Fighting clarity.

A guy walking out of Panera as I was walking in just told me "I hope you don't mind if I tell you how adorable you are." AWW! I am adorable! See, why can't more men be like that, instead of all, "Damn baby!". Some dude on the subway licked their lips at Maria. I wanted to vomit.

So, my grandfather is 88, in case you were curious. I like to think he's my my families American dream. He gave up his Canadian citizenship to fight in World War II. He had the same job as a super for the Eldorado Apartments across the street from Central Park for 47 years. He still lives on his own, even after a triple bypass. He goes shopping at the Shop Rite once a week with his friend Bill Burke. They're both WWII vets and they both hang out at the American Legion. My grandpa also goes to mass every Sunday and still eats fish on Fridays. He's probably the most adorable old man you could ever hope to meet, completely set in his ways and completely ready to feed you an 8 course meal at any given moment. However, he does still use the term "coloreds". He refers to all Asian people as Koreas and all hispanic people as Puerto Ricans.

But, the problem of all problems with dear old gramps is his hearing. The man is deaf. I don't talk to him, I shout at him. And in his old age, he's taken to telling stories. He really has interest in hearing your stories, he just wants to tell his. So much so in fact he'll interrupt you repeatedly if he doesn't like what you're talking about. Spending time with him is just a wee bit tedious, But I've gotten used to it. So much so in fact, I think I've called my mom a few times and yelled at her, just because I'm so used to that vocal volume by now.

But, it's nice to say I actually have a relationship with my grandfather now. And of course, I don't mind the eating thing. We all know I can put some of that away.

Yesterday I went to the Whitney for my yearly dose of pretension. And oh, I got it. I stand by this... I do not get about 70% of video instillation work in galleries. I guess I just don't, like, understand what the artist is trying to convey about the pressures of society and being a minority, buuuuut, really now. I guess I have high hopes for it. I get really excited every time I start watching video work, but I can't stand it after about a minute. Maybe I've just seen the cream of the crop already, since I had such awesome teachers at UNM. OR MAYBE I NEED TO BE MAKING MY OWN. I did really enjoy stuff from Danny Lyon, Kara Walker, and Lawrence Weiner. But the Weiner (hehe) and Walker exhibits were so crowded, it was hard (hehe) to see everything.

On that note, I'm reading Paint It Black, the new Janet Fitch book right now. And SIGH. Honestly, I wasn't that big of a White Oleander fan, I think her females are just so damn whiny and melodramatic. And in this one, the protagonist just happens to be a punk rocker. I don't know if anyone else gets this, but I just CANNOT stand prose about music, especially stuff about punk rock. It either sounds like name pretentious name dropping or stereotypical MTV. I think that's why I just fell in love with Nick Hornby, he really seems to be the one author I can tolerate it from. But, I'm trying to get through it, learn from it, because I think I hate my prose about music just as much.

I'm beginning to see the end of my trip in the horizon. Of course, it saddens me, but I am quite excited about certain things, like being able to bake homemade bread. Have an actual closet. Being able to invite people over to MY PLACE. My own secure internet connection. Getting a new pet. Did I mention that Annie is longer mine? Without a doubt, she's better off with my grandma and grandma adores her.

I'll be settling, domesticating if you will, around February 6th, if I calculate traveling time right. So I'm giving myself Lent to figure out a job that I can at least tolerate for a while and a place to pay rent. And where? Well, we shall see, won't we? 40 days is a long time.