Nashville November

I have been trying to make it back home to Nashville every other month now, and maximize the quality family time I have left with Dad, and spend time with my niece and nephews as they grow up so quickly. Bradley is a senior in high school now, a sports writer, and radio sportscaster. While not yet "a" man he is well underway to being "the" man. Ellen is a freshman and so rapidly becoming a young woman it makes me nervous at times, and then she bounces like a playful little girl again with silliness and crafty things and all is right again with the world. Leland will be four on New Year's Day and is a manic little bit of alternating hilarity and trouble.

My mother remains, as ever, the matriarch, and accomplishes more than I ever could every single day. Despite her schedule of volunteerism, serving on at least a dozen boards, caring for her brood, and eking out only slivers of time for herself, she has also become the full time care-giver for my father, whose Parkinson's and other ailments take more of him away from us each day. Yet he too remains in good spirits and I enjoy just hanging out with him when he can.   (However, now I fear for his daily moods as I was told the reason he was in such good spirits was because I was home.)  I meant to get a lot of family photos this trip but only managed one or two.

I was home weekend before last for my not-Thanksgiving visit. Travel this week is just a nightmare, never mind the new TSA gate-rape policies, and is just too much time and trouble to go through for dinner. Since I moved to SF I believe I've been back for Thanksgiving only once or twice, which is fine by me. I do enjoy returning during November, and try to coincide my fall visit with the weekend of ArtRageous. And luckily for me, despite the drought, trees still clung to their leaves and great swaths of boulevard were transformed into a terrestrial fireworks display of autumn colors. I nearly drove off the road once or twice for the splendor, but failed to catch any of it on film. Weeks later, the bright yellows and flaming reds remain blazoned upon my memory. I did manage to pull over one afternoon to snap this pic of a late whatever-is-the-opposite-of-bloomer just now turning red on top while still dark green on the bottom. Eventually it will be a primary yellow like its kin.

Because getting flights was so difficult (Veterans Day and all) this was a short trip: Friday to Monday, and I reserved Friday night and Sunday as family days. My first night Mom and Dad and I went to one of their favorite restaurants down the street—Whitfield's, which was remarkably both formal and casual and featured their favorite musician, whom they invited to play at their Golden wedding anniversary last year. Dinner and dancing was just what my mother really needed and we had an absolutely marvelous evening just the three of us. Dad, of course, could not dance, but thoroughly enjoyed watching the young women dance and felt free to tell them so. Whitfield's also featured impeccable service and possibly the best pork chop I've ever had.

I did not get to see Mac, Emily or Leland this trip (they really need to start paying attention when I tell them I am coming to town) but I did get some quality "hang" time with Jay, Steff, Bradley and Ellen. After Hardcastle family time I was hijacked over to Carrington's for "cocktails and to see Sinclair's new tattoo" because they thought if I knew they were inviting me to a baby shower I wouldn't show up (they being right of course). Like Fran the Man, Carrington also has three rowdy boys, and between me and Sinclair we had lots of rough and tumble play. And were introduced to the "stinky bat" left over from Halloween.  Ew.

ArtRageous was pretty dampened by the cold and the rain.  And it was clear that night that ArtRageous is pretty much over.  Numbers have been steadily dwindling and it is far too much effort for the amount of money it was going to bring in.  They redesigned it a bit this year trying to pull all of the participating galleries closer together downtown, so instead of a bus this year we just used Jeff's penthouse near Printer's Alley as our party HQ.  Unfortunately, that meant that the nearby galleries were nearly empty until those in the buses had visited the outlying shows.  The "walkable" gallery tour and late party were washed out by freezing rain, which just sucked all the way around.  Add to the mess that the late party was at War Memorial on vast stretches of wet, polished marble and it was a parade of bone fractures waiting to happen.  DJ Ron is always awesome, but his dance area was under a hastily-tented area outside with a rain-slicked marble floor not ideal for dancing.  Inside featured wonderful cabaret-style performances, but the sound system was so jacked and the stage direction so fumbled that it felt more like half of a high school talent show rather than top-billable performers.  Other facets of the usually fabulous late party were disappointing too—lack of food in the general areas and poor choices in the VIP area, and pissed-off VIPS who paid hundreds of not thousands of dollars but were faced with a no-host bar, paying $9 (with tip) for both tiny and weak cocktails while the beverage sponsor provided free booze at the hosted galleries.  Bars were hard to get to and frustratingly inefficient.  Despite the enthusiasm, most people just said "fuck it" and either went home, back to their party HQs, or off to Tribe and the after party at Play.

The final feeling of this year's ArtRageous was that there would be one more, hopefully headed by the man who started it all and there would be a grand farewell to a great tradition and then we'd come up with something all new to raise money for Nashville CARES.

While ArtRageous did not manifest into its usual outrageousness, our crew was not lacking for effort. While Jeff was kind enough to absentee-host in his penthouse while he hosted at his own participating gallery, Keith put together a little make-a-mask arts and crafts project to unify our group in keeping with this year's theme of Gems & Jewels. I, of course, had already crafted for the theme and don't do masks other than face paint so I just glued or painted bits to my face and called it macaroni. Someone brought temporary tattoos that did work well on faces and necks, although some still asked for my brush as my designs could be both more elaborate and more easily removed. Which of course I loved.

I didn't get many pics, but I snapped a quick one with me and the also in-from-Cali Sparkle Josh, and the cute party boys who were still at Vanderbilt. I cannot imagine being out and social as such when I was in college. These guys are having such a different experience growing up that it made me feel a bit old, and somewhat dirty-old-man. I think J may have picked up on this as later in the evening as he grabbed my face and planted a long, wet one; which I'll admit sort of made my night.




Speaking of college, I ran into Lee McKeever whom I hadn't seen since Davidson, who hired a body painter to decorate her guests at her ArtRageous pre-party.



Again I failed in my picture-taking plan. Fortunately, Keith has loads.

The rest of the November 2010 was consumed with the usual wholesome Nashville weekend fare: Sunday brunch with Mom and Dad, hanging out and watching football at Jay & Steff's, Showtunes night at Tribe with the Grizzlies (here is a suitably "awww" photo of David and Van)...


...and you know, other wholesome activities... like writing love messages in lipstick on a hot guy's chest.

 
Life is good.

ArtRageous 2009: Sweet Inspiration

Nashville November, Part 4.

The theme for ArtRageous 22 was "Sweet Inspiration," which basically translates into "Willy Wonka." And gleefully, a lot of people stepped up to the theme.

There's not a lot to report beyond the super-happy-fun-time, other than that yet again me and mine failed to pace ourselves over the nine-hour mobile party and while we may have started out as cream, by the time we hit the late party we were whipped. Some of us were butter. I still can't believe I made it through the after party. Highlight of the event was, as usual, partying with Keith, and meeting the extraordinary new man in his life, Ray.

There was Betsy on pixie sticks, Oompa Loopas, girls with bad orange spray tans that made them unintentionally look like an Oompa Loompa, several Wonkas (including the event Chairs), lots of thematic sweeties, and even a shirt made out of candy. (Spot these in the photo sets).

All in all, friendly faces and much fun.

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My Flickr set. And Keith's.

sweet, wrinkle-free inspiration

ArtRageous is next weekend and this year's theme is "Sweet Inspiration." Judging by the artwork and marketing materials, I am assuming it's so named because "Willy Wonka" is copyrighted.

I am painting a shirt and a pair of jeans to go with the theme and to evoke the same sort of swirly whimsy of the invitation and posters. Here are a couple of shots I took with the iPhone. On the left, just after painting while the gel is still wet; to the right, as it dries.


I screwed up the paints and confused the primary and accent colors. The primary design was to be bold and accented with subtle sparkles (only a gay man could think that sparkles are subtle, but hey. Josh will back me up on this.)

So while it looked bold wet, it dried into something cool looking, but quiet. And in shadow or low light, is nearly invisible. I am trying to fix this by drawing over it with the primary paint, but the freehand brush strokes are much more smooth than my deliberate lines. I am afraid it's going to be too janky to wear and I'll have to make another one. The first draft looked so nice people thought I bought it. The edited version looks a little too "crafty."

Then again, it's a bunch of boozers on buses so how much should I care?

Update: Pants look good. Loud, but good. And as Kevin noted, it's costume wardrobe, so go big over quiet. I am wishing I had left the first draft shirt alone and saved it for going out here and just made an all-new costume shirt. Meh.

ArtRageous Wrap Up

It's time for some backblogging.

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 Keith

Keith 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...."

continue the research

A bunch of my ArtRageous cohort has stepped up and we're going to swarm the galleries as flying monkeys.

I bought 16 sets of fezzes and black wings from Aardvark last week, as no one got their act together to order their own online. This means that not only am I footing the bill for these, but I have to schlep them all from San Francisco to Nashville, via the hassle of Oakland airport no less.

Some people have already offered to reimburse me; it is, after all, only fifteen bucks per set. I'd be happy to recoup some of the $240 expense (I have been spending money the past two months as if I had it), but I also realized I'd be fine eating the cost and keeping the accessories.

It might be handy to have a dozen sets of flying monkey garb readily available.

Because that's just the kind of life I lead.

When I realized that, it surprised me, cracked me up, and then left me a little concerned.

I considered just shoving them all in a big under-bed plastic bin and keeping them around "just in case." But now I'm thinking I need to produce a Flying Monkey Bar Crawl. Every time we leave one venue for another, I can cry: "Fly My Pretties! FLY!"