Spent the weekend in Phoenix. Hot. 114 degrees. The pool felt hot. As you walked anywhere near asphalt, the temperature assaulted you. Lungs felt hot. Smells were stronger.
Saw a great dance band Cold Shot and The Hurricane Horns at The Rhythm Room on E. Indian School. Stayed at an outrageously expensive hotel (The Phoenix Biltmore) for like $80.00 (thank you, Dave and Kayak.com alerts). Got to meet up with great friends for brunch today at the Grande Orange. Saw an incredible dust storm at sunset fill the horizon with purple orange gray. Hung out in the art section at Borders and purchased three books: "Pollock" (Emmerling), "de Kooning" (Hess), and "Why Art Cannot Be Taught" (Elkins). Read "Oranges and Sardines".
For some reason I was taken with the pool furniture and the blue and tan everywhere. I liked the way things were left by people: crumpled towels; two cups with red straws; two chairs facing each other. The presence still there but the people gone. And something about all the blue. Maybe because it was so hot and blue is supposed to be cool. The sun was so intense it created hard shadows and vivid colors. In Borders later in the day, I picked up a David Hockney monograph. I love the blue. Blue is so hard.