Bob in Paris, Me in My Bed Again

Bob has taken off for Europe, France, for a big reading in Paris, where people read, then off to Amsterdam and London. Or was it London, Paris, and then Amsterdam? This mean that I get to sleep in my bed again. For two weeks! Woo hoo! I’ve been sleeping in my studio and pretty much staying out of sight of Bob’s Chris-Must-Suffer Evil Eye. He’s going to have dinner with Rem Koolhaas in Amsterdam. I’m sure he arranged this specifically because I will not be on this trip. Watch him get fucking famous. Rem Koolhaas, without me. Fucker. His new book is actually wonderful, as close to linear narrative as Bob’s ever been, and I’d be pleased if he’d get some attention during this awful time. Me? You’re asking about me? There’s not much to report. I’ve been depressed, which I’m supposed to be after leaving my lover of 11 years, right? but having lots of fun playing with Ted, not seeing nearly enough movies, working on some new pieces but not ready to show them to you yet. Tomorrow I photograph D’s testicles, temperature permitting, for something or other, not sure what, but those dangly orbs are calling. Photos soon. Zzzzzz.