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when they know me by sight
Friday, February 5 2016
I wanted to buy myself elevated decadence, so late this morning I painted a headshot of a Galapagos Hawk based on a photo taken by my father in law. In the middle of my work on this, I got a call from Los Angeles asking me to make a new user for the site I've become the defacto administrator for. It's possible to do that with paint on ones fingers and wet brushes tucked into the shelving nearby. Here was the result:
Mostly to give Gretchen some alone time, I used the Prius to make a circuit out among local retail establishments. I've become sort of addicted to the Tibetan Center thrift store, and that was my first destination. I'd been there only three days before, and nothing new was there. That sad MP3 player from the late 1990s or early 2000s is still there, and some day I may take pity on it and give it a new home. But not today. I turned my attention instead to the huge collection of books, eventually buying a book called Lower Animals (which was in the house when I was a kid; its copyright year is the one I was born in). I also bought a colorful paperback called The Galapagos Islands (copyright 1995); we've spent enough time there that we should have at least one book about the place. The total cost of my purchases was less than fifty cents. Though customers tend to be weirdoes, the staff there is super nice, but I'm dreading the inevitable day when they know me by sight.
I spent the next hour and a half drinking coffee and surfing the web at Outdated. The soup today was black bean, and I'd brought my bottle of Dave's Total Insanity Sauce with me. The combination of that heat with the soup (a hearty mix that included corn) was excellent; I would get that every time I came if it were available, though its $9 price seemed a excessive. While I was there, I overheard a couple guys joking with a woman whom I take to be the owner. They were saying that they're going to leave bad Yelp reviews about all the animal heads (hunter trophies) on the wall of this ostensibly vegan place (though technically it's vegetarian). "Oh, they're already there," the woman replied. The only dog that showed up while I was there came attached to an older woman by an absurdly-long leash. Her name was Daisy and she was a mid-sized black mutt with foxy ears. Her leash allowed her to investigate all many places where crumbs had fallen. Like many others, I got a chance to pet her when she came sniffing under my table. As with Gretchen these days, the only music coming from the Outdated sound system was from David Bowie's large discography.
This evening I had another bad experience with drug cocktails. In this case, the combination was alcohol, resin from my marijuana paraphernalia (which I'd tried to inhale judicious), kratom, and pseudoephedrine. I think those last two can be mixed, but probably not with marijuana. I had waves of anxiety washing over me for about a half hour, forcing me out into the teevee room, where Gretchen was watching the Man Who Fell to Earth, starring David Bowie as a superhumanoid space alien. In this household at least, it's going to be a long time before we're done mourning David Bowie's death. That said, Gretchen found the movie barely watchable; she has trouble sitting through movies from the 1970s due to their generally lethargic pacing.
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