May 2005 Archives

I made a tradition for myself. It started as an attempt to get myself motivated. I told myself, "If I got up in the morning, rather than the afternoon on Tuesdays, I'll take myself out for breakfast."

This quickly turned into, "If I'm still living and it's Tuesday, I'll take myself out for breakfast."

Regardless, it's something I do, every Tuesday - something that makes me happy. I've only failed in months when I've been out of the state. I always get the same thing, basically: a blue plate special at , with eggs, overmedium, sourdough toast and vegan gravy. It's lovely.

You are outside, in the middle of Arapahoe, between 21st and 22nd street. It is only two blocks away from the warehouse you live in. You are drenched in sweat, wearing no shirt, having recently placed it on a chair inside to dry off, but you've just put on your tight leather jacket. You are sticking to its sleeves, the jacket itself immersed in our odiferous scent, the scent you'll notice tomorrow when the jacket is put on again to go out early and get coffee. In front of you is a beat up old VW Van, parked on the side of the street. Inside is Germain, wearing a fur bikini. Nothing out of the ordinary. Outside is Amy and a girl you have never met but talked to briefly just tonight, taking off skeleton suits, also wearing bikinis. Amy's getting the bass guitar she has on ready, by ready meaning: affixing a firework to the end. You are surrounded by at least one hundred other young, sweaty people. We're all sweaty; Buddy's band just played inside and these May nights are getting more temperate. A bubble machine starts and we are enthralled, all of us, in simple bubbles. We reach for them and try to pop them. A light breeze wisks them from our reach. Lights turn on. Fireworks are set off on top of the van. The band starts to play. Everyone jumps up and down, except for people on the sides; some of them taking pictures, others, filming. The songs have no words and no real main line. It's just this simple droning of a bass, a drummer and the keyboardist. DUN. DUN. DUN; DUN. DUN... They play and play and play. Periodically, police cars drive by without a whimper. They have been, since setup. More firewords are lit. A smokebomb is lit on top of the helmet the keyboardist now has on. Suddenly, stuffed animals start raining down from nowhere, clouding your vision, it's so thick. They come down and bounce everywhere. Everyone in reach of one of the hundreds of critters throws them towards everyone else. You find a small one and stuff him down your pants, so his head sticks out. It's subtly disgusting, but nothing subtle is being picked up on anyones sight. Someone grabs your shoulders and they're on top of you- piggy back style. You run around and dance and jump as if you're not noticing them. They slide off finally; your sweat mixing up with theirs and adding to the musk around you, a musk thick enough to withstand the Outside. The band continues the play. Without any warning, you start crying. You cry and the tears you cry are the same kind that come out when you had spoken to a sinisterly special One emoting that you have are in Love with them. They are the tears of joy. They are the tears that run out when you accept your triviality and your temporality. They are the tears of happiness of understanding and admiring the World around you. Another moment you can say that you've seen a glimpse of It. All these people were needed to make this happen. You could not imagine a happier time and place then Now. A giant stuffed lion comes flying your face and wipes the beginning of soft tears from your checks and bounces playfully between dancing feet on the sidwalk. Your crying does not last long. You had it for a second, but you are now back in this world, around so many people, most you know of - but then again, most you do not the who - their names even, are mysteries. But, over there, is Andrew taking pictures, framed by the window of the VW fan he's standing on the opposite side of. Todd is up in the air, being carried aloft by the few who pass their dancing to bring him from one direction to the other. A giant fireword is exploded in the middle of the street and - The band has finished playing. It wasn't long. The fire chief has appeared in a large SUV, no lights on, just parked in the middle of the street; waiting for... The crowd disperses as a fire truck lazily appears nas well. The band starts packing up the equipment; they know what to expect and what to say to the Authority. You gather yourself and your friends and walk home. It was a simple night in May in Denver. Nothing is wrong with the world. Everything is at peace. Celebration in the streets. Death tomorrow would be a blessing.

This is Travis aka pictureplane .

He had the pleasure of opening up for the Mathematicians! Travis plays keyboards and the tamborine and plays with pedals while rockin' out the prerecorded beats on his portable CD player. One of his back beats kept skipping because the CD player had problems operating and it was on the PA, which quivers with... sonicness. It was really cool. He kept playing the keyboards and the CD kept skipping at odd intervals. Travis worked with it quite a while until he couldn't quite figure out an exit. More of that has to be explored.

Anyways, this was the third time the Mathematicians played Denvah, and this time, we were ready. Beforehand, both Jack and I got dressed up as nerds with one purpose only: To dance. Like nerds. Here we are:

You'll notice Jack sporting the large bottle of malt liquor; wearing glasses, suspenders and a plaid shirt. He had taken off his mismatched plaid jacket seconds before. I'm in the background, jumping, wearing my twead jacket with the suede patches. You can't tell, but my pants are very much jacked up to my waste, and I have nerd glasses from MARS. The t-shirt underneith my jacket also has some sort of 3d geometric plot. It's great.

What's more interesting is the guy with the huge wine jug in his hand - which was filled with the Great Pab's Blue Ribbon. It was his 19th Birthday.

Oh, yeah! The Mathematicians!

After the show, Jack and I met them all, and Pete Pythagoras asked if we were a part of, "N.W.A" - Nerds With Attitude. We resolutely said, "Yes.".

I had so much fun dancing, in a city well known for some pretty rigid crowds, that I thought it would be well worth making a t-shirt design that says, "Hey Denver, Dance More!" with a shot of some feet, or something. Beat me to making it.

Some pictures over the last week or so.

This is the band, Hella playing at the Larimer. The guitarist was an animal. An animal I say!

The next day, I went dancing at the 80's pop hipster makeout fest thing at the Hi-Dive. The Dj's did every DJ faux paux known: played the same track twice, times of dead silence, restarts of songs. Yet, I keep going...

Here's a picture of me and yes that's eyeliner.

I'm also wearing a patch of orange fiber, which used ot be a part of the Christo/Jean Claude installation at Central Park/NYC. It came to me in a small little plastic bag. Meant to be a precious momento. I used it as flair. It's been in the wash at least twice.

Saturday was the Japana Pajama Jama! A pajama party right outside my studio door! Amazing! Here's Jack and I in the giant bouncing castle!

After the official pajama party, I had a slumber party in my studio! I think I had six people crammed in there, sleeping on the couch, the bed and a giant bean bag in the center! At least one person I didn't know! Nice to meet you too, Alison!

In the morning, we all went to breakfast, in pajamas! The wait staff didn't like us! and all the food sucked.