This week as a series of sketchy self-portraits:
• Me, in a wretched hovel in SE Minneapolis for the Zeppelin-esque anthems of Knife World and all-out aural assault of Gay Witch Abortion, house-party style. Thanks to the hosts, but man: I’ve seen squatters who do more housekeeping than that.
• Me, meandering through the inflated garbage bag structure that now occupies the Soap Factory. Aside from some enjoyable paintings, I share Paul’s ambivalence toward this show (he uses it as a take-off point for a fine guest-post on the Art21 blog).
• Me, spooning curries at Sen Yai Sen Lek while sorting details of a multi-family road trip to the Black Hills in July.
• Me, building a sad-ass “seated” snowman with Johanna from fluffy, non-stick flakes. Once I added eyes, she backed off and began chanting “scary, scary, scary.”
• Me, confined to bed by a powerful case of strep (feeling better now, thank you). I credit Chuck Klosterman’s Fargo Rock City for getting me through two days of achey misery (what took me so long to read this?).
• Me, devouring ever-improving loaves of fresh nutbreads and challah thanks to Sarah’s manic baking binge and the geniuses who invented Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day.