Things I want to write about without clever titles (AKA Quick and the Dead weekend)

A few weeks ago I went to the 'Quick and the Dead' opening at the Walker Art Center. It was sick. The last show to go up there was Elizabeth Peyton's 'Live Forever,' which has probably gotten more groans than any other show I've seen at the Walker. I liked it, the paintings were different and decent, and lent a familiarity to celebrities unlike other portraits, but overall it was nothing that got me riled up. I overheard someone say "It seems like she didn't necessarily have the most talent, but the best connections." Isn't that true in all arenas of life?

The QATD was super sick though. Conceptual art, which used to be the bane of my narrow minded existence, was a breath of fresh air. I went in, and my mind started thinking, and connecting, and thinking, and connecting. (Quick note, I just paused writing and took off my head-phones because I heard a really loud motor noise - turned out it was my dad, snoring, who is staying at my apartment for my sister's graduation). The Quick and the Dead is filled with pieces that deal with time and space, the type of art Einstein would have really dug (maybe). It includes a wheel which is frozen into a block of ice everyday, several time capsules, an interactive sound room, and on and on. It was curated remarkably, because it packs deep thought, aesthetics, humor and plain ridiculousness into a few galleries and then waits there patiently, ready to slap you in the face.

I've been planning on writing a critique on conceptual art and why no one likes visiting art museums, because I think that the general public hates it, as I did, before I learned anything about it, and I think that it is a valid point. No one ever wants to acknowledge that you have to be 'in he know' to understand and appreciate conceptual art, and therefore a lot of museum-types like to stick up their noses and pretend they're better for understanding the complex issues and concepts in the art, when really all they've proven is they have had a lot more of an explanation than the average visitor. Conceptual art is great, for everyone, but it is no good unless you know the history or story behind a piece.

Anyway, the point it, QATD is a good show because it has a lot of explanation (at last) which often does not accompany the artwork at my fine establishment. Therefore it is applicable to the masses.

So, back to me.

I went, saw it, it was sick, had a free drink, slammed two more because I didn't realize how early it closed, and got yelled at A LOT for taking secret pictures (like the film of that horse up there). Then I ran into my boss Witt at the coat-check on the way out, and he told me to hitch a ride with him to a Skoal Kodiak show on the Westbank. So, I said, "Fuck it, alright," and hopped in the Scion with him and his three friends.

Upon getting to the Westbank I realized I was going to look pretty stupid in a punk house/unlicensed venue dressed in my Calvin Klein blazer, so I took it off, along with my tie. Upon exiting the Scion, however, I realized I was now freezing. We walked through the ghetto-in-the-sky and hopped a fence, then meandered through a few yards and finally found the secret venue. When we got to the door we were informed that Skoal Kodiak was not playing, and Witt got really bummed, but then cheered up when he remembered we still had stuffed about a case of beer into our collective pockets, so we decided to have our drinks and watch the acts that followed.

At this point I made my way to the bathroom, where I passed my friend Anna from high school, said hello, and then stepped into this room, which was funny enough that it warranted taking pictures:
Have you ever been in the middle of taking a shit and wanted to start cooking waffles? Have you ever said to yourself, "You know what would be efficient of me? Taking a piss while doing the dishes."
That's correct. Toilet/kitchen, rolled into one.
Then this band played. I know you can only see this guy, but there were two others, played some pretty solid punk, but I was enthralled in overhearing a conversation a man behind me was talking about. So enthralled, that I Twittered it. Thank god, too, because it allowed me to remember this hilarious quote:

"Well, you know, not too bad for fifty."

"Yeah, I'm fifty and hanging out with all these teenagers. (Laugh)"

"Well, you know, I wouldn't guess you were fifty, you've got a full head of hair."

"Yeah, well, it's like, you can have a really big penis, or a full head of hair. And I've got a full head of hair."

And then we left the show, except slightly more intoxicated. So this time, when it was my turn to hop the fence over the parking lot, I ran up, planted my foot securely, vaulted over the top, and flew majestically through the air... and then landed on my tailbone on the concrete, while simultaneously twisting my ankle. At this point, Witt said, "Oh, yeah, I'm tired, I live in Nordeast, find your own way home."

Awesome. So he dropped me downtown, and I sat, cold, at the bus shelter, and waited. And waited. And waited. Then I checked the bus schedule. It turned out that the last bus stopped running at 1:11, and it was now 2:45. So I started walking.

I made it all the way to the Walker Art Center, before I turned around and spotted a taxi, which I flagged down, and it brought me home for a cool $8. When I awoke, I couldn't walk. The moral of the story? Go see the new exhibit, punk venues are not clean, and don't drink and jump.