ART AND LIFE
I’ve been collecting photos that look like the work of famous artists.
John Singer Sargent:
10.04.01 PAIN HURTS ME
I’m a wimp. I’ve tried to get past it, but I can’t watch an episode of “ER” or “Rescue 911” without getting tunnel hearing as I crawl from the room. So I didn’t do well with the Wisdom Tooth Removal video at the dentist’s office. It’s a high-level cartoon, for cripes sake. No blood, no close-ups, just detailed descriptions of the procedure and my over-active imagination. The dentist returned to find me with my head between my knees, and one arm groping blindly for the stop button on the VCR. Tomorrow morning I’m having roughly half of my jaw removed. Should be a treat.
Ladies night excerpt:
Lady 1: Does your necklace say “Rockstar?”
Lady 2: Yep.
Lady 1: Awesome.
Lady 2: I wore it to a meeting today before I realized I had this lovely hicky. (Does Vanna White hand-display impression around hicky.)
Lady 3: Oh well. At least now they know you’re getting some.
Lady 2: In case you were wondering if I get any action. (waggles eyebrows)
Lady 4: What? This? Oh, yes… I was curling the ends of my hair and the iron slipped.
Lady 2: Ha! The crackpipe slipped.
Lady 5: Rugburn.
Lady 4: Ropeburn.
10.02.01 HE GIVES ME FEVER
I’ve had three cold sores in the last six years. Each one of them has coincided with an event involving Dave Eggers. In college, I had a subscription to Might Magazine (coincidentally, the inspiration for my blog title). The staff had a farewell party in the Tenderloin, but no one would go with me (I was living in Davis at the time). I had all these tests the next morning and woke up with an angry cold sore. So, with a bitter sense of disappointment that still lingers to this day, I skipped it. A couple years ago, Mr. Eggers was doing a reading in SF that I was determined to see. Of course, deadline ran over at the magazine I was working for, and I had to stay late. I had a cold sore then, too. I finally got to see him speak last night. The audience was eerily consistent: tousled men in ’50s eyewear, artsy chicks in knee socks and pea coats. Mr. Eggers baked cookies for the audience, and rocked nervously while he told us about his taxidermy supply store in Manhattan and his poor experiences with UC Santa Cruz students. I brought along the Carmex. I would have stopped to meet him afterwards, but I was afraid that if I shook his hand my entire body would break out in fever blisters. So I got a cab instead.
This weekend, I went kayak camping for the first time. The waterproof windbreaker, board shorts and salt air made me feel pretty sporty. I had to stop myself from greeting fellow kayakers with my chin (‘Sup?), and grinning stupidly at the tawny, tanned, fleece zipping, sports-bra sporting girls. Then I realized that seasoned outdoorsmen probably don’t assume that every seal they see has a shark lurking just beneath. They probably don’t wince at the searing pain in their shoulders after rowing for five minutes either.