From: http://www.urbanhonking.com/alex/

Photo of flyer in the world and process here

1. Name: Bret Lunsford

What happens when Capitalism becomes a religion?

A funny thing happened on the way to the forum; I discovered that the official competition was over, but that I was still welcome to post for fun. First, I must struggle through the feeling of depression and pointlessness before realizing that this is so similar to the bait and switch disappointment...the resignation of playing and losing in a rigged game.

Who cares? That is the crucial problem that weblogs solve. Where is the audience, the community, the fan club for Sisyphus? Or is the answer to this riddle: blogging is its own reward... somewhere between talking to yourself and being a late night radio talk show caller. Like a prayer, invented by the lonely losers waiting in limbo, to stay sane and perhaps score some points even while we all know that the gods are in the clouds above scoring for real.

The question authentically arrived before the competition started, while the Sunday paper referenced an opinion columnist's website. The print media begins to draw from a potentially unlimited supply of writers who have originally posted on sites of their own, like www.vnvo.com on which Christopher J. Falvey opines in War on Terror, or War on Culture? The author posits: "If we don't insist on harvesting the seeds of a secular, capitalist, Western-style socio-economic culture, the Middle East (and the terrorism that breeds there) will never change."

His argument teeters on the question: What happens when Capitalism becomes a religion? You hear it in the reverence that compels true believers to constantly reference Costco. See it in our dogmatic faith in a "Free Market" that is bound to be restricted as ownership concentrates into monopoly. Feel reality shift from human-scale principles toward marketing propaganda that worships profit as the highest value.

How do we plant the seeds of an organic and free socioeconomic culture? I would agree with Falvey -- at the grassroots. But the inherent hypocrisy of capitalism confuses the prescription. The gargantuan footprint of McWal-Nike-bucks tends to crush organic culture, replacing it with a beanstalk fairy tale; you too can pull yourself up by your own bootstraps - like W or Osama? - if only you work or pray or shop or blog hard enough. We idealize and market this democratic and organic capitalism, then deliver banana republics, oil monarchies and sweat shops. In doing so, we turn our eyes away from the ways our own culture is beginning to resemble those exports. Until we tell the tale of two capitalisms, everyone in the world will suffer from this bait and switch. The vibrant seeds of localized markets, rooted in tradition, will be exchanged for the seeds that you can't replant, sold only at the totalitarian company store, branded as FREE MARKET.

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2. Name: genevieve

Today, as we walked all over the Shinjuku neighbourhood of Tokyo carrying my suitcases and things because I had just hung my exhibition, Phil and I were thinking about the survival of the human race and how impossible it seems to be. Tokyo has something like 12.6 million people. The appartments are tiny and the rent is outrageous, like in most big cities, I believe. What draws us humans to live in such places? Looking into giant buildings we shared a great feeling of emptiness, because the floors of these buildings are crammed with shops and office spaces. There is not much to do for two people who like to hang out at home in a small town near the forest. You have to buy something every hour to keep yourself busy here. And in the middle of it all, it feels like the sky-scrapers never end, you have to ride the elevator up to the top of a fancy hotel to finally notice mountains in the horizon, one of them being Mount Fuji. Some trees have been planted into the sidewalk, and Tokyo does have some pretty wild parks. But why would an entire species of animals surround itself with concrete and steel? The sun almost comes as a surprise when its rays hit you in between buildings. The thing is, I do not hate Tokyo. I actually believe I could survive here, but i cannot really explain why. Perhaps it is because I know that if I was forced to live here, I would just stay at home and do what I have been doing everywhere else, drawing. but even if I am a home body, I do ache for green pasture and overgrown laws and completely unmanucured trees every single day. I feel like everyone must feel this, too, to a certain degree. Right? And what about deseases, epidemics? I have heard many times that viruses and microbes are getting stronger and stronger as we keep taking and giving antibiotics to our children for all kinds of small illnesses. If a major outbreak of a deadly illness was to come, I feel like I would rather live far away from it. Would you not? Here when you cross the street, you are one centimeter away from all the people around you. Perhaps that human touch is what draws us here? Are we lonely? Do I sound like I have a hard time being around people?

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3. Name: Lacey

The most important question that I ask myself day to day is how can I change the world to view people of size in a more positive way? Every day, every moment, every month, I am me. I am a person of size. Some call us BBW'S, fat, obese etc. I've read numerous books by women who self proclaim that it is wonderful being a person of size. But I don't feel the same way. I do the same things my friends do, I eat the exact same as my friends do, I am active, intelligent, good in school but there is one thing missing. Like me and several of my friends who are "of size" get left out when it comes to dating, parties, or anything that others think "will wear us out too fast". But just as all of you know we are being left out of the dating pool as well. Most of us can do the same athletic activities as the rest, and are not disabled in any way. For myself Ive always been told, "Oh Lacey just wait till you are older then guys will come around." But do we all have to wait till we are older for people to mature up to date us? I don't think so! I don't think that we should have to wait for some guy through a personal ad who just has a kinky libido twords people of size either.

I've gotten reactions such as, "But I don't feel that way." Look at your life though. How many friends do you have are "fat." Do you use language everyday that is positive twords people of all sizes? Would you date or even marry someone who was "bigger" than yourself or the "norm". Most of the people I have talked to have said no. Replies such as, "Oh, Lacey we love you!"

To this day I've held many relationships with friends I can not even count how many friends I have met through my life and my ever increasing social calendar gets bigger each year. But no dates. I've tried websites, ads, singles events, even one horrifying "fat people party". I still am not satsfied and I feel that people of size will never be treated equally in this country. Which I hope changes so that me and my friends can get some dates within this century.

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4. Name: trashcan

Dichotomy of the Animal Cracker By Trashcan

Animal cracker...cookie or cracker?

A short background on why this question has been boggling my mind.

For lent I decided to give up cookies. A hard and daunting task for myself. One day, I believe it was on a Sunday, I was about to help myself to a box of assorted animals, you may know them as animal crackers. When all of a sudden my friend jumps out of left field and tells me that I cannot indulge in such a thing as the animal cracker, according to her , fell into the realm of cookie. I said no, it a cracker, and so the debate began.

Over the past week I've been conducting research and have a few important facts I think I should share with you before you come to a conclusion.

The first and maybe most heavy weighing fact comes from a book called Webster's dictionary. If we look up the word "animal cracker" the following definition is given. "a small cookie in the shape of an animal."

Surely then we must conclude on cookie. Ah but that would be to simple and my mind would not be in such disorder right now. As I look up the same term in the dictionary that is included on my power book G4 the following definition is given. "Animal cracker - noun - a type of sweet cracker made in various animal shapes."

The two dictionaries are contradictory and we must rescind that information for this debate. We cannot rely on written definitions to conclude for us, we must deicide for ourselves.

We can examine the ingredients, but this is just a much even weighed that we cannot really decided based on that.

A cookie is described as a small flat or raised cake. A cracker is described as a product that may be leavened or unleavened, meaning raised or not. Now on the ingredients list we will find the obvious. Flour, sugar, shorting, salt, and interestingly enough we find leavening as component.

Though again we are using a dictionary to tell us what a cookie is and what a cracker is so we cannot faithfully rely on their information as a basis for conclusion.

I have surveyed various friends on this matter and it seems to be an almost even split on which side one goes to with a little more weight on the cookie side.

When I first began this discussion I was leaning towards the cracker side, about half way I was thinking cookie, now trying to conclude I am still just as baffled as I have ever been.

The animal cracker has found its place in this world where its hybrid nature cannot be defined, nor can be placed into a category about what it is. To me it maybe one thing, yet to another it may be something completely different and I am ok with that. There need not be a struggle to place something somewhere in the cosmos for the sake of justification and our own peace of mind. There are questions in life that we may never know the answer too and so we must learn to agree to disagree on what we might think we know. So where does this leave us? Back at square one I suppose. I would very much like to hear from you and your decision on the matter though of course.

To conclude I'd like to share a little poem I have just written on the matter.

Animal crackers I think they're really neat First I eat their little ears And then I eat their feet I don't know what you are And I may never know My tummy will do the deciding Down the hatch you go

Best wishes on your blogging campaign, Trashcan

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5. Name: em.

I was in the middle of pondering a seriously epic string of questions when I heard the new-email-ding-sound. It was from the DoS. And the first item of news was about the most recent UB2 challenge. I felt like the order of operations was about to get a little mixed up, so I tabbed over to the UB2 webpage to watch the new video. Then I came back to the DoS email...and clicked over to your page, Alex. And to complete the circle of this little spin-off, you are wanting to know what question I am asking myself today. So now I'm going to dig right back in to my 'epic string of questions'. Here is a [possibly non-sensical stream-of-thought] sampling:

Which fonts should I keep? How many pounds do all of my presses and type weigh? Could my whole studio fit in a 18 ft trailer? Or will I need 20 ft? Or more?! Can I afford to get a gooseneck? Should I stop taking new jobs until I get settled again? Am I really ready to move out of this house? Is the sunshine here to stay this time? How do you make silkscreens? Do they have cats at the DoS? Will they still need workers later in the summertime? Where will I live in October? Where do I want to be in the wintertime? Will it be too cold in my trailer to work, in Nebraska? I wonder, is Fox feeling better now? Should I just buy a pick-up truck? Can I afford to right now? Are there grants for this kind of thing? Could I do a vegetable oil conversion by myself? Will solar panels be enough power for my studio-trailer? For how much longer will I want this to be my work? Do I need to get new rollers for the C&P? How much do those cost, anyway? [telephone call] Why is it so difficult to get my closest friends to get in to the shows at our house? Am I too excited and pushy about it? Do I put them off somehow? How can I help them 'get in'? Or am I expecting too much from them? Are my expectations for them, as my friends? Or as human beings in the world?

From: http://www.urbanhonking.com/timandmorgan/

Photo of flyer in the world and process here

1. Name: Jason Artigas

Ok, a fairly decent story.

Actually happend today. Went down to a friends house after church. This friend of mine, shes a pyro, and who doesnt like to set things on fire now and then, i mean, come on, its good times. So she has this really cool lighter that looks like a stack of poker chips, and im playing around with it setting some balloons on fire, and other various objects. Wellll she has one of those chinese ball things that you hang from the ceiling in her room, except that the middle is made of tissue paper as well. So i decide im going to burn a small portion of it and then put it out. Except the ball has other ideas, it figures it can upgrade from tissue ball of justice, to FLAMINGBALLOFDOOMOMFGKTHXBI. So now its blazing right against the ceiling, and me and Alex are both freaking out. thinking quickly, i decided to karate chop it so as to save the ceiling and not burn down the house. except that the floor is coated in gasoline. Well... ok not really. but the dirty clothes that was there is almost as flammable. Just then, the doorbell rings, a long with the smoke detectors going off. All hell basically brakes loose. as the ball crashes to the floor and fumes of ashes and debree fly up, i realize how little time i have before clothing ignites, and how i have no idea how to get to water.  So the next best thing to water? A foot. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Pants almost caught fire. fortunatly they were damp because it was raining. All and all, the fire was tamed. The room filled with ashes. Anti-climatic ending, i know. But i couldnt think of anything else.

Totally kicked his ass once though.

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2. Name: Charlie

Tim and Morgan, 

I must thank you both for showing me the way to make my life complete.  For the past month, I've been working on forgetting the decades of suffering I endured locked in my lightless closet for months at a time with only golly canned sardines and Cheetos to eat.  I know for an Icelandic native it would be heaven, but for me, a Californian youth, I could only dream of emerging from my cavern to soak up the sun, sand and surf.

Outside my closet, I always knew my grandmother was there loving me and I thought she always would be.  For a week I heard no grumblings from my aged grandmother who cared for me, changing my bucket and lovingly shoving my food and water into my private "alone" chamber.  The eighth strange day I could hear no Dr. Phil and I thought she had fallen asleep a little longer than usual while her Elvis non-stop music marathon played.

The ninth day without food, water or a bucket change, I could hear some buzzing above the King's constant rocking and crooning.  My pet cockroach Harry and my pet maggot Hermione left my side for some reason never to return.

On the tenth day without proper care, I awoke to a scent above my own and resolved to check outside.  Using a sharpened sardine key, I poked a hole in the closet door and saw my grandmother covered in a squirming mass of flesh eaters.  I stayed in my hole until the cats had dragged most parts of her out of the chair into other areas of the house.

My only family gone, my crying stopped, I opened the closet door, showered for an hour, put on my best Elvis jumpsuit and approached the front door.  For years I had dreamed of this moment to venture from the love and safety of my home never to return.  I turned off the Elvis record to let him rest as well and heard sounds of joy and gladness.

I moved toward the sounds of jubliation and saw my grandmother's computer replaying a Tim and Morgan music video over and over on Vimeo.com.  You both were free to roam in the Arizona sun so carefree and vibrant.  It appeared to me as my grandmother's final wish, for me to see your videos.  At that point, I knew I could survive and rebuild my life into something truly worthwile.

Thanks grandma for all your love. Thank you Tim and Morgan for showing me the way!

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3. Name: Adam Forkner

i wet the bed until i was 11 or 12 or something. it sucked

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4. Name: Lou

Hi T&M,

love your stuff. as far as secrets i lied copius amounts to get into college.

sweet.

good luck guys

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5. Name: trashcan

ok so see I got this problem , its about animal crackers. for lent i gave up eating cookies and if you know me, im a big time cookie nut. one day i decided to buy some animal crackers when my friend told me that i could not eat them as they fell into the catagory of "cookie". i begged to differ and so the debate began. cookie or cracker ? surely as the name implies one would think cracker, yet if you've ever sank your teeth into one you may say cookie. I will not give my stance as of this moment but I will contine my research . Look for the short segment on your local vimeo page in the coming weeks. 

ps - best of luck fellow bloggers

From: http://www.urbanhonking.com/zoe/

Photo of flyer in the world and process here

1. Name: Krista

1. I would use these words to describe me in high school: Goofy 2. When I wore my awesomely bad outfit, I felt like the coolest girl in Pennsylvania. 3. One thing most people don't know about me is: I love airplane food. 4. If my life were a reality show, it would be called: Is this supposed to be funny?

As for my bad outfits...there were so many. I will make a small list here:

A hunter green wool turtle neck deer sweater. The deer was jumping right across my chest. It looked like it was jumping out of the way of a hunter's bullet. I wore this sweater for my 8th grade yearbook (1988) picture. You can see the top of the little deers scared face from the photo.

A pink lacy dress a la Madonna. Any girl who was anyone in 1980's had a lace dress. We all must have looked like little whores. Of course, the dress was worn with long fake pearls, knotted in the middle because if there is one thing a big pink lacy dress needs, it's more adornment.

Purple paisley print hammer pants, worn with saffron yellow print shirt. I believe the material was silk or perhaps just rayon. I did not look cute. My legs have never been slim and adding 30 yards of material to them with a crotch level around my knees...I should have been locked away.

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2. Name: Ryan Schenk

When I was in late elementary school or early middle school, I owned a pair of shorts. One leg was neon electric green, one leg was shiny metallic gold. They were made of the stretchy material that is used in women's swim suits. What's worse is that my mom (who is an awesome seamstress) sewed them for me, after I picked out the fabric in the fabric store. When we purchased the tiny amount of neon green and metallic gold spandex, the lady at behind the counter glared at my mom. I didn't know it then, but now I suspect that the spinster behind the counter thought my mom was purchasing the material to make a bikini for herself.

1. In high school, I dyed my hair a lot. 2. Do you know why I wanted my mom to make these shorts? I wanted her to make them because they'd be good for jumping out of trees and onto the ground. Really. "Tree-jumping" shorts. And that's what I did in them. Jumped out of trees onto the ground. I was an only child. 3. One thing most people don't know about me is: Despite jumping off everything in sight, I have only sustained one broken bone, which was incurred jumping off something about 18" high. Lame. 4. If my life were a reality show, it would be called: I do not watch TV

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3. Name: Todd

The year - 1983.

The costume - Bacon and Eggs.

Mom got the brilliant idea from some ladies magazine. You can't imagine what a bitch it was to carry the bacon, so my mom taped it to the egg part. The bacon kept falling off, so before ringing doorbells, I would ditch the bacon in a bush. The problem was I looked even weirder without the bacon.

Favorite comment: "What are you a nun?"

Yeah, I'm a Jewish boy nun with two strips of bacon. Gimme some candy.

Incidentally, that's my brother on the left. Moments after trick-or-treating he murdered our sister Judith with a kitchen knife. I kid.

THE PHOTO CAN BE VIEWED HERE...

http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5853/521/1600/baconeggs.jpg

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4. Name: Maari

When I wore my awesomely bad outfit, I felt at the time I thought it was awesome. I had some stone washed jean shorts that I'd just got at Kmart on sale. The had a little denim bow over each knee. They were pretty awesome with my woven white belt. No joke! The of course I had on one of my dads Hanes undershirts, only 5 sizes too big so I just rolled up the sleeves. Snap that was hot. The I borrowed (out of my mom's closet) a really sweet vest. I can't remember exactly what it looked like, but I do think that it felt kinda like our couch. Accessories? Of course. I borrowed (again from my mom) a awesome wooden necklace. I'm pretty sure I bought the hat at the beach, but can't remember. What I do remember is that it was made of wicker and kind resembled a fedora. The shoes? Not sure, but they were probably either my Reebok pumps or maybe my size 8 vans. Size 8....in 4th grade! All in all I'm almost totally certain that I was hot back then. With that smashing outfit my premed hair in a bowl cut and my braces I would most certainly put Seventeen magazine to shame.

One thing most people don't know about me is: There is nothing I hate more on earth then folding clean laundry. and in the shower I start by washing my feet. If my life were a reality show, it would be called: Enigma Burrito

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5. Name: Nicky

It's true that I wore many awesomely bad outfits in the '80's--I did do the Hammer pants, the glitter shirts with shoulderpads (my prepubescence just made it even weirder-looking), and I did love a good vest. But what my memories turn to the most is my early '90's grunge phase, when I spent the better part of my high school years dressed as a pile of laundry. I was 5'4", probably around a size 8, and yet I would wear XL and XXL flannel shirts--MEN'S flannel shirts. And 34-36" MEN'S jeans. Top it all off with thick glasses, bangs hanging in my face, and combat boots, and you've got a mouth-watering, angsty teen queen! I think a full-length burqa would have looked downright slutty compared with some of my grunge ensembles. I am still impressed that my high school boyfriend was even able to locate anything underneath all that fabric during our make-out sessions.

I would use these words to describe me in high school: frumpy, horny, angry. When I wore my awesomely bad outfit, I felt like Kurt Cobain. One thing most people don't know about me is: I have an irrational hatred for Bill Paxton. If my life were a reality show, it would be called: "The Iron(ic) Poet Challenge."