Boredeom = frustration = ranting.

Well, I've been endeavoring to do absolutely nothing this week, given that I have one whole day (whoopee!) off for Thanksgiving, which makes the week seem kind of pointless. I figure I should be just as useless myself as a week with no Thursday in it.

So I've shut down most of my daily rituals, like blogging, have done absolutely no work of any kind besides the bare minimum of answering the phone and pretending to be civil to the people who come into the gallery. The phone calls and visitors alike have been relatively few and far between, but I swear, they must have all turned off their brains just like me! It may very well be that I am so bored and listless that anybody would annoy me at this point, since I see no reason I shouldn't be just sitting at the desk today coloring or something (but my boss does, so there goes that idea), but I really honestly think the people are just getting dumber.

Firstly, last week we opened two shows. One, which is currently on display here at our gallery on 57th Street, is a group show of Latin American artists. The other, at our 25th street location, is of giant and amazing paintings by Vincent Desiderio downstairs, sculpture and prints by Michele Oka Doner upstairs. Seems simple enough, given that our advertisements and website and everything give this information to anyone looking for it.

Well. Apparently this info is not so easy to digest for the stupid masses out there. Because damned if I haven't gotten at least ten calls a day from people looking for information on the Desiderio show, which they all seem to think is here at 57th Street. Not that I'm against people liking Desiderio - he's one of my absolute favorites and an utter genius - but for crissake, read the damn fine print, people! I don't know what price they're going for because they're not HERE. The only thing more annoying on this count than the constant phone calls are the people who actually come here, to 57th St, looking for the Desiderio show, and then get all pissy and disappointed and obnoxious with me because it's not here. Well what the hell am I supposed to do about it except sit here and smile vacantly as if I have the slightest interest in their plight? Some of them get all mopey and accusatory, like it's my fault they can't read and apparently have been in NYC for a week and for some reason waited until the morning they have to be at the airport to come see the show, only to find it's not here. I'm not sure what they want from me, but I've been adopting the "gallerista" model of receptionist-ing lately and just ignoring the crap out of them. Dumbasses.

And on top of all this confusion, I've been getting people who come in looking for the last show we had here at 57th St, as well, which came down TWO WEEKS ago. These same people get very upset when they find out it's not up anymore, and want to talk to a director about seeing some of the pieces, then get even more annoyed when the directors tell that because most of those pieces sold, we've already shipped most of them back to their owners. As if we should be expected to keep things here for months after a show just to placate them.

I've also had a host of calls and visits from people who think that, because this is an art gallery, I - as a receptionist - will know every detail about every other art gallery, not only on 57th St, or in New York, but in the goddamn world. Or, if not about other galleries, about the contemporary art world, in vast amounts and excruciating detail. Or to know the minutae of all of our artists' creative processes.

This makes no sense to me. I am the receptionist. It is my job to answer the phone for the people I work with. That's it. If I don't know the answer to your question, then it's your job to accept my answer of "I don't know" and move on with your goddamn life. I am not a 411 operator or an encyclopedia of the contemporary art world.

Hot damn.

And to top off my list of annoyances, I have been getting phone calls literally every other minute from a recorded voice at Verizon that wants me to hold on the line while I'm connected to a representative. They. Called me. And told me to hold. Are you SHITTING me?

I am so ready for a day off.

/end rant.

The kind of thing I hate to acknowledge

Some days it's really better to just avoid the news. But here I am at work on a Saturday morning, without having had any coffee or tea, with nothing to do (or at least no willpower to make myself do anything useful). So I started looking at news sites to keep myself updated on the world.

And I read about Abraham Biggs. Go ahead, Google it, then come back. I'll wait...

...aaaand Happy Saturday, everyone! Are you depressed already? Welcome to the weekend!

This poor kid. I know nothing about his personal or family life, so I'm not going to make any wild speculations about why he might have done this. Personally, I try not to bother the memory of those who have taken their own lives by digging into their private matters. I think suicides are necessarily sad, but it seems to me that it's well within one's rights to do what one wants with one's own life. I have no right nor reason to intervene.

But the facts of the case on a superficial level beg to be analyzed. This kid decided to end his life publicly by streaming it on the internet. And not in some gruesome or violent way that might just point to the last screaming moments of an adrenaline junkie with too much video gaming experience. He chose to overdose on Xanax, then quietly fell asleep on his webcam until his breath ran out, and 12 hours later was found dead by police, who covered up the webcam and ended the spectacle. No numbers yet on how many people actually watched it happen on the body-building website hosting the streaming spectacle, but there were comments and viewers in some quanityt up until the end.

What it says to me is that this person didn't want to go out in a blaze of glory. He wasn't looking for spectacle or martyrdom or fame. He just wanted his life - his memory - his last moments - to have some sort of meaning and he chose to validate it by sharing it with others over the internet. Others on the site had helped him decide what method to use, how much to take, and whether or not to go through with it when he'd announced his intentions. His watchers, for the most part it would seem, assumed he was faking it, typing in "lol" and "hahaha" and "OMFG" as he lay still on his bed for hours. It seems most of them watched the webcam tragedy half-heartedly, like an absurd funny-cat creation on YouTube.

The internet is such a bizarre mixture of raw communicative power and creative irony, dashed with a sprinkling of those intense assholes who always have to pop up in the comments with no mastery of the English language and an inability to hit "shift" simultaneously with "1" (11!1!!!!). It has become a platform for many to express their deepest feelings and thoughts in what seems like a safe environment, in which their faces can stay anonymous but their words can speak what is in their hearts. Simultaneously, for many it is the opposite: a place to make their faces famous while protecting what is inside them by building a false sense of self to show to the world. For a lot of us it's just a place to waste time in endlessly entertaining ways. For some it's a way to get news and cooking tips. But no matter what role it fills in our lives, most of us with a web presence often feel an odd sense of removal from reality in it. We can make ourselves pretty much whatever we want online. We can invent personas for fun or for evil (Google "Lori Drew"), we can write and re-write our profiles to seem as intelligent or witty or cool as we want. It's a space to connect with emails and messages and Twitters, but it's also looking through a lens of bizarre porno sites and Photoshop.

But then there are others out there, like Abraham Biggs, who lose that sense of removal, who let themselves be seen fully and intimately by their webcams or MySpace bathroom-mirror shots, who forget to keep that degree of separation from the computer screen and the people on the other end of the tubes. People whose identities have become wrapped up with their keyboards and whose Facebook photos don't have 'angles.' While most of us can look on while turkeys get killed right behind Sarah Palin with a little smirk on our faces because she seems so clueless, typing "OMFG what a moron" into the comments box, othersjust see the turkeys kicking and fighting to the bitter end and think, "Wow, that's intense." And maybe that thought connects, just like links on our sidebars, to thousand of other sites and thoughts that connect to... "Hey, I could do that to myself online. People will remember me that way."

I don't really know where I'm going with this. It's the kind of thing I hate to acknowledge publicly for fear of glamorizing something so sad, but at the same time I find the psychology in it so fascinating and the implications about internet culture so endless that I can't help it.

Here's where I wish I had a readership to comment and help me pick this apart, but then again, maybe it's not something we should hack up.

Well put

This is, once again, from my favorite old lady (maybe... the jury is still out on whether the bloggers are as old as they say, but I love what they write regardless) blog, Margaret and Helen, and it basically says exactly what I try to say every day but have trouble framing in words:

"Has it occurred to anyone else that the Republican party has become the party of money, guns and sex? It seems to be the only things they think about. Who is having sex with who? How much are my taxes? Keep your hands off my guns. I really think they would explode if a gay couple used their tax refund to purchase an AKA assault rifle. They wouldn’t know whether to hate the sinner or compliment the sin. ...

It is just so interesting to me that the voters who most value religious freedom seem to be the most willing to embrace religious values, while the voters who claim to be the most religious are clearly the least. Don’t get me wrong. There are lots well-intentioned, good hearted Christians out there. We just don’t seem to be squeaking loud enough. We’ve known for years that we have a health care problem. Bill used Hilary Clinton to try and address it back in 1992. Do you realize that was 16 years ago? Republicans squeaked that it was Government-run healthcare and it would bankrupt our county. So millions of families continued to live without adequate healthcare while the government swept the whole mess under the rug. Suddenly banks and auto industries are having trouble and money seems to be growing on trees. Says a great deal about our priorities. "

Haiku

On a wet sidewalk,
blue Dr. Schol's gel insert.
Urban jellyfish.

Hairless Apes

Ok, now that the monkey story is over, I thought I could go back to writing about subjects more befitting of homo sapiens. Things like philosophy, art, music, etc. You know, intelligent topics of discussion and what not.

But then today, on a whim, I started doing some research into Proposition 8, which overturned a California Supreme Court ruling that upheld the rights of same sex couples to marry. Californians voted by a 52.2% majority on election day not to extend the legal rights of heterosexuals to homosexuals. They... decided... excuse me, I'm trying to wrap my brain around this one... to outlaw gay marriage... after the supreme court of their state... said that to do so would be unconstitutional. And they voted that... the supreme court... was wrong? ...Because... their churches... told them to.
California. The state where the gay rights movement started. Where people began to realize that homosexual people are, well, people.

I'm confused.

So I've been researching what happened. And I'm just disgusted. It's the kind of thing that I guess shouldn't surprise me anymore. People being hateful toward each other for no discernable reason is part of our heritage. But even if we are just big hairless apes, and even if we've spent most of our history as a species being terrible to one another, we are still hairless. We have evolved beyond other apes. We do have bigger brains. And we have been using them for a while now. How is it that we continue to be so stupid? What is it in our genetic makeup that plunges us from the heights of philosophy and artistic achievement into the darkness of disgustingly backwards primordial goo? Why do we do this?

I realize this isn't the most well-reasoned or objective look at the issue, but there aren't enough people out there reading this just yet for me to be responsible with my interpretations or reporting of facts. So... if you want... bear with me.

The whole thing is just so preposterous to me, so absolutely awful, so bigoted and prejudicial and – yes, I’ll say it – un-American, that I simply cannot say anything about it that doesn’t sound angry.

It’s not as if Californians voted it down unanimously, or even that there was a landslide at the polls, which might anger me more. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if one of the most progressive states in the nation, which has proven itself to be so forward-thinking and open-minded in the past, was really populated by homophobes and hate-mongers. But then again, if Proposition 8, which overturned a California Supreme Court ruling that upheld the rights of same-sex couples to marry in that state, had been passed by a large margin, there would have been little room for argument. I might have been able to just shake my head at people’s narrow-mindedness, reaffirm my lack of desire to ever move to California, and move on.

But the fact is that the 14 words added to the California State Constitution on November 5th, "Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California," were voted in by only 52.2% of voters. And the margin was determined almost entirely by those responding to calls by different religious groups to ‘get out and vote.' What makes that even grosser is that even groups from outside the state of California, who are somehow, magically, personally effected and offended by California gays, got involved. Specifically the Mormon church asked its members to donate to pro-Prop8 organizations like "protectmarriage.com," and their members responded with huge and numerous contributions that helped get more closed-minded Californians to the polls.

The Mormons. Who no longer officially permit, but still often engage in, polygyny. Suddenly these people have the right to tell other people who to marry? How does this work in their heads? Apparently their theory that "the formation of families is central to the Creator’s plan" excludes homosexuals... because... we just don't want to let them adopt any of the millions of children in the world who currently have no stable or loving parents. Because homosexuals can't procreate in the typical biological way, Mormons have decreed that their matrimonial union would be a threat to families rather than an opportunity to create more for children who have already been brought into this world. The Mormons, who bemoaned the fate of the "innocents" who have been aborted, don't seem to give a fuck about the kids who managed to be born but who nobody wanted.

...ok, ok, maybe I'm going overboard, but... seriously.

Anyway, the whole religious involvement thing does make sense on the one hand: religious groups tend to have very strong opinions about the institution of marriage. Of course they do. Marriage is a cornerstone of most moralistic theologies. Traditionally it has been touted as a holy sacrament in Western societies (at least ever since St. Thomas Aquinas called it that in the 13th century), and as a union between a man and a woman in Christian and Jewish belief systems. Which is all well and good. Freedom of religion and all that. In America religions are free, as privately led institutions, to back up whatever moral systems they choose. Their believers are free to hold those moral systems dear and to internalize them as their own personal beliefs, or natural truths, or whatever. If it makes them feel closer to their god, then I have no quarrel with them, so long as they are not hurting anyone by doing it.

But that last bit, “as long as they are not hurting anyone” – ah, there’s the rub. Because, well, people trying to force their religious, or religiously-based, beliefs on others in a way that discriminates against them socially and legally and economically – that’s hurting people. Church groups bringing their issues with other people’s sexuality into the sphere of legality, forcing their morality down people’s throats and into their bedrooms and bank accounts – that’s hurting people. And it’s violating a dictum that our founding fathers set down hundreds of years ago, one that has become as sacred as things are supposed to be allowed to be in our legal system: the separation of Church and State.

Given this edict, which hangs over all government proceedings like the necessarily absent word of God, how do governments justify poking their noses into people’s bedrooms and private lives on the basis of a religiously-fueled public sentiment? All forms of government, and law enforcement, exist in this country to protect their people from physical, economic, and other tangible harm. And they are allowing themselves to actually harm people. And while they are also to act in accordance with the will of the people in matters open to public voting, I can’t help but be disgusted that they are allowing nothing short of prejudice and discrimination to be part of their public agenda.

Does nobody remember Jim Crowe? Martin Luther King? What it means to allow prejudice, bigotry, fear, and hatred to govern public life? That people have died before and will die again because the law allows discrimination that gets out of control? That at a time in our history, white people considered other races to be ‘naturally inferior,’ and that now we've alloed people who consider gay marriages to be ‘unnatural’ to write laws? Doesn’t this ring a familiarly awful bell?

And furthermore, on a simply practical level, how can people not see that the “protection of marriage” line that’s being recited by those who voted for Proposition 8 really, honestly, makes no sense? How, exactly, are American marriages being threatened by the extension of marriage itself? Are married gays going to somehow go around breaking up heterosexual couples? Are married lesbians going to kidnap the children of two-parent homes once they’ve gained the same tax benefits as married straight people? Is the extension of tax and healthcare benefits to more people going to somehow rob the bank accounts of homophobes? In the genius words of Lewis Black, are there some "gay banditos" out there who will get married and then go from house to house, interrupting idyllic American dinners by fucking each other in the ass in tasteful pumps just to destroy the American family? The answer to all these questions, no matter how many times I look at them from different angles, is “no.” Of course fucking not.

The only people who will be hurt economically, socially, and possibly even physically by prejudicial attitudes being written into our laws and state constitutions are homosexuals who want to be treated the same as everyone else. And the only ones who would be hurt by those attitudes being written out of our laws would be... nobody. Sure, maybe those of us with narrow minds and feeble imaginations feel unnerved by seeing two men kissing or two women holding hands in public, but unless those two men or women force you to watch them perform their private business, or assault you, or rob you, the law should have no more right to interfere with them than you do.

The way I see it is this: if a church or an entire religion want to ban homosexual couples from sharing in their definition of marriage, well, that’s the business of that church or that religion. Nobody should be able to stop them, just like nobody has been able to stop the Boy Scouts from keeping gay men out of their leadership. They are private institutions, and people are free to choose whether or not they want to participate in their ceremonies and beliefs and sacraments, just as they are free to choose whether certain people are allowed to participate. Marriage as a religious ceremony and institution is fair game for the morality of the religion that is joining its believers in matrimony. No skin off my nose.

But when those religions try to start influencing the law, then I start getting angry. And when the law starts acting like a privately controlled religion, well then I get a bee in my bonnet. The legal code of a state or country, according to the philosophies on which American democracy is based, should have nothing to do with religiously-biased morality. If we can’t agree on who should be allowed the legal benefits of marriage, then we should all have to go without. Telling someone that he or she can’t have something just because somebody somewhere thinks that they shouldn’t has no place in a government that we are striving to make available to “all men” who were supposedly “created equal.” If we can’t agree on whether homosexuals should be granted civil unions versus marriages in the eyes of the law, then in order to prevent prejudicial treatment, we must not allow anyone to benefit from marriage on a legal level. Rather than accepting something that others cannot have for no good reason, we must legally sanction only civil unions for everybody.

Let churches handle marriage and do whatever they think is morally all right for their married faithful, and let civil unions be the territory of our laws. Let’s all pay the same in taxes once we’ve been unified civilly, and join ourselves in matrimony in whatever churches will accept us.

And... I'm spent. I can't even think about it anymore without getting angry and risking brain exolode-y. Which is frowned upon at art galleries, where primordial brain goo is frowned upon by the supposedly cultured bipedal, hairless apes who are supposed to be rising above mindless hatred and emotional violence. As if.

I think I need to slow my life down a little. Chill more. Stop stressing because of the lack of time I have to do everything.
And yet I crave emotional and intellectual connections so I spread myself thin over the company of my friends, who inspire me and fascinate me. I'm beginning to think the only way to get all the company of inspiration I need, along with the quiet life, is to take up residence in a commune with all of them. If anyone knows of a large piece of land with a huge mansion on it, not too far away from everything but still quiet, going for cheap... let me know.

Monkey Maids: or, the Roommate/Primate Experiment; Pt. 5

I woke up at 10:00, confused that I hadn’t been awakened by the morning calls of the monkeys. Maybe I’d been drunker than I thought last night. But still, the apartment seemed quiet. Even when they were sleeping there was usually some noise from the monkeys, snoring or scratching or just moving around in their sleep. Something was wrong. The feeling in my gut told my brain it was true.

I bolted upward and threw open the bedroom door. The tamarin squeaked from the pillow as harsh light poured in from the living room, where the bay window let in the morning light. I was blinded for a moment by the brightness, and surprised; the living room windows were usually curtained. When I lowered my arm, I realized that the curtains had been torn down during the night and one of the windows was smashed out, letting in a flood of light.

And there was blood. All over the walls and the floor and the windows. All over everything. And fur. And the capuchin, and the female spider monkey, sitting alone in the midst of it all, grinning at me and picking the meat off of what I knew from their size and shape had to be the finger bones of the male spider monkey. The capuchin, his face and hands covered in blood, had a firm hold on a very battered and bruised star fruit.

I stared at him for a moment. He was pleased with himself, cooing softly as he held the star fruit over his head to show me. The female spider monkey grinned dully, not so aware of what she had done as her counterpart.

I lost it. “You bastard! You fucking bastard!” The capuchin screeched and jumped to his feet, the star fruit held high. The spider monkey cooed and grinned at me as I launched myself forward, screaming. I caught the capuchin in the jaw, hard, and he flew into the air. The star fruit launched out of his hand, and as if in slow motion, I saw tiny droplets of blood shake loose from his fur.

His head hit the wall behind him, not very hard but hard enough to hurt. He slumped down onto the carpet and rubbed his head, looking confused. The female spider monkey whimpered and looked from him to me and back again. Then, very slowly, she reached out and picked up the star fruit from where it had fallen. When the capuchin didn’t pay any attention, too busy rubbing his head and deciding what to do, she quietly moved to the window sill and started to eat it.

The capuchin looked up at me with wide eyes, scratched its head again, and got to his feet. He looked around for a moment, then stumped over to me dizzily and wrapped his arms around my legs. The tamarin on my shoulder gibbered wildly and climbed onto my head, desperate to get away from the stink of murder. I looked down at the capuchin.

“Why would you do that, man? All of them? All of them? Even the little cute ones? I can’t believe you, man. The star fruit’s not worth it!” With that I gestured toward the star fruit, which was quickly disappearing into the spider monkey’s mouth. The capuchin followed my hand with his eyes, noticing the smell of the fruit between her teeth. Immediately, he lost his composure. With a terrible squeal he let go of my now blood-stained legs and tore across the room to the windowsill.

The spider monkey hooted wildly and stuffed the rest of the fruit into her mouth, then, in a motion far defter than I thought a concussed monkey could perform, she jumped through the hole in the window and was gone, no doubt in a mirror of how some of the others had escaped the blood-bath inside. The capuchin screamed and jumped out after her, into the mid-day sunshine.
I heard a noise from behind me and turned to see Liz and the squirrel monkey standing still in the doorway to the living room. Liz’s mouth and eyes were wide open and the monkey was shaking in terror on her shoulder, the carnage spread out on the floor between us like a furry red carpet.

I looked down at my blood-smeared legs, then back up at Liz. We stood, staring at each other and blinking in the sunlight, barefoot, with our last two monkeys on our shoulders.

Monkey Maids: or, the Roommate/Primate Experiment, Pt. 4

That day went beautifully. I fielded all the calls for “Party Primates” and Liz got to know the animals. She took a particular shine to the squirrel monkey, which was good since he sometimes seemed a little left out during grooming. She spent most of the day with him on her shoulder and had taught him how to feed her blueberries by evening grooming. We gave out snacks to keep them busy for a while and set to work on the evening toilette. It went a lot faster with two people – I washed them up and Liz blew-dry and styled them. We had everyone ready to go before the first customer showed up; not bad, considering we had seven paying gigs that night. Things were looking rosy.

We went to the store for more fruit and got ourselves a few bottles of wine to celebrate. On the walk back to the apartment, Liz suddenly regressed. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. This is insane. It can’t possibly work.”

"Why not? Think about it: the monkeys are really happy – there weren’t even any fights today. I’m happy having the monkeys around. They’re making us money. It’s beautiful.”

She nodded. “It kind of is. But. It’s too beautiful. I mean, what if they get into a shit-flinging contest while we’re at the store? What if the macaque decides to pick a fight with the tamarin? They’ll all go... well… apeshit. Not to mention the absolute certainty that we’re going to get caught. I mean...” She looked at me, and there was no anger in her eyes. Just that bald look she gave me sometimes, that completely unguarded trust in me. Very disquieting. I appreciated it but she never seemed able to keep it on her face for very long.

I shook my head. “Ok, first of all, shit flinging is just a myth. Monkeys only fling shit if they have nothing else at hand, and only if they’re agitated. If we make sure to spend as much time with them as possible and work for the peace of the group, no flinging needs to happen. After a while they’ll learn to behave even when we’re not around. You’ll see, they’re smart. And they want to please us. They’re all so happy to be out of the lab that as long as we make these first few weeks good for them – we’re home free. They’ll love us forever. And hey, it’s a big city. We’ll be fine. People get away with crazier shit than this every day.”

She scoffed. “Crazier shit than keeping seventeen monkeys of all shapes and sizes, illegally, in a two bedroom apartment? I don’t know about that.” Doubt had crept into her expression, but still, there was no anger. Once again it was a deep weariness that I’d only begun to see on her face over the past month or so.

“Seriously, Liz, I’m not making this up: last week I read about a guy who was arrested for keeping a fourteen foot alligator in his studio. He’d had it with him for eight years. We don’t have any fourteen foot monkeys. We’ll be fine.”

Her eyes switched into frustrated glare and she shifted her grocery bag to her left hand. “No, but we do have seventeen less-than-fourteen foot monkeys, all of whom make a lot of noise and who have opposable thumbs. One of these days that macaque is going to figure out doorknobs and walk outside.” She shifted the bag again. “This fruit is really fucking heavy. My hand hurts.”

“Let’s stop walking for a minute. Take a breather,” I said, setting down my fruit and massaging my hands, then reaching over and grabbing hers. She started to pull away but then sighed and looked up at me. Her eyes were tired. “Look, Liz. I understand your reservations. I do. But I’ve thought about all of this and I still think it’s a really good idea. I think it’s going to be great.”

She looked down at the sidewalk for a minute and when she looked back up, the weariness had been joined by mournful, closed off expression that meant trouble. “You thought us moving in together would be great, too.”

We stared at each other for a minute. I said nothing. That look meant I’d be an asshole no matter what I said to her, and probably if I didn’t say anything, too. I waited.

“And that hasn’t exactly turned out like a bowl of cherries." She turned to pick up her bag again. "I don't need to tell you that your judgment about what we can do together is sometimes off,” she finally said.

“But we have a bowl full of cherries now,” I said with a grin, hefting my bag of fruit and pointing to the cherries. “And… I didn’t think things were all that bad,” I couldn't help adding, my stomach hurting as if I'd been punched.

She pursed her lips. “Well, here’s hoping,” she said as we began to walk. She held her breath for a minute, then studiously looked away. “And we’re not going to be able to have people over anytime we want anymore, either. Who knows what the monkeys would do if one of us showed up with a stranger late at night.”

I hadn’t really thought about it, but now I nodded.

“So, I guess…” she trailed off, still looking away. “No more strange girls in the house. Just us and the monkeys. At least for a while...” She let the sentence fade into silence.

I didn’t know what to say, so we walked home in silence.

* * * * * *

I had no idea that star fruit was such a favorite with primates, but they went nuts over it. The capuchin ended up clubbing the female spider monkey with it after he’d wrestled it out of her hands, at which point the male spider monkey jumped on the capuchin’s back and started screeching and scratching at his face. I had to pull him off and spend the next hour holding him while Liz cuddled the female. The capuchin forgot about it immediately and picked his nose for a good fifteen minutes before Liz slipped in and took the star fruit away. He didn’t even notice, but we decided that star fruit would be nixed from the shopping list thence forth, just to be safe.

After all the paying gigs came home that night, Liz and I got drunk on wine and groomed everybody, then each other, with much giggling. Our spat from the afternoon seemed to be forgotten, but I caught that tired look on her face a few times between fits of laughter. We schemed about all the jungle gym equipment we would buy for the monkeys and the furniture we’d buy ourselves. We play wrestled and tried again to teach the macaque how to use the toilet. Liz fed the marmoset a little wine and we laughed when he dozed off next to the bottle. We finally fell asleep around 2:00 on the couch. I woke up at 4:00 and got Liz and the squirrel monkey into her bed before heading back to my room with the tamarin. Things were great. Everything was perfect.

Jenelle sent me this bit of interesting insights into Obama, via a detailed breakdown of his zodiac chart. Very interesting, even if you don't believe in astrology. From http://www.yogatech.com/:

BARACK OBAMA

Here are a few more observations about Barack Obama's birth chart.

DEEP PRESENTATION TO THE WORLD - Obama has Scorpio on the midheaven ortop of his chart, indicating that he presents himself to the world ina deep penetrating way. No fluffy winks for Obama. During his campaigna major theme was - If we focus on superficialities, gaffs andmud-slinging, nothing will ever change. If we get honest, we have achance to build a better America and a better world. He also hasNeptune in Scorpio in the ninth house, indicating that only profoundtruth will deliver us out of our illusions. The ninth house representsspirituality and foreign travel. He called for mending our foreignalliances in his acceptance speech. He is going to have work to do getAmerica out of its foreign policy illusions.

SERVICE - Obama's chart is focused on service. His Mars and Pluto arein Virgo. Mars indicates where we use our energy. Virgo is service,attention to details and hard work. Obama's Sun and Mercury, both inLeo are in the sixth house of Virgo and service.

RELATIONSHIPS ARE IMPORTANT - Obama has Uranus and North Node in Leoand Pluto and Mars in Virgo in the seventh house - the house ofrelationships. Uranus in Leo can create surprises from the heart. The North Node in Leo is new territory for Obama - he is learning how tobe heart-centered in his relationships.

AQUARIAN SPIRIT - Obama's Ascendant, South Node and Jupiter are inAquarius. He sees the world from Aquarian eyes. The South Noderepresents gifts he came in with - he holds strong an Aquarian spirit.Jupiter is what expands us and leads us into the future. His missionis to help bring in the Aquarian Age.

SATURN TESTS - Obama's Saturn is in Capricorn. It is not surprisingthat his Saturn trials and tests relate to social and economicstructures.

SOMETIMES ALOOF AND DEEPLY INWARD - Once in a while we get that warmLeo smile from our new President. But often he may seem aloof.Aquarius is a mental sign and one of the most aloof of the zodiac.Aquarius is connecting with the universal mind to try to pull in newsolutions and answers to collective problems. With both Jupiter andSaturn in the twelfth house of Pisces, more is going on inside Obamathan we can observe. He is constantly reflecting and connecting withhigher energies and wisdom.

PLAYFUL SPIRIT - Obama's Gemini Moon gives him a playful spirit, alove of people and a gift of communication. He is always on the move.His Venus in Cancer is in the fifth house of Leo fun. Venus in Cancermeans that what he loves is his family, his home, the Mother Earth andhis country.

HEART-CENTERED - As mentioned above, Obama's Sun, Mercury, Uranus andNorth Node are in Leo. Leo has a big heart, an ability to self-focusand a very brilliant aura. He is going to need all for the dauntingtask ahead.

Great day, and Obama Info

I'll post twice today. Because today is just that awesome. And although I'm trying not to make this a blog about personal experiences so much as a sounding board for my fantastic brain, today has just been so good that I want to share it with everyone who reads this. ...whoever that may be.

1) Firstly, this morning on my way to work I managed to get on a 5 train that came: 1) as soon as I got into the station, and 2) was not excessively crowded. It was a miracle.

2) Then, when I got off that train, I walked across 58th Street toward my office. Between Madison and 5th I noticed some people uncoiling some wires and setting up lights on the sidewalk, so I knew something was being filmed. Then I saw an old-fashioned yellow cab that was obviously part of a set. Then I saw a trailor that was lit up on the inside, and a girl I didn't recognize sitting at the window looking out.

3) And then... I think I saw... NPH!!! No shit! I think I saw Neil Patrick Harris inside signing something. I'm not 100% sure it was him, because I really only saw the top part of his face, but that forehead is rather distinct. I didn't want to stand around gawking because I had to get to work and I didn't want to get kicked off the set or anything, but... yeah I think it was him. If anyone knows about him being in NYC for any reason, let me know, cause I don't want to go hang around for no reason. But if it's him... well... a picture MUST happen.

4) I just got a raise! I don't know how much it will be for just yet, because in the gallery we just go ask the Big Scary French Boss for a raise, and he just says yes or no. And then he goes and "discusses" it with the administrator, which is probably a conversation that goes: "Give ze young lady at ze recepsion desk a raise-uh, 'Elmreech." "Ok, Pierre." So I'll find out on my next few paychecks what kind of raise we're talking about. But no matter what, more money = good. And when I asked, he said, "Of course-uh, I weel gif you a raise wis pleazure. I weel talk to Mr. 'Elmreech." And he SMILED. A very good sign.

5) Because it's Veteran's Day there is a street fair right outside on 56th street, so I just got to go out for lunch and have corn on the cob, a crepe, and bubble tea for lunch! Of course this cost way more than it should have and now my hands are frozen from trying to eat a crepe outside in 45 degree weather, but it sure was more fun to watch a Veteran's Day parade during my lunch hour instead of grumbling about tourists in the park.

More story tomorrow...