Art Scraps

One woman's test photography is another man's treasure, so the saying goes. In fact, I turned this lovely test strip of some pebbles underwater into a geometric study with just a few pieces of Scotch tape (very classy) and some magazine cutouts. It's even mounted three dimensionally on foam. Ooo. It was so popular with the celebs that I had to hurry up and make a couple more for Dennis Quaid and Sarah Jessica Parker, who had been shooting a movie down the street. They saw me working on this little number for my friend Sally and barged right in the door or her apartment, practically forcing me to hand over my collages (and fifty dollars) into their hands! But now that I think about it, maybe they were really just burgalars with paper cutouts of Dennis Quaid and SJP taped to their faces with the eyeholes cut out. I am missing a substantial amount of my precious jewel collection.

Dennis, if I see you wearing my tiara on the set, you're in big trouble.

Misinterpretation of Signs

Some days are curiouser than others. Wednesday was a day like any other: go to classes, save the world, sell ceramics, watch gays on TV, go to bed. But today, Thursday, was off. It feels like a day where you look through someone else's reality glasses and your picture of the world looks a little like looking through a liquor bottle. To the right: A view of a Smirnoff bottle: does it say something about how one man's alcohol is another man's art?
I was also stung by a bee today. On a bus. In mid-November. And this is the SECOND bee sting I have gotten in a month. Aren't bees supposed to be sleepy at this time of the year? Maybe they're also having a weird day.
And then, the cake topper: There's a laundry/dry-cleaning store a ways up the street that has some process called 'Martinizing'. As in, some guy named Martin does something cool with your clothes and they look good as new when he's done with them. (Perhaps. I don't actually know how you Martinize your clothes.) But what did I read? Martini Zing.
As in, a drink with a zippy olive in it. Or, perhaps it's a new, trendy bar/lounge! I have to go there sometime soon and find out.

Once You Poop, You Can't....Stoop?

I can't believe I haven't posted this comic yet...because there's nothing quite as funny as poop. And when you combine that with an elderly interacting with a stoner kid (note the dreadlocks, camo pants and, as my father would say, 'ghettoblaster'), you've got grammatical genius. Normally I believe the phrase is 'POP it like it's hot'. As in 'Turn your polo collar up, children, because it is just so in fashion right now'. In the 20's they might have said, 'The popped collar is the bee's knees!' and in the 1950's it might be 'Be-Bop-a-Hepcat Pop-a-Collar Zing!, Daddy-o'. But today it's a bit simpler.
I have too many stories and puns in my brain that all deal with the topic of a great four-letter word. And no, the word is not 'Cats', or 'Asps', or 'Acne', or even 'Butt' (all great words, though), poop probably takes the cake. See, just now, I can envision another comic being formed, a cake being stolen off a wedding table by some brown...Cats! Butt! Acne! Nevermind.

Bush-Diving

It sounds naughty, but it isn't, really. Tonight I saw two people about my age dive into some tall bushes, hoping that I didn't see them trespassing in the yard of an abandoned historical mansion (clearly marked with 'Get The Hell Off this Private Property You Asshole Frat Boys' signs, or something to that effect). There was a small exclamation of an expletive, and then some careening into the hedges. Followed by something like a whispered 'Ow! Sharp!'
The lesson of the week will be short and sweet: once you're spotted where you shouldn't be, don't head for the nearest shrubbery.

Dead celeb spotted on Halloween!

Someone at a Halloween party I was at this past week was lucky enough to snap this shot of Andy Warhol, who appeared briefly next to my friend Jess. He left as quickly as he arrived, with a flash of white wig and silkscreens for everyone, and then he was gone. Who knows where he came from (well, he was from Pittsburgh, that we know) and where he was headed on that unearthly night, but the party was a bit more glamourous for the rest of the evening thanks to him. And thanks to Poison Ivy, the Pied Piper, and a Rook (my, how our chess set has grown) for creating the fabulous atmosphere for such a ghostly visitation to occur.
If only I could conjure Peter Saarsgard for the next party. I'm going to go practice my seance-ing.