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March 12 1998, Thursday

I

  set out on some errands in the afternoon, braving the cold on my bicycle. The sky was clear and sunny, but the air was as arctic as any I'd experienced all year. I had a big Netscape installation file to give to Fred O. down at his office adjacent to Gallery Neo, and I also dropped a resumé off at Pixels (they have no job openings, but it counts as a job application for the purposes of unemployment).

Next I went to the Downtown Artspace to install a ZIP drive on Jen Fariello's computes. It wasn't very hard to do since it was an external SCSI drive. The only complication was the limited number of available outlets on her powerstrip. Lucky for me I'd just happened to bring one of those power cords with the integral additional outlet.

Jen told me that some architecture guy is going to remodel the entire artspace as a free project to demonstrate his architectural skills. Jen's ability to obtain free services and important connections in this manner never ceases to amaze me.

Jen also gave me some old baby dolls that Jacques DeBeaufort had spray-painted gold. Jacques, you see, moved his studio out of the Artspace after Jen jacked up his rent.

On the way home, I picked up a litre of vodka.

J

essika was puttering around the house when I got back. She immediately incorporated Jacques' gilded dolls into decorative shelf arrangements. A sense of order prevails in the living room these days, especially since we snagged a plywood shelf from UVA yesterday.

Later on, while I was repairing a power supply, Jessika came by and I gave her a little Adobe Photoshop lesson. She especially likes the smudge tool.

When Deya came home, Jessika and I dressed up in turquoise and paraded around in front of her. Jessika was even wearing turquoise lipstick. Deya has often expressed an aversion to the colour, but tonight she seemed resentful about our orchestrated assault on her senses.

Teevee was uniformly bad until late, when the movie Crumb came on late at night. I'd seen the movie before and was struck by R. Crumb's ability to express his hidden demons. Tonight, though, I was more impressed by the sheer volume of his output. I had the unusual feeling that my creative output has been lackluster.

one year ago
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