I’m sitting in the darkness of the RV‡. I’m listening to the radio looking out at the sparkling lights of the Stratosphere, Hilton and Sahara casino/hotels. PT’s Place is in front of me. This is the bar where Andy and the rest of the hockey team will be drinking beers after the game in the next twenty minutes or so. I haven’t been updating but I have been on the internet…alot. Embarrassingly enough I’ve been hanging out in an online world called Second Life. My friend Jane has sucked me into this other addictive dimension. You can make real money by selling things that you make, things like clothes, avitars, furniture for your virtual house. The thing that really interested me is that I sometimes really miss designing, but I don’t miss the headaches associated with itº. I like the creative part but hate deadlines, customers, the level of detail it takes to produce a garment from thin air, dealing with people that barely speak English on the other side of the globe and just generally being beholden to anyone that is not myself or my rockstar husband. So, I’ve been spending all my time walking around Second Life learning and thinking.

Also, in SL all my ideas that “ARE SO CRAZY THEY JUST MIGHT WORK!”, could actually work. For instance, I can make a lawnmower that you can fly around on and cut down the tops of scripted trees. Also, that fantastic idea about making a car out of the futon that I came up with, and at the time really thought could work perfectly, while laying on said futon and tripping on acid could be a reality.§

‡ We’ve been trying to come up with better names than “RV”, but none of them are sticking. If anyone has any ideas on that subject, feel free to comment.

ª For those of you who don’t know every detail of my very life, I designed clothing for a large “urban” company (urban: read all the gear you see on BET) for about six years. It started out great but an unfortunate set of circumstances eventually sucked the life out of me. I thought I would never want to design another thing in my life. It’s very similar to the feeling I have at the mention of screwdrivers (the drink, not the tool) after a exceptionally spectacular night of binge drinking and almost drowning in a bathtub.

§ In this post, I’ve made a few references about being exceptionally drunk and stoned. This was quite some time ago. Age and the desire to not be hung over and live life in a general depressed malaise has wizened me up some.