Paris 1973

My name was Moon. Lin and I made backpacks out of upholstery fabric samples and a pile of old leather that we found and sold them at a festival on Telegraph Ave in front of UC Berkeley. Our tickets cost $125 one way and we took a drive-away car (I had to explain drive-away to a twenty something the other day so I don't know if it still exists) from Santa Cruz, CA to somewhere in West Virginia and then a bus to NY City. It's a much longer story than this paragraph. Maybe some other time.

I didn't think I could draw in color back then. I had this thing in my head (probably from Easter outfit shopping with my mom, I think) that there were only certain colors that were supposed to go together. I somehow didn't understand the rules so I just left color out of it. There's a story about how that changed but, again,  maybe some other time.

Been watching a made for Amazon series (like Netflix Originals but different) called Transparent. Serious binge watching. A parent starts to transition from man to woman and how it affects change in everyone in his/her life. Centered around his family and how all their deepest darkest secrets start unraveling throwing them into a storm of evolving authenticity. Remarkable shit. I pretty much love it. And I cleaned my desk off which is a pretty major undertaking. Used to have a magnet on my fridge that said, "I hate housework. You clean and clean and clean and 6 months later  you have to do it all over again." Always helps to have some good philosophical drama to help me through it.