My magical non-existant return trip to Jerusalem:
I've been up to a lot lately. Elections. School. MUSHing. I met Rachel Maddow and had a gallery show. It's a lot and I've been doing way better at keeping it updated on Facebook and Twitter.
I'm going to try and recap some stuff though, as I'm kind of... eh, not really depressed but clearly not energetic enough to be getting more than the necessaries done. I need to make some art but I'm really blocked - I decided to do some bio comics called 'Famous for Vegas' rather than sort out the Israel trip.
This hasn't been helped by two things: one, my dad left on a two week vacation so I'm doing all the cooking AND fighting with my mom over cleaning the kitchen. The current argument is over how many pots and pans someone needs for a family of four. I personally think that we only need a couple, and I've convinced her to get rid of the ones with the black non-stick coating scratching off (because it causes ~*~cancer~*~ which I don't actually believe but is my magic bugaboo that can get her to do things). Except that of course, getting her to actually take the items to Goodwill is not possible.
Meanwhile, she keeps saying that she should have paid off my SAIC bill and my response is 'so give me the eight grand so I can go back to Chicago, then, I know you have it'. And her response is always some bullcrap about how her online cancer support group is going to go to (pick one): Switzerland, London, or apparently Jerusalem. And she needs the money so she can go for the miracle cure and/or scan which will save her from cancer.
(Bringing the hilarious, this conversation:
My mom: I should take you to Jerusalem with me! You know how to get around there.
Me: If by get around you mean, I know how to make the change on the public bus, then yes.
My mom: And they speak Yiddish there!
Me: ... um. I don't speak Yiddish. Or Hebrew, for that matter, but it doesn't matter because pretty much everyone speaks English there.
My mom: SEE. YOU KNOW NOW.)
My mom is under the recurring impression that all Jews speak Yiddish, and no, I don't know how it happened. I think she hears a lot of stuff at church and then doesn't bother to um, ask any of the people she lives with.
Anyway, so this conversation bookended me going and leaving the Vegas Valley Comic Festival, which was lovely but except for the Keith Knight panel felt like a lot of grousing about how hard it is (yes, it is hard) which wasn't exactly what I needed to hear.
So I went home and after eating the soup I had stuck in the crockpot, decided that life sucked balls and the best answer would be to pull the covers over my head and sleep until life stopped sucking. It's really a shame that this isn't actually possible.
I'm going to try and recap some stuff though, as I'm kind of... eh, not really depressed but clearly not energetic enough to be getting more than the necessaries done. I need to make some art but I'm really blocked - I decided to do some bio comics called 'Famous for Vegas' rather than sort out the Israel trip.
This hasn't been helped by two things: one, my dad left on a two week vacation so I'm doing all the cooking AND fighting with my mom over cleaning the kitchen. The current argument is over how many pots and pans someone needs for a family of four. I personally think that we only need a couple, and I've convinced her to get rid of the ones with the black non-stick coating scratching off (because it causes ~*~cancer~*~ which I don't actually believe but is my magic bugaboo that can get her to do things). Except that of course, getting her to actually take the items to Goodwill is not possible.
Meanwhile, she keeps saying that she should have paid off my SAIC bill and my response is 'so give me the eight grand so I can go back to Chicago, then, I know you have it'. And her response is always some bullcrap about how her online cancer support group is going to go to (pick one): Switzerland, London, or apparently Jerusalem. And she needs the money so she can go for the miracle cure and/or scan which will save her from cancer.
(Bringing the hilarious, this conversation:
My mom: I should take you to Jerusalem with me! You know how to get around there.
Me: If by get around you mean, I know how to make the change on the public bus, then yes.
My mom: And they speak Yiddish there!
Me: ... um. I don't speak Yiddish. Or Hebrew, for that matter, but it doesn't matter because pretty much everyone speaks English there.
My mom: SEE. YOU KNOW NOW.)
My mom is under the recurring impression that all Jews speak Yiddish, and no, I don't know how it happened. I think she hears a lot of stuff at church and then doesn't bother to um, ask any of the people she lives with.
Anyway, so this conversation bookended me going and leaving the Vegas Valley Comic Festival, which was lovely but except for the Keith Knight panel felt like a lot of grousing about how hard it is (yes, it is hard) which wasn't exactly what I needed to hear.
So I went home and after eating the soup I had stuck in the crockpot, decided that life sucked balls and the best answer would be to pull the covers over my head and sleep until life stopped sucking. It's really a shame that this isn't actually possible.