Been gathering objets d'arts, or rather devenir art, things like little odd metal pieces and perfect little green crabapples, for art's sake. Still trying to reclaim art life after art school. My mantra of Art is supposed to be fun helped me get over, somewhat gracefully, thesis deadline hurdles but now it's time to forage on to works on paper, ideas in head, images on paper, items under hot lights, art under glass.
Got an email from Rio that she's giving up her long and lovely and straight hair for the charity that makes wigs for children with cancer. Of course lovely Rio is making such a gesture with her hair.
I am supposed to be succumbing to someone's whimsy at a hair school some time next month. Hair is only hair. It grows. It turns, with a lot of help, from primary red to normal after one's pal's experiment, guided foray into hair weirdness, runs amok and then fades out to further oddness of colour.
Today is a gray Middling City day, typical of later autumn.
I do not have more than a few gray hairs, despite my tribulations, and thanks to Gramma Vickie's excellent hair genes.
Today is a wet Middling City day.
Do not leave the house in cold weather with cold and wet hair for you will be inviting sickness to land upon your head and crawl down the back of your neck, lodging itself in your lungs for an indeterminate amount of time.
Next hair/health/weather question, please.

Chestnut hairballs of chestnuts and wisdom Love.

Just returned from the Liz Phair Extravaganza featuring her, her pretty guitars, her nice boots, band of Scruffian boys, and some odd onstage lights that looked like supersized Ikea items. Deb took me, Katherine, and Karen to the gig and we were to be seated in row G but, upon seeing the empty spaces, I insisted that we move into the front row, center, which we did. What did I learn at this show. That her new songs, like her old ones, are fine poetry that appeals to bandguys as much as earnest girlies and art types.
Before that made some images of the nouveau China art shows at Middling City U's two galleries and one of the moments at the suburban gallery was a performance featuring a woman artiste, sitting in a shopping cart putting on makeup while wearing a wedding gown as eight men in collars & leashes pulled towards their individual cupcake before them on the floor. The strongest neck and larnyx which reached his treat was performistically rewarded with the bride. I got some shots of one puller in particular who looked like his temples were going to explode blood all over the terrazzolike floor.
The cat is angry about the annual turn of the weather, angry at me as if I planned this to irk him in some way. He gets quite vocal in the autumn and this does not wane until spring's melty goodness.

Melty good love.

As is my wont, in the midst of turbo-powered deadlines breezed through Blogville to see what others are up to and located this must-see: go here for a neato-gleato treat.

Boom Love Box.