Thursday, August 30, 2007

Day of the Ladies of the Fountain

A short round podium with three rams’ heads jutted out the center, and three ancient Greek-looking women stood back-to-back in a circle on top of the podium. Their arms crossed their chests.

For makeup the ladies wore spider webs and dark streaks blown across their faces by the wind and the rain.

The fountain looked ancient, ancient and Greek, like the kind of thing to inspire myth and mayhem. Which was exactly what it would do.

It was an abrupt change in the splish and drip of water in the fountain, a change in delicately balanced rhythms.

The breeze dropped dead. A million blades of grass suddenly stood erect. Every leaf on every tree hushed and hung.

Time blinked for just a second, and in that second something sneaked past time’s inexhaustible logic and dipped its magical toes into the water of the fountain.

“Free!” said Alaia. “Three hundred years trapped in these statues and we’re free!”

“I can’t get my butt free,” said Tia. “This is really embarrassing. How did you do it?”

“It’s all in the wiggle,” said Alaia. “Just a little wiggle and a shake, shake, shake and … jeez, mine’s stuck too.”

Epsy tipped her head around the corner. “Hee hee … just a little wiggle and a…”

“See this foot?” said Alaia.

“It’s a very fine foot,” said Epsy.

“You’re going to wear it if you’re not careful with the wiggle shit.”

“Now ladies,” said Tia, “let’s not be grumpy now that we’re free.”

Epsy re-attached her posterior to the statue exterior and said, “Look! Look! I’m a statue again! Just watch how I detach … I wiggle and I wiggle and I sh…”

“Oh,” said Tia, “I’m getting out of here. She’s going to kick you with her wet feet! There’s no buts about it. Hee hee!”

“Oh, you’re both in such trouble!” said Alaia as she wiggled and she wiggled and she shook, shook, shook.

“Ha ha!” laughed Alaia. “It worked. I just had to throw in a half shake at the end.”

“A half shake?” said Tia. “I think I’ll re-attach and try that.”

“Oh look,” said Tia. “I’m a statue again, a statue. I think I’ll wiggle and …”

“Kiss this!” said Alaia.

“Hey,” said Epsy. “You’re not really attached. You’re just faking.”

“Let’s both kick Epsy,” said Tia.

“What is this place?” said Alaia. “It’s certainly not Olympus.”

Tia’s behind went POP. “See, Tia, I was really attached.”

“Just yankin’ you,” said Epsy. “Look. I’m an Olympian torch bearer with a fountain on my head.”

“So these are the little brown coins that mortals have been throwing in here and making wishes on us!” said Alaia.

“Zounds,” said Epsy. “Remember that loser who made all the wishes that we would come to life and fuck his brains out?”

“I have an idea,” said Tia.

“We should visit the little weirdo,” said Tia.

“Hmm?” said Alaia.

“And bring him here,” said Tia.

“Hmm?” said Epsy.

“And stick his ass against the fountain!” squealed Tia. “Watch him wiggle and shake!”

“Or maybe we could just stick his coins up his ass,” said Alaia.

“He threw a lot of coins in here,” said Tia.

“My point exactly,” said Alaia.

“Do you think Matt Damon has been born yet?” said Epsy. “I’d really like to stick coins up…”

“OK sisters,” said Alaia. “Time to get out of here and spread havoc upon the populace.”

“Oh, I love it when you talk dirty,” said Tia.

“Here I come, Matt,” said Epsy.

“Do you think we might look a little conspicuous?” said Tia.

“Three gorgeous women dressed in red?” said Alaia. “We’ll fit right in. I mean, how much can the mortals have changed in a few hundred years?”

“I still think we should have gone with blue,” said Epsy. “I like blue. Someday, I’m going to paint something in blue.”

“Is she in the same world as us?” said Tia.

“I don’t even want to think about it,” said Alaia.

“I really really really need to do some serious partying,” said Tia as she stepped out of the fountain.

“Tia, my dear,” said Alaia, “we’re going to turn this town upside down.”

“I have a coin,” said Epsy. “I’m coming for you, Matt.”

“And I really need to have a crap,” said Tia. “It’s been a few hundred years.”

“I hear that,” said Alaia.

“I was thinking, maybe a beer first,” said Epsy. “Has beer been invented yet? I’d settle for a flask of wine.”

“Really,” said Tia, “What world are you in, girl?”

“So, this is it,” said Alaia.

“It feels so strange,” said Tia.

“Couple of flagons of beer will fix that,” said Epsy.

“Hmm,” said Alaia, “I think she just might have a point.”

“Time to turn the town upside down,” said Tia.

“Let’s pay Ingrid a visit,” said Epsy.

Coming soon: The Ladies of the Fountain visit Ingrid Meuller at Art+Concepts.

Monday, August 27, 2007

Night of the Drinking Uneaten

It was a dark and stormy night at Wilser's Deck just a week after the carnage and devourment by Deanna's painting and the sudden and horrifying appearance of an artificial life form escapee from Gallery Connexions folllowed by an invasion of thousands of artificial life forms that swooped upon the revelers at Wilser's, Dolan's and somewhere in the heart of Zeeland. Pandemonium reigned. But then, a strange thing happened … the revelers transcended the carnage and joined the ranks of the Drinking Uneaten.

As usual, I was sitting in the rain, but this time, I was prepared. Since it fell off on my fortieth birthday, the only thing I like wet in my life is my beer.

“That’s a wonderfully wet beer I’m beholding on the tabletop,” I said. “By the way, has anyone noticed that the deck seems to be slipping a little toward the ground? It’s very undeckish.”

“I think that might have something to do with the depraved life you lived in the sixties,” said Joe. “And did you hear about the carnage last Friday night. I’ve heard rumors that some of those eaten by the artificial life forms and Deanna’s painting have come back to life to drink and revel as the Drinking Uneaten.”

“Hmm,” I said. “”Shouldn’t that be the Drinking Regurgitated?”

“Get out of the sixties, Biff,” said Joe.

“See the people at the table behind me?” said Beth.

“Yes,” said Joe. “They certainly look like hearty revelers.”

“Eaten,” said Beth. “Everyone of them. By the painting and the life forms.”

“But they look so alive,” said Joe.

“It’s the beer,” said Beth. “And guess what?”

“What?”

“I was eaten alive as well. In another life. But here I am … uneaten and drinking.”

Phil kept a wary eye on Deanna’s painting.

“I think those people over there are talking about us,” said Krista. “Should we eat them?”

“No,” said her drinking buddy. “But I think we should stop Biff from looking at us through those sixties tainted eyes. It’s having a strange affect on our coloration.”

“It could also be a side effect of being eaten last Friday,” said Krista. “Damn, I don’t even remember if it was the painting or the life form that got me. But it’s good to be uneaten again … and drinking. And it Biff pokes that fucking flash in my face one more time, I’m shoving my beer glass up his ass.”

John sat with two of the Drinking Uneaten and asked how it felt to be drinking again.

“I’d do it again in a minute,” said Peter. “It was all acrylicy and emulusiony and …”

“Snap out of it,” said John. “That’s not what I asked.”

Tom said, “It feels like … like … like …”

“I think I have to go pee,” said John.

“I was eaten by Tasmanian bush devils on Queen Street last night,” said The Man In The Red Coat. “It made me thirsty.”

“Well, I was eaten by sharks at Killarney Lake yesterday,” said Beth.

“There’s not sharks in Killarney Lake,” laughed Joe. “Those were piranhas.”

“Why don’t you sit a little closer to Deanna’s painting,” said Beth.

“I think the painting moved,” said Phil. “Did anybody else see that?”

“It’s all just part of an emerging Wilser’s mythology,” said Joe. “It’s done with verbs and nouns. Hmm, I think I feel a poem coming on.”

“Dare ya to write it under the painting,” said Beth.

In the distance, a beautiful maiden clipped flowers under the cover of night.

The Man In The Red And Black jacket (not to be confused with The Man In The Red Coat who was eaten by Tasmanian Bush Devils on Queen Street) said, “I sure am glad to be one of the Drinking Uneaten. That ‘eaten’ part really sucked. Who would have thought that, just by adding ‘un’ we could all be sitting here having this much fun. Oh, did you hear what I said? ‘Un’ and ‘fun.’ Hey, Joe! Wanna hear my poem!”

“Maybe next week,” said Joe. “Next Friday. Here. Under the painting.”

“Aren’t you going to be in Serbia next week?” said Beth.

“I certainly hope so,” said Joe.

“You publishers are all alike,” said Beth. “I had my heart broken by a publisher once.”

“Really,” said Phil. “What was his name?”

“Umberto Eco,” said Beth. “Umberto Eco broke my heart.”

“Umberto Eco wasn’t a publisher,” said Joe. “He was a writer.”

“You writers are all alike,” said Beth.

Down in the Tannery, WhiteFeather and Deanna waved and called up, “Don’t get eaten by the paintings and artificial life forms tonight!”

“All you have to do is give me beer for a year,” said Deanna. “Or … I’ll settle for a big party.”

Suddenly, Deanna and WhiteFeather were eaten by the SUV parked beside them.

“Did you see that?” said John. “That SUV just ate WhiteFeather and Deanna.

“That’s OK,” said Peter as he chomped on his donair … they’ll be back as the Drinking Uneaten. It’ll be fun. “We’ll all …”

In a remarkable twist of events, Peter’s supper ate him.

“Does that mean that we can have the rest of his donair?” said John.

“Knock yourself out,” said Tom. “I’m not touching that thing.”

The Man In The Red Coat turned to the beautiful woman beside him and said, “Did I tell you about the time I was eaten by a Christmas tree?”

“Drink some more beer,” said the beautiful woman. “Maybe about fifty gallons.”

Inside Wilser’s I saw Veronica Pencil and approached her in a drunken stupor and said, “My beer ate me.”

“That’s very interesting, Biff,” she said. “Maybe you should pour yourself into a glass.”

“Actually, I think I was on my way to the washroom.”

“Lot’s to pour into in there,” she said.

In a moment of compassion, Veronica introduced me to her friends, George and Heather. “I’ll never forget your names for as long as I live,” I said.

Carl said, “So, are you one of the Drinking Uneaten?”

“You’re not really one of them, are you?” said Sally.

“I heard they come back and drink,” said Theo.

“And then get eaten again,” said Mary.

“Oh, Biff,” said Veronica. “I think you’d better find a glass or a urinal really soon.”

COMING NEXT: Ladies of the Fountain ….

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Barbeque and Rueful Things from Ceegars and Disrespect for Photographers

It was at the tail end of a dark and stormy weekend, and everybody was wondering why it was so damn cold in August. We all felt a sense of betrayal from global warming. But that’s another story. My name is Biff. My friends, WhiteFeather and Chris were having a barbeque. I was invited. So was our mutual friend Deanna. This is our story …

No sooner had I arrived than, Chris (who had just been filmed by the CBC for burning down the house at Casemates) said, “Hey, Biff! I have a new digital camera. It takes fifty thousand pictures on one battery from the Dollar Store.”

“That’s cool,” I said. “But my new digital camera takes sixty thousand pictures using sunlight and methane from cow shit.”

“Well,” said Chris, “I have four pairs of yellow socks.”

“And I have five pairs of red socks,” I rebuffed.

“Let’s just take pictures of Deanna eating all the appetizers,” said Chris. “We’ll use our new digital cameras for evil.”

We pointed our cameras at Deanna and started using them for evil.

“This isn’t really a piece of bread in my mouth and I’m not eating the appetizers early because I’m a starving artist,” said Deanna. “It’s mollified air, shaped atmospheric phenomena … O hell … stick your cameras where the sun don’t shine!”

WhiteFeather made a delicious salad to go with the chicken and baked potatoes. It had cilantro and mint in it. It was the most delicious salad that ever was delicious. And the chicken was juicy and delicious. The baked potatoes were like balls of basalt … hard on the outside, but soft at the beginning of time. And delicious.

I made a note to self to eat more salads and experiment with cilantro and mint in my new kitchen.

Even though Chris was eating the most delicious salad that ever was delicious and was in the process of cooking up the most tender and juicy chicken that was ever tender and juicy, he was just a little despondent that Deanna should speak so harshly about our new digital cameras, even though we were using them for evil.

“You’ll rue this day,” he said to Deanna, “for making me feel despondent.”

Things would soon become strange and more than just a little stormy.

“Well, what do you expect,” said WhiteFeather. “The two of you should be using for cameras for good, not for evil. Men are such babies.”

“Yeah, babies,” said Deanna.

“By the way,” said WhiteFeather to Deanna, “how many days has it been since we watched that dumb video and got the call from that weird little girl?”

“More than seven days,” said Deanna. “I think the whole thing was probably urban legend stuff.”

“Whew!” said WhiteFeather. “I thought this fuzzy image thing was a sign.”

“No,” said Deanna, “that was just Biff farting again while he was taking a picture. Whew!”

WhiteFeather noticed that Chris was setting the table on fire.

“Stop that, Chris,” she said. “You have to get over this burning things down thing. You could have burned up our guests – the lovely Deanna (who is probably going to rue this day, thanks to you) and the evil Biff (who told me that he doesn’t really have ANY red socks, and just said that to try and out-do your six pairs of yellow socks.) You have six pairs of yellow socks?”

After eating a delicious three-course barbecue meal, we decided it was time to go to the gas station around the corner for chocolate and ceegars.

As we waited for WhiteFeather to put down the 250 pound psychotic gay dog McKenna, Deanna said, “It’s a cold dark and stormy night. You wouldn’t happen to have a Cayman Island on you, would you Chris?”

“No,” said Chris, “but I might have a match.”

On the way back from the convenience gas station with the five-dollar stale sandwiches, we were happy to have chocolate and ceegars.

“That was so easy,” said WhiteFeather. “We just walked in and they had chocolate and ceegars.”

“City life is wonderful,” said Deanna.

“I finally have a kitchen,” said Biff.

Back at WhiteFeather and Chris’s, Deanna said, “I’m going to smoke this ceegar until I turn green.”

WhiteFeather said, “Turning green is not a good thing for your complexion, Deanna. It could also have a serious impact on your horoscope. I predict a drastic change of life and a serious dose of ruefulness.”

“Go ahead and light it up,” said Chris and Biff in unison.

O, how they would regret their words.

“Hell,” said Deanna, “I’m an artist. If I turn green, I’ll just paint myself back to normal. Puff. Puff. Puff puff puff.”

Clothing and towels and stuff on the line said, “Don’t do it , Deanna, you’ll turn green.”

After several hundred puffs on the ceegar, Deanna said, “Ooo … I’m feeling very strange and rueful. I think I’m turning green.”

Chris said, “Ah ha! The rue is working!”

Suddenly, Deanna threw back her cape and said, “Look! I’m a vampire! The ceegar has turned me into a vampire.”

In a strange turn of rueful events, she closed her cape about her, became suddenly angelic and said, “No, I’m a saint. The ceegar has made me transcend the rue.”

And suddenly the cape was out and she said, “No … I’m a vampire! Ha ha! Bite! Bite!”

“Ha ha! I’m Arnold Schwartzenpire!”

And then the rue, the over-eating of appetizers, and the ceegar caught up.

“I think my world has become very colorless green,” said Deanna. “I think I’ll sit down for a while and think about Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto Number 2.”

A large torch burned away all that was rue, and Deanna began to return to a state that experts have labeled as … color. Some would hail this a positive thing for an artist.

In the distance, a voice was heard: “WILL YOU GIVE DEANNA BEER FOR A YEAR TO KEEP ME HERE?”

Eyebrows were raised in Duckburg.

WhiteFeather showed Deanna pictures taken when she thought she was a vampire. “See,” she said, “you cast a photographic image when pictures were taken of you as a vampire, thus proving that you really aren’t one.”

“Cool,” said Deanna, “but why isn’t there a halo over my head in the angel picture?”

“Just be happy you’re not a vampire,” said WhiteFeather.

Chris puffed on a five year old European herbal cigarette and thought, “It’s been a strange and stormy night, but all is well. I guess I’ll just have to work some more on my rue-ing.”