Get Out of Town, You Say.
And so we did.

Saturday morning we headed straight to the beach. Stayed in a historic house in Amagansett, LI. Lovely. Walks to the beach. 15 and 30 sunscreen in our bags. Novels to carry but not-read. Fall editions of W magazine to heft around weighing more than our overnight bags. Ceremonious watermelon juice to kind of send-out the summer the way we brought it in.

In Amagansett, you get your coffee every morning at the farmers market, where you can order your egg sandwich amongst hurried New Yorkers outdoors, rather than crammed in a corner deli... And when drink your coffee, rather than on a polluted, car-congested street corner, you're sitting under the perfect sunshine of Labor Day weekend, in an actual bed of flowers and fresh herbs. Not bad. Not bad.

mikec djs tonight at recordcamp.

photo theme: Signage

Here is where I'll just start writing, pretend there hasn't been a 10 day hiatus. As if there is no need for excuse, not even acknowledge that I'm pleased, and not a little bit surprised, that you have returned.
I will not fail to mention the 15 hour work-days last week. Working is work. But: work is working. I like freelancing. But for today, I am not working.

Barbarella. I just rented Barbarella, for the first time. Have you seen that? Jane Fonda is totally sex kittenish, yet she's this model of pure goodness, and innocence, from the future of Earth. She has no hangups about sex. She gets to wear fake shaggy fur and torn stockings and knee high boots. Turns out there are hundreds of fansites, including Barbarella Headquarters.

Please don't let them remake this movie in the 21st century. Not even, especially not, by Tim Burton. Please don't let them cast Cameron Diaz. Actually, that might be sorta good...

Anyway, the movie is insane, hilarious, and foxy, and heavy on the psychedelia. Jane Fonda gets to smoke 'essence of man', so you gotta rent it. You've probably already seen it. Where have I been? Oh. Working.

So, I'm in, like, the Williamsburg version of the mall (coffee shops, eighties kitsch boutique, yoga studio, hair-dying parlor, and a guy who sells computer accessories...summing up the neighborhood right there,) and i run into Spencer H. I worked with Spencer at a coffee shop in Bloominton, Il, like 7 years ago. And before that, Spencer was a freshman when I was a senior at BHS. He went to art school where I took post-grad art studies. He even was a student of my dad. He lives in the neighborhood, too, does web design, too. Is a DJ, and all kinds of other things... And of course he has his own website: glamourpimple.com.

And now, for you, patient friend, a photo of the young cat (Micron, __Tuffy, __Trucker, __TheDestroyer?_), and her first painting:

I am housesitting/catsitting for Jenni while Jenni travels around Peru. Jenni has VH1. Last night, I soaked up nearly an ample dose of pop culture with the following programming:

1. Program about Commercialism in Pop music
2. Behind The Music, Leif Garrett (coke, heroin)
3. Behind The Music, The Partridge Family (wholesome familial love, anorexia, and crack)
4. Behind The Music, Vanilla Ice (baggy pants, various vices)
5. Behind The Music, Pat Benatar (no drugs. just hard core female strength and true love)
6. Countdown of Top 100 Women In Rock (courtney love has good hair)

...I would like to major in Pop Culture

THERE IS MORAL AT THE END OF THIS STORY. I was at the vet the other afternoon, dropping Trixie off for a checkup due to some throat problems, like her meow was broken (Trixie being cat #1, not new-kitten -- which brings up the topic of cats, and expenses, and thank goodness I don't have to put them through college-- however the young tiny yet-unnamed one seems to be quite gifted in the arts, so I shouldn't speak too soon).

And there was a couple there, not with a cat carrier, not with a squirmy panting dog at the end of a leash, but with a small, cardboard box with some round holes in it.

I guessed maybe it's a ferret, or like, a turtle, ... but then asked... "What's Your Pet?"
"Guniea Pig," they answered, and also opened the lid and showed me. Large pinto furred, black-eyed. Like a furry burrito. Like a whiskered slipper, or dog toy. He is big. Like, almost as big as micro-kitten. The G-Pig's owner-couple thinks he might be dehydrated. He seems sick. He won't eat or drink. "If they get dehydrated, they can die very easily," they explain of the species.

Having brought microkitten and trixie to the vet often in the past few weeks, I know that an office visit starts at about $80.

Skip back now to my house later that day, at my computer. I receive an email from Jenni, from a cyber-cafe in Peru somewhere. She talks of drinking the local drink, something involving citrus but also egg whites... and of eating the local national dish: Grilled Guinea Pig Meat. And I thought of the couple in Park Slope, about to spend nearly $100 bucks to save their pet guinea pig's life, and jenni ordering and eating the same cute animal for about .50 cents in South America. Funny, funny world.

Captain Beefheart, Sergent (ala John Singer,) MCLyte, Micron, Q-Tip, and others... I think, like, 37% of the joy of getting a new kitten is coming up with names.

I used to name all the Dave Tell sculptures in my parent's house growing up. There was a ceramic cow named Eureka. There was a oversized, ceramic head of a street bum (is that okay to say? bum? homeless dude?) named Bif, and Bif's female, full-bodied bag-lady counterpart, Honey. She had elegance, really.

Now: The Naming Of The New Kitten has gone on well over a week: I've gotten a variety of suggestions from you. Good ones. Promising ones. If only i had more cats (no, it's best this way) You say Piccola Machina, you say PonyBoy, PonyGirl or just Pony. You suggest something not Muslim, but perhaps Arabic instesd (lessons are being learned every day); Haleeb is of course Arabic for Milk, perhaps the world's best cat name ever, but my friend Amy named her cat Milk, and Andy's cat is Haleeb. You say Kete-Kete, or Kete-Neown (meaning small cat, in a language of Central Africa Republic). You recommend The Lone Ranger, The Green Lantern or anything starting with The. There is the suggestion of Scout (Tonto's horse), Nnamdi, Spider, Lila (i have to save Lila for a real child, though, it's one of my favorite names)...

How is a cat-owner to choose? I think I'll rotate her name, perhaps daily.... twice daily. She could be an experiment in identity stability, based on one's recognition of their own name, or lack of.

Or, maybe I'll continue to call her Micro, which comes out my mouth 51% of the time. ... I could take a cue from the creatures which she has brought into my house and call her The Flea.

Here's some bits of Brooklyn in the haze, to commemorate this summer:

Tomorrow: begin plan for making my life better even though it is in many ways quite alright already unless you get really technical about the matter in which my whole sense of well being in direct relation to my existence might suffer greatly so we're keeping broad on this topic:

· go swimming
· never wait until noon to drink coffee
· no more leg waxing
· organic grapefruit every morning
· fight that MTA ticket
· do some yoga
· listen to more poppy Japanese bands including Sukia, Dob, and OOIOO
· mail all that stuff to you that I promised months ago
· eat more keylime pie

So right now, the cat's name has evolved to El Camino. But I also like Hollywood...Which doesn't change the fact that i usually call her Micro, or The Small One.

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