Gran is willing to help with the dental, thankfully. All that leaves is 2,000 dollars that needs to be covered in two large chunks. Landlords don't do financing. They don't have to, since the 'lord' part in the name isn't just a quaint afterthought; too bad the Geneva Conventions have.

No donations have come, unfortunately. This means having to swallow my pride and consider some unpalatable options.

My first option is a tried-and-true one: when down and out, beg, borrow, steal, and blackmail your relatives. Being that today was Father's Day, I decided it'd be cordial and sweet of me to phone my biological one. How we got re-acquainted ain't for this post, but suffice it to say we're on good terms. He sounded perky and airy as always, and we exchanged pleasantries, family trivia, etc. At two points he mentioned in passing that he 'wish [he] could do more', which was polite code for 'nope, no dice, son o' mine that I paid no child-support for and owe 150,000 dollars to, no dice'. You go off to the Keys for snorkelling with your daughter in the meantime, honey.

I also sent a letter to my estranged grandfather on my mother's side, the black sheep of the family, the same triple Virgo who would get so overcome with rage that his face would glow purple and his voice would take on that dangerous, low quality to it. He never slapped or chased me, though few conversations go by where Ma doesn't mention her accounts and stories--again, and again, and again. Fortunately, Parkinson's, regret, and his spunky go-getting mistress-turned-wife have changed him, so both Mother and I can now reasonably associate with him. Being an ex electrical engineer, he's also quite proud of me taking up the family banner of science again.

So naturally I want money from him. He'll be easier than my biological father to crack, although daddy is Catholic and about as guilt-prone as I am.

The rest of my family on my father's side is either destitute or has disowned me because of a phone call I didn't want to take when I was 13.

My relatives aside, there is the second option: asking Scott for a loan. He knows I'll be good for it. Trouble is, none of his capital is liquidated and is tied up in legal disputes with his jackass alcoholic fuckwit of a brother.

Makes me sometimes wonder if I would have been better off joining Johnnie at the Humboldt mansion upstate and being his house boy. I could have raised chows and arabian horses, and been his eye candy 'personal attache' at business meetings. That's a by-gone era where I was a thimble-full more Adonis and a bucket-full more naive, but the guy was always a gentleman and only suggestively tried to tempt me. First time I ever learned what 'spooning' meant; I swear. But he also is for another time and post. Damn but those sugar daddies and mammas are rare creatures.

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As a pleasant note, I gave Scott his laser-guided hand-saw thingy today. I bought it at Home Depot with Ma after she mentioned that it's important to do stuff like give gifts (which'd be great if I'd ever had a steady paycheck). Ma also did up some cards and envelopes last night, so I also got to write an inspirational three paragraph deal that I'd hoped he'd like. I ended up having to read it to him because he couldn't really make out my handwriting. At least he liked the saw.

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New shot: Downtown Detroit

Comment: Imagine a trail of semi-rotted garbage a few inches behind you and a slick of raw sewage running into a nearby grate. I also wasn't sure if the locals were friendly, or if that abadoned warehouse of twisted metal to my right was being occupied by zombies. The sounds from it sure made me think that.

The shot aside, things are looking up in the world of photography.

I talked to Dork today about stuff and learned that an Artist Friend of his loved my work. Artist Friend scored a Fulbright award some years back, so that's a pretty meaty compliment. Meatier still is that the guy has clout in NYC and was thinking about getting a few showings set up there. As Dork quipped, we could even have his friend Tom from American Mars do the opening festivities. It'd be one of those edgy deals where looking slightly disheveled and talking fast at art people would be expected and adored. I do crowds pretty well when I've got an act and I'm drunk.

Hopefully that'll pan out.

So far as Detroit goes, I've got one show that's in the bag and another that (I think) is likely to happen. I've got enough industrial shots to choke a few chickens, and if that's what the curators want, that's what they'll get. Detroit is a good beginning point for me.

And thanks to my dear friend Mr. Ripper, I have some good places to contact down in New Orleans.

Which reminds me: if you happen to know someone who works at a fine art gallery, or happen to know of ones yourself that exhibit photography, I'd dearly love it if you'd let me know.

I digress. In order to make more headway with curators I don't know at all, however, I'm going to need a professional website to flash in e-mails.

I've got that base covered soon, thankfully.

For you see, awhile ago at a seminar my Mom and I went to, I signed up for a 30/month web service that offers unlimited 24/7 tech support, pre-fab website templates, a 2,400 item clip art archive, and lets you do e-commerce stuff like shopping carts, etc. Yeah, that's probably a rip-off, but I don't have the time or inclination to: 1) Learn to build a website; 2) Find a webmaster who doesn't sit on their ass and who answers email.

When that website is complete, I'll be able to present my work much more broadly. Not sure where I'll find the time for that after I get to Wisconsin, but I've had no life before, and I can have no life again. It's art, after all, it has to be made and appreciated for its own sake.

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I feel bitchy for some reason.

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Lastly, if you could, send some positive vibes to my friend Mr. Ripper, we both would appreciate it. His lover was recently shot and nearly died, still hovering in a semi-stable, comatose condition.

Thank you.

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Time to see if I can stay up to watch that History Channel special "Quest for King Arthur". I do love me those documentaries, yes I do.

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