dirty Thursday with bitches in $400 jeans

Thursday (whew... almost done!):
Work on the CV and it's prepped to go out. Work on my translation job... because I'm going to need cash soon. Clean the apartment from head to toe... washing floors, vacuuming, sweeping, squeegeeing. Wash self... then Annie comes over and we go to Nick and Sheila Pye's opening. I see the Pyes, who are looking very delicious, Max Danger, and Ben. Max tells me a bit about Yuris' scary gina girlfriend who he's engaged to, and Ben tells me that he always thought Yuri had poor judgement in relationships. Thanks Ben. He tries to dig himself out of that one... whatever.

Then back to the Drake... which is soooo awful. The upstairs patio, which is the only patio that has free space right now in the city it seems, is covered with creepy crawly advertising types. Girls with $400 dollar jeans, matching blond streaks, and bad dance techniques. Guys with long hair and a baseball cap, underneath of which is some designer shirt with flower prints and cargo pants. I hate these types of people.

Somebody comes over and asks me if I think Anish Kapoor is a sculptor or a conceptual artist. I'm taken off guard. I don't really follow Kapoor, continentals and Brits staying far apart, but I've seen some red condom-like piece. I say conceptual because, damn, you can make a case for conceptual with any contemporary artist... but noooo, I'm wrong, and I get told so. Anish Kapoor is a sculptor, and for an artist not to know that is baaaaaaddd.

Actually, to tell you the truth, I keep a small eye on what's going on in the art world, and a larger eye and what I see around me in life. I don't want my work to riff on an accepted genre, but I don't want to be ignorant either. This Kapoor question puts me off because, first of all, I was wrong, and second of all, it shows me up as the art-ignoramus I am becoming. It's not like I think I should be rushing out and getting Artforum every month, like I used to, but I do think my level of contemporary art knowlege has dropped. Or maybe it's just more selectively focused on Europe... who knows.

After drinking, I pass out on my couch. Then woke up at 6:30am to the sounds of cats fighting just outside the window. Creepy sound... Now I'm tired... I've been writing for the last two hours straight. ... I'm sick of writing now. I'm all caught up.

I am not drinking today. I will not drink today. I'm sick to death of alcohol and cigarettes. I want my weekend to be sane.