01 02 03 Eleanor Greer: frickity frickin' frick. 04 05 15 16 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 31 32 33

frickity frickin' frick.

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It is the first of June and in order to avoid any rumors I will admit it, I did get on the cross-town bus at the wrong stop. I did manage, however, to get off of it at the correct stop and to then walk down to 70th, buy a hot dog and enter the Frick. The first room....El Greco's Purification of the Temple. Crap. And after a number of paintings by Turner, Goya, Rembrandt and fluffy French and Englishmen I was most definitely done in. Another 30 minnutes with Cezanne, Goya and Rembrandt, who will always be my first loves, and I ran away. My accomplishment for today: realizing that I am indeed on the right track, I will be a painter.

It is comforting, in a some way, that no matter where one goes in this country there will always be the happy green signage of Starbucks. Thus, when it begins to rain you can duck inside of a place that feels like it might be in La Mirada, until a man from London comes in with his two sons and the woman behind you is speaking about her recent travels to LA. Why do we fight that monopolizing corporation? It's spread cannot be argued or stopped at this point, I just wish that it's growth did not have to come at the price of so many other wonderful cafes.

I am severely tired right now and in need of people to talk to...coming out of the Frick I was suddenly aware of exactly who I wanted to be heading to coffee with and instead, found myself alone. Thoughts are meant to be shared I think.
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