"But ah'm not afraid of dyin'. Cause I know that when I get to heaven there are gonna be these wonderful trees, and ah'm gonna climb them. But you know what? Instead of leaves and flowers, those trees are gonna have fried eggs, and delicious Virginia ham, and big heaping bowls of biscuits and sausage gravy. And one day, Sammy, you're gonna meet me there, and we're gonna climb those breakfast trees together, and it's gonna be delicious and we're gonna be happy until the end of time."


I was glad that it didn't destroy you...

In an attempt to piece together this crazy week I started an in-depth rehash of the events that shaped it, I made it to last Sunday afternoon and it was about twelve pages, so I scrapped it. Here's a (amazingly more) brief rundown:
Friday: Spent way too much time helping KY put up her show. Note to self, don't start putting up your show the day before the opening. Talked Jenny through a major breakage crisis. Second note to self, don't coldwork your pieces two days before your opening.
Saturday: Again, with the helping. It's like I don't even have finals of my own. The opening was fantastic, the show had KY written all over it. Who else can turn 31 years of pack-rat tendencies into art? Organza is cool.
Sunday: The "woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown" Jenny was transformed into Jennifer L. Knox, international superstar. Anyone with enough balls to make an entrance on a motorcycle to the acoustic strains of "I want to rock and roll all night" performed by a Gene Simmons impersonator (in full KISS stage makeup and costume) gets my vote for best show ever. She sold t-shirts to commemorate the event. The show itself was kickass. My favorite piece (who can pick) had to be "Rust Never Sleeps", a rusty glass truck slowly succumbing to a field of growing grass. The cop car on the pile of donuts ruled too. And the PBR pedestal...classic. I had a blowslot, so I made it to the party late. On my way out of the hotshop, Jessie came in for her slot. She looked like death on toast and asked me if I could think of any reason for the painful bump on her leg. Swollen lymph node? Yeah, sure, that has to be it.
Monday: Jessie skipped class to go to the doctor. Brown recluse bite, now twice the size it was yesterday. She was not in good shape. Paul visited class to tell us his exciting tales of Australia. They have lots of poisionous spiders and snakes there. And there are only sixteen glassblowers in New Zealand.
Tuesday: Ross and I skipped class for the best b-b-q in the whole of middle tennessee, Herbert's. Worth every minute of the hour drive. I spend most of the evening in final preparations for my final critique. Finished early and started drinking. I stayed up all night worrying. Now I know why I usually procrastinate.
Wednesday: Jessie's leg just keeps getting worse. Everyone on campus is worried about her. This does not help her relax. She went first in crit and then left to go back to the doctor. The rest of crit was pretty standard, I got my usual pat on the head. Whatever. Jessie came back at the end. She has to get plastic surgery, skin grafts, etc. Curt advised a second opinion.
Thursday: Jessie woke up and freaked out, called her mom, and somehow got talked into coming home to Mississippi to see her family doctor. Being under the influence of poison, painkillers, and an injured gas pedal leg put her in no condition to make the eight-hour drive. I signed up for the job, but a last minute health-food store run in with a crazy lady, some creepy guy, and a doctor convinced her to just chill out and go to a local doctor in the morning. We fried chicken and pickles and watched Elephant. Not what I was expecting...I don't recommend it. The movie that is, the fried chicken and pickles come highly recommended.
Friday: Jessie and I showed up at the university clinic early in the morning. They got her an appointment with a plastic surgeon for that afternoon. We spent the day roaming yard sales, then hit the library for some waiting room material. Foucault's Pendulum and Cash by Johnny Cash were the only promising offerings in the paperback category (all others either having flowers and gold embossed writing on the cover, or being authored by Danielle Steele, in most cases both) so I chose the former. Sitting in the posh plastic surgeon's waiting room, I discovered the intricate difficulties of reading Foucault's Pendulum while a painfully southernasal receptionist loudly described the beauties of Botox to four callers in a row. Apparently Botox is hot. And $350 a treatment. $350 to inject Botulism into your face. WTF??? Jessie came out, looking very relieved. The doctor scored open her leg and told her it was going to get really nasty, and black. And dead. I fail to see how this would relieve anyone, but I think knowing that someone was actually going to fix it helped her immensely. She'll be spending the majority of the summer having skin grafts done.

The lesson here is this, kids: Shake out your pants before you put them on, especially if you live in the woods. Them spiders ain't fuckin' around.

Today I didn't do much. Anna and I went running, then we undid all that work at El Tapatio with chimichangas and margaritas. Now I drink the champagne of beers and record every last boring detail of my life for the past week to publish to all three of my semi-regular readers. Okay then.

Listening to: This