what did the wasp say to the hipster?

nothing of substance, would be my educated guess.

tonight, i made two conclusions. first, in order to maintain some thread of sanity, i need to stop wandering around public events in portland by myself. second, i must carry a {loaded} camera with me at all times from now on. allow me to explain myself.

it's the first thursday of the month here in portland, and every fashionable elitist scenester knows that means it's time to head down to the pearl district and see what the wacky 'art world' has to offer. i would post some visuals to give the reader a sense of the 'environment' of this outdoor soiree, but in typical corbin-style, i left the batteries to my camera at home. but i digress ...

the aforementioned first conclusion is a function of tonight's experience. to put it simply; a hurricane of people, most of which are only there to loudly voice their opinions about so much mediocre art without the least bit of censorship or discretion, about a subject with which they have no conception or understanding ... all underscored with an attitude of pretention so thick and creamy i could feel it sticking to my skin like midwest humidity. {simple?} there's nothing discreet about the posturing that goes on out there. now, i willingly admit that i'm no guggenheim, but listening to some of these conversations is unbearable. it's a fashion show. it's a meat market. it's complete bullshit. i seriously hurried home so that i could get this off my mind and write this entire post. {umm. pathetic.} so, if i am going to put myself through this ever again, i cannot do it alone. internalizing this cynicism will only push me further towards insanity ... i feel like i'm one 18th-century-art-movement-name-check away from slitting my wrists.

on the upside, there were some hidden gems. one exibit showcased some rare watercolors from the warped mind of salvador dali, which were quite nice. some guy next to me starting telling some story about some collector {friend?} he knew who bought one last week for $400,000 and i quietly left the room. there were also some legit work from these artists whose work i recognized from last week's 'last thursday' festival on alberta. after gawking for a few minutes, i apologized for turning their little display into a library, asked for a card and then enthusiastically assured them i would buy some of their work as soon as i had the expendable income to do so. i received the standard 'no worries, bro' response and dragged myself home, eager to tell the world about this transcendental evening of bitterness.

lastly, why do the people above me come home every night at 11.30, turn mtv and re-arrange their furnature? tonight i swear they're dropping croquet balls on the floor and throwing water out the window. i'm not making this up.

sweet dreams.