i had gone to theater schmeater tonight
at the invitation of l.& p.
who were performing in a silly little play-
i was dressed "like a boy", more specifically, i was dressed like israel horowitz-
so i picked up two batches of gerber daisies before heading out
---
i drove up james street in the pouring rain there's this manhole that steam comes out of it
reminded me of how my brain has felt for past two or three months nows
i park in a seedy pay parking lot off pike and trek down in the downpour,
the wind more than once flipping my flimsy little umbrella inside out and creating a rain bowl
---
i pass by the usual lot of capitolhill's outdoor residents- i've learned to breathe out at the right moments to avoid bum stench- you don't have to do this when it's raining.
---
Schmeater's door is one of those giant sliding urban art studio types and it's chartruese green
it sticks out on a street full of brownstone
four or five people i know are trying to smoke outside, their cigarettes disenegrading between their lips
i enter and walk down the steep lobby give the flowers to the stage manager
head to the loo, which is the most interesting loo in seattle- made on the cheap, fringe theatre style -curtains instead of walls
---
i see r. drinking a glass a wine- i position him higher on the slope so he's taller than me- we chat about me looking like a boy, or more specifically israel horowitz
i go to the bar and talk to m. & l. who ran away to vegas last weekend and got married- they stayed in the luxor- i remember hyperventalating in the incline elevator there once
the house opens, the eclectic mix of theatre goers shuttle in-
but not me, i stay behind, i can't go in
---
i just didn't feel like sticking around
i grab my umbrella, it's still wet, and i start back up the hill
---
m. calls and we talk about being autodidacts
i say i'm actually an i-did-act
the irony may or may not be lost
self portrait
i'm in bed now, my hair is finally dry
i'm wearing that raspberry colored tank top
i bought last weekend
because the color cheered me up
---
it's between two and three in the morning
and i'm missing you.

in high school, a teacher of mine told me that i looked just like
whistler's mistress, (not to be confused with whistler's mother)
the mysterious woman in white in some of his paintings.
i had glasses and frizzy hair and oily skin and no friends at the time,
and the comment at once made me feel oddly embarrased and slightly excited,
as if my furture self had found a way to project herself
into the past and pose for these paintings.
so that's what launched my addiction to finding myself in pieces of fine art.
sort of a where's waldo approach to self esteem.
these two are from my pre raphaelite phase.
yeah, they look like me.
i'm not being vain, i'm being creeped out.
what i do like about them are the greek mythologies associated with them.
they always seemed to echo whatever was going on in my life at the time i came across them.
waterhouse's pandora.
bougueruea's young girl defending herself against cupid.

the great nabob. (nay-bob)

this week, erica learned what the term cognitive dissonance meant

and managed to slip it into about eleven conversations.

most of these conversations were with the great nabob. (showing here)

"always keep a song in your heart. it's like a karaoke for the voices in your head!" --r.f.abernathy.

addiction is bad!

this is a bull fighting arena in mexicali.
and me foolishly wearing a red scarf.
ole!

the hills of ensenada
this was taken last week during my
"drive until i find the sunshine" campaign.

it's strange, as soon as you cross the border
the folks with the best views
are actually living in extreme poverty.

it was breathtaking And heartbreaking
or why don't i just go ahead and invent a new word here:
"heart-taking"

--------------
p.s. annette-
the jeopardy categories i would kick butt in are:

sushi-rain-conspiracy theories
songs you can play on the guitar that involve only two chords
thriftstore fashions-famous women with avoidant personalities
and
words that rhyme with "orange"