Driving down to build up

After an extended period of college football, where by the grace of above I remained in the plus column, I accepted the fact that I needed to expand my horizons. Smiley was suggestive of an art show at a warehouse, so ol Bess ambled down to see me attempt to supplement my cultural needs.

Let me just add here that those who think downtown LA is completely livable now should know that nighttime around there still seems like we've stumbled onto the set of To Live and Die in LA. Except, I haven't tried to kill anyone over counterfeit money.

Upon arrival I was surrounded by LA's hippest and wanting to be hip. This was a social assault on my senses, and even seeing an old acquittance randomly didn't help my initial shock. There will be suffering personalities and expensive drinks, so the best you can do is navigate correctly and have fun of your own. In the wandering I came across this famous photo of the man: the one who sang about the Rock Island Line.



While looking at this photo, a guy next to me said "that's pretty vulgar, isn't it?" Apparently he (wearing a sport coat with a t-shirt graphic saftey-pinned to the back; I'm hip AND punk! Where's my hat?) hadn't seen the nudes around here. Or, vulgarity is different for each person. My minimal response didn't help matters much. "It's like he's saying 'I don't give a fuck what you think.'" I told him no, Johnny says "fuck you" and I'm pretty sure you don't get to think anything. I could tell this guy wanted this to be the opening of a conversation...sadly I couldn't find Smiley in this time of need. Quickly, I scrambled.

Moving to another area, a collection of hanging postcards (the type with random photos of people...you know the kind) caught my eye. Once again, just my viewing seemed to invite someone to begin to talk to me.

"I love this collection...the creativity of the layout is perfect."
Yeah, it's good.
"I like this side better...the juxtaposition of youth and scenery."

Before I can mentally groan again, Smiley finds me and points out her favorite photo: a girl wearing a shirt that says "You fuck it, you bought it." Wow, that shirt rules.

With the attitude and sensibilities mounting, we move outside to "Living Art." Here, girls dressed in all white stand with paint in front of them, waiting to be painted by everyone. Smiley joins in...somehow at a moment where some of the older guests and more specifically sleazy men have "discovered" the possibilities. I'm attempting to take a photo of Smiley in action, but I am blocked by an old lady who seems determined to paint one girl on a certain part of her anatomy. I can't help but laugh...laugh in the face of the audience. We have honest artists...and even some willing to try new things. And yet, we were enclosed with so many who were ready to pay extra to arrive late...to pay for a shot of Skyy vodka?! To be seen and see and be seen again. There's no sign out front and we're kind of in the middle of nowhere in downtown LA so...we are the coolest!

It's the creativity of others that can help you move along...restart your brain, giving it the kick in the rump it needs. The rest? You can have them. I was glad I went, though. Had a pretty good time, saw some cool pictures, definitely had a story to tell. Sitting in one of Burbank's all-night eateries, I felt this was a fine cap to the evening. Smiley, staring down a plate of eggs and french fries at 1AM, didn't quite agree. At that hour, reality is honest, and home is usually the safest bet you'll make all day.