We went hobnobing this weekend

The last time I wore a tux (or a dinner jacket for those who've read Paul Fussel's book on class and are keeping score at home) was 20 years ago and I weighed 60 lbs less than I do today. Look at Jami - she's gorgeous in that little red dress. The occasion was the Founder's Dinner at Duke (where they surprisingly didn't serve flounder: I thought "come for the founder stay for the flounder" but Jami didn't feel that was a good slogan for the evening) where, since Jami raises money, she was invited and I got to tag along. We spent a fun evening talking about baseball and living in Atlanta with the rich and powerful.
The weekend together was glorious and we both talked about how living apart is not the most fun thing in the world. In fact it stinks. I miss her terribly. I hope that I can find a call in Durham or the Triangle area soon.
Anyway, I don't look bad in a tux. I thought: wouldn't it be great to get one of these things to paint in. I could be the next PBS painting icon - me in my tux and holding a Grey Goose martini in my left hand as I deftly paint virgins and the flight into Egypt with my right: a one-two punch. I would market myself as a straight talking artist for those who want to learn to paint, painting with paint, and loving paint; who don't want formulas and tricks and patterns and tricks and little things that are "neat" - I will not use the word neat on my show, except to describe how I like my scotch. I will invite people to join me on my quest for the American Sublime. I will encourage people to paint with the top of their heads in a rainstorm while bad 60s rock plays on the stereo. I will engage people into the carnivalesque. I will introduce them to Dada and MoMa. We will exegete parables into paint and translate painting into gospel. And every show will feature a beer tasting. Or perhaps a steak.