I read Catcher in the Rye and a lot of other incredibly difficult books and here are all my deep thoughts-

No?

All right then.

My aunt and uncle met up with his 5 brothers in Las Vegas for his 60th. Godzilla joined them for five fun-filled days of glitz and gambling on the Strip. Observe:

I feel like I’m in that story by Borges or Oliverio Girondo or somebody where every day he coughs up more rabbits. He writes letters home about it. “Today, Mother, I coughed up two rabbits.” Only with us, it is gift baskets.

We’ve received 14. Some are homemade, some purchased. Every day brings more. 10 more days until Christmas. We love it- so much easier than grocery shopping.

This “Wine Country” gift basket came from my grandfather. Crackers, cheese, processed meats. Three bottles of wine. Sundry dessert items.

We tore into it like bears. Smart bears, who had learned to use a corkscrew and the remote control.

This made a nice change from all the chicken gizzards and hearts we normally eat. Well- mostly gizzards.

We went to see paragliders on the cliffs of La Jolla.

I thought it was pretty cool. Overpriced hot dogs and pizza for sale in one of those gray weather-beaten structures you see near the water. Drunk/high people in lawn chairs watching the paragliders soar around the landing area. Bright sun like almost always in Southern California, 75 degrees in November with a crisp breeze off the ocean.

It worked like this. People would strap on a giant parachute and run down the mild grassy slope to the cliff edge, chased by barking dogs, get caught in the updraft off the ocean, and take off.

Then they flew down the coast, turned around, and came back in a long oval of single file flying people. When they came in to land they did one of several things: landed peacefully, soared around like maniacs yelling at their friends, or crashed.

We also climbed 350 feet down the cliffs to the sea. I do not know how the surfers managed this feat- I took the stairs.

On the beach at the bottom, we discovered a scene of breathtaking beauty, and also naked people. Naked people sunbathing, naked people standing around like statues, naked people playing volleyball and changing their kids’ diapers.

Here is a painting of the breathtaking scene. (Naked people not pictured.)

I’m the only one who eats any pie. One piece at a time. Day after day. It is sad. The Thanksgiving pies are excellent.

The Thanksgiving moonshine less so.

Location: California Pizza Kitchen, Fashion Valley Mall, San Diego, California.

Bartender: Can I help you?
Mike: I’d like 2 glasses of Cab Sauv.
Bartender: (Slightly bewildered look.) Ok.
A few minutes pass.
What did you want again?
Mike: (slowly and distinctly) 2 glasses of Cab Sauv.
Bartender: Oh… we don’t have the mix. We just have the “Cav.”
Mike: We’ll have 2 glasses of the “Cav”, then.

Hours later:

Mike: How could any bartender be that stupid? Don’t make fun of me… I’m going to blow my nose on my socks.

In case you were wondering, there were 9 food related metaphors in today’s WSJ articles concerning Kraft’s hostile takeover bid of Cadbury.

I guess it gets boring working there.

Also, today I bought advance tickets for 2012. I love disaster movies so much. I don’t care what the haters say about how it is worthless trash.

Him: Do you like my new skinny jeans?
Me: Not really. You look like Audrey Hepburn.

I got home from painting at the lake.

To find this: my laptop emblazoned with an NRA sticker, a toy dog wearing a sequined Halloween mask stuffed inside, and all of this being attacked by a giant spider.

Milk Duds and Starburst must be added with caution.

They do taste good, despite the way the candy melted into a hideous mess all over the cookie sheet.

The before:

This is the tidiest definition of contemporary painting I have ever seen:

The cardinal feature of all painting since Impressionism is the conviction that art must be an act of subjective interpretation.

I can’t think of a case where this is false. Even contemporary realism contains subjective interpretation.

(from Still LIfe Painting by Charles Sterling)

I’m reading a dull book called “Country House Treasures of Britain.” Mostly descriptions of furniture, ornamental plasterwork, etc– pleasant reminders of Britain’s rich cultural past.

A less pleasant reminder of the past are the gibbeting irons and the medieval scold’s bridle for malicious gossips.

Gibbet: an upright post with an arm on which the bodies of executed criminals were left hanging as a warning or deterrent to others.

Scold’s bridle: also known as a “brank,” an instrument of punishment for a scolding woman, consisting of an iron framework for the head and a sharp metal gag for restraining the tongue. (It has these little spikes- to stab the tongue if it moves.)

The Scold’s Bridle:

I’ve decided to spend more time working in Watercolor.

Here are the results.

Pros and cons of painting outside in fire conditions.

Pros:

Both oil and watercolor paintings dry in minutes when left out in the broiling sun and 7% humidity.

Cons:

50 mph wind gusts.