I had to interview an artist for the Los Angeles Downtown News for a new feature called, at least prior to editing, the original title of Downtown Artist of the Month. So I went and visited a friend at a house she bought in Lincoln Heights after ten years of loft living. Things went well. It was great to spend an afternoon with an old friend. While we were talking, she received a call from artist Jett Jackson, reminding her that the Santa Fe Art Colony was having their annual open studios this weekend. Hmmm, sounds like a plan! Jett relayed the shocking news that her loft will have paintings hung floor to ceiling (sarcasm now turning to “off” mode).

I took my girlfriend out for frozen yogurt and then we went to Barnes and Noble, where I bought a book about Joe DiMaggio and have already read the first 60 pages.

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Prepare Yourself: This link will crack you up. You’ve been warned.

on Amazon they have a link on the page with my book saying “People who bought this book also bought…” and it links to Society of the Spectacle by Guy Debord. The association (validated by a neutral and prestigious authority) has made me quite pleased. Good night!

In case it matters to anyone, I could care less about the Iraqi art museum getting looted. The fixation on this in the press is hilarious. Priceless treasures blah blah blah looting to order blah blah blah. The mainstream press in this country doesn’t understand art, doesn’t care about art, only gives it lip service when it is about art selling for a lot of money or being made by someone who is handicapped. But suddenly clay pots disappearing is a tragedy for humankind.

In case you can’t tell, I had a bad day. A lot of deadlines are swirling around. I wish I had it easy and made 25 bucks an hour teaching in an art school where I could just pontificate bullshit like “…intuition…” and “…combine thought and feeling…” and enjoy the ogling of students. Instead, i write and get paid, but than I have to write in order to get paid.

no art school teacher will challenge me about that previous sentence because they will have to admit that they make more than 25 bucks an hour. But it is Gray Davis’ fault that California is in a budget crisis.

Oh, and I started to block emails from people who send me crap like “Who do you think you are?” or “Critics are insecure and cold…” or “14 innings” and also anything over like 25k in the mailbox, no matter how great your images are of your paintings of Laci Peterson’s head or whatever, I am not in the mood to debate the First amendment with anyone, call Susan Sarandon or John Rocker or David Duke.

I ended up going to some openings at art galleries on saturday, but not in Santa Monica. There is an excellent R. Crumb show at daniel weinberg Gallery. Face it, any r. Crumb show is a good show. He had drawings of Bukowski and some Fritz the Cat originals.

The other galleries had your basic contemporary art, nothing gonna shake the future nothing so bad that I vomited. Marsea Goldberg of New Image Art pointed out that a steady stream of artists she has shown have gotten solo shows at the prestigious Roberts Tilton Gallery (the Jo Jackson show there opening tonight being at least the sixth by her count). She wasn’t moaning and groaning, in a way she was gloating over the consistency of her eye for talent. Marsea was shocked to see my girlfriend and I - she knew us both separately before we got together and was having a hard time readjusting to the visual of us in casual mid-grope.

The Mid-Wilshire crowd was about 40 percent students and recent grads and a high percentage of cruising gay men and not a damn one hit on me (although Mark Housely did give me a hug, but he hugs everyone), I guess I’m ugly or my woman has properly marked her territory.

Oh, and Christopher Williams is fatter than ever and Anne Goldstein has crows’ feet now, you have to wonder if doing the bidding of big men at home and on the job is prematurely aging her or if she is just now plain fucking old. Of course, with Margo Leavin practically suckling Delia Brown, attention hog (as well as metaphoric hog) Chris Williams has to get his narcissistic rocks off elsewhere and it looks like the Krispy Kreme therapist has been billing him doubletime. Ha ha, there, in case someone complains that I am too nice these days, show them that, email Anne’s former face the news.

Splurged later for dinner at the Pacific Dining Car. Note to self: eat a nice dinner before looking at art for best results…

I really should get out and look at some art galleries today. I think I will go to the openings at Bergamot Station. There is one gallery that I never set foot there in that is having a 75-person group show.

Let’s get one thing straight, being in a 75 artist group show in a gallery best known as a a space that dilletante artists rent out is not a good thing. It is like being an extra in a movie thinking it will help your chances at being a movie star and then trying to find yourself in the crowd shot.

Fortunately, there are other openings tonight.

I went by the printers today to get the box order in today. We ship 200 boxes of the magazine all over the country. They twine up bundles of the rest to be delivered by hand. So Salerno and I organized all of that. Busy busy and crazy crazy. Veronica Gallerygirl came over tonight and helped me sort out office supplies and all sorts of that type of stuff. The place is a mess right now, but I know where everything is and that is a complete rarity.

Other than being preoccupied with the whole organizational mess, everything else seems okay. While I was driving to get yogurt with my girlfriend she asked about the previous post here where i expressed relief that she had not been romantically linked to Saddam’s son. I told her that all of the women he had been with were beautiful brunettes and she was the most beautiful. Sweet

Oh goodie! your Jupiter! You rule the planet count
by far, but sometimes things can be way too
annoying, so you need to find an outlet on the
surface.

What planet are you?
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