Sunday, December 20, 2015


Pine Cone

Help!  I’m turning into a
prima donna over here!
So, of course,  I immed
iately IM Erin about it:
“What should I do?” I
ask.  It’s been a snaky w
eek, I think, as I await
her reply.  Which turns
out to be none other
than “Office gossip
not good.  Should
sanitize.”  Later,
after purchasing lub
rication (because it
helps me smile bet
ter), I’ve a date at
the Disney Museum.
I live in San Francisco,
not Los Angeles or Flo
rida or Tokyo, so I cum
pleatly change my mind
about Walt.  After such
an epiphany, what’s
there to do but take
photographs of pine
cones lying on ass
fault in the Presidio
(very nearby the
museum – it’s as if
it were impossible
to move for a while,
having learned at
the museum why I
learned how to moo
v in the first place).
Nothing whatsoever
distracts.  This fact
extends the weak
end into record pro
portions.  Even such
things as awaiting a
bus or stopping off
for Thai food on the
way home at a place
never before encou
ntered.   By anyone.