“The artist creates for himself. If others like it, then that’s a bonus.” So says Christo or Jeanne-Claude (not sure which one—it was the woman of the French duo), who unveiled their exhibit, “The Gates,” in central park. I don’t usually talk about stuff in the news because I know there are enough people out there who do that and do it well. I thought I’d share the quotation with you. While I’m not sure if the millions of dollars they spent on the exhibit were worthwhile, it was their money and who am I to judge? What it did do was make me nostalgic for NYC. I miss the energy of the place, the bustling, and, most of all the walking. When you walk, you have a great opportunity to people watch and think. I walked in Seattle to my weekend coffee shop today, and the ten-minute walk got me thinking about my story. Walking in Seattle is nice, just not NYC nice, which is relaxing and energizing. My thoughts from the walk went nowhere, resulting in more babbles (see below). But I’ll get off this NY topic before I depress myself.

I spent most of today lounging around and getting nothing accomplished. I finished watching “Diner,” which was a surprisingly good movie. I’ve put a bunch of the writer/director’s work on Netflix (you can tell this is an exceptionally lazy day by my failure to get off the couch or search for the name of the director). I also watched “Garden State,” including all the extras (I still have to watch it with the commentary, but I’ll save that for another day). This one I bought after seeing it in the theater when it came out. It’s a great, nontraditional story, and I highly recommend it.

What I didn’t do (until now) was write anything. I guess the save it all for the weekends doesn’t always work. I’m thinking there’s always tomorrow, and I have a plan: wake up early and drive downtown for early morning coffee and writing. I’ll bring my plug and spend the whole day high on caffeine and deep into my writing. Think of the tens of thousands of words I’ll be able to churn out! Okay, so that probably won’t happen, but I can dream, right. That’s what they (i.e., the WASPs) built this country on: dreams. (I should write greeting cards.)

After starting Atlas Shrugged, I’ve decided to relegate it to bathroom reading. While I enjoy Ayn Rand’s themes, she’s too obvious. Her characters are all one-dimensional, and either “good” (as she defines good) or not good. There are no average people, just great people and everyone else. I can see how her philosophy generated a less than savory following (of which, I imagine, there are plenty of people who form committees and fail at the “original thought” notion that was the point of her stories). Even with the comparisons to L. Ron Hubbard, I still think her books are good.

After Doolies gave her judgment on yesterday’s drawing (good, but it looks like you’re trying too hard; maybe you should go back to your colorful monsters), I’ll be trying again. I have been working out some design elements, and those are working better than the mascot. It’s amazing how Adobe Illustrator can make an average artist look talented. I’ll share that talent one of these days.

That’s about all I have in me. I won’t make any more excuses. Instead, I’ll try some of that newfangled caffeine tomorrow and see if it gets my juices churning (actually, I’ve heard churn is bad—flowing might be the more appropriate cliché). Until then, here are the notes I thought of as I walked to the coffee shop. I keep hoping it’ll be good, but it never is. The coffee shop, that is.

Babbles from walk:

Scribble, scribble, scribble. Las Vegas of scribbles. Mall—makeup salesperson. Walter is buying for his “girlfriend.” Choose prettiest saleswoman. She smelled of peaches dripped in used army boots. Terrifying but who cares attitude. Selling him perfume for the girlfriend, but really just hitting on her. Where’s the story? The shoe lady had a story. “Shoe Lady”

“I bet you hear this all the time, but what’s a lady like you doing (insert original comment here)?” She sells expensive shoes to men—or is it ladies? No, has to be men—this is about the wiles of a woman the weakness of a man (until the end). Is he a slob? Or good at what he’s trying to do. He can’t be too suave or too married. His relationship status is unknown and the reason he’s buying shoes is unknown. Start in the shoe store and end there. No introduction, no lead-in.

“Excuse me, I’d hate to ask this if I were wrong, but do you work here?”

And a duck-thing that didn't turn out like I imagined.