The condition my condition was in.
First, let me preface by saying, I am three sheets to the wind!
The condition my condition is in is this:
FACTOTUM
I went to Vroman’s on Saturday night.
I am a cheap date.
Bukowski’s father (the one that beat the shit out of him) is buried up at Mountain View Cemetery in Altadena.
I am going to spit on his grave.
To heck with his membership to LACMA.
Any Tom, Dick, or Frequent Slapper Fred can get a membership to a stuffy art museum. YAWN!
I know that bringing a book that was written entirely about Linda King to a Linda Lee book soire is completely WRONG.
I AM WRONG.
WRONG!
The podcast from this event is not wrong. It’s right. It’s so right it’s left.
This is Linda Lee Bukowski, a wispy version of Katherine Hepburn.
I’m jealous. She fucked Hank. Oh, shit. My mutherfucking mother reads this blog. Fuck.
This is Mike Malone, stupid. You know! Steve’s brother. Shit. Shit. Shit.
This is my favorite curator of archives in all the world, Sue Hodson.
How many ways can I express how much I love this square cornered librarian archivist mental being?
She said, “mutherfucker.” She never learned that in Library School.
I wanted to ask her how she came by this particular assignment. Was she lured to the Huntington Library because of her expertise? Or, is she staff and this was something given to her? I think The Huntington must have thought hard and long about Ms. Hodson. She’s not a lightweight. I think Hank would approve, don’t you?
I did NOT photograph S.A. Griffin, as he is a gift from the gods-as you are aware.
I got real drunk on the free wine and tried to kiss everyone there, even poor tired overworked Patrick Brown-who looks like death. I am so SORRY!
Sewing the couch cushion,
MG
PS. I didn’t get a photo of John Dullaghan. I am wrong. WRONG! He’s the best. THE BEST.
a Julia Child Rose
