My little feral cat survived the storm. She was at my door a bit ago and I filled her food bowl. Now, uncharacteristically, she is sitting on the deck staring at me through the glass of the kitchen door as I write, ears perked, eyes soft and wide. Should I take this as a sign of love? I get up and go to the door. She stares. I open it, and per usual, she hops a few feet away. Then she does something very unusual. She comes to the partially open door and sneaks her head around inches from my feet. She look up at me. She mews. I grab another handful of food and drop it in her bowl. She mews again and looks at me, then slowly begins to eat. As I walk back to the door, she stops and looks at me. Does she love me?
It is confusing. Love is. So many kinds. Such varying degrees. So many reasons why.
"It's what we have instead of God."
"Some people have God, too."
I'm riffing on the last pages of "The Sun Also Rises."
"It's sort of what we have instead of God."
"Some people have God," I said. "Quite a lot."
"He never worked very well with me."
"Should we have another Martini?" (link)
Two hurricanes in a month have torn the state apart. The damage this year is terrible. You'll have to be rich to afford insurance in this state now. When will the developers be required to pay?
Oh, yea. Never.
"Money. It's sort of what we have instead of God."
The fashion industry--"fashion industry"--is in flux right now. I have to be careful here. My fashion industry friend can take me to task. She works in it. I'm only reading the papers. But fashion is money (which is why it is called an "industry") and you have to follow the coin of the realm. Do you put your money on pretty or not? Thick or thin? The WNBA or those hot IG Cavandir twins?
They're making BANK! It concerns the op-ed people at the Times, though (link). At least Jessica Grose (are you kidding me?) is.
And this? She was loud. She was proud. But now. . . she says she's happy.
Those Cavinder girls are Hurricanes. They play and live in "The Hurricane State." That is what I propose to call this place now.
My fashion friend will have a take on all of this now that she is a resident of The Hurricane State, too. She sent me a pic last night of her working a fashion shoot. She looks like the Cavinder Twins, but I swear she will support the other. She has to now that I look like the aging Orson Welles. Can't be fat shaming around me. Nope. Friends must thrill you with pretty little lies.
"OMG! You look FABULOUS!"
I used to tell the classroom kids that compliments always work. And it's true. You can make people feel good or you can choose to be a shithead and make them feel bad.
"Are you o.k.? You look tired."
It is easy to spread the seed of doubt.
"Are you still dating that girl?"
"Really?!? Oh, no reason. I was just wondering."
"What the fuck, man?"
We're all insecure in love.
I wish I had a studio again. Hell, I wish I had a working printer again. My "R" friend has seen more of my work and he wants to purchase. But the things he wants to buy, I don't have prints of. I have other prints I need to make, too. Not for money. Maybe I'll have to bite the $$$ and get another. But it will be a fool's investment. I'll never recoup the money. As for a studio, I have better ideas than I had before. I'd like to work at them.
Today's model is now renowned. I saw her on t.v. during the live hurricane coverage. Just another success story. For me, I mean. It's all about me.
My Old True Love says I have a roving eye.
"But I've never cheated on anyone."
"But you make a woman feel insecure."
"But. . . ."
"I know. . . you are visual. You can't help it."
Sky has begun writing her memoir, I think. "Chapter Three: The Roving Eye."
I just got a text from my best republican buddy: "Fat comedians are funnier, right?"
I guess I'll leave it at that.