Two horribly un-amusing things to pass on from last week. One abit of good news, one not so good.
Well, they could both be good news depending on how you feel about me......

First:

So, last week I once again stumbled over to Falshpoint. Because if you are me, and you have a day off, you have no idea of what to do with yourself other than visit places you currently work or have previously worked at. Besides, I had the excuse of going to see the new installation as my ticket into the building. Okay, well besides annoying the staff, this really was the reason that I had stopped by. Of course the first thing I did was ask Rebecca if Julianne was around, and of course this was the week that she had taken off to toy with the idea of moving to Memphis (!?!?!?!!!!!). So I had no choice but to turn my attention towards Rebecca instead. And after a while I did actually start to eye the installation. I must admit that I was amused by the artist's explanation of the show. (Artists' justifications always amuse me. Oh don't get me wrong, I do like modern art, it's just that somtimes going into the mind of it's birth can be a very special place.) It went something like,"....to explore the important relationships of the inanimate objects that we converse with every day....and preserve the memory of those no longer deemed worthy of existence..." (Okay so this is a horrendous paraphrase). One piece of the installation was a series of antient AV (like in gradeschool, with you r braces) record players. While I was eyeing them in detail I was mistakenly informed that I could turn them on,"Some of them are quite loud." No, not mistaken in the fact the fact that I could, but more in the fact that I would....all of them.....up loud. I couldn't help it. I was a kid in a candy store, if white noise is anything like white sugar. I played with tone, speed, volume. A symphony of decibulic waves came crashing, endlessly, and I could feel myself getting sucked under, deeper, and deeper, until finally a hand grapped my head, and air shot into my lungs. It was Ann Corbit, the executive director of CuDC with a genuine look of perplexion on her face. And then she saw it was me, and her demeanor changed to genuine understanding. She even came over and tried to converse with me, yelling over a tonal armada. All the while Rebecca sat toiling away at her desk as though it was only a spring breeze. I finally...finally drug my hands towards the off switches, and made them do the dirty work. I appologized to everyone while latent vibrations still shot through my wirey body. In sad reality, I could easily still be lost in that sea if left to my own devices. Dying of starvation, covered in my own filth, but like a junkie stuck to a needle, unable to drag myself away. What can I say, ths artist is a true maverick of happy accidents.

So, if you are in the district, and happen to slide past the MCI center area of Flashpoint, please check out the new show, and by all means, turn those bad boys on.....all the way to eleven.

Second:

Also this week, I finally got my come-upance. My bike and I had a slight altercation with an automobile. Was this cutting off cars in Dupont? Perhaps slolleming around busses in Georgetown? Oh, no, none of the above. This was laziny teetering along to brunch on Sun. I was at an intersection waiting for the light to turn green. Signified was "go," and I went with a car turing right......into me, bringing up the rear. I'm sure you could see the swear words shoot out of my skull in thick black font, as I went over. Pulling my half man-half simple machine body from the ground I turned to see a shell shocked driver stuck on the repeat message of,"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry........." He has no idea how lucky he was in that I had not yet had the first drop of coffee. I would not have been able to pass a psycholigical test to determine cognitave memory/stability. I believe I even shook his hand. I eyed my bike, and aside from a dashed chain it seemed to be in working order. So, I shrugged the whole thing off, and filed it under,"life is a bitch, and then you die." Several streets later however, I began to notice a playfull tugging, like a well built baby gently tugging a rope tied to the back of my bike. This playfull tugging became a gratting irritation, and I quickly took it curbside to have a look. The appearance still held true, but when I spun the wheel it looked a little intoxicated, sauntering back and forth slaming into the brakes with each rotation. This is truly how I wanted to start my day. Going up 18th street was like finding a rat trap in a christmass gift. I can't wait to take it to chain reaction, and get it fixed. (yes, sarcasm). Thank god I only use it to help drop those extra pounds......

And that my friends, is all I've got