I've probably mentioned this before, but my cel phone has a camera in it.

This is my bathroom. Yep.



This lady is my New Yorker Of The Week, y'all. I took this a few days ago, when the heat index here was 110 degrees. Pretty much every person I set eyes on was half-naked and sweaty in a bad, cranky, unflattering way, not a hott TV So You Think You Can Dance kinda way. Then I noticed this lady. She was wearing a dark-blue gabardine suit comprised of a short-sleeved jacket and nifty culottes, with a flame-red blouse underneath and a white straw hat. I wasn't ballsy enough to approach her or anything. So here's a back view. She was awesome, I swear. Also, she might've been a dude.



This is Chuck Ramirez in his back yard in San Antonio, Texas. The pint glasses of colored water speak to me. I dig how this photo turned out, overall. Chuck's a great artist who lives next door to another great artist, my pal Kimberly Aubuchon.
Here's Kimberly:
Kimberly and I have a metal band called Shades of Eddie Money. Our first single gonna drop someday, bitches.


My friend Anne and I were hanging out in the East Village the other night and came across this thing just sitting in a puddle. It's the top of a stool, a plastic flamingo, and some greenery. It was really deliberate-seeming. Right on, I say! Thank you, Public Sculptor, whoever you are.



Gene made this balloon hat he's wearing. Soon after I took this photo, it popped. Gene exclaimed, "Well! Apropos of nothing, my hat explodes!" Anyone who can quip thusly after suffering a hat explosion is aces in my book.



HAHAHAAHAHAHAA!!! I'm just so glad this kid had the guts to 'fess up. I don't know which organization is responsible for this bus-kiosk PSA but I love them. DON'T LET YOUR KIDS EAT HOUSEPLANTS. THAT SHIT IS POISONOUS, PROBABLY! FURTHERMORE, PLANT-EATING CHILDREN MAY MOVE ON TO EATING PHONES.
THANK YOU AND GOODNIGHT.

Indignant Mom's Korner

The lady in the red dress in front of the Satan diorama is my mother. I took this photo because it looks like Mom's recruiting future Satanists, but she's not, she's a docent at the Marion Koogler McNay Art Museum in San Antonio, Texas. She's giving a kid's tour, here. She's pretty much anti-Satan, for the record. She's more of a Robert Rauschenberg fan. Did y'all know Rauschenberg's from Texas? Port Arthur. Same place as Janis Joplin.
But I digress. So, so much.

Anyhow, my mom's been sick with a cold since Friday. She's not a good patient. The woman likes to keep busy. The title of the following e-mail is "sir crazy" and I thought I'd share it with y'all.

Yup, an email from my mom.
Grossed out yet?
Does it help if I mention my mom cusses in this e-mail?
Read on.

Okay...so I'm feeling lousy and sorry for myself and decide to hook up my
new phones. But I couldn't get one of them to work, so I call the Panansonic help line and get a helper who couldn't understand me. So she gets her supervisor whom I couldn't understand. (India calling?)
She keeps saying, "Get to your base and press your bottom and it will
register."
I say, "I don't think I understand you. Would you repeat that?"
"Please press your bottom."
"I don't think I know what that means. Press my bottom?"
"Yes. You should be all better now. Have a nice day."
Click. SHE HUNG UP ON ME.
Can customer service do that? What about monitored calls and all that shit?
In retrospect, I suspect she was offended by my misunderstanding of "button."
I've been busy all day pressing my bottom. Still no dial.
What do you think?

I don't know what to think, frankly. I'm as flummoxed as Mom is.
What do you think, Barbara?