Drawn to arrogance

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Dennis Johnson was an arrogant man, an ass even. He treated his assistant like a menial, he saved his attention for the powerful and influential in the room, he practically raised writers from infancy, he made money at publishing poetry and he generally electrified any space he occupied.

Dennis is dead at 58. (http://www.bookcentre.ca/news/dennis_johnson_19522011)

I admired him greatly. He built a press that was incomparable in it’s milieu, he championed the industry and he was very, very successful in an arena that chewed up and spat out presses annually. How do you eulogized a man like this? How do you celebrate his magnificence?

I’m going to raise a glass.

To Dennis… I’ll grab some cash at the ATM for you and meet you at the bar.

Can you say disaster?

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Well, we’re moving. Or at least I am. Zak’s still working and not packing and Leslie’s up to here eyeballs in marking still.

But I’m puttering along by myself. Sam’s already moved and freaked out and Art is left behind with Zak and freaked by the lack of furniture. We are supposed to be done by Xmas but I doubt it.

Anyway, this is the remnants of our old home. I’ll post some pics later of the new one…

Can you spell Stoopid Kat?

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Artemis isn’t allowed outside, and since she really wanted to meet a fireman, she had to get creative…

Alas for her, I managed to fish her off from the ledge. I wonder what she’ll try next?