Tchotchkes

I am reading peoples' web-journals and thinking that instead of being blown away by the mundane, trivial, and quotidian things about which everyone writes, I am enthused and touched by these things. Sometimes life is mundane, but the random smile or found quarter or drinks with friends make the quotidian aspects much much more bearable. I know that no one really cares that I love the scent of paper goods, but Ashley thinks they smell like chicken poo. But when I read about others' excitement, or disappointment I feel... good. Think about how amazing it is that thousands of people are willing to share weird little factoids, their sadness, seemingly random occurences. No one may ever read what they write. Many may read their words. Journaling on the internet is a funny little leap of faith.

And so. I am reading journals and sipping a strange concoction of Seagram's 7 and ruby red--could have been a horrible mistake, but it's not too bad. Today Ashley gave me some paper and an idea. The paper is slightly rough to the touch, its caramel colored fibers breaching the surface here and there. It has grid-lines in green, I think, and they are very small. Someone donated two teeny books filled with Japanese No masks. Ashley thinks we should make a very small book of portraits. I like it.

On monday I head south to visit my sister in her new pad--heehee--and attend the opening of two friends' BFA exhibitions of photography. I am very excited to see the art and the sister, but not the Eugene. Cheers to old towns of pain and suffering. Oh wait! Here's to Sean, Meghann, Toshi's Ramen, Rennie's, um, Spencer's Butte...