Thank God I feel.

Out of all of my years working in the kitchen and the restaurant itself, today I was the worst employee of all of those days and years. For shame. To say I had a case of the Friday's is a mega understatement. Kent, ever the surprise, came up with many innovative and interactive ways of keeping me stationary in front of my work station: first a difficult round of twenty questions, and then a flowery round of "your favorite love scene in a film" (my personal favorite). Oh boy, he is clever. I talked and managed to chop and mince and julienne and sauté all kinds of things all the while rattling off scene after scene from classics sappy films like Titanic, Big Fish, Return to Me, Cutting Edge (shit, who remembers that one?) and so on until we were in over our heads and I somehow chopped about 7 liters too much of rutabaga. Whoops. I guess we will be eating rutabaga-everything starting on Monday. Rutabaga for all!

I thought that was kind of Kent to keep me focused and let me jibber jabber the afternoon away. I rarely get the wanders, but when I do, I might as well have called in sick. My only saving graces were an impromptu visit from Mama Jill Zach (as a preview, we are in the works of weaving together our interests for our first collaboration: Tony Chestnut/Madge Maker make cool art with fabric and ink! Shit yes. Any takers? Details to come...), a long distance call to my favorite hermit in the woods in Southern Manitoba, and not to mention all of the carrots and dip I ate today. I lost count after thirty sticks. I can see in the dark when I print color photographs, it is wild. Thank you root vegetables.

I took off early because I was annoying everyone else and coincidentally met up with the sweet anarchist boy from my old silk screen class as I was leaving the back entrance of the bakery with my bike. He was inside the dumpster rooting around and we chilled for a bit and talked about our present art projects at Martha (Daniel is apprenticing under someone else), all the while he remained in the bin with his arms dangling over it's metal walls as if that was the most normal place in the world to catch up. And it was. I ran in to grab everything I could off the Reduced Rack and piled his canvas bag full and he was psyched. I got home and sat down in my clean kitchen to draw and listen to Bon Iver and just felt so good.

TGIF. Tomorrow will be a day of much laughter, breakfast of champions, watching Yosh record some music while I bake, drawing new drafts up for Jill, exploring in the backyard forest and thrifting at the best shop in all of rural Manitoba. I am psyched. It has been a summer; it has been a whole season since I last saw Yosh. I am leaving for the woods early tomorrow morning, just me and Andrew Bird, my pens and paper, and a small handful of dollar dollar bills in my pocket to spend on lost treasure.

Thank God I feel. Sunday is bound to be interesting as well. Tonight is Andrew, Rabbi and Kitty's UN-going away party at Thida's, my house, with a rock show to follow suit. Should be wild. Anne M, you better be coming. Good riddance internet, I have shit to do. See you at my house in a while kids. I am a professional weekender now. Oh, one more thing, meet Andrew Bird. He can whistle better than you, your dad, your Pappy and sure as shit better than the eight hundred birds in the backyard.