Page 6 - Fluxion Art Journal Issue 1

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Marc Borzelleca
This was my day, January 10. I attended a meeting at the Ritz Carlton, where people talked in
millions, and I realized how abstract they all sounded, 10 million, 60 million, 500 million. It was all hard
to visualize and I was only truly impressed when I heard the word billions. The bathrooms in the Ritz are
very nice, with enough marble to truly crush you if the walls caved in. At lunch I was told they had chosen
the vegetarian pasta dish for us but I didn't say anything as I chewed the many bits of diced chicken.
Driving back to the office I thought, I am now a Jeep-driving, loft-living, pierced, tattooed, dyed,
Amnesty International and Sane-Freeze-supporting , pro-choice, pro-environment (for whatever that means),
AIDS-volunteering, liberal-leaning, reduced-fat-no-meat-except-at-lunches-at-the-Ritz-eating, frustrated artistic
thirty-year-old. Two years ago I was a ponytailed, adobe-dwelling, VW-driving "art consultant", while five
years ago I was a Mercedes-driving, cape-cod-style-suburban-house-dwelling, married-with-a-dog-and-cat-
with-normal-hair-and-tie-wearing-frustrated artistic twenty-five year-old. I am also, I suppose, a bona-fide
Generation Xer, which the only good thing I can get from that bit of information is that at least it means I
can't be a baby boomer.
I keep feeling like I'm regressing, but maybe I'm really progressing. I realized that Melrose Place
doesn't hold the same fascination as it used to. I don't think I can relate to the characters any longer,
maybe because they are all having much more sex than me.
I took my very first Step Aerobics class today. It was an advanced class and I confidently chose
three blocks for my step. I felt entirely inadequate and out of step with the entire arm-waving, bouncing
class, in turn feeling inadequate and out of step with society at large. I thought it was a good analogy at
the time.
I heard news about the blizzard back east. I was envious and wished I had some snow days, but
that's not likely here in Phoenix.
I rented a video out of curiosity titled "Obey" that featured a woman who looked like one of my
mothers friends in an all-too revealing leather teddy telling two men they were bad dogs and making them
crawl around in dog collars and lick her boots. They were actually barking and growling as she touched
them with her oh so scary whip. I was truly embarrassed for them, and hoped they were getting ade-
quately compensated for this. At least the men were able to wear hoods over their heads.
I regretted not telling the congregation at my godmothers funeral five years ago how she had just
discovered reggae music shortly before she died and how she really loved it, and to me that symbolized
what an interesting and slightly kooky woman she was, but I kept my mouth shut because I didn't feel like
talking, even though the priest wanted us to share stories about her. I don't know why I thought of it
today, except that I sleep under her covers from 1925, which I feel are very special to me.
I thought about the word Fuck, and the many uses it has, how it can be a verb, noun, or adjec-
tive, and how it can definitely be overused. I pride myself on using it only for emphasis or to describe
something truly evil, like our Fucking washing machine, which mucked up my clothes and flooded the
laundry room and bathroom, shorting out the water heater, and the Fucking white paint that somehow
ended up on my only good pair of Silver Tab Levi's, making them completely Fucked Up. I am going to
do a piece of art that has very nice brass letters mounted on a piece of wood, saying "BIGFUCK-
INGDEAL". It has been my mantra lately. I would put it on a shirt but I would be afraid of getting in trou-
ble with a four-letter-word-challenged individual.
Those are a few of the profound things I was thinking at the Ritz as I listened to people talk about
millions. I also thought about my upcoming party, the supplies I need to buy at the hardware store, how I
need to change my oil, how I will ever get all my work done, if I should bother to send out any more
Christmas cards or whether I should just make them Valentines Day cards so they will seem early, if I'll
find a decent relationship this year, and if my pants really matched my jacket, but all of that was really
pretty insignificant. I can't wait until tomorrow.