The annual questionnaire

1. What did you do in 2018 that you’d never done before? I painted a city scene. Badly. Also learned to bake Japanese breads, painted on paper, helped roof a house, and experienced a nuclear missile scare.

2. Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions? Resolving to get over things never works. "I will get over my relationship hangups." WRONG. "I will get over that traumatic accident that happened." HAHA, NO. "I will stop being pissed at that one asshole I can't stand." NO, YOU REALLY WON'T. You're not supposed to get over things. Things keep you alive. 

Also I didn't get any metallic pants.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?  A childhood friend in Indiana is working one of these.

4. Did anyone close to you die? Mike's grandmother died this week, on Boxing Day. And we found out on goddamn facebook, because everyone thought someone else would have called to tell her offspring. 

5. What places did you visit? I rode the hobo train through Portland. Tried a new Thai restaurant downtown. Went to an impound lot for the first time. Did not go to Maui.

6. What would you like to have in 2019 that you lacked in 2018? A whole-family trip. Probably to New York. I don't actually want to visit Lake George next summer (or ever again - my young-and-in-love feelings about the place have turned into tired-and-sad feelings), but I do want to see the kids have fun. I'll do it for the trip to the jerky shop with the wooden pig out front. If anyone finds me standing under a tree on the wooded path looking sentimental, please come punch me in the face.

7. What moments from 2018 will remain etched upon your memory? Crying into my sweatshirt on the flight home from LAX. Taking Zenny to the ER for a broken nose. Hanging Leif's first oil painting. Going for a jog at nightfall and having all the street lights come on, one by one, just as I ran under them. The look on Mike's face when he had to confess to losing my entire truck. 

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? I went to a painting workshop in a city and did not get murdered. Got another book contract. 

9. What was your biggest failure? I submitted a painting to an art show and was rejected. Also, applied for a passport and was rejected. It was a good year for rejection.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury? Cut off the top of my thumb while slicing a peach. It's flat now. Also it is missing a bit of thumbprint, so I just have to cut a few more peaches and I'll be ready for a life of crime. Or I will be unable to get away with any crimes ever because of my highly-distinctive patchwork fingerprints.

11. What was the best thing you bought? Arches oil paper - this changed my whole year of painting. 

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?  The boys were pretty great this year. Leif took an interest in learning to oil paint, and didn't poison himself. Gavin went to the Robotics World Championship in Kentucky and made a computer out of a toaster with his friends. Both boys went to Japan with their dad and had an amazing time. They're really nice guys, I love who they're growing up to be. 

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? HEY IT WAS ME AGAIN. I opened the boyfriend box in the top of my closet and handled the artifacts.

14. What did you get excited about? Oh no, it was paint again. I did feel excited about flying to the mainland for a workshop, even if the trip didn't pan out like any of the scenarios my brain came up with. Which is good, because some of them involved embarrassing accidents, miscommunications leading to arrests, and, in one case, a bazooka. I had a bit too much time to think about it on my nightly walks. 

15. What song will always remind you of 2018? I listened to a lot of Led Zeppelin this year, but Gavin rammed this thing into my head like a fork:

My painting instructor did this to us:

And Pandora got me with this one:

16. Compared to this time last year, are you:

a) happier or sadder?  nothinger
b) thinner or fatter?  14 lbs thinner
c) richer or poorer? first time in 15 years without early childcare costs - HOLY SHIT I AM RICH. Have been buying frozen Costco entrees like a big shot. 

17. What do you wish you’d done more of? Painting butts. 

18. What do you wish you’d done less of? Painting buildings.

19. What is the general state of your heart this year? I'm a year further into my transformation into Marilla Cuthbert.

20. What was your favorite TV program? Look, I tried to like the Good Place, but I don't know what everyone's been talking about. It isn't funny, the explorations of morality are not original or insightful, and the characters are not likable. Forever was a lot better, as afterlife/morality comedies go. The best thing I watched was Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency. 

21. What was the best book you read? This year I read every book Christopher Paul Curtis has written, and the one I loved the most was Elijah of Buxton. The last few Expanse books didn't blow my hair back, but The Long Earth series by Terry Pratchett and Stephen Baxter has been really resonating with me. I'm reading Lethal White right now, every minute I can find.

22. What did you want and get? Travel. Another book contract. Kitchen counters.

23. What did you want and NOT get? Company over coffee. An aptitude for painting city scenes. A suit of armor.

       23 B. What did you NOT want and get? More abominable chickens. 

24. What was your favorite film of this year? Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri. 

25. Did you make some new friends this year? Sort of? I became friendly with one of the storytime moms and she lets me hold her baby while she uses the bathroom. I definitely do not want any more babies, but bouncing around other people's babies is nice, in the way that knuckling risen bread dough is nice.

26. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? The ability to mentally electrocute people who brag about not being afraid to say "Merry Christmas". Nobody has ever been afraid to say "Merry Christmas". Nice people actually want other people to be happy, and are aware that those other persons might be Jewish or something. If you're less nice than me, the person who wants to mentally electrocute strangers, that's maybe a bit problematic.

27. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2018? It was supposed to be "That Would Look Good in a Painting," but ended up, "Who Stole my Chicken Hat?"

28. What kept you sane? Painting, baking, walking, and planning my eventual escape into the woods.

29. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? I made fun of John Krasinski on a horse.

30. What political/news issue stirred you the most?  INCOMING BALLISTIC MISSILE TAKE COVER THIS IS NOT A DRILL

31. Who did you miss? I missed wide open, empty, people-less spaces. (Not the kind that come immediately after an incoming ballistic missile warning. The kind with blackberry bushes and squirrels.)

32. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2018. DON'T OPEN THE BOX.

Christmas 2018

The fanciest of feast

We were hosting dinner on Christmas Eve, so I chased the kids around with Windex, making them wipe the windows before company arrived. "Everything has to be fresh and clean," I explained, "in case baby Jesus shows up." I was raised in a place where people frantically painted their homes in the week before Christmas so that it looked nice and fresh, just in case the infant savior dropped by for a dram of whiskey. I've always thought it was a nice idea, even if it is all a bit concerning from a child welfare perspective.

At that moment, a stray cat meowed outside the window. "BABY JESUS," the kids yelled, and ran outside with a bowl of dry cat food.

"Wait!" I yelled after them, "If that is the Christ Child, you should give Him wet cat food!" Kids, I tell you.

It was a nice Christmas. The roasts were enormous, the Yorkshire pudding was a foot high, the pies were perfect, and I only caught one dish towel on fire. Weeks of living off cookies and candies have reduced my iron levels to barely-living, and I have been falling asleep on armrests and face-down on my desk at lunch. I am ready for everything to get back to normal. If we could find a way to skip New Year's Eve and just head right into 2019 without having to stay up late and listen to drunk neighbors blow their fingers off, that would be great.

Monday painting: leather jacket

Sorry for the disappearing post, rss-feeders. I got myself locked out of the house, emptied a handful of pens from a jelly jar in my studio, and was sitting on the back porch drinking a jarful of porter from the basement kegerator when I got bad news about my broken-down truck, leading me to violate two blog rules: no posting after a beer and no ranting about family members. The kids enjoyed the trip to the impound lot, and my truck is back in the driveway. Dead. But not set on fire on the side of the road, at least.

So I was really ready to have some time to myself on Monday. Finished one painting, framed another, packed one up to be mailed, addressed some Christmas cards, and baked a bunch of rugelach and gingerbread.  

Leif's jacket:

Framed:

I swear it looked a lot bigger than that while I was painting it. If I had to do it again, I'd remember to make the leaves and stems GREEN, and not the all-black of the plastic Halloween bouquets I got from Walmart. Had a bit of tunnel vision while getting through all those damn petals.

The rugelach was really ugly, but it tasted good, and that's what counts when you bake something for the first time. I'm checking off new recipes to try. Next up is chocolate babka. One of our family mottoes is: you have to do the work to make the magic. Even it means taking the holiday by the neck and shaking the happiness out of it. Someone else will pick up the good feelings, even if you're not able to.

The truck cont.

I went to work, stopping at the door to tell the man to get the truck towed and put it on the credit card. He texted me at 10am and said a hose had blown and it was a 4 min. fix. This sounds like he fixed it, right? WRONG.

Got home, noticed there was no truck in the driveway, and then discovered that I was locked out of the house. Someone had played with the door knob lock, and I only have keys for the dead bolt. So I went around back (which I don’t have a key for because of Reasons) and did some laundry and helped myself to the kegerator, using a mason jar full of pens in my studio (minus the pens). Found where the chickens were laying eggs in the basement, had a toast with them. We haven’t actually named the two youngest chickens, we just call them collectively “the chickadoos”. Plucky came down, sang the egg song, the chickadoo felt better about this horrible thing that had come out of her, and the chickens all walked off together under the house, feeling very sisterly. I refilled my mason jar. I had had about 1.5 mason jars of very strong beer when the boys got home from swim lessons to shove Leif through the bedroom window and open the doors. Mike said, “So... well. Yeah. The truck is gone.”

THE TRUCK IS GONE. I told him to tow it, I told him it would be set on fire or stolen, I told him it would be impounded. And it is gone. And he has been at swim lessons. So I started laughing. “Call the cops and ask where they impound vehicles,” I said, and went to sit on the porch bench and watch Gilmore Girls with the rest of my mason jar of beer. Zenny went running by, “I have the eggs!” and fell down with them.

So Mike drove off in my mom’s car to file police reports or pay ransoms, and I am eating chocolate to absorb the beer so I can meet my mom for the traditional Thai food dinner on the night before Gavin’s actual birthday.

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE.

Update:

Truck was located. We went on a very exciting trip to an impound lot way out in the industrial district, where I interrogated the poor man at the desk about what exactly the big sign detailing firms for “water recoveries” might involve. Lots of drunk people driving into rivers, evidently.

The truck has suffered a fatal explosion to its insides and it probably dead forever. We have made arrangements and gone out for Thai food.

I’m not feeling depressed anymore! Adding “tow truck driver” to my future career change options.

solution: plum cake

My truck blew up. A week before Christmas. Because of course it did.

I went out at 10pm to rescue Mike from the side of the highway - me in reindeer pajamas, him in full kilt and jacket, carrying an empty beer keg. You're welcome, passers-by. *

This morning I made a plum cake for everyone before going to work. This is foolproof comfort food. Quick to prepare (and quiet, if everyone is still in bed) and very, very good. We make this at least once a month.

Plum cake

5 plums (or whatever soft fruit you have on hand)
1/2 cup sugar
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp pumpkin pie spice (or whatever pie spices you've got - ginger, cloves, nutmeg, etc)

1 stick butter, cut into 4 pieces (salted butter is best)

1 cup sugar
1 cup flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/8 tsp of salt (more if you're using unsalted butter)
1 cup milk
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp almond extract

Turn the on oven to 350. (I use a toaster oven.)

Chop up the plums into about 6 pieces (discard the stones, obviously), get a medium-sized mixing bowl, and toss the fruit with the 1/2 cup sugar and spices. Set them aside to get syruppy.

Put the butter in a medium baking dish or deep pie pan and put it in the hot oven to melt.

In another bowl, whisk together dry ingredients, add milk and extracts, and whisk until smooth. Give your fruit a stir to make sure it's getting syruppy (I add some vanilla if it's looking dry - depends on the fruit). When the butter is bubbly and hot, take the pan out of the oven, give your batter a quick stir, and pour the batter over the hot butter. The edges may sizzle and start to cook, that's fine. Drop the fruit all over the batter and pour the syrup over the top. Pop the pan back into the oven and bake for 50 minutes, until the cake is golden and bubbly and beautiful.

Let it cool for about 10 minutes, so the remaining butter settles in and the syrup thickens. You're supposed to flip it over onto a platter for presentation, but who needs to dirty another dish? Just spoon it out onto plates and eat it. The edges are crispy, the middle is tender, the fruit is sweet, it's delicious.



* The man was coming back from a retirement party. He had brewed a keg of Hefeweisen and had to do a highland dance. There was a bagpiper. Then he blew out my radiator. And the towing insurance expired 3 hour earlier, Eastern Standard Time. Naturally. It's fine. It's fiiiiiine. PLUM CAKE.

** I feel I should add here that he did not drink a keg of Hefeweisen. There were 200 people at a party with free drinks, he barely got to taste it to make sure it wouldn't poison everyone.

monday painting: me vs. my kid's face

Trying to paint Leif again.

Some things that have been happening:

* The boys went to Japan for Gavin's 16th birthday, and had an amazing visit to Harry Potter Land. We burned our faces off eating the Shock-o-Choc candies they brought back from Honeydukes, and Gavin shared all the pictures he took of vending machines and robotic toilets.

* At the library, I did a Miss Piggy impersonation during story time and one of the dads told me he was surprised I could sing so well.

* Fighting a long stretch of depression, I started shopping for suits of armor again. A suit of armor would be really fun to dress up in. And fun to paint. And fun to listen to art critics discuss in terms of existential symbolism while I have privately named the painting "self portrait dressed up in armor I bought off Amazon". Gavin, listening to all this on the drive home, pulled out his phone to look it up, and then got very excited because he had not realized we could buy entire suits of real shiny armor right off the internet. We spent all of dinnertime discussing pauldrons and vambraces and longswords, imagining all the places we could wear our armor and be super cool. Or arrested. Mike tried to be the wet blanket and tell us how impractical it would be to spend all our macbook savings on shiny metal armor, so I pulled up a page of PVC motorcycle armor. "Oh my god I want THAT," he said, and he took my tablet away.

I win.

WIP: the honeybee helmet

This week I learned that central vacuuming exists. If this seems like a very sad thing to learn so late, shut up, Hawaii doesn't even have windows that close. Our homes are single-thickness, there are no spaces for vacuum hoses or mummified cats or people secretly living in your walls. We use brooms for the dirt, and the cockroaches clean up the crumbs. And the rats clean up the cockroaches. It is a time-tested floor cleaning system.

Anyway, I started a painting of my mother's helmet. It matches her motorcycle.

I am also working on a painting that will earn me a Trader Joe's care package. Friends, if you want to commission a small painting of your pet or motorcycle or something else I'm not pressured to nail the exact likeness of, I accept payment in regional products that we can't buy in Hawaii; smoked fishes, maple candy, pickled eggs, moose butter, that kind of thing. I am not trying to earn a living off painting, I just want to enjoy myself, make some people happy, and eat things.

Note

I’ve deleted 10 years of archives. I can’t relate to that person anymore. She said “wee” and “foist” and “thine” a lot.

I’ve also deleted my old tweets and deactivated LinkedIn. You’re next, Facebook.

I’ll keep recent blog years active and post art on Instagram. Just cleaning up some footprints and making myself put the feel-bad machine down.

39 - the birthday picture post

Another year. I swear we just had one of these.

This was the year I got reading glasses, lost 12 lbs, and sprained my hand drinking coffee. The year I painted my way through the family’s portraits, and got a bit weird about fire hydrants. Reconnected with the cheesecake-baking, motorcycle-riding Marine friends of my college days. Baked a German pancake, many loaves of Japanese milk bread, and some less-than-triumphant pies. Struggled a bit with marriage and sadness and almost-cancer; started walking every night while listening to Led Zeppelin and crime podcasts, watching the stars to remind myself that none of it matters at all and everything is ok. Flew over the California wildfires. Stood for a long time in front of paintings in galleries; Nucleus in Portland, the Honolulu Museum of Art, touristy art shops, the bank that has two big paintings by a local artist who's name none of the staff can remember. Fruitlessly continued hunting an old serial killer in the maritime. Taught my younger son to use oil paint, listened to audio books and watched Stranger Things with my teenager, ran around the park with my daughter; sat knitting and listening to the kids trash-talk over card games and role-playing board games, sprawled out all over the floor beside my chair.

It was a fast year, and a good one, if a bit lonely-in-the-crowd feeling.

GOALS. This year I'm going to enter paintings in local art shows until one doesn't reject me, finish getting through the family portraits (aunt, cousins), make prints to sell, take the kids to Lake George in the summer, and train up my son properly so I can take him along to a painting workshop next year. And the next time my doctor calls me in to check how things are progressing/regressing, I'll tell him to nuke it from orbit. Werf it with flammen, etc. I can do without a few organs, but there are things I need to do and people I want to see again some day.

Thanksgiving 2018

I scorched the pies and sprained my hand on a nutc
The cat took a startled leap off the couch like a bowling ball with legs and demolished my favorite coffee cup. In a cupboard full of dainty tea cups, the biggest mug I could find as a substitute was the Nutcracker head.

I should not have made fun of him, though, because he was so heavy and oddly shaped that something crucial in my hand gave out while trying to carry my coffee to the couch. I lost exactly the gripping function required for hoisting pies out of the oven, and the entire feast had to be prepared with a forearm and some swearing.

Everything tasted fine anyway. We added red-eye gravy to the eggs Benedict this year, which is a combination that is going down as a new family favorite.

"Wear something nice," I said, chasing the kids together for holiday pictures. So the teenager put on a Steve the Babysitter shirt.

Leif commandeered the camera and took a bunch of blurry pictures of me.

still counts

Thanksgiving at my mother's house was full of cheese, sausage stuffing snitching, and arguments with Alexa over what constitutes "classical Christmas music" (Bach v. bossa nova). Nobody spit food out onto the floor for the cats or caught the bird on fire this year, so we are kind of becoming experts at Holidaying.

one of several birds we did not catch on fire

Instead of going for classy decor, we used a 1970s bedspread as a table cloth, with plastic turkey place mats, circa 1984. The kids were SO IMPRESSED. Why do I bother collecting old silver-plate and pressed glass? I should be buying thrift store cornucopias and platters shaped like cartoon turkeys.

 intense turkey-carving faces 

I did recently buy a salmon-shaped aspic mold, so helloooo Christmas fish mousse.

Happy Thanksgiving, folks.

monday painting - fire hydrant

Did a first pass on this Portland fire hydrant.

Ignore the background. I get points for at least starting a background, and I can fix it up later. (I will not.) Only look at the color bits.

And now on my walks, I have fire-hydrant-vision. Just like I have drivers-weeping-at-stoplights-vision, and motorcyclists-without-proper-gear-vision.

Look at all these handsome boys.

Help.

Hedgehogs

These are not hedgehogs. They are mushrooms that look like you’ve flipped a hedgehog inside out like a sock. I love painting them, but the undersides are the worst things in nature since lotus pods.

Hey look, still no backgrounds. Backgrounds can go jump in a lake for a bit. I’m letting the lessons germinate in my brain, they’ll show up eventually.

Probably.

The wrap up

This morning I settled down on the couch with a nice big cup of coffee, picked up my sketchbook, and an enormous cockroach ran out of the cushions and across my neck, sending me leaping 3 feet straight up into the air. Things are back as they should be.

So, this trip was not my best idea.  I got out of my depth, surrounded by a city I wasn't prepared to navigate, attending a workshop that wasn't what I thought it would be.

Oh, well.

Not having a companion along to take pictures of me posing in front of weed dispensaries and embracing pig statues, here is the total photographic evidence that I actually went on this endeavor in person: two outfit poses in the hotel mirrors for Sarah; locked out of the studio; and an accidental selfie. There you have it, posterity.

Refusing to leave the city without starting a decent painting to remember it by, I took a few reference pictures of interesting objects and lintels on my walk to the train station and sat drawing in the airport food court, trying stupidly to calm my nervous hands with more poisoned coffee.

I'll straighten it out with paint

"Good job," the man said when I showed him my sketches. "You flew all the way to Portland to draw a fire hydrant."

YES I DID, OKAY.

Also some mushrooms.

The kids were most excited by the loot I dumped out on the coffee table - particularly the .99 Trader Joe's chocolate advent calendars I got for each of them. Gavin awarded me parenting points for figuring out what he meant when he asked me to get him "smoosh penguins with goo bellies" (these turned out to be gummy snacks with liquid centers that are shaped like penguins). I also bought a couple of letterpress prints, and they all agreed that the naked-butt goat picture by Phoebe Wahl was the best. Should have given that bat some rosy buns, Erica, the critics have spoken.

I'm going to re-do the city painting in my own time and method, applying what I learned in a manner that works for me. Will not be defeated by 2-point perspective and wobbly power lines.*

* Oh yes, I was. Go to hell, city street painting.

Homeward

Stay in your lane, Braffet. Go back to the countryside, go back to small-scale paintings with limited backgrounds that you enjoy doing, go back to manageable life expectations.

I checked out of the hotel and walked down to the rail station, feeling kind of  deflated. I guess I thought that “city street painting” meant painting on a city street, not painting a street scene from a picture. It was useful to have a live instructor taking my brush and showing me how to make adjustments, but I felt let down anyway. I passed a couple of buildings that would have made better paintings and cussed at them. Some homeless guys took this as a good sign that I might be someone to bum cigarettes from, and I had to disappoint them. Sorry boys, I am just your average small-town librarian yelling “motherfucker” at decorative cornices. Sat waiting for the train, watching pigeons circle the street and donkey engines* chomp up rocks nearby. A smelly guy made loud kissy noises at me all the way to the airport, but I didn’t notice until he disembarked because I mistook the sounds for train noises. Being clueless is kind of like being cool.

Waited in the airport for 4 hours, drawing mushrooms for my forest-foraging friend who took me to Lardo the night before. Flew into the California fires. It’s hard to breathe in the SFO airport. I want to be home. That’s a good thing to feel, right? Returning to a place you’ve left is not the same as never having gone, and knowing what you don’t want is important. Knowing what other people don’t want is useful, too. Knowing not to schedule 30 kids for a class visit the morning after an exhausting trip would be invaluable. But there we are.

*I know excavators are not donkey engines, but these things remind me of the 1986 movie "The Quest" with the lake monster called Donkagen.

Last day

Tomorrow morning it is back on the hobo train to the airport. Figuring I should pack in all the Portland I could into my last day, I walked up to one of the famous donut shops and bought a gourmet blueberry bourbon donut and a cup of locally made coffee. It tasted like a cold donut and a cup of thermos coffee. I have not been doing phenomenally on my phenomenal meals endeavor.

Meh 

Picked up a loaf of apple monkey bread at Trader Joe’s to share with the other painters. They are happy to see snacks, but they do that weird polite thing where nobody eats the last tiny sliver of whatever it is. We don’t have that rule in Hawaii; polite people hork everything down to show how good it is. I did them all a favor and ate the last bites of everything. Painted industriously, fixing some of the problem areas on my piece; making other areas worse. Took notes as Jen came and commandeered my brush for corrections.

Buildings get more muted as they go down, because of dirt.

Work on the part of your painting you are trying to avoid FIRST. Take your medicine, the rest will be more enjoyable.

Warmer lights, even if they don’t look that warm in life. 

Cars are just two boxes stacked on top of each other. Get them done and move on.

Vanishing point is at head level of the people in the scene.

Oversimplify shadows and leave the complexity to the light.

Neutralize colors as they recede.

Use more paint on your palette. MORE PAINT. (I have a hard time with this one, because that shit is expensive and you have to scrape it off when you don’t use it.


By the end of the day, I wanted to frisbee the painting out the window, but I carefully packed it up, instead. It’s the most important of the pile of shitty paintings you have to paint through to get to the good ones; it is the very first. I will be braver in my use of backgrounds now, with a bit of pushing on.

The room cleaner has gotten used to my minor clutter and didn’t bother replacing all the coffee pods, knowing how many I drink. She emptied the trash, folded the bath mat, and moved on. I ditched my gear back in the room and set out to meet one of my online mom-friends. She took me to Lardo, where we ate the best damn meal of this entire trip, and I bought a shirt with a pig on it.

We walked up and down Hawthorn and visited Powell’s, picked out this year’s commemorative Christmas ornament to mark the trip, and she hugged me goodbye back at my hotel room.

Packed my suitcase, taped up my painting for transport, and that is that.

Hearing  the call of that lonesome train.

Portland: day 2

Today it was down to work. Carried my gear to the OSA studio and spent the day listening to Jennifer Diehl talk about painting theory* while executing a demo.

After the demo ended, everyone scattered instead of wanting to go out and eat. The city is fun, but perhaps in the way a survival video game is fun. On 23rd Ave I went walking along under the seasonal lights, looking for a good place to eat, and ended up getting chased by a homeless guy screaming "YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE MADE THAT COMMERCIAL, JESUS IS GOING TO PUT YOU IN JAIL". So I jog-strode with all the don’t fuck with me I’m a tough city person indifference I could muster back the way I had come and ended up at the Elephants Delicatessen, which was packed and noisy with laughing people at long gleaming deli cases full of cakes and soups and breads. Ate a fish taco, video-game-maneuvered my way back to my room around a guy with his legs wrapped in dirty towels and a skateboarding youth in a full fuzzy blue shark onesie, locked and barricaded the door, and now  I’m working on my value studies for class tomorrow. Well. I’m not, because I’m typing on my phone in my pajamas and contemplating video-game-murdering the screaming college kids in the adjoining room and collecting all their coins for my bag of holding, but that is the plan. 

Making the value studies is the plan, not the murder. To be clear. 

* I was going to post here at the bottom all the things I learned, but they’re written on my notes in the studio and I can’t remember them because I guess I haven’t actually learned anything yet. Tommorrow I will apply the things, and in experiencing the things, the things will become learned.