I need help with my research because I want to give proper credit for this...
Years ago, I remember reading an issue of Giant Robot (I think?!) that interviewed an artist about her work and one of her projects was a Shit Glitter pill. It was a big plastic capsule full of silver glitter in a package that said: Shit Glitter. The instructions were very simple.
She said this never really took off as a product though was obviously more conceptual anyhow...
I have been delighted by the Shit Glitter pill since reading about it. I think of it often and fondly.
Not knowing the artist's name, but wanting to, I decided to do a quick bit of Internet research and found this:
http://www.adrants.com/2007/12/if-you-cant-shit-roses-at-least-shit-glit.php
Now either my memory is completely whack or someone is ripping off the original artist and creator of said item. Or maybe she sold the rights to her "idea" to another artist, Tobias Wong, who manufactured the product but as real gold. To be even cheekier.
I tend not to trust my memory, because that's more fallible than hard evidence, but still.
I must know!!!!! Just what is the story of shitting glitter?!!!!
Monday, April 27, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Too Darn Hot
Honestly, I don't know if it's the weather or the smell of ripe armpits, despite two showers and four nasty encounters with a deodorant stick turned to pudding by the heat, but I cannot sleep. It's disgusting.
I would melt but I've got (glittered) shit to do. Like shower and fight with Product. And Write. Drivel. To: Creeps. From: Perverts. With Love.
I would melt but I've got (glittered) shit to do. Like shower and fight with Product. And Write. Drivel. To: Creeps. From: Perverts. With Love.
The Shadowy Pervert and Other Diseases
The Shadowy Pervert is the name I give the creepy gray head that you get as your default image when you generically follow a blog on blogger. I've got one myself; The Mark of a Pervert.
It seems to be based on the fellow who goes on a talk show and, sitting in the dark, with an altered voice, will tell you how he or she only dates pedophiles.
I suppose it's designed to haze you into putting up a real photo. Honestly, it just makes me write like a pervert.
Ha.
It seems to be based on the fellow who goes on a talk show and, sitting in the dark, with an altered voice, will tell you how he or she only dates pedophiles.
I suppose it's designed to haze you into putting up a real photo. Honestly, it just makes me write like a pervert.
Ha.
Not the Energy Drink
Some people just are Rock Stars, swear to god. -- C.E., who met the beard and I at Mahlo tonight is certainly top of the list.
This is a shout-out to C.E., her delightful antics and her little dog too, who she said was given his name because he's a "A Cat Shit Eater".
!!!!
This is a shout-out to C.E., her delightful antics and her little dog too, who she said was given his name because he's a "A Cat Shit Eater".
!!!!
An Embarrassment of Riches
I keep thinking of this term today and I seriously just need to shut the bleeding hell up because, yeah.
If I weren't eccentric, though, I'd still be crazy.
The difference between the two being a roof over one's head.
And a window to throw it out of.
And these late night posts need to get together and protest their author's sleeping habits, which are currently scatter-shot.
If I weren't eccentric, though, I'd still be crazy.
The difference between the two being a roof over one's head.
And a window to throw it out of.
And these late night posts need to get together and protest their author's sleeping habits, which are currently scatter-shot.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Squirrel Soup
Our dear crazy dog loves a good dance number.
I promise you, I was teaching her how to belly dance last night.
We had matching skirts and bras and everything!
I put a wig and some lipstick on her, gave her a few brief instructions on how to stand on your hind legs..
"Whatever you do, try to stay standing," I cajoled.
"It's not bellydance if you don't!" I threatened.
The old girl got it and we were wiggling up a storm, balancing flaming swords on the tips of our noses, pouring each other scalding hot tea from elevated heights--We were moving, we were shaking, we were baking some proverbial chicken...In our minds.
(I don't know, work with me here).
"Whew, " I sighed, "What a workout!"
"Thank you little lady," I curtsied.
She bowed politely and went on her merry way, still a bit riled up from the dance number and tugging on her rope toy, which I forgot to say that we did plenty of too.
She was going a bit berserk in fact and tore outside, barking like the screaming beejesus to prove it.
Not too much later all was quiet and our Canine of Ill Repute was sitting quietly on her cushy little floor throne, when I heard a bearded scream from my roommate.
It seems that after an arduous round of dancing middle-easterly there is nothing to satisfy a pup more than to kill a squirrel and drag it's lifeless little corpse into the kitchen for someone to throw in a pot and add some potatoes to.
We decided, it being a depression and all, that the only forward-thinking thing to do was to whip up a quick batch of Squirrel Soup and carry it door to door, offering a little extra support to our neighbors and friends in this, our communal time of great need.
It was a raging success and we all got stuffed. The end.
I promise you, I was teaching her how to belly dance last night.
We had matching skirts and bras and everything!
I put a wig and some lipstick on her, gave her a few brief instructions on how to stand on your hind legs..
"Whatever you do, try to stay standing," I cajoled.
"It's not bellydance if you don't!" I threatened.
The old girl got it and we were wiggling up a storm, balancing flaming swords on the tips of our noses, pouring each other scalding hot tea from elevated heights--We were moving, we were shaking, we were baking some proverbial chicken...In our minds.
(I don't know, work with me here).
"Whew, " I sighed, "What a workout!"
"Thank you little lady," I curtsied.
She bowed politely and went on her merry way, still a bit riled up from the dance number and tugging on her rope toy, which I forgot to say that we did plenty of too.
She was going a bit berserk in fact and tore outside, barking like the screaming beejesus to prove it.
Not too much later all was quiet and our Canine of Ill Repute was sitting quietly on her cushy little floor throne, when I heard a bearded scream from my roommate.
It seems that after an arduous round of dancing middle-easterly there is nothing to satisfy a pup more than to kill a squirrel and drag it's lifeless little corpse into the kitchen for someone to throw in a pot and add some potatoes to.
We decided, it being a depression and all, that the only forward-thinking thing to do was to whip up a quick batch of Squirrel Soup and carry it door to door, offering a little extra support to our neighbors and friends in this, our communal time of great need.
It was a raging success and we all got stuffed. The end.
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