Unidentifiable Sounds

Shrill cry of something, maybe a cat, pierces the night. Never a dull moment. I put on my headlamp and grab the garden rake I keep by the back door, it is a cat, a feral monster I wouldn't ask to my wedding, squaring off to a battle atop the compost pile with a raccoon. Fuck their turf battles. I break up the fight and send them scrambling. They both hiss at me, but I have a six-foot reach and a strong desire to get back to sleep, there are times the natural world is a pain in the ass. Today needed to be a real push, just TR and I, and we needed to get over half the show packed. I was early, so walked over to Kroger and got a Cheese Danish, made a pot of coffee, and surveyed the scene. TR got there at ten and we started packing. Lunch break at Toro Loco, and we finished at four. 31 works in 22 crates. 60 pieces in the show, but most of the rest go in bin-boxes, cake. We can take Monday off, TR can take all day off, I may go in for a while, putter. I need to do my laundry and go to Big Lots, actually, I need to go to Wal-Mart, only because I have a gift card, but I'm not sure I could face a crowd. We worked well together, moving right along. TR has a steep learning curve, and he called attention to some of the sounds (musicians are always hearing things) we were making as a matter of course. The various tapes, the shrink wrap and flat twine pulling off the roll, the grunts and expletives. The museum is pleasantly trashed. I like this transition phase, it shows a workmanlike clutter. Normally, we would just close the gallery until "Cream Of The Crop" opened, mid-June, but we've become an event hall, and there are three more events before we open the next show, so we have to clean everything up, and act like we're not doing what we're doing. Installing the single show that generates the most money in any two year period. I'm sure there's some logic involved, but it escapes me. They only keep me here because I know more than anyone else, and I mop better than God. It's not even a closely held secret. Last year they just gave me the trophy, I was inscribed 12 times in a row. The Modified Chevron owes a lot to Pythagoras. The Golden Mean, anyone could have stumbled on that, the way you fiddle with your hands. I'm only pointing out the obvious.