Let’s face it. Body painting is pretty awesome. I’m not talking paint the peace sign on your nipple brand of body painting. Nor the paint your face/chest/ass the colors of your favorite sports teach variety. I’m talk about painting. Real painting. On someone’s body. So for this edition of “Cooler and more Talented,” I feature the art of two talented body painters:
1) Emma Hack. she’s pretty sweet:
2) Guido Daniele, multimedia artist/professional body painter
Tonight is a good night because at 8 pm at Patrick Sullivan’s (their upstairs is grrrreat for live music),, I’ll be seeing Unknown Hinson, an inappropriately hilarious songwriter/guitar player/singer/comedian who plays music,:
says ridiculous things,:
and provides the voice of Early on The Squidbillies:
I’m on a little bit of a diet, which has me for the most part refraining from delicious things like bread and cheese and meat (except on the weekends. or when hanging out with friends. or when i’m in a really bad mood. ok, it’s flexible), so of course I’ve been spending my days thinking about all the things I’d love to be eating. The winner for the most ‘most frequently pops into my mind’ category is the turkey sub from Steamboat Sandwiches on North Central. Honestly, I’m not even a huge sub fan, but their bread, which they make in-house daily, is light and flavorful and perfect for a sub. They describe their ‘exciter sauce’ as “a mild hot sauce that is like eating in technicolor.” What does that mean?? I don’t care- it’s delicious:
The quirky “Roy Orbison” dining room houses several table named after a smattering of random celebrities. The walls are hidden behind an impressive and varying collection of photos. It’s a funky little place with excellent food and were I not on this effing diet, I’d be there for lunch today.
The Quiet World
by Jeffrey McDaniel
In an effort to get people to look
into each other’s eyes more,
the government has decided to allot
each person exactly a hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.
When the phone rings, I put it
to my ear without saying hello.
In the restaurant I point
at chicken noodle soup. I am
adjusting well to the new way.
Late at night, I call my long
distance lover and proudly say
I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.
When she doesn’t respond, I know
she’s used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.
*need more poetry? visit Some of us drink because we’re not poets.
Many of you may be wondering when I started my illustrious career in community television. Well, my friends, wonder no more. I trace my community television roots back to 7th grade, when I took a public access tv class after school and eventually hosted a public access program that was watched by at least 12 people, I’d say. Below is an excerpt of a hard-hitting interview I did with two strapping young high school lads, who are now in their 30’s…
For those of you in Knoxville, I’m in a staged reading of a play called I am the Way at 2 pm at the Black Box Theatre in the Emporium tomorrow. We’re reading from script and have only rehearsed this puppy a handful of times and it’s a new play that still needs to be trimmed down a bit, BUT it still may be worth your time.
Here’s a description: I am the Way incorporates crisp dialogue and strong comic elements to tell a story that is, essentially, a dramatic look at issues of faith and family: how they intertwine to bring people together or to tear them apart. Two sets of characters, each a family in their own way, each with conflicts both internal and external that are testing the strengths of their bonds, are on a collision course that will blur the lines of what is right and what is wrong.
And, for your viewing pleasure, the first image that pops up on a Google search of “I am the Way”:
1) Greg Patillo. Thirty seconds in things get a little crazy*:
2) Brian Dettmar, the book artist who creates (performs?) these amazing “book autopsies”:
*Thanks to Julia Taylor for making me aware of this awesomeness.