We were underwater from Dallas until Louisiana.
We played catch in the field in the rain in Dallas, and drank lite beer with the gallery personal. We stayed in the luxury loft of a Santa Fe friend and made dhal for her and her boyfriend. The boyfriend makes new media work with live video feedback of virtual topography.
There was barely visibility in Iceberg, whose windows were foggy and tires were bare. I swam the ‘87 civic to Super Happy Funland, where we were stayed for two nights.
Super Happy Funland is as bad as it sounds. Hoarder-like piles of objects in a hugely dirty and dark warehouse with perpetual disco-lighting over a sea of dank couches. A nice but addled woman expressed her incoherent thoughts through pursed lips as we unloaded equipment and discussed dinner.
The nice woman approached me repeatedly to explain that the pizza truck in the parking lot was out of vegan cheese, that the store was out of vegan cheese, and that the pizza maker was grumpy. I was like: “We can cook food, it is not a problem.” She was like: “You can’t cook food the pizza guy is grumpy.” I was like: “No, we can cook food, we have a butane stove.” She was like: “I will talk to the pizza guy again, here is the menu.” So my friends ate some kind of gummy-looking pizza as I made spaghetti/salad and we all drank Lone Star, which was a popular thing to do at SHFL.
We spent a quiet day drinking coffee and working on individual projects at the Lawndale Art Center. In the afternoon it rained and we went to a hardware store. One of the pals I made in Austin came to visit and joined us for Martinis at SHFL, where we mainly stood around outside, mosquito bites as payment for not being in someone else’s Super Shaken Psychological Space.
