We have a long path leading from our house to the street and there are a lot of trees on either side of it. Every day when I leave the house, I do this funny Frankenstein kind of walk with my arms and legs stretched out in front of me. I do this because there are these really enthusiastic spiders that manage to weave hard core webs across the path daily. I have walked face first into a web more times than I care to think about. I’m not one of those I hate spiders wimpy girls, but does anyone like to face walk into a spider web? No, they do not. Other than that, I’ve been drawing like a mofo. The above pic is my pencil graveyard. It’s where stubs go to rest until I’m super desperate for a color and it’s too late to go to the art supply store. I realize all this is very fascinating.

So, this morning when I do my Frankenstein walk out to my car I notice there is some trash in front of our house. Not an uncommon occurrence around here. We have no street cleaner other than me. This morning there is a half empty bottle of Corona and a box (empty) that says “Deluxe Vibrator” on it. I guess the neighbors had a pretty good Saturday night.  

The rear view photo is my ode to the Dennis Hopper exhibit at MOCA. In my rear view is the Suicide Bridge in Pasadena. We went to the opening Saturday night and I have to admit one of the most interesting things I saw was a guy wearing gold lame Spanx as outerwear. Not to say the show was bad. It wasn’t. And one thing it most def isn’t is critique-able. It’s Dennis fucking Hopper and also he’s dead. It’s a tribute show and that’s totes cool with me. The photos were the heart of the show and the best part. My favorite was the one of Phil and Ronnie Spector. Creepy cool.

One of my favorite LA memories is going to a film party in the penthouse at the Chateau Marmont and not only was Robert Duvall, Illeana Douglas (she got her face chewed off in Cape Fear) and Dennis Hopper there, but I rode the elevator up with David Lynch.

It was sad though because everyone wanted to know what I did for a living (in other words could I further their shit) and when I said artist or even worse secretary (which at the time was closer to the truth) they pretty much walked away. I do remember thinking that Dennis Hopper looked really good for 70. Even though he lived really hard, you couldn’t see that in his face.