a long crazy hash & mash of a dream

General Tao's tofu, water, bowl of cereal later

the never ending dream thread

I'm at the restaurant. The new menu has taken effect and it'e been on for a month, but I feel as if I've slipped througha little gouge in time, and now here I am and I don't know what these foods are, how to present them. The food window is a large, clumsily built wooden table, kind of low, about 6 feet by 4 feet, hastily painted plywood. Unfinished. I'm looking at the ticket, and it says things like "NEW DONE OLD" and "HASH AND MASH." Whaaa? I have two different places of potatoes, one of _huge_ roasted potatoes, cut in half and left giant, and a place ot small potatoes (probably the "new done old"). And then there's maybe a dish of mashed, and there's a chocolate cake, still in a blue pyrex long cake pan or casserole, turned over. And other things, too. I bite the bullet and call Jess over, and simply tell her that I don't know what these dishes are, or what to do with them. I've already wasted all manner of time just trying to find a towel or pot holder to pick them up, because the dishes are hot as hell. She tells me that they aren't plated correctly, anyhow, and the kitchen is going to have to take them back and replate, so I can chill for a moment. I want to hurry, but Jess points out that we're on a plane, anyhow, and there's time.

I start to deal with the cake, I lift the blue pyrex away, and it comes away cleanly. On the interior surface of the pyrex there had been a political flyer of some sort about the Right doing this or that, but when I lift it away, it's gone, and I realize that it was that new spray-on technique that disappears on the food when it's disturbed. I'm glad it's gone, because I thought it was inappropriate. Now to ice the cake. I have to layer the pink oatmeal icing with paper bits and stickers, mostly pictures of Jack from Will & Grace. He appears, and I try to keep him occupied so that he doesn't see that the cake is all about him.

There is a dream intermission here where I'm back with the potato dishes, but there's something strangely sexual going on. I'm dipping them in melted butter and dropping them into a giant, hollowed out potato. Somehow, this is maturbatory to me. I repeat the process. I'm frustrated.

We're on vacation, renting a hotel room with several people. Crazy adventures ensue. And are we in some futuristic city (one I've dreamed of before), or are we just up around Juan Tabo and Menaul? Or both? I don't remember the adventures around the city, but we get back tired and over-sleep. When Josh and I do wake up, we're late for checking out, and don't forget that we're selling the house today (maybe to Kelvin?). We HAVE to get going. The card machine is right there in the room, and I go ahead & pay. Though we're unsure if they'll charge us for an entire other day. It's almost 1pm, after all. I get the slip and sign it. The woman from the desk comes up and tells us that we _were_ charged an extra day, the cut-off was 10am. I'm pissed. But who has time?

We get to the new house, it's somewhat unfinished, but much larger and it's going to be fantastic. We're very excited. (It also greatly resembles the hotel room we had rented, which is confusing.) It has three bedrooms, strange angles, extra rooms we didn't know existed and probably more to find. But we need to go sign over the old house. And the car won't start. But we have a green VW bus that we can take, and indeed Chris is around, I think he dropped off the bus for us-- thanks Chris! But oh crap, we drove away without him and he has to walk all day to get back. Why'd we do that? And how will we get he car back? We're with Jess again, in the office downstairs. She gives me the good news that my mom is going to meet with Kelvin to hand over the house, so we can attend to other things. Thank God.

I end up back in the strange future city, now running though a huge department store. I get to the escalator, and it's actually a moving sidewalk, just at an angle. Instead of a long strip of black rubber like at the airport, it's an ivory-colored set of hard strips, a rolling track. It looks like it's going fast, and indeed I step on it and it whisks me away at an insane speed, and then about 20 feet from the second floor (the thing is long-- like a subway escalator), it suddenly decelerates, I almost go on my face, but hang on and am deposited safely. I'm in housewares now. There's a nice (too nice?) family up there looking at stuff. The parents are really friendly to me, want to chat, discuss, take me under their wing for some reason. I extricate myself graciously. I have my three little trinkets (no idea what they are-- they all fit in one hand). But before I go I find myself on the floor of a little room-turned-theater, watching a movie with other customers. The light is very peach. The talkative mom is right there in front of me. I realize that she's smelling my tennis shoe, which makes me really uncomfortable. Mom with a stinky tenny fetish? I try to shift my feet away from her.

am i an art fraud?

dinner at seasons with jj, roasted veggies, asparagus salad with arugula & mushrooms, potatoes with goat cheese, sesame string beans, water water water.

I'm at the Art Museum, and I look at a wall label or calendar and realize that they have changed the exhibition schedule. I'm opening TONIGHT, as in right now. Fuck, well, I guess I'd better get some art on the walls, good thing I've been working. The impromptu MFA show-- what could be better, no? And then all of the sudden, the Coke Gallery-- which no longer has the alcoves but is just straight on that side-- is lined with my work. A series of acrylic and maybe enamel paintings, extremely pop. [Obviously inspired by a combo of the Koch show at Matrix and the Obsessive show at 516.] Wow, I HAVE been working. I frankly don't even remember making most of these. I do know that I purposely made this series to be extremely pop and extremely commercial-- I want these things to be desireable commodities. Both for the money, and to prove to the sticks in the department that fun, saleable art can fly in this academic crap world, too. To my astonishment, before I even have all the labels up, a front desk employee comes around and stickers one of my pieces as sold. I didn't even realize that the museum was willing to sell from its shows. I look around, there are others stickered, too. But I don't even know what price I'd put on these. I just say $200, for the hell of it, go ahead and get rid of them I'll make more. But then I look back, and the ones I thought were sold aren't but others are. I can't really keep track. I go out into the main gallery and suprisingly my show continues there, all the way up the north side of the gallery. (The south side of the gallery is showing someone from Rio Rancho.) And they're still installing my pieces up toward the front. What a mess. The museum is filling up, people are already buying stuff, and we're still hanging? I go to help. A piece with a literal 3D wireframe box, 20 x 8 x 8", a triangular wire that juts up from the rear plane about 36 inches, an ostrich-sized eggshell half on the tip. A block is already mounted on the wall but why? How do I hang this? I don't have any recollection of this piece. I'm trying. People are talking to me. Where's Josh? I know he's here, I wish he was beside me. I finally figure out how the wire and eggshell piece goes on the wall. The mounted block is actually a sconce and it illuminates the eggshell half. I'm getting wierded out. Is my show TOO commercial? Is it not art anymore? My mom's there, I want to ask her, but she wouldn't really understand the question. I don't remember making any of this art. I'm really panicking.

let's renovate the boar pen

Frontier & beer

We're renovating the house, adding a new bathroom and a wierd hallway between our bedrooms, as well as some larger new rooms off the back of the house, all in adobe walls and brick floors. We also expand the kitchen, which is now an expansive adobe room with a banco, big windows, brick floors, and an island complete with a Micros system. I keep trying to sign in so I can order some fries, but it won't let me in and I'm frustrated. I think Pablo is there, and I want to make it clear to him that I want to take some pictures of him before he leaves NM, and maybe get it on, too, though I'm torn on that.

A guy that reminds me Issaq, or maybe Eric from Spoleto (or both?) is showing us around. He points out that the new chimney is absolutely massive, a brick tower with a scalloped hat of sorts on top, we can look up the side of it, and it must be 40 feet tall. The fireplace is the size of a bedroom, the metal basket for the logs as big as a bed, and there's a wierd swinging adobe wall that opens to it, so that you can control the incredible heat that it all pumps out.

We go out into the back yard, and it is now bisected east to west with a high adobe wall, as well as north to south with the old fence. At the meeting, essentially, the new wall opens. Back toward the house is an enclosure stacked with lumber for the fireplace, the other way is left wild & weedy. In t he lumber enclosure, there's a wild boar. We laugh about it, decide to test our luck. We go in, it chases us. Exhilarating, frightening, crazy. We finally run back out, slam the gate behind us.