Dirty Linen Party

I'm not even sure where to start with this one. The Dirty Linen party is the dirtier answer to last weeks more ....er, refined (?) White Linen Party on Julia Street. And dirty it was. Paired with the already less than fresh, but still beautiful French Quarter, were near naked girls being hand painted in the middle of the street in day glow colours, millions of little plastic cups in varying states of emptiness, and several men of varying degrees of hirstutness in red dresses. The girls were part of an exhibition by the Painted Alive gallery, one of 50 participating galleries. Which is where the little cups came from, gallons and gallons of free drinks. And good ones too. In two hours I had consumed a Cabernet, a Chardonnay, Champagne, and what may now be my drink of choice, the Old New Orleans rum strawberry and basil mojito. I had two of those, asking Selena to hold my half empty glass in order to get back in line for another. The men in dresses were from a foot race run by...men in red dresses. Add into this the famous super heated night air of New Orleans and boil. Dear God it was a hot night.


The art was on par for art in the quarter, a lot of outsider art and art that was largely process driven. That sort that is great fun to make but really has no substantial meaning taken out side of the studio. Lots of folks buying vague impressionist studies of Jackson Square to match the cararra marble counter top of the mini-bar. There were fantastic things too, like the brilliant paintings of roosters at Galerie Dalray, one of which is pictured above. On the wall 'round the corner is another fantastic oil of stacked oreos wich is a magnificent study of brown and blue ranges. In that series there are also giant studies of stacked waffles and stacked hamburgers which were torture as I am on the official tuna sandwich and apple poverty diet. After walking Selena to Frenchmen Street from Canal Street through the steaming mass of the quarter, earning me massive gentleman points, I met up with friends at the Bourbon Pub where I drank more dinner and met a nice guy named Aaron, who is not the
dancer in the photo stream.



Ricky and Friends. The one in the lower photo has fantastic eyes.



David, fantastic bartender and new proud Papa.

Random yet stunning couple at the pub.

Maintaining Consciousness while Moving

So I ran again last night and did not experience any sort of out of head experience.
I have other things to make up for it though. Such as my tea cup balanced on a charging elephants bum of a
financial situation. Why do people pay talented people so crapily(two p's in crapily?)? Why do talented people
work for such crappy pay? Seriously, not just me, someone had to set the precedent. That said why do I do it?!
Partly because I honestly can't do anything else, I've only ever worked in theatre thereby ruining my chances
at any sort of viable occupation at this point. Do I stop caring about what I do? Do I only give as much design
as I'm being paid for?
"Here Love, Here is your half a suit and partial tie. Be grateful, the rest of the cast are in hefty bags and knee socks."
I don't think I could do that either. A friend just sent me a message telling me to stop working at realizing the dreams
of others who have no regard for my own...it sounds clearer in french. I think this is quite wise, and true, only in this
business the only one who ever gets to really dream the majority of the time are the directors. And the bloody
playwrights who dream up swimming pools as stage sets and multi-cast actors who change clothes in four lines.

I've decided to focus on set design for a while. And to give Tulane another semester since they are paying me to be
here. I still plan on submitting apps to other programs. Or who knows. Not me, not this instant anyway.

As thought that weren't enough. Of the two guys I've been seeing one is moving to North Carolina, professining
his adoration the whole time. I tried a long distance thing before and it was enough to know better than to do it again.
The other is adorable, but about as constant as a comet. Plans were made to see Batman this evening, and I've heard
nothing. What I really need are friends. I have friends, great, fantastic, melt in you mouth friends, just none in the city.
Everyone I know is married, otherwise engaged, or a little to close to the line of Acquaintance to be comfortable.

SketchbooK

Compiled from the last 3 years...ish.

Films: Boy Meets Girl, Leos Carax (1984)

Semi-Unconcious on Saint Charles Avenue.

And not in a drunken fratty sort of way. More of in a jogging along at eleven o'clock at night and suddenly found myself on the ground kind of way.The whole event lasted perhaps four minutes and was more amusing than terrifying. A few cars passing by, some distant joggers and thankfully no street cars were around. In the event I did manage to loose my keys to the building and apartment at the site of the black-out, which I did not realize until I got home. Luckily there they were nestled among mardi gras beads and bottle caps. I even ended up finishing my run since I had to go all the way back out, and managed not to fall over.

Homesickness

Continental Divide, New Mexico.

From Vökuró

Langt í burt
Vakir veröld stór
Grimmum töfrum tryllt
Eirðarlaus
Ottast nótt og dag
Augu þín
Ottalaus og hrein
Brosa við mér björt

(Far away
Wakes the great world
Mad with grim enchantment
Disquieted
Fearful of night and day
Your eyes
Fearless and serene
Smile bright at me)