I think I'm the only one who sees the resemblance between my mom and my great-niece Michelle. There are two generations separating them but I think they may look more alike than anyone else in our family. I rarely get a solid agreement on this. . . . 
Michelle even looks at me with a face of disappointment from time to time. I still get this look from my mom after I crack a joke or say something that she doesn't find the same amusement in.
This photo should clear up any misconceptions over what part of Florida I'm visiting. Behind those trucks (notice the cross on the grill) is one of the most heavenly places on earth, Sonny's B-B-Q Pit. My niece Carol and I ate there for lunch. She got ribs and I got the 3-Way Pork Combo -- ribs, pulled pork, sliced pork, Texas garlic toast, baked potato, and pork and beans. If America had taken to a Gainesville chain like this instead of McDonald's we might still be obese, but we would be eating a lot better.
I don't know if I've ever realized (until now) how fast the storms come and go here in Florida. Some describe their surreal movement as travelling like cars, because you can see the small showers come and go down the street. Whenever it starts raining everything heads for cover, including lizards.
My mom is taking cancer medicine called Sorafenib that is still under trial. Meaning, "CAUTION: NEW DRUG - LIMITED BY FEDERAL (OR UNITED STATES) LAW TO INVESTIGATIONAL USE." She had to stop taking it for a couple days because she started getting a rash on her face. I went to the oncologist with her and my sister to see what the problem was. The doctor said that patients who complained of rash usually have better overall effects from the drug. I hope that's true.
Today, in my first and only visit to the Gainesville, Fl. Veteran's Hospital I received the care I that I have been waiting three years (and many many visits) to receive at the Veteran's Hospital in Washington, DC. Gainesville's facility is much cleaner, although it's old it doesn't smell like death, like DC's. Not to say that people don't die there. While I was picking up my prescription an in patient who just received surgery said that the man he shared a room with for several days died just this morning. I think the deficiency has more to do with the clientele of the two facilities. In DC the vast majority of patients are African-American, down here at Gainesville they are an actual minority. I talked to another Marine vet who took the words out of my mouth when he described a VA Hospital he use to go to. "They're trying to kill you so they don't have to deal with you anymore."
If you're trying to get ahold of me, I'll be in Florida for the next two weeks. Not that this will stop me from answering my phone or emails. I'll just be standing by ready to take your calls. Hello? Anyone?
I went to the opening at Conner Gallery last Friday. As soon as I got up the steps I grabbed a beer and started talking to some friends, and there were a lot of them. So many, that there was no place to walk. I was sweating profusely; my only hope of relief was the beer in my hand. I actually started to cool down and see the art around me. That is until the bus driver of a gallery owner showed up. "Move back, move back," she herded us back into the rectangular room. She smashed us into the non-space until we were like sweaty Jell-O in a gallery mold. Eventually we grabbed the rest of the beer and drank it on the sidewalk out front. (However, the art in that oven was truly awesome.)
I met with some friends yesterday to discuss, among other things, a terrible rumor about the Photojournalism Program at the Corcoran College. The rumor is that Stephen Crowley, Pulitzer Prize-winning New York Times photographer (the reason that many made the decision to enroll at the Corcoran) may be leaving before we get a chance to be his students. I and several other students questioned the Chair of Photography (and contributor to the NYT), Andy Grundberg, nearly a month ago. He has yet to get back to anyone. Just when I was starting to feel ripped off, l now feel hoodwinked and bamboozled. At least we can count on the consistency of the jumbo slice.
I wondered what the noise was out my window. For months I've been watching the chimney bricks erode on the building next door. Now that they're being repaired it looks like I'll have to find something else to do.
For the past few days of excruciatingly uncomfortable weather, the tourists are no where to be seen here in DC. In fact, the entire Washington tourism industry has had the patronage of only one Australian named Len. After five minutes outside I began to smell a hamburger cooking and realized it was myself. The asphalt of 16th St NW was so hot I could smell the La Brea Tar Pits 2,500 miles away. Thirty minutes later I ducked into air-conditioning before being blinded by my own sweat.
Last night the Irvine Gallery on Conneticut Ave in DuPont had an amazing show of mixed media. Everything from paper mache, to clay. And from oil to graphite. From white wine to sushi.
