2001-05-22 - 3:08 p.m.

Recap:

*Sunday night- started work at 11.30pm ended at 2pm the next day (besides a nap from 3-6a.m.). The shoot required 30 clowns, one of which was one of our producers. At the end of the shoot this clown got in an argument with the glass guy (this guy who fitted a piece of glass in a window we broke for the shoot). And the clown got ugly. Fading white makeup covering a chocolate face, red nosed this clown ended up chasing the glass guy out of the shop. My short friend who is self described as the love child of anne heche and ellen degeneres, jumped between them and stopped our clown friend from beating the crap outta the glass guy. Now THIS is comedy.

Life is comedic.

After the shoot, after another short nap I met with another gallery owner. He seemed to call me out on exactly where I am with my art. I appreciated his honesty and now I feel like I need to think. Where I am as an artist. The fine art world seems to demand passion and commitment. I�m wondering if I want to step up to the plate in that way. So far it�s always been about the process for me. And now they seem to be asking for me to concentrate on the result to be taken �seriously�. Seriously, fuck u.

So I�m thinking on that. �in my spare time�.

Oooo by the way at the shoot I enlisted a new member to the roster of luke�s 2001 summer of fun. An actor on the shoot, who I found to be just adorable, needed a surf partner, so I offered up myself and secured him with my digits. This baby needs some serious tickling.

Then there was this super creepy stripper on the shoot that kept sliming buckets of clausterphobic words onto me. And theres that point at which I am kind and then the point at which I just walk away and not try to glass it over and make his obnoxious moves okay. I hate men like that. The ones that move in close to your space and slather slime all over you. And if you are unkind, then you are a bitch. He was a nasty man. He reminded me of tanning booths, cheap drugs and an wrinkly, chunky penis that thinks women owe him a ride.

After the art appointment I went to a swanky spot to meet a �friend� in the industry for her b-day. I brought her an obnoxious, rose smelling candle. I felt like I had been dropped in some movie where each person there was a personification of the gross characteristics of Hollywood. This one woman just couldn�t get enough of herself and her list of who she knew and how so and so is so difficult to pitch to cuz she�s just a baby. This one guys name is monty. Of all things. With a name like that there�s really no where to go. And he really lived up to his name. The type of guy that insists on calling the waitress by her name and calling her over several times to meet his insesant needs. He was quite smitten with me, wanting to �corrupt� me because I barely have any vices anymore. The whole thing was a very out of body experience.

I came home and couldn�t wash these people off my body. The angry clown, the ugly stripper, the Monties of life. So I started up a conversation with a perfect stranger I�m corresponding with in the online dating thing.

He�s a recluse.

I knew I could be honest with a recluse. So I called and spilled these tales onto empty, willing ears. WE talked of everything on and on. Deep, permeating talk till 5a.m. AT one point, he was ranting on about Ayn Rand and how she�s a low brow intellectual and I woke up 20 minutes later with my candle still burning, face down with the phone still at my ear, slobber pooling around my face and my black cat sleeping on my back. My friend just left the phone while I slept so that the loud hang up noise wouldn�t wake me. I heard his radio show speaking of white noise and baseball. We talked some more and then I was finally ready for sleep. It was really nice being that honest with a perfect stranger that lives up the street. It was charming to giggle with him and hear his secrets.

I was explaining to him how life can be so utterly beautiful that it hurts me inside. We spoke of how sadness, when experienced with clarity and presence, can be entirely beautiful. He couldn't understand how happiness could hurt. It's strange to me that others don't experience this, yet it also makes it more special.