That's Some Serious Texture, Baby

Two of my coworkers (the normal ones) invited me to dinner and a free art show. I resisted, as this would interrupt my normal productive schedule of driving home, not eating dinner, and assuming the fetal position until it was time to get up and go back to work.

"Dinner" for people in our income bracket pretty much consists of ice water and a bad sandwich. I prewarned Dan and Anamaria that "looking at art" in my world pretty much consists of "mocking the art," which they were cool with, considering much of what we saw in the beginning consisted of paintings of gigantic penises wearing ties and lizards crawling over a marching band (not necessarily on the same canvas, which I believe I might actually pay to see.) I got truly hyped at one point when I spotted free food, but not just any free food: A cheese tray. Yay, art! I tried what looked like a slice of cheddar, which tasted like peanut butter, then tried a slice of what looked like swiss, which tasted like ass. I spit everything into a napkin, which I discreetly stuffed behind a sculpture of four zebras having sex. You simply cannot trust art cheese.

Things picked up, however, as we ventured into the studios where the artists work. We passed the room of an artist displaying approximately eight million different pictures of naked fat women in various and sundry non-Catholic positions. A sign near the doorway read: "Natural II now underway! Models needed!"

Anamaria and I fled to the next studio.

Things were hardly more comforting over there, where an artist saw me looking over some of his pottery. "Do you like it?" he asked. (I hate it-- hate it-- when people do this to me. If I like it, I'll say so. Otherwise, don't bring your fishing pole to the Compliment Pond. "Do you like it?" What am I supposed to say? Here in the safety of the Bachelorette Pad, I wish I would have cast the damned thing to the ground, shrieking, "Oh God, it's evil... EEEEEEEEEEEEEVVVVIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!")

"Oh yes," I said. "The texture is lovely." (This is my Stock Art Comment; when in doubt, comment upon The Texture.)

"I'll knock fifteen bucks off if you want to buy it," he said.

"Thank you," I said, carefully replacing the Bowl O' Crap, "but my rent is due."

"Are you sure? I made that the day my son went to jail."

Oh-- well why didn't you say so in the first place? Because now I want to buy it.