SATURDAY, 15 APRIL, 2000, PHILADELPHIA

Here, I thought y’all would enjoy this picture of a gawthick gardener. Fah-REEEEK! A few weeks ago as spring seemed to have a pretty good foothold into the tail end of winter (pre-sudden snowstorm last week — who knew?) I awoke, hungover as yoozh, bad back screaming. My chum Mike came over to help me plan my garden, turn the soil, &c. In actuality, he did most of the work himself while I rehydrated and squoze my achin’ back, snarling at the world in my white plastic lawn chair. But I did try to do a little work myself. My hangover and inability to move prohibited me from rummaging about the closet looking for appropriate gardening clothes, so I threw on whatever was nearest — black jeans, wing tip shoes, etc. Portia dropped by and saw me smoking, holding a shovel, dressed in this ridiculous manner. And she laughed at me. No, but like in a really mean way. “Gawthick Gardener!” she howled. Hmmmm, I thought, y’ain’t seen nuttin’ yet! Ran upstairs, fucked up my hair redid my nails in black and came back down with the camera. “This is Gawthick Gardener!” I said as I posed. Oh, life is a farce, tra-la.