Today I logged on to Chuck Wendig's blog and learned that he is to become a father. I wish him all the best. I like Chuck Wendig's blog because he spills his guts, sometimes too much for my taste and seems to get diarrhea of the key board but it is Chuck that inspired me to come out of the closet.
Thanks again Chuck!
In 1988 I sold my honda civic for 400 bucks and bought a one way ticket to Florence Italy. It was hard to sell the clunker that had a collection of big round metallic pins stuck to the roof on the inside. It was gold colored and strangely enough, the owner of the house I lived at had the exact same car, same color, same year. That was when I had a P.O. box in a town called Detour, Maryland. For real! Don't laugh.
The summer in Detour, I sent a a post card to a guy in Baltimore that I had a crush on, these were the days when mobile phones and internet were sci-fi. When he saw me in September, back at art school, I asked why he didn't write back. He thought my address was a joke and then told me that I was like a weed growing in the cracks of the city sidewalk.
That was when I lost interest.
Not long after I decided to call it quits with the US, may I get severely chastised by saying this an lose my citizenship, I hope not. Oh well, what I couldn't stand was walking down the corridors of the high school and hearing my colleague students talk like they were on TV. I guess this dislike carried on too long.
In art school there were these kids that drove Mercedes to school and had jeans that were ripped on purpose to make them look artsy, perhaps I should use a French or an Italian word. Alla carte, d'arte, j'en sais quoi They were so damn boring. I had to get out and find a real frustrating experience to make me feel alive so I moved to Florence, Italy. Talk about bating at windmills.
I wanted to go to Paris but the guy I was in love with, at the time, lived in Florence. He was plagued by a certain malessere, that went something like: I would rather read 12 newspapers a day than study for the exam that will make me an architect instead of farting around spending my parents money while they live on 200 bucks a month and me 800, I'm too cool.
Despite his dis-ease with reality he was fun, for a while, and helped me spend those 400 bucks to purchase a super, 200E beige Vespa, which I used to ride into the Florentine Hills at 6 A.M. to paint the Tuscan countryside. That was the beginning of my painting career, wow!
Thanks again Chuck!
In 1988 I sold my honda civic for 400 bucks and bought a one way ticket to Florence Italy. It was hard to sell the clunker that had a collection of big round metallic pins stuck to the roof on the inside. It was gold colored and strangely enough, the owner of the house I lived at had the exact same car, same color, same year. That was when I had a P.O. box in a town called Detour, Maryland. For real! Don't laugh.
The summer in Detour, I sent a a post card to a guy in Baltimore that I had a crush on, these were the days when mobile phones and internet were sci-fi. When he saw me in September, back at art school, I asked why he didn't write back. He thought my address was a joke and then told me that I was like a weed growing in the cracks of the city sidewalk.
That was when I lost interest.
Not long after I decided to call it quits with the US, may I get severely chastised by saying this an lose my citizenship, I hope not. Oh well, what I couldn't stand was walking down the corridors of the high school and hearing my colleague students talk like they were on TV. I guess this dislike carried on too long.
In art school there were these kids that drove Mercedes to school and had jeans that were ripped on purpose to make them look artsy, perhaps I should use a French or an Italian word. Alla carte, d'arte, j'en sais quoi They were so damn boring. I had to get out and find a real frustrating experience to make me feel alive so I moved to Florence, Italy. Talk about bating at windmills.
I wanted to go to Paris but the guy I was in love with, at the time, lived in Florence. He was plagued by a certain malessere, that went something like: I would rather read 12 newspapers a day than study for the exam that will make me an architect instead of farting around spending my parents money while they live on 200 bucks a month and me 800, I'm too cool.
Despite his dis-ease with reality he was fun, for a while, and helped me spend those 400 bucks to purchase a super, 200E beige Vespa, which I used to ride into the Florentine Hills at 6 A.M. to paint the Tuscan countryside. That was the beginning of my painting career, wow!
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Hi from Paris!