Dirty Bathtubless Frogs and the Obscure life of turtles



The tub has 7 more days to cure. The thought of having my very own bathing facility brings tears to my eyes. C's friend Joel was evicted from his studio a while ago; his art dealer(C's too) after months of nonpayment slipped him a few too many rubber checks. Joel told C sheepishly that he was so ashamed of himself. He had never sunk so low- his new studio lacked the most basic of facilities- no sink. Joel said that lately, he'd been given to washing his hand in the toilet!!! Joel promptly corrected himself, "Strictly upper deck man, strictly upper deck man!"



Meatball owns the pen. He doesn't want to be bothered with anything but bananas; even then he'll hiss in your face. Many days before, he would retract into his shell somewhat peevishly but cautiously keeping an eye out. Now he's part teenager and cranky old man. He's hangs about hidden under a clivia in the middle of the pen. Sometime during the day when he pleases, he checks it out. Then promptly back to central command.



Today I finally succumbed to the RoliRoti at the farmer's market. Who can guard against the hypnotic suggestion of 80 rotating chickens. The thing about such foods is that one simply gets greasy about the face just thinking about it.