It's Wednesday Morning, August 10

In San Francisco -- They never call it "Frisco" -- you must know; it's the local code. Technically it's Saturday morning and I am reading the San Francisco Chronicle, drinking heavy swill from a sandblasted grand canyon discovery coffee cup. This is something I have done most Saturdays for most of my life. Except for the last year and a half. Today though, I am longing for the familiar faces that have fed me for most of my adult life.

The internet changes the way get the world, and I find that I am more in control. I have always enjoyed Adair Lara, so I set out to find what she has written lately. On an earlier day I would have went out and bought a copy of the chronicle and sat in my favorite local cafe, and leafed through it. Since she is not in it on Saturday, I would have been stuck with Jon Carroll, which would have been ok, but not what I wanted.

In looking up Adair Lara I found out that she is 51 and find myself daydreaming about dating her, since I now know what she looks like, and that she is basically my age, and probably helps to explain why her candid prose has resonated with me. Never mind that though, I am sure she is busy. In my search the most recent article I found was August 10, and it's a story about birdnesters (I never knew), and about a guy who got a restraining order for sneaking into his house to make his kids pancakes on a Saturday morning (I should try that). Birdnesters are folks that both move out and leave the kids in the house when they split. Nice idea.

I miss the pink section too. This leads me to take on Kenneth Baker's latest scribbling, which reminds that art is mostly a reference to other art these days. What could we possibly be as artists if not for Jasper Johns and Franz Kline giving us something to talk about. I'd like to hear Robert Hughes take on that, the thought of which leaves me thinking something like this (to quote Orwell): "You have to be an intellectual to believe such nonsense."

Living here in the desert has it's moments -- and Saturday morning is indeed one of them. The rabbits are nourising themselves on the flowers outside and the quail are eating rocks in their morning spot. Maybe I should make some art that isn't about Georgia O'Keefe. I think I will warm up my coffee first.