An Interlude

A bugle was sounding reveille, as I struggled against the waking process. As consciousness returned, I realized the bugling was just my own farting. First Friday left me in recovery mode all day Saturday, and I met today almost ready to roll again. Really rocking is out of the question for a little longer. I may have to cut back to making the scene every third night, because evidently I can no longer even cover every other night. 

Friday was a gas, and I should have some photos up on flickr soon, followed by best of images and a few words here. I knocked out the zootown underground this morning, in order to be less than a week behind. Coming soon: Tuesday at the Palace, with Low Red Land and the March of the Black Queen. Two big stories from First Friday was Ceretana's art and music, and Zeppo tearing the Union Club up. I'll be on that, soon. 

I've spent two days walking and sitting in the sun. It seemed good medicine for the crick in my neck, from too much computer time, and the stress of wondering what the next job will be, when the museum gig ends. 

The old coots' job program is prodding me to spread my wings, leave the nest and find a permanent job. I told them I didn't want a "permanent" job, because that just sounds too long, and because I just want to "keep food on my family" until I turn 62, late this year. I live cheaply and will be comfortable on social security. 

At the moment, finances are anything but comfortable. Some local business compromised a bunch of bank cards, and to protect me, my bank turned my ATM card off. I discovered this when I tried to pay for some photos I had printed. My card didn't work, although I knew there was money in the account. I've received my new card, but not the activation code, and can only access my money by check. There's less money in there, too, because my two week time sheet wasn't faxed properly, and a paycheck was missed. I'm beginning to think the money people are conspiring against me. 

The gone-to-hell-in-a-handbasket economy hasn't touched me so far, because I'm accustomed to getting by by the skin of my teeth. Statistics show three things are selling faster than ever: fast food, booze and guns. The last two seem a dangerous combination. Some enterprises I love are also doing well: museums, libraries and 2nd hand book stores. 

Speaking of museums, come by MAM and check out Sister Corita's art and the books available about her. She's one of my new heroes. She's been gone over 20 years, but in her time she was as revolutionary as Warhol. Fall by the museum and tell them the Kitchenpoet sent you. They won't know what you're talking about, but tell them anyway.