That's what's just happened to me, and now I realize I've been neglecting my blogging duties.
Sorry, blog.
Happy 4th.
I was thinking - just now, actually - that I would love to be one of those artists who draw courtroom scenes. That, or a jewelry salesperson for Home Shopping Network. (Yeah, right. Like I have the hands for those kinds of close-ups).
I don't have the hands for those kinds of close-ups, but I may have the hands for drawing witnesses and testimonies, if I could cultivate the talent. Or learn it.
I know that my pictorial representations would liken more toward caricatures, the kinds you find at Disney World or Busch Gardens; and I would ultimately draw the guy I felt was guilty with an evil top-hat, mustache, and cane. Or the guilty lady would no doubt be displayed with miles of cleavage and voluptuous hair.
I like the idea of drawing courtroom scenes, it seems beautifully archaic, like cameras aren't invented in the world of the courtroom, so we have to rely on crayola's to get the point across.
There's another health-minute on TV, telling me I shouldn't smoke.
What, you believe everything you see on TV?
P.I. Staker
