Are you ever in the mood where you want everyone to jump up and exclaim about how awesome you are? And then, no one does? And then, you start to wonder why no one is jumping up and exclaiming about your awesomeness? And then, you start to make a mental list of all the reason why you are not so awesome? And then, maybe that list starts to make you look to be just a shade shy of horrible? And then, even though part of you knows that your list is really heavy-handed on the negativity, you kind of wonder how you managed to make it this far without finding your way onto Hannibal Lecter's Christmas card list?
No? Me, neither.
Okay, so that's a lie, but I don't get caught in that whirlpool of self-loathing nearly as often as I used to.
It did occur to me yesterday morning, though, that lying around in bed waiting for cheering sections is not time well sent, especially when I have a perfectly serviceable set of vocal chords of my own. With this thought, I got out of bed, told myself I was awesome, and set out on walk to a local art gallery with my friend Kat. She said that there were some plush penises there that I simply had to see, and I agreed with her.
One thing about being so awesome, though? The awesome must be balanced out by the not-so-awesome, like the fact that I am always misplacing my Nikon D60's lens cap and so had to rely on my iPhone's camera for the afternoon. I think I'll have to jerryrig a lens cap out of a plastic bag and an elastic band for the weekend.
These are fanciful penises. They look to me like they were born of an unholy coupling between Strawberry Shortcake and Holly Hobby.
Latch-hook rugs have come a long way since the brown owl one I hooked in the 1980s.
When I turned around and saw Xistchian, the piece shown above, I was so excited. I knew immediately that it was created by my dear, old friend, Cheli. There was a journal with him to write in, so I did:
He leaned in really close to my ear to tell me something, but it sounded very moist and muffled. I think the staff here have been sneaking him schnapps.
I pretended for a moment that it was 1995 and we were sitting in Emily's Jazz Café drinking 85-cent coffee.
And then we ate macrobiotic food bowls afterwards and felt ever so cultured. And awesome.