and a cake plate in a pear tree

March 21, 2010

Sometimes you’re aware that you owe some people out there a blog, most notably yourself, (sorry everyone who needs me to write less than I need me to write, but I take precedence here), and you have too much real life and not enough real words, and so you just start in like this. Getting past that there first sentence is always the hardest, since anyone ever born in any century can formulate an excuse…the general hope attached to this writing method, I think, is that topics will flow naturally from ones fingers as soon as the physical tiptiptiptiptiptiptiptip process has started. In passing, has everyone heard the typewriter song? It’s called Typewriter, which makes it easy, and it’s by Bombay Talkie, and it is fucking awesome. Tiptiptiptiptiptiptiptip.

In sadder news, I finally bought batteries, so I can take fabulous pictures of my fabulous new California life, which is actually shaping up to be a gorgeous little thing, fancy that, and now I can’t find my camera. Really? Really. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: whoever is pulling the strings keeps blowing things off into neglected corners and counting on my overlooking them for whole weeks, probably for their own twisted string pulling amusement. Bastard.

Things I would take pictures of to share with you, had I not lost my camera due to circumstances certainly beyond my control:

1) the mural I’ve started on the wall of the next door building. The next door building is about four feet away from my building, and three of my windows open directly onto its lovely blank face. These windows are also pretty close to the only way you will ever see this part of this particular wall; you can kind of see it if you stand in front of it on the ground level and break your neck backwards looking up, but the long and technical short of it is that I’ve got a secret wall, and I am going to have me a secret mural museum. Three whole windows, and multiple offers of various ladders from the neighbors, who are fortunately excited about the whole mural painting process. Currently in order to paint I’ve duct taped a bunch of brushes to rulers and sticks, set up a little palette and brush stastion on the flower box, opened the window as high as it will go, and pushed my body to new and exciting limits leaning out the window to paint from afar, like a zen master catching flies with chopsticks. Kind of. The whole painting from an unprecedented distance with really long brushes has been super interesting and awesome. I like it. I love it. I want some more of it.

Okay, so that whole bit was written last night, at Brain Wash, which is this awesome coffee shop/laundromat/venue, while we were doing laundry, and my battery ran out and I couldn’t be bothered to move everything over to a seat with an outlet, I just waited for my laundry and then folded it and left without finishing my post. Now, of course, that it is three in the afternoon of the next day and I have found my camera, HA. Ha about everything. I have taken pictures of the beginnings of my secret mural, and as soon as I am less of a flibbittyjibbet I will upload them and you can see the awesome. Now, however, I am going to have more coffee and go show the neighbors my rad new jacket. Has many buttons. Yay me.


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