Chapter VII – Two Boys and Two Girls

This is a chapter from a novel that I am working on. This is fiction, do not get mad at me.

Two straights and two gays occupied the night of May 15th 2010. As we pioneered from destination to destination it seems the good times happen between the end points rather than at the destinations themselves. The night didn’t get too eventful until we all had perfectly measured and thought out proportions of liquor. Pints of Beer and good whiskey and other shitty whiskey burned down our throats and into our bellies, mixed with our stomach acid and entered our bloodstream and brains, we then transformed into the non shy versions of ourselves. We were dancing, myself with the idea that I looked like Michael Jackson in Thriller, but in reality if one were to subpoena the security tapes from the club I looked more like a half dead cat flopping about before it dies. In this context I am unsure what the abstract concept of what “me” means. At this point my sphere of dance included whoever was in that area encompassing me until I quit dancing. 1:45AM rang out like a church bell on a quiet terror ridden Israeli street. People frenzied to catch last call, some made it and some failed. Those that didn’t make it had a look on their face like a Palestinian kid who just realized throwing the rock at the tank did no damage. I failed and left with my collection of friends. Jason had a perfect chrome pen, so we naturally decided to start writing on things; other peoples real property. We wrote on it, and as soon as we did that property was purely and totally destroyed, it was no longer good. They would have to throw away the light pole or mailbox or trash can, maybe sell it to China, or possibly recycle it and turn it into a Kia Spectra in South Korea to be shipped back to the USA. But one thing that was proof positive was the pen turned anything you wrote on into garbage in a blink of an idea.

The two girls had a crush on each other so it seemed, but the brown haired girl, Jera with her pretty eyes and playful short hair was flirty in a kittenish fun way. We all walked down the street headed to destinations unknown to all of mankind. I heard the FBI has methods of calculating these destinations but I am pretty sure their algorithms would not have worked on us for we were unpredictable. We walked down a street as that was the natural way to go, we could have walked into peoples yards but that would not have accomplished anything. Unluckily I didn’t have my flask. Usually that is the post-last call savior. Not tonight. Tonight we had to forage for any drips of alcohol we could squeeze out of anyone or anything. A bottle of wine appeared magically, we all drank it. I stole a very long swig. I felt bad, but knew I had to otherwise I would probably not get another chance at a pull. It wasn’t a greedy swig, just a swig of opportunity. It must have been like being in a bread line during the great depression. Upon further examination it was EXACTLY that way. We found some drips of brandy and drank that after calculating the number of drips in the bottle and used calculus to figure out how much each person would drink. Now we were officially out of liquor, beer and wine.

I highly suspected Jeremy was on MDMA, as he was rolling sensually with Jera in Jessies bed. I tried not to look, but I couldn’t help to peak every now and then as it was right there unfolding in the light, and one couldn’t avoid to look as hard as they tried to because of the small nature of the space we were in. Jeremy and Jera playfully slithered around enjoying feeling each others bodies, they were seemingly on a thin line that if the play progressed over, might have ended up in a disaster of epic proportion. My judgment may have been off, for all I know anything could have happened. Jessie, the other girl, who seemed to really be into Jera looked longingly at the two wishing she was Jeremy at that point, but she knew it was her bed and therefore she would surely have a go at it come sleep time because if Jera didn’t sleep in the bed she would have to sleep on the floor or perhaps a dingy couch that would have swallowed her into a nightmare as she fell asleep. So by default she did indeed stay in that bed and avoided the nightmares.

Nipples were clamped, weird art was made and novels were written in every ones heads, novels that they will remember after the booze haze wears away but probably will never write out, as the night was average as many others and there is no need to write down about average nights.

Every ones spirits started to wane as the alcohol wore off and people could either not stand due to extreme intoxication or exhaustion. Jessie and I engaged in a conversation. I told her how I didn’t like this rich girl who acts like and probably is the devil or at the very least related to the devil. Everyone is entitled to have friends with whomever one wants but in a desperate act to try and explain to her my feelings about the situation I said “Just because Hitler likes you doesn’t mean you should like him back.” The statement made perfect sense in my head but I looked up and I saw the hurt in her eyes and realized that it is not of my business and abruptly dropped the conversation. But for the record and if any record takers are taking notes this should promptly and immediately be added to the “Book of records and other important numbers:” Record 344GH009H77: Do not talk about Brandy Ventura, girlfriend of James Peterson, Date: 5/15/2010. End Record.

The birds started to sing and Jeremy got the boot out of Jessies bed. It was Jessies turn to have her way with Jeras body and hopefully try and slide right through 1st or 2nd base or to perhaps gaze into each others eyes and wonder if they could possibly have a future together. Jeremy walked out of her room and dropped to the floor like a Viet Kong ambushed in the height of Nam. I assumed he would sleep there. I closed my eyes and felt hands go under my pants and onto my ass and then run their way up to my chest all underneath my underwear and on my bare skin. It felt good but knew those were not female hands, so instead of letting it progress into something unknown I pushed away his hands and closed my eyes. Hands again came so I once again pushed them away. He laid there next to me and I fell asleep. I am 99.98% sure he fell asleep and figured he was still next to Jeras pretty body and face, so I didn’t blame him for his sexual advances. I was just surprised that he couldn’t tell the difference between a man body and a petite female body. I laid there and asleep, no more infractions were had or I just slept well.

“Palate”: International Artists Explore the Idea of Food as Muse and Medium

Opening Reception May 22, 2010, 7-10 p.m.
On view May 22 Through June 12, 2010


If cooking is an art form, then food is the most common medium of artistic expression in the world. Opening May 22, Scion’s Installation L.A. Gallery presents “Palate,” a group exhibition of internationally lauded artists in which food takes its rightful place inside the gallery.

Curated by Zio Fulcher, “Palate” features new works and installations by Clare Crespo, Jeph Gurecka, Scott Hove, Tamara Kostianovsky, Alan Macdonald, James Reynolds, Martha Rich and Jeff Vespa at Scion’s 4,500-square foot Installation Space in Culver City.

“Palate,” which means the sense of taste, but also references an artist’s palette, will showcase a wide array of food-related art from Martha Rich’s feminine, cake-laden illustrations to Alan Macdonald’s classically rendered paintings of pilgrims that feature the unlikely additions of grocery bags, baked beans and chips. “Palate” will also include James Reynolds’ series of photographs documenting Death Row inmates’ last meal requests, as well as Jeff Vespa’s giant Polaroids of fast food burgers. Scott Hove’s monstrous cake sculptures will be on display, as will Tamara Kostianovsky’s realistic sculptures of slabs of meat, which she makes with articles of clothing. Clare Crespo will crochet a smorgasbord of fun foods, and Jeph Gurecka will build an installation out of bread he bakes himself that explores the idea of food as sustenance.

The show will also include a large exhibit of retro candy wrappers, courtesy of Darlene Lacey of the Candy Wrapper Museum, a vintage cookbook library, and a wall of vibrantly colored hard-to-find sodas.

The opening reception takes place on May 22, 7 – 10 p.m. at the Scion Installation Space, 3521 Helms Ave. (at National), Culver City, CA 90232. The reception is free with complimentary valet parking and an open bar. All artists will be present, and available for interview. A number of local chefs will also be in attendance.

On opening night, there will be a raffle to win a free cooking class from EATZ. Located in Los Angeles, EATZ offers extremely personal cooking classes in a fun dinner party environment.

The exhibit will run until June 12.

About the Artists
Clare Crespo
wrote the popular and wildly creative cookbook/art books The Secret Life of Food and Hey There, Cupcake. Both books received enthusiastically positive reviews in magazines such as Vanity Fair, Food and Wine, Life Magazine, Newsweek and The New York Times, among others. The books’ success led to appearances on programs such as The Today Show, Good Morning America, The Food Network’s Extreme Cuisine and Throwdown with Bobby Flay. Crespo recently completed a set of children’s DVDs called The Yummyfun Kooking Series.

Jeph Gurecka has exhibited worldwide, and his work is in numerous international collections. Gurecka has been awarded many fellowships and residencies, including The Pollock-Krasner Foundation Grant and the FUTURA Projects’ residency in the Czech Republic.

Scott Hove is a self-taught artist from the Bay Area. His work encompasses a broad variety of media, from sculptural installations to painting. These works reflect on the relationship between the natural world and mechanical civilization, and the drama that occurs during this interaction.

Tamara Kostianovsky was born in Jerusalem, Israel, and grew up in Buenos Aires, Argentina. She was awarded grants from NYFA, the Pollock-Krasner Foundation, the Pennsylvania Council on the Arts, and was a finalist for the Pew Fellowships in the Arts. Solo exhibitions include Black and White Gallery, The Philadelphia Museum of Jewish Art, and El Centro Cultural J.L. Borges. Her work recently appeared on the cover of the journal of food and culture, Gastronomica.

Darlene Lacey started collecting candy wrappers 33 years ago. She has since founded the Candy Wrapper Museum, an extensive archive of candy wrappers and related ephemera that has been featured on the Food Network’s Unwrapped. Lacey maintains the website candywrappermuseum.com.

Alan Macdonald was born in Malawi, Central Africa, and currently lives and works in Scotland. He has exhibited around the world, and his paintings are in public, private and corporate collections worldwide, including EMI, Kayley Hong Kong and WorldCom.

James Reynolds is a London-based artist specializing in graphic design, advertising and photography. His work will appear in the upcoming book Urban Interventions, and he is due to exhibit at a human rights exhibition for Amnesty International.

Martha Rich’s work has been shown in Los Angeles, New York, Washington, San Francisco, Portland and Chicago. She is currently studying for an MFA in painting at the University of Pennsylvania.

Jeff Vespa is an artist, celebrity photographer and co-founder and executive vice president of the global digital photographic agency, WireImage. In April 2009, he was named the editor-at-large of the new incarnation of LIFE Magazine, LIFE.com. Vespa’s photos appear regularly in publications including Vanity Fair, Vogue, Time, Newsweek, People, GQ and the Wall Street Journal.

About the Curator
Zio Fulcher
is a Los Angeles-based writer and editor, art and culture specialist and gastronome. Zio served as managing editor of Swindle magazine, the definitive pop culture publication co-founded by Shepard Fairey, and has contributed to numerous books including Saber: Mad Society, Juxtapoz: Illustration and Juxtapoz: Poster Art, as well as the upcoming book The History of American Graffiti.

More information on this exhibition is available at www.scion.com/space.

Ancient Age Moves to Plastic Bottles

The unthinkable has happened, something I would have never suspected the pioneering folks over at Buffalo Trace Distillery would have ever even considered. Let me tell you how the story goes. I was at the local liquor store “A&P” on the corner of 21st and K, a staple of Sacramento boozers, trannies, junkies, weekend warriors, etc. I buy a very special Kentucky bourbon, Ancient Age, a good amount of time, ok nevermind, everyday. It is literally my favorite Kentucky bourbon. Yeah, fuck you bourbon snobs; back off with your snide remarks. As I handed over my 5 bucks for a pint of ancient age, I quickly put the bottle in my back pocket and walked out of the store. I stopped in the alley to take a pull before going back in the club I was at which was hosting a weekly Friday event called “Fuck Fridays” at townhouse. Yes, bartenders, that is why I never buy at your bars. To my horror the bottle flexed when I squeezed. I thought, “what the hell, did they accidentally give me a bottle of Ten High” or something? Upon further inspection my worst fears were realized. Ancient Age has officially abandoned its glass bottles, leaving its classy and glassy presence in the past. The Ancient Age went down my esophagus, nice and smooth, good as ever, but I will admit I was upset with the decision makers over at Buffalo Trace. I can no longer buy Ancient Age and think I am having an ounce of class. I will still enjoy it, as it still tastes the same, but I swear to god, Buffalo Trace, you better watch your step. You may not know but you have many loyal faithful fans and moves like this can alienate them. And also, if any of you suits happen to be reading this over there at Buffalo Trace Distillery, where the hell can I find the legendary “Ancient Ancient Age?” To those readers at home, “Ancient Ancient Age” is their 10 year aged whiskey that you can find images of online, but I have never seen in a store. Email me, readers, if you know where to buy an Ancient Age shirt, and/or if you want to start a “bring back the glass” campaign.