A man with a full white beard writing musical notation in a large square sketchbook. A half-drained cup of coffee diluted with milk and an extra saucer. There’s a scattering of crumbs that I first take for eraser dust. When I squeeze past the table, I see that it’s spilled sugar. He leans his body into his work whenever someone comes near.
My doorbell rang at 7:30 this morning and I didn’t answer it. I got up an hour later, showered, and then sat down at my computer. An email prompted me to scan today’s headlines. There had been four terrorist bombings in London. I launched the IM client to check in on London-friend Fiona. She said she’d left work early, after the police had set off a number of controlled explosions of abandoned packages in the area around her office building. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I just typed, “I’m sorry.” She signed off. I decided to replan my day, choosing to do some work from a coffee shop hotspot instead of running errands in the suburbs. On the way out, I found a subpoena with my name on it taped to the outside door. I’m instructed to appear in court in a couple of weeks, presumably in a case related to my car’s theft in April. Now I’m at Top Pot plugging numbers into a spreadsheet. I ocassionally skim through the backlog of unread entries in my Bloglines account, noting the odd mix of entries written after today’s bombings and those written earlier in the week.
Sunglasses pushed up onto her head and a large pink flower threaded through a loose bun at the back of her head. Her skirt and sandles are the same green as the half-sheets of paper that she’s drawing on. Her first drawings are shapeless gesture drawings. Her last is a careful picture of a woman sitting by the window in the restaraunt across the street.
Next week at Pioneer Square’s First Thursday there’s a group show by a bunch of Seattle Photographers. Drop by if you can.
Thursday, July 7, 2005, 6-10pm
Art Squad Studios
619 Western, 5th Floor
The Fillipi’s Old Books and Records sign has been removed, revealing a non sequitur.
And the remodeling has created this sort-of visual non sequitur.
Seattle Waterfront, Sunday
Went to League night on Friday. Talked about shaving, Flickr, bigfoot. You know, guy things.
Last night on Letterman, the musical guest was a loung-y big band act who played a cover of Smells Like Teen Spirit.
Today I overheard a guy answer his phone and identify himself as Oedipus. I’ll ask the obvious question: What mother names her son Oedipus?
I have two 8’x10′ prints, one each of the two photos posted here. One is for the first friend or acquaintance who claims it with a comment that doesn’t use the letter “E”. The other goes to the first stranger or internet-only acquaintance who does the same, but with a comment that includes no vowels except for “E”. I can mail the print or hand deliver it, whichever makes sense.