I found an old photo of my fridge. I was probably 24 at the time. I had a brief flaky phase (one of many. I’m probably in one now) of taking black and white photos. I know, I know, hurl, but I am just a goofy human like you. I’ve hung out in coffee shops, discussed free will loudly so people would overhear, smoked cloves, read Dave Eggers, got a tattoo–you name a flaky cliche thing and I’ve done it…
There should be a science of reading a person’s life by their fridge. Fridginivation?
* I was a serious runner at the time. A big jug of water. Apples and bread. The pot in the bottom is a meal I made for myself about five times a week: black beans, wild rice, onions, cheese–then wrapped in a tortilla for a perfect runner’s meal.
* What the hell was I going to celebrate with that champagne?
* I ate eggs. I do not eat eggs now.
* Apparently, I still enjoyed beer.
* Now my fridge has 10,000 items. Do I feel more fulfilled? More tranquility of mind? Probably not.
In the news…
1.) Author has DRAFT of her novel leaked online BEFORE publication.
2.) Famous author decides to eat poisonous mushrooms, so, is…uh poisoned.
I love Photoshop, I do.
Yes! Someobdy pubbed my Charlie Brown pieces!! What I do is write entries into CB’s diary. I’ll link to the magazine when it comes out, but here’s an excerpt…
Tuesday, November 4, 1975: I wake, and hear the birds coughing. Sunlight through the window like a train. I took a trip once, to Kansas. I ate fried steak and visited strip clubs and drank myself silly on three dollar truck-stop Mojitos. I cavorted with red-haired whores. All of this yesterday, or in some lost panel. Waking is a dull ache. Most of me is onionskin. Yesterday I flew a kite, into a waterfall. Yesterday I was invisible. Or was that Chuck?