Let's just call this untitled, shall we?

This week I had to write blurbs about Jasper Johns. The artist. I didn't really know too much about him until about the first week when I got here, when the following occurred:

Mark Pascale, Mr. Modern Prints Man: (while sprinting up to the second floor, clearly super excited about something) Anyone want to see the new Johns?
Me: We got new bathrooms upstairs?

In any other context, this could have been slightly less embarrassing. However, in a room full of people with phds in Art History and where they regularly say things like: "...and in this print here you can tell that the artist used tusche wash to smudge, and then used a tusche-dipped cheesecloth to stamp the linen, and with this it's clear that the artist is exploring the dark side of human nature," you learn real fast.

I finally ordered internet for the new apartment, which means that internet life might return to something that it was before. I make no promises, however. I promised myself about 5 months ago that I'd get a real mattress, yet I still find myself getting read to plop down on my air mattress every night. So promises? I can promise you that I will continue to make myself look like an ass.