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Trying to figure out what you're asking ...
much later: it's a Doodle on my Galaxy Tab A, mostly finger painting?
So, it is your work, and digital. You answered media(m). As it is your work, dropped mere infinitesimal expenses. Size would depend on reproduction. Excellent, though not as titillating as a story of a purchase could be made. Nice stylistic piece, BTW.
I was about to add that I did not drop acid.
how about ETFs?
What does EquityTradedFunds have to do with it?
Acid?? Not likely from what remember of research on its effects on alcoholic treatment/therapy. OTTOMH, more Expressionist (of some sort) is what comes to mind.
Say that fast three times.
Smacked Village is the second legal pot shop to open in the City, also just off Washington Square. It's a popup shop because this is only a beta run. The plan is to close at the end of the month and organize a permanent presence some time later.
So I take a walk to check them out. This time around the Housing Works Dispensary has no line, I get ushered right in and there are only a couple of customers. I guess the novelty has worn off. ID check. Place seems makeshift, a bit cool in a big space. Everyone is helpful but Sorry, we don't allow pictures here.
At Smacked Village the guy there by the door sees me coming, fiddles with those black boxes on the right to unlock the door and lets me in. ID check. Also mostly empty, just a few customers, but it feels warm and welcome inside, the music is not too loud and everyone is friendly. Discrete security lets me take pix of the ware.
But wait, there's more! Crossing Washington Square ... what's this? ... a popup pot shop is open for business right in the middle of the Square by the fountain, guarded by a Ninja Warrior and I'm guessing the guy sitting is the boss? They were a bit uncomfortable with the pix. Flower in the jars goes for $40 an eighth, much the same as the legal stuff. And no tax! Also no ID check. [boss's facemask edited in]
Cruising Gulf Coast beaches in skimpy trunks.
A guy tows a canister, somewhat like an oxygen tank. For a few cents he sprays hot bodies with a mixture of baby oil and iodine to produce that perfect tan. Cover your eyes he says as he soaks me head to toes, front and back.
Days on the nude section of Jones Beach, roasting in the sun with only grapefruit juice to keep hydrated.
Endless Summers on Fire Island baking in the dunes.
Little did we know or care back then.
[Back then the fad was to mix baby oil and iodine together and smear it on. Research into Australian, U.S. and Swedish attitudes to tanning predicts people born between 1900-1960 will be at highest risk of dying from melanoma than any other generations.]
Not to alarm you, it's nothing that dire, just some skin growths, but here I am visiting my Dermatologist yet again. The receptionist behind the barricade directs me to a newfangled device, a pad, to sign in with. I enter my name, it knows who I am! Next item shows my Ethnicity: African-American. Well, that's not right. [Insert inappropriate quip about excessive tanning?] How about Congolese ... Ethiopian ... St. Vincentian?
I'm stymied. The receptionist comes out from behind her barricade to help this older guy who has no idea how to deal with computers, clicks some buttons and gets ASIAN ... Burmese ... Thai ... Vietnamese. BLACK. I'm African-American again.
She's lost as well.
I notice a small arrow bottom right and keep keep pressing it, reasoning there must be a W down there somewhere as it scrolls on forever ... NATIVE HAWAIIAN ... listing every tribe known to mankind and in galaxies beyond . . Cambodian ... Chinese ... Hmong .... what's a YAPESE and why? All those Spaniards ... Andalusian ... I like the sound of that ... or maybe Valencian, they have great oranges?
And there it is, all the way at the bottom! WHITE! So much for White Privilege. No mention of Aryan so WHITE will have to do.
A bit later in the Doctor's office after multiple zappings with his ray gun: You wouldn't do all that sun again, would you he says. No cancer. See you in a couple of months.
A PDF of Races and Ethnicity is attached below, seems it's standard for medical services. Future research project: what did the Nazi's chart looked like?
The 2004 Marilyn Merlot is out. I hoof it north for a mile or so to a likker store which may be the only joint in town having that bottle for just around $20. A small winery in California has made the wine a cult item since getting rights to use the name in 1985, featuring a different image of Marilyn Monroe each year. Remaining bottles of the 1985 vintage are $3,800 and a collection of one bottle from each vintage is closing in on $10,000 now. The latest, 2004, has a photo from the movie "How to Marry a Millionaire."
I overcome my initial hesitation at having to ask someone for a bottle of Marilyn Merlot? and casually sidle up to the a shop person kneeling there on the floor. "Where can I get Marilyn ..." I stop. He is stacking bottles of just what we're looking for. "Oh, there it is." "No," he says, "this is Norma Jeane, Marilyn is there," pointing to the next bin. Shortly thereafter I head back south guarding a bag containing one of each.
We come to taste not to collect, ergo tonight it's Marilyn Merlot. They don't say anything about being good with pizza and hot wings, but what the heck, it's real Americana, just like Marilyn. I improve two frozen Celeste Sausage Pizzas with anchovies, sliced tomatoes and a dusting of Romano and bake them alongside a package of Weaver's Hot Wings. The wings turn out to be a mistake, causing us to miss out on the full flavor of the Merlot until the heat dies down. Still, it's a satisfying dinner.
The wine is dark ruby in the glass, a standard California Merlot, smooth and rich with black cherries and chocolate and I do get vanilla lingering on the palate.
Now the question is what to do with the bottle, even empty it may be a hot collector's item in a year a two? I can't quite deal with that and suggest I'll simply spread the joy by placing the bottle outside on top of the garbage, leaving it for a passing connoisseur, but then Roomie calls a neighbor who collects things and who gratefully accepts the treasure.
moving on to jello chocolate pudding now ...
[That was back in 2006. Checking the online now I see where a bottle goes for a paltry $130 (unopened) and even some hits for less.]
[Can't find anything about what I did with Norma Jeane back then.]