Friday, October 25, 2002

Apparently I was on television looking like I was walking alongside Richard Gere, today all day people (mainly women) came up to me asking (before any other sort of salutation)
Is he as good-looking in person as he is on camera?
At an art opening yesterday evening I began to tell people that he and I are dating, that the relationship has been happening for 24 hours and it's flourishing.

Two Canadian conversations of yesterday, with (slight) apologies to George:
1.
Heading into Canada yesterday I was pulled over by the man in the booth for carrying artwork in the back of the Forester, my pieces from Conflagration.
Was sent over, with slip of paper, to be examined. I was there for 40 minutes explaining to a man whose face said I've eaten entirely too many doughnuts/Timbits this lifetime, that the pieces had no value as they were not for sale, were not sold, were not being sold and sundry other fun facts about the show.
He said:
They must be worth a pretty penny, ay?
I nearly burst out laughing.
Then I did some careful explaining of how the silkscreen-on-metal thing was not my usual m├ętier, that the image size was this and my usual photographic price was that... etc. until I thought I had lulled him into a stupor of pricing and art making and transporting and art storage.
I asked Would you like to hang onto them here, all 13, and I'll come back and get them later? Rather snarky, I must say, but it fit the moment as I was realizing he was somewhat putty in my earnest little hands.
No, he said, I can't do that. Would you like one of them? I was really pushing things. No, he said, I can't do that. So, 40 minutes later, I was on my way, again.

2.
Was magnetized into a true blue, mapleized surf/board shop up there, mesmerized by the thoughts that my dollars were being stretched internationally to greater proportions.
Have been noting those with Helly Hansen jackets and doing some serious coveting.
Bought a lovely sage green one with more secret compartments than George Bush's odd persona.
I was playing with a do-dad on the hood when the intense little salesguy said
Oh, that's for making sure that your tuque doesn't come off.
I stopped playing with the hoodal do-dad, trying to make pretend I wasn't so amazed by the word tuque.
I guess now I have to go tuque shopping.

Morals (and I have a few): Canada is a different land, full of pretty pennies, tuques, loonies and toonies.

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