Gather Ye Rosebuds/Get a Nice Houseplant.

Saturday Brings the Bar
"'Irrelevant crush.' You have said that a few times now." The compatriot and I have settled into drinks at the Raven's Club. Even with all the light fixtures, it's satisfyingly dark and bustling with people who are ready for good drinks on a Saturday. "When," she asks me, "are crushes relevant?"

"Well. I suppose the ones that actually turn into something. Something with potential for becoming something real. I don't know." I feel lame. Unlike the pisco sour sampled last weekend, this one is falling flat. Comp sips it and decides: "Not enough lime. Perhaps it needs a stir." We lack utentils. Cadres of waitresses stalk through, but in this new place, they are already expert at ignoring people who are not their people. During a break in the foot traffic, Comp hops over the one of their stations and shoots her hand into a likely cubby hole. But no: only napkins, no rolled silverware.  

"But why does it have to become anything? Or, what if it were to be something casual? Would that be the worst thing in the world? As long as it's all communicated, because that's where people fall into trouble." She eyes me, waiting.

"I mean, not the WORST thing~~" I dither a bit before trailing off. Her gaze is like a visual shrug. Do what you will, not my problem. Or mine, either, really. There's no problem, no mess. Just intermittent bouts of silliness. I try her Sazerac, try not to make a face:"...It's not really my thing, I guess."

"No, I didn't think it would be."

Sunday Brings the Cemetery

This afternoon, I spent some time wandering around Lodi Cemetery. I was fortunate to get invited to participate in a "Reclaimed" show," by the married artists of Perfect Laughter and I was hoping to incorporate some funerary imagery.  Apparently, it's more difficult to get a good grave stone rubbing than I thought -- or I'm just not very good at it. While there seem to be numerous promising old headstones on view from the road, very few had much in the way of ornamentation. The ones that immediately struck me as obvious contenders wound up being too pronounced and ultimately unusable.  Luckily, other quieter designs gradually came to the fore. (Ahh life, always with the signs~~). The breeze rustled my papers and tumbled items away while I was taping things down.  I called it a day when the conte crayon was a near-useless nubbin and I had managed to cover most of my exposed skin with smudges. Must buy more conte crayon and tool around a different cemetery.

A smattering of images:

 

For a two year old.

 So many good textures, with the wear and the lichens

 Gorgeous variation in lettering

Here's to a good week, Everyone!