The Works

I need to scan sketches. And make sketches to begin with.

This week began with little to-do and lots of me sitting around the house, shirtless, sweaty, and listening to indecent amounts of public radio, but exponentially improved... from a social life perspective, anyway.

On Wednesday, Lee and I schlepped over to Katie's house (a mutual friend of ours with whom we had both become estranged) and it turned out that, actually, she lives kind of ridiculously close to us. Anyway, we crashed, fried up concoctions of egg and vegetable, walked to the park, where I was brutally raped by an Ent I mean tried to climb a tree and failed. We met one of Katie's friends James, who has a penchant for tree climbing and an uncommonly friendly nature. We proceeded to paint the town in a way that mainly involved painting our faces with ice cream, as well as visit a local art gallery, in which Katie conversed with the owner about karma and philosophy while I wandered around screeching OOH, PRETTY THINGS.

Then we parted with James, went to Katie's and made DELICIOS PASTA, and listened to music for hours on end.

But then it got late, and I found that mere wheat and grain was no match for my 's demanding digestive system, so we went down stairs to curb our munchies. Yeah, that's right. We don't need to get high to get hungry.

It's probably the most slap happy I've been in recent times. I was sitting on the floor with Katie's monstrous dog Sasha and kept noticing the differences between dogs and cats. For instance, when you lay a hand on a dog and just leave it there, they're totally cool with that. And when they're wagging their tails, it's fine to stop the wagging and hold their tail.

Cats on the end, are paranoid little bastards. It is never cool for one to simply rest one's hand on a cat. They get suspicious. They start to wonder whether or not you're a host for some insidious parasite and are using the ritual of petting as a means of spreading their fiendish kind. That must be it.

Also, I'm pretty sure that night was the first time I ever made a taco on two slices of rye bread. With salami. It was glorious.

On Thursday, Judo and I walked to Lee's house unexpectedly, and went on an unexpected slacking expedition to the nearby park. We were surprisingly competent on the line. What was less surprising was the mass of mosquitoes that fell upon us and eventually drove us to flee to Lee's safe, kinda blood-thirsty insect-less apartment. At least we could watch the fishes.

The rest of the weekend involved seeing a play, failing at going to an art show, eating MOAR ICE CREAM, and watching Rushmore.