can listen from up above or you can download the files from iTunes.

Your call. I'm all about autonomy.

Finally, do me the favor and rate this sucker on iTunes. I'd suggest fives stars but you know what? You can rate it whatever you want. Seriously, though, five stars would be best.

Frogs

Sorry folks, nothing special today. Got a lot of work and I'm thinking of hitting the sack ASAP. Who knows what I'm doing, maybe I'm prepping the next podcast or something?

Nah.

Here, this should hold you off. It's not much but it's pretty beautiful.

Later.

iTunes? How pretty

iTunes approved my poopcast. I didn't realize that the name of the account I have at a hosting site would be the name of the show so there is a discrepancy in the title and the image. That sort of drives me crazy but I'll figure something out.

Go subscribe!

Dark Side of the Internet...

I can't sleep and have a class in three hours. Usually during these times of stress and panic I try to do something productive so I don't feel like a complete waste tomorrow. Tonight I decided to use my time wisely and check out the blogs recent traffic report.

Things were decent but not ideal. The hiatus seems to have fucked things up. Hopefully word will hit the interwebs that K-Dog is back in business and things will be like they used to.

After perusing for a few minutes I noticed something very peculiar. The post on my track marks that weren't actually track marks has gotten me a lot of traffic.

Strange.

I decided to do a google image search. On the second page of results, I saw a fine example of the Internets wonderful talent of taking things out of context and making people look like asses.

Great. A photograph that comes up after searching "Track Marks" with my name underneath a photograph of my forearm.

What could go wrong with that?

Top Fans

This might be the funniest thing Facebook has ever churned out.

It's good to know that if my close friends got into a massive brawl I could hide behind Carlos as he whoops ass. Daniel seems to have done well for himself but he has a stick, which I think is cheap.

The real climax of the battle is the final round. As the dust settles from the small skirmishes, Carlos and Ludwig face off, each covered in the blood of fallen foe. Each with their mind on one thing: friendship.

I congratulate Carlos, but I tip my hats to all of you fighters. Well done.

First Episode!

Yay! The first episode of Friday Night with Kevin Gannon is online. Please enjoy and shoot me any advice because lord knows I need it.

I submitted the podcast to iTunes and they are reviewing it, probably checking to make sure I don't talk shit about Steve Jobs or the itampon. I read online that the process could take up to a week so I figured I'd post the above to hold everyone off.

I pray you enjoy and I can't wait to really get this ball rolling and have this shit live in the world of itunes.

Poopcast

Remember the special package I mentioned yesterday? Well, it came today and I am ready to reveal what it means.

Essentially, I invested in a wittle baby mixer so my recordings can sound super sweet.

What recordings, you ask? Well, I am proud to announce that I am going to try and start up a podcast. Thing is, it's not anything like Kevin Gannon Radio. In fact, it's something completely different. The biggest format change in my mind is that each episode will be a lot shorter than an hour. I think that investing time like that should be reserved for something special. It will have pre-planned bits (which, tonight I recorded the intros to) and will not have the musical element to it.

At the same time, even though the podcasts are going to be much shorter, they will come much more often. It's difficult to gauge how it will work until I start doing it. Still, right now in my head I'm thinking once every week or every other week. Not sure yet.

Either way, it's an exciting new thing to look forward to. I'm hoping that it will help me get a little bit of a release every week (lord knows I need it) and I hope it does the same for you too.

The ultimate plan is to get an RSS feed, a space to host it and get it on the podcast section of iTunes. Just like the bigwigs!

So folks, it's official. Kevy wevy has a podcast.

I don't have any names yet. Could you help me and suggest some?

Dog-Tired, Lingerie and Diphenhydramine

I write about sleep a lot. As far as this blog is concerned, the topic is about as tired as I am. Still, it seems that catching Z's is a pretty significant part of my life. A lot of my work revolves around snoozing and without the right amount of hours under my belt I'm a cranky asshole.

That being said, in the past few days I have been a very cranky asshole. I went three days straight without any shut eye and the days after that I couldn't sleep at night. Instead, I would sit in my room, stare at the ceiling and wait for the sun to rise. If i didn't have class, I would pass out around 9 in the morning and wake up when it was dark again.

Needless to say, that is a very, very depressing way to live. So depressing in fact, that I started to get very blue.

There isn't much to do in those hours, especially when most of the projects I'm working on these days necessitate properly equipped studios for me work in. I can solemnly swear that if it weren't for Opie and Anthony I would have gone completely insane by now. It's nice to know that at least at my lowest I can laugh a little bit.

Basically, my nights go as follows. I sit on the toilet and read some Seinfeld scripts because it's a lot quieter than watching them on TV.

Once that gets old, I switch over to whatever other bathroom literature we have kicking around the bano. Long story short, let's just say that Victoria's only secret is that most of her models are composed of more airbrush paint than flesh and blood.

Actually, it's funny. One of the most annoying things in the world is getting junk mail intended for the people who lived here before us. I can't tell you how many times I have been excited to see mail only to find out that the old tenants are due for their annual tooth cleaning. I have systematically been calling and cancelling most of the subscriptions but Preston and I both agreed that Victoria's Secret still has a small demographic in this house and them mailing magazines here is not a nuisance.

If it's close enough to daylight that I know I'm not going to sleep, I get dressed as slowly as humanly possible. This moment is when salt gets rubbed in my sleepy wounds. Staring at yourself, fully clad at 5 in the morning, knowing you will be on a train to school in only a few hours is the worst feeling imaginable.

Finally, I leave you with a warning. One of the ways I combated this sleep deprivation is by taking over the counter medications. They contain an active ingredient called Diphenhydramine which is, essentially, a big fat anti-histamine. I found out through my Mom that this stuff seriously fucks with your mental health. A few google search results verified this. I can tell you personally, as someone who took twice as much of these things as instructed to every night for a month, it does start to make someone very, very depressed.

So, please readers, if you are tempted to take such measures to get a good night's sleep do what I'm doing. Go get some help from a head doctor, not a generic miracle pill.

Anyway, things should get better as I sort my shit out. I have a very special package coming in the mail tomorrow from Amazon. It effects this blog and all I can say is stay tuned: something awesome is in the works.

Best Director Ever

Today I was feeling bored and blue so I started editing the long lost Broke Toe hit, Spirit Guide. We admittedly dropped the ball on this shoot which was crushing because a few of you people helped us out financially. Still, I gotta' say, it might not look great but it's pretty fucking funny. I'm looking forward to maybe sharing it with the world. Things like that need to be discussed with the others.

Either way, when I first booted up my dusty drive I opened Final Cut and the first thing I saw was this piece of footage.

Sort of summarizes the tone of how we were all feeling about this movie.

Old Skool

Whenever I'm in my intro to sound class looking at the 4 track recorders I think to myself "I wish Ludwig was here so he could do this shit for me"

I gotta' say, things are a little intimidating in this new world. Still, I'm shocked at how similar this whole process is to film editing. Threading the tape felt like loading a 16mm projector, cross fading cuts in final cut make more sense and isolating audio through channels on the mixing console is just like isolating layers in any non-linear editing program.

I can't wait to post some sick audio on here. Still, I can't imagine the damage Ludwig could do in this place.

Is it possible the next Kevin Gannon Radio will be recorded on quarter inch tape? We shall see.

Why China is Deaded

I'm not a huge fan of the Chinese government. I admit, my often fanatical American pride plays a role in that, but even if propagandist Frank Capra films didn't make me tear up I think I'd still feel negatively by the big wigs who control our eastern friends.

Recently I was talking to Preston about my theories on communism (I know, what a college cliche). I think that, much sooner than later, Communism is going to get deaded and fizzle out. It's a bold statement considering the CPC has one of the largest bodies of supporters than any other party in the world, but I see it as something totally unavoidable.

I can't say I'm an expert on the topic but I can say I'm an expert on something else. The Internet.

Technology is changing everything. It's unifying our knowledge into one collective mass, easily accessible and alterable. It's making us all notice how many things we have in common, and at the same time, it's reminding us of how different we are.

Iran? Deaded. Once kids see how other kids live, wearing blue jeans, owning cool shit and having a good time they decide to take action.

China? Soon to be deaded. Everyone knows that the Internet in China is a joke. Good idea, too, because I'm pretty sure that if some Chinese kid could surf through Blogger he'd get the next ticket out of there and party hard in cooler countries. Still, the government over there is about to make one big, big mistake.

Google.

It's one thing to keep the wonders of the interwebs from compliant civilians, but now Chinese researchers and developers might lose access to Google. I give it ten years before China starts lagging behind on major advances in science and medicine as the rest of the world pushes forward. Once that happens, China becomes the world's bitch. That, my friends, will be the first nail in the coffin.

Mark my words.

Google.

Key to the Kingdom

I know I have mentioned how much I hate public bathrooms and then said "but that is for another post" at least five times. I'm gonna' compile my woes into one big post eventually but today however, I want to talk about a specific element that I hate.

The bathroom key.

I like privacy. In fact, if it's not a single stall bathroom I'll usually awkwardly wait for everyone to finish up and get out. Every so often you come across a private shitter and it's magical, feels almost like home. These bathrooms are my saving grace and I'm never upset to see that I'm going to be taking care of business in solitude. That is, of course, until I see the worst three words in the world of bathroom etiquette:

"Ask For Key"

I hate this. Sometimes I'll just walk out and take my business to another fine institution who appreciates and respects my urine. Whenever I open a bathroom with a key, I feel like I'm walking into some one's home and pissing on the welcome mat. I feel like I'm starting a car and shitting on the leather. It's just unnatural. Empty bathrooms should never lock.

Why is the door locked? Junkies? Shut up, invest in a broom and get them out the old way. How am I supposed to casually walk up to someone in front of a crowd of people and ask for a key to the bathroom without looking, sounding or feeling like a 2nd grader? Worst, and most disturbing: how many people have touched their genitals and then immediately touched this gigantic, unwashed object attached to the key?

That's the one that gets me. There is always something tied to the key so it does not get lost. I can feel the filth when I touch it. I'm not an asshole like Howie Mandel by any means but it really makes me feel gross. That's why what was handed to me at a Subway's really fucked me up:

Oh, wow, a spoon. That's so cute! I get it! It's because you stir the food that I am eating with the same sort of spoon....yeah...

BLEGH

This is How it Starts

I have been trying to get back on the wagon but things are making that a little bit difficult for me. There's a buttload of stuff going on these days that I don't want to get into here but I can admit that due to said things, blogging has been the absolute last thing on my mind. I have been doing a little growing up and thinking some seriously heavy (and seriously consuming) thoughts. Maybe I might get into things later.

Till' then, let's see if I can get the pendulum swinging like the old days.

Since I'm sure all of you are sick of seeing the last post over and over again I thought I would give you an update. Ta da! The prints are done.

It's a series of four. I'm a total schmuck and can't get a solid print as easily as everyone else. In other words, for every dude you see on that table there were about four or five fuck ups. My batting average isn't too hot but I still find a way to win the game. That's all that matters, I think (note: if any of you sports fans can think of a good real life comparison, help me out in the comments. I'm drawing a blank).

Now that those etchings are done we have moved onto more serious, big boy things. I started a lithograph yesterday and of course, started drawing an idiot.

I gotta' get over those things. I wanted to play it safe while I learn the medium but I'm getting bored with those fools. Hopefully I can spice it up a bit with this gal.

Lithography is pretty crazy, in fact, check this shit out for yourself. There are some pretty ridiculous things involved, like the fact that at no point can any of your skin touch the surface you are drawing on. Try that right now. Hard, eh?

We aren't using stones which sort of sucks but in the long run is better as it gives me one less thing to fuck up consistently.

Thanks for checking even when K-Dog Zillionaire is AWOL. I hope to get back on all of your bookmark bars soon.

There is Hope...

I signed up for an intro to printmaking class this semester and almost immediately couldn't help but wonder if it was a wise decision. I thought it would mostly take place on photoshop and a silkscreen (like my last print media class) but found out that it's much more artsy than that. Woodblocks? Lithography? I can't make an image with a pointy object and a piece of plywood! After fiddling around for a little while I realized that I did indeed have a difficult task ahead of me.

Can you say fail? I could.

Today I was getting more and more worried and as my woodblock stared back at me, equally uncomfortable with the prospect of me holding a v-gouge, I felt bad for the idiot.

Then something magical happened. I tossed some ink on him and rubbed out a few tests on doo-doo brown paper. Even in his most shitty form I couldn't believe how cool this guy looked.

Was this coming together? Is it possible? Maybe I can get this shit done. Can an idiot possibly live a life on a piece of wood? Well, I think the answer is yes. What do I want to do now? Make more.

I got bit by the print bug, baby.

Air Force Bugbots

I know in this day and age five minutes is a lot to ask of people (unless of course it's a video I uploaded) but I really suggest watching this if you have the time.

I will enlist if I get to control one of these puppies while I sit comfortably in a bunker eating Funions.

What Happens When I'm Gone...

Starlets, you don't need me to point out the obvious but I'm going to anyway: things in this part of the interwebs have been slow.

Why? Well, I don't know, really. I started my new semester and I guess got preoccupied with all my new classes and routines. I also got hooked on The Wire which has been sucking up most of my free time and keeping me on the futon and away from the keyboard.

Excuses aside, I realized two very important life lessons. Sometimes I can't help but wonder "What will happen to me when I die?" Will I leave a footprint on this earth (I'm not talking about my carbon footprint, that things through the roof. Win!)? Will people remember me? What will become of my things?

In the past few weeks I have gotten closer to getting an answer to those questions. Leaving this blog for so long shed some light on what will happen when I leave this great earth.

1. People will talk about me. A lot more

than they did when I was alive.

The comments on my last post went through the motherfucking roof! I used to use how many people left comments as an indicator of how many people read my blog. After doing some research and looking at Sitemeter, I realized that the two don't really correspond. People just don't seem to want to talk that much (except for a select few of you sly dogs). That all changed when I went AWOL. I never knew that the key to being a successful blogger was by not blogging.

Huh. Guess that says something about blogs...

2. Salvia and Viagra salesmen will

replace me.

It's good to know that when I'm gone the people who loved me will be comforted by a group of such noble men and women. I sure as shit don't smoke Salvia and Viagra isn't on my grocery list as of now so I'm somewhat puzzled as to how these people thought this space would be a good venue for their plugs. I'm sort of flattered that a spammer thought I got enough hits to make a profit but in the long run, I worry. I hope we don't have a war on our hands.

Wait, fuck that. I would love a war.

I'm glad I got a little closure on this subject. I'm not checking out anytime soon (unless a piano falls on my head) but it takes a little load of my back.

Feels good to post again.

Leaning Tower of Pizza

Last semester things hit Preston and I pretty hard. Needless to say, slugging over to Jewel Osco and buying groceries was not on our list of priorities.

That being said, we made many phone calls to our friends at Domino's pizza during the final days of intense work. They never failed to fill or stomachs without slimming our wallets and always gave us the nourishment needed to keep churning out quality work. Problem is Preston and I are very, very bad at taking out the recycling.

That is why we have this new interesting piece of furniture in our kitchen.

Scary part? That's only about half of what we ordered. In fact, for some reason that doesn't even include the Cinastix or wings we gorged ourselves with bi-nightly.

I cannot wait to do it all over again with the new Dominos recipe. In case you are wondering: it's delicious.

Off to a Good Start. Not.

I'm finally back in Chicago and it feels good. I am ready to hit this semester hard and make some dope work. Somewhere in the equation to yield success at SAIC is a little known (and to those who do know it, often ignored) necessity: a good nights sleep and promptness.

Anyone who has ever made an appointment with me for anything knows that I'm an early bird. This means that usually I arrive a half hour before I need to for every class so I can enjoy the commute over at a comfortable pace all while leaving enough time aside for Murphy and his stupid law to gobble up if he's feeling in the mood to shut down the Blue Line.

Today is my first class so I wanted an extra early start. No problem. Well, there's one problem. Last night I ignored the little known secret that promotes a healthy, happy day. In other words, I stayed up very late and got two hours of sleep.

Not a huge dilemma, I'm a big boy and have the next three days to rest. I crawl out of bed feeling incredibly shitty. Shittier than usual, actually. I look outside and it's dark as night. I toss on the long johns, get dressed and bundle up for the cold, unforgiving Chicago commute.

I arrive to class. It's early and no one is there. Nice. Hang out for a bit, drink some free Coffee and surf the web.

Time goes by. It's 9:00 AM and no one is in sight. Was class cancelled? No way.

9:15. Do I have the right room? Panic sets in. I bite the bullet and wait it out and surf the web. That's when I notice something on Gizmodo. The most recent post (one I had not read earlier in the morning) was at 8:00 AM. Had I gone through a time warp? My phone said it was just after 9. My laptop said it was 9, too. What's going on? Where is everybody? Am I being watched?

I'm scared.

I go downstairs to the empty lobby and ask the security guard a silly question.

"Is it eight or nine?"

She looks at me and says the most saddening news I could hear.

"It's eight. I'm so sorry."

She laughs, I sort of laugh and I crawl back into the elevator to sit like a schmuck in an empty student lounge. My head hurts.

Thanks a lot Eastern Time. You really know how to show a fella' a good morning.

Forkless in Flushing

Today I found myself strolling around Flushing, Queens with no planned destination and a rumbling stomach.

All of the restaurants seemed a little too authentic for me so it took a longer while than usual to find the right place and enjoy some dumplings. Finally, I found a restaurant that seemed legit without killing the budget (or the bowels) and I went in.

Food looked dope. Still, there was one small problem. Chopsticks.

Can't use the things. These one's didn't even come with the over simplified three panels of instructions printed on the wrapper.

Dumplings can indeed be eaten with the hands but everyone was watching me and I didn't want to be the savage Guilo who walked in off the street and ate like a monkey.

I, ashamed, signaled to the waiter and quietly asked him if he had any knives or forks.

He said no.

I ate with my hands.

Mad Po

I'm back from Washington and being home has already been very eventful.

Yesterday I had plans to meet my buddy Daniel. We planned on greeting each other with a high-five at sixth avenue and ninth street and then go to a nearby bookstore. I rarely head over there but always enjoyed the neighborhood so I was looking forward to a nice stroll in the warm(ish) weather.

I was in a cab on 14th street when a platoon of at least fifteen cop cars zoomed past us at breakneck speeds. They were going in the same direction as us so traffic was screwed up. Once they passed, the street was closed and fifteen more cars zoomed by. The cab driver turned back and asked me:

"You sure you still wanna' go west?"

I thought about it. Was I about to enter a war zone? Probably. The answer?

"Hell yes."

We finally managed to get there and I got a call from Daniel. He said something crazy was happening at ninth and sixth. We had just arrived when an unmarked cop car swerved in front of the cab, blocking us off halfway through the street. I looked at the windows and realized that I was engulfed in chaos.

I paid the cabbie and apologized for getting him stuck in the life threatening situation and felt bad that I got to run for cover while he sat like a duck in the middle of the shit storm. The moment I got out I saw more cops in one concentrated area than I have in a long while, most armed with large assault rifles and angry German Shepherds.

A out of breath cop ran up to me and asked if I had seen an "African American man on foot." On my way over I had seen at least thirty African American men standing on feet. I hate this cop mentality that aggressively screaming a race and gender will narrow results when, in actuality, it just puts innocent people of the same race in gender in danger. The officer himself was black and I wanted to teach him a lesson and say "Yes I have, I'm talking to him right now" and teach him about other ways of describing people like, say, clothing. I didn't feel like getting shot in the face so I just said "no" and found Daniel.

I spoke to a man who had followed the scene on his bike. He said there was an intense car chase that at points went up on the sidewalk. The officers smashed his car a few feet away from my can and the man escaped.

Now hundreds of cops were walking around with dogs. Every so often the gigantic German Shepard would bark at someone in the crowd and I would get as far away from the imminent riot as possible.

Eventually the crowd dispersed and Daniel and I left. We couldn't find anything out about it then and can't now. Strange. All I do know is that it was fucking crazy.

After leaving the scene I saw Bill Hader of SNL fame. That was cool, too.

So handsome.

Mr. Gannon Goes To Washington Pt. 3

Today was a rainy day in Washington but that didn't stop us from covering a damn good amount of ground and having a fun time doing it. Since I have already seen the buzzkill war memorials and patriotism inducing monuments, today was dedicated to a softer side of this town: art.

We hit up a few museums, all of which were good and worth checking out if not solely for the collections but for the buildings they are held in. We shot over to the Corcoran and I got to see one of my favorite Hopper pieces, Ground Swell, which had made it's way over to Chicago a few years ago. It's always nice to see this in person, I love Hopper and this piece is so out of his normal lens that I find myself trying to find something wrong with someone. I never can. Still, love it.

It's funny, this museum also has a school of art and design in it. My school is a museum with a school in it. This museum has two lions chilling in front of the entrance. My school has some lions chilling in front of the entrance...

Weird.

I'm not trying to start any school beef but I gotta' say: these lions are wack. The Art Institute of Chicago lions are staring off onto Michigan Avenue, bloodthirsty and ready to fuck shit up while proudly protecting all the little fartists who can't hold their own who are huddled together in the big building behind him.

The Corcoran lions? They're fucking sleeping!

You know, in retrospect I gotta' say that's a pretty cool mission statement. I'll check the place out in a few years when it's grad school time.

Things got really good when we ditched the old school stuff and went to hang out with the cool kids. That's right, my shit. We went to the Hirshhorn museum which had one really incredible floor and then a second mediocre one. It's so nice to see art with a sense of humor and this joint had a lot of it. Thank god. Of course, there was a gigantic Roy Lichtenstein sculpture in the back and a Jeff Koons piece as well. They were a surprise to me as we went in through the back door. That was a nice way to end things.

After that we went to the Freer Gallery which bleeds off of the gigantic, breathing, pulsating museum monster blob that is the Smithsonian. That place was pretty dope but not completely up my alley. There was some cool stuff but I didn't take any pictures because a scary security guard was grilling me. Usually I handle myself well in these situations and leave with the picture but I could tell that this guy would take me into the Peacock Room and bludgeon me to death with a fancy iron candle holder from the early 19th century.

He would.

After that we had some delicious grub and here I am back at the hotel room feeling pretty good. The train ride home is tomorrow so it looks like the trip is coming to an end.

How sad.

Pause. Let's talk about Haiti.

I'm doing this whole "Mr. Gannon Goes To D.C." shtick and it seems to be going pretty well. I'm having fun again, the readers are slowly (actually, less slowly than expected) learning I'm posting again and I'm having fun. All is well.

Still, it's 2:13 in the morning out here in Washington and I have to break format for a minute and talk about this Haiti situation. I know it's late and I know that in the grand scheme of things I don't have much to contribute. Still, it's been eating away at me for the past few days and culminated in the last hour after watching live footage of starving civilians fighting over boxes of food. As I sat in my comfortable hotel room, sipping from a cold beer, calm from taking a hot bath, this disturbed me.

There are a few things I have to say.

About five years ago I was on a family trip much similar to the one I'm on now. We weren't in Washington but Dublin, Ireland. I remember switching the television on and seeing breaking news about hurricane Katrina. The media over there is pretty frank and made things very clear: my country was in a terrible state and a shitload of people were dying, starving and on the verge of total breakdown.

I felt powerless. Being so far away from home and having to watch part of it crumble was terrible. When 9/11 made it's rounds I was too young to do anything. To this day I think of this and bite my lip, regretful of my circumstance. I wish there was something, anything I could do. Since then I think to myself often and remind myself that if my neighbors or fellow Americans ever need my help I will do something. Still, there wasn't much I could do. I was fifteen years old and stuck in Ireland. The view from afar was good (too good) and I watched everything. All from the comfort of a hotel room.

Tonight turning on the television and seeing Haiti crumble even further evoked similar feelings. To be honest, they weren't as strong and that's simply because I am not Haitian. I don't know anyone who is and couldn't even tell you the capital of the place (at least until the past couple of days rolled by). Even so, being away from home and seeing such a gruesome scene play out was strange. Being in Washington D.C. with the intention of going on a self-indulgent, patriotic buffet made things, well, a few parts awkward with a twist of guilt.

I'm honestly not sure where this post is going. All I do know is that it's important to note a few things before it wraps up.

It's a new decade and as far as I'm concerned, a damn late one. We have been around for two thousand and a few more years than I think we should have. You make my ass a caveman and throw me out in the wilderness and I'd croak before you could say "evolve."

Essentially what I'm saying is that it's amazing we have come this far and the end isn't clearly coming tomorrow or even next year.

We live in a time that carries a great deal of responsibility. It's hard to grasp but we as people, not Americans, need to help other people not as neighbors, but as people. Nations, very slowly, are beginning to mean less and less every day. The more we communicate, the more we spread, the less meaning borders have. We each have a duty as people who have made it two thousand and ten years into the unknown to do what we can for each other and help make it another two thousand.

I'm asking you as a friend:

If you believe in god, pray.

If you are rich, donate.

If you are like me and don't know what to do, hope.

That's close to nothing, but it's better than zilch.

Be well.

Blogmaster K-Dog.

Mr. Gannon Goes To Washington Pt. 2

D.C. is a fun town. Like I said in the last post, this place is pretty darn beautiful. Today we walked down to the National Mall and checked out all of the monuments that are the first things to get blown up by aliens in movies. It was my first time doing so and seeing these massive landmarks up close was wonderful. I got that warm fuzzy feeling in my belly that I get at the end of war films or when someone makes a good speech on TV or when I somehow whoop Carlos' ass at Madden 09' for the first time in months.

It was a cool day. For example:

I got to stand in the exact spot that Martin Luther King Jr. gave his famous and world changing I have a Dream speech.

I saw the White Houses' backyard which has private beehives and a nice little fountain.

The strange thing about this trip so far was the War Memorials. I fully support the construction of these and strongly believe in constantly reminding ourselves about those who have died in wars (American or not) and what we as a nation lose every time we have another one.

Still, it was upsetting (and eventually emotionally taxing) to see so many memorials in such a small space. We really do fight a lot, I know that. It's just strange to see it gobble up real estate in such a blatant way. It's a shame that 90% of the constructed monuments in this area of our capital are about things that all of us wish never happened. I'd like to see some more celebratory monuments but I guess those aren't interesting. I know that we have a lot to celebrate, now it's just a matter of pouring the cement. Am I alone on this?

The statues of exhausted soldiers in the Korean War were intense.

I didn't go to the Vietnam War Memorial (the one by Maya Lin) but instead observed it from a distance. It has been something I've been looking forward to seeing because the stories behind Maya's conception and struggles she had with that piece are amazing. Still, when it was right in front of me I got cold feet. I don't know anyone of those names and knew that some people next to me would. Something about that felt intrusive.

The reason I came out here in the first place was really because of one thing. I wanted to see the Lincoln Memorial. I think it's a beautiful, simple construction with a pretty cool dude sitting inside of it. I came all the way down here to see him and I finally got to. It was great.

I'm not big on temples or enshrining things. This was cool with me, though.

Booyah!

Finally after a big dinner and a lot of strolling around we walked past the front of the White House, lit up in all her glory. She looked good and I was pretty sure that there were people keeping their eye on me and every other spectator through the scope of a sniper rifle or some crazy counter terrorist device that knew who I was, my blogs traffic and that I was not a threat to homeland security. Creepy? Sure. American? Unfortunately, these days, yes.

Still, it felt really nice. Maybe I was swooned by the sandstone.