The ArtRageous weekend (November 9-12) was a lot of fun. Cynthia took on, once again, the enormous effort of organizing our Van Go, which she named The Whizz. Joining the Warner party were Mac and Emily, Mary Carolyn, and a wonderful last-minute addition: Ginger.
We had the only accessible coach, which gave us some extra sitting/standing room, and more importantly a bathroom. Although the signage was a bit confusing:
There was some discussion if this meant (1) no more than one person at a time (that being more of a conditioned response for club-goers); (2) men should sit when they pee (which really should have been illustrated differently if such is the case); or (3) Men from motion pictures from the 30s and 40s should not stand up. Really, who wears a hat like that any more? And as for the "do not put trash in the toilet" signage-- really? a tin can? I can imagine the apple core, and maybe the banana peel, but a hand-opened tin can and a bottle? Who's been riding this bus? Hobos?
And then there was the warning not to drink the Purell.
Okay, duly noted.The flying monkey accessories did look great. Dragon/bat wings for the guys and black feathers for the girls.
Shots of Ginger and me have been featured in The Nashville Scene, Nfocus, Nashville's Out & About, and a couple of art magazines whose titles I don't recall.It's nice to be pretty.
And on Emily, every time she pushed herself forward it looked like she was flapping.
Awesome.I didn't get reimbursed for the sets (except by Mac & Em) and no one felt like taking theirs home, which ultimately was fine by me. Mark your calendars: January there will be a Flying Monkey Bar Crawl in SF.
And a side note about the loser fags also on our bus. They were so haughty and actively shunning the whole flying monkey idea. These mo's and their ho's were totally playing too cool for school, and acting like we were the square kids making them look bad. Their leader was making it clear that he was too cool to participate in the theme, and that I was some sort of nerd for getting into it.
True, I am a huge nerd, but nerd has been the new cool for some time now. And seriously, you're a fashion fag in Nashville—you may have a 30-inch waist and a full head of hair, but when it comes to cool, and especially party cool, don't try to throw down with me. When you can get press clippings from the Swan Ball and Dore Alley, then we'll talk. Hell, I even got press coverage for a party weekend in Tucson for heaven's sakes. Amateur.
But back to the wrap up.
Also on our bus was the fabulous Glinda the Good Witch, who, without platforms and crown already stands at six-foot-six. This was one tall witch (we're standing on a slope so I look taller).
At times, the bus was more fun than the galleries. And at the galleries, we spent a little more time socializing than shopping.
Ryan, Jeff, and friend
Off to see the Wizard.However some of us were moved by the art.
And some of us more than others.
The low point of the evening was when our diver got lost and left us stranded for over half an hour on a street corner downtown, in the 32-degree cold, and anxiously late to the late party. Mac and I had to talk our way out of a public-drunkenness/open container issue with a partolman, but I think having a bus-load of charity do-gooders and a seven-foot Glinda giving photo ops helped.
And of course, the Late Party is where all the magic happens. Even though it got really messy really quickly, I got to catch up with many old friends including John Bridges, Josh "Sparkle" Johnson, DJ Ron (who was spinning of course), and hoards of others lost to the haze which was the Late Party.Of particular note, another lovely and talented Keith (in addition to Hinkle). This one is the only man I've met with a name better than mine, which also sounds equally made up but is not.
Wilson and KeithKeith used to live in Nashville (and used to date good friend Jon Glassmeyer) and moved to Chicago about seven years ago where he has established himself not only as a successful stage actor, but also a Concierge Supervisor. I have several important people in my life who are great concierges and I am putting together a piece on the concept of the concierge. I think I respect the concierge so much as they have made a profession out of basically being exceptionally good hosts. As a southern gentleman, I have to respect that.
We should totally be a couple if not just for the hypenate.
(Did I mention that for a small fee you too can see this cutie naked?)
Also on deck at the late party:
Michael, Jeff, Wilson, Jon (this year's Chair of the Host Committee), Heather, and Sinclair (newly promoted Managing Editor of Nfocus).
And the wonderful Mike Smith, also newly promoted to basically Publisher of the Nashville Scene.The late, late party turned out to be more of an ordeal. Come 1:30-ish, we headed to Play for the after party's after party. David Taylor, former Co-Chair of ArtRageous sponsor of this year's ArtRageous, granted all those with host badges free admission to the late night party at his dance/cabaret club Play. Ryan, who was on our bus and brought his own set of fez and wings, turned out (1) not to be straight as I originally thought, and (2) a lot of fun. We drove together to Play in Mom's car, but as usual I parked a block or two too soon. We talked in the car a little bit, but as it was well below freezing at this point, we decided we should park much, much closer.
At this point, Mom's car died.
Wouldn't even try to turn over.
It was now pushing 2:00, freezing, and I had few people I could call other than triple-A, which would have taken ages. Mac and Emily were joining us (in theory) but headed to a different bar and were not answering their phones. I called Keith, who had just pulled into his driveway way out in Bellevue (he had a soccer game at 8:00 the next morning). Saint that he is, he drove all the way back into town to give us a jump.
When he and Jonathan returned, it was a bit of a to do to block traffic and align his car such that it the jumper cables could reach from battery to battery. As I said, we were in Mom's Benz, which opens like a Rubic's cube and it took some figuring out to pop the hood. And then we couldn't find the battery.
After much searching, in the dark, in the freezing, with no street light, Jonathan finally spied a sign, in black letters in black plastic in the dark: "Battery located in trunk."
We aligned the car again, and opened the trunk lining, but still could not readily grasp where the contacts were. I tried the car again, just to be sure, and it started up just fine. Lord knows what was going on. I thanked Keith and Jonathan profusely for what turned out to be a fool's errand, but Ryan and I did not go into Play as I was afraid to turn the car off. I drove Ryan back to his car, where we were loathe to part company, but also could not turn off the car. We talked for pretty much as long as I had gas to get home then parted ways.
I was in bed around 4:30. And woke up at 7:30 with the world's worst hangover. By 10:00 I was beginning to grasp at lucidity, and worried about Mom, who took the car to church. I asked her about it when she got home. "Is your car all right?"
"Yes, but I did have to stop and get some gas...."
