Things Called Malls

There is a mall, and I went to it. It was a big collection of shops. Like a strip mall, only all indoors. Puzzling, but true. And the security people say it's not ok to ride your bike inside, even though it's a long way between stores. There were fat people and ugly people, and most everyone looked the same. I quickly realized that my quest for obnoxiously loud dress pants was best pursued online. Pants at the mall only come in three colors: blue, khaki, and yawn.

I amused myself with private performances. I did one on imaginative aristocracy, which mostly consisted of imagining that all the people in the mall were my peasants on a festival day, come to the specially constructed communal center to buy their annual supplies and find wives. Also did a scatological investigation of arab-western cultural juxtaposition, which involved standing on the seat and squatting arab-style. It left satisfyingly inexplicable footprints on the seat, which paired nicely with the imaginary mathematical formulae I scrawled on the toilet paper. I did some minor ogling too, but it had little artistic merit.

I'm a Unicorn and I Make Twenty-six Dollars an Hour

I heard the most amazing sentence ever spoken by a human being at the open mike at the vegan place. A "poet" was reading a poem entitled "20 Reasons I Hate Unicorns," which mostly involved blaming unicorns for life's minor inconveniences. A grizzled gray-bearded homeless-looking guy completely freaked out and delivered this rant:

My boss makes unicorns he makes a million dollars a year what do you make? don't talk shit about unicorns man, you ain't making nothing. get up there and talk shit about unicorns when my boss makes a million dollars a year. we wear these shirts with unicorns on the shoulder at work, man. I'm a unicorn and I make twenty-six dollars an hour what do you make?

Telophase v2.0

This morning I went to a community arts meeting about a 3rd floor space downtown. The owner wants to convert it into a community gallery/studio/general arts space. 5 of us agreed to take on a lease and open the space, which will eventually grow to cover the entire floor as he knocks out walls, and turn it into studio space, a gallery, and a performance space. Like Telophase, it's a cross-genre multi-disciplinary collective. Only we'll call it something else. The beginning 5 are me (writing, bookmaking, installation), a photographer, a musician, a ceramics artist, and a printmaker.

We're pairing our first opening with the July downtown Arts Walk, which should bring thousands to the neighborhood.

Also I have a December solo show at a different gallery around the corner.

Not bad for two weeks in town.

The Artful Dodger Lives Again

Chicago people will know what I mean. Years after the one in Chicago was terminated, I discover a new one, much the same, except the beer is cheaper, in the wilds of Virginia. Granted, there are savages wandering by on the sidewalk in nomadic herds, but they're actually more docile than the average psychotic homeless person.

The difference between a nomadic savage and a homeless person is that the nomad is going somewhere.

My Cape, Let Me Show You It

So I've started riding my bike around town wearing a huge gray cape. It billows satisfyingly behind me. This is part of my plan to introduce myself to everyone as a Wizard. Part One of my plan was to make my wallpaper on my corporate computer a huge monster truck. Because everyone knows Wizards drive monster trucks. Stage Two was to start offering to wizard things for my coworkers. Here's a conversation I had today:

Colleague: Man, I need one of those hook things for my coat.
Me: I could wizard one for you.
Colleague: Really?
Me: Yeah. I don't make a big deal out of it, but I'm a wizard.
Colleague: Where's your wand?
Me: Druids use wands. I just wizard things.
Colleague: I didn't know wizard was a verb.
Me: I had to wizard it into verbness.
Colleague: Is verbness a word?
Me: It is now. It is now. That's pure wizardry, my friend.

I've also found that wizardry is a useful baseline for comparison to everything that happens in a tech company. Like:

IT Guy: OK, your access to the intranet should be set up.
Me: You didn't even touch my computer.
IT Guy: I did it remotely.
Me: Is that wizardry?
IT Guy: . . . sort of.

Stalking

I'd been planning on finding a normal-looking family--maybe headed by a Wal-Mart employee--and stalking them, photographing them and photoshopping myself into the photos and making an artist's book / photoalbum about "my" family and how much they love me. Writing elaborate stories about the time we went tubing or watched a NASCAR race together, all tragically heartfelt and more than a little pathetic in their eager earnestness.

The logistics are dragging me down.

Day Three

Everyone is married. It's apparently normal here. I think it has something to do with the baby jesus and the easter bunny. As far as I can tell, though, all that marriage just means that there's a lot of closeted swingers instead of people hunting one nighters solo.

They have children too. There's children everywhere.

Breeder's paradise. Or child abductor's paradise. Depending how you look at it. I should drop an anonymous tip to NAMBLA.

Everyone is also friendly, which is just fucking creepy.

That reminds me of a conversation I had with M about my ideal job. I briefly considered a full-time position "Spitting At People" but realized that it'd be hard to stay hydrated, so I switched my choice to astronaut. Because astronauts have water bags built into their space suits, so they don't get dehydrated, so they can spit at people all day long. Hydration is important.