It may surprise you to know, but I have problems. I don’t know if I would attend an art gallery specifically because all the artists have problems, but the fact remaineth that one has been arranged.
From February 8 to March 21, of whatever year this entry starts with, some of my and other persons’ silly pictures will be on display at, uih,
Small Space Gallery
70 Audubon Street, 2nd Floor
New Haven, Connecticut
America
I am pretty sure it’s free. If it isn’t, I’m certainly not getting a cut. Unless I err during my axe juggling routine. Every time I do that my cruel governess gets a knife and cuts me.
Also, on Thursday, this Thursday, the seven, at some point between 5 and 7 pm, I will be present for something called “Artists’ Talk,” which I’m told will involve me answering any questions any day-early attendees might happen to ask. They don’t have to be about the pictures, either. Ask me about pelicans. Ask me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street. Ask me what I think of the [expected] mediocre catering/lack of catering. Ask me how many pages I got into the book Dune (and then laugh). Ask me about croutons. But someone ask me something, please. The situation always goes stupid when I talk before more than three people and… I’m going down anyway, so I’d like to ruin it for others, as well.
I don’t want to make too big an issue of this, especially after I spent much of yesterday complaining about pictures from the internet I lack the skill to have assembled. I also find it highly doubtful that anyone who reads this, if anyone reads this, would be able to attend, whether due to the location or the minimal notice, and that if they could they’d be able to find the place.
But if you do go you will get to see, in person, this astounding Vance May picture, but a mere grubby likeness of which is printed on one side of the official invitation. The reason I have an invitation, when I’m being having one of the exhibits… The mega autism people who arranged the thing, for whatever reason, sent me about twenty of these, expecting me to mail them to people, entirely forgetting that they’re the mega autism people. Autism being a disorder associated with awkward social relationships and stunted public mobility. Sure, it’s “high functioning autism,” but that’s about the mental malfunction equivalent of saying I’m a credit to my race. Did you see when I said I wrote a letter to a lawyer? I wrote it, yes, but someone else had to send it because I’m useless (and so it is quite possible that my begrudging notice of compliance was replaced with an undeserved insincere sniveling apology to the wretched wretches at some point in the process). I have to write a note, put it inside a different thing, write a code on it, then put that inside another thing which some person I’ll never see then takes to some other place, and it will be days before I know if I did it properly, if anyone feels like telling me. How can I trust that? I’ll destroy them. Even if I was about to address all these and put them in a mailbox, and assure myself I’d done it properly, I don’t know that many people + addresses that I would risk assuming would be willing to bother with me. That up there isn’t necessarily how I’d want to tell them, either.
The only person I’m bringing is whoever brings me. So… if you know any motorcycle gangs, rodeo clowns or crazed robots in the New Haven region, perhaps you could tell them to could go in your place.
Tornado Rex sez:
Is one to assume that the exhibition will feature walls bedecked with dopes, Nemitzes and the like? If so, the drollness of such a prospect might actually move me to seriously consider attending despite geography…or at least would have, anyway, had you announced it more than two days in advance.
Rinslid sez:
The pictures will be there until March 21, I only know that I will be there on February 7. Unless there is snow, in which case they expect me to go at 8 instead. I can certainly go again. According to my records, there are two nemitzes and at least three dopes (depending on the minimum definition of “dope”), none of which are all that new.
Mariella sez:
Fuck. This is why I hate being in Los Angeles.
Now I can’t ask you about croûtons.
I’d ask you about Seaseme Street, but you know, I don’t have many discrepancies about that show. After all, it was meant to be a brainless show in the first place. For brainless children.
I like Elmo though.
Josh F. sez:
Congratulations! I’m really proud of you.
I know I don’t have to remind you to take pictures.
Rinslid sez:
Mella:
I hope you’re not insinuating that The Count, the felt-toothed vampire who spends all day writing letters to himself so he can count them later, lacks proper mental facilities.
If someone else asks about croutons (or croûtons, as the spell-checking-machine insists) I will provide a transcript.
Jeff:
Well there’s no need for that sort of talk.
I’ll take pictures. I don’t know that they’ll be interesting, I don’t know that they’ll be of a sort I can display here without giving a mean-spirited or merely condemnatory caption to, making them unsuitable to display here, but they will, at some point, travel across usb cable to occupy space on my hard drive.