2005-02-05 @ 10:15 p.m.
Ya know what’s really starting to freak me out big time the last month or so? I mean, besides the 1.6 trillion things that already do...like the ghost that lives in my cat’s litter box and the news broadcasters who directly address me by name when they’re giving the nightly news... It has to be those people who are walking around talking out loud. Now I’m not talking about CRAZY people perse, but I’m talking about people who have those miniature cell phones hidden somewhere on their body and a tiny speaker protruding from their ear lobe and they are jabbering very loudly and self importantly as they walk down the aisle of a grocery store, but you don’t know they’re talking on a phone....because you don’t see any cell phones....or wires...and you just think that they’ve gone off the deep end talking out loud to themselves.
And I get especially scared when, say, you’re at a counter and they come up directly behind you talking and I’ll turn around and say “what?” and they’ll glare at you, annoyed like I just invaded their private space, when in fact, they’ve invaded mine with their loud, annoying self important I’ve-got-a-tiny-cell-phone-and-you-don’t-because-you’re-a-loser voices.
So snertzs to you cell-phonians. And while we’re at it, let me just crush that little fucking gold plated cell phone on your forehead for you. There. Now I feel so much better. And notice how quiet it is. Ahhhh!
PMS...my friend. Helps me get the job done.
Today was really not half bad. I had to co-facilitate a meeting at work this morning. I came in around the corner of the entrance of our building and nearly screamed when one of the group members was tucked behind a wall. Fruck! It was the Vincent Gardenia guy. He talks non-stop in a kind of staccato rat-a-tat style. It gets really annoying after a while. The building wasn’t open yet. I did have the key, but I didn’t know how to unlock it so that it would stay unlocked for other group members. Fortunately we were soon joined by my fellow co-facilitator “J” and surprisingly by my case manager, who knew how to do the secret handshake with the door.
Got everything set up. Group is pretty easy to do. I really wish that was all I did. I like groups. We always start out with check ins with everyone. Naturally the Vincent Gardenia guy had to go first since he really hadn’t stopped talking since I had come around the corner and nearly screamed (he had told me, by the way, that maybe I shouldn’t drink so much coffee. Heh. Hon, I don’t drink coffee. Being bipolar is enough of a stimulant, as it is).
He started talking about going to H&R Block this week and wanting to get his taxes done. He only works about 2 hours a week (he’s retired and disabled). They told him that he didn’t have anything to do taxes for. He hadn’t paid in enough money in to owe or get money back. He was distraught. He said it was his patriotic duty to PAY taxes (obviously a Bush devotee). He again said he wanted them to do his taxes. He was certain that because he had claimed himself on his tax form, that there should at least be something tax-like to do. Anyways, after he went on telling us about how he had claimed only himself on his tax forms for like 10 minutes, I finally said, “Well, I’m bipolar, so I take TWO deductions.” Everyone laughed, except him. He didn’t get it.
After group I headed out to the parking lot and heard someone screaming and yelling and cursing. Naturally I got scared since I work downtown and there are a lot of scary people walking around. Some old street woman was walking down the street ranting and raving by herself. And as far as I could tell, she wasn’t on a cell phone.
I then had to decide what to do. We’re having a nice stretch of weather. Anytime the sun shines for more than 2 hours in a row here in February, we send up flares. We are even getting a break in the temperature department. It was in the upper thirties today. I was considering going for a walk up on the lake, but maybe it was just a tad cold. Or maybe not, since I’m a hearty near-Canada resident. By February we’re pretty used to the cold, so when it hits 38 degrees, college students in town start putting shorts on. Its true!!
But I decided after two hours with the crazies and Vincent and his tax forms, I needed a little respite. I briefly considered a visit to the zoo. I haven’t been there for a while, and going to the zoo in the winter is kind of fun. But as I drove over there, I drove by the art gallery where I sold my painting in November and decided to turn in. They have a new show every month and art always inspires me. I had skipped the show in December because Married Guy’s wifie had a painting in it, and I didn’t want to accidentally run into her or him or anyone even remotely related to them. And then in January the weather sucked so bad and my car sucked so bad, and I barely even left my house. But today it was bright and sunny, and the gallery has big windows and the natural light is nice on the art.
Today’s show was very good. It had a mix of abstract art (my personal favorite), some landscapes, and some glass furniture. I was almost immediately accosted by the ultra-cheerful art hostess/receptionist, Sandra. This girl is so luminously cheerful and happy, that I usually get scared when she comes up to me (happy people -- what’s up with that?) I was also traveling incognito today. Had on my full length black wool coat, tight jeans and John Lennon glasses. I actually think I forgot to brush my hair this morning, so I probably either looked like a street person who just wandered in off the boulevard or...AN ARTIST.
A flash of recognition played across her ultra-cheerful face as she walked up to me and she said I looked familiar. I told her I had been in the *** show in November and then the most incredible, exciting, thrilling, memorable, earth-shaking, I-just-won-the-Oscar-and-I’m-so-HAPPY, you must really like me, I do exist moment happened. She said, “Oh, I remember your painting, it was called “Explode”. I really liked it!”
Somebody remembered the name of my painting. I just could not believe it. I mean, I didn’t really care if she liked it or not, because, frankly, they probably have to say that to all the artist because they have a business to run, but the fact that she remembered the name of my painting meant so damn much to me. Gee. Wow. Me doing the Happy Snoopy Dance. :-)
So it was at that point that I decided to come back for a lecture they were having at 2. I really wanted to hear a working artist talk about being a working artist so that maybe I can get inspired to pick up a paint brush again. I haven’t painted since last summer. I really don’t have anyplace to paint in my house. I usually only paint down at the Crazy Crazy Place or out in my yard. But my yard is currently buried under about a foot of snow, so that won’t do.
The guy lecturing was one of the artist in the current show. He has a studio at the D Center. And the uber cheerful Sandra said that after the lecture he would take us to his studio to show us where he worked. I was really excited about that. Because I look at the D Center when the same kind of reverence as some people might look at the Vatican with. Its so big and mysterious.
After I looked at the show, I slipped up to where the art studios are. I always feel like an illegal interloper when I go up those stairs. I kind of feel like if somebody sees me walking through the big, warehouse-like hallways, which are decorated with art from the artists from within, I’ll be hunted down by some kind of smartly outfitted art police, severely admonished, with possible spanking (well, that part might be fun) and then kicked to the curb and told not to come back. You know, since I’m not really an artist...only an interloper...a walker of art studio hallways...a person who timidly listens to music issuing out of studios who wonders what wondrous artmaking is going on inside.
The Professional Artist guy who goes to my art class on Wednesday night has a studio there. And boy, was I ever nervous, he would suddenly walk out of some door and I would be standing there, like a deer in headlights. Because I stupidly forgot to look up on the building index, to see what level his studio was on. witty, if you’re stalking people, you have to be careful. But fortunately, I didn’t see him, although I’m sure he would have smiled at me like he always does and possibly invited me into his studio to pose nude for him or something. heh, yeah right witty. In your dreams.
So I went and had some lunch and then came back for the lecture. There was about 15 people there, including a little kid (maybe around 7 or 8) who sat next to me. How totally cool that a parent would bring a little kid to an art lecture. Woot! And the kid was so well behaved that I didn’t even know they were there. How often does THAT happen?
The artist who talked was named Phil and he was pretty cute and forty something and ol’ witty was immediately checking out his ring finger as he walked in. No Ring! Score! But then later in the lecture he mentioned his wife Patty and their two kids, so once again, my hopes of a mad passionate love connection were dashed. Curses. His work was a real mixture though.
He has what I guess you can call a dual career. The part that makes him money and the part where he expresses himself. The part that makes him money is called decorative art, which, basically is furniture painting. Or more specifically, in his case, he’ll come over to your home and paint on any surface you want. He said he once painted an oven for $15,000. He’s painted murals on ceilings. He said he worked for several months in Steven (“Aerosmith”) Tyler’s home. He wouldn’t tell what he painted but he kind of smirked and rolled his eyes indicating it was kind of wild and bizarre.
When I had walked through the show earlier, I hadn’t really been all that impressed with his landscapes. They were wooded scenes which had bright specters of lights in them. They kind of reminded me of space ships coming in for a landing or something, but he said they were based on a “psychotic break” which he had had 20 years ago this month.
What? You mean an artist is crazy? Naw. Not possible.
Anyways, the bright lights were just things he “thought he saw in a melting landscape”. Oh, ok. I was actually a lot more impressed with two paintings he brought in with him to the lecture. I really can’t think how to describe them. Nudes painted on wood with numbers imprinted over the penis with bright splotches of paint dashed here and there. There was also a religious icon between the male’s outstretched leg. Hmm. Yeah, why not? He must have went to Catholic School. That painting was set on the floor right next to me and I stared at it for quite a while. There were a lot of elements in it and I kept discovering more and more as I was looking at it. And the artist said it was a self portrait. Hmmm. Nude. Penis. Why haven’t I been coming to these free art lectures more often??
The lecture ended with a question and answer session. One dorky guy had the gall to say to the artist that he wasn’t sure what was so special about his painted furniture, because it just looked like an old piece of furniture with gold paint on it. The artist, who was pretty funny when he talked, just burst out laughing and said, “True, but it does take a little skill to paint and distress the wood and guild gold onto it, but I guess, in the end, you’re right, its only an old piece of furniture.”
Afterwards everyone was talking to him and he was very friendly, but I was so overwhelmed by the fact that he actually made his living as an artist and painted murals for rock stars, and also I had just been gaping at a painting of his penis for the last hour, that I was unable to say anything to him. And also unfortunately, I heard him tell the gallery owner, that since there were so many people, he wasn’t going to be able take anyone to his studio. So damn. I didn’t get to see my first professional art studio. The ones I like to stalk on Saturday afternoons, when no ones looking.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty