Alan

Today, the worst day ever as of 8:30 am, has made a wild and unexpected turnaround. I rushed to the post office after school today to pick up a mysterious package. I figured that someone whom I owe money to figured out a way to get my attention and was sending me a 3-d bill or something. But no. Alas, it was a christmas present from the long lost alan from singapore. I had totally forgotten to be obsessed with my first NY roommate and his country as I had been when he first went home, two Septembers ago. Alan loves seriousness and paintings. He did things right. He woke up with the sun and painted. He napped several times a day and cooked three three course meals per day for himself. He took tiny dainty notes on all the pretentious bullshit he read about the French Bourgeouise and corrected me when I made up words or misspelled them. He was filled with hope and sinicism. He played basketball on Sundays and together we ran a tight ship. Or whatever. His greatness is, well, the greatest.
Then, as I barely survived the walk home as I opened the present while crossing Fulton St., my phone rang, and it was a nice lady named Carol from the Brooklyn Arts Council. She wants to interview me for a teaching job there. Excellent!
And finally, just as I knew things couldn't possibly improve, I checked the mail, only to find A PACKAGE from thee Sara Blaylock with cards for our show in SF in January at blankspace gallery. This will be my first show in a gallery. Or indoors. I don't need walls or some heated padded white joint to hock my work. Gimme a hot glue gun. I'll show you gallery. But this will be such a warm art tree hug straight from the hippie vault, I am very excited.