...end of tweener.

(December 02, 2006)

...the ceramic iron wasn't hot enough. See, it turns out that you have to press the "On" switch or else it won't start to heat, no matter what. Appliances are funny that way. So I put it away and left on my errand trip to Somerville and Cambridge.

The Garment District proved to be a good idea; I scored some very hunky-cum-fey garments for Randy Bedfellow aka Joe. What's that? What's hunky and fey at once? Why, cowboy gear of course. The girlie-men I used to hang around with (you know who you are) always said cowboy get-ups are appealing, in an ironic way like six inch heels, to both sexes. I also found some satin Playboy pajamas, so that's an alternate outfit. Cowboy or Playboy? Both are rather daring costumes for a boy like my Joey. We'll see what comes of it on Thursday. I'm planning to videotape the show so if you're not local, you'll get to see some on YouTube.

I did make it over to the Somerville Museum to see Laura's decoupage as well as a number of other Somerville artists. You know, sometimes it's hard not to put quotation marks around the word artists. I mean, come on. I walked all around the show and everyone has very nice taste. But some people who call themselves artists are really more like macaroni gluers, you know? Craftsters, that's a better word for most of what I saw at the show. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I just don't need to hear about "vision" and "statement" from a guy who makes ceramic ladybug whistles. Very nice guy. But dude...those are ceramic ladybug whistles. Only one of us is suffering for your art. No, I don't want one. Cute though.

Though this one woman did have a beautiful array of blown glass plates. They were pretty but not stunning. Then again my standards are high. I went to high school with a phenomenal sculptor who works mostly in glass. Tim was always artistic -- he drew a cartoon in my yearbook that's awesome yet took only as long as it takes most people to sign their name. THAT guy is an artist. His sculptures will blow your mind.

I bought a piece from Laura, a little wall plaque with some saints glued to it. If you've been to my place you know there are nuns and saints and crosses here and there. I'm a godless tart with a potty mouth, but I like decorating with nuns and saints and crosses. We don't know why.

When I got home David Kirkdorffer was here, and had brought a shocking array of his UnGuitar gear and effects. He and Joe were creating some sonic challenges, so I ducked into my studio to make some Larry Banilow decal designs. I left them in there working, except for an Indian food break which was both socially delightful (there's no one cooler than Kirkdorffer) and delicious (mmm, Chicken Tikka Masala).

I looked at the clock then, and it was too late to make it to the gym.

(insert this line to make time for that sentence to sink in)

Yes. I wasn't going to say anything yet. But I did it, I joined a gym.

Now I have a ripped, bright-eyed ex-military young man in sweatpants and a tank top who would like to make it his mission to either get me into shape or kill me, which feel like the same thing.

I went for the first time last night and had my first session with him. He has the perfect personal trainer name, too: Jared.

Although so far in short relationship I have dubbed him Doctor Death.