TS and I finally found ourselves at the Jim Hodges and Andy Warhol exhibit at the Contemporary.
The babysitter and her little sister?
TS and I want to make some of these silk flower curtains!
On our way home, we drove past this burnt out house.
While I was taking these photographs, TS found some ratty furniture by the dumpster, but the wardrobe she leaned in to examine was full of poop. Now I call her Poopylungs.
And then we drove by this strange construction site. It doesn't seem they can finish the new houses without taking down the rest of the old one, does it?
Everything was still in the house: wall clock, blender, hoola hoop, and an intact office with a computer. ??? But it seemed the house might fall on us if we tried to climb the stairs.
It being Thursday, we went to Joe's Cafe. I've never been anywhere else like Joe's. I think it's barely legal. It's only open on Thursdays, and for a 5$ cover, you bring your own beverages, listen to acoustic music of some sort (usually a jug band or bluegrass). The place is full of strange junk, art, junk-art, and ephemera, including a fabulous yard with a fire pit and a rickety ladder leading to the roof. This photo was taken through the window of Bill's studio space, an independent building out back of the house. (Joe is actually named Bill).
Apparently, I missed something really funny.
Perhaps it was the fault of the whisky, but I found our handstamps interesting. This is Erin's.
Mine.
Joe's. (Joe is one of TS' Global Freeloader friends. A stranger from Iowa.)
TS' and Joe's.
Matt's. (Matt is the other stranger from Iowa, a global freeloader.)
Dawn and Valentine were there, too.
So was this popcorn loving swordfish. Then my camera died and I was forced to directly interact with people.
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