March 2005 Archives

I don't really feel like writing. But I took pictures. My writing will be brief, my pictures will be large.

My weekend started out on Friday, at around 9:30pm. My original plans, which I was looking forward to greatly, fell through - although I won't state why. It's no one's business but mine.

I went to an opening at Rule Gallery. It was practically over. It really wasn't that good. I grabbed a slice at Famous's. It was much better. I headed down to Sputnik to see my own art show and to see if anything sold. Nothing did. I bumped into some people I know. I always can do that now. I know so many people, but mostly just by name. I called Jack up to meet me and he did. He dropped me to my car. We went to Walnut Street to check out a dance night. It sucked.

I went to Lipgloss. I saw Anne there and that was cool. Anne, would you like to get some Thai food this week? Let me know.

I saw Jessica there, and Lee and Jonathan and Bobby Tan and Jack again. And that was all cool too. I gave Jessica and Jonathan a ride back to their home and we all took off our shoes and danced in our socks to old school gangsta rap until it was 5:00 am. That was great. I was really drunk. Observe the following unflattering picture of myself:

When I drink a lot, I go to the toilet a lot. This is not a problem, except that toilets usually have mirrors in close proximity to them. And I take lots of pictures in mirrors.

I have shaggy hair. Everyone calls me a hipster. When I think of hipsters, I think late 40's Avant Garde white musicians and white poets that had a little bit of Nigger in them. Nigger, being not a racial term, but a term of endearement. "Cool", being a survival technique of the African slaves of this great land's slave-owning forefathers. It was, "hip", to know how to be, "cool" and deal with life with a song or just an attitude - even though your life is in the shitter, and there's no one on your side. That last sentence will be the only prosy sentence of this entry. I think now, "hip" is just another fashion statement.

I also love how large my hands are. They are the most beautiful part of my beautiful body.

I was glad that Jonathan and Jessica invited me to dance in their living room, wearing socks! because I did not want to sleep in my studio. There was going to be a fashion bazaar at the gallery - right outside my studio and they tend to sound check early and make my early morning life miserable as I try to sleep while large speakers, just outside of my studio, don't allow me to. I was going to sleep somewhere else, but that too, fell through. Again, details, not necessary.

I was also glad Jonathan and Jessica had an extra bed! because couches sometimes aren't the most comfortable. I stayed in Leah's room. Leah was in Portland. Leah has one of those beds with about 20 pillows and is six inches too short for me. No matter - Leah also had a mirror and I screen printed my underwear. I thought 5:00 am in someone elses bedroom while they didn't know would be the perfect place to document this. And I did:

Although the shot is filled with hair care products in reckless order, Leah's room is very orderly and clean. Leah is a very orderly and clean young woman.

I slept until 9:30 am. I woke myself up. I smelled like beer and sweat combined. I thought of that scene in Trainspotting where Spud wakes up, realising he had just shit,pissed and puked the bed he was in. I also remembered how the book's version of that scene was better.

I thought I should take a shower before the gallery would be flooded with fashion-oriented people clogging my bathroom. I said so long to a half drunk Jessica and was away. Jessica is a beautiful person too.

No one was at the gallery really and I was able to take my shower.

A few hours later, the gallery looked like this:

Lots of fashion and fashion-oriented people. You can barely see, but the left most wall is a corner of my studio wall. As in. The other side of that wall is where I live, work and love. Interesting what I sometimes find outside of my home, eh? I think so.

They had fashion for sale and mini fashion shows! Here's one of the models -

This is a very unflattering picture, but this girl was very disrespectful to me when I tried to politely talk to her later. Respect is a two way street. Next time, be nice to me in my own house, or leave. Thank you.

I grew tired of being surrounded by beautiful girls and asked Beau if he'd like to join me on visiting Jessica and Jonathan at Peaberry's for some coffee. Beau said, "OK", and we left with Sally. Sally is Beau's bunny.

It took us about two hours to get out the door, since when Beau and I get together we become very scatter brained and aloof. It's great. We decided we needed to throw up some flyers, so we brought some flyers and some staplers and we threw up some shit.

Here's a shot Beau, shortly after throwing up some shit:

Peaberry's was great. Buzzing, we drove to Pearl to put on more flyers. Pearl Street has lots of stop signs and every time we stopped, they're be a wooden pole. Beau would get out of the car, put up a flyer and we'd drive away until the next stop sign. We stopped near the Stella's coffee shop to meet and greet people, introduce me as soon to be famous and take their picture:

This girl was talking on her phone:

I gave this girl my card as well, as I found her physically attractive. She too called me a hipster:

This guy was very friendly, friendlier than one would think, having only one leg. His dog was very friendly as well - although the bunny was very scared:

I found out later that this is Natalie's neighborhood! She's moving this week though.

Growing dark, we decided to go home, but stopped at the local Wild Oats to pick up Vitamins. My car failed to start in the parking lot, so we gave it a half hour to magically fix itself as we bullshitted in Wild Oats.

I asked the deli guy if the Salmon was farmed raised. I had a conversation with Penelope last week, discrediting her idea that the noble salmon could be farmed raised. To my surprise, the deli man said that they were, in fact, farmed raised - in a lake in Northern Canada. I'll be. Penelope 1, alex 0 on Salmon knowledge. Penelope and I had Salmon stuffed with artichoke and that entire night's bill ran up $50.

Sally was in Beau's basket, and I made a joke to the deli guy that, boy, they really had fresh meat here. He understood my gentle style of banter and told us that they really did have bunny for sale and we investigated. Sure enough, we found frozen bunny for sale:

We schemed of trading out Sally for frozen bunny and then talked about the bunnies we've personally eaten in the past. I had one of those Fathers that would take care of vermin problems of the neighborhood by catching and cooking the vermin for Saturday feasts.

We let Sally run around in the grass and then went back to my car, which had magically fixed itself and drove home.

The fashion show was still going strong. Which was fine. I received an emergency called that was work related. He said that for my work, he would send me a fine bar of pure silver. I accepted his fine silver. Another client this same week wants to pay me in beer. I shall accept that as well.

The fashion show wound down, as did the DJ's spinning poppy house which I enjoyed. This was replaced by some lyrical rappers and that was great. Then, a live band started up. During sound check, Beau and I skateboarded in the now cleared studio.

I performed my age old trick of ollieing over a hapless victimgirl to win her attention. I succeeded in making the trick. She did not then ask what my name was or garner me with any attention.

Beau and I then went to the Bar Bar to see a musical show. The show was put on to benefit a local anarchist gutter punk that got hit by a truck while jaywalking. Funny enough, I think he goes to Metro State University, so I am not sure how one lives in a gutter and goes to a community college - but details are not important I guess.

He was at the show, fully conscious, missing most all of his teeth and he had a cane. I said, "hello" and gave him my money to help him pay for his medical expenses. Beau and I danced to one of those bands that plays really loud and screams and groans and is generally very violent sounding. The crowd, of which we were very much a part of, was very loud and screamed and groaned and was generally very violent looking. It was great. Beau and I both decided that it was just what we needed.

We then went to the Mercury to eat chips and salsa and play chess. Beau then played the piano. I gave Penelope a choker neckless that was made from a Scrabble piece:

Penelope has told me that playing the game of Scrabble makes her sexually aroused. The "P" is for Penelope, not Penis.

I'm not sure if Penelope thinks this is the most flattering picture of herself. I think it is fine. But, I do think she needs to relax and give herself a break. You should too, as she was finishing up a long shift at a busy restaurant and you should look as good while dealing with so many customers.

I then went to an art party where I met up with Natalie and Christina. Natalie needed a shoulder to cry on and I needed one too. We cried on each other's shoulder and Natalie showed me more emotion to me - directed towards me - than I had felt in over three months. I later went to sleep thinking about her and woke up thinking about her too. Thanks for the shoulder, Natalie. Natalie also told me she put one of my flyers on the top of A-basin - a popular ski resort. I was delighted at hearing that news.

I also met people at Larry's art party. The DJ's from Lipgloss were there, spinning.

This girl seemed to find me physically attractive and was happy to receive the attention we all gave her:

I also had a heart to heart talk with Jessica and about some of the events that happened the night before while we were dancing in her living room with Jonathan. I told her she was a beautiful person, inside and out and that I loved her. She said the same. I hope Jessica will continue to be my friend.

Saying goodbye to both Natalie and Christina, I left the art party and went home. Coming home, I had found that a young woman had left a note on the other side of one of my flyers and had put the flyer under my door. They must have found me interesting enough at the fashion show to leave me a note. It made me smile.

Sunday, I called the number left on the note. A man answered the phone. I told them, a message to her passed by him was not necessary. I went to the stated place of business, but they said that the particular person did not work there. I researched her email address and found that valid and the information pointed to her. A strange note indeed.

I realized that my weekend was very fun and was happy that I was an artist who did eccentric things only to bring about a smile. "Only", defined as, "if nothing else". I'm glad I could see so many of my friends and do so many things. Life is quite a gift and I love to give it back. This is a prayer I say, because living life kills you and it's nice to give thanks to what you need to sacrifice in order to survive.

There's this genuinely beautiful young woman that works at The Market on Larimer Square. Sleaved arms. Short hair. Lips - my God. She had a Dilated Peoples shirt on - sounded familiar. Made a mental note to remember who they were. I went to The Market for coffee because it's close to where I had dinner and they have better coffee than most.

I step inside and there's a line of three, maybe four people. Underneath my tweed hat, I catch a glimpse of her. She's a private person, I can tell, but it's written all over her face: she's having a bad day. She seems either generally upset, or just very stressed. And who wouldn't:

The people in front of me were... were, I don't know what the words are to describe their persona - yuppies would somewhat work. I don't like stereotypes. But, the guy in front of me cracked me up! He was wearing black leather shoes. Style? Sort of leisure? Clunky. Like low top Doc Martens that are more expensive. They had to be more expensive. His jeans were flared at the bottom, richly dyed to a amazing blue. He had a leather jacket - it looked as if it was trying to be a motorcycle jacket, but wasn't - it had too many weird tye-up things everywhere. Spotless. His hair was done in spikes. No shit! This guy - this 40+ year old guy, had spiky hair! And his shirt: it was a Hawaiian-esque shirt! I swear! but with toned down colors. Could have been silk. Very billowy. It was a sight. This guy was tall. Ordering coffee in front of me. He took me back, because I had such similar things on - a leather jacket, I bought for nothing, beaten up flared jeans. Suede shows purchased for a song at the local ARC. I knew what was going on. A style similar to my own had been stolen, made expensive and this guy bought it! And he spent a lot of time to look like this 23 year old. It was one of the most atrocious things I have seen in a while.

I understand why this beautiful girl behind the counter looks so long in the face, even for such a petite face - she has to serve - be nice - to people like him. You can feel what he's about. He has no voice. He has lots of money. He doesn't know one damn thing about anything except how he makes money and that supports his life. Souless. If I had to work for souless people - he didn't tip mind, I'd be pretty depressed. What do you do if you were this young woman? I don't know. What a shitty type of clientele to have to work for. No tipping, badly dressed, expensively tasted, bastards - who don't tip. Did I say he tipped? No I didn't. No tipping. Not one of the three people in front of me.

I tipped her. I always tip her. I always tip her, even if she isn't the one working the bar. I wish I could ask her name, ask her what she was like, if she'd like to get coffee at a place that wasn't crawling with the rich elite that like being called the rich elite. But I don't. Why? Because I can't. It's not allowed. You don't ask someone a question like that where they work. They have to be nice to you. So how do you approach such a person you're genuinely interested in knowing better? And I don't mean in the biblical sense - that's not what I'm going on about here. How do you do it? You cannot. It's not servitude but I hope that girl gets a raise, or at least one more smile her way.

For some reason, along the way, I kept thinking of why I hate everything that's produced - I'm not being marketed to. I want things that work well and last. No one wants to give you that. Everything is made to break easily and be bettered by the next fashion season. Make you continually unhappy. Make you want and want and want. Maybe that's why rich people seem so unhappy so much - they get sucked into this system because it's all they know. Money, the great medium of exchange between goods and services, leaves out the Experience of everything. People who buy happiness miss the point and if they become happy for some reason, they must find it suspect - something they cannot control with bank statements or double entry accounting.

I want to make a t-shirt that says, "Born Unhappy. Keeps the system going" and give it to that man.

I don't know why I wrote the above.

Some of them things are them things that seem to be constant and consistant. Age twenty-three, pushing twenty-four above, age seventeen, below:

I must of had a growth spurt soon after the last photo - use the board as a point-of-reference, as it's basically the same size in all the photos. That is the Andy Roy, "Pit Bull" Anti-Hero board in the 17/yo pic, for you historians. The gallery is showing a print of Andy Roy up next to a print I did of Jack, whom took the present day photos. That doesn't mean one damn thing though. Both photos were taken by my best friends at the time. Again. Not one damn thing.

Polaroid Film is like Crystal Meth to me.