The plan for last Saturday was innocuous enough: a late afternoon pre-show at an art gallery; then, viewing of the closing movie for the 2010 CineQuest film festival; and finally, an after-party with the indie movie-making glitterati. Sounds like a refined night of artistic and cultural immersion, right? Well, if you think that’s how it turned out, you obviously haven’t read this blog much, have you? For shame! But no worries. Just read on, my innocent, virgin reader …
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Cast: Myself, Vu and Susan
Location: Downtown San Jose
Date: March 6, 2010
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We arrived at the Institute of Contemporary Art on South First St. at about 6pm donning our flashy VIP passes (courtesy of Susan’s boss). By that time, the gallery was already abuzz with artsy-looking hipsters discussing the merits of various pieces of modern art that were mildly interesting, but not really engaging to my pedestrian eye. I think Vu and Susan shared my sentiments about the items on display; we were unfashionably blasé about it all.
Like thirsty vampires catching a whiff of fresh, oozing blood, we were instinctively drawn toward the true creations that appealed to our simpler, more primal sensibilities. Splashes of blue, red and white brought vibrant color to our enthused eyes — induced by artisans catering to a different palette. Oh, hell yeah! The shindig had an open bar!
Soon after finding this oasis that served up bottomless blue cosmos, cranberry vodkas and sparkly white wine, our blood alcohol level must have leapfrogged to Definitely DUI status (according to the chart on the right) since we made at least 5 trips to the bar in less than an hour. It was around this time when Vu suddenly found his inner art critic and started spewing interpretations of the paintings (“This reminds me of Winnie the Pooh,” or something to that effect). I, on the other hand, gained a more overt and forgiving appreciation — as I usually do under alcoholic influence — of female masterpieces as they passed by me within the small confines of the gallery, what with their evening wear teasingly silhouetting the sculptures that lay underneath. As for Susan, she was merrily content rubbing elbows with some girl friends while getting intimate with the virtues of Ketel One consumption.
And so there we were, not even 7 p.m. and already buzzed out of our minds. No good can come from this night, I thought, but we still had to soldier on to the next adventure that awaited past the gallery’s walls …
[To be continued]
