Last weekend we went to the Refugee Art Exhibition and saw some adorable crayoned pictures of different things – houses and tanks and guns. All very touching. The poor refugee children had done them and now they were up for sale to help them when and if they ever got out! I bought one for $400 – it was a real thrill to think that I could be helping a child avoid sewing up his lips and all that (yuk!). CC said it was a lousy investment, even if I framed it, but I don’t care. I wrote ``let my people go’’ in the guest-book. CC wrote ``I hate crayon’’, the bitch.
Next it was lunch at Hunchback – a totally severe and terribly art-brut establishment in a converted madhouse near the gallery. Our table was in a small padded cell with stains all over it and obscenities scrawled on the walls in what looked like semen. Hmmm. The patrons were the usual anorexic alcoholics with gold cards and PHDs. I recognised one artist, I think, hob-knobbing it with two very well-heeled collectors. I dropped over to say hello – he told me he was now in a rock group and tried to sell me a CD.
The cheapest single glass of Charders at this place was $11, so we (CC and I) had vodka instead – it seemed more appropriate, not to mention more economical. Outrageous said I, on being presented with the menu. I hope those refugees realise what they’re in for!
I had potato salad and a cheese sandwich for $25 (this consisted of three potatoes in some kind of goats cheese coating and a very nice bread and cheese ensemble). CC had a bitter green salad with whole limes and a pumpkin mousse for $35. We had the ``vodka connoisseur special’’ – five glasses each of various kinds of premium vodka, including one from Uzbekistan, one from Vienna and one from Afghanistan, apparently left behind by the Russians after the invasion. Delicious! The vodka special came to $250 dollars.
But now it was time to see more art and off we went to Cool Suck – an exhibition of animal vasectomy equipment displayed beside marble genitals taken from ancient Roman statues (ouch!). On the walls were blown-up postcards of Tuscany, for some reason. I felt a little sick seeing all this – although the Tuscan landscapes did soothe me a little, reminding me I now had 500,000 fly-buy points on my card – enough to travel around the globe twice! Don’t believe it, said CC – they’re going to downgrade the value of fly-buys soon, didn’t you know? You’ll be lucky to get to Brisbane. What a bitch! I told her that I quite liked the Gold Coast because you could impress tanned young things with a pill or two – or some coke - and then get laid in one of those sunny apartments overlooking the ocean BUT Brisbane was not funny, darling.
I think I was a little pissed from the Vodka because I spent the next few minutes trying to find the toilet and when I did, I had a terrible moment trying to figure out if it was actually the toilet or just some installation off to the side I’d blundered into. Oh well – I think it was kosher.
This was the second dodgy toilet that day (if it was a toilet) – the other being at Hunchback – I’m sure you can imagine it – plus there they had those sinks where there’s apparently no tap – you have to figure out how to make water appear from somewhere and you inevitably push something that dispenses soap instead, and there’s always someone else there who seems to know it all but deliberately takes the time to watch you make a fool of yourself before they smugly wave their hands somewhere and get the right stuff.
I found CC leering at some classical “equipment”, so I grabbed her and we were off to Lunge - a small cafe in Newtown for a book launch of a coffee table number on lesbian tattoo culture. Cheap red wine, short haircuts and leather accessories all round. Actually we were both in need of a double latte, extra sugar. We stumbled in just as the author – dressed very smartly in the latest street gear, I thought - was explaining about bodies and oppression and stuff – all very interesting but I needed to find the toilet again.
I had the usual desire to say out loud – I’m gay - even though I’m not, but you know what these dos are like - very correct, darling. Well, I sauntered off to the toilet wondering if anyone was watching, but they so weren’t. Bitches! Anyhow I won’t complain (too much). I’m very gay-friendly. Where’s the difference really? We all have the same apartments, the same careers, apparently the same tattoos….
This time I can happily report that the sink had taps.
CC bought a copy of the book and then tried to chat up the author, even though CC is also not gay. Who knows, maybe neither was the author. I wanted to ask her (the author) where she clothes-retailed, but I wasn’t sure if it was polite. One can never be too careful.
At this point I had a terrible realisation – I’d left my $400 refugee crayon piece at Hunchback. Bound to be gone by now, what with all those scabby intellectuals supposedly dining there. Rats! Oh well, said CC - ever the smart-arse - just think about those fly-buys!
Well – that’s it for the art today everyone. We had a fab night that evening but there was no culture – it was a dinner party at JB’s new apartment in Icon. He had his own elevator to Woollies on the ground floor and we went down there after snorting some truly dreadful coke. Those poor Sri Lankan security guards. So sweet! But that’s another story.