Friday, September 05, 2003

Rendez-vous'd with Beth last night and meandered through Chelsea, my main mission to see the new work of The Art Guys. Whose Middling City projet d'art via Hallwalls a few years back resulted in numerous faux advertising placards nailed into the most grime-ridden and impoverished and near-death storefronts along Main Street. These placards went up and then quietly started disappearing. I had spotted a fav, the one with the large banana and the red word THRUST, and knew it was to be mine, part of my wavering and eclectic and cherished art collection. So. One night, crowbar in hand, I wedged and screeched it off a building. Then I thought, Hmmmm, Nance, why not acquire one, too, for your beloved pal Liz. So I did. Then weeks later I was attempting to crowbar a third when a frightening and muttering man approached me and my crowbar and I split. Then Scot Fisher of Righteous Babe Records saved said building from wrecking ball and a crew put boards over the artwork and the building.
So Beth and I are in Chelsea last night at The Art Guys show. One of the Art Guys, the shorter one, said HIIIII, how are you? You stole one of our pieces.
In a joking manner.
Sara Kellner, formerly of Hallwalls, was there, and is still living in Houston and working at Diverse Works.
Then politicoe Barbra Kavanaugh's son Bryan was there.
Then we moved along to more more more shows and the last stop we started climbing some steps when I heard a small voice Hey, aren't you supposed to be in Buffalo?
It was Photi, he dated Larry from CEPA, now an assistant director at a gallery. He invited us to a gallery-sponsored fete in SoHo and, he advised, if we stuck to him there'd be plates of pot brownies.
In the interim I called Dorota who tipped me off about a Nike party and, as luck usually has me in its grasp, I was wearing a Nike shirt. I told Beth this was a message from GOD himself, and Bacchus to boot, that we should be at that party.
Flashing my left-boob-nested Nike logo did not mean less of a wait.
Once inside we tippled with sporty types on three levels until we'd had our fill of techno beats (we looked for Anthony shimmying in the corners), creative snaxx, free drinks and other inter-active artful experiences.

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