Friday, April 28, 2006

Today I met with one of my art heroes: Peter Saul (loud swooning and release of artgasmic energy). He wore a whiteish t-shirt with costumed cats on it. Some had sombreros, others berets. Obviously, his taste in feline kitsch made me like him immediately. The best part was that he wasn't wearing it to be ironic (see my previous 800 diatribes about hipsters and their precious, precious insincerity). As I try to recollect my conversation with him, a few things stand out: He praised Christina Ricci for her subdued performance in "Monster," he talked about his next couple of paintings (which include a picture of Hitler blowing his brains out and Mickey Mouse imitating Pollock), and he asked me if I thought he looked like a woman. His t-shirt, which resembled something my grams' mah jong circle would like, did not help to assert his masculinity. In turn, I asked him if I looked like a man. I don't know why I did that---it was a nervous response to his strangely direct question. He gave me the big thumbs up on my ladyhood though. Sigh, still not androgynous enough apparently. Anyways, I'm going to the BIG Blanton opening tomorrow. Their list of events frighten me. 24 hours of yoga workshops and sundae-topping-fun. I'm sure there's an event that combines both: tantric sex and sprinkles.

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