Start of life in a new location

Getting here was easy, staying here and building a life is going to be the hard part. I believe it will be worth it and that I will grow immensely in the process. I have thrived in worse situations, I am strong - and this is the first difficult situation I have chose for myself and that is a very welcome change. I think too often in my life I have avoided difficult situations, avoided pushing myself, and that I have missed out on a lot of my potential because of that impulse.

I'm not sure where its origins are but it probably has to do with having a hard childhood and feeling powerless during many parts of it. I am doing my best to push myself, and put it on the line to make something out here. The plan was that when I got here one of my uncle's would supply me with gainful employment. Supposedly, I had several safety nets, if Uncle Peter couldn't get me a job, then Rik surely could, and if it really came down to it I could work with my Uncle Roger. As it turns out, none of those are possibilities. Layoffs, business difficulties, and my lack of a specialization all have made me getting a "real job" difficult. This is surprisingly a good turn of events. I had and have no desire to work in any of those businesses. None of them move or motivate me, working for some assholes at a hotel or assholes at a studio, no thanks I will pass.

My resume has been sent a ton of places, but so far only one has called back other than a couple internships - Blue Clay fitness or something. I have an interview soon, to be a trainer. Who knows what will happen, I'm sure I will interview well, my only concern is that my slight build will be an issue. I am interested in personal training but I don't know if it speaks to me in the same way writing or art does.

A couple weeks ago I went to Bergamot Station and handed resumes out. I was offered and accepted an internship at a prestigious gallery there. My bosses are very friendly, and concerned about teaching me what I want to learn and helping my along my path. I am excited about it and it makes me happy to go work there. It is a wholly different world than the one I know, my boss lives in a ten million dollar house, they drive matching 2008 Cadillacs, have 400 dollar sunglasses, and sell artwork for over a 100,000 dollars at times.

Money is running low, I have 500 or so dollars left and it won't last longer than say a month or more. Now I am applying to part time jobs and hoping something will come through. I have been in tougher situations before and I have turned them around. The thing is, as much as I loved everyone in my life in New Paltz and loved the town, I needed a change and a space to grow into. I was stagnant and could have lived on okay in New Paltz for a long time, many people do, but I would not have grown into the person I am meant to be.

My days are simple outside of looking for jobs or spending my weekends with Emilie, I wake up and go climb. I'm working on a really long traverse around a 40 foot tall boulder. It starts off pretty easy, but gets facey about half-way through and there is only a really sketchy undercling to use. From there you have two very far apart feet and a strong hold far out left, leaving you very spread eagled. I can't manage to stand up on the further foothold. Its about 20 feet into the traverse and when I finally manage to stand up I will have to climb up 15 feet and continue the traverse on shallow feet and awkward handholds. I try to be sociable when I'm there, and have met some very cool old california guys, and friendly young people. Sometimes I keep to myself, it depends on my mood. Other than that, I play chess, read, and sometimes write.

I sleep in a bed shack under a palm tree, it's actually a very nice room and super comfortable. There's a ton of cats here and I love all of them. There's also a blind dog, and a goat. The goat is stubborn and often rams the kitchen door when it wants food or something else. It took some getting used to but now I don't think twice about it, Emilie won't really come over - the goat freaks her out, but it isn't much different from a dog with horns. It is definitely a bit more difficult to pet and sometimes shakes its horns at me when I pet it.

My goals right now are to get a part time job, use that money to save + get a climbing gym membership while working hard at my internship and hoping I can parlay that into a full time job opportunity at a large gallery. From there I want my own place.

I have started reading Beautiful Boy, a memoir written by a father who's son was a meth addict. I'm curious what sort of emotions it will evoke in me. Other than being more sociable, and financial goals, I am focusing on being present and feeling good. More later..

Carifornia

So I've been away from my home over 2 months now. I stayed with Devon for awhile before I left and then drove cross country to California. Driving cross country was very cool, our first stop was Asheville, North Carolina. We drove all day the first day, switching on and off between Lacy, Kubi, Kaitlin and myself. We got bad pizza in a small town in Pennsylvania. Pennsylvania wasn't too memorable, it smelled like manure and that is all I can recall. Our next stop was at this diner in Virginia. It was a pretty crazy diner, half of it was obsessed with Elvis, the other half was all about I Love Lucy. Every burger had mayonnaise on it. The lady had a huge drawl and the general vibe was much slower. I unfortunately don't have any pictures, from there we drove on and we finally got to Asheville around one. I drove up and down rolling windy hills in the dark as everyone slept and thought about how happy I was to be moving on. New Paltz will always have a special place in my heart, and I may someday return to that coast, but I needed to generate inertia, I had been working the same job for years and didn't have anywhere I was heading.

We stayed at the Days Inn and snuck in. There was a pretty close call, Lacy and Kaitlin paid for the room but they gave us the wrong keys, so as they were sneaking up the stairs Kubi had gone down to get the attendant. I told the girls he was coming up so they ran down the stairs just as Kubi and the attendant came around the corner. It felt really good to get out of the car and relax for a bit. We all fell asleep fast and woke up in the morning to check out the city. It was warm, about 55 in January and the land surrounding the small city is beautiful, composed of rolling blue hills and young trees.
The city has a similar vibe to New Paltz or Woodstock but on a larger scale. I forget the name of the place we had breakfast at but it was the best food we ate all trip. Bistro breakfast food with a southern flare, all organic stuff, exceptional prices. Our next stop was Nashville, Tennessee to see the replica of the Parthenon. It was pretty bizarre to see this huge piece of greek history in the middle of downtown Nashville, right by the university. I was really taken with it, it is one thing to hear about entasis and so on, seeing it in person is a whole other experience.

Being in a Honda Civic with 3 people you know well, and one person who is familiar was challenging. It definitely helped me develop my patience and flexibility. I'm sure that could be debated by those who came with me, but I am not always the most patient person and I definitely did my best not to cause any overt conflict. By the end of the trip there was a hostile undertone but 2 weeks is quite a long time to be cooped up with people.

I'm not going to go through every single place we stopped, our next interesting stop was the Grand Canyon. I would really love to hike down it and stay in the ranch they have there. Recently, I saw Joe Rogan doing standup and he went into this whole riff on how people think the Grand Canyon is huge, but don't even pay any attention to the stars above us. I wasn't especially struck by the size. It was just gorgeous. We got there around sunset and stayed at a hotel on the South rim. The Northern rim is closed during the winter. Contrary to my expectations there was snow all around, and it only was melting deeper in the canyon where temperatures remain warmer. They really gouge you at the grand canyon price wise but fuck it. I loved looking at the rocks and thinking of climbing out of it. It got me really excited. We did a 3 mile hike down into it, and 3 miles back out. Walking at that angle is pretty tiresome. You aren't allowed to hike down and back up in the same day since people often die or pass out from exhaustion. It was so quiet as we got down lower, really peaceful and wonderful. Each step took me further down and further away from everything else. At first we were nervous and careful about where we walked, and most of the walk down I was watching my feet not the views.

Seeing pictures of the canyon never really did anything for me, I had heard a million times how great it was, but I hadn't even planned on seeing it - We had originally planned on hitting Moab instead but the weather forced us to Arizona and it was a fortunate turn of events. The experience was really soothing and wonderful. From there we drove south to Phoenix to visit Kubi's family. The sunsets in Arizona are gorgeous, mindblowing insanely, super carcrash gorgeous.

His family put us up for the night and stuffed us full of awesome food in the morning. They were really friendly, fun and real people. Kubi and I hiked with his uncle up a small park near them and caught a glimpse of Camelback mountain. Arizona was great because I didn't have any allergies, for the first time in a long time.
Behind us to the right is the camel:

From there we drove through Sedona which has these sick mountains and Jeeps you can rent to offroad in. It looks like a ton of fun, and I'm really grateful that Lacy had us go. Then we hit vegas..

Vegas was not something I was excited about. It wasn't my thing, although there were a couple of interesting things. One of the Casinos had lionesses in a glass booth you could walk under. They looked drugged, or just miserable since they had no where to go and the trainers just sat in there with them. I think it was the MGM grand. The cigarette smoke was killing me. The aquarium at Mandalay Bay was pretty cool and a nice break from VEGAS INSTANT EVERYTHING AHH LAND. The first night vegas made me nuts and I went into some crazy pimp character and bugged kubi, after that we wandered around vegas and I watched Kubi play slots and such. My stomach was fucked up by the time we got there from eating weird food and stress. I took Tums for the first time in my life and it helped. The Treasure Island show was cool, kind of a sexy weak story pirates of the caribbean. The fountains at the bellagio and it's insane blown glass ceiling were impressive but after that it was looking at super expensive stuff and being sold whores by mexicans on the street.

The last really impressive place we went was Big Sur, and Carmel. The drive was awesome, right up the coast winding through cliffs and smelling the sea is a perfect way to travel. As we drove there I noticed green algae growing from the tree branches and it turns out it is a combination of algae and fungus which grows only in places with especially clean air. The algae lives in symbiosis with the trees, and is a pale green color. We stopped before reaching our campsite and watched the sunset on the beach.

Big Sur was very remote, and the whole town is the post office and a couple buildings. We got delicious sandwiches and firewood and set off for our campsite. It was a bit cold at night, and building a fire as a group really brought us together. It felt good. We went to sleep after the fire went out and it was FREEZING in the morning. Kubi woke up and said fuck it, and went to sleep in the car. It was really pretty to wake up in the red woods and then set off from there.

As we drove on we saw a nature preserve at Carmel and stopped. It was gorgeous and a ton of fun to run around on the rocks. We got to see a bunch of sea lions sunning themselves and got very close to them. After that we headed up to San Francisco and ran around and had some sourdough bread, apparently there's a kind of yeast that only survives there, it was good and seeing the bridge was cool. I didn't get to walk on it since we weren't there during the day. That was a downer since after seeing The Bridge it has been something I wanted to do, but I chilled out with Kubi and had awesome ice cream twice in one night.

After that everyone flew back and I came to my aunt's house where I am now living. More later.

A post I should've written long ago

Back in early November, I went rock-climbing for the first time. New Paltz is world renowned for the Shawangunk mountain range, which can be see from almost everywhere in town. Despite this, only now, months before I am leaving the area is of course the first time I take advantage of what this area offers.

I've sky-dived and loved it, so I figured what could be difficult about climbing some rocks? Well, it turns out, lots. My friend Jesse, led my first climb. I met him early in the morning to drive up the mountain. We parked and he and his friends sorted through the brightly colored tools that allow you to safely climb mountains. Climbers call it gear. I have never before climbed any sort of wall, as a kid I climbed trees often but that was a long time ago.

After they sort out their racks, we walk along the side of the mountain and suddenly Jesse stops and says "This is us."

I look up and wonder what I've gotten myself into. I have easily two hundred feet between me and my goal, the crest of the mountain. You would think I could remember what the name of the route is called, but I can't. I can remember the climb I failed to finish, Ursula, and the climb where I dropped a cam off the cliff next to the dangler, called Three Pines, but I think I had more important things on my mind during this one and somehow it's name slips my memory.

Jesse climbs up first, moving naturally and lithely on the rock, making it appear easy and relaxing. Before I know it, I'm on belay and able to start climbing. The first pitch is easy enough, I'm climbing and doing my best not to think about anything else. The really elegant aspect of climbing is that your mind becomes very focused on doing, and everything else fades away. Somewhere on my second pitch I think I got off path, and was in a position where I had to jump to grab my next handhold. Immediately, I became terrified. I start to think what the hell am I doing up here, what if I fall? What then? Will the rope hold? My leg starts shaking up and down uncontrollably. I look off to the side of the rock along the cliff face and catch sight of a leaf falling perfectly to the ground. It is a beautiful day, and from this height I can see all of New Paltz, the leaves are just starting to change, and I start to calm down a bit. I try the move, half-heartedly, not really believing I can pull it. I can't, I start shaking again and wait. I'm stuck in my head, all I can think is I can't do this. I start telling myself over and over again that I can do it. I keep telling Jesse that I'm going to climb soon. I don't. I spend probably twenty minutes, each of which felt like an hour psyching myself out of climbing. Finally, I say I'm climbing and before I realize what I'm doing I've made the two inch jump necessary for my hand to reach the next hold. I pull it and climb up to the landing where Jesse's waiting. He says we have another hundred feet to go.

My spirits sink. I think it's cold. That's too far. I can't do it. Maybe I should give up. He starts climbing and soon I hear him telling me to climb, and I start. At first I am uncomfortable and a bit scared, but I am happy to move. Sitting there made me feel very cold and the wind was cutting right through me. The last pitch is awesome. There's holds everywhere and I feel like an action hero. There are a couple moments where I nearly fall, I start to slip but keep moving and before I realize it I'm within feet of the top. I'm panting and decide to rest a minute before finishing the climb.

After a couple moments I climb up and its over. It was a huge challenge for me, and a great opportunity to learn to control my thoughts and be in the moment. I'm only sad that I will be leaving New Paltz without having climbed all the classic routes it has to offer. I will be back to visit and climb some more, that is for sure.

Chess and being soft

I've recently gotten into chess. I am improving but am definitely not amazing in any shape or form. I am really impressed with how good many people are on the internet, and I think almost all of my real-life friends beat me often. I don't really like playing my friends, it is almost a lose-lose, even if I win it means that someone is unhappy that they have lost.

I'm using a variety of materials to improve my game, a couple Irving Chernev books, and a Fred Reinfield book on checkmate. I initially started pursuing chess because I felt that I wasn't really exercising myself mentally. Sometimes I catch myself solving chess problems in my head. I also have chessmaster and have gone through the Larry Waitzkin tutorials. Larry Waitzkin is the real life kid from Searching for Bobby Fischer. He really is great about teaching and I love his attitude about the game. He quit competitive chess, things apparently got really crazy for him after the movie came out. He was seventeen and there were girls showing up at chess games having him sign their legs and all sorts of stuff. After a bit, he ended up getting really into buddhism, and came to pursue Tai Chi.

He speaks in a very kind manner, and is by all accounts a very sweet person. Although chess was intended to improve my mental sharpness it has become something that allows me to see my own faults more clearly. I often do not respect my opponents position, sometimes even disregarding moves, playing from a place of contempt and often playing far too impatiently, launching attacks far too soon instead of making quiet moves. Some days I will play and lose over and over, or win and either feel very good or somewhat bad about myself, which is a shame. It is just a game, a beautiful, artful, great game but the ego loves pushing itself into things.

What I have begun to consider is whether the softness and kindness I had as a very sensitive child is attainable today. There is a place for aggression and all of that, but I remember being the kindest sweetest child in the world. I still save animals all the time, and refuse to kill almost all insects - certain times I make exceptions but even then I feel guilty. As a kid I went through some things that definitely made me harder and I know that this tough bullshit isn't me, and is really empty cowardice. I do like teasing and being playful with people but nothing more than that, I am sad to see myself hurting people's feelings or thinking I am better than anyone else. It's all dust in the end, and I really seek to attain a place of compassion. I am not sure exactly how to do so, but I would like someday to be spiritually in a place closer to my youth than the often sarcastic and cruel person I can be today.

Once again Tip!

"Skydiving isn't an extreme sport, it's aviation." That was the first thing Utah said to me after we were introduced. This was my second skydive ever, and second this year. The first jump was awesome. Utah's whole attitude was that you're just learning to fly your body instead of a plane. He emphasized not JUMPING out of the plane but stepping out of it. I've gotta say that I was much less nervous this time, it also helped that no one I went with was calling their family to warn them that they might day. This time was also A LOT faster. Where we jumped has expanded and added a hangar, every instructor is super friendly and it is clear that they LOVE what they are doing.

The whole experience really has me reconsidering my current approach to work: suck it up and grab the cash. Anyways, we showed up at 10 o clock and signed a stack of release forms, basically saying we were willing to die jumping out of a plane 2 miles above the ground. Then we suited up, met our instructors and jumped on the plane by eleven. It was a really hot day, at least 90, but as our altitude increased we escaped the heat and humidity. You could even see where the humidity ended, delineated by a small blue streak under the clouds. Last time we went, I jumped first, this allowed me extra time to play with the parachute and drop into some fun spins, but my free fall was a bit shorter than others and my adrenaline was out of control. For whatever reason I kneeled on the edge, and we basically toppled over into free fall for my first jump. I hardly remember it, but the feeling of surrender was amazing. It really is just too much input for your body to process, and after jumping all resistance goes out of your body, you arch your back and fly. After a minute you pull the chord and your chute snaps back, spreads wide and slows you descent.

This time, for my second jump I was told to leave a bit of tension in my legs, just to hold myself up, but otherwise to be like a ragdoll. I just went limp, so there was no fight, and Utah jumped. He told me to watch the airplane as we exited. The first jump all I saw was the earth approaching us, but it wasn't a very good frame of reference. After jumping, I was impressed by how quickly the plane disappeared from view, and totally immersed in the experience. I forgot to arch, but Utah had said that the whole arching thing doesn't matter, this is about staying loose and enjoying the experience, not cutting yourself off from it with anxiety. He reminded me, then we did some arm turns and leg turns. He had me check the altimeter, we played a bit more then pulled the chute. Being the last person out of the plane sucks as far as parachuting goes. You have a lot more land to cover, so you can't spin et cetera, instead he explained to me how chutes worked and we watched one of the instructors pull some stunts. Under the canopy it is super peaceful. If you flare in mid-air everything becomes silent, the wind slows down and you hear absolutely nothing. We flew for a bit longer, then touched down. He had my lean back as we landed and my feet didn't even touch the ground. Shit was cake just like last time. Coming down was wonderful, but the rest of the day wasn't very exciting, anything we did seemed insubstantial and unimportant, all we could think about was how to get back up into the air.

Go fucking skydive!

Free running and Parkour

A couple nights ago my friend linked me to this insane Japanese game show called Ninja Warrior. It consists of a contestant running through obstacle courses of increasing difficulty. The feats of skill and strength displayed are really inspiring, there is just such a great deal of grace involved in these movements. Somehow this led me back to look over some parkour/freerunning clips, District 13 and the beginning of Casino Royale. I then watched Jump London which features Sebastien Foucan and two other free runners running through London. In this documentary Foucan describes free running as an act of freedom, one where all these constructions are meant to limit movement and control people's actions but within free running you take these obstacles and turn them into playthings and thereby completely change their purpose. Aside from being beautiful and courageous, these acts speak to me on a different level, I want to view these obstacles in my path not in a serious fashion but in a subversive one, how can I take this and draw enjoyment from it? Is this rail really meant to keep me in line or is it just a more exciting way of getting from point a to b.

There is a really playful childlike aspect to this sport. Which is something we need to maintain in all aspects of our life for success. So how does this all relate to things other than running around injuring your knees, ankles, and fingers? Foucan says free running is a way of life, a way of escaping from all these controls and defying them. In my life I am only attracted to things so much as they enable me to become free. Free from need, free from thought, free from doubt, free from fear, and this art ties directly into that desire. I am interested in exercise because it frees me from my thoughts and imaginary reality, it grounds me. I am interested in social interactions because they allow me to see the beliefs that still chain me into certain accepted ways of expression. I am interested in certain spiritual teachings because they enable me to see the ways in which my ego traps me. I desire to live a life of complete freedom, not freedom from consequences but freedom from restriction, containment, and limitation.

If everyone were an artist

In Paris I wonder how anyone goes to work so nonchalantly, how the people cannot marvel in the beauty of their city, and why they are not all artists. I traveled to Paris and stayed for only six days. It has been called a city of the eye, everywhere I go I see beauty. The pastel colors of the buildings along the Seine draw my eyes up to the sky which is pale gray and filled with clouds. I watch the clouds momentarily, as I sit on the tip of Pont-Neuf relaxing. I watch as the Seine rolls towards me and snap a couple photos. I find it impossible that anything gets done in this city. I imagine everyone here constantly calling-in to work and sitting along the Seine, sketching the beautiful sometimes bare-breasted women as they sit and take in the sun. I think about what would happen to the world if everyone was an artist. The President would show up an hour late to his meeting with the leader of Iran because of a sudden inspiration the night before, which kept him awake until 8 in the morning frantically sketching strange vibrant pictures of a world on-fire, and then slept his traditional 8 hours since all great artists need their rest and arrived when he got there, as brilliant artists do. Instead of arguing over world domination, and neo-imperialism government leaders would fight over possession of art-works. France would be assaulted by diplomats seeking to regain their nations prized pieces, the Louvre would become the victim of terrorist attacks. Fundamentalists would not pursue Islam but instead classicism and deface all non-classical works, with the exception of only the best neoclassical works. Most of the bombs planted by the neoclassical fundamentalists would not explode, apparently the bomb-maker was more interested in a pleasing aesthetic, and could not bear the restrictions of traditional chemistry. This would all be for the best since the bomb was intended to be flushed down a toilet, but the toilet was out of order and the plumber was photographing it, focused on capturing this powerful image of bassesse, the toilet overflowing with shit, the plumber adjusting his shutter-speed and the lighting in order to fully capture the awfulness of the scene instead of repairing the toilet. Had the bomb exploded the terrorist would have been picked up by an ambulance which would arrive somewhat late, due to the driver taking the most scenic route and when he arrived the surgeons would first do a couple preliminary sketches of what the surgery would look like just to get a good handle on the line and to make sure the surgery was somewhat aesthetically pleasing or even better, had an allegorical or perhaps biographic aspect to it. Perhaps the terrorist had blown open the left side of his belly, in this sort of case a surgeon could take two entirely different routes. He could pursue either an asymmetric approach or a symmetrical one. In the first case the surgeon would repair the patient's internal organs as best he could but when sewing him up he would make sure to draw attention to his work, possibly signing his name in the skin of the patient in order to leave no doubt to the provenance of the piece, the second possibility would be similar aside from the fact that the artist would needlessly stitch up the right side of the terrorist's belly as well, and then work from there perhaps pursuing further unnecessary surgery within the space between the two stitchings. The stitchings themselves might have a great degree of patternization, or perhaps call attention to various idiosyncracies of the patient's body. After surgery, the patient would rest in the hospital. He would be fed meals and taken care of. Depending on the cook, the food might be very uneven but at times spectacular, as is the case in the oeuvres of many of the great artists, or perhaps a bit more cautious at times reaching a pinnacle and then slowly ascending again to another peak. Sometimes breakfast would be standard-fare just so the cook could ensure he still had the basics down, but other times the cook would restrict himself to preparing a meal made solely of carrots, he would display a great appreciation for the nuances between one carrot and another, seeking to show a wide variety of carrots and emphasizing their own uniqueness. Some meals would seem to have a particular theme, such as if the patient were to be fed a meal of grapes, pomegranates, and snake served in a bowl with trees, and a naked man and woman engraved into it. Other meals would seem to have absolutely no method to them, and be barely edible, blackberries, potatoes, salmon, and syrup might be described by the chef as a meal created to illustrate the chaotic nature of life and challenge the viewer, or eater's preconceived notions of what a meal was. Aside from the food, the terrorist was somewhat uncomfortable with being sketched at all times by the nursing staff. He would step out of the shower and be told to hold that pose, or take a step back into the sun-light. The trial would go on almost indefinitely with the lawyers interested more in creating moving speeches of infinite length, rattling on and on about the human condition, their heartaches, the battle raging within even the most banal and acceptable citizens, stopping at nothing creating arguments of poetic worth with little attention to logic which would be dismissed as a modernist approach to argumentation which has been completely outdated. Needlessly arguing logically would be a sure-fire way to turn the jury against their client, the jury was not there to determine right or wrong but whether the law was in fact interfering with the development and expression of a nascent artist. Only the bare minimum of law would be upheld, no rape, no murder, well except in certain cases, but public nudity would be encouraged, obesity would be popular only in baroque areas, many facets of life would become greatly complicated. Setting an appointment with your dentist could quickly become impossible: “Hello, Doctor, I'd like to come in for a cleaning on Tuesday if you have any openings.”
“Sorry, I can't just force myself to work, I need inspiration.” “My teeth hurt!” “I work on my own terms sir, I am not a simpleton, my work is my life!” Eventually, your dentist might bust through your door perhaps at 2 am as his muse struck him and moved him to finally clean your teeth. The tooth cleaning would go quite well, but perhaps he becomes inspired by your left bicuspit and decides to curve it into your mouth or outwards, arguing that the tooth has become symbolic of the struggle for individuality in a highly commodified culture. Your dental records or any other medical records would include bizarre anecdotes concerning your injuries or allergies, “Don is allergic to amoxicillin and patronizing women, not to mention he has a general distaste for authority and leans toward anarchy. This could stem from an overbearing mother and a father who was a dolt and preferred Matisse to Picasso to give an idea of how out of touch he was...Don has actually never been an alcoholic but having become a writer we felt it would only be appropriate if he followed in the great footsteps of Faulkner and Hemingway, if not in reality then at least in our report.”
“Jeremy's fifth heart bypass surgery is really no surprise to me as a surgeon or as a human being. His heart is backed up completely, he expresses hardly anything in his sterile modern work, and his relationship with his children is completely stilted. While they are here to check on them, there really appears to be little true concern, simply an ersatz of compassion.” This is of course because neither of Jeremy's children, Marvin or Melanie felt they could adequately express their feelings to complete strangers so they thought best to exaggerate and do their best imitation of B rate stage actors, their performance piece mimics the way in which the media creates a spectacle out of death and removes compassion from it. Unfortunately, everyone is wrapped up with their own creations and can barely notice their inventive performance, perhaps there would be a huge shortage of audience for all these would be Mollieres and Degas. Eventually art would reach a point where it was so confrontational that even the apathetic, or self-interested artists would have to react to it. Construction workers would drop wrecking balls from 40 stories high as commentary on the daunting nature of mortality and seemingly random acts of fate.