That’s very kind of you.

Not at all!

The name of the last class is particularly interesting, since it’s supposed to be “shearing,” not “sharing.” Curiously, the typographic error hasn’t been corrected even after being reprinted year after year.

There’s a lot about rural Australia with which I’m unfamiliar. And, when it comes to sheep sharing, I think that’s a good thing.

“That’s an original line,” she sighed.

“That wasn’t a line, that was an invitation. Would you or would you not like to come back to my lab to look at my etching?” I repeated.

“What etchings?” Sylvia asked.

“Etching,” I replied.

I then explained that I only have one etching because that’s all I’ve ever made. I was at an open house at a print studio; the proprietors offered guests the opportunity to make an etching.

So I did.

I scratched the word “FLAW” along with an arrow pointing to a blemish on a copper printing plate. Having completed my piece in less than a minute, a studio assistant inked the plate and pulled it through the press. She took one look, then confused me by calling me “a clever boy.” I didn’t realize the basic principles of a letterpress, and so “FLAW” came out reversed, a mirror image of the word.

And that’s the story of my one and only etching. I kept the copper plate in case I want to make more prints, but I doubt I ever will. I like having my entire output of a single medium on one sheet of paper.

Finally, as an aside, Sylvia declined my invitation to see my etching.

“You tip well,” Bethan commented.

“Not really,” I replied. “A truly good tipper wouldn’t have waited until the burrito man was watching to pretentiously stuff the dollars into the jar one at a time.”

“I suppose so,” Bethan agreed.

“I wasn’t even being generous,” I admitted as I put the last of sixteen small salsa containers in the bag. “I just didn’t want to get into a discussion about why I was taking so much guacamole and salsa.”

That didn’t seem to make much sense, but since I occasionally have an open mind I decided to give it a try using both possibilities on Smith’s quote.

“Composing a rule a through other you written have idea vigor will your.”

“In as general run pen every word have you no what it give style.”

After a few weeks, though, I failed to appreciate the idyllic weather after clear blue skies punctuated by the occasional bracing fog became the norm. I decided to do something about it, and so it is that I’m in Buffalo, New York.

Buffalo is everything I expected: hot, humid, grey, and flat. It’s just as I remembered it.

I haven’t been here since 1979, when I was doing photo stories on toxic waste for Greenpeace. That was a long time ago. Most people have forgotten about Love Canal (the site of my first arrest when I illegally entered the evacuated dead zone with my cameras), and Lake Erie is no longer flammable.

Still, the region is rich in toxic waste. That’s why I brought half a case of wine with me to tide me over until I find a local source of potable beverages.

What a delightfully wretched place; I love it!

Masterpiece Sushi is advertised as, “authentic Japanese sushi” prepared by “oriental master chefs.” That may or may not be true. What I do know, thanks to a sake-fueled conversation I had with Yoshi a few weeks ago, is that Masterpiece Sushi is a company set up by Taiyo Fisheries to sell the fish rejected by discerning Japanese buyers. The fish of dubious quality is shipped to an automated food processing factory in the industrial port city of Yokohama. There, the sushi machines operate constantly, grinding out enough sushi to fill a huge container ship every four weeks.

Once a month, one of Taiyo’s refrigerated container ships leaves Yokohama, passes through the Panama Canal, then steams up St. Lawrence Seaway to Cleveland, Detroit, Milwaukee, and Chicago. And, as of May, Buffalo too!

Although Masterpiece Sushi is indisputably Japanese, no one could persuasively argue that month-old sushi is fresh. For the midwestern palette, that’s not a problem. My Buffalo friends report that Wally’s Diner serves a delicious Masterpiece Sushi dinner—with melted cheese, French fries, and cole slaw—for less than the cost of a Polish sausage dinner.

Masterpiece Sushi represents good value in an archetypal midwestern city like Buffalo.

Yawn.

While I was walking through the galleries in a vain search for art that still had a faint pulse, I saw a poster admonishing me to see and hear “Tree Wave.” The sign advised, “Go, or you’ll be sad.”

I foolishly followed the instructions, and found that “Tree Wave” was two Texans making mediocre music to accompany their mediocre video projections. Their gimmick was to use twenty-five year old computers, thus making their their work stylishly retro-twaddle instead of the more common techno-twaddle.

Yawn.