I have a thing about using up the dregs of stuff. Shampoo, conditioner, tissues, mayonnaise, paper, tooth paste, soy sauce, gas (well, no one wants to use up the very end of their gas, but if my tank gets below half full, I get nervous), and ink are all objects of my particular “cannot use it up” obsession. Don’t ask me why, because I have no explanation for it. It’s not like not finishing it–whatever it may be on any given occasion–off is gaining me anything, because it might as well be completely gone for all the good it does me.
Right now, it’s ink, in particular, that is giving me fits. The black cartridge for my Epson printer is nearly kaput, thanks to Pandora, who keeps stepping on the on switch whenever she walks over the top of it. Which she does about eighty times each day. Every time she turns it on, it goes through a self-cleaning cycle, which wastes ink. One of these days I’ll get around to moving and/or covering it, to keep the cat from walking on it. In the meantime, I have to go buy a new black cartridge.
I’m also almost out of India ink, as well. I’ve been using my dip pen a lot lately, and have managed to burn through most of a 2oz bottle of brown. Lord only knows where my bottle of black is, but it’s of no use to me, as I cannot locate it. Hrmph. So, I ordered a bottle of black, two of brown, and a bottle of cleaner, which I’m also nearly out of.
In ancient art news, wouldn’t you just hate to be the person who trips, falls, and destroys three–three!–Qing vases? That must engender the sort of shame one never, ever, lives down. I mean never. My question is, why on earth were the vases in such a vulnerable position? Protecting its objects from harm is a museum’s first priority, so displaying them in such a way that someone can trip and take out three of them at once seems a bit careless to me.
red paper boat 