Apologia

I got an e-mail from a public library in Indiana, indicating that if I was still interested in the position I applied for, that I should call them. It's about an hour outside Chicago, which would be nice. Oh, and I promise that eventually the "bitching because I haven't found a job" posts are going to ease up. I know that I seem to be harping on it a lot lately, but it's only because it seems so near at hand, just out of reach, and it's all a bit frustrating.

I don't really have any other news: Julie and Mike are at the Stratford Festival (I think my mom and I will be going [again] in mid-July: we will be seeing Noël Coward's "Fallen Angels" and Stephen Sondheim's "Into the Woods" -- we were both impressed by the musical last year, and I am a fan of Coward's); Jolie is somewhere else on vacation for three weeks; Nussie is moving to Florida. Bereft of my friends, I've taken to reading in my bedroom while a constant loop of Home Movies Season 2 plays on the DVD. Tomorrow I am going to Indiana for a family reunion, which is, at least theoretically, a good thing. My brother is even flying in from his sheep-herding job in Nantucket (don't ask) to join us.

George Bush pissed me off today. Not all that surprising, nor all that rare, but the NPR recap of his speech last night had me clawing at my car's upholstery.

Other than that, I have very little to report. I've been drawing a lot recently: yesterday I was copying some William Blake paintings, and today I was drawing one of the covers of Vimanarama. Whenever I draw again, I'm always surprised at how much better I am at it than I remember myself being. Except I can only copy other people's art: I can't make it out of whole cloth. Call it the Lichtenstein Syndrome.

I may not be around again until next week: if that's the case, have a safe and happy holiday!