I noticed the most unfortunate graffiti scrawled upon the Sheraton Hotel down there at Third and State streets yesterday. It said, “Stop Cop City” (though might have been read as Stop! Cop City!)—regardless of the meaning, I thought it looked sloppy and was most derogatory to our wonderful Columbus Police Department, who I called to alert to the situation. I also tried to speak to the General Manager of the Sheraton, who of course was in a meeting so I left a message (subtly) threatening to call Channel 6 On Your Side if the graffiti wasn’t removed. I requested a call back but my phone has remained silent, save a few annoying spam calls from Hilliard and Dublin.
The sun is rising now, and do I spy a little bit of blue sky out my hospital window? The neighbor’s dog just sounded off with a familiar bark, causing Legs and Lily to temporarily adjust their sleeping positions. I’m now listening to beloved jazz on Pandora, something I usually save for afternoon cooking prep but I just wanted to hear some soothing, comforting, silky note-playing this a.m. I don’t have too busy a day today, need to go to the grocery and buy things for the week. On Thursday mom and I are going out to Granville to have dinner with brother Chip and Kristen and spend the night. I’m to bring a bathing suit so I can get in Chip’s new hot tub—that boy and his toys.
I’m feeling better about the scary art in the scary basement, and remembering back to when Andi said she glued a troll doll to the floor of her basement in the Connecticut house…true story? A clue? No connection at all? Alas, she passed away before I could get to Connecticut to see her basement but I wonder if neighborhood resident Ted Koppel ever did. Though Andi did tell me Ted was quite rude to her when she met him so I’m thinking he never met the troll. Oh well. Oh Andi, do you come to me in my dreams or are you the raven I saw at Speedway the other day? How I miss our crime-solving duo “Gumshoe” made possible only through the assistance of marijuana, which is supposed to be evil for me. According to my AA Zoom last night in my relapsed past I acted like a fool—but did we? Who, pray tell, was zoomin who?
But no, I know the sober life is worth living, don’t want my current, intricate house of cards to come crashing down. Michael’s on board now with the sober way (at least abstaining from the substances) so our marriage is intact, praise be to God. The bipolar medicine seems to be working, I can write and I’m doing art. In addition to my “Doggie Style” panel, I’m composing, “Mrs. Smith Goes To Washingtown” (titles, of course, subject to change). Michael introduced me to 1971’s “The Omega Man” with Charleton Heston and damn, isn’t that a great cult film, so inspirational for me! Perhaps it can help me heal from that disturbing Wastebook photo that tipped me over the edge and sent me to the nut hatch last November? We shall see.
Ah Wastebook, how shall the Supreme Court handle you and YouTube this year? Unfortunately, given the dysfunction in both Congress and the press, here comes the judge and that Bittersweet Symphony. Cue up the sax horns as everyone files into court. Maybe the Editor of National Lampoon will be there. Who knows. I wonder what type of suit he might be wearing, and of course, what hat. Daniel Crockett coonskin?
Ah yes, I just looked outside and the sun is here! I’m looking forward to doing the dog walk and having my grilled sandwich on stale sourdough bread. Laugh with me, dear reader(s), it’s all we rebel forces have got these days. Adios, au revoir, al vee de zee en. Good night!
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