So the galleries were largely unairconditioned, so we quickly found ourselves shuffling about the city in search of beverages. And as we worked our way through the crowd I started having all the usual alienation experiences, and the general thought that there are vastly too many people on earth. But this did not stop me from noticing a street preacher with an accompanying interpretive dancer, a guy who looked like he was straight off the Latest Trey tour doing some spinning of the Grateful Dead and the Beastie Boys and a whole lot of rhythm section way too loud cuts, and another religious street rapper who rhymed "Internet Porn Blocker" with "Chewbacca." Can we get an A-men / for Lando Calrisien. That is probably not how you spell that.So somewhere around the time the fourth or fifth band or the seventeenth alt-indie dolled up wunderkind passed my way, i caught a glimpse of the art community as machine. Maybe it's a little too much evolution lit in the past six months - but it seems like the whole thing is a carpetbomb philosophy, mass effort of many with the anti-teleological result (not aim) of some sort of cream rising to the top - like individual artworks are random mutations toward some kind of trait improvement, or maybe just commercial viability. That's not even to the say that the best will rise up, just to say that there is an awful lot of understuffing to whatever rears its head in the big way to become known and/or impactful. Like the American dream is a mechanistic selling point towards overall progress. This is not anything profound - it's just that seeing the hundreds and hundreds of destined failures at street level that way made it stand out a little more, that every success story has a million dream-crushed silly believers in its wake. It extends, natch, to businesses or career or sports endeavors or any other arena. So how much of that follow your dream, pursue-pursue-pursue ethic is authentic and how much of it is purely mechanistic - it's a good thing to tell the kids as it will propagate the success waves, not for the individual but for the mass effort. It's a sort of cross between whether the dream pursuit thing is the way it should be or just the way it is.
(In actuality, I don't know if any of this was real analytic type thinking or just a reaction to the multitude of heroin chic retro t-shirt stylings and haircuts that made me utter "Wow, Spinal Tap's getting back together" more than once. Beautiful People, indeed - I think I've officially crossed tha tline to the age where what is "it" is weird and strange to me - though I suppose you would have had to have existed in some kind of it comfort zone to make claims that you've crossed a line from within to without it. So I withdraw the sentiment - i don't get the cool people. Or think they're lame and cynically find their silly dreams naive. Which makes me cool, right?).
So after those cynical drippings wormed their way in, we headed to a Thai place that made us wait a solid 45 minutes or so for some reasonably good food and terrible too loud thump thump uncha uncha uncha music that was actually being played by a DJ and not a faceless cyborg electronica-bot 5000. Hideous! But a good meal (Half a thing of Pad Thai for the Beck and me; a plate fo something resembling Curry vomit / baby food for the D & C. It was reportedly good despite its appearance. The service was not. But the companyof D&C was fun. And tonight, we continue the shenanigans, heading over to a pregnant lady named Ren's house to watch homoerotic Ultimate Fighting Championships. Eediots, all of us - but should be fun, and will drag us away from watching the DBacks get their ass kicked for the umpteenth time in a row.
Peace out, for the now.
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