In the summer of 2000, on most Saturday nights, you could find me painting.  No, I mean it, you really could find me painting because I was part of the ambiance at a nightclub named Contour on 1st avenue in Seattle.  The promoter was trying to create a different kind of nightlife experience, one for creative people, celebrating music and art, he called the night “The Mannequin Room.” (Was it a metaphor? Club-going was plastic? A commentary on societal beauty standards? Was it meant to be ironic?  I never knew.  Whatever the reason, it was a lot of fun.) 

I got the gig because my friend Mary Anne has more faith in me than I could ever have in myself for the next six lifetimes combined.  It's important to...