There are very few things quite as fugly as the Styrofoam coffee cup - i.e unless you are like this artist who uses them as his canvas to sketch on with Sharpie pens. Suddenly the lowly cup becomes a beautiful work of art. The pictures reminded me of the black and white illustrations in the version of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khyyam I had many read years ago - I cannot remember the name of the artist though. Yet the difference in context of the art could not be starker. One a volume of old love poems made more magical by sketches and the other the doodlings on a thoroughly modern disposable coffee cup.
I never fail to remind J that there is a time and place for everything. It is possibly the line she will remember me by when I am dead and gone given how frequently she hears it. Instead of having her breakfast she will break into a song and dance number from High School Musical well past eight on Monday morning. She will insist that I watch and applaud the performance instead of screaming at her to finish her milk and cereal. Her sense of occasion is seriously lacking but then so is mine. Consider for example, a person walks into the grocery store with the express purpose of buying detergent because they are fresh out of it and laundry is only half way done. However instead of heading straight for detergent, they wander over to the natural foods aisle and go berserk upon finding goat milk on sale for a dollar a gallon. They at once proceed to stock pile so they can turn it to huge quantities home-made feta cheese. That person would be me. It would not concern me in the least that I ha...
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