Miami was so crazy. I can't even go into it without freezing into some stone of Puritanical mortification, so my memories will forever stay twixt' the lustrous sand of South Beach. Along with my phone. Which I lost on the Beach. Which had a new entry titled only "underage Cuban."

*To clarify: the underage Cuban in question was a young Cuban boy who wanted to take Anjali and I to La Playa. He kept calling me "little white girl," which I find funny in light of my recent series.

I saw a lot of good art, and a lot of shitty art. Seriously, there's just too much to really retain. I liked Aqua best of all actually. Yes, I'm kind of full of shit (as I was a participating artist there) but I liked the casual presentation and atmosphere.

*I missed a lot of stuff, so I have very little room to compare Aqua to anything else. I heard the Rubell collection was amazing, but my grams was tired (she waddled her way to Miami!) and so I couldn't go.

Risa and Arturo are on Artforum diary! I'm so jelly, here's a pic:

Left: Geisai artist Eric Doeringer. Right: Art Palace's Arturo Palacios and Risa Puleo.

Also:
I'm erecting a creepy taxidermied girlcrush altar to Elaine Bradford.
I am not as good as I thought at bodysurfing.
Vagina shells do exist.
Takashi Murakami is kind of a prick when he thinks someone (me) is stalking him on the street. Even if that person (me) is totally awesome and just wants to sniff his moo-moo or tunic or whatever.
London galleries are hawt.
Miniature things are hawt.
Miami is hot (and hawt) and colorful and full of good-hearted cliches like speedoed men on roller blades and ill-fitting coconut bra-ed women (also on some kind of roller bladeish vehicles).