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Pride, Duty & Space Change

July 25, 2011 // Posted in !Create, Art (Tags: , , , , , , ) |  No Comments

I salaciously dabbled in some soft non-profit pan handling for Pride Sunday. Weeks before, I wanted a different routine away from the party river of least resistance and unknowingly mental blast the universe for assistance. My response was a slip on a banana peel that breached me upon the deck of The Imperial Council of San Francisco’s charity fleet. I reeled from the awakening of a self actualized thought. Basking in a whiff of arrogant laughter, I mentally chided the work hard mantra of the “little people” They clip clop around marveling at a sun set and a sun rise. I masquerade around as a quantum singularity, radiating a hex of improbability. One random quirk could catapult me up the echelon order of society or below the bowels of Hades. This quirk afforded me the opportunity to participate in Pride Sunday and also dumb down to graveling on the street for $$$ all at the same time!. “I accept!” Pride morning, I pondered the appropriate attire to wear to such a function. Bathing seemed optional…hmm? A travel wash and a few laps around the block should authenticate me enough not to offend. Then a quick squirt of Febreze on some jeans and a t-shirt from the dirty clothes hamper and color me done. I arrived early and eager. If only my attention span could match my nano-second of enthusiasm. I was dumbfounded by the tepid engagement from the throngs of people herding through the gate. What looked like a goldmine was anything but. My excitement of the crowd started to wane and I was crippled when I learned it was a three hour tour. I had to reach deep to stay afloat. I revisited my advertising and marketing classes. I craved out my target market and revamp our sales pitch. “5 dollar donation gets you 1 dollar off drinks was not poppin.”5 dollar now or we take it later…”. “5 dollars gets you off? “5 dollars to have what’s behind door #2!” That resulted in smiles and cheeky banter and modest donations. I could see my patience in the rear view mirror when the questions erupted. And, yes, there are stupid questions. Is there a fee? It’s a donation. Do I have to pay? No. Do I have to donate? Uh, yes! Are there ins and outs? ?!? I saw them as a mindless, gaseous mass of hairy, sweaty pits and I wanted out. I longed for my curator days where I controlled and protected the gallery from street eaters, transients and photo snapper. “Please re frame from touching the paintings.” “Our bathroom is broken”, “I wasn’t kidding about not taking pictures.” “Please leave!” That was a favorite. One exchange with an errant visitor resulted in a major sale.. Not at the gate. I was powerless and surly. Then it was over much like this post.
** Sat on this one too long. : (**

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