My Life Pie - I’m happy enough with my life, I think, and my relationship is great. But I really need more exercise and physical playtime, and spirituality has a way of working itself into that with me. Miscellaneaarts has a really nice life pie; I wish I knew how to alter those things. I might, now that I think about it.
Yes, I know the image is awful. I couldn’t figure out how to make shapes in Adobe, so I had to cut and paste from Word. Mostly, I’m proud of myself for figuring out how to use paint bucket. Give me time. I actually do get better at these things, I’m just none too concerned with perfection at the outset.
Artist’s Date
This was part II of the three part lecture that will culminate next week in a tour of the Walker Art Center. It’s a series titled “is it art?” which might be better titled “abandon all aesthetic conceit, ye who enter here.” Basically, in the case of contemporary art, it’s art that says something - and that can be anything. Art can be defined any way you like so long as you have a good argument. Post modernists believe all work, language and creation is essentially plagiarism - so the only thing you can’t plagiarize is a baby.
Now, I’m a writer. I don’t give a flying fig if I’m borrowing thousands of years of language to write my articles rather than making up words to keep them original. I’m still none too amused to see my articles displayed on the Internet without my express permission. But this gives me something to think about, and it’s a door and perspective opening scenario. Anything is creativity, so long as it has some direction of creative intent behind it. I have been quietly judging myself for the conceit of perfumer-as-artist even though I can literally smell that I have a distinct and different aesthetic from other perfumers. This gives me some reassurance.
The Thing I Like To Do
Joel is a frequent companion on what would qualify as artist’s dates; he says he enjoys my knack for finding places he would never thing to stop and opening up worlds within his daily life. So naturally, I asked him to come shoot pool with me.
This is also the part where I refer back to the passage about crazymakers. Crazymakers aren’t just individuals you know. Crazymakers are a spirit that will come find you.
We went to the 19 bar, which is the only really non-pretentious gay bar in the city. Last night was mostly over 30 gay men who are too old for the drama-based b.s., and from what I gather, this was the gay bar that men used to take their straight colleagues to to do business a century and a half ago. If not, it felt like it was.
Joel and I managed to shoot two games of pool - I won both, I suspect because Joel threw the game - and then it came to a halt. A girl wandered in with some friend, and she starts in:
Are you sharks? Are you two sharks?
She asked us if we wanted to play doubles.
She pointed to me. You’re a shark. I can see it in your eyes. I’m not playin’ you.
I assured her I was actually quite out of practice. Liar, she said. You had to hear her tone. It was aggressive.
She moved on through the bar.
Great, I said to Joel. Some fag hag trying to dick size with me. ((Joel and I long ago established I’m not a fag-hag. I’m not any guy’s accessory. There’s nothing wrong with being such a thing; the relationships can be quite beautiful. But some women are just jerks. ))
We thought she’d left, went up to the bar to order two more drinks, and she reappeared. She made a binoculars gesture at me. I see you.
I was not amused. She approaches, and asks if we’re going to play her and her buddy. Are you ready to play?
Actually, we’re leaving, I tell her. I cancel my drink order.
So no game?
I look her in the eye. She’s 7 inches below me. No. I don’t bother keeping the anger out of my voice.
As we leave, I call to her. Don’t call people you don’t even know liars.
Joel and I parked 6 blocks away, stumbling upon an open spot in Loring Park.
We hear this Oh guys! behind us.
We ignore her. She follows us for two blocks.
So, crazymakers aren’t even people that need to know you’re on the program. If someone’s a crazymaker, they’ll smell the progress.
I didn’t let it ruin my evening, and I’ll definitely go back to that bar - the drinks are cheap, the pool tables are tournament quality, and Joel assured me that the dick-sizing fag hag is by no means a regular.
