Installation

Installing a small, mostly 3 D show in the little gallery upstairs. A challenge, because there is either too much work or the pieces are too large. We manage to cram 12 pedestals in such a manner that they don't look bad. Tuesday I need to do labels, touch-up the pedestals, and hang seven pieces on the walls. High school show, the kids that worked in the residency (all the high schools had one day with Patrick and Janet), the 'core' group, that worked an hour a day for three weeks. The project was to create a dwelling place for one of the dolls downstairs. A good project, I think, because it involves visualization, which is actually something you can learn to do, if anyone ever steers you along that particular path. Patrick is stunned when he realized I'd built this house without ever drawing a plan. I explained the lost manuscript that detailed my writing, the night before every work day, what I needed to do next. I wrote the house into existence, rather than drawing up blueprints. I don't like to draw, never bothered to learn, but I have a very good ability to visualize. We knew yesterday, when the work came in, that we could 'set' the show in half a day, and as it's an extra work day for me, I finally went and did my laundry. It had been in my truck for a week, and the cab smelled like dirty socks. The laundromat is busy, but I get the last two washers (and then the last two dryers, on a roll), find an empty seat and read this month's electrical cooperative magazine, local shit, interesting enough. Usually I run an errand while my clothes are either washing or drying, but I just sat there, watching people and reading my magazine. Invisible, almost. Not to be politically incorrect, but I did observe that 50% of the people at the laundromat were fat. The normal weight people, and the skinny ones, all come in, did their business and either talk on their cell phones or step outside for a cigaret; the fat people ALL do there business, then go next door to the Quick-Stop and get a snack. I like to have all of my socks be the same, so the pairs are easy to match up. Simplify. D and I were over at the pub for lunch, just soup because we'd eaten an enormous breakfast burrito for breakfast, I swear the ladies at Market Street are trying to kill us: this has become, over the last couple of years, the greatest breakfast burrito ever. And it's unique, they only prepare it for us, and it's cheap, they only charge us four bucks for the whole thing, a meal for two. I'm a cheap date, what can I say? There's a new Da Vinci, you read about that? A sketch on vellum. Because we have other portraits, we know the sitter is Bianca Sforza, Ludovico's daughter, the vellum dates correctly. It might be the real thing But it also might be a forgery. I follow this story closely. Matching up tense is a pain in the ass, maybe that's why there are so many commas. Or maybe, the truth is, the nature of reality is strange. One thing doesn't necessarily spawn another. I'm fine with that. Grits, with a yolky egg on top.