An acquaintance spotted me sketching this weekend and surreptitiously took this shot. As you can see, I'm sporting my Kavanagh© Edition Moleskine. But I'm not really happy about this. You see, I share the belief of primitive tribes that a photograph robs the subject of vital essences. And I'm running a little short of vital essences these days. I checked my dipstick over the weekend, and I'm about a quart low. So please, refrain from trying to snap that lucky photo that's going to make you rich. Truth is, the only tabloid that'll pay you for a shot of me is that one that runs stories about aliens meeting with the President and hairless gorillas giving birth to two-headed unicorns with birthmarks in the likeness of Holy Mary Mother of God on their butts. And they won't pay you much; I supply them with all they need, but I'll admit that I'm getting good and tired of those Brazilian wax jobs to make me look like a hairless gorilla. Puts a crimp in my social life too, if you take my meaning.