Sunday, March 23, 2008

happiness is good health and abad memory

i am in CALIFORNIA now.

just woke up from sleeping for twelve full hours.

napping for just two hours on wednesday night (what your mom might call thursday morning), i went to the airport to catch a plane to good times.

these guys were there.

this guy welcomed me on the the plane.

amber picked me up at the airport and we drove to her house, which is across the street from golden gate park.
we drank beers and ate at herbivore before going to the rvca opening, which was so-so at best. we drank alot of street beers that we bought from this guy

who epitomizes his own beliefs, found next to the cash register.

yeah, dude, good mantra for a liquor store. we went to the luggage store to help monica and swoon do their install.

shit is fucking gooooood.

i spent alot of time leaning against this window that looks out on to market scraping off wheat paste from the tiny negative spaces.

saw a bike kid get punched in the face by a street cleaner and three people get arrested. shit was wild.
we stayed up til the morning when i had to take a nap for a few hours. i think my body figured out being tired wasn't doing anything so it just stopped trying to let me know that i need sleep. i woke up with a sore throat, probably as much from the sawdust everywhere as anything else. i ate a bunch of kale, a lemon and a clove of garlic and i was back in action. we spent the day putting finishing touches on things. it was really nice to get to work on something like that when the last week had been spent typing and memorizing invertebrate body plan features. the work is really strong. the baba yaga house is such a cool space. there is so no way i could get pictures that could even approximate how strange it is to sick your head in side a tiny house on chicken legs filled with tiny tiny creepy details.

amber and i went back to her place before the show to eat more kale and spruce up. the show was hella crowded and there were a million people there. after the opening, a million of us broken into an abandoned cinema on market. it was really great in there. disgusting velvet seats, film canisters, a stage with a trap door. we were in there for like half an hour before the cops came. they couldn't figure out how to get inside. everyone was really calm about it. and decided to all go out together, ya know solidarity and shit. it was the most pleasant police interaction i had ever had. they kept asking up how we had found out about it, on facebook? a mass e-mail? a txt? they couldn't seem to understand that this many people could be in one place without it somehow being mediated through the internet. one cop asked me what was happening -a concert or something? i told him it was just a bunch of kids hanging out drinking beer. "that's sounds really fun," he said totally meaning it. yeah, dude it was. it was weird to be drinking a tecate covered in dust from crawling out of the squat to have a police officer agree we were having a great time.
we ate some burritos and went to bar or two. christopher wanted to go to this grime night. it was weird in there. everyone had fake british accents, but in an affected british-by-way-of-jamaica way. this hippie with tree-dreads bumped into me and then instead of saying sorry or whatever stuck his peace-sign hand right into my face. good move, dude. amber and i went and hung out outside before we went to these kids' house near union square. i got into alot of arguments. one of which was this dude trying to tell me that i didn't like 9 to 5 the right way. what the fuck are you talking about? i think he thought i meant it ironically, like that it was funny to laugh at dolly parton's character's outfits or something. i tried to emphatically explain to him NO! i really love the movie. it is about three women becoming friends and smoking weed and revealing fantasies about class uprising and labor which they later enact by kidnapping their boss and it is fucking funny. there is nothing ironic about my love for that movie. he couldn't even explain to me what he didn't like about my like. and he kept talking about "people like me liking things like..." and they would say something so vague, i would generously offer "so are you trying to say that you think i don't genuinely like things? are you trying to say it is a problem to champion something from another era?" i had no clue what his problem was with me liking 9 to 5 was. i think it was somewhere between my love being to didactic and that it was ironic. i tried to explain myself as a whole -" i really really love loving things. i love feeling good," i yelled at him "i mean for fuckssake my favorite thing in the world is DOGS," that last little tidbit really shut him up.
then this one kid whose house it was who i had met at the opening, asked me what i thought of the show. i said that i really loved it, but that i am biased as i worked on it and love the two artists as people. he sort of rolled his eyes as well like "i hate it. it's just punk fantasy land." and waited for me to tell it was okay that he didn't like it, which i did for some reason. "that's cool man, you can not like it. but, i mean, what's wrong with using art to build a world you'd like to see? i thought the premise of art was that you got to make the world into something like what you see and what you'd want to see" he never really responded to anything i was saying, but just kept talking about how it was basically a style he could now recognize as if that fact was somehow an indictment of what was happening. so what if you can recognize that it is made of trash? does that change the meaning of trying to make something useful out of what someone else has left behind? so what if it looks like a tree house to you because you didn't bother to look closer and see that it is not a treehouse at all but a house on chickenlegs that is meant to trap little kids for a witch to eat? i don't expect people to have rapid recall of eastern european folktales, but why disregard something because it looks like a treehouse? what's wrong with looking like a treehouse? we argued for a minute, and then he said to me and amber, "oh, i am getting a real cyborg feminist vibe." WHAT?!?! i have never laughed so hard in my life. i think my jaw stretched wider than ever before. i think we may have been present for the coining of the next wave in pomo feminism. donna haraway, your legacy grows. it was also funny, as in no way were we referencing anything that could've seemed like a cyborgian anything. i was just going through my usual spiel about how i think art should be about creating things you can't find in daily life and how that it useful and political and should be made beautiful. we left very quickly after.

yesterday, me, amber and christopher went to the anarchist bookfair in goldengate park. it was great. they had all my favorite things there: dogs, babes, books. i am sure we could've had a beer or two if we had wanted.

we had baba ganoush and we to the mission. amber got the best comic book ever: "boys club" by matt furie. check it out.
we got some happy hour tecates at delirium, which during the day is so awesome. they had free chips and salsa, the best bar dog, and were playing what i think was a homemade punks greatest hits. it was great. it was a sunny day and we were on cloud 9.

we went to the santeria store, thrift town, saw buddies at the park. we swung by the fecalface gallery which was tiny, overcrowded and boring, but filled with babes. i was beat. we went back to amber's and ordered sick-ass thai and watched some x-files episodes. let me just say, i had totally forgot how great that shit is.

now it is time to eat breakfast at herbivore, drink beers on the beach, and check out annie liebowitz at the legion of honor before pigging out at maggie muds. FUCK YES.

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king cobra said...
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