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Vegetable #1

Connolly Explains

Good food and good friends, and some pretty groceries.

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Writing brain still not working so good. It'll be back soon.
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Leah and the Dog #2, originally uploaded by conradh.

Leah and this dog are really, really good friends.

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This is a few minutes before she was shown the sugar content of the Frosted Mini-Wheats, and she was still happy.

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Photo of Photo, originally uploaded by conradh.

I spent an afternoon with two photographers. It was mostly like this.

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Arf. Three more in this Flickr set
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deanna is a fuzzball

Jason seems horrified in the background.
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Via Rubi

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The Unwashed Depressive informs me that William Shatner has realized Shaye St. John's prophecy and is signing autographs on the INTERNET!!! 24/7!!!
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Dropped him off this morning at 6:30 (YAWWN) and just dropped him off back at home.

He's high as a kite, still in considerable discomfort, and demanded chocolate milk, which I provided.

I'm going to call him tomorrorw to make sure he's not dead. He could probably use help getting food, etc for the next few days if anyone has extra time.
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My friend [ profile] sooz has a problem. She needs to find a restaurant for dinner in San Francisco. The issue is the bizarre set of conditions she has to fulfill.

The good part is that she has a pretty good budget, so they can go to a nice place. However, here are the restrictions:

  1. This place must be vegetarian-friendly, but not entirely vegetarian, because some people will object to a lack of dead meat.

  2. A cheese-based cuisine won't work.

  3. It has to be in the city; East Bay and suburbs will also fail.

  4. Casual clothing must be okay.

To me it looks like that nightmare dinner that inevitably arrives at a chain restaurant. A little help?
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Good food, nice people, perfect weather. 3 dogs 3. Cupcakes.



Tiny cheehoohoo/terrier mix whose name I forget:


neighbor has three satellite dishes on top of the doghouse belonging to "Porkchop":

dog dish?

hey! nick!

May. 21st, 2008 01:24 am
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[ profile] nicholasjamesb get back here this instant.
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I did not know Richard well — he was a friend of a friend and I met him only twice — but I remember everything about him. We were both in our mid to late 20s and our mutual friends were a circle of artistic types, dreamers, dropouts, and successful people who wished they were the first three things.

Richard was special. He was an effortlessly brilliant writer and illustrator, and he had a breadth and depth of knowledge out of proportion to his age. Talking to him was like a guided tour of a great library. He was usually doodling on something and the doodles turned out as perfect little cartoon stories sometimes. This was in the golden age of the "new comix" between Gary Panter in free weeklies and Art Spiegelman on coffee tables, when new styles of comic strip art were showing up everywhere.

Richard could have done well, made a living or better, made a name for himself. But he refused. He was not lazy, or disorganized, or dumb about money. He explicitly refused to show his work to a wider audience or to be paid for it. I remember someone joking that he was Kafka and some Max Brod was going to disobey him and publish everything, and he became very upset.

So Richard was poor. Very poor. He and his girlfriend basically cleaned toilets for a living. It wasn't clear to me why he dived that deep into the working class, since he had no romantic delusions of proletarian slumming. I think he just hated office work and liked being left alone to do menial labor.

Richard drank and smoked, a lot. Really quite a lot. I knew some hard drinkers at the time, but Richard was a full-service beer drunk. He never seemed to lose an intellectual edge, but his eyes were heavy-lidded and he swayed a bit when he walked.

He was living in San Francisco in the late 1980s, doing but not selling a long graphic novel and working his down and out job, when he and some friends took a night off and hung out on the top of a tall building downtown. They watched the city, and drank, and smoked, and drank some more.

At some point Richard, who was having a great time, was dancing around on balancing on something and stepped where the building wasn't, not seeing the gap between it and the next one. And that was that.

It still is not clear if there was explicit intention. Did he jump? Did he fall? Did he start to fall and then just decided to go with it? Did he even know what was going on? Was he in that situation half-hoping that something would kill him? No one knows.

He left behind a life incomplete in every way. Incomplete in years, incomplete in his art, just truncated. Everything about him was rolling along this curve towards something big — good or bad — and then stopped in mid journey.

Richard was a very sophisticated person, and the kind of artist who worked on multiple levels. Sometimes I wonder if his entire life, the shape of it and its end, could have been a work of art about truncation and incompleteness.

On the other hand, he was a drunk. And his father had committed suicide. So he might just have been a smart guy with some bad luck and some bad decisions. I don't know.

There are so many fakes and ridiculous twits playing at "tortured artist" who say and do things that sound a lot like Richard, but he was all real. And I believe he got what he wanted as an artist. I'm still not convinced, though, that he wanted or needed to die on the concrete of a San Francisco sidewalk that night.
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Happy four-zero to [ profile] kennfusion. It was great to see you.

ken pink bag
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squid is mugging me

Steve and Keri's kid charged my camera. I am the assaulted paparazzo.
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The Mountain Goats show was very, very, very good. Got there just as it was starting, maybe missed one song. The band was excellent. It's easy to forget the importance of the rhythm section when you're essentially there for a singer-songwriter, but these guys were a *band*.

I think I like the songs even better after the live performance, too. The audience singing along and calling out for songs like crazy, and the intimate or even conspiratorial bond between singer and audience: intoxicating! Makes me want to sing along again later when I'm listening.

On a personal level I loved the shout out to the day of the Scream and the Anti Club, followed by the Kommunity FK cover. Oh! Oh! I'm 19 again and my friends are opening for them at the Anti Club!

That made me want to get some Kommunity FK, which I don't have, until I looked at their website and saw that they were Minutemen supports. Thanks, Mata. I'll pirate it.

Additional bonus points for the evening are: [ profile] sooz; a nice long walk around WeHo before the show; [ profile] sooz giving me a sack of avocados; seeing the glum beatdown people waiting for and riding the bus and knowing I didn't have to do that ever again; picking out the Mountain Goats nerds from the WeHo crowd; watching fancy people on Robertson trying to look like celebrities, or maybe they were celebrities, I dunno; finding parking easily; and not getting shot.

I mean, there were a few shootings around there even, but no one shot me. BONUS.

You know when you see a band and you want to get in a car and follow them on tour and then go to their houses with a bottle of wine and a big greasy grin and say PLAY MORE FOR ME NOW? Yeah. I haven't had that feeling in years.


Mar. 3rd, 2008 10:37 am
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mr toast

Dan Goodsell's Mister Toast consistently makes me happy.


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May 2009

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