I went to my favorite thrift store yesterday in search of that mythical Red Conference Blazer worn to AWP, MLA, etc by the children of Thanatos and said to telegraph the perfect blend of premature professionalization of one's creative practice and despair all at once--but no dice. I've gained weight over the past couple years on account of no longer being subjected to my own erratic cooking, and it confuses my own aesthetic: not just that I don't fit in my old clothes (thus I will not be wearing my chic Argus Panoptes sweater, covered in eyes, this year--even if it is the ultimate in Foucauldian fashion statements), but that my body image--scrawny, androgynous--is out of sync with my actual self. The end result is that I have no idea what looks good on me anymore. I'm Rubenesque, I kept exclaiming to my sweetheart yesterday. I should just wear Russian dressing and a sauerkraut scarf! Which reminds me of that Cat & Girl cartoon I ran across in an issue of, I forget, maybe Smartish Pace, about a decade ago.