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The kids were out...
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The pots on the stove...
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Jesse Jackson sat in...and the Downhome Southernaires also played sounding like a cross between Television and The Dead Milkmen. Squeaky and abrupt. Next up...
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What's left of a conceptual art piece by Jason Hedges that started out as a roast pig in a caja china, which is used mainly by Cubans instead of a pit to roast a whole pig (means chinese box).
[at Locust Projects]
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The piece, Untitled (Judd Caja China), was a salute to an iconic Donald Judd piece that is basically a big metal box (feel free to google Untitled 1968). The pork was excellent, served by the furiously sweating artist himself (see below). And then we all stumbled through the back door to Oliver Sanchez' studio/gallery for some Swamp Punch. I recommend a flask for these excursions, by the way, due to the shitty wine you are usually served, but the Grolsch was cold all night, so I didn't have to pull out my sake too much. Sake is the perfect flask beverage as it goes with everything, won't knock you on your ass, and no one likes it, so you'll never have to share. And you will be asked to share.
Art/Dinner
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In between these two events, spent some time at a guerrilla installation in the empty lot at NW 2nd Ave and 25th St, projections on wavering balloons, by buddy Luis Valle and his friends, whom I had met at the World Erotic Art Museum for Gregory de la Haba's closing party last month. Apparently a lot of plans get hatched over the fiberglass cock-and-balls sculpture from Clockwork Orange that is displayed at WEAM. Who knew?