Three Examples of Wild and Innovative Architecture

This piano and cello house is located in Huainan City, An Hui Province in China. A staircase or an escalator inside the glass cello takes visitors up to the piano building which serves as a performance and practice hall for music students from the local college. It also acts as a planning exhibition hall for the developing region, displaying city development plans.

What an intriguing place to visit! I wonder if you would feel like you were "in a fishbowl" while in that transparent cello. Perhaps you would, but the view from inside must be so spectacular.

How would you like to stay in the hotel above? This is the Inntel Hotel in Zaandam, near Amsterdam, in The Netherlands. My mother would call this structure "hockerjawed," a term that does not seem to be a real term at all. I've never found "hockerjawed" in a dictionary. Maybe, somewhere down the line, one of my Midwestern ancestors invented their own word. Whopperjawed, however, is a real term of sorts I found in online slang dictionaries, and hockerjawed is synonymous with it, meaning askew or crooked.

This crazy hotel looks like a lot of of traditional Dutch houses stacked Jenga style. I imagine a child creatively stacking a series of Lego houses one upon another. I'm sure, however, the architect, Wilfried Van Winden, had an entirely different method.

According to Jonathan Glancey in "The Guardian" online, the architect based the appearance of these stacked houses on traditional homes ranging from a stately notary's dwelling to workers' cottages. On the top of the structure is a blue house based on one that was painted by Claude Monet on a trip to Zaandam.

Below is Claude Monet's "Blue House in Zaandam."

I like the Monet painting, but the house is painted at such an angle that you do not see the curvy Dutch style gable as visible in the hotel.

How about an upside-down house? Is that sufficiently hocker/whopper...askew for you?

This house is not really a home but an exhibit open to the public on the island of Usedom in Germany. According to "The Telegraph," the house was designed by Polish partners, Klausdiusz Golos and Sebastian Mikiciuk, for the Edutainment exhibition company.

There is even furniture affixed to the ceiling. It looks like something Hildi Santo-Tomas of "Trading Spaces" would do. (In fact, she did affix furniture to the ceiling in one episode.)

Wandering through this upside-down exhibit, I think you'd feel a bit like Fred Astaire doing his famous dance on the ceiling.

If walls slanted inward at the bottom, rather than at the top, is not sufficiently confusing, how must it feel to stand beneath an upside-down toilet?

What's next? A room based on M.C. Escher's "Relativity?"

"How To Tell a Prince from a Frog" -- Interview with Artist and Author Christine Kerrick

Christine Kerrick is a wonderful and talented artist. She is a friend I know only through facebook, but I've admired her art for a while.

I've enjoyed her whimsical art like this one.

And her art centered on spiritual themes...

When I found out she had a book coming out, "How To Tell a Prince From a Frog: Law Enforcement Techniques For Knowing Who You're Dating," I knew I could get behind her with it.

I told Christine that I joke sometimes that I should write a book called "Dates From Hell and How To Avoid Them."

I know some princes. Three of them are my biological brothers. Some of them are my Christian brothers, and some have already found their princesses. I'm grateful for the good guys in my life.

But, I've also known some frogs. I seem to attract them. The froggiest of frogs and the wartiest of toads have hopped out of the bog to either date me or be my admirer. I've known a frog with a prison record, a frog who ended up in prison some time after I was no longer in contact with him, a frog with a drug abuse history, a frog with mental illness, who was also a liar and manipulator, and frogs who showed warning signs that they had the capacity to be abusive (although I was not the victim of it) either sexually or physically. My experiences were short-lived, because I did see the warning signs. I did not pick up these men (ahem, frogs) in bars. I met them in what should be the safest of all places to meet a potential mate, in church.

I apologize to any reader who may be avoiding church with the thought that the church is full of hypocrites, because the above statement would seem to confirm your fear. The father of Corrie Ten Boom, a Christian Dutch woman who hid Jews in her home during the Holocaust, once said, "Just because a mouse gets into the cookie jar doesn't make him a cookie." Just like that mouse in the cookie jar, going to church by itself doesn't necessarily make a person a Christian. Even Jesus Himself talked about hypocrites whom He likened to "whitened sepulchres" and false prophets whom He called wolves in sheep's clothing. Notice that if there are wolves in sheep's clothing among the flock, there is also a true flock.

In Matthew 10:16, Jesus says to His disciples, "Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves." In other words, we should be harmless but not naive. Christine's book should equip you to be "wise as a serpent."

Her book addresses how to pick up on clues of your date's character, whether good or bad, and how to recognize red flags.

Christine Kerrick was born and raised in West Chester, Pennsylvania and received a BFA in illustration from the University of the Arts in Philadelphia. Christine has some other book projects in the works as well as six published comic books which, of course, she illustrated herself.

One of Christine Kerrick's comic books below:

"How To Tell a Prince From a Frog" also features several of Christine's illustrations.

"I love writing fiction and have written six comic books. I am working on a couple of novels and have finished (but not published) a children's book. I'm working on a second one," she said.

Christine told me she felt inspired to write her current book "when I met one final Frog who lied to me and manipulated me and those around me."

Christine's artwork below, "Sweet Nothings," is intended to represent a sweet-talking liar.

"I wondered how this could happen and how I could let someone so dangerous slip past me. As I started researching things, I saw that other women had encountered dangerous men like this one too," she said.

The book is aimed towards single women of any age, not necessarily towards teenagers or young women.

Christine feels that her personal experiences have given her the wisdom to write this book.

"I couldn't have written this before that final experience with deception. I have also done extensive research in the years following and talked to scores of women about their experiences, all of whom share many common threads as far as how these Frogs deceived, what they said, the repetitive nature of their sins and the fact that the women 'knew' something was off but went ahead anyway," said Christine.

I noted that the title of the book sounds humorous and asked if the book's content was humorous.

"It is humorous off and on, but focuses on teaching and encouragement," said Christine. "It is a heavy subject, so I tried to inject humor whenever I could."

Christine expressed that frogs can be found in other contexts besides dating such as in business or acquaintance type relationships.

"This isn't to say we should condemn people but be able to know the signs that they are being deceptive and be wise enough to either confront the topic with them or leave and move on. In a dating realm, it is better to move on when you experience deception. Someone who lies to you or otherwise deceives you is not someone who will make a trustworthy spouse," she stated.

Purchase Christine's new book on Amazon and learn to distinguish a prince from a frog!

Primitive Art and Child Art -- Miro vs. Olmstead

A friend of mine recently talked to me about surrealist artist Joan Miro and said, "It looked like something a five-year-old would draw." Looking at this one, the painting "Sonnens" above, I tend to agree with my friend. It certainly looks like something a five-year-old would do. Actually, come to think of it, it reminds me somewhat of Wall-E from the Pixar movie, only Wall-E was much more skillfully rendered. It hardly took the skill to make this painting as it did for Michelangelo to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel or sculpt the "David," so it does make you wonder how this is just as museum worthy as Michelangelo.

Anyone else see a resemblance?



According to Wikipedia,"Earning international acclaim, his work has been interpreted as Surrealism, a sandbox for the subconscious mind, a re-creation of the childlike, and a manifestation of Catalan pride. In numerous interviews dating from the 1930s onwards, Miró expressed contempt for conventional painting methods as a way of supporting bourgeois society, and famously declared an 'assassination of painting' in favor of upsetting the visual elements of established painting." So, "childlike" is actually mentioned in one of the opening paragraphs of the article. Obviously, my friend and I are not the only ones who've made such an observation.

Just like not all Picasso's paintings were cubist and some had more realism, for example, "The Old Man with Guitar," so Miro does have a few paintings that show a little bit more realism. I can't say the painting below, "Painting of Toledo" looks like something a five-year-old would do. It is a bit of a surrealist landscape with the unnatural colors and wavy lines in the foreground, and even the more realistic building is only semi-realistic, but I don't mind it quite so much. As a whole, it makes me think of some of the Post-Impressionists like Van Gogh or Cezanne. I can see it as a stylistic sort of illustration for, say, a fantasy story of some sort. When my focus is on the foreground, I'm reminded more of psychedelic art.



Many of Miro's paintings I've observed are more similar to the one below, "The Red Sun," an abstract and odd assortment of peculiar shapes with a lot of use of primary colors. His paintings may show a sense of balance and a use of vibrating color, but there is not an incredible amount of skill involved that is different or superior than what a lot of other artists could easily do. According to www.joanmiro.com, "Joan Miro had a very eccentric style that is the embodiment of his unique approach to his artwork." I suppose that's what is unique about him, that he defined his own style, one that may be as difficult to imitate convincingly as some individual's quirky handwriting. I wonder if anyone has tried to forge an "undiscovered" Miro? His quirky style is, however, not something I prefer. Much of the modern art in museums seem more like philosophical statements, in his case maybe the "assassination of art," than works of superior skill.



Recently, I have read about a six-year-old abstract artist, Maria Olmstead, who is selling her paintings for big bucks. When it comes to Miro vs. Olmstead, I prefer the actual child paintings to the childlike Miro paintings.

This is not something the average six-year-old paints. For instance,I remember a painting my nephew Bill created as a child where colors were swirled together and turned into a muddy puddle. No offense to Bill. His skills lie elsewhere, in math and in computer programming. :) Olmstead's painting style may not be realistic, and it may be somewhat random, but it is also a very pleasing pattern of texture and color. There is, I think, a place for that in the world of art and design. Below is her painting "Lollipop House."


I do realize that artistic preferences are somewhat subjective. "Lollipop House" is not likely a painting I would love to have framed on my wall, because my preference for wall art is more representational than abstract. It is something that I feel would be a great design for any number of textiles or fabrics, rugs, scarves, etc., where the design is repeated over a large surface. What is your preference, child artist Olmstead or childlike artist Miro?

The Mystery of the Cross

(I'm republishing a book review I wrote in 2009, so the book is no longer a recent release.)

I was one of those strange people that liked my freshman requirement humanities class at Cedarville University, in spite of numerous warnings from other students. Later, as a Gibbs College student, art history was again a subject of interest. So, when author, Judith Couchman, was looking for blog reviewers for her new book, “The Mystery of the Cross: Bringing Ancient Christian Images to Life,” the idea intrigued me and I volunteered.

Couchman is the author of many Bible study books, including several my girlfriends and I have studied together from the “Women of Faith” series: ones on Mary (mother of Jesus,) Deborah, Esther and Ruth. She is also a part-time art history professor at the University of Colorado in Colorado Springs. Her new book explores the history of Christian art, specifically cross images.

Certainly, the book could appeal to anyone interested in art, but it would not be quite right to say it was simply an art history book. “The Mystery of the Cross” could be a lesson in Christian church history, a Bible study book and a devotional book as well.

Her writing style is interesting and descriptive; you will not get the feeling of reading a dry textbook. Although it relates to art and several specific pieces are mentioned, it is not full of color images but there are plenty of black and white sketches and photos throughout. The book is divided into seven major sections with several short chapters organized under each. Each of these chapters focuses on a specific art object, explores its historical context, and from this, Couchman draws illustrations for an aspect of the Christian life, sharing Scripture verses.

Couchman’s first chapter even discusses the cross image in pre-Christian times. Counchman thoughtfully states, “Some skeptics claim this ancient sign of the cross disproves Christianity. Because this image recurred in early divergent cultures, they claim Christ’s story wasn’t true; that the first Christians borrowed ‘the cross myth; and its sign from pre-existing religions. But couldn’t the God who oversees the universe and its events have etched the cross image into humanity’s soul before Christ appeared? Could this early sign have prophesied our need for a savior? Perhaps, when the pagan ancients created their own gods and religious signs, they unwittingly patterned the way of Christ.”



Tied in with this thought is something gained from a second book, “The Real Meaning of the Zodiac” by Dr. James Kennedy, Ph.D, in which Kennedy says, “Therefore from the very beginning, God has given a story of His salvation from which have come most of the ancient mythologies and ancient traditions.” Kennedy claims that the constellations have Christian meaning, quoting a verse in Genesis, “And God said, ‘Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs and for seasons and for days and years…” This is truly a strange thought for someone who has long been taught that the study of astrology is evil. Kennedy doesn’t argue that point, quoting Bible verses that support this idea, but believes that astrology and predicting the future by the stars is a corruption of their original meaning.

The Southern Cross is a decan or minor sign which is sometimes seen and sometimes not seen in the sky at different times and centuries. Kennedy wrote of this, “It is interesting that this constellation, though it is now far to the south from the latitude of Jerusalem, had been seen there for many centuries, but disappeared from view at almost exactly the same time that Christ, the real Sacrifice, died on the cross. It has not been seen there since!”

Reading either book is recommended. Reading Couchman’s book, you will be sure to discover things you never knew or pondered about before. She easily weaves one thought in with another, leading you on a tour of the world’s Christian art treasures and yet bringing to thought Bible lessons and Christian applications for your personal life.

"Leonardo" Notebooks

I was inspired recently to start a project with a friend, to share a Leonardo-style notebook. Here is my first entry from that shared notebook.

Today, I hatched a crazy idea that will help us both develop our creativity and our writing as well as help us bond.

I've been reading a book called "How to Think Like Leonardo DaVinci" by Michael J. Gelb. DaVinci is a fascinating person to me. He was not only a great artist but a great inventor and a talented genius in all sorts of areas, the reason why, today, a multi-talented person is called a "Renaissance man."

 The concept behind the book I'm reading is not that anybody can learn to be a genius on DaVinci's level but that everybody can learn from DaVinci's approach to learning and creativity. The book makes suggestions for exercises and one of those suggestions is to keep a notebook like DaVinci. You may have seen replicas of his drawings, sketches for his inventions and writings

This reminds me of the time when I read "The Journals of Rachel Scott" years ago. Rachel Scott was one of the teen girls who was killed in the Columbine shooting. Like Cassie Bernall, Rachel Scott was a devout Christian, and her journals illustrate her faith. The published journals we direct replicas of the original, showing both her handwriting and all the doodles and sketches with which she illustrated them. At the time, I also learned that Rachel Scott shared journals with several of her friends. She'd make an entry, exchange the journal with a friend who would write her piece and back and forth. This actually inspired me when I wrote about two female friends in my novel, "And the Violin Cried." The two friends share a journal that is a combination of a journal, sketchbook and scrapbook.

The back cover of one of Rachel Scott's last journals



My youth novel


So, my suggestion is that we combine these ideas and share a Leonardo notebook, Rachel Scott style! We can exchange the notebook every time we see each other and make at least a small entry each day we have it in our keeping.

Like Leonardo's notebook, the notebook should have both textual and visual elements.

Ideas for textual elements: a letter to one another, random thoughts, a poem, a story idea or the beginnings of one, a journal entry about happenings in the day, quotes from a song, Scripture or anything inspirational, slice-of-life writing (Look up Wikipedia article on slice-of-life writing or the lyrics to "Tom's Diner" by Suzanne Vega, an example of slice-of-life writing) or basically anything.

Ideas for visual elements: sketches and doodles (They don't have to super artistic,) a comic strip, a candy wrapper, ticket stubs, a short article clipping, pictures cut from catalogs or magazines...endless possibilities.

Makoto Fujimura

I'm not sure I'm always a fan of abstract art, but I've been reading lately about Makoto Fujimura. He is a Christian abstract artist. Philadelphia Biblical University, where my brother and his wife graduated, was the first Christian institution to commission one of his paintings.

I liked this painting for its shades of blue and green. Blue can be soothing and can have a celestial ethereal effect.

According to what I read in "Saving Leonardo" by Nancy Pearcey, Fujimura uses an ancient Japanese technique called nihonga, and uses ground up precious stones such as gold leaf, lapis and malachite as pigments. Fujimura said, "Shall we be suspicious of fireworks spreading their abstraction over a summer sky? Or wave patterns created on the sand? What about classical music or jazz? Life is full of abstraction."

He is working on an illuminated version of the four gospels which I think is really neat. For more information, check out this link. http://www.crossway.org/blog/2010/11/makoto-fujimuras-illuminated-gospel-book-project%E2%80%94the-four-holy-gospels/

First Chapter of Contemporary Fiction

Here is the first chapter of a work in progress, a yet un-named novel. The working title for the novel is "Desert Flowers," although it takes place far from a desert setting. The title was taken from a line of poetry composed by the main character who compares herself to a desert flower. I am rethinking that title, since it seems misleading, indicating either a romance or a prairie story, and it is neither. I'd be interested to know if Linda Bradshaw seems like a character worth reading about...

Chapter One

Mystery

Linda Bradshaw stood in front of the microphone and swallowed hard. Initially, there was always a little stage fright but that dissipated. As she sang, she always felt as if she took on a different persona like an actress in a movie, and somehow this helped with the nerves.

First, the Celtic drum started from the drum machine, building in volume. Linda rocked on her feet from heel to toe. Then the synthesizer with a spacey chime setting started in and next the electric violin and driving electric guitars, building layer upon layer of sound.

Linda began to sing, her voice powerful and clear in tone, “You’re everywhere, and you’re nowhere, the invisible guest…” She flung her arms out to the sides, twisting from the waist like a washing machine, resting her voice as the guitars broke in. As she turned from side to side, she was aware of the triangle she formed with the Jones brothers, Mike and Jake, each one swaying both body and guitar. She continued to sing, and with computer accompaniment, her own voice harmonized, singing a descant over the more alto range melody she sang. It was the magic of technology and the result of her cooperation with Mike, using some sound software in an elective class at the high school.

“An unwanted intruder, impossible conundrum, your spirit won’t rest …” The computer played her voice layering over her live one, overlapping as in a round with some special echoey effects. She rested from singing and just the instruments played. The synthesizer switched to a voice setting, sounding like an alien choir from outer space. Linda could envision Kevin Van Dyne behind her, playing as she’d seen him do hundreds of times, his eyes closed, his fingers still finding the right keys.

Linda stretched her arms out to the side. With her eyes, she traced the outline of her right arm to the fingertips just as Nicole Howard lifted her electric violin, its hourglass shape just a framework in a stunning metallic blue. She placed the instrument to her chin and played hauntingly and with building passion and volume. Linda moved in motion to the music, rolling her shoulders and moving her arms in almost swim-like strokes. Her sleeves dangled and swished. They were tight at the elbow and flared in rows of ruffles to the wrist.

She rotated to the right just as Mike, who had set down his guitar, started with the theramin, manipulating radio waves with the motion of his hand. It was the instrument that made the spooky noise in the Beach Boys’ “Good Vibrations.” As she spun completely around, she caught a brief glimpse of the Power Point projections on the wall, Kat Anderson’s contribution, artsy digital photos manipulated in Photoshop. An image of a strange long hallway flickered by, then a flash of an empty room and then Kat herself, standing in a room, partially transparent, a wall painting and a sofa showing behind and through her.

Linda began to sing again, “The air is thick with you, and yet you are not there. A hallucination, a pervading atmosphere…” A crack of thunder sounded from the computer. And then her words and song returned to the beginning, “You’re everywhere, and you’re nowhere, an invisible guest…” She spun as she sang, moving her arms from side to side, strokes in the air that passed her face. “And I do not know if I want you to come or go…” The theramin sounded again its peculiar and wavery tones.

“But this much I do know, you have the un-Midas touch, and in your wake, everything disintegrates to rust….” There was a sound clip of shattered glass and a moment later, all the instruments came to a dissonant finale.

There was quiet and silence for a moment or two followed by applause. “Thank you,” said Linda. “We hope to come back to the Quite a Latte coffee shop in future dates. We’re working on putting a CD together so you can look out for that. Check out our website at www.barbaricyawps.com.”

After another burst of applause, the audience turned their attention to their coffees and each other, and in some cases, their laptops. Linda unplugged her microphone, wrapping the cord around it, and began to help the band tear down the equipment.

When she first went out to mingle, it was Kat she noticed first. She was straddling her chair backwards, her legs sprawling out. She had her head tilted to one side, sending her dark, streaked and color-treated hair flowing over one shoulder. Her left ear was exposed showing off a row of silver loops that trailed from her ear lobe to the crown of her ear. “Great show, Lin. I don’t know how you do it. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. I try to sing along with the radio, and people tell me I’m just singing the same note over and over again,” she said. Kat’s voice came out in a husky laugh.

Linda was temporarily reminded of her sister. Kat was feminine in her own way but had a bit of the tomboy about her.

“Your photos are great though, Kat. Thank you for that. They’re really great. I bet you could sell them. You should talk to the manager here. I bet he’d let you display some in frames, and you could see if you get any bites.”

Kat swiped her hand through her hair. “Really? I don’t know, but thanks.” Kat sipped a coffee drink through a straw, something topped with whipped cream and syrup. “These things are great. I don’t remember what it is, a caramel mocha latte something-or-other. Whoever invented making a drink from a coffee bean was some kind of genius.” She motioned to a chair across the table. “Sit down.”

Lin sat, and Kat turned herself around on her chair.

“I love your skirt,” Kat said. “Where’d you find that?”

Linda looked down over her lap, a short denim skirt painted all over with colorful concentric circles. Her two stick figure legs in black pin-striped tights poked out from the skirt, and the whole ensemble was topped off with an incongruous pair of tweed knee-high Converse boots. They looked very much like the Converse sneaker that just happened to lace all the way up to the knee. “I made it.”

“Get out! No, you didn’t. The girl who can do everything…”

“Yeah. I took a pair of jeans, my sister’s actually, cut them, and just sewed them into a skirt. Then I painted it.”

“You are so talented. Could you make one for me?”

“If you have a pair of jeans, you can give me, sure. But I wouldn’t do the same design. I never make the same design twice.”

“I have jeans I can give you, and you can surprise me with the design. I trust you. How much would you charge?”

“Twenty?” This wasn’t the first time Linda had come across this situation, but she never knew how much to charge.

“Only twenty? How about forty?”

“If you insist.” Linda smiled briefly. A second of awkward silence followed, and Linda looked at her lap then at the table, studying the intricacies of the infinitely repeating fractal design on the table top.

“You write the songs, don’t you?” Kat asked.

“Yes. Sometimes, Mike helps. He’ll add things and expand on it.”

“But you write the words?”

“Yeah.” Linda’s voice came out in a mere breath. She stared out across the coffee shop at the customers leaving and walking out to their cars parked on the street, at the traffic going by.

“Where do you get your ideas?”

“I’m not sure. They just come to me.”

“I liked the last one.”

“Thanks.” Linda folded her hands below the table, flexing her fingers against one another, making the knuckles turn white.

“I keep thinking about it ever since you put me to work on the photos. ‘You’re everywhere, and you’re nowhere…’ It’s so mysterious and spooky. I keep trying to guess your meaning.” Kat’s hazel eyes seemed to look off into the distance then at the light fixture above them.

Linda swiped her fingers through her bangs, angled bangs that hung over her eyes. Her landlady called it her sheepdog look.

“OMG!” Kat set her plastic cup down hard on the table. Her eyes grew wide for a moment and then softened in a sympathetic look. “You lost someone. Someone died?” Her eyebrows rose quizzically.

A cold sensation crept down the back of Linda’s neck, but she willed her face to remain expressionless. “No.” Kat wasn’t right, but she wasn’t so far off from the truth either. Linda picked up her purse, one made from recycled 45 rpm records. She pulled it onto her lap and began to fish through it. “How much for one of those latte things?”

“I’m sorry, Lin.”

“No need to be sorry. You said it yourself. It’s mysterious. It’s intended to be mysterious.” Items passed absent-mindedly through Linda’s hands: her folder of coupons, her house key, a couple of pens and a notebook. She didn’t have the money for a latte. She had the money technically, but though she craved one, it would be a three or four dollar luxury and a waste she’d regret later. She dropped the purse to the side, her face feeling hot and prickly.

“You want me to treat?” Kat asked. “I’ve got some cash. What do you want?”

Linda shook her head. “Nah, I changed my mind. What are you doing in photography class this week?”

“Old black and white photos that we’re scanning and colorizing in Photoshop. I have this photo of my great grandmother in this 1920’s style bathing suit, the kind with little knickers that go down to the knee. It’s hysterical. I’m going to do something with that.” Kat twirled a hank of hair around her finger. “Are you sure you don’t want a coffee?”

Mike walked over then, and Linda breathed a sigh of relief. “Kevin’s inviting us all to his house,” he said.

Linda picked up her bag and stood to her feet.

“Cool. Let’s go then,” said Kat.

“We just need to pack the gear in the van,” said Mike, gesturing with two thumbs towards the door.

Linda headed towards the stage corner of the coffee house and picked up two mic stands and microphones. Turning her head, she looked over to where she’d been sitting. In spite of his own instructions, Mike stood there talking with Kat where she had just a moment or two earlier. She was just glad to be free of the burden of conversation. She carried her load out to the sidewalk where Kevin’s old van awaited.

Outside in the chill fall night air, Kevin jingled the van keys in his hand, his red-blond hair blowing in the night breeze and streaming past his shoulder. “Well, my parents will be out all night at one of their functions…” He emphasized the last word with sarcasm. “And I’ve got booze. So, pile in and let’s go.”

Kat hugged her denim jacket closer around her. “I’m not in the band, but I’ll be your groupie. Can I come?”

Kevin gestured with his hands wide. “You did all that great photo work, and you operated Power Point. You practically are in the band. Come on.”

“Ooh, coffee and booze all in one night. Can you have coffee with booze?”

“Yes, yes, you can,” said Kevin. “Coffee with Kahlua, coffee with Irish cream, coffee with crème de menthe…”

Linda stood aside as Kat, Mike, Jake, Kevin and Nicole piled into the van. She shivered. She’d forgotten a jacket. She hadn’t exactly forgotten. Her jacket was sitting by her sewing machine at home waiting to be made decent again.

Mike poked his head out at Linda. “Come on, Lin. Get in.”

“I can’t….”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t. I have to study for my French test…”

“It’s Friday night. Who studies for a French test on Friday night?”

“And I have a paper on King Henry VIII.”

“Aw, come on, Lin. Can’t you do it tomorrow and procrastinate like any normal person?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll come to Kev’s house another time.” Linda stood on the sidewalk, hugging her arms for warmth.

“Well? What are you doing?” Mike asked.

“Going home. I’ll see you Monday, okay?”

“Can’t you at least let us drop you off at the house?”

“It’s okay. I was going to walk. I like walking.”

“You’re being weird, Lin,” said Mike as he unfastened his seat belt and climbed out of the van. Once his feet hit the sidewalk, he turned and poked his head in at Kevin. “I’ll see you a little later, Kev. Let me walk Lin home. All right. See ya.” And with that, he swung the van door closed.

“Why do you have to be weird? You have friends, and you push them away,” Mike told Linda.

“Sorry. It’s nothing personal really.” Lin shrugged her shoulders, but this time she couldn’t stop the shivers that ran down her body.

“You prefer to walk, but you’re freezing to death.” Mike removed his black leather jacket and placed it over her shoulders.

Lin slipped her arms through the sleeves and pulled the coat around her. “Thanks Mike.”

“You’re not supposed to let a girl walk home by herself at this time of night.”

Linda was surprised at his idea of chivalry, but then again, here was a guy who was absorbed with King Arthur and medieval fantasy games. “You don’t have to do that. I can take care of myself. I’m a big girl. I’m not afraid.”

“And there you go again.” Mike swung his arm towards her in gesture.

The overhead light above the Quite a Latte coffee house shone down on Mike’s hair, illuminating his short bleached and two-toned spikes. Linda was tempted to reach up and touch it to see if they felt like porcupine quills. She refrained. “Sorry. You can walk with me.” She turned to the right and started walking along the sidewalk, Mike walking beside her.

“Don’t you have any explanation?”

“Explanation?”

“Aside from your French test?”

“Yeah. I have an explanation. I don’t drink.”
“You don’t drink. Okay, you don’t drink. I can respect that. You wouldn’t have to get totally smashed just to be with us. You could be the designated…. Nah, I guess that wouldn’t work… Look what we’re doing. Then again, you could just carry us home in your arms.”
“That’s just pathetic.” Still, Linda smiled at that, catching the spirit of his joke and the ridiculousness of it all. The idea of walking across town, lugging his heavy limp body across her back was both pathetic and ridiculous.

Exotic and sometimes enticing smells piped out of the row of restaurants they passed: Caribbean jerk, Thai and now Greek. Linda looked through the restaurant window, staring at a group of Grecian urns arranged beneath a tasseled and white lacy curtain.

It was Mike who started to speak again. “Don’t you know alcohol inspired all the great ones? Ernest Hemingway, Tennessee Williams, Dorothy Parker, William Faulkner, Jack Kerouac, Miles Davis, Jon Bonham of Led Zeppelin, Bon Scott of AC/DC… Either that or opium, because then there was Edgar Allan Poe and Lewis Carroll. Okay, either alcohol, opium or LSD, because then there was the Beatles… the Beatles and half the other great bands of the ‘60’s. Okay, the list could go on. It’s part of being an artist.”

“Yeah, but maybe it doesn’t have to be.” Linda kicked a pebble along the path.

“Okay, so you’re a dry artist. As long as your imagination’s not dry.”

Linda looked over at Mike. He wore a black sleeveless shirt that exposed what seemed like a new tattoo, the head of a Labrador retriever. It was still pink around the edges and maybe a little goose bumped like the rest of his arm. “Is that new?” Linda pointed but was afraid to touch it. It looked sore.

“Yeah. Don’t laugh. It’s my dog, King. He died. I loved my dog.”

“I’m not laughing.” Linda had never had a dog, but she liked the idea of having one.

They passed a jazz club on the corner, lounge jazz and sliding saxophone notes pouring out onto the street.

“You know, I was talking to Kat,” Mike said. “She thought you were acting a bit weird too. She likes you, you know, Lin. She’d like to get to know you.”

“I like Kat. I don’t dislike her. We made a business deal. I’m making her a jean skirt.”

You know I’ve never even been to your house, Lin?”

His comment seemed unrelated but was related somehow. “You wouldn’t want to…” The wind blew just then, and a can skittered across the path, making a clatter as it scraped across the pavement. Linda wasn’t sure Mike heard. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to hear. She didn’t repeat it.

They walked on until they reached Dave’s Guitars, and it was only natural that they both stopped to admire. Peeking in the storefront window, she eyed a wide variety of guitars, both electric and acoustic, in a range of shapes and colors. Her eyes were drawn to one decorated with roses and another with a Union Jack. “You don’t need to come with me any further. We’re right at Dumont. If you take North Dumont Ave. a couple of blocks, you’ll come to Kev’s street, and you can still make the party.”

Mike stepped a few paces back and looked up above the storefront, staring at the windows and the fire escape, guessing, Linda thought, that she lived in the apartment above the shop. She was quite willing to let him believe that if that’s what he wished. No guitarist could have a problem with living above a guitar shop. “Oh, here.” She removed his jacket and handed it back to him.

“You’re all right?”

“Yeah.” Linda nodded.

“Lin, you’re a mystery.” And putting the jacket on, he turned to head in the direction she’d pointed out.