Sunday, November 20, 2011
Take Me To St. Goutis. Last Gout Reference, I Swear
Started the fun with a Trappist beer dinner at work a day after cooking Costa Rican food. What a fucking tease for me to have to taste test all of these beauts and then spit them out immediately. I get the full flavor, but my beer goggles are non existent so everyone looked very very normal and that made me depressed.
So the solution to the above is to skip town and head down to St. Louis where Bud lights, Blondes, and weird racist bike gangs rule the streets.
Old friend and painting peer Ruben Aguirre had a mini preview show thing at Aisle 1 Gallery. This was my view from the bathroom after taking what could have been the longest piss I have ever taken in my grown adult life.
It's an awesome space complete with 80 ceiling lights and vintagey tiled ceiling. Both Bryan and Jenn definitely do their work by keeping this place looking pristine and gallery - esque. I also did my laundry here which rocked.
Wasting no time, we left to get some grub and came across this collage right off of Cherokee St done by a collective of stencil artists in the St. Louis area.
That boombox is the truth. I can't even begin to imagine how many paper shavings he must have all over the ground in his studio.
Bryan took us to Las Vallesana where Ruben would feel more at home. Because there were bars over the windows.
The pickle cup came out to reveal that you can indeed pickle potatoes along side its usual counterparts. I mean you can pickle pigs feet, eggs, ham, chicken feet, etc...why not potatoes? I have no idea why I was so fascinated with this. I couldn't stop thinking about how much more awesome my potato salad would be with these in the mix. This made my world turn upside down and will now expect pickled starch for every meal.
Do not order the standard meat quesadilla and request it to be vegetarian. You have to order the vegetarian quesadilla instead. It took me 10 minutes to order and I had to explain what vegetables were to the waitress. Nonetheless, the food was actually really good. All the veggies were spiced and cooked well and the proportion was substantial for only $4.50. The Christmas tortilla chips are optional.
Wasting no time at all, Bryan and Jenn handled business and started to hang the work up for the preview show which featured Bryan Walsh's work, Ruben's crap, and Jason Spencer's art.
Bryan doing what he does best. Nothing.
This was one of my favorite pieces from the show. Made me think of my pink eraser at home.
Here is some of Ruben's work. I had the privilege of naming some of the titles. I think I called this pair "I hate driving with tall Koreans that make me look short in front of white St. Louis people."
This pair was titled "man from outer space with proper green card take job away, me no rikey."
We did the cool artist guy thing and left right before doors opened. We decided to hit a St. Louis fave, Pho Grand. Complete with a purgatory waiting room upstairs with a bar but no alcohol or any rhyme or reason for the room's existence. It was a strange little room that made us look and feel like hostages.
I was distracted by the enormous nipples on the wall. What made it worse was that the wall color matched my pasty, yellowy skin tone. And my nipples do on occasion puff disturbingly enough. Oh the food was really good by the way. A little heavy on the oil/grease factor but flavors and proper veg cookery was on point.
Cherokee Indians were known to be part time Nazi advocates.
On our way to Shady Jack's the next morning to paint with the homie Phers ATT. This giant vaginal portal can be seen from every part of the city. You can take an elevator up the the middle and become the clitoris.
St. Louis has a ton of abandoned factories, buildings, and warehouses that just looks fun as hell to do crack or kill people in...kinda like all of Detroit.
Oh boy. The glory that is Shady Jacks. A biker bar complete with an alley for you to drive through, drink beer in, paint in, be racist in, and generally be obnoxiously loud in.
Phers is a regular here but only comes on gay chap strap night. Which is every night apparently.
America! FUCK YEAH!
Ruben got his piece out of the way with the quickness since he had fifty other walls to paint. He also killed that pigeon for calling his piece "graffiti."
Phers dreading the 15 more hours it would take to finish his piece.
I got done fairly early. Gotta love the massive protrusions on walls to make your letters look extra dumb.
So during this illustrious day, I got called "chinese guy," and "jap dude." The best part was that it never occured to them to say hey DUDE, or MAN, or YO like they were to everyone else painting. Nope, I was the chinese jap dude. I was expecting them to call me the N word at any minute. But its okay cause one of them said "no offense." I never knew the clan were so polite.
Ruben started on his main mural across the street from the gallery. The peanut gallery watching him paint was a lively group of neighborhood folk, artists, and people that had nothing better to do than watch paint dry.
Luckily there was something else for me to do. Talk about adding insult to death. If I was the spirit of the bird, I'd be fucking pissed to see a PBR tall boy jammed up my hole. This bird is one thick rimmed glasses away from being a hipster.
I also got high the night before and painted the gallery van while Ruben painted.
Green card or not, Mexicans do love working on lawns. Check out the full time lapse here.
Nothing will ever compare to Astro fat caps for flare tags.
Getting high is the new drunk for me I guess.
Fuck BP. Amoco for life. Remember when this logo meant a full tank of gas was maybe $10?
Ended the trip with an all you can eat vegan/vegetarian buffet at the Black Bear Cafe.
I don't understand how some of these places stay in business putting out the kind of food they do. I really really wanted to like the food but couldn't get past little things like over salting, cooking food to death, and ice cold fucking butter that tears my bread apart. CORE the fucking pineapple. It takes like an extra ten seconds.
I was full though so who cares right?
Here is the king of beers greeting us as we left town. Ruben and I kept joking that they carbonate the Clysdales urine to make the beer and that would still taste better than the shit they keep putting out.