a quick trip to Pearl Art Supply yesterday. 3 floors of lots of stuff. I needed tack sheets for something I'm doing. a place like Pearl might outbid bookstores for my attention when moolah is unmitigated but this time I was being very budgetary, sensible, boring. perhaps you know the picture William Blake drew of me saying 'I want'. not his time, but man, I could spread some wealth around there, were I to have it. to work at Pearl you apparently need proof of disaffection. I mean I'm like, hey, you know what I mean? I can't distinguish if this is viral arty coolness, or a viral coolness from some other precinct. I usually don't need to ask questions at stores, or don't bother, but this time I was working outside my knowledge base. it's not like anyone was rude, only that they suffered this whole job thing: it really cuts into your free time. people typically, normally, read me as standoffish, when in fact I'm a lovely gentle soul, so I'm not all antsy with judgment here. but look, arty coolness is for the birds, I don't care if it's your personal revolution. leastwise if we're talking cool at 20, insurance sales at 30. I outcooled that reading a Reader's Digest version of a Michener novel to my mother in the hospital as she lay dying. I'm not taking away from youth defining themselves away from the creaky generation: that I get. cool hip art, elitist shrugs, that's all crap. art can be rarefied, to me it touches the sacred, but snotty ass is dregs. I couldn't in my narrow survey tell amongst the Pearlites what was arty cool and what was hope I die before I get old. really not talking specifics here, just reckoning some distinctions as best I can.