Make a Wish, it's 9.9.09

And while we're talking about wishes, here's a self portrait.

It says, "Where there's a star, there's always a wish."

I am in the background, standing in a park in Argentina on a sunny day.

And that, my friends, is one wish on a star that came true.

I Guess it's a Flower

I call it, shiny medal in a park.

Because I like to name things.

The Apartment--From the Inside

This is the stove.

Isn't it cute?

You have to turn it on. With a match.

Make sure you hold down the nob while lighting the stove, or your pizza will not get cooked.

The cheese will not melt.

The crust will not de-soggy-ify.

The ham will not get warm.

No matter how nicely you ask.

That white thing in the back--not the microwave--that's the washer.

And in the front--that's the drier.

In the winter, it only takes jeans three days to dry on that clothes hanger.

Here is the collection of alcoholic bottles.

They doubled as ash trays.

And here I am.

Very happy.

By my scary window.

You know, I kind of miss that scary window.

All the Buildings Look the Same Here

I knew two things about my apartment.

It was beige.

And it was somewhere near the Swiss Medical Center.

That wasn't enough to get back.

Neither was my failed plan to count corners.

Nor knowing I had to pass a McDonalds on the way back.

And so I was lost. In Argentina. With a passport. A few twenties. And one clean pair of jeans.

I walked through streets of cookie-cutter buildings.

All of them were beige. All of them were modeled after Italian styled architecture. All of them had a gold rim around the door.

None of them, as far as I could tell, were mine.

I walked the same six blocks for hours.

No exaggeration.

Until by divine intervention, from Someone who knew I just couldn't take anymore, I remembered where I was.

And then I found my apartment.

And eventually I even got to go inside.

But we'll save those pictures for tomorrow.