somber and humorless.

I never feel like writing when i use the Internet because it has this heavy draining effect on my curiosity/intellect.
Anyway.
I babysat tonight. Poor fellow, he spent half an hour agonizing.. otherwise know as pooping in his diaper. His face contorted and turned several shades of pink and his body was stiff as a board. I love him a lot.
The title of this entry comes from a description of Rachel Whiteread as an artist in this article http://www.nytimes.com/2008/10/17/arts/design/17Whit.html?ref=arts

I really wish i could go see this installation or I just wish I made it.

I applied to be a secretary at the Slow Food office, I anticipate no response as always.

This is just crazy.. http://www.56leonardtribeca.com/#/intro

Photos on my computer of French animals

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Time is escaping me. I am getting quiet comfortable like this. The H on my keyboard is sticky. I made a calendar for September and October so I can understand days as units of time in months. Hopefully I will draw a line through one of the weeks and write "Mexico with Faye" above it. I saw the most beautiful man in Tartine today. I think he was with his gay husband and son. Later they pushed the baby carriage to Dolores and listened to the band play. He walked up to congratulate the performers when they finished and bought there CD. My God. Should I contact Clynton and inquire about how one becomes an assistant curator? hmmmm.... also...i live in Craigslist.

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Greetings from my loft bed, Valencia St. Actually I am under it right now.. so creepy. I explored the local haunts for a bit yesterday and I ended up on something that embodies San Fran for me...an article on DIY dildos from a punk DIY book in a Zine store. There is all this buzz about Zizek around, he was on the radio in the kitchen this morning. My roomate and I listened to his exploding words and wet tongue over coffee and grapefruit juice ( I failed to go to the market once again.) I have been seeing all these dusty white bikes around, and I wrongfully assumed they were Ghostbikes (monuments to killed bikers). Today as i saw another one I realized that I had seen dusty cars too... and then it all came together like a hazy San Francisco evening....Burningman. The city did manifest itself elsewhere this labor day weekend.

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the spaghetti western didn't happen. the heat caused these long silences to exist in between the questions of "what are we going to do tonight?" we took a midnight bike ride instead . Marissa was in her bathing suit and I in black spandex. the ride was cut short by my crashing into a parked car. ha! I guess the only thing in the aftermath i was concerned with, was the apprehensions the "accident" would inspire in me about my future planned bike rides in Berkeley. No worries about that anymore. besides the fact that i got over my "accident," the only wheeled vehicle I will be operating is my father's black VW golf up and down the 101. the Bay Area and friends are overrated. word. Here are some PIXXX from the 6 hour hike.

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It's hottttttttt here is Portland. if you know what i mean....
I waded in the river while everyone else swam (I have river anxiety and I am just uptight).
Just made borscht and beer soy ice cream floats. It was delicate and delicious, like most everything here. Now off to a spaghetti western gathering with some home brew on a borrowed bike.

This is a collection of the animals I have encountered over the years while I was in possession of my camera...