stays on Facebook, according to a t-shirt I saw on my recent trip.
Vegas does seem to cast some kind of spell over a person–I ended up getting my ears re-pierced, and I actually considered a tattoo. (A small one.) Whatever my beliefs about courage may be, however–I mainly agree with John Wayne that being brave means being scared to death and saddling up anyway–I am a coward in the face of so many needles. A friend got a tattoo once, after a divorce–a small phoenix rising from the ashes, and one of my favorite podcasters, Alison Lee of “Craftcast”, admitted to a sudden yen to acquire false eyelashes during her stay in Glitter Gulch. Something just comes over a person. One starts to believe it’s perfectly reasonable to wear gold lamee to the supermarket or carry a purse (around Spokane?) so laden with glitz that it could have been used to signal an iceberg warning to the Titanic–from Newfoundland.
Not that I regret having my ears re-pierced–it was quick and painless and the holes are evenly spaced. The first round, in the 1960s, involved these wicked little hoops with points, called “self-piercers”, which required a week to ten days of low-grade torment, the point slowly working its way through the earlobe. Plus, I put them in crooked.
My Lynn Bean print arrived yesterday and as soon as it’s up a wall, I’ll snap a photo and post it here and on Twitter.
Back to work –and there’s lots of wrapping and shopping to do, too. My company probably won’t want to eat my D.I.E.T. foods.
Find something good, large or small, and celebrate.
Or wear gold lamee to the supermarket.