Enid Doll! Yeah, sounds super stupid right? Super kitsch, super vinyl, super fucking awesome are by far better ways to describe the Enid doll. I mean, this is almost better than Blythe...okay, almost. But really, Enid and I are kindred spirits. We belong together.

Remember my Blythe obsession though? I think that's one of the things from my childhood that never went away, like my obsession with Hello Kitty. But really who couldn't love a doll that has huge eyes that change colour? Really...Blythe goes hand in hand with my Polaroid camera and Sharpie collection, and my black book. Necessary things. Kind of like how William S. Burroughs carried around a box of "important/necessary things" wherever he went. My purse is filled with stuff like that. Except, I don't know what Burroughs might have carried around with him, I wonder if I could research that. People always ask me why I carry such a big bag (as in airline carry on size bag) everywhere. Necessity, I always say. And you know what? I never go anywhere unprepared. My bag has it all.

But mostly stuff that I could appreciate. Mostly books and cameras and writing/painting supplies. For some reason, over the past week, I've been keeping a pallette knife in my bag...For some reason I have this fear that I might one day need to paint acryllics and not have a pallette knife handy. It could happen, really it could.

But yes, I always have a copy of Ghost World, Howl, and Franny and Zooey in my bag, alongside with some kind of book on Zen Buddhism, or whatever Asian religion or philosophy I'm into that week. I think this week is a Hare Krishna book, but who knows...And I always have my Buddha pendant and other miscellaneous religious kitsch. I think one week I carried around a Saint Guadalupe candle for no reason. Am I absent minded or what?

But back to Blythe. I'm working on a photo project, a very cliche Blythe project of photographing your Blythe in various places. Its kind of like a cult thing. But, hey, I'm a photography major, so I guess it counts as art. And anyway, I remembered back to my old Blythe doll from when I was seven, and how Steinbeck accidentally decapitated her in my grandmother's art studio after a very serious game of super modeling with my Twiggy doll. Obviously Twiggy won...I guess death qualifies as disqualification in super modeling competitions. Oh well, as Deb. Harry always said, die young, stay pretty. Blythe rests peacefully, buried under my grandmother's grapefruit tree somewhere in central California. Is it normal that seven year olds have doll funerals?

God, no wonder Steinbeck and I are so fucked up.

Shit, I have to be at work at 6am. Damned SDMB!

xoxo

Lola