Here In Oakland
Thursday. Hot and humid, even here near the ocean, but a good day none the less. Feeling good, feeling better and better since last Friday when I started snorting this swell liquid in a bottle stuff every morning. The doctor said it could take a week or two before I'd realize (in retrospect) it was having an effect. It took a few days. In another week I'll be entering marathons and dancing to Grand Master Flash. I'd settle for the energy to update artandlife more often, but, you know, ask a million, settle for nine hundred grand.
You could scrub the bathtub. You have company coming.
Ah, self, you're such a pill. Life seems possible again and you're talking bathtubs, which, I admit, has gone beyond off white.
Ugh!
Ugh! yourself. I'm sitting here with the fan turned on low at my feet with a whiskey and water at my wrist in case of rapid climate change, rapid climate change being the number one killer of men who reach the big sixty. Some things get better, some things get worse.
Friday. Home a little early, MRA is due to arrive later today or tomorrow to crash as he's up from L.A. to check out a photography collector's exhibit in Marin. The Gay Pride parade is Sunday, so I'll be shooting the Dykes on Bikes contingent, and, with the Supreme Court decision allowing gay people to butt fuck in the bedroom any damned way they like, people will be celebrating. Celebrations make for good pictures. A clear head makes for good pictures and - ta! da! - I'm taking Monday off. Life in the fast lane, people, here in Oakland.
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