Yesterday I went to the La Brea Tar Pits and the Los Angeles County Museum of Art with Cazadora Artemis. I hadn't been to the tar pits in at least 15 years, though I go by it all the time. The Tar Pits are quite unique because of the extensive collection of ice age plants and animals. Here in Los Angeles the school district used to send kids on field trips to the Tar Pits, though I wonder if they still do it. They probably still do, as it�s still a pretty cool place to check out. As I kid, I remember going to the tar pits and rolling down the sides of the building.  For a few years the city put up a fence around the building that made the museum look uninviting. Thankfully the city took that fence down in favor of a fence around the park that houses the museum. I took nearly 200 pictures, some of which I'm posting here. And some of which will find their way to the Vista Drive section of my site. Before the tar pits Cazadora and I went to the Japanese pavilion at the LACMA. I hadn't been there for years either. We checked out an exhibition of Hockney portraits. The quality of the portraits was a bit sporadic. Some of them really showed Hockney's talent, while others felt as if they were on display simply because they had the artist's name attached to them. I'm more of a fan of Hockney's photographic collage work (a direct inspiration to my collage work), which thankfully was represented in the exhibition. Not as much as I would have liked it, but oh well. The pencil drawings were the best part of the exhibit in my opinion. They showed the talent of the man. I have a co-worker that's an artist, but there is something lacking in his work. When I look at the great works by the artists in the museums I visit I see a spark that goes beyond being able to draw well. I was trying to tell a friend of mine that the reason why we admire the works of the masters is because there is a level of prowess that goes beyond anything we could hope to accomplish. There was a subtlety in Hockney's pencil drawings that evident next to someone who is good among their friends, or among their schoolmates. It's that spark that separates us from true artists of genius. After the museum we went to the Farmer's Market to get something to eat. The food was good, but not great. I was starving though, which seems to be an ongoing theme these days. I seem to always be hungry these days. I mean it's getting to be ridiculous at this point. I'll eat and in less than a couple of hours I'll be hungry again. Like even right now I'm literally starving. But am I getting up to do something about it and perhaps stuff my face with food? Nope, I'm sitting here writing this. After this I'll write my friend and I'll also edit some of the pictures I took. Like this one of some lady that fell asleep at the museum.  When I got home I called my Father in Mexico. He told me that he's coming back home on Thursday. I probably won't see him because I won't be picking him up from the airport. My car is falling apart and overheats at the drop of a hat. Driving down to the airport would very likely cause the car to overheat. I've been trying to nurse the car along by not driving it too much. All the daytrips I take are on the metro, not the car. It's only a matter of time until the car pretty much dies on me. Nursing it may or may not help in the long run, but I'm certainly able to walk instead of driving everywhere. Come the Fall though I'll have to drive a lot. I used to have a duck, which I named Daisy Duck (pictured below). She died in December of 2004.  I couldn't make it home before the sun went down because I was at the hospital with my Grandmother. One night I was at the hospital, about an hour before I usually left, when my Aunt called me to say that Daisy was dead. I told my Grandmother what had happened and she told me to go home. We both loved that little duck so much. It wasn't easy burying Daisy, what with the weight of my Grandmother's cancer also on my mind. Well, it might sound crazy but for the last couple of months I swear to you that I think I've heard her quacking in the backyard. I know that I don't hear her, but I'm certain that I've imagined hearing her. The first time it happened I forgot myself and I went outside to see her. That's when I was snapped back into reality and remembered she was dead. Certainly I don't think that her ghost has come back from the great beyond, but it is rather strange that I've "heard" her quack coming from the backyard. I've forgotten myself several times because the other day I opened the back door and nearly called out her name. I caught myself before I did that time, but a time after that I didn't catch myself. I literally called her name out thinking she was still alive. Strange how the mind plays tricks on itself.
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