A painter is a man who paints what he sells; an artist, on the other hand, is a man who sells what he paints. — Pablo Picasso

Hmm, has it been a week already? And I’ve been meaning to write an update for days. First, business, and then I’ll ramble a bit about what I’ve been up to. My column this week, DADDY DOGMA, is about my wonderful poppa. The video to accompany this article (think “Special Features”) is right here:

It’s Wednesday afternoon, and I’m sitting at the kitchen table in my in-laws house on Martha’s Vineyard. The holiday is over, the rest of the family (David’s brother, nieces, sister, and aunt) has all gone home, so the house seems extra quiet for these last few days of lingering before we return to San Diego. Last night on the phone, after he told me how embarrassing that video was, Dad asked what the hell I’ve been doing every day out here. Well, the answer is simple — same thing I do at home: working. The only day I took a break was Monday (and only for half the day) to go to the spa with Ency, Judith, and Michelle. And it was VERY worth it. I had the best facial I’ve ever had. Ever. Otherwise, same old, going to the gym in the morning, eating tons of Hungarian food every night, and working during the day while everyone else goes about their own interests. And playing lots of rummy each evening.