I hoard art supplies like treasure. They lie about the house in piles not dissimilar to the mounds of gold and jewels seen in old pirate movies, and like the individuals who amassed these great fortunes, I do little more with my artistic booty than admire it. It sits dejectedly in corners and closets as the vivid inspiration that drove me to purchase it wanes to gray.

I have excelled at almost every art form I have put effort into and contrary to being content with this I find myself frustrated. I am a jack of all trades, master of none. At best it serves to impress, at worst it hinders my chances of advancing in any singular art form.

I am an artist without an art.

I have dwelt recently in conflict over what to do about this particular brand of plight and I feel I have come to a suitable conclusion; I need to narrow my focus to what I do best. What? This is common sense, you say? Perhaps so, but I have a gift for making my troubles more complex than they truly are.

For the time being, I'm going to pack away my pencils and sketch pads, markers and paints, clay and cloth and put all my creative energy into writing and photography. Writing more so than photography because 1) it needs the most work, and 2) my camera is broken.

So be expecting more blog entries from me in the future.

If you should ever want to see me in top form - when I'm at my least shy and most aggressive - put me in a theater filled with people who refuse to shut up when the movie rolls across the screen.  Put me in a theater surrounded by idiot thirteen year old kids who gab and giggle without any consideration for the people around them who didn't come for social time, but who came to *ZOMG* watch the movie. Put me in a theater with a couple who brought their baby, or young child, and who refuse to leave the theater when that baby, or young child starts to act up and disturb, not just the people around them, but every single movie theater patron.  Put me in this situation and a Summer will emerge who could conquer worlds.

Last night, Mattie, Spencer and I ventured into the cold and the snow to see I Am Legend.  We had been looking forward to this movie for quite awhile and excitement filled our guts as we kicked back in our chairs to enjoy a momentary escape into a world not our own.  The lights dimmed, the movie flickered into life on the screen and a jovial toddler began to yell "Dadadadadadadadadada!" into the darkness.  Matt turned to me and exclaimed "You've got to be kidding me!" in clear disgust.

As a parent I have more patience with loud theater children than most people.  I understand wanting to see a movie and not having a sitter, however I have always opted to stay home in such situations.  The only movies I have ever taken Legra to are children's movies where a certain level of noise is expected, but I still understand parents who take their young children to movies such as I Am Legend.  But as with any extreme situation, that understanding only goes so far.  I understand the parent who takes their toddler to I Am Legend knowing that they are creating a potential problem and will leave the theater with that child as soon as that child becomes a disruption.  I do not understand and do not tolerate the parents who will take their children to movies such as I Am Legend knowing that they are creating a potential problem and refuse to leave the theater with that child as soon as that child becomes a disruption.  I do not understand why a parent whose child is yelling "Dadadadadadadadadada!" into the darkness of a theater would not get up and leave with that child, at least until said child calms down.  I do not understand why a parent would, in the dark and quiet of a theater, add to the problem by talking in a loud silly voice to the child in attempt to calm him down.  I do not understand why a parent would loudly blow raspberries on their child's cheek, in the dark and quiet of a theater, in attempt to keep him from yelling "Dadadadadadadadadada!" when it only excites the child, causing him to yell "Dadadadadadadadadada!" even more loudly than before. I do not understand why that parent would not leave the theater and I do not tolerate that kind of disrespectful behavior from anyone in a movie theater.

Then it happened.

Ten minutes into a chorus of "Dadadadadadadadadada!" a giggling gaggle of middle school girls entered the theater and sat down directly behind Mattie, Spencer and I.  I was smoldering in my seat, but I gave the girls a fair chance to quiet down.  I gave them ten minutes.  Ten minutes of, not just hissing whispers, but distinct, recognizable conversation punctuated with shrill laughter and kicks to the back of my fucking seat. Ten minutes I had given them on top of ten minutes of "Dadadadadadadadadada!"  Twenty minutes of movie theater misery and I went from smoldering in my seat to an explosive firestorm of movie theater animosity.  I'm quite positive my eyes had turned red and I had sprouted fangs.  I turned in my seat and made eye contact with the girl directly behind me.  The words that came out of my mouth were "I can't yell at the baby, but you need to shut the fuck up, now," but what I really said was, "One more word out of your mouth and I will kill you," and they knew that.  All seven of their middle school jaws dropped in shock that was quite clearly written on their middle school faces.  Eye contact still made, I stood up and exited into the lobby where I hunted down an employee and in an obvious state of rage explained to them in explicit detail the situation with the rude parents and the loud child.

Oh god.

Twenty-five minutes into the movie and finally there was silence.  Occasionally the toddler made a toddler sound, but it wasn't "Dadadadadadadadadada!" and we didn't hear a single peep out of the middle school girls for the rest of the film.  I had established an acceptable movie viewing atmosphere and once my fangs retracted and eyes reverted to their natural blue, I thoroughly enjoyed my movie.