Auf Wiedersehn To The Fiery One Once Again, My Friend Warhol, And Some Sexton

The Fiery One is leaving on a work trip again this afternoon, which just goes to show you what a horrible planner I am. I was home sick from work yesterday when today would have been the obvious choice for staying home and hanging out with the Fiery One during his last few hours in town. Oh well. Instead, I was ill yesterday, which afforded me all kinds of time to edit and post photographs to Flickr (see my left sidebar icon), join Bust’s Girl Wide Web (see the pink button at the bottom of this page), read about language and postlanguage poetry (really fascinating if you’re into theory and linguistics), put some more music on Radio Free Schmutzie (see the left sidebar again), and catch up on some recreational reading both on- and off-line. Basically, I spent most of the day being an Intarweb nerd.

Viruses being what they are, I was not informed of their impending visit upon my immune system, which means I was unable to plan for my cold’s stay on a more convenient day, which would have been today. I’m already missing the Fiery One, and he hasn’t even left town yet. And I’m extra stupid, because I didn’t have sex with him last night when I was busy being all annoyed with the world of January, and I would totally have sex with him right now if I wasn’t well and at work and across town from our apartment.

I am going to try to take my mind off this by talking about my friend, Warhol (which is, of course, not his real name, but seems fitting, so there). Actually, what this really is about is finding an excuse to throw a few of my portraits up on this website, much like my last entry.

This first one was taken a couple of weeks before Christmas over a Scrabble game at a pub. We were playing with Red, and she kicked our asses roundly. Warhol was having issues with our having rules and claimed that something like cultural prejudice was taking place, but we remained firm in our belief that some proof of spelling would be necessary before we accepted some rare voodoo word for a type of alcohol only made on a handful of tropical islands. Here he is running through his Scrabble tiles in his mind, contemplating his remaining options:


Then, while he was concentrating so long and so hard that he got eye crusties, I thought that I would grab a quick couple of shots of his eye-decrusting procedure. Here he is going in for an initial exploratory dig,


and here he is doing a thorough excavation of his eye socket. (He is so going to kill me if he reads this, but if you are reading this, Warhol, I want to remind you that you did give me permission to post pictures of you on the Intarweb, and you did not place any restrictions on the kind of pictures I could post).


He stayed to visit in Cityville for several days, so the Fiery One and I ended up going for pints with Warhol a few days after that ill-fated Scrabble game. I was kind that day and chose to do a simple shot of his hands folded on his lap while he was deep in conversation with the Fiery One:


And there you have it, more photographs from the couple of rolls I shot just before and over the December holidays. For someone who used to never like pictures of friends and family around (it used to creep me out), I sure take a lot of people pictures.


The Evil Eye” by Anne Sexton


Thanks goes out to Sweetney for a nudge in the right direction (and the link doesn't hurt, either).