Labels

More information, which I think is a good thing. Complex, difficult period. Define modernism by what it's not: strict representation. A lot of data on the labels. I make 60 pages of them. Rough trimming the sheets (in order to save material) then spray gluing them onto poster board, then vacuum pressing them, then final trim. I spend all day working on them, just affixing the last to the wall about 4:30. Missing four. I've got some extras, but they're not the ones I need. Worry about it on Friday, when D's back. I wouldn't know where to look for the file. Gotta find time to clean. Another trial batch of croquettes tomorrow, because Anthony wants to tweak the recipe. They were late at the pub, which meant I had to stay for another beer, which meant I stayed in town. Pegi wanted me to stay anyway. Everyone else is sick, and I told Pegi to sleep in tomorrow, we need all hands for the opening, not a bunch of leakers. She wanted me here in case anything went wrong. Short-handed, and everyone else sick, the janitor sweeps in on his roller-blades. Calls an emergency meeting of the Croquette Committee. Just had a funny idea for a show, 3D, on pedestals, would be objects, and the labels would be wrong, maybe ironic, maybe a stupid pun. A croquet set, for instance, with a label that said The Croquette Committee. I do the rounds, with my can of mace and my baseball bat. Find a dehydrated bat in the basement, still alive. I can see why it was in the basement, so cave-like. With my bat-knowledge, from the last couple of experiences, I pick it up with one of the thick leather gloves we use for handling hot light bulbs, and take it to the kitchen. Turn off the light in there, but leave a light on in the hall, so I can see, get out a plate, put some water in it, and set the bat on the rim. I could probably force some water down it's throat, but I don't have an eye-dropper. On the ranch, I always had several. I pull a stool over to a dark corner, and watch. It stretches its wings, moves its head about, seems to sense the water, does a belly-flop into the middle of the plate, and I can hear the slurping. Bat rescue has become a sideline. I read all the labels, of course, I handle each one of them seven or six times, you know? So, of course, I'm familiar with the text. Which is what led me down that path. Labels are the path of tomorrow, mark my words. I think I might just work up a really good set of labels, and then find the objects I need. There's a Hugo in my future, and maybe a dumpster. I'm serious about this. As serious as I ever am. I have to go over to Rush Welding and get them to make me a giant fish-hook, out of rod stock, crude, maybe 14 inches tall. I have a great label for that. No, no, you'll just have to wait and see the show, I can't give everything away just because you like the way I look in a short skirt with high heels. More about you than me, I don't subscribe to anything. I get a magazine from the Electric Cooperative, because I'm a member. I use a very safe identity for that person, and I would know, immediately, if anyone tried to gain access. I'm more careful than I need to be. Which is the level of security my mentor taught I should seek.