This perfect week began yesterday standing atop a hill in the middling city's noteworthy place of bones and remains, Forest Lawn, at the 202nd birthday bash for Prez13 , Mill Fill. As I told my assignment editrix it's an annual challenge, to achieve something new visually before frostbite sets in.
The crazed car people apparently don't realize that my leased vehicle is in the process of being beaten into the roadways, highways and biways and sent me a letter stating that I'm a 'Pre-Approved Renewal Customer.' I think this letter plus $30 grand or so will get me another Outback. Don't they realize that I'm putting about 3x the normal person's miles on this tired sedan?
$70 later I walked out of the bookstore laden with books about Italy and a tape of the Italian tongue, which I keep trying to speak with a french accent. I'll be, along with Dorota, throwing charms to full-throttle to achieve my social and mercantile ends in that country.
Got into heated argument with musician pal about c.w., me going on an intensive anti-nü-countree rant which blanched his ruddy winter cheeks.
Onwards to music: bought the new Pink cd which features the ifyou'renot dancing tothisyou'refuckingdead hit 'Get the Party Started' which I heard again this weekend and which I obsessed about until it was in my changer. I met her and her boy dancers about a year ago and developed a crush on one of them (a Depp-el-ganger) until he and I spoke and I noted that he had the i.q. of a digested pea.
Onwards to art: met with collaboratorative teammates last night and we received our budget (small) and deadline (imminent). We bandied about ideas which got some brush fires started, I think.