My throat hurts form all the blah blah blah ing i did at the Dangerous Curve opening this evening. A fun alternative space, intelligent art, sound performance groups, including Jonas Ohlsson, that was cool, he sang a song about John Kerry and some otther stuff about how the Pixies saved rock and roll and now it is time to kill it with Euro techno. then we wnet ot Emmeric Konrad’s 40h birthday party, a taste of what is to come for me in a few short weeks (gulp).

So the the guy who prints Coagula Art Journal called me today to say that he is going out of business because his factory is too lucrative a piece of real estate to not sell in the current market. Hope he makes so much money that he forgets the five frickin figures i owe him.

And so begins an exhaustive search for a new business relationship. Might me be a disaster of unpredictable proportions, might be the perfect opportunity to grow the business. Might be nothing more than a seamless transition, or just replacing one set of headaches for another.

I printed Issues # 6 - 69 with the guy. From February of 1993 until last month. It is kind of like someone dying minus all of the tragedy and the corpse, but still that numb empty wonderment of what fucking now…

So the the guy who prints Coagula Art Journal called me today to say that he is going out of business because his factory is too lucrative a piece of real estate to not sell in the current market. Hope he makes so much money that he forgets the five frickin figures i owe him.

And so begins an exhaustive search for a new business relationship. Might me be a disaster of unpredictable proportions, might be the perfect opportunity to grow the business. Might be nothing more than a seamless transition, or just replacing one set of headaches for another.

I printed Issues # 6 - 69 with the guy. From February of 1993 until last month. It is kind of like someone dying minus all of the tragedy and the corpse, but still that numb empty wonderment of what fucking now…

Gallery C, which is just around the corner from the Hermosa Beach pier, has great openings. We went to one last night, it was a grand spectacle, reminded me of the time when the art world was not just a bunch of pinheaded academics being collegial at a dull weekend gathering. This was a party. People were dressed up, there were drinks and lite snacks. The group show was a sprawling, one-of-each-style exhibit. I got a little proud of myself because one of the artists in the show, Kiel Johnson, got his first break in a show I curated/juried a few years back at the i-5 Gallery. He had a giant painting centered on the back wall of tha gallery, perfect placement. Sculptor Brad Howe has finally returned to the limelight in this show.

My girlfriend and I drove down with Salerno and Jonas and we had a blast. The owner of the gallery told me that he has to have the opeing receptions on Thursday as the traffic and parking there are too big of hurdles on weekend nights. It is still a little tough to navigate through the density of beachy tourist traffic, but the big blast of the nice art opening was worth it.

The show also features Ann Thornycroft, whose daughter is an artist in Manhattan and was visiting, my girlfriend is friends with both of them and it was that whole oooohhh so good to see you, how’ve ya been vibe going on, one big happy reunion as a wild variety of artists, professionals, art wannabe’s, beach tourists, beautiful people, silicon strivers and the ordinary intellectuals of our times mingled elbow-to-elbow in the massive Gallery C. It is off the beaten art path, but it feels like Times Square when you are there.

I have been holding onto newspaper and magazine articles and clips about me and my magazine and my career for twelve frickin’ years. And its four piles of newsprint and glossy paper that I want to purge, so today we went to Kinko’s and started putting them altogether as a compendium of self-promotion - every job I have gotten up to this point has been word of mouth or reputation, so now let’s put a little effort into it, shall we…

So I spent part of the day going through stacks of old magazines. One of them, a magazine about publishing, they had a feature on me and I was wearing a frickin’ Dodgers cap. I almost flipped - as the article was a big deal but the picture makes it look like I am all about the Dodger Blue, so hardcore that I wore my cap in the picture for this big article - and that is, of course, something I would do for the Anaheim Angels, in fact I have done it before, and I am cool with the Dodgers and all, they are my 2nd favorite team, but try telling your wife you have a 2nd favorite woman down the street, you are gonna wear her hat in the nice picture.

A guy just looks all wishy washy if every time you turn around he is wearing some other team’s cap. When I got drunk with Charles Bukowski I was wearing (through a comedy of errors) a goddamned San Francisco Giants cap and drunk as I was, the minute his wife goes to take photos of us, I turn the fuckin’ thing around.

People who flit from team to team, jersey to jersey, town to town, cap to cap - those dudes are lame, it says something about their character, something not good. Or maybe I just look like some weird redneck with a baseball cap on, who cares what logo, why are you wearing a cap in this nice magazine highlighting your career accomplishments? I definitley look like some grungy drunk poet in the picture with Buk, that is for sure, and at the time, it was an accurate pic, made more accurate by the hat turned around cuz it ain’t my team.

Anyway, there are a fuckload of articles we are compiling, almost all of them without baseball caps. Buy stock in Kinko’s is all I gotta say.

Was I a bad American for not watching the Political Convention? I was watching baseball instead.
Then I came home and wrote about baseball, like I do every day.
And Sunday’s L.A. Times had this to say about me and my art: According to the artists, the devil is everywhere. For Mat Gleason, whose work is always about baseball, the devil appears in the form of Mo Vaughn, formerly of the Anaheim Angels, in his digital print Dark Angel.

So no time for politics, guess I have enough of my own life to not cede control of it to the fucks in suits.

Um… Did I do anything today? Nope. I kind of wandered around, got used to walking again, my foot was still a bit stiff. Jonas Olssen, an artist staying here at the Brewery, was sick to his stomach and taking aspirin, which only exacerabted the condition, so I took some tylenol over to his place. There, that’s the highlight of the day, visiting the sick, the nuns from St. Paul of the Cross would be so proud.

This was the first day in like ten days that I could walk without a limp and breathe without an inhaler. Cabin fever is coming. Still trying to take it easy. If it is hot tomorrow, maybe I will go see Catwoman to cool off. I hope the plot is so lame that everyone will leave the theater and i can finally be alone with Miss Catwoman.

I am listening to Miles Davis and there is baseball on the television muted, girlfriend dozing on the couch, putting up eBay auctions on the internet. Something perfect about the moment. The sun is still illuminating the loft but the hot glare is gone. The trumpet is certain, she is smiling with eyes closed, the Yankees are losing to the Red Sox and an old punk zine I have owned since 1981 is about to sell for twenty bucks.

It got even better. Derek Jeter struck out.

We watched Five Easy Pieces on DVD. Uh, the famous restaurant scene was quick and out of place in this slow movie. there is another scene where he tells a pompous intellectual woman off that is just as good. But it is a slow movie. But Karen Black is in it and therefore it is watchable. Plus Nicholson bangs the actress who played Gloria in All in the Family. This was prior to her departure to Ethiopia.

We saw White Chicks last night. My gout has been throbbing, but I took some Tylenol and was able to walk around. we went out. My girlfriend laughed so hard, and the theater was empty save six other people. Today the gout was even worse and I could not find my medicine. Finally found it, took it and am feeling better. But I don’t trust this to not flare up again. What a mess.

On top of that, some idiots at the Brewery Art Colony painted their loft. They left the window open and the fan blowing and sprayed their room. The atrium has silver spackles in one corner below their 2nd story window now. Get it, Silver, like Warhol’s factory! Not to mention that nobody could breathe in the atrium all afternoon. The guy has a respirator and an open window and a fan and jsut sprays away while we all gag.