Wecome to the neighborhood

Tonight I saw Driving Lessons at Cinema Paradiso. In this film, Ben, a 17-year-old orange-haired boy lands a job as assistant to an aging actress with a deep passion for words, gardening, nature and wine -- lots of wine. After many failed attempts at driving under the watchful eye of his uptight, religion-obsessed, lonely mother, Ben's new artful mentor gives him a lesson in driving, and life, that he won't soon forget. Nor will I. While the basic storyline may not be original (It's very Harold and Maude) the tale was beautifully told. I cried and I laughed, a lot. On the drive home, I didn't even turn on the radio as I just wanted to reflect.

Oddly, I was one of literally only a handful of people in this old theater that was once a church. I was planning to drop a tile but there were so few people there, and they all seemed like regulars ... so I felt like if it was found soon, everyone would know it was me. So on the way home I stopped at the new Starbucks on Federal and Davie and got a cup of my favorite coffee and left this tile in the ladies' room. I don't want to become known as the restroom artist, but I'm still working up my courage to hide things more openly without feeling like everyone's watching me, which they clearly are not. I just don't wanna get caught because I don't want anyone to know it's me. There's something about the secret nature of this project that makes it feel more special.

The tile above is a character I call "Margaret." Her little story: Just because she reads books and listens to NPR, people think she's not fun. But they're wrong.